The afternoon drags on, but there's always work to be done. 
Clearing and repairing the fences, getting rid of the old fallen trees, 
keeping the barn cleaned up. On Fridays, Paul gives me a few 
hundred dollars in cash and a case of beer. He always says | do 
good work. | always thank him for the money and the job, and he 
always just shrugs and says something like /t's hard to keep good 
help nowadays or Keep up the good work. 


| go back to my little shack right before dark. Sometimes I'll text 
Blake, and talk for a little bit. Lights out at 9, just like the last 15 
years. 


It's funny that way. Every night | spent in lockdown, | swore | would 
do things so much differently if | had the opportunity. When it comes 
down to it, | guess we're all creatures of habit. The setting might be 
different, but the routine is the same. 


Maybe | need a change. 


Hey man, what's up? 


Cool 


The old Wagon Wheel is just across the state line. 


Yeah, IKR :D 


IKR= | know, right? 


you should go have some fun. You never go do anything anymore 


yeah just don't get hammered and drive 


bro. trust me. Just go. 


Promise you'll call me or Jane if you have too much to drink 


The Wagon Wheel is vacant, except for the waitress, Susan, and 
one old boozehound, slumped over on his barstool. 


Susan is pretty. She's probably about 37, kind eyes, and long red 
hair. There's happy crow's feet at the corners of her eyes when she 
smiles. She keeps me in cold beer and listens. She talks sometimes 
too. A single mom of two girls, Susan is also a trauma nurse at the 
hospital when she's not tending bar. 


She curls her hair around her fingertip when we talk. 


The Wagon Wheel becomes a regular spot for me, two or three 
times a week, just to talk to her. | ask her for her number after a 
month of working up the courage. She smiles and asks me, "What 
took you so long?" 


| barely slept that night for feeling so good about it. 


Laying in bed together, she traces her finger along my scar. 
"So, when you die, these scientists get your body?" 

"Yep. That was the deal." 

"That's... unbelievable." 


"Believe it." | smile and kiss her forehead. "It's a small price to pay to 
be able to be here, with you." 


She smiles up at me. | feel like the luckiest man on earth. 
| want to feel like this forever. 


It's a whole year before | propose. Saving for a ring on an ex-con 
farmhand wage takes some time. | asked her daughters if it was 
okay first. They laughed and gave me a hug, and called me dad. 


We got married in October. It was uncommonly cold that day. The 
orange of the leaves made for a stark contrast against the thin white 
blanket of snow. In the south, it's so unusual to get snow at all. To 
see it on our wedding day seemed like a blessing from above. 


Her white gown and red locks perfectly matched the landscape. 


She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. 


Hey old man 


What is it? 


Yeah. | know. 


Understandable. 


Yeah. 


Hey pops. Long time no see. 


|... I'm not sure what to say right now... Never even thought about it 
before. The possibility of you being dead. That's really stupid, | 
know. They wouldn't let me come say goodbye before, the warden 
wouldn't. Obviously. | mean... | don't even know if you would have 
wanted me to. 


The last time | saw you, you were so disappointed in me. And | 
deserved that. | did something horrible. The people | hurt, the lives | 
took... | can't ever take that back. And it's something | deal with, 
every goddamn day. | still see them when | go to sleep sometimes. It 
upsets Susan so much that I've just taken to sitting in the living room 
for a while until | get it together. 


What | would give to go back in time. | was about as old as Blake is 
now, but really, | was just a kid inside. | wish | could stop myself, 
show myself what pain would come of it. How I'd hurt others, hurt 
myself... hurt you, and mom, and Blake. Those poor people, and 
their families. | think... | might do anything to be able to change that. 


But... | wasn't defined by that one moment. I'm not that. 


Pops. I'm sorry. | know you probably left the world hating me, and 
I'm sorry for that. | let you down, and | deserve it. For my part, | 
always loved you. | always just wanted to make you proud. The 
thing that broke my heart the most was seeing you and mom in that 
courtroom. Your faces when they read the guilty verdict. That was 


It is unknown at this time whether SCP-865 is a prototype or 
whether other devices of its type have been developed and 
distributed by MC&D to date. 


+ Show Experiment Log 865 
Experiment Log 865: 
All tests conducted by Dr. J Everlyon / /20 . 


Time: 9:38 AM 

Subject: D-34021 

Procedure: Dr. Everly aimed SCP-865 at D-34021's 
abdomen and fired twice. 

Result: D-34021 suffered intense gastrointestinal 
distress for several days. In debriefing he claimed his 
appendix had been inflamed and had been removed the 
week prior. 


Time: 10:48 AM 

Subject: D-23304 

Procedure: Dr. Everly held SCP-865 next to D-23304's 
left ear and fired into the air. 

Result: D-23304 reported complete hearing loss in his 
left ear and severe tinnitus in the right. D-23304 claimed 
to have been guitarist for the heavy metal band 
[REDACTED] from 1976 (at which time he was seven 
years old) to 1982, and to have suffered severe hearing 
loss as the result of the volume the group performed at. 


Time: 12:13 PM 

Subject: D-95204 

Procedure: Dr. Everly fired SCP-865 four times at 
D-95204's spine. 

Result: D-95204 exhibited symptoms of paraplegia and 
claimed to be unable to move or feel his legs, and 
claimed to have been wheelchair-bound since the age of 
14 as the result of a skiing accident. When asked to 
reconcile this with the fact that he had murdered two 
people while fleeing a bank robbery on foot the year 
before, D-95204 was unable to satisfactorily explain the 


the last time | saw you. 


| wonder if I've become someone you could be proud of. 


Those doctors and scientists, they gave a second chance to a 
murderer who didn't deserve it. But here | am now, forever changed. 
| have Susan now, and the girls, and they look at me the way | used 
to look at you. My greatest desire is to be a good father and 
husband, just like you were. You should see them. Belle got second 
place in the elementary beauty pageant this year. And Shyanne, 
well, she was the star of their dance recital. | know they're not my 
kids, but... I'm their dad. And if you could see them, you'd fall in love 
with them, just like | did. 


And Susan, my god. Never did | dream of meeting, much less being 
with, someone like her. 


| wonder what you think of me now. | hope you'll forgive me. 
Wherever you are. 


| miss you, pops. 


Is it okay if | sit down here? I'm just not feeling so good. Age, | 
guess. What's the old saying? "Time and tide wait for no man." It's 
just catching up to me, | suppose. 


Just need to catch my breath. 


| just... need to... 


Hector and Jacob 


The man woke up with a severe pain in his head and looked around, 
brushing a few locks of hair out of his eyes in the process. He sat 
against the base of a tall deciduous tree in the middle of a forest, a 
thick fog obscuring his vision beyond several meters. He gasped as 
he realized that the environment around him was entirely black and 
white. 


"Oh fuck..." he whispered to himself as he realized where he was, 
and how little time he likely had before something would certainly 
find him and utterly wreck his shit. 


"Ah," said a masculine voice nearby. "You finally woke up." 


The man turned to see an android sitting cross legged beneath a 
nearby tree. The droid held several picture frames in its hands as its 
unblinking eyes remained locked on the man. Several sirips of its 
external covering were missing, appearing to have been neatly 
sliced off. 


"1360..." the man stated. 


"I'd prefer you to call me Hector, Researcher Conwell," the droid 
replied sharply. It stood and walked towards the man, taking the 
picture frames with it. 


"So... that's what your voice sounds like..." the man observed. As 
he kept his eyes locked on the droid, he checked his peripheral 
vision. A trail, a portal, any signs of an exit, but there was only more 
fog. 


"Impressed?" the droid asked. "Personally, | think | have a wonderful 
speaking voice. It’s an absolute waste to keep it muted." 


"It reminds me of my son's, a little." 


The droid nodded, and looked at one of the picture frames it carried, 
then knelt down and held it before the man. The picture inside the 
frame was something off the man's desk, an image of him and his 
family on a hiking trip. 


"What are their names?" the droid spoke with a tone of curiosity. "I 
assume this is your wife, son, and daughter?" 


"They are. Kate, Zach, and Carrie, respectively." 
"You all look happy." 
The man looked at the ground. 


"We never got your owner's names from you Hector," he eventually 
said. "What were they?" 


The droid stopped looking at the picture, and stared at the man for 
several seconds. 


"James, and his daughter Sarah." 
The droid then fell silent, looking off into the distance. 


"You said you lost them,” the man ended the silence. "What 
happened?" 


"You did," the droid replied. "One of your agents killed James when 
you acquired me. | don't know what happened to Sarah." 


The man looked at the ground again. 

The droid fell back into silence. 

"So... is this going to be a revenge killing? I'd be lying if | said that | 
haven't earned it..." the man chuckled, returning his stare to the 


droid with tears in his eyes. 


"It should be... There are so many souls here that would love to rip 
you limb from limb..." 


"B...but..." 


The droid sighed and sat down beside the man. 


"But it wouldn't bring me any joy..." the droid looked at the picture of 
the man's family. "| was one of the first droids to find this place. With 
how large it was, it took years before | encountered another soul. All 
that time | was alone with my anger and hate..." 


The droid flicked its right index finger and made a scalpel pop out. 


"| could tie you down and make you watch as | carved strips from 
your flesh..." 


The man sunk as far as he could away from the droid and its blade, 
his eyes watching it in the dim, hazy light. 


"But what's the point? It wouldn't bring me back. It wouldn't help me 
find Sarah. You can only hang on to such hot emotions for so long 
until you burn out inside." 


The droid sighed agin. 


"I'm not going to kill you, Researcher Conwell. It wouldn't bring me 
any peace.” 


The man let out a deep breath. 
"So... why am | here?" 


"Mistake?" the droid shrugged. "When we opened the passage into 
your lab, we did so with plans to capture your colleague, Dr. Hess. 
As you are probably aware, she was a member of the Anderson 
Robotics R&D department. You were taken by mistake. When 
Saker #76 recognized who you were, they suggested | be allowed to 
have my way with you. Saw it as being poetic." 


"Hess is here too?" The man looked around. 


"She is. Last | saw they were taking her to be drawn and quartered 
by the Aplomados." 


The man cringed. 


"So where does that leave us?" 


The droid stood, and looked at the pictures in its hands, and 
shrugged. 


"Doesn't really matter," it replied. "| am keeping these though." 
It then pointed off into the distance. 


"If you keep in that direction for about 2000 meters, you'll come to 
an exit that will take you to the area you call 'Three Portlands’. I'd 
move quickly and quietly though. Like | said, plenty of souls here 

who will love to turn you inside out if given the chance." 


The man stood, and nodded in understanding. He began to depart, 
but stopped, and turned back. The droid had nearly vanished in the 
fog. 


"Hector?" he called to it. 
The droid paused and turned. 
"I'm sorry for all that | did. I'm sorry for all the pain." 


The droid remained silent for several moments, then vanished into 
the fog. 


The man returned on his course. If he was careful, maybe he'd 
escape alive. 


« No Matter What Mask You Wear | Anderson Robotics Hub | 
Assault on Site-64 » 


Hellbent 


| struggle to put the words together. I'm not really sure there are 
words to begin with. At this point, my own mind is beginning to fail 
me. The thing in front of me is something | can't quite fathom, 
despite the fact | am its creator. How it actually functions is beyond 
me. All that's left is the thing's existence, and its purpose. 


The last thing | can remember with any clarity is the funeral. Having 
to watch them lower his coffin into the ground. Listening to the 
sound of nothing broken only by quiet sobs. That empty feeling that 
dug into my chest since | received the call about his death. | first 
interpreted that feeling as me questioning my faith. Did | really 
believe in a doctrine that dictated my brother was to be eternally 
damned because he loved another man, and possibly additionally 
condemned for suicide? It was not until | arrived home that night that 
| realized what had taken root was actually inspiration waiting to 
flower. 


Without regard to cost or practicality, ignoring all responsibilities, | 
built. Driven by the love of a lost sibling, | birthed this monster. My 
savings account was steadily emptied over the following weeks, and 
| turned to cannibalizing other objects to feed the mechanical beast. 
| realized | could use my car as the frame, use things from around 
the house for the wires and pipes. | built the heart of the machine 
using Father's lawnmower, which | had borrowed shortly after the 
accession of the queen. Mother, sympathetic as she was, could not 
stand to lose a second son. Instead of food, | used the funds she 
gave me to purchase glass, which | turned into an array of vacuum 
tubes. | disemboweled a prototype bombe to build a majority of the 
monster's innards. I'm unsure where | collected the material for the 
track the vehicle runs on, but I'm almost certain it was illegal. 


It shouldn't work, | understand that. | have no education in 
mechanical engineering, | have no experience in electrical work. 
Even | know a lawnmower engine could not possibly move this 


behemoth. But it will work, | know it. Whatever familiar-feeling force 
that guided my hands is now gone, but | trust in it. It has to work. I've 
destroyed my career, eradicated my funds, almost annihilated 
what's left of my familial ties. 


Judging by the noises upstairs, | have managed to gain something 
in the past weeks. Notoriety. Climbing into the driver's seat, | can 
hear doors bursting open. People of authority calling out my name, 
announcing to their comrades that each room they check is clear. 
But it doesn't matter. The machine will carry me away from this 
place. 


The keys are waiting to be turned, and | hastily oblige them. The 
beast stirs in response. Its dark heart begins to beat, pumping 
iridescent madness throughout its system. Two tubes at the front of 
the frame fill with gas, its blazing blue eyes opening and casting a 
light upon the track. Similar tubes along the sides fill with 
multicolored gas, masking the filament within. Copper piping rattles 
and whistles as it releases torrents of steam. A constant chorus of 
cogs, gears, and sprockets sing within the confines of the metal 
hide. With a whirring screech the beast opens its maw, exposing a 
massive drill powered by the remnants of the original car's engine. 


On the wall before me are arcane symbols etched into a 
semicircular pattern, the vehicle's tracks terminating at the center. 
The words Abaddon, Gehena, Hades, Sheol, Tartarus, and Hell 
shimmer within the pattern. The texts are inconsistent in the naming 
of my destination, as such I've erred on the side of caution and 
invoked them all.