On the back of Carter's wheelchair, Franklin gazed sightlessly 
through milky eyes, his body twitching spasmodically every few 
seconds. Blood ran through clear tubes that extended from his back 
into Carter. His heart, fatigued though it was through working for two 
bodies, pumped steadily. The iron rings that suspended him to the 
chair squeaked slightly, as an involuntary muscle spasm twitched 
the stump of the limb it was attached to. Perspiration gleamed on 
the scar from his lobotomy. 


"...Back to business." 


D-94923: What do you mean, it's not ready? 


SCP-949-1: Sorry kids, Sammy has to go now! 
Goodbye! 


<End Log> 


Closing Statement: After the interview, SCP-949-1 fled 
at a remarkable speed. 


Facility Log 949-1 


Facility Name: 'Hook a Duck!’ 

Maintaining SCP-949-1 Instance: ‘Frank the Fox' 
Facility Details: Facility contains several animate duck 
toys which the subject must retrieve from a central pool 
area using a hook. Duck toys demonstrate panic and 
pain when ‘hooked’. When subject succeeded in 
retrieving three animate duck toys, the maintaining 
SCP-949-1 rewarded them with a large teddy bear. 


Facility Name: ‘Spooky Manor’ 

Maintaining SCP-949-1 Instance: ‘Bertie the Bat’ 
Facility Details: Facility resembles a ‘haunted house’ 
attraction present in many regular amusement parks. 
Upon emerging from the facility, the subject appeared to 
have several limbs and a human head stitched to it. 
Subject was not aware of these additions until they were 
brought to its attention. The human head attached 
appeared to give the subject information on rides as they 
explored the park. 


Facility Name: 'Random River Rapids' 

Maintaining SCP-949-1 Instance: ‘Terry the Trout’ 
Facility Details: Facility appears to be a river ride similar 
to those used in regular amusement parks. Subject 
remained in the facility for thirty (30) minutes before 
emerging. The subject reported no abnormalities other 
than the presence of several sea creatures with 
seemingly randomly positioned limbs, eyes and gills. 


Tale of 13 


The following document was recovered on a raid of a Serpents 
Hand safehouse in , Indiana. It was labeled as a fragment of a 
larger document, known in occult circles as 'The Book of Beginnings' 
or ‘The Book of Foundations.’ Recovery of the rest of this book has 
been labeled as a high priority by O5-6. The document has been 
translated from the original Coptic Egyptian, and may contain 
mistranslations. Where other translations may apply, the other 
options have been offered. 


but the days of Chaos have always been numbered 

for it is Order which always comes as has been fortold 

out of the (swirling) Chaos did come One who sought less not more 
and this One did (bend) his will to nothing but Order 


but Order welded by One of Chaos leads to more Chaos 

and so the one did seek out more, to bestow his (gifts/curse/body) 
those that would aid him 

and two who would betray him 


first did he go to the (House) where another of Order and Chaos did 
dwell 

he spoke to the other and offered of himself 

the other did agree to aid in his (quest/task) 

but took no part of the One 


then did he seek out a man of stoney (demeanor/mind) 
whom could make numbers dance to his whim 

the One did take of his head 

did make of himself a [INDECIPHERABLE] 

did place himself upon that brow 

to show what really was 


the third was found in the (gutter/undercity) 
drunk on lies 
the One gave of his mouth 


so his teeth might (bite/injure/hold) Chaos 


he plucked forth his eye 
that she of the (unknown/misplaced) mind 
might see for once 


the One sought out metal from the (stars/sky/blood) 

and did forge of it a blade 

he set his own fingers to it as a hilt 

before bestowing it upon the (multiple/shattered/divided) mind 
and did (best bestow sanity flames poured hunting sphere) 


his muscles were braided together into a stout ring 

and he went down amongst the (unbelievers/heretics/lesser beings) 
[INDECIPHERABLE] 

[INDECIPHERABLE] 

[INDECIPHERABLE] 


Fountains of blood 

hidden behind sheets of (evil/nothing) 
the birthing cries of a new god 

decry the pain of 

one betrayed who waits not 

with the arm of the One in her hair 


[INDECIPHERABLE] 

of his shin 

a stout defense 

against 

those who die but do not end 


and of his skin were tanned boots 

that wherever the walking man should stand 

the world would stop moving 

and be unknown to the Chaos that (breeds/devours/replaces) 


to the betrayer he offered his ribs 

of no use but in hiding 

for those that dwell in (darkness/shadow/outdoors) 
look not on the betrayed 


wearied, the One sought respite in his favored one 
but she too did ask of his body 

that she might hear the Chaos when it called 

and know its true form 


lastly did he give of his heart 
to she who returns 

time and again 

and the advice of ages 

for she might know it 


the One did look upon what he had wrought 

the (beginning/foundation) of those who would impose order with his 
body 

and he was pleased 

and did he hide himself away, that they might 

do his bidding 


and he forsaw the gathering (animate building/warehouse/plant) 
that would raise and create those he had given himself to 
even if they did not know it 


darkness comes 
light to follow 

be known to it 
and secure 


The last page is ripped, the ending of the document unknown. 


Tales From the Bright Side Chapter 1.5 


Tales from the Bright Side 1.5 


Intermission: Back to the Return of the 
Son of the Future Strikes Back 


3125 


The young man blinks as the VR helmet rises, attempting to sort 
through the various memories now in his head. His furrowed brow 
turns towards his waiting teacher. "I don't grok, sir." 


The old man leans on his staff, his own head above the skull that 
tops it. "Go on." 


"What is 'God'?" The student can find no equivalent reference in his 
studies. 


"Outmoded concept. Creator Myths." The man smiles, with a twinkle 
in his eye. "Anything else?" 


"682. Still active. No solution?" 


"No, sadly." The man clucks under his breath. "No solution. Keep 
studying." 


Once more, the boy dons the helmet, submerging himself in his 
studies. His teacher watches him for a moment, then glances at the 
yellowed skull that tops his staff. "| don't know, Kondraki, they just 
don't make them like you anymore. | should be glad... but | miss the 
challenge." 


End Intermission 


Tales From The Bright Side 1 


Tales From The Bright Side 


Chapter 1: Waiting on God... oh! 


"| wish to again formally register my objections to this line of 
experimentation." | said, addressing my comment to the turned back 
of one Dr. Samet, an up-and-coming new researcher here at the 
Foundation. He seemed to think that the appropriate methods for 
advancement within our ranks was to insinuate himself with the 
Overseers. No one likes an ass-kisser. 


"And, again, your objections are noted, 963; however, | have the full 
support of O5-1 on this matter. SCP-682 is simply too dangerous, 
we must try all possible outcomes." | bristled when he called me by 
a number. Why do they always make the same mistake? 


"Mister Samet, my name is Dr. Bright. This," and | held out the 
amulet currently glued to my palm, "is SCP-963. Please refrain from 
mixing the two up, or | will have Grangan there shoot you in the foot. 
No hard feelings, but I'm sure you understand." A small smile crept 
across my features as | spoke, gesturing to one of my small crew of 
assistants. Unlike certain other members of the Senior Staff, | had 
never actually named the Junior Staff who had fallen under my wing, 
but the other staff had taken to calling them the Lucky Bunch, and it 
seems to have stuck. The name seems to reference the fact that 
researchers under my care tend to live longer, my own obsession 
with games of chance, and, quite possibly, a dig at my sometimes 
simian nature. Amusing, I'm sure. 


Samet glanced uncomfortably at my underling, before turning his 
attention back to me. "Nevertheless, Ni-" | cleared my throat, noting 
from the corner of my eye as Grangan slipped his hand into his 


inside coat pocket. "- Bright, We must-" Again, | interrupted his 
speech, in an effort to correct the fellow. 


"Dr. Bright. Only those who work with me on a regular basis are 
allowed to drop the title. And you will not be here long enough to 
work with me on a regular basis." Samet paled visibly at my words. 


"Is that a threat?" He questioned, anger in his voice. 


"No, merely good odds. You see, this ridiculous undertaking of yours 
has little to no chance of succeeding. The odds are-" | glanced 
sideways where my primary assistant already had the book out and 
waiting. English had been working for me long enough to anticipate 
my needs. A quick glance at the numbers was all | needed to refresh 
my memory. "Five hundred and twelve to one against this first plan 
of yours working. In fact, the only one who seems to have put any 
money on this working is-" | paused to recheck the numbers. "- A 
dead man. Ha, ha, very funny. It doesn't matter. 343 will not-" 


"DR. BRIGHT! | do not need your negative attitude, or your 
predictions of doom. What | need YOU to do is go in THERE, and 
ask your fellow SCP to assist us in this manner. Will you or won't 
you do your assigned job?" The cracks had begun to show in 
Samet's armor. Not someone who would last long. | had money on 
him leaving within the week. But, for this situation, he technically, 
barely, outranked me. So, | would do it. 


"Of course." | nodded my head, steeled myself, and walked through 
the door into 343's domicile. Just being in his presence, set my teeth 
on edge. The feelings of calm and contentment attempted to flow 
into me, but | resisted. It's hard to be gloomy when the world is 
trying to make you happy, but I've had longs years of practice. 
Especially with... him. 


| think the bit that most disturbs me about 343 is how, no matter 
what | try, no matter how much | tell myself it's a trick, he ALWAYS 
looks just like George Burns to me, cigar in one hand, martini in 
another. He says it's to put me at ease, but nothing about this 
creature puts me at ease. He's too much, tries too hard. 


"Jack," He said to me, sad eyes watching as | entered the room. "I'm 


glad to see you back. Are you ready to talk some more?" 


"SCP-343. You have been held by the Foundation for several years 
now, and have yet to prove yourself worth the effort.” | ignored his 
question. "Therefore, it has been determined that you be used to 
attempt the decommissioning of a more dangerous SCP. Do you 
understand?" 


"You know Jack, | had such high hopes for you. You were created 
so bright, ha ha, so gifted. There were plans, still are plans, for you 
to do great things. But you need to get out of here. They're 
destroying you, Jack. You used to be such a good boy." He had the 
mannerisms down perfect, even the gruff George Burns voice. The 
voice, the smoke, even the current look of his room, all designed to 
make me receptive to him. But | wouldn't have any of it. He was an 
SCP, a creature, a monster, and by God, he would not take me so 
easily. 


"You may refer to me as Dr. Bright. No one calls me... that any 
more." Not for decades. "Will you assist in this endeavor, or will | 
have to impose sanctions upon you?" | stared into his eyes, refusing 
to look away. The longer | held eye contact, the smaller his smile 
became, until there was no trace of it left. He took a deep drag on 
his cigar, almost but not quite frowning. 


"You have become an abomination Jack. More monster than 
human, bound to that thing." He gestured at 963, and | could have 
sworn | felt it tingle. "| should remove you from it, return you to your 
proper thread. Make you human again." For a moment, my thoughts 
lifted, hope at the thought that | might be rid of the curse, that | might 
finally die. But no. | clamped down on my emotions, refusing to 
break eye contact. He would or he wouldn't, but | doubted he could. 
"No. You'll do so much more with it. Very well, Jack, | will help you 
with whatever this is. If you say please." 


| could tell he thought | wouldn't. That it was beneath me. But | 
wouldn't have Samet claiming | undermined his efforts. "343, please 
assist us." 


His eyebrows raise, a fraction of an inch, but | saw it. | had surprised 
him. Good. He needed it. Needed to be shook up a little bit. "Very 


well." 


Later, | stood in the observation booth, watching 348 in the 
containment room below. He had not asked what he was to do, and 
gave every indication that whatever it was, he would deal with it. So, 
| had chosen not to tell him what he was dealing with. Let God do 
what he will. 


Dr. Samet stood smugly at my side, gloating without saying a word. 
He believed he had won the argument, and | felt no need to 
disabuse him of that notion. This would still be a failure. 343 did not 
have what it took to take care of 682. 


"Are you prepared, 343?" Samet spoke into the microphone. Below 
us, 343 gave a thumbs up. Without any further to do, Dr. Samet 
pressed the button on the console, and the airlock cycled open, 
releasing 682. 


The reptile roared into the room, charged straight through the center 
to throw itself against the doors opposite. It had escaped often 
enough to know the drill, and the most likely chance of escape. The 
only surprising event would be the fact that in so doing, it charged 
straight through 343, without seeming to touch him at all. 343, for his 
part, continued to stare at the open airlock door, expectantly. He 
glanced from the door, up to us, and then back at the door, before 
speaking out. "Well? Are you going to send this thing out, or should | 
head in?" 


| smiled to myself, watching as 682 continued its assault upon the 
second airlock. With a smirk of my own, | took the microphone from 
the slack hands of Dr. Samet. "Close your mouth, you'll get flies," | 
advised my fellow researcher, before addressing 343. "343, am | 
correct to understand that you see nothing in the room with you?" 


343 turned in a circle, eying the room, before looking up towards me 
once more. "There is nothing in the room with me, Jack. Are you 
feeling all right?" 


With a grin firmly planted on my face, | turn to Samet. "682 not 
neutralized. As predicted." 


"682°?" 343 called out, a brief flash of anger in his eyes. Between 
one moment and the next he is standing in front of me, somehow 
taller than me without changing his size, glaring down at me. "You 
brought me to 682?" | motioned behind his back at English, who 
quickly began the 682 containment procedures, flooding the room 
with acid. 


"Sure did, 343. Got a problem with that?" Anger, from God. With 
luck, he'd off me, and | wouldn't have to go through with the second 
part of this test. 


Instead, 343 simply turned his back on me. "He's not one of mine. 
Deal with him yourself." And stalked off through the wall. 


Dr. Samet, having regained his composure, turned to me with a 
snarl. "Fine. It didn't work. Doesn't matter. Get yourself ready 963, 
you're going in." 


| nodded to Grangan as | turned away to change bodies. The last 
thing | heard as the door slid shut behind me was the pleasant 
sound of a handgun going off in closed quarters. 


Next Time, on Tales From the Bright Side: 
We're Off To Be The Lizard! 


Tales of the Automaton: The Big Birdocalypse