“Breach at the main entrance,” Shaw said over her radio, as her 
teammates reloaded and readied for what was likely another wave 
of the assault. “Hostiles subdued, Frost and Donner are down.” 


“Copy, any sign of target?” Merlo’s voice responded. 
“Negative, we...” 


The response was cut short by the loud crackle and heat of 
electricity, her two fellow agents flying away from her into the 


SCP-592: Inaccurate History Book 


Item #: SCP-592 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-592 should be contained 
in research cell 1611-E at all times, locked in a steel box, in the 
middle of a frosted glass containment cubicle. Also in the cubicle are 
a table, two (2) computers, a standard-sized computer scanner, an 
internal network connection port, and two (2) pairs of visual 
distortion goggles, which must be worn upon entering the cubicle, so 
as to make SCP-592 illegible. The first computer serves as an 
analysis machine, the second as a custom firewall. All devices have 
been modified with specialised software and hardware (see Testing 
Protocol for details) and the network port has been secured such 
that no device other than the firewall may use it. It is strictly 
necessary that the computers and scanner are turned off and 
unplugged after experimenting and that they are only powered for 
the duration of the experiment. The front and back covers of 
SCP-592 are to be covered in black opaque tape at all times. 


The cell must be guarded continually to ensure that SCP-592 is not 
removed. 


Description: SCP-592 is a large hardcover book which exhibits no 
external qualities that could be considered unusual, but which can 
cause delusions, psychosis, changes in physical health and 
appearance, or even severe wounding when read. It is titled 
"Chronicle of the 20th Century" and consists of 450 all-color printed 
pages. It is reported that it has a printed cover (no dust jacket) with 
the title of the book, the publisher, and a selection of illustrations 
from within the text. The original cover is a deep blue. The spine 
contains the title and publisher name, and is left uncovered by tape. 
The cover page informs the reader that it was published by 
Interworld Press, 54 St, Chicago, IL in 1996. A company 
named Interworld Press has never been registered in the US nor 


classrooms in which they had taken cover. Shaw turned on the spot, 
and was greeted by the gleaming smile of a silver comedy mask. 


As Shaw attempted to fire off a round from her rifle, she felt her legs 
get swept from beneath her, the burst harmlessly flying into the 
ceiling as she smacked onto the linoleum floor. Anderson proceeded 
to kick the gun away, pressing down on her vest with a heavy foot 
as along, animate wire retracted into his hand. 


“Nice seeing you again, Clarissa,” Anderson spoke. “Would you be 
so kind as to tell me what you have done with my friends?” 


She kept her mouth shut for several moments, looking up at her foe 
with silent contempt. 


“Auditorium.” 
Anderson gave a relieved sigh in response. 
“Your cooperation is appreciated.” 


The wire shot out of Anderson’s hand again, piercing through 
Shaws’ body armor with a sick pop. It then punched through her 
torso and wormed its way through her, between her organs, and 
wrapping around her spine. She let out a scream of pain and terror. 
The wire began letting out a small continuous shock which caused 
her to involuntarily stand up. Anderson gave a satisfied nod as he 
forced Shaw to move down the hall in front of him. 


“Why don’t you join me?” Anderson whispered in her ear. 


Shaw did her best to remain silent as she made her forced march, 
occasional tears running down her face. Her body was no longer her 
own. The short walk to the auditorium felt like an eternity as she 
waited in the prison of her own flesh. Anderson had her push the 
door open to the auditorium, and the pair stepped inside. 


On the stage were two empty chairs. No one else was in the room. 


Shaw shrieked again as the coil around her spine tightened, the 
electricity sending waves of anguish through her. 


“In the auditorium?” Anderson hissed, the coil continuing to tighten 
until Shaw felt a snap, and then nothing from below the waist. 


“They were supposed to be here!” she screamed. “They were! 
Please!” 


“Bullshit!” Anderson shouted. The wire whipped back, and then flung 
forward. Shaw flew through the air, over the theater seats, and 
crashed onto the stage. She rolled for several moments, then 
became siill. 


Electricity arced from Anderson as he gave a frustrated yell. The hall 
filled with the smell of ozone. 


And then with the sound of a shotgun being pumped. 


Anderson turned his head. Navarro and Merlo stood at the opposite 
end of the hall, the former brandishing a shotgun, the latter a pistol. 


“Where are they?” Anderson asked, regaining his composure. “This 
has gone on long enough.” 


Navarro replied by pulling the trigger, a large blue bolt of energy 
flying from the barrel. The cyborg fell backwards, the blast flying 
past him and slamming into the far wall. Anderson swiftly leapt to his 
feet, firing off a shot of lightning which hissed harmlessly through the 
air. 


Navarro and Merlo were gone. 


With a shriek of rage, the cyborg sprinted down the hall, his head 
rapidly swiveling to track his targets. Another blue blast shot past 
him. Anderson let out another yell and began to chase. 


Agent Shaw slowly rolled herself over as she coughed. Her body 
was on fire from the bruises and lacerations she sustained during 
the landing from her brief flight. She looked over her crumpled self. 
She couldn't feel anything from the waist down, her legs 
unresponsive to her commands, leaving her to crawl upon the stage. 
While there was a small pool of blood from where the wire had 
pierced her, the bleeding from that wound seemed to have stopped. 


She propped herself up as she heard fast footsteps; Agent Merlo 
was sprinting down one of the aisles toward her. Two other agents 
followed behind, each carrying a bound and gagged prisoner. The 
first carried a thin young man with a mop of curly blond hair and 
thick glasses that clung to his face as he looked around in terror. 
The second was a short, middle aged woman with shoulder length 
brunette hair and faint blue eyes, who simply looked straight ahead, 
tears in her eyes. Respectively, they were Jason Contos and 
Dr. Medea Contos, two members of Anderson Robotic's inner 
circle, and two of Vincent Anderson's closest friends. The agents 
placed them down in the two folding chairs gingerly. 


“Jesus Christ...” Merlo said, as she knelt down beside Shaw. “How 
bad?” 


“| can’t feel my legs,” Shaw replied. “Where’s Dan?” 

“Buying us time,” Merlo answered “Clarissa, I’m so sorry... Phineas 
promised us more time to set the trap, and then you and your crew 
got stuck in the cross fire...” 


“Wouldn’t be an Asimov’s Fuckups mission if things went right...” 
Shaw said, grinning through the pain. 


Merlo gave a sad smile and signaled one of the agents over. 


“Get her to Sherman, now! Have the rest of the team at the standby 
point. The trap's set. Carter knows the contingency plan.” 


“Yes ma’am,” the agent replied and scooped up Shaw gently. 
“Take him down...” Shaw called to Merlo as she was carried away. 


Merlo nodded in response. She turned a glance to Jason and 
Medea, giving them a small half wave as she drew her pistol. 


“See you folks real soon.” 
Anderson stood in a locker room, his eyes scanning for a very 


annoying man in plain clothes who had been taking potshots at him 
across half the interior of the school. The last one had hit his leg, 


leaving him slightly hobbled as he continued his search. There were 
no other exits apparent. Whoever this agent was, he had them 
trapped. 


“There is nowhere else for you to run.” Anderson hissed. “Where are 
they?” 


“Did you check the auditorium?” Navarro’s voice called back from 
somewhere in the maze of lockers. 


“Do you think this is a fucking game?” Anderson shouted back, only 
to be met with a small nervous laugh. 


“Yeah, kinda.” 


Anderson reached into his pocket, and pulled out several globs of 
neon blue goo. He gave a frustrated sigh, and then proceeded to 
chuck them at each of the locker clusters. The metal quickly 
disintegrated into rust, leaving the once hidden Navarro exposed. 
The agent looked around, and then back to Anderson, holding up a 
bloodied hand. 


“Okay, that’s just cheating.” 


The agent immediately clenched his fist, sending a column of flames 
up from the floor. Anderson dived to the side to avoid being flash 
fried. Navarro fired off another blast from his shotgun, the slug 
nailing the cyborg in the chest and sending him flying backwards 
into the wall. Navarro sprinted for the door, only to crash to the 
ground as his feet became snagged. An animate wire was wrapped 
around his legs, dragging him toward the sparking cyborg. 


Navarro slashed his hand again and rolled over as he released 
another fiery blast. The wire jerked him forward, sending the column 
of flame into the ceiling. Anderson let out a wild howl and he dived 
forward, the animate wire protruding from his palm sharpening itself 
into a fine point as he tried to lance his foe. Navarro had grabbed 
the wire. Anderson grunted as he placed his weight into the strike, 
the wire sliding down slowly, cutting into Navarro’s palms on the way 
down. Blood dripped from Navarro’s palms as he felt the blade 
slowly slip. 


Suddenly Navarro let go with his right hand, grabbing Anderson by 
the lapel. The blade forcefully sunk into his left shoulder as he let out 
a cry of pain, followed by a cringing smile. 


“Gotcha,” he said through gritted teeth. From his hand erupted a 
blast of flames which completely engulfed the cyborg. Anderson 
screamed in pain as Navarro kicked his foe off of him and hobbled 
out the door, grabbing his shotgun along the way. 


The bloodied agent lost no time getting back to the auditorium, his 
body slamming through the doors as he began to limp down the 
aisle. Jason and Medea watched him with impassive eyes as he 
frantically looked around. 


"Sasha?" he shouted. "Lets go!" 
CRACK 


A bolt of lightning struck Navarro in the back and threw him forward. 
A glob of orange goo hit him mid-flight, and quickly encased him ina 
bright orange cocoon. As he lay incapacitated, slow, dragging 
footsteps filled the room, as did the smell of ozone, and seared 
flesh. 


The agent looked up to see Anderson. Parts of his suit had burnt 
away, exposing charred flesh, and the strange hybrid of organic and 
mechanical components beneath. His mask was gone, leaving full 
view of his face. In place of eyes, he had what appeared to be two 
small camera lenses that glowed with a faint green light. Rather than 
a nose, he had a triangular grating that rapidly hissed with the 
passage of air. 


"Gotcha," Anderson stated. He launched the animate wire at 
Navarro and let it squeeze. Navarro howled in pain as he watched 
his left arm, from the elbow down, roll away from the rest of his 
body. The cyborg watched his helpless prey scream in agony, then 
raised the wire for the kill. 


Bang. 


A gunshot rang out. Anderson backed up slightly in shock, the 


projectile hitting him in the torso. He turned to the source. Merlo 
stood in the auditorium doorway, pistol raised. 


“Kill him, and you kill Jason or Medea. We've linked a kill agent 
between his vital signs, mine, and theirs. Either of us dies, so do 
they.” 


“You're bluffing.” 


“Want to take that chance?” Merlo raised her pistol. “Try me. 
Otherwise your friends are right there. Go get them” 


“So just like that, you’re done? You think | was born yesterday?” 


“You’ve sliced up our team wizard, and crushed the spine of my 
second in command. I’ve only got this 9mm. The time for tricks has 
long passed,” Merlo stated coolly. “You’ve won. Collect your god 
damn prize.” 


Anderson and Merlo’s gazes locked for a minute, and then the 
cyborg began to move toward the stage. 


“If you have harmed them... I'll destroy everything you care about, 
Sasha.” 


Anderson kept one eye on the agents as he approached the stage. 
Merlo quickly cut Navarro free from his orange prison and watched 
him cauterize his stump hand with a small blast of flame. 


“Mechanical asshole...” Navarro mumbled, violently shaking as he 
was helped to his feet a wink, the two agents watching as the worn 
down husk that was Vincent Anderson stumbled onto the stage. 


“Friends,” Anderson called out. “Friends, | am so sorry. | swore that | 
would protect you and | have failed.” 


Jason and Medea looked at their employer in silence. Their eyes 
were bloodshot, and their faces plastered with the exhaustion known 
by those living in a state of terror. 


“It will not happen again,” Anderson continued. “I promise you that. 
With every fiber of my being, | promise. | can only hope you'll find 


the kindness to forgive me for this... for all my faults. After all, to err 
is human...” 


Anderson took a final step, then turned to Merlo. 
"Bring them to me," he barked. "Now." 


Merlo nodded, placing Navarro down in a seat in the first row, then 
began to climb on the stage. Anderson gestured towards the two 
bound prisoners expectedly, his eyes locked on Merlo as she knelt 
down and began to undo Medea's restraints. 


Meanwhile, Navarro noticed his shotgun lying on the ground near 
the stage. A small smirk came to his face. 


"Heads up!" Navarro shouted, diving to the shotgun and letting loose 
one final blast as Anderson turned on the spot and let loose another 
orange glob. 


Both Navarro and Anderson were hit square in the chest. The former 
crashed into a row of seats. The latter stood motionless, his frame 
stunned. Merlo sprinted forward, tackling the cyborg. The two landed 
in a heap between Jason and Medea. 


The room became silent. Anderson stood quietly, his hand around 
Merlo's throat. She clawed at her assailant; but it was no use, his 

grip was absolute. The agent made short gasps for air as the grip 
tightened. 


"And we were getting along so well," he said with a sigh, and threw 
the agent across the stage like a piece of trash. Merlo landed with a 
sickening thud, skidding face down across the smooth surface of the 
stage before coming to a final stop. 


Two red glyphs began to glow beneath Jason and Medea’s chairs, 
as a larger one appeared beneath all three of them, glowing with an 
intense white light. Anderson felt his entire body go rigid as he was 
locked into place, a great force pressing against him from all 
directions. Jason and Medea phased out of sight, vanishing with soft 
pops, the glyphs beneath them growing cold, leaving their images 
burnt onto the stage. 


The cyborg recognized this kind of magic. He had seen it before, 
from an old friend. 


“Well played, Phineas,” Anderson said weakly. “Well played.” 


Agent Shaw watched the monitor in front of her intently. Upon it 
were the remains of Vincent Anderson, lying motionless upon a 
secure exam table within a cellin Site-—64. At some point between 
his capture at the Tristan Academy in Three Portlands and his 
arrival on site he shut down, and entered a form of stasis. Life signs 
were present, and the physical body was repairing its damaged 
components automatically, but none of their equipment could detect 
brain activity. 


Shaw gave a heavy sigh, and rolled her wheelchair over to a coffee 
pot in the back of the observation room. She poured herself a mug 
and then returned her attention to the screen. They had finally 
captured the white whale itself. 


The door to the chamber opened. Agent Merlo stepped inside. Shaw 
gave her superior a friendly nod. 


“Any changes?” Merlo asked, looking over the screen.