Please just be the cigarettes. Just take the bribe and move on. 
Spinella's thoughts raced to what else they might be looking at. 
What other suspicions might be raised. 


"What is the meaning of this, now?" The first guard turned back 
toward Spinella. The second guard was holding a bottle of duty-free 
vodka, plumbed from the depths of the satchel. Spinella grimaced as 
he wheezed an exhalation of relief from his chest. The dance 
continued, just as planned. 


"Something to keep me warm on my visit, tovarishch. You know how 
these things go." 


The lean guard smiled once more, tucking the bottle into his coat as 
Yuri removed the cartons of smokes from the contents arrayed on 
the table. "We shall inspect these goods further. Lots of smugglers, 
that sort of thing coming through this crossing. You may take the 
rest of your belongings and proceed." 


The vise that had tightened around Spinella's heart and stomach 
relaxed its grip. He tried not to let the relief that overtook him show 
on his face. "Many thanks. We'll be on our way." He moved to push 
the wheelchair through the checkpoint, when the old man started to 
cackle. Wheezing, low chuckling completely devoid of anything 
human, that could have come from a faulty bellows or a distant air 
vent if Spinella weren't watching it come from his traveling 
companion. Their passage came to a halt. 


Yuri stopped them. "What is so funny, old man?" He stood directly in 
front of the wheelchair, crouching down to be able to look into the 
man's lifeless, watery eyes. 


Oh fuck. Oh fuck. "Please, he is old man, senile, you know?" 


The old man continued his reflexive chuckling. Yuri's expression 
darkened. He looked now to Spinella, accusingly. "Why does he do 
that?" 


"It's reflexive. Please, don't look at him, it upsets him." Spinella 
hurriedly tried to deflect. Jesus Christ, don't look him in the eyes. 


"Traitor in our midst" the old man wheezed out. "Treachery inside. 
Treachery." He resumed the obscene, mirthless laughter. "| can see 
it in me, oh yes." 


The two guards looked at each other. The lean guard brought his 
weapon round, his trigger finger sweeping down over the safety 
lever in a fluid motion as he readied the rifle. 


"Do you know what Command put out this morning? They said to 
watch for anything unusual today at the checkpoints." 


He looked at Spinella. The smile was still there, but all traces of 
amusement were gone. 


"You must agree, this situation. It's unusual." 
Yuri silently moved behind Spinella. The lean guard continued. 


"What sort of man are you bringing in here? What are you playing 
at?" 


The Foundation neurosurgeon was dumbstruck. In all the time they 
had studied this creature, it had never spoken. But now, this...thing, 
had picked this moment for the first time to say something. The 
whole goddamn thing was about to come apart. 


There was only one option left now. He would die on his own terms. 


Spinella suddenly turned around and drove a fist into Yuri's groin, 
striking as hard as he could. The soldier cursed, wide-eyed with 
shock as he sank to his knees. Spinella tried to make a run for it with 
his wheelchair-bound abomination. As he started, his foot slipped on 
a patch of ice, and he fell to the ground. Not even a chance to start 
running, he thought, struggling uselessly to get up. His thoughts 
were interrupted by a blow to the back of the head that sent him to 
the ground. The lean guard stood over Spinella, barely visible 
through his blinding pain, the rifle now pointed at him. 


The old man's eyes remained blank the whole time, the stretched 


translucent skin of his face pulled taut into its ever present skeletal 
grin, expression unchanging as he inexplicably spoke. 


"They'll kill us all. Every single one." The ragged chuckling resumed 
as the checkpoint gate closed. 


The three men were all standing now. The door rattled in its hinges, 
somehow staying intact through the terrific force on the other side 
slamming into it. Stillwell's teeth rattled each time whatever it was 
barreled into the increasingly unstable barrier. 


"The room is shrinking" remarked Juhasz. 


It was true. If Stillwell jumped, he could now touch the skylight. 
Something was very wrong. 


Coogan clenched his fists. "How is that-" 


The three men were knocked from their feet as another blow struck 
the door frame. The unknown force had knocked a hole through the 
middle of the door, splinters of wood traveling through the air like 

mist, unnaturally slow. Only darkness was visible on the other side. 


The room had suddenly shrunk again. The ceiling was now just an 
inch or so over their heads. 


"The key" said Stillwell. "We need it now." 


Coogan hurriedly unbuttoned his coat and his shirt collar, looking 
down. "It's not here, it's supposed to be here!" 


"It's supposed to be around your neck," shot back Juhasz, "how can 
it not be there?" 


"He has to put it there from outside! | don't have it! What is he 
doing?" 


The two other men looked at Stillwell. They were now hunched 
together, constricted by the bounds of the room. The chairs were 
pressed against them and the walls touched their shoulders. They 
were face-to-face with the door. 


Stillwell buttoned his thick, long coat. "Get ready." 
Juhasz arched an eyebrow. "For what?" 
"| don't know." 


Coogan began to pray. A blow of pulverizing force suddenly 
shattered the door to pieces. The room was no more. 


« | Part One | Matryoshka | Part Three | » 


Matryoshka: Part Three 


The sudden, electric buzz of his cell door unlocking assaulted the 
doctor's ears as he lay on the bare metal cot, instinctively recoiling 
from the noise. He raised a scrap of his coat to shield his eyes from 
the light flooding the chamber. A shadow of a person entered, the 
face obscured by the blinding lamps hanging in the hallway outside. 
He backed his way to a corner, desperate to avoid the blows that he 
knew were about to resume. He trembled as the door closed, 
restoring the darkness. Several seconds passed. It was not until a 
full minute had gone by without violence that he dared to uncover 
his eyes. 


Standing over him was a trim, blond-haired man, his uniform cap 
tucked under his arm, along with a large manila envelope. The 
man's smile was natural, and yet still somehow ill-suited for his hard 
face. 


"Hello, Dr. Geissler. My name is Major Maxim Chernikov. I'm here to 
remove you from these premises." 


The doctor began to sit up. Chernikov's smile upset him. He shrank 
further still back into the corner. 


The major laughed. "Oh, not to take you out and have you shot, of 
course. They wouldn't send me to do a mundane task like that. I'm a 
great admirer of your work, by the way. I'd offer to shake your hand, 
but, you know." He motioned to the doctor's raggedly bandaged right 
hand. It was missing three fingers. 


Geissler brought his right arm closer to this body, cradling his ruined 
hand. "I cannot give you what you want," his voice quavering as he 
trembled. "The critical portions-" 


"Are in the laboratory, yes, | am familiar. So you have repeatedly 
informed my men. You must forgive them, they are merely brutes of 
little imagination. But they have their uses. For instance, they have 


convinced me that you are telling the truth." 


Chernikov tossed the manila folder onto the cot. Geissler startled, 
jumping out of his seat away from the parcel. The major laughed 
again. 


"Relax, you're going to be fine. And that's because you're going to 
answer a different set of questions. Questions of my own, doctor. 

No, don't fret, | promise you'll know the answers to these ones, or 
the outcome will be very quick and clean." 


Chernikov suddenly pulled his sidearm, unholstering and drawing in 
one fluid movement as he pointed his pistol at Dr. Geissler's 
forehead. 


"Tell me Doctor, who agreed with Socrates that the soul must 
possess multiple parts?" 


"Wh...what?" 


The Russian cocked the hammer of his pistol, hand steady. The 
smile was gone now. 


The doctor struggled to find his voice. "G-....G-Glaucon!" 


Chernikov's pistol remained fixed in place; Geissler imagined that he 
could feel the barrel boring into his forehead. 


"Which culture never developed the concept of a human soul?" 


The doctor was frozen with fear. "Th-th-the P-Piraha tribe of the 
Maici River, why-" 


"Three hun and how many po?" 
Geissler stared, uncomprehending and terrified. 


"How many po, you subhuman Nazi filth?" Chernikov's voice stayed 
steady. 


"Seven! There are seven!" the doctor pleaded. Chernikov kept the 
pistol pointed at Geissler's head. One second. Two seconds. He 


reportedly uses several loud expletives, and then attaches an 
unknown device to the door, keeping his eyes on SCP-682 the 
whole time. SCP-682 continues to stare. Dr. Clef detonates a small 
plastic explosive charge on the door, causing a containment breach. 
SCP-682 continues to stare. Dr. Clef engages emergency 
secondary lockdown doors and declares a partial containment 
situation. SCP-682 does not react. Dr. Clef proceeds to experiment 
observation center. 


Two minutes later, SCP-682 somehow kills Dr. , the project 
head, by broken neck caused by blunt force trauma against the 
control panel, despite remaining in the testing area. 


Notes: This is the official story and we're sticking to it. The 
alternative, that someone tried to murder Dr. Clef by deliberately 
putting him in the same room as SCP-682, is completely 
inconceivable. O5-7 


Item: High-altitude impact 


Tissue Test Record: 
Denied by O5- 


Termination Test Record: 
Testing denied by O5- 


Notes: Seriously? | mean... seriously? Drop it out of an aircraft and 
let it fall... who in the [DATA EXPUNGED] 


Item: One ordinary human child 


Tissue Test Record: 
N/A 


Termination Test Record: 

Child began to scream and cry when SCP-682 was introduced into 
the cell. Subject was immediately and messily devoured by 
SCP-682. 


Notes: Okay, so that didn't work so well. Maybe the fact that the kid 


lowered his weapon. His smile returned, the gun back to his holster 
while the doctor quietly wept, apparently still capable of being 
relieved to be alive. 


"Good. Your wits are still about you. No signs of concussion. | left 
very specific instructions on that account. We're going to need your 
mind intact." 


Chernikov rapped smartly on the cell door three times. It opened 
promptly. A uniformed adjutant handed the Major a radio handset. 


"Oh, come now Doctor. We're on the verge of a great discovery. If 
you're lucky, we might even allow your name to remain in the history 
books. Open that envelope, now." 


The doctor tried to regain a measure of composure. He pulled the 
envelope closer. Chernikov began speaking Russian into the radio 
set. 


He opened it, shaking the envelope to disgorge its contents. Out 
tumbled photographs of Liesel and the children. His eyes went wide. 


Chernikov paid no attention to the doctor as he continued his 
conversation. A scratchy, monotone voice spoke at length from the 
handset, occasionally pausing to allow Chernikov to speak briefly. 
Geissler studied the photograph; the street sign outside of the house 
was Clearly visible. Ashbury Lane. They had been discovered. 


The Major rapped three times more on the door, his conversation 
now over. The adjutant reappeared, this time with two additional 
guards. The doctor had not seen these ones previously. 


"There's one more item in that envelope, Doctor. You'll want to see 
this one, it will be comforting to you." 


The doctor finally looked Chernikov in the eye. The Russian looked 
confident, unconcerned. He peered into the envelope, spotting 
something tucked in the bottom. He fished it out with his good hand. 


"| collected that myself, as a favor. | thought you may like a 
reminder. Many men in my battalion liked to carry these around." 


Doctor Geissler held the lock of jet-black hair, tied with a scrap of 
white lace that he instantly recognized from Liesel's wedding dress. 


"She won't miss it, of course. They tell me she was sleeping quite 
soundly. My men were in and out before anyone woke up, it seems. 
They're very good at that." 


The doctor took the full measure of Chernikov's words. He had 
imagined his own life to be forfeit once he had come to this place; it 
was only a matter of time, he had thought. As far as Liesel knew, he 
had been dead since 1945; a necessary condition of his 
arrangement with the Foundation. Death seemed a formality, a 
settling of accounts long outstanding. But he had never imagined 
that the Foundation would be compromised to the point of exposing 
his family. The full extent of the damage was becoming more clear. 
His thoughts branched out again past his own impending demise. 


"| trust we have your full, unhesitating cooperation now, Doctor?" 


Geissler placed his feet on the floor, and slowly, agonizingly stood 
up on bruised and bleeding legs. He closed three stumps and an 
intact ring finger around the lock of his wife's hair, clenching it in his 
fist, fresh blood seeping out of the wounds on his hand and already 
starting to drip. 


"Yes. Major." 


Chernikov beckoned the guards into the cell. "Clean this one up, get 
him some clothes. Feed him while you're at it." 


The two guards made their way to the Doctor, beginning to ease him 
out of the cell, in a strangely gentle manner. Chernikov donned his 
cap, and started down the hall ahead of the party. 


"We're headed back to Site-7, Doctor. There's much to do." 


The GRU-P official disappeared around the corner. The guards 
eased the doctor into a wheelchair, waiting outside his cell. The 
doctor made a note to himself to properly thank Major Chernikov 
when he had the chance. He had thought that he wished for death 
before this visit. But he knew now that he was mistaken. There was 


something to live for after all. 

Doctor Geissler's swollen black eyes and cornea abrasions made 
his expression unreadable to any of the attending guards and 
medics. His newly kindled hatred went unnoticed. 


« | Part Two | Matryoshka | Part Four | » 


Matryoshka: Part Four 


The muddy slush of frozen earth soaked into Spinella's clothes as 
he writhed on the ground, gasping for air, spitting blood. From his 
back, he watched the old man's shadow on the ground beside him 
lengthen and darken. No. This was not the plan at all. 


The two checkpoint guards did not notice the solidifying darkness 
cast onto the ground as they barked questions into the radio. Had 
they looked next to the prone figure of Spinella on the ground, they 
would have seen the black outline of the old man's shadow grow 
ever thicker, solidifying until it appeared to corrode the ground 
beneath it. The snow it touched instantly evaporated into thick 
vapor. Thin black lines, trailing at sharp angles and hanging in the 
air, inexplicably rose from the ground where the shadow had now 
formed a yawning hole, its depths impossible to see. 


Spinella weakly gurgled his protests, wheezing and attempting to get 
to his hands and knees away from the forming darkness. Yuri 
wheeled on him as he saw movement from the corner of his eye, 
and then stopped dead as he saw what was rising from the old 
man's shadow. 


The outline of a door had formed, translucent and black, fixed in 
midair like frozen smoke and hovering over the shadow-void cast by 
the old man. The chuckling of the wasted, wheelchair-bound husk 
was now manic and high-pitched, an obscene tittering. Inside the 
doorway was the same infinite blackness being cast on the ground. 
The roughly rectangular frame of the door grew more and more 
defined, its angles sharpening. As Yuri turned to alert his comrade, 
three men were suddenly thrown at great force through the 
otherworldly portal, smashing into him as they all piled onto the 
ground.