Jack squeezes his eyes shut. He had been hoping they wouldn’t talk 
about this, especially not with Mikell. His older brother removes the 
cigarette and exhales smoke thoughtfully, looking at the floor. Jack 
holds his breath. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He isn’t sure that 
Mikell wants to talk about it, either, in the solemn way that his father 
wouldn’t. Wind rustles the soybeans behind their house and disrupts 
the neighbor’s wind chimes. It’s a cold wind in a stark heat. 


“Sit up.” 


Jack complies, surprised at the searing pain his arm makes when he 
puts pressure on it. It didn’t feel real when he did it; it felt real now. 


“Where’s TJ?” 


Mikell transfers his cigarette from his right hand to between the 
middle and index finger on his left, and slaps him. 


Jack reels back out of surprise, then immediately throws off the 
blankets and bolts up to meet his brother eye-to-eye, world 
swimming gently as he does so— he's a bit out of breath and off 


balance, but after a moment of wavering, his eyes bring Mikell into 
focus, and he feels his own breath boiling hot in his throat with rage, 


“Hey! What’s your fucking problem?!” 


“You're my fucking problem.” Mikell takes a drag from the cigarette. 
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You think | have the time 
for your melodramatic shit?” Smoke comes out of his mouth hot as 
his words. Some ash falls into the carpet. 


“| don’t know, maybe if you were ever here you'd have the time for 
it.” Jack feels the familiar heat of frustration rising in his chest. Mikell 
laughs and shakes his head, smiles, and takes another drag on his 
cigarette. 


“Look, Jack, | love you just as much as the next guy.” Mikell starts, 
voice deep and sarcastic, scraping the edges of his tenor register. 
“But our sister's gone now, too, and you know, that might be a 
problem, you know? Say, did you consider that, huh? Did you even 
try when they came to take her? Did you even care?" 


"Don't you try to tell me | don't care about them!" Jack screams, 
anger boiling over. Mikell's face contorts into a look of humor and 
surprise. 

"Well, | mean, you sure don't act like you care. You don't really act 
like you care about anything, actually, so maybe if you really don't-" 


“-You don't fucking understand—" 


“Oh, fuck, | don’t understand you. That’s right. No one understands 
you.” Mikell pushed him back, getting ash on his shirt. “Poor you. 
You know, | think it’s always been about you, you know that?!” 


“All about me?” Jack guffawed, blood boiling. "You know, | think 
that's pretty funny that you say that, you know, since you've been 
gone all this time and I've been trying to handle both of them at 
once. | don't know, just a thought here; maybe if you cared you 
would actually be here at all.” 


Mikell laughed. “Oh, shit! | forgot | was actually doing something. 
You might want to try that." 


“You know what? That’s fine. Fuck you.” Jack grabbed his backpack 
and threw open the dresser. “Fuck you. You wanna play that shit? 
Fine.” 


“What do you think you’re doing?” 


“What does it look like I’m doing?” Jack threw some clothes on and 
extras in the pack and pulled on a pair of discarded worn sneakers. 
Thunder boomed in the distance. Mikell laughed again. 


“You’re fucking stupid. You’re a fucking stupid, impulsive little brat, 
you know that?” 

Jack grabbed the bag and swiftly walked to the kitchen, throwing 
open cabinet doors. Granola bars, water bottle. 


“Oh, shit! He’s running away!” Mikell snarled, leaning on the counter, 
exhaling cigarette smoke into open air. “Better call the fucking 
police, folks, he’s a walking menace. Look at that. He'll fuck you up 
just as soon as he stops fucking himself up.” Cabinets slam shut. 
Jack’s breathing comes in hot, ragged breaths, and Mikell continues 
in a slow, angry drawl. “That’s right folks, man of the hour. Look at 
this melodramatic little shit. Spineless fuck, that’s what he is.” 


Before he can stop himself, Jack whips around and throws a punch 
directly at his older brother’s face; Mikell catches his clumsy throw 
by the wrist and twists sharply, sending him slamming onto the 
ground. 


“Oh, fuck, folks, he’s fighting! We got ourselves a fighter! Damn!” 
Jack closes his eyes sharply and lets his back take the impact of 
hitting the kitchen floor. Mikell is on his feet now, cigarette 
discarded, hand still around Jack's wrist; Jack grabs his arm with his 
other hand and pulls sharply. Mikell crashes to the ground just as 
the tornado sirens start, taking off in shrill, sweeping tones that roll 
over the prairie like a flood. Jack spots something he hadn't before, 
on the table a few feet away, above his head- a heavy looking 
grocery bag. The smaller of the oldest bright brothers wiggles free 
from his brother’s grip just as Mikell has time to reorient himself and 
grab his ankle; Jack awkwardly hits his arm with his other boot, 
thankful for the first time in his life that they’re steel toed, and makes 
a go for the blunt object, not really knowing what to do with it- 


But the bag is heavy in his hand. Heavy and clunky- it’s a metal box 
inside, labeled with a thousand numbers and codes and “IN 
TRANSIT” stamped on the front, but before he can slide the lock 
and yank it open he hears the click of a gun, and turns to see his 
older brother standing, no longer smiling and laughing with rage. 
Still, calm. Both hands on one revolver, his older brother backs him 
up until Jack’s back is pressed against the wall of the kitchen. Jack 
realizes with stunning clarity that he has crossed a line, and decides 
with the same stunning clarity to cross it further, driven with rage 
and the thin electric wire shooting pain into his thoughts and driving 
his body to self destruction. 


“Put it down.” Mikell growls. His fingers are steady on the gun; it’s 
pointed, direct, confident. There’s a moment of silence as sirens 
sweep back up into a pitching howl. 


“What, this?” Jack swings the lock box up; something metallic 
clatters inside. “What are you gonna do? Shoot me? You seemed 
pretty obsessed with me living a few minutes ago.” 


“Jack.” Mikell is solemn and clear. “You don’t understand.” 


“What did you do with TJ?” Jack demands. Clearly he has some 
leverage here. 


“Damn it, Jack, he’s fine!” 


“You took him away, didn’t you!” Jack’s ears ring; he knows what 
Mikell’s done. “You took him to that...that place!” 


“Jack.” Mikell keeps the gun trained on him. “Put that down. Now.” 


There’s a moment, as Jack bright looks down the barrel of his 
brother’s gun, that he becomes aware of the weight of the box in his 
hands- the heavy, important feeling, the godlike divineness, the 
strange, prophetic kinship- all this and rage drives Jack’s thumb to 
the latch and the latch to the left and the top of the iron box open on 
welded hinges. 


Mikell’s gun jams. 


He hears it go off, and it’s in this moment that Jack no longer cares 


about the mud-caked ornate amulet approximately 15 centimeters in 
circumference made from white gold, with thirteen (13) _k brilliant- 
cut diamonds surrounding a_ k oval-cut ruby in a starburst pattern 
presenting itself to him from inside the shoddily locked box. Mikell’s 
eyes widen. The silver ivory creature in his brother’s grip has never 
jammed and will never jam again, and Mikell, understanding the 
weight of this cosmic decision, does not shoot as Jack thinks he will, 
instead lowering the gun, one slow, creeping inch at a time, until it is 
level with his leg. Mikell looks at him a long, careful second- and 
makes a decision of his own. 


It's in this moment, and the moments that follow- when the tornado 
sirens shriek up into the sky and down to the ground just as Mikell 
orders him out onto the street and he drops the metal box onto the 
tile floor and takes off into the stormy world outside- that Jack knows 
he cannot die, and somehow becomes complete, a fully developed 
person, like a his brother’s guns or his sister's cows. 


14 


In another life, not far away from here, it takes the wound a moment 
to bleed. 


There’s a moment as Jack Bright, level 2 researcher, looks onto the 
metal pole impaling his abdomen, that everything remains in 
suspense. Briefcase open, artifact rolling to a stop against his skin. 
He moves his head a little to the side as it gleams. His body settles. 
The florescent light shines. 


It takes the wound a moment to bleed. 


There’s a moment, as blood wells from his snapped body and soaks 
through his stiff button up shirt, that Jack begs not to live ina 
forceful, horrid way he hasn’t before, not with all the days of summer 
slipping through his fingers and smearing together in an ugly heat, 
no, Jack Bright has never been more sure in his life that he is not 
wanted then he is in this moment in October of 1973. Not with the 
days unable to move from bed, not with the rain coming down on the 


concrete, not with the night with the razor or the sound of the radio 
on low singing an endless, melancholy song, nothing has changed, 
and nothing will change. Jack is still nothing. Jack is still no one. 


The amulet glimmers in the florescent light, and in a moment, with 
the first leaves falling from the trees outside, Jack is not Jack 
anymore. 


15 


The Present 


Secure instant message log between Dr. Charles Gears, North 
Eastern Region Research Director, and Dr. Jack Bright, multi-site 
Director: Beginning Date: 12/24/16 


Director Bright | 20:11 
Gears 
Are you up 


Dr.Gears (LUiectepuHn) | 20:35 
Addressing a minor disturbance in the lab, please stand 
by. 


Director Bright | 20:45 

Damn it 

My plane leaves in 15 min 
We'll talk when | get to Omaha 


Director Bright | 01:23 

Fuck 

Okay well 

| made it but can’t catch my connecting 

everythings grounded 

snowstorm 

nothing like site 19 snowstorms but enough to keep 
everyone down 


Are you there 


Dr.Gears (LUlectepuHn) | 01:30 
Yes. 
Holding tank malfunction. Unfortunate damage 


Director Bright | 01:30 
What do you mean by unfortunate damage 
Youre worrying me here 


Dr.Gears (LUiectepuHn) | 01:30 
Major damage. I'll repair it today. 


Director Bright | 01:31 
Anything out? 


Dr.Gears (LUlectepHn) | 01:31 
Yes. Momentarily. 
Unfortunate severity 


Director Bright | 01:31 
Gears 
What do you mean by unfortunate severity 


Dr.Gears (LUlectepHn) | 01:31 
Moderately severe 


Director Bright | 01:32 

Shit 

Well 

| was hoping to be back next week and if | can catch 
another flight out tomorrow | might be able to make it 


Dr.Gears (LUiectepuHn) | 01:33 

| would not be optimistic. It's a snowstorm here as well. 
Typical Siberian snowstorm, but the cold is also 
unusually severe 

If you were able to fly to London and then into Moscow 
as planned you wouldn't be able to fly to the site until it 
warms slightly 

We've been having mechanical failures. Nothing with 


the chambers, but the outer doors are suffering some 
problems. The latest supply shipment was a close call 


Director Bright | 01:35 

Damn | was only gone for two months and the place is 
falling apart 

Stop typing it was a joke 

Still | was hoping to get back 


Dr.Gears (LUiectepHn) | 01:37 

You aren't required back for another two weeks 
| was expecting you to spend more time at 88, 
personally 

Is there something you need to attend to? 


Director Bright | 01:37 

Yeah well 

Look 

On a personal note I'm you know 

winding down into an episode again 

You know how it is 

I'd rather be in a psych ward | know if | have to be out of 
commission for a little bit 


Dr.Gears (LUlectepHn) | 01:38 
| see. 


Director Bright | 01:38 

Yeah sorry 

That was weirdly personal 

Shit hit the fan at site 27 and I'm fucking exhausted like 
holy shit you wouldn't believe 

Like fuck 


Dr.Gears (LUiectepuHn) | 01:39 

| see no problem with you seeking comfortable aid if you 
are feeling unwell, Jack. 

Where are you? Omaha? 


Director Bright | 01:39 
Nebraska yeah 


Only like 

An ocean away 

| could try flying up through Canada and take the Alaska 
route but 

If you guys are snowed in than the Barrow port won't be 
much better 


Dr.Gears (LUiectepuHn) | 01:40 
A reasonable assumption 


Director Bright | 01:41 

Hopefully it won’t be that bad and I'll just need a few 
days 

A few days rest and | can let it blow over 

It's not as bad as it used to be but sometimes | miss my 
meds 


Dr.Gears (LUiectepHn) | 01:41 
Again, reasonable. 
Nebraska 


Director Bright | 01:42 
Charlie i fucking swear to god dont do it 


Dr.Gears (LUlectepuHn) | 01:42 
Don't you have family there? 


Director Bright | 01:43 

Fuck you did it 

Shit 

Yeah 

| do 

| was avoiding that option 

But my brother still lives here 

He owns our old house and a ranch 
Hometown is like an hour away 


Dr.Gears (LUlectepuHn) | 01:44 

Could you stay there? 

Until you can fly. 

To be perfectly honest, Jack, | would be more 


SCP-1004: Factory Porn 


Item #: SCP-1004 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: All copies of SCP-1004-1 and 
-2 are to be kept in Secure Containment Locker 17, at site 37. At no 
point are any copies of SCP-1004 to be used for recreational 
purposes. Following the events of incident 1004-Dale, Researchers 
are no longer allowed to view the output of SCP-1004, even when 
filtered or via secondary source. Only D-class are allowed to view 
the output of SCP-1004. Use of SCP-1133-7 and SCP-894 
instances by researchers and control subjects has been approved 
where deemed appropriate in preventing undesired spread of 
SCP-1004's effects. 


The Foundation has set out to prevent anyone from receiving copies 
of SCP-1004 by a planned and ordered process of unrequested 
electronic mailings, many of which include computer viruses, 
malware or electronic worms. A program has also been designed 
and disseminated to all electronic mail providers to help prevent 
SCP-1004 from spreading. 


Description: SCP-1004 is a computer program, found on either a 
CD (SCP-1004-2) or a 3.5" diskette (SCP-1004-1), either of which 
will be hand labeled with the words 'Factory Porn.' Contained on 
these disks is a single executable file, labeled 'Thefactory.exe’, a 1- 
kilobyte program. The program runs perfectly on all platforms. 
Running the program results in a window opening on the computer, 
within which 'The Factory’ logo is displayed. The logo fades to black, 
and is replaced by the words 'What would you like to see?’ At this 
point, the user may input any selection of words, from the 
ambiguous to the precise. Once a request has been input, the 
program will pull up several dozen images of pornographic content, 
each of which leads to a full video on the subject. Many of these 
videos appear to have never been made in real life. 


comfortable knowing you were staying in a Foundation 
connected area 

I'm wary of hotels in your situation, considering the 
amulet and your potential to self terminate in this state 
of mental health 


Director Bright | 01:46 
Omg could you imagine 
Me 

Showing up at his ranch 
At3 am 

on christmas 

Youre a funny guy Charlie 


Dr.Gears (LUiectepuHn) | 01:46 
You seem hesitant. 


Director Bright | 01:47 

Okay so like how do | put this 

Mikell is one of /those/ people when it comes to mental 
health 

| dont know if hes still like that but he was when we 
were younger 

Maybe | could just not tell him but if something happens 
You know how | get Charlie 

And plus quite honestly | havent been home since | left 
when | was like 

Fuck 

18 | think 

it was kinda funny actually like looking back. How | left | 
mean 

if we were adults then | think we could have handled it 
better but we were both young and kind of in rough 
patches 

tl;dr: there was a lot of frustration and depression and 
testosterone and also some other stuff that happened 
but familys family | guess