"AlCs gotta be trained like anyone else. Acting on their own takes 
experience and experience can't be programmed. | mean sure... yer 
typical virus s'not even on the radar. But anomalous threats are..." 


Dietrich's eyes darted past Karlyle for a moment to view Merle 
signing a message to him in the reflection of the wall mounted 


touch-screen. Before he could pick up on what Merle was trying to 
convey he realized he was pausing for too long. 


"...unpredictable," he concluded. "It'll take some time ‘fore being let 
off the leash like ya want." 


Karlyle took a quick glance behind him, looked straight at Merle. 
Seeing nothing, he turned back to Dietrich and nodded in 
acknowledgement. "I see." 


"Sir?" Dietrich asked. "S'there some'’em that the AlCs need to 
contain currently?" 


Karlyle squinted. He wasn't quite sure how to handle this strange 
man. He was knowledgeable, certainly, but something seemed off. 


"Not necessarily," he said, leaning forward. "Currently | am just 
exploring possibilities, for my own site and for other projects." 


"Other projects?" 
"Mr. Lurk-" 
"Dietrich." 


"Yes, apologies. Dietrich, how suitable would you say you are to 
maintain these systems in the field? How adequate is your expertise 
in this area?" He looked over Dietrich's shoulder into the server 
room beyond them. "Additionally, what other projects are you 
currently assigned to?" 


"Currently? Just this. I've been bouncing from divisions and labs 
ever since | got transferred outta Mu-13. But in the field... we got 
some stuff on the backburner havin to do with mobile apps and 
AlCs. That'd be a good start fer what yer lookin fer." 


Dietrich placed his standard issue mobile device on the conference 
table. "| know these AICs well, sir. | can't build one from scratch, but 
| can tune and tweak them. That is to say, | know a'nuff. Ain't that 
right, Alex?" 


The phone beeped and responded in a perky female voice. «That's 
right, sir!» 


Karlyle looked down at the phone with an air of curiosity. "This is the 
fourth generation system, yes? The Alexandra system?" 


Dietrich nodded. "Yessir, hosted right here in 19. The latest and 
greatest artificially intelligent conscript they've made to date." 


The old doctor lifted the phone. An avatar of a blue haired young 
woman sat centered on the screen, and smiled when it turned to 
face Karlyle. 


«Good afternoon, Dr. Aktus!» The vocal synthesis, Karlyle 
considered, was very good. «It is a pleasure to finally meet you.» 


Karlyle addressed Dietrich. "This can hear me?" 


«Sure can!» Alexandra replied, blinking a notification light. «I'm 
integrated into all of the hardware designed for these devices, and 
have access to whatever utility | want to use, whenever | need to 
use it. Cameras, microphones, lasers-» she laughed «-ok, maybe 
not lasers, but I'm sure they're working on that too!» 


"Fascinating," Karlyle said, mulling the object over in his hands, "this 
is far superior to the Access system running at Site-81." 


«Access, woof.» The avatar stuck out her tongue. «I've seen the 
source, that's pretty outdated stuff.» 


Karlyle raised an eyebrow in agreement. "Dietrich, if you are willing, 
| might have a position for you in the near future, that is, if you are 
interested in continuing your work with these AlCs." 


"Imma round peg, sir. Jack of all trades, master of none." Dietrich 
drummed his fingers on the table. "Kinda prefer it that way to be 
honest. Don't like gettin' pigeonholed. Kinda why | left Mu-13." He 
then stopped drumming. "That said... Site-81? It's a change in 
scenery | s'pose. Why not." 


Merle nodded in agreement at the change. It was a blessing in 


disguise for the two of them considering Dietrich was two steps and 
an annual psychiatric examination away from being labeled as 
schizophrenic. 


"What's yer time frame, sir?" Dietrich asked. 


Karlyle pulled a white envelope from within his jacket. "It would not 
necessarily be for Site-81, | am afraid," he said, sliding the envelope 
across the table to Dietrich, "and the time frame would be 
immediately." 


Job Opportunities 


On Monday morning, Aleksander awoke in his London apartment to 
the smell of burnt toast. Assuming he was having a heart attack (the 
irony of this assumption only occurred to him later in the day), he 
rushed downstairs in an attempt to reach the telephone, only to find 
his six-year-old daughter desperately struggling to make him 
breakfast. 


He laughed, picked her up, spun her around, and kissed her on the 
forehead, before sitting down with her and eating a meal of burnt 
toast and scrambled eggs. Aleksander drew a face on his eggs with 
ketchup, and his daughter giggled. 


He hugged his daughter once more before she left for school, then 
went back into his bedroom, disengaged the lock on the personal 
armory hidden behind his dresser, and started to get ready for work. 
He got dressed in his nicest black, silk dress pants, and a beautifully 
dark purple dress shirt, before clipping his two standard-issue 
Mark-10 handguns underneath his arms, in all of their smoky black 
steel glory, and threw on a black suit coat over top. 


Then, after re-locking his armory, Aleksander went downstairs, did 
the dishes, threw on his thick wool dress coat, and set out in the 
pouring London rain on his way to work. 


He stopped at the small coffee stand in the square across from his 
apartment complex, ordering his usual sea-black coffee, which he 
stood and sipped slowly, until he realized he was six minutes late for 
work. 


Aleksander ran, in the pouring rain, down London's twisting and 
turning roads before he finally came to a stop at head offices, a 
small, inconspicuous building, tucked between a Laundromat and a 
Grocer. Swipping his glass security pass at the door, he rushed past 
the oaken panels and leather chairs, waved to the secretary, then 
swiped his security pass again and stepped into the elevator, 


pushing the button for basement level 26. 


The elevator opened, he stepped out, rushed past a second 
secretary, and ducked into his office. With luck, nobody noticed he 
was late. 


He booted up his company terminal. 
MARSHALL, CARTER & DARK EMPLOYEE TERMINAL 
USERID: 4567832790 
PASSWORD: LUCILLE2009 
... ACCEPTED. WELCOME BACK, ALEKSANDER 


Aleksander managed to take another three sips of his now cold 
coffee before the computer finished booting and he saw the blinking 
email notification in the corner. Not the usual crimson red 
notification, which meant a new contract was available, but instead a 
deep, sickly green. 


Upper Management. He cursed, and opened it. 
Aleksander Foxx, 


You have been requested in a meeting with upper 
management at 11:00 AM in board room six. 
This meeting is mandatory. Do not be tardy. 


Thank you, 
Upper Management 


Apparently, someone very important had noticed he was late. 


Aleksander had, apparently, been the only one to take the words 
"Don't be tardy" seriously, as it was now rolling passed 11:17 AM 
and he was still the only one in the board room. As he wondered if 
he was in the wrong board room, the door swung open, and an 
elderly man waltzed in. 


"Apologies for my tardiness. I've been having a very busy day, 
myself. And you, Aleksander?" The man smiled a wicked grin. "How 
busy has your day been?" 


Aleksander swallowed. "Very busy, sir." 


The man sat down across from Aleksander. "Good to hear. Has the 
work been interesting?" 


"Always, sir. The work is always interesting.” 


"Good." The man pulled a file folder out from his briefcase and set it 
in front of him. "How old are you, Aleksander?" 


"36, sir." 


"Single father?" He began flipping through what appeared to be a 
well-thumbed copy of Aleksander's personnel file. 


Aleksander felt his legs go numb. 
"Yes, sir." 


The man looked up from the file folder, and pursed his lips. "You 
don't have any idea who | am, do you?" 


Aleksander shook his head. 
"You do actually. My name is Skitter. Skitter Marshall." 


Aleksander felt his face go pale. It was bad enough to have to speak 
alone with upper management, but a named board member? The 
Mister Marshall? What would a Board member want with a 
Huntsman like him? 


Marshall looked at Aleksander with cold, all knowing eyes. "Relax, 
my boy. You aren't in trouble. In fact..." He pursed his lips once 
again. 


"You've been working with us for quite some time, haven't you?" 


"Yes, sir. Three years as a security officer. Six as a Huntsman." 


"You've made quite the name for yourself. What do they call you in 
the field? Moss Man?" 


"Moss Heart, sir." 


"Hm. Fitting, | suppose. Bit too literal for my tastes." He slid the file 
away from himself. "What's your rank?" 


"Lieutenant, sir." 


"Well, congratulations. You're now officially a Brigadier. Welcome to 
the big leagues." 


Aleksander felt like he had just been hit by lightning. "... Thank you 
sir." 


"Of course. You're the best for the job. Now, | have a very important 
job for you. In fact, they asked for you personally — As | said, you've 
made quite the name for yourself." 


Aleksander was getting feeling back in his legs. His usual, firm, 
confident self, was returning. "Excellent, sir. May | ask who the 
Assassination target is?" 


Marshall laughed a false laugh. "I said welcome to the big leagues, 
boy, and in the big leagues, nothing is ever that simple. I'm afraid 
you are stepping back from the wet-working department for awhile. 
I'm putting you in charge of a storage warehouse in east-central 
London. You can choose six Level One security officers to 
accompany you in your defense." 


Aleksander nodded. "Yes, Sir. What exactly are we storing there, if | 
may ask?" 


Marshall smirked. "You haven't allowed me to finish. You will be 
defending a warehouse that contains sixteen crates of anomalous 
artifacts, and three anomalous humanoids in the usual comatose 
storage state." 


Aleksander nodded, once again. 


The smirk grew larger. "Then, Wednesday afternoon, at around 


three thirty, the SCP Foundation will break into the facility, kill all of 
your security, then kidnap you." 


On a freight train that was hurtling down the tracks at a clipping 
pace, in a box car filled with unmarked crates, two men, armed with 
automatic weapons, sat around a make-shift table playing cards. 


"...What about Ben Affleck? He's kinda funny." 


"Some of his older stuff, yeah, but his new films grate on me. Do you 
have any sevens?" 


"Go fish. Got any kings?" 
"Go fish. Do you have any eights?" 
"Go fish. Do you have any sixes?" 


"Damn. Take 'em. Hey, has Nick Cage done any recent stuff? | liked 
him in National Treasure." 


"Nothing good. He kinda just when downhill after that series. Do you 
have any... Are those gun shots?" 


"Sounds like they're coming from the other train car. Get ready. 
Sounds like this train ride just went to hell." 


It was early Thursday morning when O5-4 received two consecutive 
reports in his inbox, that, to anyone else, seemed completely 
disconnected. To him, however, they told him he had performed a 
very, very successful trade. 


Incident Report - Marshall, Carter, and Dark Warehouse Raid 


At 3:45 PM Wednesday afternoon, atthe date of // , 
Mobile Task Force Pi-1 ("City Slickers") successfully 
raided a Marshall, Carter, and Dark warehouse in 
London, England. The opponent suffered six casualties, 
and one Huntsman class MC&D operative surrendered. 
He is being held in Cell Block 3 at Site 19. A list of 


Experiment 702-021-A 


Name of Researcher: Dr. Hancock 

Interacting Personnel: D-2175 

Object Traded: one length of rope, 13.2 meters long 
Object Received: 1 spool of thread, 20 m long 


Notes: When SCP-702-1 grabbed the rope, it started being pulled 
down into the vase, D-2175 was instructed to grab the rope, D-2175 
did not comply, D-2175 was later terminated 


Experiment 702-021-B 


Name of Researcher: Dr. Hancock 

Interacting Personnel: D-2176 

Object Traded: one length of rope, 13.2 meters long 

Object Received: Trade refused, communications ceased 
Notes: SCP-702-1 claimed to already have a rope like this one 


"God damnit, should have seen that one coming" -Dr. 
Hancock 


Experiment 702-022 


Name of Researcher: Dr. Heikkila 

Interacting Personnel: D-35109 

Object Traded: A drawing of SCP-702-1 drawn by Dr. Heikkila. 
Object Received: A set of expensive coloring pencils, Brand. 


Notes: He appreciated my art. 


artifacts retrieved has been attached. 


+ Download Attachment 


1. (Designated SCP- _ ) 

2. (Designated SCP-_ , 
and SCP- ) 

3. (Designated SCP- ) 

4. (Designated SCP-_ ) 


5. One crate of weaponry, including a WWI 
era Ross Rifle (With Scope), one 
Japanese style Tanto blade, one 
Russian Cold-War era officers blade, 
and two Mark-10 Handguns. 


Incident Report - Unknown Attackers Raid Freight Train 


At 5:00 PM in Paris, France, a freight train containing 
twelve SCP objects of varying classifications, including 
eight "Safe" and three "Euclid" SCP's, was attacked by 
an unknown assailant. None of the security detail 
defending these objects have reportedly survived. A list 
of objects lost has been attached. 


+ Download Attachment 


1. SCP- 

2.SCP- , and SCP- 

3. SCP- 

4. SCP- 

5. SCP- 

6.SCP- ,andSCP- (A&B) 


05-4 couldn't help but smile - after all, in this trade, the Foundation 
definitely got the better side of the bargain. 
Item #: SCP-4758 


Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-4758 is to be 
held in a standard humanoid containment cell, 
measuring three meters by two and a half meters. Two 
guards must be posted at all times around SCP-4758's 
cell, and the room must not be furnished with anything 
more then a standard foam mattress (without sheets, 
pillow, or bed frame) and a standard toilet. 


When being served meals, it is vitally important that 
SCP-4758 is fed only soft foods, and not given any 
utensils. As well, his cell must be searched twice daily for 
improvised tools or weapons. 


Description: SCP-4758 (formerly known as Aleksander 
Foxx) is a male of European descent. Records indicate 
that SCP-4758 was born in Ontario, Canada in 1978, 
making him 36 years old. SCP-4758 has brown hair and 
eyes, weighs 81 kilograms and stands at roughly two 
meters. Its back is heavily tattooed in various 
geometrical patterns and shapes. 


After being captured by the SCP Foundation during a 
raid on a Marshall, Carter, and Dark warehouse, 
SCP-4758 was kept in a standard humanoid cell block 
until it was discovered, during a standard medical test, 
that SCP-4758 does not have any internal organs in his 
chest cavity, and it is instead entirely filled with 


"Stop writing." A man in a navy blue suit stormed into the office of 
Dr. Gunnel. "Who in the right name of hell gave you permission to 
move Aleksander Foxx?" 


Dr. Gunnel suddenly felt very confused. "...It was standard 
procedure... we discovered he had some anomalous capabilities..." 


"And if you had read his prisoner dossier, you would have found that 
it said not to move him under any circumstances." 


Dr. Gunnel stood up. "Which we ignored, since we discovered he 
had anomalous capabilities. Are you even listening? Who are you to 
storm into my office and start yelling at me?" 


Navy suit flashed a security pass. "I'm your god-dammed fucking 
superior, that who | am. Now listen to me very, very closely. You are 
going to burn that special containment procedure, and wipe any 
records of any of his anomalous capabilities. Then, you are going to 
walk me over to wherever the hell it is you're keeping him, unlock 
the door, walk away, and forget any of what happened here today." 


"Under whose orders?" 
"Mine." 
"Who are your superiors?" 


He shoved his security pass into Dr. Gunnel's face. "05 command."