"God, damn it, Vince! You're always so fucking selfish!" Phineas 
shouted. "You left your wife and daughter to pursue your dreams 
alone, you killed your best friend for holding a dissenting opinion on 
the direction you were steering the company he helped build, and 
now you trapped a construct of his memories in a virtual prison 
forever! You might not be the worst person to ever drag their sorry 
ass across this planet, but you are certainly a bad man!" 


"I'm not selfish," Anderson weakly mumbled in reply. "I'm a generous 
man..." 


"That's the beauty of it," Phineas sneered. "It’s still selfishness. You 
do these horrible things to people, then you go out on the town 
doing good deeds as you find them as a way to balance the karma 
scales and clear your conscience. In the end, there's nothing 
altruistic there. You're just a frustrated, lonely man who’s become so 
unhinged from the world he resides in that -" 


Anderson pulled the flash drive from the monitor. The screen 
instantly blacked out. 


"Good chat, old friend..." 


Anderson placed his head in his hands and sat in silence. On his 
desk, Benny watched him with a curious eye, and gave a little hum 
as Anderson gently pet the top of the droid with his finger. 


"I'm a generous man, right?" 


The little droid nodded in agreement. A small, tired smile came to 
Anderson's lips. 


"You always know what to say." 


Anderson grabbed a silver tragedy mask that sat on his desk, and 
placed it on his face. He flicked it with a finger, and the expression of 


the mask changed to comedy. He held out his hand and allowed the 
tiny droid to crawl up his arm and perch on his shoulder, then stood 
and made his way towards the door. 


"Let's see how Ms. Quinn is settling in to her new legs," Anderson 
said. The little droid nodded and pointed a single leg onward. 


"| bet she'll say she loves them. Everyone does. Everyone loves 
Anderson." 


« Series Three: Austringers | Anderson Robotics Hub | 
Decisions We Make » 


Dr. Edison's Bargain Bin of Direct-to-Forum Sequels 


When | see a tale that | feel particularly strongly about, | 
occasionally write a short, spur-of-the-moment-"sequel" and post it 
on the tale's discussion page. It's kind of the end result of the 
Foundation not having any set canon; everything written about it is 
equally valid, even the stupid stuff. 


But it's getting kind of hard to find them again, so | figure | might as 
well put them all in one place. | don't claim these are the funniest 
things I've ever written, in fact I'd have to say this it the literary 
equivalent of a deep fried snickers bar. But hey; they're my stories, 
and no matter how stupid they are | think they need to be written 
down somewhere. 


Apologies in advance to the people who wrote the original stories. | 
sincerely thank you for not hunting me down and stringing me up by 
the town hall. 


-Edrobot 


Cut Short 


Sequel to The Long Con 


+ Show 


Keats was in his study, strangling a puppy, 
when suddenly Dr. Clef burst through the 
stained-glass window with a helicopter. "Drop 
the kitten, Keats!" he screamed. "I came here 
to do two things: Chew bubble gum and kick 
ass! And | decided to save the bubble gum for 
afterwards!" 

"Impossible!" said Keats. "I trapped you ina 


building with an infinite number of cloned 
SCP-173s! How on earth did you survive!" 

"It wasn't easy." said Clef, "But after days of 
trial and error, and thousands of casualties, we 
discovered that SCP-173 has a fatal weakness 
to guns and bullets!" 

"Of course!" Keats exclaimed, "The one thing 
no one else had tried!" And he was so angry 
that he decided to shoot Delivery Agent 
Roadrunner with his sniper rifle for no good 
reason. He then held up the puppy and said 
"Stand back! If you shoot me, you'll shoot this 
puppy too!" 

"THAT'S A SACRIFICE I'LL HAVE TO MAKE 
FOR THE GOOD OF THE FREE WORLD! 
AND PROBABLY SOME OF THE PARTS 
THAT ARN'T FREE EITHER" and then Clef 
shot Keats and the puppy with a machine gun 
untill they both died. 

"Tell me-" said Keats. "You could not have 
done this alone! Who set you up to this?" 
"That is a secret to everyone." Said Clef. And 
then Keats died. "Mission accomplished." said 
Clef. "Keats is dead." 

Meanwhile, in his secret Tropical Base, the 
incredibly studly and hansome Dr. Edison 
answered the radio while lounging in his big 
pile of money. "Of course he is. | planned it 
that way. All of my plans go that way beacuse | 
am the greatest researcher of all time. Now if 
you excuse me, | need to stop the Chaos 
Insurgency from stealing the economy of 
Russia." And then he left to go do just that. 


Dr. Edison: Alien Blaster 


Sequel to We Have Dismissed That Claim 


+ Show 


Suddenly, Dr. Rex panicked as the Destroyers’ 
UFO landed on his house. 


"PUNY HUMANS!" said one of the destroyers 
"WE ARE HERE TO VAPORIZE MOST OF 
YOU AND SEND THE REST TO OUR SPICE 
MINES ON RIGEL V!" 


Dr. Rex tried to say "Oh no! | totally thought 
this wasn't going to happen! How dramatically 
ironic!" but he couldn't because he had just 
been vaporized by the destroyers' space guns. 


They then shot Delivery Agent Roadrunner 
with a teleportation gun that sent him to their 
spice mines on Rigel V, where he lived for 70 
tortuous years before he was eaten by a sand 
worm. 


Dr. Edison meanwhile was in Tokyo, dueling a 
ninja master for the possession of a new SCP; 
a magic sword that can shoot lighting and fly 
and sing and show one's true self that can't cut 
the innocent and also causes demons to 
explode that was forged by an ancient samurai 
out of 666666 thousand year old Egyptian 
sarcophagi. Suddenly he got a call from the 
O5 Council; "Edison, The Destroyers have 
come to vaporize most of us and send the rest 
to their spice mines on Rigel V! Are you a bad 
enough dude to blast aliens?" 


"Am | a 10-dan Akido master in addition to an 
ace fighter pilot and a master sharpshooter?" 
said Edison, effortlessly parrying each one of 
the ninja's strikes. "Fuck yeah I'm a bad 
enough dude. In fact you could say that I'm a 
12.0 on the 10.0 scale of badness!" He then 
sliced the ninja master in half using a single 


stroke. "I'll be there in five minutes!" 


Lord Blackwood Vs. The 
Destroyers 


Sequel to We Have Dismissed That Claim 
and Dr. Edison: Alien Blaster 


+ Show 


Suddenly, Dr. Rex Watson panicked as the 
Destroyers' UFO landed on his house. 


"PUNY HUMANS!" said one of the destroyers 
"WE ARE HERE TO VAPORIZE MOST OF 
YOU AND SEND THE REST TO OUR SPICE 
MINES ON RIGEL V BARSOOM!" 


Dr. Rex Watson tried to say "Oh no! | totally 
thought this wasn't going to happen! How 
dramatically ironic!" but he couldn't because 
he had just been vaporized by the destroyers’ 
space guns. 


They then shot Delivery Agent Roadrunner 
Professor Moriarty with a teleportation gun that 
sent him to their spice mines on Rigel V 
Barsoom, where he lived for 70 tortuous years 
solar sweeps before he was eaten by a sand 
worm cannibals. 


Dr. Edison Lord Blackwood meanwhile was in 
Tokyo, dueling a ninja master for the 
possession of a new SCP artifact for his 
collection, a magic sword that can shoot 
lighting and fly and sing and show one's true 
self that can't cut the innocent and also causes 
demons to explode that was forged by an 


The analysis machine is modified such that it contains and supports 
no non-volatile (permanent) writable storage devices, such that it 
never stores a copy of the scanned image that may persist beyond 
the analysis phase. The image is destroyed from the system RAM 
as soon as is possible, through standard secure memory flushing 
routines. 


The firewall is configured to study incoming packets for 
characteristics of properly processed output and destroys the packet 
if an insufficient amount of characteristics are discovered. This 
prevents the transmission of text or images that have not been 
sufficiently obfuscated. 


As SCP-592 is heavily illustrated there are two analysis protocols: 


Analysis of text: The analysis machine uses industry-standard 
Optical Character Recognition (OCR) systems to parse the text in 
the image, and then destroys the image. The text file is then passed 
through a series of custom Natural Language Processing (NLP) 
routines to summarise the text. The original text file is then 
destroyed, and the summary is sent to the secure Foundation 
Intranet. 


The NLP routines analyse the passage using statistical methods 
incorporating databases of diverse English corpora, some details of 
other SCPs, a correct chronology of events extracted from various 
texts, and a severely limited referential network of other entries in 
SCP-592. NOTE: Efforts to increase the degree in which analysis 
references other events resulted in an incident whereby [DATA 
EXPUNGED], resulting in 3 researchers being euthanized (see 
Document SCP-592-_ ). 


The summary is composed in such a way as to mitigate any 
possibility of exposure to the true material of the passage, but still 
provide useful analytical details about the event described. An 
example (SCP-592-SUMM090777-A): 


Note: Lexical tokens from source databases are presented in all- 
caps. 


Date: 7th September 1977 


ancient samurai out of 666666 thousand year 
old Egyptian sarcophagi. Suddenly he got a 
call from the O5 Council Queen of England; 
"Edison Lord Blackwood, The Destroyers have 
come to vaporize most of us and send the rest 
to their spice mines on Rigel V Barsoom! Are 
you a bad enough dude swell enough chap to 
blast aliens?" 


"Wot wot? Am | a 10-dan Akido master in 
addition to an ace fighter pilot and a master 
sharpshooter?" said Edison Blackwood, 
effortlessly parrying each one of the ninja's 
strikes. "Fuck yeah I'm a bad enough dude / 
am indeed a swell enough chap if | do say so 
myself. In fact you could say that I'm a 12.0 on 
the 10.0 scale of badness / am, without 
hyperbolie, the most swell chap in all of 
england!" He then sliced the ninja master in 
half using a single stroke. "I'll be there in five 
minutes! Pip pip cherrio! For queen and 
country!" 


| Still Don't Care 
Sequel to SCP+MLP=DNC 


+ Show 


Suddenly, a blue police box appeared in the 
Head's office. Moments later, a handsome 
brown colt with an hourglass-shaped cutie 
mark emerged from the box. "Sorry to bug 
you, but the multiverse is in grave peril! The 
Changeling Queen and the Cyberponies have 
teamed up with Darkseid to start the eighth 
Holy Grail War! If we don't find the Infinity 
Gauntlet Philosopher's Stone Equation before 
they do-" 


"No." said the department head. 


"You don't understand!" said Doctor Whooves. 
"The fate of the entire galaxy rests in our 
hooves, and only Dr. Clef is a bad enough 
dude to-" 


"No. " 
" But-" 
"NO. w 


Doctor Whooves shook his head. "You know 
what? Fine. You win! I'll just go and get one of 
those Homestuck kids instead. You guys are 
no fun, anyway. No fun at all." The pony then 
went back into his blue box, which dissipeared 
seconds later. 


"Good riddance." said the department head. 


The Long Con 


Two old men sat at a dinner table, directly across from each other. 
Above, an old glass chandelier hangs, ornamented with beautiful 
lights. On the north wall stands an impossibly large portrait of the 
same two men — shaking hands and smiling, their once jet black hair 
now dull gray. 


There's the sound of cutlery moving about, of cups being lifted and 
then replaced. 


“Keats,” one says. 
“Hm?” 
“We need to stop.” 


“Oh? Oh! | agree completely, the Oracle stock is played out and 
useless to us now. We should look to invest in clean -” 


“Not stocks, Keats.” 


Both men put their cutlery down in unison and look at each other. 
They've been friends for so long that neither manages to muster up 
one hundred percent of the steel possible in their gaze. 


“What are you talking about, Bill? | have to say, your train of thought 
is sometimes too fast for me to catch.” 


“You know exactly what I'm talking about.” 
“I'm afraid | don't.” 
“I guess | have to spell it out for you, then.” 


“| Suppose.” 


And here the first speaker -Old Wild Bill, if that matters- looks 
genuinely angry. He almost stands, thinks better of it, and stops 
himself. Silence hangs about the room like a condemned man. 


“You...this, Keats.” He spreads his arms out around him in 
exasperation, showing off their grand surroundings. Indeed, the 
room seems better suited for the upper class streets of London, 
Washington, Tokyo, or Moscow. Who'd believe it was buried meters 
deep in Australian dirt? Who'd believe above these men's heads 
was a Statue that would kill you, an immortal lizard, and perhaps 
worst of all, something red? Who'd believe that below them, even 
deeper still, was a nuclear warhead with a 20 megaton yield? 


As it turns out, quite a lot of people. 
“Are you unsatisfied with the Retreat Room, Bill?” 


“Listen to me, you little shit.” Bill had taken this tone with the other 
man only a handful of times in their long, long acquittance, and it 
slaps Keats awake. 


Old Wild Bill stands, and in that moment, he no longer is an old man, 
but the warrior once called Laughing Bull. His hands, tough black 
leathery things, come down hard on the table. "I've known you for a 
long time, William. | know you better than your old whore of a 
mother knows you. | have stood behind you in all your endeavors; 
even the ones that were monstrous. It was by my will that my old 
tribe did not rip your scalp off on the spot when you came riding into 
our camp. | talked to you, befriended you; you were inquisitive and 
intelligent, but lacking in humanity." 


The other man rolls his eyes and scoffs at the word "humanity". 


"It's true. | followed you because...! cared for you, Keats. You were 
a good friend, despite your greed. But | will not let you hold the world 
for ransom any longer." 


Keats merely takes up a napkin and dabs at his chin and mouth. 
"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" 


“I'm waiting for you to finish this tired little tirade. Or would you rather 


me continue this story? Should | recount the tale of how the metal in 
your backwards little tribe's sacred 'relic' responded to my touch? Or 
should | yell loudly about what we found there? We could take this 
out in the hall, if you please.” 


"The Factory is a mistake, Keats. It is..." He searches for the right 
word. "...not a thing of man. We are not meant to create in sucha 
way." 


"You are correct about one thing there, at least. It's not of man. It is 
mine. The Factory is my will made reality. And an effective tool to 
impose my reality on anyone who cares to disagree." 


"You're mad." 
"Insults now, is it?" 


"Do you realize how old we are, Keats? Why won't you see reason? 
| am two hundred and ten today. | have watched my entire family 
die. Ever since you created that damn water -" 


“Ah, the Fountain of Youth. Not my most graceful or original 
creation, but it works.” 


Bill's rage was growing. He just looked at the other man and gritted 
his teeth. Keats noted this and grinned shallowly. 


“And who would you tell about this grand conspiracy theory, Bill? 
The other O5? They are mine. A man's creations can never turn 
against him. You would know that, wouldn't you, Bill? You're the one 
who produced the most humans with my Factory. What were their 
names, again? Alto and Jack? Oh, and there was the one that 
looked like your son. The old you broke. 'Doctor' Gears, was it?" 


“Shut up, Keats." 


"| think not. You see, | have known of your growing dissent for some 
time, and | have planned this moment. Perfectly, | might add. Do you 
think | would honestly let you walk in here one day and end the 
world's greatest and longest con? No, Bill. There are still countries 
to bribe, blackmail, and ruin. There is still money and power out 
there that | do not yet have. Do you realize what leaders will pay to