Stuart wasn't expecting his new home to be so... extravagant. 
Haven Harbor was, to put it simply, large; larger than was needed to 
contain the few kids it had advertised. The area seemed to take up 
at least two and a half hectares, and on top of that, it seemed to 
bustle with people carrying a variety of bags, as if they were coming 
home from a day of shopping; for a brief moment, Stuart wondered if 
he had been led to the right building. 


"This is Haven Harbor," the preacher began as the two walked 
inside. "It is not just an orphanage. On top of giving your sorry hide a 
roof to sleep under, it's also a holy ground, power supply, and 
general market. You will be assigned a job to follow tomorrow. For 
today, find yourself a bed in the lower levels, and unpack. You'll 
need the rest. If you need me, and you better not unless you're 
dying, I'll be in the chapel." 


The preacher left without another word. Stuart sighed: the prospect 
of "lower levels" did not bode well to him. Haven laid very close to 
the water; any kind of basement would surely have to contend with 
being underneath the water table. He tried not to think about the 
copious amounts of mold and mildew that would surely have 
accumulated as he walked down his crowded new home. 


The building was not so much a single building, but an entire indoor 
plaza. The four floors of shops and markets were organized in a sort 
of "T" layout. The longest hall, facing north, was more of an atrium, 
since the upper floors ended into a balcony overlooking a dining hall. 
The area seemed dedicated to food-based shops. Stuart noticed 
most of the shops were specialty shops, selling only a certain type of 
product. There was a bakery that only sold pastries, a butcher that 
only sold fish, the list went on. 


Aside from the north hall, none of the other areas seemed to have 
any type of theme. Like the north hall, the stores seemed to 
specialize in a particular product. There was a toy-store for boys, 
one for girls, a child and adult bookstore, a tailor for women and one 
for men, anything anyone could ever need, there was a shop that 
specialized in it. 


Across the complex were multiple advertisements for Father 
Morgan's Sunday service, all of which led towards the large ornate 


doors near where the three halls met. The advertisements painted 
the preacher in a light that felt much undeserved, with the preacher 
dressed in robes placing his hand on a kneeling man. The man 
seemed to be crying tears of joy as he smiled in front of a sunset. 


The more Stuart walked around down the halls, the wearier he 
became. That's when he realized that it has probably been four or 
five hours past his usual bed-time. Following the halls, he stumbled 
upon a boy entering a door that had the text "PRIVATE AREA: NO 
ENTRY" displayed on an attached metal sign. To Stuart, this 
seemed like a decent enough place to search for the lower levels. 


Opening the door behind the child before him, he saw a flight of 
stairs leading down to a large metal door, one that seemed more 
becoming of a pressurized vault than a living area, and one that the 
child seemed to be struggling to open. 


"Do you need any help?" Stuart spoke. 


The child jumped, turning around with an expression on his face 
resembling that of a caught thief, then relaxing slightly upon seeing 
Stuart. The child seemed younger than Stuart, being slightly shorter 
than him. He wore a light, tan jacket and carried an overstuffed 
messenger's bag, but the most recognizable feature was the eye- 
patch covering his left eye. 


"Oh, you're the new kid, right? I'm fine, don't worry," he said 
hurriedly, returning to the door. "| just needed to grab something 
from my locker." 


Before Stuart could finish descending the steps, the child managed 
to open the door himself. 


"I'm sorry, I'm in a bit of rush. Name's Joey. You?" 
"Oh, mine's Stuart." 


"Stuart? Nice to meet ya. Maybe we'll see each other again after 
closing time? | have to run, bye," Joey said in a rather rushed tone 
before running off. Gone. It's probably for the best: I'm in no 
condition to socialize anyhow. 


He took Joey's lead through the doors, and was greeted to the pitch 
blackness that seemed to swallow the corridor ahead of him. Joey 
seemed so far away. 


"Just keep walking forward!" Stuart heard Joey shout ahead. "It goes 
in a straight line for a while! Put your arms out in front of you to feel 
for a wall, n' when ya find it, turn right! You can figure it out from 
there!" 


Stuart was used to the dark and could see fairly well in it, but it was 
still pretty damn dark; he could hardly see half a meter in front of 
him. He was about to proceed when he heard Joey again. 


"Oh, n' mind the wolf! If ya hear 'em, just face the wall so he can't 
see your face, you'll be fine!" 


... What? 


"Close the doors behind ya too! The unmarked doors and the one 
behind ya's fine, but he'll still be able to get in our rooms if ya let 
him!" 


... What?! 


"Yeah, trust me, it really isn't as big a deal as it sounds! You'll have 
plenty of warning, and he's pretty harmless. No one's died from 'em 
yet, so just stay outta his way, don't let him see yer face for long, n' 
you'll be fine!" 


"S-Shouldn't we call for a bobby or-" 


"No! Trust me mate, that's a bad idea! First thing | did, and it did 
NOT turn out well for ANYONE! ... You scared? I'll come over if ya 
want!" 


"I-I'm fine! ... Anything else | should know?!" God damn it, what in 
the blazes is this? 


"No, that'd be it! Try not to stub your toe! Happens a lot!" 


"Superb," Stuart said to himself, stepping into the darkness and 
slinging his baggage over his shoulder. 


As Stuart progressed, he came to the realization that this hallway 
was not composed of bricks or mortar, but metal. The floors clang 
and squeaked under his step, and the walls he touched felt laden 
with pipe work. He briefly wondered what they were transporting, 

until he felt a slight pat in his back pocket. 


"Open that when you're ready to find me," a voice whispered to him. 


Stuart spun around instinctively, seeing nothing. He stared into the 
abyss for a moment, but then remembered that he was not 
supposed to show his face to the beast. It took him a while to realize 
it, but Stuart was sure that voice was only Clovis. She did have a 
penchant for unintentionally scaring the daylights out of people after 
all, and it wasn't as if he wasn't already unnerved. 


Taking a breath, he continued his walk, the hallway somehow 
continuing to become even darker. 


What possible reason does this hallway have to be so long? Stuart 
thought, finally reaching its end. 


"Uh, Joey?!" Stuart shouted. "Am | supposed to make a left or right 
here?!" 


There was no response. The start of this venture seemed like an 
hour ago, but really, it'd been closer to five minutes. He'd been too 
worried about other, possibly homicidal things to remember the 
direction reliably. /t was right, right? He felt for the left, just checking 
to see if that was an option to begin with; it was. /t's probably right. 


He stumbled off to the right, not entirely sure of what he was meant 
to do after the turn. A short distance later, he came across a bend in 
the path. Just on the corner was a small light, bright by no means, 
but enough to illuminate the sign below it. 


STAFF LIVING 
QUARTERS 


KK KE KK KK KK KK KK KK KK KK KK KK KK KK KK KK KK KK KK 


SCP-913: Mr. Hungry 


Item #: SCP-913 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-913 is to be contained in a 
customized humanoid containment cell lined with one (1) meter thick 
carbon steel. SCP-913 is to be provided with standard humanoid 
furnishings, with prerecorded entertainment materials provided on 
request. Access to the cell may be conducted through a reinforced 
carbon steel door. 


Once every two (2) hours SCP-913 is to be provided with one (1) 
nutritional supplement as outlined in Document 913-2. SCP-913 is 
fitted with a central venous catheter to facilitate nutrition. The subject 
is to be provided with intravenous nutritional supplements while 
sleeping. Catheter is to be changed once every three (3) months. 


As of current regulations on "Misters", SCP-913 is to be contained in 
Hall of Site- . 


Description: SCP-913 appears to be a middle-aged African- 
American male with an extremely fast metabolism. SCP-913 
requires the recommended daily caloric intake for a normal human 
every 2 hours, and has an internal temperature of [REDACTED]. 


SCP-913 will enter into a trance state if not fed the specified amount 
of calories in a two-hour period. While affected, SCP-913 will break 
down and ingest any solid matter within sight. This ingestion can 
include normally indigestible matter such as wood, plastics, and 
metals, and does not distinguish between living subjects and other 
material. This hunger state will force SCP-913 to awaken if sleeping. 
SCP-913 is aware of his actions while in this state and expresses 
extreme discomfort following the ingestion of denser materials. 


SCP-913 can rend objects with an estimated force of 3000 N and 


At last! Stuart thought, feeling for the door. He could tell that it was 
like the one at the entrance just from touching it, but before he could 
grab the handle, it swung open, practically knocking Stuart to the 
ground as a bright light revealed itself from inside the room. 


"Oh, sorry about that," Stuart heard from a voice from inside. "Ya 
need any help there?" 


It's just Joey. "No, no, I'm fine, thanks. Just gave me a bit of a jump." 
"You're kinda a scaredy cat, aren't ya?" 

"Haha," Stuart said sarcastically. 

"Hey, look, I'll show ya to your bunk," Joey motioned to a set of 
spare cots. "Take your pick." 


They weren't much to look at; even the occupied cots didn't even 
seem to have covers or pillows to them. 
Stuart began. "Is it fine if | take this one?" 


"Sure, ‘though that's just across from Espen's bunk," Joey said, 
pointing at a cot with a stuffed bear propped up against its frame. 


"Espen?" 
"You'll meet 'em soon." 


"Alright," Stuart replied cautiously. "| could just toss my bags under 
the cot, right?" 


"Whatever you want, Scaredy Cat. | gotsta go. I'll meet up with you 
soon." 


“Scaredy Cat' isn't going to be my nickname, is it?" 
Joey left without another word, shutting the door behind him. 
With a sigh, Stuart hopped into the bottom bunk, trying to get 


comfortable. Finally getting into an acceptable position, he began to 
relax. Before he drifted to sleep, he took note of the bear on Espen's 


cot, and how it seemed to look in his direction. 


Chapter 8 


Stuart awoke to a set of black, glassy eyes and a brown, button- 
nosed snout a breath away from his face. 


"You read a lot, don't you?" A rough, but childish voice questioned. 


Stuart's eyes opened wide as he backed himself to the other side of 
the cot. He looked back to see a set of rosed hands presenting the 
plush toy to him. Looking up further, Stuart saw a lithe, somewhat 
twitchy, figure wearing a butcher's smock and a slightly bedraggled 
head of hair. "Wow, Joey's kinda right: you are a scardey cat, aren't 
you?" 


Stuart's face turned pink. "Can | help you?" 


The person's body language seemed to convey that they were 
terrified, now shielding their face with the stuffed bear and looking 
away, as if expecting Stuart to suddenly leap for his bed to hit them. 
However, that emotion did not seem apparent in their voice, which 
seemed disconnectedly calm. 


"This is Espen," they said, shaking the bear in front of themself. "We 
noticed that you were new, so we thought we'd come over to 
welcome you. Did you get your job yet?" 


"... I'm sorry, who's Espen?" 


"This is," Espen manipulated the bear's arm to point to themself. "... 
Espen can't speak for themself, so it's my job to keep them out of 
trouble!" Espen seemed terribly embarrassed at the happily 
bouncing teddy bear. 


This is... ls this some kind of mental illness? Stuart thought. He was 
in no position to give any form of medical diagnosis, so he shifted 


the focus of the conversation to the bear, unsure how to proceed. 
Playing into their delusions wouldn't help them, but opposing them 
directly would do little but upset them. This child needs professional 
aid, not labor. 


"Well that's good of you. You were talking about a job?" 


"Oh yes!" Espen said, looking slightly more relaxed now that the 
conversation shifted off of them. "What job did you get? Hopefully 
you're not working with Espen." 


"| haven't gotten one yet... Why shouldn't | be working with Espen?" 


"Espen's doing something called... 'Keyer'?" Espen said, putting the 
bear's paw to its mouth and tilting its head sideways, as if 
questioning what it said. "Whatever it is, they really don't like sharing 
it. They won't even let me come with them... They started getting 
kinda twitchy after a while, like they have the shakes... Well you 
should talk to Joey! You'll probably have something by now." 


"Oh, well, thanks." /s anyone here aware of how unsettling this 
situation is? 


"Take care! And don't worry, about your job: most everyone has 
been assigned a fairly normal task." 


"Alright, | hope so," he said, leaving the conversation. Joey wasn't 
hard to find: he sat hunched over a large poster, clearly in its earlier 
stages. Stuart recognized the art style. 


"So you're the one who made those advertisements all over the 
place." 


Joey briefly looked over his shoulder in order to make eye contact. 
"Oh, evenin'... or mornin’... You just wake up?" 


"Yes, I'm used to a different sleep schedule." 


"Oh... Actually, that's perfect. We needed more people working 
night shifts anyway. You ready for your assignment?" 


"Well, wait. | wanted to talk to you about Espen. You sounded like 


you knew a lot about them." 


"Aye... | saw them come in, before Morgan needed what | hope is 
only a butcher. They are fine people, at least the bear is, but | worry 
for the one hiding behind the bear... | tried to tell people about it 
once, and no one believed a dirty mutt like myself over their priest... 
| paid for that one, but that doesn't mean you should." 


Joey paused, giving a pained expression. "Look, Morgan has the 
professionals do the complicated things, like running the shops and 
whatnot. Most of us just have apprenticeships to them, it's simple 
work. Many of us don't even see Morgan outside of Sunday unless 
we're a problem, or we're working for him. Don't be a problem, stay 
out of the way, do your job, and you'll be fine," said Joey, adjusting 
the band to his eyepatch. "... Speaking of which..." 

Joey stood up and reached for a thick binder labeled "assign". 
"You said you want a night job?" Joey began. 

"Well, that would be preferred." 

"Well that's great: The First Hound needs a shoe shiner." 

"The First Hound?" 

"It's a pub. Popular one too." 


"A pub? | thought this was holy ground." 


"Aye, that's why it's so popular. Gets a mix of decent acts too. All 
things considered, you're pretty lucky. You get music to work to." 


"Well, I'm hardly in a position to complain." 
"Good. Well then, you should start tonight if everything goes right." 


"Alright then," Stuart was about to turn around but remembered 
something. "What was that about the wolf yesterday?" 


"Don't ask, because | don't know. | think | heard Father Morgan call 


it Fred, so he probably put it there..." Stuart gave a confused look, 
wondering why Joey seemed so accepting of it all. "... I've lived here 
for two years, I'm used to this." 


"Right then," Stuart ended. "Suppose | should put my things away; | 
didn't get around to that yesterday." 


"Good man. Hopefully I'll see you once this is finished," he said, 
continuing his poster work.