They waited a few years and shared cans of watery beer up until 
this punk turned a corner on a shaded Louisianna backroad. One of 
them sat in anticipation with a walkie-talkie, and a bag of fun sized 
Snickers. Their foreheads were coated in sweat as the human 
puttered closer to his truck. He drew closer, slower, because there 
were construction signs and the worker was blocking the way. 


The human took off his helmet and pulled up to the worker's 
window. 


"Hey, can | go through here? The signs say do not pass. | don't 
know what that means." said the human. 


"Uh, yeah," the worker responded, mouth half full of chocolate, "just 
follow the pilot car up ahead." 


"Hey thanks!" he said, and began to put his helmet back on. 


"Wait a minute there, you hungry? | got some Fritos that I'm not 


gonna eat." 


The human looked at the worker, puzzled. "No, not really. I'm not 
really hungry." 


The worker grimaced, and looked away on down the road. 


This universe would stretch on in infinite wrongness, its denizens 
completely unaware how wrong they all were. Of course a few 
aesthetes would jump off of some bridges due to some sort of 
implacable existential crisis, but | digress. 


The workers held a meeting in an abandoned Wal Mart 3,000 years 
after they learned that their construction wasn't up to code. The fat 
man shaped creatures sat in the mucus coated inventory room on 
ladders and stacked pallets. 


"Probability is hard to master," the fattest of them said in a lazy 
croak "but not impossible. We know that." 


Some of them shuffled in their seats, and many cigarettes were lit. 


"This universe is wrong, and that is sad. Outside you'll see octopus 
slime monsters funneling through that big hole in the ground, doing 
things to the human populace. That ain't right. That's wrong actually. 
That is not a thing that should happen." 


Everyone muttered in agreement. 


"But we're not gonna sit around crying about it, or blame anyone, not 
even Steve. We freeze this world and move on." 


They sat in silence for some time, ignoring the weird squishes and 
screams coming from outside. 


"I'll do the honors." 


The fattest one opened the loading garage and stepped outside onto 
the pavement. 


"An infinite number of possibilities stretch out around us in every 
moment," he croaked loudly as he stepped a few meters in front of a 


human and its monstrous pursuer. "...and it's your job to know what 
happens at least one hundred million steps ahead." 


"Oh my god please help me!" the man screamed as he neared the 
worker. "Help!" he screamed at the unmoving, bored looking man 
creature. The worker stepped aside as the human approached, and, 
a few moments before the human passed him, he extended his foot. 
The human tripped and the slime monster closed the distance. 


"Oh god why! No!" the human screamed as the monster... well. 


The group of workers applauded quietly as the fattest turned his 
back to the vulgar scene behind him, and made his way back to the 
garage. 


"This is how it's done. In a few million years this world, led by the 
hybrid sextuplepus necromancers, will be frozen permanently by 
your typical stasis anomaly, and we will be transported to a blank 
dimension. We'll go from there." 


They waited a few years and a human turned a corner ona 
Louisiana back road on a scooter. 


The human was starving, and had been driving for about five hours. 
He saw that there was a gas station a few miles ahead on his GPS, 
and decided to drive past the construction workers and the pilot car 
that was supposed to lead him through. 


"Hey buddy, slow down!" the worker screamed as the human flew 
past him on the old road. But he didn't slow down, and one thousand 
years later shadow people would be eating human hearts, and the 
resistance would create a device designed to destroy them all in one 
fell swoop, and it would backfire horribly. 


Old Men, Young Men 


They sat across from one another, between them a table with a 
chessboard, two glasses of vodka and one ashtray. The elderly man 
rubbed his stubbly chin, bushy grey eyebrows furrowed in 
consternation as he plotted the advance of his queen. His 
counterpart, the very image of youth, sat quietly, patiently, as he 
waited for his turn. He had plenty of time. 


The old man placed his queen delicately in the center of his chosen 
square; the younger man immediately swiped it away with a pawn. 


“Fuck you,” Dmitri said in Russian as he toppled his king in forfeit. 
“You always say that,” responded Bright with a tepid smile. 


Dmitri tapped some loose ash from his ever-present cigarette, 
leaning back in the chair and sighing tiredly. “How are you, Jack,” he 
asked, again in Russian. 


“Alright, still getting used to this body. | think it’s a bit too young but, 
it was next in line, so...” He trailed off, eying Dmitri intently. “Are you 
going to ask me, or not?” 


“Fine,” he grunted. “Did she say anything about me? Anything at 
all?” 


“She hasn’t said anything in years, Dmitri,” he answered without 
emotion. 


“Karen always was tough.” Dmitri shifted in his seat. “I had to send 
her in, you know. There was no other choice.” 


“| know, I’ve read the reports. Oh, while we’re on this topic, Everett 
sends his best wishes from his containment cell.” 


Another grunt. “I always told him, you know. | told him that too many 
of those experiments were going to get him locked up. | told him.” 


“You did, Dmitri.” Bright began putting the chess pieces away. 


Dmitri swirled his glass of vodka slowly, looking into the clear liquid 
as if it were a crystal ball. “What about little Agatha? Is she out of 
school yet?” 


“She graduated from college two years ago, you know that. | told 
you that last week.” 


“Are you going to-“ 


“No. We are not going to recruit her, Agatha left very specific 
requests against that,” he interrupted, his exasperation with the old 
man growing clearer in his voice. With that, the two lapsed into an 
awkward silence. Dmitri took a sip of his vodka and looked out the 
window, admiring the beauty of the spring day. The lilacs on his 
windowsill were blooming, and it reminded him of home and better 
days. 


“...Jack?” 
“Yeah, Dmitri?” 
“Whatever happened to Alto.” 


Bright stood and folded the chessboard. “I can’t tell you that, Dmitri. 
You're retired, remember?” 


“Fuck you,” he said with a raspy cough, taking a long, spiteful drag 
from his unfiltered cigarette. 


“Watch it, or I’ll tell the nurses on you,” said Bright with a wagging 
finger. “I have to go, Dmitri. Gears is just down the hall and | 
promised I’d bring some technical manuals for him to read.” 


He sighed again, standing and hobbling to the window with his cane. 
“Alright. Tell him Mitya said hello.” 


“| will, Dmitri. See you next week.” And with that, Bright left to 
continue making his rounds of South Cheyenne Point Retirement 
Center. 


Object is fully animate and extremely hostile toward all 
life forms. It escaped containment, attempting to kill all 
staff present. It was unable to inflict any damage due to 
its small size and the materials used in its composition. 
Entity made a “sizzling” sound as it moved that several 
staff described as “pleasing to the ears.” Classification of 
entity as SCP-682-BAC denied. 


Note: Very funny, Dr. Curtis. You are suspended from 
testing SCP-914 until further notice. Though | have to 
admit, it smelled delicious. -Dr. Gears 


Name: Technician Lantern 

Date: 2/7/17 

Total Items: Four (4) kilograms worth of quartz crystals, 
with a ratio of 15-60 mm in length. 

Note: Relax, this time I'm paying for it. By the way, why 
does the room smell like bacon? -Technician Lantern 


Input: One (1) kg of aforementioned quartz 

Setting: Fine 

Output: A large quartz tuning fork. Once tapped lightly 
against the wall of the testing chamber, [DATA 
EXPUNGED], with a side effect of temporary hearing 
loss. 

Note: Mhm, that fits my hypothesis. Let's try again. - 
Technician Lantern 


Input: One (1) kg of aforementioned quartz 

Setting: Fine 

Output: A swarm of crystalline hornets. Behaved as 
normal hornets would, but were significantly more 
durable due to composition. The swarm swiftly targeted 
Tech. Lantern, but were subdued before significant harm 
could be done. 


Note: | hate it when I'm right. Screw it, the rest goes in 
the next batch. -Technician Lantern 


Input: Two (2) kg of aforementioned quartz 


Olympia 


The professor felt a familiar, cold linoleum under his feet as he 
padded his way through the facility. It had been a long time, but 
everything still felt like how he remembered it. The entrance hall 
looked exactly the same, sans the furniture and decorative pieces. 
He could still remember coming through here on the first day, 
excited and ready to begin work on the project. Things hadn't gone 
the way he'd hoped with it, but he'd gone as far as he could. Those 
early days had been full of hope, that they could make the 
Foundation stronger. They were pushing the threshold of cross- 
anomalous testing to a point that had never been passed before. 


General Anders tried to suppress his laugh as he watched the new 
director plod past the security checkpoint. It was completely 
ridiculous, having a dog of a man in charge of a project like this. 
Even if it was a brainy dog. Anders shrugged, and went back to 
reviewing the documents he'd requested. D-Class requisitions, 
anomalous relocation forms... just more weight dragging the project 
behind his schedule. 


The roof of the research halls loomed imposingly overhead as the 
professor wandered through them, reading the sign of every door as 
he passed. Wehrner... lost him in '76 . Jacob... he left in "78. There 
were a few empty offices, ones that had the names removed for 
various reasons. Still, they'd had some good work in here. It was a 
place where history had almost been made. 


This was always the most boring part of the job, the component 
stage. Measuring the subject's health, age, weight, and all that 
jazz... it was so tedious. He didn't even get to disassemble them, 
that was in assembly. All he got to do was count, cut and repeat. He 
wiped his gloves as he continued the prep. While he was thinking 
about it, they really ought to send them some more potent 
painkillers. 


The professor recoiled as he caught a whiff of the old D-Class 


dormitories. Shaking his head, he quickened his pace. The D-Class 
had only been used for scientific purposes, which was a cause to 
strengthen the Foundation. Nothing wrong with that. Maybe some 
people had criticized him for allowing the waste to occur, why he 
hadn't tried to stop it. It hadn't even been his fault... Anders had 
ordered the D-Class. So it was the general's fault. Anders had been 
removed from the project, so the blame had lain with him. 


The man looked up at the huge instruments suspended above him. 
They glistened in the dim light, with a copper sheen and several 
looming shapes in the dark. Something in the mess of gears began 
to emit a low hum, and the restraints around his wrists began to 
tighten. He sucked in a breath as a dull pain shot up his back, and 
slowly pulled up the spine. It felt agonizing, like someone dragging a 
sharp, burning hunk of iron down his back, stopping every few 
seconds when it got stuck and had to yank down itself to be 
dislodged. It continued to his neck, and he felt a sharp pain in the 
base of the skull. Soon, doctors would come to look at him, deem 
him an improperly formatted component, then move on to another 
test subject. 


There was a door in the back, leading into the primary testing 
chambers. Most of the lab and test equipment had been left in these 
rooms, due to their antiquity making them unsuited for current 
Foundation testing. The professor passed by imposing lead pipes, 
interspaced by brass contraptions, with the capability to performing 
all sorts of biological testing. Release pipes jutted out of the walls 
and ceilings at every door, with the doors themselves being made of 
smooth steel. He walked by them, remembering the daily grind of 
testing, trying to find that one room. 


Alan placed the body in front of 158, and pushed the procedural 
conditions to the optimal means. He sluggishly returned to the 
control chamber, and watched the machine do its work. On the first 
day, removing the souls of the condemned had seemed wicked cool, 
but since then the luster had worn off. It really was just a 
monotonous job. Push button, remove soul. Push button, send soul 
to another dude. He wasn't even doing any souls for the project, 
these were just test souls. Heh, there's a job he never would've 
dreamed of before. "Professional soul extractor". 


Soon, the testing chambers gave way to the containment chambers. 
The prototypes had all been held here, each a new drain on 
resources. Even though the successful prototypes had been few and 
far between, each failure had taught them a little more about how 
these objects worked. Sometimes the lessons had been costly, but 
they always learned new things. At the end of the endless sets of 
concrete boxes and steel entrances, there was a simple wooden 
door. Kain pushed it open. 


He had spent his last day with her, playing some catch. She always 
loved playing it with him, laughing every time he retrieved whatever 
she had thrown. They had finished playing, deciding instead to rest 
on the linoleum floor. Ruffling his head, they rested together. When 
the guards came, she refused to go. Didn't want to end up like the 
others, decommissioned and forgotten. He told her it was okay. That 
they were only taking her for a medical check before they let her go 
with him. She trusted him. 


As of 7/19/ _, all activity related to Project Olympia has 
been discontinued. Overwatch Command has deemed it 
to be a gross waste of resources, and permanently 
removed support for the project, with personnel assigned 
to work with it being moved to alternate sites. A hearing 
is to be held with the project administrators to determine 
how the project was able to continue as long as it did 
despite the lack of any concrete results. Prototypes and 
other equipment have been slated to be 
decommissioned. 


OK 


"Umm... Mrs. Michaels?" 
"Yes?" 
"| believe the doctor would like to, um, show you something." 


Joyce Michaels' father was sat up in his hospital bed for the first 
time in months. The heartbeat monitor next to his bed cried a steady 
tone — it had been disconnected. 


"Who are you?" the man asked. 
He was finally awake, though perhaps not lucid. 
Joyce turned to the nurse. "What happened?" 


The nurse fumbled with his words. "We shut off the life support just 
now — 07:02, that's, 14:02 GMT. It didn't... nothing changed." 


Joyce's lungs burned. Her heart felt slow. This can't be real. 


07:32, half an hour later. Joyce was in the hospital lobby. The 
doctors had told her to go wait while they worked out what had 
happened. 


A television in the corner of the room was tuned to the news. It 
wasn't just her dad. It was everyone. In the past half hour, life had 
continued, uninterrupted by death for the first time in forever. No one 
had died. Not even animals. 


The camera was focused on some boy who'd slapped a mosquito 
on his arm. Amongst its remains, what was left of it still writhed, 
trying to fly away. 


The presenter was smiling. 'A miracle’, she called it. Joyce couldn't 


manage a smile — the only thing on her mind was the amount of 
work that lay ahead. 


"Hey, Joyce." 


She quickly finished typing up her message and hit 'Send' before 
looking up to see who'd come into her office. She smiled when she 
saw that it was Darryl Lloyd, a researcher with whom she'd worked 
previously. "Hey, Darryl. What brings you down here?" 


"| just got assigned to a new project and wanted to come say 
goodbye. What're you up to?"