"Bastard place worthless," said another of the crabs, scuttling over a 
rock. He started to run to it when he felt another pain, and his leg 
collapsed from under him. He lashed out at the crab that cut him 
with his sword, but he only managed to tap it with the flat of the 
blade. 


He heard others moving around him; how many of them were there? 
They all began chittering, repeating his words in idiot chorus. He felt 
more pains. He tried to flail around, but it was getting hard to move. 
Were they poisonous? What were they doing to him? 


He saw one sidle up to his arm. He tried to move it out of the way, 
but its spike-like claw reached out, and he saw the glittering blade 
on its underside as it sliced into his elbow, cutting the tendon. It spat 
a thick, viscous fluid over the wound, sealing it instantly. He couldn't 
move the arm any further. He began to scream as others swarmed 
over him, cutting, spitting, and rendering him immobile. One cut the 
tendons of his jaw, and his jaw slackened. He couldn't move except 
to arch his back. 


maculopapular rash that spreads from the head to the feet in less 
than a day. Ocular sensitivity to light also sets in around this time, 
and victims not confined to darkened areas or otherwise protected 
from light may suffer consequences up to and including total 
blindness. The rash generally turns from red in color to dark brown 
several days after eruption, at which point the neurological sequelae 
invariably set in. 


The progression of symptoms begins with irritability and erratic 
behavior which may be mistaken for natural reactions to an 
unpleasant infection and confinement situation. However, myoclonic 
spasms and seizures swiftly follow. EEG examination of victims 
shows widespread cortical dysfunction; physical examination of 
victims’ brains shows involvement of [DATA EXPUNGED] and 
significantly elevated gamma globulin titres. The true signature of 
the SCP-593 morbillivirus, however, lies in its permanent 
neurological effects. SCP-593 completely destroys the portion of its 
victims' brains that deals with concepts of number and mathematics. 
lts surviving victims literally cannot distinguish between 'two' and 
‘millions' or perform even the most rudimentary addition, let alone 
more advanced calculations. Counting accurately, even only from 
one to ten, is only possible by dint of memorization; if asked to 
determine whether one number is larger than another, survivors 
cannot give an accurate answer. Oddly, survivors are seldom if ever 
distressed by this fact unless forced by experimenters to work on 
mathematical problems, at which point they become defensive and 
often exhibit aggression. 


SCP-593 was discovered in 20 at : , in the 
form of several pressurized containers attached to the central HVAC 
equipment for the main trading floor. The initial outbreak was swiftly 
contained and damage control measures taken in the media, but the 
origin of the virus remains unknown. Investigation of all labs known 
to the Foundation to be capable of genetically engineering such an 
organism is under way. 


Addendum: Despite its genetic similarity to measles and rinderpest, 
no vaccine currently exists for SCP-593. Attempts to attenuate the 
virus' strength for use as a live virus vaccine have so far proved 
useless; killed-virus vaccines do not appear to trigger the body's 


They started cutting off bits from his extremities. He felt his fingers 
and toes get cut off, and then one began to pluck at the soft flesh of 
his face. The last thing he saw was a pair of sharp claws reaching 
down to his face. 


It went on for some time until he heard an odd, guttural voice. He 
heard the crabs scuttle away, and then felt a final sting in his arm. 
He felt himself being lifted and carried as he drifted off to sleep. 


When he woke up, he felt stiff, and his head hurt. He rubbed his 
eyes as he sat up. 


Then he stared at his fingers, and the rest of his body. He was 
whole. Was he in Abirt's land, now? Was he about to be judged? 


He looked around, and saw that he was in a white room, lying ona 
padded platform. It looked like the remains of some of the Ceitus 
he'd seen, though much better kept up. 


Something felt odd with his hands. He looked down at them, and 

blinked several times. He counted. He counted again. He balled his 
fists and then opened them again. It was no use. No matter what he 
did, he still found he had five fingers and two thumbs on each hand. 


The door opened. "| see you're awake, sir. Pleased to meet you." 


The Beller looked up and nearly fell off the platform as a monster 
entered the room. There was no other word for it. 


lt was a man, roughly. It had two arms, two legs, and a head in the 
right places. But the head was oddly formed, as though someone 
had grafted on the crowns of other heads on top of it, making it 
much bigger than any normal man's head. He had four eyes with 
odd-shaped pupils under his bulbous forehead. A mechanical 
construct on a headband swiveled a lens over one eye, which 
blinked monstrously under the magnification. The skin was paler 
than any man the Beller had seen, almost white and pinkish, with 
light brown hair. A mustache with an unnatural curve seemed to 
form a second curly-cue smile under his nose. His arms branched at 
the elbows, giving him four large hands, with long fingers with too 


many joints. "I'm sorry if my appearance is... alarming to you. | was 
working and | didn't... expect company." 


"You're the Everman," the Beller said, frightened in spite of himself. 


The monster nodded. "Everett Mann, actually. Doctor... Everett 
Mann. The finest... and the last surgeon this world has seen. And 
you are... the Beller. You... talk in your sleep, you know. And 
scream. And beg, a little. |... rescued you from my pets, dear little 
098's. They can be... difficult with strangers, | must confess. But no 
harm done, yes? And... | even gave you a few improvements. | 
make people better, you know." 


"Improvements? The extra fingers?" the Beller said. 


"Yes. And, if you... tense your fingers. Just... a little," the Everman 
said, smiling beatifically. 


Confused, the Beller did as the Everman suggested. As his fingers 
tensed, little glistening hooks sprouted from the tips of his fingers. 
He bit back a curse. 


"They have a... strong soporific. Useful... if you encounter a dingo, 
or other dangerous wildlife." The Everman turned. "But let's... have 
some tea, yes? Proper and... civilized." 


The Beller followed him down the hallway, glancing around as he 
did, trying to get his bearings in the strange building. There were 
many twists and turns, and many closed doors. He heard voices 
behind some of them, but none in any language he understood. 
Behind some, he swore he could hear moaning or weeping. 


Finally, they came to a large, spacious room, bare but for a small 
table in the middle of it. There were two chairs. The Everman 
gestured to one. 


After the Beller sat down, another door opened, and a... thing 
walked in. It was humanlike, but not human. It had four legs, splayed 
out like an insect's, and it had arms that bent too many times. Its 
face was perfectly formed, and all the more disturbing for its 
apparent normality. It carried a silver tray. It approached the table 


and lifted the lid of the tray, revealing a ceramic pot with flowers 
painted on the side, two cups, and a bowl. 


The Everman took the pot and the cups, and then the bowl, placing 
them on the table. He poured the steaming tea into both cups. He 
looked up at the Beller and began to ask, "Would you like... Wait, 
no. | suppose you... wouldn't know about sugar in your tea. Well, it's 
like... honey. I'll... add some for you, how's that?" He took small 
white cubes from the bowl and placed one in each cup. 


The Beller sipped his politely, and found it tasted good. Sweeter 
than he was used to, but good. "Thank you," he said. "It's very 
good." He wanted to remain on the Everman's good side. 


The Everman beamed. "Thank you! The... refined sugar is rather... 
clever, | think. |... developed a grub that... exudes it as a waste 
product." 


It took all of the Beller's self-control to smile and swallow, rather than 
spitting out his tea. 


"So," he said, a trifle weakly, "when you found me, did you by any 
chance find some papers?" 


"Ah! Yes, I... wanted to discuss that... with you. They are... most 
interesting.” The Everman steepled both sets of hands. "Where 
did... you find them?" 


"In a land far to the north, across half the world," the Beller said. 
"They were in a Ceitu in a vast desert." 


"Ah," the Everman said. "The... Gobi Outpost. That's... interesting. 
Very interesting. | did not realize that... 120 was still active. We'll... 
speak of that later. This list will help me... find many things that were 
lost." 


"Like the location of the Home Ceitu?" the Beller asked. 


"The home...?" The Everman looked at him strangely for a moment, 
and then realization dawned in his strange eyes. "Ah. You mean... 
Site 23. Yes, it's in there, though... | could have told you where that 
was." 


"You... could?" The Beller had been so focused on the papers, it 
hadn't occured to him that the Everman wouldn't need them. No, 
he'd come from there too, hadn't he? 


"Of course," the Everman said. "It's to... the west of us, and a little 
north. |... remember it well, though... | try not to visit there often. 
It's... a dangerous place now. 184's effects are... difficult to predict. 
Especially after all this time." 


"But think of the secrets that it must hold!" the Beller said. "Why, it's 
the birthplace of humanity, the holding place of so many Wonders, 
and the grave of Starel himself!" 


The Everman stiffened. His eyes narrowed, an eerie effect with all 
four staring down at the Beller. "Strelnikov," the monster said, 
"Dmitri Arkadeyevich." 


"What?" the Beller said, confused. 


"Strelnikov, Dmitri Arkadeyevich," the Everman repeated. "That... is 
how he introduced himself... to me. When we met. It is how | have 
always referred to him. It is how you shall refer to him." 


"I... yes, all right," the Beller said. "Starelnikoff Damichree 
Arkadayivitch. No problem." 


"...Close enough," the Everman said. "And yes... He is in there. 
With 682. Grave? Perhaps. A fitting tomb. He was... the best of us, 
you know. We did so well, when he was with us." 


"What happened?" the Beller asked, sensing the Everman wanted 
an audience. 


"Yoric," the Everman said through gritted teeth. "It was all his fault." 


The Beller had a moment of panic, thinking to his ring, but realized 
that it was gone with the finger that had worn it. "He... hurt you?" 


"He turned them all against me,” the Everman said. "All my friends. 
Without Strelnikov, Dmitri Arkadeyevich, there was no one to defend 
me. And after all | did!" He slammed two hands onto the table with 
enough force to crack the wood and tip over the pot and the cups. "| 


was the one who solved the D-Class problem! | was the one who 
suggested we alter their reproductive DNA. Rights may have done 
the work, but it was my idea! | was the doctor, | kept us all in health! 
| cured the diseases, | fixed the injuries. But did they remember 
that? No. They didn't care. They just wanted to stop my work. They 
said it was wrong, but | know the truth. They were jealous that | 
could see farther, that my hands grasped the fire. 


"Yoric." He spat the name. "He hated me ever since the Raelin 
incident. He should have been grateful. | was his friend! | helped 
him! | only ever wanted to make him better, but did he care? He 
turned everyone against me. Cast out. No friends, no lab. Nothing 
but my surgeon crabs to care for me. And all | ever wanted was to 
help people! Well, I'll show them. I'll show everyone. I'll make them 
better, they'll see. And they'll thank me for it! No one will ever dare 
throw me out again!" The Everman's eyes were wide and mad, and 
veins rose from his neck. 


Slowly, his eyes focused again on the Beller. "You. You won't... 
leave me, will you?" he asked, pleading. "You're my friend... yes?" 


"Er, yes, of course,” the Beller said, terrified. The Everman was 
mad, clearly. If he hadn't been to start with, the years alone must 
have done it. 


"Good, good," the Everman said. "I knew you were... different, as 
soon as | saw you. You won't... abandon me. I'll... I'll help you. I'll 
make you... better! That's what I'll do." 


"Oh, that's all right," the Beller said nervously. "I think I'm good 
enough for now." 


"No, I... insist," the Everman said. He gestured to his servant, which 
grasped the Beller with a strong, vice-like grip. "| understand your 
reluctance, but you'll see. It's for your own good. I'm your doctor, 
after all." He stood and walked for one of the doors. The servant 
followed, forcing Beller along. 


Dr. Mann pulled out a small metal object and placed it into a slot on 
the door, then turned it. The door opened, and then entered. The 
Beller found himself standing in a vast, brightly lit room, containing 


hundreds of different relics. 


"My... collection," the Everman said proudly. "Various SCPs, ah, 
‘wonders,’ | think you... call them. Many, the... Foundation never 
even knew. These are just... the ones that... can be stored together, 
you... understand. Others would be more... problematic." He 
continued walking down the aisles, past shelves, boxes, and crates. 
A broad-brimmed hat rested next to a silt-encrusted cup. A picture of 
a girl waved at him from a picture frame sitting by a ruby medallion. 
A stone cube twice as tall as a man, cracked in two... He hardly 
formed more than an impression of any of them as he was dragged 
past. 


They finally came up to a platform, like the one upon which he had 
woken up. Three arms of metal and plastic rose above it. "212," the 
Everman said. "I was... lucky to acquire it. The Foundation never... 
understood it properly. They couldn't... control it. The improvements 
were random, haphazard. |... have better understanding. It will... 
help you, my friend. Help you to... see as | do." 


The Beller didn't know if he meant eyes or beliefs, and he didn't 
want to find out. He twisted as much as he could, and delivered a 
swift kick right between the servant's four legs. It howled and 
released him. Even as the Everman turned, the Beller grabbed a 
box off a shelf. 


"No, you fool!" the Everman shouted as the Beller threw the box's 
contents at him. He tried to grab a tiny red object as it bounced 
away, but it evaded him. The Beller turned and ran. 


He heard crashes behind him, and saw the servant running after. It 
screamed at him, a high-pitched keening that grated at the Beller's 
ears. 


Then something struck the creature, and it stumbled. The Beller 
thought he saw a tiny red streak, and then a shelf collapsed. He 
cursed, and added even more speed, looking for shelter. 


"Traitor! Quisling!" the Everman's voice echoed through the room. 
"Yoric!" 


The Beller saw an odd wheeled box. He jumped inside of it, on the 
off chance it might be enchanted to move. He looked around for 
some sort of control mechanism. There were several levers and a 
large wheel. He tried them, but got no noticeable response as more 
objects broke and shattered around him. Something punched 
through the roof before shattering the front window. The servant, 
one leg trailing behind it, jumped on the front of the vehicle and 
reached through the broken window at the Beller. In desperation, he 
clawed at it, raking at the creature with the hooks the Everman had 
planted in his fingers. It hissed and drew its arm back, then tensed 
as if to jump. 


Finally, the Beller noticed a small metal object, like the one the 
Everman used to open the door. He grabbed it, praying to Geyre 
and Semeril to send him somewhere safe as he twisted it forward.