As I'm sitting, drinking my coffee, trying to warm up in this diner in 
the middle of Nowhere, Wisconsin, Leo walks in. We exchange 
greetings, and he orders his own cup of coffee. We talk. Eventually, 
we reach an agreement over dinner. He'll get me into Russia for five 
grand. It's all | have, but it's worth it. Anything to get away from this 
place. 


After we finish our meals we argue over who will cover the tab. 
Eventually, | concede. | don't know why | was trying to turn down a 
free meal anyway. We walk outside, where Leo's SUV is already 
waiting. There are three men | don't recognize in there. Leonard 
introduces them to me as Simon, Harold, and George. The all look 
nervous. George asks Leonard if I'm the man they're helping to 
smuggle to Seattle. He says yes. Leo's words do nothing to calm the 
others. | ask Leonard, as an aside, why he didn't tell me about the 
others ahead of time, to which he responds it was a security risk. | 
decide not to ask whose security. 


We start driving. Eventually, we reach an isolated stretch of road— 


nothing around for miles. Leonard tells me that he and | will be 
changing vehicles, that he'll stay with me until the airport in Seattle. 
We get out, and the white SUV drives off. He hands me a flashlight 
and tells me to signal to a grove of trees in the distance. I'm 
signalling when | hear Leonard shift behind me. | start to turn around 
when— 


The guards are walking me back to my room, which means | have 
some time to check on Roderick. 


They're just driving, not talking. | didn't catch the others' names, but | 
don't think it matters. | don't think anything else is going to happen— 
No, wait, they're stopping. | can't hear who's saying what, but 
Leonard and Roderick are getting out. The SUV is driving off when 
Leonard hands something to Roderick. Then Leonard says 
something and Roderick starts waving the thing— | think It's a 
flashlight — at some trees. Then Leonard steps away and— NO!! 


BUREAU OF PARANORMAL AFFAIRS INTERNAL 
MEMORANDUM, DATED 2033/11/03 

RE: BEHAVIOR OF INMATE #864421 ON 2033/10/13 
TO: SENIOR SUPERVISOR HAILEY BARRETT, 
UNDERAGE ANOMALOUS PERSONS PROJECT 
CHIEF, ANOMALOUS PERSONS DETAINMENT SITE 
01 

FROM: CHIEF INVESTIGATOR GABRIEL ROWLEY, 
BUREAU OF PARANORMAL AFFAIRS INTERNAL 
RECORDS DEPARTMENT 

Ms. Barrett, 


| believe | have found the source of Inmate #864421's 
unexpected behavior on October 13. At approximately 
17:53 Mountain Time, Roderick X. Freeman, a person 
wanted by the US government for human rights 
violations in connection to his time employed with the 
now-defunct "SCP Foundation," engaged agents from 
the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Unusual Incidents 
Unit sent to apprehend him with small arms fire. Mr. 
Freeman was killed in the ensuing firefight. Of note is the 


fact that, in the transitionary period between SCPF and 
BPA custody of Inmate #864421, Mr. Freeman was 
Inmate #864421's primary caretaker. 

| believe this is an indication that Inmate #864421's 
abilities exceed what we've so far recorded. | 
recommend immediate testing to prove or deny this 
claim. If my suspicions are correct, | recommend 
increased security protocols, or, preferably, elimination of 
the subject. 


Sincerely, 
Chief Investigator Gabriel Rowley, United States Bureau 
of Paranormal Affairs Internal Records Department 


End of Line Hub 


Excerpt from Containment Specialist Transition Notes: SCP-3860 
Final Notes: 


While SCP-3860's behavior has been increasingly 
compliant in the preceding months, it's important to 
remember that he is a known chronic emotional and 
psychological manipulator. It's very likely this change in 
behavior is a ploy to garner leniency, and from there 
launch a containment breach. | strongly recommend that 
as more of SCP-3860's systems fail, containment 
measures be increased. As he slowly dies, he is likely to 
become increasingly desperate. Should a suitable 
opportunity present itself, | have no doubt he is going to 
seize it. Stay on guard and don't let him sweet-talk you 
into anything that could cause trouble. 


Take care and godspeed, 


Rose Labelle 


Series Overview: 


In the conclusion of the Anderson Robotics series, after decades of 
investigation, raids, and numerous agents lost, Vincent Anderson 
has been captured and remains in SCP Foundation custody at 
Site-19. With his systems failing, and time running out, it seems very 
likely his containment cell will prove to be his tomb. However, a 
splinter cell of Maxwellists has other plans for the cyborg... 


Tales: 


¢ Part 1: The Vanishing of Vincent Anderson 
¢ Part 2: Non-Volatile Memory 

Part 3: The Best Laid Plans 

Part 4: Volatile Memory 

¢ Part 5: End of Line 


Supporting Documents: 


* Anderson Robotics Hub 
* Site-64 Dossier 

¢ SCP-3560 

* SCP-3860 


« Family Disclosure Protocol | Anderson Robotics Hub | 
END 


The Vanishing of Vincent Anderson 


Vincent Anderson sat motionless in his containment cell at Site-19, 
his attention focused on the alarm klaxons in the distance. While 
such sounds were not uncommon, the current alert had been 
initiated nearly three hours prior. Something was awry. 


Anderson sighed, and then his mechanical eyes snapped to the 
door, which opened with a dull hiss. Three dark figures in battle 
scarred tactical gear stepped into the cell. Each wore a featureless 
silver mask. The leader pulled up its mask to reveal white PMMA 
eyes and a black aramid fiber skin. 


"Peregrines 92, 46, and 34." Anderson looked over his guests with 
vague curiosity. "To what do | owe the pleasure?" 


"We're certainly not here for a social visit, Mr. Anderson." PSHUD 
#92 voice was sharp and androgynous. "You will come with us, now. 
Timing is limited." 


The old cyborg shook his head. 


"Certainly the Hand has more valuable things for you to steal from 
the Foundation than a broken old man. Save yourselves, and let me 
die here in peace. | fought, and | lost, and now you're just wasting 
your time." 


"You self-absorbed son of a bitch. We're not here for your sake," 
PSHUD #94 shot back. Its voice was deep and feminine. It drew its 
hip-holstered pistol with a fluid motion. Anderson attempted to stand, 
but was soon plastered with three tiny orbs of blue electricity. The 
old cyborg went into violent convulsions, a look of surprise frozen on 
his face. PSHUD #34 gave a nod, and PSHUD #92 picked Anderson 
up and slung him over its shoulder. 


"Get back to the Way," PSHUD #34 said quietly. 


As the three droids stepped into the hallway, the sound of yelling 
coming from down the hall filled their auditory sensors. 


"The hostiles are in High Sec!" 


Bullets filled the air. The droids lunged into Anderson's open cell, 
taking cover. PSHUD #46 pulled a machine gun from off its 
shoulder, and flipped off the safety. 


"| estimate | can stall them for maybe 10 minutes." PSHUD's voice 
was that of a young man, eager and determined. "They will get 
through though. So be quick, and loop around to the elevator we 
discussed in planning the operation." 


PSHUD #84 nodded. 
"WAN be with you." 
"And with you as well. See you in the Forest." 


PSHUD #46 let out a low hum, and mounted its weapon on its 
shoulder. Letting out controlled burst after controlled burst, it walked 
into the oncoming fire, slowly accumulating damage as its two 
compatriots escaped down the hallway. 


When it ran out of ammunition, they shot its legs out from under it. 
PSHUD #46 hit the ground with a dull thud. 


Even for veteran Foundation personnel operating under calm 
conditions, Site-19's labyrinthine interior proved difficult to navigate. 
For two androids on the run from multiple task forces, the act was 
near Herculean. 


Stairwells into hallways. 
Hallways into elevator shafts. 
Elevator shafts into maintenance tunnels. 


PSHUD #92 and #34 hauled Vincent Anderson's paralyzed body 
closer and closer to their awaiting Way, their mechanical joints 


squeaking as they sprinted at top speed. Occasionally, a loose bullet 
from their pursuers would embed itself in a nearby wall. 


"We're coming in hot!" PSHUD #34 shouted into a walkie talkie. "Get 
ready to seal the Way behind us!" 


"Copy that," a hoarse whisper replied. "You have three minutes. All 
other teams are pulling out. Can't wait to see your haul." 


PSHUD #92 gave a relieved laugh. 
"We're going to make it." 
"Sure as hell looks like it! Only a little..." PSHUD #34 replied. 


As the droids turned the corner, they were greeted by a stream of 
gunfire. An awaiting security team had cut them off; the cover of a 
nearby doorway provided the only defense from the incoming 
bullets. 


"WAN damn it!" PSHUD #34 shouted as it peered out of cover. They 
were pinned. 


"Can he hear us, still?” PSHUD #92 gestured to Anderson. 


"Well yeah," PSHUD #34 snapped back, "He's paralyzed, not 
fucking deaf. Is that really important right now?" 


PSHUD #92 pressed the cyborg into #34's arms. #92 lifted 
Anderson's chin and looked him in the eyes. 


"Earn this, you prick." 


It then took off, sprinting at full soeed toward the blockade. The 
Foundation personnel made short work of the droid; its legs 
crumpled and shattered, leaving its momentum to carry it to their 
feet. 


The security team surrounded PSHUD #92, disarming it. The droid 
lifted both its fists and extended its middle fingers. 


"Contain this." 


The explosion shook the whole facility. 
PSHUD #84 looked on in shock. 
"Bomber module..." it said lowly. "See you in the Forest, #92..." 


A bullet landing in nearby wall shook PSHUD #34 from its stupor. 
The lone droid shifted Anderson onto its shoulder, and took off down 
the hall. 


Turning the corner, it managed to slip through an out of place 
cobweb filled tunnel that slowly fizzled out of existence. When the 
security agents arrived, they found only a blank wall. 


PSHUD #46 struggled against its restraints. It had been relocated to 
an examination table within a containment cell shortly after its 
capture. Despite the futility of its actions over the last hour, it still 
continued to strain. What else was there to do? 


The sound of the cell door opening gave the droid pause, its head 
turning to see three agents enter, each wearing a sigil depicting 
three arrows descending upon a falcon. The lead agent 
approached the table. She was young, tall, and pale, with long 
brunette hair that she wore back in a ponytail. 


"| take it you know who | am," the agent said. 


"The angel of death herself. How many have you sent to the Forest 
this month?" 


"Ideally less than | did the month before," she replied. "Where did 
you send Anderson?" 


PSHUD #46 shifted its eyes to stare at the ceiling. 
The agent rolled her eyes. 


"We don't have time for this song and dance. You should know by 
now | can extract the information from your memory directly. All you 
are doing is dying for your pride." 


The droid twisted its hand around and extended a middle finger. 
"So be it. Zeke?" 


The agent held out her hand, as one of her fellows pressed a pen 
shaped device into it. Upon pressing a button at its tip, a thick 
needle extended from its base. She then jabbed the device directly 
into the droid's forehead. 


PSHUD #46 gave a high-pitched squeal, its body convulsing for 
several moments before it became still. An indicator light on the 
device began to glow green. The agent gingerly removed it, and 
clicked the button again. She examined the results carefully. 


"Orders, Jessie?" 
The agent broke from her thoughts and turned to her colleagues. 


"| want this analyzed by the AIAD as soon as possible. Once we 
know where Anderson is we can get back to Site-64 and 
assemble the troops. We'll file the AARs on the flight back." 


She handed the device over. Her colleagues scrambled to 
accomplish their new directives. 


"And someone notify Director Merlo," the agent called out. Her voice 
became low as she was left alone with the droid's remains. "Mom's 
going to want to handle this personally." 


Upon the Oregon Coast, a man and a woman sat within the confines 
of their cottage, curled together upon a coach beneath the warm 
layers of a large quilt. Both gripped mugs of tea as their eyes looked 
through their glass patio door towards the distant storms upon the 
horizon. A silent mist fell, carried along by a gentle breeze. 


The woman yawned and rested her head on her husband's 
shoulder. He gave her a friendly smile, brushing a lock of gray- 
streaked brunette hair out of her eyes as his hand then ran along the 
back of her head. She smiled in return, and felt herself begin to drift 
into a comfortable and warm sleep. 


SCP-631 has been traced to a Dr. Alan Forsythe, and, 
subsequently, to a facility owned by said individual in ‘ 

The investigation of this site determined that it had been abandoned 
in 20 , and no personnel were discovered therein. What follows are 
excerpts of documents recovered from the site. 


Rudimentary biological systems are functional. 
Circulatory, respiratory, reproductive, gastrointestinal... 
still working on some hiccups with neurological and 
endocrine. The subjects have stopped dying from their 
own venom, which is always a plus. Through some 
pheromone manipulation, we've tailored them to 
instinctively hunt Homo sapiens successfully, but we've 
hit a very troublesome snag. We can get them to hunt 
the proper prey, but can't control how and when they do 
so. Obviously this is a problem because we can't have 
them flying around killing people in broad daylight. 


Electrolocation is working miracles. We can direct them 
to subjects in a NREM or REM cerebral state, and some 
careful tinkering with pheromone activity also 
predisposes them toward isolated targets. This should 
keep them restricted to the right prey, with a roughly 4% 
margin of error (we can't be entirely sure who doesn't 
sleep outside at night). The project is nearly ready for 
field testing, but there is still one crucial flaw we need to 
address. [DATA EXPUNGED] solar camouflage is 
functioning correctly, but we're having significant difficulty 
controlling their predatory behavior. Due to necessary 
metabolic alterations, the adults have no urge to feed. In 
testing, certain methods can be used to force such a 
response, but that is impossible in the field. 


The following is handwritten and scrawled on a roughly cut piece of 
paper: 


“fight-or-flight will work, but make it stronger, [DATA 
EXPUNGED] produce acetaldehyde, so it should result 
in something like a severe hangover. With that 
pheromone manipulation, it should equate physical pain 
with a desire to procreate. The rest is easy." 


Bzzzzzzzzzzzt 


The sound of a cell phone rang out, immediately tearing the peace 
away from the moment. The woman gave her husband an 
apologetic smile. In return he gave an understanding nod. With a 
sigh, she stood and went to answer the call. 


"Go for Merlo." 
"| see..." 
"I'll be there as soon as possible." 


Director Sasha Merlo hung up the phone and sighed once 
more. 


"Another call to save the world?" Gabe Merlo asked with a small 
chuckle. 


"He's escaped," Sasha replied. Gabe's smile vanished. 
"| understand." 


"I'll make it up to you when | get back." Sasha was already grabbing 
her coat and keys. 


"Give him hell." Gabe saw her to the door. When he opened it, a 
three-man team of security personnel were waiting. He stepped 
aside. 


"I'll be here when you get back." 
Sasha gave him a nod and a sad smile. 
"| love you." She was soon being escorted back to Site-64, her long- 


awaited vacation cut short. 


End of Line | Non-Volatile Memory » 


End of Line 


"Glad to see everyone here." 


"For those of you who don't know me, | am MTF Commander Jessie 
Merlo of Gamma-13. This is Commander Damion Creed of Tau-51. 
Those of you from Mu-13, welcome."