Dr. Parkes sighed, a slow exhalation that left his shoulders hunched. 
"This is not a subject | wanted to discuss today." 


"But this goes against everything the Foundation stands for." 


"Does it? You said yourself that the Foundation manages the rest of 
the world's perceived reality. If we decide that some anomalies 
shouldn't exist, there isn't anyone to ask permission." 


"But why destroy them?" 


"Because they are of no use to us." Dr. Parkes sounded 
exasperated - like this was something he had explained too many 
times. "We have thousands of items and entities in containment, and 
we're finding them more and more quickly. Many are essentially 
duplicates of things we already have. Others aren't sufficiently 


anomalous to be interesting. Anything that isn't potentially useful for 
research is just taking up money and time. We need that resource 
for the nightmares out there that could wipe the planet clean. If we 
can't use an anomaly, we have to destroy it if we can." 


"Then how are we different to the GOC? Wait, does the Council 
know about this part of your work?" 


"I'm sorry, Agent O'Connor, but | can't answer all of your questions. 
I've already told you more than | should." 


"Then what? Amnestics all round?" 


"That won't be possible. You see, we don't just destroy items - we 
sometimes have to destroy people. The wrong type of people - 
those who will disturb the organisation, who make everything all 
about them. This isn't just a job interview. We needed to see 
whether your skills were useful to us, but we also wanted to see 
whether those skills would be more trouble than they are worth. And 
now my superiors will be taking a vote to see if you should be 
allowed to remain in the site." 


"| don't believe you." 
"Ellen, I'm afraid that it is of no consequence whether you -" 


"No, | don't believe you." Ellen's voice was louder, more confident. 
"What you're saying is nonsense. The Foundation wouldn't set up 
promotion interviews where the second prize is death. That's a lie, 
and not a very good one." 


"Agent O'Connor -" 


"No! Let me finish. You've been talking so much that I've only just 
realised. A Department operating with this much secrecy needs 
internal accountability, which means there's no way an interview like 
this would be conducted by a single person. Your superiors, as you 
call them, are watching us. Not just me: both of us. So they've just 
seen that you weren't able to keep me from the truth about 
destroying skips, and that you don't lie very convincingly when 
you're under pressure. Not really the skills required for a Department 


that no-one is meant to know about. | wonder whether you're 
responsible for the lack of security on the files that Sam accessed 
for me?" 


Dr. Parkes was standing with both hands on the table. "I'm calling 
security." 


"Go ahead. I'll just talk to your superiors for a minute." Ellen looked 
for the cameras, then gave up and leaned forward to speak to the 
room at large. "I think you're all out of hoops for me to jump through. 
This was a job interview, but not just for any job - it was for his job. 
Well, I'm going to be changing some of his policies, but yes, | 
accept." 


There was no response. 


Dr. Parkes moved towards the door, shaking his head at Ellen. "Too 
far, Agent O'Connor. Don't you think | would have known if -" 


His hand was half-way to the door handle when the walls 
reverberated with the voice from the hidden speakers. "Agent 
O'Connor, welcome to the Department of Analytics. Your new 
clearance will be sent to you shortly." 


Ellen let out a long exhalation of relief, collapsing into her chair. Dr. 
Parkes froze for a second, and then spun, as if he could find where 
that voice had come from. 


It spoke again. "Thank you, Dr. Parkes. That will be all." 
The door opened. 


When they finally came for Brian Parkes, it was a white-coated 
researcher with a syringe of Class-C amnestic. 


Exit Strategy 


... There are still no damage reports from the missiles the 
United States has launched... 

The dead are walking the streets! Be sure to lock your 
doors... 

No hospital is safe! 

...on a nearby island, there's footage of a number of 
strange, coral-like growths breaking the water's 
surface... 

...even if they are family members... 

The government has officially rescinded all powers of the 
FBI. The FBI is no longer an officially sanctioned law 
enforcement entity... 

...increased sightings of monsters all over Europe and 
the continental United States... 

...the threat isn't over! Avoid walking! Always wear your 
mask! 

A message from a religious group calling themselves the 
"Church of the Broken Goad" has stated that we are to 
baptized in the Clockwork Gift, so as to pave way for the 
new humanity... 

...are Currently battling the army! Most urban areas have 
been turned into warzones! 

.../f by "new humanity" they mean robotic corpses, then | 
for one, do not wish to be baptized! 

And whatever you do, DON'T GO OUTSIDE! 


The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. 


Agent Williams reflected on that thought as he followed a railroad 
track into Pennsylvania, or at least what was left of it. Six months 
ago, he made a living tracking down SCPs, and now, his life 
depended on reaching one that had already been found. He was still 
somewhat in contact with the Foundation, or at least what was left of 


it. There wasn't a lot of things left nowadays. Occasionally, he'd get 
scattered radio messages from Sites, MTFs, and some stranded 
Agents, but they never broadcasted for very long. Of all the Sites he 
knew of, Williams could only count the remaining ones on one or two 
hands. The rest had either fallen in the initial chaos, or initiated 
nuclear failsafe. A macabre game surviving personnel played was to 
ask each other what they were doing on S-Day, the day everything 
went to Hell. 


Williams himself was on assignment in South America, when he 
noticed the rain forest around him slowly turning into clockwork. It 
was at that moment he bugged out. He never did find out what was 
the exact cause, but there were rumors floating about that a 
SCP-217 infected crewman on the International Space Station 
caused a catastrophic accident, seeding the entire lower 
atmosphere with clockwork "spores". After hearing SCP-217 had 
went global, and at least a dozen sites were compromised, Williams 
knew it was time to execute his Exit Strategy. His first priority was 
getting in contact with Richards. 


Richards was in fact on Keter duty, overseeing SCP-231, no less. 
Containment was already blown to hell, so the priority was getting 
the hell out. However, Richards did note that before leaving, she 
made sure to leave her sidearm in 231-7's containment cell. 
Williams didn't know the details of what happened afterwards, but 
from what he heard from the Sites that still had access to 
surveillance satellites, there was a massive "dead zone" gobbling up 
Europe and slowly making its way across the Atlantic. Richards then 
managed to hop a plane to North America, but the closest she could 
get was a Canadian Air Force Base in Nova Scotia. 


Either way, they had to get to their destination on foot. A rather 
dangerous proposition, as all sorts of terrible things were loose, and 
not just SCPs. Both the Church of the Broken God and the Global 
Occult Coalition were out in full force. GOC Mobile Execution Teams 
were basically destroying everything that moved. If they didn't have 
a dim view of the Foundation before, they certainly did so now, since 
they considered the Foundation at fault for not destroying the SCPs 
when it had the chance. The Church was meanwhile capitalizing on 
a wave of religious doomsday fervor, gobbling up more and more 


followers every day. Last Williams heard, SCP-835 had grown to 
such ridiculous proportions that the oceans were literally unlivable, 
and that it had overtaken SCP-882's containment facility. The 
Church was busy trying to reach the machine by throwing wave after 
wave of clockwork drones at the biological monstrosity. 


As for the other factions, well, most governments collapsed several 
months into the crisis, leaving a vacuum for others to grab power. 
Marshall, Carter, & Dark set up a stronghold in England called 
Avalon, which rather fit their pretentious nature. Williams secretly 
hoped whatever Eldritch horror born from 231-7 took time to swing 
north and show those snooty bastards a good time. The Serpent's 
Hand and Chaos Insurgency were also out in full force, often directly 
clashing with the Church and GOC for control of what was left. Like 
the Church, the Horizon Initiative was also riding a wave of religious 
doomsday fervor. The Manna Charitable Foundation was trying to 
set up refugee zones, with varying levels of success. Of the 
Iranians, Williams had no idea whatsoever. The Middle East was 
one of the first areas to be reduced to a nuclear wasteland in the 
global panic. 


Quickly focusing on matters at hand, Williams took a moment to get 
his bearings. If he was right, he was only several miles from his 
objective. So far, sticking to back roads and the wilderness had 
hampered his progress, but it was necessary to avoid unwanted 
attention. The GOC's METs essentially controlled the roads, and 
Williams couldn't afford to have other refugees or survivors tagging 
along with him. They'd just be extra baggage. 


"This is Site-17, going off the air." Williams' radio squawked. It was 
essentially Foundation-speak for nuclear failsafe. That left the 
remaining known operational Sites down to four or five. 


"One less reason to stay, | guess." Williams muttered to himself. 


Unfortunately, before he could go any farther, Williams noticed 
something terribly wrong. He saw SCP-615 laying on the tracks. 
Sure, it could have been just any random pile of sticks and logs, but 
he could tell. Keeping his distance, he managed to catch sight of a 
MET of about five men coming the opposite way, flamethrowers in 
hand. They were obviously on the hunt, torching every pile of wood 


they could find. When they finally did hit 615, the creature quickly 
shot off into the forest. Spoon let the MET chase 615. There was 
only one SCP on his mind now, and any fight he could avoid the 
better. He still had bad memories of his encounter with SCP-173 in 
Arizona. Spending two days and three nights in a cargo container 
while hearing 173 repeatedly banging on the walls were some of the 
worst in his life. 


Finally, he reached vestiges of civilization. It wasn't much, just a 
railroad junction with a small residential district and some stores, but 
he was on the right track. Keeping an eye out for any unnatural 
presences, Williams made a dash over the crossing, painfully aware 
of how exposed he was. Checking his map again, he found that he 
was only a few blocks from his destination. Encouraged, Williams 
continued deeper into the town, and felt his heart sink slightly. There 
was what looked like a military checkpoint just up the road, directly 
between him and the Exit. Fortunately, the men manning the 
checkpoint didn't look like they were from any GOI, so Williams had 
hopes that he could bluff his way past. Approaching closer, he could 
see that the checkpoint was manned by a pair of young, incredibly 
scared National Guards. He didn't think any of those poor saps were 
still alive. 


"State your business!" One of them yelled, aiming his M16 rifle right 
at Williams' face. Even though the kid was wearing full NBC gear, he 
couldn't hide the fear in his body language. 


"Whoa, calm down, son." Williams said diplomatically. "I'm not here 
to fight." 


The other Guardsman breathed a sigh of relief through his gas 
mask. "Oh thank god, are you here to help with the purge?" 


"Uh, yeah." Williams nodded, going with the flow. "I'm Special 
Forces." 


"Great!" The second Guardsman stood aside, pulling open the 
makeshift barricade to allow Williams through. "It hit two days ago. 
The GOC is helping us clean it out. You should go to them if you 
want to help out." 


"I'll Keep that in mind." 


"Oh yeah, remember, if you don't have an official sanction, we can't 
let you back out!" The first Guardsman added helpfully. 


With his objective so tantalizingly close, Williams started sprinting for 
his destination. However, in his rush, he got sloppy, rounded a 
corner, and ran straight into a GOC MET. 


"Stop!" The MET leader yelled. 
"Don't worry, I'm not infected." 


“All individuals breaking curfew are assumed to be infected." The 
MET leader inched closer to Williams, trying to get a good look at 
him. "Where are you from?" 


Behind the MET leader, Williams observed the rest of the MET 
unloading piles of clockwork corpses from a truck and dumping them 
onto a nearby lawn, where another MET member was collecting 
gasoline in preparation for a bonfire. "I'm from the Foundation, I've 
been sent here to help." 


"Hold on, I'm running this through Command." The MET leader 
turned around and starting waving to his squad. 


"He's totally playing you." A cold, feminine voice burst through 
Williams' headset. "There aren't any outgoing signals. Just stand 
still." 


A fraction of a second later, the MET leader's head exploded like a 
melon, and the rest of the body crumpled like a sack of meat. The 
rest of the MET was still in shock, and had no chance to react before 
being cut down by a combination of fire from Williams’ M4 and 
Richard's sniper rifle. 


"You're late." Richards said in an annoyed tone as she made her 
way down from her perch atop a nearby water tower. "I've been 
camped up there for a week waiting for you to get your sorry ass 
here." 


"Well, as you can see, | was held up." Williams scoffed. She seemed 
to think going cross country on foot was a cakewalk! 


"Come on, we don't have much time." Richards motioned for 
Williams to follow her. "Foundation HQ activated nuclear failsafe 
twenty minutes ago." 


"So there really is nothing left." 
"Affirmative." 


Williams and Richards were standing in a ruined mini-mart, which 
had literally been looted to its foundations. However, they weren't 
here for food or money, they were here for the restroom. 


"Does it still work?" Spoon asked. 


"I've tested it. SCP-436 is still operational." Richards opened the 
restroom door, which was now hanging precariously off one hinge. 
"You do realize the inherent danger and unpredictability of this 
SCP?" 


"Can you honestly say it could be any worse than what we're in right 
now?" 


"Point." 


It was incredibly awkward trying to fit two people into a restroom stall 
designed for one, especially when both individuals were clad in full 
combat gear. However, they did eventually manage to make it work, 
and there really wasn't anybody around to see the whole fiasco 
anyways. 


"Well, see you on the other side." Williams said. 


"To greener pastures." Richards said as she grabbed the door 
handle and pulled it closed. 


Expanded Biography of "The Administrator" 


Well, it all got started when | became god. 


Security Clearance: Qliphoth 


Duties: The Administrator is more of an editor than a writer. Over 
many years, he has seen the rise and fall of countless SCP 
documents. If found, please contact Overwatch Command for 
pickup. 


Biography: The Administrator has been known to exist for much 
longer than the typical span of a human life. Many personnel have 
noted that due to the fact that they have never seen him, and only 
occasionally receive word from his office, that he is a hoax. These 
personnel are to be summarily hanged.