“Now who do you work for? Not the Global Occult Coalition since 
this building has yet to be firebombed into oblivion. Those thieves 
working for Prometheus wouldn’t have tried something this direct, 
and MC&D’s men would have already made a bulk deal. Guess that 
makes you Foundation personnel...” 


“Get down!” Harrison interrupted. Saker sighed again as he 
complied. 


“We were wondering when the Foundation would try a stunt like this. 
Congratulations for being able to set up this meeting and for getting 
this far without tripping any alarms. Honestly, considering how long 
you guys have been slicing up 31, Anderson thought it would have 
been much sooner.” 


“Quiet” Harrison shouted. Saker shook his head again. 


“I’m sorry for having to do this. All units, activate Foundation 
protocol.” 


The room then filled with a horrific shriek, forcing Harrison to cover 
her ears in pain. As she looked around her to try and find the source 
she was horrified to find all the droids were falling apart. The Amur 
units flattened and melted into small piles on the table. The 
Aplomado tipped over, its tough exterior cracking before shattering 
into a thousand pieces, revealing the interior had already 
disintegrated into rust. The Merlin came lightly tumbling down to the 
floor as a cloud of dust. The Peregrine’s skin shriveled and the 
plastic casing underneath bubbled up through the fabric. Each 
continued to issue its own high pitched screech until the room 
became quiet, save for the sound of Saker’s laughter. 


Harrison turned to him, and gasped. His skin was melting away into 
a white froth that became more and more pink as blood joined the 
mix. Beneath this a plastic skeleton became visible, resembling the 
PSHUD without its fabric skin. Before long this too had melted away. 
The laughter ceased and the room fell into silence. 


Harrison looked around at the various black puddles around her. 
Any second the rest of the sting team would come barging in, but it 
would be of no use. Anderson had once again proven to have the 


upper hand. 


Part Two: Simple Sketches | Peregrine | Part Four: Building Up 


Building Up 


Researcher Conwell looked around his office. The few meager 
possessions he had used to decorate were now placed in a box on 
the desk. 


Conwell let out a deflating sigh. He wanted to say it had been a 
good run, but if he was being honest with himself, the work he had 
been doing with SCP-1360 was both frustrating and sickening. Still, 
he wished he had produced more results. Maybe that way it wouldn't 
seem like he had failed. Maybe then it wouldn't feel like he had let 
the poor droid down. A sharp knock at the door shook Conwell out of 
his day dream. 


“It’s open,” he called. A short woman with piercing grey eyes and a 
large smirk entered. Her hair was done up in a bun and a small pair 
of glasses sat upon her pointed nose. Conwell did his best to hide 
his disappointment. This woman was Dr. Freemont. Although she 
was at least one foot shorter than him, she always managed to 
make him feel small. 


“Relocated again?” she asked. One eyebrow was raised as she 
peered into the box on the table. Her voice was sweet and 
concerned, but her lips were curled into a sly smile. 


“How’d you guess?” He replied. Conwell pulled his box of things 
away from his guest and pretended to rummage through them 
hoping to look too busy to talk. “What do | owe the pleasure?” 


“Where are they sending you?” Freemont asked. Whether she didn’t 
notice his display or didn’t care remained to be seen. 


“Site-84. Again. What do you want, Freemont?” 


“Dr. Thompson made a request to see you. Guess I’m lucky | caught 
you now, before they shipped you to the Pacific.” Freemont 
chuckled. Conwell’s mouth hung slightly open as he attempted to 


process just how exactly it was she could be so tactless. 


“Why?” Conwell asked. He had heard about poor Dr. Harold 
Thompson when he was working with Dr. Johnson, and even met 
him once in person. Freemont responded with a heavy shrug. 


“| would like to know that as well. He’s been very adamant about 
seeing you for about the past week.” 


“| thought that Dr. Collins was keeping in touch...” Conwell began, 
pausing when Freemont gave a sharp laugh. 


“Gregg hasn’t paid Harold a visit since Johnson left. Anyway, he’s 
due for another psychological health visit, so | thought I’d throw him 
a bone with you. Can | tell him you’re going to stop by?” 


Conwell sighed and placed his head in his hands before dragging 
them down his face. If Freemont was telling the truth, Dr. Thompson 
had not been visited in almost three years, and was probably 
nearing the end of his rope. 


“I’m afraid | have a flight to catch, and a few more meetings of my 
own to take care of before | jet. I’m sorry. | wish | could. | really do, | 
just can’t,” he said as he shook his head. Freemont shrugged. 


“You’re disappointing him, not me. Good luck at the Casket Garden.” 


Conwell hung his head and waited for Freemont to leave. The door 
slammed shut behind her. He then let out another sigh and grabbed 
his box of things before exiting and turning off the light behind him. 


Conwell pounded heavily upon the door to Dr. Collins' office. He 
didn’t wait for permission to enter, instead choosing to silently open 
the door and slide inside the room. The office itself was immaculate, 
a great deal of forethought appearing to have gone into the 
placement of everything down to the pens on the desk. He didn’t 
want to touch anything, lest a curator yell at him for disturbing the 
exhibit. 


“| can assure you that you’re doing a good job,” Collins said with a 
small chuckle from the seat at his desk. He spoke without taking his 


eyes off the screen on his desktop. Conwell rolled his eyes in 
response. “What’s on your mind champ?” 


“I’ve cleared out of the 1360-1 lab. Are you going to be taking Zach’s 
old office, or keeping this one here?” 


“| haven’t decided yet, but I’m guessing that my office arrangements 
are not what prompted your visit.” Collins replied. He now peered at 
Conwell from behind his thick glasses. 


“| Know you had a hand in me being transferred. That’s why they’re 
giving you command over 1360. | just can’t figure out why you did it.” 


Collins sighed. He looked like a father about to tell his child that he 
wasn't angry, just disappointed. 


“Your enthusiasm for that project was waning long before Johnson 
left. Command was afraid that you were no longer suited to continue 
to lead the project, so they asked me to keep tabs on you and report 
what | saw,” Collins then shook his head as he chuckled quietly. “I 
mean, Christ, you’re a grown man, I’m not going to visit you to tell 
you that you’re doing a good job. No one does that.” 


“So that’s it then? One subpar visit and I’m out of there?” Conwell 
snapped. 


“Cut that out.” Collins snapped back. “You know damn well that’s not 
how we do things. You’ve hated working on the 1360 project for a 
long time now. Having you continue to serve as PI for that object 
was both a detriment to you and the research being done on 1360-1. 
| saw this and pulled what strings | needed to make sure that what 
needed to be done was done.” 


Conwell tightened his fist. He imagined bashing in Collins' head with 
his computer keyboard. Eventually he regained his composure and 
placed a large file stack down on the desk. 


“Alright then, captain. Here’s the wheel, all of Johnson’s and my 
notes on 1360 and Anderson, including the transcript from the 
attempted sting last week, and all known info on Anderson’s 
models.” 


Conwell began to make his way towards the exit but stopped when 
Collins called out. 


“Listen, Jacob, this isn’t the first time you’ve been relocated from a 
project, and it won’t be the last. Hell, I’ve been moved around many 
more times than | care to count. The important thing is you 
remember that these decisions are made by command for a reason. 
The important thing is being able to move on. Please don’t let this 
come between us in the future. Overall, you’ve done a good job.” 


Conwell paused in the doorway and shook his head. 


“Dr. Freemont visited me earlier today. Harold wanted to see me. 
She said you hadn't been by for one of the psychological health 
visits in almost three years. You should think about swinging by 
there if you get a chance.” 


Conwell then silently passed into the hallway, allowing the door to 
quietly swing shut behind him. 


Collins waited for the door to close before he smiled and quietly 
thought to himself: 


Anderson, 

Integration successful and infiltration now complete. | have obtained 
complete command of #31. Awaiting further instructions. 

Saker #76 


Collins waited for a second as his programming confirmed the 
message had been received. He then whistled as he got back to 
work. 


Dr. Harold Thompson slowly made his way over the threshold of his 
cell, returning from another round of testing. What once used to be a 
tan, athletic man was now pale and gaunt. While the years of his 
incarceration had been unpleasant, it was those three years after his 
friend, Dr. Johnson, had left that appeared to have been the hardest 
yet. Two security officers stood behind him, causally watching for 
him to make any move resembling an escape attempt. Eight years 
of stellar behavior on Harold’s part, however, allowed them to relax 


ever so slightly. It also helped that his hands were not only covered 
by thick leather gloves, but also bound together by thick restraints. 


“Hold the door for a moment,” Dr. Freemont’s honey lathered voice 
called out as she appeared from behind the security officers. “Good 
job today, Harold. We'll continue the tests in two days. Tomorrow is 
going to be your psychological health visit.” 


“| see...” Harold kept his back to his captors as he spoke. 
“Researcher Conwell?” 


“I’m afraid it will just be me again,” Freemont said with a melancholy 
smile. “Conwell is being relocated to another facility.” 


“And Gregg -” Harold began, but was quickly interrupted. 


“I’m afraid | still can’t get a hold of him. He’s a busy man. I’m sure 
you understand.” 


“| can’t even imagine...” Harold mumbled, fidgeting with his hands 
as he spoke. The officers gave a slight nervous glance at each other 
and then back to Freemont. She rolled her eyes and held up a hand 
as she signaled them to close the door. 


As the door began to slide shut, Harold’s bare hands suddenly 
reached through, yanking the security officer into the door’s track. 
The officer let out a sudden gasp, and in the next instant was solid 
marble. 


“Shit!” The other officer shouted as he drew his pistol, but was too 
late. Harold had slid the door back open and had a hand on the 
officer's face before his fingers could wrap around the grip. He too 
became solid marble. 


“No no no no no!” Freemont shouted as Harold turned to her. She 
attempted to run towards the alarm, but was quickly overtaken. 
Harold had lunged and knocked her to the ground. His hand was 
firmly wrapped around her ankle. 


The room was silent as Harold got back to his feet and brushed 
himself off. He quickly undid his restraints, grabbed one of the 
security officer's pistols and pass cards, and cloaked himself in Dr. 


assumed to be unaware of any and all non-loop events. When 
forcibly removed from the space within the loop, participants will 
continue to repeat the actions of the loop to the extent that this is 
physically possible, and will die when the loop reaches its terminus; 
autopsies have thus far not indicated any identifiable cause of death. 


Participants in SCP-694: 


* SCP-694-1: identified as local resident Alexander Lang, aged 
52. Caucasian. Listed as widowed, with no immediate family 
apart from SCP-694-2. No records have been found of 
SCP-694-1's existence prior to his arrival in Vermont ( / 
/1999). 


* SCP-694-2: identified as local resident Philip Lang, aged 6. 
Mixed race. Son of SCP-694-1; mother unidentified. No 
records have been found of SCP-694-2's existence prior to his 
arrival in Vermont ( //1999). 


* SCP-694-3 and SCP-694-4: unidentified! kidnappers; both 
Caucasian males. Wielding empty handguns (reported stolen 
November 15, 2004). 


> Show SCP-694 event 


Events within SCP-694. 


Time index: 00:00 - 03:00. SCP-694-1 emerges 
from his residence and watches SCP-694-2 play 
with various toys on the front lawn for 3 minutes. 
He then tells SCP-694-2 to put away the toys so 
that they may go to the supermarket. 


Time index: 03:00 - 06:30. SCP-694-3 and 
SCP-694-4's vehicle (2002 Dodge minivan, black, 
reported stolen November 20, 2004, bearing the 
license plate of a 1999 Volkswagen Jetta, reported 
stolen November 21, 2004) pulls into SCP-694-1's 
driveway. SCP-694-3 and -4 emerge from the 
minivan, and hold SCP-694-1 and -2 at gunpoint. 
SCP-694-3 ties up SCP-694-2 and forces him into 


Freemont’s lab coat. 


He took a few moments to look himself over in a mirror. Provided he 
didn’t draw much attention to himself he felt that it would be easy 
enough traversing the short distance to Dr. Collins's office. Blending 
in as a Foundation researcher wouldn't be hard either. 


After all, he had already been one in a past life. 


Part Three: Products | Peregrine | Part Five: Tearing Down 


Tearing Down 


Saker #76 sat behind the desk of Dr. Gregg Collins, wearing a 
synthetic biological casing that was a genetic match to the doctor of 
the same name. Nearly two years prior, #76 had tracked down Dr. 
Collins, killed him, harvested his blood and organs, and stolen his 
identity. The abduction had been quiet and the remains of Dr. 
Collins had been disposed of in a manner that ensured no one 
would ever locate him. The Saker’s design was virtually 
undetectable once its shell of stolen biological material had been 
applied, making #76 a perfect mimic of Dr. Collins’ anatomy. 


Since the abduction, #76 had successfully integrated itself both into 

Collin’s life and the SCP Foundation on Anderson’s behalf. Now that 
it had succeeded in ousting Researcher Conwell and gaining access 
to SCP-1360, all the pieces were in place. The only thing left was to 

await the proper moment to strike. 


#76 caught a glimpse of its reflection in Collin’s computer screen 
and felt a small amount of sadness, or the closest thing to sadness 
an android could feel. It had grown to like its current identity and 
knew that its performance would soon come to an end. It then 
shrugged; it had been a fun ride up to this point. #76 was in no 
position to complain. 


The sound of someone entering its office shook it from its thought. 
Looking up, #76 saw a pale, ghoul of a man with long greasy hair, 
and distinct dark rings around his eyes. A pair of leather gloves 
covered his hands as he balled them into tight fists. The man gave a 
disgusted frown at #76 before he spoke. 


“Afternoon, Gregg.” The man's speech contained enough venom to 
kill an elephant. 


#76’s programming recognized that the individual was Dr. Harold 
Thompson, and that it was in considerable danger. 


“Harold...” #76 began. “What... what are you doing here? Does Dr. 
Freemont...” 


“| wouldn’t worry about her,” Harold said as he stepped towards the 
desk, causing #76 to slide back in its chair. “In fact, don’t worry 
about any of them. They are not my problem anymore. No one 
knows I’m here. It’s just the two of us, old friend.” 


“|... Lsee...” #76 spoke as it began to slide its chair towards the 
opposite side of the room. “And why are you are you here exactly?” 


“Photos.” 
“| beg your pardon?” 


“Photos, damn it!” Harold shouted. “Two years ago, when Johnson 
left, he said he’d send photos to you. Photos of Jack and Elizabeth. 
Photos of Lisa.” 


At this point Harold began to cross to the other side of the desk.