"But the truth is much deeper. You looked into that truth, Doctor 
Salvia. Lesser men would be consuming their own fingers at my feet 
right now, or been a meal for the Lady, or a red smear in afternoon 
traffic. You watched a man try to sell vacation shares to an entity 
whose language caused his mind to shut down. You walked 
hundreds of miles with a single step. You lost your leg during a 
containment breach more than a year ago, and I’m not speaking of a 
simple separation of flesh. The being you faced reached into your 
essence and took a piece of you away. Without that piece, your leg 
simply ceased. Your young friend Jason Snodgrass was correct. 
You all lost something, and it is driving Jason and the others to 
madness because they cannot replace it. Yet you did.” 


“Me? How?” 


The Gentleman smiled. “I like your cane.” He gestured at the piece 
of paper. 


Salvia let out a long breath. “What’s in it?” 
“Perspective.” 


Salvia came forward to lean over the pedestal. The paper looked 
innocuous enough. His hands shook as he picked it up and opened 
it, holding it under the light. 


“What do you see?” The Gentleman asked. 


Salvia set the paper down. “A recipe for White Russians. And a 
coupon for pizza.” 


The light went out, and the paper vanished. Salvia felt its physical 
presence fade away. Lost in the labyrinthine everything that was the 
Gentleman’s Archive. 


‘Very good, Doctor. My name is Bartleby. At your service.” He 


marks and discoloration. 


Input: One (1) wheel (green) 

Setting: 1:1 

Output: One (1) wheel (red) of identical make and 
quality. 


Input: One (1) wheel (green) 

Setting: Fine 

Output: One (1) unmarked black wheel of almost perfect 

quality. The outer rubber of the wheels greatly resists 

wear even with prolonged use, and the center bearing 

exhibits almost no friction, and was successfully left 

spinning in a vacuum sealed environment for just under 
days. 


Input: One (1) wheel (green) 

Setting: Very Fine 

Output: One (1) bearing, suspended by an invisible 
outer wheel of unknown material. Although invisible, the 
outer wheel physically exists and appears to use higher- 
dimensional translations to redirect the force of gravity 
and propel the object forward at at about half the speed 
of free fall. The wheel can be easily stopped at low 
speeds, but gains momentum quickly while unhindered. 
Prospective researchers should note that under the 
influence of gravity the wheel will always retain a 1/4mg 
horizontal force, even while at rest. 


Note 1: And they say you can't reinvent the wheel. 
Note 2: Following the collision of a Class-D personnel 
with Dr. at =mph, all human testing has been 
suspended until Dr. | can come up with a procedure 
that isn't idiotic. 


Name: Dr. Hadian 

Date: 8/19/2017 

Total Items: Three (3) collections of children's toys 
made from magnets and ball bearings 


looked at his pocket watch, which wasn't really a pocket watch. “Just 
in time. You’re fortunate.” 


“Why?” 


“Round pegs don’t fit square holes,” Bartleby said. “Consider it a 
test. And a wager.” 


“To what end?” 


Bartleby smiled. “Keep a hand on that cane, Doctor.” He tapped his 
umbrella on the floor. 


Salvia sat up with a start. He was in his office, at his desk. Klaxons 
were wailing outside. Before his eyes could adjust, the lights came 
back on and he winced under their glare. Seconds later the door 
opened, and Alex entered dressed in Kevlar. He trained the 
business end of a pistol on Salvia. “Doctor?” 


“I’m here, I’m fine,” Salvia said. “What’s going on?” 


“Serpent’s Hand,” Alex said. “We’re doing a sweep and moving 
everyone to the mess for headcount. On your feet.” 


“Fine.” Salvia patted himself down. His clothes were clean, not a 
sign of the ordeal he’d been through. The ashtray was empty. The 
pipe was gone. Had he even left? 


His eyes caught Jason’s papers, still waiting for his signature. 
Frowning, he signed them. “Maybe a piece is missing. Don’t know if 
| can replace it, but | can at least give you a decent night’s sleep.” 


“Doc?” Alex asked. 


“Nothing.” Salvia he went to the door. To his relief he saw Johanson 
being ushered out of her office towards the messhall. She waved at 
him, her expression relieved. 


“I’ve had enough perspective for today,” Salvia muttered. “I'll thank 
you not to drop any more on me.” 


He shut the door behind him. Bartleby watched him go, and was 
soon joined by Melinda and Jorgen. 


“Well?” Jorgen asked. 
“| think | earned that cognac,” Bartleby said. 


Melinda rolled her eyes. “This is still a mistake. The man is an utter 
slob. He soiled himself. Twice.” 


“You didn’t exactly keep a stiff upper lip when you met her, Melinda,” 
Jorgon said. 


“We were all something rougher once,” Bartleby stated. “But we'll 
make a Gentleman of him yet.” 


Over(thinking) the Rainbow 


After decades of service, there wasn’t much that could faze Dr. 
Gears anymore. He had adapted to his career as a Foundation 
researcher by becoming unusually stoic, to the point that many of 
his colleagues thought him to be completely emotionless, and 
possibly even some type of advanced robotic automaton. 


And if that bothered him, he gave no sign. 


He walked into his office, sat at his desk, booted up his computer 
and logged in to scipnet. He was about to update the report on the 
recent CK reality shift that had so substantially altered SCP-049, 
when something on the screen actually caused him to arch his 
eyebrow ever so slightly. 


The Foundation logo was filled in with a Rainbow Flag, along with a 
brown and black stripe on top of it. 


Slightly surprised and mildly concerned, Gears reached down and 
pressed the intercom button on his desk. 


“Dr. Clef, please report to my office,” he said, staring quietly at the 
screen until his fellow senior researcher arrived. 


“What’s up Chuck?” Clef asked nonchalantly. 


“I’m afraid the Foundation’s intranet may have been hacked,” Gears 
reported, gesturing towards the altered logo. “We'll need to have the 
maintenance technicians run a full diagnostic to determine the 
extent of the damage. Most likely the perpetrators only wanted to 
download the database and left this as a calling card to mock us, but 
we'll have to check for malware and edited files regardless. Do you 
think it might have been that Gol that’s opposed to recreational 
cannabis use because it impairs their ability at online gaming?” 


“Ahh, have you been hitting the ganja Gears?” Clef asked in mild 


disbelief. “We haven't been hacked. That logo’s just for pride 
month.” 


“Pride month?” 
“Yeah, June is LGBTQPIA Pride month man.” 
“LGBTQP-” 


“Gay pride, Gears, gay pride. The rainbow in the logo is to show our 
support for our non-heteronormative employees.” 


Gears looked at the screen in confusion, and then turned back to 
Clef. 


“We’re a clandestine, international Non-Government Organization 
focused on the study and containment of paranormal phenomena. 
What does that have to do with gay rights?” 


“Everything is political these days Gears. If you're not for something, 
you're against it. Seriously, where have you been the last thirty 
years?” 


“Working at Foundation black ops sites, with little to no extraneous 
information about the outside world,” Gears replied matter-of-factly. 


“... Fair enough.” 


“| admit | may be somewhat out of touch with current sociopolitical 
dynamics, but surely we do still retain a nontrivial number of 
culturally conservative staff members. Doesn’t this logo risk 
upsetting them? Wouldn't it make more sense to remain neutral on 
this issue, as it does not directly affect Foundation operations?” 


“There is no neutrality on stuff like this anymore,” Clef replied with a 
sad shake of his head. “We’re living in a very polarized time. June’s 
pride month, and if we don't openly support it, then we're against it 
by default. Being against it means we’re on the alt-right's side, which 
means we might as well put rare Pepes all over our intranet 
instead." 


"What are rare Pep-" 
"Nazi Frogs, Gears. Nazi Frogs." 
"Nazi Frogs?" 


"Nazi Frogs. Memetics on the internet that turns the friggin’ frogs 
Nazi!" Clef said, doing the best Alex Jones impression he could 
manage. "Now, if there’s nothing further...” 


“Actually, | am curious as to why there is a black and brown stripe at 
the top of the rainbow?” 


“For inclusivity. It shows our support for people of colour. Just 
because it’s gay pride doesn’t mean other injustices stop existing. 
We're all in this together, or some hippy crap like that.” 


“But real rainbows aren’t-” 


“Well, real rainbows aren’t inclusive enough anymore,” Clef 
interjected. “It’s not supposed to be a real rainbow Gears. It’s a 
symbol of support and solidarity for equality and inclusivity.” 


Gears took another careful look at the screen. 


“If that’s the case, shouldn’t there be a pink stripe for women’s 
rights? That’s also a fairly significant political movement at the 
moment, is it not?” 


Clef shrugged indifferently. 


“Gotta draw the line somewhere. There's only so many pixels inside 
the logo we can colour.” 


“I see,” Gears said, still sounding uncertain. “Dr. Clef, if | may be so 
bold, | am somewhat perplexed by how well you're taking this. You 
do, after all, own a mass stockpile of firearms and have offended 
virtually every woman you've ever come into prolonged contact with. 
| would honestly think you were the sort to view any form of political 
correctness as an infringement on your first amendment rights.” 


“As long as | got my second amendment rights, | don't need to worry 


about the rest,” Clef replied. “And... Draven said that if | can’t stop 
being such an alt-right troll all the time then I’m not going to be 
invited to his and Talloran’s wedding. | can’t not be at that wedding 
Gears. It would be embarrassing. All the big names will be at that 
wedding.” 


“Yes, it will be an excellent opportunity for our enemies to terminate 
a large percentage of our senior staff in a single strike. There should 
probably be a designated survivor,” Gears remarked thoughifully. 
“So, just to make sure I've got everything strai- or, clear rather; we 
haven't been hacked, we're supportive of gay pride, and our logo is 
now an inaccurate but ethnically inclusive rainbow? ” 


“Yep, happy pride month Chuck,” Clef smiled, slapping him on the 
back and taking his leave of the office. 


Gears turned back to the computer, but his eyes lingered on the 
altered logo for a moment before he began typing. 


"Who would name a frog Pepe?" he asked himself quietly. 


"Nazis!" came Clef's distant reply from the hallway. 


Tales P 


Paddy's Last Jest 


Dear All Of You Money-Grubbing, Arrogant, 
Sycophantic, Empty-Skulled, Lying, Poorly-Animated 
Asslickers, Especially Freddy "Fucking Backstabbing 
Judas" Fox And Kenny "Never Worked A Day In His 
Sexless Life" Crow: 


Well, you finally done it! Great job, you broke me. You 
broke me enough to bash down my door until this piece 
of paper turned up in my bed. I'd give you the "if you're 
reading this, I'm dead" business and say my tearful 
goodbyes to you hateful sons of bitches, but what would 
you say to that? "Daaaah, why is he still using a 
typewriter in 2016, Paddy needs to give up on letter- 
writing, it's even worse than his shitty cartoon acting, | 
mean, it's not like | could do any better if | tried twice as 
hard as Paddy has been trying all his life, but I'm gonna 
go ahead and make Paday's life a dick-in-the-garbage- 
disposal party because I'm about as smart as a dixie cup 
full of gatorade!" You can all go fuck yourselves forever 
and ever. 


Don't worry about revenge. I'm gonna let you live your 
sugar-coated plastic imitation cheddar lifespans as long 
as you want, being the grease-drenched toxic gorilla 
rabies shitstains you are. That's more than enough 
punishment. | wouldn't wish it on Hitler, or even Super 
Hitler. 


There is someone I'm gonna completely fuck up before | 
stick a Remington up my nose, but unlike you, they're a 
smart enemy. They're a patient enemy. They're an 
enemy that doesn't lie through their teeth and call me 
their "friend." They're the ones that call us SCP-2835. 
Wanna know more about that? | fucked your mom. 


And when you die scared and alone, and find yourselves 
in the pitch-dark corner of hell reserved for weaklings, I'll 
be the first one to shit caustic misery down your throat. | 
will torture you in ways that haven't even been invented 
yet. | will piss on your graves, around your graves, in 
your graves, and in your coffins, until your skeleton is a 
fucking piss pickle. You will gargle your screams through 
your boiling entrails until the last star goes black and all 
the Universe is cold and quiet. 


And before | forget, 


REAP WHAT YOU SOW REAP WHAT YOU SOW 
REAP WHAT YOU SOW 

REAP WHAT YOU SOW REAP WHAT YOU SOW 
REAP WHAT YOU SOW 

REAP WHAT YOU SOW REAP WHAT Y 


The typewriter keys fell silent. With a shaking wing, Paddy Pelican 
took a long drink from his red Solo cup of pre-mixed margarita. 
Surrounded by the failed drafts of his note on his desk, he wiped a 
tear from his drooping eye. 


Recalling a coaching session from his animator— 


"What the fuck are you doing, Paddy? Are you fucking 
crying?!" 


I-I'm sorry, Mr. Singer... you're just shouting at me, 
and... 


"You don't fucking cry in the cartoon business!" 
...why not? 
"Because | have no idea how to draw a crying pelican!" 


Paddy closed his eyes. He grabbed the duffel bag from under his 
broken bed frame. Two shotguns peeked out from the opened 
zipper. He sighed. 


He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't bluff. He wouldn't ask how he was 


doing. 


For the first time in his life, Paddy Theophrastus Pelican would make 
good on his threats. 


"Is that like the castle you work at, Daddy?" 


Lisle Naismith awoke from his nap on the couch as his 6-year-old 
daughter, Penny, pointed to the TV, The interior of a gigantic 
animated castle filled the screen. 


"Oh, did Mom put in Sleeping Beauty?" 
His daughter nodded. 


"Right. Well, our castle is at least three times that big. But usually it's 
so full of kid-eating trolls that you can't see the ceiling." 


When your kid had an imagination, it was easier than usual to keep 
your job as a Foundation Site Director a secret. 


Lisle's eyes closed again as Maleficent came into the hall to cast her 
famous spinning wheel curse. His tension faded away amidst the 
sounds of bickering fairies. Shocked soldiers. Evil magic. A cocking 
shotgun. A firing shotgun. 


There were no shotguns in Sleeping Beauty. 


Lisle opened his eyes. As red splatters colored the walls of King 
Stefan's palace, horrified attendees of Aurora's christening ran for 
the doors. 


"What the devil is going on?" said Maleficent, turning her attention 
away from the King and Queen who hadn't invited her. "You can kill 
whomever you want after I'm done here, you meddlesom—" 


In a flash of buckshot, Maleficent's jaw became a red cloud. From 
the left side of the screen, a black and white pelican, drawn with 
significantly less effort than the rest of the cast, let out a drunken 
laugh as he mowed down the cast. 


Input: One (1) magnet and bearing set 

Setting: 1:1 

Output: A collection of interlocking plastic rods. The tips 
of each are magnetised. 


Input: One (1) magnet and bearing set 

Setting: Fine 

Output: A series of magnetic rods and metal balls that 
appear to be self-replicating and self-assembling. 
Current structure is a pyramid roughly half a meter wide 
and tall. This structure shows no other anomalous 
properties and has been safely contained. 


Input: One (1) magnet and bearing set 

Setting: Very Fine