3. Mr. Money by Tanhony 

4. Mr. Lie by Salman Corbette 
5. Mr. Mad by thedeadlymoose 
Interval 1 by Salman Corbette 
6. Mr. Stripes by TroyL 

7. Mr. by Dr. Mann 

8. Mr. Moon by Anaxagoras 

9. Mr. Clumsy by Tanhony 

10. Mr. Mission by Dr. Gerald 
Interval 2 by Salman Corbette 
11. Mr. Feather by Light 

12. Mr. Laugh by Alias 

13. Mr. Purple by Faminepulse 
14. Mr. Brass by Grand Ender 
15. Ms. Sweetie by thedeadlymoose 
16. Mr. Fish by Dexanote 

End by Salman Corbette 
Epilogue by Anaxagoras 


As compiled by Salman Corbette and TheDeadlyMoose, Associate Compilers: 
Dexanote and TroyL 


7. Mr. Headless 


By Anaxagoras 


Ohshitohshitohshitohshit 


My name's Jeremy Adams and I'm 22 and I'm being chased by a 
monster. | don't know what's going on. | don't know how this is 
possible, or what I'm supposed to do. The thing won't stop. I've been 
running for — oh god — only fifteen minutes. Feels like longer. I'm 
exhausted and it won't stop. 


| didn't do anything wrong. | just saw this guy on the subway. It's 
night, we were the only people in the car. He looked odd, a bit gray 
and glassy-eyed, which was odd because from his hands I'd have 
guessed he was black or indian or something. We got off at the 
same stop and | guess | wasn't looking where | was going because | 
bumped into him and his head fell off. | mean, that doesn't happen. 
And then he got up and chased after me. That... that... can't 
happen. 


How is it even following me anyhow? It's not like it has eyes. 
Another door locked. No! Can't someone have left their door 
unlocked tonight? Please, | just need to get away from this thing and 
there it is how did it get behind me? shitshitTrashcan! | grab one and 
swing it straight into the thing's chest and it stumbles backwards and 
collapses and I'm off running before it can get back up. Thank you 
adrenaline. 


How can this alley be a dead end? It can't be, | need to escape! It's 
not fair! Walls, walls, damn it. Too high and too slick and it's found 
me. Anything around? No. | can't fight, but | try to punch it and it's 
strong and this doesn't make any sense and is that a blade and 


~ 


Much, much better. Could hardly even hear with that old one by the 


end. But this one is good. Young, healthy, should last me for weeks. 
Colorblind, but you can't have everything. And let's see... 
Reasonably bright, too. | just hope | didn't get too far off track getting 
this one. Mr. Redd, I'm coming for you. And | can't wait to find out 
what wonderful thoughts | can think with that head of yours. 


Next: 2. Mr. Clank from Dr. Gears 


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2. Mr. Clank 


Mr. Clank woke suddenly, as he always did, and looked around, 
blinking. The sun was still somewhat bright through the wisps of 
storm clouds, The great city glittering in the distance, as bright and 
fresh as new silver. Mr. Clank stretched, feeling the smooth roll of 
clockworks along his spine. It had been a hard choice, but even a 
flickering life was still a life. The key turned slowly, tapping out like a 
second heartbeat, a cool reminder that he was, indeed, alive. He 
started walking, smiling as the gears kept perfect time, the fields and 
small trees passing by in an easy rhythm. Even if it had taken some 
questionable steps, at least he was still able to continue to journey. 


The city was still far off hours later, but Mr. Clank wasn't worried. He 
was making good time, and was still able to take in the scenery. The 
high mountains, the glittering lake, it was all bathed in a freshness, 
as if seen with new eyes. Which, in a way, might not be far off. Mr. 
Clank smiled, walking to a tall, wide tree, leaning against the bark 
and watching the leaves drift and flutter. Poor Mr. Redd, he'd never 
get to see any of this... maybe Mr. Clank could tell him about it, give 
him a small sample of these wonders. The clicking slowed, easing 
down as the key stilled, so tired now...just a small rest, before the 
road 


Mr. Clank woke suddenly, as he always did, looking around with a 
start. A hazy nicotine-yellow sun burned down through sooty clouds, 
bathing everything in a hazy twilight. The city loomed up across a 
sprawl of squat, dark homes, a few small gardens and thin trees 
standing out in the haze. Mr. Clank stretched, feeling a harsh click 
as the gears in his shoulders and arms engaged, his spine 
shuddering hard once before smoothing out, the key clicking time 
like a metronome at a military march. He started walking, slowly, 
feeling his steps and watching the homes, wondering why he'd 
chosen this way, this path, this idea. The thick cogs jutting from his 
back caught a cool breeze between the homes, chilling him deeply. 


The crumbled outskirts of the city were around him, hours later. 
Moldering heaps of rusted metal made Mr. Clank shiver 
involuntarily, wondering where the sun was now. Time seemed to be 
passing like the coppery dust on the streets, everything seeming to 
carry a kind of crumbling frailness, a timeless age. The silvery 
shards were streaked with rust and soot, the sound of a sick dog 
barking breaking the stillness for only a second. Mr. Clank sighed, 
feeling a shudder in his chest, leaning against a crumbling doorway. 
Mr Redd had said something, but he couldn't remember. Mr. Clank 
worried, his memory feeling a little fuzzy now. There had been a 
tree, a silver...something. He was so tired, his clockworks shivering 
and seizing with a jolt. Exhausted, he slid down to rest, eyes 
flickering over the road 


Mr. Clank woke suddenly, as he always did, a squealing gasp rising 
from his lips as his eyes ratcheted open. The endless walls and 
towers of the city loomed like the walls of an oubliette, a few 
damaged and sputtering gas lamps the only light along the grimy, 
uneven street. Mr. Clank stretched, moaning as the flywheels and 
screws refused to catch, missing their sockets several times before 
clicking in, his twitching, sputtering arms ratcheting down, chest 
piston wheezing out of sync with the pitted key. He turned his head, 
slowly, shivering as timing gears missed, confused about where he 
had gone, why he had gone there. The thin, gray flesh of his face 
and legs looked icy, but the squealing of his joints took his mind 
from it. He hardly noticed the thin, black fluid his feet were leaking 
as he started his jittering march. 


Hours later, he might have been standing still. Mr. Clank felt 
claustrophobic, the endless walls seeming to shrink after every turn. 
Mr. Clank ran in a shuddering lurch, unaware of the time, sure he 
was late. For what, he wasn't sure, the thread of thought scattering 
as he saw something point at him, its face a black, fuzzy pit. Mr. 
Clank was lost, his clockworks squealing and sticking deep in his 
brain, an oily bile leaking from his mouth unnoticed as he panted. 
Mr. Redd was there...Mr. Redd had been there? Mr. Redd was 
coming. He whimpered in time to the slipping key, refusing to look 
behind at the squealing sound far behind him. Mr. Clank tripped and 
fell, skidding into a heap of oozing garbage, lying there, too 
exhausted to move. His clockworks locked tight, bringing a 


soundless scream...then let go, only to lock again moments later. 
Mr. Clank whimpered, for help or release he wasn't sure, feeling a 
dimness seep up from the cracked road 


Mr. Clank woke suddenly, as he always did, crying ashy tears as his 
eyes slowly clicked open. The twilight was real, the bloated, boiling 
sun framed around trash fires and burning oil on the open plane. Mr. 
Clank screamed thinly, trying to cry as his rusted, pitted frame 
ratcheted up in a squeal of frozen bolts and rusty haze. Trying to grit 
his teeth against the agony, he found his lower jaw was gone, his 
exposed teeth dry and brittle in the thick air. The city walls were a 
unbroken wall behind him, his path from there forgotten, his way 
forward a stumbling, slow-motion shamble among slag, burning oil 
pipes, and shifting trash. Forward. His legs dug in on worn spines, 
steely points fogging rust. Forward. 


Hours later, Mr. Clank lay, twitching and clicking, at the edge of the 
pit. Night had fallen like a slimy sheet, smothering vision, thought 
and breath in an oily tarp. Time was passing over him like ants, Mr. 
Clank lying like a dead thing, moaning in a raspy squeal as he 
watched the searing sun. Mr. Redd was...waiting...needing? 
Missing. Wishing. Listening? The words were shards, jabbing and 
freezing his stripped and sputtering gears. Sparks hissed and 
arched, a belt stretching and going slack, the memory of breath 
coming in torturous, moaning gasps. The Pit. Mr. Clank twitched and 
flexed, trying to get in, but his eyes glazed, frozen in a blank stare, 
watching the slow undulation of the road 


Mr. Clank woke suddenly, as he always did, lidless eyes fixed on the 
pulsing walls. The blackness was total, and yet he saw. His body 
hissed and squealed, a paralyzed mass, brassy orbs mocking sight 
from the mass of screws. The rust was gnawing cancer, rats in his 
skin, maggots in his nerves, a endless itching with no arms to 
scratch. The paths before and behind were obscured, frozen eyes 
fixed on the leaking, sore-riddled flesh of the ceiling. He hated the 
softness under him. Hated the easy, sick fluid dripping and seeping. 
Hated the flexibility. Hated with a mass that had moved beyond 
feeling. 


Hours later, he dropped like a numb, dead stone, landing on a heap 
of hissing, sputtering hulks. The darkness defied even his endless 


eyes, the vague humps of rusty, crumbling metal rolling in a sea of 
black pus. Mr. Redd. Mr. Reeedddd. Reeeeddddddddd. The 
squealing notes rose in a croaking monotone. He had taken. Given. 
It did not happen. There had been silver. There had been gold. 
There is rust. Mr. Clank raged, strained, snapping and shattering as 
he flexed out, clawing a helpless rage into the fleshy floor, digging 
for the bottom, for the escape, for the end, for the road 


Mr. Clank woke suddenly, as he always did, and refused to open his 
eyes. 


Previous: 1. Mr. Headless by Anaxagoras 
Next: 3. Mr. Money by Tanhony 
Back to Hub 


succession. A member of staff is to return once every 24 hours to 
ask SCP-717-1 to "WAIT" again until authorized personnel arrive. 


Personnel with BETA clearance or higher should see also document 
#017-1. 


Incident Log 
Testimony of survivorM E H _ , age 17, Jan 31st 1962. 


Ms.H _ :... [we] came to this house because we heard 
all the old rumors about it, about the old cult that used to 
worship in its basement, and we wanted to see if we 
could use our Ouija board to contact the spirits here. At 
first all we found was construction stuff and the whole 
place smelled of paint. We looked around in the 
basement and a lot of the furniture had been moved 
down there and covered with sheets and | remember 
seeing it there now that | think about it. 


Agent : Seeing what? 


Ms.H ~~ : The dummy, it was hanging on a hook, 
leaning against a wardrobe. We all laughed at it, thought 
it was a ghost at first. Then we went upstairs and lit 
some candles and got out the board. 


Agent : Then what happened? 


Ms.H — : Right away it got really, really cold. We 
started asking questions and every answer we got was 
GET OUT andthen — grabbed the pointer and just kept 
spelling STOP over and over. _ said her hands were 
numb and she couldn't move them on her own. The 
candles were flickering but there were shadows on the 
board that weren't moving... then there was this loud 
banging in the basement and | got up to run but | tripped. 


Ms. H takes several minutes to compose herself 
before continuing. 


Ms.H — :1I think that's when the candles got knocked 


3. Mr. Money 


Hi there. My name is Mr. Money. Don't worry, | just need somebody 
to talk to. Seeing as it's just you and me on this bus, it might as well 
be you. 


I'd talk to the driver, but there's a sign right there saying not to. See? 
Do not disturb the driver. | wouldn't do that, seeing as how the bus 
might crash and then I'd have to walk all that way. You ever walk in 
rain like this? Let me tell you, it's freezing! So I'm just gonna sit here 
and talk to you. You. 


Oh come on, don't move! I'm just being friendly. Here, take this! 
See, we're pals now, right? Yes, it's a diamond. Yes, it's real. You 
see, pal, | know how friendship works. You hearing me...? What's 
your name, anyway? Well, hello Dave. 


It's nice to meet a smart fellow like yourself. | usually hang around 
with this group...ugh, you would not believe. They didn't understand 
how friendship works, no they did not. Not like you, Dave. 


| gave them dollars and dimes and fucking diamonds! And all they 
did is call me a snob! Me, can you believe that, Dave?! Have 
another diamond, you're a good friend and you look like you could 
use it. 


Seriously though; me, a snob? It's not easy to get all this cash, 
believe me! Puking out the bills is fine, they come out easy. Even 
coins are no big deal. 


But with diamonds, its not so easy! You can choke on diamonds! | 
have a few times, let me tell you. Good thing Ms. Sweetie was there, 
though. | would have been a goner! She was always very kind, Ms. 
Sweetie. Even if she just pitied me, just fucking pitied me! 


Stop fucking moving, Dave! No, don't go, have another diamond, 
please! I'm sorry for shouting, | didn't mean to. Must have gotten that 


from Redd, always shouting. Gave me a headache, | don't mind 
saying. 


What's that? Well, Dave, that is a very good question and | don't 
fucking know why | can puke money so shut the fuck up! Sorry, 
diamond, sorry. I'll tell you what | do know, because friends share 
secrets. We're friends, right Dave? 


| have to know what kind of money | want to puke. | couldn't spit out 
some yen or something for you right now, because I've never been 
to Asia and | don't know what yen looks like. You ever been to Asia? 
Suppose not, flights are kind of expensive. So, enough about me, 
where are you headed? 


Me, I'm headed for...well, | don't really know, but I'm getting there 
before those little shits, | know that. They said it wasn't a race, but 
let me tell you, Dave, it's always a race. Have a diamond. 


Previous: 2. Mr. Clank by Dr Gears 
Next: 4. Mr. Lie by Salman Corbette 
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4. Mr. Lie 


| hate jail. You know how many times I've been in jail since | started 
on this journey? 12. Of course, | always get out eventually when 
there's no evidence, but hot damn does it suck. Seriously, even 
without the fear instilled in dropping the soap, the rations are harsh 
and the guards always beat me. They always say | looked at them 
funny. 


Today | was walking down the street and | was stopped by two cops. 
They took me away to a line-up where the witness had to choose 
the suspect. The suspect was described as a 6'2" Asian male. I'ma 
5'4" Caucasian. Of course, being the suspicious character | am, | 
was chosen. | don't even know how to turn the safety off on a gun, 
let alone shoot somebody. 


Even back in the day, all the Misters mistrusted me. One time, | was 
taking a peeler to the kitchen and Mr. Onion ran away and cried in 
the corner. | tried to assuage his fears, but instead he beat me up 
something fierce. Said | was baiting him. All | did was ask him if he 
was ok. 


Redd was the only one who trusted me. "Lie, | like your chops," he 
said to me one time. Hopefully, one day, I'll see Redd again. | hear 
he might be where we're going. Of course, | didn't get to learn much 
more because once they had the chance, everyone ran as fast as 
they could away from me. 


A child did that once when he saw me on the street. | waved at him 
and he took it as a gesture to a hidden group of snipers. Needless to 
say, the next minute | was tackled by his father, who thought me a 
child molester. What are they letting kids watch these days anyways 
that gives them these ideas?