Dawn screamed and span the car around quickly, foot lead on the 
pedal, hand grasping the gear stick as if their lives depended on it — 
which they possibly did. 


Somehow, they avoided the main blast area of the missiles. The car, 
a rust-bucket before the journey, was well-dented now and even had 
the dark marks of the explosion that had happened around them. 
The windows were chipped from tiny stones, and one tire was flat — 
but they were both alive. 


Kit, gripping the seat, the spilled ashtray staining his jeans — Dawn, 
still gripping the steering wheel and gearstick, looking at the blast 
hole the missiles had caused. 

Kit blinked, feeling his heart race in his chest, his throat dry. 


“...Someone should get that thing a tissue.” 


« Kit, The Storyteller | Hub | Hands Under the Water » 


No Safe Haven 


Black & White illustrations, like the one above, made by 
SunnyClockwork 


Prologue 
Chapter 
Chapter 
Chapter 
Chapter 
Chapter 
Chapter 


N © G A W NY BH 


Chapter 


Chapter 8 
Chapter 9 
Chapter 10 
Chapter 11 
Chapter 12 
Epilogue 


Prologue 


Stuart sat in the chair facing the window for what seemed like an 
hour. He intended to read the book that he went through so much 
trouble to get, but the weather seemed far more interesting. The 
narrator, who was also the main character, droned on and on about 
insignificant details or events that, if cut out, would have trimmed the 
book to half of what it was. The characters may have been 
interesting, but their personalities were flavored by the narrator's 
point of view. 


He pondered the feedback the book received, which was the whole 
reason he even bothered stealing it. Why are people kicking up such 
a storm over this book? It's not that great. Am | just too young? 
Stuart thought as he shook his head and threw the book on the 


loveseat across the room. He wasted a trip, which was a shame, 
because he felt the town was becoming aware of his presence in the 
shop, and visiting twice in the same week was far more risky than he 
would like. 


He slumped in his chair and continued to stare out the window. The 
rain was pleasant, giving the grounds around the estate a thin sheet 
of fog, turning the vibrant green of the trees into a calming olive. 
Perfect weather for when he'd like to relax. Not so much when he'd 
rather be running errands. 


It wasn't long before he started getting tired of the view, and left to 
care for his grandmother Acacia; God knew if the servants ever did. 
Maybe the rain would lighten up by the time he finished. Legally, 
Acacia was supposed to be taking care of Stuart, but that was 
presumably before she was less ‘eccentric’ and more senile. Once 
her dementia became severe enough, and she became too weak, it 
seemed like Stuart was the one taking care of her. 


He grabbed his supplies, crept as quietly as he could up to the door, 
and opened it just enough so he could see his grandmother. After 
confirming she was asleep, he proceeded with his routine. First, he 
would gather the drawings she drew during her episodes. The 
drawings were always the same; a combination of various sketches 
of either dead animals, usually wolves, cats, and rabbits, or other 
common animals, or a girl in a cage. 


The animal drawings were the most grotesque, but they were also 
the most common. They involved the animals with an eye or two 
removed, or deep wounds, large enough to see the bone, but the girl 
in the cage was more... somber. The cage was iron-barred, and 
looked like something more becoming of a large dog, with the girl 
positioned either on her knees or in a fetal position. Her hair had 
covered her face, but she looked like she was Stuart's age. 


Her dementia was getting worse, so Acacia would always forget that 
she ever drew the paintings, which would scare her if she ever woke 
up to them. Stuart always feared that Acacia might suffer a stroke if 
she ever saw her own art again, so he had to remove them. 


Afterwards, he'd restock the desk with paper and ink. It was 
surprisingly important to keep her stocked with both, otherwise she'd 
resort to other, messy materials and canvasses. The remaining 
tasks were almost self-explanatory: empty the bedpan, dust the 
room, and prepare her breakfast for when she woke up. The real 
challenge was doing all of this without waking her up. 


Admittedly, a good part of how Stuart learned how and why he 
needed to do all of this was from trial and error, but mainly, the 
knowledge came from the books he acquired. He used to take 
medical journals on the subject of bedside manner and the like until 
he felt he had a proper system to follow. 


Once finished, he looked outside the window, and realized the sun 
would begin to rise soon; he needed to finish up. He set Acacia's 
breakfast down on her nightstand, left, locked her room, grabbed 
fifty-five pounds, and made his way to the front door to wait for Dr. 
Unsworth. 


No matter how smart he was, Stuart was just a child, and he knew it. 
He could not maintain this house on his own, so he kept the same 
dealings his grandmother had set up exactly the way she had them. 
He had a grocer who would provide both him and Acacia with food, 
farmers who would rent Acacia's property, and then, Dr. Unsworth, 
currently knocking at the door. 


"Hello? Mr. Hayward? Are you awake?" 


He always assumed Stuart was in his tower. Maybe he thought that 
since Stuart was so groggy, he was just waking up. However, Stuart 
would be just now going to bed, since doing things were so much 
simpler when everyone else was asleep. Stuart usually let Dr. 
Unsworth wait a little, if only because he thought it was a tad 
humorous. Sometimes, the doctor would resort to throwing pebbles 
at his window, or say silly lines like: 


"Hoy there, Stuart! Time to greet the day!" 


Stuart greeted the large man at his doorstep. He was always full of 
energy whenever he came by; clearly a morning person. He was a 
rather portly man, which complimented his older age and snow white 


hair and mustache rather well. He was always dressed 
professionally, with a dress shirt, tie, and fittingly enough, both 
suspenders and a belt. 


"Good morning Doctor." 
"And to you as well! May | come in?" 


Stuart nodded, stepped aside to allow the man to enter, and 
escorted him down the hall. 


"So, how are you today?" 
"I'm fine. How's the wife and grandkids?" 


"Ah, they're great! We've just started laying out plans for a tree fort 
over the summer. Planning on getting the supplies once they have 
finished their studies. Do you have any plans?" 


"Oh, no. I'm afraid not. My schedule remains the same regardless of 
the season, so | must stay here. | must care for Acacia: you 
understand." 


"Yes, about that. Stuart, we need to discus your grandmoth-" 
"Fifty-five pounds, correct?" 
"W-What?" 


Stuart pulled out a cigarette and a tinder box, and began to light. 
"Fifty-five pounds. That's how much you charge for your services, is 
it not?" 


"... Yes, it is, but y-" 


"Then if it's all the same to you, | would prefer to leave it at that in 
regards to her." 


"Stuart, this is serious. She could cause serious harm to herself if 
she continues on like-" 


"| already know what you are going to say, and the answer is no. 


You suggest putting her in a home, yes? You don't think I've 
considered that option already? | assure you, my care is far superior 
than what those... institutions could possibly provide. Have you ever 
seen those places? How miserable everyone is there? Because | 
have. She won't be happy there. That's enough cause to keep her 
here. Besides, if she goes, then | would have to too." 


"She isn't safe here." 


Stuart fell silent for a moment. He was going to correct him, but he 
realized that if he did, it likely would have been seen as hostile. 


"This must end, Stuart; you are hardly older than twelve. I'm afraid 
that if her condition does not improve by our next appointment, | 
simply must have her relocated. It wouldn't be right any other way." 


Stuart approached and unlocked her door. 
"Fine. But for now, would you kindly just do your job?" 
"Fine." The doctor sighed. 


Stuart opened the door and closed it behind the doctor. He had 
other things to attend to, and he knew that the more he got involved, 
the worse the situation would be. He picked up his grandmother's 
drawings, and made his way over to the parlor to sit by the fireplace. 


He never enjoyed this process. Despite the rather grim subjects of 
the pieces, they were beautiful and quite different from most other 
styles he knew. Most painters were concerned with a more naturalist 
style, but Acacia was more simplistic. Despite having only the colors 
black and white to work with, her shapes and figures were 
surprisingly vibrant on their own. 


Stuart always wished that he could save them all, but she never 
tired. There would never be any room in the house to hold every one 
of them, but that never stopped Stuart from preserving the ones he 
loved the most. As he looked through today's work, he found one 
that called out to him; a girl in a formal dress. 


It struck Stuart as different from the others, so he saved it. He didn't 


quite know why, but he found it more... settling than the majority of 
her works. 


"| suppose we are done here." 


Stuart looked behind him to see the doctor standing in the middle of 
the doorway. He was in no mood to argue, so he simply agreed. "| 
suppose so." 


"Remember what | said Stuart: next appointment." 
"| got it. Thank you," Stuart replied harshly. 


The doctor gave a pause, an exasperated sigh, and left. Stuart 
stared at the fire for a minute before the clock rang out. 10 o'clock; it 
was time for bed. 


Chapter 1 


He couldn't sleep that day. Stuart may as well have been staring at 
the ceiling for the past nine hours. As the threat of being forced out 
of his home loomed over him, he began thinking of what might 
become of him. He thought about packing up his belongings and 
running away, leaving Acacia with Dr. Unsworth. At the age of fifty- 
three, Acacia was far older than most women. She'd had her life, but 
he hadn't. Acacia would rest, get her doses of heroine, surely better 
treatment... Stuart thought. 


Maybe she actually would be better off there. Maybe Stuart was 
simply more concerned with himself and the orphanage. Even so, he 
would rather live on the streets than go to that war zone. He was far 
too old for any potential parents to consider him, what few there 
would be, and he wouldn't be the most well-respected there. In all 
likelihood, he would be one of the preferred victims of some gang of 
cretins, fighting for the sake of compensation. 


Perhaps he should have just left. He had enough money. Maybe... 
But where would he go? The circus?... Maybe he would have to 


wing it, but he'd have to leave town. It wouldn't be that hard, he'd 
have maybe a day or two to do it... Unsworth would find Acacia, and 
bring her to the home, so it wasn't like he'd be leaving her for dead. 


It was something that might have to happen. 


Stuart looked at the clock; 6:00PM. He was an hour early, but it 
wasn't as if he was getting any sleep to begin with. Perhaps it was 
for the best; at least now, he might be able to spend more time with 
Acacia. Getting out of bed, Stuart reached for the tobacco and 
pamphlet of cigarette paper on his dresser. 


Stuart always felt a certain satisfaction to rolling his own cigarettes, 
even if it was more time-consuming. Assuming he couldn't find a 
complementary stack anywhere, the general store sold booklets for 
one cent. Much cheaper than buying an entire box of cigarettes, 
considering that a large part of the property was dedicated to 
tobacco. Five a day was the usual, but he decided to make seven 
this time, due to the recent news. 


It was around this time that Acacia would finish her drawings for a 
while, so he made his way to her room to check up on her. Stuart 
approached her door, and opened it just enough to peer inside. 


"Grandmother? May | come in?" 


She didn't respond, most likely distracted with her drawings. He 
came in regardless. 


"Grandmother? | was wondering if you wanted me to pick up some 
dinner for us; | could pick up that tomato bisque you love so 
much..." 


"... Fredrick? Is that you?" 

Stuart had no idea who Fredrick was, or why she kept confusing him 
with him, but this wasn't the first time this had happened. Maybe it 
his brother or father? 


"No Acacia, it's me... Stuart?" 


SCP-912 deploys its telescopic steel baton and approaches the 
nearest armed subject at an average speed of 5 km/h. If the armed 
subject drops the weapon and ceases threatening behaviour before 
SCP-912 moves into combat range, the normal "arrest" procedure 
will be initiated. If the subject initiates hostile action or is still holding 
the weapon when SCP-912 enters combat range, SCP-912 will 
strike powerful blows at the head and upper arms of the subject for 
up to a minute after the subject loses consciousness. Once all 
armed subjects are subdued, "arrest" behaviour proceeds as 
normal. 


SCP-912 considers the following to be weapons and will initiate 
attack behaviour upon sight: firearms; bladed weapons (including 
kitchen knives longer than 10 cm (4 in) in length); batons, clubs and 
similar blunt instruments; Tasers and pepper spray; [REDACTED]; 
and "joy" buzzers. 


SCP-912 will initiate attack behaviour when the following are 
used in a "threatening" manner: power and hand tools; knotted 
rope; lengths of chain; brass knuckles; sports equipment (e.g. 
baseball bat, golf club); clipboard. 


SCP-912 only permits an individual it has "arrested" to be removed 
from its presence by a person wearing the uniform of the PD. An 
individual wearing the appropriate uniform is not detained by 
SCP-912 regardless of armament, except where physical 
aggression is shown towards another subject wearing PD uniform. 
SCP-912 does not react to hostile actions by PD uniformed 
personnel towards non-uniformed victims and does not react to 
hostile actions between unarmed individuals not wearing PD 
uniform, regardless of injuries sustained. 


SUMMARY OF TEST RESULTS: Threat/Response Behaviour of 
SCP-912 ( / /20 ) 


TEST: Remote Operated Vehicle (Srl No# 25168162) 
with cutting tool activates implement and approaches 
D-3117 (restrained to chair). 

RESULT: No response. Test terminated when cutting 
tool 1.5 cm from D-3117's throat. 


"Oh..." 


"... Acacia, | wanted to see if you wanted to take a walk with me. 
Maybe we could get some of that tomato bisque you like so much?" 


There was no response. 


"Acacia, you need to eat..." 


There was no response. 


"... Listen, I'm... not entirely certain that we can continue to live here 
anymore. We might have to... well, part ways..." 


"... Where's my cat?" 


She was always distracted like this, regardless of what was put in 
front of her. She never took anything in or reacted to anything 
meaningfully. It was as if she'd already died, but her mind was still 
spinning its wheels, waiting for the moment they give out. Stuart had 
never seen the cat before, or known its actual name. He had been 
able to confirm that she had owned a cat at one point from 
photographs and conversations with neighbors, but it must have 
died or ran away around the time Stuart was born. 


"It's... not here." 
"Oh... There's my bunny outside. | see her every day." 
If only out of reflex, Stuart looked outside, but saw nothing. 


"She's hiding right now... sometimes she climbs up the side of the 
tower, and looks through the windows. "