A muffled explosion sounded in the distance. The floor shook. 
Emergency lights flickered. Hidden speakers crackled. Egret smiled 
to herself as another one of her surprises went off. It was an oozing, 
wretched expression, she knew that much, but it was hers all the 
same. She ran the tip of her tongue over the teeth that the Overseer 
gave her years ago, still sharp as ever, and waited. Evacuation 
maps flashed on the long walls in jittering light. A droning automated 
voice announced that the perimeter had been breached. She had no 
intention of leaving. 


The rumbling booms crept closer and closer, then ceased. They 
were soon replaced by stomping boots and low, harsh voices. Their 
sound carried well; even better when the droning voice of the 
intercom abruptly vanished. They were two corridors away, then 
one, then around the corner. Egret could feel eyes on her from some 
place, and, oh, how strange she must have looked to them. Her foes 
were eager to leap into the jaws of danger despite that, and she 
would obligingly chew away. 


An oblong grenade slid down the hall, spinning wildly and leaking 
stinging gas. Egret saw it, recognized it, and barely thought about it 
for a moment before a long gray arm snaked out from within her 
coat to grab the grenade and pull it inside. Another arm, bony and 


many-jointed, reached out around the corner to shoot back. That 
was good. It had the right idea. Meet violence with violence, and 
always be ready to use more of it. Someone around the corner 
screamed, and a hail of bullets screamed down the adjoining 
corridor. Egret returned fire with one hand, then two, then three. One 
popped in a splatter of vile, cold blood, and a new one caught its 
pistol out of the air. 


Egret stepped out into the hall. A bullet traced a hot, wet line along 
the side of her face, and another hammered into the armored vest 
she wore under the coat. She fired her pistol down the hall at the 
distant, shifting shadows. Her dozen extra hands did the same. The 
force of it drove her back a step, and new arms reached out to gird 
her against the floor. Bullets riddled the alien appendages around 
her, and new ones sprouted to take their places. The exchange 
lasted mere seconds, but Egret was already dragging too many limp 
limbs along with her by the end. The coat's entire weight surely 
would have broken her back if it did not help her walk up to her 
latest victims. 


Egret stared mutely at the corpses of an Alpha-1 strike team. It was 
impossible to mistake them for anyone else, not when she had spent 
so much time wearing the same armor, the same inhuman masks. 
She felt invincible back then. New arms sprouted to poke and prod 
the bodies as she walked past, yanking tiny trinkets off them before 
moving on. Others picked up fallen weapons, grasping rifles in 
dripping tentacles and chitinous claws. The furthest soldier out was 
still breathing as Egret passed, chest heaving and leaking blood. 
They tried to say something as a flurry of arms grabbed them, and 
didn't quite manage to before being pulled inside her coat. Egret 
could not have possibly cared less what fate they met in there. 


She fumed through clenched teeth. She seethed. That Alpha-1 
would ever turn on the Overseers, let alone her Overseer. That they 
were so spineless. She stomped one foot down, the immense 
weight of the coat balanced by countless hands padding alongside 
her boots. She stomped the other down, and more hands followed 
suit. Had she ever felt angrier? Could she feel angrier? This was 
worse than any patricide, worse than any matricide, and worse than 
any deicide too. This was grass slaying the sun. This was birds 


maiming the sky. The intercom crackled as she walked, long cape of 
bleeding arms splaying out behind her. 


"Wren. Agent Cooper-Hughes. | know it's you in there. | recognize 
you." Except Egret wasn't either of those people anymore. "This is 
Coxswain." Her nostrils flared. "You have one chance to bring me 
the former Overseer-6 and surrender. I'll overlook your desertion if 
you do. Otherwise, I'll be forced to take unpleasant measures." 


Unpleasant measures, that was a good phrase for what was about 
to happen. Her former superior was no doubt thinking of the usual 
things: the explosive teeth they jammed into new recruits’ mouths, or 
the kill agents stuffed into the brains. Well, he could try, but her 
measures were more unpleasant by far. 


Garbled noise poured out of loudspeakers as Egret stalked the halls, 
bits of songs and clips of movies strung together with numbers and 
letters. It looped over and over, but none of it found purchase in her 
mind. Long tentacles slithered out from within the coat, and longer 
limbs with hook-clawed paws. They reached out through doors and 
around corners, dragging back agents with them. Silent or shouting, 
flailing or shooting, each was pulled into the coat's lining. The 
countless arms were too heavy for Egret's legs, but it carried her 
along with it. Whether it still followed her will or moved on its own 
was meaningless, so long as it brought her where she wanted. 


"I'm not above hostages, Wren," said Coxswain impassively. Egret 
imagined him crushing a wad of paper in his thick hands. "Family. 
Friends. | have their names here. Turn around. Bring out the 
Overseer." Egret's many arms snagged another armored rat. They 
were silent as she ripped one arm off, and sobbing by the time she 
finished with the other. 


"Your parents. Tim and Andrea. Still wondering where their runaway 
daughter is. | don't have to do this if you don't make me." 


Rats, yes, that was right. Maggots. Bottom-feeding filth. Egret 
dashed an armored head against a wall until both of them cracked 
and crumbled. She didn't remember having any parents, and she 
didn't care about people she didn't remember. Painted arrows on the 
floor led her back toward the Site's main doors. 


"They're out of my hands now, Wren. You did this. What about old 
friends, do you care about them? Darrell, maybe? Or Anna? Do you 
think they deserve to die because of you? This is more important 
than whatever loyalty you think you have. Do what's best for the 
Foundation." 


Egret scythed away the part of her memory that ached at the sound 
of those names. She didn't remember, so she didn't care. Bullets 
tore away at her as she threw herself through a secure perimeter. 
Barriers shattered. Bodies broke. She peeled away a steel door to 
the Site's entrance hall with one set of alien hands and shielded 
herself with another. Most of her guns were long empty, but it didn't 
matter. She would live before dying, and fight before falling. The 
door warped, buckled, and crumpled. 


The cavernous room beyond was full of traitors. Armed, armored, 
teeming in number. She despised them all, well and truly, but one in 
particular. She spotted Coxswain running for the door to the sunny 
sands outside before something stinging slapped the side of her 
head and half her vision vanished. She didn't care. She didn't care. 
She grabbed the railing with countless flailing hands and threw 
herself toward her distant prey at eye-watering speed. More bullets 
smashed into her, shattering her long-useless vest and opening up 
new holes across her body. It didn't matter now. She smashed into 
Coxswain just as hard, taking them both to concrete floor. 


"| was looking for you," said Egret, teeth gnashing and eyes wide. 
She jammed the pistol clutched in one of her original hands into the 
big man's open mouth. "What did they promise, huh? Were they 
going to make you Overseer? Take mine's place? Asshole. Traitor! 
I'll kill you a thousand times before | let that happen! I'll find you. I'll 
do this again! I'll eat your heart for a million years!" Egret had more 
to say, but there was no time. She pulled the trigger. Coxswain died, 
brains leaking out of his head. A spray of bullets broke through her 
her veil of arms, and Egret died too. 


It would have to be enough. 


« Previous Tale | Maim the Sky, Slay the Sun | Next Tale » 


Subject: SCP-1609 
Photographed Activity: Distributed in its flower bed. 
Photo Result: Reassembled, and being sat in by the photographer. 


Subject: SCP-1728 

Photographed Activity: Conversing with the photographer. 
Photo Result: Holding a bag of gold coins while being hugged by 
an unknown woman. 


Subject: SCP-1759 

Photographed Activity: Stationary in its hangar. 

Photo Result: The "Lovely Lucy" figure appears as a separate 
entity, blowing a kiss to the camera. 


Subject: SCP-1783 

Photographed Activity: Standing on its hind legs in its containment 
safe as it attempts to peer out the porthole. 

Photo Result: "Carrying" a stick in its mouth in the courtyard at Site 
38 where it was previously contained. Several unidentified humans 
— all of whom are made of cardboard — are visible. 


Subject: SCP-1802 

Photographed Activity: Being interviewed. 

Photo Result: Concealing the photographer's left shoe on a nearby 
windowsill, behind a stack of documents. 


Subject: SCP-1849 

Photographed Activity: Looking up at the photographer while 
eating. 

Photo Result: Mating with the photographer. Appears to be saying 
something. 


Subject: SCP-1850 

Photographed Activity: Being hand-washed in its hangar. 

Photo Result: Having several dead rabbits shoveled into its cockpit. 
Subject's propeller is spinning so fast as to be nearly invisible. 


Subject: SCP-1867 

Photographed Activity: Relating his discovery of a ghost of a 
medieval Crusader deep within Burmese territory. 

Photo Result: Receiving the Grand Cross of the Order of the British 


Three Farewells 


You are currently reading Navarro's perspective of this tale. 
To view another perspective, reload the page after sixty 
seconds. 


Three men looked up expectantly as Agent Daniel Navarro entered 
the home office of Dr. Zachary Johnson, led by the Doctor's 
daughter. Their eyes glazed over as they realized that he was just 
another guest. 


Navarro recognized Gregg Collins, at least, though he was not 
actually all that familiar with him. Collins gave him a brief nod before 
occupying himself with small talk with an older researcher while they 
occupied an even smaller couch. The third, a younger researcher by 
the look of everything but his eyes, sat slouched in the chair Navarro 
had learned to avoid. 


After glancing around to make sure Johnson wasn't hiding 
somewhere to get the jump on him, Navarro shut the door and idly 
wandered the back of the room before his attention was brought to 
one of the bookshelves. He lifted one of the small figurines sitting on 
the bottom shelf and grinned at the bear. At least, Navarro was fairly 
sure it was supposed to be a bear. He knew for a fact it looked 
godawtul, but it was the first piece Johnson had made himself. He 
placed it back where he found it and slowly began to peruse the rest 
of bookshelf's contents. 


A suppressed chuckle left one of the men behind him. Navarro 
looked over his shoulder to see the source of the humor, but only 
found the young researcher watching what looked to be nothing. A 
shrug at the laugh and a half-hidden smile at Collins almost choking 
on his drink was all Navarro gave in response. 


Returning to the shelves, Navarro found it uplifting to see Johnson's 
progress as an artist over the years. Each piece was lifted and 


examined with a silently critical eye before being returned to their 
spot. Even if Jonnson had never taken up anart he had certainly 
adopted, or at least finally revealed, a mindset after his time with 
Navarro. The most recent piece was nothing more than a gray cube. 


When the door opened, Navarro gave the old man entering little 
more than a glance before looking back to the bookshelf, dismissing 
him as just another of their host's colleagues. Then he heard the 
familiar thump of a cane on the floor and gave the newcomer 
another, better look. Zachary Johnson looked right back at him and 
gave him a grin that would give a skeleton a run for its money. 
Navarro didn't know what had put Johnson into such a state, but his 
own story of a coffin possibly containing an exploding pig trying to 
entice him into opening it suddenly sounded a lot less harrowing. 


Feeling like he should say something, Navarro could only stare with 
a slightly open mouth. The other men in the room didn't fare much 
better. Johnson caned his way to his desk, where he deposited the 
large wooden box he had been huddling under one arm. After a brief 
thud of wood on wood, Johnson cleared his throat. 


“Dr. Johnson, what the hell happened to you?” the younger 
researcher said. Which was a damn good question, really. Johnson 
replied by putting up a hand for silence. 


“Give me a moment to get there,” he said with a sad smile. “First off, 
allow me to thank you all for being here. | know that for some of you 
this meeting was short notice, and that the trip was a great distance. 
| cannot begin to say how much | appreciate all of you attending. | 
see some of you have already found the drinks. If you haven't 
already, please help yourselves as we proceed.” 


Navarro only leaned against the bookshelf, still reeling from 
something akin to shock. 


“| will not mince words with you, gentlemen,” Johnson continued. “I 
am dying. It was the reason for my retirement. | have been 
diagnosed with Glioblastoma multiforme, and should the disease 
continue its course, | will be dead within the next four months.” 


‘Well, fuck,’ was all Navarro could think of. Clueless on what 


Glioblastoma multiforme was, Navarro was unable to form any 
coherent idea on what to think. Apparently it killed people, and 
Johnson certainly looked like something was trying to kill him. Very 
actively. 


The man in the uncomfortable chair murmured some sort of denial. 
Johnson looked him dead in the eye and gave his head a small nod. 
The man somehow sunk deeper into the chair. Johnson regarded 
him for a moment before continuing. 


“Rather than burden all of you with my suffering, | felt it would be 
more my style to take advantage of what strength | have left and 
leave each of you a final gift,” Johnson said. “You know, say my 
goodbyes while I’m still half the man | was. While | still embody how 
I’d like to be remembered.” 


If this is what he looked like with some strength left, Navarro did not 
want to think about what he would look like even a month from now. 
Whatever it was- Cancer. It suddenly clicked in Navarro's mind, as 
long as it took. The old man had cancer. 


Johnson opened up the crate he had brought along and pulled out a 
small black box that gleamed in the dull orange light filling the room. 
A chuckle fought its way up Navarro's throat but he kept it in with a 
teeth-grinding grin. 


“Let's begin then,” Johnson said. By the time he turned to look at 
Navarro, the latter managed to turn the grin into something a little 
more natural looking. “Daniel, you have saved my life on two 
separate occasions. After the first of these times, you gave me this 
trinket. While it is not my place to reveal what it is to these 
gentlemen, | do feel that considering the circumstances it would be 
put to better use if returned to your possession.” 


Agent Daniel Navarro dug his back into the counter that he was 
using as protection. Next to him, an older researcher was huddled 
up with his cane gripped in both hands. All around them, Site-19 
was going to Hell in a hand basket. Chaos Insurgents had attacked 
the site, for reasons even they probably didn't know, and were 
currently causing havoc in one of the various lobbies. 


"Come here often?" Navarro asked with a small smile. 
The researcher barked out a laugh. "More often than I'd like."