Merlo's sleepiness immediately left her. 


"I'll be at Site—-64 within the hour," she replied, and promptly hung 
up. At the same time, the lump in the bed that rested next to her 
began to stir. 


"Getting called out to save the world again, sweetie?" Gabe Merlo 
asked groggily. 


"I'm afraid so," Merlo sighed. 


"Jessie's going to be pissed," Gabe commented with a small 
chuckle. 


"| Know... Think you can cover for me?" 


"No worries. Just make it up to her when you get back. Please be 
safe." 


"You know me," Merlo said with a tired smile and pecked her 
husband on the cheek as she got out of bed. "Love you." 


"Love you too." 


Within 30 minutes Merlo was dressed, packed, and ready to leave 
her apartment. Before making her way out the door, she quietly 
dipped into the apartment's second bedroom where a small girl slept 
soundly. 


"Love you, Jessie," Merlo said under her breath before giving the 
little girl a kiss on her forehead. Without another sound, she grabbed 
her bags, her jacket, and made her way to her car. She had a flight 
to catch. 


March 23rd, 2020 


At a small Portland coffee shop overlooking a public park, a tall, pale 
woman watched the foot traffic pass as she occasionally took sips 


from her oversized coffee mug. Her name was Jill Herring, and she 
was waiting to see someone she hadn't seen in nearly a decade. 


"This seat taken?" 


Jill looked up to see Vincent Anderson smiling at her. Her mouth 
hung open briefly. When she had last seen him, he had pale skin, 
and was bald. The man in front of her did look like Anderson, but not 
the Anderson she was expecting to meet with today. 


"Vince..." she said softly. "You're looking good. Like, when we first 
met..." 


Anderson nodded and sat down. 


"This isn't my real body, I'm afraid. Just a puppet I’m controlling 
while the real me is a bit tied-down. Still, glad you like it." 


Jill nodded and gave a melancholy smile. 


"How have you been, Jill?" Anderson continued. "How's life treating 
you?" 


"Can't complain. Work's the same as ever." 
"Still teaching studio art at that high school?" 


"That got closed down in 2008. I’ve been working at a graphic 
design firm since." 


"Heh, that kind of work suits you," Anderson nodded in approval. He 
then paused, looking down at the table for a few moments before 
asking, "How's Erica doing?" 


"She's doing very well,” Jill sighed. "She'll be graduating from OSU 
next year. Bachelors in Computer Science. Really takes after you in 
that regard. Plans on moving on to her Masters." 

"Does she still ask about me?" 


"Occasionally. She accepted Tom as her father a long time ago, but 
the subject of Vincent Anderson still makes her curious from time to 


time. | think at some point she'll ask if | can help her track you down, 
but not anytime soon. She's still rather bitter..." 


Jill frowned and closed her eyes briefly, then quickly attempted to 
hide her expression by taking a sip of coffee. 


"Well, when she enters the job market, I'll always have openings on 
my staff. Let me know if she's interested," Anderson continued. 


"Will do," Jill replied. 


Anderson pulled out a paper check, and slid it across the table. Jill 
picked it up and examined it briefly before folding it and putting down 
on the table in front of her. 


"| thought | told you that I'm not comfortable accepting these." Jill 
frowned. "Tom's not comfortable accepting these." 


"And I've told you that you are more than welcome to rip them to 
shreds. | can get that money into your account in other ways. This is 
just a courtesy," Anderson replied sharply. "Are the checks I've been 
sending you enough, though? | can increase them if you want. 
Money's no object for me now..." 


"The current amount is more than enough, Vince! Erica has more 
than enough to pay for the rest of her schooling and then some. 
Tom and | have already paid off our mortgage and debts. At this 
point it’s just piling up. The only thing | can see us using it on, is if 
Erica decides to buy a house, or wants to live in the city after 
graduation..." 


"Let me know when that happens. I'd be more than willing to help." 


"Of course..." Jill took another sip of her coffee, then sighed. "So, in 
the end, was it worth it?” 


"Do you have to ask me that every time?" Anderson's brow 
furrowed. 


"| will until you give me a straight answer. Was it worth it? Leaving 
us." 


chronic psychosis. All attempts to treat this delusion have failed. The 
exact effects vary: 


Date of passage read Effects 
Before PoD No ili short- or long-term effects 
< 2 months after PoD Short-term: confusion. No ill long- 
term effects. 
< 2 years after PoD Short-term: confusion. Long-term: 


minor mental illness, development 
of tics, nightmares, minor 
paranoia episodes and panic 
attacks 

< 10 years after PoD Short-term: confusion, violent 
episodes. Long-term: deeply 
ingrained delusion formed leading 
to debilitating paranoia, 
psychosis, and schizophrenia- 
type disorders. 

> 10 years after PoD, or earlier if Short-term: confusion, violent 

subject forms a "personal episodes. Long term: acute 

experience" psychosis and delusions. 
Crippling agnosia. Becomes 
withdrawn. High chance of 
suicidal or homicidal behavior. 
Severe risk of immediate but 
variable physical change in 
subject. 


SCP-592 was recovered during a narcotics raid in August 2006 on 
the property of Mr. [REDACTED], the leader of a controversial 
religious group called the "Church of the True History". Despite 
being in possession of SCP-592, Mr. [REDACTED] is believed to 
have started the church for financial gain rather than revelation. The 
owner may have only survived exposure from SCP-592 for almost 
two years because of his rampant drug use, which included 
methamphetamine, cocaine, and a host of opioids - though 
psychedelics, especially DMT, are known to have been used and 
probably interacted with the effects of SCP-592 more than the 
others. [REDACTED] believed that his delusions came from his drug 
use, but noted that a year after exposure to SCP-592, he found 


"Sticking around would have just put you and Erica in danger. 
Besides, Tom's twice the husband | ever was, and at least four 
times the father. You two ended up way better off." 


"That's fucking bullshit, Vince!" she hissed. "You never even gave 
yourself a fucking chancel" 


"| didn't need to," Anderson replied coolly. "This year alone I've had 
multiple attempts on my life. My real body is currently in the 
possession of the Suits. Did you want to be a part of that? Did you 
want Erica to be a part of that? At least this way you two are safe." 


"Oh, don't even pretend you chose your path for our benefit. 
Everything you did was for you! You found out how to make your 
little toys and then jettisoned us!" Jill gave a sarcastic laugh, stood 
and shredded the check before Anderson's eyes. "Well, now we 
don't need your patronage, we don't need your support, and we sure 
as hell don't need you! If you ever come near my daughter or | 
again, I'll let the Suits know where you are, | swear to god!" 


Anderson watched with a blank expression as Jill stormed away. He 
pulled out another check from his pocket and neatly folded it, then 
reached into his other pocket and pulled out a hand-written note and 
a small silver ball. He placed the ball on the table and watched as it 
sprouted needle-like legs. 


"Afternoon, Benny," Anderson said to the tiny Amur drone. "Go 
ahead and make sure Erica gets these, will you?" 


The tiny robot gave a small salute, and stuffed the two slips of paper 
into an internal compartment before scurrying away. Anderson 
watched it bolt out of sight, as the waitress approached. 


"I'll take an Americano, please," he ordered. "Extra shots. | need 
something strong right about now." 
August 16th, 2020 


"How long has he been awake?" Agent Merlo asked. As she spoke, 
she walked through the halls of Site-19's high-security humanoid 


storage wing. Beside her was Agent Clarissa Shaw, who effortlessly 
rolled herself along in a wheelchair, matching Merlo's pace. The two 
of them were being lead through the facility by a researcher named 
Rose Labelle. 


"About two days now," Labelle replied, looking over her shoulder as 
she led them towards the cell that supposedly contained the now- 
conscious body of Vincent Anderson. "One moment, completely 
brain-dead, the next, wide awake and demanding to speak with the 
leader of his containment team. We sent Site-64 a message as soon 
as we met all our protocols." 


"Are his systems operational?" Shaw inquired. "Magic? Weapons 
Systems? Comms?" 


"We have him in an anti-thaumaturgic cell, so he's dead in the water 
on that front unless he can break the geis there," Labelle answered. 
"As for his other systems, they're operational, sure, but still heavily 
damaged. He's not going anywhere without serious system repairs. 
You two can relax. We've got him under lock and key." 


"Paint us impressed," Merlo commented with a grin. "Out at Site-64 
they had us trying to hold him with the containment equivalent of a 
cage made out of sticks." 


"We do try our best," Labelle gave a small smile in return. They then 
arrived at a large blast door that Labelle swiftly opened with a swipe 
of her keycard. "Here we are." 


Beyond the door was an observation room in which several of 
Labelle's colleagues monitored read-outs of Anderson's systems. 
Several anti-thaumaturgic security personnel stood in the room's 
corners, their expressions blank as they kept their eyes on the 
contents of the adjoining room. Through a large observation window, 
Shaw and Merlo could see their old enemy sitting on a cot, his 
hands and legs restrained as he stared blankly ahead. Merlo 
approached the window, her expression a mixture of fear and awe 
as she looked over Vincent Anderson from the business end of a set 
of one-way glass. 


He seemed almost skeletal. His pale, nearly translucent skin had 


been replaced by scar tissue, a remnant from having most of his 
flesh seared off by nuclear fire during their last encounter. Only one 
of the camera lenses he had in place of eyes glowed with a faint 
green light; the other lens sat dark with a large crack running down 
its center. Occasionally he'd give a violent involuntary shake. 


"Jesus." Shaw gave a sharp whistle, "he looks like shit." 


"Looks better off now than when we originally shipped him here," 
Merlo replied. She turned back to Labelle. "I take it you guys 
received a copy of our objectives for this interview." 


"We did," she replied. "We're ready whenever you are." 


"Dandy," Merlo said with nod and placed a hand on Shaw's 
shoulder. "He's all yours. Make us proud.” 


Vincent Anderson looked up as Agent Shaw rolled into his cell on 
her wheelchair. He gave a small smile and waved as she stopped 
several feet away. She looked over some notes on a clipboard in her 
lap, adjusting her glasses before looking up. 


"Afternoon, Clarissa," Anderson said. "Was, um, Merlo unavailable?" 


"I'm the interrogation specialist for this task force," Shaw replied 
coolly. "So, I'm afraid you'll be mainly interacting with me." 


"Oh? Is this an interrogation?" 
"Let’s consider this an interview for now." 


"Swell. Did Labelle tell you what my SCP item number was? She, 
uh, won't tell me." 


"As far as | know, you're not going to be assigned one." 


"Oh..." Anderson sighed. "That's, um, a little disappointing, to be 
honest. Why?" 


"Because if we gave an SCP number to every wizard or cyborg we 
picked up we'd quickly bloat our database. You have a Person of 


Interest number. That’s about it." 


"Ah, well... Better than, um, nothing. | suppose. How can I, uh, help 
you today?" 


"Just going to ask you a few questions. I'd appreciate answers." 
"Wouldn't we all," Anderson chuckled. "Try me." 


"First off, something simple. Who’s in charge of Anderson Robotics 
in your absence?" 


"Phineas | would think." 


"Yeah, no..." Shaw replied with a tsk. "We are aware that you killed 
Albert Frostman in Three Portlands shortly before the incident at the 
Tristan Academy. Who is really in charge now?" 


"Ah, well.... guess that cat's, um, out of the bag," Anderson 
shrugged. "To be honest, | don't know. It's a company, Clarissa. Not 
a kingdom. There is no line of succession. The board probably 
appointed someone else to be the new acting CEO in my absence. | 
don't know who. I've, uh, been here. Can't exactly update my news 
feed in this anti-magic, anti-tech cage you slapped me in." 


Shaw leaned on her wheelchair's armrest as she scribbled down a 
few notes. 


"Fair enough. Onto something a little more complex. We know about 
the distribution deal you have with MC&D for your Gyrfalcon series. 
We want the names of the MC&D reps you've been going through." 


"Talk about shooting myself in the foot. Why on earth would | give 
you those names? That's just bad business." 


Anderson gave a violent shake for several seconds. Shaw smiled 
and continued to write down more notes. 


"Because, according to Labelle's scans of your systems, you need 
to make repairs, badly." Shaw gave a sly smile and Anderson began 
to shake again. "We're prepared to provide you with the supplies, 
but you have to play ball. That means MC&D names. That means 


identities of any other public figures you replaced with Sakers. That 
means letting us in on what exactly this Taita Series is." 


Anderson paused for a moment at this last phrase. 


"Oh yes, Vincent," Shaw continued. "We've heard whispers about 
the Taita Series." 


"I'm willing, uh, to bargain," Anderson finally replied. "But unlike 
Phineas, I, um, am not going to cash all my chips at once. You'd be 
surprised at how few materials | need to make most of these 
systems work again." 


"Fair enough," Shaw shrugged and closed her notepad as she 
began to wheel her way towards the door. "We'll give you some time 
to think about it. Give us a ring when you've decided what you're 
willing to provide." 


"By the way, um, Clarissa," Anderson called out just as she was 
about to leave. Shaw paused, turning slightly to hear what he had to 
say. "| never got a chance to apologize for what | did to you at the 
Tristan Academy. So, uh, yeah... I'm sorry." 


"You shattered my spine," Shaw commented. "Really hard for me to 
accept an apology for that." 


"Yeah, well, you kidnapped two of my closest friends and used them 
as bait," Anderson snapped back. "In fact, so far, all my actions 
taken against the Foundation have been in retaliation for something 
you guys have done to us, unprovoked! | operate out of Three 
Portlands. You have no jurisdiction there. You guys, uh, poke a bear 
with a sharp stick, and then are surprised and offended that it tries to 
maul you." 


"That all?" Shaw asked, her face turned into a scowl. Anderson 
waved her away. 


"That's all," he replied. "Sorry for the damage, um, done. But 
perhaps it would humble you to remember that it might, uh, have 
been a teensy bit your fault." 


Shaw shook her head and rolled out of the room, the blast door 


sealing shut behind her as Anderson began to violently shake once 
again. 


May 6th, 2020 
"Uncle Vince!" 


Two small boys, one ten and the other seven, tackled Vincent 
Anderson to the ground. 


"How have you been?" 
"Did you bring Benny? 
"Did you bring us anything?" 


The boys spouted question after question as Anderson wrestled 
them off of him, chuckling the whole while. Eventually, with swift, 
fluid motion, he lifted the two boys up, one in each hand, and then 
placed them on their feet. He ruffled their sandy hair, and pretended 
to ponder. 


"Benny?" he asked in mock confusion. "Do | know a Benny? Small 
robot? Silver? Looks like this..."