A small cough brought his attention to his supervisor, who was 
standing by the chairs along the back wall. She gave him the 
slightest of nods. 


3:00 


Swallowing his trepidation and putting on a professional facade, 
Zhang marched to the farthest corner of the room, where a standard 
headset and a non-standard defibrillator — one which he knew had 
been modified to his own, lethal specifications — sat atop a small 
table. He took the devices from their place and brought them with 
him to approach Agent Anderson. 


The field operative was standing by the coat rack. Stone-faced, he 
had already donned the winter jacket and the gloves provided to 
him. 


With more confidence than he’d thought he could muster, Zhang 
handed the headset and the defibrillator to his friend. The 
containment engineer briefed the agent with information that he was 


sure the man already knew. 


“The anomaly is aware of its impending termination, but it is both 
unwilling and unable to resist. We will fill the tub as you enter the 
room. Your task is to minimize the entity’s suffering as the 
hypothermia sets in and to execute the termination via electrocution 
once we have verified the entity’s state of consciousness. You are 
not to begin the termination procedure until you have received our 
signal. Is this understood?” 


“Yes, sir.” 
Zhang nodded heavily, “Proceed.” 


Anderson turned stiffly to face the door to the adjoining room. He 
pulled it open and stepped through. 


Zhang felt the chill from the refrigerated space enter the air in the 
control center before the door swung closed and sealed the two 
rooms apart from each other once again. 


The technician at the computer consoles turned a dial, and the tub 
on the other side of the glass began to fill with with a blue-tinted 
mixture of water and antifreeze. The technician flipped a switch, and 
suddenly the light sound of Anderson’s breathing came echoing 
from the speakers in the control room. 


Zhang watched as Anderson sat down on the concrete floor next to 
the tub. He listened as the field agent talked to the statue about 
Harry Potter, hedgehogs, and the color teal. 


He watched as one of the two orange masses on the infrared feed 
cooled to yellow. He listened as the one-sided conversation turned 
to the topic of family. 


He watched as the brainwaves on the center screen changed their 
patterns from what may have been normal to what was most 
certainly not. He listened as his friend said goodbye to both the 
eleven-year-old he had been able to speak with for all of three, short 
weeks and to the projection of a long-dead younger sister who had 
passed away in a hospital bed six months after a car accident in 


which he'd been the one driving. 


Zhang considered all this with the part of his mind that wanted to 
empathize with Anderson and feel sorry for the little girl whose flesh 
had turned to nigh-indestructible metal. 


With another part of his mind, one that saw much more use in his 
day-to-day life, Zhang recalled receiving and analyzing the file on 
the designation-less, euthanasia-seeking anomaly that the 
Foundation had slated for termination the same day it had been 
recovered. 


He remembered reading the exhaustive experimentation logs which 
had determined, after the child could no longer communicate, that 
that she was insensitive to temperature but not immune to its effects 
on the human body’s internal systems. He remembered the 
clinically-phrased caveat that she could not seem to die of 
temperature fluctuations but that the upper and lower extremes of 
this had not been tested. He remembered contemplating the cold 
observation that the girl had, at some point in her transformation, 
lost the ability to fall asleep. He remembered seeing the termination 
testing log whose ultimate conclusion was that the girl’s metallic 
exterior diverted electric charge away from her still-functioning 
internal organs the same way that a car’s chassis could divert 
lightning around its occupants. 


The engineer remembered in vivid detail submitting his termination 
proposal to the project manager. He remembered finding his initial 
proposal rejected. He remembered devising the post-procedure 
protocol that he felt would convince even those who were more 
concerned with attaining knowledge than maintaining ethics that 
finally ending the girl’s life was in the Foundation’s best interests. 
And he remembered finding out just several hours ago that his 
second proposal had been accepted. 


He was startled out of this reverie when the technician at the 
computers waved him over, saying that the statue girl Cecilia was 
finally unconscious. The technician pressed a button, and the 
bathtub on the other side of the glass drained of fluid. 


Zhang walked to the console and picked up the microphone. He said 


SCP-822: Landmine Cacti 


Item #: SCP-822 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: Specimens of SCP-822 are 
contained in an isolation chamber at Biological Containment 
Site-103. Personnel may not approach within 5 meters of the 
chamber at any time; watering and soil conditioning are to be done 
via automated systems and any maintenance work must be done 
remotely with robotic assistance. 


Description: SCP-822 is a species of cactus similar in appearance 
to Lophophora williamsii (Peyote) but with significant differences as 
the plant reaches maturity within a period of approximately thirty (30) 
days. As SCP-822 nears maturity, a large gas sac forms within the 
center of the plant as it reaches its typical maximum dimensions of 
approximately 10cm in height and 25cm in diameter. This sac is 
filled with volatile gasses including , , and several 
substances unique to SCP-822. At the same time, the skin of 
SCP-822 hardens until it reaches a point not unlike sheet metal and 
seeds begin to form just under the skin. Once the plant is fully 
mature, it flowers and begins extruding a pheromone that serves to 
attract mammals of sufficient mass to trigger its anomalous property. 


Through an unknown mechanism, whenever any living creature of 
sufficient mass (approximately 10-20 kg) approaches within 3 
meters of SCP-822, the central portion containing the gas sac 
violently detonates, causing shrapnel-like shards of SCP-822's skin 
to fly through the air. These fragments are capable of embedding 
themselves into the skin and flesh of any living creatures nearby, 
which carry the seeds of SCP-822 away. Living creatures struck by 
these fragments that do not die from physical trauma eventually 
succumb to a potent neurotoxin synthesized by the fragments within 
three (3) to six (6) hours. 


tonelessly, “Agent Anderson, you are clear to begin termination.” 


He stared unblinkingly as Anderson opened the defibrillator case. 
He carved into his memory the sight of his friend peeling the plastic 
away from the gelled faces of the paddles, the sight of him turning 
the dial on the device to its maximum setting. He memorized the 
image of the field agent placing the paddles across the statue child’s 
chest. 


But when the high-pitched hum of the defibrillator gathering charge 
began, Zhang shut his eyes. When he heard the click of the paddle 
safety mechanism and the abrupt end to the device’s electric whine, 
his mind was filled with more clinical thoughts — thoughts of a 
bathtub insulated from the floor and of a beating heart in the path 
between 50 amps of current and a grounded paddle. 


“Heart rate is null,” confirmed the technician. 


When the field agent exited the termination chamber, Zhang was the 
one who took the defibrillator and the headset from him. He set both 
on one of the chairs along the back wall. 


Briefly meeting his manager's eyes, he volunteered to escort his 
friend to the staff dormitories. She gave him a nod of approval. 


The two men walked down the labyrinthine halls to the nearest 
elevator in silence. They rode it up to ground level in the same. 


The engineer knew little of what demons were dwelling in 
Anderson’s mind. He knew that his own thoughts were full of 
propane torches and ice baths and brittle ex-flesh in a hydraulic 
press whose use the Ethics Committee would never have approved 
of while the statue girl was still alive. But his friend Anderson was 
aware of none of these things, so what was weighing on the field 
agent must have been guilt of a different substance. 


The doors of the elevator opened at ground level to a tiled floor and 
afternoon daylight. Both men exited, and they walked across a 
lightly-trafficked lobby area side by side. They soon came to an 
intersection where one branching path led to the staff dorms and 
another led back toward the engineering department. 


Before they parted ways, Anderson confided, “I’m glad it was you 
who designed it, Avery. You made it kinder than it had to be.” 


Zhang put on a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He 
said, “It was the right thing to do for her. I'll see you later sometime, 
Remy.” 


It was on his way back to his office that Zhang ran into one of the 
engineering department’s assistants. 


The overworked young man curtly reminded him, “Zhang, you’re due 
in Galileo at 3:40. Tell Dr. Cadence we need her recommendations 
by tomorrow night,” before continuing his march down the hall with 
an armful of three-ring binders. 


Zhang, while internally berating himself for almost letting an 
important commitment slip his mind, called back to the assistant a 
hurried, “Thank you!” 


He jogged to the nearest elevator and swiped his key card in the 
sensor above the button panel. The engineer took the elevator down 
to the floor which hosted Laboratory G-1A, a room designated for 
training interns and more commonly referred to as the Galileo Lab. 


The double doors not too far from where the elevator let him off did 
not require a key card. Zhang pushed one of them open and entered 
a high-ceilinged room. 


Inside, a group of young interns were happily lazing about, their 
current topic of conversation something related to an upcoming 
movie release. 


“Pardon me, where’s your supervisor?” he asked them. 


One of the interns pointed toward the wide window on one wall of 
the laboratory, answering, “In the observation room grading our 
essays.” 


“Thank you,” said Zhang. 


He made his way to the door next to the observation window. With 


the press of a button on the wall, it slid open to let him through. 


The room’s current occupant looked up from the papers in front of 
her to smile and greet him, “Zhang, there you are. Just in time to join 
me in reading essays.” 


“Of course, Dr. Cadence,” replied the engineer to the researcher. As 
he pulled a chair from along the wall to the round table in the center 
of the room, he said, “And before | forget to tell you; they want your 

recommendations by tomorrow night.” 


“Right, right,” frowned Cadence, “I still need to write those. | imagine 
you've already turned yours in?” 


Zhang nodded as he pulled a set of papers toward him, “Yesterday 
night.” 


“Always so on top of things. Mind if | ask who you’re scouting out?” 
“That kid, Almasi, and possibly Nguyen or Smith.” 


Cadence laughed, “Really? Darn. | was hoping to snatch Almasi for 
the research division. But you turned yours in early, so you'll 
probably get first pick.” 


Zhang countered jovially, “You're a senior researcher, you'll 
probably get to steal whoever you want.” 


Shrugging, Cadence replied, “I guess we'll see how it turns out. The 
Site Director will be happy no matter what. They’re a good bunch of 
kids.” 


“Yeah, they are... lt makes you wonder what they’re doing here.” 


“Stop it, you. We have final essays to grade.” 


It was the end of the day, and Zhang was in his office, almost ready 
to leave to grab dinner at someplace that could make decent 
chicken. He gathered up the files on his desk and locked them in a 
drawer. Then, he began closing out of the tabs open on his 
computer. 


The last tab he had to close was open to his work email, just as he 
had left it that morning. Zhang found himself suddenly reminded that 
he had not checked his personal inbox in some time. With a few 
clicks of the mouse, he signed out of his work account. Then, he 
signed into his personal email. 


He had one unread message, titled “Katie”. It was three days old 
and from his ex-wife. 


Zhang opened the email, and was delighted to find over a dozen 
photographs and video clips starring his daughter at her ninth 
birthday party. In these photos, she had a different haircut than she 
did the last time he’d seen her — but then again, the last time he’d 
seen her had been over a month ago. 


One particular picture of the little girl holding up the plush dog and 
the scrambled Rubik’s cube he had gifted her was his favorite out of 
the bunch. 


There was a short message from his ex-wife included with the 
photographs. 


Katie says her new favorite cake is red velvet. She had 
lots of fun at the party, and she really adores the toys 
you dropped off for her. You could have stayed, you 
know. It was her birthday. 


But there had been a major anomaly transfer going on that day, and 
he had just barely managed to find the time to leave the unwrapped 
gifts at the door before rushing to meet the security detail for the 
overland haul to Site-19. 


Zhang made a note to himself to get a day off for... what was the 
next major holiday? The Fourth of July. That would do. Katie liked 
fireworks, picnics, and the color blue. 


He replied to his ex-wife’s email, thanking her for sending the 
pictures and telling her about his plans to get time off work on 
Independence Day. After that, he shut down the computer. 


As Zhang locked up his office behind him, he sincerely hoped that 


he would be able to keep that date. 


Until then, it would be one typical day after the next. 


Contrast 


More than anything else in life, they desire pleasure. It fuels their 
every action, driving them to do impossible things for the purpose of 
gaining it. Even when they don't realize it, pleasure is what 
motivates them, deep, deep down in their minds. Every aspect of 
their life is touched by it. 


And yet, | see them whittle away their lives actively trying to repress 
it. Though they let it control them, they work to keep it hidden away, 
never speaking of it or taking part in it during their normal lives. 
Some break this convention, and all constantly have pleasure on 
their minds, but for the majority, they cut down what they could do, 
what they could be. 


| do not understand this. Pleasure shapes me more than it does 
them, so my perspective may be somewhat clouded. But to shy 
away from an integral part of what they are seems to my eyes 
madness. Creatures driven by pleasure should experience it 
whenever they can. 


So | help them. | can see into the deepest recesses of their minds, 
and instinctively tell what would bring them the greatest pleasure in 
their whole lives. And then | am that thing, ready and willing to help 
them escape their self-imposed bonds and to truly live. Those who 
answer my call are rewarded. All who see me answer my call. 


You have no idea what it's like, being the thing to please another. | 
have been large and small, male, female, and in-between. | have 
been beautiful, plain, and ugly, and yet remained the absolute best 
thing in all of existence to the one | save. Sometimes it's sensual; 
sometimes it's romantic; many times it's erotic. But at all times, it is 
what they want. No, more than that. It is always what they need. 


| feel the act regardless of whether or not we are together. It always 
culminates in the act, but some chose to not bring themselves into 
my presence; rather, they pleasure themselves to a representation