“Victor, that’s awesome. Thank you so much,” Icky said. “I'd love to 
talk more but | have a possibly attempted vehicular homicide to deal 
with so if you’ll excuse me.” 


“Wait, there’s one more thing,” he said. “I have a couple of other 
clients who have some wares they'd like to try to sell you that | think 
would be excellent additions to your Circus. Would you like me to 
arrange a viewing?” 


| ” 


“Icky!” Yume cried as she ran up to the display case. “Come quick! 
One of Ripley’s sea monsters escaped from the Funhouse! Manny’s 
fist fighting it to keep it away from the crowds and Gabriel’s trying to 
calm it down but Lolly’s riding it like she’s at a rodeo and it won't 
stop bucking...” 


” 


“Victor, I'll run that past Manny but I’ve got to go. I'll talk to you later, 
she said as she dashed out of the glass phone box. 


“Hey Gary, just out of curiosity have you guys ever consulted any 
type of actuary about the potential risks of your attractions, because 
it seems like that’s something you might benefit from,” Victor asked. 


“No, Icky and Manny tend to make decisions from the gut, heart, or 
whatever vital organs are available, and they haven’t steered us 
astray yet,” Gary replied. 


The wails of the Nessie-esque sea monster echoed across the 
fairgrounds as the beast did battle with an upside down faced man 
and two excessively exuberant Clowns. 


“Right. I'll talk to you later then Gary.” 


“Wait wait wait. Before you go, what year is it?” 
“eeOrre 


“Thank you. | knew it was the twenty-first century. Take care of 
yourself, Victor.” 


“You too Gary.” 
Gary ended the call and took a look at the list Icky had left him. 


“Let’s see; 24 crates of cheeping peeps, variety (both colours and 
songs), non-screaming. 24 crates of glowing gummy bears (the non- 
radioactive ones). 16 crates of bubble breath gum oh my god 
balloon guy! Gary immediately put the list down and switched back 
to the Customer Service line. “Hey there, sorry about keeping you 
on hold for so long. How are you making out? 


“Balloon guy?” 
The line was dead. 


“He, ah, he probably just dropped his phone,” Gary assured himself. 
He sat silently in contemplation until the next call came in. “Thank 
you for calling Herman Fuller prize support. I’m Gary Gorham, how 
may | be of assistance.” 


“| won this prismatic magic eight ball thing that actually tells the 
future and | told some friends about it and they must've told 
someone about it over the phone or online or something because 
earlier today these spooks showed up at my house,” a panicked 
young man answered him. “I didn’t let them in and now there’s like a 
S.W.A.T. team or something getting ready to break down my door. 
I’ve barricaded the entrance and armed myself with an accent lamp. 
What do | do now?” 


“Don't try concealing it anally.” 
“What?!” 


“We’ve had people try that in the past. They find it anyways so it’s 
not worth it.” 


There was the sound of glass breaking, a soft thud and something 
hissing. 


“Oh god they just threw in some kind of gas can. It’s spraying red 
gas that tastes like peppermint and batteries! | can’t remember my 
iPhone unlock code!” 

“Well you'll have to go to the genius bar for that but...” 


He heard the door breaking down and men shouting as they 
stormed into the room. 


“This phone’s live!” someone shouted. “Who is this?” 


“Certainly no one anomalous,” Gary said as he immediately cut the 
connection. 


But of course it was someone anomalous. It was none other than 
Gary Gorham, the 


MASTER OF TELEPHONESIS!... 
Esis!... 


Esis!... 


Esis!... 


esis. 


« Fuller's Fantastic Fun-lover's Funhouse | Dread & Circuses 
Hub| She Remembered Me » 


She Remembered Me 


« Your Call Is Important To Us | Dread & Circuses Hub | Freaky 
Commodities II ~ Freak Harder » 


“But | also dreamt which charmed me most 
That you loved me still the same 

That you loved me 

You loved me still the same, 

That you loved me 

You loved me still the same.” 


SCP-1860 bowed his head as he finished one of his favourite arias. 
It was nostalgic, as it had been one of the first pieces of music that 
Herman had ever ‘fed’ to him. He had been with the Circus for over 
a hundred years, longer than anyone else other than Fuller or the 
Man with the Upside Down Face. Dozens, if not hundreds of people 
had heard him sing each day, and over the course of his career his 
loving audience must have numbered in the millions. 


But that was a long time ago. 


Now instead of an oversized birdcage he was held in a soundproof 
cell. His only audience was whoever was watching through the 
security camera. During daylight hours he often had a live audience 
of at least one, and even when he didn’t someone always reviewed 
the recordings. In spite of their avid professionalism, many of them 
did enjoy listening to him. It was a far cry from his glory days, but at 
least he wasn’t singing for nothing. 


Except now he couldn't help but notice that the little red light on his 
security camera had stopped blinking. It had never done that before, 
but he supposed that meant it had been turned off. He was sure it 
was nothing to worry about, probably a random malfunction or some 
scheduled downtime for the security system, but in the back of his 
mind he couldn’t help but think that maybe his jailers had decided it 
was no longer worth their time to listen to him, and he would never 


have an audience again. 


He sighed sadly, and decided there was nothing he could do but 
wait. Audience or no audience, he would sing. 


“In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came 

That voice which calls to me and speaks my name 
And do | dream again? For now | find 

The Phantom of the Opera is there 

Inside my mind.” 


“Sing once again with me our strange duet 

My power over you grows stronger yet 

And though you turn from me to glance behind 
The Phantom of the Opera is there 

Inside your mind.” 


1860 fell silent in shock, for it was not he who had sung the second 
verse. He slowly looked behind him at the source of the heart- 
achingly familiar voice. The sight of a Clown suddenly standing in 
one’s doorway was a sight few would welcome, but 1860 was one of 
those few. 


“Icky?” he asked, his voice cracking, tears of black ink gathering in 
his eyes. The Clown nodded, her eyes watering as well. 


“Hey V. It’s, ah, it’s been a while,” she said awkwardly. 


“What are you doing here?” he asked, not daring to make 
assumptions. 


“ve come to bring you home.” 
“After all this time?” 


“| Know | have no excuse for letting you rot in here for so long, but | 
thought you were dead! | honestly had no idea you were still alive 
until a few weeks ago, but as soon as | found out that Essie was 
holding you, getting you home safe has been my top priority.” 


1860 cast his gaze to the floor, seemingly in contemplation. 


“V, please don’t be mad at me,” Icky pleaded, kneeling down at his 
side. 


“I’m not mad, just...confused,” he said. “I’d given up hope of rescue 
long ago. | thought you had all forgotten me.” 


“Herman may have forgotten you, but not me. You were one of my 
best friends V. When | was a Humdrum and felt like shit, your music 
always made me feel better. When | became a Clown and was 
hopped up on Milk most of the time, you could still move me to 
tears. | miss that. | miss you. Look, we don't have a lot of time to 
talk, so please just say you'll let me take you back home and sing for 
us again. You must be starved for new music, and I’ve gathered 
together reams of song sheets for you to consume. Here, they only 
ever study you, but at the Circus you can be adored again! Don’t 
waste one more second of your life in this prison.” 


“What about Herman?” he asked softly. “Does he want me back? 
Does he miss me? Does he remember me?” 


“V, Herman is gone. He’s been gone twenty years, give or take, and 
depending on where you’re counting from. Manny and | are in 
charge now. I’m the Ringmaster and he’s the manager, except we 
never call him that because then he’d be Manny the manager which 
| personally don’t think sounds that terrible but he hates it and I’m 
rambling and I’m sorry. | want you to see the Circus, what it’s 
become, what Manny and | have done with it. | want you to meet 
everyone who's joined since you left, especially Lolly. She’s the 
sweetest, cutest, most energetic Clown we've had in decades, and 
the most passionate playmate I’ve ever had. | love her above all else 
and it would mean the world to me if you would sing for her. V? 
Virtuoso, are you listening?” 


1860 didn’t reply at first, seemingly dumbfounded by what she had 
said. 


“Herman’s gone?” he asked at last. Icky sighed sadly. 


“V, | get that you have mixed feelings about Fuller. Hell, | have 
mixed feelings about Fuller. | know he created you, and all the way 
back then maybe he was a halfway decent guy but that didn’t last. | 


Experiment Log 624 


Note 1: This is a test log of SCP-624 by Site personnel and 
visiting staff to scope SCP-624's abilities. Please remember that 
SCP-624 is not a toy and that you must do these tests at your own 
risk. -Dr. Z 


Warning: Personnel who do not listen to music, do not like music, or 
have zero musical influences are not allowed to test SCP-624. 


Note 2: | said it before and I'll say it again, SCP-624 is NOT a toy. 
You may use it for testing, but if you want to hear yourself become a 
famous musician, go take some music lessons. Our job is to seek 
out the range of SCP-624's abilities. As of 8/31/16, this test log is 
for anomalous test results only. To see the control tests, refer to 
Test Log SCP-624-1.-Dr.D_ , Level 4 Security 


Instructions for testing SCP-624: 


Charge SCP-624 from a computer or 30-pin personal mp3 player 
charger. An iPod-only 30-pin charger will not work. Hook up a pair of 
headphones to SCP-624 and power it on. Ear buds, noise 
cancellation headphones, and speakers will not work. Record your 
findings in the following format: 


Subject: 

Artist Profile: 
Music Results: 
Subject Comments: 


Press the black button twice after playing a song to see the Artist 
Profile. Report the generated music's style and genre, if ithas a 
genre. Once finished, include a short blurb of your/the subject's 
experience in the comment section. 


Subject: Dr.D  , Level 4 Security. Subject did not profess his 


don’t know if he was just corrupted by power or slowly driven mad 
by whatever he was using to extend his life or something else, but 
every year he got crazier and crazier and we had to do something 
about it. You do realize he tried to burn you, right?” 


“He set lots of fires, mine might have just been collateral damage,” 
he said unconvincingly. “But you’re right. | gave him over a century 
of faithful service and after a single mishap he decided | was 
kindling. He was still the only father | had though. For a long time | 
clung to the delusion that there was still some bond of kinship 
between us, that eventually it would grow strong enough that Fuller 
would be compelled to come and retrieve me, and it broke my heart 
when | finally accepted that that would never happen.” 


He smirked, and then looked up at Icky. 


“All though, | suppose if | substituted just a Ringmaster instead of 
Fuller specifically, it wasn’t a delusion after all.” 


“Does that mean you'll come back with me?” she asked with a 
hopeful gleam in her eyes. 


“This venue has grown stale, and it would be nice to receive flowers 
once again.” 


Icky squeed in delight, rushing to the exit to open the access control 
vestibule. When the inner door slid open, she was faced with a 
Foundation guard pointing a gun at her, wearing a high-tech looking 
pair of neckband headphones. 


“Hands where | can see ’em darling, no sudden moves,” he said, 
slowly stepping into the room. “The outer door is locked. You're 
trapped in here ’til | let you out, so don’t do anything stupid. And 
don’t you try anything either Sinatra. These noise cancelling 
headphones will automatically block out any sound over 90 
decibels.” 


“You must be the Emcee D operative. Suthers, right? You’re 
supposed to be taking a nap,” Icky said, calmly assessing the man 
and plotting her next move. “What the hell do you think you’re 
doing?” 


“Let me answer that question with a question; do you know what the 
Foundation pays me to guard and hunt down paranormal creatures 
and artifacts that could not only kill me but quite possibly subject me 
to inconceivable suffering and transform everything | care about into 
an unrecognizable hellscape if | mess up their containment 
procedures?” 


“Not enough?” Icky ventured. 


“Bingo. And do you know what MC&D pays me to double cross a 
nigh omnipotent organization that, despite its adamant claims to the 
contrary, totally does put traitors and fuck ups on Keter duty?” 


“Somewhere between not enough and jack shit?” 


“Right again! You see, even if the Foundation never figures out | had 
a hand in this, and that’s a big fucking if, if this guy goes missing on 
my watch then I’m an Eldritch lizard’s chew toy. Of course, one can’t 
exactly say no to the Deathless Merchant of London either, so | was 
in a bit of a bind. But then they told me they were sending ina 
Clown, and an opportunity presented itself. 

“The Foundation’s still a little confused about exactly what you 
things are, but we have discovered two significant details. First; you 
have what they call negligible senescence, which is a fancy way of 
saying you don’t get old. And second; all your various abilities are 
actually just different applications of essokinesis. You freaks are low 
level reality benders.” 


“Low level? How dare you,” she said in feigned indignation. “What 
does any of this have to do with why you’re pointing a gun at me?” 


“You see darling, you're my ticket away from the SCP and MC&D for 
good. I’ve lined up a buyer for you; some millennial millionaire 
wunderkind, real Transhumanist type. Wants to live forever, and’s 
willing to pay a pretty penny for the chance to study an actual 
immortal up close. Enough for me to evade any retaliatory efforts on 
behalf of my former employers. I’m going to throw your buddy in as 
bonus, since | can’t just leave him lying around.” 


Icky tossed her head back and laughed. 


“Okay, I’ve been letting you monologue your evil plan just out of my 
respect for classic tropes, but as you pointed out | am a reality 
bender. How exactly do you plan on taking me prisoner?” 


Suthers chuckled. Still pointing the gun at her, he took something off 
his belt with his free hand and held it up to her. It was a bronze 
sphere roughly the size of a baseball with an LED ring around the 
equator, a knob at each pole, and vent like openings scoring each 
hemisphere. 


“Know what this is?” he asked. “This is a Scranton Reality Mini- 
Buoy. I’m not supposed to have it, so stealing it was kind of a point- 
of-no-return for me. If | recall, it maintains Hume Field Homeostasis, 
which essentially means that if you do anything to alter reality it will 
counteract it, rendering you effectively powerless. Go ahead, try to 
do some magic. See if I’m bluffing.” 


Icky tried to telekinetically draw out her deck of trick cards, and her 
poker face faltered when they didn’t answer her call. 


“So what? Even without magic I’m still stronger than an ordinary 
human, stronger than you, and | could survive a shot from a 
handgun. You got nothing.”