For a few seconds, the door-frame hummed at them. Parker's neck 
began burning. So many people passing them by. Don't dare to turn 
around. What are we doing here? One question from anybody and 
they were done. Every set of footsteps sounded suspicious. Were 
they slowing down? Did someone just whisper. How much longer 
until- 


Parker nearly jumped when the door dinged. Swooshing before 
them, he had to restrain himself from leaping into the box. Inside 
there was a small old man, in thick coke-bottle glasses. His head 
was smooth and brown, with dark spots peppering his scalp down to 
his chin. A dozen ancient manuscripts were tucked beneath his 
arms. A fuzzy caterpiller was apparently perched on his upper lip, 
softly swaying in an artificial breeze. Stepping inside, Parker made 
sure the old man was between his party and the control panel. 


The doors swooshed shut. For a few seconds, nothing happened. A 
bead of sweat began percolating on Parker's neck. Looking up at 
him, the old man cocked his head. Frowning for a second, then 
holding up a finger. Parker opened his mouth first. "Level Nine, 
please." 


"Oooooh. Sure. Shoulda guessed that, huh?" Chuckling to himself, a 
wizened finger tapped several buttons on a surprisingly complicated 
control panel. Lurching sideways, the elevator began speeding 


along at a steady pace. Turning back to Parker, the old man stuck 
out a hand. "Doctor Marquis, at your service." 


Returning the shake, Parker used the same smile he'd put on for his 
mother. "Pleasure. Might | ask what the books you're carrying are 
for, doctor?" 


Glancing down at his arms, Dr. Marquis shrugged. "Oh, just some 
fossils for this old fossil to maybe glean some insight out of. Records 
here go waaaay back, yaknow." 


"Of course, of course." Parker glanced at his watch. They'd been 
inside for twenty minutes. Felt like an eternity. 


"Mind if | ask what you folks are working on, down in the Vault? 
Doesn't see much action these days." 


Peterson grunted. "Above your pay grade, sir." 


"Pshaw, don't sir me." Marquis smiled, and shrugged his shoulders 
in an exaggerated fashion. "Nothing down there but rocks in boxes. 
Or am | wrong?" 


Cracking out a grin, Parker rubbed the back of his head. "You got 
us. We're just auditing some of those old bones. Couple lights went 
on, the pencil-pushers wanted to make sure nothing was amiss." 


"Ah, usual rigmarole then, huh?" Marquis shifted some of his tomes 
from one arm to another. "Ah, | think my floor is coming up." 


The steel doors slid open. A wave of sour heat spilled into their 
chrome cube. The lights were a dim red, and flashing. A young boy 
screamed from somewhere in the distance. Marquis walked out 
without missing a beat, waving a hand in the air. "Sounds like 
they've started early today. By the way, | didn't catch your name, 
mister..." 


For a few seconds, Parker blinked. Then he opened his mouth. 
"Wait, what was that? Spaced for a second there, didn't catch the 
question." 


"Oh, yeah, it does that. | just ask-" 


down and closed my eyes. And - well - it didn't make any 
sound, but | could still feel it watching me. It saw my 
eyes roll back in their sockets and my throat clench shut 
and it didn't do a thing. | think that's when | realised 
something. 


Dr. Rei: What was it? 


Subject-796-17: That no matter what happened, it was 
going to be there. Always there, in the shadows, in my 
ears, in my skin. Always watching. Even when | had 
nothing left, even when | was on my way out - you know 
how they say cats can see through to the other side? | 
think that thing just wanted to see me through. 


Subject-796-17: And, for some reason, | thought that 
was the best thing that anyone could have done for me 
at that point of my life. To see me through. 


Dr. Rei: Jacob, are you aware that everyone else with 
your condition has, so far, died? 


Subject-796-17: Yes. 
Dr. Rei: Why do you think this is so? 


Subject-796-17 glances over Dr. Rei's shoulder and 
smiles. 


Subject-796-17: | dunno. | guess it just... kind of likes 
me. 


<End log> 


Addendum-796-03: On 23/03/2006, at 0736h, the surveillance feed 
for SCP-796's containment chamber was disabled. Deployed 
security forces discovered that the chamber was manually opened 
from the outside using a keycard belonging to Dr. Nico Rei, which 
had been reported as missing two days earlier. Neither 
Subject-796-17 nor SCP-796 was found inside the containment 
chamber. Traces of claw marks were found on the keycard access 
panel. In addition, the following note was found folded underneath 


The doors slid shut, and the elevator swung perpendicularly. 
Breathing a sigh of relief, Parker checked his watch. Twenty-seven 
minutes. "We're ahead of schedule." 


Joel spoke for the first time since they'd entered the building. "We 
have a schedule?" 


Parker tapped his foot anxiously outside the bathrooms. They were 
gunmetal grey, smooth and barren of any external fixures or 
features. If it weren't for the lack of a steel security door, and two 
small labels reading toilet there wouldn't be any difference between 
these entrances and the hundreds, maybe thousands, that 
populated the vaults. Maybe millions. Some people said this place 
went down to the core. But that was probably an exaggeration. 
Probably. 


Maria came out first, drying her hands with rough paper. Joel and 
Peterson stumbled out next, muttering cutting jibes about whether it 
was better to air or paper dry as they demonstrated their preferred 
methods. Shushing them, Parker pulled out his clipboard again and 
pretended to count as they walked. First, he listed the number of 
people he'd killed in his life. That went pretty quick, so he moved on 
to ranking his favorite roller coasters. Which vegetables go well with 
white wine. How many licks it took to get to the center of a tootsie 
roll pop. 


Eventually, he spotted a room of interest. The hallway opened to a 
wider cavernous room, with a large door at the opposite end and two 
more corridors identical to the one they had exited flanking them on 
either side. Three men stood in front of it, one blonde, one lanky, 
and one with a lazy eye. Parker took no hesitation in walking up to 
them. "Command sent us to check up on things. They got lights up 
there telling them something's off in the vault. Temperature and 
atmospheric readings are off. 


Blonde and Lanky looked at each other. Their compatriot blinked a 
few times, and folded his arms. "Uh... who are you?" 


Parker took a deep breath. "Level 3. I'm a consultant from 19, 
assigned from the Anti-Memetics anomaly supervision division. 


Friends are from a Multi-Discipline-Jurisdictional Task Force, 
Director requested that the vault get some beefed up safekeeping 
measures and protocols in order to make sure nothing goes haywire 
down here. I'm sure you gentlemen don't have a problem with that? 
Didn't you get the memo?" 


Blonde guy muttered something that sounded like 'We never get the 
memo' before Lazy held up a hand to silence him. "Exactly when did 
this all go through? It all sounds like gobbledygook to me." 


"Who exactly is paying you to play twenty questions again? Who's 
your supervisor?" Parker took two steps towards the frowning man, 
who quickly looked to his comrades with pleading eyes. 


Maria spoke up first. "Enough. We don't have time for this. Let us in 
now, or we're going to throw this up to the Director. Contempt of 
direct orders is not something the boss lady takes lightly. 


That got their attention. The lanky and blonde guards nearly sprinted 
to their respective stations. Before long, the vault doors were 
creaking open. 


Parker strutted inside, brushing past the lazy-eyed man. Hissing 
through his teeth, he spoke to his comrades. "Grab anything that 
looks eye-catching and won't melt you and we're out of here." 


Maria nodded. "Before they can think of the right questions." 


One dolly later, they wheeled their way back out of the oppressive 
catacombs. It had been sitting in a corner of the room, behind a box 
that screamed when you touched it and several pounds of 
gelatinous cubes. Missing a wheel and the rubberized grips 
appeared to have melted, but it could still spin with the best of them. 
Several crates were piled on top. Parker thanked his lucky stars 
Maria had brought some tape and paper with more than doodles on 
them. 


Each box now bore a label reading 'FRAGILE' and had been 
stacked neatly as could be managed. Parker pushed and pulled to 
prevent a spill, while Peterson and Joel flanked him. Maria, now 


holding the clipboard, put on her very sternest face as they walked 
out of the elevator. Nobody had joined them this time, but a big 
button marked HOME - TOPSIDE was lit in red above the mishmash 
of keys and switches on the control panel. 


Wheeling past the LCD screens, Parker was almost skipping past 
these skippers. But composing himself, he focused on holding 
steady. Blowing it now would be an awful shame. The people parted 
in front of him like a wave, averting their eyes as soon as the 
creaking carts had passed them. As they approached the door, a 
man in a tan uniform barely containing a pot belly walked up from 
behind a low lying desk. 


"Hey, so, uh, what's all this about then?" 


"Moving day." Maria spoke without missing a beat. "Got an order for 
a few low-level would-be skips to be shipped off for some 
specialized testing. Plus, vault's getting refitted. Something about 
the atmospheric gauges going bonkers." 


Nodding thoughtfully, the man put his thumb to chin. "Yeah, yeah, 
thought | heard somethin’ about that over the radio... but you guys 
like, got approval for this, or what?" 


"Orders coming straight from the top." Parker barked from the back. 
"Director wants this done quick, pet project prerogative, you know 
how it is." 


"Right, same old story." The man scratched his head. "I think we've 
got to fill out a few forms for this at least. Don't you have the 
paperwork with you?" 


Maria put her arm around the man, pushing her bosom into his 
chest. "Listen, neither of us get paid enough for this shit, right? 
Director wants what she wants, papers be damned. You feel me?" 


Slowly nodding, the tan man reached for his pocket. "Yeah, | feel 
you." 


Parker bit his tongue to keep from flinching, but what the man 
produced was a green key card. Sliding it through a black plastic 


machine, it beeped and the door slid open. Parker felt his heart leap 
into his throat. Squeaking forward, Parker's heart skipped a beat, 
nearly barfing out of his esophagus, when the hard bump of a 
doorframe nearly knocked a box off. 


Joel grabbed it, and steadied the lot. Exhaling softly, Parker smelled 
the fresh mountain air. 


We made it. 


Colonel Cook puffed incredulously as he scanned the after action 
report. Impossible. Not credible. Total bullshit. Years of the 
Foundation swatting strike teams like flies, uncovering infiltrators 
with ease and unmasking their deepest double agents. But four 
people in ill-fitting clothing on a suicide mission come back in two 
hours with enough Vertigo to keep the toymakers busy for at least 
nine months. "My boy, you've really done something here." 


Beaming, Parker broke out into a grin. "Thank you sir. But all credit 
has to go to the team. A group effort, through and through." 


Almost chewing through his tobacco, Cook dropped the dossier into 
a drawer. "You're all getting Future Stars for this, at least. | mean, 
you did it. Made them look like assholes. Only problem, not really a 
problem, is you took what to them is a drop in the bucket. But... it's 
never nothing to us. | mean, my god, the Gryphon that only kills 
innocent people is going to be someone's new favorite thing." 


"I'm hoping this can be a proof of concept, sir." 


"Of course, we can't do this every day. They'd catch wise pretty 
quick, probably have already. We had you written off for dead as 
soon as you all walked out the door. Damn near crapped myself 
when | heard you had come back with a report all ready to go." 


"Thank you sir." Parker glanced down at the photos spread on the 
wall behind Cook's desk. "Was there... anything else you needed, 
sir?" 


"Probably, but | can let you loose for now. You've earned it." 


Standing, Parker turned towards the door. Halfway through it, the 
Colonel blew a smoke ring. "Oh, and Parker?" 


Pausing to turn, Parker poked his head back. "Yes sir?" 
"You're going to have to top this, you know." 


As he walked down the hallway, tiles reflecting a pensive face, he 
saw it turn from a thought to a smile. The fun of doing the impossible 
has a way of doing that to a person. Make them dream of the future. 
What can come next. 


Yeah, | can top that. 


Bazyliszek 


Warsaw 
1944 


Another airdrop had been intercepted by the enemy. The English 
had good intentions, but when those ended up being consistently 
dropped into German territory, one could not help but wonder if if 
they were trying to miss the zones occupied by the Home Army. And 
they had just dropped it in the worst possible location. 


Basilisk Street was simply a name that her platoon had given this 
area. It may have had another name, once, before the Germans had 
razed it. The road looked familiar to her; she had visited it several 
times when she was younger, but she could not recall the name. 
She knew it had a bank on it, and a baker's shop, which had once 
been a knifesmith's house, centuries ago. 


The relevance of this last point was not lost on anyone in the 
platoon. Stefania, with her brown hair and broad Polish face, was 
flanked by two others. Tolek, who had been designated their sniper, 
hefted a rifle that looked too big on the young man's frame, like he 
was a little doll that someone had stuffed into a uniform. Kazia didn't 
look much better; years of starvation had taken toll on their 
grenadier, but she had bounced back from it, and what she lacked in 
fat she made up for in athletic muscle, enough that she could lug at 
least ten of the improvised grenades they had made, along with her 
rifle. They fortified themselves behind a shell of a building, some 
bombed-out walls clinging to their foundations, as they waited for the 
return of their final member. 


Their saboteur, Odekta, had just returned from scouting ahead, 
crawling on the ground laboriously. She swallowed, and looked at 
Stefania with wide eyes. On her coat, she wore what she considered 
a badge of honor: a yellow six-pointed star. She looked up at them, 
remaining prone. "They're not looking at the supply drop." 


"What?" Kazia spoke up, in a hissed whisper. "That has to have five 
days worth of food in it. Why would they not even inspect it?" 


"They're more focused on one of the buildings. I've seen three 
Szkopy — " an insult better than the Nazis deserved — "go into it, 
but none have come out." 


"What building?" Stefania took out her binoculars and surveyed the 
area, coming to a pause over a sign for a barber's shop, smashed in 
two by an explosion. "Everything is rubble." 


"Not so much a building, but the cellar of one." Odetka paused. "... 
you've told us about the second war before, Stefania. The one being 
fought next to this one." 


Her hand squeezed around the binoculars. "A war of magic. | didn't 
believe it, either, until | saw what happened in the telephone 
building." Stefania remembered the taste of burning flesh when a 
man covered in intricate Nordic tattoos incinerated two members of 
her squad, before she put a bullet in his stomach, and then five in 
his skull. 


"Everyone knows the myth. You don't suppose it could still be here?" 
Tolek's voice was a timid squeak, almost drowned out by the sound 
of a distant explosion.