The containment alarm blared in the background, as Dr. Magnus sat 
in front of an elaborately colored board, across from a confident- 
looking man. 


He narrowed his eyes, and tightened his mouth, attempting to stare 
down his opponent. He hesitated for a moment, before reaching 
forward, slowly, trying not to show his intention as his hand slipped 
up towards the board. 


His opponent and he had done this dance many times today 
already. He could feel the ghost of a five o'clock shadow coming in, 
having sat at this table for far too long. His opponent was smugly 
confident. The last few conflicts had ended in defeat, and this time 
the stakes were too high to keep losing. 


"You're not going to win," Magnus stated, his voice tight with 
pressure. His fingers blurred, and a clack of the pieces the only 
sound other than the warnings about the dangerous creature 
roaming the halls. 


A smirk played across his opponents face and he tried not to 
grimace, as they reached forward and moved a piece with an 
ominous clack. Their eyes darted to the door, where they heard 
running footsteps, and saw the shadows of a dozen pairs of boots 
running by the door. "They look like they're in a hurry." 


Magnus' eyes stayed locked with the figure across from him, for a 
few more moments, before darting up to the flashing alarm, then 
down to the board, examining his moves. He couldn't afford to lose 
this game, far too much was on the line. He hesitated. 


"We've done this too many times," He ventured, attempting to brook 
peace. "We should end this." 


"We have, but it always ends the same," the sinister voice of his 
opponent intoned. They made an impatient gesture, "| believe it's 
your move, Michael. You should probably hurry, if you'd like this to 
end." The sound of distant yelling could be heard. 


Magnus swallowed hard, knowing he was being backed in to a 
corner. His fingers lifted, and slid the piece home, blinking 
involuntarily. 


"Michael. | swear, we've done this four times already today, and yet 
you never learn." His opponent lifted the piece, and slammed it on to 
the board with violent finality. "As | said. You haven't learned." 


Dr. Magnus' mind raced. How could he not see it. It was so obvious, 
the hole in his defense, and now he had lost again. He didn't know if 
he could pay the price , and he dreaded the words from his 
opponents mouth. 


His opponent leaned forward, smiled, and tilted his head. "I'm sorry 
Michael, but it's over." 


Dr. Magnus hung his head, and sighed, "Just say it. You know how 
this ends." 


His opponent smiled wider, and his teeth started to show. Those 
stupid perfect teeth of his opponent, so mocking in their regularity. 


"Of course. | wouldn't want to drag this out any more than it has to. 
How many defeats is this, to my hand?" 


Under the table, Magnus' hand clenched in frustration, and he 
ground his teeth. "Five, today." 


His opponent leaned back and smirked his smug little smile again, 
closing his lips over his annoyingly straight teeth. "Five. That must 
be embarrassing, losing to me, five times. How can you afford to 
keep losing?" 


Magnus tried to smile, his own thoughts turning dark. The truth was, 


he couldn't. He'd already lost too much, gone too far. At this rate, he 
would lose everything, his eyes darting over to his terminal, where 
incoming emails were coming in fast enough to scroll his window. 
"Just say it. I'm tired of this shit, just fucking say it." 


His opponent smiled, and folded his hands. "Fine. Since you're such 
a spoil sport." 


He reached forward, and touched the small, colored pieces, pointing 
out the flaw in his defense with obvious glee. "Connect four. That's 
five games, you owe me a Slice of pie." Outside, someone shouted 
for a medic. 


Magnus cursed, and reached in to his drawer, pulling out the last of 
the bills he kept in there for coffee. "You're a dick, Kens." 


Researcher Kensington smiled, and took the three dollars and two 
quarters off of the desk, shaking out the pieces from the connect 
four set. "And yet, you keep losing. That's like, six slices of pie so 
far." 


In the far distant background, something shook the foundations of 
the Site. Dr. Magnus looked up at Kensington and raised an 
eyebrow, "Should we...be there?" Magnus' eyes slid over to the 
door, where heavily armed MTF members were streaming by. 


Kensington shrugged, standing up, "Why? So you can catch another 
terminal case of knife-in-the-sternum?" 


Magnus flipped him off, and stood with him. "Oh fuck off. Let's go, 
I've got enough for like...half an espresso. Assuming the cafeteria 
hasn't been eaten by anomalies or something." 


Kensington stood, and started towards the door, "So, same time 
tomorrow?" 


Magnus smirked this time, his secret weapon ready to be unveiled. 
He twirled around, facing Kensington . "No Kens. No more connect 
four. It's child's play. Tomorrow, we start a new game." He steepled 
his hands. 


Kensington took a step back, looking hesitant, "What game, 


Magnus?" 


Magnus laughed quietly, the space between them building to a 
thunderhead. The tension was palpable, Kensington's mind racing, 
imagining the horrors that Magnus could have in store for him. 


Magnus threw his hands up in a victorious gesture, exclaiming 
"Twister! You'll never defeat my flexible joints!" 


The door rocked a bit, as someone was slammed bodily in to it, both 
of the Researcher's heads whipped around, before slowly turning 
back to face each other. 


Kensington blinked a few times, and his mouth formed a tight line, 
incredulous. "Don't you have some ancient sumerian st—" 


Magnus raised his hands above his head as he stomped out of their 
shared office, "Oh fuck off with that, | swear I'll never live it down! 
Christ! Let's go already." Magnus opened the door, and stepped 
over the unconscious MTF member outside his office. 


Kensington grinned as they walked towards the cafeteria, Site 
security rushing past them to some unnamed horror not in the 
direction of delicious pie. 


« | HUB | Happy Birthday From Nobody » 


Happy Birthday From Nobody 


Site-19 


There was a package on her desk. Dr. Rights sat down curiously, 
slipping the letter opener out of its little holder, and sliding it through 
the tape on the seams of the cardboard. Some of the tape had 
peeled away slightly, and the ink from the stamps of “NOT A BOMB” 
and “MEMETIC HAZARD NOT DETECTED” had faded. 


Inside was a letter, a picture frame, and a box of chocolates. A thin 
layer of dust had settled on the contents. She cocked her head to 
one side, confused by who or what this was from. 


She opened the letter with a flick of a finger, and sat back in her 
chair, slipping her reading glasses on from the chain she kept 
around her neck. She hated the things, but it was a consequence of 
getting older. The letter was handwritten on expensive stationary, 
and was dated from a few years ago. 


“Hello, Doctor Rights. If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead, or 
just forgot to drop in. One of those. Either way, | wanted to say 
happy birthday,” she glanced over at her calendar, and gave a slight 
sigh of surprise. It was her birthday, not that she kept track any 
more. The frequent XK scenarios made keeping track of the date a 
bit challenging. 


“| Know you said that if | remembered your birthday, you'd kill me, 
but hey, I’m either dead, or going senile, so who cares. | hope you 
enjoy the chocolates, and have a decent day. Take it easy on the 
damn kids for once.” It wasn’t signed, but she felt as if she should 
know who wrote it. The name was on the tip of her tongue, but she 
couldn't quite grasp who it was. 


She lifted the picture frame from the box, and looked at it. It was a 
group photo of the foundation Researchers from Site 19, in the early 


sources. Screws will be unscrewed, staples and nails extracted, etc. 
In the process, even a single SCP-671 individual is able to exert 
forces several hundred times greater than a normal C. cruentatus. 
When large numbers of ants collaborate, they are capable of 
surprising feats. 


The only type of artificial joint that appears not to trigger SCP-671's 
disassembly behavior is that in which two items of the same or 
similar material are merged using adhesive of another similar 
material. Examples include the rocks and cement in concrete, paper 
glued together (unless the glue is so thick as to represent a separate 
"part", such as in book bindings), soldered metal, and material 
completely encased in other material. The ants take great care to 
avoid damaging an object's parts during disassembly; however, 
material serving as a joint (e.g. glue, mortar, rivets) is likely to be 
destroyed in the process. 


SCP-671 reduces objects to their smallest natural constituents: 
fabric is frayed into constituent threads, as are textile-like objects 
such as rope. 15,000 SCP-671 individuals, working in concert, can 
disassemble a sedan in 48 hours or a 10-story steel-frame building 
in one month. They show little intelligence beyond that strictly 
necessary for disassembly, and will mindlessly attempt to take apart 
running machinery or containers of poison at great risk to 
themselves and the colony.In of atAlcanar, Spain, a group of 
SCP-671 individuals proceeded to disassemble the motor of a 
running tanker truck, resulting in [DATA EXPUNGED]. As such, if 
necessary, it may be possible to reestablish containment by leaving 
large multi-part containers of insecticides or corrosive substances 
near the colony. 


Addendum: Following Incident 671-A, personnel are reminded that 
any appropriate "sealed single-piece suit over all other clothing" 
must also cover the feet. Suits which include separate foot covers, 
such as used on some other SCPs, are not appropriate for 
interaction with SCP-671. — Dr. Ziegler 


Incident 671-A: Agent Thornton, having just left an experiment with 
SCP- , assumed that his airtight suit would be sufficient for 
subsequent work with SCP-671. Almost as soon as he entered the 
colony's containment, however, the ants began to disassemble his 


days before all the staffing had been finished. There were only a few 
people present in the photograph. 


The command level staff were present, and a few other lower level 
staff that Doctor Rights had befriended over the years, but there was 
a curious blank spot near the middle. One of the other doctors was 
hanging off of what seemed to be thin air, before it hit her: She 
couldn't see who was there. 


She grabbed the letter again, and looked down near the bottom. 
Sure enough, there was a script that said, “Sincerely,” but was blank 
after that. She picked up the box of chocolates, and the sender was 
blank as well. 


The realization hit her like a train. Her pulse started to pound in her 
temples, and her jaw clenched, as anger washed over her. The little 
reading glasses slipped off the bridge of her nose, jangling from their 
fine chain. 


Who the hell did they think they were, erasing someone from her 
past without her authorization? A strict deletion memetic was nearly 
unthinkable to use on someone with her Level. 


Dr. Rights shook with rage, standing up, and storming out of her 
office. Someone was going to catch hell for this. 


Dimensional Site-4 


In her office, O5-2 sat surrounded by a mountain of paperwork. 
Aides flowed in and out of the cramped office, passing through an 
oddly colored door which hurt to look at. 


A tall man in a blue suit passed in to the office, shaking off the 
momentary disorientation. "Overseer, you called for me?" 


05-2 nodded her head, “Has the memetic been distributed? 


The aide nodded, and said quietly, “Yes ma'am, all known records, 
and instances of the name Doctor-“ his voice went eerily silent, and 
his mouth blurred as he spoke the name, “have been deleted.” 


O5-2 nodded once more, and looked back down at the report in front 
of her. "Good. Begin Directive Legends at once." 


The aide turned sharply, and exited back through to Site-4. 


« The Most Dangerous Game | HUB | When All You Have is a 
Hammer» 


When All You Have is a Hammer 


Site-19 


Dr. Magnus sat in his office, leaning back in the office chair. Across 
from him sat Dr. Kensington, flipping through some comic he'd 
picked up on his last run to town. 


"So what should | get her?" he asked, frowning down at his desktop 
calendar, his eyes alighting on the date. 


"What, you mean you haven't gotten her anything yet?" Kensington 
looked up, eyebrow raising. He'd listened to Magnus circle on and 
on about this girl he'd been dating, and had grown tired of his 
constant chattering about it. 


"Nope." Magnus' eyes drifted to a couple of magazines in front of 
him, advertising all kinds of sparkly, heart-themed brick-a-brack. He 
was bad with gifts. Something just never quite clicked with what 
people want, and getting it for them. It was an incredible frustration, 
especially considering who it was supposed to be for. 


"Well, why not? You like this girl, right?" Kensington put the comic 
down, and propped his feet up on the desk. The brightly colored 
pages landed on the desk, as Kensington settled in for the 
conversation. 


Magnus shifted, his body language agitated. "Love her. We've been 
dating for a couple years almost." He didn't like talking about her, 
especially at work. The Foundation had a way of ruining any 
romantic involvements outside of staff. 


Kensington squinted his eyes, "Wait, didn't you just...| thought you 
came back like seven months ago." 


Magnus grunted, "Did." 


Silence hung between them, until it was obvious Magnus wasn't 
going to volunteer anything more. Kensington raised an eyebrow 
further, "So she's...from wherever the hell you were all this time? 
Where was that, by the way?" He tried to disguise his interest. 
Wherever Magnus had gone, he wasn't telling anyone, and for some 
reason the higher ups were alright with it. 


Magnus shifted uncomfortably, and twirled the pen in his right hand 
a few times, "I've already told you how that went. | was kidnapped 
by—" 


Kensington slashed his hand across the intervening space, "| know 
you've fed me half a dozen bullshit stories about what happened, 
but none of it adds up. Goddammit Magnus, I'm your friend, and the 
only fucking one you've got if your social calendar, and my inbox are 
any indication. You owe me the truth." 


Magnus leaned back, his eyes closing. He pushed the pen idly 
across his calendar, as he removed his glasses with his free hand. "1 
know, Kens. And | do owe it to you, | really do. I've told you twice 
now, and | shouldn't have even told you this much, that it's 
classified. | shouldn't even acknowledge anything, the only thing | 
can tell you is that Legends Never—" 


Kens threw his hands up, frustrated with the deflection, "Whatever! 
Jesus Christ, you can quote the Big Bambino all day, doesn't explain 
how you're not dead. Or the lack of scarring. Or who this girl is—" 


Magnus' eyes snapped open, "Hey. She's important to me, and 
she's not a threat to the Foundation. That's all that matters!" His 
voice had escalated until by the end it left the office ringing. 


Kensington's jaw clenched for a moment. Magnus wasn't usually this 
tense. Sure, he'd scream at Kensington for various bits of dickery, 
but this was real anger. This gift thing must be important to him. 
Kensington tensed further for a minute, considering snapping back, 
before relaxing. "Alright. Fine. Sorry | asked. So why haven't you 
gotten anything?" 


Magnus sighed heavily, the anger and emotion leaking out him like a 
balloon, "I'm broke." 


Kensington blinked a few times, incredulously. "Wait, that's it? 
You're broke?" 


Magnus turned away, staring out the window of his office, the 
concrete still drying after last week's containment breach. "I spent all 
my money."