As Iceberg fingered at the cool gel patch covering a nasty burn on 
his right arm, he looked over at Dr. Gears. Impassive as always, his 
leg was wrapped in a soft cast and elevated, with several small 
gauze patches on his face, neck, and arms in varying shades of red, 
pink, and black. 


Iceberg winced a bit, feeling something mildly fractured shift in his 
chest, and nodded to Dr. Gears. “Ahh...sorry about that, again. I... 
really didn't expect it to get that out of hand, honestly.” 


Gears nodded slightly, still facing the ceiling. “There is no need. 
Accidents happen.” 


Iceberg leaned back, sighing as the pain killers started to pull him 
down in to deep, dreamless rest. 


He woke with a groan to the sound of tapping. Gingerly shaking his 
head to clear it, he turned to see Dr. Gears tapping with a stylus at 
the screen of a tablet laptop. He seemed ignorant of Iceberg, or at 
least uncaring, so Iceberg decided to try and see how sitting up 
would go. The first flex of his abdomen brought a lancing comet of 
pain arcing through his chest, so he rapidly decided to postpone any 
testing and fell back with a groan. 


Gears finished, carefully placing the computer on a side table and 
nodding to Iceberg. “You were asleep when they changed your 
wrappings. You won't be able to move in any serious way for two 
days. | will be unable to walk for four days, and have had to reassign 
our schedules to others.” 


Iceberg sighed, closing his eyes as he eased back on the pillow. 
Two days of hospital food and company with a man who's been 
accused of being a robot multiple times, rarely in jest. Lovely. He 
passed some time daydreaming, mentally working out the kinks on 
the Slowbomb until he started feeling restless again. He turned 
again to Gears, watching him stare at the ceiling, arms crossed, 
breathing regularly. “Hey Gears...are you awake?” he asked, hoping 
he wasn't sleeping with his eyes open again. He knew it was just a 
trick you could learn, but with Gears, it was just creepy. 


The tall, thin man turned his head slowly to look at Iceberg, face 


nearly immobile but for his mouth. “Yes, Dr. Iceberg, | am. What is 
it?” 


Faced now with the older man's full attention, Iceberg suddenly felt 
oddly uncomfortable and unprepared, as if he'd suddenly been 
called on to answer a question while he'd been daydreaming. “Uh... 
well, | was wondering...why do Kain, Agent Fritz and that one tubby 
janitor always call you Cog?” 


Dr. Gears stared a few moments, blinking slowly. “Your last name is 
not Dr. Iceberg, correct?” 


Iceberg blinked, taken off-guard, before stammering, “Y-yeah...| 
mean no...or, | mean, yes, that's not my last name.” 


Gears nodded, making a small gesture with his hand. “It is an 


alternate identification designation assigned by Site Security. Policy 
on this topic has been in a near-constant state of flux, both due to 
alterations in administrative staff, and planned security cycling. Most 
of the identification designations are picked at random, with some 
following a set assigning protocol. Some also appear to have been 
chosen as a form of 'gag' or ‘inside joke’. However, this was not 
always the case.” 


He paused, taking a breath, and Iceberg kept totally silent. This was 
the longest non-work or survival related conversation Gears had 
ever engaged in with Iceberg, and he didn't want to break the spell. 


“During my intake, the security protocols were still being derived 
from old military designations and acronyms. My initial designation 
was 'C.O.G.', derived from the initials of my name. Later, when a 
determination was made that this was too much of a security 
weakness, my designation was altered to 'Gears', most likely due to 
my extensive work on SCP-882 and the similarity to my previous 
designation.” 


Iceberg sat, processing a moment before speaking. “Wait...so...Cog 
is your initials? So what is your actual name?” 


Gears blinked several times slowly, still watching Iceberg, and the 
young man knew that no answer was forthcoming. He changed 
tactics, hoping to probe for more information, the exercise taking his 
mind off the pulsing pain in his side. 


“Alright, so...Gears, honestly, are you a robot? Or like...a Vulcan or 
something? You have to admit you're not really...ah...normal.” 


Dr. Gears laid back, resting his hands on his chest. Iceberg was 
expecting silence, or his methodical, mechanical “I! am not a robot.” 
reply that really did nothing to help. Instead, Gears drew in a breath 
slowly, and explained. “My mental peculiarities are somewhat 
sedate when compared to the various emergent coping mechanisms 
developed by other staff members. However, | can understand how 
mine are particularly noticeable. No, | am not a 'robot' or any other 
form of altered human, or non-human.” He paused, blinking several 
times, before continuing. “I simply...adapted too well.” 


Iceberg watched the older man reclining in the hospital bed, 
confused. He could almost swear that Gears seemed...conflicted, or 
even depressed. He was about to ask, when Dr. Gears started up 
again. “I am not an emotionless robot. | feel. | feel pain and sadness 
at the loss of a friend. | feel joy when achieving a positive goal, and 
regret when falling short. | feel fear, even horror, when faced with 
things capable of great harm, or worse. It is not that | can not feel. It 
is that | can not respond to it. Much like the feeling you have when 
on powerful narcotic pain killers, | am aware of my feelings, and 
what | am supposed to do with them, but they feel distant... 
disconnected. Like seeing someone crying, and feeling a slight 
empathy for their plight, but not being moved to tears yourself.” 


Iceberg sat, slightly stunned. His damned imagination ran off almost 
instantly, trying to conceive of going through everything he had 
already been pushed through...but this time, unable to react. 
Feeling all the pain, and joy, and fear, but being locked away with it, 
like a lunatic in a rubber room. Observed, logged, then forgotten. 
Iceberg shuddered, unable to look directly at Gears for a time. When 
he finally looked back, Gears was still staring, and Iceberg had to 
repress another involuntary shudder. He was about to ask another 
question when a nurse came in and carted him off for some blood 
tests. He was also informed that an oversight committee would be 
looking in to his explosive research at the end of the month. By the 
time he made it back, Dr. Gears was already asleep. 


The next day Iceberg woke up late, and to his great joy was able to 
move with a minimum of blinding pain. The bed next to him was 
empty, and Iceberg looked at it thoughtfully. Since being recruited by 
The Foundation (fresh from college, no less), he'd been paired up 
with Dr. Gears almost constantly. He'd been very scared at first. 
Many of the new recruits reacted with varying degrees of fear, awe, 
and pity when he told them his new assignment, which did nothing 
for his already limited confidence. What's more, it took months to 
realize that Gears didn't actually hate him, that it was just his default 
setting of total indifference. Even worse, they kept getting assigned 
to the worst jobs...he still shivered to think about his first run-in with 
an SCP-882 breach. 


Still, after all this time, he knew next to nothing about Dr. Gears. 
Many of the other staff were pretty vocal about who they used to be, 
and some even were allowed a semi-normal life outside the site. 
Gears, however, was a black box. No idle conversation of the past, 
no hidden tokens or photos in the desk (he'd checked), no... 
anything, really. Never leaves the site except for Foundation 
business, never takes any time off, never engages in any non-work 
activity unless forced to. What was even stranger was that NOBODY 
knew anything about him. Even the classic busybodies around the 
site had no real clue who he was, and the database became a large, 
password-encrusted tower of doom when asked about Dr. Gears. 


The sharp click of the door brought Iceberg back to reality quickly. 
Gears hobbled slightly as he worked his way to the bed, laying down 
and adjusting a bandage at his side. He spoke to the ceiling, nota 
gesture or look for the man he was addressing. “I am being released 
early. You will need to remain here for another day, but | expect you 
to be ready to resume your duties as soon as you are released.” 


Iceberg sighed, shaking his head and looking away. Silence drew 
out for long moments before Iceberg turned, looked pointedly at 
Gears, and said “What the hell happened to you? | mean...what the 
fuck, man? You're goddamn Spock but without those little lapses of 
human feeling...did they experiment on you, did you have a 
breakdown, what the hell?” 


As Gears stared at him, Iceberg became acutely aware of the fact 
that what he had just said may amount to insubordination or 
“unauthorized security probing” of a level where “large men with 
guns” is the most comforting portion of the disciplinary measure. The 
two men stared for what felt like a long time, Iceberg almost 
unwilling to blink, feeling a creeping measure of fear on par with 
reviewing security tapes of SCP-173. 


After a time, Gears blinked, slowly, and nodded. “What happened. | 
have been asked that multiple times, and | know of many more 
theories to this effect. What happened...was nothing unique. 
Nothing that is impossible to repeat, or hasn't happened to others. It 
is easy to assume that there was a single ‘defining moment' in the 
transition to my current state, but | do not believe this to be so. It 
is... gradual. Like a sickness. After a time, you simply wake up... 


different.” 


Iceberg shook his head, processing this new tidbit. “Okay...so you 
just... declined, | guess? Jesus... | mean... how the hell does 
something like that happen? You still haven't said what actually 
happened, what started this...” 


He trailed off as Gears turned to stare at the younger man again. 
“Are you loyal to The Foundation, Doctor Iceberg? | assume you will 
reply in the positive, but think before you respond. | am loyal, but not 
because of a sense of duty or empowerment. | believe, fully, in the 
work being done here. | believe that, without The Foundation, 
humanity as we know it would crumble in a very short time. | believe 
that we, the few with the resources and means to do so, have the 
direct obligation to insulate others from all that we are containing.” 


The door to the room opened with a small, poorly-oiled and 
annoying squeal that went totally unnoticed by Iceberg. Even as a 
young-ish doctor entered and started reading off discharge 
information in the general direction of Dr. Gears, Iceberg still heard 
little. Unsettling ideas were bumping around, unpleasant 
recollections of tests ordered and observed... of instances where 
the “greater good” overwhelmed normal human decency. Moments 
where he knew, for a fact, that he should be repulsed... or 
frightened... or at least unsettled, but felt only mild interest, at best. 
He snapped back from the increasingly stormy seas of his mind 
when Gears started to leave the hospital bed, aided by an arm from 
the doctor. “...why are you telling me this?” he asked. 


Doctor Gears turned slightly and spoke to Iceberg over his shoulder, 
his voice carrying that odd toneless quality again. “In regards to your 
request in relation to our future work, you may find the literature | 
mentioned enlightening. In addition, there is an epitaph in Tasmania, 
Australia that may prove useful as a motto or guide stone. | will 
expect you to report in for new assignments as soon as you are 
discharged.” The young-ish medical doctor looked between the two 
others, slightly confused and wary, but continued to help Gears from 
the room. Iceberg was left alone in seconds, both unsettled and 
deeply confused. 


a new location twice yearly, provided that the current location is no 
longer capable of supporting SCP-835, and the move has been 
approved by Site Command. 


Staff are to remain at least five yards away from SCP-835. Anyone 
working near SCP-835 must have safety lines attached to recall 
winches. Contact with SCP-835 will result in the immediate recall of 
all staff, and implementation of Suppression Tactic A-A6. Should 
contact result in full capture of a staff member, SCP-835 is to be 
monitored constantly until the release of the subject. 


Description: SCP-835 appears to be a large mass of coral-like 
polyps weighing eight tons. The individual polyps are larger then any 
known coral species, growing to more than one meter in diameter in 
some cases. The central mass is roughly oval shaped, with a very 
large (3 meter diameter) polyp at each “end”. SCP-835 is incapable 
of locomotion, and appears to anchor itself with the large tentacles 
projected from the SCP-835 polyps. These are also used in feeding, 
and are coated with a sticky adhesive substance. The tentacles are 
also quite strong, and have been shown to be capable of damaging 
plate steel. 


The “coral” of SCP-835 is extremely hard, requiring high-powered 
diamond drills to collect even small samples. SCP-835 also grows at 
a very accelerated rate, capable of adding 50lbs of mass every day. 
SCP-835 is susceptible to many chemicals, which cause SCP-835 
to “seal up” and halt all growth for 24 hours, prompting the 
development and use of Suppression Tactic A-A6. Testing has 
shown that SCP-835 appears to be made from basic human 
biological components, with the shell being formed from super- 
dense calcium, the “caps” that cover the polyps coated with tooth 
enamel, and the tentacles appearing to be formed from mutated 
tongue cells. Most human biological systems are present, however 
many (neurological, lymphatic, circulatory, etc.) show extreme 
mutation and atrophy. The digestive and reproductive systems 
appear both highly developed and linked, with both feces and 
semen being collected and ejected from the same “chamber”. 


SCP-835 emits a large mass of semi-liquid material several times a 
day from the large polyps on each “end”. This appears to be made 
of semi-digested solids, fecal material, and semen. This mass also 


It wasn't until days later that Iceberg got the chance to try and 
investigate the rather cryptic message. Gears had mentioned 
nothing more about anything he had said in the hospital, and 
Iceberg had found himself deluged with paperwork and solo testing. 
He had barely spoken to or seen anyone for nearly two days, and 
finally decided a little investigation might break up the tedium. It took 
only a little prodding to find what he was looking for, but it took more 
time to process: 


"As you are now, So once was | 
As | am now, soon you shall be - 
Prepare yourself to follow me." 


Iceberg sat alone in the deepest bowels of the underground site, 
surrounded by mounds of neatly typed records of horrors and 
atrocities, and tried very hard not to feel cold. 


Do You Wish You Could Disappear? 


June 1 
Date: June 120 09:15 


From: Eric Radford (of.pcs.nimda| 
drofdare#of.pcs.nimda|drofdare) 


To: Southeastern Region Requisitions 
Department (group: of.pcs.qer| 
sutsaehtuos#of.pcs.qer|sutsaehtuos) 


Message Subject: Personnel for Manned 
Exploration of SCP- 


Attachments: 
innova_exonera_predictions1 .pdf 


Message Body: 
Good morning, 


I'm reaching out on behalf of SCP-_'s lead 
research team at 42 with a time-sensitive 
request. Offshore Site- is fully operational, 
and is now capable of housing personnel to 
supervise a long-term manned exploration of 
the SCP- _ structure, launched from the 
access point under Site- . This exploration 
has been deemed necessary by the director of 
Site- ,aswellas SCP- 's current lead 
researcher and her team.