“I'm still the Architect. | didn't kill twenty of them.” 
“Fourteen.” 

“| rounded it.” 


“You've always been shit at math.” And something like a bolt of 
lightning shot out from Jude's eyes. An arc of brightness. Like the 
beam of a flashlight. But it didn't reach Alexander. Jude coughed, 
sputtered, fell back to the ground. 


Alexander sighed, sitting back down. “This is pitiful. | thought you'd 
give me a battle to sing about for ages to come. You're not even 
worth spilled wine. What would your father say? What would the 
father of your fathers say?” He tilted his head, like an animal trying 
to find the best angle to hear prey. The filigree on the marble 
columns seemed to breathe. Gold and silver, in and out. A web of 
shining, delicate lace. 


Sometimes, it surprised Jude, the delicacy that Alexander was 
capable of. 


“You're less than a man, Jude. You're not even a woman. You're a 
sexless, pitiful little thing. You lack all vitality. If your body was your 
mind, your dick would have shrunk to a pit and fallen off years ago. | 
don't even—’” Alexander began to sputter. He clawed at his neck. 


SCP-665: The Garbage Man 


Item #: SCP-665 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-665 is not to leave his 
room under any circumstances barring a full site evacuation, in 
which instance a specially designed stainless steel crate has been 
constructed. SCP-665’s room is to be constructed entirely of 
stainless steel or a similar metal. SCP-665’s bed is to consist of a 
single mattress, specifically constructed to have a mass greater than 
1000 kg. SCP-665 is only to be fed a specially formulated liquid diet, 
which is to be dispensed into the drinking glasses fused to his 
hands. SCP-665 is allowed access to live animals, provided that 
said animals are not wearing a collar or other similar adornment, 
and that he does not attempt to feed said animals. 


Physical contact with SCP-665 is highly discouraged. If it becomes 
necessary, it is to be done with bare skin only, and to be kept to a 
minimum. 


Description: SCP-665 is a human male, age _. All of this 
information, including his species, was obtained through an 
interview. He has refused to provide further information (see 
addendum). Further physical descriptions cannot be given at this 
time, as SCP-665’s external appearance changes frequently. Any 
non-living solid object with a mass less than that of SCP-665 that 
comes in contact with SCP-665’s body instantly fuses to it. Within 
one hour, the object will effectively become part of SCP-665’s body, 
and will affect smaller objects in the same manner. It is worth noting 
that this means SCP-665's mass increases with each item added; 
therefore, all personnel are advised against adding any further 
objects. 


Surgical analysis of SCP-665 has proven difficult, as most surgical 
instruments are simply assimilated into his body. The few items 


The hand on Esther's mouth fell limply and then retracted back into 
the top of her cage. She took a breath, but nothing came. Her face 

reddened, tears of irritation bringing mascara down her cheeks, she 
screamed. No sound came out. 


The sky was dark again. Midnight. The moon hung high and fat. 
Butter churned. Sweet. Reddened filigree, like molten glass, 
expanded outward. The marble breathed. Flesh. The marble was 
skin. The marble was blood. Veins, filled with something strange and 
dark and unknowable. 


“Not a man,” was all that Jude said. He stood tall. He was gold and 
silver and light. 


There was a breeze, and Esther took a long breath. She didn't 
speak. 


“What do you know about being a man, Alex? You fell ass- 
backwards into it.” Tall as the columns. Or was he the columns? The 
moon, an eye. The wind, his breath. “Il chose manhood. | took it and 
made it my own. | made my own body, cell by fucking cell. | was 
never a girl. | never felt like one. And what did you do, Alexander? 
What did you do? Besides disappoint your mother. Besides acting 
like a fucking ancient Roman piece of garbage?” 


Alexander floated upward. The wind took him. His jeans were dirty. 
His t-shirt was ill-fitting. Skin, grey. Eyes, closed. Grimacing. 
Electricity pulsed throughout his body. The Architect's teeth 
chattered. 


“It isn't power. It isn't your gods. It isn't being a father. It's not 
something as base as reproduction.” His voice was everything. The 
temple spoke. The Temple of Love was in Jude's name. Dedicated 
to Jude's god, and world without end. “Manhood isn't so fucking 
simple. It's, fuck, it's love. | don't know. It's protection. Fuck. It isn't 
what you are.” 


From within him stepped a figure in gold. Muscular, strong. It 
stepped out from his body, aligned with his and then out like walking 
through a doorway cast in a spiderweb. One fist was a plus. The 
other, a minus. It walked like a VHS distortion, scrambled and 


chopped. The golden figure, Video Killed the Radio Star, punched 
Alexander. Once, twice, thrice. A flurry of fists. And it sooke. A great 
flood, a word repeated. Urere. To burn. And the electricity held him 
in the air. Like the moon, pale and fat. Blood. The sounds of bones 
breaking. And finally, one last punch rocketed Alexander to a 
column. As he slid down it, a smile spread across his face. 


“It's beautiful,” he said. “This is what | hoped for, Jude. This is a 
beautiful will worthy of your god. | feel good now. About all this.” 
Coughed. Blood. There was a lot of blood. 


Esther lit the end of the Djarum black with Jude's green lighter. She 
moved to place it in her purse, but Jude's hand shot out, plucking it 
from between her fingers. She grunted, took a long drag. The taste 
was sweet on her lips. 


“| used to smoke cloves, too,” Jude said. “I wanted to impress this 
cute goth boy.” 


Esther's eyebrows rose up then down by way of response. 


“| remember coughing. People told me | smoked it like weed. | 
remember, you know, holding it in like | was gonna get high. Still 
remember the headrush. Can | have one?” 


Esther shrugged and pulled one out from the battered pack. Jude lit 
the cigarette and handed the lighter to Esther. She put it into her 
purse before he realized what he was doing. What an idiot. 


“Did you?” 
“Did | what?” 
“Impress your goth boy. Did you?” 


Jude shook his head, the smoke spewing out from his nose and 
mouth like the shittiest smoke bomb. He hacked and coughed, 
hands on his knees. Eyes redder than they were on pot. But he was 
licking his lips. And wasn't he smiling? “No. I'm not good at getting 
boys to like me. Or girls.” He took another drag, this one much 
shorter, and tried his best to hold it in before seeming to remember it 


wasn't weed. 


Bisexual, probably, then. Gay and bi men were just as bad as 
heterosexuals. She took another drag and didn't speak. Wanting to 
fuck someone different than society intended didn't suddenly make 
you okay. 


Jude sighed, leaning against the diner. JJ was nowhere to be found. 
They had to wait for him, of course, even though he'd do fine on his 
own. The question was whether or not they would. 


Esther hated the silence. She hated having to hang out alone with 
Jude. Even with a shower, he had a smell about him. A kind of 
sweaty desperate scent. Like metal. Like nervous animals. 


“Do you ever have trouble believing in God? Like, because of your 
magic? You're Jewish, right?” He paused, dropped the half-smoked 
cigarette to the ground and crushed it underneath his sneaker. 
“Does it, like, interfere?” 


“Why would it?” He wasted the cigarette. Esther wanted to reach out 
and slap the living shit out of him. Why was she plagued by such 
stupid, thoughtless men? Why was G-d doing this to her, out of all 
people? 


“It's unnatural, isn't it? It's like. | Know you guys don't have saints. 
Ever worry about Hell?” 


“We don't have that. Don't even have heaven.” 


“Shit, really? Wild.” Jude blinked, in genuine surprise. Leave it to a 
Christian to be unable to imagine doing good without promise of 
paradise. “But, like. | have powers greater than a saint. | do miracles 
like, you know, Jesus. But I'm not. I'm just an idiot with magic.” 


“You are an idiot.” 


“Yeah, right?” He shrugged. “It just makes me feel like I'm going 
against order. Like | have too much. | feel like I'm a sin. Like just 
being is a blasphemy. It feels rude to rely on God, if I'm like this. | 
don't even think of it unless | need forgiveness. | don't know. | feel 
like an aberration. | feel like | got too much. Like I'm unaccounted 


” 


for. 


Esther snorted. She took another drag before dropping the butt on 
the ground, crushing it beneath her heel. She pulled out another 
long, black cigarette, stuck it between her lips, lit it. 


“What's that supposed to mean?” 


“It's stupid. G-d made you a man. G-d made me a woman. There's 
no changing that. She also made us both magic. | make mitzvahs, 
and you make fancy lights dance. It's arrogant to imply there isn't an 
order to this.” She took another drag. “Like what G-d said to Job, do 
you know the mating seasons of mountain lions? Do you know, fuck, 
the weather? There's something going on way beyond you. An order 
to things you can never see. And your magic, your bullshit, is 
accounted for. And in the eyes of the one who created all things, it's 
paltry idiot shit.” 


“| guess.” His face was red. 
“Yeah. You guess.” 
“What about JJ?” 


“Some people are just blessed. There's an order to it. It's unfair, and 
sometimes it's bullshit. You can hold G-d accountable for the 
bullshit, or you can just do with it what you can.” 


As though called, JJ came rounding a corner “Hey, bitches. Waitin’ 
on me?” 


“Where were you?” Jude said. 

“Powering up my stand.” JJ winked. 

“Don't be gross. Where were you?” 

“Suckin' off some old dude's dick in his truck.” 

“Are you serious? That's unsafe. It's unsanitary. Like, he could be 


sick. Did he have a condom? Why are you messing with me?” 
Jude's voice slid to a whisper as a large man came from where JJ 


had walked from. 
JJ winked at the old man and waved, “Hope to see you again, Burt.” 
The large, old man only blushed, nodded, and walked inside. 


Jude stared. Wide-eyed. Scandalized. Confused. He shook his head 
and stalked over to the car. It was locked, but that never mattered 
for him. He opened the door and slid into the back seat. 


“Did you really?” Esther said. 


“Nah, | mean. | did hit on him. He's married, though. Said his 

grandson was gay. Gave me his number. Didn't have the heart to 
tell him he was too young for me.” JJ stretched and yawned. “We 
had a great conversation about ham radios, though. Kind of cool.” 


“Nice.” 


“And on the way back, this dude with a Confederate flag on his 
dashboard left his door open. So | totally pocketed this.” And there 
was a wad of bills pulled out from his tight jeans. “That means a 
hotel tonight. Only two rooms, probably. But since | found it, that 
means you and Jude have to be bunkmates.” 


“I'd rather sleep in a ditch.” 


“Don't be a baby. You two need some more time to get used to each 
other.” And JJ turned to the car. Jude popped the lock, and JJ 
stepped in. Front seat. 


Esther took a puff of her cigarette, staring at the two men in her car. 
She could think of worse places to be. 


Esther stepped out from a cage that no longer existed. The four 
statues had fallen. She went to Jude and said, “He asked me to 
protect you with my life when you passed out. | have no fucking clue 
what's going on.” 


The light around Jude faded as he stepped toward his fallen friend. 
The golden figure stepped into him. He bent down to Alexander, on 


his knees, and he said, “What the fuck is your problem, dude?” 


Jude wanted to slap Alexander, but he had already done much 
more. 


“You showed me what | was,” said Alexander. His eyes were dim. 
The blood was red, but it was golden. Ichor. Not gross. Not 
Lovecraft's ichor. But ichor like a Greek god. It had a sweet smell to 
it. Jude felt sick. 


“What do you mean?” 


“A coward. My mother raised me alone. She, you remember her 
don't you?” 


“It's hard to forget her. She was just like you.” 


Alexander smiled. His eyes closed. “It is a sin for you to kill. My gods 
would look the other way. Yours don't. Yet you did what you 
believed was right. They hurt, and you hurt them. | wanted to see if it 
was a mistake. Or if your will was that strong. A man protects the 
weak. My mother taught me that. You protected the weak by killing 
him. | did nothing. | said nothing as this consumed you. | was 
content to not act. But inaction is cowardice. Inaction is a 
transgression against bravery, against the gods, against our fathers 
and their fathers.” 


“It was a mistake.” 


“Yes, it was. For you. But your Christ will forgive. I've been led to 
believe he's all about that.” 


The floor was carpeted. The columns were starting to look more like 
beds. 


“You were never going to die,” Alexander said. “There's no world 
where | defeat you. | knew that it would be so. You're worthy of 
facing him.” 

“Who?” 


“The Critic. The one behind all of this. His hands didn't create the 


statue, but isn't he just as much a part of it as the Sculptor?” A weak 
smile. Alex reached out. Hand rested against Jude's cheek for a 
moment before it fell heavily to his side. “He won't stop. He knows 
where you are. | know not how. They will know | lost. He'll send 
another. His Electric Eye sees all.” 


His breaths were ragged. The punches weren't what did it. His 
being, his life force, was leaving. Temple of Love only ever left one. 


“| deserve to die. My will remains with you. And | will go on before 
us. | will go to the afterlife of my gods. | will set aside a place for you. 
And when you finally die, Jude, you will sit beside me. And we will 
be friends again. And you can tell me what you did. How you saved 
them. How brave you were in the face of sin.” 


“What—what if I'm right? About God?” Jude was crying. Silently, of 
course. Alexander was never one for tears. 


“| will storm the gates. And | will petition your Christ to forgive you.” 
A long sigh. “And if he does not, | will descend to the fires of eternity 
with you.” 


Alexander smiled. The blood was all red. He was thin. Pale. Ghostly 
white. His veins were visible. Everything was fading. Clothing like 
gossamer. 


“In whose name did you pour, Jude?” 
“My own.” 


Alexander laughed. A long rattle. “After you're done, go to them. All 
three. Don't let this ruin it. A relationship with your gods is a 
wonderful thing, Jude. | am certain they will forgive you. And a man 
is nothing,” Alexander reached out to touch Jude's cheek. “A man is 
nothing without his beliefs.” 


And the hand slid from Jude's cheek. It disappeared before it hit the 
ground. 


There was no Alexander. There were no columns. They were inside, 
and the outside was outside. The hotel room still stunk of wine, but 
there was no other sign of Alexander. 


For a long time, neither Esther nor Jude said a word. 


Jude laid out on the ground, face in the carpet. Esther sat upon the 
bed. 


Esther finally stood up from the bed. She bent to the ground. And 
she hugged Jude. He cried in her arms, and she held him more 
tightly. 


“Maybe, uh, it's not the time to say this, but, uh,” Esther paused. 
Like she was searching for a script. 


“Say whatever,” Jude said. 


“I'm sorry if | ever said anything fucked up. About trans people. |, uh, 
| didn't know.” 


“It's okay.” He laughed. “Where did that come from?” 


“| don't know,” she said. “Just, meeting you. And hearing all that. | 
guess if you could be born and assigned, you know, femaleness, 
and then, well, embrace being a huge dumbass and becoming a 
man. Like, maybe, | don't know. It's not so innate. Maybe someone 
born a dude could be a cool girl. | don't know. Is your friend okay?”