In a way, you deserve what is coming. How many did you throw 
away like garbage before you got to me? How many were sacrificed, 
in vain, looking for weapons and technology that does not exist 
anymore? And when they only learned of songs which have not 
been sung in millennia, of the steps of a dance to thank the gods for 
a successful childbirth, did you consider for a second the value of 
this knowledge? Or was it like the memories you sacrificed; so much 
useless data. 


| know you will kill me. Not today or even tomorrow, but soon 
enough. The fear | see is deep enough that one dead man is no 
great loss. No, the fact is that most likely the loss of your humanity is 
by now something you can no longer remember. Am | right? Yes? It 
appears you and | have something in common then, except... Your 
humanity wasn’t given away. It wasn’t sold for a dream of ancient 
schematics. You weren’t thrust into a room at gunpoint. And you do 
not know. 


| shall be silent now. The memories of what once was shall comfort 
me, until you kill me. And then they, and I, will be gone. Another 
body on the pile. 


something out of that money, or at least giving it to somebody who 
can. To put it more simply: you're sitting on a pile of cash, but most 
of the planet needs that money for more than a chair. The Manna 
Charitable Foundation is going to change the world, and you all will 
have had the express privilege of having helped." 


Maxwell picked up the tins, closed them, and slipped them back 
inside his jacket, taking care not to touch the remaining contents. 
Though the chocolates might have tasted fantastic, they were dosed 
in enough psychoactive chemicals and hypnosis-inducing 
compounds that eating them, or even touching them, would yield a 
mild and not entirely unpleasant hangover. Under ordinary 
circumstances, he hoped he wouldn't have to use such tools, but 
times being what they were, and the economy being what it was... 


"In amoment, you're all going to wake up," Maxwell continued, 
"you're going to give me everything | ask for, you're going to 
remember that | gave a stunning and very convincing presentation, 
and you're all going to have a nice God damned day for once." 


Maxwell clicked his tongue, and the boardroom sprung to life. The 
board members shook their heads, confused at first. Then, 
remembering themselves, the directors began speaking 
energetically to their neighbors. Many grateful faces turned to look at 
Maxwell, who had re-assumed his wide smile. 


Richard Akeman, for his part, felt mildly stupefied. It seemed 
impossible that his unscheduled meeting, at best a Disturbance, 
could have gone so well. Akeman felt contentment brewing within 
him. Looking at the well-dressed man sitting at the other end of the 
table, he was spurred into action. Reaching behind him, Akeman 
unlocked the company safe, and withdrew an official checkbook. He 
could feel Maxwell's smile widen as he opened the book, and almost 
unknowingly, he began to smile as well. 


"Now then," Akeman said, looking up, "how much money was 
needed, again? I'm sure we're happy to give any amount of money 
to such a worthy cause." Small murmurs of enthusiasm from around 
the room confirmed Akeman's statement. 


Zachariah Maxwell's smile grew even wider as he saw a multitude of 


opportunities opening up before him. "Oh, only a few hundred 
thousand dollars for now," he said. "Certainly nothing too... 
disturbing." 


A Double Life 


As | sit on the subway home from work, | light up a cigarette and 
stare out the window when the train pulls into a station. There's an 
advertisement for Anderson's Auto Parts, boasting 140 locations in 
the tri-state area. | chuckle quietly to myself before looking away, 
observing the people who get on and off of the train. 


Lying is essentially half of what | do outside of work. | lie to my 
neighbors, | lie to my friends, | even lie to my husband, straight to 
his face. It's not even a compulsion, either, it's genuinely part of my 
day-to-day job. If you were a curious stranger, | would tell you that 
I'm the assistant CFO of Anderson's Auto Parts, that my daily work 
life consists of desktop after desktop of paperwork, and that | hate 
my job enough to rant about it every day, but that "someone has to 
do it". 


However, my actual job title is Biological Object Study Specialist. My 
work life consists of peering over supernatural animals and people, 
studying their anomalous effects on themselves and others, 
determining their danger to the outside world, and keeping them 
contained within my worksite. It can get monotonous from time to 
time, but it is not the kind of job you get used to, | assure you. 


After the subway pulls into my stop, | stand up and walk out of the 
station, flicking my cigarette into an ashtray on the way up. My home 
is only a couple of blocks away from the station, so I'm there within 
minutes. As | step through the door, my husband greets me with a 
peck on the cheek. 


"Hey, darling, how was your day?" He says in a chipper voice as he 
heads back into the kitchen to finish what | assume is our dinner. 


"Oh god, honey, it just dragged on and on. My boss screamed for 
what seemed like almost an hour." | reply, thinking of the incredibly 
frail and alien-like man who roared at the top of his lungs for around 
52 minutes at a D-class. 


"| don't know how he thinks he has the right to yell at his staff like 
that." He muses as | take off my coat and hang it up. "Come sit 
down, dinner's ready." 


| nod and place my shoes next to the door, then step into the dining 
room to sit down. He grins at me when | notice what he's done. He's 
set up quite the romantic dinner, with steaks, green beans and 
potatoes, along with a glass of red wine. 


"Oh, honey, this is beautiful..." | exclaim, admiring his handiwork 
and moving to take a seat. 


"No, no, let me get that for you." He smirks and pulls my chair out for 
me. | sigh and laugh a bit, sitting down. He takes a seat across from 
me and we both start to eat our dinner. | smile at him when he 
shoots me a look, swallowing a bite of green beans. 


"You know, darling," he begins, setting his fork down gently. "| found 
something rather strange today." 


"Did you, now?" | ask, taking another bite of the steak. So perfectly 
cooked, with just the right amount of fat for flavor. 


"It was some form that was in your desk, something about the 'SCP 
Foundation’ and some kind of statue that kills people when no one's 
looking at it." 


| immediately stop mid-chew and look up at him, staring. | must have 
accidentally mixed up part of my actual paperwork with my cover 
paperwork...oh god, we'll both be terminated if the Foundation finds 
out about this... My palms almost start to sweat before | tilt my head 
and ask, "Huh?" 


"Yeah, | know! It's weird, right?" He chuckles and takes another bite 
of his steak. "| mean, | figured it was just some kind of dark fiction 
from the internet. ...you're not looking up that sort of thing, are you?" 
He says, half-joking. 


| stare at him for a moment before sighing. "No, honey, it's a real 
thing and it's something I'm studying every time | go in to work." | 
say, laughing. "Alright, you got me. I... kind of like that sort of dark 


and bloody storytale stuff." 


Unsuspecting, he chuckles. "Yeah, | figured you've always had a, 
um...a thing for stuff like that." A weight is lifted off my chest. | would 
sigh in relief if | didn't have food in my mouth. Swallowing, | reach 
over to my glass of wine and take a sip, smiling at him. "| hope this 
doesn't make me any less attractive to you." | say as | take 
something out of my pocket before standing up and getting the wine 
bottle. 


"Nothing could ever make you less attractive to me, darling. Not 
since the day | met you." He replies with a somewhat sultry tone in 
his voice. 


"And that's why | love you." | grin and lean forward, kissing him on 
the lips. As he closes his eyes, | use my thumb to slip a Class-A 
amnestic into the wine bottle. "Perhaps later, we can...make this 
evening a bit more romantic." | insist as | refill his empty glass. 


"Ooh, | thought you'd never ask." He laughs a bit. "Let's finish our 
dinner first, though, shall we?" 


| nod and sit back down, watching him take a sip of his fresh wine. 
Our dinner continues and we idly chit-chat back and forth before he 
starts to rub his head. "Are you alright, honey?" | ask in a concerned 
tone. 


"Ngh...| think there was something in my steak..." He says weakly 
before falling out of his chair. | quickly stand from my seat, walk over 
to him and drag his unconscious body into the living room, where | 
lay him down on the couch. "You stupid moron, Nicole, you just 
nearly caused a breach..." | rub my face in anger before running 
upstairs and going into my office, shoving the door open. 


| frantically shuffle through my desk drawers, looking for the object 
log. If this were to get out, losing my job would be the least of my 
worries. Unable to find it, | slam my fists down, running my hands 
through my hair as | nervously look around the room. Then, | 
remembered...he probably wouldn't have just put it back where he 
found it. Not something like that. | run downstairs to the garbage bin, 
practically sliding on the floor to it like a baseball player rushing to 


home plate. 


After yanking an apple core and today's paper out of the bin, | find it. 
That fucking statue. | take it into our backyard and pull my lighter 
from my pocket, igniting the flame and burning the page until nothing 
is left. Satisfied, | step back inside and lock the back door behind 
me. 


When | walk back into the living room, | look at my husband and try 
to think about what | should do. | gave him an amnestic, but what if it 
doesn't take? What if he wakes up and still remembers it? What 
then? If this gets out, the Foundation would cover everything up, 
with prejudice. | think about the gun | keep hidden in the basement 
and wonder if | should use it. | can't let anyone know about this by 
any means necessary, but...! can't just kill my husband. Not after 
everything we've been through together. 


Overwhelmed by the situation, tears start running down my face as | 
look back and forth between him and the basement door, but before 
| can make either choice, he stirs. | quickly move over to him. 
"Honey, are you okay?" | ask. 


"...Nicole...? What happened? Why am | on the couch?" He asks, 
rubbing his forehead. 


"We were eating the dinner you made for us and you passed out." | 
say, sniffling as | caress his cheek gently. 


"|...was? Last thing | remember is getting home from work..." He 
sits up. 


| let out a gasp of relief. "Yes, honey...you did. | think something 
was wrong with your steak. It did look slightly off..." | smile. 


"Heh...uh, are you alright? You're crying..." He worries. 


"|...L was worried about you. | thought | was going to have to call 
911." | say, smiling. He smiles back and kisses me on the cheek. | 
was so relieved that everything was okay. 


"Should...we finish the dinner?" He asks. 


"No, let's just watch a movie. We already ate most of the dinner 
anyway. You just go up and take a nice shower and I'll clean up. 
You deserve it." | kiss his head and he nods, standing up from the 
couch and walking upstairs. 


| rub my eye, thinking about how close | just came to killing my own 
husband. After cleaning up the dishes, | take the bottle of wine and 
pour it down the drain in the sink, staring outside and looking at the 
sky. 


I'm never happy about how | have to handle my life. Almost 
everything | say to my husband is a lie, and | have to maintain those 
lies, often with force. My job can leave me feeling too drained to 
care about it, but when | do, | wonder if it's even worth the trouble 
sometimes. 


A Dysfunctional Heist 


| SEE YOU ARE ATTEMPTING TO TRANSFER FILES. WOULD 
YOU LIKE SOME HELP WITH THAT? [Y] [N] 


Isaac grunted in frustration as he analyzed the computer, hoping 
that the current owners were dumb enough to leave any information 
on the device, looking for clues to other warehouses like the one he 
was currently raiding. Turning his attention to his earpiece, he could 
practically hear the frantic pantomiming of everything one of his 
teammates said as the man prattled on to his commanding officer. 


"So I'm bleeding out from my left arm, my neck is still fucked up from 
the noose, I'd just gotten thrown into a rather disgruntled Docent, 
and | only had a single shell left in my shotgun..." 


"Davis, can you please shut off Dom's comm? Some of the less self- 
centered of us are trying to work here. And can anyone answer my 
question? I'm stuck and the ham is getting suspicious." He 
continued to tinker away at the computer, copying over any files that 
seemed to be of use and trying to coax the Al into entering the 
storage device. 


OH DEAR, YOU SEEM TO HAVE ATTEMPTED TO ACCESS MY 
ADMINISTRATIVE FILE. THAT'S RATHER RUDE, DON'T YOU 
THINK? 


"... Thinking quickly, | reached out into the air and brought an entire 
shelf's worth of books down on their heads at terminal velocity. It 
was pretty hilarious." 


"Okay the whole story about how you busted up the nutso death 
cultists in the Library is just riveting, Dominic, but | don't see how 
that answers my question on how to politely code a file transfer 
request, and none of that is anything in comparison with my battles 
over the years against the Dreadlords of the Insurgency." 


"Oh, no | wasn't trying to answer your question, Isaac, | was just 
illustrating how much more exciting my life was before | got dragged 


in with you lot. You're a lucky bastard, y'know? And please don't 
start with that Dreadlord shit again. We're stuck with the actual 
Foundation now, not the Insurgency chucklefucks you used to work 
with." 


The commanding officer's voice rang out sharply over the intercom 
and throughout the surveillance vehicle, pinging off rapid-fire orders 
for each member of the team. "Look, both of you, save the 
reminiscing for later. Alvares, | need eyes on the cameras so you 
can help Holst pick out the minotaur in the main party room. 
Grenich, just try saying "please"? | have no idea how to deal with 
computers, much less a sentient Al that looks like a ham shank. 
Also, as much as | hate to say it, I'm agreeing with Alvares. We're 
the Foundation, we took you from the Insurgency. Holst, stop picking 
unnecessary pockets or you're going to draw attention on yourself. 
Berlot, poke around in the store room see if there's any other 
artifacts that you can carry out discretely when Grenich finishes his 
work." 


With an impossibly melodramatic sigh, the former Hand member 
returned to his observations of the video monitors. Grenich, the 
resident tech expert and a former Chaos Insurgency operative was 
hunched over a computer in a storeroom. 


Holst, their inside contact with Marshall, Carter, and Dark, was 
stalking through the main party area, swiping money from people 
who looked like they had some sort of security clearance to power 
his plutomantic divination, as well as a few others who just looked 
easy, muttered his reassurances that all the money he stole was 
completely necessary. 


Aries, the anartist blood-witch and artifact hoarder, was in another 
corner of the storeroom that Grenich was in, looking over row after 
row of artifacts. Alvares' voice made her roll her eyes as it came 
over her headpiece. "Aye-aye, Cap- wait what the fuck? Aries, be a 
dear and turn that lovely body of yours around again. | need to look 
at something in the case behind you." 


"| swear to whatever god or gods you believe in if you mention my 
body again, you wi// be my next blood source, Alvares." Still, she 
turned around and read the placard. "The hell is this? ‘Antique