"... | mean we need to access old Site-19." 
«Road trip!» 


"W-what?" Dee shook his head vigorously. "No fuckin way, Bridge. 
How the fuck do we even get down there?" 


«There's an old ventilation conduit on the south end of the base. 
Utilities should still be—» 


Foxx reached over and shut the laptop. 
"Hey what the hell!" Bridge exclaimed. 


"That's a suicide mission, Bridge." 


"It's probably not. Look, there hasn't been any real activity under 
Site-19 in years and most of the old underground is flooded. We'll be 
in and out. Just need to make it to the Computer Labs. Literally the 
biggest dangers are a cave-in or rats." 


"So we get in, find this device, then head out?" 
"Listen, I'm not Ellen Ripley. In. Out. Nothing fancy." 


"We'll need at least one other to drive us in and post as lookout 
while we're down there." Foxx crossed his arms and continued his 
death stare at Dee. Dee shrunk in his chair, feeling the burning hate 
from across the kitchen table. 


"| Know a guy. He's kinda off the books and knows his way around 
Site-19. Plus, he owes me a favour. Let's leave tonight." 


Foxx hugged Lucille at the front door. "Where's Mr. Fuzzy going, 
Daddy?" 


"Away. Forever. He has to move." Foxx buttoned up her collar that 
came loose. 


"...0h..." Lucille looked at her red shoes sadly. 


Foxx tried to find the words to comfort her but nothing came to mind 
specifically. Instead he gave her another hug and a peckish kiss on 
the head. He wasn't particularly worried about having Lucille spend 
the night with the babysitter, but moreso he would be out of reach 
and unable to get back to her if something should happen. He 
wouldn't let that happen. 


Dee huffed a duffel bag and laptop case up off the ground and 
walked to the curb. "Who's this friend of yours, Bridge?" 


Bridge was already standing at the curb of the quiet suburban street 
as he smiled softly. "Just a handy guy to have around. Just a guy." 


A short while later a white van roared down the street and parked a 
house away. Then backed up and parked again at the right house. 


"Heyyyy!" Bridge spread his arms awkwardly in greeting. 
"Strelnikov!" 


"Ah. Bridge. How is the things, comrade?" 


Dee looked over Bridge's shoulder as Foxx loaded up the bags, 
some equipment, and some... other equipment. The loud Slavic 
sounding lyrics blasting from the tape deck. And a curious earthy 
vegetable smell. Strel slouched in the drivers seat in his leather 
jacket, squaring up the rest of the team. His messy hair and one 
bloodshot eye scanned Foxx and Dee. Merle looked at Stel back 
from over Dee's shoulder. 


Bridge made introductions as Strel moved out of the driver's seat 
and opened the large panel door. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is 
Agent Dmitri Ark- arka-day-vich Strelnikov. As per tradition, I've 
butchered your name because | can't pretend to have an accent. 
Sorry about that." 


"Arkadeyevich." Strel corrected him as he slunk out of the van and 
onto the curb. 


"Yeah, right, that's the one,", continued Bridge. "And that's Agent 
Dietrich Lurk and Agent Aleksander Foxx." Both silently nodded. 


Strel also bobbed his head with the pleasantries. "This is task force 
you bring, Bridge? | receive message that you need driver for 
special task force? But can't tell me why over phone. Explain. | had 
very busy weekend planned." 


"I'll... I'll just fill you in on the way. You still know how to get to 
Site-19 from here right?" Bridge started loading bags into the van. 


"19? That gulag? Yes." Strel leaned against the van and watched 
the bags being loaded. "I guess if you bring guns and computer it 
means we are breaking in like the burglar cat. It has been long time 
since | have ran stealth OP. If | had been to/d, | could have brought 
better vehicle. Have Hind attack helikopter in storage doing nyet, 
Bridge. 30mm autocannon. HEAT rocket launchers. Black painted. 
Death of Many Chechens. 


"You... you've killed Chechens with it?" 


"Nyet. That is name. Death of Many Chechens. | use the air 
brushing to make art on side." Bridge simply nodded and let Strel 
continue venting. 


"Have to beg to keep in budget. Direktor make me write justification 
each year to keep Hind in hangar. Have to make quota on combat 
missions or else Direktor replace Hind. | need to know these things, 
Bridge." 


"I'm sorry, Strel. Next time, | promise." 


Strel kicked the panel van lightly in frustration over the lost 
opportunity. He mumbled to himself as the last bag was hoisted in. 
"Hind better than shitty Japanese van with no cruise control." 


Dee eventually piped up. "Are you drunk?" 


Strel casually smiled, showing off his stainless steel replacement 
teeth. "I'm Russian." 


"And there's your answer." Bridge turned to Dee and chuckled. 
"Also, shotgun. Trust me." 


EPILOGUE 


"Ok, ok... rewind that shit again." Clef giggled as Adams took the 
video back about 15 seconds. 


"HA! Wow, | had no idea Lurk could deep throat like that. Color me 
impressed." Clef chewed his snack food loudly as he leaned in his 
seat in front of the video screen. "I'd say there's some natural talent 
for sure. Usually Foxx's house is so boring." 


Adams tilted her head a little. "| guess. So. You knew about this 
MalO thing already?" 


"Kinda." Clef reached for another handful of mini-pretzels. "| mean, 
it's not like it's a big deal or anything." 


limbs mid-way down the rib cage. 

4. [DATA EXPUNGED] aware of observation. Level of 
awareness appears to be minimal, and the subject's physical 
dimensions limit any possibility of interaction. 


Name: Agent CarrionTrooper 

Date: 10/07/2009 

Time: 09:10 approx. 

Duration: 50 minutes approx. 

Observed: Velociraptors hunting a Parasaurolophus. They used 
obsidian knives to butcher the meat, and carried bag-like containers 
where they put the rest of the meat. They left the scene after 
butchering the Parasaurolophus. Shortly after they left, small 
unidentified dinosaurs scurried to the carcass and ate bits of it. 


Name: Agent Hunter and a videocamera 

Date: 05/17/2009 

Time: 17:10 approx. 

Duration: ca. 45 minutes 

Observed: [Agent] At first a child was seen flying about on a rocking 
horse, chased by what appeared to be a "small friendly flock of bird". 
The birds did not match any native species. After they had flown, 
several trees were seen to fall, despite not hearing a sound that 
could explain their fall. Finally, a herd of "miniature elephants" the 
size of ponies walked past. 


[Camera] The camera did not record anything. To be more precise, 
what it recorded appears to have been a single still image (it 
includes at least two birds in mid-flight), accompanied with the 
normal sounds of a forest. 


Name: Dr. Light 

Date: 08/10/2009 

Time: 8:30 

Duration: 60 minutes approx. 

Observed: A single organism of variable size and shape, which 
emerged from a nearby body of water and proceeded, over the 
following hour, to recreate the stages of human evolution. It began 
as an early amphibian, and slowly began to grow legs, arms, fur, 
teeth, becoming bipedal, and using sticks as tools. Once the 
organism reached the current stage of human development, it 


Adams turned to face him. "This is probably what Bridge was 
warning me about." Clef shrugged and swallowed. "That guy's way 
uptight. He doesn't understand how this plays for us in the larger 
scheme." 


"Sir?" 
"Leverage, Adams." 
"Ah. Gotcha." 


Clef slouched further in his seat. "Okay, rewind it one last time for 
me." 


Where Your Eyes Don't Go 


"Grandma!" 


Shirley looked down over her newspaper. Ralph was standing there, 
with a fistful of wooden blocks, beaming up at her. "Can we play 
Director, grandma?" 


She smiled down at him. "Sure. Where to, Director?" 


Ralph's toothy grin widened. "Over here! The sewing room! We 
gotta contain it!" He yanked on her blouse, as she stood and 
followed him into the room. Inside, he'd placed toys and blocks all 
around the room. 


"Okay, first you gotta see this, cuz there's a containment here... it's 
got a Krang in it!" 


She looked down at the pink blob monster covered in tinker toys. 
"Oh, not a Krang? What are you going to do with it?" 


"Uhhhhh... put it in the box!" Ralph looked up at her, seeking 
approval. She nodded. He squealed with delight, and ran to the 
other side of the room, grabbing a plastic jail cell and slapping it 
down over the doll. 


Shirley sat down with him, and listened and smiled as he happily 
jabbered to her for the better part of the afternoon. Ralph talked 
about containment breaches and 'soldier-guys' with an alertness that 
always left her marveling. At least he had a relatively normal life, 
even if everything in it was abnormal. 


Site-77, Director's Office. 
Dear Ralph, 


I'm back in Toronto, waiting for my assignment to an 


Alpha-9 project. Please look into the attempt on the lives 
of Sophia and myself. You have the full authority to form 
an investigative task force to look into this affair. I'll send 
you a Check to cover any expenses, and if you need 
more help, please call me. 


Happy Birthday. 
Grandma 


Ralph stared at the letter as he sipped his coffee, then checked his 
watch. 4:22 was too early to still be up doing this... but it had to be 
done sometime, and he'd been putting it off long enough. He'd been 
looking forward to dreading this kind of work. Being a Site Director, 
even an interim one, was like doing the work of a city planner, 
policeman, general and maximum security prison all rolled into one. 


He barely remembered what sleep felt like. He put on some 
headphones, and the soothing tones of Andy Samberg flowed into 
his ears as he pored over expense requests, waste logs, 
containment briefs, and much, much more. 


Yo, | run New York! 

It's a pain in the ass! 

The city's crowded as fuck, 
And it's covered in trash! 


He tapped his finger on the mahogany desk as the tunes continued. 
God, how many papers could there be? For weeks, he'd been 
coming in, hoping that maybe some ink-stained bureaucrat, or an 
aide, or someone, might do some of the work before he got there. 
But every day, without fail, there was just so much to be done. 


Ralph gulped coffee, and checked his schedule. At 8:30, meeting 
with Security Chief Anderson. 10:00, inspection of the renovations to 
Containment Wing-C. Then, 11:00, meeting with the investigation 
task force for the assassination thing. 2:00, budget review, 5:00 
petition for clemency from... 


He shook his head. Maybe he could clear a few things. That meeting 
was probably going to go on for awhile... or all day. How did 


Grandma do it? How did she juggle just... the everything? The title 
‘Site Director’ sounded glamorous, but in reality it just boiled down to 
a lot of paper-pushing. 


Sitting back in his chair, he stared at the ceiling. Maybe he could ask 
an intern... did they have interns? The Foundation equivalent of an 
intern, to do some of this for him. Under his supervision, of course... 
couldn't let this important work be done in his absence. 


Of course, none of this even covered why the Site was here to begin 
with. Ralph twirled a pen between his thumb and finger as he looked 
at the slough of folders and logs strewn across his desk. The things 
kept under wraps, buried in the mountainside and protected by 
nuclear annihilation. That was part of his job too. 


That's why I'm in the sewer dressed up like a shogun. 
Because on the equinox, a Hell Gate springs, 
Releasing hounds wreathed in the blood of kings. 


Ralph paused, and listened to his song. 


And no one even knows! 

They just think I'm a dork. 

But | still kill those fucking dogs, because 
| RUN NEW YORK! 


"Man." he said, hunching over his desk to finish the work on time. 
"The Lonely Island speaks to me." 


“Go away! | hate you!” Ralph crossed his arms, his pouty expression 
focused like a lazer at Anderson. Pushing himself deeply into his 
plush leather chair, he stared at the tired, annoyed face before him. 
“You don’t even look like me.” 


Anderson brandished a spoon menacingly. “Look, | don’t like this 
anymore than you kid. But your grandma...” 


“You don’t know her! Shut up!” 


“Your grandma told me | have to take care of you when she’s gone. 
There’s not a lot of people left in this world who care for you, little 


y 


man. 
“| don’t know you!” 


With a depressed chuckle, Anderson stuck the spoon in Ralph's 
mouth. “I know. But this is the best you’ve got now, kid.” 


Ralph protested through a mouthful of broccoli. “You’re not my real 
dad. | don’t know you. | don’t know anybody.” 


Anderson grunted and withdrew the spoon, setting it aside. “You 
know, that’s the first thing you've said all day that we can agree on.” 


Ralph fumed, but said nothing. 


“Now” Anderson said, heaping another spoonful of vegetables 
towards Ralph, “here comes the subway car...” 


Chief of Security Theodore Anderson arrived in the Director's office 
two minutes early. Ralph noted the armful of papers he carried in 
with him, and the ever-stern expression he wore on his face. 
Anderson slapped the papers down on the desk, and sat across 
from him. Ralph looked at him as he settled into the seat. 


Anderson was starting to look his age. A once-proud moustache 
drooped over his lips, greying hairs curling at the edges. Crow's feet 
around his eyes had turned into full-blown rat's nests of wrinkles, 
curling around his eyes and up to his forehead. His battle with male 
pattern baldness was nearing his follicles' last stand. 


Ralph scooped the papers into his arm, and began to examine them 
one by one. Most of these were standard security reports, typical of 
a Site this large. ‘SCP blah blah was making this noise, but no other 
action, Junior Researcher Schmukatelli ended up in a restricted area 
and had to be escorted out." Almost none of it required action, but 
nonetheless he was expected to deal with it. 


He sifted through the generic reports, until he was able to pull a blue 
piece of paper from amidst the grey. It was a security report, with a 
stamp reading >iteration 3<. 


REPORT ON INCIDENT 1501-2377 
INCIDENT DATE: / / 


SUBJECTS INVOLVED: Site-77 Director Shirley 
Gillespie, Sophia Light, SCP-1501. 


LOCATION: Site-77. 


SUMMARY: At: , the blast doors for the SCP-1501 
containment chambers suffered a sudden structural 
existence failure, allowing one instance of SCP-1501 to 
breach containment. While meeting for logistical reasons 
related to [DATA EXPUNGED], Directors Gillespie and 
Light were assaulted by this entity, and forced to take 
refuge in SCP-2322. While the instance was ultimately 
neutralized, the nature of the containment breach was 
almost certainly not accidental, and a task force has 
been assembled to investigate this occurrence. 


INVESTIGATIVE TASK FORCE PSI-7 
TASK FORCE PERSONNEL: 


Doctor Ralph Roget: Site-77 Interim Director, 
Researcher. 


Technical Researcher David Rosen: Technological 
Liaison 


Agent Lis Boyd: Site-77 Security Agent. 


Doctor Steven Blast: Explosives Consultant, MTF Psi-7 
operative. 


Agent Logan G. Armstrong: Groups of Interest 
Specialist. 


Dr. Bonjour: Psychological Researcher. 


Mobile Task Force Psi-7: Explosive specializing task 
force headquartered within Site-77 


Ralph frowned. "There's nothing here. Why is so much of this 
redacted?" 


Anderson pursed his lips. "They have trusted the real director with 
that information." 


Ralph raised a finger, then paused. "Fuck it, whatever." He looked 
down at the paper, studying the list of names. "Is this really the best 
they could spare for a suspected assassination attempt? I've never 
heard of any of these people." 


"They'll probably assign more qualified personnel as they become 
available. Most of the free agents have been diverted to Alpha-9."