He started at the top again. Good morning, Dr. Cimmerian. Good to 
see you again. Yes, everything is going fine here. No, just a false 
alarm. One of our agents got a little jumpy. No, we don't have a pile 
of bodies hidden in a warehouse somewhere. No, | expect your 
investigation to proceed with little issue. Kerry felt his blood running 
cold. The Ethics Committee had a number of influential members, 
but none of them wielded that authority with such absolution as 
Jeremiah Cimmerian. Maybe if we're lucky we'll just lose our jobs. 
Worst case scenario, we botch the coverup and they just kill us. 


The facts, as he knew them, were simple. One fishing trawler was 
found, non-communicating, floating aimlessly somewhere about 
seventeen klicks from the shoreline. The crew was unresponsive. 
The ones who hadn't experienced cardiac arrest and death were 
carrying on, slowly starving and running down the battery on the rest 
of their life. This isn't your fault, Kerry. You didn't do this to them. But 
the Eel had. 


Kerry Eckelkamp was made director of Site-305 for one reason: his 
team, or rather, Adam Hollister's team, had developed the Atzak 
Protocol, and after Hollister's death Kerry was the most senior 
member. As it stood, he was one of only four members of that team 
left working on the SCP-3000 project, along with Isaac Kent, Jens 
Ulrich, and Angela Hughes. The rest had known better, and skipped 
town when they could. But not Kerry - Kerry found himself in a 
position of power and relished in it. 


"These new Foster-class compounds are really something, Kerry," 
he remembered Dr. Lang telling him during their last meeting. "The 
work your team has done is really incredible. If you can maintain this 
kind of production, you'll have revolutionized the Thaumiel class. 
Hell, that has to be worth something, don't you think? A directorship, 
maybe? Or even more, who knows." The Foundation needed people 
to forget, and if you needed people to forget you needed Y-909, and 
if you needed Y-909 you needed Kerry Eckelkamp. 


Sure, he hadn't necessarily been the most forthcoming about the 
side effects of working with SCP-3000. Dr. Hollister might have 
realized exactly how big the can of worms they had opened was, 
had he not been little more than a muttering simpleton by the time 
he died. He might have said something about the growing number of 


bodies they kept finding, fishermen and tourists and locals, all with 
the same blank eyes and emptiness inside. This is the cost of doing 
magic, Kerry had told the rest of the team. This is the price of 
working miracles. Most of them had left shortly afterwards. 


But Kerry remained, and so did the bodies. Some of them were 
reported. Most weren't. This, though, was something different. So 
many at once was unheard of, and with the Ethics Committee 
already hovering over their entire operation... there couldn't be 
setbacks. Kerry's division, Experimental Parapharmacology Trials, 
often came to odds with the Ethics Committee, and each had earned 
the ire of each other. Cimmerian would have us amnesticizing 
subjects with hypnosis and tonic water, Dr. Mann had said, with no 
shortage of disdain in his voice. Don't fuck this up. 


There was a knock on the door behind him, and Kerry braced. He 
turned stiffly, an alabaster smile stitched onto his face. 


"Dr-" 


"No time, Kerry," David said, throwing his coat onto a chair inside 
the door. "We need to figure this one out quick." 


Kerry sighed in relief. "Yes, absolutely. Any ideas?" 


David paced back and forth in front of the window. "Do we have any 
indication the vessel was inside the exclusion zone? Something we 
missed, maybe?" 


Kerry shook his head. "They weren't even close. We combed the 
ship, too. Nothing really of note, though we do have a cell phone 
that might have something recoverable on it. They had it sent down 
to processing after we brought the boat back here." 


David tapped furiously on the side of his head. "Does anyone else 
know about this?" 


"The men on the dock, our other primary support staff. You and me." 
"None of the locals? Nobody from Regional?" 


"The phone call our lieutenant made just implied there had been a 


local loss of life. Didn't say why, or how." 


David nodded slowly. "Ok. Ok. Ok. | think this is what we do. How 
much time do we have?" 


"Another couple of hours, maybe." 
"Do we still have mines around the exclusion zone?" 
Kerry furrowed his brow. "Yes, but-" 


"Put the bodies back on the ship, run it into a mine. The ship sinks, 
we report it as an unintended disaster, and Regional Containment 
buries it so they don't have to deal with it." 


All of the breath came out of Kerry at once. "Are you fucking crazy? 
Your plan is to sink the ship?" 


"Yep. That's the fucking plan, Kerry, because there's something 
going on here that you idiots can't seem to figure out, and until shit 
like this stops happening we're going to have to do some nasty stuff 
to keep it under wraps. You got it?" 


"The exclusion zone is miles from the coast! What if they ask about 
why they were out so far from-" 


"Then empty a couple of cheap liquor bottles out and throw them 
around the fucking boat, Kerry, | do not give two shits how you make 
this happen or how you explain it, but you explain it. If EthCom 
shows up and we have to explain forty or so mysteriously dead 
individuals on top of Officer Dead-Eyes down there, they'll shut 
down our operation for months, and we can't afford that Kerry. You 
can't afford that.” 


He paused to take a breath. "You need to know that the first time 
one of our agents reaches for a Class-A and it isn't there, Lament is 
going to pay you a visit. Tell me what you would prefer, Kerry. You 
want to do something shitty now and brush this whole ordeal under 
the table until we can get this shit fixed, or would you like to explain 
this to both Cimmerian and Lament?" 


Kerry Eckelkamp sat down against the wall. He pushed his palms 


into his eyes, quietly seething at the unfortunate scenario he found 
himself in. 


"We don't have much time." 


"Then get a fucking move on, Kerry," David said, grabbing his coat 
and bounding out the door. "| need to go distract our lovely Regional 
EthCom rep while you take this thing and sink it to the bottom of the 
goddamn ocean. 


ONE SAVED MESSAGE. 


The task fell to the Eremita, because it always did. Dark chains 
stretched from the deck of the silent trawler into the darker seas 
below. 


Ani... Ani it's me, Vihaan. Ani... something is happening. 


As the shore grew more distant behind them, forty-six sailors stood 
their posts on their vessel. Some of them breathed. Most of them 
didn't. None of them blinked. 


Some of the others are seeing things, things that aren't 
there. The captain... the captain took his own life, Ani. 
He died screaming, and he... he said... he saw eyes... 


They had voices, once. Their laughter or curses might have once 
filled the air on deck, a light on dark seas that reminded them they 
were still alive. 


|... |can see the eyes too, Ani... 


But the light had gone out. 


It... it doesn't matter. Run. Fight. It ends the same. 


The chains came free, and the Eremita pulled away. Moving once 
more under its own power, the vessel pushed forward towards 
inevitability. No one uttered a single word. 


| called you to tell you something, but I... | don't 
remember. | don't remember who you are. | don't... | 
don't remember who I... who I... who... 


There was an explosion, but it too seemed to step quietly around 

this moment. Water filled the ship from below, and as it leaned to 

one side and slipped below the waves, not a single soul on board 
cried out for mercy, because- 


...there was never any mercy to give. 


When the last of the nameless trawler and its crew of quiet men had 
disappeared into the dark sea below them, the Eremita turned away 
and left. No one uttered a single word. 


END MESSAGE. WOULD YOU LIKE TO REPLAY 
MESSAGE? 


Atzak Il - Hub - Atzak IV 


Austringers 


Phineas looked at the old photo on the wall, near the 
dining room table of his apartment. It depicted a young 
man with a meticulously trimmed beard dressed in a 
ragged flannel, his arm around an even younger man 
with dark green eyes, and long black hair tied back in a 
ponytail. The men in the photo had ear to ear grins. Their 
troubles had not yet come to pass. 


He then turned to the elderly woman sitting next to him at 
the table who looked at him with a kind, sympathetic 
smile. 


"| have never doubted anything more in my life, 45," he 
said with a sad grin. 


"Phineas," the old woman said softly, "Vince tried to kill 
you. The kind young man you knew has finally died. 
What stands in his place is nothing short of a monster." 


Phineas simply looked at the picture again. His mind was 
filled with colliding thoughts, as one may have when 
deciding it was time to kill your best friend of over 30 
years. Phineas closed his eyes. 


"| don't have much in the way of life experience," the old 
woman eventually chimed in. "At least, none that you 
didn't program into me. However, in my 15 years of 
service | can safely say that Vincent Anderson has 
effectively become a tumor on his own company. If he is 
not stopped soon, his toxicity will metastasize and 
destroy everything you helped build." 


Phineas nodded. He sighed and reached for his phone, 
then carefully typed in a text message and sent it to a 
Foundation Agent named Sasha Merlo: 


SCP-591: Dr. Wondertainment Pretendo 


Item #: SCP-591 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: Instances of SCP-591 are to be 
kept in a separate storage containment vault at least 500m away 
from any civilian population, essential civilian infrastructure, or other 
Foundation controlled containment facilities. SCP-591 are to be 
activated only during approved testing by Level-3 staff. Test subjects 
affected by SCP-591 during testing are to remain in the area until 
SCP-591 has been turned off. Outside of testing SCP-591 is to 
remain deactivated. 


Any new Zk-class scenarios created by SCP-591 will need to have 
a closed concrete dome structure built to contain it. These areas will 
also be designated as Sector-W#. Sectors W1 through W5 that exist 
currently are to be monitored remotely and be kept under 
Clandestine-2 type status. Personnel or test subjects within a 
Sector-W# are to remain there and be considered as lost collateral. 


Any devices suspected to be an instance of SCP-591 are to be 
confiscated immediately. 


Description: SCP-591 refers to a line of video game consoles 
originally developed as a counterfeit of the Nintendo Entertainment 
System (NES). SCP-591 was labeled as Pretendo in 1985 and 
manufactured in Southeast Asia. Official records indicate that the 
Pretendo brand was bought by another company, Doctor 
Wondertainment, supposedly to establish themselves in the growing 
video game market. 


Pretendo was then re-engineered as a stand-alone console system 
that was capable of playing both NES games and Doctor 
Wondertainment's own line of 8-bit video game titles, hereby 
referred to as SCP-591-#. Such SCP-591-# titles include but are not 


| know how you get him. 


Phineas placed the phone back down on the table and 
looked back up at the picture on his wall. 


"Well," he said with a melancholic chuckle, "here goes 
nothing." 


Series Overview: 


Since its creation in the late 90's, Anderson Robotics has been 
a joint venture between the company's two founders, Vincent 
Anderson and Phineas. However, as time passed, leadership of the 
company changed both men, mentally and physically. Seeing his 
company begin to head down a path he cannot follow, Phineas 
prepares to retire, a move that soon proves easier said than done. 


With nowhere else to turn, Phineas is forced to seek aid from the 
Foundation, resulting in a covert war for the future of Anderson 
Robotics... 


*« Part 1: Ties That Bind 
¢ Part 2: Realignment 
¢ Part 3: Consolidation 
¢ Part 4: Bal-chatri 


« Series Two: The Elusive Anderson | Anderson Robotics 
Hub | No Good Deed » 


Ties That Bind 


Phineas looked himself over in the bathroom mirror. 
Where have the years gone, old man? he thought to himself. 


His bald head reflected the bathroom lights. Veins were faintly 
visible beneath his pale skin. His long white beard strongly 
contrasted with his black dress shirt, a bright red necktie the only 
colorful thing on his person. Like the man within, the clothes were 
visibly worn, coated in two decades worth of turmoil. Phineas gave a 
heavy sigh. His frown turned into a smile and he headed for the 
door, a slight mechanical whirring filling the silence with each step. 


Phineas stepped out of the bathroom and into the workshop beyond. 
A party was in full swing and he was expected to make an 
appearance. 


+ July 14th, 1994 
July 14th, 1994 
“What have you got to show me, Vince?” Phineas asked. 


He sat outside in the pleasant summer sun at a café in 
downtown Portland. The right sleeve on his flannel shirt 
was neatly rolled up while the left sleeve remained 
pinned beneath the stump of his left forearm. A 
meticulously trimmed beard covered his face, easily the 
most well-groomed part of his appearance. He brushed a 
few locks of brown hair out of his eyes as he gazed at 
the briefcase his companion gently placed on the table. 


The young man sitting across the table from him 
sheepishly smiled. His long black hair was tied back in a 
ponytail, and his tan skin suggested that he had recently 


spent some time in a warmer region. His dark green 
eyes focused on the combination lock on the briefcase 
before triumphantly allowing the lid to open. 


“Behold!” 


Sitting in the bottom of the box was a small silver rubber 
ball. Phineas looked at the orb carefully, blinking as a 
large red dot appeared at its center. The dot focused on 
Phineas as a series of four needle-like legs emerged 
from the orb’s side. The orb stood up, and then waved at 
Phineas with one of its tiny legs. 


“I’ve named it Benny,” Vince said with a satisfied smile. 
“Pretty cool, huh?” 


“Vince,” Phineas grinned, “You built a robot?” 


“More like brought to life,” Vince replied. “In the same 
sense that the soul pilots the meat ship that is the human 
body, | created a simple intelligence to pilot the circuits of 
this little guy. | found a couple of schematics from a man 
named Durand while | was in Europe. They were a real 
eye opener.” 


Benny gave a small nod in agreement, and then began 
to roll around the interior of the briefcase before stopping 
to look at Phineas again. 


“How intelligent is it?” Phineas gently placed his hand in 
the briefcase and allowed the tiny robot to crawl onto his 
palm. Benny immediately climbed up his arm and 
perched on his shoulder. 


“Well, | mean, it’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, 
but it’s smarter than your average cat or dog.” 


Benny gave a small salute in response, causing the two 
men to chuckle. 


“It can record video and sound too,” Vince added. “I was 
thinking, maybe | could sell them as reconnaissance 


droids. | know a few people who would be interested in 
that sort of thing.” 


“You're going to start a robotics company?” Phineas 
frowned. “You think you have the business chops for that 
sort of thing?” 


“Actually, | was hoping we’d start a robotics company. | 
have a lot of other designs in mind, and you’ve always 
been so good with the kind of incantations we'd need. 
We'd totally be able to hit the ground running.” 


Phineas furrowed his brow. He gently returned Benny to 
the brief case and stared at the small droid pensively for 
several moments. 


“I'll let you name the products...” 
Phineas gave a devilish smile in return. 


“You're going to regret that,” he said and extended a 
handshake. “I’m your man.” 


Vince accepted.