They strolled down the gravel road, Aldon kicking dirt about and 
scuffing her shoes in an attempt to make the most of their already 
worn soles. A quarter mile passed, and then a half mile, and with 
every step Finnegan's brow furrowed further into his eyes. When 
they rounded another bend and there was no movie theatre in sight, 
he stopped in his tracks. 


"Alright, what gives," he said, gazing around mystified. "Are we in 
the right town, or what?" 


Aldon shrugged, and then squealed. Finn spun on his heel to face a 
man that had not been there a few moments before. He was not 
particularly tall, but was particularly rotund, and smelled like 
cigarettes and old butter. His white polo was stained with a variety of 
unspeakable liquids, and his baggy jeans sagged below the line of 
common decency. He gave them a once over with his beady eyes, 
and then snorted. 


"You two them Californee art-types?" he said, sneering. Finn 
nodded slowly, and Aldon continued to stare, shell-shocked. The 
man snorted again, and spat. "Got here faster than | 'spected. 


Guess that's cause you ain't got nothin better to do." He turned 
around and started walking into the woods. "Get on, now. Don't 
need to waste time." 


The two of them met eyes briefly, and then scuttled along behind the 
mysterious stranger as he traipsed through the woodland. Heavier 
clothing would've helped avoid the nettles and spines of the less 
inviting plantlife, but they hadn't planned for hiking. After another 
quarter mile and about a pint of blood loss, they emerged ina 
clearing before a fenced in field housing a building and a screen, 
both standard drive-in fare. Aldon gulped, and Finnegan knew why. 


The building might've been a building at one point, but it looked now 
more like a delicately assembled arrangement of mold and mildew, 
with the roofing having long since caved in at the back and the 
mortal crumbling to dust whenever a strong enough breeze kicked 
through. The fencing itself was little more than rust, and the screen 
had easily seen better days. As they approached the shack, 
Finnegan noted a dirty, though recent model, red Camaro sitting a 
ways away from the clearing. He leaned in towards Aldon and 
snickered. "Found what he spends his money on." 


Her face twisted into a half pout. "Sure as hell isn't this drive-in." 


They entered the tiny building after the man, who stopped long 
enough to spit again before turning to face them. He gestured to his 
left and right. "This here's the projector. | just got it fixed so don't 
fuck with it or I'll make sure to charge you for it. Over here's the 
movies. We got a bunch, but only got a few of them Hugo Weaving 
movies. All you gotta do is get him in a bunch more movies, and you 
get paid." He sneered again. "Easy enough for you?" 


Aldon's eyes opened wide, followed quickly by her mouth, but 
Finnegan averted danger by stepping in and smiling politely. 
"Absolutely, sir. We'll take care of it." 


The man took a few more moments to eye them slowly, and then 
moved towards the door. "Don't break anything,” he said as he 
exited. The door smacked him in the ass on the way out, and Finn 
thought to make a joke, but thought better of it. He turned to Aldon, 
who was poking through the movie collection. 


"What do you think?" he said, coming up behind her. She paused 
briefly, and then pulled a film from the shelf. Her eyes labored on the 
cover as she peered meticulously over it, and then raised an 
eyebrow. 


"Lot of porn over here," she said, her words slow and calculated. 
"Isn't this a family theatre?" 


Finnegan snatched it out of her hands and tossed it into the corner. 
"That isn't important, or anything | wanted to know anything about. 
We've just got to make sure that we get this guy into a bunch of 
films, enough to get paid," he laid the emphasis on heavy, "and then 
we can get out of here. You dig?" 


Aldon recoiled. "We need to get that guy into movies? Jesus, | don't 
know if he'll fit, I-" 


Finn shot her a look, and she stopped. He rolled his eyes, and they 
both walked over to the projector. He threw his bag on the table and 
sat down on an old stool resting near it. 


"Alright," he said. "Let's get to work." 
"Fucking- no, holy shit how have you not seen any of his movies," 


Finnegan said, hands hanging in the air. The clay statue that Aldon 
had produced stood before him, but he was not particularly moved. 


"What are you talking about?" Aldon said, pointing dramatically at 
the finished piece. "This is perfect! That jaw, the eyeline. This is 
exactly what you asked for, that guy from the Matrix." 


Finn facepalmed hard enough to leave a mark. "No, Al. That's 
Keanu Reeves." 


Aldon cocked her head. "Who?" 
"You ever see Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure?" 
She nodded. "Duh. It's a classic." 


Finn rolled his eyes. "That's Ted." 


Aldon squinted and turned back towards the statue. As it was, the 
statue was the spitting image of Keanu Reeves, in the buff. The 
statue turned its head slowly and raised an eyebrow at her, which 
caused her to nod. "Yeah, | can see that. This is the Matrix guy 
though, right?" 


"Well yeah, he was in the Matrix, but no, this isn't the right guy. You 
want the other guy, the one with the suit." 


"Laurence Fishburne?" 


Finnegan nearly did a backflip. "How the fuck do you know who 
Laurence Fishburne is, but not who Hugo Weaving is?!" 


Aldon shrugged. "I like CSI." 


Finnegan shook his head. "This isn't going to work. We've been 
doing this for five hours, and we're not even done with one movie 
yet." He rubbed his temples, contemplating the choices that brought 
him to this point in his life. "Alright, how about this. Why don't we just 
go talk to Mr. Weaving and see if he wants to help. If anything, it'll 
give you a chance to see what he actually looks like." 


Aldon perked up. "Oooooh, meeting a movie guy. That sounds fun." 
She paused, considering. "What if he says no?" 


Finn shrugged. "Then we cast everybody as Keanu Reeves and 
hope nobody notices." 


She paused again, and then nodded. "Alright, cool. Road trip it is." 


Some time later, two gangly looking twenty-somethings stepped out 
of a Way and into the personal residence of one Hugo Wallace 
Weaving, much to the surprise of Mr. Weaving and the 
aforementioned twenty-somethings. There was a brief exchange of 
heated words, after which both parties found common ground to 
hold a discussion about their intent. 


"So what you're telling me," Hugo said, choosing his words carefully, 
"is that you want to somehow cast me in every movie ever made, to 
appease a drive-in movie owner from Indiana, so you can afford to 


pay your bills?" 


Finn nodded while Aldon thoughtfully stroked her chin. "Yeah, that's 
the gist of it," Finn said. "What do you think?" 


Hugo considered, and then squinted at them. "You know, I'm having 
a hard time believing you're not batshit." 


Aldon rolled her eyes. "Hang on," she said, reaching into her bag. 
She fumbled through it for a moment, and the pulled out a tiny metal 
bobblehead. At least, that's what it looked like, before it started 
walking around and poking the furniture. 


Hugo watched it ponderously. "Alright, an animatronic. | get it, but 
you said you were artists, not enginee—" 


"Just watch it," Aldon said, shooting him a look. 


The golem peered up at her and, with a nod, melted into a pool of 
liquid copper before reforming as a tiny man in a black suit. He 
wobbled around, shooting a tiny gun and chanting "Mr. Anderson, 
Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson," before collapsing into a pool again 
and reforming in its previous bobbleheaded shape, making a noise 
that was unmistakable as tiny, metallic laughter. 


Hugo nodded slowly. "| see." He looked down at the golem, now 
chewing on its own foot. "Can it do other movies?" 


The golem popped back up, spun quickly, and was then sporting 
flowing locks and a bathrobe over a white t-shirt with black 
sunglasses. It looked up at Hugo and, with as much gusto as it could 
manage, said, "Shut the fuck up, Donnie." 


He smiled. "If | do this, can | keep this one?" 


Aldon reached into her bag again, and pulled out another golem. 
This one was slightly gaseous and buzzed with bright purple light. 
"You'll need two. They get lonely if they don't have somebody their 
size to torment." 


He nodded. "Alright, then. I'm in." 


Aldon and Finn smiled, and she shot a wink at the tiny dancing 
golems on the floor. Little fuckers are pulling their weight, after all. 


The scene was set, in some Way or another, and Hugo stood in his 
wizard robe on one side of a dark room. He glanced over at Aldon 
and Finn, both sitting atop tall director's chairs. "When's my cue for 
this one?" he shouted. 


Finn pointed at the door. "He's going to come in through there, then 
just read your line and run over towards him." 


Hugo gave the thumbs up, and got focused. Aldon brought a clapper 
down, and a scrawny boy with messy black hair entered the room. 
Hugo charged across the room, cloak flapping behind him, with 
passion in his voice. 


"Harry!" he shouted. "Didjapudyernameindagobbledefire?!" 


"This is really cold," Hugo said, his breath catching. "Is this worth it? 
For a bit part?” 


Aldon pointed off set. "No no, you're a really big deal in this one. All 
you've gotta do is hit that boat when it comes floating your way. 
Then you can just kind of float off over that way." 


Hugo shrugged and resumed his doggy paddle. As the Titanic came 
into view, he kept paddling, straight through the steel hull and then 
off stage right. 


Hugo sipped a cup of coffee and turned towards Finnegan. "So we 
could just keep doing this forever, and nothing weird would happen 
to us?" 


Finn nodded. "Yeah, something about being outside of time and 
space, | honestly just kind of go with it." He looked over towards the 
treeline, where Aldon was chasing a Velociraptor with a broom. 
"Hey!" he shouted, "easy with that. We're going to need it later." 


They were all quiet as they observed the flock in front of them, 
taking in the majesty of nature firsthand. The beautiful moment 
lasted as long as the silence, when Hugo broke it with a question. 


"You want me to do what to that penguin?" 


The two of them stood in front of the disheveled theatre owner, 
quietly sweating his reaction. A crowd had gathered to see Hugo 
Weaving as The Kraken in Pirates of the Caribbean 2, and business 
seemed to be moving. The owner, as usual, was unmoved, but 
hadn't insulted them personally yet. Progress, Finnegan thought. It 
wasn't until the movie ended and the crowd began to disperse that 
the man made a noise, when he spat on the ground in front of them. 


"Huh," he said, shrugging. "So that's Hugo Weaving. | thought they 
was talking about that guy from Bill and Ted." 


"Right?" Aldon shouted. 
Finnegan put his flat hand through his face. 


« Gray God | Hub | Involuntary Isolation » 


Involuntary Isolation 


A long yawn rumbled out of Finnegan. He couldn't quite call what he 
had just been through sleeping, and so the weariness from recent 
work weighed him down. He groaned and sat up, shifting his hat 
from his face to on top of his head. Joints popped as he tossed his 
head side to side, another yawn escaping him. After rubbing the 
sleep from his eyes he found himself sitting on a couch rather than 
on his mattress. In Indiana, not California. 


At the foot of the couch was Jakeob Aldon, sleeping on a pile of 
blankets. She was curled into a loose ball, an even looser smile on 
her face. Nestled against her chest was Everett, the magic polecat 
she had apparently adopted after she poured it out of a faucet. 


Finnegan took care to step well beyond her frame and eased himself 
off the couch and onto the carpet. The room itself was fairly cozy, if 
mismatched. The couch didn't match the armchair, which didn't 
match the coffee table they had moved to make room for Aldon. 
Assorted miniatures and collectibles adorned various shelves and 
countertop backsplashes. Nothing but things found on discount or 
scavenged during moves. It reminded him of home, which only 
made him want to leave. 


He made his way over to the dining room, which was basically just 
the part of the living room that had a table and some chairs. To his 
right was the kitchen, which was separated from the rest of the room 
by a counter. It was little more than a nook with the bare essentials 
of a kitchen. He flipped open the various cabinets until he found 
some cereal, and then set about finding a pair of bowls and spoons. 
At least the milk was easy to find. 


After pouring everything and returning the milk to its home, he 
dunked the spoon into the bowl and sat down. He took a bite and 
blankly stared at the box. The ugly, offensively bright box. It looked 
like something produced in the fifties, if not earlier. Standard's Super 
Coco Pows. His eyes were drawn to text in the top right, within the 


Cell Trigger Conditions: 


SCP-567-1: Individual has committed theft. 

SCP-567-2: Individual has committed rape. 

SCP-567-3: Individual has committed murder involving [DATA 
EXPUNGED]. 

SCP-567-4: Individual has committed murder involving [DATA 
EXPUNGED]. 

SCP-567-5: Unknown. See Addendum 567-01. 

SCP-567-6: [DATA EXPUNGED] 

SCP-567-7: [DATA EXPUNGED] 

SCP-567-8: Unknown. 


SCP-567-8 is unique in that, unlike the other cells which all stand 

empty, it contains a single wooden chair. The chair is nailed to the 
floor in the center of the room, and appears to be many years old, 
though it does not rot. SCP-567-8 has never activated. 


On rare occasions, the cell doors of SCP-567 will open and release 
an entity, given the designation SCP-567-9-X (the X being replaced 
with an integer). SCP-567-9 usually takes the form of a previously 
undiscovered creature, and is always aggressive. Once out of its 
cell, SCP-567-9 typically attempts to break out of SCP-567. There 
seems to be no common trait of the creatures given designation 
SCP-567-9, except that they tend to be very aggressive and 
relatively intelligent. As well, every instance of SCP-567-9 has had 
burn marks around its appendages. See Incident Report Log 
567-4012 for details. 


On only two occasions have individuals placed inside a cell by the 
Foundation re-appeared. In the first instance, D-903912 escaped 
from SCP-567-3 68 hours after being placed in it. Subject was 
suffering from severe injuries, including several lacerations, internal 
bleeding, and burn marks around his wrists and ankles. D-903912 
died several minutes after re-appearing, before TF Delta-9 could 
reach him. In the second, D-937122 appeared 157 months after 
being placed in SCP-567-6. D-937122 attacked Foundation 
personnel on sight, despite also having suffered serious injuries 
including head trauma, several missing fingers, and burn marks 
around her wrists and ankles. Once restrained, D-937122 was 
interrogated by a member of Task Force Delta-9. See Audio Log 


tree, and within the box boasting of a prize inside. His subconscious 
mind paused the connections that the text was trying to force him to 
make, and he chuckled when he consciously realized it. 


Super Coco Pows. 
The crafty bastards. 


When he finished the cereal he tilted his head back and drained the 

bowl. He slid out of the chair and rinsed the bowl and spoon, wiping 

his mouth with the back of his hand. By the time he loaded them into 
the dishwasher, Aldon was up and groaning. 


"Morning," he said. 


"Mmng." Aldon never was much of a morning person. Bones popped 
as she stretched, and then she bent over and scooped up Everett. 
She pressed the creature to her face, splashing herself with water. 
She shook her hands and Everett reformed at her feet, where he 
pawed at her ankles playfully.