“Six.” He said it like he expected a reaction from me, like | was 
suddenly supposed to kowtow before his great and mighty self. | 
shrugged, and stuck a dogeared cigarette in my mouth, taking the 
time to strike a match and light it. When he saw | wasn’t going to 
respond, he continued. “Il am here with a mission of, utmost 
importance. We have a rogue asset that we need you to remove, 


immediately.” Always with the double speak, and weasel words. | 
just nodded my head, ready for him to continue. 


He shoved a manila folder into my hands, clearly uncomfortable 
under my gaze. “Everything you need to know is here. The target is 
unrecoverable. It is to be removed with extreme prejudice, do you 
understand?” He wrung his fat hands together, more nervous than a 
hen at a meeting of Coyotes Anonymous. 


| flipped through the briefing, picking up the important bits, here and 
there. Absently, as | took a drag on my smoke, and mosily just to 
annoy this man who was grating on my nerves, | drawled. “He.” 


“What?” He looked at me like | was a bit of dung on the bottom of his 
shoe. | wasn’t going to tell him he’d already stepped in a pile when 
he got off the bird. 


“You said it.” | flipped up a picture of the soon to be deceased. 
“Target's a he.” 


"Ah, no, Policy change. We've found it allows our researchers to 
experiment with less sense of guilt." 


| pondered taking a stand. Doing something brave and stupid, like 
shooting a hole in his stupid coat, or spitting in his face. It’s the type 
of thing my admirers will tell you | did do. Sadly, I’ve always been a 
Company man, so | just lazily saluted, and stalked off. | could hear 
him blustering behind me, like | should have given him more, but | 
didn’t really care that much. | heard the chopper take off as | was 
grabbing my to-go bag. Thank god. | was happy years later when 
the fat man got torn apart. Less happy when they picked me to 
replace him. 


| didn’t pack much. | never do. I’ve always been a little impetuous. 
Not planning, that’s the plan. The paperwork said Smith had run 
away from Site 19. Well, walked away. His particular little reality 
twist was that no one could take violent actions in his presence. 
Guns didn’t fire. Bombs didn’t explode. People refused to wield 
knives. He’d been real good at keeping the D-class in line, until 
something made him run. 


SCP-926 appears to function as a command or control instrument 
for the terracotta figures. The figures are of moulded clay 
construction unremarkable apart from their excellent state of 
preservation. Each figure depicts a life-sized human, or an animal 
such as a horse, pig or falcon. The statues depicting humans vary in 
dress, height, uniform and hairstyle in accordance with their 
apparent rank and the duty of the human depicted (e.g., military 
figures of various ranks, scribes, craftsmen, musicians, cooks, 
laborers, farmers, scholars and so on). Despite their clay 
construction, the statues have been demonstrated to be capable of 
movement and other actions when (but only when) given commands 
by means of the guqin. 


The gugin's command syntax is still poorly understood at this point 
due to limitations on testing. Partial test log follows: 


Reference Syntax (notes Result 
played) 
001 (unknown gugin notes Thousands of 
played prior to terracotta statues, 
Foundation acquiring while still buried in the 
custody of object) necropolis, move 


suddenly. Statues 
were "standing at 
attention" when 
unearthed and it is 
assumed that the 
motion consisted of 
assuming this posture. 
It was this motion, 
which local residents 
had initially assumed 
was a small 
earthquake, that led to 
the discovery and 
excavation of the 


Statues. 
002 Shi-ér-li series of All excavated "soldier" 
tones figures assume 


“parade rest” posture. 


Repeated readings of the info packet gave me no reason behind 
why he should run. Guess it didn’t really matter, but | do like a little 
inside knowledge of who I’m working on. Info said he’d found himself 
a little commune in California, and quickly risen to Godhood, at least 
in the eyes of the hippies there. | don’t normally fit in to hippy 
culture, but that was easy enough to fix. Let my hair hang loose, 
don’t shave for a couple of days, switch my jean shirt for a leather 
vest, and bam, instant hippy. The cowboy hat may have been a bit 
off, but | never worked without it. And of course, my trusty ivory- 
handled six shooters. | never go anywhere without them. 


Getting into the commune was easy too. Just a matter of walking up 
to the gates, and saying | wanted to study with the master. | wasn’t 
the only one. Hundreds of people had started flocking to this place, 
having heard that Brother Earth was the new Guru of True Peace, or 
some shit like that. The guys at the entrance just waved me in, not 
worried about guns, or anything else. 


| listened to Smith preach for a while. It wasn’t anything new, or 
different. A couple of times it sounded like he was talking about the 
Foundation itself. The Walls of Ignorance, the Jailers, the usual tripe 
you hear from those bastards in the Hand. | figured some of them 
had slipped into his retinue. | didn’t care. It wasn’t my job to look into 
that stuff. 


Instead, | walked the camp, finding all the ins and outs. His sleeping 
place, the gardens, the quickest path away. It looked pretty simple. 
Still, | couldn’t help but wonder. | knew | could kill him at any time, 
and walk away in the confusion, but... 


So, | snuck into his tent that night. People were in and out all the 
time, asking his favor, kissing his ass, sucking his dick. All the girls 
wanted to screw him, and all the boys wanted... much the same. 
Everyone gets tired, and he was no exception. Round about the time 
his close people were sending everyone away, | was slipping into 
the back. So when the good Brother Earth finally got around to 
heading to sleep, | was already sitting in his bed. 


“’m sorry my child,” he said, with a sleepy smile. “I am already 
exhausted, | need no company tonight.” 


“But the Foundation misses you, Albert,” | replied with cool aplomb. 


He paused then, looking me over, really taking me in. The sleep left 
his eyes, but he didn’t seem worried. “So. The Hand Sinister of the 
Council Itself. Come to drag me back to your den of depravity and 
evil, hmm?” 


| arched an eyebrow at him, smirking despite myself. “After watching 
you and your followers, | believe you have the market cornered on 
depravity, Albert.” 


“Brother Earth!” he hissed. “I am Brother Earth. And | am not going 
back. | have seen what they have done to those poor, deluded fools, 
and | will not be part of it.” He strode towards me, glaring down at 
me in a poor attempt to intimidate me. “And you can’t make me go 
back.” 


“’m not here to make you go back, Al. They don’t want you back. 
They want you dead.” He waved me off, as if | was inconsequential. 
“I’m just curious as to why you ran in the first place. You must have 
known they’d kill you.” 


“| ran because... Because | am the Spirit of Peace. | was born on 
this world to help mankind grow, to turn their back on their 
murderous ways. | am here as a promise, that the Earth has not 
forgotten her children, that we can live together. We do not need to 
kill each other to survive, we can work together!” He stabbed a 
finger at me, glaring imperiously. “And you can do nothing to stop 
me, Hand Sinister!” 


| hated that name. Of all the code names | had, that one always 
struck me as the dumbest. Hell, just calling me Left Hand would’ve 
been better. | was frustrated, and bored, so | shot him in the foot. 


He dropped to the ground, shock written on his face. 


“How... how...” He gasped, unbelieving. | grinned, absently stroking 
the handle of my revolver. | could have told him the guns were 
special made, | could have let him know who the bone that was inset 
in the handle was actually from... But | don’t monologue. | simply 
lowered my gun to press against his forehead. He shivered, clearly 


afraid, his eyes crossed to look at the gun barrel. 


| noticed some of his people pushing into the tent. They froze, 
staring dumbfounded at the scene, and | ignored them. The biggest 
one stepped forward, then stopped, the veins standing out on his 
neck. 


“| know! | know what they do to the D-class, | saw what they fed 
them to! | would not be that thing, not anymore! Kill me if you must, 
but-” And | shot him. I'd heard enough, and he was just going to 
keep ranting, hoping someone would save him. Better to end it now, 
when | had what | needed. The big guy dropped to his knees, tears 
in his eyes. The rest of his followers ran in terror, expecting to be 
next. | couldn't help but pat the big man on the shoulder as | left. 
After all, he did his best. 


| left the same way | came in. No one stopped me. | could hear the 
wailing rise as | passed through the front gate. My admirers would 
have said | smiled, but death is never something to smile about. | 
heard they enshrined him, hoping the peace effect would linger. 
Good luck, | say. 


Six was grateful for my actions. Gave me a raise. And the standard 
admonition not to talk about it with anyone. 


When | became O5 in his place they told me what they did to the D- 
class. | didn’t like it any more than old Albert had. The difference is, | 
didn’t run away. | did what | always do. | studied the problem. | set 
pieces in motion. Everything I’ve done since then, the increase in 
containments, the Keter breach in 19, the up scaling of the MTFs, 
and, yes, even Pandora’s Box, all of it has been towards the goal of 
removing something most of the Council still sees as a vital 
necessity. 


And you are the last part, the very last piece | need. A very special 
blood flows in you, Miss Argent, my brothers blood, and, more 
importantly, you’ve had all the training you need. So tell me. 


Will you take up my guns? 


Ripped From the Headlines 


| stared at the television, barely catching the words, as | helped 
Helen into the chair. 


"...gone, nothing left but a giant hole. The hurricanes reported in the 
region were actually the result of air and water rushing in to fill 
the..." 


"Come on, come on," | said, flipping to another channel. | couldn't 
care less about North Korea. | was looking for the big news. 


"...gap between the two sides is wider than ever. The Secretary of 
Defense is defending the secrecy, saying it was for our own 
protection. The president denies..." 


This was better, but still not quite there. "Look, | know you hate it 
when | flip through the channels, Helen," | said, "But for God's sake, 
the whole world's just changed! Aren't you excited?" | just couldn't 
understand why she didn't look more excited. I'll never understand 
women, I'm afraid. 


| tried another, as | brushed a fly from in front of my face. 


"...having any knowledge of these events are being asked to come 
forward. Sources in Parliament have confirmed that the Global 
Occult Coalition is partly funded with crown..." 


| shook my head. Not quite there yet. Helen's expression was 
disapproving. "I'm sorry," | said. "But you don't understand what it's 
like for me. You're normal. I've never fit in. I've never belonged. It's 
easy for you, but there's never been a place for me." | changed the 
channel. 


"...money like anyone else, Robert. Our clients have refined tastes, 
and we do our best to attend to them. | don't think you'll find that 
we've done anything illegal. | wouldn't call..." 


| put my hand on Helen's. "Everything's changed today. There are 
others like me. Can you imagine? I'm not alone. Not really." | shook 
my head suddenly. "Oh, no, no, | didn't mean it like that. Of course 
I'm glad we met. But we've only known each other a few days, and 
I've been wanting to find other people like me for all my life. Imagine, 
like, Okay, like you were the only one in the world who could see. 
Nobody else knew what blue even was, let alone what it had to do 
with the sky. Can you even think how lonely that would be?" 


"...for a trial by the international court. The SCP Foundation has so 
far refused to consent to an..." 


"Look, we can get on with things in a minute. Just let me find one 
good bit. Someone will be talking about it, you'll see," | told Helen. | 
changed it again, and this time was rewarded by a young woman 
being interviewed in a studio. "Here, look!" 


"...examination, because some of the doctors were kind of creepy. 
But it wasn't bad for the most part. Just awfully lonely," she said. 


She was blond, in her early twenties, it seemed. Pretty face, though 
not so pretty as Helen. 


"And all because of your... talent?" the interviewer asked. 


Boorish man. Glasses. | can't stand a man in glasses. Puts me on 
edge. 


"That's right," she said. "They said it could be dangerous." 
"Can we see a demonstration?” asked the interviewer. 


She nods, and is handed a photograph. It shows another man, dark 
skin, fine suit. As soon as she takes it, it begins to move. 


The host calls backstage, and the dark-skinned man walks in. His 
picture matches his movements. When the girl touches the picture, 
the man jumps, and says he could feel her touching him. A close-up 
shows his skin indenting in the spot where she puts her finger. The 
camera zoomed in to let everyone see how her finger goes into the 
photograph. 


"Have you always been able to do this?" asked the interviewer. 
"Since | was younger, at least," she says. 


| turned it off. We'd seen enough. "Oh, Helen," | said, tears forming 
in the corners of my eyes. "It's so wonderful. I'm not a freak 
anymore. | belong, for once in my miserable life, | belong." | reached 
over and stroked her cheek lovingly. It was pale, but there was still a 
hint of the rosiness she'd had the day before. 


| brushed the flies from her skin. We'd been talking long enough, 
and it was time to get on with it. If people spend too much time 
dead, they start to smell, and people just don't understand. | tore the 
skin and flesh from her arm and pulled off her ulna, and began to 
chew, muscles around my jaw swelling and growing to let me crush 
the bone. Once | finished, it was time to look outward for once. 


The world was new, and for once, | felt | had a place in it. 


Rise 


Rise. 


Professor Charles Burrows had no choice but to comply. He had no 
idea how he got here, or even where "here" was; one moment he 
was sitting at his home office, catching on some paperwork, and the 
next he was here, standing alone in an empty concrete room. Alone 
with the voice. 


So good of you to join me, Professor. Come, there is much to 
see and so little time. 


"What? Who are you? What is this place?" 


So many questions. | suppose it is to be expected from a man 
in your position. All in due time, Professor. Let us begin our 
little tour. 


A door appeared on the far wall of the chamber, seemingly from 
nowhere. Professor Burrows, seeing no other option, walked 
through it. He was not one to lose his cool quickly; he'd see what 
this thing wanted, and assess the situation accordingly. He found 
himself in a bustling office complex: Busy-looking men and women 
in walked among rows of computers and filing cabinets, occasionally 
stopping in one station or another to check a monitor or peer at a 
file. The entire place was a hive of purposeful activity. No one 
appeared to notice the small man in jeans and a tweed jacket. 


Welcome to Site-27, Professor. 


He wasn't supposed to be here, Burrows thought. This was a 
dangerous situation; he might already be compromised. He wasn't 
sure the voice knew exactly who and what he was, though, and he 
wasn't about to give it any hints. 


"Site-27? Is that some sort of government facility?" he said, feigning 


ignorance.