Nodding in what he hoped was a nonchalant way, Navarro slowly 
edged his way around the counter to see if any insurgents were still 
in the room. Only one was left, laughing like a madwoman and 
spraying fire from her right palm. She didn't really seem to be 
attacking anyone or destroying anything, she was just blasting fire 
purely because she could. She just happened to also be 
approaching the counter as she did so, which made for a very 
convincing "Hey I'm gonna cook ya." 


Navarro chewed on his tongue before drawing his gun and taking an 
experimental shot. The woman directed the pillar of flame and 
annihilated the incoming bullet. Now understanding he was now 
facing magic fire, Navarro snapped back under cover and tilted his 
head toward the researcher. "Heyyyyyy, Doctorrrr..." 


Zachary Johnson made an effort to sit up straight. "Johnson." 


"Doctor Johnson. Have you done anything particularly important 
today? Made any plans, any new discoveries?" 


Confusion coated the man's face. "Can't say that | have, no." 


"Oh, good.” Navarro smiled amicably and drew a small knife from 
his pocket. "Because what I'm about to do is probably going to get 
me reprimanded and you... Amnesticized? Amnestitized? You're 
gonna forget stuff. So, uh, sorry about that." 


With a practiced hand, Navarro pricked the points of each finger on 
his left hand. He then made small cuts on each knuckle of the hand, 
and made a much larger gash across his palm. With a grimace he 
waved the pain away from his hand and launched himself into a 
standing position. After fishing in his pocket he pulled out a lighter 
and popped it open. 


"For safety's sake, | recommend closing your eyes," Navarro said. 
"And maybe holding your breath." 


He muttered a few words and lit the blood pooling in his hand on 


fire. It immediately flickered toward the pillars of flame being emitted 
from the chaotic insurgent. Navarro strode forward at a relaxed 
pace, waving at the woman when she noticed him. She hesitated for 
a moment before stamping the ground. 


"Back up!" yelled Alexandra Radcliffe. "I've got plenty more where 
that came from." 


Navarro held up his own ball of fire. "Try me." 


After fighting another bout of hesitation, Radcliffe let out a burst of 
fire. The flame sitting in Navarro’s palm gorged itself on the 
incoming heat, leaving the agent no worse for wear. The insurgent 
cocked her head and fired another blast. The two grinned at each 
other before Radcliffe let off a monstrous stream of fire. 


"How long does this last?" she called over the roaring flame. 


"Forever?" Navarro lifted his palm to the ceiling, redirecting the 
assaulting fire in the process. "Fire grows hungrier the more it's fed, 
sweetheart.” 


"Soooo | should stop." And so she did. "Well, that was cool. But | 
can hear your buddies coming, so... I'm out." 


"Oh, this should be fun," Navarro said with a smirk. He drew his 
firearm with his free hand. "And how are you gonna do that, pyro?" 


Radcliffe held out her hand, palm facing down. A thick black mess 
Navarro didn't recognize quickly congealed in her palm before 
dropping to the ground, splashing into a large puddle. The insurgent 
produced a rose from nowhere, bowed, and threw the flower to the 
agent. After a quick laugh she hopped into the puddle, and sank into 
it as if it was nothing. Moments later, the puddle bubbled before 
fizzling out entirely. 


"That was amazing." 


Navarro turned around to see Johnson leaning against the counter. 
The old man had the biggest grin on his face, which Navarro found 
to be unbearably infectious. Navarro stole a quick glance in the 
direction of approaching footsteps and hurried over to the doctor 


with a childlike bounce in his step. 
He held out the orange flame. "Wanna hold it?" 


Both of his hands shaking, Johnson held out one hand while the 
other wobbled his cane around. Navarro deposited the hungry fire 
into his waiting hand, and laughed at the researcher's reaction. 
Johnson tossed it up and down as if it was nothing but a ball, his 
wide eyes reflecting the bright fire. 


"This cannot be sanctioned," Johnson said with soft disbelief. 
Navarro pulled some bandages from his pocket and wrapped up his 
palm while Johnson played with the little ball of heat. "I simply 
cannot believe the Foundation would allow someone who could do 
this to work here." 


"You'd be surprised." Navarro spit in both palms and clapped them 
together over the fire. When he brought his hands away there was 
nothing but soot smothered on his palms. "| was an anartist before 
this. Fight fire with fire, eh?" 


Johnson just smiled, a tittering laugh constricting any speech. 


"Listen, doc, if you do happen to remember any of this later? Hit me 
up, | got something you might like." He offered him a hand. "Daniel 
Navarro." 


Johnson offered the something he might like, which it had turned out 
he had indeed liked. It was a small black box composed of some 
wood from some reality, both of which Navarro had a difficult time 
pronouncing, and a small metal clasp on one side. Inscribed along 
the top was was the phrase, "What killed the cat?" in gold lettering. 


Navarro found it too difficult to meet Johnson in the eye, given the 
circumstances. So he just stared at the box, waiting for the dying 
man to speak first. 


“It was truly a beautiful gift, thank you for sharing it with me.” 


Navarro finally looked up at Johnson, who he could still barely 
recognize. Save for his eyes. Still as sharp as when they had been 


entranced by magic. 


"Any time," Navaro said when he couldn't hide the smile anymore. 
He slipped the box into his breast pocket and gave a quick nod 
before backpedaling to his spot next to the bookshelf. 


“Karlyle,” Johnson said after a moment. Navarro's eyebrows rose 
when the old man pulled out a revolver. It was Johnson in the Office 
with the- Navarro shook his head and made himself listen. “You and 
| started at the Foundation around the same time. You are easily 
one of my oldest friends and we have had more than our fair share 
of close calls. This is the revolver | used during that containment 
breach in ’96. | can think of no better person to have it than you. | 
hope you will never find yourself in a position to use it, but if you do, 
I think you'll recall that this can get the job done.” 


Karlyle Aktus chuckled as he stood from his spot on the couch, and 
he approached the desk. Johnson handed him the gun, which 
Karlyle simply set back on the table. Before Navarro could wonder 
what he was doing, Karlyle nearly tackled Johnson in a hug. 


"| will treasure it forever, Zach." 
"| appreciate that." 


Navarro almost winced when Karlyle slid the revolver into his pocket 
before returning to his seat. It probably wasn't loaded, anyway. 
Maybe. Hopefully, for the old man's sake. 


“Gregg,” Zach said as he pulled out an ornate, polished chessboard. 
“You were my first assistant, and have since become one of my 
closest friends and colleagues. This is the same chess set | used to 
have in my office. You should recall the numerous games we 
played, you as black and | as white. It is my hope that it may bring 
you as many fond memories with your assistants as it brought me.” 


Collins stood slowly and walked even slower over toward Johnson. 
Navarro's throat hitched when he noticed the man's glasses were 
much wetter than glasses were really supposed to be. Collins 
retrieved the chessboard and silently thrust out a hand. The two had 
a brief, solemn shake and Collins returned to his seat. 


After apparently fighting through the weight of the room's 
atmosphere, the youngest researcher blurted out, "Dr. Johnson, | 
can't accept anything from you. | just can't-" 


"For the love of god, Jacob, call me Zach." Navarro couldn't help but 
smirk, knowing he was just as guilty yet had gotten off scot-free. 
"And | insist. I'd very much like you to have it." 


Johnson then placed a small silver watch on the table. 


"This watch was originally a gift to me from Dr. Thompson prior to 
his incident. He said that, like this timepiece, | was simple, 
dependable, and had a slightly odd tick.” The old man laughed 
harder than he looked like he'd be able. "In the time | have come to 
know you, | feel that you exemplify these qualities more than | ever 
had. This is why | think you should have it." 


Jacob Conwell didn't move for what was probably too long a time. 
He just sat there like a dummy and stared at the watch, his mouth 
hanging open. Eventually he lifted himself up and trudged over to 
the desk. The watch sat in his hand for several seconds before he 
smiled. 


"Thank you, Zach." 


Navarro had to chew on his tongue, it was just all so damned 
touching. Conwell returned to his seat and all eyes returned to 
Johnson. 


"That’s all folks," he said. He picked up the box he had brought in. 
"Thank you all so much for coming. | consider it an honor to have 
spent my time on this earth with gentlemen such as you." 


With it all over and done with, Navarro took advantage of him 
standing and slid over to Johnson to be the first to say his final 
farewell. Johnson smiled and eyed the pocket Navarro had placed 
the box in. 


"Well, doc. I... am not good at this." He scratched the back of his 
head. "It was fun? Was definitely fun." 


"Indeed it was. Humor an old man's dying wish?" He prodded 


Navarro's pocket. "What's in that accursed thing?" 


Navarro almost threw his head back. "Whaaat? You could never 
open it?" 


"Oh, | tried, | can assure you. Just didn't want it enough, | suppose." 


Navarro giggled. "Well, | guess | can spoil it. And man, | feel kinda 
bad considering why you're giving it back and everything but- ahaha. 
It's pretty funny." 


Johnson smiled and rose his eyebrows. "Well? What's in it? What's 
so special about the box that it requires a magic latch?" 


Navarro couldn't help but laugh. "Nothing." 
Johnson blinked. "Excuse me?" 


"Not a goddamn thing!" Navarro grinned. "The box doesn't open. 
There's nothing in it. The thing isn't even anomalous." 


The brow of Zachary Johnson furrowed like it had never furrowed 
before. His eyes screwed themselves so close together it was hard 
to tell if they were even open. His lips smashed together into a thin 
line, the edges perking up slightly. 


"Get out of my house," he said in a low voice that threatened to 
crack. Navarro stood his ground with a shit eating grin as his only 
weapon. Johnson quickly broke down into laughter. "You cheeky 
bastard. You're serious, aren't you?" 


"Serious as cancer." There was a brief moment where he wondered 
if he had gone too far, but the comment earned another chuckle 
from Johnson. "C'mon, | mean, really. Did you expect more from 
me?" 


"| expected nothing less." They shook hands. "It's been a pleasure, 
Daniel." 


"Likewise. So much likewise. See ya in another life, Doc." 


Three's a Crowd 


"Paulie?" The frail, shaky voice echoed through the hallways. 
"Paulie, I'm scared..." 


Paul carefully crawled further under the desk. He held his hand over 
his mouth, stifling his panting and struggling not to start sobbing. He 
couldn't afford it at this point. 


"| need you... why aren't you helping me? Big brother..." 


It's not really him Paul, it's not Mikey, Mikey's dead, Mikey's dead, 
Mikey's dead dead dead deaddeaddead— 


"Paaauuuliiie! C'mon Paulie! We gotta go to the hospital! Please... 
please..." 


His brother... no, that... thing's voice was getting more frantic. 
It's not him. It can't be him. Nonono. 


Paul listened closely, holding his breath and waiting for his heart to 
stop deafening him. There were footsteps. Tmp, tmp, tmp. Shuffling, 
uneven footsteps, accompanied with Mik—its sobbing and calling. 
As the sounds got closer, he could hear another voice. It wasn't 
calling or crying like the other. It was just whimpering and rasping. 
Paul steeled himself. 


It's just one set of footsteps. That's not natural. He's not Mikey 
anymore, he's not my brother, he's just— 


"Paulie, please! There's blood everywhere, | can't stop it! Please, for 
the love of god, just help us!" 


Mikey... It... No, it couldn't be him... But.. .lt sure as hell sounded 
like him... 


He thought back to earlier. Maybe... maybe he had imagined part of 


Empire from Queen Victoria in a lavish ceremony. Of note is that 
SCP-1867 is still a sea slug in the picture, as is 'Queen Victoria’; all 
other attendees are human. 


Subject: SCP-1881 

Photographed Activity: Standing in its store room. 

Photo Result: SCP-1881 is surrounded by numerous children of 
various ages and genders and all of them appear to have quarters in 
their hands. 

Notes: This may indicate that SCP-1881 is at least sentient to some 
degree. 


Subject: SCP-1926-2 

Photographed Activity: Being sat upon by an instance of 
SCP-1926-1. 

Photo Result: An unidentified instance of SCP-1926-1, shown 
partially transparent, tucking an unidentified male child into bed. 


Subject: SCP-1977-B 

Photographed Activity: Resting on a table facing the camera. 
Photo Result: An adult male looking through a telescope at the 
night sky. There is no light pollution present. Appearance is 
consistent with known information about 


Subject: SCP-2137 

Photographed Activity: Being cleaned prior to its weekly playing. 
Photo Result: Tupac Shakur holding SCP-978 and scowling at the 
photographer, who is visible lying on the floor with a black eye. 
Note: The instance of SCP-2137-1 produced on this occasion 
included lyrics written on the back of the photograph in what was 
identified as [DATA EXPUNGED], chastising the Foundation for 
attempting to infringe upon SCP-2137's privacy. 


Subject: SCP-2273 

Photographed Activity: Sitting on his bunk, reading a novel shortly 
after his allotted social time. 

Photo Result: Two unidentified men of European ethnicity 
performing farm work as three women watch. The four oldest 
persons have a strong familial resemblance. The oldest man and 
oldest woman appear to be similar in age, as do the younger man 
and younger woman. The youngest woman appears to be SCP-191 


it. It wasn't like he was in the best mindset to process information, 
really. 


After all, they had just hit a kid with the car. 
Paul rubbed his eyes, playing it over in his head. 


Okay, we hit him. We hit him hard. Godammit, we were scared 
shitless. We didn't know... 


We weren't worried too much about saving the kid, | guess. God, it 
was all a blur... | just remember yelling at Mike, then he jumped out 
of the car to try to drag him into the school, and then... 


God, | can't even remember what happened clearly. All | remember 
is the kid springing up and wrestling Mikey to the ground. There was 
something weird about it, I'm sure... 


Well... am 1? Maybe it really was just the kid trying to get back up. 
There wasn't anything weird about what he did, | guess. Besides 
that ball he had, but... 


Well... maybe it was irrelevant. Maybe... maybe | just imagined that 
flesh thing...Was it still Mikey...? 


... [ran inside too quickly... |... | should've stayed behind to help 
him. | saw the blood, | heard his scream, | just... | didn't want this 
godammit. 


But... what if there's nothing to hide from? After all, the kid obviously 
wasn't dead, and Mikey seemed... normal. 


He hesitantly shifted his body out from underneath the desk. He 
stood up, carefully making sure to not knock into anything, and 
edged his way to the doorway. As he approached the opening, he 
could clearly see shadows making their way on the walls towards 
him. Two figures lurched along, one dragging the other. He peered 
out of the entrance, putting as little of his body out into the hallway 
as he could while still surveying the scene. He watched the larger 
figure's hair swing around in a way he knew too well, how it 
constantly darted around like a ferret... 


Mikey?