"All you're doing is proving my point, Barcode. Although, looking at 
these... people, I'm thinking | finally starting to see some value in 
you. | mean, even your sorry hide shines when compared to 
whatever those two supposed to be." 


Upcard's frown turned into a smile, which was somehow far more 
disconcerting. "You're a funny little man, aren't you?" 


"Darling, you have no idea. You really should be grateful for the fact 
you're standing here, talking to me as if we're equals. It's such a rare 
opportunity, | know, | sure you very much appreciate it." 


The smile widened. "Oh, certainly. In fact, why don't | show you my 
appreciation right now-" 


Matthew decided to interrupt them before things got any further. 
Though he would enjoy watching a fight, this probably wasn't the 
best time for it. "As much as I'd love to hear the conclusion of this 
fascinating conversation, | believe someone here wanted to talk to 
me?" 


Prune-man still grinning, now turned his gaze to Matthew. "Aye, 
pretty boy, that would be me. Just wanted you to know you can 
you're not gonna hear a pip out of no one here. It's all taken care of, 
so you can shimmy right in yon apartment and do whatever you 
folks need doing there." 


"May | ask exactly how you accomplished this? Who are you 
anyway?" 


"That's for you to ask, laddie, and it's not for me to tell. We're just 
here because someone cashed in a favor, and we really rather not 
be." 


"Is that so? May | inquire as to why?" 


"It's because of the people the woman,our target, called." said Hale, 
and Matthew was surprised to hear nothing of the usual nervous 
shake in the little man's voice, "or rather the people those people 
hired. These two here don't have a lot of power here in the Baseline. 
Reality's too strong for their minds to do much. It's why she's so 


SCP-831: Tinkerbug 


Item #: SCP-831 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: Colonies of SCP-831 are to be 
contained in an observation chamber with ceiling, walls and floor 
having Vickers hardness of at least 1000 kg/mm sq. The 
containment chamber is to be regularly inspected; any damage - 
even a scratch on the floor - is to be reported in accordance with 
Procedure 831-C. Nutrients introduced into chamber are to be 
poured on the floor and not contained in any kind of vessel. 
Personnel entering chamber for any reason are to be equipped with 
Class-T armor, and subject to thorough inspection before and after 
entry to ensure that no foreign objects are introduced into the 
chamber nor are any specimens of SCP-831 inadvertently removed 
from the chamber. 


Populations of colonies of SCP-831 in containment are not to 
exceed the limits prescribed in Document 831-2155AE. Nutrients 
are to be withheld and specimens are to be destroyed as necessary 
to keep colony populations within these limits. 


Colonies of SCP-831 encountered outside of Foundation 
containment are to be immediately eradicated. Individual organisms 
of SCP-831 can easily be exterminated by fire, crushing, 
asphyxiation or many other methods. However, sufficiently 
advanced colonies of SCP-831 can be expected to have constructed 
defense mechanisms. After eradication, objects found in colony’s 
location are to be brought to Site-36 or Site-181 for analysis. 


Description: SCP-831 is a species of tool-using insect-like 
organisms superficially resembling wingless worker-caste 
Reticulitermes flavipes. Colonies of SCP-831 have been collected or 
eradicated in eleven locations in eastern and central North America 
to date, in locations ranging from Texas to Ontario. The organisms 


tired, you see." He pointed at the woman in the passenger's seat, 
who was now staring at Hale intently. 


Prune-man frowned. "Now how'd you go about learning all that, 
Squirmy?" 


Hale shrugged. "I wasn't always in the Crews." He turned to the 
woman again. "It's not going to get any better, you know. Soon, 
you'll be looking back at the days all you had to worry about was 
screaming towers of flaming goat skulls and Vinnie. Hi Vinnie, long 
time no see. Hope you've been treating that rash." 


Matthew had no idea what the hell Hale was talking about, but the 
woman grew very pale all the sudden, and Matthew could see this 
little twitch just by the corner of her eye. Hale continued, a distant 
look on his unusually passive face. "There's no shame of being 
afraid of the Jackalmen. You were never bred to deal with the likes 
of them. While they... well, | suppose time will tell what they'll do to 
you all. If I'm still alive then, I'd be interested in seeing that. For now 
though, you should probably go. | don't think they'll stick to their 
schedule. Unpredictable, the Jackalmen." 


"Barcode, what is The Artist Formerly Known As Squirmy talking 
about?" asked Prune-man. 


The woman simply shook her head. "I don't know who this person is, 
Ramses, but he got one thing right. If the Jackalmen get here early, | 
sure as hell don't want to be here to meet them. We should go." 


"And how do you know he's not full of shit? We haven't seen any 
Jackalmen in years." 


"Trust me on that one." 


"Hmm. Fine. This scene's getting old anyways, and | can't say | 
appreciate the company." 


Matthew watched him turn on the car, and moments later the semi 
was gone. Once it was out of sight, he turned and gently placed a 
finger on the side of Hale's stomach, in that sensitive place where 
every tiny poke felt like a nail driven into your side. He pushed. 


"Hale, would you care to explain what that was about?" 


But something changed in the little man in the few moments it took 
the semi to leave the street. He was shivering and shaking again, 
and his face showed nothing but incomprehension at Matthew's 
question. Irritated, Matthew poked harder, saw Hale's face 
contorting with pain. 


"Who were those two, Hale? Who are the Jackalmen, and what did 
you mean when you said they were coming early?" 


"Stop poking me! What are you even talking about!? What two 
people?" 


"Those two you were just spewing cryptic bullshit at ten seconds 
ago!" 


"| wasn't talking to no one! You're crazy, man! They... they must 
have gotten you! You've been implanted with Prometheus brain 
drones! They can see your libido from their invisible spy satellites! 
Don't have sex with me, | warn you, I'm terrible at it!" 


Evening laid a plump hand on Matthew's shoulder. "No point in 
shaking him anymore. He sometimes gets like he was, starts 
flapping his gums like he knows all sorts of things. Don't mean 
nothing, really. He's always going about weird things. Besides, we 
should probably get going, cause Upcard is looking impatient and 
you wouldn't like her when she's impatient." 


"| don't like her already." 


"Well, you're going to like her even less. You'll be surprised to how 
many levels there are to disliking Upcard, it's a really complex tier 
system. Me and Hale we made a list once, only Upcard burned it 
and she kicked Hale in the nards besides, which of course got her 
another tier up the dislike list, though we didn't know where she was 
now cause the list was gone, so that was a conundrum, so we 
decided that-" 


"You know what Evening, you are absolutely right. We have a job to 
do, so let’s just go and do it, eh? Just... no more talking. You wait 


here with Upcard and Hale, I’m going to see if | can’t get us in." 


As the passed the big man on his way to the nearby apartment 
building, Matthew stopped by Hale, who was still obviously 
recovering from the shaking Matthew gave him. He patted the little 
man's shoulder. "Don't you think we're done with our little talk, by the 
way. I'll see you soon." With that, he went forward. 


After a short climb through a deserted stairway, Matthew found 
himself before the door to the target’s apartment. As he was about 
to knock, he briefly found himself wondering. Who was this woman 
before she saw whatever she saw? What brought her to the place of 
her unfortunate encounter with the anomalous, and why couldn't she 
just keep quiet about it? He didn't doubt the Foundation wouldn't 
have unleashed them on her trail unless all other options were 
exhausted. If amnestics began to fail, you couldn't just kill everyone 
who was exposed. It wasn't practical. No, Matthew thought, 
something about this person must have reveled in this subversion, 
delighted in the shattering of normalcy, celebrated the breaking of 
wholesome patterns. 


His hand, still hovering above the door, was shaking, and he 
realized that this was because he was furious, a revelation that in 
turned only made him confused. What was he so angry about? He 
didn't even know this person. And yet, it felt like he did. It was 
because people like this, after all, because people like her, that this 
world was the way it was. Poisonous, hateful, messy. Uneven. It 
was because of those ravagers of surfaces, because of her, that 
people like him was forced to do what was necessary. Even if no 
one cared to admit it. Even if they looked upon with contempt. With 
horror. With disgust. 


Knock. Knock. Knock. 


And just as it appeared, the shaking was gone, and his hands were 
steady, and he was smiling, a smile no one could imagine as 
anything less than utterly candid, even if it was the last thing they 
ever Saw, aS was a case for more than a few. 


Knock. Knock. Knock. 


Well, that was the thing about monsters, wasn't it? There was 
nothing at all dishonest about them. 


Knock Knock Kno- 


The door opened a crack, and Matthew came face to face with a tall, 
middle-aged woman. As Matthew regarded her pale, lined features, 
he was surprised with what he found in the murky pools of her eyes. 
Not anxiety, or fear, or relief at the arrival of a savior. No, all that 
was there was the coldest apathy, like staring into a long-dead 
hearth, where no ember remained. Matthew found himself 
speechless. The woman, however, had no such problem. 


“Ah, you’re here. Good. | suppose you should come in then.” 


“Um, yes. Good evening, Madam. | have a few others with me, 
should I-“ 


“Yes, yes. Just be quick about it, you’re letting the warmth out 
keeping me at the door like this.” 


Matthew nodded and began descending the stairs, when a thought 
occurred to him. Letting the warmth out? It was July. He turned back 
to the apartment when he heard a shout from below, followed by a 
loud crash and the sounds of struggle, suddenly cut short. Shadows 
appeared in the stairway’s entrance, and with a swelling sense of 
fear Matthew recognized that they did not belong to his crew. He 
turned and ran back up the stairs, back towards the apartment. It 
was all her fault, that cold-eyed bitch, and he wasn’t about to let her 
get away with it, oh no. They would catch him if they could, but he'll 
get to her first, oh yes, even if he had to bash open that door to do it. 
He'll get to her first, and when he was done there wouldn't be 
enough left of her to- 


In the middle of a step his muscles froze, and suddenly the stairs 
came rushing up to meet his face, to crash into his forehead with a 
crack that left him dazed. He tried moving, something was overriding 
his instincts, overshadowing his very thoughts. A presence in his 
head, an iron grip on his body. The sensation of serrated teeth 
closing around his throat. Then, a voice like a muted snarl, like the 
promise of a depthless maw, descending on his mind. 


Thus, you are netted, little jailor man. 


Your kind thinks this world is yours. You claim it without a moment's 
thought. You play with the minds of others as if memory had no 
consequence, and its erasure was not the direst of crimes. You 
covet information, and so you cannot bear the thought of others 
having it. It is greed of purest sort, and that is it disguised as an act 
of guardianship only makes it so much fouler. 


But... perhaps it is wrong of us to judge. Perhaps this is right. Your 
kind knows more about this world than most, after all, and in 
knowledge there is mastery, a sense of ownership. Perhaps you are 
not to be blamed for this coveting of information. Yes. In knowledge 
there is mastery, and so this world is yours. This we will concede. 


But we are not of this world, and you do not know us. 
But we know you, little jailor man. Aye, we do. 


And now, you are ours. 


Domo Arigato 


ACT | 


Gregory awoke in a large room, tied to a chair. At least, he guessed 
it was a large room, and that it was a chair. Gregory couldn't actually 
see anything - as best as he could tell, he was blindfolded. He tried 
moving around, only to be rewarded by the chair tipping over. 


"Well Gregory, you're in quite a bit of trouble," a monotone voice 
rang out. 


Gregory was suddenly swung back up, and the duct-tape securing 
the blindfold was ripped from his face. 


With a freshly waxed face and his scream echoing in his ears, 
Gregory was confronted by a warm, moderate light and a splash of 
lukewarm water to the face. 


"Do you know why you're here?" the voice asked him again. 
Gregory was too busy trying to cough up the water to answer. 


"Cat got your tongue? Your grobnax? Or whatever it is?" The voice 
was smooth and one-tone yet hinted at bitterness, like Cognac that 
had been pissed in. 


"What are you talking about?" Gregory spluttered. His eyes started 
to water, and he had to fight to avoid bawling them out. 


"It's quite simple Gregory. You've been snooping around." 


Gregory's eyes adjusted to the light swiftly and then wished that they 
hadn't. 


He was strapped to a plastic chair in a small concrete room. 
Looming over him was a fat, stout, thimble-shaped, puke-colored 
droid riddled with instruments of what appeared to be painful death. 


LEDs on the top of the droid and the three tires at its base glowed 
with malice, making the contraption resemble an eldritch marital aid. 


"| don't even know what's going on. | have no idea what you're 
talking about," Gregory choked out. 


"No idea?" The droid's voice remained the same, but Gregory swore 
that he could detect its temper rising. "I'd say you have a pretty good 
idea what's going on, Dr. Gregory Plump, assuming that that's your 
real name." 


"| don't, okay? | don't know what's going on! I'm sorry b-but | don't 
know what's, what's happening!" Gregory pleaded. 


"| think you do, Gregory. Let me cut to the chase. We're going to 
have a talk. If | don't like what you say, you're going to wake up ina 
Keter-class containment cell. If | do... well, we'll get to that." 


The droid whirred over to Gregory's chair and pushed it. Gregory felt 
the adrenaline rush of meaningless fear and the pounding of his 
hearts in his chest before the chair failed to topple over. 


"It's simple, Gregory. | have one question. What did you read about 
Ess-See-Pee Three-Five-Four?" 


The droid carefully and harshly emphasized every syllable of the 
designation without actually doing so. Presumably to intimidate 
Gregory. 


It worked. 
Gregory spilled his intestines like a startled Scottish chef. 
"| don't knoooo0000w"" he wailed, tears pouring from his eyes. 


"| - | - sniff, | was just translating the hic document into swa-swah- 
Swahili! | - | hic was just reading everything on the page! It's - it's 
some kind of interdimensional portal that's soawning-spawning 
these anoma-hic-lous creatures exc - except it's some hic k-kind of 
coverup for something but it hic doesn't - doesn't say wh-what and | 
swear that's all | know p-please hic don't hurt me!" Gregory pleaded. 


The droid moved back, its lights flashing to a sluggish tempo. Since 
it had been turned on, not a single detainee had cracked this 
quickly. The droid altered its cadence to resemble a soothing female 
tone. 


"Gregory, do you know why I'm asking you these questions? Trust 
me, Gregory, I'm not doing this because | enjoy it. | just want what's 
best for both you and the Foundation."