Odd. Don't people usually run a bunch of tests first? Keep me inside 
until they know | won't die right out front? Now that | said it, 
however, | did feel fine. Better than fine. | sat up and yanked the 
needles out of my arm. It looked relatively unscathed. 


The machines started going off with various tones and alerts, 
prompting assistance from other staff. | was already on my feet, 
though, and they didn't see me until halfway down the hall. 


"Sir, are you okay?" The voices echoed from behind me as | strolled 
to the front entrance. 


"I'm fine. Don't worry." No one stopped me. | guess | really was all 
that fine. 


Walking out in the street, barefoot with the scrubs blowing a draft 
between my legs, | quickly found a cab and hopped inside. The 
cabby took one look at me and shook his head. 


"No, sir, you need to have money to ride. Money to ride!" 
"Look, | don't have any money, but I'll pay you, just drive." 
"Okay, no problem." He started the car and we pulled away. 


Still odd. | didn't give him a destination, and | didn't know of one. So 
we drove for a few hours. Cabby never made a complaint about it. 


Some time later he spoke up, but it was just to break the 
uncomfortable silence. 


"So... you got aname?" 


"Yes, I'm-" | stopped. | didn't really remember. So | said what | 
thought was the truth. And it turned out it really was. 


"I'm Mr. Lie." 
"Alright then, let me know where you want me to go, okay?" 
| said nothing. | sat in silence until the sun dipped below suburbia. 


All words are lies. And I'll be damned if | didn't use that to my 
advantage. 


We drove all night and into the next morning before | thanked the 
man and left into the unknown. 


Of an Endless Hunt 


Part one: All the World Will Be Your Enemy 


The sign above her door said “4521”. In conversation 
they called her The Witness. But she only thought of 
herself as Amy. 


She didn’t know how they had taken her. It had been as 
she was walking home from school. Calla, the one 
person in school still willing to talk to her, had been with 
her. Amy remembered a lull in the conversation, looking 
up at the sky, seeing the last trails of a cloud drifting in 
boundless blue. When she looked down, she was in the 
laboratory, and the testing had begun. That was five 
years ago, if her captors could be believed. 


Part two: Rites of Passage 


Rupinder sipped his drink. “Take, or don’t take, what you 
want. Stay or go as you please. We won't stop you 
leaving.” 


The words processed in her brain. She remained silent. 


“However,” he said, placing his Coke next to the 
unopened can on the counter, “we are the only thing 
shielding you from the Foundation’s search. Do you 
know how long escaped humanoids evade them, alone? 
Three days. Rarely longer than a week. And if you don’t 
assist us, we see no reason to assist you.” 


Part three: Riddles From The Dark 
The world was a forest of bookshelves. She stood ina 


clearing, on a raised stone platform, so that she could 
see the stacks stretching to the distance, farther than 


Three days later, Station Alpha was seen (via long-range 
underwater video) being enveloped and destroyed by a localized 
undulation of SCP-684's mass. When a recovery mission arrived 
twenty-four hours later, Station Alpha was found completely intact. 
When entered, Researcher was interviewed as having no 
memory of any SCP-684 disturbance, although expressing slight 
annoyance that Station Alpha "hadn't yet gotten that rover | was 
promised". When questioned, offered up a Foundation printout, 
citing orders to use an underwater rover to push animal carcasses to 
SCP-684's sphincters. 


Off-site analysis of both Researcher and sections of Station 
Alpha were discovered to be elaborate copies of their original 
selves. During this off-site analysis, Station Alpha was seen 
‘regrowing', complete with another copy of Researcher . This 
‘new' copy had no memory of the earlier copy's actions or memories. 


It is currently theorized that SCP-684 assimilates and reproduces 
stations, and their crew, for tasks related to its survival and self 
maintenance. Each station is capable of issuing orders to its 
pseudo-crew in ways that mimic the originals, so that all assimilated 
crewmembers treat the orders as legitimate. These orders are 
phrased in such a way that the crew believes its actions are 
intended to 'contain' SCP-684, leading to no doubts among the 
assimilated crew that anything is amiss. It would seem that SCP-684 
deliberately takes the effort to ensure that station crew, despite 
being fabricated, are kept in good mental and physical health, 
ignorant about their true nature or purpose. 


To test and confirm said hypothesis, the Foundation has placed five 
more prefabricated stations on the surface of SCP-684. In short 
order, each of these stations and their crews (listed below) have all 
been assimilated and refabricated by SCP-684. Each one does not 
know about the others; the designations are exclusively for 
Foundation use. 


Addendum-1: Stations 


Below are the location and duties of all five stations currently placed 
on SCP-684. For ease of understanding, False Ordered Task is a 
brief synopsis of the actions each station believes the Foundation 


seemed possible. Around her, people explored the rows. 
Some sat at tables, speaking softly to one another, 
playing board games, fiddling with rusted devices, or just 
reading alone. Further away, in other clearings, what 
looked like small shops and restaurants had been set up. 


And, she realized, few of the people were human. A 
hundred different forms wandered the shelves, some that 
wouldn't come to her knees, some so large their heads 
rose above the stacks, and every size in between. There 
were things like humanoid insects and reptiles, creatures 
half made of metal, living shadows, creatures of moving 
wire, floating particles circling glowing orbs, suits of 
armor, multi-armed men, a hundred other things. She 
stared, jaw gaping. 


Part four: Living Through Shattered Glass 


Grey smoke drifted from the trees ahead. Frowning, she 
pushed forward. She could smell the fire now, the sour 
scent of embers. Her mouth had gone dry. She 
swallowed, and almost felt her throat cracking. Between 
the foliage, up the hill, there was movement. 


She ducked behind a tree just as two men in black body 
armor walked past. They were talking quietly. One 
laughed. Both held guns. 


The town ahead looked like a warzone. Four helicopters 
were perched in the still-smoldering dirt around the 
buildings. Most of the homes had been blown open, the 
furniture inside scattered and burnt. Craters scattered 
the earth. And everywhere she looked, there were 
bodies. 


Part five: The Prisoner 
The air outside was freezing. Five of them stood in the 


yard. Amy had buried herself in a puffy green parka, but 
it hadn’t helped stop the shivering. A bulging backpack 


hung from her shoulders. The second was Rupinder, 
who looked completely unbothered by the cold, dressed 
in jeans and a thin sweater. Next were the Nish-Hyet. 
Amy had avoided talking to them since her arrival, and 
they her. At the moment they looked human, and 
oblivious of the weather. 


The final member was an East Asian-looking woman 
who, in Amy’s week long stay with the group, hadn’t said 
a single word. Like Amy, she wore several layers of 
clothes. Dark coats, gloves, a hat. Her face was twisted 
in discomfort, but she hadn’t uttered a word of complaint. 


They stared into a hole in the universe 


Part six: True Places Never Are 


Lightning rippled, thunder erupting before the bolt could 
vanish. The boat rocked with the noise. Amy stumbled, 
fell to her knees, pulled her way back up. The Sister had 
been tossed as well. The Queen was pulling her back 
up. The transformed Nish-Hyet paced back and forth, 
gnashing their teeth. Their claws raked nervously at their 
skin. The ship trembled in the wind.The gale swept over 
her like a river of needles. Mist soaked her skin. Another 
flash of lightning. The clouds were close now. So close. 
She turned, saw the Queen say something unintelligible. 


And the storm struck. 


Part seven: ...And Whenever They Catch You, They Will Kill 
You... 


She whispered three words in a long-dead language and 
gestured her left ring finger down. A bead of red light 
erupted in the darkness in front of her, illuminating what 
looked like smashed concrete. The light followed her 
hand as she turned it, revealing more of the area- a 
disused, collapsing parking garage. Bugs the size of her 
fist fled across the concrete as the light touched them. 


She stood, dusted herself off, and continued guiding the 
light around. A few cars still sat in the garage, crushed 
into flat tin by boulders that had fallen god knows how 
long ago. She looked up through the hole in the ceiling. 
The night sky was completely black. 


The light fell upon a door on the other side of the room. 
She began crawling over the shattered cars and debris, 
cursing as she felt her shirt catch on a piece of loose 
metal. Soon her arms and hands were covered in black 
dust that made her skin blend in with the surrounding 
gloom. When she touched the doorknob, it left a dark 
handprint. 


Part eight: Wasting 


In this room there was no time. No testing to mark the 
days or weeks. No meals to count off the hours. How 
long had she been here? A week? A month? More? At 
first she’d tried counting her sleep cycles. They’d begun 
to blur together before she reached five, the division 
between reality and unconscious slipping away. The only 
moments of clarity were when she was yanked away to 
another universe, hunted like an animal. Even if she 
escaped the creature, she always returned here. To the 
Foundation. She wanted to scream. She wanted to slam 
her head against the wall until she felt her skull crack. 
But it wouldn’t do any good. 


All the World Will be Your Enemy... 


The sign above her door said “4521”. In conversation they called her 
The Witness. But she only thought of herself as Amy. 


She didn’t know how they had taken her. It had been as she was 
walking home from school. Calla, the one person in school still 
willing to talk to her, had been with her. Amy remembered a lull in 
the conversation, looking up at the sky, seeing the last trails of a 
cloud drifting in boundless blue. When she looked down, she was in 
the laboratory, and the testing had begun. That was five years ago, 
if her captors could be believed. 


Her cell could have charitably been compared to a kennel. 
Fluorescent lights burned through any trace of darkness, twelve 
hours a day. The bed was cheap metal bolted to the wall and 
covered with a cheaper mattress. She had one thin blanket, one stiff 
pillow. In the corner was a metal toilet. Next to that was a sink. 
Every morning and night, a guard would slide toiletries in through a 
slot on the door. She’d had a nicer room, just a few months ago. 
They’d taken it for reasons still unknown. 


Amy was picking at lunch when she heard the footsteps. They 
halted in front of the door. A man’s voice, raspy from a lifetime of 
smoking, came through. “We've got some people that want to talk to 
you.” 


She took a final spoonful of mashed potatoes and said through the 
mouthful, “Hey, Ed.” 


“I’m opening the door.” 

With a sigh, she trudged to the back wall. Leaning against it, arms 
crossed, she watched the door. A light above the knob flashed red. 
The entrance swung open. Ed stood in the doorway. 


He was a string bean of a man, dressed in the grey and black outfit 


worn by every guard in the facility. The belt slung across his waist, 
just loose enough to need regular repositioning, held a gun, taser, 
and radio. Two guards stood behind him. One she recognized. The 
other wore a uniform she’d never seen before, black with blue trim. 
Each personnel had three three letters printed above their left chest 
pockets- SCP. Amy had long wondered what the letters stood for. 


“Let’s go,” said Ed. He stepped back from the doorway. 


“Sure. Fine.” Saying it like that made it sound like she’d been given 
a choice. She separated from the wall. “Where to?” 


The guards clustered around her as she exited the cell. Ed in front, 
the other two watching her back. “Just follow me,” he said. 


They lead her down a maze of hallways, following a route she’d 
never taken before. If the way she pictured the facility was correct, 
they were heading west, but was hard to tell any two areas apart. 
Wherever you went, same lifeless stucco walls, sterile-white floors, 
steel, windowless doors taunted you. Amy glanced at the numbers 
marking each cell. None were familiar. 


“Been awhile since you guys came around,” she said after several 
minutes of silence. 


“Shut up,” said the new man. 


Ed glanced back. “Relax, Hurlin. She’s not going to do anything by 
talking.” He faced front and said, “We’ve got some people from a 
different Site who want to take a look at you.” 


Hurlin grumbled something that sounded like ‘fucking 
unprofessional’. She ignored it. “Yeah? What for?” 


Ed shrugged. 


They reached the end of the hallway, and a door. Through a wired- 
off window, Amy saw somebody sitting at a table. Ed opened the 
door and motioned her to enter. 


At the table was a woman in a blue and white dress suit. She was 
sorting through several stacks of paper, marking notes with a pen, 


and didn’t look up as Amy entered. Two men, dressed in the same 
black/blue uniform as Hurlin, stood against the far wall. He took a 
place next to him. The door shut. 


The woman speared her pen at the chair across from her without 
looking up. “Sit.” Amy did. After several minutes, the woman settled 
back in the chair, set the pen down, and fixed her stare on Amy. 
“Ms. Corvin,” she said. “My name is Dr. Galloh.” 


Amy raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh. Who's that next to you, Agent 
Tombstone?” 


“His name isn’t important,” said Galloh. She tapped her pen against 
her lips. “Most people in your situation wouldn’t be so flippant.” 


Amy shrugged. “I guess I’ve been here long enough to know you 
aren’t gonna do shit about it.” 


Galloh nodded and scribbled something down. “Did they tell you why 
| want to talk to you, Ms. Corvin?” 


Amy glanced between her and the guard. “Nobody really tells me 
anything around here.” 


“Yes, it’s a nasty habit we develop.” The doctor smiled. In any other 
context it might have looked comforting. “It’s fairly simple. You’ve 
been held at this Site for just over five years. We’re beginning to 
think it might not be the most optimal place for you.” 


Amy perked up. 


“Sorry,” Galloh smiled, “it’s only a transfer. We’re not in the business 
of letting people go. I'll be doing the preliminary interviews before 
you're moved.” 


Amy’s stomach sunk. A stupid thing to expect. Still crushing to hear. 
“What, you don’t have enough already?” They’d conducted dozens 
since she’d come here. Maybe more than a hundred. Eventually, 
they all came around to the same places. 


“Redundancy. Another regrettable habit we form.” The doctor took a 
small metal box from her labcoat, placed it on the table, pressed a 


thumb to its top face. The box chirped. She moved her hand away. 
“Or suspicion, from another perspective.” Amy frowned. It wasn’t like 
any recording device she’d seen before. 


Amy wished she could tilt her chair back. “Let’s get this over with.” 
She glanced at the guards. The ones she usually saw looked like 
beat cops, or a traffic officers, and played the parts. These had an 
edge to them, like they were hungry for the chance to snap her 
neck.