Doctor Leon Red and Junior Researcher Paulus Shirt looked down 
into the testing chamber. Inside, a gaggle of doctors were probing, 
poking, and otherwise inconveniencing the poor little mister 
contained within. 


"So we're supposed to be doing tests on Mr. Stripes, huh?" asked 
Paulus, absentmindedly flipping through a data chart. "What've we 
gotten so far?" 


"Nothing." 
"Nothing?" 


"Absolutely nothing." Leon pointed at the documentation in Paulus' 
hands. "Did you even read the dossier?" 


He shrugged, and flipped through a dozen pages. "Well, | tried to, 
but it was all redacted and stuff." 


"Exactly. What's the use in someone who redacts the results of 
every test?" 


Paulus dropped the clipboard into the trash can, and looked back 
down into the testing chamber. The scientists were now struggling to 
take notes on their experiment. "Hey, at least it'll be impossible to 
recover the data that details your miserable failure." 


"True... you want to go do some thing. faa 


"What was that?" 


"| if you wanted to do a ny after 


"Oh. Oh." 


Mr. Hungry 


It was on the eleventh hour, of the eleventh day, of the eleventh 
meal that Mr. Hungry put down his fork. 


The attending volunteers looked on in confusion. "What's the matter 
with you? Don't you want to eat?" 


Mr. Hungry absentmindedly picked at the menagerie of food stuck in 
his teeth. "You know? I've gotten a little bit of bad news, and it's put 
the kibosh on my appetite." 


He got out of his chair, and went back to his quarters, satiated. For 
now. 


Mr. Laugh 


The video began with darkness, and the sound of a "Ha, ha, ha, ha." 
Video fades in, and in the center of the room a clown sits ramrod 
stiff, apart from his lips, on a bright yellow stool. His fingers tapped 
on his knees and occasionally his bow-tie would spin. A rope was 
tied around his waist, and a dozen men were pulling on it, to no 
avail. This clown wasn't going anywhere. 


It clicked off after a minute, showed a brief image of the 
Foundation's logo, and left the room in silence. 


"How long has he been like this?" 


"Ever since we re-activated Alpha-9. We don't think there's any 
chance of recovery." 


"Well, he wasn't going to be much of an asset, anyways. Store him 
back with the others." 


"Yes, ma'am." 


Mr. Chameleon 


Incident Report 905-A: On 09/18/20XX, SCP-905 was 
briefed on the possibility of being an asset for new 
Mobile Task Force Operations, in exchange for extended 
privileges and other perks specific to SCP-905, such as 
the privilege of socializing with other "Misters". 


In response, SCP-905 rendered itself transparent, and 
avoided coming into contact with researchers when they 
entered its containment chamber. When ordered to 
return to visibility, SCP-905 replied “You guys are full of 
[EXPLETIVE REDACTED] if you think | want to be 
recalled. Can't you go ask Redd or something?” 


Due to the fact that it is impossible to move SCP-905, 
but it is unable to leave its containment chamber, it has 
been reclassified as Euclid and given much stricter 
containment procedures. SCP-905 still refuses to 
converse with Foundation personnel, but communication 
attempts are to continue to confirm that it is still in 
containment. 


Mr. Life and Mr. Death 


Item Description: SCP-1007. A humanoid which goes through an 
accelerated life cycle when a key is inserted into its back. 

Date of Evaluation: 09/18/20 

Status: Not recommended for recruitment 

Current Status: Contained within Site- . 

Notes: How the hell would this one ever be useful? -Dr. Aktus 


Mr. Brass 


On 09/18/20 , while discussing recruitment to Alpha-9, Mister Brass 
printed a piece of paper from an unknown device within its body, 
and then broke down to its individual components. Reconstruction 
efforts were successful, but Mister Brass has politely refused all 


further attempts at recruitment, citing "Warranty issues." 


Mr. Brass can only click and jerk 
A reliable friend, to kids alert 
It doesn't mean he'll always work 


But the Doctor's Orders, always a perk 
Makes it so that he won't hurt 
Mr. Brass can only click and jerk 


So when the agents began to lurk 
A fighting robot, power to exert 
It doesn't mean he'll always work 


Boy, we made them look like dorks! 
Stupid, useless robot, no kids to report 
Mr. Brass can only click and jerk 


The parts popped off, just like a cork. 
Rusted, suddenly, wet as a port 
It doesn't mean he'll always work 


They thought there was more to be borked. 
They thought the Doctor might be a good sport. 
Mr. Brass can only click and jerk 
It doesn't mean he'll always work. 


Mr. Soap 


"Yeah, sure, I'll give ita shot." Mister Soap said, smiling from his 
slip-proof stool. "Not like Wondertainment ever did anything for me." 


"That's excellent!" said Agent Pierre. "If you come with me, we can 
work out the details.” 


Mr. Soap smiled, nodded, stood up, fell down, and slid backwards 
into his cell. 


"... Do you need any help?" 


"No! | got this!" exclaimed the sudsy showman, as he attempted to 


right himself, and ended up slip slidin' away, into another wall. "Ow! 
Fudge!" 


Pierre watched as Soap failed repeatedly to right his frictionless 
form. Before too long, all he was doing was spasming in a pile of 
suds. 


"... Maybe you should come back later." 


Mr. Moon 


On 09/18/20 , SCP-917 vanished from its containment 
chamber. 11 hours later, personnel on Site Thoth-1 
reported a humanoid entity wandering aimlessly on the 
surface of the moon. Attempts to recapture this entity, 
which was soon proven to be SCP-917, have been 
unsuccessful. Every time agents approach SCP-917, it 
flees on foot faster than they are able to move. 


It is hypothesized that SCP-917 may be living out of the 
Apollo-18 capsule. Containment procedures have been 
altered to reflect the fact that the containment area is 
currently the moon. 


Mr. Lost 


"Well, we really can't find him this time," Darryle said, as he squinted 
across the smooth, Venusian landscape. "The probe's resolution 
isn't high enough to see him, and we've only got an hour till this 
sucker dissolves." 


Behind him, Agent Alias shrugged. "Well, he's probably gone back 
to wherever he was from," she said, carrying binoculars in both 
hands. "Can you turn us around now? | mean, unless you think 
there's something else to gain." 


"Naw. Let's go— wait, is that him?" 


"You see him? What does that mean?" 


"Shit, that means | have no idea where we are." 


Dear SCP Fund! 


Thank you for your interest in LITTLE MISTERS, BY 
DOCTOR WONDERTAINMENT! We sure do appreciate 
your collector's spirit and we hope you keep at 
it in the future, sports! 


HOWEVER it has come to the attention of DOCTOR 
WONDERTAINMENT LITIGI-RIFFIC LAW SQUAD 6000 
that you may be using your LITTLE MISTERS, BY 
DOCTOR WONDERTAINMENT in a way which violates 
the DOCTOR WONDERTAINMENT TERMS AND 
CONDITIONAL CONDITIONS LISTAROO. 


Please discontinue this activity if you wish to continue 
using your LITTLE MISTERS, BY DOCTOR 
WONDERTAINMENT. 


SINCERELY DOCTOR WONDERTAINMENT 


O5-4 closed the Misters dossier. He pulled one piece of paper from 
beneath it, and stared. The containment procedures for Mister 
Collector, his predecessor, were very simple. It was only kept 
separate from the other Misters for personal reasons. 


Mister Collector missed his friends terribly. 


05-4 wrote out a small response to the Misters mobilization 
proposal, and pushed it out of his sight. 


not recommended for further consideration at this time/ 
future considerations depend on alpha-9's needs 
Dr. Wondertainment looked over the note leaked from Overwatch 


command, and strongly considered jumping for joy. 


"Alright!" the good doctor declared, spinning in the spinniest chair. 
"We got 'em!" 


Wondertainment pressed one of the myriad of buttons protruding out 
of the sexy mahogany desk, specifically the one labeled "CLEAR 
HANDICAPS". 


Within Site- , eight men sighed with relief, and got back to whatever 
they'd been up to before. 


The other wondered how he was supposed to get back home. 


Additional Resources 


Dietrich stepped out of the bathroom stall and headed for the sink. 
His hard soled shoes echoed off the walls with each step, and the 
cool rushing faucet water broke the silence in the empty men's 
restroom. A quick splash of water to the face to calm his nerves a bit 
and a long exhale later, he looked through the mirror in front of him 
and over his own shoulder. 


"...Yeah | know... | saw the email too... it's scheduled in three 
weeks, what you reckon | do about it?" 


He paused to wait for the answer, but shook his head dismissively. 


"Merle... seriously... | ain't havin’ this today, understand? Don't 
make me regret teachin' ya sign language. Can ya just be quiet fer 
the next hour?" 


He splashed more water on his face and dried off, careful not to drip 
any onto his black tie or white oxford shirt. His frizzy hair standing 
almost straight up, but that's how it normally was and most agents 
could care less how their hair looks while on duty. Dietrich would 
much rather be fishing for bluegill in the cool Ozark lakes than 
continue looking at Merle's blank expression in that mirror. 


"| can't be talkin’ to you like this right now. Why? Because folks are 
getting wise to this act like they always do. And if we're still here for 
the annual exam, shit's really gonna hit the fan fer the both of us." 


He paused for a moment to look at the response. 


"Fine. Just help me keep it together fer another week then I'll put in 
the transfer outta here before the appointment. But'cha gotta give 
me some space, Merle. Good? Good." 


He adjusted his shoulder holster one last time before exiting the 
restroom and into the hallway, trying not to directly look at Merle in 


his periphery (which was something he'd gotten quite adept at). 


Karlyle adjusted his jacket and walked into the server room. The 
technology center at Site-19 was impressive, no doubt, and to 
Karlyle it might as well have been magic. He toyed with the idea of 
childishly pulling a plug, just to see what kind of chaos it might 
wreak, but decided that would be better left to somebody a bit 
younger and a bit less responsible. 


Dr. Hamilton was waiting for him near the north wall, idly tinkering 
with a loose socket. He noticed Karlyle approaching and stood up to 
shake his hand. 


"Director," Hamilton said, "welcome to the server racks. This is... 
well, it's not the central mainframe, but it is for our department." 


Karlyle shook his hand. "A pleasure, doctor. As always, the 
innovations that Site-19 is capable of producing are a wonder to 
me." Hamilton chuckled politely. "| assume that you received my 
inter-office communication, then?" Karlyle continued. 


Hamilton nodded. "! got your email, sure. What did you want to talk 
about?" 


"Your Al division. | saw some of your preliminary results, and | was 
thoroughly impressed. My technicians at Site-81 are interested in 
setting up a similar model, and have a very rough prototype in the 
making, but..." He paused, furrowing his brow. "Some of the more 
nuanced specifications are foreign to them, | am afraid." 


"That's just fine, | know exactly who you need to be talking to." He 
hesitated. "That said, I'm not exactly sure why you're here. You're a 
busy guy, couldn't you have sent somebody?" 


Karlyle smiled. "| enjoy seeing new things, doctor. Besides, | was in 


town for other business." 


The moment Karlyle ended his sentence, Dietrich entered the room. 
He immediately adjusted his slouching posture and tried to suppress 


Object Traded: An GPS tracker with a video camera attached. The 
item was disguised as a phone. 


Object Received: A book about stalkers. 


Notes: No GPS signal received. 


Experiment 702-018 


Name of Researcher: Dr. Hancock 

Interacting Personnel: D-2175 

Object Traded: exact replica of SCP-702 

Object Received: entire replica of SCP-960 

Notes: upon seeing the replica, SCP-702-1 seemed startled and 


then looked down at SCP-702, upon seeing SCP-702, SCP-702-1 
calmed down and was able to make a trade 


Experiment 702-019 


Name of Researcher: Dr. Hancock 

Interacting Personnel: D-2175 

Object Traded: One pill of SCP-500 

Object Received: Testing denied by O5 command 


Notes: "We can't risk wasting an extremely limited SCP, denied" 
O5- 


Experiment 702-020 


[DATA EXPUNGED] 


any amount of apparent surprise. The server room was about as 
exciting as the janitor's closet and about as frequently visited by the 
higher-ups. Nevertheless, it was just another Wednesday to them. 


"Howdy." Dietrich expressed his normal casual greeting to both. 
"Don't reckon you two have login issues do ya?" 


Merle visibly face-palmed in an adjacent reflection; an expression 
entirely ignored by Dietrich. 


"Hardly." Hamilton gave a quirky smile. "Actually we were just 
discussing you, Agent Lurk." 


"Lurk?" Karlyle raised a brow a bit. "That is not a call-sign is it?" 


"No, it's uh, Scottish... Pa's side. Used to be M'Lurgh, but ya know 
how 'Mericans got trouble pronouncin things and such. Pretty much 
everyone reacts the same way when they hear it the first time." 


Hamilton nodded awkwardly. "Right. Anyway, the Director is looking 
for someone to help develop an AIC for Site-81." 


Dietrich looked at Hamilton, then Karlyle, and finally a quick glance 
at Merle who was pointing his attention back at the doctors. 


Dietrich tilted his head in response, "Look... | may quack like a 
researcher, but | sure as hell ain't one... sir. | just help the real nerds 
turn their pet projects into practical tools. Tightenin' up that gap 
between theory and practical stuff, ya know?" 


Karlyle smiled. "As it turns out, that is exactly what | am here to 
discuss. Dr. Hamilton, if | may?" 


Hamilton waved his hand dismissively. "Go right ahead, director. I've 
got this feeling that | don't want to be any more involved than this." 


Karlyle gestured to a side room, and followed Lurk into it. He closed 
the door behind them, and they sat down at the conference table. 


"Mr. Lurk..." 


"Better to call me Dietrich, if'n ya want to use names." 


Karlyle nodded. "All right, Dietrich. | want to talk about your AlCs, 
and how they might respond to an invasive, wholly technological 
threat." He kicked back in his chair. "Let us say that some 
aggressive, technological SCP entity breaches containment 
somewhere and gets onto the mainframe for a site. They are 
threatening to lock the site down, activate the on-site device, as 
such. How would one of your AlCs handle such a situation?" 


"Well..." Dietrich tipped back a bit in his chair to construct his words, 
ruminating on the problem for some time. "First off, this ain't my 
division. I've just been helpin' them get off the floor and into the field 
so ta speak. And second, | reckon it depends. AlCs are like real 
folks. They think, feel, make mistakes... they just do it much faster 
than we can. 


"But that's just it ain't it?" he continued, leaning forward. "They think 
fast and are even faster on the trigger... and sometimes both at the 
same time. If the barn's on fire, ya don't wait fer it to rain, right?" 


Karlyle nodded. "In your experience, then, do you feel like the 
models we have available now are suitable for handling a site's day- 
to-day activities?" 


"Reckon so. That's what they's built fer, anyway." 
"What about combat?" 
Dietrich hesitated. "What about combat?" 


"Imagine, if you will, that an anomalous threat becomes apparent 
somewhere in the world. How far do we have to go until the AlCs 
are capable of addressing the threat directly, attacking it and 
containing it, without outside direction?"