The guards disperse as Three approaches him, and for the first time 
in years, the two Councillors shake hands. 


Four raises an eyebrow as he regards his opposite number. "Does 
the black moon howl?" 


"When the ravens cry." Three grins and shakes his head, releasing 
his grip. "Come on, Four, | thought we were close enough not to 
bother with that. I'm hurt." 


"The last time we were 'close' was in oh-seven," Four states dryly. 
"We could fix that." 
Four snorts. "Not in my office." 


In response, Three lowers one eyelid in a coy wink, and against his 
better judgement, those long, smoky eyes suddenly make Four 
regret being so business-minded. "Always time to try new things." 


Two had once said that if it weren't for the Foundation, Three would 
have been his generation's finest film star. Not for his looks, though 
those wouldn't have hurt a bit, but for how well 'the sneaky little shit 
could play pretend’. Her words, or at least the words Three repeated 
during pillow talk that night, his voice an almost pitch-perfect 
imitation of Two's. 


As he leads Three up the stairs to his office, Four distinctly 
remembers how flattered he looked. 


"Glad you got better at interior decoration since our last fling," Three 
notes, scanning his surroundings. "Or does your secretary take care 
of that now?" 


Four ignores the playful jab, which only amuses Three that much 
more. Instead, he reaches for the minibar, one of the few luxuries 


the otherwise spartan office admits. "You had a thing for blueberry 
vodka. That still true these days?" 


"I'm honoured you remember that." Three raises both eyebrows in 
surprise as Four withdraws two frosted bottles from the fridge, 
lemonade and vodka. "Did you order that in for me?" 


"| never said | didn't appreciate it myself." The lemonade's been 
opened; the vodka hasn't. Four hopes Three doesn't notice as he 
cracks it open. "Glasses are in the cupboard over there." 


The two gravitate towards the polished stone desk in the middle of 
the room, its seats lined parallel to the giant glass-fronted window 
opening on the Australian night. Its surface is overlaid with the feed 
from the tear Four's assigned to watch, and as they take their seats 
Three watches the Earths bob and glint with obvious delight. 


Four notices, and can't resist a small smile at the display. "It gets 
dull after a while." 


"Bullshit." Three dumps his case on the table, before lounging in the 
plush leather seat and turning his eyes from the window to Four. "I'd 
swap jobs with you for that view." 


"The Committee would kill you!" If Four's job was monitoring the 
Foundation's choices, Three's was ensuring they made the right 
ones. He had been an Ethics Committee representative once upon a 
time; now, he was the angel sitting on the Council's shoulder. 


"Some things are worth that much." 
Four snorts as he hands Three his glass. "Always so dramatic." 


"You love it." Three waits for him to finish mixing his own drink, 
before lifting his glass. "Here's to reunion." 


"A little early, don't you think?" 
"It's a little early, but it's been a lot of time. Come on." 


Four relents and lifts his glass too. "Cheers." 


The two drink. Four stops first, deciding he's in no shape to be too 
drunk around Three. "So. It's been a decade. What made you care 
enough to visit now?" 


Three laughs. "Oh, come on. You can hardly blame me for leaving 
you alone, the Council's been in such a fuss lately.” 


He shakes his head and downs the rest of his drink, face flushed 
with the twin tells of alcohol and embarrassment. If he'd been less of 
a lightweight, he would've been a menace during the O5's in-house 
poker matches; as it stood, Five always made sure alcohol was 
complimentary for that exact reason. "For what it's worth, | always 
wanted to come see you," he adds. "I just have an excuse to do it, 
now." 


"And what's that?" 

His high, boyish giggle. "We'll get to it." 
"Cocktease." 

"Always. Top me up?" 


Four obliges him, shaking his head good-heartedly. "You know, | 
only have the one bottle of vodka on-site." 


"You'll have all the booze you need after this." 


"So kind." He rolls his eyes as he adds another splash of lemonade 
to the glass before handing it back to Three, who eagerly takes a sip 
before setting it down. Too drunk even for his own comfort. 


"Now. Since we're boozed enough to be honest, sober enough to 
talk..." Three stifles a yawn, takes a breath to make sure his words 
come out right. "Wanted to ask, and don't laugh... do you think 
we've done good?" 


"|..." Four blinks, regards him more closely. Suddenly he suspects 
Three isn't as harmless a drunk as he first thought. "How do you 
mean?" 


Three leans forwards in his chair, hands laced. "Simple enough 


question, Four. Do we do good?" 


"You're Ethics. You'd know better than |, wouldn't you?" Four feints 
away from the question; he's keenly aware of just how fast Three 
can back someone into a rhetorical corner, and even fully sober he'd 
be hopelessly outmatched. 


"Humour me." 
He doesn't look very humorous at all. 


Four takes a drink to cover for his silence as he thinks through his 
next words. It's a question that's impossible to answer on the spot, 
at least not with a response that gives it the thought it deserves. 
Knowing that, Three wouldn't want him to give it any thought at all. 
He'd just want the first answer that comes to mind. 


In vino veritas. "| think so." 


It's hard to tell if Three's surprised, disappointed, or pleased. Maybe 
none of the above. "You do?" 


"In the long run, at least. I'd bang on about greater good, but | won't 
bore you with things you've heard before." Four relaxes into his seat, 
trying to subconsciously inch away from the man opposite him. 


Three considers his response for a moment, before nodding. "I'd 
agree." 


"Oh." Four can't hide his surprise. 


"If | didn't, | wouldn't be here." Three chuckles softly. If there's a 
joke, Four doesn't find it funny. "I'll ask you another question, 
though. What if it wasn't good enough?" 


"How would you even tell?" 
"It's a hypothetical, Four. Ethicists do that." 


Four rolls his eyes, but plays along. "If | Knew that, I'd shut us down." 
He doesn't even have to think. 


That gives Three genuine pause. "Go on." 


Four massages his forehead as he speaks, trying to keep his train of 
thought on-track. "If this isn't for the greater good, we have no moral 
high ground- no moral ground full stop, even. We'd be so far deep in 
moral debt that the only thing we could possibly do to get us back in 
the black is to shut ourselves down, and even that would be a long 
shot." 


"You wouldn't... try anything else?" Three ventures. "Just give up?" 
He shakes his head slowly. "I wouldn't know what to try, Three." 
Three nods again. This time, he doesn't speak for much longer. 


Instead, he opts to open his briefcase, its lid opposite him as he 
reaches for whatever he's got in there. He ends up digging out a 
neatly-folded piece of printout, which he hands to Four. 


Four gingerly opens the printout and reads what's on it. It takes him 
a minute to digest it fully, and the first time he reads it he doesn't 
want to believe it. The second time around, he's sure that's exactly 
why it can't be wrong. 


The Foundation's contained gods before, that's certain. What's not 
certain is what they'd do to the Foundation; if a deity wanted Four's 
soul, they'd need to fight at least a million others for it. 


But if this is true — and it has to be — then there's very literally a 
special hell just for him and the rest of the Council. And there isn't 
anything he can do about it now. 


"So this is real," he whispers. 


"This is real," Three echoes. "It's enough for the rest of the Council, 
at least, not that they'd tell you." 


"...How did you know?" 


Three shrugs. "Lucky guess. You know how frequently you get 
visitors, Four. And now you know how lucky you are you have 
someone on your side." 


Four fights down the knot of flaring anger in his gut, but he doesn't 
know its cause; Three, for baiting him so crudely? The Council, for 
deserting him? Himself, for his own naivete? "So that's your play, 
then," he murmurs. 


"Play? This isn't a trick, Four, | just thought it'd be polite to tell you 
how hard the Council's fucking you." Three slams his glass down on 
the desk. There's a tiny tink as something in the glass fractures. 
"You asked me why | wanted to see you? Here it is. They're not 
even pretending to have a use for you anymore, and you can't even 
vote to stop them if they drop you altogether. You're backed into the 
corner, Four, and I'm your only out." 


The worst part is that he's right. 


Four swirls his drink in his glass with a trembling hand. "Let me ask 
you a question, then, Three. What are you going to do?" 


Three takes a moment to consider his next words, then a drink for 
courage. He gives Four a curiously shy smile, like he's about to 
whisper something shameless. "I can do one better than you. | can 
save the Foundation." 


He stands up and walks until he's in front of the window, watching 
the band of Earths ripple and shift. "There's an Earth somewhere in 
here where we do good," he says, gesturing at the display. "There's 
a sequence of events where we make the world a better place, 
where St. Peter meets us at the gates and doesn't turn us away. All 
you'd have to do is make sure we stick to that path." 


"As if it's that simple," Four snaps. 


Three's smile grows sweeter and even less trustworthy. "It is with 
the keys to the Department of Temporal Anomalies." 


"That-" Four half-laughs. "-You'd end the world." 


"Only for the first three years or so. You'd be surprised at how 
resilient history gets." Three shrugs. "We'd end the world, but it'd 
end up better than it started." 


Four stares at Three's back, watches him for even the slightest hint 


of doubt in his posture. "You're serious." 


"A plan in motion remains in motion." Three turns around to face him 
and for the first time, Four sees that isn't calculation behind his eyes, 
it's nothing but intent. 


If you Know you're right, why question that more than you have to? 


"The only question left is whether you go along with that motion, or 
you go against it." 


Four shakes his head as he rises from the table. "I can't- this isn't for 
the greater good, Three, this is for us! Any way would be better than 
this, just- please, there's always another way-" 


He thinks he sees Three doubt himself for a second. Maybe his 
shot's hit home. 


Then that doubt dies and the blank look of assurance retakes its 
place. "If there was, | wouldn't follow this one. ITHACA RAINBOW 
ISRAFIL." 


It only takes a moment for Four's knees to fall out from under him. 
Slow, icy numbness begins to spread from his skull down. 


"M-memo," he manages to mumble into the floor. "Killphrase.” 


"| had to have a contingency, Four, you were always the better 
fighter." Three shakes his head and begins to walk away. From his 
position on the floor, all Four can see is his feet striding towards the 
door. "Your heart'll stop in a few more minutes, | wouldn't want you 
to face the Council on your own, it'd be cruel." 


Four struggles against the paralysis, but it's too far gone for that. All 
he manages to do is feebly roll himself over, facing the window as 
his eyes flick back and forth attempt to escape their body. 


"If this all works out," Three continues, "you'll be somewhere better. 
And I'll be there to meet you." 


Behind his retreating figure, the Earths in their ebb and flow begin to 
vanish, until eventually all that's left is a single speck of blue. 


Then the last of Four's strength gives out, and he's left to watch a rift 
of his own in the darkness behind his eyelids. 


Any decohered fragments which are not used for research purposes 
are to be incinerated, with their ashes bound in a concrete matrix 
which is then stored within the overall confines of SCP-967. Any 
damage to the buffer zone caused by the containment breach must 
be repaired within no more than 30 (thirty) minutes. 


Description: SCP-967 is an abandoned scrapyard located in 
[REDACTED]. Flyovers have shown that SCP-967 is approximately 
200m x 500m. The site was abandoned in / following arash of 
disappearances and anomalous activity. On / ,SCP-967 was 
secured by the Foundation. 


SCP-967 is much larger than its outside dimensions would suggest. 
Several regions within the area are only accessible by foot, and 
extend into an anomalous area of space. Exploration teams have 
described this area as consisting of "trash as far as the eye can 
see". This landscape is composed entirely of items consistent with a 
scrapyard: old cars, abandoned locomotives, and mountains of 
disused watercraft and appliances. Extended incursions into 
SCP-967 have revealed the presence of detritus and derelict 
vehicles inconsistent with the current level of human technology. 


Exploration teams have also reported the presence of a wide variety 
of ambulatory creatures within SCP-967, collectively designated 
SCP-967-1; these appear to be haphazardly constructed from the 
same materials as the landscape. Individual instances of SCP-967-1 
may or may not be aggressive, and do not appear to be sapient. 


Instances of SCP-967-1 taken beyond the borders of SCP-967 
rapidly undergo mechanical decohesion, with their component parts 
collapsing into a disconnected heap. Extensive study of these 
decohered components, both individually and collectively, has 
revealed no anomalous properties; however, the accumulation of 
sufficient (> 5 kg /m 2) quantities of discarded components, for 
sufficient (> 24 hours) time, within an area immediately adjacent to 
the borders of SCP-967, results in the expansion of SCP-967 to 
include the area in question. 


Addendum 1: 


In addition to the numerous forms of SCP-967-1, which seem 


The Meaning of Fear 


"So, what's on the itinerary for today?" Dr. Albert Wensley squinted 
at a neatly printed schedule made by his secretary. 


"You have a meeting with the assistant researchers today at 10, a 
quarterly review of the status of all objects under your supervision, a 
meeting with Dr. Louef at 3, and an appointment with Director 
Owings at 5, Dr. Wensley," his secretary read off her itinerary. 
"Here's your coffee." 


"Thanks, Liz. I'm going to go and do some reviews then." Dr. 
Wensley sipped at his steaming mug as he strolled out of his office 
and down to the cell containing the most infamous occupant of Site 
118: Its resident Keter, SCP-2006. 


"Well, might as well check on 2006 first. Shouldn't take too long, | 
think. The newbies can probably accompany me for the rest of the 
reviews," Dr. Wensley mused to himself. 


After flashing his security card at the camera, standing for a retina 
scan, validating a fingerprint scanner, and staring at a memetic kill 
agent, Dr. Wensley patiently waited while the steel doors of 
SCP-2006's containment area whooshed open. 


Strolling into the room, he was greeted with salutations and 
acknowledgements from the various assistant researchers and other 
staff in the control room for SCP-2006. Waving a hand at the 
assorted rabble, he walked over to the surveillance array, where a 
young man sat, idly tapping his pencil while staring at the monitors. 


"Morning, Cam," Dr. Wensley said, while placing a hand on the 
man's shoulder. 


The man jumped for a moment. He swiveled around, and saw Dr. 
Wensley's friendly smile. 


"O-oh, morning, Dr. Wensley. You startled me for a minute. How are 
you?" Assistant Researcher Cameron Hayworth asked. 


"Good, good. How's 2006 doing this morning? What form is he in?" 
Wensley sipped at his mug while looking at the monitor.