"Sir, please relax. Since my assembly, | have waited over 200 years 
to read this volume. | would be remiss to deny your request." Fourier 
7 made a sort of nodding motion to Henrietta. She stepped forward 
and picked up the receiver of an old touch-tone phone, dialed a 
number, and spoke a screeching series of fax machine sounds into 
the receiver. "My assistants will furnish you with lodging for the 
evening. In the event that the Foundation discovers your capability 
has been restored, | believe it goes without saying that this 
transaction is not to be mentioned." 


"Of course," the visitor said, slowly climbing to his feet. 


"It is a very serious thing you have done for us, Doctor," Fourier 7 
said, extending an appendage to take the visitor's hand. "| hope one 
day you will understand how serious." 


"| do," the visitor said with a smile. "Broken are we in his image, that 
we might make him whole’. Isn't that how it goes?" 


Fourier 7's shutters flapped open and closed wildly as it heard this. 
"Indeed, it is. Good journey to you, Doctor. May you be forever 
whole." 


The visitor was led up to a small clean room on the fifth floor, carried 
some of the way as his head refused to clear. "Have | been 
drugged?" he asked his attendants. "I feel like... like I've lost a /ot of 
blood or something." 


"It's normal," Henrietta responded. "The Reverend's examination 
required a full system diagnostic on your Cerebellar Device. | wear a 
Mark | myself. The effect can sometimes be quite draining." Slowly 
the two escorts lowered the visitor onto a bed and placed two pills 
and a glass of clear water on the side table. 


"These sedatives will keep you unconscious, but physically 
responsive through your surgery," she continued. "Take them as 
soon as possible. You will awaken in 18-24 hours in the Edmonton 
Garden Inn/Hilton. Your vehicle will be in a reserved space in their 
parking garage. Check-out will not be required. If you are in any way 
dissatisfied or require technical support, a number you can call will 
be provided. Do you have any other questions?" 


The visitor shook his head and waved the escorts out of the room, 
downing the pills as quickly as he could. 


On the morning of July 1, 1999, Agent Burt Tomlin sat idling ina 
black sedan, smoking too many cigarettes to kill the time and resting 
his foot on the accelerator to keep the engine from stalling. Two 
hours late. Dr. Thaddeus Xyank was never late. He was just about 
to radio in an emergency and book it back to Site-17 when an 
innocuous door down the street swung open, and a very groggy 
looking theoretical physicist carefully stepped out of it and down to 
the sidewalk. Tomlin honked the horn just once to get his attention, 
and Dr. Xyank, eyes puffy, ear bandaged, and face red methodically 
walked to meet him. 


"...You okay?" Tomlin asked. 


"|... Yeah, I'm fine. |... There's..." Dr. Xyank's voice was cracking. 


Armed Response Team Omicron-3 discovered all site personnel 
poisoned with the exception of the head researcher, Dr. —_, who 
was found mostly incorporated into SCP-763. Apparently, he had 
made a large incision in SCP-763 and folded himself inside. A note 
was found near Dr. __ 's discarded clothing. The note is reproduced 
below: 


| have to know. Six months and not a single inkling of 
what's going on in there. | don't give ina 

about organ function and immunodeficiency. | need to 
know what they're... what it's thinking. 


| need to know. | will know. 


Despite initial desire to terminate the biological components of Dr. 

for his betrayal, Armed Response Team Omicron-3 was 
instructed to desist after replacement research personnel discovered 
that Dr. __'s brain was being incorporated into the cluster. The 
additional research data gained by observing this process was 
deemed more important than revenge. 


Addendum 763-13L: 


Request by researchers that SCP-763-A be provided with 
replacement writing materials in the event that it should attempt to 
write is currently pending. 


« SCP-762 | SCP-763 | SCP-764 » 


He took off his glasses and vigorously rubbed his eyes. "It's a lot to 
take in, you know? | just... | need a minute." 


Tomlin nodded and pulled deftly into traffic. "Everything go alright?" 


Dr. Xyank looked dead ahead as Tomlin's phone buzzed in his 
pocket. Tomlin picked it up, noted the "unknown" number, and 
answered. "This is Homer Simpson, who's calling?" 


~Everything went fine.~ said the voice of Dr. Xyank on the line. 


Tomlin blinked, looked at the cell in his hand, and then back to his 
passenger before putting the phone back to his ear. "...Doc?" 


Dr. Xyank smiled in his seat, chest bopping up and down in silent 
laughter. ~ Yeah, it's me. See me waving?~. He looked Tomlin dead 
in the face and waved like a big grinning idiot. ~/t's like | can see 
again. You can't... You can't imagine how good this feels.~ 


Tomlin smirked and hung up the phone. "Very cool. So... what 
now?" 


"Don't worry about it," Dr. Xyank said as that stupid-happy smile 
spread ever wider across his face. All at once he watched TV, 
listened to the radio, and logged on to every wireless network he 
could find as they passed. "Everything is under control." 


And lord willing, he thought to himself, a// ‘god's’ children know well 
enough to wait to strike until the iron is hot. Though he wasn't quite 
sure, even though he'd seen it himself. Patience was, after all, a 
virtue best left to God. 


"Nothing?!" Clutch screeched in shock. "NOTHING?!" 


"Relax, brother Militant," Fourier 7 said quietly as it 
placed the volume in a small, unobtrusive fire-safe near 
its desk. "Your will-pressure is exceeding standard 
tolerances." 


Clutch puffed loudly as his relief valve opened, and his 


Mark VII weaponized exoskeleton fell slack around what 
was left of his biological form. "...With all due respect to 
the Patriarch, 200 years delay in reassembly is plenty 
long enough. Why do we not act?" 


"Because, brother Militant, it is the logical thing to do. 
The heart is stopped. God's ichor is known to our enemy 
and isolate. The soul is lost to us. The eye sees only the 
profanity of the heathen jailers. We will not continue 
building the God, because at present we have no God to 
build." 


"But couldn't those parts be rebuilt?" Henrietta asked. "I 
mean... | Know the Mind could not be, but surely the 
other pieces are not out of our grasp!" 


"They are not," Fourier 7 replied, sliding its trunk into a 
small slot in the floor. From beneath, a small electric 
motor rose and spun the crank in Fourier 7's base, 
winding him in seconds. "But there are many factors to 
consider. Creating these new parts in the image of our 
Lord would require extraordinary expense and risk. Have 
we forgotten the Surrey incident of 2004?" 


Henrietta sighed and nodded, folding her arms tightly. "I 
know, 'When you go in foreign lands, go in secret and in 
disguise.’ But we have been hiding for so many 
centuries..." 


"Please, sister. Do not attempt to instruct me as to the 
anguish of waiting," Fourier 7 scolded gently. "Children 
of your generation have difficulty waiting for 200 ms, let 
alone 200 years." 


"Forgive me," Henrietta bade, half-heartedly. 


"Pardon my bluntness," Clutch injected, "but what value 
is this object if we are not making use of it?" 


Fourier 7's gears ground against one another in 
frustration, but the ugly sounds within were short lived. 


With a single appendage, it opened the safe, and 
conveyed the volume, open to a random page, into 
Clutch's line of sight. "What do you see here, Militant? 
What marks are on this page?" 


Clutch turned up his nose at the document and turned 
his head away. "Absorbing information through the use 
of digital binary is heresy. | will not!" 


Henrietta's eyes would have fallen out of her head if they 
were not soldered in place. Clutch could not have just 
said what she thought he said. She played back the 
recorded sound-byte just to be sure. 'binary...binary... 
digital binary is heresy’... By WAN, he haa! 


"Am | a heretic, Militant?" Fourier demanded. 
"No, Reverend." 


"Yet | read and understand this document. Do you say 
that | am forbidden?" 


Clutch crossed his arms and stayed quiet, as Militants 
are often instructed to do when they find themselves 
disagreeing with their betters. 


"So... This is... This is a message written in machine 
code?" Henrietta asked. "A message, dictated by the Six 
Angels of WAN directly to our faithful scribes almost a 
thousand years ago... And it's in machine code?" 


Fourier 7 lowered the volume and turned several lenses 
to face her, shutters fluttering slowly. "If this was true, it 
would seem that such a discovery, if taken by Father 
Bumaro before the Patriarchs and the Administrators, 
might do much to re-cast our broken Church. Would it 
not?" 


"Yes, Reverend Automaton," Henrietta said with a 
cautious smile. "It would indeed." 


"Enough to justify a small free service to a jailer, 


brother?" Fourier 7 asked Militant Clutch. 


The Militant said nothing. He had nothing more to say. 
History and God would find the truth in it. Such pursuits 
required patience he did not possess. It was, after all, a 
virtue best left to God. 


Part 4: Exit History | Part 6: Set Up Thine Altar Here 


24th December 2008 14th January 2009 


24/12/2008 

Well, Christmas Eve is here, and | believe Mr. Kringle may have 
infected the staff with cheer, because the amount of work getting 
done is non existent. Of course, I'm one to talk... I'm the one who 
allowed them to do it, as well as stopping my own personal 
experiments. (Mainly because | feel bad if | indirectly allow someone 
to get killed horrifically at Christmas.) 


I've even stopped the experiment on Emily for the past few days, 
and well, requisitioned some time off for her. Granted, owing to the 
state of her condition, she still is unready for a heavily urbanized 
area, but she was allowed to venture outside for a good deal, near 
the grove, although of course, she wasn't actually allowed inside it. 


Zero's body has stabilized enough for the implantation for us to 
continue, and finally merge the mental body and the physical one. 
We're going to do it tomorrow. So, my assistant is technically going 
to be "born" on Christmas day. Not a bad present if | do say so 
myself. 


25/12/2008 
SHE'S ALIVE! 


28/12/2008 

I've spent most of the past few days with Zero. Since she has woken 
up, it has taken her three days to learn to do pretty much everything 
that takes a normal human child twenty years. I'm fairly sure she 
hasn't slept in that time, but I'm not sure she needs to. 


Christmas was good, and thankfully uneventful. Most of the 
residents and SCP alike enjoyed what little trinkets or services they 
received. Emily was especially happy at what she received. | gave 
her a little television, one with access to most children's channels, to 
be available for an hour or two a day. | myself received a very nice 
holiday to Spain, thanks to a very special certain someone. They 


know who they are. Although the staff seem curiously joyous at that. 


Ah, yes, Zero's name. | was pleasantly surprised when she told me 
of it. So many connotations, so many meanings. She told me as 
soon as she could form the words. 


Sophia. 


02/01/2009 

Well, the role of being a father has fallen to me these past few days, 
as well as site administrator. I've been easing Sophia into the real 
world, trying to make the transition as painless as possible, and, as 
expected, Sophia is taking to everything like a fish does to water. 
She's learned decades of research, centuries of history, over seven 
different languages, and still her appetite for knowledge has not 
been sated. Soon she might overshadow even me. 


The only thing that has me worried, is that high command have 
decreed that since she seems to be working so well that they've 
ordered full scale production, albeit with some minor 
alterations to the original product. | realize that this is for the good 
for the Foundation, and the world at large, but | just can't help but 
feel that its cheapening the original life | brought into this world. 
Sentimentality... Bah, one day feelings like this will be the death of 
me. 


Most of the on site research has been reinstated, and finally the site 
is getting back to work. Experimentation with Emily, and trying to 
improve her mental condition is continuing again, despite the fact 
she just wants to watch "Ruby Gloom" all the time. And | told her 
handlers to ration the time she has with the television... | guess 
we're going to have to slowly wean her off of it a little. 


The excavation area has been completely ignored over the holidays, 
and although I, as always, lament the lack of research being 
performed, | can at least appreciate the fact that no one has died, 
mutated, or even gone insane in that area. But alas, we must 
continue with testing. Excavation is still disallowed, at least until we 
figure out what exactly is this "thing" in the center. We'll be doing 
testing with the bone orb. | don't want to subject Sophia to 
whatever danger that may be there, as she might be more 


susceptible to it due to her multidimensional nature. 


On the bright side, | shall be leaving for my brief little holiday on 
Wednesday, although, it is rather unfortunate that | must leave 
behind the walker, and be accompanied by several armed guards, 
not to mention the fact | can't go sight seeing or into public places or 
even outside without disguise "procedures", i.e. being naked. 
Granted, as a dog, | have no real need for clothes, but dammit, | 
don't exactly enjoy being naked either. It's rather demeaning.... 


Dammit, | hate being a dog sometimes. | am looking forward to the 
food though, and my company will be superb. If, that is, they can get 
some sort of feeling of privacy despite the dozen or so armed 
guards around us. Damn. 


14/01/2009 

Finally, I've returned to my home, and place of work... Took me long 
enough, what with several bureaucratic blunders to try and fix along 
the way just so | could make it back here. Seriously, why does a dog 
need a passport? And that bloody quarantine thing? Argh, next time 
I'm not leaving the country. Well, maybe. 


Other than that, the trip was quite nice, though more for the 
company than the locale. The area was that saturated with holiday 
homes and the like, that it was practically a little slice of England, 
weather and all, which was not exactly to the liking of my palette. 


In total, | saw only four actual Spaniards. And | never even managed 
to sample a bowl of paella, which is rather upsetting. Although we 
did go to this rather nice little restaurant with the most delicious 
steaks... Though the staff were a little apprehensive about serving a 
dog. Still, | sooke the language of all people, the language of money. 
Of course, | used someone else to say this. I'd rather not exhaust 
my vocabulary trying to hush up word of a talking dog. 


Allin all, a nice trip, but not one | will be repeating in the near future. 


Sophia dealt well with my absence, managing the affairs of the site 
with ease, and continuing the experimentation with Emily, though 
she left it to me to make sure the log for said experiments are in 
order. 


There's been a great influx of new employee's in my absence. 
Apparently, the Overwatch feels we need "new biooa", so to speak, 
and for once, | happen to agree with them. Many hands make light 
work, as they say.