Drumming her fingers on the table, two accusing eyes peeked 
through the mess of hair. "So... you did this to me, then." 


"No, sweetheart. You chose this. It was for your own good, and you 
believed that when it happened." Reaching into her jacket, Adileh 


pulled out a small tape recorder. Pressing play, a less anxious 
woman's voice began speaking, clinically, reading a consent form. 


Watching as the young woman stared into the recorder, Adileh 
wondered if she could even hear what was playing. 


"I'm so sorry." 


She'd felt the weight behind his face when she punched him. How 
could he? How could he be so stupid? 


Cognitohazard research 101 was avoiding exposure. Had he even 
tried? 


Was he tired of trying? 


Falling, he broke apart, and so did the floor. It was a kitchen now, 
and he was fixing her breakfast the morning after. The eggs drifted 
in her eyes as she struggled to bring them to her mouth. 


Looking down, there were whole eggs running around her plate. 
Rubbing her eyes, she opened them to see sunny-side-up eggs 
enjoying the sunrise through her front window. 


Was this before, or after the scrambling? 


Looking up into Adileh's eyes for the first time, the young woman 
spoke in a pleading voice. "Do you know... how bad it is?" 


Adileh clinked her pen on the table. "My work is psychological. As in, 
if you had been dosed with multiple serious amnestics, it would 
render you psychologically unfit for service. As you can see, since 
you are not wearing an orange jumpsuit, that is not the case. 
Fortunately." 


The woman shuddered at the mention of an orange jumpsuit. "What 
happened? Did... | do something?" 


"Oh, honey, no..." A smooth silken voice escaped Adileh's lips. "You 
volunteered. I'm afraid any more detail might trigger memories that 


are 99% gone. Give it a few days, and even this interview will 
probably be a blur. The important thing is, nobody is angry at you." 


Tears began flowing from the woman's eyes, and she slumped onto 
the table. "Thank you... please... | just... want to help. | don't want 
to be bad to the Foundation." 


His face had been so red, and she had been so angry. 
Why was she so angry? 


They walked in circles and someone was coming for them. He was 
very angry. 


Cirlces of anger and circles of logic. Something was wrong. 


Tearing down garland and there's an acid burning on her face. 
Dripping from her eyes, everything burns. 


The fluorescent lights were buzzing above their heads. 


"| Know you don't..." Adileh's voice faded as the woman's eyes 
crossed. Looking down to her clipboard, she began to write down 
everything that had happened so far. Disorientation, dissociation, 
trance-like fugue... standard symptoms of Class-B amnestics. 


Flipping the page over, gunmetal-grey ink told the woman's story. 
Foundation researcher for ten years, in biological science. Had 
irreplaceable experience and knowledge with some anomaly or 
project. 


In the field for why the patient had been treated, some Foundation 

doctor with a sick sense of humor had written disobedient hysteria. 
Scratching it out with her pen, Adileh began to write something and 
hesitated. 


Why had they stolen the past this time? 


For a moment she remembered looking asleep. 


He had been looking at her with such pitying expression. Something 
awtul had been happening for a long time. 


Then, he said it. Those words. What were the words? 


A house of inconsistent horses has a secondary effect... 


"Can you hear me?" 


Snapping back to reality, the woman placed her hands on the table 
looked into the space around Adileh's eyes. "Is there... when will | 
be thinking straight? What... when?" 


Finding their hands touching, Adileh looked back into the void. "Stay 
with me. We're both here in this room. There's nobody else. Do you 
understand that?" 


Absentmindedly nodding, the woman began shaking. "When can | 
go home?" 


"Do you remember having a home?" 


Pausing, the woman placed a finger on her lip. "I don't know. | must 
live somewhere. The Foundation takes care of me." 


"Of course they do." Rhythmically rubbing the hand, Adileh saw a 
small pale band around her ring finger. 


Frowning, a discomforting thread of thought that had been twining 
inside her twisted into a knot. 

Memories fade to rot in time, as all things must. 

Relationships will fade and wane, and pass into oblivion. 

Accept these truths, and you will be free. 

Nothing lasts forever. 


The Foundation will take care of me, too. 


Withdrawing her hand, the young woman leaned back into her chair. 
Pleading eyes stared from someplace far away. "I'm done. | want to 
go. Can you...?" 


Nodding, Adileh pressed the hidden security signal. Within seconds, 
they were there. 


The woman instantly regarded them with reluctance before rising 
and stalking with them out of sight. Creaking as it closed behind 
them, the door shut and left silence. 


FROM: Doctor Adileh Khayyam 
TO: Superintendant Roger Click 
RE: Ethics Committee Incident Report - 


On // Junior Researcher H deliberately exposed 
himself to the memetic agent of SCP-__. Following this, 
the subject deliberately infected his live-in partner, Junior 
Researcher M . It is believed to be deliberate due to 
the steps Junior Researcher H _ took to hide his 
activities, including illegal usage of Foundation access 
cards and security data. Researchers Vand have 
been reprimanded and placed under closer observation 
due to indirect connection to this activity. 


Following amnestics treatment, Junior Researcher 

M is to be reassigned to another project and the 
former Researcher H has been demoted to D-Class. 
My only further recommendation at this time is continued 
observation of Researcher M to ensure the success 
of the amnestic treatment. 


Have a happy new year, Foundation personnel! 


and quickly backs to the desk, sits down and 
holds the paper up to SCP-873’, glancing back 
toward the door once. On the paper, the first 
message, now legible, reads: 


"Dear Friends: 

As you know— or will know, time 
proves such an unwelcome barrier— 
my wife has always been enthusiastic 
about our relationship with you. The 
glimpses of the future you have thus 
far provided have been [REDACTED] 
| will apologize if she seems to have 
gone beyond the bounds of 
discretion. While you have ever been 
explicit in requesting our secrecy, you 
shall find, as | have, that she is 
strong-willed and has her own 
opinions about such matters. 
However, it is her contact with 
[REDACTED] that may at last provide 
me with an answer to the origins of 
this fascinating and terrifying object 
we share. 


Continued communication identifies this man 
as Dr. Ivan . Directives from O5 have 
ordered communication to continue in an effort 
to gather intelligence about the origins of 
SCP-873’. Communication with Dr. Ivan 
is Ongoing and will continue for the next years 
until the observed SCP-873’ timeline reaches 
the point where [REDACTED] presented Dr. 
with SCP-873’ as a gift. 


Addendum 3: 
+ Note on update to containment procedures 


After extrapolating back the timelines of SCP-873 and 


| Have a Patron 


Fall 1477 


It was a lovely late Fall afternoon when she visited my shop. A 
nervous looking girl, young and plain. 


"Excuse me?" 
"Hm, yes?" 
"Did | get the right shop? | mean... are you Leonardo da Vinci?" 


"That | am. What brings someone like yourself to my shop?" Truly, 
an embarrassing sight. Sketches and art supplies scattered about 
the room, and an unfinished painting hanging on the easel behind 
me. 


"| was told to come to extend an invitation." 


"| see... well, what kind of invitation is it?" | can feel time pass while 
the woman appears to be collecting her thoughts, possibly planning 
her next words. 


"The family has... established an academy of some sorts. A 
collection of philosophers, artists, doctors, and others... all of which 
possessing certain sets of skills." 


"Go on?" 


"We feel as though a mind like yours would be exactly what is 
needed at the Academy. Will you accept?" 


"You haven't even told me what this 'academy' is... and why did you 
say 'we?" Now is not the time to be getting caught up in something 
that is too good to be true. | have yet to establish myself as anything 
in Florence, and the idea of an 'academy' wanting me seems odd. 


"The Garden of the Piazza San Marco. You must have heard of it." 
Her eyes narrow. 


"Indeed, | have. But why would the Medici family be interested in 
somebody just starting out?" | question. The woman pauses again. 


"Don't lie to me. You qualified as a master in the Guild of Saint Luke 
years ago," she snaps. 


"What else do you know about me?" 
"Much more- My lady knows much more than you think." 
"And tell me, is your Lady Clarice Orsini herself?" 


"Yes." She pauses. "She also says you're in no position to turn down 
a patron." 


..." She has me there. "So she wishes to meet me?" 
"She wishes for you to join the Academy." 


"| suppose | should at least visit. Lead the way... | don't believe | 
caught your name." 


"Oh, it's Taddea." 


"Right, well, lead on Taddea."” 


The Medicis truly do have more money than one could possibly 
know what to do with, and the sprawling villa before me serves as 
proof of just that. Taddea pulls me through the house like a horse on 
a lead until we reach a back garden. My fingers itch for a 
sketchbook and pencils until | see somebody is already here. Not 
only is she dressed like a noblewoman, she carries herself like one. 


"Tadd, you brought him. I'm delighted. Did you tell him what we do 
here?" she says. This has to be her. Clarice Orsini. Taddea shakes 
her head. 


"No, my lady, | din't." 


"You might as well come along while | give the tour." She turns to 
me. "Apologies, my husband is out on business at the moment, 
along with most of the Academy, but | believe you'll still get an idea 
of what it is we do here." She walks, and Taddea follows without 
having been given a single order, still pulling me along. 


"If you choose to stay, you'll find you'll want for nothing. My husband 
will pay for anything you could possibly need or want, so long as it's 
related to what we do here. Of course, you'll live here, but that 
should hardly be a problem. Your stipend, however, will depend on 
how much you contribute to the Academy and its goals. Am | 
understood so far?" she says, back turned to me the entire time. 


"Yes... May | ask what it is the Academy's goals are?" 


"It'd be so much more simple to show you. Tadd, the door please." 
The waif of a girl takes a large iron key, and unlocks the door to a 
back building | hadn't noticed before. It looks like a stable, but wasn't 
there one elsewhere? Inside, something roars, and | step back. The 
two women, on the other hand, do nothing. 


"He can't get to you. The cage is too good." 


"Cage? What do you have that needs to be kept in a cage? What 
does it have to do with medicine or art?" | slowly walk in, scientific 
curiosity getting the better of me. 


Cage is an understatement. It seems like this entire building was 
modified to keep in one creature. Standing at six and a half feet tall 
is... a Minotaur. 


"It's impossible." 


"And he's only the beginning. Not everything at the Academy is 
this... large, but all are things that shouldn't exist. Shouldn't be here. 
Yet they do. The Academy has two goals, Leonardo. To collect 
these objects and specimens, and to study them." Lady Clarice 
presents this with pride. 


"... There's more?" 


"Much more." The lady smiles. 


So much goes through my mind. This morning, a Minotaur seemed 
impossible. And yet here one is right in front of me. Living, 
breathing... snorting angrily. And they tell me it's not the only thing 
like it that they have? The artist in me wants to capture all of it in its 
true form, to preserve its image for all time. The scientist in me 
wants to study its movements and actions. And if it truly isn't the 
only thing that shouldn't exist yet does that is here... 


"| accept." 


"Wonderful. Tad, | believe it's feeding time for our dear Minotaur. If 
you will see to that while | make the arrangements for Leonardo to 
move in, that would be much appreciated." The younger girl does as 
she's bid, while | stare in awe at the beast. 


"Follow her! Really, for someone supposed to be a genius you really 
are a fool." Taddea hisses, shoveling in some hay and oats for the 
beast that had my attention for so long. | look around to realize Lady 
Clarice had left the stable. 


My first few weeks are a whirlwind of discovering one strange and 
wonderful artifact after another. The Medicis have an astounding 
collection, though | can't make heads or tails of where these things 
could have come from, or how they could have possibly been 
brought to Florence, all without anybody noticing. The Minotaur, | 
learned, came in from Crete in the middle of Summer, and had to be 
kept asleep for the duration of its journey to the villa. In these weeks 
| had hardly spared a thought to those | had and had not met outside 
of those deemed part of the Academy. Lady Clarice and Taddea had 
been invaluable in my study of these artifacts and creatures that had 
captivated my mind so thoroughly. | had nearly filled a book with my 
anatomical studies of the Minotaur, capturing the image of a statue 
that was so lifelike it did in fact move, despite being made of cold 
marble, all done by the light of a fire that could never go out and was 
said to have been brought down by Prometheus himself. | thanked 
every god that had ever been worshiped for this opportunity given to 
me by the Medici family, all before having met Lord Lorenzo, who 
was supposedly out on business. Nobody would tell me exactly 
what. 


"Uh... Leo?" Tadd pops her head into my room. 


"Hm?" | look up from the rough beginnings of a sketch of a 
mechanical arm, wanting to capture some of the magic these 
objects held for myself. 


"Lord Lorenzo's home... He'd like to meet you... You might want to 
bring your book." | close the one | had been working in, and grab the 
one | had just finished filling that morning, and follow Tadd to an 
office of sorts. Inside is Lady Clarice and a man | can only assume is 
Lorenzo de'Medici. The banker and Lord of Florence has a 
somewhat welcoming expression attempting to blanket what must 
normally be a serious face. 


"Ah, you must be Leonardo. Welcome to the Garden of the Piazza 
San Marco. My wife tells me you have been living with us for a few 
weeks now." 


"Ah, yes my lord. I've been enjoying every minute of it. You have 
quite the collection here." 


"Of course | do. Sandro, Domenico, and Pietro produce so much art. 
It's almost impossible to find places to put all of it." He laughs. 
"Come now, let me see your work." 


| do as I'm bid, and hand over the filled sketchbook. It was one | had 
began before joining the Academy, and its early pages full of figure 
studies and drafts of portraits show it. He stops at a page | had 
marked. My first sketch of the Minotaur. 


"What an interesting subject. | never would have taken you as one 
for old myths." It is at this point Lady Clarice sighs. 


"Lorenzo, he knows," she says flatly. He immediately looks over at 
his wife. 


"You told him?" He does not look happy at all. 


"As | already tried to tell you, he's more than another artist to add to 
your collection. This is a man of science as well. He's already 
proven to be eager to at least attempt to understand what we really 
do here. Look further, you'll see. You'll understand why | had to do 


it." She explains rather calmly. Lord Lorenzo continues looking 
through my work, his face unreadable. 


"And what do you think of what we do here?" he asks, after a long 
pause. 


"I'm... honestly, it's like seeing an entirely new world." 
"And you're not frightened?"