Finnegan was sitting atop an abnormally large tortoise, his nose 
buried in a book. The tortoise, for whatever reason, was wearing his 


beret. Aldon sat against the bathtub, toying with some pots and 
pans. This activity had nothing to do with her extreme exhaustion, or 
so she would tell you. The sound of sandals flipping and flopping 
disrupted her potting and panning as a man in a Hawaiian T-shirt 
approached their work area. 


"Hi there," the man said. Aldon looked up at him with an expression 
she hoped conveyed her irritation. She either failed, or the man 
simply didn't care. He adjusted his stupid fedora sitting on his goofy- 
looking red hair. "A joint project, en? What are you guys working 
on?" 


"We're gonna use this piece of shit to power a giant turtle with 
waterjet cannons," Aldon said, banging a skillet on the side of the 
tub. 


"Tortoise," Finnegan corrected without looking up. 


Aldon pointed a pan in Finnegan's direction. "Fuck you, turtles are 
the ones in water." 


"But the model you showed me was a tortoise," Finnegan said while 
half-yawning. "We got the tortoise I'm sitting on so we could see how 
one moves." 


"What? No, | didn't." Aldon fell onto her side as she reached for the 
small mock sculpture she had made. Still on her side, she held it up 
to the man in the Hawaiian shirt, which clearly qualified him to speak 
on the situation. "This is a turtle, right?" 


"It's a tortoise. Turtles have flatter, lighter shells and have webbed 
feet." The fedora-wearer hovered over the bathtub. "What's the tub 
do?" 


"| made a fucking tortoise. What? Oh, it makes infinite water. Stick 
your hand in it." 


The man did so without a second thought. His eyebrows rose for a 
moment, and he waited. He listened. He withdrew his hand and 
placed both hands on the rim of the bathtub. Aldon watched his 
mouth tug back and forth before he looked down at her. 


"| could kill this for you. After the competition, of course." 


"Ha!" Aldon found herself taking a small liking to the man. He didn't 
look familiar, but it was entirely possible she had spoken with him 
before. Faces ran together in events like this for her. Probably had 
something to do with the soul crushing stress and the mind numbing 
lack of sleep. Maybe. "Thanks, but as dumb as they are, | don't want 
them dead." 


"Well, | could still take it off your hands. | have some old friends who 
would love it." He waved his hand around as if he could pluck the 
phrase he was searching for from the air. "They're obsessive 
collectors, so to speak." 


"They can have it, then. Thanks." Aldon finally pushed herself back 
into a sitting position, craning her neck to look around. "So which is 
yours?" 


"Oh, I'm not competing. I'm just a Nobody who felt like watching." 


"Hmm." Aldon felt like there was something she was missing, but 
was too tired to care. "Well, anyway, if you'll excuse me. | have to 
figure out how to make a pressurized water tank out of a rice 
cooker." 


"Already did that," Finnegan called from the tortoise. His voice 
seemed quieter with the stranger around, the book even closer to 
his face than before. "You should start mixing the concrete." 


Aldon jerked around as she looked at all the crap they had lying 
around. "When the hell did you do that?" 


"Yesterday? | think? Hey, where's my hat?" Finnegan fell off the 
tortoise unceremoniously in an attempt to find said hat, asleep by 
the time he hit the ground. 

Nobody chuckled. "You guys are a bit over your heads, eh?" 


Aldon snored in response. 


The crowd of artists roared in anticipation as the siren went off. Two 


anartistic monstrosities were positioned opposite each other in the 
ring, marked as a giant circle with a boxing glove holding a paint 
brush in the center. A giant stone platypus standing at 14 meters tall 
faced against a concrete turtle tortoise with a pair of metal tubes 
protruding from its shell, coming up to an even 16 meters tall. 


Aldon and Finnegan almost had to lean against each other just to 
stay standing. They had done it, but only barely. The announcer 
declared the battle was about to begin, and that the artists were to 
activate their respective mechas. 


"Can you do it?" Finnegan mumbled. 


Aldon should have seen that coming, really. "You made the thing, 
you should do it first." 


"| don't want to have to do it in front of-" 


"Oh, get over it. C'mon. You say one thing, and it's a funny thing, 
and then you just think the rest. No having to talk to the scary 
people." 


He held the bathtub plug in his hand, twisting his wrist to make the 
small chain spin. He sighed, spun his beret around, and took a deep 
breath. 


"| choose you! Copyright Infringement!" 


Hub | Boron Blisters » 


Boron Blisters 


Jakeob Aldon stared at her bedroom ceiling, her limbs in odd places 
and cold sweat beginning to soak into her clothes. She took a few 
deep breaths and arranged her limbs in a bit more of an orderly 
fashion before stealing a look at her alarm clock. 5:38AM. Three 
hours of sleep. Yay. Stupid dream, waking her up. She was pretty 
sure it was a dream. She pulled at the elastic of her shorts and was 
very uncharacteristically glad to see a penis. 


"Uh... what are you doing?" Finnegan looked down at her from his 
seat in front of the computer. His eyes were starting to redden and 
were beginning to grow small black bags under them. 


Aldon released her waistband and squirmed slightly when it 
snapped against her. "Nothing. Dream. Just checking." 


Finnegan's shoulders sagged. "Oh. Are you okay?" 
"Yeah, just- not the usual one. It was... weird." 


Finnegan pushed himself away from his desk. "Do you want to talk 
about it? | know you don't usually like to, but if this was different..." 


"No, really, I'm fine. Don't worry about it." Aldon rolled off her bed 
and stood. "Anyway, what are you... What is all over you?" 


Now that the grogginess was wearing off, Aldon could see dozens of 
pentagonal... silvery-gray blister-looking things jutting from 
Finnegan's skin. Finnegan lifted an arm and stared at one of the 
various blisters. "Boron crystals. It's on you, too." 


"What-" Sure enough, boron crystals were covering her. "Is this why 
I'm having weird, random mini-dreams? Because you're playing 
some weird music?" 


"| doubt it." Finnegan shrugged. "Relax. It's not dangerous. A friend 


said she needed some boron, | was playing with these CDs, and 
one produces boron. The CD is almost over, anyway." 


Aldon grabbed one of the disks off his desk. It was labeled "The 
Absolute Absolute Absolute Absolute BEST of The 5th 


was, but she was not currently enjoying their music. In fact, she was 
pretty sure it was the worst- 


"Wow, that was real cool," they both said in unison as the music 
stopped. 


"No, goddammit, that was not cool," Aldon immediately said. "This is 
aussie shit, isn't it? How many of those CDs have you played?" 


"That's the only one. Relax, Allie. | Know you don't like them, but | 
did the research. Just pull the crystals off. See?" He held one of the 
crystals between his thumb and forefinger. "C'mon, you know how 
careful | am." 


Aldon mentally stumbled, dropping any pent up anger she had been 
carrying. "Yeah... sorry. Dream just shook me up, | guess." 


Finnegan collected both their crystals in a pile on his desk. He 
sighed and scratched at his jaw. "You sure you don't want to talk 
about it?" 


She gestured at her everything with jerky hand movements. "I'm just 
sick of this shit, Finn. Talking about it will do fuckall." 


They remained in place for a few moments, Finnegan sitting with his 
arm on the desk and Aldon standing within arm's reach. Finnegan 
started to open his mouth as if to say something, and instead just 
sighed. 


"I'm sorry, Allie." 


The look on his face made her feel like a fishing line had gotten 
snagged on her spleen. "Don't blame yourself, man. Please? | feel 
shitty enough without also having to worry about you worrying about 
me." 


Finnegan groaned slightly as he lifted himself from his chair. He held 
out both arms and slowly advanced on Aldon. "C'mere." 


"No, Finn, don't-" The hug was unavoidable. Auburn whiskers 
scratched at the crook of her neck, and without anywhere else to go 
she knew her only option was to reciprocate. A few moments 
passed before she mumbled, "Thanks." 


He released her only to grasp her shoulders. "Can | do anything 
else?" 


"Yeah, go to bed. You look like shit." 


He laughed as his hands slipped off her shoulders. "Because you 
had so much beauty sleep. Fine, off | go. What about you?" 


She headed for the door to her little studio. "I'm just gonna go sculpt, 
| think. G'night, Finn." 


"Night, Allie. Wake me if you need anything." 


Several hours later, Aldon regarded her latest work from her seat of 
an overturned paint bucket. It was a life-sized female made of 
anomalous clay. She couldn't decide if she was happy with it. Was 
the bust the right size? Were the hips too wide? She knuckled her 
cheek and ground her teeth together. 


She sighed and groaned and pinched her cheek in frustration. She 
wasn't sure what its flaw actually was, but it just didn't measure up to 
the image she had in her mind before starting. Maybe it was 
because she just made it. A little time away from it would let her 
appreciate it for what it was. Hopefully. 


She went to the sink and washed off the errant clay from her hands 
and forearms. She rubbed her fingers together under the running 
water, and for some reason they felt unnaturally large. Something 
between a sigh and a groan left her mouth. After a few slow breaths 
she looked up to the mirror on the wall. 


Another sigh escaped her and she finished washing her hands. 
"Gonna be one of those days, eh." It wasn't so much a question as a 


resigned statement. 


A small glance at the statue provoked an urge to smash it, to rid 
herself of its existence and to just start anew. Maybe she'd show 
Finnegan. Even he'd be able to tell if it was horrible. But what if it 
really was? She wasn't sure if she could handle having something 
she was so emotionally invested in shot down. It wasn't just 
something she made, it was a part of her. 


Her stomach untwisted itself slightly to let out a groan. Hunger was a 
blessing at this point. Anything to get her mind on something else. 
She left the statue where it was, in the center of the workroom. She 
flicked the lights off and slipped outside her little workshop. 


Finnegan lay on his bed. Earbuds plugged both ears, leading down 
into his pocket. His signature beret covered his face, his chest 
moving slowly enough to suggest he was still sleeping. Aldon shut 
the door as quietly as possible, and took care not to make any 
unnecessary noise as she navigated the room toward his mattress. 


She took notice of Copper, the little golem she had recently created, 
was standing on Finnegan's desk. Next to Copper was a second 
golem Aldon had never seen before. It looked a lot like the boron 
crystals, and was even standing in the same place Finnegan had left 
them. The limbs of the boron golem retained the pentagonal shapes, 
though its head was a sphere with five pentagons drilled into it. 
Aldon hadn't really expected her first attempt at creating sapience 
to... be able to create more sapience, but neat. 


She moved on to more pressing issues and gently lifted the beret to 
reveal Finnegan's hairy mug. After collecting herself and forcibly 
ignoring any possible issues, she pushed her middle finger against 
her thumb, her hand shaking as it neared his face. A monstrous flick 
made contact with the Irishman's nose, violently waking him from his 
peaceful slumber. Finnegan yelled incoherently, his thrashing limbs 
missing the retreating Aldon. He collected himself when he realized 
he wasn't actually dying, taking the time to don his hat. He took a 
deep breath as if to say something poignant and then simply offered 
Aldon his middle finger. 


"I'm hungry,” Aldon said. "Are you hungry?" 


await him 
outside , where 


they will 
[REDACTED] 
and partake in 
the loot. 
Definitions of | <1% to brundle To show 
words or idioms about (v) markedly less 
referring to activity than 
classified doing nothing, 
subjects or after Brundle, a 
events pet mass of 
cellular matter of 
Dr. 4 


It is of note that individual instances of SCP-566 differ in ~20% of 
their contents, with no clear pattern in the distribution of the 
differences. As of now, 56 instances of SCP-566 have been 
contained (see Addendum 566-1 for salient content samples). 


Recovery Log: First known instance of SCP-566 was recovered 
fromthe house of J. F __ , after his unsuccessful attempt to follow 
SCP-566 definition of "to boscovise" (See Addendum 566-1), which 
resulted in him splitting into 16 ambulatory, sentient segments. 


SCP-566 was reclassified as Safe after [REDACTED] led to the 
recovery of additional instances of SCP-566, which differed in 
content from SCP-566-1, resulting in the need for a systematic 
containment procedure not consistent with the Anomalous item 
classification. 


Addendum 566-1: SCP-566 Contents Database 
Addendum 566-2: Incident 566-1 


On 10/27/2012, a catalog arrived at Site 10, which 
currently houses SCP-566. There was no return address 
provided. Its front cover consisted of the text "Living 
Language Linguists' League" and the company logo. An 
attached note read 

"Heartfelt greetings, friends of the written word. Although 


"Really? For food? You did that for food?" 


"You said to wake you up if | needed anything. | need to eat. Where 
do you want to go?" 


"Let's look at how much money we have." Finnegan pulled out his 
wallet and displayed its contents. "Oh, look. I'm broke. | imagine 
your wallet's equally unencumbered. Where might we find 
sustenance given our current financial situation?" 


Aldon managed a smile. "Is the answer the pizzeria? | bet the 
answer is the pizzeria. The answer is usually the pizzeria when you 
start talking like a wordy doucher." 


"The answer is indeed the goddamn pizzeria. Again." 


"God bless employee discounts." 


Spicy Crust Pizza was a small, supposedly local pizzeria. For the 
most part, this was true. John Ericson was a local man who had 
bought out the place from another local man. While Ericson 
operated his business like anyone else would, he did not actually 
make any money from the pizzeria directly. Instead, what would 
have normally been his money was funneled into an account that 
dozens of other supposedly small businesses pumped their owner's 
earnings into. Superficial Corrective Procedures; internet sensation 
Silly Crab Productions; even the lesser known Scalpels, Chains and 
Presents Ltd. The organization behind this bank account then paid 
Ericson and his kind their actual paychecks. 


Unaware of all this, a certain employee entered Spicy Crust Pizza 
with a friend in tow. Aldon ordered two drinks and a large meat 
lover's, and ravenous duo forked over what little cash they had. 
They ate within the pizzeria, as they usually did. There wasn't much 
room in their apartment. While they technically had a kitchen, it was 
usually empty and was too small to house a table. The living room 
was too packed, and they were too neurotic to bring food into their 
respective work areas. So they sat at a table by the glass outer wall, 
watching pedestrians hustle and vehicles bustle as they ate. 


"You ever get the feeling you're being watched?" Finnegan asked 
through a mouthful of spicy crust. 


"No. Why?" 


"Because we're being watched." Finnegan sipped at his soda, his 
gaze focused over Aldon's left shoulder. "Or you are, at least. 
There's a man and a woman sitting at that table, and they've been 
staring at you since they walked in. They're not very subtle."