trick on him, or some pathetic scam trying to rinse him of 
his last few pennies. But... it didn’t ask for any credit 
card information, and the only thing Evans did was call 
him, “Reibender,” before Captain Moore told him to back 
off. He didn’t mention the letter. 


When Blaine actually arrived at the barracks hidden off 
somewhere among the Surrey countryside, he hugged 
him. 


Lev Shevchenko spent five minutes thinking after he had 
finished his letter- or perhaps fantasizing would be a 
more accurate term. He had always wanted to visit 
England, and with Rios promising to sort out his Visa, it 
had the potential to turn his life around. 


He spent the next half hour arguing with Mr Blaine over 
the accompaniment of Alexandra and Vera, his wife and 
daughter. Blaine finally compromised by agreeing to pay 
for their accommodation and travel, but that they would 
stay in a separate hotel in Devon, more than thirty miles 
away. They agreed on that. 


He waited three hours to tell them, saying no more than 
the occasional hint of a big surprise. He gathered them in 
the living room- after assuring Vera many times that she 
was not in trouble- when he had finally accepted himself 
what was happening. 


It still didn’t stop him breaking into a massive smile 
before he could say the words “Very important letter.” 


9. Lawrence Sellars watched as Henri jumped into the pool 


The storm raged. Waves smashed against the side of 
the Vindication, rain teemed down in its thousands, and 
the moon’s hue was reduced to a vague haze by the 
pitch black clouds. Foundation agent Rawley sat quietly 
inside, reading slowly over her invitation. 


“Dear Ms. Rawley, 

It is my pleasure to invite you to a small social gathering 
at Soldier Island. | have been looking for a decent body 
guard since | acquired the place, and your record 
indicates you are somebody | would like to have in my 
organization. Please consider it. Funding for your journey 
will be provided. My assistant, William Blaine, will arrive 
shortly. Please contact me if you are unable to attend. 
Yours sincerely, 

Mr. Rios-Guy” 

She had gone for it. What the hell, it would be a decent 
excuse for weekend off, and her boss Tanners didn’t 
have a problem with it. 


She looked up at the ten other people on the boat. The 
cabin was cramped; ten of them sat in the cabin, while 
Blaine piloted the boat. 


She turned to the person next to her. He looked about 
five years younger than her thirty two, his face clean- 
shaven and his hair cut short. 


“Hey, why'd they hire you?” she asked, more out of 
boredom than curiosity. 


He responded with a thick American accent. 
“Said they wanted to have a chef.” 


“Huh. Security guard.” She extended a hand for him to 
shake, and he took it. 


“Harry Thornton. Work for the United Independent 
Utilities, hoping that’s going to change soon.” 


“Emma Rawley,” she said, thinking for a moment as to 
whether to mention that independent and united were 
mutually exclusive. 


“You know the owner?” 


“Mr Rios-guy? Nah, haven't even seen him, actually.” 


“Huh. Neither have I. Hey, you ever read And Then 
There Were None? Cause, if | didn’t know any better, I’d 
say this seems like the exact same plot.” 


“You a murderer?” 


“Yes, as a matter of fact. Killed a homeless guy just an 
hour ago,” Thornton said, totally deadpan. 


“Yeah, good one. How long till we get to this damn island 
anyway?” 


“Think that’s it coming up now,” he said, jabbing his 
slender index finger against the window misted by 
condensation at the sole light in the endless expanse of 
the sea. 


Adrian Goddard idly flicked through his e-book on his 
phone. He didn’t really understand it- Why was Norton 
beating up Meeks, when the Helios were dragging Dufay 
away?- but, seeing as he lost any signal on his phone 
twenty minutes ago, he had no other choice, other than 
to talk to the stupid idiots next to him. 


“Hey, you got any connection?” 
Goddamn it. 


“Uh, no it’s just something | downloaded. No connection 
either.” 


“Huh. Hey, I’m Danny, by the way. Danny Clay. Private 
investigator, specialize in stopping corporate espionage. 
Guess this Rios guy... guy doesn’t trust his own 
employees. Hope that doesn’t apply to us, heh.” He 
smiled weakly at his own joke. 


“Hmm. I’m Goddard. UN corporate executive. Rios 
doesn’t even want me for a job, he just decided having a 
UN bloke around would be good press or something.” 


“Hey, you met Mr Rios? Haven’t heard too much about 


” 


him. 
“Neither have |, actually. Odd.” 


Mohammed Ayad sat quietly, his arms pressed against 
the wall in a vain attempt to stop the rocking of the boat 
to send him flying into the person next to him. It didn’t 
work. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, and the man responded with the 
same. 


“Hey, you know anything about this Mr Rios? Just 
wondering, cause I've heard basically nothing about 
him.” 


“Nah, can’t say | do, mate. Only here ‘cause he said he 
could use a speaker like me at the place for a few hours, 
and it’s a free holiday, so why complain? Jay Devers, by 
the way.” 


“Mohammed Ayad,” was all he managed to say before 
William Blaine shouted through the speakers. 


“Uh, we’re coming up to Soldier Island now, if you could 
please get your possessions and be ready to 
disembark.” 


Ayad and Devers exchanged glances, before grabbing 
their suitcases and converging with the others onto 
soldier island. 


The island was small; no landmarks were on it except for 
the rather large house in its centre. A few trees grew on 
the neatly cut grass that surrounded it, a small beach at 
its front. 


As the roar of the boat’s engine started up again, they all 
headed off for their rooms, previously located by Blaine. 


Reiben flopped onto his bed. He was knackered; he had 
spent the last three hours travelling, and all he wanted to 
do was sleep. Still, he’d probably have to meet Mr. Rios. 


He dropped his suitcase (“Suitcase wanker!” Brambly 
had shouted as he left, not maliciously. Reiben returned 
a non-malicious middle finger) onto the floor, before a 
pennant hanging from the wardrobe grabbed his 
attention. 


It read, in a middle-ages esque text: 


Ten little soldiers, all having crossed the line, 
One was distracted, and then there were nine. 


Nine little soldiers, reading books at late, 
One got too tired, and then there were eight. 


Eight little soldiers, two up in heaven, 
One tried to fly and join them, and then there 
were seven. 


Seven little soldiers, blowing out the wicks, 
One got lost in the dark, and then there six. 


Six little soldiers, running to the hive, 
A busy bee stung one, and then there were 
five. 


Five little soldiers, wondering who's Blore, 
One wasn't Wargrave, and then there were 
four. 


Four little soldiers, swimming in the sea, 
One swam out too far, and then there were 
three. 


Three little soldiers, eating up their stew 
One ate too much, and then there were two. 


Two little soldiers, the rest were all gone, 
One AIMS to hang himself, and then there was 
one. 


One little soldier, thinking "I should do that 
again!" 


So we're back to the beginning, 
And then there were ten. 


Reiben felt a pang of fear. Just like the book... Jesus. 
Jesus, why the hell had he come here? He was going to 
die. He was going to die on this god-forsaken island and 
he’d done exactly what he told himself he would be 
clever enough to avoid when he read the damned book, 
had probably inspired the bastard to do this- 


No, he was being ridiculous. Worst case scenario, it was 
a prank, a twisted joke. And he wasn’t a murderer. 


Except for Sam. He couldn’t have known that he’d die. 
Hell, he had taken all responsibility if it all went wrong... 
Commander Moore had cleared him of all blame... 


But Armstrong didn’t have a motive, he did it accidently 
as well... and he probably saved more lives than he 
killed... and he even stopped drinking. Didn't matter to 
Wargrave, killed him anyway. And Armstrong’s first 
name was Edward... 


God, why did he have to fucking invent that piece of shit 
gun that was supposed to, “Save lives”? 


All he managed to mutter was, “Jesus, Sam, I’m so 
sorry.” 


There was a knock on the door. It was the posh bloke 
whose name he had picked up to be Goddard. 


“Hey, Reiben, wasn’t it? Looks like Blaine has set out 
dinner. Should get down there before it gets cold.” 


Reiben shrugged, and followed Goddard to the dining 
room. 


Meals had been set out on the table, each looking 
identical. 


“God, I’m starving,” said Clay. “Let’s eat.” 


“Heh. Let’s hope it’s not poisoned,” Reiben joked. 
Nobody laughed. 


8. Emma Rawley sent the six of them through the doorway 


They sat down, and Devers had just taken his first bite 
when a voice suddenly rang out from the next room. It 
was deep, distorted, inhuman. 


“Ladies and Gentlemen, silence, please.” 


They all stared at each other. Had to be a joke, nobody 
would actually- 


“You are charged with the following: 


“Commander Adrian Kenneth Goddard of the Global 
Occult Coalition, you are charged with causing the death 
of Frederick McPherson. 


“Agent Emma Jane Rawley of the SCP Foundation, you 
are charged with the deaths of Daniel Denney, William 
Carlyle, and Geoffrey Betterton. 


“Lawrence Daniel Sellars, of Are We Cool Yet?, you are 
charged with causing the deaths of thirteen people 
during an anomalous art exhibit. 


“Corporal Edward Richard Reiben of the Chaos 
Insurgency, you are charged with the manslaughter of 
Samuel Birch. 


“Mohammed Omid Ayad, of the Office for the 
Reclamation of Islamic Artifacts, you are charged with 
causing the death of Nicholas Vincent Graves. 


“Jane Helen Anderton, of Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd, 
you are charged with causing the death of Charles 
Jonathan Kimball. 


“Daniel Frederick Clay of the Horizon Initiative, you are 
charged with the murder of an unknown Fifth Church 
Combatant. 


“Harry Michael Thornton of the Unusual Incidents Unit, 
you are charged with the death of Kevin Victor Connors. 


“Lev Yuri Shevchenko of the GRU-P, you are charged 
with the deaths of Victor Cherenkov, Yuri Malarkov, and 
Alexis Artyom. 


“Jacob William Devers of the SCP Foundation, you are 
charged with the murder of 124 people aboard the Regal 
Vindication. 


“What do you say in your defense?” 


7. Mohammed Ayad jammed his foot on the accelerator 


They all stared at each other, taking in the surreal 
situation, before Reiben stumbled away from the table, 
and straight out of the dining room. A vomiting sound 
emitted shortly after. 


The remaining nine stared at each other, before Sellars 
finally said, “I suppose we’re all in on the masquerade. 
No point trying to hide it.” 


“He’s right. We might as well be honest about it,” said 
Clay. 


“| have no idea what you're talking about,” spluttered 
Devers. “What masquerade? What was the voice even 
saying? Total nonsense.” He sipped his drink, perhaps in 
an attempt to look natural. His wooden acting gave him 
away. 


“Bullshit. Look, the rest of us aren’t denying it,” said 
Sellars. 


“So you admit to killing those people?” 


under consideration, alongside with possible computer 
integration. Further specimens found "in the wild" are to 
be contacted with the use of SCP-612-47c if possible. — 
O5- 


1. Inspection of the bulk of Plato's works for related 
materials is to be carried on as soon as possible. —O5- 


« SCP-611 | SCP-612 | SCP-613 » 


Sellars grimaced, before admitting, “I didn’t want anyone 
to get hurt. They were just being idiots, and more people 
would have died if | hadn’t have stopped them.” 


“Fine, I'll admit to killing that Fifthist bastard. Guy killed 
two of my men, | wasn’t gonna let him walk away just 
because he threw his hands in the air.” 


“| have no idea whom Fred McPherson is. You'd think | 
murdered someone I|’d remember it!” shouted Goddard. 


“But you are GOC?” asked Ayad. 
Goddard paused for a moment, before saying, “Yes.” 


There was a noise from outside the room, and everybody 
turned to its source. 


Reiben walked back into the room, looking pale. 


“S-sorry. Got a bit... bit light-headed. Like, this is just like 
And Then There Were None, right? Nobody should drink 
anything, that’s how the first person died.” 


“Shit,” said Devers, looking at the glasses. His was the 
only one that had been drunk at all. 


He coughed loudly, then again, before entering a 
coughing fit. Ayad and Shevchenko, who were sitting 
next to him, grabbed him before he could fall onto the 
floor. 

He suddenly stopped coughing, and went limp. Ayad’s 
hands darted for Devers’ wrist. 


“He’s still got a pulse... We should get him to his room, 
have somebody take a look at him. Anyone here a 
doctor?” 


“I’m no expert, but I’m better than everyone else,” said 
Goddard. 


Shevchenko and Ayad carried Devers between them, 


Goddard following. 


The six people remaining in the dining room looked at 
each other. 


“Right, I’m going to get on the radio. See if we can 
contact Blaine,” said Clay. 


“You really think the killer hasn't already taken care of 
that?” questioned Rieben. 


“Worth a shot.” He left. 
Rawley began to speak. 


“Didn't the killer leave a poem in the book? Seems 
strange that they’d miss out such a vital part of the-“ 


“Actually, there’s a copy of the poem in my room. I'll get 
it, could give us some clues. Whoever it is, he- or she- is 
basing it off the book, right?” 


Rieben left before Rawley could object to a Chaos 
Insurgent running around on his own. She figured that he 
probably was of little danger as an individual. 


She looked back around the table. Thornton, Anderton, 
and Sellars. 


“I’m going to find out where the hell that voice came 
from,” said Thornton. 


“Shouldn’t we all stick together?” said Rawley. “Someone 
poisoned Devers-* 


“Like anyone would base their murders off a book. 
Probably just a joke.” 


“Joke? How would they know about the UIU, or the 
Coalition, or the Foundation? Why would they fly you half 
way around the world for a joke?” 


Thornton left without another word. 


Rawley, realizing that Devers’ party was now larger than 
her own, decided that going there was her best bet. She 
left Anderton and Sellars in the dining room. 


“Is he alright?” she asked Goddard as soon as she 
stepped into the room, surprised to see only Shevchenko 
there. 


“He’s still alive, if that’s what you mean.” 
“Where did the others go?” 


“Goddard went out to get his first aid kit from his room, 
not like that'll help much. Ayad... actually, | have no idea 
where Ayad went.” 


He paused, trying to remember, before saying, “You're 
Rawley, yeah?” 


“Yeah. Shevchenko, isn’t it?” 
“Yeah, Lev Shevchenko.” 


There was a period of awkward silence, before he asked, 
“So... who do you think poisoned him?” 


The fact that her tactic of safety in numbers had resulted 
in her being alone with somebody maybe a foot taller 
materialized in her brain the moment he said it. 


“Clay,” she said, the first name that came to mind. “1 
really should be getting back to the others.” 


“I'll come with you.” 


When they arrived in the living room, Goddard and 
Reiben were there. 


“Look, all I’m saying is that it says in the poem “One got 
distracted”, right?” said Reiben 


“That doesn’t mean anything, it could be a lie, or maybe 
even the distraction itself!” argued Goddard. 


Sellars sat quietly, turning towards Shevchenko and 
Rawley. 


“Anderton said she was going to the toilet, if you’re 
wondering where she is.” 


Thornton entered the room, a small speaker in his 
hands. 


“Found this little bastard,” he said, holding it up. “Must 
have been from this.” 


Ayad arrived shortly afterwards, saying, “Tried signaling 
Blaine, but he’d already gone out a few miles and | 
couldn't see him.”