Several more mechanical squeals then rang out at once. Baldric 
froze and slowly turned his flashlight toward the ceiling. 


"Oh... shit." 


The passage glowed with hundreds of faint blue lights as the ceiling 
began to morph. Rather than polished obsidian, it looked to be made 
of a chittering mesh of brass legs periodically dotted by wobbling 
glass orbs. Hundreds of camera lenses zoomed in and out before 
finally focusing on the task force below. The mechanical squeal 
turned to a roar. The glass orbs burned with a deep red. 


One of the security personnel in the back let out a horrific yell as the 
swarm descended upon him, soon drowning out his cry with the 
sound of metal ripping flesh. Before the rest of the team could 
gather its senses, the cluster of spiders charged forward, engulfing 
three more task force members. Gunfire rang out. The wall of bullets 
caused a storm of sparks to fly from the oncoming mechanical wave. 


Agent Turner pulled the pins on two fragmentation grenades, and 
rolled the explosives into the horde. 


“Run!” She shouted. The rest of the MTF didn’t bother to argue, and 
lost no time as the grenades detonated, sending shards of glass and 
brass scattering through the tunnel. The horde of spiders scurried 
behind. 


“Candle!” Wells shouted as Eta-13 sprinted onwards. “Is Cronos 
near here?” 


“Wh-what?” the medic replied between sharp breaths. His voice was 
almost inaudible through the cacophony of footsteps and metal on 
glass. 


“Is the back entrance to Cronos near here!” 


“Yeah... Half a mile ahead... when Broadway turns to 
Summerland... left at the first fork” 


“Fantastic...” Wells said with a nod. He then turned his attention 
back to the brass horde. 


We should be able to make it... 


His concentration was broken for a brief moment as another 
researcher let out a cry, the horde having caught him and pulled him 
into the oncoming metal wave. 


Maybe... 


T-0 Hours 


There was a loud bang. Wells watched as the spider flying towards 
him exploded into a cloud of sparks. Out of the corner of his eye, 
Wells could see Baldric holding a pistol in his hand. 


Wells felt his pace increasing as his eyes frantically scanned the 
path ahead. A small smile of relief came to his lips as he recognized 
a distinct three way fork. 


Almost there... he thought. Sanctuary was at hand. 


The remains of the task force sprinted down, the pathway turning 
upwards at a gentle slope. Visible at the end of the path was a moss 
covered trap door, a “Do Not Enter: Hostile Natives” sign marked 
with the SCP Foundation logo was firmly placed on its center. 


“Now!” Wells shouted, as he, Turner, and Candle stopped dead in 
their tracks. The rest of the task force passed them by as they pulled 
the pins on as many grenades as they could grab and lobbed them 
down the hill at the oncoming squealing horde. 


The explosives went off right as the trio made it to the trap door, 
Baldric having already led the rest of the team through. Wells waited 
for his fellow agents to climb through, before he vaulted himself 


upwards with a loud grunt. The trap door slammed shut behind him, 
leaving the brass spider cluster behind. 


“God fucking damn it!” Wells shouted as he was launched from the 
trap door into a forest clearing with a dull crash. He rolled several 
times before coming to a stop. The sensation of having sprinted 
through a monstrous cube of jelly quickly vanished, allowing the 
sergeant to open his eyes to a canopy of tall evergreen trees and a 
violet sky. 


He slowly raised himself up using his elbows and looked around. 
They were now at the top of a tall hill. At the center of the clearing 
was a woven circle of branches that had served as their escape 
route from the interior of the Gate Passage. Fourteen terrified faces 
returned his gaze as he scanned what was left of his task force. 


“So... where are we?” Wells heard Bell ask Candle. The medic 
slowly looked around the clearing. His expression was solemn, as if 
the very earth beneath his feet had drained him of his good humor. 


“SCP-2344-1-Zeta,” Candle replied. His eyes were open wide as he 
seemed to pour over every fallen pine needle on the ground. “Up 
until two years ago we had an outpost here. Cronos Outpost.” 


“You've been here before?” 


“Yeah, when Blaire was in charge...” 


Hub | We Boldly Went » 


SCP-758: Spell Check - "Vasili" 


Item #: SCP-758 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-758 is to be kept in 
comfortable living quarters with whatever amenities he desires so 
long as they are within Foundation protocol. 758's quarters need 
neither lock nor guard. If he is found wandering the halls, contact 
one of the doctors studying the subject. He is to receive three meals 
a day and any snacks he may request. When speaking directly to 
SCP-758, he is to be addressed as "Vasili" at all times. 


Description: SCP-758 is a young Russian male, 1.9 meters tall, 
weighing roughly 110 kg. Full name Vasili , found in ; 
Russia in 19 . The subject was diagnosed as an extremely low 
functioning autistic at the age of four. 


While it is only speculation, some members of the staff believe that 
the symptoms which caused SCP-758 to be diagnosed with autism 
are a coping mechanism that has been developed in response to his 
ability. At present, researchers have been unable to ascertain 
whether or not he actually has autism or if this is the case. 


Addendum: 758-1 
Development 


Records taken from the notes of Dr. , the subject's speech 
and behavioral therapist prior to coming to the Foundation. 


Two years after his diagnosis, SCP-758 began displaying his ability 
to recognize and correct errors in the technical aspects of linguistics. 
At the age of six, SCP-758 began correcting mistakes in the 
newspaper his parents read. The corrections included mistakes in 
grammar, punctuation, spelling and syntax. During the following 


We Boldly Went 


Standing in the heart of an evergreen forest were two men, each 
wearing the tattered remains of an MTF uniform. Faded and 
spattered with dirt and grime, the Eta-13 emblem was still visible on 
their vests as they held their rifles tightly. Their breathing was quiet 
as they attempted to remain unseen. 


A bald man of medium build with dark skin made a gesture towards 
the nearby rise in the forest floor. His face had numerous scratches, 
and his right eye had swollen shut. The name Donald Blaire was 
barely visible beneath the mud and dried blood that was spattered 
on his patch. 


Behind Blaire was James Candle. The tall, lanky man looked to the 
rise that Blaire pointed at and nodded before looking back behind 
them. Sweat dripped down his face as he struggled to control his 
breathing. His eyes twitched from branch to branch, and from tree to 
tree before he finally returned his gaze to the rise. 


Three days prior, after the Foundation has lost contact with Cronos 
Outpost, Blaire had lead Eta-13 to this branch of the Gate Passage. 
Their mission had been a simple one: reestablish contact with the 
outpost. They arrived to find the facility in cinders. A literal bloodbath 
then followed, leaving eighteen of the twenty members of the 
original team exsanguinated. Now, the two survivors were 
attempting a final dash back to the Gate. 


Snap 


A branch broke beneath Candle’s feet, ending the silence. As he 
looked down in shock, his face drained of color. He winced and tilted 
his head upwards towards the treetops. “No...” he mumbled as a 
sudden breeze began to make the branches dance. 


“Shit! Run!” Blaire shouted. 


Candle bolted towards the rise. The sound of wind chimes rang from 
behind. He glanced back to catch a glimpse of his hunters. 


Hovering behind him, and swiftly gaining, where three humanoid 
figures, each covered in a brownish-green cloak. No feet dangled 
beneath them as they sailed through the air. They were without a 
face, a spherical mirror taking its place underneath their hoods. In 
their six-fingered hands, they gripped black crossbows trained on 
the fleeing agents. As they flew through the air, the clatter of wind 
chimes became louder and louder. 


The wind chimes then became the blaring of trumpets as the 
hunters fired a salvo of crossbow bolts. Candle reflexively dove to 
the side, turning up a cloud of dust and pine needles as he crashed 
into the ground. Coughing as he rolled onto his side, Candle raised 
his rifle. The natives were already scattering when a stray bullet 
managed to catch one in the back of its “head.” The sound of glass 
shattering filled the air, flowed by a death wail resembling a grand 
piano crashing down stairs. The being’s lower body violently cracked 
as it was sucked into the hole Candle had made before completely 
vanishing. 


“For... fuck’s sake...” Candle wheezed, the barrel of his rifle trained 
on the tree tops, even as Blaire helped him to his feet. 


“Nice shot though.” Blaire patted him on the shoulder. 


Together they resumed their dash towards the hill, eventually 
reaching its wooded crest. Standing roughly a hundred yards before 
them, in the center of a ring of trees, was a woven circle of twigs 
about two feet high. The men looked to each other and let out 
relieved sighs. Candle wiped a thick mixture of dirt and sweat from 
his brow. He was home free. 


He had only managed a few, relaxed steps when the thunderous 
sound of a tuba blasted from behind them. Wearily he glanced over 
to Blaire, and then over his shoulder. Floating behind them were a 
dozen or more of the natives, each carrying a freshly loaded 
crossbow. From the center of the group one native floated forward. 
lts cloak was red, and rather than a crossbow it carried an ornate 
javelin. Upon its mirror was an engraving of a hand being 


encircled by a large serpent. It pointed its spear at them 
and issued another call, this time in the form of a short electric guitar 
riff. 


Candle turned to his commanding officer and nervously chuckled, 
then looked back to the natives who remained distant. Tears made 
trails along his dusty face as he managed to mumble “Don’t they 
ever give up...” 


Blaire responded by punching him in the shoulder, and then 
gesturing to the ring of woven twigs before them. Candle watched as 
Blaire’s lips curled into a sheepish grin. He couldn't help but follow 
suit, and nodded. 


With what little strength was left, Candle sprinted towards the side of 
the crest, weaving between the trees in a haphazard pattern of zigs 
and zags. The sound of a tuba once again blared behind them, 
followed by a chorus of wind chimes. 


Candle felt his feet fall heavy on the soft forest floor as black 
crossbow bolts embedded themselves in the trees and ground, 
pieces of bark and clods of dirt flying through the air around him. As 
the woven ring drew closer he felt his pace increasing to a full sprint. 
Candle finally broke stride when a searing pain shot up his left leg, 
and caused him to tumble forward. He screamed in agony as he 
landed, somersaulting over himself twice before his momentum 
died, leaving him with a face full of pine needles. Looking down, 
Candle saw the end of a bolt sticking cleanly out of the back of his 
calf. The wind chimes turned to trumpets as Candle heard them 
grow louder and louder. 


“No!” Candle screamed as he clumsily turned himself over. He 
fumbled with his rifle before finally letting out a spray of bullets into 
the swarm of natives descending upon him. The clearing roared to 
life as the sound of shattering glass mingled with the sound of an 
orchestra exploding. Candle felt his magazine run empty, the 
immediate natives having long vanished. Slowly turning his head, 
Candle could see the second wave approach. He closed his eyes 
and simply began to count. 


“GOD FUCKING DAMN IT JAMES!” 


Candle heard Blaire’s voice, followed by the heavy steps of a man 
darting towards him at full speed. Candle opened his eyes to 
witness his friend slam a spare magazine into his hand and begin to 
pick him up. Blaire let out a herculean grunt. Candle felt himself 
being heaved into the air and slung over Blaire’s shoulder, his view 
now changing from the tree tops to the approaching swarm behind 
them. 


Candle bobbed up and down as Blaire let out a heroic yell and 
sprinted towards the Gate. The entire time, Candle did his best to 
send bursts of covering fire into the pursuing natives. A symphony of 
destruction sounded as one by one the hunters imploded. 


The men yelled in unison as they made it to the home stretch. The 
Gate shimmered as the chicken’s feet they each carried in their 
pockets opened the path to their travel. 


We’re going to make it! We’re going to make it! We're... 


Candle’s mind raced with relieved thoughts as the natives fell further 
and further behind. The wounded medic hefted his middle finger at 
the native’s leader. Candle’s grin soon vanished, however, as he 
saw the native raise its javelin. 


"Look ou-" 


There was a crash of thunder, and the next thing Candle knew, he 
was flying backwards through the air. Once again the sound of a 
tuba pierced the hill top. 


Candle moaned as he propped himself up. Several yards behind 
him, Blaire lay face down in the dirt, the native’s javelin sticking 
straight out of his back. Candle could see the tip protruding beneath 
Blaire as a growing pool of blood stained the pine needles below. 
The native leader made a claw with its right hand, and the javelin 
began to return, dragging Blaire with it. 


Candle watched as Blaire screamed in agony, blood was visible in 
his mouth as he looked longingly at the medic. Candle’s eyes darted 
between Blaire, the native leader, and the remaining natives who 
were already reloading their crossbows for another strike. Grunting 


as he fought the pain of his right leg, Candle rose to his feet. Slowly, 
he raised his rifle, took aim at the red cloaked figure, and pulled the 
trigger. 


Click 
Candle looked down at his weapon in disbelief. 
Click... click...click... 


Frantically, Candle patted himself down for another magazine, but to 
no avail. He turned his attention back to Blaire. The defeated 
medic’s expression was a mixture of shame and sadness. 


“Candle?” Blaire shrieked as he was slowly pulled further and further 
away. Blood oozed down his chin. “James?” 


Candle looked around once more. The natives had nearly finished 
reloading their crossbows and were already closing in. 


“James! Tears were visible in Blaire’s eyes as he tore up the earth 
around him in a struggle to locate something to grab onto. 


Candle then turned his head to see behind him. The Gate still 
shimmered, ready to accept passage. 


“Ja... James? For god’s sake, please! 


With every last ounce of strength he had left, Candle hobbled to the 
Gate, and threw himself over the threshold. He immediately fell 
through, tumbling slowly down a sloped, ivy covered passage before 
coming to a gentle stop. 


Before he passed out, he could hear Blaire give out one last, primal 
shriek. 


“James!” 


“James?” 


Candle snapped his attention back to the matter at hand. Standing 


by his side was Researcher Joseph Bell. Candle had lost himself in 
thought, staring at nothing in particular. He was once again standing 
on that hill top. 


“You okay?” Bell asked. 
“Yeah,” Candle mumbled. “Fine, just, lost in thought...” 


“Il can imagine this place will do that to you.” Bell smiled as he 
looked around. The evergreen trees swayed in a light breeze 
against a violet sky. The balmy smell of a temperate summer filled 
the air. “It’s simply breath taking. Something about it just pierces 
you.” 


Candle nodded, doing his best not to cringe at the young 
researcher's last comment. He once again looked back around the 
clearing. For a brief moment, he believed he could see the drag 
marks Blaire had made in the dirt.