“Jesus,” Salvia said. 
“Not to worry. Get your leg on and we'll be off before they know it.” 


Salvia worked the prosthetic back into place and struggled to his 
feet, leaning heavily on his cane. “Mind if | keep the pipe for now?” 


Output: A quilt of similar make and size. 


Input: One (1) of the comforters 

Setting: Fine 

Output: A hand-crafted blanket. The thread count is 
notably high and the surface has a sleek, silky feel, but 
the mass is unaltered. 


Input: One (1) of the comforters 

Setting: Very Fine 

Output: A comforter that has shown moderately 
anomalous properties. Testing with a few voluntary 
subjects shows that wrapping them up in the blanket, 
such that it covers around 80% of their body, results ina 
sense of security and well-being. Subjects wrapped in it 
and laid on their back report drowsiness and lose 
consciousness exactly 300 seconds later. The subject 
remains unconscious until the blanket is removed, at 
which point they awaken, reporting a restful sleep. 
Additionally, during this rest period, minor injuries and 
afflictions disappear, including scrapes, bruises, and in 
one case, a nasty cold. 


Note: Well, that's enough from me for tonight. Someone 
wake me at 8, will you? 


Name: Dr. Collins 

Date: 8/17/2017 

Total Items: Five (5) New generic brand skateboard 
wheels w/ bearings 


Input: One (1) wheel (green) 

Setting: Rough 

Output: A few chunks of unformed green rubber and 
plastic, as well as a small pile of steel dust. 


Input: One (1) wheel (green) 

Setting: Course 

Output: Disassembled green skateboard wheel. 
Appears to have been used heavily and shows scuff 


The Gentleman nodded. “You look like a man in need of fine 
tobacco.” 


The hallway led to an open office floor filled with cubicles. People 
worked at computers, speaking in hushed tones into headsets. No 
one looked up when Salvia and the Gentleman entered. 


“Hard at work,” the Gentleman said, with an approving nod. 
“Aren't these guys, like, the bad guys?” Salvia asked. 


“Aren't you?” The Gentleman asked. “Shades of grey, Doctor. 
Mustn’t point fingers.” 


“Whatever,” Salvia said. He tried to read what the employees were 
working on but couldn’t make anything out from his distance. It was 
hard to believe the people before him worked for MC&D. Most of 
them looked like college interns in sweater vests and cheap ties, not 
the sharply-dressed Luciferan power-brokers Salvia had come to 
equate with them. 


“This way please,” the Gentleman said. 


They hurried along, darting through the rows of cubicles ina 
seemingly random pattern, but it seemed to Salvia that the 
Gentleman was leading them to a door marked “Hazelwood.” 


Before they reached it Salvia was stopped by a pained scream. 
Heads appeared above the cubicles like gophers. A chubby young 
man—no more than twenty, Salvia was sure—clutched his scalp like 
he was trying to pull his own skin off. He fell, smashing his forehead 
against his desk before convulsing on the floor. 


“Jesus!” Salvia uttered. “He’s having a seizure!” 


A woman whirled, her eyes huge and frightened. “What? Who are 
you?” 


“Get him on his side!” Salvia barked. 


Several employees jumped to, rolling the man over. One of them 
balling up his jacket into a pillow to support his head. 


The Gentleman tapped Salvia’s shoulder. “We mustn’t tarry, Doctor.” 
“But—“ 
“He'll be fine,” the Gentleman said. “They’ll take care of him.” 


“ | “ 


“Doctor please, one can't fix all the world’s problems at once. And 
not to be unkind, but | was here first.” 


Salvia frowned, but followed. “Make sure he keeps breathing!” He 
shouted behind him. 


The Gentleman produced his iron key and pressed it to Hazelwood’s 
door, which opened obediently. He stepped in and held the door 
open for Salvia, who entered a spacious, empty office. The door 
swung shut and locked behind them. 


“Okay, what the hell is going on?” Salvia asked, shaking his cane at 
the Gentleman. “My brain is blowing its rape whistle, man! Don't tell 
me that kid just randomly had a seizure!” 


The Gentleman held up a hand. “Stay calm. Breathe. Smoke.” 


Salvia puffed on his pipe, then pulled it from his mouth. “Are you 
drugging me or something?” 


“| wouldn’t do that to the tobacco.” 
“Then tell me what’s going on.” 


“We're almost there,” the Gentleman said. “Our destination will have 
more answers than | can offer.” 


“Where are we going, then? The Wanderer’s Library? The Matrix? 
Fucking Oz, man?” 


“Of course not. We’re on our way to a Foundation facility, by way of 
a detour. We're almost there.” 


“What facility? Site Nineteen? Site Seventeen?” 


“Its designation is classified. I’m sorry, but it’s better for your 
continued employment if you don’t know it. ” 


“Jesus Christ, you’d get better results with honey than horseshit, 
man.” 


The Gentleman frowned, reaching into his coat and checking his 
pocket watch. “Calm yourself, and try to mind your manners. 
Comfort in ritual, Doctor.” 


Salvia ran his hand through his hair, pacing in the office. “What 
caused it?” 


“Hm?” 
“The seizure,” Salvia said. “You know, don’t you?” 


“Marshall, Carter and Dark does not deal exclusively with we mere 
humans. Negotiating with some of their clientele requires a measure 
of mental fortitude. Or an efficient turnover record.” 


“Will he die?” 


“'d say not. He can be easily replaced, but in truth the Firm sees 
greater advantages in keeping its peons hearty and hale than 
simply... tossing them to the lions?” 


Salvia frowned. “Point made.” 
"Good." The Gentleman checked his watch again. “Time to go.” 


He went to the window and tapped it with his umbrella. The glass 
slid easily out of place and dropped out of sight. 


“Woah, woah!” Salvia cried as the wind rushed in. Papers went 
flying from the desk and scattered into the sky. 


“Mind the step,” the Gentleman said. He walked off the edge. 


“Jesus!” Salvia exclaimed. He went to the edge and looked out. The 
street was far, far below. He couldn’t see any sign of the pane of 
glass or the Gentleman. “Fuck me. Too heavy. Just too heavy." 


He white-knuckled his cane, terrified that if he let go he would just 
drop out of the world like a video game character caught in a glitch. 
Fear clawed at him, trying to find purchase and drive him into a 
panic. There was nothing, nothing out there. He just saw down. And 
at the end of down, a sudden stop. 


“Are you coming?” The Gentleman’s voice spoke out from the empty 
alr. 


“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Salvia replied. 
“It’s quite safe.” 

“Nuts.” 

“Doctor, we don’t have all day.” 

“Says the goddamn wizard. This isn’t cool, man!” 


“If it helps, there is really no going back from here. Marshall, Carter 
and Dark will not be pleased to find a Foundation employee in the 
heart of their operations. The employee benefits are exceptional, but 
you aren't an employee. And the Foundation will not even know 
you're here.” 


“Friggin’ rhino’s bargain,” Salvia muttered. “Why not just put a gun to 
my head?” 


“Because one way or another, you already had one to your head 
when we met. | offered you a way out in exchange for your help.” 


“This is why | hate you people!” Salvia said, “The Foundation, the 
Hand, this fucking office Wolfram and Hart bullshit! And you! Fuckin’ 
Arnim Zola in a bowler hat telling me to leap off a building! The fuck 
do you think lam? I’m... I’m just a guy, man! | smoke a pack a day, | 
eat poutine, | watch porn, | order pizza, and | just wanna get through 
life with a minimum of fucking stress, goddamnit! 


The Gentleman’s voice was calm, even amused. “You chose an odd 
profession for a Dudeist. Please Doctor, I’m in need of your help.” 


“Why? What can | possible give you that you can’t already do with 


your key and your hat and your tobacco?” 


“Results,” the Gentleman said. “The building’s security has been 
alerted to you. Time to make a choice. I’d rather they didn’t find 
you.” 


Salvia swallowed and stared at the streets below. “Fuck. Fuck. 
Fuck.” 


“One step.” 

“That’s it?” 

“’m not trying to trick you into suicide, doctor.” 
“Easy for you to say.” 

“Indeed, but it is the truth.” 

Someone knocked at the door. "Open up!" 
“Doctor?” The Gentleman asked. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck it? 

He jumped. 


Then stumbled and landed hard on a metallic floor in an enclosed 
space, brightly lit from the ceiling above. 


“Woah!” Salvia cried. “Woah, woah! I’m fucking sick of falling on my 
ass already!” 


The Gentleman stepped into his view, hands on his umbrella, a 
smile on his face. “See? Nothing to it.” 


“Christ man, don’t fucking do that to me!” 


As he stood, Salvia's eyes were drawn to the odd welding scars that 
marked the floor. And he saw more on the walls. Long and curved 
like talons. The air was heavy and acrid in his nostrils. 


“Where are we?” He asked. 


“Her chambers,” the Gentleman said. 
“Her?” 


The wall shuddered, and alarm klaxons began to sound. Panels 
retracted, exposing a large cylindrical canister. 


682 was written on the side in flaking white paint. 


“Get behind me, please,” the Gentleman said. “She’s shy around 
newcomers.” 


Salvia felt the pipe drop out of his mouth, but his mind was very far 
away from it. 


The canister hissed, and clear tubes connected to it drained away 
some kind of brackish green fluid. The hatch opened, and the 
mostly-melted remains of a reptilian thing dropped out onto the floor 
with a wet slap. 


Salvia made a sound, somewhere between a whimper and a 
scream. His mind seemed to pull at him, trying to drag his 
consciousness away from what he was looking at. He wanted to run, 
to cry, to bash his own skull against the wall until his brain broke 
free. 


The Gentleman puffed on his pipe. 


The mass of ruined flesh shuddered. What Salvia realized was an 
exposed lung inflated and deflated, expelling green liquid onto the 
floor. 


Not dead not dead not dead notdeadnotdead— 
“We,” Salvia whispered. “Shouldn't be here.” 
“No,” the Gentleman agreed, just as quietly. “Try not to speak.” 


SCP-682 flexed and shivered, then began to take shape. Flesh 
darkened, blood—if Salvia could call it that—began to pump from 
what he assumed were veins. Or maybe he just thought they were. 
Maybe he was just imagining organs, to make sense of something 


so wrong that looking at it was harmful otherwise. He thought of the 
boy in Marshall, Carter and Dark his brain short circuiting just for 
talking to something humanity hadn't evolved to perceive. He 
realized somewhere in his mind that he was digging a furrow into his 
cane with the edge of his thumbnail. 


What might be a torso sat up, what were probably arms stretched, 
and what couldn’t be a head turned to regard them both. It tilted to 
the side, like a puppy considering a strange new sound. 


Then it /eaped, impossibly fast. Claws reached out for them and 
then came down on the metallic floor, scratching fresh gouges into 
it. A guttural sound rumbled from 682’s chest. “Disgusting.” 


The Gentleman offered a weak smile. “Good evening.” 


“Disgusting...” 682 started to pace like a caged animal. If Salvia had 
been a madman, he could have reached out and brushed its limbs 
with his fingertips. 


“We’re trying out best,” the Gentleman said. “Baby steps.” 


682 snarled, coughing up something that slapped against Salvia’s 
face. Against all sanity, he let out a whimper. 682 whirled on him, 
teeth bared. Thick rivulets of saliva oozed from long teeth. 


“Please,” the Gentleman said. “He’s my guest.” 


682 didn’t seem to be listening. The moment went on for hours 
inside Salvia’s head. Finally it backed away, and its gaze met his 
own. Raw hatred pulsed from it, beating at his psyche with all the 
grace of a machete. Salvia felt his bladder give up the fight. 


The Gentleman cleared his throat. “We need access to the Archive.” 
682 snarled. “Always. Never. / am not your charge!’ 
“No,” the Gentleman said. “You are not.” 


It paced again, back and forth, back and forth. Finally it turned away 
from them both. “Go.” 


The Gentleman nodded. “Thank you, Lady.” 

“Disgusting.” 

“Yes. But we're trying.” 

682 growled. It crawled towards its canister, muttering to itself. 


“There,” the Gentleman said to Salvia. “We can go. A Gentleman 
does not overstay his welcome.” 


He led Salvia—by the hand—towards the door. When Salvia 
realized this he eagerly fell into step. 


“Doctor.” 682’s voice rang out in the room. The Gentleman stopped 
and both men turned to regard it. 


“When are you going to let me out of this box?’ 
The Gentleman licked his lips. “Sooner than you might be ready.” 


682 chuffed, but Salvia couldn't tell if it was annoyed or amused. It 
entered the canister, which sealed shut and began filling with green 
fluid that sizzled away 682’s flesh, even as it relaxed into what 
looked like a sleeping posture. 


“Come along, Anguis,” the Gentleman said. “We’re at our 
destination.” He opened the door and pushed Salvia through. 


They found themselves in an empty black void. Salvia's feet were 
touching something solid, but the sheer feeling of vastness almost 
stole his breath. 

Instead, he fell to his knees and vomited. The Gentleman stood a 
respectable distance away, patiently waiting as Salvia let up his 
morning Cheerios. 

“A natural reaction, all things considered.” 

“Fuck me,” Salvia said. “Do you realize what that thing was?” 


“She. And yes. This way.” 


Salvia shuddered. He wanted to scream and keep screaming. He 
pressed the snake-head pommel of his cane to his face, taking 
several steadying breaths until he could finally will himself to stand. 


“Where are we?” 


“Elsewhere,” the Gentleman said. “An archive for my companions 
and I. Think of it as a library for things that shouldn’t be. Yet. Or 
otherwise.” 


“What?” 
“Exactly. There it is.” 


A light came on, a Chinese paper lantern that cast a red glow. Below 
it was a pedestal made from wood, and atop that a folded piece of 
paper. The Gentleman came to stand beside it. 


“Doctor,” he said, gesturing at the paper. “Would you open this for 
me?” 


Salvia blinked. “Are you... are you shitting me?” 


“No.” The Gentleman said. His face was flat, but his tone was heavy 
with importance. 


“You brought me through all that... for this?” 


” 


“Yes. 


“That's it? No sword in the stone? No Matrix, no Wonderland... just 
a fucking piece of paper?” 


“Yes. Please.” 
Salvia wiped his lips. “I can’t take these games anymore, man.” 


The Gentleman shook his head. “Anguis, | wouldn’t have brought 
you through all of that, exposed you to all of this, if the task in front 
of you was a mere matter of physical labor. | asked earlier what you 
thought of the human race. You said it was a matter of 
existentialism. You have no idea yet how astute your answer was. 


Every day the human race must make rational sense of an absurd, 
irrational world. Today you were exposed to a sample of that truth, a 
truth so many men—including the Foundation itself—have happily 
dismissed as imaginative insanity, or deluded themselves into 
believing they simply lack the scientific language to define.