There was no response, only the low hum of an internal twisting 
network of cogs. 


"Is that a costume?" 


The two robots looked at each other, then back to Gears. 
"NEGATIVE." 


"| see." 


As they reached for his face, Gears had one last fleeting thought. It 
was a silly one, from a man not usually prone to flights of fancy. 


| suppose | really will be a Cog, now... 


The situation quickly spread beyond the confines of the Site. Dr. 
Gills, instead of pacifying the clockwork virus, had instead mutated it 
to a new, more terrible and virulent form. Now, all would become 
Mister Brass, marching step with their confederates. 


Step by step, they trode over the Foundation's most secure facility, 

bringing down every anomaly they came across. 682 became a set 
of three nervous, brass-bellowing bots with the twist of a valve and 

the cooperation of the credited collective. The senior staff tried their 
best to stop it. But it was all for naught. 


Bright fell, when his chimpanzee body was unable to outrun their 
metallic grasp. His cold, monkey fingers went from being wrapped 
around a shiny metal throat, to being wrapped in glimmering bronze. 


Clef was taken when he realized that not even a pact with himself 
would be enough. 


When they came for Mann, he was fascinated, and wanted to study 
them. They might've accepted his offer, too, if he hadn't mentioned 
the de-bolting procedure. 


Finally, one after another, the staff fell where they lay. Until one of 
few survivors stepped forward. A man who would be the champion 
to all. Dr. Kondraki, and his booterfly army. 


He threw his might against them, breathlessly ordering his butterflies 
to swing through their ranks, bringing illusory powers in their wake. 
Alas, it was for naught. Their cold, unfeeling robo-eyes did not fall 
prey to the magic eye folly of man, and they took him like all the rest. 


All seemed lost... 


In one lone room, away from the frenzy, Researcher Zyn picks up 
one of the injured butterflies. Carefully cradling its wing, she 
whispers to it "...No, you don't deserve this fate." 


Her next destination was Mann's lab... and with destiny. 


The union of Brass was preparing for an invasion of the world. If the 
Foundation could not stop them with its greatest champions, who 
really stood any chance at all? 


That was when they heard it. A fluttering, soft at first, but growing in 
power until soon, every one of their little iron eardrums was 
thumping in time. 


They burst on the scene like the revenge of the sith, ravaging first 
the front ranks, and descending on the else. Butterflies with razor 
edges, ripping through the brass like it was tissue paper with brittle 
bones disease. As the men trapped in coffins of brass were 
liberated, they cheered. Soon, every man was free, and only the 
original infected remained. As it was cut to ribbons, it heard one last 
cry from its destructor: 


"Reverse-engineer that, bitches!" 


Rex Sponge's Revealing Revelations 


The door suddenly bursts open as Rex Sponge's foot gives it quick 
momentum. O5-7 wakes up from the slam of the door, leaving a 
puddle of drool on the desk. He looks around and slowly brushes 
his, long, curled moustache. His eyes suddenly set on the intruder at 
the door. 


"Ah, so Rex, you have finally come!" 05-7 lifts an eyebrow and 
smirks, then rubs his hands together. 


"Yes, your reign of cruelty is over, O5 dash 7, or should | call you... 
‘Data'!" Rex snarls and gazes at the man, aiming his pistol at the 
villain's head. 


"Ah, so you figured it out, did you? That | am actually an SCP, a 
technopath?" Data giggles madly. 


"And that you've been controlling that reptile the whole time!" 


"Ah, yes, 682 is a prize." Data giggles again. "But did you know | - | 
mean we - made him! That we made all the SCPs?" 


"Of course | did - I'm Rex Sponge!" Rex flips his hair. The poor and 
discomforting lighting of the room somehow makes it glisten. "Ever 
since you created and broke up with the Factory, Chaos Insurgency, 
ORIA, and Global Occult Coalition, you've never stopped abusing 
Class-D's for your own nefarious deeds!" 


"Then you know that 173 is actually O5-1?" Data seems shocked at 
Rex's knowledge of Foundation history. 


"Yes, and now your time is up!" Rex takes another step forward. 


"Ah, but how do you expect to deal with... a tank of 231-7 offspring 
that we've been secretly breeding?" Data's hand begins to descend 
upon a large, red button on his desk. 


"Your time is over!" Rex shoots Data's right hand. The technopath 
screams and pulls back his hand. 


"Data, consider yourself Rex Sponged!" Rex pulls the trigger and a 
red dot suddenly appears on Data's head, which begins overflowing 
with blood. The O5 collapses into the chair, dead. 


Rex takes a list out of his pocket and crosses a name off. One dead, 
eleven to go. 


Or, wait, would it be 14? Rex shook his head out of his day-dream. 
Now was no time for lolly-gagging. Now was the time for action. All 
the planning he had performed would now culminate into this one 
moment - as soon as he kicked down this door. 


Rex looked at the door. He gazed at its window, specifically the 
writing on it that said "05-7". He took a breath in, then kicked it. 


Jesus fuck, that hurt. But this obstacle would not get in the way of 
Rex Sponge, junior level researcher and herald of justice. He thrust 
back his leg again, ready to descend upon the door, when a noise 
interrupted him. It was a voice inside, telling him to come in. Rex 
paused, in thought, then shrugged and opened the door. 


"You know, most people knock more than once when they want to 
enter. You're lucky | heard you." The voice came from a middle- 
aged man seated at a desk at the end of the office, sitting down and 
shuffling through papers. 


"O5-7, your time is up, or should | call you... Data!" Rex gave a 
menacing stare at the man. 


The man looked up. "What?" 


"Don't toy with me, 'O5-7’, if that is your real name! You and | both 
know you're a technopath!" Rex took a step forward, his hand at his 
waist, ready to draw a pistol. 


"What the fuck are you talking about?" The man gave Rex a look of 
confusion. 


"Don't use your mind tricks on me, bender!" Rex drew his gun, 
pointing it at the man. 


"Wait, if I'm a technopath, how could I- You know what, never mind. 
What the hell is wrong with you?" The man gave Rex a look. 


"Playing stupid will get you nowhere!" 


The man sighed, and began to reach for a small, green button at the 
edge of his desk. Rex pulled the trigger. The man didn't even flinch 
as he pressed the button. Rex jumped out of the way, expecting the 
floor to open up beneath himself into a pit of keter-class solar 
babies. 


"Security personnel will be here in a few mi- Did you try to shoot 
me!?" The man looked like he was about to laugh. "Did you not 
fucking notice the bullet-proof glass in front of my desk." 


Rex had indeed failed to notice, being too focused on the corrupt 
demon sitting before him. Looking up now he could see a small 
mark left by his bullet that would probably have hit the ceiling 
anyways. 


"B-but... you control 682..." Rex looked shocked. How could he not 
have foreseen such a devious trick? 


"What the hell are you talking about? We're trying to destroy 682. 
He's a huge drain of our resources and kills a lot of D-class 
personnel. It's such a shame to see their lives go to waste like that." 


"A-ha! So you think human lives are disposable!" Rex lifted his hand 
in triumph. 


"What? No. Are you fucking stupid? | mean, | obviously hold a 
utilitarian philosophy, but that doesn't mean | kill people just 
because. What, you think / think this is just some big game?" 


"But... what about when you created the Factory, and the Chaos 
Insurgency made 173 O5-1, and..." 


"Are you high? No, seriously, are you fucked right now? What the 
fuck kind of..." The man shook his head. "I honestly don't know how 


to respond to that." 


"No, | figured it out. When | sa-" Whatever Rex was about to say at 
that moment was lost as several armed bodyguards tackled him into 
the ground and sedated him. 


"Are you alright, sir?" asked a security guard. 


"Just fine, thank you Agent." The man nodded to the guard. He 
waited for the guard to leave, then swiveled his chair around. A 
small, white cat leaped out from a high shelf and landed on his lap, 
although only half of its body was visible. The man then pressed a 
large, red button under his desk and the wall moved to show a large 
screen displaying 11, or maybe 14, faces. Most clad with 
moustaches. 


"Rex Sponge has been eliminated, brothers and sisters!" The man 
spoke in a sneering tone. "Now all we have left is Breanne Dact!" 
The man began to cackle, and others joined him. 


"How do you propose we eliminate her?" asked a gentlemanly fellow 
in the top left. 


"I say we stick ‘er," a figure replied, smiling to show rather unkempt 
teeth, "I'll just slip in right behind 'er and stick 'er with my shiv." He 
then proceeded to take out his shiv and clean his teeth, to little 
effect. 


"Excellent proposal, 173, but | have a better idea. Why don't we use 
Rex Sponge against her?" O5-7 looked around. "We'll simply abuse 
the obedience collars like we always do and have him kill her." 


"That's totally mental!" 173 exclaimed, "I love it. Let's ‘ave a jolly ol' 
time fuckin’ with the bugger." 


"Yes. This will end nicely. Muhahahaha." 
Agent Johnson looked at Rex. "And... and that's why you killed 
Breanne? Because the O5s used mind control on you?" 


"Yes, yes, of course. They're all evil you see. Could you loosen 


these restraints?" 

"And... 173 is British?" 

"Duh. Why else would he be wearing a top hat?" 
"You never mentioned that." 


"Oh, well he was. And he had a moustache. Seriously, these are 
cutting off the circulation to my hands." 


"Not yet, Rex. You see, when we discovered you, you had no collar 
on at all." 


"Well they gave it a self-destruct... thingy." 
"And witnesses to the event said they saw no other collar either." 
"It was camouflaged." 


"They also said you called her a 'Lying, cheating bitch' as you 
strangled her." 


"Well that's what they forced me to say." 
"Rex, what makes you think | should believe anything you say?" 
"They're evil, man, I'm telling you." 


"Okay, let's say that all happened. Let's say you somehow knew 
what the O5s were saying even though you were escorted out. Let's 
say they used the mind control collar. Let's say you aren't fucking 
insane. There's still a gigantic problem with your story." 


"What is it?" 
Agent Johnson brought out a piece of paper. On it was a drawing. 


"173 is Mexican." 


Your First Support Assignment 


From: Frank <pcs.9ohr|knarf#pcs.9ohr|knarf> 

To: Kendal Shipley <pcs.9ohr|yelpinsk#pcs.9ohr| 
yelpihsk> 

Subject: technical support assignment 

Message: 

Its time you actually do some work around here. We 
need you to take a look at foundation-92911; the 
password should be "4bs@I640$LMVAI!6F". Just take a 
look around and see if you can find any important data. 
Good luck. 


From: Site Director H. Lemmond <pcs.75| 
dnommelh#pcs.75|dnommelh> 

To: Technical Support <pcs.9ohr| 
troppus#pcs.9ohr|troppus> 

Subject: Dr. Giulianna Ashley's Research 
Message: 

Dr. Ashley has recently disappeared for 
unknown reasons. She has vital research on 
her computer relating to memetic hazards that 
we need recovered. Please recover any 
research documents or other data you can 
from the computer. 


This e-mail is intended for the addressee shown. It 
contains information that is confidential and protected 
from disclosure. Any review, dissemination or use of this 
transmission or its contents by persons or unauthorized 
employees of the intended organisations is strictly 
prohibited. The contents of this email do not necessarily 
represent the views or policies of the SCP Foundation or 
its employees. 


+ Command Help 


cd 


rm 


man 


gpg 


cat 
display 


fopdf 


Lists the contents of the current directory. With - 
a, also lists hidden files and folders (those with 
names starting with a'.’). 

Changes the current directory. ".." refers to the 
parent directory - the folder containing the 
current one. 


Deletes a file. -r to delete recursively, -d to also 
delete directories. 


Displays the help page for a command. 

Gnu Privacy Guard, an implementation of the 
PGP encryption standard. With --unlock, unlock 
the default keyring in order to enable decrypting 
files or messages. Use with -d to actually decrypt 
a file. 

Displays a file's contents as raw text. 


Displays an image in the terminal. 


Displays the contents of a pdf document. 


to you? 

SCP-925-D-1: Detestable? How you ignore it, then it 
works you to death, | guess. 

Dr. : Do you find anything productive or noble about 
it? 

SCP-925-D-1: Noble? It makes you dig and then grows 
shit on you. What the hell are you pushing at? 

Dr. : Nothing, nothing. Prepare for the test. We'll be 
standing by should there be any negative effects. 


SCP-925-D-1 was positioned by the door of SCP-925-7. The food 
slot was opened, and after a few moments SCP-925-7's arm 
reached out and touched SCP-925-D-1 on the left foot. During the 
exposure, SCP-925-D-1's expression changed from one of 
nervousness to contentment. After 15 seconds, SCP-925-D-1 was 
pulled away. 


Post-Exposure Interview 


Dr. : How do you feel? 

SCP-925-D-1: | feel pretty good, guy. You? 

Dr. : I'm well. What is your opinion on SCP-925? 
SCP-925-D-1: Er...dunno. They're just trying to get by 
like us, right? 

Dr. : Are any parts of its behavior detestable to you? 
SCP-925-D-1: | can't say they're great or anything, but 
it's not like they're out to cause pain. 

Dr. : Is there anything that you find noble in them? 
SCP-925-D-1: Don't know about noble. It's not like they 
kill each other like we do, though. Hey, do | need that 
treatment you told me about? 

Dr. : You appear fine. We'll be standing by during 
this next test. 


SCP-925-D-1 was once again positioned in front of the door, and the 
food slot opened. SCP-925-7's arm immediately slid out, and rested 
on SCP-925-D-1's foot. During the exposure, SCP-925-D-1's 
expression changed from one of contentment to a blank stare. After 
5 minutes, he was removed from the door. 


Post-Exposure Interview: 


Fried Chicken & Lime Jello, the Dr. Bjornsen story 


Listen. 


First thing first, | have absolutely no idea who Dr. Bjornsen is. | 
might, it is possible he's the guy | just clocked in the face with a sock 
with a brick innit, but evidence regarding this matter remain 
inconclusive for the moment. 


| mean, sure, he has a name tag with "Dr. Bjornsen" on it, and sure, 
his wallet is filled with lovely pictures of him and his family, all 
conveniently tagged "Dr. Bjornsen and Beloved Family+ Despised 
Parakeet (Boy Oh Boy, | Sure Hope No One Clocks Me in the Face 
with a Sock with a Brick Innit)", but would you really trust a guy who 
tags his own family pictures? Using Helvitca font? | sure wouldn't. 
That's why | clocked him in the face with that sock-and-brick combo 
meal to begin with. It makes sense, shut up. 


So, about the chicken. | don't actually eat chicken, | heard it's filled 
with all sorts of hormones that make the chickens grow like five 
breasts and ten wings and an inner, baleful third eye. Not that | mind 
the animal cruelty involved, god knows chickens have it all coming 
and more, but | have this rare phobia for animals with more than 
twice the number of body parts, but less than ten times as many. 
That, and third eyes give me the heaves.