we’re done here.” 
“You don’t have to...” 
“I’m fine.” 


“Right...right...” Shit how did you fucking not notice that? You’ve 
been sitting here for half a fucking hour...didn’t even ask... No 
wonder he was acting off. Fuck. And you didn’t even think to ask... 
but he hadn't said anything at all either...augh, why didn’t he just 
say things? The stiff upper lip is fine most of the time but augh... 
okay...okay...collect yourself, Mary-Ann. You're being paid to 
vacation in Hawaii. This is meant to be a happy time. 


Time for a humorous outburst to lighten the mood. 


“Ha! Got it! A perfect name!” Mary-Ann snapped her fingers. 
“Vishnu!” 


On a scale of awkward pauses, this particular pause rated about an 
8, which was the “that joke wasn’t funny at all” stage. Salah 
chuckled and shook his head. 


“Something tells me that won’t go over very well.” 


“It’s still a viable third option,” No what are you doing the joke wasn't 
funny stop continuing it. 


“That's a very loose sense of viable.” Salah stood up. “I'll be back in 
a bit.” 


Mary-Ann nodded, and Salah walked back into the house. She knew 
that the form of “bit” he was using was a lot longer that what most 
people used. 


Some time passed. Mary-Ann watched the gulls circle and the sun 
dip below the water. Despite the astounding weather, it felt like a 
gloomy day in March, when spring decides to show its head with 
freezing rain and overcast skies. 


Eventually, the host approached the patio, balancing in his arms an 
array of bowls and plates that looked destined to fall over at any 


moment. He was a rather broad and strong-built man of forty or so 
with something of a beer gut, dark skin, dark hair, an obnoxiously 
loud floral-print shirt, board shorts, and sandals. 


This was Lono, and he was the god around these parts. 


He set out the food on the table: kalua pork, sweet potatoes, 
plantains, taro, breadfruit, shrimp, and eel, steam rising up in a great 
miasma of deliciousness. Mary-Ann’s saliva glands and guilt jostled 
for primary position. 


Lono sat down in his chair, and took a beer from the cooler next to it. 


“Thanks be to me, amen.” He cracked open his bottle and took a 
long drink. “Damn, that’s good stuff.” He glanced at Salah’s empty 
chair. “So, uh, where’d he go?” 


“Inside. He’s washing up for evening prayers.” Mary-Ann took a 
paper plate and began filling it with some sweet potatoes and 
shrimp. The guilt sat right alongside the hunger in her stomach, an 
undigestible lump. She didn’t have to observe halal, of course, but it 
didn’t feel right with Salah still around, but of course he would just 
tell her to go ahead and eat, and then there was being a good guest 
and all, wouldn’t want to look ungrateful... “I don’t think he'll be 
joining us.” 


Lono paused in his piling of food on his plate to lift a quizzical 
eyebrow. 


“He doesn’t eat pork,” Mary-Ann said. 


“Takes all types, | ‘spose. His loss though.” Another swig of beer. 
“So, what’s this whole thing about? The guy on the phone a few 
days ago was about as clear as mud.” 


“There’s not a whole lot to it, really. Just smoothing over relations 
between you and the Initiative.” 


“And we do that by...” 


“Avoiding the part where a bunch of maniacs rush in, burn this place 
to the ground, and waste a great deal of time, money and manpower 


trying to kill you. They’re about as subtle as someone who ate a lot 
of shitty Mexican food and shoved a lit firecracker up their ass. Just 
about as pleasant, too.” Admittedly, this was a bit forced on her part, 
but she was on the job, and getting back into the role of snark- 
having, gregarious Mary-Ann was a necessity for this. 


Lono laughed heartily. 


“Sounds like someone has their panties in a twist, and for once I’m 
not the one doing it!” 


“You have no idea.” 


“So this is going to be one of those 'you leave us alone we leave you 
alone’ quid pro quos, right?” 


“Right. It’s a really simple agreement, really. Nothing big. No 
smitations, no direct interventions, no going out and leaving a bunch 
of little demigods running around all over the place. Essentially, 
don’t go around being an asshole or do anything that attracts undue 
attention.” 


Lono frowned. 
“Wait, what was the next to last one?” 
“No demig-“ 


“Oh! No, this cannot be!” He flung out his arm as if he were 
delivering a stage oration. “You seek to take from me one of the few 
pleasures | have left in my life! Now | shall never again know the joy 
of a woman in my arms, the excitement of the courting, the sheer 
uninhibited wonder of a really good fuck out under the stars! It is not 
right that a man live alone, my dear. At some point or another, he 
needs to get some tail.” 


Mary-Ann finished chewing her mouthful of breadfruit, trying her best 
to appear composed: She had very nearly spat it across the patio 
from laughter. 


“So long as it’s consensual, legal, and doesn’t involve superpowered 
kids, we’re not going to stop you. But tell you what: Call me back 


about ten years ago and we'll go a round.” 
“Oho? Was | that obvious?” 


“’m just savvy. This would be the part where I'd say something like 
‘no one makes oogly eyes at me but my husband’, but between you 
and me he’s absolutely horrible at it. Wouldn’t have it any other way, 
of course.” 


God help me | am actually having this conversation. 

Lono shrugged and drained the rest of his beer. 

“Ah, you don’t need my help anyway. Did you choose a name yet?” 
“No, not yet.” 

“Could always go for Lonnie,” he smirked. 


“Eh, | think we'll pass on that one. Thanks for the suggestion, 
though.” 


Dinner and conversation went on. It was a surreal experience, to say 
the least: if Mary-Ann had not known Lono’s true nature, she would 
have thought him just a cheery neighbor man who spent a lot of his 
time in the garden enjoying dirty jokes and ukulele music. 

Essentially that was what he was, but on a larger scale. That was 
most likely why he had remained so stable for so long: being a 
patron of sex, food and music was excellent for sustainability. 


It was nice to meet something that didn’t want to kill everyone, for 
once. 


The sun had set now, the sky slowly fading from orange to deep 
twilight blue. The eating had slowed to a lull, as had the 
conversation. A lone lamp had been turned on. 


“I'll go get Salah and we can get this thing finished.” She stood up 
and walked around to the eastern side of the house. 


I'll treat him to dinner to make up for this. A really good dinner. 
There’s got to be a place nearby...or maybe ice cream... 


SCP-633: Did you not notice? | am everywhere. This is 
my newest discovery. What do you think? 


Rosen: | am not certain what you mean. 


SCP-633: Right now, Director Gillespie is at her desk 
speaking to Officer Anderson. There's a man in a toilet 
cubicle fondling himself while looking at his phone. A 
wasp has gotten into the air filtration system, and now it's 
gone. Very interesting stuff! 


Rosen: Pauses for approximately 45 seconds |'m very 
impressed. | think people might want to get back to work, 
though. 


SCP-633: Oh, of course you are right. Sending back the 
clones. | am glad you liked my demonstration. 


Rosen: Yes you should be very proud of yoruself | am 
afraid | have to go now be seeing you. 


SCP-633: Goodbye. 
[ /END LOG ] 


Director Gillespie has appropriated a 75% funding 
increase for research into how much awareness 
SCP-633 has of the outside world. All computer 
equipment present within Site-77 has been scheduled for 
incineration and replacement. SCP-633 containment 
procedures slated for major revision. Reclassification to 
Keter has been approved. 


We're lucky that a connection to the greater Foundation network 
wasn't compromised, and we can't even rest easy knowing that with 
absolute certainty. This anomaly has repeatedly run circles around 
our IT department and really, I'm very disappointed in their 
performance. You're all capable of doing better than this. With the 
reclassification, | expect no further mistakes. — Director Gillespie 


« SCP-632 | SCP-633 | SCP-634 » 


She paused a moment: Salah was still kneeling prostrate on his mat. 
This was cause for concern: he had left almost an hour ago, and he 
never stretched out prayers that long... 


Mary-Ann sat down in the grass where she was and waited. Maybe 
five minutes later, Salah rose, rolled up his mat, and walked over to 
her. 


“You don’t have to apologize for anything.” He sat down next to her. 


“Yeah, well, | feel bad about it anyway. That’s good old Catholic guilt 
for you.” 


“You worry too much.” 


“And you try too hard to make sure | don’t worry at all. | get it, you 
don’t want to cause any trouble for anyone, but sometimes it’s just 
too much, okay? It’s not like you’re barging into places and 
screaming 'CATER TO MY WHIMS.’ You’ve got the self-control of a 
crazy aesetic out in the desert, you'll deal with the Wolves when 
there’s no one else around to do it, you take care of stuff around the 
house before | even get a chance to see it, you don’t even take your 
food back when someone messes up your order...And | love you for 
all of that, but I’m your wife for heaven’s sake: | signed up to deal 
with you for the rest of my life because out of all the people in the 
world with issues | want to deal with yours. And when you don't let 
me help, well...that makes me feel shitty because you do so much 
for me, and | feel like | should have done something so you don’t 
have to put up with the crap in the first place and...man, | am just 
babbling.” 


And that was that. The weight was off her chest, now only to see 
where it would fall. Salah didn’t respond for a moment, and then 
began to laugh. 


“You do cut right to the chase, there. | needed that." 
“It’s what I’m here for." 
"How go the negotiations?" 


That was good, getting back to business as if nothing had 


happened. 


“He’s very agreeable to the idea. Just need you to witness it and 
we're set. Scribes will probably write him down as the saint of sweet 
potatoes or something like that.” 


“They probably will.” 
The was a quiet pause, filled with insect buzzings. 


"Now, our plane doesn’t leave until tomorrow evening, and after that 
we'll be hopping around doing odd jobs all the way home. Now, | 
don’t know about you, but | want to find a nice spot on the beach 
tomorrow and just veg out for as much of the day as | can.” 


“We might be able to piece together an actual honeymoon over the 
next few years at this rate. A day here, a day there, they build up.” 


Mary-Ann stood up and brushed off her shorts. 


“Right then. Let’s get this done, and after that | say we go out for ice 
cream. |’m buying.” 


“|, Lono, swear upon my honor and by my power, to 
uphold this oath with the Horizon Initiative: that | shall 
raise no hand to harm, nor take any unfair advantage of, 
mankind. As symbol of this oath, | present to the Horizon 
Initiative this sweet potato, blessed by my power. May 
this friendship last until the end of time.” 


“As representative of the Horizon Initiative, | swear upon 
the honor of the organization and by the power of the All- 
Mighty, that so long as this oath is kept, no hand shall be 
raised against you by the Initiative, and should another 
party aim to harm you, the Initiative will come to your 
aid.” 


“Damn, that’s a lot of shit just to say 'keep doing what 
you're doing.’ Don’t be afraid to stop back, now.” 


« Breakfast for Dinner | Hub | The Tick Tock Gospel » 


The Tick Tock Gospel 


Gilgamesh roamed the wilderness, and cried bitterly 
over his friend Enkidu. 

“lam going to die! — Am | not like Enkidu? 

| fear death, and now roam the wilderness. 

| will set out to the land of faraway Utnapishtim, son of 
Ubartutu, 

And will go with utmost dispatch 

To seek life everlasting” 


“| don't like the look of this, Salah,” Masun said, looking sideways at 
the four Wolves unpacking the mules. “You know what they’re like.” 


“It’s only a precaution. With any luck, this place will be empty, and 
the scribes can come in and do their job.” 


“| hope you're right.” 


Salah had seen a great many doors to a great many places of 
worship, and in comparison this was almost too simple: only as big 
as the entry of a home, with a simple swinging slab to serve as a 
door, and the only ornamentation was a carving of a gear above the 
entryway. It was located at the back end of a thin gulley, accessible 
only by donkey, hidden from the rest of the world. Far too small and 
humble for the Church of the Broken God. They preferred their 
places of worship big and visible, and many times animated. Salah 
remembered the walking cathedral that had been the news of the 
year when he joined the Initiative. Most likely, this was only a small 
chapel built by a few worshipers that had been driven into hiding 
long ago. This region was a good place for hiding. 


Salah hoped that it would just be some empty rooms beyond that 
slab. He wanted to be home: two weeks away was too long for his 
liking. 


“Rashid, are you ready?” he called over to the Wolves. The leader of 


that group, a young man with a scar on his right cheek, nodded. 


Then he reached Mount Mashu, 

Which guards the daily rising of the sun, and 
The gate to the pass into the land of Utnapishtim 
Was guarded by great scorpion-beasts. 

Upon the left a thing like a great heart, babbling 
Like a man with fever. 

Upon the right, a beast within the shadows, 

A beast with one hundred legs. 


The entrance led to a small, square antechamber, and beyond that, 
the main hall of worship, a natural cavern with perhaps enough room 
for twenty people, illuminated now by their flashlights. The walls 
were engraved with the usual symbols: Gears of Wisdom, the 
Eternal Clocks, Iron Saints with cog-shaped halos. The style was far 
less detailed than the modern designs of the Church, but very much 
recognizable. The altar had been stripped of its decoration by 
looters a long time ago: the wall behind it was a chipped and faded 
mural of the Machine Radiant hovering above the prostrate masses. 
Small passages led off to the sides: priests’ quarters and 
storerooms, most likely. 


“Rashid, if you and your men will take care of the side rooms, Masun 
and | will handle this chamber. Bring back anything you might find.” 


“Right.” 


The Wolves tramped off. Salah moved his flashlight beam around 
the ceiling. 


“Do any of these look unusual to you?” 


“No, not at all,” Masun said as he took photos. "It’s old enough to be 
at an awkward time, but that’s it as far as the unusual bits go.” 


“A day spent for nothing, then.” 
“No, not nothing. This is an intriguing find, especially in light of the 


jihad against the Church in 840. Finding anything from this period 
this far south is rare. Anything from this region is either far younger, 


or far older. | would bet that this is built on top of an older ruin.” 
“Secret passage?” 
“The Church loves them. I'll check the altar for the mechanism.” 


“There’s nothing in any of the side rooms,” Rashid said as he 
returned to the chapel. 


“Nothing? No texts, no items?” 
“Nothing but dust.” 


Salah nodded. He hadn't expected much, but at least a dusty copy 
of the Brass Gospel would have been something to take home. 


“Aha! Got it!” Masun called out from the altar. 


[The following 67 lines are missing, wherein Gilgamesh 
persuades or defeats the beasts.] 


The wall behind the altar folded in on itself, moved by ancient 
machinery. The dust settled to reveal a staircase. 


There we go.