Siberian Warblade, 1 of 7 in total, 1 of 4 in the possession of Mssrs 
Marshall, Carter, and Dark. This item was recovered from the 
personal armory of Genghis Khan. It is believed to be a war trophy 
following his conquest of the Dae-" 


"Ah hell." Alvares cut her off abruptly. "That's exactly what | thought. 
Please hold. And for the love of Christ, don't touch it." 


"Right. Like | was going to grab the fancy artifact that does who- 
knows-what through two inches of glass." Aries rolled her eyes for 
what felt like the thousandth time that night and continued to survey 
the room for useful or dangerous artifacts. Preferably something 
heavy to bludgeon Alvares with when they left. 


"Oi, Liv!" 
"That's Captain Davis, Alvares. What's wrong?" 


"Oh whatever you say, glorious captain. We uh... Have a bit of a 
problem. Looks like our buds here at Marshall, Carter, and Dark 
have procured some Daevite weapons." 


"Daevite? What's that?" She hovered over his shoulder, staring at 
the screen that caught his attention. 


"Long story short, the kind of nasty civilization of warmongering 
necromancers and psychotic cannibals that would make George 
Miller and Sam Raimi proud." 


"Who's George Miller and Sam Raimi?" 


"GAH! Turn on the tv sometime, damn! Also irrelevant. It's bad 
news. And she definitely doesn't want to grab it. | mean, unless you 
want a rampaging Protomongolian war goddess on the team. God 
only knows how that would turn out." 


"... Right. Okay. I'm going to file that in with the higher-ups. Aries, 
tag it with that tracking spell Alvares taught you." She immediately 
began tapping away at her cellphone, sending off a message to the 
Overseer Liaison for her team. Over her comm device, she heard a 
faint ding, presumably from the computer Grenich was working on. 
Shortly after, this was confirmed by a tinny electronic voice coming 


SCP-770: Nuclear Slime 


Item #: SCP-770 
Object Class: Keter 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-770 is to be stored ina 
500 ml flask made of isotopically pure iron-56. The flask is to be 
evacuated of atmosphere, and stored in a de-pressurised steel safe, 
lined with isotopically pure iron-56 foil and 7.5 cm of lead. Currently, 
SCP-770 is stored at 


SCP-770 is to be given nutrients in the form of 20 milligrams of 
technetium-95m gas, produced by the research reactor at 
These are to be administered twice a year. 


SCP-770 may be removed for research and experimentation, 
providing a detailed research plan is approved by level 4 staff. All 
research staff must be qualified in dealing with radiological safety 
hazards. Research is to be carried out in an environmentally isolated 
laboratory, and research staff must use glove boxes or conventional 
bio-hazard suits. After SCP-770 has been returned to storage, the 
atmosphere of the laboratory must be purged, and any materials or 
instruments that have come into contact with SCP-770 are to be 
destroyed in a high temperature plasma arc furnace. 


Addendum 770-1: Following Incident I-770-1, SCP-770 is not to be 
exposed to fissile, or fertile super-heavy elements, including any 
isotopes of uranium, plutonium, thorium, or americium. Permission 
to perform experiments using these elements will be immediately 
denied. Agent has been posthumously commended for his 
quick thinking in preventing a [DATA EXPUNGED)]. 


Description: SCP-770 is a strain of mould that is similar in 
appearance to the common Physarum polycephalum slime mould. It 
is largely colourless and translucent in appearance, and will adhere 
to almost any surface. What sets SCP-770 apart is that it respires 


over the comm. 


FILE TRANSFER COMPLETE. WOULD YOU LIKE TO MOVE 
ANYTHING ELSE WHILE I'M HERE? THIS DRIVE IS KIND OF 
CRAMPED. [Y] [N] 


"Alright, Davis. It's been transferred, and | got pretty much 
everything | could find. Now what?" Grenich disengaged the drive 
and stood up. 


"Alright. Aries, Grenich, See what else you can grab without setting 
off any alarms and get out of there. Holst, do you have eyes on the 
security team or the minotaur? Can you get out without alerting 
anyone?" 


Holst's tinny voice came over his communication device, out of 
breath. "| do have eyes on the security team, but | really don't see 
myself getting out of here without drawing their attention." 


Alvares' laugh caught Davis off guard. "Oh yeah, send in the klepto 
with poor impulse control to a fat cat party with a billion security 
guards. Excellent idea, Captain. Aries, Grenich, run like hell." 


"Shit." Aries scrambled to fill up the bag with any artifacts in arm's 
reach and lurched for the door. "Grenich, come on!" 


"Coming, coming! Fucking Holst. Alright." The Insurgency operative 
grabbed Aries' arm as he ran past and dragged her towards the 
hallway, much to her protest. She felt as he dropped the drive into 
her bag. 


"| CAN RUN FOR MY LIFE WITHOUT HELP, THANKS." She 
readjusted her bag, yanked her arm away from Grenich's and 
headed for the door, outstripping him and drawing a handgun. 


A voice exploded behind her. "Not fast enough, unfortunately." 


The wall slammed shut in front of Grenich and Aries. A gigantic, 
well-dressed man with vaguely Mediterranean features stood behind 
them, one hand on the wall beside him. On one of the man's hands 
was a Chicago Bulls championship ring. The other was occupied by 
an improbably large handgun. 


Grenich broke the silence first. "Uh. Davis. We found the minotaur." 


The man smiled. "Correct." He slammed his hand against the wall 
again and with a sickening crunch Grenich was crushed by the wall. 
Aries felt the rush of wind behind her, and turned around to see a 
red smear where Grenich had been standing. Without thinking, she 
fired her gun a half dozen times in the general direction of the 
Minotaur and clipped his arm, breaking his concentration. The door 
behind her suddenly opened and she dived through it, and she ran 
as fast as her legs could carry her straight into the surveilance van 
the others were waiting for her. Alarms began sounding as Davis 
grabbed her by her collar and yanked her into the van. 


Everyone was silent as Davis wrote up her report to the Overseer 
Liaison as Alvares drove the team back to the base and Davis 
treated Aries' and Holst's wounds. Some time later, they finally got a 


reply. 


FROM: Overseer Liaison Office 
RE: MISSION REPORT 


Per Overseer directive, all casualties are 
acceptable and expected for this team, Officer 
Davis. Report to base and your team will 
receive further instruction pertaining to the 
Daevite artifacts after emotional and physical 
recovery. 

— 05-7 


A Fan's Fans 


"What is it?" 


"It's a mechanical fan that has the ability to play the electric guitar, 
sir." 


"Ha ha, does it blow you away when it plays?" 
"Yes, sir." 
"Mentally or physically?" 


"Both sir, its musical talent with an electric guitar is unparalleled. 
However, it also produces a wind velocity of 90kph when playing.” 


"| was joking, but that's actually pretty funny. Anything else | need to 
know?" 


"The fan has fans, sir." 
"People fans or mechanical fans?" 


"Both, sir. It has a large following of people who appreciate its 
music, but it also has a collection of mechanical fans." 


"Okay, give them a Class-B amnestic and call it a day." 
"The people fans or the mechanical fans, sir?" 


"Give the people fans the amnestic and contain the mechanical 
fans. You think you'll have trouble doing it?” 


"It should be a breeze, sir." 


"A breeze created by the fan that prevents you from carrying out the 
order?" 


"No | meant it should be an easy job, sir." 


"Good, glad that's sorted out. Now to deal with the running 
refrigerator in Sector-118." 


"Sir, do you mean the refrigerator is physically sprinting or do you 
mean it is a workin-" 


"__Don't even start." 


A Fancy Dinosaur 


It was a mild day, late into the Cretaceous period. A 
Pachycephalosaurus walked the forest, the body of a Vegavis in its 
mouth. Several hours had passed since it had collected its prize, but 
still it journeyed. Resisting the urge to eat for this long was proving 
difficult, but it would persevere. 


After some time, it spotted something soaring through the sky, a 
mere silhouette against the sun. The Pachycephalosaurus hurried 
after the silhouette. The being took perch on its usual spot, on the 
highest branch of a tree in the middle of a clearing. It was the only 
branch that kept it safe from even the biggest predators. 


Standing on one of the tree's many roots was a creature the 
Pachycephalosaurus recognized, but did not quite understand. It 
was a furry thing, a quadruped, a little smaller than the Vegavis the 
Pachycephalosaurus carried. There were many like it, all following 
the winged one, all identical. But only one sat on the root that day. 
The two watched each other for some time before the flighted one 
let out a call. The Pachycephalosaurus understood this meant it 
could approach. 


The Pachycephalosaurus understood the the winged one was no 
Archaeopteryx. The fact that Archaeopteryx had gone extinct almost 
one hundred million years ago was lost on the Pachycephalosaurus, 
nor did the true origin of the creature matter too much to the 
Pachycephalosaurus. It wasn't all that smart. Silly dinosaur. It 
couldn't even sense the suppressing amount of mirth emanating 
from the winged one. The Pachycephalosaurus dropped the carcass 
at the foot of the tree, as it had done for the past fifty days. The 
winged one let out another cry, and the furry thing dragged the 
carcass into a hole under the tree. 


Three of the furred creatures exited the hole, each carrying assorted 
rocks. They displayed their wares and wagged their little tails. But 
the Pachycephalosaurus desired none of them. It had, after all, 


bought instances of each presented. The Pachycephalosaurus was 
a rock collector, a veritable Connoissaur. While the company of 
Mastodon, Carnotaurus & Dark certainly rewarded oneself with 
interesting rocks, none could beat the winged one. It had ran up a 
deposit over the past fifty days, and it wished to use it all on 
something more grand. After some time the winged one bobbed its 
head up and down. It let out yet another cry, and another one of the 
furry things walked out from under the tree. This one held a piece of 
wood, odd runes scratched into it. 


The Pachycephalosaurus did not understand. This was not a rock. It 
desired a rock, and a fancy one at that. It growled, and each 
creature growled back in unison, their adorable little ears pressed 
back. This gave the Pachycephalosaurus pause. The winged one let 
out a strange sound, alternating in pitch. Almost like a laugh. It 
conveyed that the wood was simply a formality, a sign of 
respectability. Very fancy. Now understanding that what it held was 
not simply wood, the Pachycephalosaurus attempted to chew it. It 
decided that whatever formalities were, they were not very tasty. In 
fact, formalities tasted a lot like wood. 


After an odd motion where it held its right wing to its crest and 
leaned forward, the wondrous creature lifted itself from the branch. It 
thanked the Pachycephalosaurus for all of its business, then simply 
flew up into the sky. The Pachycephalosaurus watched it go 
helplessly, thinking all it got was some poor tasting formality. Fifty 
meals, and not a fancy rock to show for it. Curses flowed from the 
Pachycephalosaurus's maw as it watched the winged one depart. 


The Pachycephalosaurus's tiny mind lapsed for a moment as it 
stared at the departing salesbirdinosaur. Instead of a sun, its details 
were hidden by a massive flaming rock. The most fanciest rock of all 
rocks. The Pachycephalosaurus felt satisfied with its purchase. It 
would look so nice on the mantle. If Pachycephalosaurusi had 
mantles. 


The most fanciest awesome rock itself was at least ten kilometers in 
diameter, which according to modern rock enthusiasts is indeed 
quite fancy. The most fanciest gloriously awesome rock certainly 
brightened up the Pachycephalosaurus's life. And even Mastodon 
and Carnotaurus's lives were brightened up, as deep in their caves 


as they were. In fact, it brightened up the lives of three-fourths of the 
planet's flora and fauna. One could argue it even brightened up the 
day of the planet itself! 


Then the most fanciest gloriously awesome fantastic rock (later 
marketed simply as Dr. Wondertainment's Marvelous Meteor™) 
arrived at its destination; Chicxulub, Mexico - 66,462,579 BC. Right 
on time. 


A Farewell To Arms 


The O5 Council sat in silence at what they had just heard. 

Finally, Four's gentle voice broke the reverie. "What did you say?" 
"| said, it's hopeless." 

Four watched the weathered old man slump in his chair. 

"You're the last person I'd expect to hear that from, Ten." 


"Look at the data. The Orange Zone has shrunk by 2%. We've lost 
two Sites' worth of personnel and skips in the last month alone." 


Before he could continue, a blip on Eleven's screen borrowed her 
attention. She rubbed her wrinkled temple. 


"Two more task forces are lost, Eta-5 and Phi-2." 
One rose slightly. "Dead?" 


"Eta-5 suffered catastrophic losses against a 3396-empowered 
living mountain range. No further details." 


"And Phi-2?" 
A pause, too long. "One member dead, the rest defected." 
"Shit." 


Two spoke up, finally. "We need to beef up ALABASTER. Every 
drop of resources goes to containment, or neutralization if possible." 


Three joined in. "I don't like this. This isn't us anymore. Putting most 
of mankind in camps and labs is overstepping our place." 


Two cocked his head. "You picked a really bad time to suddenly 
grow a heart, Three. It's just containment of anomalies. That's what 
we do. That's what we've been doing. Nothing has changed except 
the scale and the budget. There won't be a mankind unless we do 
our jobs, and do them now." 


Four shifted. "A formal vote, then. For or against increasing the 
scope of Project ALABASTER and making containment and 
neutralization of the 3396 spread the Primary Foundation Mission 
Directive." 


Silence. 
A handful of voices quietly said "In favor", one after the other. 
Three, Four, and Eight voted to oppose. 


The remainder stood silently as history marched forward. 


05-2 disconnected from the holographic call and returned to his 
favorite chair. Not that his current residence had much of a view. 


Thirteen bunkers were located around, inside, or near the planet. 
Each one containing someone who at one point would have been 
rightly called a king or queen of the world. One of these bunkers 
contained O5-2. 


Designed by the Foundation's best and brightest, bristling with the 
most advanced technology on the planet, the fortress was located a 
kilometer beneath the desert sands of somewhere redacted. 


A titanic block of concrete and various named and unnamed metals, 
all protecting a singular room, a heart, where O5-2 resided. The 
fortress defied any earthquake, hurricane, or asteroid that dared try 
to reach him. 


But right now it had a huge hole in it. 


Alarms blared all over the labyrinthine circulatory system of 
corridors. Classified machines bent the very fabric of space within 


the fortress, to confuse and disorient any would-be intruders, as well 
as protect from outside disasters. One could walk for a hundred 
kilometers and never get any closer to the heart, if they didn't know 
the way. 


The flashing cognitohazardous emergency lights looked down upon 
miles of destroyed corridors. Massive guns lay destroyed, smoke 
still flowing from their shattered and melted barrels. Several 
humanoid bodies lay here, torn apart.