Description: SCP-663 is a brand water filtration pitcher, lacking 
a serial number and appearing slightly different from other models 
produced by __. It appears to be capable of filtering any water- 
bearing solution into clean and drinkable water, nearly completely 
deionized. While filtering, there is a detectable heartbeat from the 
filter core, and it releases several calories of heat per gram of 
filtered solution. If the filter reservoir is refilled more than once in 
rapid succession, the entire outside surface of the pitcher will quickly 
become too hot to safely handle. SCP-663 will also begin to gurgle 
loudly, eventually screaming in a human voice that it is drowning, 
and for no more water to be added. 


If SCP-663 goes too long without being filled, it will begin voicing a 
need for water. It then progresses to screaming for help, claiming to 
be trapped, lost, and dying of thirst. Refilling the reservoir causes 
the vocalization to subside. After a period of several months, it will 


"884... is closed." 

He leaned back again, arms behind his head. 
"Congratulations," Gears said. 

"Thank you," replied Lament. 


There would be no praise, nor would there be any accolades. Your 
feelings of reward in the Foundation were the ones you made for 
yourself. Doing your job, and doing it well, meant one of two things: 
you lived or someone else did. That was enough. 


It had to be. 
"Would you like half of my sandwich, sir?" Lament asked. 
"No, thank you, Agent." 


Lament nodded, taking the plastic wrapped, perpetually dry roast 
beef out of the brown bag on his desk. "Then if you'll excuse me, | 
think | might take it in the atrium. It's nearly time for Sophie's lunch 
break..." 


Gears nodded. "Tell Dr. Light | need her report on SCP-371, when 
she's finished." 


"IT will, sir." 


Lament stood, walking toward the door when Gears spoke. "And 
Agent?" 


"Yes, sir?" 


Gears stared at him for a moment. It stretched past comfort into 
awkwardness, and Lament found it necessary to cough, then repeat. 
"Yes, sir?" 


"Good work." 
The awkwardness became palpable. 


"Thank you, sir." 


Gears nodded once, and Lament— feeling an emotion he could not 
put into words— left the office. When he got to the atrium, he stole a 
kiss from Light's cheek, took the obligatory punch in the arm, and 
then shared the lackluster sandwich with her. 


Allin all, he considered it a good day. 


« Interlude 6 | HUB | Epilogue » 


In His Own Image: Epilogue 


September 21, 2011: 


Lament awoke with a start at the shifting at the door. He'd be 
thinking. Dreaming again. It wasn't good, but it was what it was. He 
raised the gun at the door, glancing at the spent cartridges so he'd 
know exactly how many he had in there in case he needed one for 
himself or a friend. The matte black uniform of one of the site 
security forces made him relax again for a moment. 


"Is anyone alive in there?" 


Lament debated answering, but chances were that they'd torch the 
room to be safe. 940 outbreaks were best answered with fire. 
Site-37 had been entirely immolated and rebuilt, but the 
infrastructure of 19 would mean that a room by room clearing would 
be necessary. 


"Yo!" he called. 


And ten minutes later, he was clear, better armed, and fed for the 
first time in two days. He was escorted from that wing of the site 
without incident, and as he sat in the infirmary, leaning against the 
wall while the genuine injuries were treated, he found himself 
wanting to stand up and walk off again. But he didn't. He curled up 
against the wall, closed his eyes, and slept. 


Lament was woken by a hard shake to his shoulder, his hand 
immediately flying to his hip, reaching for his gun to shoot and kill 
immediately until he looked up and recognized the face. He let out a 
slow breath, slumping down against the wall. "Fuck, Dodridge.” 


"Get up, man. We're due for debriefing.” 


"To hell with that," Lament pushed himself up slowly and leaned 


against the wall. "This is why | hate active duty..." he complained, 
scratching his arm and nodding to Dodridge that he was ready, 
following him down the hall to the mess for coffee and another meal. 
The two of them ate quickly, barely talking. 


"You still talking to the Erdrich girl at twenty-three?" Lament asked. 
"Yeah," Dodridge said flatly. 

Lament chewed his sandwich. "She hot?" 

"Yeah, she's hot." 

"You thinking of transferring back to security for a while?" 


Dodridge shrugged. Lament nodded. And they finished the meal in 
silence. 


The debriefing took maybe forty minutes. It was a regular 
discussion. When were you two alerted? How long did it take you to 
get to the site? Why did you split? Were you able to reach the site 
nuclear device, Agent? Were you able to successfully reseal the 
lock on the 682 wing, Agent? Were you, Agent? Did you, Agent? 
Why didn't you, Agent? Agent? Agent? Agent? Blah blah blah. 


It wasn't until the end of the meeting that Lament realized that Djoric 
was one of the men on the panel. He waved at him. Djoric made eye 
contact for a moment, looked away, then left. It made him remember 
Sandy again, remember the times the two of them had sat together, 
laughing and bouncing ideas off of each other. Remember the look 
on 106's face as his friend was pulled into the blackness of the 
pipes. Remember how he always counted his bullets now. 


Dodridge broke the silence. "You wanna get a beer, Lament?" 
"Nah, man. I'm good." 

"Suit yourself. I'm getting shit faced," Dodridge said. 

Lament laughed. "Tell Alice | said hello when you talk to her." 


"Yeah, whatever, asshole." 


Lament smirked, Dodridge flipped him off, and he was gone. He 
stood in the hall for a minute, wondering if Sophie was still stationed 
here. They'd lost track of each other after he'd gone active, but that 
was just how the job was. It was why he knew Dodridge would go to 
Site-23 full time. And he'd end up... He didn't know what. 


He sighed and turned down the hall, walking down it aimlessly, but 
unsurprised when he found himself again outside the office he'd hid 
in for two days. He pushed into it. 


The cleaning crew had already been through, putting things back 
where they belonged. Gears’ desk was back in position, as well as 
his old one. It feel eerily... the same. Too close. Too similar. It felt 
like four years ago. 


"Agent." 


He turned, looking over his shoulder as his hand dropped nervously 
to his sidearm, resting on it for a moment as the familiarity of the 
voice sank in. 


"Dr. Gears." 


He looked the same. Bald pate. Smooth, expressionless face. Clear, 
cold eyes. 


"| understand you took refuge here during the outbreak." 
"Yes, sir," Lament said. 


Gears nodded to him, then walked past him to his desk, sitting down 
at it and opening a file. "If you have time, there's a mild, level two 
threat | would like to consult with you on." 


"Am | cleared for that, sir?" Lament asked. 


When Gears looked up at him, he imagined a smile. It was a habit 
he'd picked up. Implying the emotions that were never there. 


"| can secure the clearance, if you wish, Agent." 


Lament nodded. "Of course, Doctor." 


"Very well. | can meet with you after lunch today." 


Lament nodded, feeling the kind of familiarity that left a pit in your 
gut. He looked at the man, wondering if his new assistant had died 
in the attack. Killed themselves like Iceberg had. Run like him. 


"Of course, Doctor. Maybe | can talk to my supervisors at Site14 and 
see about a temporary reassignment, if you're in need of 
assistance." 


Gears didn't respond, but then, Lament hadn't expected him to. He 
turned, pushing through the door and into the hall, looking both ways 
and then walking toward the arboretum. Maybe Sophie was still 
stationed here... 


Gears watched the agent leave, wishing he could have done... 
something. Anything at that moment. He was actually... glad to have 
him back. Thrilled, even. But it never touched his face. He never 
smiled. Never congratulated him. 


Nothing. 


He unlocked and opened his bottom, left drawer, the one that was 
nearly empty except for a few classified memos. It was his ‘destroy’ 
file, a place where he kept things that were sensitive and needed to 
be completely expunged. There was only one file there that had 
lasted longer than a week. He quietly reached into the drawer, 
pulling out a plastic bag. There was a piece of paper inside it, a 
splatter of blood across the faded letterhead. He looked down at it 
and read it again, as he had a hundred times before. 


It happened. It finally happened. | was watching Agent 
Shelly walk down the hall, doing that one hip thing. 


| just watched, then posted my work to Records. | didn't 
drool, or make a pass, or anything. | felt it, | felt it inside, 
the vague desire, but there was no reason to act on it. 
I'm not even upset about it, really, just...nothing. 


They trust me with too much, mainly because nobody 


else will take it, or maybe that's been a part of it too. | 
looked into the files. | dug back and sent requests for the 
old hard copies. | know what happened, and what they 
want. 


He's trapped, inside, he can feel, but not react to it. What 
could be a worse hell? And what could be better for 
them? 


They know what they're doing. The personality type. The 
ones who are susceptible. His was an accident. I'm not 
letting it happen to me on purpose. 


| know you'll be the one to find this. Tell them I'm sorry. 
Please? And if you've still got a soul in there, warn the 
next guy. 


-Iceberg 


Gears stared at the note for a long moment, and for an instant, he 
was almost certain he felt the sensation of a tear rolling down his 
cheek, but when he raised his hand to it, it was dry. Bone dry. 


He dropped the note back into the bottom drawer and stood. He 
looked over at the desk that had sat empty for the past four years. 
And he felt regret. 


But it didn't show. 


« Part 7 | HUB | » 


Jefferson Submarine Hub 


A story of war, inner demons, outer 
demons, romance, and the end of the 
world in Three Acts 


It has catgirls! It has bug-men! It has rescue missions for space 
wizards! It has no fourth wall! This is a continuity where anything can 
happen! But before you run away to your sandbox to help me make 
beautiful things happen, first allow me to give you the crash course: 


Story List 


Act I, "Marching into Madness" 


* Retired, Extremely Dangerous — Wherein we find out that 

these old bastards still got some fight in 'em 

Alexei and the Walrus — Wherein narrative quality is 

sacrificed to advance the plot 

* Alexei Belitrov in: How to Fighting an 
Endangered Species — Wherein we take a sharp turn 
from terribad action-comedy to terribad horror-comedy 

* Wherein Alexei punches a bear really hard and 
then feels bad about it — it's literally the title 

* Alexei is a Kill-Stealing Bastard — Wherein the 
Black Rabbit Company first set their (rifle) sights on Alexei 

* The Age-Old Art of Fisticuffs — Wherein Alexei 
gets knocked the fuck out by an anachronistic gentleman. 


Act Il, "Back in the Saddle" 


¢ Sorry, no named tales in this arc yet. See below for the 
spoilered version. 


Act lll, "They Will Fall Together" 


¢ Sorry, no named tales in this arc yet. See below for the 
spoilered version. 


Spoilered Version 
Of course | collapsed the spoilers! 
Act I, "Marching Into Madness" 


This arc is parallel to, but not (necessarily) canon with 
the events of Let the Games Begin. It follows the fight 
sequence of March Madness '15. It does not 
necessarily have to follow any other canon made to 
revolve around those fights. The big thing to remember 
about this Act, this arc, is that it's meant to be a 
combination of doofy and expository. If you feel like 
contributing, please consult with me, Agent MacLeod 
and, if anyone else jumps on this bandwagon, them too. 
I'd like to maintain a semblance of continuity, if nothing 
else. 


Act Il, "Back in the Saddle" 


This arc is meant to follow Alexei Belitrov as he becomes 
used to the idea of fighting, of combat, again. And it's 
meant to follow both Alexei and the Black Rabbit 
Company as they try to resume life outside of 
containment, while Alexei tries to gain the girls’ trust. 
There is a seed of a romantic subplot but I'd rather not hit 
it heavily until we get to this point. Whether Wizard is 
with the girls or stuck in Foundation custody at this point 
is up for debate within my own head, but regardless of 
Wiz's status, Red is acting up and nobody seems to 
know what can be done to fix it. 


Act Ill, "They Will Fall Together" 


This might seem like a weird direction to take the story 
as pitched so far, but Act Ill is about the End of the 
World. Whatever Red is, whatever got loose in Act | 
(more on that in a moment), whatever the Company gets 
up to as Alexei is integrated in, it all falls apart. At some 
point, Wizard falls back into Foundation custody (if he 
ever left). There's hope, there's gonna be a new 
beginning, but like the Act Il romance, I'd like to stay 
quiet on it until we get there. The big thing is, this is 
meant to be a change in tone from the previous two arcs. 
It'll switch gears from action-comedy to tragedy-comedy. 
The good guys don't win, sorry. 


General Guidelines 


The big rules are: 


1. Maintain continuity 
2. Have fun. 
3. Be creative. 


Everything planned so far leaves a lot of loose threads; 
we have the entirety of March Madness '15 to work with, 
along with a lot of what that entails. Even as our main 
protagonists 1v1 their way to Destiny™™, the skips they 
beat won't necessarily die. There'll be a ton of side-plots 
that can be followed. (Hell, if they're written well enough, 
they may overtake the "main" plot). Likewise, Acts II and 
Ill will have entire casts and crew of side-characters to 
be played with, narratively. There's no reason every 
single story needs to be about how awesome Wizard 
and the Catgirls and Alexei and Lord Blackwood are. 
Standalones that fit loosely within the continuity are 
absolutely an option. Don't be afraid to seek out new 
adventures. 


Here's to hoping we all enjoy ourselves while we're here! 


Now with music! 


require water more frequently, eventually needing to be refilled so 
often that it constantly overheats. Once it reaches this point, the 
voice will constantly sound confused and frightened, eventually 
becoming increasingly pained and rasping until the source of the 
voice appears to expire of thirst. Once the voice and heartbeat 
cease, a dried human heart will fall into the bottom reservoir. The 
heartbeat will resume, and a different voice will come from SCP-663. 


Addendum: 


There seems to be no pattern to the selection of voices by SCP-663, 
but they have thus far corresponded to the heart eventually found in 
the container. Average duration before replacement, with proper 
care, is six months. Voices and hearts appearing to be from elderly 
or very young individuals tend not to last as long. The filter seems to 
function under any conditions, so long as there is water in the 
solution. It surpasses modern filtration systems, demonstrably 
capable of filtering heavy water and other isotopes. 


« SCP-662 | SCP-663 | SCP-664 » 


Retired, Extremely Dangerous 


« No, there won't be a prequel, sorry. | Hub | Alexei and the 
Walrus »