Duration: 8 min 

Observed: Two (2) entities appearing as human females 
approximately 20 years old, roughly 4 in (10 cm) tall and possessing 
iridescent translucent wings on their backs, flew up to the 
observation window. They appeared to engage in conversation 
regarding Agent Masterson, with frequent pointing to him and 
attempts to look through the window. They then flew off. 


Name: Dr. Smith 

Date: 6/23/2017 

Time: 09:15 

Duration: 69 min 

Observed: Twelve grey kangaroos (Macropus giganteus) entered 
view, followed by six giant pangolins (Smutsia gigantea) which were 
carrying rolled up mats. One kangaroo commenced striking the 
pangolins with a staff, and the pangolins quickly unrolled the mats 
onto the ground. Two kangaroos went to the head of the area 
covered, while the others observed. The kangaroos then bowed to 
each other, and the kangaroos at the front began demonstrating 
various fighting maneuvers, and then the other kangaroos 
commenced imitating them. The pangolins remained motionless 
along side the mats. After 15 minutes, the first two kangaroos began 
another series of fighting actions, and again the other ten imitated 
them repeatedly for 15 minutes. Then all the Kangaroos bowed to 
each other again, and left the mats. One kangaroo again started 
striking the pangolins with its staff, which then quickly rolled the 
mats back up and all eighteen entities left the area. 


Loosen Up A Bit 


“| gotta say, Charlie,” Crow began, watching Gears pick at leftovers 
in front of him, “I can’t believe Jack let you off work so easy. What 
did you do, exactly? Did he owe you a favor or something?” 


“No. | didn’t ask at all,” Gears eating was always quite the operation. 
Crow’s companion and the head research director of the 
northeastern hemisphere was never a big eater- as evidenced by his 
wiry figure- and instead had a tendency to either work through meals 
completely or opt to play with his food and consume most of his 
calories needed to function through what Crow assumed to be a 
kind of lab light photosynthesis mechanism. Those who knew Cog 
well learned not to take this personally. “| am on leave.” 


“Leave?” Crow almost choked on the kibble in front of him. Gears 
had never taken more than a couple total days off the entirety of the 
time he had worked for the Foundation. 


His companion nodded solemnly, contemplating. “From on-site 
duties, although | am to remain on-call. My understanding is that 
Alto has taken the liberty of convincing Jack for my temporary relief 
in favor of this project specifically. | was not aware when arriving that 
| was to remain for an extended period of time, although in 
retrospect the box of my clothing and blueprints arriving by mail did 
seem strange.” Gears gently knocked two more half-frozen peas into 
a straight line with the others, forming a neat boundary on the paper 
plate, the significance lost to onlookers. 


“How did you know it was Clef?” 


“He left me a gift.” Gears carefully set down his fork and removed 
from his medical bag a thin cardboard package. 


Oh no, thought Crow, It’s going to be a dildo or something. 


His companion reopened the box and removed a hand written note, 


and curtly read it aloud, the affectionate message lost in his 
monotone voice: 


“Cog, loosen up a bit. Love, Clef.” 


Gears set the note aside carefully and reached into the box, 
removing a multicolored Hawaiian shirt in his size. Crow let go of a 
breath he didn’t know he was holding. Gears then set the shirt aside 
and stoically removed a nine-inch rainbow silicon dildo. 


“He also included this apparatus.” 


Once Crow had gotten up from where he had reacted to Gears’ 
discovery and safely removed the offending object from the eyes of 
the innocent, they were in business. After a brief discussion of 
accommodation, the two mutually decided that Gears would take up 
residence with Crow, at the old Olympia facility that the younger had 
maintained as a home and personal lab since the end of the project. 
This was not the first time the two would be roommates; the two had 
roomed together on many occasions, good and bad. Gears made for 
clean, quiet roommate, so long as one found the consistent 
keyboard tapping tolerable, and Crow didn’t consider himself too 
bad either. 


The problem with this, of course, was Crow’s modification of his 
small home to better fit his needs. He’d gotten rid of the bed years 
ago, taking instead to a more comfortable futon, and the myriad of 
old rooms previously hosting staff quarters and barracks had long 
been converted by forces greater than his own to what the old 
Olympia facility was to the modern Foundation: the F-44 archives in 
northern Alberta, Canada. 


The archives, of course, posed a problem that he and Gears began 
discussing once his human companion had adopted a sleeping bag 
on the floor next to Crow. All the rooms had been ‘upgraded’ from 
lab space, dorms, and containment to endless bookshelves of dusty 
files and metal lockers of long forgotten bits and pieces of 
experiments, odds and ends in decade-old biohazard containers and 
specimen jars. Crow’s job title of “Archivist” actually meant “Make 
sure no one breaks in and tries to steal irrelevant, almost completely 


redacted and useless files that we’ve been keeping just in case 
since the 50s”. 


One of the reasons Crow hated paperwork more than ever now was 
because he knew where it would eventually end up. 


“Well” Gears readjusted so he was facing the golden retriever curled 
up above him, “We could rearrange. It just depends on the space we 
need.” 


“Which depends on the project itself.” Replied Kain. “So | guess the 
next step is...what exactly they want from us?” 


“| would assume they wish for us to recreate Sophia. Or at least, 
modified soldiers to any extent.” 


Kain cringed at the name. He missed her terribly. “Yeah. Well, the 
way | see it, we have a couple options. We can either use the old 

specifications or make new ones from scratch, and for that...shit, 

Cog, | mean...we need money.” 


“Funding, yes. And permission for removal. SCP relocation, space, 
upgraded chambers. We’ll need workers and equipment, as well, 
unless we intend to do this on our own.” 


“You seem...” Crow paused, reading what he could from his 
companion. It was easier as a dog, but still buried pretty deep. He 
never really had a good chance of getting it right. “...Skeptical.” 


Gears, a person who approved and rejected funding from all over 
Russia and Europe on a daily basis, nodded. 


“You don't really have faith in this, do you?” 


“No. | think this is a terrible idea.” Gears replied bluntly, staring at 
the ceiling. 


“Well, | mean, don’t sugarcoat it.” 
“| would have rejected this in an instant if it was my choice.” 


“Again, no need to be gentle.” 


“| am unsure of how to proceed with this project to the extent 
requested, because | am deeply disturbed by the fact that funding 
previously given to other, more applicable research is being 
redirected to this.” Gears concluded. “However, | will proceed 
because | have been ordered to do so.” 


“Because your dad’s on the council.” Kain muttered. He could see 
Gears’ eyes shift from the ceiling to him, settling in the dark. 


“| Knew about the Brights for a long time.” Crow admitted. Might as 
well come clean about it now. “I mean, it’s hard not to notice if you 
pay attention, they’re a bit eccentric. Didn’t know there were two 
family lines involved until | was looking through some of the older 
files. Funny what you can stumble upon here if you don’t know what 
you're looking for, you know? Complete accident, | swear.” 


Gears nodded, and returned his gaze to the ceiling. A moment 
passed. Kain sensed that he had just crossed a boundary that 
should not have been touched. He breathed. 


“| trust you will not disclose this to anyone.” 


“Cog, I’ve known for six years now. If | was going to exploit that 
against you, | would have done it by now.” 


Gears nodded again in the slow, deliberate way he did. 


“Look, I’m sorry.” Crow said. “I have a question about it though. Can 
| ask you about it?” 


Gears considered for a second, tilting his head slightly. A long, still 
minute passed before his long time friend replied. 


“It depends on the question.” 


Kain exhaled slowly. “Of course. If you can’t answer it, then don't. | 
don’t really...| mean...| don’t really know much about you guys, 
just... you know. The medical files.” And what he knew, he didn’t 
believe, but he wasn’t about to say that. The old archives were 
frequently inaccurate. “Okay. So...what is he like? Your dad. He 
doesn't...| mean | heard he’s not...” 


“...He doesn’t present himself often, yes.” Gears confirmed, slowly. 
“As is customary.” 


Customary. Kain shuddered. Gears continued. 
“He is...” Gears thought for a moment. “...Strict. Again, customary.” 


Kain couldn't help blurting out another question, the one he had 
recovered from age-old documents that crumbled and cracked in his 
readers. “Can you...? | mean. Did he...? To you, | mean.” 


Gears did not respond initially to Kain’s half completed thought. At 
first, he received this response as his companion waiting for him to 
complete his question fully, and struggled for a moment to find the 
correct words to describe his conceptions of the trait before Gears 
interjected. 


“Customary.” Gears replied, emotionless. “All is customary.” 


Although part of Crow’s mind felt shock and grief in this response, a 
small, shitty part of himself raced with excitement at this apparent 
confirmation, and he couldn't stop his tail from thumping, once, 
singular, against the fabric of the futon, a movement he found 
himself horrified at, considering the context. Gears saw this, and 
continued. 


“_..| would not be excited.” 


“Yes. Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m not. Not. Not like that.” Kain wanted to 
make himself stop talking altogether, but somehow continued. “No. 
Terrible. Yeah. Like, really bad, not...not good. How you got trained 
to do it. Really. That’s horrible. It’s just really interesting you got 
assigned to the project with that kind of ability, do you think they 
know?” Crow blurted out, immediately regretting his decision. Oh my 
god, just stop it, it's not a good topic, just stop talking about it you 
piece of shit. 


To Crow’s surprise, Gears nodded. 


“lam not sure Jack is acquainted to the extent you seem to be...” 
Gears studied the old dog on the couch. “...But family lines intersect 
in these ways, yes. | suspect he has heard something from family 


members, or by any stretch, believes it to be simply talk. | have 
never shown it explicitly to others outside my father and grandfather, 
as is customary.” There was that word again. Customary. Everything 
was customary. 


Kain hesitated with the question that he felt compelled to ask next. 
That probably was the last thing Gears wanted to be asked. No way 
he was going to totally ask his best friend to answer this about his 
disturbing upbringing. No way. Just disrespectful. Totally out of line 
for him to ask that next question. 


“...Can | ask you one more question?” Crow said out loud. He heard 
Gears audibly exhale. Not quite a sigh, but defiantly something there 
that was exasperated. 


“...[s it for me to show you?” 
“_.- Yes.” 


Gears sat up, and Crow’s heart started racing in his chest. No way. 
No fucking way. His tail started beating against the futon restlessly, 
and Gears looked at him blankly. 


“It's not a very powerful skill by any stretch of imagination.” Gears 
breathed. “It is simply customary in the line. The trait is carried in the 
blood, but, as you probably know, has to be properly propagated 
while the child is young.” 


“Yes. Yeah. Yeah, it’s terrible, | saw the records.” Crow said this 
while still wagging his tail with his ears perked, and hated himself for 
it. “Just. Man. Yeah, that’s. Really terrible you had to go through 
that. Like, whoa. Shit, man, I’m really sorry.” 


“It is customary, in our family, for such an upbringing. To inherit the 
head Overseer position is the highest honor. To be the Ox that pulls 
the yoke. To serve the Foundation, in entirety, for the duration of 
one’s life is the greatest sacrifice, and the guiding light.” Gears said. 
“| want you to understand that this is what I’ve been taught, the true 
reason for rearing children in such a fashion.” 


“In addition to...” 


“.. Yes. In addition to that.” 
“Okay. Yeah, no. Totally. So sorry.” 
Gears nodded. 


“Can...Can you do it?” Crow said eagerly, voice barley above a 
whisper. 


Gears looked away a moment, back at his hands. 


The little walking clockwork toy on the bookshelf adjacent to them 
shuddered a moment in the dim light of the lamp on next to the 
futon, then began to walk, slowly at first, then steady, confidently 
marching tiny rubber feet across the shelf. Crow lay transfixed, 
watching the wheels turn in amazement, until it reached the other 
end and wound to a stop. The typewriter began clicking. The analog 
clock spun and whirred. 


A moment later, Gears exhaled, and the movement stopped; the 
clock back at 10:43 PM, the typewriter one line farther in the page, 
the toy on the opposite side of the bookshelf from where it had 
started. His companion looked back at him expectantly. 


He was speechless. 


“Oh. Oh my god. Cog. Cog, oh my god. That’s amazing.” Crow 
stammered. “Like...Oh, fuck, Charlie, that’s the best useless power 
I’ve ever seen.” 


Gears nodded quietly, always humble. “Not useless. Customary.” 


Crow made his tail stop beating with excitement, suddenly feeling 
enthralled with a charge he hadn’t before. “Yeah. Customary. Of 
course.” 


“Yes. | trust you with this information.” 
“Yeah. Yes. Yeah. Oh, my god. Yeah, of course.” 


“In that case, | propose we begin review of the materials in the 
morning.” 


“Yeah. Of course. Yes.” 


Gears nodded once more, and burrowed back into the sleeping bag. 
Crow repositioned himself to the best of his ability for sleep, and 
then reached out for the long cord attached to the lamp. 


It clicked off on its own. Charlie looked at him from the floor, face 
neutral as always, and Crow grinned. 


Leonardo Dreams of his Flying Machine, 
Tormented by visions of flight and falling, 
More wondrous and terrible each than the last, 
Master Leonardo imagines an engine, 

To carry man up into the sun... 


...As the midnight watchtower tolls, 

Over the rooftop, street and dome, 

The triumph of a human being ascending 
In the dreaming of a mortal man. 


Leonardo steels himself, 
Takes one last breath, and leaps... 


-Leonardo Dreams of His Flying Machine by Charles 
Anthony Silvestri 


No Joke 


Jerry swept the floor of the hallway while the guards looked on. This 
used to be Mr. Henderson's job, but then his poop started glowing, 
and now he was in Cell 14, with Mr. |heme. The guards would have 
had to do it, but they had him do it instead in exchange for paper 
and pencils. 


"GOOD MORNING, JERRY!" the screaming man screamed. 
"Good morning, Mr. Stewart," Jerry said. 


"| HOPE YOU HAVE A GOOD DAY TODAY" The screaming man 
returned to screaming wordlessly. He could never stop screaming, 
though it didn't seem to matter much what he screamed. No one had 
gotten much sleep when he'd first arrived. 


Jerry was glad it was a cleaning day. There were no tests on 
cleaning days. 


As he passed by Cell 8, the man in black and white stripes reached 
through the bars and held out a cookie from his lunch. Jerry took it 

gratefully, and the man gave him a thumbs up. He couldn't talk, but 
he was still one of Jerry's best friends.