complained from his seat in the employee break room. Somehow, a 
majority of Senior Staff happened to be in the break room when the 
alarm sounded. Maybe because the restriction on drinking was lifted 
for anyone caught in a lockdown who wasn't on containment duty, 
so that if any one passed away, they could at least pass away 
happy. Also, probably, because this was the break room where 
SCP-294 was located. The bravest and best of the Foundation sat 
about a table, drinking as hard as they could, because who knew if 
there'd be a tomorrow? 


"Some, some guy." Dr. Agatha Rights was feeling it a little bit harder 
than the others. Her last couple of experiments had tanked, and she 
had thought she'd gotten this one perfect... when the alarm 
sounded, and it all went to hell. As a consequence, she was drinking 
something called 'Romulan Ale,' and was already three sheets to the 
wind. "Cute guy." 


"Yes, that clears up so much." Clef frowned, sniffed the cup in front 
of him, then chugged it one go. He made a face, glaring across the 
table. "What the fuck was that?" 


Dr. Johannes Sorts checked the list in front of him. "| believe that 
was... Pickled garlic vodka." 


Clef made another face, staring at the rest of the unlabeled cups on 
the table. A form of Russian Roulette, first introduced by Doctor 
Bright. Everyone ordered a bunch of different drinks from 294, some 
good, some bad, then you chose one at random and took a shot. If 
nothing else it was palate-cleansing. Clef tossed a small coin across 
the table, and grinned as it dropped into a cup. "Here Sorts, drink 
this one. Anyone know anything besides 'Cute guy?" 


As Dr. Sorts began to gag and choke on wasabi flavored scotch, Dr. 
Everett Mann picked up a coin of his own. "British fellow. Dressed 
rather nattily. Seemed to think a blank piece of paper had memetic 
properties." He nodded to himself as he sank a coin in a cup. "Take 
this one Glass." As he held out a cup of something that was black, 
viscous, and bubbled lightly. 


Clef knocked the cup out of Mann's hand as he dove across the 
table at the other scientist. He gripped his fellow Senior Staff 


member by the lapels, and slammed him up against the wall. The 
goo bubbled on the floor and slowly ate a hole through the wood 
paneling. Clef stared into Mann's eyes with a frantic, almost crazed 
anger. "Did he give you a name?" Clef yelled at his associate. 


"No, no!" The second no may have been to the other members of 
Senior Staff, each of whom had produced a different, but equally 
lethal, device from about their persons. They stepped back, giving 
Mann his head. Clef didn't even seem to notice. 


"Did he have anything else on him? A small device, with blinking 
lights-" 


"Looked like a dildo made by a Star Wars fan? Yes!" Mann began to 
breathe normally again as Clef let him go, and stepped back. 


"It's him. He's back. No. | don't want to be a companion again. Not 
again." He glanced at his friends co-workers. "Right. We have to 
stop him. The damage he could do is... we have to stop him. This is 
what we need to do. Everett? We need your work on fifty five fifty 
five." Mann nodded, and began to make phone calls. "Sorts? We're 
going to need the Sweeper." Johannes went pale, but nodded, and 
began the procedure needed to call the eternal one. "Dr. Glass, 
you're going to be our point man, brush up on your psychological 
shenanigans." Glass raised an eyebrow at that, and sighed. "Old 
man? | don't know who you are, fuck off. Strelnikov, Fritz, Lament? 
I'm going to need the three of you to find three pounds of ball 
bearings, a fifty gallon drum of lube, 27 wooden blanks, 13 dogs, 
and a redheaded step child." The three exchanged a look, 
shrugged, and nodded. "Rights.... just keep drinking." 


"Can do boss!" She raised her glass to him. 

"All right, here's how we're going to catch it-" 

"And that's how they caught it." Dr. Gears, Cog to his friends, 
finished his explanation to Dr. Jack Bright. "The cost of repairs will 


be tremendous, but at least they didn't let anything breach 
containment." 


Bright stared through the one way glass at the naked man strapped 
to a table inside. "A lot of work for one Skip. Does it really need the 
fifty pounds of chains, the straitjacket, and the triple airlocks?" 


"Clef insisted. Said he was working on better containment, but this 
might keep it busy." Gears inspected the man as well. "Very 
talkative, this one." 

"Did you finally get a name out of it?” 

"The Doctor." 

"Who?" 

"Yes." 

"The Doctor Yes?" 

"No, Who." 

"That's what I'm asking you!" 

"The Doctor's name is Who." 

"Yes." 

"We're on the right page now." 


"WE'RE NOT ON ANY PAGE!" Bright took a deep breath. "All | want 
to know, is what's the Doctor's name?" 


"No, Doctor Watt works with esoteric containment at Site 27." 
"Who?" 

"No, Watt." 

"That's the Doctor What?" 

"No, Who." 


Even as Bright picked up a nearby chair to brain his fellow staff 
member with, the site alarm went off again. Both men turned 


towards the viewing window. Where there was no longer a chained 
up Skip. 


"Well, fuck." Bright scowled. 


"Quite right, Agent Phuck will catch it, no problems. Did you know he 
plays third base on the company team?" At this response, Bright 
dropped to his knees and screamed. 


"Well, those buggers are nothing if not persistent..." The Doctor 
muttered to himself as he slipped into another room. He'd figured 
out their code now, and, by all rights, this door should be 'Safe.' 
Although what these people might consider safe... His usual 
cheerful smile slowly faded from his lips as he took in the room 
around him. It was very... colorful. Bright, primary colors. Childrens 
drawings, taped to the wall. Blocks, stuffed animals... and a 
redheaded teenager, who gave the Doctor a bright smile, before 
returning his attention to his toys. 


"What is going on here?" He asked himself, slowly edging closer to 
the teen boy. Something wasn't exactly right. He could only hope 
that it wasn't something weird, like the rabbit that ate its own head, 
or the half cat. No, it seemed only like a young boy. What sort of 
monsters would hide a boy away like this? "Excuse me lad, | hope 
you don't mind, but | think you need my help." The Doctor rested his 
hand on the boys shoulder. SCP-590 looked up at the alien man, 
and covered the Time Lords hand with his own. 


Light poured from the skin of both beings, a bright, white, intense 
light, that washed out all the shadows in the room... and quite 
conveniently burnt out the cameras as well. For a moment, there 
was but one light sources, inside of which two figures struggled... 
but then the light separated, the two males dropped to their knees, 
forced apart from each other. The light slowly died. 


"What the devil was that?" The Brit spoke first. 


The redhead smiled. "A contingency plan, | think." A frown flashed 
across his face. "No. James didn't send you, did he?" He glanced 
down at his hands, flexed them, stared hard. "What do you have 


extraneous personnel are to be present during flight for any reason, 
as they will likely be killed by SCP-616's activation, and provide 
corpses for reanimation or [DATA EXPUNGED]. 


The Roman-Catholic Pope (or a similar Abrahamic religious figure) 
must bless the aircraft in accordance with the appropriate religious 
ceremony once per full year. The official must report to the 
Foundation and arrive physically at the Containment Site at least 
three days prior to the year elapsing. Failure to do so may result in 
the door opening, resulting in [DATA EXPUNGED]. In the unlikely 
event that any official misses the ceremony, a substitute of equal 
rank must be on hand to replace him or her. 


Furthermore, two nuclear devices with a combined yield of 
megatons are to be armed inside the aircraft at all times. In the 
event of an XK-Class End-of-the-World scenario, or if the door 
closes during flight, resulting in [DATA EXPUNGED], [DATA 
EXPUNGED)}, or transfers hostile beings in large numbers, these 
devices are to be detonated if Procedure 600-Shoki cannot be 
enacted. 


Those with Clearance 4 of higher, please see [DOCUMENT 
SCP-616 CP3] 


Description: SCP-616 is a prototype Boeing - _ , designed by 
and constructed in 16/06/1966 to specifications. Though 
superficially similar to the Boeing 737 which went into service shortly 

afterwards, SCP-616's model had various internal alterations, 
including [DATA EXPUNGED]. Despite the various alterations, the 
most important feature of SCP-616 is the center left emergency 
door, which has been dubbed SCP-616-1. SCP-616-1 is a standard 
emergency door, though partially covered in extensive markings 
associated with Satanic cults adhering to [REDACTED]. SCP-616-1 
can be opened without major incident when grounded, and leads to 
the outside of the aircraft as expected. However, this is discouraged 
as nearly all personnel opening and/or passing through the door 
have reported severe anxiety problems and a persistent feeling of 
being watched. 


Long-term observation or exposure to SCP-616 is not 
recommended. Observation using any sort of electronic device is 


inside you, friend? I've never felt this... alive.” 


"Yes, well, that's all good and all, but | think we still need to get out 
of here." The Doctor turns back to the door, but 590 stops him. 


"Not out that way. This way." He shifted his drawings around on the 
wall, turning them this way and that until seemingly random lines 
connect, and the wall simply faded away. "Contingency plans." 


"Well!" For the first time since he arrived here, the time traveling 
alien feels impressed. "Can you get us to sub basement three? | 
have a way out there." 


"Easily." The boy replied. The smile seemed locked on his face, glad 
to finally be out from behind that damned mask of retardation. "We 
planned for this, the three of us... for that day | could finally be free." 
He knew he was talking too much, but he couldn't help it. "Here, 
down this way. No one comes back here any more. Michael had 
some corridors built just right to leave spaces. Some of his fellows 
might know about it, but no one uses it..." He stopped, letting his 
hand rest on the wall. "Ah, here we are. Tap twice, twist once, and-" 
The wall slid away, revealing a room filled with blue boxes, only one 
of which was the right one. "Which one is yours?" 


Looking over the row after row of boxes, hundreds of them, the 
Doctor felt his hearts sink. Except... He raised one hand, and 
snapped his fingers. Towards the front of the room, a blue door 
opened. He glanced at his companion with a wry grin. "Contingency 
plans." The two of them rushed towards the phone booth, eager to 
get away from, well, from all of this. 590, or TJ to his family, stared 
around in awe as the Doctor closed the door behind them. "Hold on 
just a minute friend, I'll have us out of here... yes, there! 
Unanchored, and away we go! Off, once more into the time 
streaaiiiiliiiiiiiililitiiieeeeeeeeeeee!" 


TJ's hands wrapped around the alien's neck, and that brilliant light 
began to flow, from one to the other. "You have a lot of life to give, 
friend. And | need it all." 


They both screamed, for a very long time. 


Cart can, Can cart 


“So you’re saying you found a can?” 
“Yup.” 

“And this can is... a Cart?” 

“YuuUUUp.” 

“So the can’s a Cart.” 

“That's what I’ve been saying.“ 

“You sure this can isn’t a Can?” 

“Yeah. The can’s in a cart, though.” 

“What kind of Cart is it?” 

“The cart’s not a Cart.” 

“Well what is it?” 

“The cart’s a Can.” 

“So the can’s on a Can?” 

“No, the Cart’s on the Can. The can’s a Cart.” 
“Well, what’s the Cart on?” 

“It’s just on the ground, | guess.” 

“You said the Cart was on a cart!” 

“No, there’s only one cart. The Cart’s on top of it.” 


“So there’s a cart on the Cart, and the Cart’s on the ground.” 


” 


“Yes. 
“What’s in the cart?” 

“A can.” 

“What’s in the can?” 

“A cart.” 

“So they’re inside each other?” 

“No! The can is in the cart, and the Cart is in the Can!” 
“What’s in the Cart?” 

“| dunno.” 

“You dunno?” 

“| dunno. | don’t have a can opener.” 

“So you haven’t opened the Can?” 

“No.” 

“Then how do you know the Cart’s in the Can?” 

“It’s not, the can’s in the cart. Hang on, Agent Watt’s here.” 
“Who’s there?” 

“No, Watt’s here. Hu retired.” 

“Put him on the phone.” 

“Who?” 

“No, Watt.” 

“What?” 


” 


“Yes. 


“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, Waitt.” 

“What?” 

“Put him on the phone!” 

“Hymn’s back at the office, call him yourself.” 
“Whatever. So what’s up with the Cart and the Can?” 
“No, Watt’s next to me.” 

“What’s next to you?” 

“Yes.” 

“So what’s up with the Cart and the Can?” 

“No! Watt’s right here! Hang on, he’s going up to the can.” 
“Who?” 

“No, Watt. Hu retired.” 

“What’s going on?” 

“No, Watt’s going up.” 

“So what’s up with the cart?” 

“Yes.” 

“What?” 

“Yes!” 

“Hang on, remind me. What’s in the can?” 

“No. The Cart’s in the Can. Watt’s next to them.” 


“| dunno, what are you asking me for?” 


“What?” 
“Where’s Watt?” 
“Where’s what?” 
“Yes.” 
“What?” 
“Yes!” 
“WHAT?” 
“YES!” 


And that was the story of how Special Agent Abbott and 
Special Agent Costello were transferred out of the 
Unusual Incidents Unit. 


Piercing The Night Vale 


The black moon howls as the red sun weeps, and the desert night is 
beautiful. Welcome... to Night Vale... 


Old Woman Josie has recently advised us that the angels do not 
care for the antics of small children in certain Halloween costumes, 
dear listeners. So, in the coming weeks, as we move into that most 
Hallowed time of year, it is advisable to avoid the following 
costumes: demons. Skeletons. The candidates of the 1916 
Presidential election. Chechens. And Bob Hope. Why not dress your 
kids up as something more innocent, like cats, pumpkins, or the 
strange, gripping ecstasy we all felt last March? I'm sure the angels, 
and the community of Night Vale at large, will appreciate your efforts 
to make the holiday season friendlier. 


On a related note, please do not feed the bowling alley your candy. 
It gets ill, and begins shouting anti-Semitic remarks. | think we can 

all agree that nobody likes that, but especially not the bowling alley 
the morning after. 


According to a series of reports | have just been handed, the 
Triannual Night Vale Can Drive has been cancelled, due to the 
minor complication of our homeless vanishing without a trace. Dear 
listeners, | can assure you, this is an absolutely normal occurrence 
for a town such as ours, and there is absolutely no cause for alarm 
and/or ritualistic panic. Trust me. 


Now, here's something | think you'll find interesting, dear listeners. 
Carlos, and his perfect hair, of course, came to me just the other day 
and said he had heard about some out of town scientists planning a 
trip to our humble desert community. By now, | have, as | hope you 
all have, learned that scientists are not the dangerous, subversive 
men the town council once wanted us to believe they were. In fact, 
they can even be loved. So, being the cutting-edge reporter and 
gracious host that | am, | decided it would behoove me to go out and 
get an exclusive interview with these scientists. 


It was dangerous, of course, dear listeners. The scientists were only 
in town because they had heard the last broadcast - you know, the 
one telling of the oncoming storm of despair and happiness that 
descended upon the westside of Night Vale last night. Being out in 
that tempest was certainly an experience | do not wish to repeat, but 
| am willing to do anything to bring you your news, dear listeners.