“Alright, the skip is secured, and the chopper is ready to go. I'll 
arrange another one to take you guys back, but first | need to call 
down a clean up crew to deal with what's left of D-49687.” 


About 30 meters away, a heavy lift helicopter started its engines. 
The blades began to rotate, slowly at first, then gradually faster until 
they were a blur. Finally, after about a minute, the aircraft lifted off, a 
rope attached to the bottom. 


Ever so slowly, the giant bird tied to the other end was dragged out 
of the hanger, squirming the whole time. The rope was pulled 
steeper and steeper, until it was vertical. Then, 1387 was gently 
lifted into the air. 


It was a sight to behold. The Class-D’s all shuffled out of the hanger 
to watch as spectacle. 


Snap! 


Then the rope broke, and the 20 meter long seagull plunged to the 
ground. The Class-D’s all screamed before being crushed under the 
weight of the falling bird. 


1387 was still fora moment, before shaking itself free of the 
remaining rope. 


Leah was terrified, frozen in place as she watched the creature 
begin running towards the perimeter fence, wings flapping. 


Oh god, it’s going to fly out! she thought. She glanced at the others. 
They seemed unrealistically calm. 


1387 jumped into the air, about to fly over the electrified fence. It 
gracefully flew for a moment, seemingly free at last... 


...then crashed down into the fence, writhing for a few moments as it 
was electrified, then laid down stunned. 


“What? But... how?” Leah muttered. 


“Well, good thing we clip that thing’s wings every month, eh?” Nick 
said nonchalantly. 


“It’s a damn shame that didn’t work, but | suppose it will make a 
good story back at 101, right?” Clef said as she patted Leah on the 
shoulder. 


“Yeah, | guess so.” 


“| guess the clean up crew has their work cut out for them. Hopefully 
Magnus won't have any issues getting that thing back in its hanger 
OK.” 


“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” 


“Well, either way, we still have this whole tax evasion thing to deal 
with.” 


“Like | said earlier, it’s probably just a clerical error. I'll get it sorted 
out when we get back." 


As if on cue, a helicopter landed outside, ready to take Leah back 
home. 


“Well, when you get back,” Clef said, “It was nice to meet you Ms. 
Mauldin, but | think I’m going to stay here and let you go on ahead 
without me.” 


“Wait, aren’t you needed back on site? You’re the new Director.” 


Clef let out a small laugh. “Oh, that was just probationary. After 
today you'll have someone a bit more normal as your boss.” 


Leah was dumbfounded for a moment. Then, she leaped for the 
door. 


“FREEDOM!” 
“Wait a minute, Leah.” 
Leah stopped in the doorway and turned back towards Clef. 


“Il can’t let you leave just like that. Besides, didn’t you have 
something you still wanted to ask me?” 


Leah was about to speak, but like many other times that day, she 
was cut off. 


“You’ve been trying to ask me all day why I’m in the body of woman. 
Well, | suppose I’ve stalled enough. To make a long story short, 
there was an incident with SCP-113. That’s the reason I’m on 
probation, by the way.” 


Leah stood for a moment, then said, “Alright, but that wasn’t what | 
was wondering actually.” 


“Oh, really? Huh, | thought that was kinda the elephant in the room.” 


“No, | was wondering why you have a mandolin instead of a 
ukulele.” 


Clef giggled. 


“That’s just because the author has a boner for mandolins.” 


Leisure Time 


“Commencing testing on SCP-715,” Dr. Louef said into the voice 
recorder. He glanced at the testing chamber from within the 
observation room. The photobooth sat inside, as innocent as could 
be, while a D-class personnel stood in front of it. 


“Please enter SCP-715 and take a photo, D-129012,” said Louef. 


D-129012 strolled in. “Hey, guys, this thing is busted,” he said from 
inside. “I’m trying to use it, but it’s not giving me any photos.” 


“Thank you, D-129012. Please exit SCP-715.” 


“Uh, okay. You're welcome, | guess?” The confused D-129012 left 
the booth, and was stopped in front of the SCP object. 


As expected, an exact clone of D-129012 exited the booth 
approximately 5 minutes after the original had exited. 


“W-what the fuck is this? Who the hell are you?” shouted the 
panicking D-class. 


“Oh god, what the hell is this? Where am I? Who are you?” his 
confused clone replied. 


“’m goddamn me! Who are you? Take that mask off, man, it’s 
freaking me out!” 


“It’s not a mask! You have to help me! I’m gonna die!” 
“What?! Does that mean that I’m going to die too? Oh, fuck no!” 


Dr. Louef grimaced for a moment, and spoke a short command into 
the microphone, "The Sealed King sleeps eternal." 


Suddenly, the D-class personnel stiffened, and collapsed, dying 
before he hit the floor, without understanding or feeling anything 


before his death. The particular hypnotic kill agent that Louef had 
selected was quick, painless, and remarkably effective. 


“What the fuck?! What did you do to him? Am | next? Please, no! 
You have to help me! Where’s your goddamn sense of human 
decency?” the clone begged. 


The clone tried to grab the guard’s gun. The guard responded by 
hitting the clone and restraining him to the chair. 


One of the assistant researchers watched a timer. 
5 minutes since appearance. 

Then 10 minutes. 

Then 12 minutes. 


The D-class clone screamed for the last 3 minutes, in one long, 
drawn out scream. He suddenly stiffened, and dissolved into a pile 
of grey powder. 


Dr. Louef turned away from the chamber, refusing to look at the 
other researchers. “Testing complete.” 


“Welcome to the 5th Annual Site 118 Game Night! Grab a friend, or 
meet someone new, and sit down and play a game or two!” Dr. 
Vange proclaimed from his position at the front of the cafeteria. 


The gathered crowd dispersed throughout the cafeteria, strolling 
over to the large table of assorted decks of cards, board games, and 
other activities. Groups of researchers, agents, security personnel, 
and other Site 118 staff milled around, and formed tables of games. 


Dr. Louef, on the other hand, was found sitting at a table, furiously 
scribbling notes. 


He pored over notes for the SCP objects under his supervision. 
Scribbling a research proposal here, finishing up a report there, 
writing this, writing that, doing this, doing tha- 


WHAM! 


The sudden shock of a board game being smashed onto his table 
made the researcher jump out of his seat, knocking over a stack of 
papers. As Louef scrambled to pick them all up, he got some help 
from the sudden intruder. 


“Oh, it’s you Albert,” Louef said, while glancing up at Dr. Wensley, 
his fellow departmental director. 


“Why aren’t you playing some games, John?” 

“Because | have better things to do than play Scrabble, Al.” 
“You know why we have these things, right?” 

“Because HR has too much time on its hands.” 


“Hilarious. Seriously, though, these things are important. You can’t 
save the world every day and not expect some kind of psychological 
damage,” Wensley said, pulling up a chair and sweeping aside 
some of the papers on the table, and began to unbox the Scrabble 
set. 


Louef sighed. “I’m fine, Al-” 


“Bullshit. I’ve seen how you're doing with this shift. | know that some 
of these new SCP’s that were transferred to your department are 
tough. I’ve had a rough incident or two with some of mine, too. And | 
know what this kind of stay-away shift can do to you.” 


Dr. Wensley continued to unbox the set, and handed Dr. Louef a 
rack for his tiles. The reluctant doctor accepted the proffered rack 
after some time, and grabbed a number of tiles. 


“You know, you could always talk to Vange-” Wensley began. 
“| don’t need to talk to Vange, Al. I’m fine.” 
Wensley frowned, as he played his first word. “There’s nothing 


wrong with talking to Vange. Everyone’s done it at some point, 
outside of regular psych evals.” 


“Not me,” Louef replied, placing his first word. 


“Maybe you should. You got transferred onto 715, right? That’s a 
hell of an SCP to take on,” Wensley sympathized. 


Louef grit his teeth as he remembered the screams of the last clone 
that he tested. “No.” 


“You want to talk about it?” 
“No.” 


Wensley fell silent as the game continued. In the end, Louef won. 
After that game, Louef checked his watch. 


“Oh, look, my mandated amount of time that | have to be here is up. 
Time to go back to work. I'll see you later, Al,” Louef said as he 
stood up, picking up his pile of work. He turned and swiftly left the 
room, leaving Wensley at the table with the game of Scrabble. 


Wensley looked at the departing figure of his closest friend and 
sighed. He began to clean up the game. 


“Commencing testing on SCP-463,” Dr. Louef noted in his recorder. 
“D-419803, please approach the table and pick up SCP-463.” 


“The spoon? You're telling me that this spoon is SCP-whatever?” 
The skeptical D-419803 said. 


“Please pick up SCP-463.” 
“Alright, | guess.” 


The unsuspecting D-class walked over to the table and reached for 
the spoon. Dr. Louef wanted to look away. He didn’t want to see 
what he knew was going to happen, and see the results that he had 
come to expect and dread. 


But he had to look. 


A sudden scream split the silence of the observation chamber. The 


assistant researchers, still unused to the testing environment 
flinched, and closed their eyes. Dr. Louef swallowed the bile 
threatening to rise into his throat, and calmly started to talk into the 
microphone. 


“D-419803, describe what you felt.” 


He was greeted with more screaming. The woman was screaming at 
the top of her lungs, as her entire upper torso was bent into a 
parallel position with the ground, while her lower half was not. 


“D-419803, please describe what you felt.” 


“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO ME?” The ragged scream from 
within the chamber met the doctor's question. 


“D-419803, answer the question, or you will be forced to do so. 
What did you feel when you picked up the spoon?” Dr. Louef replied, 
gritting his teeth. 


“IT BROKE MY GODDAMN BACK YOU FUCKER!” The screaming 
descended into incoherent sobbing and moaning, alternating 
between prayers and appeals for help. D-419803 stopped answering 
questions. Dr. Louef sighed, and pressed the button that halted 
communication between the observation room and the testing 
chamber. 


“Testing complete.” 


Dr. Louef didn’t let his assistants see his facial expression as he 
stood up. Nor did he let them see him when he left the room, or 
when he strolled down the hall, or when he walked into his office. 


He closed the door behind him, and sat down at his desk without 
turning the lights on. 


Then, he leaned forward, and put his head into his hands. 
Dr. Louef sat at his desk, attempting to eat his lunch and do some 


work. As he wrote with one hand, and spooned food into his mouth 
with the other, he paused for a moment. He put down both of his 


tools, and sighed. 


As he wrote a report on SCP-463, he was also using a spoon. The 
sudden flashback struck him, the sounds of snapping spines and 
cries for help echoing in his mind. 


"You broke my back." 

"What the hell have you done?" 

"kill me." 

He angrily threw his spoon across the room, and pushed the tray 
away, suddenly disgusted and no longer hungry. His gaze fell upon 
the photos that he kept on his desk of his family. 

"Why did you kill him? He was me." 

"Where is your sense of human decency?" 

"You're a monster." 

Louef suddenly stood up, ignoring his tray and his papers. He left his 


office and took a left, heading down the hallway. 


“So, John, what can | do for you?” Dr. Vange steepled his fingers as 
he looked at Dr. Louef. 


“Well...doctor, I-” Dr. Louef began. 
“Please, call me Mark,” insisted Vange. “We’re friends here.” 


Louef assented. “Okay, Mark. I...I’m having some issues with this 
shift.” 


Dr. Vange glanced down at his files. “Ah, yes, this is your first time 
on the stay-away shift for October-January, right?” 


Louef nodded. “Yes. I’ve never had to do this long shift before, and 
they managed to time it when | got new SCP’s on my hands.” 


“It says here that you have children, John,” said Vange as he 


SCP-891: California Field 


Item #: SCP-891 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-891 is to be surrounded 
by a one-half kilometer buffer zone, purchased by the Foundation 
under the guise of a peach farm. Foundation agents are to deter any 
civilians from entering SCP-891. A ten meter fence is to surround 
SCP-891 in order to prevent unauthorized entry. Intruders 
discovered within the grounds of SCP-891 are to be apprehended, 
administered Class A amnestics, and released. Planting vegetation 
of any kind in SCP-891 requires the permission of Level 4 
personnel. Apple trees are never to be planted in SCP-891; all 
animals that carry the potential to deposit apple seeds via fecal 
matter in SCP-891 are to be deterred from entering SCP-891. Any 
vegetation that sprouts in SCP-891 as a result of seed deposition by 
wind, bird, or other natural causes is to be immediately incinerated. 


Description: SCP-891 is afield locatedin __, California. The 
dimensions of SCP-891 are one and a half by one kilometers. Any 
plant that bears edible fruit is able to grow in SCP-891, regardless of 
previous soil or climate needs. Plants planted in SCP-891 
experience moderately accelerated growth and seem to require 
abnormally small amounts of water and sunlight to grow. Fruits 
produced by plants inside SCP-891 are larger than average and 
have been said to “look delicious.” Chemical analysis has revealed 
that compounds responsible for producing appealing texture, flavor, 
and aroma are abnormally high in SCP-891's fruit. Attempts by 
Foundation staff to render the soil of SCP-891 incapable of 
supporting vegetation have been unsuccessful; salting SCP-891 had 
no effect. However, once salted soil was removed from the grounds 
of SCP-891, it behaved as expected and did not support vegetation. 


Attempting to ingest any fruit, with the exception of apples, grown in 
SCP-891 results instead in the consumption of the subject's own 


perused the file. 

Dr. Louef closed his eyes. “Yes, Sam and Jenna.” 
“And how old are they?” 

“Sam’s 5, and Jenna's 11.” 

“Interesting. Do you miss them?” 

“Of course. What kind of question is that?” 


“An important one. If you weren’t missing them, then that could be 
something else. Now, is there a particular incident that caused this 
visit?” Dr. Vange asked, looking into Dr. Louef’s eyes. 


Dr. Louef looked away. “Yes. The new SCP’s under my jurisdiction. 
They're somewhat....traumatic.” 


"Tell me about them." 


Louef sighed, running his hand through his hair. "The first new one 
was 715. It's a photobooth that makes a clone of people put into it.” 


"And what about that?" 


"The clones die after 15 minutes. We wanted to-" Louef stumbled for 
a moment, and closed his eyes, as the memories of all the clones 
came back to his head. 


"Do you need a moment, John?" The concerned psychologist asked. 


"No, I'm fine. We wanted to see what happened if the original was 
killed. We... we tried it 10 times. Needed a good sample size." 


"And what happened?" 


"In every case, the clone got... emotional. They all seemed to know 
when they were going to die, and every damn time, seeing their 
original die made them even more agitated," said Louef as he 
grimaced, and closed his eyes. 


"They screamed, Mark. They all goddamn screamed as they died. 


Every single one." 
"Were there any other ones?" 


"| got SCP-463 too. It's a spoon that breaks the spine of anyone who 
picks it up." 


"Jesus."