The name pressed down on the Overseer's chest. He took slow, 
deep breaths in an effort to calm himself but every inhale became 
more and more difficult. On autopilot, his hands opened his cigar 
case. The lighter sparked on the first flick and he took a deep drag. 
On exhale he realized what he was doing, but decided he may as 
well enjoy it while he could. How in the world could Redd have 
known about 231— 


"05-4? Are you still there?" 


He shifted out of his daze, if only slightly. "Dziekan. Right. Yes. 
What were his demands?" 


"For you to personally come in to see him, or he would kill the girl." 
The next pull turned half the cigar to ash. "And?" 
"Nothing else. Just for you to see him in person." 


05-4 watched his hand shake, smoke from the cigar zigzagging. 
"What did you tell him?" 


"That | would notify you." 


"You didn't say anything about that being against protocol, it being 
unlikely of happening, anything like that?" 


"Seemed unwise to do so, given the context." 


He finished his cigar. "If we're both alive tomorrow, remind me to 
give you a pay raise." 


"Sir?" 


He terminated the connection. 


One door creaked open only to reveal another. O5-4 stepped 
through and stared down at the man leaning against the wall, an IV 
sticking into his arm. Mister Scary looked at him and smiled. The 
contraction chipped away some rust and blood flowed from the 
edges of his mouth. Neither said anything as the Overseer stepped 
past the Little Mister, glanced at the bag of morphine, and went 
through the second door, this one rusted open. 


He considered breaking into a run down the hallway and settled ona 
stiff jog. Some of the tiles cracked under his feet and when he 
arrived at the double doors they were open, the joints rusting them 

in place. "I: 1-7 Os: Ker" was all that was visible of the plaque beside 
the doors. 


Rust began to cling to some of the machinery, but the video feed of 


SCP-231-7's room was still functioning. Overseer Four steeled 
himself before looking. 


A little girl lay in a hospital bed, her pregnant belly covered by her 
surgical gown. She seemed quite calm given the circumstances, but 
given her general situation there likely wasn't much that would upset 
her anymore. 


Next to her bed was a man in a red vest, his jacket draped over the 
back of his seat. In one hand he held the ankle of a rusting man who 
was attempting to crawl away, and in the other he held a children's 
book. 


The only sounds in the room were Lost groaning as his body rusted 
as he scrabbled against the decaying tiles and Redd reading ina 
warm voice. 


05-4 found the intercom and pressed the button. Katherine winced 
at the squealing as the system turned on and Redd cocked his head 
at the noise. 


"Alright, Mister Redd. I'm here." 


Redd released Lost and slowly turned in his seat to reach into his 
jacket pocket, removing a piece of paper. He marked his place in the 
story and shut it, setting the book on the bed. As Redd looked into 
the camera O5-4 saw flakes of brown and black on Redd's skin, red 
lightning sparking against it and revealing smooth skin. 


Redd smiled. "Please, no need for the 'Mister' formality. We're all 
friends here. I'm Redd open parenthesis discontinued closed 
parenthesis. My friends just call me Redd. How are you, Four?" 


Geniality was not what O5-4 was expecting. A few moments passed, 
filled only with the sound of Lost banging on the door, before Redd 
tilted his head and waved at the camera. O5-4 cleared his throat and 
said, "I've been better, Redd. You've been causing a lot of problems 
lately. Now what is it you want?" 


Redd shrugged theatrically, splaying his palms. "Sorry about that. 
Though | do believe | was clear with my video earlier. I'd like to see 


SCP-933: Duct Tape 


Item #: SCP-933 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-933-02 and all affected 
subjects must be stored in a modified standard artifact containment 
unit that contains no electronic components. All personnel guarding 
SCP-933-02 and affected subjects must be equipped with standard 
assault rifles, a high-caliber sidearm, class 3 magnesium flares with 
an active duration of no less than 20 minutes, and protective 


goggles. 


In the event of SCP-933-02 or any affected subjects escaping, all 
personnel are to activate their flares first and don the protective 
goggles second. Maximum force is authorized to restore 
containment. 


SCP-933-01 is to be guarded in a manner identically to SCP-933-02 
and the affected subjects. SCP-933-02 and the affected subjects 
have shown that they will always make their way directly to 
SCP-933-01. How they determine this path is unknown. 


Description: SCP-933-01 appears to be an innocuous roll of duct 
tape. Attempts to unroll it by non-affected personnel have proved 
ineffective. 


SCP-933-02 appears to be a man in a cloak who has absolutely no 
facial features. All affected subjects bear the same condition, but the 
rest of their bodies appear as they did before their incidents. 


While all affected subjects have identical behavior to SCP-933-02, 
none of them possess its formidable strength or resilience. Affected 
subjects have been terminated with no more force than it would take 
to kill an ordinary person. During Incident-933-004, SCP-933-02 
sustained 57 bullet wounds before collapsing, which it healed from 


you, face to face. No cameras, no PA systems. No tricks, no body 
doubles." 


Was that a knife in Redd's hand? No, nothing. A trick of the light, a 
video oddity. 


"Before that, | have one question. How did you get here?" 
"Walked." 


"The site has been on lockdown and you were able to avoid 
surveillance for most of your trek despite us having a satellite meant 
to track Mister Lost. And you somehow not only knew of this Wing, 
but how to access it." 


"Like | said, | walked. As for why | knew, call it insider information. 
Now, please do get in here." 


Again, a glimpse of black in his palm. A jagged shadow that played 
hell with the lighting of the room. 


With great trepidation O5-4 unlocked the blast door and dodged Lost 
as he darted past. After watching the Little Mister run down the hall, 
the Overseer stepped into the room. It smelled of disinfectant and 
lilac, thanks to the small aromatizer next to the bed. He felt his heart 
hammer away at his throat as he looked to Redd, and clench slightly 
when the child gave him a little wave. 


Redd gestured to the armchair on the opposite side of the bed. 
Once they were both seated Redd cupped his hands together and 
sighed. 


"So, this is it," Redd said. "The finale. The brief period after a long 
sentence that drips with the taste of freedom. How long have you 
been doing this job?" 


The Overseer was silent. 


Redd smiled. Four would have sworn the overhead lights took on a 
slightly bloody hue. 


"|," Redd finally said, "have been a Little Mister for... what is it, 


almost twenty years? Something like that. It's been difficult, let me 
tell you." 


Redd looked down at the dagger in his hand, which was now all too 
real. With something akin to reverence he lifted it up and dragged 
the shadow across his own throat, cutting so deep his exposed 
trachea whistled softly. Red ran down his shirt. But it clung at odd 
places, depicting runes that sat at the edge of the Overseer's 
memory. Lightning lanced out and into the damage, the blood 
draining as red sparks healed the wound. 


The Little Mister took another breath, "And there's no getting away 
from it. It won't let me go. As long as this stupid dirt ball keeps 
spinning, I'm going to be here. Unchanging. Undying. Unable to feel 
much beyond blinding rage." 


He smiled again. "But what if | stopped the spinning? What if | could 
stop it all? What if | could stop hurting? I'd have to try, right?" 


"If that's your intention, why bring me here? Why drag the other two 
around?" 


"| guess | needed some kind of... closure," Redd said, his eyes distant 


| walked. | don't know how long, but | did. | know that 
much. | somehow ended up at the Wonderworks, the 
place that had eluded me for so bloody long. And it was 
running. No old man, but the place was bustling all the 
same. It was the gods damned child! The oh, so lovely 
Isabel! But what could | do to her? She was in the same 
sort as me, in a way. She asked me why you pricks 
hadn't collected me yet. | didn't really have an answer, 
but | figured, why not? Not like | had anything else to do. 
Suicide wasn't the option, as you can plainly fucking see! 


But as | got closer, | got this feeling. This itching, burning 
sensation digging into my soul— if | even have one 
anymore. There was a thing, locked deep in the hole my 
brothers were buried. It spoke to me in ways I'll never be 
able to convey to you. Just. Fuck. It felt good. And | 
knew. | knew! | always thought | was just subject to 


anger issues, but all along | was a subject to the King! 


Did you know gods can't die? They just... fade, waiting 
for their time to come again. But they still leave corpses. 
Something to jam a spigot into and tap into whatever 
power might be left lying around. The old man must have 
gotten desperate. Brass wasn't enough, even as big as 
the corpse he got pulled from is. A Broken universe still 
yields a Broken power, and a sliver of a fragment isn't 
worth much of anything. So he tried something a bit 
more intact, and... 


What was | talking about? ...Wait. Wait, no... 


| used to say | have these... lucid moments. It's like— Do 
you wear glasses? You look the type. That brief time 
when you put them on, when your eyes see both through 
and around the lens. And everything just seems to warp 
around you as the glass rushes forward, the world shifts 
as the filter expands. You wear them long enough and 
you stop seeing the frames in your vision, don't feel the 
arms on your ears anymore. 


| can't tell if my humanity is the prescription or the 
astigmatism anymore. 


And | don't care. I'm so, so sick of it all. My eyes are 
strained to the point of bleeding and | can't close them. 
But at least that means | get to watch the end. 


Redd eventually stirred from his trance. "Here, | want you to have 
this." He removed the bookmark from its spot and unfolded it before 
handing it over. 


O5-4 stared at the list. One line in particular drew his eye. 


14. Mr. Redd (discontinued) ¥ 


The man stood there for a moment, eyes unfocused. Somewhere in 
his mind the twentieth slot was filled. He leaned to the right, his hand 
out as if ready for a cane to take the weight. After a moment he 
caught his balance and examined his right hand, then the left, 
flexing and clenching them. He straightened back up and examined 
the room. 


The former body of O5-4 took a breath. 
Mister Collector let it out. 


Collector reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp piece of 
paper, uncrumpled despite its confines. 


He let out a small chuckle. The paper between his thumb and middle 
finger, he snapped, and a bubble formed around the parchment. It 
floated just above his palm, bounced when he tapped it. He gave the 
top of the bubble a light pat and it collapsed into itself, away for him 
to take out later. 


"How you feeling?" Redd asked from his seat. 


"Better than | have in years," Collector responded. When he spoke, 
Redd sat up. Squinted. "And yourself?" 


"You—!" Redd flew forward, knife in hand. 


Collector slapped it away into a bubble, which soared just out of 
Redd's flailing grasp. Redd drew another from his sleeve and threw 
it, only for it to be caught in another bubble. Red in the face, Redd 
swung a fist while simply producing a dagger from his palm. 
Collector caught the punch and a silky bubble wrapped itself around 
Redd's hand. He pulled and yanked and was only able to free 
himself when he released his grip on the third shadow knife. 


"How?!" Redd demanded. "You should be dead! The girl said you 
were dead!" 


"| likely am. The me you are speaking to is merely a copy, made 
prior to Mister Forgetful erasing 'me' from my old body. Whatever 


was left in the body of Isiah Crawford after that was Doctor 
Wondertainment, though with a bit too much Factory mixed in for my 
taste. | suppose | remember all that because Forgetful couldn't get 
to me as | was merely in potentia. You remember Mister Mad?" 


"He was a fucking— were we all just tests? A fucking training 
ground?" 


"Not all of you, no." Mister Collector, née Doctor Wondertainment 
smiled. It lacked its old rainbow glow but it shined all the same. 
"Forgetful and Stripes to cover my tracks, the latter's brother to get 
you all here..." The smile faded. "...Scary. Ahem. Truth be told, this 
whole Collector concept was done fairly late into the project's 
development. | mostly wanted to see how things would turn out. 
How is Isabel doing?" 


Redd glowered. "So then why was | made?" 


The old man narrowed the eyes that weren't really his. "Hmm. You 
were a gamble, | suppose. Of course, | made a grave error— as 
they say, always bet on black." 


Redd grabbed Collector by the collar. "Do you think this is a fucking 
joke? That /am somehow funny?" 


"Not as such. My apologies, | was trying to lighten the mood. What 
would you like me to say? That you were a defect? That | 
condensed a power that was much more destructive than | could 
have imagined and pumped it into some young man's veins? | tried 
to change you, but you just wouldn't take much. So Redd you 
became." 


Redd released his grip, his face expressionless. "So I'm a mistake." 


Collector straightened his tie. "| would more say... an unfortunate 
surprise. But who doesn't like surprises?" 


"Ha..." Redd reeled back, smiling. It took another few seconds for 
his face to move again. "I'll show you a surprise." 


"And what's that?" 


The grin in Redd's mouth was almost as sharp as the knives in 
Collector's bubbles. "That would be telling, dear father. Can't spoil 
the surprise." 


Redd sidled next to the child's bed and smiled down at her. 
Katherine smiled back up at him, her gaze occasionally edging 
toward the other Mister. Redd sat down, the impact bouncing the 
book up and off of the bed. A chuckle left him as he bent over to get 
it. 


Redd set the book down in the center of the bed. He traced out a 
curved knife on the cover. A spark of red followed his fingertip, 
outlining the weapon. Once completed the red flickered and was 
filled with black. Redd slipped the knife off the book as one would a 
playing card and held it for Collector to see. When Redd turned it so 
that the blade faced Collector, it appeared to merely be a wispy 
black line flickering in the light. 


"Are you ready?" Redd asked Katherine in a soft voice. 


The child took a few breaths. "Are you sure you can? | don't want 
Him getting hurt." 


Redd twirled the knife in one hand and brushed back her hair with 
the other. "These people may have locked him away, but | just so 
happen to have the key." 


With trembling fingers she lifted up her gown to expose her belly. 
Brands marked the swollen skin, dull and dark. They crackled like 
coal when Redd touched them. Katherine laid flat and squeezed her 
eyes shut. 


The twisted scalpel slipped into her, the blade so fine she didn't 
wince. But as Redd ran the knife across her, she began to scream. 
The runes on her skin sizzled as Redd cut through them, vapor 
rising into the air. Within the girl, red and purple pulsed and writhed, 
her womb mangled and distended. It squished and squelched as her 
yelling became racking sobs. 


All the while, Collector stood impassively at the foot of the bed. He 
had seen as bad, caused worse, but a twinge of guilt struck him as 


he thought of Sweetie. Hopefully she would at least speak to him 
when he found her. Collector stirred from his thoughts when Redd 
cleared his throat, knife hanging over the mess.