"I'm not going to apologize for this, von Erbach- you signed on, as 
did we all- though some part of me wishes we could be more overt. 
You were simply-" 


Von Erbach nodded, finding, almost to his own surprise, that he 
understood. 


"| understand. As absurd as it sounds, they were more willing to 
accept that a rogue scientist using stolen technology lifted the moon, 
instead of- of-" 


"Alien documentarians?", Togabe said softly. 


"Quite. Besides, |am more than used to being disliked for my 
actions. I've come to terms with that, and you can rest assured that 
both | and all of Project Heimdall will continue our mission, in spite of 
these... changed circumstances." 


The elderly O5 sat up slowly, casting a piercing gaze von Erbach's 
way. 


"Your loyalty is not in any doubt, Axel. We have discussed this 
before." 


Noamtosk, who seemed dedicated to prove his increasing familiarity 
with human speech, made a sound that was an adequate 
approximation of an amused snort. 


"Can you imagine? If we'd told them that the man who lifted the 
moon was a Nazi?" 


Everyone stared at him. Von Erbach felt the cold grip of fury 
descend upon them. The alien shook its head back and let out a soft 
warbling coo, shaking itself. 


"I'm kidding, of course. We'll save that plot twist for at least a couple 
years." 


« Dossier- FSF Delivery | Straight On Till Morning Hub | 
Moonrakers » 


* 60.98 N20.17 E (Gulf of Bothnia, approximately 30 km 
west of mainland Finland) 

* 47.03 N90.51 W (Lake Superior, approximately 100 km 
northeast of Duluth, Minnesota) 


The islet also appears to be located at at least one non-terrestrial 
location; see test log. 


Atmospheric and water temperatures, and the salinity of the 
surrounding water, remain relatively constant regardless of the time 
of day or year that the islet is visited, or the point of origin from 
which it is approached. The islet is also typically surrounded by a 
mist or fog which, even under the best lighting conditions, limits 
visibility to no more than 40 to 50 meters. Lighting conditions vary, at 
unpredictable intervals, from a condition comparable to a foggy, 
overcast day to total darkness. 


SCP-908 Test Log 


Reference Experiment 

01 (Dr. Patel) Islet approached by boat from 
Ethiopian mainland. Distinctive 
medallion, 0.8 kg in mass, placed 
on islet. Islet approached by 
helicopter from Quebec. 
Medallion was in same position, 
relative to islet's topography, on 
Quebec islet as on Ethiopian islet. 

02 (Dr. Patel) Islet approached by boat from 
Quebec. Shortwave radio 
transmitter placed on islet and 
activated, broadcasting coded 
homing signal. Triangulation of 
homing signals resulted in 
identification of the six "locations" 
of the islet described in 
“Description” narrative. 

03 (Dr. Patel) Islet concurrently approached by 
boats from Ethiopia and 
Wisconsin. When both boats were 
within 60 meters of the Ethiopia 


Miss Heir 


Felicia had always hated the snow. It was cold, it was wet, and she 
was one of the few kids who were actually upset when school was 
canceled. On top of all that, it rendered her already shoddy vehicle 
completely useless. So instead of driving down to her job interview, 
she had to walk. At least it wasn't that far- the employer, for 
whatever reason, had elected to hold it in the local diner. It seemed 
somewhat odd to her, but at only sixteen she considered it possible 
she just didn't know any better. 


In fact, that was not the only thing that struck her as odd. She 
couldn't remember applying to a toy company. Her parents had both 
shrugged it off, saying one of them might have done it at some point. 
Even discarding that loose end, what would a toy company want 
with a sixteen-year-old girl with no work experience? But they had 
called her specifically, and a job was a job. Money was money. 


She rounded the corner, still trudging through snow that went past 
her ankles. From there she could see the diner, a small beacon of 
warmth and color in the freezing whiteness. With something akin to 
a dash she made her way inside, basking in the warmth as she shut 
the glass door. 


A pair of men, one probably in his twenties and the other likely in his 
seventies, waved at her in unison from the spot in the corner of the 
diner. The younger had his brown hair spiked, and wore a three- 
piece suit with a black and red tie, the jacket unbuttoned to reveal a 
pinkish collared shirt. The older gentleman wore a suit that held just 
a hint of purple and a hat that looked like it belonged in a black-and- 
white photo. 


"Felicia, so nice to finally meet you," the older one said. They shook 
only once, and then he gestured to the seat across from him and his 
companion. "Please, sit. We have much to discuss." 


She unzipped and shrugged off her coat, setting it beside her when 


she sat. She made sure to sit up straight and maintain eye contact 
when they spoke. 


"I'm Doctor Wondertainment,” the gentleman said. "And this is 
Mister Forgetful." 


They were in character, she supposed. They were a toy company 
after all, it made enough sense that the employees would try to have 
some fun with their jobs. But was the CEO of the company really 
conducting her interview? 


"And who is she?" Mister Forgetful asked. Felicia had to respect 
how good he was at pretending to be completely clueless. Or 
forgetful, rather. 


"This is Felicia." 


Mister Forgetful withdrew a pen and pad from his pockets. "Can | 
write that down?" 


"Not yet." He smiled at Felicia. "| have some questions for you 
before we really get into the thick of things." 


"Alright. Like what?" 


Doctor Wondertainment pulled up a briefcase from under the table. 
He popped it open and then rested both hands on the table, 
interlocking his fingers. The sleeves of his suit drew back far enough 
for Felicia to see a pair of scars wrapping all the way around his 
wrists. 


"Simple legal things. Background check, what have you." He nodded 
to his cohort and extracted one of the papers from the briefcase. 
"Go ahead and write down her answers. Where were you born?" 


"Portland, Maine." Mister Forgetful scribbled down her answer. 
"You are the daughter of whom?" 
"...Michael and Anita Huertes." More scribbles. 


"And your full name?" 


"Felicia Abigail Huertes." 


"Where did you go to school? Elementary, middle, high school. Even 
preschool." 


Felicia answered, Forgetful scribbled, and Wondertainment 
questioned, and She answered, and Forgetful scribbled. The process 
went on and on, the three of them tucked away in the corner of the 
diner. Far from prying eyes and listening ears, she gradually 
revealed the entirety of her being. The interview didn't stop when the 
waitress took their orders, and it continued as they ate. 


Almost an hour had passed before the old man nodded, apparently 
content. She looked to the pile of notes that Mister Forgetful had 
been writing and cocked her head to get a look. Names, places, 
events. None of it looked even a little familiar. Why had he been 
writing all that? Why was she even here? 


"Now, one last question and | think that will be it," Doctor 
Wondertainment said. He smiled and his eyes shone like distant 
stars. She felt herself becoming lost in them, the sheer vastness of 
their presence. The wonder of a million lights cascaded from a 
single point of boundless energy from deep within the old man, 
which spread out and touched the souls of thousands.! Space 
seemed to shatter around him as he chuckled with the endless roar 
of a billion stars within an infinite cosmos. 


He cleared his throat and asked, "Who are you?" 


Her mind was empty. She tried to remember, which is quite difficult 
to do when one has nothing to remember. Her fingers drummed a 
beat on the magentabut used to be dull green table. She squeezed her 
eyes shut in thought and put her hands at her side, her right hand 
colliding with something furry. She looked down at the corgi that was 
occupying the space where Felicia's2 Coat used to be |Iggking up at her 


expectantly. 
"Who am I, Jeremy?" 


Jeremy barked back. Because dogs can talk 


"Isabel is a pretty name. Let's go with that." 

Anotherhy are there two Jeremy barked. 

"Oh hey, Jeremy. Didn't you see over there. | do kinda like Helga." 
A third8 Jeremy barked. 


"Are you sure my name's Anastasia? | kind of like Parvati, myself. 
The fifth, | think.” that's not how names work* 


A fourth corgi sprang up from under the table, barking excitedly. 


"| don't know where you learned Spanish, Jeremy, but you're right. 
Why choose?" 


Isabel Helga Anastasia Parvati Wondertainment V looked to her 
father? hese and grinned a big, wonderful grin. The world was 
better for it. The older Wondertainment gave her a small smile in 
return before coughing into a handkerchief. When he pulled the cloth 
away, rustclung to the kerchief. Mister Forgetful almost jumped out 
of his seat, but the Doctor just patted the collectible's shoulder. 


"I'm getting old, Isabel," he explained. She could see it in his eyes, 
like a disease of the soul, eating away at the wonderlight within him. 
"| suppose you could say | used to work a dangerous job, and it's 
taking its toll. In more ways than one. Heheh." 


"| bet | could help!" she offered. "I could cure you by becoming a 
doctor!"6 


The Doctor's eyes sparked. "No, | think it's time to pass the torch. 
Put the company in the hands of someone... pure." 


"lim not sure what you mean, Doc." 
"Perhaps best that way. Ignorance is bliss, as they say." 
She drew her lower lip to one side. "If you say so." 


"And | do." He took more papers from the briefcase. "This has been 
a long time coming. | have spent a lot of time and effort to speed 


along your... growth. And when we get home we'll speed it along 
even more." 


Isabel could see designs and notes for a series of collectibles, a 
group of people. Most of the documents contained the phrase 
‘LITTLE MISS HEIR PROJECT.’ Notes detailing about removing the 
need to eat, making someone never age, how to make someone 
impossible to locate. 


"Oh hey, it's me!" Mister Forgetful grabbed one of the papers. 
"Lookin' good. What's all this for, Doctor?" 


"| want you to write down everything these documents say. Every 
last word. And then burn them, and your notes. Then give me this 
piece of paper." 


Mister Forgetful looked between his creator and the papers, the 
scrap of paper clutched in his hands. "But then you'd forget, too." 


Doctor Wondertainment smiled. "That's the idea. Wouldn't want to 
hinder progress once I'm senile, eh?" 


"If you're sure..." 


And Doctor Wondertainment was, and so Mister Forgetful did. The 
young man transcribed the entirety of the briefcase's contents. 
Previous identities, methods of conversion, types of transference, 
theories and ideas and concepts and mad scribbles made in the 
middle of the night by a god desperately fighting a losing battle. All 
recorded onto a scrap of paper and wiped from the minds of 
everyone but Wondertainment's greatest scribe. The waitress came 
and went again, not noticing the cp2- what had always been that 
way. 


When Isabel finished her fourth plate of chocolate pancakes Mister 
Forgetful set down his pen. "Okay, Doctor. | finished. Do | go ahead 
and burn it now?" 


The old man raised his eyebrows. "Did | tell you to burn it?" 


"Yes." 


Laughter emanated from somewhere within the spacetime 
Wondertainment occupied. "Well then, | suppose you should burn 
it." 


Mister Forgetful withdrew a lighter from his pocket. The Doctor had 
given it to him the day they had met, and told him it was very 
important. And so Mister Forgetful gathered his notes, piled the 
documents, and shoved them into the briefcase. He flicked the 
lighter on and lit it all ablaze, then shut the briefcase. 


"So, why did you burn all that?" Isabel asked. 
"It's a secret." 


"Whaaaaaat? C'mon, tell me. I'm really good at keeping secrets. 
Like this one time, Jeremy and Jeremy accidentally broke Jeremy's 
favorite chew toy and | knew but | never told anybody!" 


"I'm not allowed to tell anyone. The notes said so." 


"Well... okay. | guess." Isabel drank from her glass of milk. "What's 
that?" 


"Doctor Wondertainment told me to give this to him." He held out the 
scrap of paper. "I think it's important." 


The old man took the paper and examined it for a moment. When 
Isabel tried snatching it from him he passed it over. They were 
instructions to drop Mister Forgetful off at one of the Foundation's 
sites. The director had probably ordered him, like he had the other 
Little Misters. 


Isabel slammed the paper down onto the table. "Man, that guy is a 
great customer!" 


"Isn't he? He'll be Mister Collector in no time." Doctor 
Wondertainment watched the table wobble through different forms 
and colors from the impact of Isabel smacking it. "You're going to be 
great, Isabel. The best of us yet, | think." 


A cartoonishly large blush covered her face, turning her ears pink. 
"Aw, c'mon. You're just saying that." 


"No, | mean it. Now, come on. It seems we have a Little Mister to 
deliver." 


Footnotes 

1. Andshesheshefelt it, too. She always had, she had simply 
beenhumandistracted. 

2. Felicia doesn't exist anymore. 

3. Just roll with it 

4.|tisnow 

5. The Doctor knew The Factory had changed him. Put a filter on 
him, choking him, tainting him. You could see it in some of the toys. 
Now they were within the company, and he could do nothing about 
it. But Isabel... 

6. Isabel would go on to become a doctor, as doctorates can be 
inherited with enough imagination. 


Mobile Suit Bumaro Versus Tokyo Ghoul lon 


They faced each other with unyielding gazes and their auras of 
power increasing in intensity. One was on top of a metallic pillar and 
the other was on top of a flesh and bone pillar. Both of them rose far 
above the canopies of the forest, the sun beating down on the 
landscape. The birds flew away into the sky as lon screamed at the 
top of his lungs. Bumaro shook his head. This wouldn't do. This fight 
wasn't going to be nearly hot-blooded enough. 


"Come on now, you can do better than that. Surpass your limits, or 
you will never defeat me," said Bumaro. 


"Get fucked, Boltbrain! I'm doing fine!" 


"Fine? You have been powering up for five minutes and nothing 
changed!" 


"That's because | am preparing my new ultimate form!" He narrowed 
his gaze and pointed at Bumaro and smiled confidently, striking a 
dramatic and rather flamboyant pose. 


Bumaro sighed at his opponent's bravado. "You always improvise 
and try to pull tricks on me instead of committing to your training 
schedules and establishing strategies." 


"It works half the time, doesn't it?" said lon, his shark-smile growing 
ever more cheeky. 


"That's exactly the problem. We are caught in an eternal stalemate 
which you cannot settle because you are too beholden to fleshly 
passions. |, on the other hand, take this seriously. And | intend to put 
an end to it." 


"Listen to yourself! It's nothing but business with you! Can't you ever 
show a little bit of excitement? Or is that big screw up your ass 
making it too hard for you?" 


Bumaro frowned. "The only thing that is hard for me is hearing these 
weak jokes over and over again. You used to have a sharper wit, 
you know. | think becoming a father dulled it somewhat." 


"What the hell did you say to me? Everyone loves my jokes!" 


"These people work for you, don't forget. And your daughter is still 
young, she can't help but idolize you." 


"At least | still Know what it's like to connect with someone and start 
a family with them! All you care about is work, and you know what? 
It's leaving you rusty!" 


Bumaro sighed at the pun, and assumed his perfectly calculated 
fighting stance. "You will find that my performance is not impeded by 
my age."