“Stop being such a little bitch and come along,” Isaac said flatly. 
“Anderson doesn’t want to begin without his best friend and partner, 
and you should want to be there. The Taita series was your design 
after all. A little socializing won't kill you.” 


“Socializing with MC&D reps might,” Phineas mumbled under his 
breath. He then sighed and got to his feet. Isaac trailed behind him 
as the two made their way into the lunch room. 


+ May 9th, 2003 
May 9th, 2003 


Phineas sat in an uncomfortable chair within a small 
private office in San Francisco. In the chair next to him 
sat a completely hairless, ivory skinned creature in a 
charcoal suit. Veins were visible beneath the rooms 
bright light. Its head was without ears, and its face was 
obscured beneath a silver comedy mask. Its name was 
Vincent Anderson. 


Across from the duo, behind a large desk, was a young 
muscular man in a business suit. His had a sly smile as 
he looked over several documents, and then turned his 
attention to Anderson. 


“I have to admit,” Isaac said coolly, “When Jericho told 
me that | was meeting with a man named Anderson, | 
was expecting something with a little more rust.” 


“Heh,” Anderson replied in a metallic voice. “Uh, yeah 
that happens all the time. Rest assured, however, that | 
have no affiliation with James Anderson or his, uh, 
factory.” 


“So what is it exactly you are looking for, in terms of my 
services?” 


“To be frank,” Phineas chuckled, “we need a 
businessman. Right now the company consists of the 
two of us, a few designers and computer specialists, our 
fab team, and some hired muscle. The books are getting 
beyond our ability to manage, and we are soon going to 
outgrow our customer base. Jericho said you'd be the 
perfect man for the job.” 


“Not to toot my own horn, but he is correct. So now that 
we've established that you need me. Let’s get down to 
why I'd need you. | mean, you do have a promising 
company, with a very interesting line of products, but the 


same could be said about any paratech firm. You're not 
the only ones who have asked to have me on payroll. 
So, what does Anderson Robotics bring to the table?” 


“Well, as you probably saw, your salary would be very 
generous,” Phineas frowned. He quickly flipped through 
notes to find the pearls within the oyster. “You'd have a 
massive discount for any of our products, including use 
of the Saker Series, not to mention...” 


“Phineas,” Anderson interrupted, “I know, um, what 
needs to be done.” 


“We agreed that would be a nuclear option,” Phineas 
protested, silencing as Anderson snapped his fingers 
with a surprisingly loud volume. 


“You're, uh, on Sycamore Gordon’s kill list, right?” 
Anderson asked. “What, with the whole Vegas incident, if 
you step foot in Nevada again, uh, you'd be a dead man, 
correct?” 


“What the hell are you getting at?” Isaac demanded. His 
smirk turned into a scowl. 


“Nothing too complex,” Anderson replied. “We've, uh, 
simply done our homework. If you join our crew we’d 
make sure old Sycamore was, um, no longer a problem 
for you.” 


Isaac remained silent, cocking his head as he spun 
around in his chair and looked out the window. 


“How long do | have to decide?” 


“Until Phineas and | leave this room. After that, uh, we'll 
simply look for someone else.” 


Isaac spun back around. 


“Jesus you guys play hardball,” He said with a whistle. 
“Fine. I’m yours. | expect Sycamore to no longer be a 


problem before | arrive in Portland.” 


“He'll, uh, be out of the way before the end of the day,” 
Anderson replied. “Glad to have you on the team.” 


Phineas and Anderson then quietly collected their papers 
and left. As they moved through the isolated halls of the 
surrounding office building, Phineas cleared his throat. 


“Was that really necessary, Vince? He puts up a little 
resistance and you agree to kill a mob boss for him?” 


“He is exactly what we need,” Anderson shrugged. 
“Sometimes you have to break eggs and make the 
omelet, or uh, however that saying goes. Besides, it’s not 
like the world will be a worse off place when, uh, 
Sycamore is gone. Hell in some circles we'll be heroes. 
Just make sure Saker #21 is, um, ready to act within the 
hour.” 


Fuck me... Phineas thought, slowly trailing behind his old 
friend as they made their way back to the car. 


The room quieted down as Phineas slowly made his way towards 
the front. Awaiting him, next to a large object obscured by a sheet, 
was Anderson. His employer wore a blue dress shirt, with a silver 
vest and matching slacks. The silver comedy mask gleamed in the 
lights of the lunch room. Eventually Phineas took his place by 
Anderson’s side. 


“The, uh, man of the hour has arrived,” Anderson chuckled. The 
audience laughed in kind. “As you all are aware by now this little 
shindig is to celebrate the sale of our 10,000th Gyrfalcon series 
prosthetic. This, um, milestone would not have been possible 
without months of dedication by this man here.” 


The crowd burst into applause. Phineas frowned slightly and then 
turned to Anderson. His old friend placed a hand on his shoulder 
and quieted the audience. 


“But, uh, on top of such a wonderful achievement, today we are 
pleased to announce the completion of a new prototype. The 
Anderson Robotics Taita Series Security Droid. This, um, new line is 
Phineas’s baby, and is going to easily become our new high selling 
product.” 


The crowd began to cheer once more as Anderson handed Phineas 
a corner of the sheet. 


“Would you do the honors my friend?” 


Phineas nodded, sighing as he turned to face the crowd, the corner 
of the sheet in his hand. 


“Before | reveal the Taita series, | have something | would like to 
say.” The crowd instantly quieted down to hear his words. 


“Most of you who have worked with me know that | don’t give 
speeches often. Not my cup of tea, | suppose. However, | have 
something I’ve wanted to say for a long time. All you hobnobbing 
bastards can kiss my ass. Especially those of you from MC&D. And 
especially Skitter and that soul sucking Lana Fuentes.” 


With a fluid motion, Phineas reached into his pocket and pulled out a 
glob of neon blue goo, effortlessly chucking it at the sheet covered 
object. The droid beneath let out a horrid death wail and crumbled 
into rust. The crowd fell silent as Phineas gave a bow. 


“Have a nice party,” he said with a smile, and stormed out of the 
lunch room. 


Phineas stood on top of the Anderson Robotics office building, his 
eyes staring into the Portland sunset as he took a long drag ona 
cigarette. The sound of a door opening behind him indicated that he 
was no longer alone. 


“You, uh, really made an ass of yourself today, Phineas,” said 
Anderson as he approached. Phineas looked over his shoulder. 
Anderson’s mask had changed from comedy to tragedy. 


“Perhaps | did,” Phineas said with a shrug. “But | finally got to say 


what | really wanted to say.” 


Anderson stood next to his friend and looked out at the sunset. 
Phineas offered him a cigarette. Anderson hesitantly accepted, and 
slowly took his mask off. 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 occasionally 
hissed with the passage of air. Anderson lit the cigarette and took 
several short puffs. 


“So, um, was all of that supposed to be your two week notice?” 
“More or less. I'll have my office cleaned out by Monday.” 


“You just really can’t accept the fact that we are successful now, can 
you?” Anderson continued to query. “You just have to be the 
underdog, huh? It, uh, just gets to you that you might actually be, uh, 
The Man now.” 


“Success is a funny way to look at turning a small custom shop into 
what is little better than a terrorist cell,” Phineas replied. “Especially 
if you consider that our company not only regularly engages in 
espionage, but has catapulted an entire section of the population 
into an arms race to become the bigger and better cyborg. And the 
real cherry on top is that we’re doing all of that on MC&D’s dime.” 


"Who are you to judge anyone for improving themselves you 
hypocrite!" Anderson yelled. "How on earth do you have a leg to 
stand on?” 


Phineas dropped his cigarette and crushed it with the sole of his 
shoe, turning back to face his friend. 


“You're right,” he said with a melancholy smile. “I’m guilty too. Tried 
as hard as | did to cut off the hydra’s head, two more would always 
take its place. Eventually it was easier to just roll with things. But not 
anymore. | quit.” 


Phineas began to move toward the stairs, stopping when three 
Peregrine units emerged ahead of him, each brandishing a high 
caliber pistol. 


“So this is how it’s going to be then?” Phineas asked, turning back 
around to face his friend. 


“You're, uh, more than welcome to stay,” Anderson replied. “In fact, | 
insist. Please don’t go, Phineas. Don’t leave me alone.” 


“Don't do this, Vince. Just let me go.” 


“|, uh, know for a fact that if you leave this company, you'll be back 
to throw every monkey wrench under the sun into our operation. 
Just don't leave.” 


“This isn’t what | signed up for back in ’94, man!” Phineas shook his 
head. 


“| know, right? Boy did we ever sell out,” Anderson said with a sad 
laugh. He then placed his mask back on his head and threw his 
cigarette butt away. He gave the droids a nod. 


The droids opened fire in unison. At the same time, Phineas clapped 
his hands together, sending a sonic wave across the rooftop. The 
incoming bullets scattered. The Peregrine and Anderson were 
thrown backwards, clattering across the concrete like discarded 
toys. Losing no time, Phineas turned on the spot, throwing a wide 
arc of neon blue goo at the Peregrine units. The three droids wailed 
and writhed in pain on the ground before disintegrating into piles of 
rust. 


The old man then began to sprint towards the edge of the building, 
turning his head briefly to see Anderson sprinting behind him. 
Anderson’s right hand was extended, the index and ring finger 
pointing as if they were a gun. Phineas immediately jumped to the 
side. A bolt of lightning shot past him, striking the concrete on the far 
side of the roof with a loud bang. Lightning continued to sail past the 
old man as he approached the ledge of the building. With a great 
leap, he jumped over the side, but not before a final bolt nailed him 
square in the chest. Phineas then fell four stories to the earth below. 


Anderson gave a heavy sigh as he approached the ledge of the 
building. He glanced down to the parking lot below. Phineas lay 
crumpled below within the small crater he created upon landing. His 


left arm and legs arced with electricity as he shouted in pain. His 
right hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a large wad of 
black goo, quickly slamming it into the pavement beneath him. 
Anderson quickly raised his hand and fired off one last bolt, but to no 
avail. Phineas vanished into the black goo, and was gone. The bolt 
harmlessly struck the pavement below. 


“See you around, old friend,” Anderson whispered to himself. He 
then turned around and headed back inside. 


Agent Sasha Merlo sat alone in her office at Site-—64. She tooka 
long sip of stale coffee, and quietly brushed a strand of her brunette 
hair out of her eyes as she read over MTF Gamma-13’s most recent 
string of reports. As usual, all their current leads had turned into 
dead ends. She let out a heavy sigh. She didn’t know what she 
would say to Director Holman this time. 


Bzzzzzzzt 


The sound of her cellphone receiving a text and breaking hours of 
silence almost caused her to fall out of her chair. Lazily she opened 
the text message, her brow furrowing as there was no listed sender. 
The message itself only contained a single phrase 


| know how you get him. 


Austringers |Realignment» 


failure scenarios of varying areas of effect. Unlike the CK-class 
scenarios which revert after SCP-591 is deactivated, the ZK-class 
scenarios remain permanently as a fixed location. These locations 
have been designated as Sector-W1 through Sector-W5. 


Each ZK-class scenario is different with varying, and seemingly 
random, parameters which include but are not limited to: 


« Extreme gravitic fluctuations or absence thereof 

¢ Time dilation 

¢ Light-speed significantly reduced or even halted 

¢ Randomly placed cubic structures of varying elements ina 
solid state, including some actinoids regardless of half-life 

¢ Absence of any kind of naturally occurring radiation, including 

cosmic background radiation 

Areas that consist of a perfect vacuum 

¢ The creation of non-linear spatial anomalies or a similar 
transfiguration applied to pre-existing structures and/or 


Based on previous testing, a ZK-class scenario being generated 
from a CK-class scenario has steadily increased from a chance of 
1% to 32% over the last 28 years in Foundation custody. Based on 
seized Wondertainment company records, there are suspected to be 
a total of 243 consoles and roughly 1,300 game cartridges still 
unaccounted for, including an alleged "Pocket Pretendo” that may or 
may not exist as a prototype. To date, no mass unit recall for 
SCP-591 has been issued by Doctor Wondertainment. 


[LEVEL-3 ACCESS REQUIRED] 


Addendum-591-001: There have been a limited number 
of case reports involving some individuals physically 
surviving a ZK-class scenario. These individuals 
recovered from the incidents are usually altered so 
drastically that they have little chance of survival outside 
of their respective Sector-W#. 


There are also two reported cases of an individual 
leaving a ZK-class scenario physically unaltered, but 
continue to assume the role of the game's main 
character pre-incident. Because the effects of SCP-591 


Realignment 


Many years ago, when she was a young Cyber Operations 
Specialist, the site where she stood had been alive, humming with 
the energy of a hundred servers, buzzing with activity as 
researchers hurried back and forth through the halls to their 
classified projects. The faint background noises of generators and 
servos gave the entire facility the feeling of a machine, no less 
efficient in its operation for its strangeness. As a nexus between the 
Foundation and the United States military, it had been invaluable. 
The electricity of the place seemed to infuse her. When Holman had 
approached her, had showed her the hidden madness of the real 
world and offered her a place in the true, secret struggle of their 
time, anything had been possible. Of course she had accepted the 
new life that beckoned her. 


In the present day, the cold rangeland wind blew the tufts of grass 
that dotted the cracking concrete of what had once been the primary 
robotics facility. Changes in leadership and the budget cuts that had 
followed stripped away any hints of the former nature of this place. 
Within one hundred miles, there were vast stretches of bentgrass, a 
few white-tail deer, and herself. The lack of graffiti and trash at the 
abandoned site added a sense of eeriness to the desolation. She 
may have been the only person to visit since Fort Charles had been 
decommissioned. That this was the meeting place was an 
unmistakeable signal. Proof of knowledge, more convincing than 
any argument. And, she noted, more unnerving.