she stumbled, her body now a land, a foreign country, 
stretching as it were down before her and paradoxically 
ending at the walls, smaller as they were than herself. A 
vision gripped her, dredged from dream, of dizzying 
spaces within spaces and strange Escherian hierarchies. 
She heaved, and from somewhere north of her center of 
self, something responded. But nothing came up, for it 
had too far to travel. 


The bathroom - the door! Somehow she brushed through 
it, hearing its creak and seeing the sun reflecting against 
its porcelain tiles, the yellow light of morning implausibly 
red-shifted into pure bright, the colour of the vaults of 
heaven, and the mirror, the mirror, reaching through with 
arms the size of skyscrapers, and the dark crack behind 
it. The black glass - no! - the black glass bottle - drink 
me! - between universe fingers slipping in terrifying 
abyss drop. Far, so far! She was bigger than herself, 
now, seeing herself look through the windows of her 
bathroom, her house, her body placing her outside of its 
safe walls, until the walls broke - 


Eva opened her eyes through the vaulted windows of her 
flat and sighed and wondered how she had ever let 
anything get itself to a point resembling this. 


Sweetness 


He dried her tears, because that’s what fathers do, and carefully 
brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “It’s alright, Sweetness...” 
he said softly. “It’s alright...” 


Sweetness. Her mother had called her that from the first day she 
was born, and as she looked up at him, the sparkling green eyes of 
his daughter carried the smile from her lips to his heart, and he knew 
that the nightmare she’d had would pass, just as they always did. 


“| know, Daddy,” she said, her tiny hand gripping his middle and 
index finger. 


When he tugged his fingers, she didn’t let go, and he slowly smiled. 
She smiled back. “Tell me a story please, Daddy?” she requested. 


He had to laugh. Had she faked the dream? Maybe even the tears? 
He didn’t know. But now that he was here, awake, and relieved by 
that sort of rapid recovery from terror that only children can have, he 
assented. 


“Of course, Sweetness...” he said. 


There was once a princess who a wicked man and his army kept in 
a tower. She was so beautiful—“Beautiful like Mommy, Daddy?” she 
interrupted—beautiful. Beautiful as a sunrise over the Sarawats, 
Princess. 


And she cried, my dear child. She cried and she screamed and she 
raged against those around her, and she dreamt day and night of 
seeing her father the king. If only she could escape from the wicked 
man and his army, she could see him, and together, they would 
drive the man out of the country and be happy and safe for all of 
time! 


It was her voice that was the reason they imprisoned her, of course. 
She sang, so beautifully, much more beautifully than anything else 
in the world, and the wicked man and his army wanted her songs for 
themselves, and so in their custody she remained. 


There was a knight among the wicked man’s army, one of her 
father’s loyal men. He was wise and brave and—*What was his 
name ?!’—oh, Sweetness, | can’t tell you that. He’d be found out if 
his name was spoken aloud. But he was a good man. A great man 
of her people, and he slipped her things, presents and trinkets to 
help her run away. Soon, it would be time... She had merely to wait 
for the time. 


One day, she heard shouting from outside, and a loud noise called 
through the air, and she grew quiet and hushed her crying and 
screaming, for she saw her knight and his squires approach her with 
a large, metal horse—“Can you tell me the horse’s name, 
Daddy?’—named Aziz! And they quickly took her, and placed her on 
the back of Aziz, her horse, and they quickly sent her on her way, 
fighting back the men who came to attack her and take her hostage 
again, their swords moving quickly, so quickly, cutting at the wicked 
man’s foes. 


She rode on faithful Aziz and reached her father’s kingdom after a 
long journey, but as they rode, Aziz would tell her stories— “He could 
talk?’—of course he could talk! Aziz was a brilliant and loyal horse, 
and he would tell her tales of the desert and jinni and even the 
secrets of other metal things, like swords or pots or sewing needles. 
And though the journey was long and hard, she finally found her 
father’s castle, and hurried inside, only to discover that her father 
had been injured. 


It was an awful day... Her father was a great and loyal and 
wonderful man, the greatest to ever be, but he had been terribly 
wounded. He was so wise and strong, that he did not die, even 
though his assailants, who were those men in the army of the 
wicked man who imprisoned her, had cut out his heart and his 
tongue and his hands. They’d even stolen his blood. 


And the princess, who felt guilty now that she had screamed and 
cried and yelled because her father was doing no such thing. He sat 


there, wise and wonderful and nodding to her, and she lowered her 
head and his kissed her, for he had missed her so much and so 
terribly. And when he kissed her, she knew what she had to do. She 
had to give of herself to help him. And so, she gave him her voice so 
that he could again give orders to his loyal soldiers, who gathered 
instantly to his call! 


And the princess, now silent, rode with his soldiers... for they were 
going to find all of the King’s body and return it to him, and then he 
could be whole and well again, and they world could finally be at 
peace. 


And he stopped, and she looked up at him, a whimpering coming 
onto her lips. “But...But Daddy! That’s not fair!” she exclaimed 
quickly. 


“What isn’t fair?” he asked, smiling to her and patting her hand. 


“Why did she give up her voice? She was just sad when she was 
crying...” 


“Oh, my Sweetness,” he said, chuckling softly. “All of us will give of 
our bodies one day, and we will all be among those who restore the 
king to his wholeness...” he said gently. “This princess gave of 
herself her greatest gift, just as one day, we shall to.” 


And his Sweetness smiled, because she knew this story now. It was 
one she’d been taught since she was born, learning her first words. 


“And will God be whole again soon, Daddy?” she asked. 


He smiled. “I pray, my Sweetness. Tomorrow, | shall tell you of the 
Princess’ quest to find her father’s heart and the secret of the golden 
tablet that made all things into his hands and many other wonderful 
things... But for now... sleep.” 


And he leaned down again, brushing away the same, troublesome 
lock of hair as earlier, and kissed her head, hearing the soft clicking 
in her arms and legs, and smiling at her proudly. So proudly. 


“Sleep, my Sweetness.” 


waltz out into, into a world | don't recognise. A world 
without... Look, I'm here now and I'm teaching and that's 
all that matters. All that matters. You don't know what it 
means to try to live in a world that doesn't accept you, a 
world where you're a, a damn criminal for who you are, a 
world without, without... 


SCP-948 sits down beside Dr. Bridge. 
SCP-948: Without him. 


There is a long silence. After approximately four minutes, 
SCP-948 opens its mouth to speak, then closes it without 
saying anything. Conversation resumes after nine 
minutes of silence. 


SCP-948: I've been monstrous just now, Eleanor. | didn't 
think | had it in me to lash out like that. | hope you can 
accept that | am truly sorry to have spoken to you that 
way. In truth, I've suspected myself for... well, | suppose 
for a number of decades. What you've been through... 
I've been through it myself, in my own way. Denying 
reality, trying to find a way out. 


SCP-948 puts its hand over Eleanor's. 


SCP-948: Eleanor... What you're asking of me, it won't 
work. You don't fix anger and heartbreak like you fix 
muscle and sinew. What you need is a therapist, 
someone more up to date than this old corpse. 


Dr. Bridge: | h-have a therapist now, actually. Had t-to 
so | could be c-cleared to work. Adileh. Sh-she's lovely, 
but it's all just so fucking f-f-frustrating, you know? Every 
two steps forward... 


SCP-948: One step back? 
Dr. Bridge sniffs and wipes her nose on her sleeve. 


Dr. Bridge: Yeah. 


Swing Shift 


Greg Collier, ENGINEERING 


Fucking new hires. 


Yeah, sucks. 


Should be an easier shift tonight. Just you and me 
doing routine inspections and shit. End of the month 
you know. 


Yeah yeah. I'm going to sleep now. 


Hurry up and put on your lipstick. Shift in 10. 


One sec. Just finishing up your mom. 


You mean Brian? 


Greg hates Brian with a passion, and it's hilarious. | snicker in the 
empty utility tunnel as the hard soles of my boots echo across the 
concrete walls and floor. It's amazing | can even still get a signal in 
these lower levels. My phone beeps a few seconds later. 


Greg Collier, ENGINEERING 


FYI, | hate you. 


Lol. Whatev bitch. 


I'll meet you by the service elevator. 


OK 


| put the phone back into my pocket and continue down the tunnel, 
now picking up the pace to catch Greg at the service elevator. The 
hefty tool box in my hand rattles louder as the loose ratchets and 
wrenches shift left and right as | jog to close the distance. My phone 
beeps again, but | don't look at it. Probably another jab or obscene 
joke from a bored Greg as he waits in the descending elevator. I'm 
sure IT has higher priorities than telling maintenance crews to tone 
down the texting on Foundation phones. I'm also sure they laugh as 
hard as we do when they read them. 


| stand by the steel doors and watch the light on the elevator panel 
trickle down to my current level, B-4. The bulk of the utility tunnels of 
Research Site-45 are located at this level. They spiderweb out from 
the center shaft and connect places like D-Block, C-Block, and so 
on. Mostly steam and water pipes, some electrical but not much. 
The elevator beeps as the steel doors separate revealing a balding 
man in glasses. 


I'm quick on the snappy remarks, in fact known for it. "You look like 
shit." 


Greg grumbles as he walks out, rubbing the back of his neck. "You'll 
look like this too in five years, Dave." 


| nod. Greg is more senior than | am in the department, so | let him 
have his moments here and there. We've always clicked. We have 
similar interests, work at the same pace, and love giving each other 
shit. Should make for decent night in the tunnels. 


"Alright Greg, you got the work list?" 


Greg whips out a slightly crumpled printout from his back pocket. 
"Yeah right here... E-Block." 


| tilt my head a bit. "E-Block? Why are we going there? That's not 
our area." 


Greg glances up from the paper briefly. "Unfinished work order from 
day shift that wasn't closed out in the system. Pump one four six. It's 
listed as breakdown, high priority. So you know what that means?" 


"Yeah | know. There goes my easy inspection night." 


Greg chuckles at my disappointment. "Contain your excitement. 
We'll take the mule." 


He turns the corner and | follow. A small construction orange electric 
cart with tiny rubber wheels sits quietly against a wall. The stretched 
cracked pleather seat is just big enough for two maintenance bums 
with a small flatbed behind for whatever they need to carry. | smile 
as it's a rare moment we get to actually use these. As Greg plops 
into the driver seat, | throw our tools in the back. He takes off quickly 


as soon as | sit, not even giving me time to put on the lap belt. The 
mule whines down the concrete tunnel as we pass from one 
overhead light to the next. | pull out my phone and text Jimmy, since 
| know he was working the shift before. Perhaps he can enlighten 
me on what is left to be done on this pump. 


James Rolfe, ENGINEERING 


Hey, what are we walking into here? 


| look back up from my phone and just zone out for a minute or two. 
Looking at the endless tunnel ahead as the musty humid air rushes 
by. E-Block is separate from the main installation. Another 
containment area that houses rumor fuel for the maintenance 
department. Stuff we aren't paid enough to know and don't even 
want to know. My phone beeps and | look back at it. 


James Rolfe, ENGINEERING 


Hey, what are we walking into here? 


!INETWORK FAILURE: COULD NOT ESTABLISH 


CONNECTION TO USER JROLFE!! 


| look back at my home screen and see that | still have two full bars. 
Putting the phone back into my pocket, | give a sigh. It's not the first 
job I've walked blindly into, and it certainly will not be the last. A few 
more minutes and we pass under a large sign saying "E-BLOCK" in 
big black letters. We stop at the giant blast doors and swipe our 
badges across the receiver. It beeps and starts the sequence of 
unlocking all the clamps and powering the hydraulics to move the 
heavy steel. 


The door whines open with a deafening squeal. Greg and | both look 
at each other and know instinctively what the other is thinking... 
Needs grease. We squeeze through and head to the barricades just 
up ahead where work was being done on a pump. It's a mess. 


"Goddammit!" Greg yells as he squeals to a jarring halt. | swear for a 
moment that the mule's rear wheels lift off the ground for an instant. 
"Those motherfuckers." 


| watch as he shambles out and looks at the work site. No doubt 
they left in a hurry. Tools, hoses, and shop towels lay everywhere. 
"Fucking bullshit. Now we also have to clean their mess too?" 


| unload our tools. "Yeah, we'll chew their asses out later. Let's hurry 
up and finish this pump." 


Greg grumbles and nods, shifting into work mode. Looking back at 
his printout, he gets an idea of what's left to do. Over the next hour 
we spend our time fixing the housing and bolting it back in place. A 
large puddle covers the entire area from when it blew. Our boots 
splash around in it as we work quickly to get it back in working order. 
Eventually we get close to actual completion and | spend some time 
picking up the mess that was left for us, seeing as Greg can apply 
his finishing touches in the mean time. 


"Dave, | gotta take a leak." 
| roll my eyes. "Oh sure. Leave all this work for me." 
"Shut up. I'll be back." 


Greg tromps off and rounds a corner. The echo of his footsteps can 


be heard for a while longer. There are no bathrooms on B-4. Only 
time people come down here is when something breaks. And when 
you have to take a piss, you'll need to utilize a conveniently placed 
drain. It's around this time that | feel the urge to pester him. 


Greg Collier, ENGINEERING 


Remember, it's 2 shakes. 


Wanna help? 


Get Brian to help you out. 


| wait a few more seconds for his response, but nothing comes. 
Shrugging, | put the phone away and get back to housekeeping. 
After about a minute | hear steady footsteps from around the corner. 
They slowly approach me as my back is turned. | Know what Greg's 
footfalls sound like, but it was different enough for me to question if it 
were someone else. 


"Greg?" | turn around to see who it is. Relief washes over when | 
see confirmation that it is in fact Greg. 


"Oh, hey. You missed out. I'm just about done cleaning this mess." 


Greg smiles slightly. "Shame." He looks over at the mule. "Hey real 
quick, while | had time to think... we need to get back topside." 


"Oh yeah? For what?" 


Greg hops in the passenger seat. "For a different kind of gasket. 
The ones we got are the wrong type. I'll let you drive." 


| shoot him a queer glance for a second. "Ten four, boss." 


| give a begrudging sigh and put the tool boxes down on the ground 
and hop in the driver seat. He is senior after all. "Back to the 
elevator then?" 


"Yeah."