"That's Site-38 raided!" Gears slammed the phone down. Kondraki 
was sitting across from him, patting Clef on the back as he took a 
spoonful of steaming red liquid from the bowl in front of him and 
shuddered. At the end of the table, Kain was attempting to lick 


Bright, who was sulking. This may have had something to do with 
the straitjacket he was wearing. 


"I'm surprised they didn't come for us first," said Kondraki. "They 
obviously know their way around." 


"We're a major site. They probably wanted practice before coming in 
here and wiping us out," Clef piped up. 


"Besides," said Gears with a small proud smirk, "this is where we 
work. A few of the security protocols in place are there to deal with 
the five of us, specifically.” 


"| don't see why you can't just let me die," Bright muttered. The 
mood around the table became uncomfortable. 


"We've been over this, Jack,” said Kondraki after an awkward 
pause. "We feel for you, and under any other circumstances we'd be 
happy to... er... let you go... but it's better for everyone that you be 
the one who can't die, rather than an alien menace bent on the 
Foundation's destruction." 


"Marginally," said Clef under his breath. 


"Yeah? Well, what are we actually going to do to make that 
happen?" Bright snapped. "You've been doing nothing but 
complaining since we came in here! What's the plan? Tell me why 
the hell we haven't just given up yet!" 


In the sudden silence, Kondraki raised his hand hesitantly. 
"I... actually thought that was obvious?" he said. 

"Yeah." 

"Woof." 

"Did you miss the 90's or something?" 


"We're going to need..." Clef paused dramatically, "a very large 
drill." 


Clef opted to drive, but after having to double back to Albuquerque 
three times in a row, Kondraki gently nudged him into the back seat, 
where he wept softly until he felt better. 


The grey, anthropomorphic rabbit chewed thoughtfully on the carrot 
in his hand that in no way resembled a cigar, nor encouraged 
children to emulate him through smoking in any legally meaningful 
way, shape, or form. 


"A containment contest?" he said. 


"That's right," Kondraki said. He and Gears had been chosen to 
negotiate with the Looney Toons, with the other three hanging back. 
Occasionally, there was a bang behind them, which they ignored. 
"We've set a time and place with the Monstars. Marshall, Carter, and 
Dark, and the Factory are sponsoring, and donating some 
anomalies, and we got someone in from Are We Cool Yet to do the 
catering." 


"...For a containment contest... between us and the Monstars..." 
"Right." 


Bugs Bunny looked at his friends, who shrugged incredulously. He 
chewed on his carrot a bit more. "Doc, | hate to tell ya this, but we 
can't do it." 


Gears rushed forward, grabbed Bugs by the chest fur, and rammed 
him against the empty air where the edge of the screen would be. 
"Listen, Bunny," he growled, "we kept out of your hair because you 
were funny and people thought you were fictional. Now we may be 
in trouble, but don't think that will stop us from making your lives a 
lot harder." 


"Hey, hands off the fur," Bugs said, calmly removing himself from 
the doctor's grip. "Look, doc, | ain't saying we won't do it. I'm saying 
we can't. We have no idea how to catch these things, and... no 
offense, but you guys aren't exactly in a shape to help us." He 
indicated the three figures that were standing a few feet away. Clef 
was lying on the ground, Manhattan chowder spilled all over him, 


covering his face from Kain's slimy oral onslaught. Bright had 
somehow acquired a shotgun, and was becoming increasingly 
annoyed as each shot only served to move his mouth into a new, 
humorous position. 


Kondraki sighed. "You're right about that, at least." 


Daffy Duck chose this moment to chime in. "C'mon, fellas. Don't you 
have anybody else? An expert, a loner, a hard-boiled ex-container 
that doesn't play by the rules? Someone who can mold these lumps 
of playdough into a lean mean containing machine?" 


They thought about it. Gears looked up. 


"| think | know the perfect guy for the job." 


Skippy 


This is the twenty-third time I'm doing it. | log into the system (which, 
thankfully, isn't sentient) and once again get into my personal log. 
This is the twenty-third different report of my death they've 
submitted; | make it a point to delete them every single day so they 
don't lock me out of the system, and they still keep coming. 


Oh joy. Today's news: "Researcher was killed by SCP- during 
acontainment breach on / / when it [DATA EXPUNGED] 
causing the deaths of five security staff and two research personnel 
in total. Researcher — was discovered in the process of 
consumption by SCP- _, and his corpse was destroyed to prevent 
the spread of SCP-_ -2." 


Another day, another skip. You think you're clever, don't you? Well, 
you're not. That's right, I'm talking to you, Mr. Skippy, you blasted 
piece of shit. Oh, they think you're a toy gun that transports people 
into the past and kills them? Well fuck me, you're not, sly bugger. 
Oh, no. 


Object Class: Euclid Neutralised 

Description: SCP- _ is a violet-coloured toy gun, 
designed to otherwise resemble a Beretta 92 9mm 
handgun. It appears to have been designed to fire foam 
darts, and is marked with the logo of the organisation 
A.N.G.E.L. The organisation has been confirmed to be a 
purely fictional international military force from the 
series of young adult adventure novels, dealing with 
cases of time travel and continuity errors. 


The object's primary anomalous effect manifests when 
its trigger is pulled while it is held by a human hand and 
pointed at a human subject; upon this occurring SCP- 
will emit a flash of white light. The target will appear to fly 
backwards for a short period of time, then disappear 


from view and be transported into a lethal event in the 
past 24 hours, resulting in its death. The object's 
anomalous effect appears to be unable to influence 
causality of future events; how it achieves this is 
uncertain. However, the circumstances of the subject's 
death invariably change every 24 hours, providing a 
plausible explanation for the maintenance of temporal 
continuity. 


You're an asshole, Skippy. | don't know who made you, but when | 
find him/her/it I'm going to shoot that person with you, and then kill 
him/her/it off for real. Who knows, maybe I'll be credited for that 
good deed. Heaven knows my karma sucks. 


| leave the room, having done my first job for the day. I've removed 
the records of my death once again, and now I'm off to do the other 
part of my job. | keep a gun on hand at all times now. Not a crappy 
one like you, but a real gun, an actual honest-to-goodness .45. Pay 
close attention, Skippy, because this is fucking important. I've 
discovered that nobody can see or hear these D's, whether they're 
dead or alive; I've been into the labs, and some of the anti-SCP- - 
A nets still have dead, rotting D's in them. And what's the first thing a 
free, invisible, nearly-invulnerable murderer would do? Kill people. 


The object's secondary anomalous effect, SCP-_ -A, 
begins to manifest shortly after its primary effect has 
occurred; the duration between the disappearance of the 
subject and the manifestation of an instance of SCP- - 
A appears to roughly be negatively correlated to the 
subject's previous IQ level. SCP- -A is theorised to be 
an entity of indeterminate nature. All attempts to 
communicate with or capture audiovisual evidence of the 
entity have failed, but the nature of its physical 
interactions with its surroundings indicates that it is able 
to interact with physical objects and people. 


The first recorded instance of SCP- -A was whena 
member of security staff outside the testing chamber 
reported a slight nudge, described as resembling having 


made him sad, so we did our best to draw other things, 
but sometimes we forgot. Sometimes daddy hid the 
pictures or ripped them up. He told us it wasn't that he 
didn't like them. He said it was to keep us safe from the 
mean doctors in the white coats, but then the doctors 
took daddy away. 


SCP-939-101: They made us get shots and told us to 
forget about daddy, but we're scared of needles without 
daddy around. We didn't forget daddy. Daddy forgot us, 
though. We think it was the doctors’ fault. Daddy wouldn't 
forget about us, would he? 


SCP-939-101: They gave us a fake daddy and told us it 
was real daddy, but we knew better. The doctors made 
us get more shots. They kept telling us fake daddy was 
real daddy, but they couldn't fool us. We told them it was 
wrong to lie just like daddy told us, and then they 
stopped lying. 


SCP-939-101: They made us be by ourselves, but they 
gave us paper and pencils and paints and told us we 
could draw whatever we wanted so we did. Sometimes 
we drew daddy. Sometimes we drew what daddy told us 
not to draw. The doctors took all our pictures. 


SCP-939-101: Sometimes the doctors in the white coats 
and the people with the big black shirts with lots of 
pockets and helmets that carried bent windows and... 
what did daddy call them? | forgot. They walked with us 
down the hall for our checkups. We didn't like those. 


SCP-939-101: Sometimes we had to lay in a dark place 
and be really, really still. Daddy would tell us stories. We 
didn't always understand them, but we liked them 
anyway. There were stories about places that didn't have 
ceilings, where up was forever and the ground wasn't 
white. We think it's silly. Everywhere has ceilings, doesn't 
it? After the doctors took daddy away, we didn't get to 
hear stories any more. 


been accidentally brushed against several minutes after 
subject D- -15 was "shot" with SCP-_ . Attempts to 
track or capture SCP-_ -A entities have uniformly failed; 
tracking or imaging devices attached to D-Class subjects 
cease transmission as expected and are to be presumed 
destroyed, and capture attempts using electrified nets 
have produced no results apart from a slight increase in 
mass of the net. It is important to note that instances of 
SCP- -A will always manifest outside the testing 
chamber for SCP- 


| make it my duty to get rid of the ones that got away before they kill 
someone else. Mysterious deaths aren't uncommon around here; 
everyone chalks them up to something or other, no matter how 
ludicrous. | even saw a memo a month ago about a "neck-breaking 
flu" going around on site that supposedly made people sneeze hard 
enough to snap their necks; containment involved wearing a mask 
and avoiding contact with a skip I'm sure was innocent— 


Hey, Skippy! There's one of your little fucking invisible men, right 
outside Dr. _ 's office, and he has no clue that | can see him. Bang, 
bang, and he's dead. Nobody hears the gunshots, and everyone just 
steps around his corpse unconsciously; it's a thing you apparently 
make them do. | step over and drag his corpse away, making sure 
not to bump into anyone. I'll put it in the kitchen dumpster later, 
where it'll be incinerated with the rest of the day's trash. 


That bastard looked like he was enjoying himself a /ittle too much. 


Memo to Staff, Break Room Site- , // :We 
understand that members of staff at Site- have reported 
incidents of seemingly human bodily fluids and waste 
appearing in seemingly random locations, and 
occasionally being deposited on them without warning. 
Analysis of these substances has produced constant 
experimental errors precluding the accurate 
determination of results. Any security or research staff 
encountering the anomalous object(s) responsible for 
this are to attempt to contain, or if unable to do so 


terminate, them; the bodily fluids and waste of these 
anomalous objects are potential biohazard transmission 
vectors. - Head of Security, 


Great, Skippy, look what you've made me do. There's blood 
everywhere, and everyone's just stepping in it like it's nothing. I'll be 
the only one who can see the stuff, at least for a couple of hours. 
Ugh. When | was a researcher | never had to deal with dead D's; 
they'd always get a cleanup crew to remove the corpses. Now I'm 
judge, jury, executioner and janitor, complete with shit-handling 
duties. Have | mentioned how much | hate you? 


Yeah, you suck. You've killed at least 17 people, and those are just 
the deaths with ridiculous explanations. How does that feel? | bet 
that feels bloody good. | bet you do this just to be evil. | bet you do 
this just because you can. 


Well fuck you, Skippy. I'm not letting you do this. I'm not having any 
of it. Most of the escaped D's are my fault, | admit. | shot them for 
science. But they're running about the place because of your 
anomalous effect. You've made them invisible, for all intents and 
purposes. Thankfully the special containment procedures for most of 
the important things are secure enough that even invisible D's can't 
get at them; | can hardly imagine the consequences of SCP- 

getting loose just because some asshole D happens to find its 
enclosure. But fuck, these D's have been in jail for a very long time, 
and there's lots of other things they'd like to do other than release 
skips that being invisible makes doing easier. Poor Dr. _'s been 
forced into protective detention for her own safety. You ought to feel 
bad, you sick piece of shit. 


| can't destroy you, but | can stop you. I've taken out ten escaped 
D's so far. There's about a dozen or so left. Once I'm done with that, 
that's it. I've conducted personality assessments on myself each day 
since my "death". I'm beginning to show signs of psychopathy and 
increasing sexual deviance. Yesterday | found myself thinking about 


visiting my darling Research Assistant in the shower. I'm 
beginning to think about shooting those bastards who put me to 
work researching you, Drs. and . Fucking hell. If this 


progresses, I'm going to become another mass-murdering D. Hell 


no, Skippy. You are not going to do this to me. 


Addendum: Incident Log” -A: 
On // ,Researcher conductedatestonD- -24 
to -27 to determine the penetrative ability of a single 
"shot" from SCP-_ _. A single shot was sufficient to cause 
the disappearance of all subjects. Shortly afterwards, an 
instance of SCP- -A manifested, knocking Researcher 
to the ground as he exited the containment chamber, 
before the door could be sealed. SCP- was 
accidentally discharged. Researcher and SCP- 
promptly disappeared. SCP- __ is believed to have been 
neutralised. 


Well, look on the bright side, . You've always wanted to see what 
SCP- looked like on the inside. 


Name: Researcher 


(a 


Location: Not Applicable (KIA) 
Ce) 


Addendum: Death Report of Researcher __, filed by 
Research Assistant -On / 7 5. SCP- 
unexpectedly regurgitated a single humerus bone, found 
to be from Researcher _ . It is presumed Researcher 

's accident with SCP- __ resulted in his demise in this 
manner. 


Memo to Staff, Break Room Site- , // :Asof // 
, anomalous deposition of seemingly human bodily 
fluids and wastes has ceased. It is to be presumed the 
entities responsible have either escaped or died of 
natural causes, as no report of successful containment 
or termination has been received. - Head of Security, 


Skirmish at Crane's Pub 


The following is a collection of all relevant documentation regarding 
the conflict between Foundation personnel and agents of Marshall, 
Carter, and Dark Ltd. over the purchase of SCP-2253. 


Records and internal correspondence of 
Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd. concerning 
SCP-2253. 


Inventory Statement 


~ >quirable 

=an 

~ ot for Sale 

~ 11qUue 

Identifier Stephen Crane's Pub and 
~ “ewery 
Description Item is a relatively small brewery 

located in Springfield, New 
Jersey, in the United States. 
Alcohol produced on the premises 
will sometimes have a stronger 
~ \VOUr.