"| know I've told you this every time, but no need to stop yourself in 
my office," Glass quietly reassured. "Go on for as long as you want." 


Glass had to look through the letter again just to make sure he 
understood the sequence of events. It still didn't fully register for 
him. They were both grown adults. They were men paid and well- 
compensated for their tenure in an organization dedicated to locking 
away some of the most dangerous anomalous threats to the planet. 
And despite all that (no, maybe because of that? [Or was it a stress 
reaction to that?2 He'd have to do better.] Even Kondraki wouldn't 
normally do something like that, he hoped), one of them ended up 
with his dick in a water bottle. And somehow, this was the first time 
he ever heard of it happening in the Foundation's history. 


"| don't think | can keep up the anger. The jokes are gonna come the 
rest of my life. 'Here lies Benjamin Kondraki, he died from his cock 
asphyxiating,’ whatever. | give it a week before the shame wears off 
for good. In two months it's something | can laugh about. But G-d, 
this is just too much right now." Kondraki sighed. "If it was a beer 
bottle, I'd have plausible denialability." Denial. Glass nodded. "But 
no, | have nothing." 


"It's natural for people to feel embarrassed and ashamed over 
incidents that would normally be considered such. You've always 
found refuge in audacity, so you feel like you should be unabashedly 
proud of this. Does that sound right?" Kondraki looked up at the 
ceiling for around thirty seconds before looking at Glass's neck. 


"| think so." 


"Clearly, the... assembly yesterday. That got to you real bad. Do 
you at least feel that Clef isn't giving you too much shit for this?" 


"He walked out of our apartment with a bottle on his dick. His 


concept of shame was lost long ago, Simon." 


"Alright. Still, | can understand how you feel." Glass didn't have to 
append that statement with 'Even if | never stuck my penis ina 
bottle’. Enough salt was rubbed on the wounds as it was already. 
Back and forth. 


"Did you not know about the assembly?" 


"No. | didn't have time to review whatever was sent to my mail 
either. | just got back with Dio from a mini-vacation. I'll look later." 
The slightest bit of relief showed on Kondraki's face. "How do you 
think you'll cope with this for the next week or two?" 


"| don't know. Rolling with the punches is a lot harder when the O5 
have to take action." 


"Anything healthy you like to do, or any work to dig into. Even if it's 
routine checking up on something like 408? | know mantras are a 
stretch for you, but we can review the ones we started talking about 
two weeks ago." Kondraki clearly had to think about it. Glass let him; 
it was near-impossible to get him out of his own head once he was 
lost in thought. 


As Kondraki was thinking, Glass flipped the page and saw the note 
a nurse (possibly two, though the handwriting looked similar 
enough) had scrawled on the back that was preserved on the copy. 
It was unprofessional; he'd probably have to send a letter to the 
medical wing about that. 


There's already talks about bottles completely not being 
a thing so we'll just get more boring as hell water coolers 


at least we get paid well lol 
Kondraki had suddenly interjected. 
"What about —" 
"No, you can't stick your dick in a bottle again." 


"But that'd cancel out the —" 


"As your psychiatrist, therapist, coworker, friend, and documentation 
editor, you can not do that. You absolutely can not." Glass sighed in 
exasperation. 


"Can | at least not and say | did?" Kondraki asked sincerely. After 
everything that had happened, he asked that question without 
hesitation, sincerely, looking straight into Glass's eyes without so 
much as a smirk. 


"No." Finger through finger. 


Two months later, Kondraki went to his desk to fill out a proposal to 
revise containment procedures on SCP-408. The exact second he 
opened the door, before he even could think about the exact nature 
of the revisions, he saw it. He knew. 


There was a Dasani label on his desk. Diogenes's signature was on 
it. 


Footnotes 

1. An obvious tall tale no one but newcomers believed. 

2. Did he overlook some kind of stress that Kondraki ended up 
reacting to? He could only pick up on so much subtlety, really. 


Text Message in a Bottle 


Today, 19:30 


Safe Class Containment Procedure Amendment: SCP-715 is to 
be contained within a maximum security storage locker at Site-81. 
No other containment procedures are currently necessary. 
Foundation personnel are restricted from any interaction with any 
known instance of SCP-715-B. 


Information regarding Site 81/715 is on a need-to-know basis. 
Administrators with the proper security clearance may view this 
information at the end of this file. 


Description: SCP-715 is a "Take Your Own Photo" fotomat model 
photo booth manufactured by the Sony corporation in 1972. 
SCP-715 displays no anomalous characteristics in its design or 
appearance. A small metal tag has been added to the backside of 
the machine, but significant wear has obscured any text contained 
on the tag. 


SCP-715 will not activate unless an individual sits within the main 
booth area and inputs the necessary tokens into the activation slot 
has been known to animate sporadically, producing images believed 
to be modified from previous shots. The impetus behind this activity 
is currently unknown, although research is ongoing. Images 
produced by SCP-715 are often heavily distorted the reason for this 
is currently unknown. 


Individuals exiting SCP-715 are to be classified as SCP-715-B 
instances, and do not appear outwardly anomalous. 


SCP-715-A instances are currently contained within Site 81/715. 
Research into the nature of these instances is currently pending 
approval restricted. SCP-715-A instances [DATA RESTRICTED: 
See below for additional information]. 


Site 81/715 Protocol: [ACCESS RESTRICTED] 


Please Access Using 715/5 Authorization Code 


=Warning: 


Waffle Date 


Today wasn't just any old waffle day. 
Today... 

Was a waffle date day... 

One of the best days of the month for Clef. 


Clef's room was dark, and still as messy as ever. He knew Kondraki 
would be over soon so he scooped up a few items and hurriedly 
stuffed them into various cabinets or under his sofa before nodding 
to himself like he did a good job. He quite literally pat himself on the 
back for making an effort. 


In the middle of Clef's living room sat a coffee table doubled up as a 
regular table for this evening. It was decorated with plates, various 
syrups that were probably not just for waffles tonight, and lit candles. 


It wasn't long before the doorbell rang, on time as usual. 


Clef quickly smoothed down his blue flowery shirt and rushed to the 
door, swinging it open until it hit the wall. The wall already had a 
hole in it from the door knob. "Konnie!" Clef beamed, wrapping his 
arms tightly around Kondraki in greeting. 


"Wha— Oh." The smell of waffles cooking hit Kondraki's nose. He 
wrapped his arms around Clef and took in a deep breath. "That time 
already, hrm? | thought you were a bit more excited than normal." 


Clef lets go, reeling back on his heels as he tugs Kondraki's arm. He 
pulls the other to the coffee table and sits him down on the floor. 
"The waffles won't be long now. | made something special tonight." 


"Don't you always make them extra special..." Kondraki said, more 
to himself, as Clef was already rushing off to the kitchen. 


"NOPE!" Clef yelled back rather quickly. "I said SOMETHING 
special!" 


It wasn't long before Clef was walking back out of the kitchen, 
holding an Aquafina water bottle with a piping hot waffle protruding 
from its nozzle. "Trust me on this, I've done this hundreds of times." 
He rushed over to Kondraki, placing the waffle-filled bottle on the 
floor near himself as he sat on his lover's lap. Kondraki was starting 
to understand why Clef was eager tonight but looked uncertain 
about the bottle... 


Kondraki didn't really have time to process what was going on, but 
with Clef on his lap with his hands hastily undoing his pants, he 
slowly relaxed and leaned back. "| thought it was waffle night," he 
smirked, resting his head back with his arms behind his head and 
closing his eyes. 


The sound of a crinkling water bottle filled the room before a light 
‘pop’... Then silence. 


"... Clef." 


Clef stared down almost in shock, then back up to Kondraki, then 
back down again. "This usually doesn't happen this is just a cheaper 
fleshligh-". 


"What do you mean it doesn't usually happen—" Kondraki said more 
firmly this time, he sat forwards and looked down to see an Aquafina 
bottle stuck on his penis with a syrupy waffle sat inside it. 


"CLEF," Kondraki yelped, grabbing the bottle to try and get it off with 
a pained grunt. 


"Well usually you just- You know- Have fun with it but | guess | 
underestimated the syrup-" 


"Please, just call a taxi- Clef." 


Now standing in defeat, Clef stood up and grabbed a household 
phone. He dialed a local taxi number, ordering one for as soon as 
possible. 


The pair stood on the sidewalk, Kondraki with no pants on and Clef 
with his undone, just outside of the apartment with everything 
swaying in the cold night's breeze. They held each other for warmth 
and waited as close to the road as they could. 


It wasn't long before the taxi arrived. Clef flagged the taxi down with 
a hand. It slowed down as it got closer but soon picked up its speed 
at the sight of two grown-ass men standing there, one of whom had 
a bottle stuck to his dick. 


"HEY!" Clef barked angrily, running impressively fast after the 
scared taxi driver who was doing double in the zone. 


The quiet sound of plastic hitting concrete whimpered softly in the 
breeze. After all, it was cold... And Kondraki was no longer stuck in 
his Aquafina-branded bottle. 


Sins Of The Past Hub 


Giving Bad People Good Ideas 
| Want To Tell You 
The Man Who Sold the World 
Change in the House of the Flies 
Why? Where? What? 
God Am 
But Life Goes On 
Rather Die Young 
March of the Fire Ants 
Posthuman 
No Rain 
"Thieves!" Screamed the Ghost 
War Within a Breath 
Home is Where the Hatred is 


Interlude - Dead As History 


Giving Bad People Good Ideas 


The diner’s light shone like a lone glimmer of hope within the 
darkness of the city. The waitress wiping down the counter wore a 
bored expression. It was nearing the end of her shift, and the only 
customer was an old man, sipping coffee and flipping through a 
newspaper. He looked like an old stockbroker, or perhaps salesman, 
with a weathered tan jacket over a brown shirt, wireframe glasses 
and a black hat. An empty plate sat on the table in front of him. He 
had scraped it clean over an hour ago. He didn't look like a man who 
had ordered thousands to their deaths. Such men rarely did. 


Movement made him look up. A third person had entered the diner, 
though the doorbell hadn’t sounded. The newcomer slid into the seat 
across from the man and said nothing. He was at least a head taller 
than the man, skin pale enough to show the outlines of veins, head 
completely bald. The navy suit he wore was perfectly tailored, made 
from material CEOs dreamed of being able to afford. Black tattoos 
poked out from outfit’s the neck and wrists. On the back of each 
hand was the image of a slit-pupiled eye. 


A twitch of displeasure passed through the old man’s face. “Go 
away,” he said, looking back at the paper. His voice carried a thin 
Slavic accent. 


The newcomer said nothing. He rested his hands on the table and 
stared with four eyes. 


The minutes ticked by, silent but for the clicking of clock hands and 
ruffle of pages. The old man closed the final page of the paper and 
looked back up, scowling. “I’d hoped to never see you again.” 


“But you knew better.” The newcomer’s voice was thin, almost 
inaudible, as if a light breeze was flowing from his mouth instead of 
speech. 


The old man lifted the coffee cup, tilted it back until the last dregs of 


liquid disappeared. “Out with it, then.” He motioned to the waitress 
with the empty mug. 


“Your friends are becoming curious.” Only the newcomer’s lips 
moved as he spoke. His body was a statue. 


The man laughed. “Did you expect anything else? It’s in the blood. 
Might as well ask a lion not to hunt.” The waitresses arrived, refilled 
the cup. If she noticed the newcomer, she made no mention of it. 


“It will not be long before they discover more.” 


The man dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “You worry too 
much. Anything they find will be misinterpreted or ignored.” He took 
a sip of coffee, gave a smile of approval. “Learn to live in blind spots. 
Life is easier that way.” 


“Maybe,” said the newcomer. “And yet, one has begun investigating 
Navi Mumbai.” 


The man froze, mug halfway to the table. 
“Is this one of your ‘blind spots’?” 


“You're a fucking liar.” The man rubbed his chin, nails scratching at 
the flesh. 


The newcomer leaned forward. “She has discovered the temple.” 
“She?” said the man. Then his face froze. “Aubrey. Jesus.” 

“She will not be the last.” The newcomer rose, turned to the door. 
“Wait!” the man called. “What the hell do you want me to do?” 


The newcomer didn’t look back. “What you do best, Pavlo. Contain 
it.” 


Hub | | Want To Tell You » 


| Want To Tell You 


“So what’s the worst Site you’ve ever worked at?” asked Cipher. 


“| don’t know. Difficult question.” Kantos paused in solemn thought. 
“Seoul. Seventy-One. The place barely functioned.” 


The BMW they sat in could have belonged to any corporate 
executive in America. Its black paint was newly waxed and buffed, 
the interior leather spotless. Parked outside one of the largest banks 
in the city, no one would give it a second glance. Few would notice 
the extra layers of window tinting, just outside the realm of legality, 
or the slight bulges of the guns the driver and passenger wore. 


Agent Cipher sat in the front seat, the window open, holding a 
cigarette outside of the vehicle. As her partner spoke, she leaned 
out and exhaled a stream of smoke. “Yeah?” 


Kantos nodded. He was the type of man who wouldn't have looked 
out of place in middle management. Just shy of six feet, on the 
better side of his thirties, his hair was still thick, short, and beginning 
to grey at the edges. Muddy brown eyes sat behind a pair of white- 
frame glasses, and his chin was as hairless as the day he came into 
the world. The black suit he wore was tailored to hide both his gun, 
and the physique of a man who'd visited the gym every day for the 
past twenty years. “Half the time we didn’t even have central 
heating. In fucking Seoul.” He spoke with a deep Greek accent. 


“Jesus,” said Cipher. Slightly shorter than Kantos, and possibly a 
few years younger, she wore her dark-brown hair in a bun and a suit 
similar to her partner's. She watched the outside as she talked, eyes 
flicking across the sidewalk, sizing up every pedestrian. “Let me 
guess, repair was always ‘On Order’?” 


Kantos laughed. “Shit. | mean, the work was not terrible. Half the 
time, | was too far from the facility to give a shit. Now,” he waggled a 
finger to emphasize the point, “Sixteen. Canada. Awful, awful place. 


Behind a desk, sorting records, attending meetings, not a day in the 
field. For four fucking years.” He paused, shook his head, sighed. 
“One time, you sleep with the Site supervisor’s wife...” 


Cipher cracked a grin. 
“What about you, then?” asked Kantos.