Of course, you have to follow your heart. My heart was in tiny gears 
and wind up keys and making education fun. | hated my heart. My 
heart had chosen wrong, it was broken. How stupid did a heart have 
to be to choose to work with children? | hit the arm rest a couple 
times. | was slowly rubbing the bony part of my left wrist raw. It was 
pink and flat. | didn't think it was supposed to be flat. To my 
knowledge, bony parts of wrists weren't supposed to be flat. | 
breathed heavily on the couch before standing up again. | almost fell 
back down due to head rush, but held onto the back of the couch to 
stop myself. Walking towards the bathroom, | tripped on a Lego 
creation by one of the kids. 


"AAaaah!!" 


| caught myself on the fireplace, but not without hitting a rib on the 
cobble. That hurt. | think | woke up the kids. There was a commotion 
upstairs, and the door was jostling. They were ignoring their bed 
time. Again. | was going to tell them all about that in the morning. All 
about it, yeah. All about it. | stumbled towards the bathroom, but 
changed my mind. | had gotten up to do work, | was going to do 
work. Near the stairwell | opened a door that looked like a closet. It 
opened into a staircase that led down. Down into the basement. 
Down into my workshop. They were moving again. This wasn't any 
good, they weren't supposed to move at night. They could climb the 
stairs, and that would be bad. No kid wants that. No kid at all. 


What was that? 


| stood absolutely still. The house was quiet, the house was still. 
There wasn't even a ticking clock, or a dripping faucet, or a wind 
outside that jostled the windows. There wasn't a bird chirping in the 
night, a wolf howling at the moon, a squirrel that just so happened to 
be on the roof. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. All was calm. 
Very, very calm. | must have imagined it. Or must | have? There was 
one noise now. My heart was pumping, as it usually did. It was 
pumping hard. It was so /oud, it felt like | couldn't have possibly 
heard anything else. | felt unsafe. | felt absolutely caked in a thick, 
muddy paranoia. Justified? It didn't matter at that point. | closed the 
basement door, and slunk to the real closet by the bathroom. | took 
solace in having a cold, metal rod in one hand. | felt like a man. | 
never noticed that | was living life as a boy... but, but | was! | had 


been, for the longest time. | might not have worked by kids, but my 
whole life | had spent working by children. | was moving up in the 
world. | was — 


No, no | wasn't crazy, because there it went again. A... a something, 
it was so slight that whether it was a sound or a feeling was 
indistinguishable. | felt watched... | felt that every window was a 
liability, every corner hiding something sinister and disagreeable. 
Sweat ran down my forehead like heavy rain. | felt completely in the 
open, but simultaneously unable to move. Frozen in place. My 
muscles felt like concrete. Even the kids upstairs had fallen totally 
motionless. 


Crash 


I'd... | mean, it's no secret, is it? | knew when | was done for. It was 
a quality | liked to pride myself on. When a project just wasn't 
working out, | wasn't the person who would power through anything. 
| couldn't do that to myself, not when | knew there was something 
better | could put my energy into. That was besides the point, but 
still. | wasn't much a fighter. Not really. Not ever. As soon as the gas 
started filling the room, | knew there wasn't a point. | covered my 
mouth, only inhaling enough to wrack me with coughs. There wasn't 
a point. | didn't know if there was ever really a point. | guessed that it 
was all subjective. | started leaning towards the stairs, hearing the 
clear yells and grunts of men outside. They weren't a problem. | 
knew where my priorities lied. | needed to check in on the kids. 


The sun was coming up. Dawn of another day. | winced. Did | ever 
really amount to anything? Was monetary value all that | strove for? 
What were my goals? What were my ends that | needed to make 
meet? The sun was coming up, and it glared at me. 


"Do you see the sun, kid?" 


The stairs were quite the obstacle at this hour of the day. To think | 
had stayed up the whole night, just because | had been hearing 


helicopter blades before. | guessed it wasn't so silly, but it was pretty 
silly. | needed to not stay up that late. It was bad for me. | began to 
cry, climbing that stairwell felt demeaning. Just another hurdle to 
cross. Nothing ever came easy. | guessed that was life. My feet 
landed on the landing. 


"You see that big ball of gas and fire?" 


That was a door being thrust open downstairs. | sauntered towards 
the kids' room, trying to pay it no mind. The door handle was 
rustling. | could hear the children as they clambered at the door. Like 
little dogs, chewing on the bars of their crate. It didn't do them any 
good. At the very least, things were finally getting resolved. 


"It's circling you, kid." 


It felt like | had spent my whole life waiting for things to figure 
themselves out. Spent it all just hoping that the next thing would be 
the last thing. Life was just a long complicated list of things, and | 
never realized how tired | was of things. Needing to eat, needing to 
drink, needing to make money, needing to make friends. Needing 
the newest smart phone. Needing to be the best toy maker. Needing 
to need. Needing to live. 


"You're the sitar, Brian!" 


| unlocked their door and opened it. They were all so... cute. They 
must have been so scared. | tried to smile at them, tried to show 
them it was all okay. It was a white lie. Maybe it would make things 
easier. | certainly hoped it would. All these children | had rescued 
from their unfortunate situations, to give them an occupation. They 
were going to travel the world. They were going to be able to share 
the joys of childhood with kids anywhere and everywhere. They 
looked very concerned. It must have been the tool in my hand. 


"Life's a show kid." 
Bang. Bang. 
"Stop crying." 


Bang. 


"Stop moving." 
Bang. Bang. 
"Stop screaming." 
Bang. 


They were on the stairs by now. | sat down on the bedside, and 
wiped the tears from my eyes. It could have been so magical. It 
could have been so grande, so complete, so artistic, so tasteful. It 
could have been Wondrous. There was never anything more tragic 
than what could have been, what was so close to being, what 
wanted to but ultimately couldn't come to fruition. | tasted the salt 
and enzymes as they ran down my cheeks and into my mouth. 
There wasn't time for that. There wasn't time for anything anymore. 
Really, there just wasn't any time at all. Just as | heard people 
outside the door, | held that horrid contraption to my chin. 


Life was a show, and | was the fucking star. 


Bang. 


Baxter turned the corner just in time to see the tall, skeletal man fall 
backwards onto the bed. He was wearing a black and orange 
pinstripe suit, and his big top hat with cat ears lied next to him. His 
fingernails were long and sharpened. His face was painted to look 
like a tiger. The gun laid on the floor. As others searched the house 
up and down, trying to find co-conspirators, Baxter just stood there. 
The room was coated in blood, and the viscera of a handful of 
children. Baxter slowly stepped into the room and checked behind 
the door to make sure he wasn't set up for an ambush. The space 
was thankfully empty. 


He turned back to the room and thought that he caught movement 
behind the second bed. He rushed over to find a small Indian child 


caught in the side. He immediately radioed for medics to come to 
the second floor, and held the child in his arms. The kid was in 
shock. His eyes were wide, his breaths were inconsistent. Baxter 
was never good with kids. He picked up the child and carried him 
downstairs just as the rest of the Strike Team was confirming that 
the house was empty. Baxter yelled for medical assistance, but 
nobody came. He didn't know what to do, or how to react, until... 
until the kid just stopped moving. He gave three short coughs, and 
then his head rolled back. Baxter stood with the child for a long 
while, just holding him, hearing the "all clear"s go through his head 
one after another. He laid the child down on the couch, and 
somberly stood upright. 


Baxter glanced to his left, and saw the outline of another child 
standing in the doorway to the basement. This one just seemed to 
stare at all the people moving around, and soon someone had knelt 
down next to it — keeping a gun on it at all times, of course. It 
seemed genderless, and... shiny. Plastic. Baxter walked over to it, 
hearing the other operatives gathered around asking it questions 
and making sure to never get too close. Its movements were stiff, its 
eyes were doll like. Its mouth kept opening and closing. It was 
making a small "ah" each time. 


The operatives glanced between each other, trying to find hints at 
what to do. The thing took two jerky steps forward, using only its left 
leg, and then fell onto its face. On the back of its head was a small 
switch. The thing jerked and shook and banged against the floor 
before going still and just waving its right arm. On its back, its 
painted on shirt read "Vend-a-Friend™ by Wondertainment!" The 
team shared looks, and then Baxter shot the poor thing. He snuck 
down the stairs into the basement, with two operatives following 
close behind. The whole space was filled with an inky black, and a 
noxious fetid smell. Baxter flipped on the lights. 


Baxter had seen worse. It didn't make the scene any better. They — 
or, some of them — stared at Baxter and his crew. They didn't all 
have full bodies. They didn't all have full heads. They didn't all have 
eyes, and they didn't all have mouths. Many abandoned projects lied 
around the room, twitching and struggling to get up. One doll kept 
swerving and bumping into walls until it fell again, showing that its 


SCP-752; however, their rate of progress has begun to stagnate. 


Documents recovered at the sites indicate that SCP-752 was 
constructed years ago by a group of unidentified scientists and 
philosophers, operating under the alias ‘Eudaimon.’ SCP-752-1 was 
engineered by Eudaimon as an attempt to create an ‘ideal society.’ 


Document 752-3 (recovered from Site-752-1) 


Day 1 
Eudaimon-Alpha-1 
Population of Eudaimonia: 100 


What a glorious new day. This is the day Homo 
eudaimonia will set their calendar by. After the last 
battery of mass testing, we've introduced fifty males and 
fifty females to the final testing area. Nothing but them, 
the artificial sun, the temple, and the few animal and 
plant species we’ve introduced for domestication. 


Nothing left for Eudaimon now but to observe. 
Document 752-7 (recovered from Site-752-3) 


Year 8, Day 24 
Eudaimon-Gamma-1 
Population of Eudaimonia: 124 


Population growth has been above-normal, as expected 
from our Eudaimoniacs. Instead of competing, they 
cooperate with one another in everything. All of the 
animal species provided have been successfully 
domesticated for food and labour. No signs of 
agricultural activity yet. Technological progress is 
proceeding as expected based on the data we left for 
them in the temple. 


Document 752-22 (recovered from Site-752-4) 


Year 15, Day 212 
Eudaimon-Delta-4 
Population of Eudaimonia: 170 


face had been melted. There were scraps of plastic and parts sitting 
on shelves. Tools, both familiar and enigmatic, were hung on the 
south wall above a big... well, it used to be a green workbench. 
Most concerning were the husks left in the corner, rotting and being 
picked at by flies. Baxter motioned the team away. 


"I'll take care of the dirty business. Soak the place in gasoline." 


The operatives nodded softly, and backed out of the basement, back 
up the stairs. Whichever ones out of the dozen or so that could look 
followed Baxter everywhere he went. Some began to walk, some 
stumbled, some crawled, and some could only try to move in his 
direction. Baxter wouldn't sit long enough to let himself get attached. 
He pulled out his rifle and aimed it at the first one. His finger fondled 
the trigger just as he felt a tugging on his back leg. Turning around, 
he saw the little one. A legless one, pulling on his pant legs. It was a 
smaller one, with darker skin tone, and a green shirt painted on it. A 
green shirt that read "Keep Calm and Read a Book". It tugged a 
couple more times. It didn't have a lower jaw to speak with, and it 
only had one eye. It was pathetic. It was terribly pathetic and 
hopeless. 


Baxter lowered the rifle, and stared. Some others had made it up to 
him and were silently softly tugging on his clothes. He slung his rifle 
on his back and picked up the small legless green one. He picked it 
up and looked into its eyes, and it held its stiff arms out and 
repeatedly patted the breather on his gas mask. The small crowd of 
disfigured plastic children, some making small "ah"s and others 
squeaking slightly as their plastic parts rubbed together, clung onto 
Baxter's legs while he held the toy. They held eye contact for a long 
time, ignoring the ruckus upstairs, before Baxter took the thing 
closer and embraced it. The little things arms waggled at his sides, 
its tiny immature hands pulling on his straps a bit. The grunting of 
men upstairs, combing over the place for hints and materials and 
pouring fuel over the whole thing, slowly faded into white noise. 
Baxter breathed heavily. Baxter closed his eyes. Baxter squeezed 
the little thing, and stood in place without any intention of ever 
moving again. A voice over the intercom. 


"House searched. Awaiting your command, Baxter." 


Baxter sighed. A heavy, angry, agonizing sigh. He put down the little 
boy, back into the crowd of malicious toys, and felt a weight fall upon 
his shoulders. The mission was over, but there was still work to be 
done. They didn't wait to see the bonfire to its end. 


On the way back, the team was boisterous. Another mission come 
and gone, another story started and stopped, another item on the 
paycheck. Hearing that the mission was over, Lynn had called from 
her infirmary bed. She wanted to know how things had went: if the 
bastard was dead, if anyone got injured, if anyone was rescued. He 
assured her that the kids were alright.