Foreword by O5-2: On █-██-████, an investigation was launched into the continued viability of SCP-083. Several factors were taken into account, such as the relative danger involved in sustained containment and cost-benefit of the costly procurement of virgin blood on a regular basis. In conclusion, a unanimous decision to terminate SCP-083 was made amongst the O5, and handed down to Site 19 administrators. After researching the difficulties involved in terminating a regenerating, superhuman, and potential Keter object, the termination was set in motion. The man chosen for the task was an old standby, a man of great experience and expertise in the elimination of humanoid SCP objects of great destructive potential. Known for his clean, almost surgical method, he was quickly approved to carry out the termination.
Unfortunately, he was not available.
Despite urging from peers and subordinates, Dr. ████████ Kondraki was chosen to perform the termination. After giving himself the proper clearance and approval to do so through a loophole he had found in relevant regulations, O5 grudgingly accepted his self-appointment. O5-8* assuaged the board's fears with Dr. Kondraki's impressive credentials, and claimed that given such an important responsibility, he might finally take his position seriously.
*It should be noted here that O5-8 was a new appointment, and had not been present for the previous disciplinary actions involving the senior doctor.
Included below are the relevant logs and documentation concerning the “Duke” termination.
Note: For information involving the collateral damages sustained during the termination, See Document 083-D-Kk. - O5-2
Containment Log █████083-DK █-██¬-████

Dr. Kondraki enters SCP-083's containment, carries a folding table and two chairs with him. Proceeds to set up all three, as originally planned, taking a seat on one end.
Dr. Kondraki: Well, isn't this a nice little accommodation. They treat you well, Duke, real well for something out of a Bram Stoker novel.
SCP-083 takes the seat across from him.Dr. Kondraki: Good, you shouldn't have. Now, let's get on with this interview already, I've got better things to do than chat with a bloodsucker.Dr. Kondraki: Sure, sure. Although I remember that you requested a woman, hope you're not too disappointed, Count. [Dr. Kondraki proceeds to light a cigarette, and produces a container of a specially treated fluid. In the pre-termination report, Dr. Kondraki did not specify the contents for security reasons.]Dr. Kondraki proceeds to unscrew the top from the container, and sets it to the side. SCP-083 appears to recoil from the smell.
Agent Infred stepped forward to frisk Doctor Kondraki. He swiftly liberated a hand gun from Kondraki's person.
Agent Infred: Sorry sir, this isn't authorized.
Dr. Kondraki: Right, whatever. So, why don't you tell me about yourself, Drac? Are you the mythical force of darkness that plagues the psyche of humanity, or are you just a spoiled manchild playing vampire?Dr. Kondraki: [Blows smoke in SCP-083's direction] Funny, I don't recall giving a shit.
Dr. Kondraki proceeds to grab the container, and splash the liquid onto SCP-083, far before containment teams and backup agents could get into position.Dr. Kondraki: Cat urine and garlic juice, batboy, with a bit of silver nitrate.
Dr. Kondraki flips the collapsible table up into SCP-083, and grabs a firearm from under the table, muttering about 'Always keeping a backup'. He discharges his handgun seven times into SCP-083's chest and neck, before producing a wooden stake from his lab coat. The bullets were confirmed to be comprised of a silver alloy. None of these actions had been planned or approved.
Dr. Kondraki: Cross that off the list of things I've always wanted to do.

Post-Incident Interview DK-083
Interviewer: Dr. ███
Interviewee: Dr. Kondraki

Dr. ███: At what point did you conclude that SCP-083 might be vulnerable to the same weaknesses of a stereotypical vampire, despite no previous evidence?
Dr. Kondraki: Honestly, I was guessing. I figured, either it worked and I got done early enough to catch some lunch, or I'd have to think fast before he killed me.
Dr. ███: Think fast? That's it?
Dr. Kondraki: Yeah. I couldn't think of anything else, so I decided to play it by ear.
Dr. ███: You're saying you made it up as you went along? Isn't that grossly irresponsible, considering SCP-083's capabilities?
Dr. Kondraki: He's dead, ain't he? I don't have to explain myself if I get the job done.
Dr. ███: Alright, fair enough, but I have to wonder about one more thing.
Dr. Kondraki: Shoot.
Dr. ███: Why cat urine?
Dr. Kondraki: Well, if I was wrong and it didn't work, he'd still be the one covered in cat piss. Didn't think he'd take offense like he did, though.

EXCERPT FROM POST-INCIDENT INTERVIEW 083-963-21

Interviewer: And, after reviewing the logs, do you think Kondraki acted recklessly?

Bright: (Silence)

Interviewer: Dr. Bright?

Bright: This… This tape is un-doctored?

Interviewer: That is correct Dr. Bright.

Bright: (Dr. Bright shows signs of agitation, swearing in several different languages, and throwing equipment about the room.)

Interviewer: Dr. Bright! What's the matter?

Bright: Not only did I bet that asshole five grand that he wouldn't be able to throw cat piss at 083, but he didn't even have the good grace to die during the termination! Do you realize how much I'm going to lose from paying out on that? God damn!

At this point in the logs, we are unsure how Dr. Kondraki survived the following moments after the failed termination, due to the destruction of all surveillance equipment beforehand. Security cameras outside of SCP-083's containment showed Dr. Kondraki and SCP-083 exiting the containment approximately half an hour later. Forensic examination of the damages incurred within the containment are underway. Regardless, a red alert was issued, and security teams were dispatched to contain SCP-083 and get Dr. Kondraki to safety, including Mobile Strike Force Rho-2 “Hawthorne's Heroes”. As hindsight shows, it would have been more economical to have just shot Dr. Kondraki. - O5-2

EXCERPT FROM POST-INCIDENT INTERVIEW 083-KPC-13
Professor Kain Pathos Crow: It really was a pity about ol' eighty-three… I had a couple of things I wanted to do with him. Like stick him in nine-one-four on various settings and see what happened. Or see how exactly how he regenerated from decapitation. Or how he reacted to two-one-seven. Or if he'd be a good organ donor. Or if he was-

Interviewer: Uh… sir could you please just answer the question?

Professor Kain Pathos Crow: Hm? Oh yes, well Dr. Kondraki seems to get by in these sort of situations. A master of pulling it out of his ass, so to speak.

Interviewer: So would you label him as reckless then?

Professor Kain Pathos Crow: Yes. Without a doubt.

Interviewer: Uh-huh, so he's a potential liability.

Professor Kain Pathos Crow: Oh, I never said that. Granted, he's about as inaccurate as a faulty hand grenade or something of that ilk, the only safe place to be around him is probably inside him or something. But he gets things done, at the expense of everyone and everything around him not sturdy enough to withstand the blast.

Interviewer: …

Professor Kain Pathos Crow: What? He does.

Security Log C-083-K

Dr. Kondraki exits down hallway R-14 while SCP-083 pursues. Severe damage caused due to blindness inflicted by Dr. Kondraki's camera (See: scp-515-arc), which caused considerable thrashing until regeneration could set in.
SCP-083 recovers, and pursues Dr. Kondraki further into the central containment areas.
Dr. Kondraki, with a small lead, is able to enter non-sentient object containment and makes his way past two armed guards by flashing his ID.
SCP-083 enters non-sentient containment, kills and drains several nearby researchers. Searches for Dr. Kondraki within the area, resulting in further casualties.
Dr. Kondraki accesses a safe within containment, removes a circular object and retreats from containment back into Hallway R-17.
SCP-083 continues to pursue, and appears to take chase. Moments later, a flash of light is seen by a camera down the hall, and a bright, disc-like object impacts SCP-083. SCP-083 loses his leg, and falters.
Dr. Kondraki stops to observe the damage, as the disc (confirmed to be SCP-388) continues through Site 19 and eventually comes to rest 2 km away from the research facility. Dr. Kondraki approaches SCP-083 with a firearm drawn.
SCP-083 begins to regenerate, and stand up while bracing against the nearby wall. Dr. Kondraki is seen speaking, before taking off down Hallway Y-8. SCP-083 follows shortly after, hopping on one leg until the other regenerates. Seen screaming curses.
LOG ENDS

Audio Log 083-D-K-4

Dr. Kondraki – Well, at least you've got a leg to stand on, Count!
SCP-083 – I'm going to kill you slowly when I get my hands on you! You don't even know what kind of shitstorm you've gotten yourself into human, but I'm going to kill you and destroy everything you hold dear!
Dr. Kondraki – What was that? I couldn't hear you over all that arterial spurting. [He gestures to the missing leg] Hey, you know if this vampire thing doesn't work out, you'd make a great pirate!
SCP-083 – In about 5 seconds my leg is going to regenerate and I'm going to tear you to pieces.
Dr. Kondraki – Break a leg, Drac. [Dr. Kondraki departs]
SCP-083 – I'll tear a chunk out of you for every one of those stupid retorts! Every single one!

It was at this point, as Dr. Kondraki exited the area with SCP-083 in pursuit, that MTF-R-2 arrived to attempt to restore containment of “Duke”. The termination attempt had been considered a failure by command and the orders were limited to damage control. Unfortunately, the other security teams were still en route, and were never able to assist MTF-R-2. If the order hadn't gone out to evacuate all Euclid objects from the sector, they might have been able to. - O5-2
Security Log Y-083-K

Dr. Kondraki makes it to a three way intersection before SCP-083 begins to catch up. A forklift moving a large metal box is moving up the incline directly to Dr. Kondraki's right.
SCP-083 rounds the corner, but impacts the forklift which had been maneuvered to block the hall. Dr. Kondraki is seen at the door of a central staircase. At this time, they were on the 15th floor of the facility. SCP-083 proceeds to throw the metal box in a fit of frustration, before beginning to move the forklift.
Dr. Kondraki flees down the staircase. The metal box opens as it impacts the ceiling, and a large, disheveled ball of metal objects is dislodged and begins rolling down the incline.
MTF-R-2 arrives by way of the central staircase to SCP-083's current location. Dr. Kondraki passes MTF-R-2.
Contact with MTF-R-2 lost.

EXCERPT FROM POST-INCIDENT INTERVIEW 083-CLEF-01
Interviewer: Seriously? No mistakes?
Clef: I can't really see that Dr. Kondraki made any mistakes in his termination protocol up to this point, no.
Interviewer: Seriously?

Clef: None at all. He had a primary kill mechanism, a backup plan, and a tertiary plan as well. The fact that his plan didn't survive first contact with the enemy wasn't his fault. The deaths of MTF-Rho-2 were a sad and unforeseeable consequence of the Euclid-class SCiPs being moved…
Interviewer: I see. So tell me, Dr. Clef, what if all of this wasn't part of some plan, and he'd been making it up as he went along?
Clef: <laughs> In that case, sir, I'd say that Dr. Kondraki was a suicidal fool. But he certainly wouldn't have…
Interviewer: …
Clef: … he did?
Interviewer: I have here a copy of Dr. Kondraki's termination procedure proposal. Step one is his plan to use cat urine and a pistol loaded with silver bullets. Backup plans two, three, four, And five are listed as, and I quote, 'Wing It,' 'Make Something Up,' 'Cross That Bridge When I Come To It,' and 'Put My Head Between My Knees And Kiss My Ass Goodbye.'
Clef: [EXPLETIVE REDACTED]

Mobile Task Force Rho-2's Combat Log

MTF-R-2-1 – We're coming up the staircase now, to SCP-083's last known location. Sounds of a struggle are coming from above, our intel must be spot on.
MTF-R-2-6 – He really screwed the pooch on this one. Garlic piss, where does he get that?
MTF-R-2-1 – Quiet on the approach, Six.
MTF-R-2-3 – Sir, incoming subject, humanoid!
MTF-R-2-9 – It's…he's in a lab coat, it's not Duke. He's running straight at us, sir, neutralize him?
MTF-R-2-1 – Ready subdermal electroneutralizers, on my…what the hell is that noise?
[unidentified] ….fuck fuck fuck shit fuck dammit shit fuck! Get the hell out of the way, run for your fucking lives!
MTF-R-2-2 – He's taking off down the stairs, must have been Dr. Kondraki! But I don't see SCP-083!
MTF-R-2-1 – No contact on Duke, continue up the st-
MTF-R-2-5 – What the hell is that!? It's…massive!
MTF-R-2-1 – Open fire, open fir-
[unintelligible screams]
[Unknown] – It just crushed him! Get out of here, ge-
[screams continue, audio cuts out]

It was at this point that command began to realize that SCP-083 wasn't the only threat to Site 19 during this incident. Although at this point in time, SCP-083 had caused the death of 17 personnel, Dr. Kondraki had been involved in three cases of containment failure. Most of these personnel had been minor employees, making their loss minor in comparison. MTF-R-2 would be found by site security teams at the bottom of the staircase, completely entangled in SCP-162, with several already having been crushed to death, or bled out due to numerous lacerations. Containment of SCP-083 was quickly becoming a distant possibility, and Dr. Kondraki had vanished from visual contact. At the same time, another SCP had breached containment on the opposite side of the facility, and the chaos made details scarce. Meanwhile, SCP-083 was on a rampage trying to locate the doctor. Command was in disarray, and a choice would have to be made soon. It wasn't soon enough. - O5-2

EXCERPT FROM POST-INCIDENT INTERVIEW 083-Iceberg-42
Interviewer: And so you're of the opinion Dr. Kondraki handled things recklessly?
Iceberg: Oh, yes, definitely.
Interviewer: Would you call him a potential liability?
Iceberg: Obviously. He's a danger just walking around.
Interviewer: I see. Well then Doctor I-
Iceberg: I mean, look at him. The guy's a lunatic. And one given far too much power.
Interviewer: Alright then-
Iceberg: Clearly he needs to be removed from his post. Probably terminated.
Interviewer: Doctor Iceberg, that is n-
Iceberg: Now, see, this leaves a slight opening. Head of Research at Site 17. Nice job. Now, you see, with him gone, we need someone….. reliable to take his place.
Interviewer: ….
Iceberg: And I think I'm just the person to do it. I'm reliable, hardworking, good at hand to hand, intelligent, mostly sane, good at organizing, I know over 40 kinds of improvised explosives, I-
Interviewer: That's quite enough Doctor Iceberg. I believe our interview is over.
Iceberg: Inter…. Interview? You mean…. All this was recorded?
Interviewer: Yes.

Iceberg: And Kondraki will be able to see this?
Interviewer: Possibly.
Iceberg: …… I need to go write my will.

Security Log C-083-K

Visual contact resumed with Dr. Kondraki, seen breaking into a testing lab on the 7th floor, takes possession of an experimental high-tension cable, constructed from an SCP-143 alloy with carbon nano-structures.
SCP-083 seen arriving on the 7th floor, in pursuit of Dr. Kondraki. Security teams arrive to contain SCP-083 but fail to make an impact. Teams 4, 8, and 14 are wiped out. SCP-083 continues on his path.
Dr. Kondraki recovers and dons a pair of converse sneakers, recovered from Safe object containment. Dr. Kondraki appears to move at an accelerated pace. Exits containment sector, heading down Hallway D-3.
SCP-083 continues pursuit of Dr. Kondraki, ruining the containment sector. Is unable to catch Dr. Kondraki due to his enhanced speed, but is able to make up time by bypassing walls in his path. Physically.
Dr. Kondraki begins to move towards the Keter containment sector, his clearance bypassing the automated security systems. Proceeds to next checkpoint. All Mobile Task Forces are alerted to the situation.
SCP-083 is slowed by the security checkpoints, and further resistance by site security. SCP-083's regeneration is able to keep up with any wounds inflicted. Site put on full alert, and all forces are redirected to Keter containment.
Dr. Kondraki continues to pass through checkpoints. Arrives in a large containment room with a single door opposite to the entrance. Dr. Kondraki's security clearance is unable to clear the last checkpoint. He pulls an object from his coat, resembling a conical object with a pistol grip.
SCP-083 arrives in the room. Looks confused, proceeds into the center of the room. Dr. Kondraki no longer visible. SCP-083 approaches the lone door.
Dr. Kondraki's voice is detected, appearance of SCP-408 reveals him standing near the entrance to the room. A verbal exchange is observed, before Dr. Kondraki speaks into the hand held object (visuals confirm it to be a megaphone of insignificant make).
Tremors begin to rock the area, and several stress fractures are opened on the wall with the door.
Containment of Keter level threat SCP-682 compromised.

EXCERPT FROM POST-INCIDENT INTERVIEW 083-Dr. Gears-62
Dr. Gears: Reckless is a relative term. Viewed purely from the vantage point of a termination test carried out against a nearly-invulnerable humanoid SCP object, Dr. Kondraki's test achieved only a low to medium degree of collateral damage.
Interviewer: So you feel that Dr. Kondraki's actions were acceptable?
Dr. Gears: He achieved his intended goal. However, the loss of manpower, multiple containment breaches, widespread damage to Site 19, and general lack of planning represent a gross oversight on the part of Dr. Kondraki.
Interviewer: Demolishing a good chunk of a site is a little more than oversight in planning.
Dr. Gears: …Sir, if I may say, I think we are focusing on the wrong direction. We assume that Dr. Kondraki is a “loose cannon”, a person who is reckless and puts zero foresight into anything he does. However, this is a narrow and dangerous assumption.
Interviewer: …What are you talking about?
Dr. Gears: The human brain has a tendency to view highly complex and rapid patterns as random events. I believe that Dr. Kondraki used the termination of SCP-083 as an excuse, and the resulting highly destructive “chase” and containment breaches as a distraction.
Interviewer: So you're saying…he planned it?
Dr. Gears: Not in a traditional sense. To use a mathematical example, he started with the solution, and worked backwards to create the problem. The multiple containment failures, the evacuation of items, SCP-083 and its attacks on site staff, all these stretched the resources of Site 19 to a dangerously thin level. This allowed him to achieve what I hypothesize to be his true goal.
Interviewer: …which would be?
Dr. Gears: To ride SCP-682.

EXCERPT FROM POST-INCIDENT INTERVIEW 083-CLEF-01
Clef: WAIT, WHAT!?

Audio Log C-682-K
Dr. Kondraki: Well well well, look where we've ended up now, Duke. Any guesses as to what's behind door number one?Dr. Kondraki: [Laughs] I figure you'd do something like that. I'll admit that this wasn't the best place to make a tactical retreat, but I do still have my trump.Dr. Kondraki: Oh god I cannot wait to see your face! [Gestures to the megaphone] But first, why don't we invite our friend out from his little room?
Dr. Kondraki begins screaming a series of obscenities into the megaphone. SCP-083 attempts to cover his ears to no effect.[Roars and sounds of buckling metal and cracking concrete fill the air]TRANSMISSION LOST

It was at this point that Command for Site 19 made the decision to quarantine all of Sector 3 for floors 7-15, sealing it from top to bottom and effectively sealing everything within the premises. With SCP-682 on the loose, SCP-083 still a threat, and Dr. Kondraki still breathing, it was hoped that the three would end up killing each other. With the survivor being significantly weakened by the preceding brawl, containment teams would move in to restore order. There were several unforeseen issues with this plan, namely not accounting for SCP-682 (who was contained in the sector on a purely temporary basis), or Dr. Kondraki's ingenuity. If it had taken such things into consideration, it would be wise to have suggested the use of nuclear weaponry. -O5-2
Security Log C-682-K

Dr. Kondraki is able to escape the initial charge of SCP-682 as it plows through the room, disappearing once again in a cloud of SCP-408.
SCP-083 is seen engaging SCP-682, looking severely damaged from the assault but rapid regeneration is already observed helping him recover. SCP-083 is seen attempting to speak to SCP-682.
SCP-682 pauses for a moment, and “speaks” for a moment. Without warning, SCP-682 strikes at SCP-083 and tosses him across the room while severing two of his arms and one leg.
SCP-083 attempts to retreat and regenerate, but isn't able to make distance between himself and SCP-682.
SCP-682 devours SCP-083 whole. No activity until a large, rearing motion is made back.
Dr. Kondraki is seen now on the back of SCP-682, holding two ends of the high-tension cable he had recovered earlier. The rest was fitted into an improvised set of reins. Dr. Kondraki is observed “riding” SCP-682, while hollering something and waving his hat with his free hand.
SCP-682 enters an enraged state, and makes a powerful charge towards the entrance. It easily plows through the obstructions made by SCP-083, and then through the sealing walls.
Dr. Kondraki and SCP-682 have breached quarantine. Full evacuation protocols now in motion.

It was obvious at this point that things had truly escalated out of control. SCP-083 had been presumed neutralized, yes, but at the cost of releasing SCP-682 into Site 19 without proper personnel to enact containment procedures. Much like causing a flood to put out a kitchen fire, Dr. Kondraki's actions would put the entirety of Site 19 in grave danger. Most of the site's personnel had already been fully evacuated, while emergency teams attempted to stem the losses and mitigate what damages they could. The entire situation had become an unmanageable mess. Ironically, that's the exact kind of mess that Dr. Kondraki excels at managing. - O5-2
Security Log C-682-19-K

Dr. Kondraki stays atop SCP-682 for the duration, holding on despite the rapid jerking motions made by SCP-682 during its run.
SCP-682 begins to adapt as seen in previous observations, having incurred noticeable damage in its attempts to break through various obstacles. Spikes of a bone-like material begin to shoot up from its back, in an attempt to harm or kill Dr. Kondraki.
Dr. Kondraki incurs several wounds in this manner, able to avoid most of the protrusions. He attempts to make a hard turn by pulling against the cables, and is able to direct SCP-682 from his course.
SCP-682 continues to charge forward, now directed towards the personnel dormitories. During its dash, SCP-682 breaks through SCP-173's containment. At this time, both SCP-682 and Dr. Kondraki are observed to keep direct eye contact with SCP-173, despite each continuing their attempts to outmaneuver the other.
Dr. Kondraki is observed to speak to SCP-682, and a series of growls are recorded matching SCP-682's “voice”.
SCP-682 begins to crash its back into walls and ceilings, trying to crush the doctor. The apparent conversation continues.
Dr. Kondraki appears to laugh, and then make another harsh tug. He redirects SCP-682 once more, to the personnel cafeteria, after checking a device on his wrist.
SCP-682 crashes through the second quarantine dividers, and arrives in the personnel sector.
Dr. Kondraki waits until SCP-682 arrives in the cafeteria. Holding onto the cables, he vaults forwards with tremendous force, swinging up and over SCP-682's head.
SCP-682 now attempts to bite down on Dr. Kondraki as he scrambles to sit in a lone chair placed at the end of a table.
Dr. Kondraki vanishes from visual contact as SCP-682 devours him.
SCP-682 continues to cause further structural damage. Begins advancing towards current evacuation zone.

Audio Log 682-K

Dr. Kondraki: You really hold a grudge, don't you?Dr. Kondraki: No need to do me any favors, Godzilla, since you made lunch of the vampire. Why don't we just let me off and call things square?
Sounds of crunching concrete and stressed metal
Dr. Kondraki: I guess that's not an option. How about you just-[grunt]-take me to my ride, and I'll get out of your hair?Dr. Kondraki: Fair enough, let's try that.The sound of metal scraping against enamel cancels out any conversation. A sickening snap of SCP-682's jaws concludes the recording.

Evacuation Log S-E-19

Removal of Safe and Euclid items from Site 19 continue. Transport to Helipads A-E for temporary offsite containment goes well despite the current chaos.
[For the sake of relevance, this log has been redacted to focus on SCP-298 and the events in Hallway D-17]
Several Level 1 personnel are used to transport SCP-298, due to its large size. The width of SCP-298 takes up most of the hallway.
One of the personnel is seated on top of SCP-298 as it is carried, mock-playing the organ. Audio logs confirm that the seated employee had won some form of bet previous to the incident.
An explosion occurs elsewhere, causing a tremor. Several personnel falter, and SCP-298 is dropped.
An odd sound is heard and noticed by several of the men (the sound is now confirmed to be that of displaced air.) The personnel move to the back of the organ as they begin to hear a struggle.
Dr. Kondraki is spotted, having incurred several injuries. Making a leap, he bounds over SCP-298.
SCP-083 is also spotted, covered in an unknown fluid. He rounds the corner after Dr. Kondraki, but only spots several personnel and the organ. Seen speaking.
Dr. Kondraki directs the man next to him to begin playing.

Audio Log C-298-K-083
Personnel 1/298/3: Wh-who? That crazy guy who just ran past, he's right behind this thing!Dr. Kondraki: Bach. It's Bach. I like to call it, “Sucks to be you, Overture.”Personnel 1/298/2: Should I keep playing, sir?
Dr. Kondraki: Don't you dare stop, not even for a moment!Dr. Kondraki: So I was right, you can't regenerate your blood.Dr. Kondraki: Everybody dies, Duke. Just matters who dies on a given day, and today is your lucky day.
Security Log S-E-19

SCP-083's blood is drained from his body by the effect of SCP-298's music. It forms into a solid gel in the air, appearing as branches of a leafless tree.
Dr. Kondraki moves from SCP-298's platform, instructing him to keep playing. He disappears into a room down the hall.
SCP-083's blood is now completely drained, causing his desiccated corpse to fall prone. His body seems to undergo an extremely rapid decomposition, the corpse being reduced to a hollow skeleton within a minute.
Dr. Kondraki returns with a glass container, and instructs the player to stop. He begins to collect the gelled blood from the air, placing it into the clear container. After less than a minute, the blood liquefies.
Personnel appear to lack comprehension of the event that has just occurred.
Dr. Kondraki seals the container and approaches the skeleton. Retrieving the skull, he places it under his arm. Dr. Kondraki exits Site 19 via helicopter with little trouble, assumed to be part of the evac team.
Personnel are still somewhat stunned. The klaxons remind them that SCP-682 is still loose within Site 19.

EXCERPT FROM POST-INCIDENT INTERVIEW 083-AR9-59
Interviewer: So you do not think that Dr. Kondraki behaved recklessly?
Dr. Rights: I didn't say that, but relatively, compared to some of the things he's done…at least this one almost had a plan. Or some facsimile of one.
Interviewer: You have viewed the entirety of the logs, yes?
Dr. Rights: Yep. All of it. A few times, actually, and I had to review my favorite parts.
Interviewer: And you have no worries about Dr. Kondraki being a liability or a danger?
Dr. Rights: Look, the man's a master of the Indy Ploy. And sometimes, actually…all the time, there's collateral damage. But that doesn't change the fact that he, in some bizarre way, knows what he's doing. And hey…if it's saved my ass a few dozen times over, that doesn't hurt.
Interviewer: So your personal opinion is that he is not a liability?
Dr. Rights: Not as much as Edward effing Cullen, there. I mean…I've got just as big a vampire fetish as the next girl who grew up reading Anne Rice, but come on. Plus, throwing cat pee on him! That was beautiful!
Interviewer: …And in your professional opinion, having worked with Dr. Kondraki in the past?
Dr. Rights: …You clearly haven't been to site 17 lately. Professional is…not my forte. Or Kondraki's for that matter. Shame about Site 19, though…at least it went out in a blaze of badassery.

Breakroom Surveillance Log S17-█-██-████

Dr. ████: Oh my god, how does he keep making things worse?
Dr. ██████: No idea. This thing is on a delay too, by this time he probably leveled the whole facility…is he riding 682?!
Dr. ████: I can't believe we work for this guy. I have half a mind to tell that moron off myself, and resign!
Dr. Kondraki: What are you guys watching?
Dr. ████: Nothing, just our boss wrecking the Foundation's biggest site. Can you believe that guy?
Dr. Kondraki: Wow, that is pretty intense.
Dr. ██████: Dude…might want to cut the chatter.
Dr. ████: Lay off it, it's not like he's going to know I said it. If I could get away with it, I'd terminate him my…
Dr. Kondraki: Terminate who? I like this talk already.
Dr. ████: I…I think I've seen enough. I think I-I'm going to go take a walk.
Dr. Kondraki: Dibs on your seat. Anyone got popcorn?


Incident 784-1
"… once the D-Class personnel have finished rinsing the outside of the container using fire hoses, a third personnel will approach the container, and then affix the module to the outside of the structure. The microphone should pick up any vocalizations made by Skip Seven-Eight-Four." Doctor Lorenzo indicated a microphone and a speaker located on the console. "Speak into this microphone. It will transmit to the speaker in the communications module. Seven-Eight-Four should be able to pick up the vibrations through contact."
"That will not be sufficient, Doctor Lorenzo." Director Valentine's eyes were hard as flint, matching the steely grey of her hair, and her voice carried the snap of many years of authority. "I need to get inside the containment chamber and speak to Andrews directly."
Lorenzo hesitated. "Ma'am," he said, his lilting, Castillian accent tinged with doubt, "Seven-Eight-Four is a highly dangerous Keter-Class SCP that has already claimed the life of at least one other human being. I can't recommend that you be allowed in there."
"Your objections are duly noted and overruled." She opened her briefcase and handed a manila envelope to the perplexed scientist. "My papers. As of 0600 hours this morning, Overseer Eleven has given me clearance for direct access to this artifact."
The Spaniard glanced over the papers. "Looks like it's all in order," he sighed. "Except for the fact that it's absolutely loco. All right. There's a changing room to the left of the main entrance for Foundation personnel. Remove all your clothes and personal effects and change into scrubs. Angie will get you a respirator and some goggles and brief you on the safety procedures."
"Thank you, Doctor Lorenzo."

She had expected the interior of the containment chamber to be dark and gloomy, filled with shadows and grime, a monstrous home for the monster it contained. The brightly lit chamber was far less dramatic, but given the choice between drama and safety, Valentine preferred the one that let her walk out alive.
Seven-Eight-Four's tendency to assimilate any silicon and metal it came into contact with meant that steel and glass were verboten. Transparent acrylic and concrete were the materials of choice. The heavy concrete container rested at the bottom of a deep pool of acetone, the sharp odor of the solvent cutting through her paper-and-cloth respirator mask. The acetone was a safety measure: the nanomachines that made up the artifact's mechanical portions were very similar to proteins, and would disintegrate under heat and heavy solvents.
She tried not to think about the fail-safe measure that relied on the first method.
"You didn't have to come in here with me," she said.
The figure in the blue hazmat suit next to her shook its head, the gesture muted by the loose hood. "I'm responsible for this artifact," Lorenzo said. "I'm not letting an outsider in here alone."
"I see. Please tell the Deltas to raise the artifact."
Lorenzo nodded to the two figures in orange hazmat suits, who began to turn the capstan on the far side of the chamber. A series of ropes and pulleys, all made out of non-metallic materials, raised the heavy concrete chamber out of its acetone bath like a monster rising from the sea depths. A third D-Class, carrying a sprayer on its back, stood by nervously, fiddling with the controls of his device. "If I may ask, what's the reason for all this?" Lorenzo asked.
"Psychological analysis," Valentine said. "Overseers want to find out what's going on in his head."
"Really? Because I can tell you right now. Nothing. He's like an animal, all he knows is food and pain. I know he was some kind of agent before, but he's just a monster now."
"He wasn't just 'some kind of agent,' Lorenzo, he was a member of Pandora's Box. He's the one who stopped Steel Doll. He's helped capture over a dozen SCPs in the wild, three Keter-Class. He was… he IS a hero, and he deserves better than to be treated like a caged beast." Her last words were punctuated by the heavy thud of the containment chamber being locked into place, suspended just over the pool of solvent.
Lorenzo's lip twisted into a half-sneer, half smile. "I'm sorry. I'll be sure to show the proper respect," he said.
"See that you do. Is it possible for me to speak to him directly?" Valentine asked.
"There is a port on the top of the chamber for replenishing the nutrient bath. We normally keep it sealed except when attached to the pipe, but…"
"Do it."
Lorenzo nodded and shouted something in Spanish to the figures in the orange haz-mat suits. They flinched noticeably. One of them protested in the same language, only to be shouted down by Lorenzo. There was a brief hesitation, then one of the D-Classes started to gingerly approach the concrete cube, while the other two grabbed sprayers and looked on nervously. "Please stay behind the yellow line, Director," Lorenzo said. "We've been trying to train him not to cross the line using aversion therapy. It's been… well, we've had some success."
"Thank you." Valentine stepped back over the spray-painted line on the floor. "Any particular reason why the containment crew is mostly Spanish-speaking?"
"Easy to acquire. Some third-world dictator needs a few trouble-makers disappeared? We need a few warm bodies. Mutually beneficial agreement." Lorenzo smiled. "I think the guy climbing the ladder's here for calling Hugo Chavez a fat bastard on national TV."
"Hm." Valentine crossed her arms. "Convenient."
"Absolutely. Oh, hang on, here it comes. This is actually pretty cool," Lorenzo said, chuckling nervously.
The D-Class opened the port, then hastily ran down the ladder and back to his companions, picking up a spray tank and strapping it to his back. Slowly at first, a tendril of steel and glass emerged from the opening, swaying back and forth like a snake. A bulbous growth appeared at the end, then split open to reveal a small blue gem the size of a marble. "We're pretty sure that's a visual receptor of some sort," Lorenzo whispered. "It seems to be made up of thousands of tiny photoreceptors and lenses, kind of like an insect's eye."
"How well does he see?" Valentine asked.
"Well enough."
The tendril snaked towards the two scientists, approached the yellow line, hesitated. The sapphire-blue eye turned towards the D-Classes, who gripped their sprayers tightly. The thing paused, then withdrew about a meter from the line. The orange-suited men relaxed visibly.
"If it crosses the line, it gets a full spray from the solvent, then reduced nutrition for a week," Lorenzo explained. "It seems to be the only way to get it to obey." He smiled at Valentine. The older woman just stared back at him coldly, and the younger scientist coughed and cleared his throat.
Valentine turned her attention back to Seven-Eight Four, which seemed to be reconfiguring itself. A blob of nanomaterial oozed down the length of the tendril (like a mouse being swallowed by a snake, she thought), then formed itself into a crude face, a second blue eye opening up next to the first. Valentine had seen photographs of Agent Andrews before his accident, and recognized the pudgy cheeks and pursed lips: the rest of it, however, was crude, a vague approximation of a human face formed by a mind that had nearly forgotten what it looked like.
"Andrews," Valentine said. "Can you hear me?"
"Seven-Eight-Four can pick up air vibrations," Lorenzo chimed in. "It talks back by forming and vibrating…"
"Shut up." Valentine cut Lorenzo off angrily. "Andrews," she repeated, "Can you hear me?"
The mouth opened, and a membrane stretching across the back, just behind the teeth, began to vibrate. "yessssss," it said, in a buzzing, electronic approximation of a human voice. "i kckkckkcan hear yyyou."
"Do you know who I am, Andrews?" Valentine said.
"anddddddrrrrrers is deaddeddeddead i am sevensevev—"
"Do you know who I am, Andrews?" Valentine repeated sternly.
The eyes turned and regarded Valentine closely. "dirrrrecccctor jjjjjanice valenvalentine. yoyoyou werrrrrrrre the one the one who reckakckakrcruited mmmmmmme from em em em eye yay titititieee."
"Yes, Andrews," Valentine said, smiling. Her eyes were bright with triumph. "So you do remember things from the past."
"rrrrremember. nnnononono longerrlongerrrrr carrrre. i am stitstststeeel now. steeel. perfect. moving beyond mere fleshflesh to perfection."
"Really?" Valentine's smile widened to a fierce, triumphant grin. She pulled off her hazmat suit glove, and before Lorenzo realized what she was doing, had pulled a small photograph out from the glove, held it up in front of the creature's eyes. It depicted a young woman wearing a blue hospital gown laying on a bed, hooked up to a respirator, her eyes staring blankly up at the camera flash. "And what if I told you," the Director said, "that Beatrix Maddox is still alive?"
Part 2: Negotiation


24/12/2008
Well, Christmas Eve is here, and I believe Mr. Kringle may have infected the staff with cheer, because the amount of work getting done is non existent. Of course, I'm one to talk… I'm the one who allowed them to do it, as well as stopping my own personal experiments. (Mainly because I feel bad if I indirectly allow someone to get killed horrifically at Christmas.)
I've even stopped the experiment on Emily for the past few days, and well, requisitioned some time off for her. Granted, owing to the state of her condition, she still is unready for a heavily urbanized area, but she was allowed to venture outside for a good deal, near the grove, although of course, she wasn't actually allowed inside it.
Zero's body has stabilized enough for the implantation for us to continue, and finally merge the mental body and the physical one. We're going to do it tomorrow. So, my assistant is technically going to be "born" on Christmas day. Not a bad present if I do say so myself.
25/12/2008
SHE'S ALIVE!
28/12/2008
I've spent most of the past few days with Zero. Since she has woken up, it has taken her three days to learn to do pretty much everything that takes a normal human child twenty years. I'm fairly sure she hasn't slept in that time, but I'm not sure she needs to.
Christmas was good, and thankfully uneventful. Most of the residents and SCP alike enjoyed what little trinkets or services they received. Emily was especially happy at what she received. I gave her a little television, one with access to most children's channels, to be available for an hour or two a day. I myself received a very nice holiday to Spain, thanks to a very special certain someone. They know who they are. Although the staff seem curiously joyous at that.
Ah, yes, Zero's name. I was pleasantly surprised when she told me of it. So many connotations, so many meanings. She told me as soon as she could form the words.
Sophia.
02/01/2009
Well, the role of being a father has fallen to me these past few days, as well as site administrator. I've been easing Sophia into the real world, trying to make the transition as painless as possible, and, as expected, Sophia is taking to everything like a fish does to water. She's learned decades of research, centuries of history, over seven different languages, and still her appetite for knowledge has not been sated. Soon she might overshadow even me.
The only thing that has me worried, is that high command have decreed that since she seems to be working so well that they've ordered full scale production, albeit with some minor alterations to the original product. I realize that this is for the good for the Foundation, and the world at large, but I just can't help but feel that its cheapening the original life I brought into this world. Sentimentality… Bah, one day feelings like this will be the death of me.
Most of the on site research has been reinstated, and finally the site is getting back to work. Experimentation with Emily, and trying to improve her mental condition is continuing again, despite the fact she just wants to watch "Ruby Gloom" all the time. And I told her handlers to ration the time she has with the television… I guess we're going to have to slowly wean her off of it a little.
The excavation area has been completely ignored over the holidays, and although I, as always, lament the lack of research being performed, I can at least appreciate the fact that no one has died, mutated, or even gone insane in that area. But alas, we must continue with testing. Excavation is still disallowed, at least until we figure out what exactly is this "thing" in the center. We'll be doing testing with the bone orb. I don't want to subject Sophia to whatever danger that may be there, as she might be more susceptible to it due to her multidimensional nature.
On the bright side, I shall be leaving for my brief little holiday on Wednesday, although, it is rather unfortunate that I must leave behind the walker, and be accompanied by several armed guards, not to mention the fact I can't go sight seeing or into public places or even outside without disguise "procedures", i.e. being naked. Granted, as a dog, I have no real need for clothes, but dammit, I don't exactly enjoy being naked either. It's rather demeaning….
Dammit, I hate being a dog sometimes. I am looking forward to the food though, and my company will be superb. If, that is, they can get some sort of feeling of privacy despite the dozen or so armed guards around us. Damn.
14/01/2009
Finally, I've returned to my home, and place of work… Took me long enough, what with several bureaucratic blunders to try and fix along the way just so I could make it back here. Seriously, why does a dog need a passport? And that bloody quarantine thing? Argh, next time I'm not leaving the country. Well, maybe.
Other than that, the trip was quite nice, though more for the company than the locale. The area was that saturated with holiday homes and the like, that it was practically a little slice of England, weather and all, which was not exactly to the liking of my palette.
In total, I saw only four actual Spaniards. And I never even managed to sample a bowl of paella, which is rather upsetting. Although we did go to this rather nice little restaurant with the most delicious steaks… Though the staff were a little apprehensive about serving a dog. Still, I spoke the language of all people, the language of money. Of course, I used someone else to say this. I'd rather not exhaust my vocabulary trying to hush up word of a talking dog.
All in all, a nice trip, but not one I will be repeating in the near future.
Sophia dealt well with my absence, managing the affairs of the site with ease, and continuing the experimentation with Emily, though she left it to me to make sure the log for said experiments are in order.
There's been a great influx of new employee's in my absence. Apparently, the Overwatch feels we need "new blood", so to speak, and for once, I happen to agree with them. Many hands make light work, as they say.
Still, I hope they don't turn out to be similar to a certain late doctor. I know it's rather rude to speak ill of the dead, but the man was completely stupid. I mean, I take risks at times, but I temper them with judgment of the situation. But doing what he did? That was practically suicide, even if Clef hadn't been involved. Bah, enough talk of a dead fool.
The experimentation on the excavation site has finally been fully authorized to commence, as it had been postponed due to the absence of the lead project director, (i.e. me). It will begin tomorrow at 0800 hours. Staff will be at full alert, and several of the test Olympians will be mobilized and ready for action should anything happen. This should be… interesting, to say the least.


The following are excerpts from psychological evaluations performed by Dr. Simon Glass on Foundation personnel

Dr. Glass: Alright, let's get this started. Dr. Alto Clef -
Dr. Clef: [Subject hands Dr. Glass a ukelele]
Dr. Glass: … Very well. Dr. [With some difficulty strums an A major chord] let us begin this interview. If you could please remove those cinnamon rolls from-
Dr. Clef: Twists.
Dr. Glass: Pardon?
Dr. Clef: These are cinnamon twists, not rolls. Do you want one?
Dr. Glass: Oh. Do you have any not in your nose?
Dr. Clef: No.
Dr. Glass: Well then, no thank you. Let's take a look at - oh lord, who let him bring a shotgun in here?

Dr. Glass: So, Agent Diogenes, h-how's it going?
Agent Diogenes: I'm fine, but I'm wondering why I need a psych evaluation every week. Most people only do theirs once a month.
Dr. Glass: Right right, so, listen, what are you doing Saturday night?
Agent Diogenes: Uhm…
Dr. Glass: W-well, uhm, do you like hiking?

Dr. Glass: Haven't been to Site 19 in ages. Why is it that you can't come to site 17 again?
Dr. Bright: Ook.
Dr. Glass: Oh, right. Someone get me a D-Class in here for a few minutes…

Director Ghost: Small, slow circles. Trust me, she'll love it.
Dr. Glass: [Taking notes]: wait, with my tongue or hands?

Dr. Kondraki: Alright, so then, he stumbles on some entrails, and I manage to catch up to him.
Dr. Glass: Ahuh…
Dr. Kondraki: So I shoot his fucking face off, bam, just like that. Brains everywhere, oh man it was great. That D-Class with me was bawling like a baby!
Dr. Glass: That's your -favorite- memory of working for the Foundation?

Dr. Bright: They just don't trust me! Like I actually want to be the body of some stupid SCP.

Dr. Glass: Well it would give you some form of stable body.
Dr. Bright: Working on that with Kain actually. Gonna use 291 to make me a new body. Say, those are some amazing hands you've got there. Do you use them often?

Dr. Glass: Well, look at that, our time is up.

Dr. Glass: And how did that make you feel?
Dr. Rights: Like killing him! I mean, there I was, all ready and willing for sex, and he buys a video game? It was just so, so-
Dr. Glass: Agatha, please put that lamp down. Agatha… Security, Security to exam room A!

Dr. Gears: …
Dr. Glass: This isn't that hard, just tell me what you see, anything at all.
Dr. Gears: …I see a symmetrical inkblot, comprised of what appears to be Black #4 ink. The paper is folded in the middle, leading to the conclusion that it is a Rorschach, or "ink blot", test.
Dr. Glass: …Ok…but do you see any shapes? Like a butterfly, or a ocean, people, anything at all?
Dr. Gears: No.
Dr. Glass: Are you sure? It looked like you might have saw something there for a second…
Dr. Gears: No. I see a collection of black, abstract shapes.
Dr. Glass: …Okay…we can try something else now…just…stop staring at me like that…

Dr. Glass: …
Dr. Clef: …
Dr. Glass: So… what shall we talk…
Dr. Clef: I've been kind of thinking about killing everyone in the base.
Dr. Glass: … what?
Dr. Clef: Nothing.
Dr. Glass: I thought you said you were thinking about killing everyone in the base.
Dr. Clef: Are you kidding me? I never said that. Why would I say I sometimes think I'm going to wake up one morning, take my straight razor out of its jar of blue disinfectant, cut my assistant's throat, and then run through the halls of the base naked slashing anyone who gets in my way?
Dr. Glass: You… you just said it again!
Dr. Clef: Said what? Are you feeling all right, Dr. Glass? You look pale.
Dr. Glass: You just threatened to brutally murder myself and everyone in the base!?
Dr. Clef: No I didn't.
Dr. Glass: Yes you did! I'll play it back, listen!
<Sound of a tape recorder being played back>
Dr. Clef: Really? All I hear is me telling you about waking up in the morning and shaving.
Dr. Glass: WHAT? Listen! You just said…
Dr. Clef: You know, Dr. Glass, auditory hallucinations are often caused by overwork and stress. Maybe you should take a break for a while.
Dr. Glass: … Clef, you're not getting out of this interview. You're merely trying to scare me into ending this interview early with inane threats of violence, and I must warn you that such cavalier tactics are clearly transparent, now if …
Dr. Clef: Why would I do that? That's as ridiculous as claiming that I've prepared a soporific-laced gum to give to you under the guise of a friendly offer of refreshments, thus knocking you out so that I can dispatch you at my leisure and throw your body into the incinerator, destroying all evidence, meaning that it will never be traceable back to me.
Dr. Glass: …
Dr. Clef: You don't look well, Dr. Glass. Maybe you should lie down and close your eyes for a bit.
Dr. Glass: … Alright, you can go ..
Dr. Clef: Piece of gum?

Dr. Glass: …
Dr. Gears: …
Dr. Glass: A butterfly?
Dr. Gears: No.
Dr. Glass: Octopus?
Dr. Gears: No.
Dr. Glass: A horrible face-melting explosion?
Dr. Gears: …No.
Dr. Glass: Fluffy puppies?
Dr. Gears: No.
Dr. Glass: You're telling me you don't see the happy little puppy right here? Look, at the bottom of the paper…
Dr. Gears: I see an abstract blot of black ink…and your finger.
Dr. Glass: …how can you be so cooperative and so frustrating at the same time…

Dr. Kondraki: All right, so that's when I noticed that the bloodstains led to the janitor's closet. Sneaky fucker tried to hide out behind the brooms and mops while he bled out!
Dr. Glass: Are you…seriously claiming that you engaged in a gunfight with several level 2 personnel over a failure to replace the filter in the coffee machine?
Dr. Kondraki: Well you might not see it as a big-
Dr. Glass: A coffee machine in a break room that you no longer use?
Dr. Kondraki: The issue here is the principle of the thing, Glassy. No filter means no coffee, no coffee means tired researchers, tired researchers means mistakes, costly mistakes end up as red numbers in my paperwork pile. See where I'm going with this?
Dr. Glass: [pause] Dr. Kondraki, I'd appreciate it if you would stop polishing your sword during the evaluation.
Dr. Kondraki: Bothering you, doc?
Dr. Glass: [sigh]
Dr. Kondraki: You don't mind if I smoke, right?

Notes:
As my official statement, I would like to note that I think all Foundation personnel are deeply disturbed, amoral human beings suffering from varying states of anomie. Except Agent Diogenes, who is a very nice young lady/man who should go bowling with me on Saturday. Dr. Glass
Note:
Glass, s/he's just not that into you. Pull on yer big boy pants and deal. Also, who the hell thought it was a good idea to give ME access to these files? Dr. Bright.
Note: Several interview segments have been altered due to the sensitivity of information made privy to Dr. Kondraki as an administrator of Site 17. Events as depicted are to be endorsed and considered fact for archival purposes. Those with level 4 clearance may see Document [DATA EXPUNGED] for information regarding the "Mr. Coffee" incident(s). O5-2


“Do I hear five hundred thousand pounds?”
“…”
“Thank you…do I hear five fifty?”
“…”
“Thank you ma'am…do I hear six hundred?”
“…”
“Thank you…six fifty?”
“One million pounds.”
“…t-thank you sir. Do I hear more?”
“…”
“Sold, to Mr. McCredie. Thank you so much sir. This next lot…”
The bald man who had just spent an absurd amount of money on a small, somewhat tacky yin-yang medallion rose from his seat and exited the small, lavishly decorated auction room, entering a separate room filled with thick leather chairs, a small but well stocked bar, several men and women in very expensive dress, and a sizeable Christmas tree. The smell of smoke was very noticeable, but not unpleasant as the bald man lit a cigarette to add to the general haze. A short, stocky man in a non-descript black suit walked up, bowing slightly before speaking.
“Sir, I take it that you acquired the…um…”
“Yes, yes…” the bald man said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Marten, bring the car up for me, and have a valet just load the medallion into the trunk; I don't want to wait for that ‘secured shipping' nonsense for weeks. We'll be going to the airstrip in a bit; I'd like to be at the Paris club by this evening.”
Marten bowed slightly again “Yes, Mr. McCredie. If I may, your recent acquisition may attract unwanted attention. I can have it routed through a service in Bhutan that is excellent in dealing with these matters.”
Mr. McCredie took a long drag on his cigarette, waving his hand again as he started to eye a bottle of aged scotch behind the bar. “Of course, do whatever is necessary, but I want that necklace in Paris by this weekend. Also, have Arthur and Grant ready in Paris when I get there.”
Marten followed Mr. McCredie as he strode up to the bar, acquiring a very good and very expensive glass of scotch with a few gestures to the bartender. Marten bowed and spoke again as Mr. McCredie took his first slow sip. “Will Mrs. McCredie be joining you on this evening's flight?”
Mr. McCredie's face twisted with a sour expression as he put down his drink. “No, no…she's still pouting in her new apartment over my having to work on her birthday…but we'll soon see to that, won't we!” He laughed, taking another sip. “Send for her tomorrow morning. If she makes a fuss, say…I don't know, something romantic or some such. She's young, and still loves to think of herself as a princess…oh, say that she'll get to meet royalty, that should shut her up and get her packing.”
Marten moved slightly closer, lowering his voice. “And the…special considerations you asked for have been attended to as well. A local funeral home has offered its services and crematorium for modest compensation as soon as we are in need.”
McCredie scowled at Marten, waving him away as he turned back to his scotch. “Really, is it necessary to inform me of every little step? Go; make things ready, I'll be leaving here in the hour. Really, I don't know why I still bother with these Christmas get-togethers, they always end on some sour note…are you still here? I said go!” Marten bowed and quickly walked off, leaving McCredie to his scotch and a drab conversation with a member of the English parliament.

June McCredie came off the jet in bluster of expensive silk, blond hair, and whining. “This isn't another one of his stupid little business meetings, is it? I swear, if he drags me all around town to meet a bunch of old, stupid men in suits, I'm going to scream. With all the meetings and social stuff he does, you'd think he'd find time to go to one or two real parties! You know, music and dancing and fancy drinks and all that stuff…not gagging on smoke having to listen to fat old guys talk about pricing strategies and having to act interested.” She hurried off the tarmac and into the reception area of the McCredie's private airstrip, as Marten directed the unloading of her considerable baggage from the jet.
Later, as her car ambled its way down the busy Paris streets, she continued her monologue, directing it at the back of Marten's head as he drove. “Really, this is it. I don't need him, if he's not going to put some time into our relationship, I don't know how this is going to work. We've been married a year, and we've only gone on three vacations, just the two of us. Now all he wants to do is stay at that club of his all day and smoke and drink.” She ended in a huff, crossing her arms and pouting out the window.
Marten smiled, looking in the rear-view mirror. “Ma'am, I'm sure you appreciate his position. Your husband is a powerful man, and needs to keep up appearances to maintain his position.”
June huffed again, burying herself more into the leather seats and watching Paris roll by. At a stop, she piped up again, still looking out the window. “Marten…is…is John in trouble? I mean…with the government or anything?”
Marten stiffened a little at the wheel, his smile unfazed. “No ma'am, Mr. McCredie has a quite friendly relationship with parliament, as far as I am aware.”
“Oh,” she sighed, “I was worried…some men came by, asking about him. They said it was about some delivery to India or something…it sounded like he was in trouble.”
Marten smiled and shook his head, ignoring the sweat starting to form on his palms. “I'm sure it's some kind of mix-up, nothing to worry about.”
She nodded, resting her chin on the edge of the door, looking out the window. “I'm sure…they said something about a foundation or something when they were in the hall…probably just some charity looking for a handout.”
Marten nodded, quietly wiping away a bead of sweat on his forehead as they started forward again. “Yes, that must be it, very good ma'am…”

After dropping June off at a suitably ostentatious hotel to “freshen up” for the evening, Marten worked his way down a network of side streets to the Pairs chapter clubhouse of Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd, buried in a mass of hotels and boutiques. After parking in the private underground lot, Marten walked to the elevator, punching in the code for Mr. McCredie's private room. Almost as soon as the doors opened, he was roughly grabbed and hurled inside by Arthur and Grant, landing in a heap. Lifting his head, he took in the room for a moment, decorated in late Victorian style, except for the oddly out of place steel door on the far wall. Mr. McCredie sat in a huge leather chair, smoking and looking down at Marten with mild amusement. Arthur wrapped a huge hand into Marten's collar, lifting him back to his feet as Grant took position next to McCredie's chair.
McCredie spoke, smoke drifting from his mouth. “Foundation agents were at my home yesterday. Care to explain?”
Marten swallowed hard, sweating under McCredie's lazy but piercing gaze. “Th…they know nothing, sir. If they knew it was you, they would have already raided the club. They are not the police or government; they don't have to justify anything to anyone. Shooting in the dark is all they can do now.” His voice carried much more confidence then he felt, and he was sharply aware of the gun-shaped lump in Arthur's jacket pressing into his spine.
McCredie took a long drag on his cigarette, thinking, before waving his hand, causing Arthur to drop him again. “Honestly,” McCredie said, “I believe you. However, we can't have these things happening again, understand? I pay you bloody well enough; I expect things to be taken care of in the proper fashion. Speaking of which, did you manage to get my darling wife to the hotel in one piece?”
Marten nodded, adjusting his suit. “Yes, she should be here by this evening.”
“Excellent,” spoke McCredie, rubbing his hands together. “We should have this all wrapped up by dinner. Grant, you and Arthur make sure everything is ready for June, will you?” Both huge men nodded, moving back and opening the heavy steel door, given Marten a view of the bare tiled walls and stained concrete floor drain beyond before the door swung shut again. McCredie rose, stubbing out his cigarette out and grinning “Well, let's give her an hour, and then we'll get this mess over and done with!”

“Ugh…why do these places always smell like smoke and old people? Why can't we ever meet at some club or something? God, I really think he goes out of his way to bug me sometimes…” June flipped her hair back in disgust, looking around at the sitting room, her black dress shining with small interwoven crystals. “Why did he want me here even? Aren't we supposed to be going out for dinner?”
Marten nodded, smiling. “Yes ma'am, and he will be along shortly. In the meantime, he wished for me to give you a small gift on his behalf.” Her eyes immediately lit up, a grin spreading over her face as she squealed happily.
“Really? Where is it? Oooh, I love presents…”
Marten gestured to the steel door, and she hurried over, pulling it open with some effort. “Ugh…what a heavy door…ooh, is that it? It's…just a yin-yang with a little chain. How is that…what is this place? Arthur? What are you doing…let…let ME GO!” The start of her scream was cut off sharply as Marten gently closed the door.

McCredie reclined in his chair, chuckling slightly as he looked to the small speaker planted on the coffee table before him. “You're a loon, Harper, you know that don't you? It takes real dedication to keep playing a game you're bad at.” A short burst of laughter from the speaker quickly devolved in to a coughing fit, before the voice gave a gasp and replied. “McCredie, you're not any better then me at the cards, you just cheat better then anyone else at the table. Besides, don't you still owe me two from that Easter game?”
McCredie scoffed, waving his hand at the speaker as if it could see, his head turning slightly as Marten quietly opened the steel door and strode over to him, the sound of a muffled sob quickly squelched as the door re-closed. Marten leaned down, whispering “Sadness, sir” quietly in to McCredie's ear, causing the bald man to shake his head, face pinched as if he'd bitten something sour “Oh, lord, no, not at all…that's a good chap.” McCredie shook his head twice and Marten slipped back behind the steel door, the short, soft thud that came several seconds later muffled by Harper asking about McCredie's plans for the following evening.
“Going to take the wife out for walkies? You've kept her so tight under wraps people are beginning to talk old man. Or perhaps there's another reason for your social hermitage? Young blood for old bones?” Harper ended with another gale of laughter and coughing, McCredie sighing and placing his hand over his face, even as he sported a slight grin.
“You know how it can be Harper. Just getting her presentable before I go trotting about and making a fool of myself.” He missed Harper's reply as Marten slid silently up to him again. “Jealousy, sir.” McCredie thought for a moment, before shaking his head again. “No, no…a little green can liven up a woman, but more trouble then it's worth.”
McCredie turned back, chatting with Harper about tomorrow night's gala, occasionally broken by Marten stepping out to whisper in to McCredie's ear, or a louder then normal sound from behind the door. As Harper droned on about his new system for poker, there was a sudden, sharp knock on the steel door, followed by several other, soft thumps. McCredie twisted in his chair, Harper's disembodied voice all but forgotten as the steel door handle suddenly wrenched open, and a bloody, shrieking banshee lunged from behind it.
McCredie shouted, and attempted to run from the room, hide behind his chair, and strike at the screaming wrath before him, which caused him to succeed only in sending him tripping in to a heap on the floor. The lank, howling form before him ripped the chair aside, bloody blond hair sending a spray of crimson droplets across the room, her yawning mouth drooling a stream of blood and saliva. Lashing out with hands twisted in to talons, she gouged and ripped her way closer to McCredie, who was quickly backing away along the floor, eyes locked on the twitching, screaming horror.
She leapt, and landed at his feet, blood splattering on his face and hands, McCredie giving a cry of revulsion and horror as her arms pulled back to lash and rip against his face. Before the mutilating blow was struck, however, there was a loud, solid thud, much like dropping a melon from a small height. The bloody, screaming thing went silent, her arms frozen a moment, before seeming to drift to her head as if she were under water. Locked in that pose for what seemed a eternity, she suddenly pitched to the side as a sizable block of dark wood connected with her temple, sending her sprawling to the side, her temple visibly dented as blood began to drool over her silent, still face.
Marten stood, panting, behind where the woman had stood, blinking as he looked at a broken chair leg in his hand as if it had somehow magically appeared there. A large man was lumbering his way from the room behind the steel door, hand over his face, which was leaking a great deal of blood. Another man's feet were just visible through the doorway. They did not appear to be moving. McCredie rose, trembling, and looked between the far room, and the broken, bleeding thing on the floor, mouth working soundlessly.

It was several seconds before he was able to speak, and when he did, it sounded nothing like him. Gone was the bluster, the pompous flash, leaving the hollow, rattling husk of a whisper, emanating from a man who had just seen death, and knew that it missed him dearly. “W-what…what was…” he trailed off, unable to muster the strength to continue, eyes wide with shock. Marten placed the chair leg down on the table, gently, before adjusting his shirt sleeve. “Anger, sir. We were…not expecting the ferocity. Arthur may have lost a eye. I think Grant is dead.”
McCredie nodded, not hearing a word, looking at the twisted, broken body on the floor. He rubbed his face, and looked in renewed horror as his hands came away bloody from the splatter she had sprayed. “Oh…oh god…I…need to go. I need to change, I…I…” he trailed off again, sputtering and going silent as he slowly started to back away from the bloody scene before him. Marten nodded as Arthur stumbled in to a chair, groaning as he continued to hold his face. “Of course sir. The car will be waiting for you, I will attend to things here sir.”
McCredie mumbled a “quite right…very good…” as he stumbled like a sleep walker to the door, glancing back only once, before rushing out the door and down to the car. Marten had been pulling the gun from Arthur's free hand as the man moaned, blood dripping between his fingers and down his chest. However, it wasn't that which sent him sprinting to the safety of his car, nor even the broken wrath on the floor. It had been the sight of June, taking two hesitant steps from the small room behind the steel door. June, arms lifeless at her sides, shivering slightly and unheeding of her torn dress or bloody feet. June, who's eyes had found his for a split second, and shown him a deep tunnel in to a being who's entire existence had shrunk to a heart beat and expanding lungs.

Much later, Marten called McCredie, to inform him the re-integration had proceeded without incident, and the events of the afternoon had been erased. McCredie replaced the receiver without speaking, mentally screaming that they had bloody well not been erased. Walking to the drawing room, he pulled a large bottle of whiskey and a glass from the bar, before tossing the glass aside with a dull thud and drinking deeply from the bottle. To his credit, he did not finish the bottle, but that was only because of his falling through the floor of wakefulness like a millstone through plywood. There, he slept the sleep of the numbed and horrified, the whiskey clouding and dulling the clawing, shrieking horrors that would swirl on the edges of his awareness for a long time to come.

“Bloody hell old man, why didn't you tell me? She's a vision, no wonder you've been dabbling with hermitage! I doubt I'd have the strength to rejoin society, with that strutting about the house!” Harper clapped McCredie on the back, hunching over with another laughing bout of coughs. McCredie twisted away slightly, still somewhat tired from the night before and not in the best humor. He turned to face the direction of Harper's comment, wincing slightly at Harper's loud, rattling cough.
June McCredie stood on the far side of the ballroom, a vision in a simple black dress, her laughter bubbling around the room and drawing admirers like moths to flame. Mr. McCredie had been getting comments all night on his “diamond in the rough”, and those who had previously met her begged to know what had caused the sudden, dramatic shift. Gone was the spoiled little rich girl, to be replaced by a charming, funny (and even a touch flirtatious) high society girl. So what if she laughs a little too long, and appears to be about as deep as a soap dish, his fellows said, too much depth can lead to complications.
McCredie could only offer a cheap smile and shrug his shoulders, as he did now with Harper. The coughing man straightened up with a small amount of difficulty, and clapped him again on the back. “Fine, you old tom, you keep your secret. I'm off to the green room for a round and a game, I think I've been around you enough for the good luck to rub off!” chuckling slightly, Harper limped off, snatching a drink from a passing tray, and leaving McCredie alone for the first time that evening.
He stood, watching his new wife framed with a ring of admirers, and shivered. Where the others saw the bubbling, fawning beauty, all he could see was a shrieking, bloody horror, screaming and snapping for his flesh. He shuddered, and looked away, catching the eye of Laura DeFoe, who was leaning against the bar. She nodded to him, then smiled, looking away and shaking her head, before turning back and raising her glass, her smile much more coy. McCredie broke in to the first genuine smile of the day, and tipped a imaginary hat to her. A bit older then his normal fair, she was never the less a very handsome woman…
“Honey, I was just talking to your friends, and they wanted to go out for a party tomorrow, just a small group. It sounds like such fun, but I wouldn't dream of doing anything without you darling!” June gushed, grabbing McCredie's arm and nuzzling it slightly with her cheek, breaking his revere. He reflexively flinched away, before relaxing a bit, still eyeing her with a degree of suspicion. “June, I'm rather tired, why don't you go back to the car, Marten will take you home. I'll be along presently.”
June looked up, her smile never flickering, but her eyes were glassy, and her movements seemed ever so slightly jerky. “Whatever you say my love, I'll go right away! I'll be waiting for you when you get home.” Her voice was a lilting tease, and she gave him a gentle poke with her finger before moving away, her dress swishing as she strode across the room. McCredie turned back to the bar, hoping DeFoe had not seen, and was pleased to see her engrossed in conversation with Harper, the old man doubled over in another fit. McCredie straightened his tie a bit and started over to the bar, feeling the thrill of the safari as DeFoe started to turn back to him.
His advance was halted just feet short of his goal by another associate, who took his hand and shook it vigorously, heaping him with congratulations. He bore it in good humor, as DeFoe was now watching, and he extracted his hand with a smile. “She's beautiful, I mean, just radiant. I'm stunned, she's…she's…” the young man fumbled, and McCredie turned to face DeFoe directly, her smile a promise and a invitation. He took a glass from the bar and raised it to her, his broken wife and the stuttering young man forgotten even has he finished the fumbling sentence.
“She's perfect.”


Some day, they'll all be immortalised in verse, eh. Enjoy
"682"
Big angry lizard
Kind of grumpy, but still fun
Until he eats you
"447"
Delicious slime ball
Leaves one feeling minty fresh
No dead bodies, please
"173"
If you close your eyes
It will break your fucking neck
Try not to blink, son
"261"
Odd vending machine
Every snack a new surprise
Orgasm muffins
"184"
Where did that thing go
The hallway is different now
Twelve rights and a left
"262"
Fashionable coat
Produces arms from within
Gets kind of grabby
"165"
resting wall to wall
beware the hungry sand dune
microscopic bugs
"251"
Pretty land of snow
Swirling in a crystal ball
Giant spider time
"177"
One-player chess game
Black pieces move on their own
And gloat when they win
"125"
Hiker passing by
Finds a dragon in the ice
Looks a little shit
-A Fat Ghost
"297"
It feels pretty good
Just don't touch the last setting
Really, don't do it
"015"
Lots and lots of pipes
Miles and miles of it even
Filled with who knows what
"162"
Scalpels, needles, saws
Scissors, knives and fishing hooks
This will be painful
"291"
Takes people apart
But they're still okay mostly
In bits and pieces
"335"
One hundred and fifty
It's the whole damn internet
On some little disks
"335"/lol version
The whole internet
I just accidentally
Is this dangerous
"WTF"
Oh god, what is that
It's just so fucking freaky
Wat I don't even
-K.P. Crow
"882"
Lots and lots of gears,
Destroys minds and eats metals,
Grind grind grind grind grind
"055"
Um… wait… just a bit
I know I had something here
But… damn, I forgot
-SLR
"973"
Smokey the bad cop
Kills all lawbreakers dead and
Says "runfuckerrun"
"292"
Roses are Red and
Violets are blue… wait, have I
done this allready?
-Edrobot
"1333-J"
Apocalypse man.
Consult a necromancer
or else we're all fucked
"10101-J"
Aw yeah, who's a man
and a half? I'm 12.0 on
the scale of badness!
"914"
Pop it in and close,
Whatever you need improved,
Crank, Clank, Crank, Clank, Ding!
-SnugglyChaos
"248"
Paste me if you want,
I promise I will make it
Better than when new!
-SnugglyChaos
"1463"
Purple fun for all
Can even purple a ball
Brovisr Funtastic!
-SnugglyChaos
"1066"
The pen makes its mark
The student learns instantly
Time marches onwards
"1231"
Computer with folks
Try not to think about them
If you do, they're screwed
"1000"
Old civilized apes
They want to fucking kill us
Should we let them in?
-Reject
"931"
I don't understand.
Did I just write in Haiku?
This bowl is trouble.
"1481"
Sobbing in his cup.
He wishes for more cocaine.
It didn't appear.
"Serpents"
Gears was gone. She wants…
wanted the answers. But now?
Queen to A5. Check.
"Wondertainment"
Crafting joy, madness,
misters, toys, and happiness!
Just while supplies last!
"Dangerous to View"
Anonymous us,
Anomalous we made this,
So, are we cool yet?
"Dear"
Made you a new one.
What's lost is lost, but Eric,
come home, we miss you.
"008"
Dangerous virus,
well, technically a prion,
and it makes zombies.
"2406"
The giant of bronze
Built by MEKHANE, to oppose
The Flesh and Karcists.
"093"
Small rock, many worlds
Glass sees in you, hope They don't
your colour, your hell
"804"
Art piece that hates us
Kept in Alaska, why not?
Don't go near it, please
"649"
Matchbox of winter
This is very fucking cold
How does it work though?
"504"
Bowl of tomatoes
No horribly bad jokes, please
Pelted otherwise
"2053"
Coloured plastic cube
A father longs for his child
Asks, "WHERE IS MY SON".
"012"
Driving you insane
A blood-soaked composition
Music filling graves
"●●|●●●●●|●●|●"
...- .- -. .. - -.-- / -.-. .- -. / -.- .. .-.. .-..
- .... .. ... / -.-. .-. . .- - ..- .-. . / ... - . .- .-.. ... / -.. --- -.-. ..- -- . -. - ...
.... --- .--. . / .. - / -.-. .- -. .----. - / ... .--. . .- -.- / -- --- .-. ... .
"3930"
Apophenia
allows us to see patterns
even from nothing.
"1162"
Stick your hand in it.
"Hey! I found my long-lost toy!"
"Huh? Where'd my badge go?"
"426"
I am a toaster.
Anyone who mentions me
uses first-person.
"3663"
Crawling in the pipes
The tunnel monster, that's me
…I didn't want this.
"748"
Through the sobs and screams
Roars a growing Factory
They're back in business
"176"
I dream of living
Longer than seven seconds
Again and again
"Lloyd"
We are infinite
And yet, as the world burns down
I am left alone
"1867"
I'm so conflicted.
How can I, a gentleman,
be a small sea slug?
"2085"
Quintet of cyborgs
Those cyborgs are catgirls too
Wizard says "Fuck you"
"2030"
We just wanna laugh!
Don't you cry, it's just a prank!
I'm going to hell.
"Three Moons Initiative"
In the afterlife
One group wants to save our world
Love, watch, and protect
-
"000"
WHAT…What is screaming?
Is it a witch or a ghost?
But Nobody knows.
"Fine"
Just Five syllables,
Do not exceed six vowels,
SEVEN is coming
-Etinjat
"3774"
A nervous insect
A sad, lonely janitor
The perfect couple
"1471"
An app for lonely people,
A rotting dog like creature,
God damn it Bright not again
"2935"
Place devoid of life
Do not let it enter here
Seal it with concrete
"096"
Don't look at me,
I'm very shy.
If you see my face,
You're going to die.
SCP—J
I'll write this later or something.
"SCP-001"
I don't know my clearance isn't high enough
[REDACTED], [REDACTED]
And some more [REDACTED] stuff
"And The Stars Forever Singing"
Spectrum of dead thought
Through green, pink, blue smoke signals
Five fifths deep below
"To Those Who Make Music"
Sing with me, Makers
Let us form a symphony
Against darkness
"3000"
Ananteshesha
"Whoops, your memories are gone,"
Says the giant eel.
-Bart0nius
“3001”
Scranton is alone,
All he has is a red light.
This one made me cry.
-chronognosis
“3008”
I can't find the door,
But at least I have meatballs.
The store is now closed.
“4092”
He's your new stepdad!
Your mom's unaware of this.
He won't go away.
”006-J”
A big little bug
Creeping uHOLY SHIT ITS ON MY BACK FUCK FUCK
"1756"
Siskel and Ebert
The best afterlife, they say
They give two thumbs up
"106"
I keep seeing black shit everywhere, it's disgusting.
It's littering I tell you, kids these fucking days…
No god damn appreciation for the environment.
"5000"
Unfolding unseen,
Echoes from depths whisper close, anomaly's grasp,
Unveiling terror's embrace.
–Dr Avenlee
"Administrator"
Silent guardian veils,
Weaving fates through hidden paths, whispers wield power,
Mystery's shrouded overseer.
–Dr Avenlee
"085"
Pencil stroke alive,
Paper realm where she resides,
Bound by drawn confines.
–Dr Avenlee
"105"
Shutter's whispered click,
Worlds within a photo's frame,
Iris weaves through stills.
–Dr Avenlee
"999"
Gooey, playful friend,
Jelly's joyous trend,
Healing touch, no end.
–Dr Avenlee


I'm walking through the snow. The crunch of my footsteps creates a slow, yet persistent rhythm, the lack of a breeze allowing the sound to carry surprisingly far. My name is Neil, and I am hunting a flying deer across a mountainside in early January.
It had been a full six hours earlier that one of the Special Containment Procedures Foundation vans had pulled up to the loading entrance of Sector-28, a horse trailer running doggedly along behind it. Given the weather, I was surprised that whatever they had brought with them was still alive. The heating must have been excellent.
Just when I think I've lost my way, I spot a solitary set of hoofprints. It had touched down in this direction recently, and I'm fairly proud of myself for being able to track it so well. Silently praying that the wind doesn't pick up, I continue my trek and increase my pace. I'll pin that furry bastard down eventually.
Had I been briefed on what was in that trailer, I wouldn't have been so forward in my decision to throw open the doors once the van was parked. Immediately, what looked like a whitetail deer had leapt out at me, catching its footing on the edge of the doorway long enough to vault over my head. It had time enough, then, to deploy those eerie skin flaps that flying squirrels have, and glide off toward the woods.
The trees get thicker in front of me. I hope that the poor thing hasn't landed in one and broken its neck. Letting it escape is one thing, but having it wind up dead would probably mean the same for me. The snowbanks sloping gently from the pine trunks mean more effort in every step through the deepening white. A slight clearing appears up ahead, and I decide to wait. It has to land sometime, and I might as well capitalise on that.
The deer, if that is in fact what it is, is a strange one. Other than the obvious ability to remain off the ground, it can rotate its shoulders and bring its legs out perpendicular to its body, in order to unfurl the usually-hidden skin folds. As I hurriedly dig myself a spot to hide in the snow, I sift through memories of classes and lectures in order to find out what that skin is called. Soon enough, an idea comes to me: The patagium, that gliding membrane, is useless without the ability to adjust its tautness. All I would have to do is hop on the flying ungulate, and hog tie it with my belt. Easier said than done, I presume.
Suddenly, a shadow runs overhead, and my eyes are drawn upward. It's the deer, and that flying Bambi son-of-a-bitch has decided to land at the end of the clearing opposite from where I'm hiding. He lays down, though; the cold is tiring him out far too quickly. I guess it's now or never: Belt in hand, pants precariously dropping, I spring toward my quarry with the loudest obscenities I can manage.
Three more hours later, and I'm back at Sector-28. The sun's going down, it's colder than a snowman's rump, and I'm carrying an unconscious deer. I only managed to tie two of its legs together, but it wasn't in much shape to reach cruising altitude anyhow. Handing it off to the crew inside the loading doors, I make my way to my office-slash-quarters, for a shower, change of clothes, and hot pocket. No sooner am I in the fancy door with my name across the front than I wonder what exactly is going to be done with my fuzzy-tailed foe, and what number it'll be assigned among the mounting hordes of crazy crap that we have to deal with.
I'm awoken at some unacceptably early hour by the ringing of my interoffice telephone. One of the research directors launches into a thanks for my retrieval of Seven-Twenty-Eight, and asks me quite politely to handle the three more like it arriving later in the week. It's not like I have a choice, I suppose. I stretch out my arm to hang up the phone, but the director interjects with another fun piece of information: I'm needed to round up a retrieval team and investigate claims of a living breakfast somewhere in the States. I think I might resign some time in the very near future.


Another quiet day in this quiet town.
On the east side of town stood a bank. It wasn't a large bank, it wasn't a small bank, just a bank. The neighborhood was small, and most importantly, didn't ask many questions. Such as why people commonly came through and cashed in at that bank, despite the fact none of them lived in the town. But, then, they worked for Soap from Corpses Products, Inc. It was best not to worry too much about any nutters who worked at that kind of job.
Two cars pulled up, right in front of the bank. An old VW bus with a faded red paintjob, and a nearly as old blue Ford Mustang. Neither had particular identifying marks, which is just how their owners liked it. Anyone who took the time to check their license plates would come up with names of men who didn't exist, several states over. The car doors opened, and out came five men. If their clothing didn't give away what they were up to, their guns did. 9mm handguns and pump action shotguns, and at least one had something automatic. This bank was a little small for their usual tastes, but they could always use easy money. They pushed open the bank doors, guns held up.
"Everybody down, now!"
Most did as they were told, men, women, even the pair of security guards. Notable, however, was the group clustered near one of the tellers. The rest of the town knew them as simply employees of Soap from Corpses Products, Inc. A motley crew that certainly didn't look like soap makers, all of them looking a little tired, or distracted, or like they were in a hurry. One in a lab coat stared at the bank robbers for a second, before speaking.
"Are you fucking kidding me? On payday?"
There was a beat of silence, somewhere between tense and awkward, and the men holding weapons reacted first.
"Are you deaf or something? Stupid? Get down!"
The group in lab coats stayed standing, looking from one to another before one of them — a short, stout woman with long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail — snorted loudly, bringing a hand to her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle her choked-back, muffled laughter. The men frowned under their ski masks and narrowed their eyes, while another man in a lab coat sighed heavily, bringing his palm up to meet his face.
"Rights, stop it."
"I'm trying."
"Look, gentlemen, this is patently ridiculous." The large tattooed black man looked rather out of place, especially with the golden bling around his neck. "Do you in fact intend to rob this establishment in such a manner? I mean-"
"Shut the fuck up, or I'll shoot you."
"Come now, that type of talk is completely uncalled for, and useless besi-"
BLAM!
The large black man stared down at the hole in his torso, and sighed resignedly. "And I had just got this body in the shape I wanted too." His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped to the floor, dead as a doornail, his pretty necklace sliding across the floor.
"God damn it," the woman called Rights, muttered, but kept giggling.
A tall man with a shaved head stepped forward from the group, appearing remarkably calm for the situation, and addressed one of the men in a oddly toneless voice. "Sir, I would request you leave the premises immediately. Your actions may cause a unnecessary delay in our return to our duties, in addition to the delay already created by your neutralization of Dr. Bright."
A man with lank, stringy hair and a small beard stepped forward, pointing a shotgun at the bald man's face. "Are you serious? you're trying to argue us out because you're going to be late?" He laughed, and jabbed the bald man with the barrel of his gun. "Does nobody here get this? Does nobody see the dead man? We are not SCREWING AROUND!" He fired a round into the ceiling, causing most of the bank patrons to flinch or drop to the floor. The bald man continued to stare, unfazed.
"Your attempts at intimidation are misdirected. Even discounting my unique mental state, a shotgun is not the proper tool to elicit compliance from myself or my co-workers. Firearms and the threat of being shot are relatively low in our estimation of dangerous situations, so much so that some members of staff use it almost as a form of greeting." At this, a man in a ball cap and another with a hook nose and a wide grin began to snicker. "You lack the ability to incite the level of fear needed for immediate compliance with your requests. Your current course of action will not, in any way, lead to your desired resolution."
The man with the long hair and shot gun cocked his head to the side, confused. "The hell… who the hell are you people?"
"Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Gears… use less words. I think you've made the poor robber confused!", the woman snipped again.
One of the gunmen — the shortest of the bunch — snagged the necklace from the floor and slipped it on over his head. Hey, loot was loot, after all. He never even noticed being replaced in his own head. He did however, subtly shift the gun in a new direction, and give a wink and a thumb's-up to the rest of the group.
"Do you think this is some kind of game?" the long-haired man continued. The shortest robber ever-so-slowly began to redirect his aim. Originally aimed at the woman, it now pointed at the man with the shaved head. "Is this some kind of joke to you?" The short man's gun moved a bit more towards the man in the ball cap. "Do you think that this gun is a fake?" One last tiny shift had the barrel pointed squarely at the long-haired gunman's back. At the same time, the long-haired gunman pointed his shotgun at the still-giggling Rights.