The truck was big and loud! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 
The fumes were pink and green! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 
The driver was a psycho! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 
And a party machine! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 


VERSE 2 


The old man tipped his hat, said “Old Chilly’s the name, 
| drive all across the universe delivering grain. 
See people in those galaxies have gotta eat too, 
and sometimes use the grains to ferment tasty space brew.” 
| asked him how he turned his big rig into a ship, 
he laughed and said “I had to give some space techs a sip!” 


The sky was dark and vast! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 
We sped throughout the stars! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 
Chilly wore an old cap! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 
He traveled near and far! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 


Drum Solo -Brooke 


Drum solo? I’ve gone through the music you’ve written out like a half dozen times, 
and | haven't seen any guitar tab or chords written anywhere. Are there supposed 
to be any other instruments in this besides a drum set? -Morgan 
Nope. -Brooke 
Fuck. -Morgan 


VERSE 3 


Old Chilly parked us down inside an asteroid field, 
and motioned for us to grab a brew case that was sealed. 
We followed him across the way to a small dive bar, 
around which were parked many a strange space-faring car. 
He kicked open the door, took a breath, and yelled, 
“More space brew from Kansas, ya'll best come help yourself!” 


Chilly was dancin all night! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 
He made out with a space hag! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 


She was a dreadful sight! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 

Oh how her titties did sag! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 


VERSE LAST 


Chilly pulled over on the side of the road, back home, 
Said “If you ever need me children just hit up my phone. 
I’m really never far from a mobile satellite, 
Unless I’m in Proxima Centauri for the night.” 

We waved as he drove his big rig into the sky, 
That Chilly sure was one hell of a space truckin guy! 


Chilly taught us about space! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 

And flew a hefty brew barge! 
Yeah yeah yeah! 

He may be gone from our lives, 

Yeah yeah yeah! 

But his influence was large! 

Yeah yeah yeeeeeeah! 


*Drum Outro* 


This is dumb. | wasn’t even on that trip. -Clyde 


« Prologue: Water Coalesces And Descends As Rain | Hub | 
The Surfside Beat » 


The Surfside Beat 


Umiko sat by the fire as it burned down slowly. The waves rolled 
quietly over the warm sand of the beach, occasionally crashing with 
a low rush of water and spray. In the light of the setting sun, the 
roadie adjusted a ratchet strap on a piece of sound equipment. He 
pulled on the strap to test the tautness before hefting the case over 
his shoulder and carrying it to the back of Morgan’s truck. He set it 
down carefully, making sure to situate it just so. A few trips later, the 
bed was full up with all of Constellation Starfish’s equipment; 
Morgan and Clyde’s guitars, Brooke’s drums, the amps and mixer, 
and a half empty cooler of craft beers. Umiko wiped sweat from his 
forehead and smiled. As he surveyed his work, a careful tetriswork 
of cases and straps, Clyde walked up behind him. 


“Miko,” he said, putting a hand on the big man’s shoulder, “I think 
you just got a call." 


Umiko turned and grabbed his phone out of Clyde’s outstretched 
hand. “Many thanks, Clyde. | am finish with truck. Will phone call 
now.” 


Clyde smiled back at him. “Thanks, buddy.” 


Umiko looked behind him where the other members of the band 
were standing with a group of bums, pointing at the sky and 
laughing. Morgan was the center of attention, as always, and was 
waving his arms like a bird while trying not to spill his beer. Rosa, 
ever at Morgan’s side, stood close enough to occasionally brush up 
against him, but not enough to arouse suspicion. Brooke was 
twirling a drum stick around her finger and reading from a magazine, 
hardly paying attention to the commotion her bandmate was 
causing. And Clyde, Clyde was still pulling on the strings of his 
acoustic, picking out a quiet melody as the waves played their 
accompaniment. 


Satisfied that the band wouldn't notice his momentary absence, 


Umiko walked away from the group towards the road, where a surf 
shack sat deserted. He continued his usual ambulatory gait until he 
felt he was sufficiently out of sight. Then, and only then, he 
straightened his back, stretched, and pulled out the phone. Quickly 
hitting redial, he glanced again towards the beach. They had not 
seen him walk away. 


The phone rang three times before another voice answered. It was 
a connecting line, a midway between two callers. The automated 
voice on the other end spoke clearly with the same uncannily human 
tone that it always did during these calls, and like always, Umiko 
clenched his teeth slightly. 


“Welcome to Service and Care Products. How may | direct your 
call?” 


“Sarah niner nine Amy.” 
A pause, and then. 
“Please state your designation.” 


Umiko cleared his throat. “Agent Alexi Konnikov, Site 99, Task 
Force Bravo.” 


Again a pause on the line. Alexi always hated this part. The 
slightest misstep would result in, best case scenario, a stern talking 
to by Director Page or, worst case scenario, a strike team sent to his 
position. The giant Russian tried to relax, but the voice caught him 
too quickly. 


“Please state your security code, followed by your Task Force 
code.” 


A deep breath, and then, “Echo alpha five five charlie two niner 
papa golf one one zulu.” He took another breath. “Bravo nine three 
seven Charlie padre.” 


There was a brief silence, during which Umiko counted slowly to 
five. 


“Thank you, Agent Konnikov. Welcome to the Site 99 Secure 


Network. How may | direct your call?” 


Alexi emptied his lungs and wiped more sweat off of his brow. “GOI 
Central Department, Supervisor McKinney.” 


The phone clicked, and then began ringing again. Alexi poked his 
head around the corner of the shack, and eyed Morgan attempting 
to juggle three empty bottles while Rosa laughed and cheered a little 
too loud. 


“This is McKinney.” 
Alexi turned back around the shack. “Randy, it’s Alex. You called?” 


McKinney coughed on the other end. “You know, for somebody who 
hates going through authorization so much, | would think you’d be 
more willing to answer the call when it comes through the first time. 
Get to skip all that niner niner bullshit.” 


“| was occupied,” said Alexi. “I’m supposed to be undercover.” 


“You're right, you’re right. What were you busy doing this time, huh? 
Channeling your chi through some spirit stones again?” 


Alexi sighed. “Do you need anything, Randy?” 


McKinney laughed. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Alex. | do have 
a reason for calling, though. Talk around Central is that they’re 
considering reassigning you. Might come within the next month.” 


The hair on the back of Alexi's neck stood up. “Reassign me? To 
where?" He paused. "Then why send me here? You said that this 
has been our primary target ever since North Carolina. Why would 
they want to pull out all of a sudden?” 


“By the sounds of it, Central isn't convinced anymore that we've got 
an actual Fifthist sect. The group in North Carolina had giant, reality 
bending snakes, Alexi. That’s some crazy fucking stuff right there. 
Your Constellation Starfish... | mean, they haven't done anything 
except play shitty music and smoke a ton of pot.” 


“McKinney, come on. You've read my reports, haven't you? | 


thought | was pretty clear about-” 


“I've read your reports. A few strange incidents here and there. | 
almost believed it when | saw that video of the dancing light thing 
last week, but then they were able to cook that all up in a lab down 
in R&D. Said it was just smoke and mirrors, and... | don’t know, 
Alex. | Know you’re dead set on this being the one, but just because 
the singer has a link to North Carolina doesn't mean this is your Star 
Signals. All of the Fifthists so far haven’t exactly been discreet. 
Unless Constellation Starfish does something out of this world here 
before too long, they’re probably going to pull you for a Broken God 
project in Arkansas.” 


Alexi rubbed his temples fervently. “Randy, listen, | know this 
probably sounds crazy, but | swear there’s something going on here. 
| need you to hold off Page and Central for another few days. The 
band is going to a big concert upstate this weekend, and intel is 
hinting that it’s a Marshall, Carter and Dark event. If you want some 
fucking giant, exploding snakes or whatever, be my guest, but 
what’s going to happen at this show is going to blow that shit out of 
the water.” 


Randall McKinney was silent on the other end of the line. Ten 
seconds passed, then fifteen, and then, “Fine. I'll talk to Page, we'll 
get this taken care of. | swear to fucking god though, Alexi, if nothing 
happens at this show and | stick my neck out for you for nothing, 
you'll be in a cubicle somewhere sifting through UIU intercepts by 
the end of the month.” 


Alexi exhaled. “Sure thing, boss.” The phone beeped and Alexi 
swiftly tucked it into his pocket. He mussed his hair slightly, 
slouched his shoulders, and stumbled back around the shack. Most 
of the crowd had dispersed, with only a few tagalongs hanging 
around to smoke pot with Clyde and Brooke. Morgan had 
disappeared, and Rosa was sitting near the truck, simmering. As 
Alexi approached, Clyde raised his head and grinned at him. “Who 
was that, big guy?” 


Umiko smiled. “Only mother. No worries.” 


« Track 1: Old Chilly the Space Trucker | Hub | Track 2: The 


SCP-639: Distorted Man 


Item #: SCP-639 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-639 is to be kept ina 
standard containment cell measuring 3 m x 3 m furnished with 
whatever the subject requires so long as the items do not threaten 
security. SCP-639 should not leave containment area without an 
escort of at least one security guard, and should not be allowed to 
mingle with site personnel. 


Description: SCP-639 is a Caucasian male approximately 1.6 m in 
height and weighing 78 kg, age 24. SCP-639 is viewed 
simultaneously on all angles regardless of viewer's position: being in 
front of the figure will have a view of his front, back, sides, and so 
forth. Attempts to capture the subject in any sort of photographic 
medium yields a heavily distorted figure (as shown in the attached 
image). 


Exposure to SCP-639 causes extreme eyestrain and mild paranoia, 
with subjects reporting "not knowing if he was coming or going, or 
what he was even looking at." Effects do not persist once SCP-639 
is removed. It should be noted that SCP-639 observes the whole of 
the world in the same fashion that it observes him (that is, all objects 
are apparently seen from all angles at once), which seems to have 
caused extreme paranoia as well as a host of associated mental 
illnesses. 


SCP-639 was recovered in , Texas, from the County 
Mental Hospital. Subject was under the care of Dr. , who 
alerted the Foundation May 12, 20 . SCP-639 was picked up by 
Agents and, under the guise of a medical transfer. Class C 
amnestics were administered to staff. SCP-639 was transferred to 
Site- where he is currently being kept. 


Book of Dave » 


Track 2: The Book Of Dave 


"The Book of Dave" 


By Clyde 


Notes: So | was looking for inspiration at my parents’ house last weekend, and | 
found this really sick book and thought “Hey, | can use this to write down lyrics”. 
Before too long, the book started writing back. How cool is that? Anyway, | wrote a 
song about the guys in the book and here we go. -Clyde 


Peppy guitar intro 


Verse 1 


Well | was sitting home alone last night, recording music for my 
band, 
When suddenly | saw some pages and a blackened spine. 
| grabbed me up that book, sat it down and started a-reading. 
And then thought to myself, “Hey, for lyrics this'll do just fine!” 


It was the Book of Dave, it was the Book of Dave! 
Something crazy bout a civilization depraved! 
Book of Dave, oh yes the Book of Dave! 
Sounded like they needed some funk. 


Probably a guitar solo here 
We’re putting this in the EP? Seriously? | wrote a rock opera 
in three part harmony and we're putting “The Book of Dave” on the EP? -Rosa 
Deal with it. -Clyde 


Verse 2 


| grabbed up my guitar, leaned back and started a-reading, 
and my-oh-my, the horrors | did peruse. 
Looked to me like Dave was real big top notch doucher, 
And everything would be better with more music and less abuse. 


It was the Book of Dave, it was the Book of Dave! 
Some shit about some murders and some people got flayed! 
Book of Dave, sure was the Book of Dave! 

Figured funky tunes would do them good. 


Verse 3 


| pulled out a pen, and wrote some doo-wop and a little crescendo, 
And before my eyes, | saw the Book of Dave write back to me, 
Told a story of how old Dave and his friends started dancin, 
Amongst the corpses of the fallen and a vast and bloody sea. 


It was the Book of Dave, it was the Book of Dave! 
People dropped their axes and began to rave! 
Book of Dave, hell yeah the Book of Dave! 
They're pretty weird but who am | to judge? 


VERSE 4 


The craziest thing friends, and man | wouldn't blame you for 
doubting, 
Was when the ink on the page jumped up and started dropping a 
beat. 
Old Dave appeared, and started shaking his unholy maracas, 
Him and | jammed out, and let me tell you it was pretty sweet! 


It was the Book of Dave, it was the Book of Dave! 
Monstrous abominations and a conga line craze! 
Book of Dave, fuck yeah the Book of Dave! 
Partied so hard they changed their history! 


Guitar Solo Outro 


Clyde, where put book? Me interest in read. -Umiko 
| think | threw it out, ‘Miko. Sort of got weird towards the end. -Clyde 
Shit. -Umiko 


« The Surfside Beat | Hub | Riptide » 


Riptide 


Rosa walked up the sun-baked asphalt driveway to the front 
door. The little pink bungalow was not much more than peeling 
paint, chipped nautilus and Neptune statues reigning over the fire 
ants in Brook’s patchwork grass-dirt lawn. Rosa couldn't remember 
it ever looking any different. She hit the doorbell and the faint ding- 
dong could be heard on the other side. After some time, no sound of 
footsteps, no shuffling. She itched her head and paced the 
threshold. 


Under the rug, huh? 


She blinked, took a deep breath, and looked down. The novelty 
doormat instructed her to COME BACK WITH A WARRANT. 


She bent down, peeled back the doormat and reached for the 
key. Brook kept it there in case of emergencies (but usually 
forgetfulness). Rosa sprung up and creaked the door open only to 
meet Brook's scrutinizing gaze, head atilt. 


“Breaking and entering isn’t your style, flower girl,” Brook said, 
more than lightly punching wide-eyed Rosa in the arm. 


“Hey quit it! Let me in, it’s hot!” 


Brook wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Okay, but take 
off your shoes.” 


“| don’t have any shoes.” 


Brook rolled her eyes and shook her head, motioning for her to 
come inside. “What’s up? Doesn’t anyone ever use the phone?” 


“Rehearsal, doofus!” 


Brook glanced at the tambourine sticking out of her backpack. 


“Where are the guys? Who ever heard of a two girl drum and 
tambourine outfit?” 


“Actually,” started Rosa, “there’s a really cool group in Sea—” 


“Okay stop. Come inside.” 


“| have a surprise for you,” said Brook as she rummaged 
through a carboard box. 


“Really? What is it?” Rosa said, edging in to get a better look. 


“Actually it’s not for you, it’s for the fans. T Shirts. Got them 
printed shit cheap. You like the starfish on the front?” 


“| love it! Oh umm, but | think you’ll have to end up giving me 
one eventually,” Rosa said, pressing her fingers together. “I don’t 
think we'll sell a lot of them. Are you sure we have fans?”