After they had destroyed the Skyscraper's Spontaneous Combuster, 
as he was leaning in for a kiss with the redhead, Clef paused with 
his lips bare millimeters from hers, then leaned back and gestured to 
the door. 

"You can leave if you want," he said. 

He wasn't surprised when the girl bolted. 


Something was wrong. 


"Crow?" 

"Yes, Clef?" 

"... how many civilian casualties were there?" 

"None. They evacuated the place before we went in." 
"They evacuated ten city blocks in thirty seconds?" 
"Of course. The cops are very efficient." 


"... Six Cops can't even knock on ten city blocks worth of doors in 
thirty seconds. Much less evacuate everyone within." 


"Well, maybe they just weren't around. Maybe we just got a lucky 
break." 


"Are we sure there were no civilian casualties?" 
"Of course there aren't any. Do you see any?" 


"No, | don't. But... | just have this feeling that something is wrong." 


It was during the middle of his ninth swordfight against SCP-076 that 
Clef realized what the problem was. 


Life was... too exciting. 


There was no way that life could ever be this exciting, he realized. 
The life of an SCP Foundation agent could be interesting... but a 
firefight and a life or death struggle every day? Not a single day 
passing during which he did not battle for the sake of the world? Not 
a single day in which all he did was paperwork and file reports? 


He was a researcher who spent more time bashing in people's 
heads with a crowbar than he did doing any actual research. 


After he kicked Able over the edge of the Grand Canyon. Dr. Clef 
took a moment to think back to the last day he could remember ever 
being bored... 


.. oh. 
Oh. 
OH. 
That's what went wrong... 


And if that were true... 


"... Gears?" 
"Yes, Clef?" 


"... I'm thinking that maybe we shouldn't deploy against SCP-953 
this time." 


".. why?" 


"Because... in the end. With all the collateral damage we'll deal 
bringing her in... it would be less destructive just to let her eat a liver 
or two." 


"Are you saying that you're giving up?" 
"No! I'm just... look. Is this the only way?" 


"We are the Foundation. We secure. We contain. We protect. But if 
you're tired, | can send in Kondraki instead." 


"NO! No... I'll do it. | just... needed a moment to think." 


"Take all the time you need, Doctor Clef. You've done enough work. 
After all, the Foundation would fall apart without you." 


It is after he has thrown SCP-953 into the intake of the Boeing 747 
that Clef finally allows himself to grieve. 


He grieves for the dead bystanders he will never see. For the pain 
and chaos he knows he is causing, but cannot perceive. He grieves 
for the Foundation, fallen from grace, and for his friends, who know 
not what they do. 


He grieves for Dr. Alto Clef, trapped in a hell of his own creation. 
Damned to be badass for the rest of his life. 


« | HUB | » 


Sparkle Spectacular 


Bender's Day! 


The SCP Foundation's greatest (and only) holiday! It only comes 
once a year — except for last year when Bright slept through the 
first one and wanted a do-over. 


Bender's Day! 


A day when everyone smiles — in fact, it's the same smile! A big, 
shiny grin, complete with steaming hot identical teeth. 


Bender's Day! 


Parades through the corridors! Mass consumption of Class-A 
amnesiacs, which records seem to indicate is tradition! And, of 
course, the annual Site-19 SCP Sparkle Spectacular, broadcast live 
to Foundation staff and family worldwide through closed-circuit 
television. 


What a show! 


Children beg their parents for an extra hour before bedtime. D-Class 
beg their handlers for an extra day before termination. Tickets sell 
for millions — or, more commonly, are received free of charge with 
minor bloodstains. 


Bender's Day was special, alright, even if no-one on Earth could 
remember exactly why. There was no mystery about what made the 
Sparkle Spectacular special, though. It was the one time of the year 
when security classifications didn't matter, where even the lowliest 
of level-one workers got a chance to see into the world of the 
Foundation and witness the incredible beauty and wonder of the 
SCP items. One brief display, before they were once again locked 
away, safe and secure, to protect the world from the unimaginable 
power of the anomalous. 


Incident 670-1 
SCP involved: SCP-670 
Date: / / 
Location: SCP-670 containment area. 
Description: 


7:40 PM: Members of SCP-670 are 
consuming a polyester steak. SCP-670-3's 
eating implements slip out of its hands. 
SCP-670-3 suffers a small laceration on its left 
leg and attempts to conceal it. Other members 
of SCP-670 do not notice this laceration. 


8:10 PM: Members of SCP-670 are 
conversing while seated. SCP-670-3 stands to 
get up, but stumbles, revealing its injury. The 
other members of SCP-670 quickly approach. 


8:11 PM: SCP-670-1 and SCP-670-4 restrain 
SCP-670-3. SCP-670-2 begins to carefully 
remove outer clay layer from SCP-670-3. 
SCP-670-3 vocalizes its distress at this point, 
and continues to do so until 8:19 PM. 


8:13 PM: SCP-670-3's outer layer is 
completely removed. A stitched together inner 
layer of red cotton is visible. SCP-670-2 begins 
to unstitch this inner layer. 


8:15 PM: SCP-670-2 deposits unstitched 
cotton thread on the cell floor. Inner workings 
of SCP-670-3 are now visible, including the 
‘heart’ and ‘lungs’. SCP-670-2 begins 
unstitching the lungs. 


8:17 PM: SCP-670-2 deposits unstitched 
polyester thread from the lungs next to the 
cotton thread. SCP-670-3's attempts to escape 


"Heads up, dickweed!" Agent DeLaurier yelled. 


He booted an instance of SCP-131 in Dr Patil's general direction. 
The Eye Pod sailed through an open window and splattered on the 
pavement below. 


"DeLaurier!" Patil yelped, "What in hell is wrong with you? You have 
got to stop kicking Euclids around the office. Management counts 
those, you know." 


"Calm down, Patil," said DeLaurier, "It's a Safe. Besides, if 
something goes wrong, | can always just clone another one." 


The agent stepped into Dr Patil's office. He held two drinks in his 
hands. He took a sip from his own, which was in the standard paper 
cup, and set a luminescent white thermos down on Patil's desk. 


Dr Patil sighed, "Still, though. People are trying to work. | have like 
two hundred and fifty containment breach incident reports to fill out 
from this month alone." He gestured to the stack of forms on the 
desk beside him. 


"Patil, it's Bender's Day," said DeLaurier, "Nobody works on 
Bender's Day. The laws of physics take a break on Bender's Day. 
Relax. | brought you your coffee, just the way you like it: 'Doctor 
Patil's Favorite Drink’, Very Fine." 


Patil picked up the thermos, frowning. He could hear banging noises 
coming from the inside. 


"DeLaurier, | take my coffee Fine, not Very Fine," he said. DeLaurier 
shrugged. Patil held the thermos away from his face and cautiously 
unscrewed the lid. A tiny brown hand reached up over the rim. 


Patil slammed the lid back down, "Dammit, DeLaurier! It's another 
Coffee Man." 


"Oops. Sorry." 


"Apologising isn't going to erase my drink's consciousness, Agent." 


"You can run him through again on Rough," DeLaurier suggested. 
Patil rolled his eyes and started shaking the thermos violently. After 
about thirty seconds the banging noises were replaced by the slosh 
of hot dead Coffee Man, and Patil took a sip. He wrinkled his nose. 
The coffee was good — in fact, it was perfect, as specified — but 
the casual murder had left a bad taste in his mouth. He set the 
thermos down on the table and returned to the stack of forms. 


"Oh, for Clef's sake...." he said. His pen scribbled uselessly against 
the paper, leaving only a series of creases. "Bloody pen's run out of 
ink." 


"There's one," said DeLaurier, pointing to a white retractable pen 
lying on Patil's desk. 


Patil shook his head, "Better not. | think that kills family members. 
You couldn't loan me one, could you?" 


DeLaurier's face brightened. 


"Matter of fact, Retrieval brought this thing in today!" he said. He 
reached into a jacket pocket, and tossed out a pale green fountain 
pen. Patil caught it, and immediately felt ghostly shivers down the 
length of his arm as some unseen demonic force took control over 
his body. 


"Oh dear." he said. 

"What's wrong?" 

"The pen's moving all by itself," said Patil, "Using my body as a 
vessel. Scrawling out some eldritch message from the shadowlands 
that lie beneath the world of men." 

"Is it still filling out the form?" 


Patil looked down. 


Initial cause of breach 

Agent Oum was recklessly cavorting with a Keter class 
itTHERE IS A MALEVOLENT FORCE THAT HAS TORN 
THE WORLD ALL WILL PERISH ALL WILL SUFFER 


ESPECIALLY YOU PATIL AND YOUR TIE LOOKS SHIT 
AND YOU SM 


"More or less," he said. 


"Then | don't see the issue," DeLaurier shrugged, "Hey, | managed 
to get a ticket to the Sparkle Spectacular this year." 


"What? Are you serious?" spluttered Patil, "How the hell did you 
manage that?" 


"| was standing right next Agent See when he died. Grabbed the 
ticket out of his pocket!" grinned DeLaurier, "Full discount!" 


"That's very .... thrifty.” 


"But here's the even better news, dude. | swung by 038 on the way 
here, and..." DeLaurier reached into his pocket and pulled out two 
tickets. 


"Whaaaaaat!" 
"I know, right?" 


"Holy shit, DeLaurier!" Patil jumped up out of his seat and punched 
the air, "We're going to the Site 19 SCP Sparkle Spectacular!" 


"We're going to eat magic food!" said DeLaurier. 
"And see the senior staff!" 

"And watch skips blow shit up!" 

"And eat magic food!" 

"And see the senior staff!" 


"I've realised now that there's not actually a lot of variety at this 
event, but I'm still excited anyway!" Patil wnooped. He grabbed the 
stack of forms off his desk, and flung them out the window along 
with the possessed pen. 


Suggested containment procedure reform 


A SHIFT IN REALITY HAS OCCURRED THAT WILL 
TARNISH THE VERY NATURE OF HEY WHAT 
AAAAAAA PATIL YOU FUCK AAAAAAAAAAAAAA 
HELP ME OH SHIT SHIT SHITSHITSHITSHITHSHIT 


Patil and DeLaurier watched for a moment as the forms folded 
themselves into paper airplanes and swooped down to divebomb 
the splattered Eye Pod. Patil turned to DeLaurier. 


"Let's roll," he said. DeLaurier grinned and opened the door. The two 
stepped out into corridor, where they were met with the sprawled out 
corpse of a man covered with ears, blood oozing from his mouth and 
bulging eyes. DeLaurier snapped his fingers. 


"Oh, right!" he said, "Forgot to mention. Teddy Bear's turned evil 
now." 


They made it through the corridors without encountering any 
demonic teddy bears, and DeLaurier had decided that 1048 had 
probably stumbled into the teleportation pool or choked to death on 
a peanut or something. It had happened before. 


The security guard running admissions had barely even looked at 
their tickets, and had shown no suspicion at the fact that they were 
not only registered to a different agent, but also completely identical. 


"That was almost too easy," muttered Patil. 


"Well, we're not the Secure, Secure, Secure Foundation," DeLaurier 
whispered back, "And it is Bender's Day." 


They reached the entrance to the Sparkle Spectacular Grand 
Ballroom, which this year was located inside an anomalously 
enlarged broom closet. Patil put one hand on the doorhandle. 


"Have you ever been to one of these before?" he asked. 
"Never," said DeLaurier, "You?" 


"| dreamt about it once," Patil said, "But it was just a regular dream, 
not an anomalous dream, so it was likely inaccurate." 


"Lucky," said DeLaurier, "| only ever dream about a weird dude ina 
business suit telling me that the world is being twisted into a terrible 
caricature of reality. Now come on, let's do this thing!" 


Patil took a deep breath and opened the door. His jaw dropped, and 
beside him he heard DeLaurier gasp. 


The room was huge, cavernous, unbelievably, almost grotesquely 
massive. Patil knew the standard unit of measurement in these 
situations was football fields, but he had never been much of 
sportsman. Suffice it to say that you could have flown a helicopter 
around the ceiling without risk of disturbing any of the hundreds of 
people milling about on the floor. 


They had entered into the dining area of the room. Smaller tables 
were scattered around, surrounding a circular buffet area that 
seemed to contain mostly cakes. On the far side of the room, 
however many minutes walk away, there was a large stage, at the 
moment obscured by what appeared to be a projector screen, 
displaying festive images of some of the more amenable SCP items. 
As he watched, the image on the screen shifted from an orange blob 
bouncing gently up and down, to the front half of a white cat chasing 
an Eye Pod around and around in circles. As he looked closer, Patil 
could see that the edges of the screen were ragged, and pieces 
seemed to be moving away and reattaching somewhat randomly. 
The image shifted again, rippling outwards from the centre of the 
screen, and Patil realised what was going on. 


"It's the butterflies!" he said, "Kondraki's butterflies! Which means..." 


"Fuck yo' butterflies," DeLaurier said. He had noticed the buffet 
table, "They have infinite pizza here! Yes!" 


DeLaurier shoved Patil aside as he dashed off across the banquet 
hall. Patil looked around the room for a sight of the notorious doctor 
and legendary action hero, but Kondraki didn't seem to be present. 
In the approximate centre of the room, however, between the dining 
area and the stage, there was a strange white structure that didn't 
match the rest of the décor. It seemed to be made all of one 
contiguous piece, grown out of the floor. A spiralling stalk lead up to 
a round pod the size of a small room, towering high above the rest 


of the festivities. The sides and ceiling of the pod looked to be made 
of glass, or at least something transparent, but the angle made it 
impossible to see inside. In there, Patil was sure, was Kondraki, and 
probably the rest of the Senior Staff. 


People passing by the base of the stalk gave it a wide berth. 
Although it was rarely stated, there was a definite rule to working in 
Site 19: You don't fuck with the Senior Staff. 


You don't fuck with the Senior Staff. 


Patil followed DeLaurier over to the buffet table, where he had 
already amassed three plates of his own favourite pizza. He was 
explaining his strategy to the server, a surly German with freakishly 
long arms, who seemed entirely disinterested. 


"... and the candy's good, but if you can only take two, that's just 
going to confuse your appetite," said DeLaurier, "Better to be 
consistent, let your stomach know what the plan is. Keter Cakes are 
fools gold, obviously—" 


"Obviously," said the German. 


"— because there's an infinite supply. You can have Keter Cakes 
any day of the year, hell, the Foundation'll pay you overtime for it. 
You know how hard it is to book testing time with the infinite pizza? 
It's hard. Now, noodles are good usually, but | never really liked the 
special ones because my dad walked out when | was ten—" 


"Can't imagine why." 


"— and they usually have a good spread from the vending machine 
but you can't guarantee that they won't melt your tongue or turn you 
to ash or something,” DeLaurier said. Somehow, he had gone 
through five slices of pizza without ever having stopped talking. Patil 
was a little amazed. DeLaurier noticed him, "Hey Patil! | was just 
telling Mr Chirurg about my patented Bender's Day Banquet Buffet 
Battle Plan." 


Patil smiled uneasily. Mr Chirurg had a look in his eye that 
suggested DeLaurier was about to need an actual battle plan if he 


kept talking much longer.