On November 3rd, 1994, at about 3:30 AM, | received a telephone 
call at home from Alan Medford, Security Director of Site 73, who 
informed me that a break-in had occurred at Sanford Chemical 
Processing. Upon arriving at the scene | was informed that, after the 
office had closed for the night, its power had been cut, its alarm 
systems remotely disabled, and the front door breached. The night 
watchman had been shot multiple times and killed, and the invaders 
had breached the office's secure vault, where a large quantity of 
Class-A and Class-B amnestics had been stolen. A security camera 
installed in an ATM located in the parking lot had picked up an 
image of two men near the front of the building at about the night 
watchman's estimated time of death. | recognized the men in the 
photo as Agents Rodriguez and Tate. 


A trace of credit lines assigned to the Secret Service found that 


Agents Rodriguez and Tate had boarded an early morning flight to 
Los Angeles International Airport approximately 2 hours after the 
night watchman's time of death. Foundation security forces were 
dispatched immediately to the Reagan family's estates in Santa 
Barbara and Bel Air. Agents Rodriguez and Tate were apprehended 
at the Bel Air residence, where President Reagan was found ina 
semi-comatose state suffering from an overdose of amnestics. 


During interrogation, Agent Rodriguez stated that President 
Reagan's behavior had become increasingly erratic following his 
viewing of SCP-1981. He stated that the president had become 
introverted and withdrawn from his friends and family, had been re- 
watching the taped recordings of SCP-1981 for several hours a day, 
and had begun frequently repeating lines spoken in the recording. 
Agent Rodriguez stated that he was of the belief that President 
Reagan had begun to make personal decisions based on the 
statements made by his counterpart in the recordings, and that he 
had recently engaged in several bizarre financial investments and 
written several esoteric and convoluted letters to current and former 
heads of state and foreign politicians of little note. Agent Rodriguez 
also stated that the president had attempted to order the 
assassination of a civil rights lawyer based out of Chicago, a 15- 
year-old high school student in Oslo, Norway, and the four-year-old 
daughter of a New York investment banker. Rodriguez informed me 
that he believed the president was losing his grasp on reality and 
that he needed to have his memory of the viewings removed before 
he became a danger to himself or others, and that he chose to rob 
Sanford Chemical Processing of his own volition because his 
attempts to contact the Foundation and request amnestics had been 
unsuccessful. 


Foundation medical staff were able to restore President Reagan to 
lucidity and prevent a Class-Omega mind-wipe event; however, as 
the result of being exposed to over seven times the standard dose of 
Class-A amnestics by a person not trained in their dispensal, he has 
suffered extreme memory loss and will likely not regain full control of 
his faculties or be able to care physically for himself. | oversaw the 
forging of an open letter in which President Reagan states that he 
has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease and intends to 
withdraw from public life. His wife and other persons involved in his 


daily life have been treated with Class-B amnestics as appropriate. 
The actions taken by Agents Rodriguez and Tate have been fully 
disavowed by the Secret Service; by my order they have undergone 
Q-Class amnestic therapy and been assigned new civilian identities. 


In closing, | wish to reiterate my opinion that it was a mistake from 
the beginning to allow President Reagan to view SCP-1981. Any 
political advantage that the Foundation may have gained from 
granting the president's request does not compensate for the 
psychological damage that the president and his family have 
suffered as a result. | acknowledge that my refusal to speak with 
Agent Rodriguez following the viewing may have contributed 
partially to his later actions. | throw myself upon the mercy of the 
Ethics Committee and pray for a speedy and equitable resolution to 
this hearing. 


-Dr. James K. Robinson, Ph. D 


Dragon's Teeth 


The screaming man doused himself in spoiled milk, backed by a 
chorus of dog barks and digeridoos. Sarah sighed as she picked up 
her coat and sidled her way down the aisle. Taking a last glance at 
the stage, she saw the man being wrapped in gauze by a half dozen 
Buddy Holly lookalikes. As she headed out into the crisp November 
night, she lit a cigarette. She checked her watch and saw that it 
wasn't even ten. She might be able to reach Daniel. 


She headed to the nearest pay phone. One of Daniel's latest quirks 
was to block every number that wasn't a pay phone. It had 
something to do with his new obsession about "the depersonification 
of communication by way of the removal of the spatial context in 
conversation." Sarah understood the sentiment, but it made him a 
pain to get a hold of. Still, it was better than last March, when he had 
only allowed callers to communicate in Esperanto. Even with all of 
his bizarre affectations, Daniel was someone worth knowing. He 
seemed to be aware about anything happening before anyone else. 
A night with him was guaranteed to be interesting if nothing else. 


She dialed the number and tapped her foot impatiently as the phone 
rang. After twenty seconds, she heard a click. 


"Hey Daniel. What's up?" 


"Miss Moutree. How are you this fine evening?" Sarah cringed. She 
hated when he called her that; it made her feel like a hillbilly. 


"| just got out of Eric's show." She took a drag from the cigarette. 
"And?" 


"You were right. Christ, what a fucking mess. | could barely keep my 
eyes open." 


"| keep telling you darling, the traditional media have become so 


T3@11:10 
13@22:06 


shell. Approximately 3 minutes 
after entering the chamber, D-033 
is immobilized by a flypaper-like 
substance and anesthetized, 
apparently by means of 
intravenous injection. Before 
observation is again obscured by 
reapplication of the coating 
(apparently by means of a 
sprayer located above the 
observation window), observation 
indicates that specimens are 
engaged in the purification of 
wafer-grade silicon and the 
construction of complex 
electronics. Radio signals 
emanating from within the 
chamber are detected and 
recorded. 

[DATA EXPUNGED] 

Lighting in the chamber fails 
again. Specimens are in the 
process of applying an opaque 
and sound-insulating gel to the 
observation window when Dr. 
Garcia orders the termination of 
observations due to concerns that 
SCP-831 may have escaped 
containment. Specimens in 
chamber asphyxiated and 
remains incinerated. Remainder 
of Site-36 inspected, and 
specimens of SCP-831 found in 
adjacent chamber isolated. 
Objects found in containment 
chamber are undergoing analysis. 
These objects include, among 
many other objects of 
indeterminate function: the 
ceramic shell, a hole-boring 


predictable and trite. So why do you even bother?" 


"| know, | know. Anyway, it's only ten o'clock. Is there anything else 
going on tonight?" 


"Well, | was planning on getting shitfaced by myself, but since you're 
out and about, there's something | think you might be interested 
in.... Tell me, have you ever heard of Francis Lepage?" 


She hesitated. This was another one of his little catty traps to show 
her how superior he was. She had to show her knowledge, but keep 
it vague. "I think so? The French guy, right?" she ventured as she 
eyed the glowing ring around the tip of the cigarette. 


"Your powers of deduction are stunning, darling." Bitch, Sarah 
thought as she rolled her eyes. "But yes, he's French. He doesn't so 
much make art as art experience. It's like nothing else. You have to 
see it to believe it." 


There was a hint of excitement in his voice. Something had 
managed to worm its way through the carefully practiced layers of 
cynicism and hipness. Whatever it was, it must be good. 


"Anyway, it's the old movie theater on 8th and Vine. See you there in 
twenty! Ta-ta!" Before she could respond, the line went dead. 


"Sure, I'd love to go. Asshole," Sarah muttered at the dial tone. 


Forty minutes later, she was still waiting outside the abandoned 
Park Theater. She had tried both of the doors, but found that they 
were locked. She paced impatiently. She didn't like waiting outside 
of a sketchy movie theater for her drug-addled friend to show her 
some conceptual art whatnot in an area that looked like the run 
down part of a war zone. Five minutes later and she finally saw 
Daniel, coming at a leisurely pace. 


"Dan, you fucking asshole! What the fuck is wrong with you? | 
waited here for almost a half hour," she spat as he came near. 


"Love you too, darling," he replied as he embraced her, "Now, let's 
get inside, shall we? The show's just about to start!" 


"This had better be fucking amazing,” she grumbled as she followed 
him down the alley that led to the back. When they reached the rear 
door Daniel knocked four times. A sliver of light illuminated the 
alleyway and the sounds of conversation bled through the crack. 


"What would you like on this glorious night?" a voice asked from 
behind the door. 


"David, you know it's me. Now open the damn door! I'm freezing my 
dick off," Daniel answered without looking. 


A rail-thin man with an unkempt beard sighed and opened the door. 
"You're supposed to say ‘The good stuff. The best stuff.’ It's part of 
the experience," he complained as they pushed past him. 


"Yes, yes. | know. But really, the show's starting any minute now...." 


Among the crowd, Sarah recognized several classmates as well as 
a smattering of professors. Noticing Dr. Willis, her art theory 
instructor, she shrank back slightly. Willis was never in a good 
mood, and Sarah didn't feel like ruining a nice night by dealing with 
her. Everyone seemed to be focused on a tarp-covered object in the 
center of the room. Soon, the lights dimmed. A spotlight flickered on 
and focused on the covered object. A sharply dressed man in a bird 
mask stepped into the spotlight. 


"Ladies, gentlemen, others. It is our pleasure tonight at Last Minerva 
to have the honor of being the latest of Francis Lepage interactive 
art installations," the emcee began. Several masked figures made 
their way through the crowd, passing out markers. 


"The work only works, so to speak, if the audience participates. To 
that end, we ask that you draw your most fearsome creatures all 
over it. The deadliest warriors, the strongest samurai, the most awful 
of animals. Now, without further ado, we present 'Les Dents Du 
Dragon #8." 


With that, the lights came on and the tarp was snatched from the 
object. Sarah was taken aback to see that the "work" was just a 
large porcelain cube. There must be something else, she thought, 
something deeper. This was just more of the same twaddle she had 


seen before. The audience crowded around the statue, each 
drawing their own separate beast. 


"Tell me you didn't drag me to the middle of the ghetto just so we 
can draw stick figures," Sarah whispered to Daniel. 


"Just wait. All good things," he said. 


Sarah bit her tongue and took a marker from a woman wearing a 
giraffe mask. She worked her way through the throng and uncapped 
her marker. Crouching, she began to draw a Greek hoplite like the 
ones she remembered from art history. The shield came first, 
covered in a snake design. Then the body, muscular and armored 
only with a long, flowing helmet. The spear was held above his 
head, menacing all who would oppose him. Sarah took a moment to 
glance at the other drawings. A tiger with a machine gun menaced a 
robotic squid with laser eyes. A scaly beast with a dozen eyes and 
razor-sharp teeth. A drawing of Gamera with hammers for hands. A 
limbed penis with the words "WAR GOD" scrawled across the shaft 
and a sword in one hand. Sarah scoffed. 


The crush around the cube began to thin as the audience stood 
back to take in the work. After a few minutes, Sarah was the only 
one still working. After putting the finishing touches on the hoplite's 
crest, she turned away and looked for Daniel. The murmur of the 
crowd fell silent. 


She turned to see the drawings begin to move. It seemed that the 
simpler drawings were coming to life first. A crude bison lowered its 
head and snorted. A stick figure waved its sword around. Soon, the 
more complex forms came to life. The gun-toting tiger stretched and 
yawned, while a large snake idly breathed a great puff of flame. The 
hoplite was one of the last to animate. Then, all at once, the 
drawings began to attack one another. 


The hoplite sprung into action, spearing the Gamera clone through 
the eye. Within seconds, it was engaged in an intense duel with the 
multi-armed Kali. Sarah glanced around the cube. Everywhere, the 
drawings fought a silent orgy of battle. She found Daniel in the 
crowd and leaned towards him. 


“This is incredible,” she whispered. 


“What did | tell you? His work is like nothing else,” he replied without 
looking away from the piece. 


Meanwhile, the hoplite was bashing the scaly beast with its shield. In 
the corner, the limbed penis seemed to be doing rather well for itself, 
having just decapitated an armored knight. Sarah found herself 
caught up the action. She silently rooted for her hoplite, barely 
supressing a whoop of triumph as it decapitated a winged samurai. 
After several minutes, only her creation and a giant spider remained. 
With a running leap, the hoplite plunged its spear through the 
spider's eye, killing it instantly. 


"Yes!" Sarah shouted as the spider slumped. Out of all of the works, 
hers was the best, the most fit, the most dangerous. 


"Did you see that, Daniel? Fucking right in the eyes!" 


"Yes, | noticed. Congratulations on winning at art, dear," Daniel 
replied, keeping his eyes on the victorious hoplite. As always, it was 
difficult to tell if he was being sarcastic. Whatever. Sarah's drawing 
had won, and that was what mattered. 


"Now, ladies and gentlemen and others," began the emcee, moving 
next to the cube, "it is time for the second of three acts to 
commence. Know that this is done without malice, but with hope. 
Like Cadmus, you are responsible for creation. Art may seize the 
responsibility and wring from it possibility, or it may shy away and 
refuse to be made. It may scream in fury against it." He looked 
around the room "But it must never deny it. You did this. Enjoy." 


As he stepped away from the center of the room, the cube began to 
shift, bulging in some areas, shrinking in others. A buzzing emerged 
from the crowd. Sarah gave Daniel a puzzled look. 


"Dan, what's going on?" 


"Ummm.... | don't.... | don't know...." he murmured as he stared at 
the shifting porcelain in front of them. They both took several steps 
back. Soon, the cube had morphed into something vaguely 


humanoid. As its features became more clearly defined, Sarah 
recognized it as her own hoplite. The almond-shaped eyes, which 
looked so wonderfully stylized in the drawing, appeared bizarre on 
the thing's equally misshapen head. The short, stubby forearms, the 
pointed penis, everything about it looked strange. The hoplite stood 
for a moment, surveying the room around it. She smiled as she got 
it. That art couldn't withstand being transplanted to reality. The 
hoplite would probably crumble or something shortly. She was still 
smiling as the hoplite speared Daniel through the stomach.