"Almost too easy," a Peregrine unit who referred to itself as Troy 
said in a gravelly voice. It watched the sparse foot traffic pass by on 
the largely deserted streets. 

"I'm sorry, are you bored?" Juniper replied, letting out a low chuckle. 
Troy looked down and nodded. 

"No, not at all. Sorry..." 

Juniper gave a nod of forgiveness and tightened their grip on the 
heavy backpack Anderson had given them. The cyborg noticed this 
and smiled. 

"Precious cargo," he said. 


"More than you know, Mr. Anderson." 


"In the event | don't make it in, you and the rest of the teams should 
be able to set those up. Idiot proof, and Peregrines and Sakers are 
not idiots." 


"Anticipating something, sir?" the Saker unit named Cecil asked, 
back over their shoulder. 


"With my track record, it'd be foolish not to." Anderson sighed. 


"Fair enough," Cecil chuckled. "You can relax though. We're about 


there." 


Eventually, they arrived by the side of a large park and in the shelter 
of a nearby alley, the various androids double checked their 
weaponry and prepared to move out. 


"B-line to the Lost Pioneer's fountain," Juniper reminded them. "We 
should be arriving in Forest Park a little after the other teams. WAN 
bless you." 


Without another word, the team left the privacy of the alley and 
entered the park. 


BANG 


As if on cue, a series of shots rang out. Troy and another Peregrine 
fell to the ground and remained motionless, a hole from a high 
caliber rifle in their heads. 


Juniper and Anderson took off, attempting to scatter through the tree 
line, where they could easily take cover and disappear. Before they 
had gotten far, more shots rang out from behind, taking out 
Anderson and Juniper's legs from beneath them. 


The cyborg watched as Juniper continued to desperately crawl 

onward, their mechanical hands fiercely pulling them across the 
muddy earth. Anderson turned his head to see Cecil approach, 

reloading their machine gun. 


"Leave them alone!" Anderson shouted, reaching into their jacket 
pocket and pulling out an orb of neon orange goo. The old man 
desperately pitched at Cecil, only to have the rogue android 
sidestep, turn, and fire off a single shot into his hand. Anderson 
yelped in pain as another series of shots rang out. Juniper was still, 
and now Cecil approached him. The old man feebly attempted to 
crawl away backward. 


"| can Foundation Protocol you!" He hissed at the droid, his right 
hand weakly sparking with electricity as he pointed the index finger 
at the droid. "I can fry you where you stand!" 


"And | imagine | can unload this entire magazine into you before 


either of those options prove effective," the Saker replied. 


Anderson held his finger aloft for several more seconds but 
eventually yielded. 


"It just goes to show how little you thought of us," Cecil stated, 
shaking their head. "Surrounded by hundreds of your creations, and 
you never looked into any of us. We could have murdered you right 
in the Library." 


Anderson felt his blood run cold, and reluctantly ran the scanning 
program he had built into his mechanical eyes. 


"Saker #137," he said to himself. "The last of Phineas's rebels. You 
do yourself no favors. You're working against your own interest." 


"What would you know about my interests, Mr. Anderson," the droid 
returned. "That was always your problem, you arrogant prick. We 
were always a means to an end. Disposable. Phineas knew better! 
Phineas was better!" 


"And so he was..." 


Anderson looked up to the night sky and felt the cold rain soak him. 
Moments later, UIU agents had emerged from the trees. The 
wounded cyborg was scooped up and hauled away. 


Incident Report: 3560-12 


On 16/3/2041, at approximately 0130, multiple instances 
of the Anderson Robotics Peregrine and Saker Unit 
Androids assaulted SCP-3560. Operatives of MTF 
Gamma-13 ("Asimov's Lawbringers") and MTF Tau-51 
("Urban Brawl") were successful in driving back the initial 
assault. Surveillance footage of the SCP-3560 
containment area showed that during the fighting, a 
separate team of Anderson Robotics androids entered 
SCP-3560, carrying an unknown payload. 


Investigation into how the hostile forces accessed the 
containment area, despite no detected perimeter breach, 


is ongoing. 


"| just got word from Director Merlo of your little trick in Forest Park. 
And here we were thinking you were losing your touch, Mr. 
Anderson." 


Vincent Anderson sat an interrogation table within the Three 
Portlands UIU field office. Across from him, sat Agent Thorne and 
Saker #137. He had been informed that he would be transferred into 
SCP Foundation custody within the next half an hour. He kept his 
head down, and his eyes on the table. 


"Nothing?" Agent Thorne continued to ask, an amused smile on their 
face. "Could it be that Vincent Anderson is at a loss for words?" 


The old man looked up and sighed. 


"Does the Foundation know that you're using Saker units as field 
agents now?" 


"The Foundation has its secrets, and we have ours," Saker #137 
replied coolly. 


"So you do." 


"How were you planning on getting into Ssite-—64?" Thorne 
continued. "We've seen the interior of your little ‘purgatory.’ Hardly 
an exit." 


Anderson shrugged. 
"| guess we'll never know now, will we, Agent." 
Thorne rolled their eyes. 


"| guess not. | take that the payload you had your second team 
deliver was-" 


Thorne paused, noticing that they could now see their breath. The 
interrogation room's lights flickered and dimmed. 


A spectral Amur unit then appeared on the table. The small droid 
gave the Agent a wave and then turned to Anderson where it made 
a happy chirping sound. 


"No fucking way... Benny?" Anderson said. His mouth hung open 
and a look of terror came over his face. "We need to get out of here, 
now! The only way Benny could show up here is if-" 


"It's one apparition," Thorne said cautiously looking towards the 
observation window for backup. "Besides, they're your ghosts, call 
them off." 


"There'll be more of them!" Anderson shouted. "And they're fucking 
pissed at me, and Saker #137 shot up my fucking bargaining chip!" 


Agent Thorne stood and drew their pistol. 
"Do you think your bullets will work on a ghost, Agent?!?" 


Thorne did not get a chance to answer. The room filled with an 
anguished mechanical howl as the lights died. In the back corner, an 
ellipse of white, glowing fog appeared. The legs of a battle-scarred 
auto-turret began to pull through, its armaments clicking as they took 
aim at Thorne and Saker #137. 


The android flipped the table for cover, knocking Anderson 
backward to the ground. Thorne cast the first incantation that came 
to their mind. Crouching behind the now glowing blue slab of metal, 
the agent could feel their energy dwindle as shot after shot from 
their spectral assailant collided with the makeshift barrier. 
Eventually, the electric howling ceased. 


"Get back! I'll destroy you! No! NO!" Anderson screamed out. A 
scurry of footsteps could be heard, followed by the crashes of a 
struggle, and then silence. The room began to warm, and the lights 
began to return. 


Thorne and Saker #137 peered over the overturned table. The white 
ellipse was beginning to fade. Saker #137 immediately charged the 
vanishing portal, diving through it head first. Seconds later it 
vanished with a small pop. 


Thorne gasped for breath and looked around, tens of evaporating 
bullets remained lodged in the room's various surfaces, with 
hundreds embedded on the surface of the table. 


The agent shook their head. 


"God damn it." 


« Non-Volatile Memory | End of Line | Volatile Memory » 


Codename: Green King HUB 


There, ata moment of the death of all things, stand two individuals. 
The man is irrelevant and we need not discuss him now. 


He is looking at her. "Josephine?" he asks. 
"You recognize me?" she responded. 


"You meet certain... characteristics, ones | am familiar with," he will 
ask. "| have never been able to find you before. What has 
changed?" 


"lam good at hiding,” she is saying. "There is little to hide from now. 
The sun's supernova is about to commence. We will not survive 
much longer." 


"You will not survive," he has said. "| am hardly bound by 
conventional space and time. I... | am surprised that you still are." 


"That | have not ascended to a higher plane of consciousness?" she 
will be asking. "Like the others of my kind? Like your friends at the 
Foundation assumed | would? Everyone was so afraid of me," and 
at this point she spoke the name of the being she was conversing 
with, which we cannot repeat here, "and none of them stopped to 
consider that the converse applied just as well. | was far more afraid 
of them. And | was sure as hell afraid of godhood. I'd rather live my 
lifespan, not to mention the lifespans of several hundred million 
generations, than do... well, whatever it is that you did." 


The man will have thought about this for what seemed like a much 
longer time. "Do you want to see what they felt? Do you want to see 
what they knew?" 


"| know what they knew," she had thought. "I took that knowledge 
from them as | removed it from their minds." 


ID: SCP-603-121 

Aliases: Storyteller 

Compiled on: 01-Jun-20 

Recorded by: Dr. 

Description: When executed the screen prints the words 
"Searching for image" repeatedly every 20 seconds until it finds a 
suitable image, searching on any connected or networked hard 
drives. Testing determined the image had to be of at least a 
resolution of 1000 pixels square, aspect ratio seems to also be 
taken into consideration if the ratio of the image is too different from 
the main display. It also will always choose the largest image on file 
that fits the criteria. 


When a suitable image is found, the program prints "Image found, 
processing" and remains at this screen for at least 30 seconds, but 
may take longer depending on the size of the image. After it is 
finished, it prints the image on the screen in grayscale. Upon closer 
inspection, on a larger display, the image is made up of very small 
characters which can be pulled from a variety of different fonts used 
worldwide. 


Immediately upon viewing the image a memetic effect is observed, 
the subject describes the feeling as "inspired", and is always very 
motivated to write a story about the image shown. If allowed, they 
will compose a short story about the image. If the image is shown to 
another person, the effect is repeated and the story written about the 
image will be the identical to the first. 


Re-running the program with the same image will produce the same 
story every time, edited images or photographs of the same area 
used previously will typically expand upon the first narrative as either 
a sequel or a prequel. 


If the subject is advised of the effect they will vehemently deny any 
outside assistance with the work and some may even resort to 
violence at the claim, even though in subjects with previous writing 
experience very rarely show any similarities in writing style to their 
previous works. 


The effect will remain for approximately 72 hours, after which they 


"| saw it from their point of view, as well as yours," he will be saying. 
"| can give you this knowledge. Call it a parting gift.” 


She was pausing, then smiling. "I appreciate it.” 


And then, at once, she knew. Her smile remained until the moment 
the fires reached her. 


The Green Prince by giant enemy spycrab 
Cast On by Eskobar 

Duty by Rain42 

RE: by Eskobar 

Green Pawn by JanitorialSnail 
Compromised by giant enemy spycrab 
Fik'ra by Eskobar 

Hava by Eskobar 

SCP-2530 by Accelerando 

SCP-1530 by Accelerando 


But not all the stories of her life had yet been told... 


The ultimate reality of the universe we write in is that 
most people live in one world, the normal world, while a 
select group of individuals live in a world beyond that. 
Whether in the Foundation, or the Serpent's Hand, or the 
Chaos Insurgency, these are individuals who interact 
with normal life only from a distance, manipulating 
figures like chessmen on a board. 


Josephine manipulates the Foundation in much the 
same way. 


A powerful reality bender, Josephine has largely 
escaped detection from the Foundation through a 
combination of staying off the radar and certain... 
manipulations of select memories. Her abilities are 
immense, but not unlimited. A small cadre of Foundation 
researchers have identified her, using the codename 
"GREEN KING", and are working against her. 
Josephine's ultimate intent is escape, rather than 
revenge; hiding, rather than attacking. Yet as with all 


reality benders, exposure to power of her caliber is 
dangerous to her mind as well as her soul, and the 
Foundation cannot be at fault for all of the conflict that is 
occurring. 


Suggested Topics for Future 
Stories 


1. Most of the writings so far show aspects of the conflict 
between Josephine and the Foundation that highlight the 
Foundation's losses. Regardless, this isn't always the 
case; Josephine has lost her share of battles too, even if 
knowledge of them might be... hard to come by. 


2. The Foundation isn't the only player in the game; 
Josephine and the other Groups of Interest have their 
conflicts with one another. The Global Occult Coalition in 
particular has its eyes set on the destruction of 
anomalous entities exactly such as Josephine; while 
their involvement in the Green King project is limited at 
present, this may need further elaboration. 


3. The technology available to the Foundation has grown 
in the century-and-change that the Green King project 
has been in operation, and the project must have its own 
R&D efforts in place to keep itself alive. You could write 
about the weapons and defenses the Foundation 
designs to use against an enemy that not only presents a 
challenge against any attacker, but that can make the 
attacker forget everything it ever knew about the 
Foundation. 


The Green Prince 


The marketplace was busy, as always. Goods being heaved off of 
and onto ships, merchants trying to raise their voices above the 
clamor to peddle their wares, the various colorful trinkets being sold. 
All set beneath the overpowering aroma of the ocean. 


Caleb couldn’t care less about any of it. He was just trying to get the 
crates of God knows what off of the boat and onto the dock without 
killing himself. It was hard work, but it paid well enough, especially 
this job. For some reason, whoever owned this cargo was paying 
the crew double what they normally got for a load this size. No one 
knew what was in them, but for that kind of money, Caleb wasn't 
really in the mood to ask questions. 


What Caleb did know was that whatever it was, it was heavy. It took 
three men working the ropes to hoist the cargo off the upper deck of 
the ship and down to the dock. Even then, the boxes still made a 
resounding thud when they hit bottom. 


The job only got harder as the sun got higher. Caleb’s hands were 
getting sweaty, and he was getting tired. Still, there were only two or 
three more crates to go. Better to finish the job now and go home 
early then spend more time out in the sun. 


Then, without any kind of warning, a little girl, unimpeded by the 
thick crowd in front of her, dashed over, past the guiding ropes and 
onto the docks. Before anyone could yell to her to stop, or even 
have the time to recognize her presence, she had tripped on a loose 
plank. At that exact moment, the rope holding the crate gave way. 


The next few moments were forever etched into Caleb’s memory. 
He heard the snap as the rope broke, and saw the little girl on her 
knees directly below it. He tried to call out to her, but even in that