"No, I'm okay. Thanks. How long have you been here?" he asked. 


"Hm o" 


"In Site 19, | mean." 
"Since the sun on the Horizon touched down," the doctor replied. 


507 let out a much-needed sigh of relief. "Take this." he said, 
tossing the piece of metal to the doctor. 


"Are we clear?" 


"Not entirely. | couldn't help it. He saw it. Even a martyr wants to 
taste the sweetness in the fruit of revenge." 


"| bet Adam thought that too." The two stood in silence, and the 
doctor turned to leave the unit. On his way out, the doctor turned 
back to the man sitting on the cot. "Does he know?" 


"About what?" 
"The metal." 
"Doubt it." 


The doctor left the room, with the chunk of metal in his pocket. 
Soon, it would be mailed to a friend in a distant Foundation facility. 
Then, it was out of his hands, and he would just have to wait for his 
reward. He walked through the halls of Site 19, admiring the 
tranquility. Even on Halloween night, when the kids were looking for 
sweets and the adults were partying, the Site 19 seemed like 
machine. Finely-oiled parts were working nonstop, accomplishing 
what would be an insurmountable task by separate parts, no matter 
how powertul. 


"There's not much to say." 
"Where is it?" 


"| don't have it." 


"Bullshit." 


How many had he done. Twelve? Thirteen? Out of how many? 
Goldsheiner didn't want to think about it. He was lucky he was being 
this productive in fact. Many days, he'd read through that many 
requests in total. It was only half past 2:00, but the stack of work on 
his desk didn't seem any shorter. He groaned, imagining the work 
ahead of him, hoping that he had an assistant. Or four. The pang of 
reality hurt him when it hit him, looking at the pile. Even with a lot of 
people, they wouldn't be able to do much. 


Note: Due to the attached interview, I'm formally 
requesting for SCP-882 to be sealed away and no longer 
be studied. 

Dr. Dunner: State your name for the record, please. 
D-43267: Franklin King Jackson. 

Dr. Dunner: And do you know why you're here? 
D-43267: | believe in the truth of the Broken God, whom 
you imprison. 

Dr. Dunner: Is that it? 

D-43267: You imprison more than just His heart: His 
mind, His flesh, more. 

Dr. Dunner: Flesh? Could you describe it? 

D-43267: Don't play dumb with me. We know. 


Goldsheiner yawned, flipping through the next two pages of the 
interview until he landed just before the end. He glanced out the 
open door in his office to see a witch and a ghost discussing 
containment procedures. With much effort, he got up to close the 
door. Halloween was boring, not scary. Nothing chilling ever 
happened on October 31st, perhaps excepting the weather. 
Goldsheiner sat back down and reopened the file. 


D-43267: The rest is just to expand its influence. 

Dr. Dunner: So this metal that you describe is 
anomalous in and of itself, and potentially more powerful 
than SCP-882? 

D-43267: However you label the Broken God, it will not 
matter, for He will soon be whole. And He will rise up and 
crush the heathens, and reward the faithful. They will be 
ground up and destroyed by His might, and their bodies 
will be strewn all through the Earth. 


Dr. Dunner: | think we're done here. 


Goldsheiner, having read very little and having cared even less, 
promptly denied the request. In his mind, he thought, there was 
nothing in that interview that could warrant ending the study of an 
SCP object. The Church was far too non-cohesive to pose a real 
threat. Even with a lot of people, they wouldn't be able to do much. 


The feeling of blinking and opening his eyes to an entirely new place 
was not new to 507. The feeling of blinking and opening his eyes to 
his worst enemy standing above him, however, was. 


"What was that piece of metal you had?" 
"Hm o" 


343 grabbed 507 by the throat, and the unit they were in began to 
warp violently. He was no longer in a metal room, but a red cone 
that was centered on the old man clutching his neck. 507 tried to 
fight it, but his power was constrained. All he could do was throw 
himself into a new universe, but 343 kept dragging him back. The 
room was beginning to mesh from everywhere he tried to jump to, 
and it was soon no longer recognizable. 


"Where is it." 


He felt himself smash into the wall behind him. The room had grown 
considerably, and was now easily over a hundred feet long and half 
that in width. 


"Where's what?" 
"You know exactly what I'm talking about." 


There was rubble all around him, Greek and Roman pillars being 
smashed as his body soared through them. He was blacking out in 
pain, but his eyes were being forced open by unseen hands. He 
couldn't cry, and watched his body go limp and reanimate and go 
limp again. 


"WHAT IS IT?!" roared the old man, now five times his normal size 


in the massive conglomeration of jungle, ancient civilization, and 
Escher-esque mansion that 507's containment unit had become. 
507 stayed silent. 


343 drew a deep breath, and stood over 507's crushed body. "If you 
don't tell me, | won't bother punishing you. I'll just kill you." 


"There's not much to say," he managed to say. 

343 smiled. He picked up 507's body. "Where is it?" 
"| don't have it." 

"Bullshit." 

"| don't." 


343 threw him down. In his last seconds, 507 saw himself spread 
around the room. He heard 343 scream in anger, just before his 
vision went black. 


"At least | didn't have to die in some far-gone universe or a cold cell. 
| got to die everywhere," his shattered mind thought, right before his 
shattered body gave in. 


343 was panting hard. It wasn't as much the horrible act he'd just 
done, though he was still sorting through what had just happened in 
his head. He frantically ran through Site 19, looking for clues about 
whatever the metal chunk that 507 had given his life for was. The 
old man wasn't able to keep his mind focused though, because he 
was terrified. 


"Is he really dead?" 
"That's what they told me. Didn't really say much." 


"That's a pretty huge deal." 


"You'd be surprised." 


unexcavated figures 
move while 
underground. The 
location of the figures 
was under an earthen 
dam, which collapsed 
due to the motion, 
causing widespread 
flooding and loss of 
life. Further testing 
suspended. 


Addendum-926-A 

A proposal to assign SCP-926 to the Bowe Commission's 
anomalous weapons program, together with other anomalous 
musical instruments/musical anomalies in Foundation custody such 
as SCP-381 and SCP-2458, is currently under consideration. 


« SCP-925 | SCP-926 | SCP-927 » 


Researcher Goldsheiner was extremely tired. After mountains of 
paperwork, all he could hope to do was sleep in his own bed for 
once rather than the leather chair in his office. He dragged himself 
up, and walked through the middle of a party in the break room. 
Orange and black streamers were covering the ceiling, with 
costumed staff members drinking and enjoying themselves. 


"It's 11:32! Jesus, | remember when | was young," he muttered. He 
waded his way through candy and decorations, spiderwebs and six 
foot witch statues. The noise and light were hurting his ears. With a 
groan, he remembered that his kids would be out for the whole 
night. 


Halloween had never been too exciting for Goldsheiner. It was so 
artificial that it made him sick. Faux scares and consumerism pretty 
much summed the whole holiday up in his mind. It was the same 
thing, year after year. Nothing ever changed. It was always a copy of 
the previous year, and the year before that, and the year before that. 
He grabbed his jacket and exited the main building. Goldsheiner 
grumbled, seeing his breath float up in the cold air, thinking about 
how much he loathed Halloween. It was too familiar, but it was too 
big to do anything about. Even with a lot of people, he wouldn't be 
able to do much. 


A small yellow chunk of metal was thrown into the forge, being 
consumed by the monstrous Heart of the Broken God. The martyred 
fool had been wrong about the size of the chunk. There was more 
than enough for 882 to change it into a hand; in fact, an entire man 
was Created. Feeling his regained power rushing through his limbs, 
he bent the metal mass and slowly levitated out of it. The Heart was 
getting bigger all the while, and all non-believers guarding Him had 
already been slaughtered. There was more work to do, but first, he 
had a demon to smite. 


Roach Wrangling at Kiryu Labs 


Normally, Dr. Riven Mercer disliked cleaning the Kiryu Labs 
biological testing room. Listed simply as “Experimental Room 210”, it 
was less of an experimental chamber than an enormous haphazard 
collection of temporary quarters for various small living things. This 
meant that at any given time, there were usually some low-threat 
anomalous creatures in the room, such as the tortoise with the 
barbecue grill shell from eight months ago. Kiryu Labs rarely saw 
living anomalies for monthly processing caches, but nevertheless 
the room was kept well stocked with tall plants, various pet foods, 
and glass jars for obtaining samples and catching bugs. 


Of all the 18 rooms that made up the Labs’ anomalous item 
processing chambers, Experimental Room 210 was routinely the 
smelliest and noisiest. Not to mention the dirtiest, Riven thought as 
he tiptoed his way through some bushes near the entrance, since 
the floor is dirt. 


Dr. Mark Kiryu, Director of Kiryu Labs and resident bug-lover, was 
standing in the hanging mesh tent set up in the corner furthest from 
the chamber door, underneath the skylight window in the ceiling. 
The tent existed to house the anomalous winged animals sent to 
Kiryu Labs, and tended to need repairs once every few months due 
to being pecked at, chewed on, and occasionally set on fire. As 
Riven approached, he noticed two things: Mark was trimming a large 
potted ficus, and Mark had a small yellow bird on his head. 


“It’s a cockatiel,” Mark commented, snipping away at the ficus. Riven 
blinked. 


“| can see that. Is it anomalous?” Riven asked, walking closer to 
Mark in a half-circle to look at the bird from different angles. 


“Banana,” replied the yellow cockatiel helpfully. 


“One of the MTFs sent him over,” Mark explained, setting down his 


pruning shears and collecting the trimmed leaves and branches off 
the ground. “He and a few other animals were seized from an 
unscrupulous breeder. Guy was hoping to get a contract with a 
company marketing tropical fruits overseas. The bird was kept ina 
cat carrier.” 


“Banana,” the cockatiel confirmed. It shifted on Mark’s head a bit as 
he stood up and placed the tree trimmings in a bag. 


Mark reached over his head and gave the bird a few pats. “This bird 
only eats bananas, only says the word “banana”, and is yellow... like 
bananas. DNA analysis indicates 99.5 percent banana genome. 
Also he smells like bananas. Guess which fruit he was made to 
advertise?” 


Riven moved his hand to the bird and tried to get it to step onto his 
fingers. “Tangerines,” he replied, adjusting his arm so the banana 
bird could climb over to his shoulder. Mark rolled his eyes. “I think 
they gave you that doctorate too soon, Rivs. And give me back my 
banana. | need him to help me concentrate on pruning all the 
plants.” 


Banana the anomalous cockatiel tried to affectionately eat Riven’s 
hair. Riven grinned. “I think he likes me. And if you’re doing all the 
plant pruning, what am | supposed to do?” 


Mark scooted his hand over Riven’s shoulder and stole the bird 
back. “His friend is named Coconut and he’s sitting in the ficus. You 
can wear Coconut as a hat. Banana is mine. | am socializing him 
properly.” Mark put the yellow cockatiel back on his head. “The 
interns cleaned up most of the droppings and testing debris this 
morning, but there was admittedly one thing they were less sure 
they could do properly.” 


Riven was looking through the ficus to try and spot the coconut bird. 
“What was it?” 


Mark handed Riven a glass cup and a piece of paper. 


“Pest control. Or roach wrangling, if you prefer.” 


SCP-723-J-1 is a Periplaneta Americana (American 
cockroach) believed to be a distant relative to SCP-723- 
J. 


SCP-723-J's anomaly manifests in its unusual 
preoccupation with following popular human behavioral 
trends, such as dieting, specialized exercise regimens, 
and intelligent technology for the home environment. 
Individuals who encounter SCP-723-J-1 will take note of 
its overzealous desire to be seen as hip and stylish. 


SCP-723-J-1 Intake Log Interview 


Dr. : Where did you get that? Are you sure 
it's good for your digestive system? 


SCP-723-J-1: [eats] 


Dr. : Do you think Sad Roach would be 
happy that you’re so obsessed with dieting? Is 
this new cleanse really necessary? 


SCP-723-J-1: [eats] 


Dr. : Isn't this the third diet you've tried in 
the last week? 


SCP-723-J-1: [eats] 
Dr. : Fad Roach, no. 


“Fad Roach? That’s a new one.” Mark wheeled in a small green 
waste disposal bin into the Kiryu Labs spare room, where Riven was 
reading aloud from a sheaf of papers and chuckling. Two glass jars, 
each with a cockroach inside, were next to him on a countertop. 


“It’s pretty good. The last intern just brought it in, after he helped me 
catch these two over by the main hallway.” Riven flipped over one of 
the sheets. “It’s nice that you encourage writing these up.” 


Mark poked at one of the jars. The roach inside wiggled its antennae 
menacingly. “Well, newer initiates don’t always get to write up 


documentation in their first year. | figure, why not let them practice? 
Especially since plenty of the other staff are funnier than | am. | 
mean, look at Bad Roach.” He picked up the two jars. “I'll get these 
little guys processed. | don’t think they’re anomalous, but hey, can 
never be too careful in a place like this. Also the arthropod guys in 
the Bio Wing might be looking to use these for tests.” 


Riven shrugged, continuing to read through his packet of papers. 
“I’ve covered most of the experimental rooms. Agent Shen was 
going to help out with the rest.” 


“Agent Shen, huh? Resident roach murderer? Should we let him in 
on the inside joke?” Mark had placed the jars of roach onto a 
wheeled cart. "| admit, I'm curious to see what he would write." 


Looking up from the papers, Riven thought for a moment. “Why not? 
Shen can be funny on occasion... not that funny, but it can't be that 
bad. Also hey, listen to this one from the Level-2 who cleaned Room 
217 earlier today...” 


SCP-723-J-2 is a Periplaneta Americana (American 
cockroach) believed to be a younger cousin of SCP-723- 
J. 


SCP-723-J's anomaly manifests in its deep, frequently- 
displayed emotional turmoil, comparable to that of 
SCP-723-J but evidently not to the point where 
SCP-723-J-2 would garner the same amount of attention 
from observers. While SCP-723-J-2 appears to shun 
socialization and human contact, it is currently believed 
that its attempts to discourage interaction are in fact 
intended to raise concern and attract sympathy for it. Any 
destructive outbursts exhibited by SCP-723-J-2 appear 
to follow this pattern of behavior. 


SCP-723-J-2 Intake Log Interview 


Dr. : Mad Roach, did you chew another 
hole in your room again? 


SCP-723-J-2: [sits in room] 


Dr. : You need to open up to your friends 
about when you're upset. 


SCP-723-J-2: [turns to face away from 
interviewer] 


Dr. : You can’t throw tantrums every time 
you don’t get what you want! 


SCP-723-J-2: [sits in room] 
Dr. : Mad Roach no. 


Two hours later, after the entirety of Kiryu Labs had been deemed 
pest-free and the monthly roach wrangling had concluded, Dr. Riven 
Mercer found himself attempting to explain a joke about roaches.