He grabbed hold of the two men of the group, digging his long 
yellow nails into their necks. He dug around in them before feeling a 
bullet enter into his skull. He twisted his head around, feeling his 
neck snap out of place, and looked down to face the barrel of a 
shotgun, directly aimed at his face. He staggered back as the 
shotgun blast tore away at his face, causing pieces of brain and 
bone to fly through the air and onto the ground. It felt weird to him, 
especially considering he could see parts of his exposed brain and 
pieces of his glass-like skull. 


He orientated himself off the ground, staring at the two. He tried 
staring at her,° a large grin plastered across his face. She flinched 
for a moment, but quickly raised her gun and aimed her sights onto 
the robed figure before her. 


He jumped into the air, dodging the gunfire and entering the treeline. 


The two women pressed their backs to each other, aiming their guns 
in various directions as they scanned the dark treeline above them. 
A rustle provoked the smaller among them to fire to her right, 
causing a bloodied raccoon to fall where an animal-like creature 
should have been. The taller and slightly more experienced one 
began speaking into the small microphone embed into her armor. 


"Command! We need back up, we've sighted a hostile entity during 
our search for the Green, we need—" 


Before she could finish her sentence, the dark-hooded figure jumped 
from the treeline and onto the two, wrapping his legs around their 
necks. He tightened his muscles, an audible pop sound emanating 
from their necks. Their eyeballs dangled from their sockets as the 
figure removed his legs from around their necks. 


"Hey, kid," the man asked, squatting before the child. He tugged 
slightly against his black trenchcoat. The kid was quietly weeping 
into his shirt. It was the only sound that could be heard for miles. 
Behind him, his companion held a pistol. 


"You wanna come with us? We'll protect you from them." 
No response. 


"Look, we're sorry about what happened, but you can't let that stop 
you." 


No response. 


"The old man, he would have wanted you to keep going. He died so 
you could live. Don't stay here and die for nothing." 


No response. 

"Trust me, The Circus will be a great place." 

No response. 

"It might not be the greatest place on earth, but | think it—" 


The kid collapsed onto his side, weeping turned to light murmuring, 
and then snoring. The man approached the squatting one, a clown 
mask strapped to his face. 


"You always did have a way with kids, Stretchy." 


"Shut it Masky." 


The man in the gray trench coat looked over the carnage before 
him. Five soldiers, two women and three men, went missing in those 
woods. Various organs, limbs, and assorted pieces of flesh were 
strewn across the small patch of grass in front of him. At first glance, 
it looked like they were ripped apart by an animal, but on closer 
inspection, this was not the case. They were arranged in an 
unnatural way, as if they were planted there on purpose. 


He took another drag from his half finished cigarette. He was going 
to get every last inch of tobacco out of it even if it was the last thing 
he ever did. He had already gone through his monthly allowance in 
about a week,® and he was getting that itch. He wondered if the 
bodies had any on them. 


He took three more steps towards the patch, noticing the small 
outline of a message in the body parts and organs in front of him. He 
recognized that phrase and style of writing’ before. 


KYS GOCKSUCKERS 
"Clowns sir?" said Agent Garrison, staring at the bloody mess. 


"Clowns," Commander Grant replied, looking over this particular 
clown's calling card. 


"What do you suggest we do?" 


"Get the detention center on the line for me. | need to have a word 
with a certain Dick." 


"As you wish sir." 


|Hub| Green Day II » 


Footnotes 

1. Despite this, it continued to play GOC propaganda pieces. 

2. As best as they could, however, considering that the table was 
about three or so feet long. 

3.One of the many perks of letting Prometheus Labs produce your 
armor. 


Dr. :A howl? Like a wolf? 
D-3456: Not... exactly. Sounded weird. Distorted. 
Dr. : Please proceed down the trail. 


D-3456 starts walking again, with increased speed. After 43 meters, 
the mist starts to thicken and acquire a deeper shade of blue. 


D-3456: It's starting to get really hard to see here. This 
flashlight isn't— 


D-3456 suddenly starts to turn around. 


D-3456: [shouting] !  ! Did you hear it now? 

Dr. : Nothing came through the audio feed, D-3456. What did you 
hear? 

D-3456: [shouting] Same thing as before! Closer! How the didn't 
you hear it, it was— 

Dr. : Please continue to follow the trail, D-3456. 

D-3456: [shouting] No, you don't get it, it— 


A loud roar can be heard coming from D-3456's left. D-3456 
screams and starts running down the trail. Every ten seconds, the 
sound of steps coming from behind D-3456 can be heard, starting 
off distant and increasing in volume until they appear to be less than 
one meter from D-3456, at which point they stop. 


After running 68 more meters, D-3456 reaches a large concrete wall 
with a door in it. D-3456 kicks the door open, revealing the main hall 
of the abandoned house. D-3456 enters, turns around and closes 
the door. Two minutes later, he opens the door again, revealing 

Street. D-3456 shows extreme paranoia for the following 
weeks, claiming to hear the same howl in the distance when alone. 
Effects seemed to fade after weeks. D-3456 now behaves 
normally. 


Close analysis of the audio feed revealed that a very low sound 
could be heard the second time D-3456 stopped. The sound file 
containing the amplified sound can be found here. 


Exploration Il 


4. Or was it a smile? He could never tell with creatures like this. 

5. His right eye made a valiant attempt, but it could only do so much 
with it dangling by a string of flesh. 

6.A new record,he thought. 

7.If you can even call this writing, he noted. 


Green Day II 


Authors Note: This takes place in the universe of 
SCP-2238. 


« Green Day |Hub| Green Day III » 


Global Occult Coalition Detention Center, Alabama. 1993 


Commander Grant walked down the long winding halls of the non- 
anomalous wing of the facility, his footsteps making an audible clack 
beneath him as he looked for the correct door number. It was 
strange, the lack of sound. Grant was reminded of the horror movies 
of yonder days, when there were just large periods of silence as the 
main character waited for something to crawl out of the shadows 
and attack. 


He couldn't help but smile as he remembered those younger, more 
innocent times. 


Grant slowed his movement, stopping as he read the large sliver 
plaque attached to the wall of the steel door. 


Dick C. Normus 


He stifled a laugh’ as he slid his green security card through the 
reader and, after waiting for the light to flash, opened the door. 
Bruises covered the man's face from years of toil and general age, 
lips constantly downturned. He was sitting in a small metal cot, 
staring up at the ceiling. Bullet proof glass separated the two, a 
small hole acting as the sole means of communication. The man 
turned his head to the right to face Commander Grant, his glassy 
eyes staring right into the Commander's. 


The Commander walked towards the chair in front of the glass, 
crossed his legs, and looked just began to watch. 


"How is your day going, Dick?" 


The dark figure lay beneath a tree, his breath heavy, blood covering 
his body from head to toe. He could feel the flesh around his frontal 
lobe began to heal, slowly forming flesh to fill in the holes of his 
brain and damaged limbs. It was akin to the feeling of rubbing 
Elmer's Glue on your hands and then peeling it off. 


"Ken. Let's go home." 


Ken looked back at the roundish creature before him, a small child 
over his shoulder. Masky lay just 10 or so feet behind, gun at the 
ready. 


"Just....one....more," Ken wheezed out as he forced himself to 
stand up. 


"No dipshit. Anymore dead Gocks and we'll have a full battalion from 
up North in Nashville." 


"Awwwwwwww comeeee theeeeee fuckkkkkkkkkk onnnnn, we 
could kill them all if we wanted to, ya pussy." 


Stretchy laughed. 
"Sure, if you wanna end up like that damned Church." 
"I'm not some damn cultist." 


"You can have your little violent power fantasy later, Ken, but right 
now, we got a kid to take care of," Stretchy retorted, nodding his 
head in the direction of the child on his shoulder. 


Ken cracked his neck, twisting it before it forced itself back into the 
direction of what would be considered a ‘normal’ human. 


"Let's just go home." 


The Circus was, like many nights before it, a great spectacle to 
behold for many outsiders. But to Masky, it was just another night of 


standing around with a gun on his hip. A thankless job, but someone 
had to do it. As the lights and screams and cheers of the crowds 
inside of the small-but-bigger-on-the-inside tents were occurring, 
Masky was standing, waiting. He changed his face to match the 
Circus' 'child-friendly’ atmosphere, the flesh morphing and changing 
pigmentation in order to fit in. Just like he always had. 


Above him, on top of a ice cream truck, was the blood soaked Ken, 
his clown mask off to the side as he chewed on his ring finger. 


"You need a shower." 
"You need a new face." 
Silence. 


"So," the younger one asked as he removed his finger from his 
mouth, not unlike a toddler, "the old man finally croaked, eh?" 


"Yes, it appears so." 
"What're they gonna do with the kid?" 


"| don't know. | assume they'd send him to some safe enclave out 
west in Foundation territory. Or the Portlands, if possible." 


Ken hung his feet off the edge of the truck, swinging them back and 
forth. 


"Hendie his dad? Doubt the old man had it in him, but anything's 
possible." 


"No, just a child he found off the street." 


"Little shit got him killed." 


Doctor Smith was not having a pleasant day. Not only was she 
having to play """good"" cop to this lunatic's bad cop while he was 
pummeling some poor Richard, but she forgot to bring her lunch to 
work that day at the Detention Facility! And she spent so much time 
on creating those tiny sandwiches that her husband always found so 


cut— 
Another scream punctured the air. 


"Blarg," she said out loud as she saw the Commander electrocuting 
the prisoner with the weird clown markings. He was looking for 
information on the Circus, who was hiding some dangerous Green 
or something. She wasn't paying too much attention when the 
Commander hastily explained the context. She eyed the newspaper 
that the Commander had brought in before the fiesta of violence 
began, and, with a swift motion, grabbed it and lazily looked through 
the different articles and editorials. 


Doctor Smith flipped through five or so pages of news about boring 
stuff like Lab's new line of SRA's, or the GRU-"P" being absorbed 
into the GOC as the '109th' member? and some random person 
called "Professor AW" that was new to the Arms Race between 
Labs, MCD, and Anderson. Only when she saw a picture of some 
old man and some kid did she stop. 


James Henderson 


irmingham, Alabama - August 12, 1993 At 12:04 PM 
UTC, Special Agent Garrison was attacked by 
Birmingham Local James Henderson, alleged member 
of terrorist groups funded by the Foundation and 


Unusual Incidents Unit. Agent Garrison shot the 
suspect, killing Henderson on impact. Afterwards, 
Agent Garrison had attempted to bring in a Highly 
Dangerous Reality Bender that had escaped Coalition 
custody, but was overwhelmed by an unknown third 


party. 


"He would have killed me if | didn't do something," 
stated Special Agent Garrison when asked by Local 
reporter Mabel Smith about the killing. "He was insane, 
really. Thankfully he didn't cause too much damage." 


The 55-year-old and graying attacker had a criminal 
history of connections to either terrorist groups or 
groups that are sympathetic to them. Although never 
officially indicated, it is generally believed by Coalition 
analysts that he was very much a supporter of the 
notorious terrorist group 'The Serpent's Hand’. 


"He was dangerous and insane to have a reality 
bender in his home, protecting it, "stated Commander 
Grant of Coalition forces to local Birmingham News. 
"Thankfully, Agent Garrison was able to prevent any 
future acts committed by the lunatic." 


"CUNT!" 


Another scream ruined her concentration as Grant turned the dial up 
from 6 to 9. 


The vein in Smith's head was about to burst. 


Stretchy wrapped the bandage around the kid's knee. A majority of 
his legs had been scraped and cut during his run through the forest 
from the Gocks. The kid was awake now, but didn't speak. Not that 
Stretchy blamed him much. He just saw one of the closest things to 
a parental figure get his brains blown out. 


Hell, it reminded him of when Icky and Manny got rid of Fuller. Even 
if it was necessary. 


He stood up and stretched his back out, which was surprisingly easy 
for a creature without a skeleton. 


"Kid, ya need anything while I'm here?" 
Silence. 


Stretchy moved his hand fifteen feet across the trailer he lived in 
towards the cooler, opened it up, and popped out a bottled water 
and soda.° He placed the soda next to the kid. He plopped himself 
right next to the kid towards his left. He took a deep breath and 
sipped his water. 


There was a good fifteen seconds before anyone said anything. 
"You got a name kid?" 

Kid didn't even nod. 

"You got any hobbies?" 

Kid's face was in a downtrodden frown. 

"Can you talk at all?" 

Nothing. 


He wondered if he was a special kid. Maybe he couldn't talk, or, if he 
did, something bad would happen that'd kill a lot of people. It wasn't 
out of the question, it happens. They usually learn to control it when 
they're kids, or, if they're unlucky, they'll be found in a river. Or, if 
they're really unlucky, they'll be sold to Micky Dees. 


God damn, Mickey Dees. He heard the horror stories of what they'd 
do. Stories of little men in suits walking into their local club and 
asking for a "good catch", mostly a young child, although it could be 
an adult as well, was brought before them to inspect at their own 
leisure. And, if they liked it, they'd bring it to their mansion on fucking 
Wall Street or wherever else and just play with it. Amuse 


themselves. Use it as a way to get rich people points at rich people 
parties where people sipped wine, sucked each other's cocks and 
sniffed each others farts. "Oh yes, | have a man who can turn his 
penis into a boomerang" "Oh, well mine can be burnt alive and still 
survive, | tried it myse—" 


"Vince." 

"Huh?" 

"My name is Vince. At least, | think." 

Stretchy was a little taken aback, but pleased nonetheless. 
"Heh, thought you were a mute for a second there." 

"| get that a lot." 

"How old are ya?" 

"Nine, ten-ish | think. My parents never kept many dates." 
"Why not?" 


Vince shrugged. "Never had much of a reason." 


"CUNT! BITCH LIPPED WHORE! DAMN GEO SEA CUNTS I'LL 
FUCKIN’ RIP YOUR BALLS OFF LIKE MY GRANDAD USED TO 
DO!" 


Dick struggled against his restraints, wiggling and moving and 
writhing around in the metal latches that kept him down. He had 
gotten used to the automatic electrical shocks that came with this 
contraption. Some experimental chair of some sort, mostly for 
human subjects. 


But he was a clown goddamnit!4 And clowns don't quit! Sets bad 
precedent, if anything. 


He could almost move his feet before the door opened and slammed 
shut, and a— 


Oh my. 


Before him was a short woman, her hair tied up into a bun on her 
head. A white labcoat covered her shoulders, and she wore a pair of 
beautiful thick rimmed glasses. 


"Hello, Dick."