"And if | refuse? | am content in my work, | enjoy what | do. | have 
put those things behind me, Joshua. | am a man of science, as | 
have always been. What if | do not want to abandon that, as well?" 


"This is an old debt, Jean. It is one you knew would come due in 
time. The years have gone by and age has overtaken all but a select 
few. Illness has ruined many, and yet some persist. Have you 
forgotten why that is?" 


Karlyle darkened. "No. | have not forgotten." 


Joshua moved towards the door. "Then | will alert the Council to 
your decision. Unfortunately, this is the end of your vacation. Your 
treatment can continue at our secure facility.” 


"You think an old man is a flight risk?" 
"No," Joshua said, "I think you are." 


A handful of agents appeared then, gathering up Karlyle's 
belongings and moving them outside. The doctor was shuffled from 
the living room to the front door, and escorted to the waiting vehicle. 
As he went to step inside, he stopped, and turned to face Joshua. 
"Is it worth it?" 


"Who can say?" Joshua said, closing the door after him. "In the face 
of mountains, you are only a man, Jean. You can decide for yourself 
when it is over." 


The car moved away from the cottage and began its long trek down 
the mountain. Joshua stayed a moment more, long enough to do a 
last search through the cottage, and then he too was gone. 


An open book lay on a table on the back porch, unnoticed. A token 
of love between two who had once dared to dream about a life 
together. The dreams had become broken and the memories lost, 
but the book had remained, a testament to what is required. 


That night, it rained. 


The door to the containment cell slid open slowly, and a woman 
entered first. Zena knew this one, her doctor, the one who talked to 
her when she was sad. She did not recognize the man behind her, 
the one in the white coat with the dark glasses and shiny head. He 
smiled at her, and she smiled back. He didn't look that scary. 


"Zena," her doctor said, "this is Dr. Aktus. He's here to ask you 
some questions, and then we're going to have you do some stuff, 
ok?" 


The little girl nodded, and sat upright. Dr. Jora moved to the corner 
of the room, and Dr. Aktus stepped forward and sat down on a chair 
in front of Zena. He extended his hand, and she shook it. 


"Hello Zena, my name is Karlyle." He smiled at her again. "You may 
call me whatever you want." 


Zena thought on it, and then perked up. "I can call you Karl?" 


Karlyle laughed. "Karl is just fine." He pulled a red ball from his coat 
pocket, and held it in front of Zena. "Zena, Dr. Wensley tells me you 
are very special. | think that is very interesting, and | am curious to 
know how special you are.” He tossed the ball and caught it. "Can 
you make this ball blue?" 


He handed Zena the ball. The little girl took it, looked at it intently, 
shook it a few times, and then drooped. "I can't really do anything 
unless I'm told." 


Karlyle nodded. "That is quite alright. Zena, please make this ball 
blue." 


The little girl's eyes twitched slightly, and she squeezed the ball in 
her hand. When she let go of it, it was purple. She coughed, and 
then gave it to Aktus, eyes downcast. 


Karlyle smiled. "No need to be ashamed, my dear," he said, taking 
the ball. "You did wonderfully." 


She looked up. "But it isn't blue." 


The doctor cocked his head. "Is it not? It looks plenty blue to me. 
You see, different words, they have different meanings depending 
on where you are from. For me, | see blue here. My people would 
call this blue." 


Zena squinted. "I... this is blue?" 


Karlyle nodded. "As sure as my name is Dr. Aktus. Now, make this 
blue ball purple for me." 


Zena stared at the ball again, and then squeezed it. When she let it 
go, it was green. She looked up at Karlyle, inquisitively. The old man 
smiled. 


"Good, Zena," he said, nodding slowly. "Very good." 


Boss of Me 


SCP-1837 Containment Area, Site-77 


Director Shirley Gillespie was doing her daily rounds, when she 
noticed something curious. 


In aclear, plastic tank, where there was usually an old-fashioned 
janitor's mop floating in the gentle current, there was instead a hot 
slice of nothing. This was a problem, since Director Gillespie was 
not aware of any reason for this mystical mop to be absent. 


She pursed her lips slightly. Her entourage knew what that meant. 


Security Director Anderson was the first to speak up. "Uhm, | 
apologise for not informing you sooner, Director. That object has 
been requisitioned for observation." 


Gillespie didn't look at him. "Oh, really? | wasn't aware that | had 
authorized any such testing." 


"You haven't... the orders came from higher-up - need-to-know 
basis and all." 


Gillespie shot him a glare. "Anderson, | expect a better explanation 
than that. These... whoever they are, come into my site like they 
own it, and you don't tell me a thing?" 


"Well..." interjected her grandson, Ralph Roget, to the relief of 
everybody else in the room. "Perhaps it's not so bad, Director. 
Perhaps somebody from Overwatch is taking notice of our work. 
After all, how else could, uh, our great Security Director not have 
time to inform you before our rounds?" 


Gillespie nodded, and took off down the hall at a brisk pace. 
"Anderson. Where are the observations being held?" 


SITE-77 EUCLID TESTING WING 


Director Gillespie made her way to the back row of the observation 
booth, as quietly and inconspicuously as she and fifteen other 
people could. They needn't have worried about the interlopers being 
alerted to their presence. The men up front were completely focused 
on the testing chamber below. 


Director Karlyle was the centerpiece of the group, observing the 
testing while the others took notes. He was a lanky man, with dark 
glasses that accentuated his shiny chrome dome. His hands were 
the only ones in the group that weren't busy. Instead, they were 
folded behind his back. 


For another half-hour, men scribbled down on clipboards, and 
continued videotaping, and other assorted things you do when 
documenting anomalous activity. When the lights came on, Karlyle 
was the first to turn around, and was just as surprised as everybody 
else to see that they were not alone anymore. He was the only one 
to know who he was surprised to see, though. 


Gillespie matched the dossier description he'd been given. A small, 
older woman, permed and dressed in a simple white shirt and 
shorts. Innocuous at first and second glance, she hardly struck the 
impression of a woman who could control an entire Site. But here 
she was, surrounded by titanic stone-faced men, and one young 
man by her side. 


"Director Gillespie, | presume?" 


Gillespie stood up, holding her purse in both of her hands. "Yes." 
She moved to the stairs, descending towards the gathering of 
observers. "You seem to know my name, sir. But | don't think we've 
had the pleasure of being formally introduced." 


Karlyle stuck his hand out at a stiff eighty degree angle. "Director 
Karlyle Aktus. | apologize for the intrusion, Director, and for the... 
unannounced arrival. We have had to come on a need-to-know 
basis, you see, and—" 


"| don't need to know?" Gillespie smiled at him. "| see. Whatever you 


and your boys are doing here must be terribly important." 


"Yes, very important. | have heard a lot about your work here, 
Director." Karlyle tried to do a passable impression of a casual 
smile. 


Gillespie imitated it. "I'm so glad my work is known outside out little 
domain." She turned around, and motioned towards Dr. Roget. 
"Ralph, come meet the man from Overwatch|" 


"| never sa—" started Karlyle, but he was interrupted by a bounding 
young man coming within a few inches of him. 


Dr. Roget grinned, and stuck out his hand. "Hi. I'm Ralph." 


"Charmed..." Karlyle shook his hand, his eyes still on Director 
Gillespie. "You are... the esteemed Director's grandson, are you 
not?" 


"Yup!" He grinned like a wicked child. "I've heard a lot about you, 
Doctor!" 


Karlyle frowned quietly. "What?" 


"Oh, uhm... well, maybe if you met the Director for tea, she can tell 
you all about it!" 


Karlyle broke off the handshake, and folded his hands behind his 
back. "That would be desirable, if your Director would have me." 


Gillespie grinned. Despite the difference in the way the two 
presented themselves, Aktus saw the family resemblance. "Of 
course. We can seat you in the tea room as soon as you're ready." 


Ralph retreated to her side, and she whispered in his ear. They 
ascended up the stairs, and their entourage followed. Karlyle 
watched them both as they went. 


TEA TIME 


Director Gillespie sipped her tea. "It's going to get cold if you just 


leave it there, Mister Aktus." 


"lam well aware," Karlyle said, shifting in his seat. "| am just not 
fond of burning my tongue.” 


"An odd aversion to risk, for someone in your line of work," Gillespie 
said, closing her eyes as she set down her teacup. "Which, is...?" 


"That is not something | am at liberty to discuss." 


"| see." Gillespie began absentmindedly stirring sugar into her tea. 
"Now, do you do this mysterious work as part of a larger scheme for 
our commanders, or do you do it out of the kindness of your heart?" 


"We are reactivating old projects. That's all | can say." 


"Ones that involve acid? Are you using them for containment, 
control, or... something else?" 


"| did not say any of that." Karlyle frowned, as he picked up his 
teacup. "I would appreciate it if you did not make assumptions about 
my work." 


"But you won't tell me anything. Conversation is a two-way street. 
That's something | learned from Ralph. Whenever he was mad, or 
pouting, I'd talk at him, until he was ready to talk back." 


"| would hope you would not be so prying into a young man's life." 
Karlyle sipped his tea, and found it bitter. 


Gillespie smiled at him. "Of course. Enjoying your tea?" 
"Yes. Thank you." 


Gillespie sipped her tea. "So, since you've come all the way around 
the world to meet us, | assume you know something about our fair 
Site-77." 


"Sadly, | am ignorant." Karlyle peered into his tea. "Are you going to 
elaborate for me?" 


"Well, perhaps you'd like to return to our former avenue of 


discussion..." 


Before Gillespie could respond, Anderson came in the room, and 
placed biscuits on the table. Gillespie waited until she heard the 
door shut before she continued. 


"Site-77 has been here, in this lovely Italian country, since before 
the second World War. | wasn't even aware of the Foundation then. 
My family and | lived in West Virginia, in Huntington, where my 
father ran a grocery store." 


Karlyle muttered something that sounded like "Fascinating." 


"During the war, the Site was bombed, which caused a major 
containment breach. A lot of people died. Isn't it terrible, how things 
can cascade like that?" 


"What do you mean?" Karlyle asked, as he reached for a biscuit. 


"Bombs fall, and because of what we kept here, there was so much 
terrible bloodshed. An awful thing, when anomalies can run rampant 
like that." 


"Well—" Karlyle started, crumbs popping out of his mouth like 
shrapnel. 


Before he could continue, Gillespie cut him off. "Don't talk with your 
mouth full." 


Annoyed, Karlyle swallowed. "Well, that is only because we lost 
control. That is the real tragedy. If we had any anomalous 
countermeasures, to stop the bombers from even getting that close, 
it would have been another story." 


"Does that count as defending the weaponization of anomalous 
objects?" 


"| did not say that." 
"But you're not denying it." 


Karlyle huffed. "I do not appreciate being badgered like this. You are 


Dr. : That is correct, D-8133. Please listen to 
briefings in the future. 


Subject D-8133: Awright, doc, don't get your panties in a 
knot. 


Dr. : Just proceed with the experiment, D-8133. 
[a sound of rushing air is heard] 
Subject D-8133: The fuck? 


SCP-702-1: Those of flesh and blood, sinew and bone 
again! Your kind always has such fascinating trinkets, 
and trade has never been so brisk! 


Subject D-8133: Here, take this and let me outta here. 


Dr. : SCP-702-1 is emitting a hum, as in 
Experiment 702-003. 


[Note: Harmonics testing later indicated a frequency 
associated with fear.] 


SCP-702-1: Absolutely not. | am tempted, but | cannot 
possibly afford that. Good day. 


[an intake of air is heard] 
Subject D-8133: So, uh, can | leave? 


Dr. : Absolutely, Subject D-8133. Head to the 
debriefing room, and well done. 


Addendum: Any further experimentation on SCP-702 is to be 
appended to Experiment Log 702 in the abbreviated style outlined 
therein. 


« SCP-701 | SCP-702 | SCP-703 » 


not being very hospitable, Miss. Gillespie." 


"Director, please." Gillespie took a biscuit, and leaned back in her 
chair. "Don't worry, I'm not here to lecture you about how we learned 
about that in the good old days. I'm going to tell you that | want to 
help." 


"Beg your pardon?" 


"This is my field of interest. Pushing my objects to places nobody 
would expect. Why do you think | hoard them?" 


"Them? Please, take a step back, Director. | am in no position to—" 


"Offer me a job? | know. But you must have a lot of pull, to be able 
to just drop in wherever you please. Maybe you can let the powers 
that be know that Shirley is ready for another job." 


Site-77 Administrative Apartments 


As Dr. Roget helped his grandmother pack, he couldn't help himself 
but to worry about her. "Are you sure you want to leave me in 
charge? Anderson would be more than happy to take over, I'm 
sure." 


Gillespie smiled at him as she packed her toiletries. "You'll do fine. 
Anderson isn't half as qualified as you are. Besides, | can't trust him 
to stand up for everybody like you would." 


Ralph smiled. "How long do you think you'll be gone for?" 


"| don't know. But you'll be able to keep things together for me while 
I'm gone, I'm sure." 


"Don't worry about things. Are you ready to go?" 
Gillespie snapped her suitcase shut. "I am." 


« Who Am I? | Resurrection | | Was Not Magnificent » 


New Tricks (or: Youth Culture Killed My Dog) 


Two Weeks Ago... 


In an unnamed garage in a facility that didn't exist, a dog was trying 
to repair a hydraulic servo. 


He raised his paw and tapped away on the specially built keyboard 
that he'd had put together for him back when his lab was bigger and 
better stocked. The robotic arms reassembled the servo and 
plugged it into the pump. 


The process was slow. So damned slow. The dog remembered a 
time, less than a decade ago, when he'd been the head of a major 
Foundation department. Back then, Research and Development had 
been the most exciting place to be in the Foundation. A whirlwind of 
discovery, and he had been the eye of the storm: one of the bright 
stars of the Foundation, a researcher filled with such vibrant energy 
that not even being involuntarily transformed into a dog could keep 
him down. 


Nine years ago, everyone in the Foundation had known his code 
name: "Kain Pathos Crow". 


Nine years ago... 


He stretched his legs out, whimpering at the pain in his hips. 
"Arthritis," his vet had told him. "I'll try glucosamine injections, and 
painkillers if it gets too bad, but it's a problem not uncommon to the 
breed." He tapped a button. The needle on the gauge went up. It 
hovered around the line that he knew was red. 


There was a sudden crack, and the buzzing of an alert siren. A 
spray of hydraulic fluid spurted from the servo's joint and splattered 
against the far wall of the garage. 


The dog growled angrily at the keyboard and smacked his paw 
against a big yellow button. The pressure went back down. The 
spray of hydraulic fluid ceased. 


"Still trying to get that old thing fixed up?" a smarmy voice asked.