"Yeesh, poor guy. Getting all the weirdos out of that Twisty Maize.." 


"Oh, you have no idea. Remember that time when Jesters somehow 
ended up in there? Kept scaring the living daylights out of everyone 
and anyone who popped in. Lines became unstable and we almost 
had a reemergence over Wiltshire." 


"Little bastards would have made one hell of a crop circle when they 


came out." Eugene smirked, lost in thought. 


"We had to go summon Samuel to weed ‘em out," Pius continued. 
"Took a month to regrow all the Connections." 


"Frickin' familial squabbles." 
"Stupid Jesters and their Shufflers." 


"Hahahahaha." 
"Hahahahaha." 


"Haha." 
"Haha." 


"Eh-heh...eh-heh...huhhhh....." 


"Huh." 


"Ugh, there's not even a window to look out of in here. The Lake 
actually has a nice view, and the fields don't look half-bad in the 
summer." 


"You're not exactly traveling first-class right now, Eugene. 
Emergencies and such, remember?" 


"Well, it could be better, but | won't complain." 

"There's something new." 

"What happens to Clowns when we start to decompose? Do we end 
up looking like whatever we were when we decided to off, or what?" 


"Don't say things like that right now, Eugene, your pessimism is 
infectious." Pius said, looking down at his feet. 


"Ah, come on, lighten up," Eugene said smartly. "Hey, Pius, quick, 
let's play a game. What am |?" Eugene's head split in two, each 


sprouting a ridiculously frilly cap n' bells that jingled furiously. The 
red and black hats attached seamlessly to his heads, like the crest 
of a rooster, and the fronds shook on their own like rattlesnake tails. 
Four pairs of eyes glowed iridescent blue and his voices rose as if 
he had just inhaled a tank of helium. 


"You're a Jester, aren't you?" Pius guessed not bothering to take a 
look. 


"Awww, man, you're no fun," Eugene squeaked irritably. His heads 
turned back into that of a single, now disgruntled, clown. 


Pius shifted his leg in annoyance as he tried to get into a 
comfortable position again; it was really starting to get cramped in 
the cabin now. 


"You've been twitching around non-stop, Pius, yeesh. What's the 
matter? Jitteroug worked its way inside you?" 


"| don't have parasites, Eugene," Pius said irritably as he brought his 
left knee up. "I'm trying to—" 


FPPPPPTTTT. A long, drawn-out, rather rude-sounding noise 
reverberated throughout the cabin. 


"Jeez, Pius, hold it in, will you? It stinks bad enough already." 
"That wasn't me, that was—" 
GLOP. 


A huge bubble of Clown Milk forced its way through the crack of the 
cabin and burst, showering a not-so-fresh mist of tar over Eugene 
and Pius. The exterior flatulent noises continued to sound. 


Eugene grimaced. "Man, Mortimer, pull yourself together. We're 
counting on you here, buddy." 


Pius gently patted the side of the cabin. 


"...AND THAT'S WHEN | WENT IN AND TOLD THAT FREAK; 
FREAK— HEHEHEH — HEHEH — shit. HEheh! Heheh!!! 
Hurgblblblbl!!! Blrrrrrrobb!! I'm losing it. I'm losing it. No. No, no, no, 
no! Pius? Pius? Pius? Pius? Pi? Apple? Cherry? Whipped cream in 
the face? Dammit!!! Pius!" 


"Pius?" 


Pius awoke with a start as he neared his fourth consecutive day with 
Eugene inside of Mortimer's receiver. Their Fun-Lover wasn't getting 
any better, and the two Clowns weren't getting any more sane. More 
leaks had sprung into the cabin, and the air was becoming more and 
more saturated with near-narcotic levels of Clown Milk. 


"Hey, hey! Pius! Why you got that thing over your... faesh...eh?" 
Eugene was gesturing towards the gas mask Pius had spawned to 
mask his mouth and nose. 


Pius groaned in weakness and exasperation. He opened his sleep- 
filled eyes slightly. "Get your mask on, Eugene," he mumbled. 


"Heheh, you look...funny! Geheheh!" Eugene's left eye twitched and 
spasmed; it then swelled disproportionately to form the eye of a fly. 
"Bzzzzz-eheheh." 


Pius sighed and promptly backhanded Eugene across the cheek. 
"Get your mask back on," he snarled. "You're inhaling Clown Milk 
vapor." Even as he said this, Eugene sucked in another mouthful of 
Clown Milk air particles and entered another fit of uncontrolled 
giggling that was quickly smothered by the mask that clasped over 
his nose with a honk. 


"Ouch! Damn, Pius, what was that f—" Eugene cut himself short. He 
felt the re-attached face cover. "| went loopy again, didn't |?" 


Pius merely glared a cold glare back. 


"Sorry." Eugene slumped back down in his seat, taking deep breaths 
of semi-filtered, stale air. There was an uncomfortable three minutes 
of silence. 


"So... Pius?" Eugene asked. 


"Yes, Eugene?" Pius sighed. 


"I'm tired." 


"You and me both, Eugene. You and me both." 


CREEEAAAAAAAKKKK 

"OH, SHI—" 

BLOOSH 

RATTLE RATTLE RATTLE RATTLE-Rat-rat-rat-rat-raaaaaaaaa 


Sqwee, sqwee, sqwee, sqwee 
Ba-chunk, ba-chunk, ba-chunk, ba-chunk 
Sqwee, sqwee, sqwee, sqwee 


Ba-chunk, ba-chunk, ba-chunk, ba-chunk 


"BluuuhYEECK"" 


662-L1 


An interview with Mr. Deeds, the entity associated with SCP-662. 
Dr. Mirth: Good afternoon. 


Butler: Good afternoon, Dr. Mirth. How may | be of 
service? 


Dr. Mirth: Firstly, may | have your name? 
Butler: Certainly. You may call me Mr. Deeds. 
Dr. Mirth: Is that your real name? 

Mr. Deeds: It is not my birth name, no sir. 


Dr. Mirth: What would that be? And where were you 
born? 


Mr. Deeds: Unfortunately, | cannot remember my full 
name sir, nor am | positive of my birthplace, though | do 
believe it to be located in England. 


Dr. Mirth: Do you recall when you were born, Mr. 
Deeds? 


Mr. Deeds: | am truly sorry to disappoint again, sir, but | 
do not recall that either. Though it must have been some 
time ago, for | don’t believe that | was born in this era. 


Dr. Mirth: Can you approximate it? 


Mr. Deeds: Again, sir, | apologize for my lack of self 
knowledge. I’m a bit of a shut-in, as you know. (Mr. 
Deeds nodded at the bell and smiled) 


Dr. Mirth: What is the earliest mode of transportation 


Eugene pushed himself up onto all fours as he found himself soaked 
from head to toe in milky mud. Even as he started to stand up, the 
tarry, spoiled Clown Milk stuck to his hands like cement, making him 
stumble several steps forward before landing face first into a patch 
of dried-out grass. The ground was surprisingly warm. 


Sqwee, sqwee, sqwee, sqwee 
Ba-chunk, ba-chunk, ba-chunk, ba-chunk 


A few paces away, Pius lay eagle-sprawled and winded, bewildered 
as he looked up to white expanse of nothingness above, while he 
felt the black swamp clinging to him from below. He tried to lift his 
head up, decided it wasn't worth the effort, and then let it roll into the 
sludge. After a few moments, he groaned and looked to see what 
was making a noise similar to a car that was bumbling across a 
rocky road with a bad suspension. 


"What the—" 


Mortimer was stumbling back and forth on what looked like two over- 
sized wooden mannequin legs, which was odd, considering the rest 
of the body was a giant, scarlet rotary phone. Clown Milk was 
spurting through the number holes and through the knee caps and 
ankles of the Fun-Lover, and it was emitting garbled, electronic 
babbling through the receiver. Finally, milk shot out of the seams of 
the phone, and Mortimer flailed wildly like a person in the electric 
chair before slumping on its behind with the phone crashing dial 
wheel first into the crusty dirt. 


You— ha-a-a-a-ah-ave — ZeEeeeEro — Nine — Massage new 
theeeerr...aaaapee@ Ceeeeesss Mortimer gave one last twitch, then 
went limp, sparks buzzing as they shot off from the machinery. Pius 
gawked in horror as he watched the Fun-Lover collapse and fizzle 
out. 


Eugene made his way back to Pius, squinting his eyes as he 
adjusted to the whiteness of the Hub's boundaries, grass and dirt 
still sticking to his lip like he was a cow grazing in a pasture. 


"Where— in the Freaking name of Manny — did Mortimer—" He cut 
himself off as he saw the smoking wreck of a broken Fun-Lover lying 


in the dead, withered grass. "Oh, shit." 


Shoes squelching as he walked his way over, Eugene moved to 
help Pius up. 


"Well," Eugene grunted with effort as he yanked Pius’ arm, "This is 
definitely not the Wheat Fields." He looked around and examined 
the mass of phone boots scattered around the arid landscape. "1 
don't even recognize this Hub. Where the heck are we?" 


"Your guess is as — Ow — good as mine," Pius grimaced as he was 
pulled free from the gloop. Now that he had a better angle, he could 
clearly see how badly damaged Mortimer was. "Dammit, Eugene, 
how could this happen? Where did Mortimer go wrong in the 
landing?" 


"| have no clue," Eugene said, shaking his head, eyes shut tight. 
"Ugh, can't Morty fix himself? What happened to the fail-safes that 
came with him? Those things are standard issue!" 


Mortimer let out a low, foghorn bellow, blowing the back hatch of the 
phone off to reveal the complex array of Milk sacs, tubing, and wires 
that made Phone calls possible. What should have been healthy, 
pumping lines of fuel were limp, punctured, and in some areas, 
completely severed. 


Pius drew closer, wary that the already-battered components might 
burst any moment. He gingerly picked up a portion of tubing that 
should have led to the control board. 


"It's... been clawed." Pius said in befuddlement and confusion. 


"Clawed?" Eugene said incredulously. "How the freak did— 
Clawed?" 


"And bitten, too," Pius said. "Look, those are teeth in there." He 
gently took his hand away; a dozen or so denticles clattered onto the 
ground. 


"Where did those come from?" Eugene's jaw hung open. 


"I'm trying to find the connecting lines, hold on." Pius brushed away 


a curtain of sacs in the front and worked his through the interior, 
feeling around as he went. His eyes extended out into stalks and 
followed suit. It was an incredibly bizarre picture, like a snail trying to 
find its way through the dark. He cringed. "This is disgusti—" He 
suddenly jerked and gave a shout of surprise. 


"What is it?" Eugene asked startled. 


"There's something fuzzy in there," Pius moaned, his hand and eyes 
still inside the phone system. "I can't get a grip on it." 


"Fuzzy? Where is it?" 


"Whatever it is, it cracked two of the Milk circuits and broke the top 
one clean in two. It's caught on the third." 


"Are you gonna try and remove it?" 
"T'll try." 


Pius slowly began to jiggle his hand back and forth in an attempt to 
dislodge the foreign body inside Mortimer. His mouth was clenched 
in anticipation. Eugene surmised about how strange it was seeing 
his partner's eyestalks looking like eels while still attached to his 
head. He shivered involuntarily. 


"Damn, we can be downright weird." 
"Oh, yuck!" 


Pius' hand exited the tangle of organic and inorganic components, 
clutching a black and red mass about the same size of his hand. 


"You got it!" Eugene cried. 


"That — was — terrible." Pius said; his hand was death-gripping the 
thing he had removed, despite his mind screaming at him to throw it 
away. 


"So, what is it?” Eugene asked impatiently. 


Pius shakily commanded his fingers to un-clench, and opened his 


hand to examine the ball of fur. Eugene's grin vanished on the spot. 
Pius groaned. 


"So that's why he broke. He had that thing with him when he 
transformed." 


"Freaking hell, Mortimer, | told you that that was a terrible thing to 
play with to pass the time." 


Eugene swatted the gopher out of Pius’ hand in contempt. 


« | A Circus Milked Dry | A Circus With Paranoia » 


A Circus With Paranoia 


« A Circus of a Wreck 


oh ace 

Js depo Se DS fee 3 
dmdbmdmd~dmd~d 
dadbmdmd~dmdm~dmd~dm~d~d 
"I can stand the sight of worms 


And look at microscopic germs 


But technicolor pachyderms 
Is really too much for me-e-e!" 


A clown in a dirtied, polka-dot uniform wheeled around with his 
hands in the air, his voice echoing throughout the cracked, long- 
dead field. As he sang, his feet kicked up dust and dirt, and the 
twigs cracked and snapped, almost, but not quite, in rhythm. If a 
clown whirling and singing in an empty landscape wasn't strange 
enough, the red phone booths that lay strewn around in the dirt and 
grass only added to the peculiarity of the scene. As the clown 
drawled on and on, he whooped around one particular, cracked and 
dirtied scarlet rotary phone that lay off-kilter, as if it had fallen and 
crashed. Smoke curled from the defunct machine, so that with the 
combination of the clown and phone, the scene almost looked like a 
lonely bonfire dance. 


"lam not the type to faint 


When things are wrong or things are quaint 


But seeing things, you know that ain't 


Can really give you an AWFUL FRIGHT!" 


A resounding crack and flash of light, and the single clown was 
gone, replaced by a ring of giant, prancing pink elephants, all linked 
together by the hands. As they stomped in unison, and thrashed and 
sounded their trunks insanely, eyes shut tight, the ground beneath 
them quaked, with the nearest surrounding phone booths shaking, 
bouncing, and in some cases, toppling from the enormous beasts. 
As the interconnected elephants continued tromping around in ring- 
around-the-rosy fashion, the "tune" that sounded from their noses 
grew louder, and even sounded like actual brass instruments 
instead of the expected animal sound. The trumpeting reached a 
crescendo and the amount of noise could have woken every other 
Clown in the Hub network had sound actually traveled from point to 
point. 


Another crack and a flash later, and the ring of pachyderms was 
gone, replaced by the single, dirtied clown, now eagle-sprawled on 
his back. 


Eugene stared up at the white abyss of the Hub, and let out a long, 
loud yell. 


Day... 9? 


Cant tel how long in this freekin' plase. Doesnt help Ive 
been pasing out. Drinking expired Clown Milk is grss. But 
hey, whatever keeps Pius and | goin. Whichever clown 
made the atmosphere/bakdrop/whatevr the heck it is wite 
with no way of telling time is gonna get a Hell of a earfull 
if when, WHEN | get back. 


Eugene finished another "page" of his journal, which was really an 


appendage extending from his left hand full of countless flat, flexible 
digits. His writing utensil? An elongated finger. His ink? More Clown 
Milk. He morosely shut his bookhand and retracted it back within his 
palm. 


He, along with Pius, were, to say the least, in poor shape. Their 
faces drooped and sagged, a result of them not bothering to 
maintain their shape-shifting powers; they could care less about how 
they looked when they were tired, dirty, and near starving. 


Mortimer the Fun-Lover, still a scarlet rotary phone lying down in the 
dust on wooden knees, continued to leak Milk and remain in its 
silent comatose state. For Eugene, at any other time, Mortimer 
being quiet would have been a dream come true. But right now, he 
was actually hoping the shape-shifting black sac of arms would pop 
up to life again to whisk everyone back home. 


"Another luckless walk?" 


Eugene turned to see Pius walking back to their "campsite". Since 
Mortimer's breakdown, the two Lesser Clowns had been scrounging 
around the Hub, searching for anything that might prove useful to 
help them on their way. 


"There are more than a hundred phones in here," Eugene said, 
staring at the dysfunctional Fun-Lovers lying around on the ground, 
"and not one of them has any juice of livelihood left in 'em." He laced 
his fingers and slouched into his curled position again. "No spare 
parts, nothing we can dismantle, nothing to recycle. We're freakin’ 
screwed, Pius." 


Pius tossed Eugene a dirtied metal can. Eugene looked at the 
faded, scratched label.