"Yup." He pulled a small plastic card from his pocket. "Got the cure 
right here." 


They nearly choked from how hard they shoved the food into their 
mouth. 


"So," Finnegan said before he took his first bite. "I'm Finnegan." 


A single finger rose as they chewed and swallowed. When it was 
lowered they replied, "Name's Aldon." 


That did not particularly help in the gender department. 
"What's keeping you here, Aldon?" 
Rather than reply they took another particularly large bite. 


Finnegan took his first bite and relished it deeply as something told 
him this was the best thing he would ever eat. The next bite was in 
his mouth before the first was gone. He swallowed and reached for 
a napkin, his gaze chancing upon the yellow card. The madness 


quelled. 


Even then, Aldon continued to stuff their face. When they put the 
burger down for a moment Finnegan held up the card. Their face 
screwed up in confusion while they chewed, eventually settling into 
an uncomfortable grimace when their mouth was empty. 


"It's not so much anything keeping me," they eventually said. "I just 
have nowhere to go." 


"Hmm. " 


Finnegan took another bite, and Aldon followed. The two of them 
finished their respective meals and wiped their mouths of the 
resulting carnage when it was over. Their eyes lingered on the card 
before their gazes met. 


"Would you like to have somewhere to go?" he eventually asked. 


He watched conflict tear across their face for several seconds. They 
seemed to try saying something several times, only to grit their teeth 
and think some more. Eventually they took a deep breath and let out 
an even deeper sigh. 


"| could use a place to stay the night, yeah." 


"Fffuck." 


Sweat poured down FinNobody's face. Nobody's face. Not 
Finnegan's. Finnegan didn't exist anymore. He was nothing but a 
pile of memories sitting in the recycle bin that was Nobody's mind. It 
was just a matter of discovering how to empty it. 


Slowly, Nobody lifted his hand. Practiced opening and closing it. It 
felt like he was watching it happen from behind his eyes, just sitting 
in cramped headspace and craning his neck to get a better view. His 
head felt heavy at its core, but as a whole it felt light and foggy. 


Focusing on the book before him, he carefully analyzed a variety of 
geographical anomalies. Page after tortured page he flitted through 
the tome, feeling something pressing at the back of his head like the 


grows more hysterical. D-937122 begins gasping for air, and 
appears to go into cardiac arrest. Attempts to revive D-9371 22 fail. 
During the autopsy, D-937122's body is revealed to be covered in 
tiny puncture wounds, and has an unknown toxin in her 
bloodstream. 


Addendum 567-01: Further testing with SCP-567-5 has revealed 
that it is triggered by those who have committed adultery. It is also 
noted that not all individuals who have committed theft trigger 
SCP-567-1; consistent patterns have not yet been established. 


Footnotes 

1. These triggers and resulting responses are similar to other 
anomalies involving disproportionate law enforcement, such 
asSCP-1002andSCP-2701. 


« SCP-566 | SCP-567 | SCP-568 » 


barrel of a gun. 
Then he found it. 


An entry on a cave, burrowed somewhere near Mount Aragats. At its 
heart, a curator of sorts. A teacher, and a knowledge seeker. And 
Nobody had a sizable chunk of memories sitting in his head he'd just 
love to donate. 


« Killing Knowledge | Hub | Mental Mazes » 


Mental Mazes 


Probability in the Foundation's multiverse is a fairly fluid concept, 
able to be pumped and dammed as the higher players see fit. Some, 
such as a certain Nobody, are not entirely conscious of the eddies 
swirling around them. They simply plunge forward and leave others 
to deal with the resulting wake. 


"Sir?" said a voice in Armenian. "Sir! | asked you what you think 
you're doing here." 


Nobody eyed the Foundation employee disguised as a member of 
the Armenite State Forest Service. The words were lost on him, but 
he had the distinct feeling he should wait a moment. He felt a small 
pressure in the crown of his head, something distinct from all the 
kicking and screaming coming from Finnegan. 


"Sir, nobody is allowed in this area." 


The dam burst and Nobody rode the wave forward. The Foundation 
employee did nothing to stop him. As he entered the mouth of the 
cave, Nobody turned to see them scratching their head and 
returning to their patrol. 


He ignored the Foundation Site and plunged into the heart of the 
cave system, into the main chamber. As he did so a voice crawled 
up his back and nestled in the base of his skull. 


Such a direct invasion. 
"Excuse me?" Nobody halted. Stared at the ceiling. 


He felt a probing at his mind. You are not Breath's pawn. Who are 
you? 


"Nobody." 


... Interesting. What do you seek? 


"It's more how | can assist you. I've got someone's life story to tell." 
He tapped his temple. It felt like something tapped back. "All yours. 
Free of charge." 


Nobody's spine tingled as the Spine of the World surveyed 
Finnegan. 


6:17 PM 
4/11/2012 


Finnegan checked the display for the third time in as many minutes. 
He cycled through several tabs before checking a fourth time. It was 
almost an hour beyond when Aldon usually returned home from 
work at the pizzeria. She wasn't answering her phone, either. In the 
few weeks she had crashed with him, she had never been this out of 
touch. 


After several more minutes of fretting he heard a knock at the door. 
He minimized his browser, double-checked to make sure nothing 
particularly incriminating in view, and opened the door. 


A wall of white greeted him. Along one side was what must have 
been Aldon's hand. She had lugged a mattress up several flights of 
stairs. And likely across town from wherever the hell she actually 
acquired the thing. 


"Help me with this, would you?" 


Finnegan swung the door wide open and helped tip the mattress 
through the archway. After some awkward sidling they tossed it 
down against the wall opposite the door. 


"Get sick of the couch?" he asked as he took his seat. 


"| swear there's something inside that thing. Several somethings." 
She plopped down onto the white fluff. "This is so much better. Oh- 
and here's first month's rent." 


He nearly fell out of the chair from leaning over to grab the bundle of 
cash. "Thanks." 


Aldon stretched and put her hands under her head. She seemed to 
sink several inches without actually moving. "Nah, man, thank you. 
Seriously." 


"Heh." Finnegan went back to his music and Aldon dozed off. 


Nobody clawed at the back of his head in a vain attempt to rip the 
Spine from his skull. It felt like a door was gaping open in the back of 
his mind, and it was only a matter of time before Finnegan was able 
to find it. It took Nobody several seconds to notice Spine had begun 
talking, having already released its weak grip. 


Could fit into Frozen Canvas Wing. Hallway to your right. The path 
will be shown. 


Only half paying attention where he was going, Nobody trudged 
forward. It took all he had to shut the door and keep it barricaded 
against Finnegan's incessant pounding. With each beat of his heart 
Nobody could feel his head pounding in more ways than one. 


After almost an hour of walking the pain stopped. The door shifted 
slightly, and out of a mail slot came a small fragment of a memory. A 
witnessing of a memory, more like. A script, a note. 


"Within every other iteration of reality that he happens to 
be born in, he subsequently leaves it roughly twenty-five 
years later. Can you guess why?" 


"| be- | mean he, Finnegan, becomes Nobody." 
"Or Reality tries to make him one, at least." 
"What do you mean tries?" 

"It doesn't always... take, so to speak." 


Nobody leaned against the mental door and gritted his teeth. Was 
Finnegan hoping to distract him? Weaken his resolve to allow an 
escape? Well, it wouldn't work. Only a short while longer and 
Nobody would have his head to himself. 


The door rattled and a second, smaller note shot out between his 
legs. 


You're not a person, you're a coping mechanism. 
Nobody ran. 


He sprinted as far as he could as fast as Finnegan's legs would 
carry him. He only had to reach his destination, and then it would be 
over. After several turns his lungs burned and his legs ached, but his 
ears pounded to the drum of a pursuer. 


A mere glance over Finnegan's shoulder was all Nobody took, but 
he saw Finnegan following him through the tunnels. Hurdling over 
shattered statues and ducking under speakers jutting from the 
ceiling, Finnegan hounded him for what felt like miles. Under such 
duress several minutes stretched into what felt like well over several 
hours. 


Whenever he blinked he was treated to images from his pursuer's 
perspective, alternating between the chase and a hodgepodge of 
assorted memories. He was aware enough to see the liquid crystal 
on the cave surrounding him, a droplet falling down and half-blinding 
him. One eye chased the other until it seemed Finnegan had caught 
him. He wiped his eye just in time to be almost blinded by a sea of 
white. 


Twists and turns through snow, sand, stone, and salami. The last of 
which was a bit of an odd experience for both of them. Lunch meat 
collapsed underneath him and he fell into a jumble of instruments 
inside what looked to be a band room. Tossing aside trombones and 
trumpets in a haphazard effort to get away, tossing aside his own 
memories of Aldon with them, Nobody traversed the sea of brass. 


Once free, he hit a dead run. He passed by columns of bookshelves 
and rows of pews, ignoring the clay humanoids that clawed at him. 
Nothing would stop him. Not this winding maze of a cave system, 
not Finnegan, not foreboding memories of his conversation with the 
devil himself, and certainly not- 


Several thousand tons of rock hitting him square in Finnegan's 


forehead could bring him to a stop. Or rather, him running straight 

into one of the cave walls could. And did. Nobody toppled over and 
hit the back of Finnegan's head on the hard ground. Blood soaked 

into Finnegan's hair in several places. 


Finnegan groaned. 

What are you doing? 

"Hurting. Bleeding. Possibly suffering from a concussion." 
What were you doing? 


Finnegan sat up as slowly as he could. His head hurt. His mind hurt. 
It felt constricted, like a net had been thrown over it and pulled 
taught. No doubt what little of his Nobody persona remained 
constituted said net. But it was still there. Squeezing, hoping to 
shove his entirety back into a little cage. 


But Finnegan, unlike what seemed to be so many other Finnegans, 
had a compelling reason to stick around. Something to keep him 
from acquiescing to Reality's demand for another Nobody. Someone 
that made life interesting enough to be somebody with. 


"Sorry, minor mental crisis," Finnegan said, picking up the hat. "! 
know... 'l' told you | had an artist's life story to tell. But how about a 
Nobody's life instead? That's gotta be worth something." 


The cave was silent for a short time as something seemed to thrum 
in thought. 


It would. 


Finnegan grinned. 


The memory of a Way is almost as good as the Way itself. 


After stomping his way through a small flurry of snow, Finnegan 
could faintly feel the presence of a Way. It seemed to be located 
within a small wood cabin in the center of a snowy grove. While he 
had gotten this far without shivering once, his bones ached with cold 


the moment he was inside. He piled wood into the furnace, hurled 
books into the fire. Yet he still couldn't get warm. 


With a secondhand sense of recollection he sat in the already 
smoldering coals. He shut the furnace door and withdrew a lighter 
he didn't own from his pocket. A few fumbled flicks later Finnegan 
stepped out into the Wanderer's Library. He rubbed his arms for 
warmth and set out to find the air filter he, as Nobody, had left 
behind. 


After a stop at the Utterly Bazaar to collect his earnings for the ghost 
goo, he departed from his local Library and entered his local library. 
The walk home was uneventful, and Finnegan's mind was 
peacefully empty. So to speak. 


The following days were likely unremarkable. He spent his days on 
his computer, going to work, and sleeping. It was oddly relaxing, to 
have the place to himself. Save for the golems and Everett, of 
course. 


On the sixth day there was a rattling at the door. It swung open to 
reveal an exhausted looking Jakeob Aldon. Finnegan regarded her 
coolly for a moment before nodding. 


"Have fun?" 


"Ugh." Aldon slipped her pack off and stumbled over to her bed. She 
collapsed unceremoniously. "So ugh." 


"Regret going?" 


Aldon playfully poked at Copper. She was silent for a few seconds 
and then shrugged. "Nah. So what have you been up to without me 
to Keep you company?" 


Finnegan stared at her for a moment, his gaze drifting to his nearby 
mattress. There, instead of the room that was now Aldon's 
workroom. He looked into her eyes for a moment. 


Then he shrugged. 


"Eh, same ol', same ol'." 


« Library Lifeline | Hub | Nazi Nonsense » 


Nazi Nonsense 


Sergeant Freudenberger squinted again at the tiny print on the 
manifest list, struggling to find his place. He jumped at the sudden 
sound of the train whistle as yet another load of prisoners 
disembarked into the makeshift station, dropping his glasses into his 
cup of tea. 


"Oh, I'm frightfully sorry! Oh-oh my, just a moment, I'll have you 
processed and ready to go! My apologies, um, Fraulein... 
Fraulein..." 


The woman standing before him slowly jabbed a finger towards the 
top of the page Sergeant Freudenberger was working on. "Aldon. 
Zuzanna Aldon. No Fraulein." 


Sergeant Freudenberger gave his glasses a quick shake, then 
affixed them once more upon his bulbous nose. "Oh... oh! There it 
is! l-I'm sorry, erm, Frau Aldon-" 


"It's not 'Frau' either. Just Aldon." 


The sergeant peered once more at his manifest sheet, then back at 
Aldon. "Ah, pardon me. Whatever you prefer, er, Aldon. Whatever is 
most, uh, polite." 


Aldon rolled her eyes. "I think we passed the point of polite 
introductions sometime after the raid in Kleparz." She pointed to the 
dark blue, rifle butt-shaped bruise on the right side of her face. "I've 
had enough German etiquette, thanks." 


"Ach, dreadful! | would never sanction such barbarous treatment, 
surely! |-" 


Aldon glared at the sergeant, gesturing at the sprawling intake 
center and the lines of prisoners waiting to be processed. 


"Oh. Right. Um, that." The Sergeant's face went red with shame, not 
for the first time that day. "You're in Sector B, Tent 48, Fraulein- er, 
Aldon. They're not really tents, though, there was some confusion at 
the command center, and, um-" 


"Would you please just hurry up and put me in the damn 
concentration camp!" Aldon said as she crossed her arms. 


"Yeah, we don't got all day you know!" a man's voice called from 
somewhere behind them in line. 


Several black-clad SS guards glanced towards the general area of 
the remark, heavy wooden truncheons in hand. The Sergeant 
quickly signaled to the guards to remain calm; the guards, after 
several moments, relented and acknowledged the Sergeant's 
direction, though not without an angry glare for their superior. 
Sergeant Freudenberger waved Aldon back towards the camp as 
the next prisoner came forward.