D-3748 had known others who'd come back from testing with their 
eyes wide and their whole bodies shaking, some who had returned 
with strange and disturbing injuries, and of course, those who hadn't 
come back at all. He felt a twinge of anger as he looked at this 
stranger who claimed to be in control of all that. Being alone in the 
world was one thing, but being whatever he was — a cross between 


a prisoner and a guinea pig, maybe — couldn't possibly be any 
better. 


05-6 continued. "Some of you are clones. We don't do too much of 
that, though. The process is overly complex, and then we have to 
spread them out so we don't end up with an entire cell full of 
lookalikes who'll figure out what's going on." They reflexively felt 
their chest pocket again. They were no longer huddled into a ball; 
D-3748 realized he hadn't noticed the room getting warmer, but now 
it was a suitable room temperature, and he stretched his legs out in 
front of him. Maybe the cold had just been to wake them up. 


And what happens if someone does figure it out? D-3748 almost 
asked, but the answer came to him too quickly: they get their 
memory erased, that's what. They're forced back into ignorance. 
Everything stays in its place. What on earth had he gotten himself 
into? Or was he born into it? The thought that he might exist solely 
for these people's interests repulsed him. Then again, it was true 
either way at this point, he realized with a surge of disgust. 


"Then there are the people who shouldn't exist in the first place. 
Some anomalies output human beings." 


D-3748 couldn't take it anymore. "Human beings?" he burst out. 
"You think we're human beings? Because if you do, you might want 
to tell your Foundation to treat us like it. We're not people. We don't 
even have our own names. D-3748. What the hell kind of name is 
that?" he scoffed, echoing his own thought from earlier. He threw up 
his hands. "Sure, we've got food and shelter, that's great. So do zoo 
animals. So do lab rats. I've seen the looks. | know what you guys 
think of us. We're not people. We're numbers. We're tools. We're... 


disposable." He paused for breath. "Is that what the D stands for? Is 
it?" 


The O5 was calm, which only irritated him more. "No," they said. 
"That's a common misconception. We initially designated personnel 
classes by letters, and when we switched to a numerical system, D 
was the only one we stuck with." They paused. "Your feelings are 
misguided, but not unfounded. Yes, we do consider you numbers in 
a filing system. To do otherwise would be..." O5-6 paused again, 
but didn't continue. 


[REDACTED] brand (said brand ceased production during the 
late 1990's). The gel contained in the bottle includes a variety 
of enzymes which are capable of denaturing the proteins in 
human hair. 

¢ Thirty-seven (37) knives, of assorted make and model 

* [REDACTED, SEE ADDENDUM 985-003] 


Addendum 985-002: Results of test 985-A 
Areas under observation: runway access, terminal access 


Test protocols: Researchers attempted to feed a wireless camera, 
concealed inside an article of SCP-985-1, along the runway portion 
of the conveyor into the unobserved middle section. 


Test results: Camera ceased transmitting upon entering the 
unobserved portion. Pieces of the camera were later found inside an 
item of SCP-985-1 taken from the terminal section of the conveyor, 
the device having apparently been destroyed via extreme blunt 
force. No data could be recovered from the camera's internal 
memory. 


Addendum 985-003: Results of test 985-B 
Areas under observation: conveyor system, terminal access 


Test protocols: Researchers fed a camera, connected via 100 
meters of high-tensile cable to an on-site display, from the conveyor 
system through terminal access and back out to the unobserved 
runway access (the runway having been cleared in advance of the 
test). 


Test results: Camera successfully looped around the terminal 
section and back into the conveyor area. As it approached the exit to 
the runway access area, however, the feed from the camera was 
noted as becoming "fuzzy" and suffering loss of detail. Upon exiting 
the observed areas, the feed abruptly cut out, but the cord remained 
intact and continued to unreel. After approximately five minutes, the 
cable reached its maximum extent, simultaneous with the 
introduction of an instance of SCP-985-1 to the conveyor system. 
This instance was opened by researchers (survivors reported 


"Would be what?" D-3748 demanded. "Humane? Normal? You 
people are freaks, you know that? What is it with the stuff you keep 
locked up? Who even are you?" 


"It would pose a risk of developing emotions regarding you. We 
recycle you as long as we can, but we can hardly afford to care 
about your well-being." 


D-3748 stared, not quite expecting such open callousness. "So 
you're aware of it? You do this on purpose? You just sit there and... 
block out any part of reality that makes you guilty of anything?" 


"We're no saviors," O5-6 said, face and tone hardening. "We do 
what we have to. Of course you don't understand the scope of what 
we deal with. Do you know," they said, starting to echo D-3748's 
vehemence, "what would happen if we didn't do our jobs? 
Everything. Total obliteration of the universe. A complete rewriting of 
history. The reduction of humanity to a lesser species. War. Death. 
Plague. Famine. We stop it all, and we do it whether or not you are 
there to be part of it." 


A moment passed. 


"Wow," D-3748 said matter-of-factly. "I've never heard so much 
bullshit in my life." 


Deflating slightly, O5-6 sighed. "| may have gotten ahead of myself 
there," they said. "They say a lot of things about power. How it 
comes with great responsibility. We...perhaps tend to think of 
ourselves as something greater than we are." They sighed again. 
"Not that it means much for us. We're thirteen faceless 
administrators pulling strings we can't see the ends of. We don't see 
what we do — what our people do. We don't even meet with them in 
person, not below el-four. We're just as inhuman as you are." 


"What makes you say that?" D-3748 scoffed. 


"We don't think about it often. We're too preoccupied to reflect on 
our existence. But when you work your way up through the ranks, 
your job becomes your life." The words came out erratically, as if 
O5-6's mouth were running faster than their brain. "We have to stay 


removed — from everything. People respect us because they don't 
know us as people, only as a string of numbers and letters anda 
blacked-out silhouette on a monitor. We probably had lives before 
this. We probably had names." They patted their pocket again. 
D-3748 didn't need to be told that this was definitely not a rant he 
was supposed to hear. "| don't remember mine." The O5 sighed yet 
again. "| don't know you all by number. | couldn't tell you where 
you're from. But on the slim chance you were a criminal..." 


"What could | possibly have done?" finished D-3748. "What could | 
have done that's worse than what you do? Using everyone as 
objects for some higher purpose you won't even tell us about... 
because | get the feeling we're not the only ‘disposable’ ones. Your 
guards and your scientists and your field agents, they're all just 
game pieces to you. You sit in your tower and you play God." He 
shook his head incredulously. "And you made yourself this way. You 
gave up your lives and your names to be oh-five-something who 
used to be a person who's dead now." 


"We're more alike than we think, aren't we?" mused O5-6, with a 
slight laugh. "No names. No lives. No freedom. No moral code." 
They raised a hand to stop D-3748 from interrupting to say that he 
had a moral code, thank you very much. "No," they said, suddenly 
sounding sharp. "Knowing the difference between right and wrong 
means nothing. Your morality is based on what you're told to do and 
the consequences if you don't. That's it." With each phrase, the O5 
sat up straighter and seemed to stride further back into their 
professional, 'removed' demeanor. 


D-3748 opened his mouth, but he didn't say anything. Memories of 
his work for the Foundation rolled through his mind. How many 
times had he gone along with things that struck him as unethical, 
just because it was his job? Just because he'd seen a few people 
shot for disobeying? Just because someone with a name fold him to 
do it? But that was exactly it, wasn't it? Nobody gave the Ods their 
orders..."I'm not like you,” he said, and folded his arms. 


O5-6's eyes shot from his face to his attire. "No. No you're not," they 
said with a self-righteous finality. /’m more human than you'll ever 
be, D-3748 swore he could hear them thinking. Funny. He was 
pretty sure it was the other way around. 


He stared ahead at the wall, scanning it from top to bottom. The 
pattern was indecipherable. He was pretty sure it wasn't a pattern at 
all, that the colors weren't in any uniform order, but that was it. The 
top and the bottom were the only sections that were distinguishable, 
with borders touching the blank white floor and ceiling; the rest of it 
was a mass of tiles. He shook himself. He was looking for a 
distraction, not a metaphor. He closed his eyes and tried to go back 
to sleep. He thought he might have felt a pinch in his neck, but he 
ignored it. 


He looked forward to not remembering any of this later. 


Unusual 


It's not easy being unusual. 
Especially when you're twelve years old. 


Especially when, due to you being unusual, the people in lab coats 
have you locked away in an empty metal room. 


Stacy never considered herself to be different from others. A normal 
kid, developing even a little bit slower than her peers. The sickly, 
frail, yet unbelievably smiley girl was a joy to the world with all the 
attention she paid to it. Parents were fond of her, they spoiled her 
but weren't eager to let her near other people. "You will get ill for 
sure," they said. "It will hurt a lot and will be very boring." 


Home schooling, a few pen pals whom Stacy would never have to 
hide from. They shared secrets, although her friends were envious 
of her - their parents weren't nearly as lenient. 


On her twelfth birthday Stacy made a wish to visit the sea. Of 
course, her parents asked about what she wished for, and the girl 
wasn't able to keep her little wish secret. Her father frowned, her 
mother made a sad smile. Stacy spent quite some time watching 
their outlines from beyond her room's door, hugging her large 
stuffed penguin toy. Dad was flailing his arms around, Mom was 
trying to calm him down. Finally, her fair mane appeared through the 
ajar door. 


Having heard their reply, Stacy couldn't help but cry. With joy of 


course. Her wish was granted. 


It was by the sea when she realized why her parents were afraid to 
let her go anywhere. 


It was beautiful - any new and unfamiliar place seems beautiful to a 
child. White sand with half-buried lumpy rocks, waves of dark water 
rolling against the shore, brightly-green algae and seashells - all of 
that made Stacy completely overjoyed. 


They were living in a small house on a hill, rarely visited by anyone 
else. They had to walk to get to the sea, and every time these 
‘walks’ brought the girl utter joy. Still, it was the sea she loved more 
than everything. 


They always went there early in the morning or late at night, with no 
one around. Mom still adhered to her explanation about people 
carrying atrocious diseases around, and Stacy did not argue. 
Instead, she gathered sea shells and pretty glassy rocks - not as 
neat as the cabochons in her mother's stain glass displays, but that 
didn't make them less pretty. Stacy kept on swimming far away from 
the shore and going straight to the bottom - there was always 
something interesting lying there. A couple of times she encountered 
lazy medusae and obtuse fish, being wary of the unfamiliar 
creatures. But that didn't stop her from gathering. 


And then, in one day, it all ended. Stacy had just emerged from the 
sea with her latest find in hands - this really huge conch only 
recently inhabited by a mollusk. Yet, instead of her mom and dad, a 
kind red-haired woman with weird glassy eyes came toward her. At 
first Stacy was deathly afraid - her parents always told her how 
dangerous people were - but the woman told her that her mom and 
dad were called off to discuss something important and work- 
related, and they were asked to give her a lift back home. Weird as it 
was, Stacy believed her. 


They were riding in a big white car with this red-haired woman and a 
grim-looking man in a pretty-looking black outfit. Stacy liked soldiers 
and she liked to look at parades on the TV, but the operative paid 
her no heed and kept looking forward with a sullen look. 


After they got there, the woman made a phone call which the girl did 
not understand. There were too many weird words that mom and 
dad never said. 


"Already? That's wonderful. Tell recon the job is done. Yes, have 


Sakharov interview those two, pick their brains, amnesticize and let 
go. No, I'm being serious. Yeah, I'm aware of that. OK, have it under 
my responsibility. Yes, C... Third, programmable. Oh, and there's a 
coffee for all of you if you visit the neighbors too." 


The red-haired woman turned towards Stacy with a frightened look 
that was quickly replaced by a kind smile. The girl was clueless as to 
what this "C" was and what "programmable" means, and she smiled 
back. 


Stacy never got to see her parents again. 


There were a lot of doctors. She was being sounded, tickled and 
examined. Stacy kicked back and refused to give in, but then they 
gave her this candy which made her sleep very quickly. Every time, 
she awoke to some tube in her arm or to a doctor listening to her 
heartbeat. And she was irritated. 


Then there was a lot of talking. She was talked to by that red-haired 
woman, and later on - by a grumpy old stooping fellow with similar 
glassy eyes. At first the girl was taking offense and called for her 
parents, but soon... She just got used to it. She was getting as many 
cartoons as she wanted, and she adapted surprisingly fast. She 
liked it there. 


But later came this very ominous man with glasses and told her 
there were "experiments" scheduled for today. Dad did say this word 
a couple of times, but Stacy never got the time to find out its 
meaning. The girl was asked to get into a pool, and the man's 
glassed stare was horrifying enough for her to comply. She felt safe 
in the water. Also there were her favorite seashells down there, 
which she liked to play with. She spent a lot of time in the pool and 
was eventually dragged back up. And they didn't show her any 
cartoons any more. 


"So tell me, Stacy dear, when did you learn to remain 
underwater for that long?" 


"| don't know, aunt Ann... Mom told me | always could. 
That everyone can do it." 


"Is that so? How do you do that? Could you tell me?" 
"| just hold my breath, that's all. There." 

"And don't you ever feel like breathing in?" 

"Nuh-uh." 

"Interesting..." 

"Aunt Ann, when will we go to watch cartoons?" 


"Wait a bit. We'll finish with the pool and you'll get to see 
all the cartoons you want." 


Later on, there was this empty room. They gave her a coloring book, 
told her to do as she always did in the water, and she complied. She 
was there long enough to cover the book completely. And she didn't 
draw a single breath - there was nothing to breathe with. 


Then there was another empty room and she finally got the cartoons 
she was promised. Stacy was staring at the screen and didn't even 
notice when the air became oxygen-free. Anyway, it was not like she 
knew what "oxygen" is. 


And it happened every day. Different rooms, different pools, different 
occupations and time spent.