He remembered his first operation of the type. His patients 
screamed and moaned, for the Anesthesiologist was not there to 
assist him, as he cured them from their mortal coil. The suffering 
was lamentable, but necessary, for once they died, their true soul 
was revealed. This was what made him confident of the 
righteousness of his cause. Once they rose again, cured and whole, 
all they desired was to help their fellows reach the same... 
enlightenment. The soul, he found, not only desired death for itself, 
but for the world as well. 


To see the dead emancipate the living... that made it all worth it. All 
the mockery, all the hatred and loathing, all his solitude. 


He was the c- 


He was not alone anymore. Two figures stood in his bare cell, 
staring down at him where he laid. The first was tall, gaunt, dark and 
pale. He knew him well. 


"Lord." 
"Surgeon. It has been too long." 


The Surgeon did not understand. "Too long? We are never apart, 
Lord. | am the instrument of your will. | am with you always." 


His lord said nothing, only smiled. The Surgeon turned his gaze to 
the other figure, a short, stooped man who refused to look at him 
directly. Even without his mask, the Surgeon knew who he was. 


"Brother Diagnostician." 


"You are no brother of mine, beast." The man turned to his lord. 
"Let's get this over with." 


His lord nodded, then turned to the Surgeon once more. "I have a 
task for you, most loyal servant. Your expertise is required." 


"What... what do you desire, Lord? What can | do for one so 
mighty?" 


The Small Death grinned, showing teeth like a row of tombstones. 
"Why, dear Surgeon, | have a world for you to cure." 


Hub 


December 24th, 2011 Hub 


14th Annual Site-1 


Christmas Eve 


Hosted by: Resear 
NOTE: Due to the events that transpired during last | 


visiting the Keter wing. This isn't optimal, but we're sup 
Christmas tears. - J 


= Song L 

Pg. 1 - We Wish You AI 
~By Dr. Gera 

Pg. 2-1 Saw Mommy Ki 
~By Researcher 

Pg. 4 - Navarro Save 

~By TwistedG 

Pg. 5 - SCP-682 Roasting 


~By Agent Sir 


Pg. 6 - Set Up Thine 

~By FortuneFavc 

Pg. 7 - Deck The Halls With 
~ By Dr. Jecte 

Pg. 8 - No One Shou 

~By Jacob Con 

Pg. 9 - Oh Holy 

~By Dr. Brig! 

Pg. 10 - | Hope That | Get 
~By Roget 

Pg. 12 - The Lost: 

~By Crayne 

Pg. 13 - The No! 

~By Doctor Cim 

Pg. 15 - Too Drunk 

~By LurkL 

Pg. 16 - Die Hard M 

~By Agent McC 


Pg. 18 - Reconc 


~By djkakti 


SCP-620: Time Keeps on Slipping 


Item #: SCP-620 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-620 is not considered a 
direct hazard as such. It is currently located in Site- ’s accounting 
department Its containment procedures exist to create an 
environment where researchers can study its effects without being 
exposed to them. 


SCP-620 is to be mounted to a large two-way mirror separating an 
observation area from the testing area. It is to be attached to the 
mirror by suction cup mounts. In the event of suction cup failure, the 
testing area must be evacuated until SCP-620 can be remounted. 
Research personnel may remount the object, as brief exposure is 
not considered dangerous. 


SCP-620 is currently connected directly to Site- ’s power supply 
following Incident SCP-620- . Any signs of wires needing repair must 
be reported to Site- maintenance staff immediately. 


Description: SCP-620 is an analog clock of unknown make and 
model. It bears no markings indicating a manufacturer or place of 
origin. Its face is styled after the yellow “smiley” face design. 


When SCP-620 is powered, all subjects observing its face 
experience perceived time acceleration. Constant observation is not 
required; occasional glances will induce the perceived acceleration 
as quickly as constant observation. Upon the conclusion of a testing 
session, test subjects were asked to gauge how much time they 
thought they had spent testing; all under-reported time spent testing 
by a factor proportional to time spent exposed to SCP-620. Subjects 
exposed to SCP-620 for under five (5) minutes were no less 
accurate at measuring time than a control group. However, as 
exposure length increases, inaccuracy rises proportionally. Most 


Navarro Saves Christmas 


Lackluster lights twinkled within one of Site 19's various staff 
lounges. They were a dull affair, nothing but a sequence of blinking 
yellow lights strung up around the edges of the ceiling. A single, tiny 
tree sat upon the counter in all of its rubber glory. Which was to say 
very little glory at all. Researchers and security staff lounged, as 
people were wont to do in lounges, and despite the fact it was 
Christmas Eve that was all they were doing. 


The Foundation was not particularly keen on holidays, simply 
because they often meant personnel wanted time off. It didn't help 
that the holiday involved a possibly deity that may have suffered a 
severe case of being murdered some decades ago, if their ‘friends’ 
at the Global Occult Coalition were to be believed. Which, 
considering their inability to break something as simple as a chair, 
was unlikely. But this particular holiday brought about a certain 
cheer in many of the personnel. And so, for morale, the Foundation 
had dispensed trifling amounts of holiday cheer throughout their 
facilities. Not enough to really liven up the place, and the personnel 
still had their respective responsibilities to tend to, but enough that 
they didn't feel the need to complain much. 


This did not sit well with one Daniel Navarro, Foundation field agent 
and anomalous art specialist, so he took it upon himself to remedy 
his peers' situation of poor holiday funding. With a fake beard 
strapped to his coarse chin, a Santa hat jammed over his head, and 
a grin slapped across his face he sauntered into the room with a red 
sack slung over one shoulder. 


The assembled personnel eyed him groggily, some having to squint 
at the bright red against the dull grey walls. They were those who 
lived on site, or had foolishly spent their vacation days already. 
Trapped within the site's concrete halls, they were unable to bring in 
their own decorations due to storage ordinances. And now they 
were at the mercy of Navarro, and the bundle of goodies he toted. 


Navarro surveyed those before him for a familiar face. Gregg Collins 
gave a vague sort of wave before returning to his glass of eggnog, 
content to sit and muse nothings to himself. Sitting in one of the 
various armchairs was an olive-skinned man wearing a tacky 
sweater and an unsure smile. Navarro had worked with him several 
times before, but could never remember his name. Likely because 
the man couldn't remember himself. And then there was Jane 
Weiss, of Theta-90. She knew Navarro well enough to try to avoid 
his gaze and little enough to think that would actually work. 


From his bag of merriment he withdrew a cluster of multicolored 
lights. The fact that they glowed without being plugged in drew 
interest from the others in the room. He handed the bundle to Weiss, 
who stared at the lights as if they were a parcel of something illegal. 
Which was accurate, as they broke the laws of physics. And the 
Foundation was quite fond of said laws, and no doubt looked down 
upon relieving the anomalous objects storage rooms of their 
contents. 


But boredom was a powerful thing. It fastened itself around Weiss' 
neck, and the looming holiday potentiality weighed down on her 
shoulders. She looked up at Navarro, whose eyes glittered with the 
reflective colors of the lights in his hands. Weiss sighed and took 
them from Navarro. She recruited one of the researchers, and 
together they replaced the yellow lights with their more diverse 
brethren. 


And with that, the others lifted themselves from their seats and 
gathered around Navarro and his sack of wonder to collect more 
items to thicken the Christmas atmosphere. The amnesiac acquired 
a tin of cookies and nestled into his seat without regard for the 
others. Collins was pulled from his chair by a younger researcher, 
and together the two of them gathered up drinks and cups. 


One or two glanced at the camera swiveling in the upper corner of 
the room. Navarro simply smiled and shook his head, the fluff ball at 
the end of his hat swinging around like a yuletide wrecking ball. 
Bribery came cheap this time of year. As if to prove this, one of the 
various security personnel slid a CD player and accompanying from 
the bag. 


Hats and eggnog were dispensed, and when enough people were 
suitably hatted and mustachioed he moved over to an empty corner 
of the room. After jostling the sack around he set its mouth against 
the floor and lifted, revealing the green plastic of a tree support 
stand. As the bag lifted it spit out more and more tree, until Navarro 
had to stand on his toes and even then the tree was bending over. It 
snapped to attention when it was completely out, still quivering with 
dew. 


With a certain degree of reverence Navarro plucked out the final 
item. It was a glass ball with a coiled metal base, the latter tinted 
green with spray paint. Inside the ball was a small ball of nuclear 
fire, pinpricks of excess energy escaping in something akin to 
sunbeams. The miniature star held all the energy of its larger 
counterparts, yet paradoxically lacked their heat and brightness. The 
others decorated the tree with lights and glass balls and other 
assorted ornaments to the sound of caroling while Navarro shoved a 
chair close to the tree. Once the tree was fully decorated, Navarro 
used the chair as a footstool to slide the coil around the top of the 
tree. 


The room now aglow in warm, wholly unnatural light, the group 
eased back into their seats. Drunk on their renewed Christmas 
spirits, and/or more mundane spirits depending on which eggnog 
they partook in, they reveled in the merry tranquility. Some broke 
into song, others gorged on the various tins of food extracted from 
Navarro's magic bag. 


Once midnight rolled past a few broke away from the crowd to retire 
early, and eventually Navarro felt compelled to join them. He waved 
off those remaining and reminded the sober ones which storage unit 
the items were to be returned to. He hung on the door frame and let 
out a quick but heartfelt message before departing to his room. 


"Merry Christmas, everyone!" 


No One Should Be Alone 


Researcher Conwell sat alone at his desk. The sound of his typing 
filled the silence that otherwise engulfed the lab. With a large yawn, 
he took the opportunity to check the clock. It was 7:48 PM, 
December 24th, 2011. 


The door to the lab then opened, the sound of Christmas music 
flooding the room as an old bearded man with a walnut cane, a 
Santa hat, and what might possibly have been the world’s tackiest 
Christmas sweater stormed in. This man was the well-respected 
senior researcher Dr. Zachary Johnson. 


“Ho ho ho,” Johnson said with a sheepish grin. He placed a small 
mp3 player that was blasting Christmas tunes on one of the lab 
benches. 


“They let you visit Dr. Collins dressed like that?” Conwell asked. He 
rubbed his right temple as he chuckled. 


“Got to keep poor Gregg’s spirits up somehow,” Johnson jovially 
replied, “Besides, if | don’t reach the point where the higher ups are 
worried that I’ve become infected with some anomalous Christmas 
virus, I’m just not spirited enough.” 


“You certainly would have fooled me,” Conwell said with a small 
smile. He then turned back to his work, stopping his typing only 
when his superior cleared his throat. 


“Jacob,” he said as he checked his watch, “it is now 7:50 PM on 
Christmas Eve. You have been working on those documents since 
before | left here to visit Harold, three hours ago. | think it’s time for 
you to join me in the break room for a coffee.” 


Conwell shrugged and pointed to his work. Johnson would have 
none of it. 


“Son,” Johnson said as he tapped his cane on the ground, “if you 
turn me down | will hit you with this cane until you leave my lab. 
Humor an old soul and join me for a Christmas coffee break.” 


Conwell immediately held up his hands in surrender. Without 
another word he closed his laptop and began to make his way 
towards the door. Johnson gave a nod of approval as he watched 
his assistant step into the hall. He then grabbed his mp3 player and 
shut off the lights. The two men made their way towards the 
cafeteria in relative silence, save the Christmas songs coming from 
Johnson's person. 


“So Jacob,” Johnson began, “why are you here tonight. You got last 
Christmas Eve off. Surely a young man like you has somewhere 
else to be on Christmas.” 


“My folks and | fell out of touch after | started with the Foundation,” 
Conwell replied. “They think I’m working on a research ship for 
Stuart, Cameron, and Pauling Labs, so they don’t really expect me 
home for the holidays.” 


“| see,” Johnson nodded, “so what changed last year?” 


Conwell sighed and shook his head. This caused Johnson to stop 
and smirk. 


“Girlfriend?” he asked. 


“It's more of an on-again-off-again kind of thing, but yeah,” Conwell 
said with a half-hearted chuckle. “She was busy tonight, so | felt I'd 
be more productive here.” 


“Such is life,” Johnson shrugged. The two men continued their walk. 


Before long, they found themselves within the break room. What 
was normally drab and sterile had been recently done up in a more 
seasonal flair. Johnson quietly offered Conwell a seat and began to 
prepare a fresh pot of coffee. 


“If you don’t mind me asking, Dr. Johnson,” Conwell began, “what 
about you? Is there a Mrs. Johnson missing you tonight?” 


“I’m afraid not,” Johnson said as he finished setting up the coffee 
machine. He then moved on to rummaging through the fridge. 
“Shelly passed away almost twenty years ago. | usually spend the 
holiday with my daughter, Jessica, and the grandkids. This year, 
however, they are going to visit the son-in-law’s family. | guess you 
and | are two peas in a pod after all.” 


Johnson emerged from the fridge with several Tupperware 
containers. Before Conwell had a chance to ask questions, his 
superior was already preparing two plates. The containers were 
filled with most of the fixings of a rudimentary Christmas dinner. 


“Jessica prepared this spread for me earlier,” Johnson said as he 
placed the plates in the microwave. “As you can see, it’s far more 
than enough for me to consume alone. Even if | could eat it all, I'd 
rather not.” 


Conwell opened his mouth to protest, but remained silent when 
Johnson held out his hand for him to stop. After a few minutes, 
Johnson removed the plates from the microwave and placed them 
on the table with a warm smile. Conwell returned with a small smile 
of his own and gratefully accepted the plate. 


The two men then ate in silence. Conwell nodding as he relished the 
taste of the makeshift Christmas meal. Johnson’s daughter was 
apparently a very, very skilled cook. After they had both finished 
Johnson set about disposing of the paper plates. 


“So, Jacob,” Johnson began, “you’d agree with me if | told you no 
one should be alone on Christmas, would you not?” 


“| suppose I'd be a hypocrite at this point if | said no,” Conwell said 
with a chuckle, “why?” 


“Do you think you’d be up for one more task?” Johnson asked with a 
small smile. 


“What did you have in mind?” 


“And so... and so | said... | said, Karlyle, if that was true we wouldn’t 


need to send in an MTF, | could just have my wife handle the job!” 
Johnson said as he tried to contain himself. Ultimately he failed, 
resulting in him and the other occupants of the room broke out into a 
fit of laughter.