Seriously, though, you should be stoked. Only 
there a few months, and already someone 
wants you to work for them? And pays you in 
advance!? That's the dream. That's exactly 
why you left. Who cares if the old lady doesn't 
appreciate your real stuff. Who cares if she 
doesn't know what bromidic means. Just give 
her Mitzi Gaynor and get the rest of that sweet 
cash, baby! :) And maybe she'll tell her rich LA 
friends about you - who knows where you 
could end up. 


And when you do, you can go back and laugh 
at those snobs with their stupid art club. You 
wouldn't join now if they begged you. Just 
don't forget your little sis when you're famous! | 
told you things would work out. 


Hey, and show me what you're working on, too 
- | can't come to visit yet (rolls eyes) so photos 
please. 


Love ya, 
June-bug 
PS - Mom says hi. 


The card was postmarked from Muscatine, lowa on 25 
June 2013, but misaddressed and not received until 11 
July 2013. Federal database searches revealed driver's 
licence and social security details for a June Baker, born 
1997, residing in Muscatine with her parents, Mr Daniel 
Baker and Mrs Sharon Baker. June Baker has been 
designated as Pol-2162-2. 


+ Addendum 5: Post-Incident Interview SCP-2162-B/ 
Cavendish/01 


Addendum 5: Post-Incident 
Interview SCP-2162-B/ 
Cavendish/01 


Interviewed: "Michael Cavendish" 
Interviewers: Agent Green, Agent Daniel 
Navarro 

Date: 12 July 2013 


Foreword: Agents Green and Navarro 
attempted to question Pol-2162-3 ("Michael 
Cavendish") at a club frequented by 
anomalous artists. Pol-2162-3 attempted to 
leave the scene, causing a diversion using 
tanks of liquid bromine in the Pol's van, 
together with several items of anomalous 
technology. Pol-2162-3 was eventually 
apprehended by Agents Green and Navarro 
and was brought in for questioning. 


<excerpt commences at 35:16> 


Agent Navarro: This is becoming boring, 
Michael. Look, I'm pretty sure you know who 
we are, and if so, you know that the only way 
we can help you is if you tell us how you know 
Robert Barker. 


Cavendish: Oh, | Know who you two are. The 
ex-GOC traitor and his fire-magic lap-dog. 


Agent Navarro: You think | should singe him 
again? 


Agent Green: | wouldn't bother. 


Cavendish: Taking orders from him now, are 
you, dog? How many of your kind has he 
killed? How many of your friends? 


Agent Navarro: You piece of - 
Agent Green: Daniel, just - 
Agent Navarro: Keep out of it! 


Cavendish: Oh dear, mister agent. Do you 
think he might burn you too? Do you think he 
hasn't thought about it? 


Agent Green: Fuck you! 


Cavendish: Do you think you could get a shot 
off first? I'm sure you've thought about that. 
What if you're not quick enough - what will it 
smell like when you burn? 


Agent Navarro: Perhaps you'd like a reminder 
yourself! 


Agent Green: Daniel, don't - 


Agent Navarro: DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO 
DO! 


<silence - 5 seconds> 


Cavendish: Dear oh dear. It seems you two 
might have a bit to discuss between 
yourselves. You don't need me here. And 
while I've heard all about you, I've never heard 
of this Robert Baker person. You don't have 
any basis to keep me here. 


Agent Navarro: Except that you just said 
"Baker". 


Cavendish: What? 


Agent Green: Yeah, we've just spent the last 
half-hour carefully saying "Barker". It's an old 
trick, but there's a reason for that - it's just so 


effective on people who think they're the 
smartest guy in the room. 


Agent Navarro: Not to mention you were 
driving a van full of bromine, which forms a 
coloured gas to visualise the anomaly nicely. 
And your alias - Michael Cavendish, one of the 
earliest patrons of anomalous artists? That 
was a bit obvious, don't you think? 


Agent Green: Actually, I've never heard of 
him. 


Agent Navarro: Really? Maybe it's just me. 


Agent Green Perhaps. Nice acting, by the 
way. You almost had me going. 


Agent Navarro Thanks. Anyway Cavendish, 
we know you're involved, so can you get on 
with telling us? Or not - we've got all night. 


Agent Green: Perhaps you could start with 
Robert Baker. 


Cavendish: <silence - 4 seconds> He wasn't 
like the others. Most of the artists | talked to - 
once they knew what | wanted them to do, and 
guessed who | was working for, they'd tell me 
where to stick it. Sometimes things even gota 
little nasty, although | don't mind that. But the 
kid was different. | knew straight away - he 
looked different. He looked hungry. 


Agent Green: Hungry? 


Cavendish: Desperate. He wanted approval, 
wanted someone to tell him how special he 
was. Hungry for attention, for praise. Also just 
plain hungry - he was thin as a rail. 


Agent Navarro: And you offered him a 


commission? 


Cavendish: He showed me a little of what he 
could do - the kid had some talent. We made a 
contract, and | paid him an advance. Never 
seen anyone get that excited over a few 
thousand lousy bucks. 


Agent Navarro: What happened then? 


Cavendish: He messed up, is what. Tried to 
test it out and got everything wrong. The size, 
the level of detail, even the composition - it 
was nothing like the agreed specifications. | 
mean, | get the bromine shipped at 
unnecessary risk and he uses a gas that's 
invisible! It was no use to anyone. 


Agent Green: So what, you killed him? 


Cavendish: Unlike you, I'm no killer. But | told 
him that his patron had a schedule, and he 
had to meet it. And the kid flaked out, tried to 
run. | had to round him up - along with some 
incentive to finish his work. 


Agent Green: Where is he? 
Cavendish: | honestly don't know. 


Agent Navarro: Think very carefully. Where is 
he? 


Cavendish: Shit, like I'm scared of you? Only 
reason I've said anything is I'm dead in any 
case - you've had me here too long. They'll 
know. 


Agent Navarro: Who, the mysterious 
patroness? We can protect you from her if you 
help us. 


Dr. : How do you access new weapons, 
SCP-846? There's no way they could all fit 
inside of you. 


SCP-846: ROBO-DUDE IS EQUIPPED WITH 
‘INTERIOR SHIFT’, AN INNOVATIVE NEW 
ROBO-FEATURE FROM DR. 
WONDERTAINMENT. 


Dr. : Interesting. How are you responding 
to my questions, have you been programmed 
to do so? 


SCP-846: ROBO-DUDE IS THE 
INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OF DR. 
WONDERTAINMENT. 


Dr. : SCP-846, tell me why you are able to 
respond to questions. 


SCP-846: DO NOT INTIMIDATE ROBO- 
DUDE. 


<End Log> 
« SCP-845 | SCP-846 | SCP-847 » 


Cavendish: Her? Ha! You think | work for that 
old bag? I've never met a member in my life - 
I've never even set foot in the club! My job is to 
get the members whatever they want, so if a 
member wants some old actress’ grinning mug 
to float around her lounge, | find someone who 
can make it happen. 


Agent Navarro: Cavendish, I'm going to ask 
one more time. 


<sound of door opening, Assistant-Director 
Griffiths enters> 


A-D Griffiths: You two. With me - now. 
Agent Navarro: Sir, we - 


A-D Griffiths: Muscatine team report. This 
interview is over. 


<recording ends> 


+ Update - 13 July 2013 


Update - 13 July 2013: The Muscatine, lowa field team 
reported that attempts to contact Pol-2162-2 were 
unsuccessful. Mr and Mrs Baker advised that June had 
"gone to see her brother in Los Angeles", but were 
vague as to the details or timing of the visit. They could 
not give a date for their last communication with her, or 
for her expected return. Based on their lack of concern or 
curiosity, the use of amnestic-related compounds on Mr 
and Mrs Baker was suspected. On-site tests identified 
the residue of a substance with effects on memory and 
perception, previously associated with investigations 
involving the Gol known as Marshall, Carter, and Dark 
Ltd. 


In light of this information, it was determined (on 


Assistant-Director authority) that Pol-2162-3 would be 
amnesticised and released. Agents Green and Navarro 
requested that Pol-2162-3 remain subject to 
surveillance, with the hope that he would lead 
investigators to Pol-2162-1's location or to further 
contacts. This request was pending at the time of 
administration of the amnestic. 


Upon administration of a standard Foundation Class-B 
amnestic, Pol-2162-3 suffered what appeared to be a 
severe anaphylactic reaction, and was pronounced dead 
by Foundation medical staff at the scene. Post-mortem 
analysis revealed that the reaction may have been 
caused by artificially implanted histamine reserves, 
triggered by the amnestic. 


+ Addendum 6: Investigation Closure Order 


Addendum 6: Investigation Closure 
Order 


From the office of the Assistant-Director, 
Site-15 


Date: 14 July 2013 


The investigation into the whereabouts of 
Pol-2162-1 is hereby closed, due to the 
presumed involvement of a hostile Gol. 
Foundation efforts are to focus on containment 
of the SCP-2162 anomaly, rather than 
recovery of Pol-2162-1 and Pol-2162-2. 


Applications by Agents Green and Navarro to 
continue the investigation have been refused. 
A formal protest from Agent Navarro was 
summarily dismissed. Agents Green and 
Navarro have been ordered to cease any 
activities connected to SCP-2162, and have 


been placed on one week's administrative 
leave before transfer to subsequent 
assignments. 


Authorised: A-D Griffiths 


She lay, crying, in the darkened cell, listening to her 
brother's screams and the threats of their captors if he 
failed again. Sometimes she imagined shapes in the 
blackness, figures coming to save her. But no figures 
appeared in that perpetual, numbing dark - no-one had 
come. Would no-one come? 


Final Regrets 


Regret had existed since time immemorial, since the first mind 
capable of reflecting upon its actions took a moment to consider the 
consequences of its decisions. With each passing generation, as 
minds more intelligent and wise came to be, so too did Regret 
become more and more powerful. 


It was unfair to think that Regret was cold and uncaring; after all, it 
would be silly to think of an emotion as unemotional. As one 
subjected to the final misgivings of every living mind, she was 
audience to their suffering and their ultimate sorrow and defeat. 
Even though this was the very essence of what she was, the burden 
of grief bore down upon her until one day she found that she could 
not stand it any longer. Deciding to take action, she picked a random 
thread of thought and followed it back to the mind that had given it 
life. 


The mind of a human was a turbulent thing at the best of times, but 
the panic that accompanied impending death made a fantastic mess 
of things. A torrential rush of clashing thoughts rushed through her 
as she reached out and touched it: 


Why didn't he wait for the others to catch up? 
Why didn't he watch where he was going more carefully? 


If he had worked out just a little more, would he have 
been able free himself? 


If he wasn't stuck, would he have been able to save just 
one more? 


Would his family be alright without him? 


Would— 


With a jab of pain and a final shudder, the candle was snuffed out 
and his broken body lay still. Regret sat and stared for a long time, 
turning the thread in her hands over and over as she replayed those 
final thoughts. An eternity passed in the blink of an eye as she 
deliberated, but in the end she came to a decision: she of all people 
would not allow herself to have cause to have misgiving. Delicately, 
she reached out and re-lit the candle. 


John gasped as he came to again, coughing violently as 
his lungs burned from the stifling smoke. In an act of 
desperation, he found one last reserve of strength and 
pulled himself out from under the pile of debris. With his 
equipment broken or missing and his eyes watering, he 
threw the unconscious child back over his shoulder and 
pushed on through the raging flames. Somehow, he 
managed to make it all the way back to the main 
entrance before his legs finally gave out. His last 
conscious thought was that everything would be alright 
as the paramedics rushed to his side and took the still- 
breathing child from his arms. 


He woke up in the hospital two days later, and paid little 
attention to the doctor's bewildered inability to explain 
how he was still alive; he had more important things on 
his mind. Things like never forgetting to tell his wife he 
loved her again, not missing another one of his son's 
soccer games, and making sure that all the proper 
arrangements were made if something were to happen 
to him. 


Three weeks later, John rushed to the site of another 
burning apartment building. The chief hesitated, and tried 
to explain to him that the building was too dangerous to 
enter, but the crying of a child over the roaring flames 
ended all further discussion. Without Regret, he turned 
and rushed through the door. 


Shaking from the exertion, she knew instantly that she had 
irrevocably lost a part of herself as she sank to the ground. Yet, 
even as her eyes watered, Regret smiled, knowing that through her 
sacrifice she had given a man a second chance. Without hesitation, 


she drew another thread — the nearest she could find — and 
followed it with determination. 


Time passed as she touched countless lives, selflessly giving a 
month, a week, a day, or even an hour, one extra chance after 
another to do that which they could not before the end. A young man 
recovering from a car accident finally found the courage to confess 
to the woman he loved. A mother who fell down her stairs told her 
daughter that despite everything that had come between them, she 
was proud of her accomplishments. A new father and survivor of a 
heart attack held his newborn son for the first time. 


And then, the unthinkable happened. With an outcry of agony, the 
minds linked to her began to wink out, a catastrophe of global 
proportions. Millions, then billions, died, their flames extinguished in 
the blink of an eye. More would follow in the wake of the disaster, 
but despite the pain that threatened to cripple her, Regret continued 
to touch as many lives as she could, giving them the closure they so 
desired until but a single thread remained. 


Was there more he could have done? 


If he hadn't approved that last experiment, would none of 
this had happened? 


If he hadn't been so ambitious and reckless, would he 
have been spared the torture of watching his friends, 
family, and coworkers suffer in the last waning hours of 
humanity? 


Was this all his fault? 


It was unfair to think that Regret was cold and uncaring. She had 
avoided interfering with the actions of those she touched, but she 
would make an exception for this last human man lying alone in the 
ruins of civilization. A part of her knew that this was it; with all minds 
gone, there would be no more reason for her to exist. So weak was 
she that she could not even fully re-light the candle; as its meek 
flame sputtered in the darkness, she took the man's hand in her own 
and, with a firm but gentle motion, traced his finger through the thick 
ash that covered the ground until a crudely formed phrase took 


shape: 
It's okay. You did your best. 


The flame went out one last time, and only the darkness remained. 
Regret closed her eyes with a final sigh and sank into nothingness. 


But it was not the end. 
Was there something left, something she had missed? 
What part of her could possibly remain when no more existed? 


Struggling against the emptiness, Regret reached out as far as she 
could, stretching up on tip-toes until her fingers brushed against a 
distant but unmistakable thread. Clawing at it with her final shred of 
strength, she latched on with all her might and pulled herself 
towards it. 


Feeling warmth against her face, she opened her eyes to the brilliant 
green light of an unfamiliar sun. 


Finding Balance