“Small business owners generally don’t manufacture automated 
sentry turrets whose designs break the laws of entropy,” said Merlo. 
Anderson shrugged in response. 


“This one does.” 


“Fair enough,” Merlo rolled her eyes. “That still doesn’t answer the 
question of how you plan on getting out of here with Miles. You’re 
not just going to be able to walk out the front door.” 


“Uh, Sasha,” Anderson snickered, “I walked in the front door. Getting 
Miles out of here is, um, not too far out of the realm of possibility. In 
fact...” 


Anderson paused as he pulled a small black remote out of his jacket 
pocket and pressed a button. Within a few moments a low rumble 
could be heard elsewhere in the facility, as well as gunshots. Alarm 
klaxons went off a few seconds later. Anderson then proceeded to 
neatly place all the papers back in the file and stepped away from 
the desk. 


“Anyway,” he continued as he began to make his way towards the 
door. Benny quickly rolled off the table then crawled up his leg and 
into his jacket pocket. “Whoever put my file together did, uh, did a 
bang up job. | didn’t know you guys had so much dirt on me. 
Congratulations.” 


Anderson opened the door and stepped into the hall. 


“Remind me to, uh, buy you a drink when we next meet,” Anderson 
called back into the room as the door closed. Merlo then listened to 
the alarm klaxons blaring and the occasional gun shots. 


“I’m so fired,” she said with a heavy sigh. Agent Merlo then closed 
her eyes and waited for someone to find her. 


Agent Clarissa Shaw had been on her way to the holding cell where 


they were keeping Miles Wilson. She carried a new set of interview 
questions prepared to take advantage of what little time remained 
before Gamma-13’s most recent catch was transferred to the care of 
Site-81. It was then that she heard the alarm klaxons and 
gunshots, followed by a low rumble, which slowly built into a 
cacophony. Curiously, she turned to investigate. Shaw felt her jaw 
drop. Rapidly approaching was a swarm of thousands of Amur 
Recon Drones. 


Shaw turned to run, but before she could travel more than a few feet 
the swarm had already engulfed her. She felt something stab into 
her leg and within a few moments she was on the floor, unable to 
move. Sharp pinpricks covered her entire body and she screamed, 
only to have her cry drowned out by the combined noise of the 
robotic swarm. After an eternity passed, the swarm was gone. 


Within a few moments Shaw regained control of her extremities and 
neatly returned her glasses to their spot on her nose. One of the 
lenses was scratched, but otherwise the thin rimmed eyewear was 
unharmed. Shaw looked around for any sign of the horde of drones, 
but saw nothing save the empty hallway. Getting to her feet, the 
agent slowly proceeded to make her way towards Miles' cell. 


By the time she arrived at the correct cell, Shaw found the door had 
been jammed open, several of Site-64’s security personnel lying 
scattered on the ground. As they struggled to stand Shaw realized 
they had each had a similar run in with the swarm. Carefully drawing 
her pistol, Shaw stepped inside the cell, only to find it empty with the 
covering to the ventilation duct shredded. The smell of blood then 
drew Shaw’s attention to the room’s cot. Lying on top, neatly folded 
as if it were clothing, was Miles' skin. 


At a large table in a brightly lit conference room that lacked 
windows, five individuals silently sat awaiting a sixth and seventh 
guest. 


Sitting at the head of the table was a muscular man in his forties 
named Isaac. Easily the most business savvy man in the room, he 
formerly helped run a weapons design firm based in Los Angeles. A 
near constant frown adorned his face. 


To Isaac’s right sat a short woman with shoulder length brunette 
hair, faint blue eyes, and an ever warm smile. Her name was Medea 
and she had been a professor of robotics at some university in 
Tennessee, though the other individuals in the room had long 
forgotten its name. 


Sitting by her side was her adopted son, Jason. A child prodigy in 
robotics, he was a tall, lanky young man in his mid-twenties whose 
head was covered in curly blond hair. A thick pair of glasses covered 
his eyes, and a small smirk was permanently parked on his face. 


Across the table from Jason sat Phineas, an old man who appeared 
to be in his fifties, with a bald head, a long white beard, and almost 
translucent skin. He was both an “anartist” and a tinkerer, and every 
time he moved, a faint mechanical whirling could be heard. 


Finally, next to Phineas sat a short, portly, middle-aged man with 
dark skin and a permanent expression of worry. A specialist in 
artificial intelligence, he was the man responsible for the existence 
of the Saker units. His name was Jeffery Wilson. 


Before too much longer, the single door to the room opened and a 
swarm of Amur drones poured in, clustering at a spot in the corner. 
The drones piled into a column nearly 2 meters high. Various 
electrical sounds and noises of metal on metal could be heard at the 
pillar’s center as the drones vibrated with activity. After a few more 
moments, the robots dispersed, pouring out the door and leaving the 
white endoskeleton of a Saker unit in its place. Upon the egress of 
the last drone Anderson stepped into the room. 


“The, uh, the prodigal son hath returned,” he said as he slowly made 
his way towards the end of the table opposite Isaac. The room’s 
bright lighting reflected off the silver paint of his comedy mask. “As 
promised, um, | managed to bring Miles back too.” 


Jeffery was already in the corner with the endoskeleton, frantically 
inspecting every square inch of its white frame. A few seconds later, 
Jeffery held the Saker in a tight bear hug. 


“Dad?” Miles’s voice came from the Saker. Jeffery began to sob. 


“I’m so sorry Miles, for all that you’ve been through and all that’s left 
to be done,” Jeffery mumbled. 


“You do know what you need to do now, right?” Medea asked. 
Jeffery let go of the Saker and dried his eyes with a nod. 


“Saker-00,” he said to the robot, “Report to designated maintenance 
site and shut down until further orders.” The Saker mechanically 
nodded and left the room. Jeffery then returned to the conference 
table, and placed his head in his hands. 


“Anyway,” began Jason, “Shall we proceed?” 


“We shall,” returned Anderson. “I take it that Isaac shared with 
everyone Mr. Marshall’s offer?” 


“| have,” Isaac answered. 


“And, um, | am willing to bet that during the discussion that followed, 
everyone but, uh, Isaac and Jeffery was against accepting the offer.” 


“That is correct,” replied Phineas. “I’m sorry Vincent, but that’s just a 
no go.” 


Anderson sighed and turned away in his chair. 


“Friends,” said Anderson, “When | originally approached each of 
you, um, to begin this little firm, | did so with a promise. That 
promise was to, uh, provide each of you with the freedom to create 
what you were denied everywhere else. To this day, | have largely 
been able to keep that promise, but that is a task that has become 
increasingly difficult with each sale we make.” 


Anderson then turned back to face his colleagues. 


“It would be foolish for us to, uh, assume that we are as nimble now 
as we were when we founded this company. More and more of our 
sales are turning into Foundation stings. At this rate, um, it will only 
be a matter of time until one of us is captured. Medea’s from another 
universe, what do you think the Foundation will do if they capture 
her? Phineas, I, uh, | hope you like being a quadruple amputee, 
because they'll take your prosthetics away if they capture you. If 


they don’t kill Isaac, Jason, or Jeffery, they'll surely wipe your 
memories and leave you on the side of a highway in Indiana.” 


Anderson shook his head. 


“Mr. Marshall's offer is quite generous. We are still in charge of the 
manufacturing and we are still in creative control of the products. 
They just want the distribution rights, and access to our clientele.” 


“| refuse to work on anyone’s terms beside my own,” Phineas 
interrupted. “I will not let you bully me into this Vincent, not this 
time.” 


“I’m not trying to bully any of you,” Anderson coolly replied. “You 
should know by now that | consider all of you my equals in this 
enterprise, and if you all truly feel that accepting this offer will create 
irreconcilable differences | will drop the subject. |, uh, | just can’t 
guarantee my original promise otherwise.” 


The room fell silent for a few moments. One by one Anderson 
looked to each of his colleagues, each one avoiding his gaze. 


“All in favor?” Isaac asked. Everyone but Phineas raised their hand. 
“The ayes have it. Thank you everyone, I'll draw up the paperwork 
tonight.” 


Soon after, the conference room emptied one by one until Phineas 
and Anderson were all that remained. Eventually, Anderson also 
made his way towards the door. 


“How could you?” Phineas called out to him as he began to leave. 


Anderson did not bother to reply, exiting the conference room 
without a word or a glance back. 


The Secret Crest Pub was a small brewpub located in Portland’s 
Pearl District. The fact that the property was owned and operated by 
a former director of Site-64 made it a popular destination for facility 
personnel after their shifts ended. For this reason, Agents Shaw and 
Merlo found themselves sitting at a booth in a discrete corner of the 
bar. 


SCP-729: Marble Bath 


Item #: SCP-729 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-729 is stored ina 
standard security chamber at Site . For ease of testing SCP-729 
has been connected to the Site water and sewage systems; 
however, use of the object outside of test conditions is prohibited. 
The risks associated with passive interaction with SCP-729 are 
minimal. Some staff have reported feeling ‘dirty’ or ‘stressed’ during 
prolonged periods in the vicinity of SCP-729, accompanied by a mild 
compulsion to make use of SCP-729 to bathe. This compulsion does 
not appear to be strong enough to force staff to break containment 
protocols so as to access SCP-729. However, staff feeling said 
compulsion are encouraged to leave the vicinity of SCP-729. 


Description: SCP-729 is a large bathtub carved from marble. The 
item's properties were discovered by accident during a police 
reconstruction of a suspected murder-suicide in , > itwas 
retrieved by an undercover Foundation agent soon after. 


Bathing in SCP-729 has been described as extremely relaxing to the 
extent that individuals using it for this purpose must be encouraged 
to leave by an external force; they will not exit the bath of their own 
accord. The primary effect of SCP-729 begins to manifest between 5 
and 15 minutes after an individual has begun to bathe. At this stage, 
all foreign or abnormal objects are forcibly expelled from the user's 
body; this has been observed to include artificial implants, parasitic 
organisms, cancerous growths and [DATA EXPUNGED]. While 
under the influence of SCP-729, users appear unaware of this 
process. If disturbed by an external force, they immediately 
experience extreme pain consistent with the trauma inflicted upon 
their body. Objects removed in this way typically settle in the water 
alongside the bather. 


“Do you know what Carter once called Gamma-13 after one of those 
times he had a few too many?” Merlo asked Shaw, her hand firmly 
gripping her fourth pint. 


“Not at all,” Shaw replied with a light hearted smile, well aware that 
her boss likely had a few too many as well. 


“Asimov’s Fuckups,” Merlo said with a grandiose wave of her hand. 
“Not the most creative title, but Carter has a point. It’s one step 
forward followed by twenty steps back. But hey, at least we aren’t 
Alpha-9.” 


Shaw chuckled before she finished her first pint. 
“What happens to us now?” she asked. 


“Same thing that always happens after we drop the ball. Holman will 
reassign our agents to help quell the local anart beat,” Merlo 
answered with a sigh. She then looked over her companion and 
smiled, “You'll fit right in Shaw. The anartists call us ‘The Suits’ 
around here.” 


“Well, then,” Agent Shaw replied as another two pints were brought 
to the table. “At least we have job security.” 


Shaw then held her pint up to make a toast. 
“To Asimov’s Fuckups.” 
“To Asimov’s Fuckups,” Merlo replied. The two women clinked their 


glasses, both prepared to drown their frustration over the course of 
the night. 


«Part Two: Finding Anderson | The Elusive Anderson | End 


The Gulf Canon Hub 


Prologue: Brackish Seas Under Extensive 
Pressure 


+ Read prologue 


| was humming along quite nice by then. A 


few Jack and Cokes, a few new friends, band 
playing too loud. This was the night before my 
first Saturday off all month, and | was going to 
make it count. 


My new friends worked for some boring-ass 
logistics company, in town on business. And, 
as always with outsiders, | was “Jim Houghton, 
private security manager,” not “Jim Houghton, 
ace field agent for a secret paranormal 
organization’s local task force.” It’s 
unfortunate, really, because the latter story 
would probably be a lot better at getting me 
laid. 


The important thing about making two new 
friends is that they pick up two-thirds of the 
rounds. They were going for light wheat beers 
all night, which is a sucker move. By the time 
we headed out of Loosey’s into the crisp early 
morning air, | was well and truly stumbling. 


A quick check of my pockets came up with an 
item missing from the manifest. “I think | 
might've left m’phone inside.” | gestured back 
at the door, a little more sweepingly than | 


would've liked. One of the guys, the tall one, 
offered to go in and grab it. 


Mr. Tall One (Craig? Listen, before you judge 
me, I’m not great with names sober) came 
back out with my phone. “Man, you want me to 
call you a cab? We can go splits on it, you 
shouldn't be driving.” 


| nodded. | was really feeling the whiskey. | 
guess | didn’t eat enough? He said something 
about his phone being dead so | entered my 
passcode to unlock mine for him. 


The ride back home was a bit of a blur. | 
swear, maybe it’d just been too long since | 
was really the partying type, but | was fucking 
slammed for only four or five drinks. All | 
remember is McTall needing to use my phone 
a couple times to look up his flight out of town. 
| gave it to him and just told him the passcode, 
focusing more on stopping the spinning of the 
world. 


As the cab dropped me off, Stretch Tallboy 
handed me back my phone and wished me a 
good one. | didn’t even have to pay. | stumbled 
up the stairs and was out the moment my head 
hit the pillow. 


Nine light streamed in through the window, 


thoroughly uninvited. | felt like death, if death 
had kept spinning on one of those gas station 
hot dog rollers well past closing time. | rolled 
over to check my phone — figured I'd see 
what 20 emails from Kate I’d missed and make 
sure | didn’t text Trish anything too dumb — 
and saw no notifications at all. My usual 
wallpaper was gone, just the default bubbles 


floating. 


Looking through my phone, it was completely 
empty. And something hit me, even through 
the thick dumb haze of a hangover. | checked 
the back. The big scuff mark on the Apple logo 
wasn't there. This wasn’t mine. 


Tall guy. Shit. So much for a day off. | threw on 
a hoodie and some jeans, grabbed a bottle of 
water from the fridge and hit the road for 
Headquarters. This had bad news written all 
over it, and Kate was going to be pissed. 


Kate was pissed. Beyond pissed, actually,