Today, though, something different happened, something nobody 
had seen in a very long time. According to the schedule, everyone 
was to be in the room at nine in the morning precisely, and prepare 
for their arrival. No late entries would be tolerated. However, at 9:05, 
two large, burly men without faces tossed in a frightened young 
man, and slammed the door behind him. The young man lay 
motionless for a short time, as those already in the room gathered 
around him, wondering what to do. Some proposed trying to hide 
him, while others were tempted to treat him as they treated them. 


At length, the young man stirred, groaning as he slowly lifted himself 
to his feet. His face was almost perfectly generic, as were all of the 
individuals gathered around him. Some specific features could 
almost be made out, but most had been wiped out by the unique 
atmosphere of the room. The young man's lips flapped and his 
throat undulated, but no sound came out. Panicking, he glanced 
wildly at the individuals around him, trying to figure out just what was 
happening. 


One person who may have been a woman reached out her hands in 
front of her, and made a series of motions with her fingers. She 
tapped downwards with her right pinkie finger, and a robotic voice 
emanated from her general region. "You new, kid?" He glanced up, 
a look of confusion crossing over his face. Moving her fingers again, 


the woman's odd robotic voice came out again. "You have to use 
these weird invisible keyboard things in front of you. They make us 
use them." 


The young man hesitated for a moment and, with shaking hands, 
typed out, "Who... who are... they?" 


"The senior staff, of course," said another individual close to her. 


The young man, upon hearing the phrase, flung himself against the 
back wall, clearly panicking. Slapping the man who had spoken, the 
woman typed out, "You fear them?" Watching him nod, the woman 

said, "| wasn't aware there was anyone on the outside who still did." 


"They made my life a living hell," the young man said, slowly getting 
a hang of the strange method of communication. "Two of them took 
a special interest in me. | don't know why, but they turned my entire 
family into jelly." 


"Sounds like Konny and Clef," chimed in another person, their brow 
furrowing slightly. "Must have done it for a laugh." The young man 
twitched slightly. 


"He's not as used to this as we are," typed the woman, snapping her 
head to the right. "Stop being so callous with him!" 


"Why bother? They ban something new each day. They get rid of 
fun, names, talking... who's to say that they won't ban some random 
shit like compassion one day?" 


"They... they can ban things?" asked the young man, shrinking 
away from the others. 


"They weren't able to in the old days, they could only keep you from 
coming in this room. They only joked about that sort of thing. But 
now... | don't know what sort of limits they have on this sort of thing. 
Thank *** they haven't banned anyone yet." 


She grimaced, then typed, "They do stuff like that asterisk things all 
the time too." 


"You mean," typed out the young man, fear filling his eyes, "that it 


SCP-670-1: I'll try my best, sir. 


Dr. : Can you please tell me where and 
when you were born? 


SCP-670-1: , 18 , sir. 
Dr. : Do you have any relatives? 


SCP-670-1: Yes, sir, my two children, Alfie 
and Elizabeth. 


Dr. : | mean parents. 
SCP-670-1: Oh, you mean Grandad Cotton? 


Dr. : Can you tell me more about 
‘Grandad Cotton’, SCP-670-1? 


SCP-670-1: Well, he was a clever guy, good 
with his hands...(gestures at himself) as you 
can see...Don't really remember much about 
him, he died a while back. Great guy, though. 


Dr. : Well, can you tell me how you met 
your wife? 


SCP-670-1: (Appears uncomfortable) | don't 
quite remember that, sir. It was a long time 
ago. 


Dr. : Well, that's all for now. SCP-670-1, 
please return to your containment area. We 
won't tolerate weapons again. 


SCP-670-1: Sorry, sir. 
<End Log> 


Closing Statement: SCP-670-1 was returned to the 
containment area and is currently under heightened 
surveillance. 


isn't safe here?" 
"HA! Who told you it would be?" asked the callous man. 


"| was on the run from those two for so long. They wouldn't let me go 
until they'd done the same thing to me as they did to my family. | 
was looking for any way out. And somebody in... | think it was North 
Dakota... told me that | could find sanctuary here. So | joined up 
with the Foundation until those men brought me in here. But... it's 
not safe?" 


Walking over to the young man, the woman placed a hand on his 
shoulder, and then typed, "Son, they killed everyone in North Dakota 
months ago. Whatever told you to hide here was probably one of 
their constructs." As he sank to his knees, the woman added, "But it 
isn't all bad here. They may torture us, but we still have our minds. 
That's more than you can say for most folks on the outside. They 
haven't banned individuality." 


"Yet. " 


"Be quiet." Turning back to the young man, the woman typed, "Look, 
you can't ever escape them, especially in here, but there are some 
simple rules to follow if you want to stay safe. Don't do anything that 
could make you a target. Do what they tell you. Follow all the rules - 
and yes, we'll give you the rules later," she added, seeing the look 
on his face. "Don't tread on any toes. And, most importantly, don't 
say his name." 


The young man looked up at the woman. "His?" 


"We've got it written down somewhere. Hey, you!" she typed, 
pointing a finger at a random individual afterwards. "Find where 
we've got the Czar's name written down." Making a sighing motion, 
she continued. "Yeah. Him. He used to be the guy who had the key 
to the break room and made sure we all behaved when we hung out 
in here. It was a good arrangement, even if he was a bit odd. But he 
also happened to be among the ranks of the senior staff, so when 
everything went down, he got the same powers they did. Only he 
was a bi" 


The woman's robotic voice suddenly stopped, even though her 
fingers continued moving. She paused for a moment, and then typed 
out, "Sorry. Character limit." Another pause, followed by more 
typing. "A bit odd. The others are completely blind to their actions, 
but he knows what really happens to everyone he uses those 
powers on. Near as we can tell, he doesn't care. We don't know 
what caused him to get like that, but..." 


"| still say he was a nutter before it happened,” chimed in one of the 
men now standing in the corner. 


"Whatever the reason," the woman continued, ignoring the remark, 
"he's completely mad with power now. Put a single toe out of his 
ever changing definition of the line, and he will come down on you 
hard. Normally, though, we don't have to worry about that. He only 
comes in when we Say his name, and unless he's gone and 
changed it, we should be safe from him." 


"So what's his name?" asked the young man. "I really, really don't 
want to accidentally say... type... use it." 


"I've got it over here!" typed another person, waving a piece of paper 
above his head. "Just lemme run over there and... ***, kid, your 
back!" 


Glancing over his shoulder, the young man saw a small candle 
sprouting out of his spine. Jumping and screaming silently, he 
desperately beat his hands up and down, trying to swat the burning 
thing away. Within seconds, the woman was on him, and 
successfully pulled it out, leaving the young man hunched over, 
panting. He put his hands before him and typed, " candle wax..." 


A silence fell over the room as everyone took in the words the young 
man had typed. Before anyone could inform him of his faux pas, a 
high-pitched giggling came from within the walls. Whirling about, the 
woman saw several members of the senior staff emerging from 
them, two of whom were clutching onto each other's shoulders for 
support. "Clef! Konny!" she typed out, forgetting her own advice "Do 
you realize what you just did? 


"Made things a whole lot more interesting, that's what," said Clef, a 


huge shit-eating grin on his face. 


From out of nowhere, dark storm clouds gathered around the ceiling 
of the room, demonic faces rolling through them. A moment of 
silence passed before a blast of lighting, hotter than any naturally 
occurring bolt, blasted down from the clouds, striking the center of 
the room and smiting anyone standing too close to it. The beam of 
pure electricity continued to dance for several seconds, thunder 
roaring all the while, before slowly lifting up to reveal the object it 
had dropped from a million miles away. 


A grand, elaborate throne sat there, majestic and terrible at the 
same time. It seemed to be made of a fusion of pure gold, fine cut 
diamond, and mangled human corpses, their faces twisted into 
horrified screams. The backing and cushion was made of 
alchemized blood, while the armrests had real arms built into them, 
encrusted with emeralds. Capping the whole grisly affair were the 
piked heads of Adolph Hitler and Joseph Stalin, their eyes and 
mouths filled with an ever burning fire. A scepter made of a human 
spine and an enormous ruby containing a thousand human souls 
floated by the side of the throne, which was quickly grasped by the 
hand of its occupant. 


He was the most terrifying man any person in the room could ever 
imagine. His skin gave off a sickly white glow from within, tense 
muscles running throughout the body. His height was well in excess 
of twelve feet, and his hands looked as if they could crush a man's 
skull in a second. The clothes covering his divine form were a 
strange mixture of Nazi officer regalia, Communist Russia high 
fashion, and a typical 1980s businessman's suit, all in pitch black. 
Tinted glasses covered his eyes, and his mouth was twisted into a 
permanent snarl. In his other hand, a long, multi-pronged, barbed 
lash was gripped tightly. 


Opening his terrible mouth, the huge man boomed, "WHICH ONE 
OF YOU CHUCKLEFUCKS SAID MY NAME? I'VE GOT THE 
ENTIRE RUSSIAN FRONT OF WORLD WAR II TO REENACT, 
AND YOU FUCKERS ARE KEEPING ME FROM IT. THIS HAD 
BETTER BE PRETTY FUCKING IMPORTANT!" 


"Hey, Dmitri," piped up Konny, raising his hand, "how can you call it 


a reenactment when you've armed everyone with laser-based 
weaponry? 


"IF | SAY IT'S A REENACTMENT, IT'S A GODDAMN 
REENACTMENT!" snapped the imposing man, not even looking at 
Kondraki. "NOW WHICH ONE OF YOU BASTARDS SUMMONED 
ME?" Looking around from behind his cold tinted glasses, Dmitri 
examined the whole room, his gaze passing over ever cowering 
individual, until he zeroed in on the shaking young man, and the 
woman standing in front of him. 


"MUST'VE BEEN THIS MOTHERFUCKER," he said, floating over 
on his throne to the pair. "MOVE OUT OF MY WAY, WOMAN. | 
NEED TO DEAL WITH THIS SHITHEAD." The woman moved her 
fingers to type something out, but before she could get a chance, 
Dmitri flicked his foot, and the woman went flying out the door 
without any physical contact. "NOW WHY DID YOU SAY MY 
GODDAMN NAME?" 


The young man, shaking in fear of the monster of a man before him, 
slowly typed out, "I... | didn't know that was your name... they were 
about to tell me..." 


"THIS HERE ROOM IS PROPERTY OF DMITRI ARKADEYEVICH 
STRELNIKOV, CZAR OF THE SCP FOUNDATION, LORD OF THE 
BREAKROOM, AND RESURRECTOR OF THE BEST DAMN WAR 
IN HISTORY. | ALSO GO BY WAXX. YOU GOT THAT, YOU 
LITTLE SHITHEAD?" Nodding rapidly, the young man tried to type, 
but found himself unable to move his fingers. "NOW, YOU LOT 
TAKE CARE OF THE NEW GUY." 


As the man called Waxx moved to leave, someone else in the room 
spoke up. "So... so we should ask him some questions..." 


Waxx stopped suddenly, turned about, and flung off his glasses, 
revealing pitch black eyes. "YOU HAVEN'T EVEN ASKED HIM THE 
QUESTIONS? DO | HAVE TO DO FUCKING EVERYTHING 
AROUND HERE?" 


"You... you banned those questions last..." The man was unable to 
finish his sentence before he found himself flying out the door with a 


flick of Waxx's ankle. 


"WELL THEY'RE UNBANNED NOW. ARE WE GONNA ASK HIM 
THE QUESTIONS, OR DO | HAVE TO WASTE MORE TIME AWAY 
FROM THE FRONT?" 


The young man, who was now at Waxx's feet, had fallen to his 
knees, and was desperately gasping for air. His body couldn't stand 
being so close to such a powerful being, and he was desperate to 
get away. "Sir..." he begged, clutching at the edges of the throne 
with one hand and typing with another, "sir, please, I'm only twenty, 
and | need sanctuary from these monsters... sir... have mercy..." 


"WHAT THE FLYING FUCK!" Waxx bellowed, rising from his seat 
and towering over the young man. "YOU KNOW THE AGE LIMIT IN 
HERE IS TWENTY-FIVE. WE ONLY CHANGED IT THREE HOURS 
AGO. DIDN'T YOU READ THE FUCKING GUIDES?" 


"|... didn't even know there were guides..." 


"UNDERAGE AND YOU HAVEN'T READ THE GUIDES? THAT'S 
IT, CHUCKLEFUCK, YOU JUST GOT YOUR ASS BANNED." 
Reaching out before himself, Waxx pulled out a blood red hammer, 
spiked on both ends. He swung, and the young man felt excruciating 
pain, before finding himself gone. He had been banned from reality. 


"NOW," roared Waxx, tossing the hammer back into the ether, "IF 
NOBODY ELSE HAS ANYTHING IMPORTANT FOR ME TO DEAL 
WITH, I'VE GOT A FRONT TO ATTEND TO." With that, the 
thunderclouds once again formed above him, and the lightning 
sucked the Czar and his throne back up from whence they came. All 
that was left in the room to evidence they had been there were the 
small black spots on the floor where the lightning had struck. The 
people who had been in the room were milling about, and waited for 
the woman to be tossed back in. 


One of the senior staff members stepped forwards, cracking his 
knuckles, and said, "Well, that was fun. Shall we get to work?" 


« | HUB | » 


Private Hell 


It's about the time that Kondraki blows up a bus full of nuns to 
capture the flying fire-breathing walruses that Dr. Alto Clef has the 
first suspicion that things are not going as they should be. 


It should be awesome, he realizes. And it is awesome. Riding the 
adrenaline rush of explosions as the fire-breathing flying walruses 
scorch the earth around them, causing bystanders to flee in terror 
from the pyroclastic pinnipeds. Diving behind the counter of a 
Starbucks and opening fire with his shotgun (loaded with FRAG 
rounds) and seeing the fat flying walrus (with the flames jetting out 
from under its massive mustache) explode in a shower of meat and 
blood. And it definitely should be awesome when he and Kondraki 
fist-bump on top of the stack of bodies as the city of Des Moines 
burns around them both. 


But as he rode his black convertible back to Site-19, with a beautiful 
blonde woman giving him head from the front passenger seat, Dr. 
Alto Clef could not help but feel a small voice in the back of his head 
whispering something to him (like the Roman soldiers who would 
stand next to conquering generals, telling them that they, too, were 
human). 


This is wrong. 


He was rappelling down the side of a building, with the office 
windows exploding outward all around him, a beautiful redhead at 
his side and Dmitri Strelnikov providing covering fire from a hovering 
Little Bird helicopter, when Dr. Clef suddenly realized that he might 
not be the hero. 


It was the expression on the girl's face that did it. She was 
frightened, yes... of course she was. And she was exhilarated, and 
aroused, and ready to make love to him... 


... just like every single woman he had met in the past few years. 


Why was it that every beautiful woman in the world wanted to share 
his bed? That was statistically improbable. There was no way that 
even the sexiest man in the world could shag every single beautiful 
woman he came across... and Clef was not sexy.