“May we break the Flesh,” she said. 
“May the God be whole,” he said. 
Bumaro nodded as both the man and the woman bowed to him. 


The nameless priest was dragged down into the basement of chapel 
he once owned, still yelling and kicking, crying the names of God. 
The woman paid him no mind, and the two men watched silently. 
His voice shouted out prayers to the Broken One which soon turned 
into curses. Soon, the yelling stopped and there was no screaming. 


"| will need to tend to Her pieces." The suited man said, "| must take 
my leave now; some could notice my absence." 


"Of course, doctor." 


As both sets of footsteps led out of the chapel, Bumaro was left 
alone once more. So he kneeled in front of the altar, closed his 
eyes, and began his prayers again. 


The Cage 


Journal of Frank Adam Bourne 
26/04/2013: 


Today was a little strange. | had just closed up and was heading out 
the door when a short man in a suit approached me. He asked if | 
was interested in a business proposition. Now I've had my fair share 
of run-ins with schemers and crooks, so | was a little wary of this 


guy. 


He explained to me he is a liason of Harburgh Holdings Ltd., a 
rather large real estate holdings corp. He said he wanted to 
purchase my bar. That got my attention... | nearly flat out rejected 
him until he gave me the offer. 


$867,000. All in cash, off the books. | did my research on the 
company and they had a website and everything... they're good for 
it. | even phoned their office and they confirmed they had sent a 
representative to meet with me. They seem legit. 


I'm going to take the night to think about it. 
27/04/2013: 


| sold the bar. | shook the man's hand and wished him good luck. He 
offered to keep me on full-time as the manager. | figured, hey, why 
not. | mean his company's already paid me enough for me to buy my 
own apartment building... | can't lose here. It'll give me something to 
do during the day too... | don't want to spend any more time with the 
wife than | have to. 


They started bringing in their stuff today. By the end of the week we 
should be ready to re-open. He says he wants me to take a few 
days off in the meantime, while he gets the place set up. 


4/05/2013: 


Now we're back in business! Strange thing, a few days ago, the 
same guy from the company paid me a visit. He said he's renaming 
the bar to the 'Vic Stanley Country Club’. | think | vomited internally, 
but | never told him | didn't care for the new name. 


He's turning it into a geezer's hangout. Today they hung a massive 
sign up outside. Whoop-de-do. 


07/05/2013: 


| need to be more regular with these entries. Right now I'm kind of 
feeling my way around these new owners, trying to get back on my 
legs and with the rythm [sic]. The last few days have been kind of 
hectic while we get used to the speed of things. 


Today, we had this lady and her husband come in. They had a bite. 
The waitress said they talked her ear off about Jerry Lee Lewis. 
Bunch of weirdos.... he hasn't been relevant in 30 years. Whatever, 
| shouldn't concern myself with what others do. Doctor says it's bad 
for my health or something. 


09/05/2013: 


The last few days have seen an increase in Jerry Lee Lewis fans 
coming here. | have no idea why they decided to make this their 
hangout. 


Funny, most of them have said that they attended a Jerry Lee 
concert at this exact venue a couple months ago. | told them that 
can't be right, | owned the place back then, and we never hosted 
any concerts. 


10/05/2013: 


| had a good long chat with some of the patrons that came in. We 
talked for hours about Jerry Lee Lewis... one of them lent me a CD 
of his. 


| remember going to that show of his, a few months back, clear as 
day. Think about it. 


closely involved in her confinement. Agent was approved to 
return to active dutyon - -_ , and continues to serve with the 
restructured Mobile Task Force Theta-3. 


11/05/2013: 


The short man in the suit asked us to try out this new brew they 
concocted. Think about it. It was alright, tasted perhaps a little bitter. 


| asked him if | could change the music in the P.A. to Jerry Lee. He 
said 'go nuts’. 


13/05/2013: 


| can feel it closing in on me like teeth... | hope it goes back to the 
cage. 


14/05/2013: 


I've been listening to my recording of the concert for DAYS. It's so 
good. 


| wish | could find that record 'Rock & Roll Sacrificial’ somewhere... 
no store around here carries it. | want to hear it. 


| want to learn it! | need to learn it. If | learn it, maybe it won't take 
me. Maybe | will get to meet him. Yeah. It can't come out again. It 
needs to stay in its cage. In the cage. In the cage. In the cage. In the 
cage. Stay in the cage. Yes. 


Think about it. 

16/05/2013: 

Too tired. Can't think about it. 
17/05/2013: 


Fuck, | feel like | got ran over by a train. My head's been pounding 
non-stop for the last 3 days. 


We still get those Jerry Lee Lewis superfans non-stop. Some of the 
regulars complain of headaches as well. 


Today they rolled out the new brew as a full replacement. It's 
actually worse than the old stuff... | have no clue why they insist on 


it. 
21/05/2013: 


| quit. I'm sick and tired of 'Jerry Lee Lewis' this, and ‘Jerry Lee' 
that... those nutjobs can keep the place. It's turned into a disaster 
since they bought it. 


-Report by Field Agent - 
<BEGIN REPORT> 


April 26th, 2013. | approached Mr. Bourne with the offer 
to purchase his estabilishment on behalf of Harburgh 
Holdings Ltd. Phase One of Operation 'Pee Wee's Place’ 
has begun. 


April 27th, 2013. Mr. Bourne accepted my offer. 
Ownership of the property was subsequently transferred 
to Harburgh Holdings Ltd., a subsidiary of Foundation 
Public Holdings. 


May 4th, 2013. Renovations to the building were 
completed. The estabilished was officially renamed to 
the Vic Stanley Country Club. Phase One of Operation 

‘Pee Wee's Place’ complete. 


May 7th, 2013. As anticipated, a large number of 
subjects afflicted with SCP-2971 have begun gathering 
on the property. 


May 10th, 2013. Mr. Bourne infected with SCP-2971. 


May 13th, 2013. Mr. Bourne requested to change the 
estabilishment's P.A. music player to all Jerry Lee Lewis 
songs. Request granted, as | deemed this beneficial to 
the mission. Phase Two of Operation 'Pee Wee's Place’ 
underway. 


May 16th, 2013. Subjects who consumed the amnestic- 
laced alcoholic beverages show symptoms of 
headaches. Product is believed to be working as 


intended. 


May 18th, 2013. All subjects previously infected by 
SCP-2971 have shown complete recovery. Phase Two 
of Operation 'Pee Wee's Place’ ongoing, but first trial run 
is a SUCCeSS. 


May 19th, 2013. Mr. Bourne's dwelling searched, several 
SCP-2971 items recovered, including near-complete 
audio recording of SCP-2971-A. 


May 21st, 2013. Mr. Bourne informed me he is 
terminating his employment two weeks from today's 
date. Search for replacement begun. 


<END REPORT> 


The Circle Opens 


Night comes in early in Orinsville. The sun rises at seven AM 
exactly, every day, and by two PM has already begun its slow 
descent behind the mountains. Come four, it's fully dark. The only 
light comes from the moon, and even it is often obscured by the 
thick clouds. There are no stars. The citizens don't see anything 
unusual about this. To them, night is as mundane as wind or sun, 
and so is what comes with it. 


As the city travels deeper into gloom, it begins to change. The 
streets distort and shift, rearranging themselves into tangled webs of 
asphalt and dirt. Buildings grow, shrink, twist, until they no longer 
resemble normal structures but the constructions of a massive child. 
The sky lowers itself until it brushes their tips. The trees dance and 
push together, forming a wall around the town. The few remaining 
lights go out. Still, this is normal, and the people don't bother to 
notice anymore. 


Then They come. They're different each time, but a few things never 
change. There are always ten of them. They are always almost 
human. They never make a sound. And They always take one. 


Sometimes it's a house's brick. Sometimes it's a bush, or a toy. 
Sometimes it's a person. But They always take one thing. 


Even this doesn't bother the citizens anymore. They wake up and 
shrug, and wonder briefly what was taken. Then they go on with 
their lives. Night comes again. The cycle continues. 


The Clock Shall Strike Again 


The clock struck twelve as the guard stood at the great gate of the 
Court. It was a night of revelry as lords and ministers entered the 
grand building, their faces covered by masks of masquerade. 


The guard stood there as he watched people passing by. The 
figures flickered before his eyes. It was a moonless night. 


How long had it been? 


The clock strikes eleven as the guard stands at the great gate of the 
Court. It is a great day as people cheer, and as the Ambassador 
enters the grand building. It bears no mask, its high heels clicking 
against the marble floor. 


The guard stands there as he watches the Ambassador passing by. 
He does not see it walking. The sun is absent. 


The guard wonders how long he has been standing here. 


The clock will strike ten as the guard stands at the great gate of the 
Court. A parade will be coming as people step on the body of their 
former Lord. It will be the one of the black crown, its mask broken 
and in pain. 


The guard will be standing there as the mob drags the twisted body 
to the King. It will be a big, endless parade. The black stars will be 
shining. 


He will always be a guard, he will always be remembering to be one, 
standing there still and proud, watching people passing by, and 
going through the great gate. 


But no. He is not, and will not be proud. He will always be 
powerless, as he can but only watch. 


The clock is striking nine as the guard stands at the great gate of the 


Court. A lost traveler is running in panic as if to escape from 
unknown horror. It smells of decay and revelry, as the crowd closes 
up on the poor soul. 


The guard is standing there as the traveler stumbles towards the 
gate. The traveler is misguided and confused, marching towards the 
most evil corner. He hears vaguely laughter of crows, coming from 
the star-shaped holes in the sky. 


He is standing here, he is always standing here. But he also 
remembers other places, the times when he has not yet beena 
guard. He is standing there as the sun shines, he is standing there 
as they tell him to come to the castle, he is standing there as he 
marches towards the palace in excitement and horror, to become a 
guard of the great gate. 


He is standing there, as he is given the mask, and marked by the 
Dragon. His King is watching from his forever throne. 


The clock has struck eight as the guard stood at the great gate of 
the Court. The street has been empty for a while now, as the 
Ambassador's laughter came from the Court. It has been arrogant 
and poisonous, as if sharp teeth clutching together. 


The guard has been standing there as the traveler's screams 
echoed and twisted. There has been no one around, except for 
those of the Court. The black stars have been moving and shifting. 


He has not been remembering, but he knew, he knew that as he has 
been standing here, something else has happened. He has been 
standing here as the riot broke out, as the King was dragged out of 
the castle, as he was beaten and injured. He has been standing 
here as his ribs were broken and his head was cut off. 


He has been standing there, as he was dying, then dead, as he saw 
the mark of the dragon. But that was before the King started to 
shriek. 


The clock was striking seven, six, five, four, three, two, as the guard 
stood at the great gate of the Court. But there was no more gate and 
no more Court. Shrieking and yelping can be heard from deep 


beneath, as if beasts were feasting and rejoicing. 


The guard was standing there as the ground disappeared, as the 
city became alive and ate its citizens, as blood poured and they all 
cheered and applauded. The black stars were trembling and 
screaming. 


He was standing there as the King shrieked and shrieked, as the 
King crawled back to his throne with maggots and decaying flesh, as 
the King was offered their blood by the jester, and as the King 
dropped the cup. The jester was laughing, the Court was laughing, 
the crowds were laughing, the crows were laughing, and he was 
laughing with them. 


The Dragon was laughing in his brass prison, and he witnessed his 
mark. 


The clock has been striking one again and again, as the guard stood 
at the great gate of the Court. But he has been standing on no 
ground but fractured ruins; he has been watching no gate but a hole, 
in the shape of an absent god. 


The Guard has been standing there, his body of mere bones, his 
mask bloodied and broken, and his soul long been snatched by the 
King's gripping claws. The black stars have not been there. 


He has been standing there, in the city, when it was upside down 
and inside out, and everything was twisted and remade. The dead 
have been walking and parading all this time, and the abominations 
have been ruling this twisted land. 


But he has been standing there, as he saw things he should not, as 
he faced the blood river and the absence of god, and looked into the 
madness of the Dragon. 


The clock shall strike zero, and the guard and the gate shall no 
longer be there. The King shall be hanged dead and the Dragon 
shall emerge again. The clock shall point to zero, and all shall end. 


The Good Captain Pt. 1: The Colourful Doctor 


The toymaker sat back from his work. The fruit of his labour, that 
which all of his tireless effort had been focused to produce, lay 
before him. He did not know why he’d built such a thing: why he, a 
humble businessman, had been called to craft such a wonder. The 
inspiration had struck him without warning, without apparent cause, 
without a parent thought: it had jumped fully formed into his mind, a 
form, a function. 


It was truly a wondrous work, he thought. Of all his constructions, 
even those he applied weeks of labour to, never quite matched the 
vision he had in mind. They always had some deviation or flaw, but 
not this. No, this work was truly perfect. A simple toy, a simple, 
marvellous toy. The children would enjoy it — that he knew with 
certainty. And in its perfection, he also knew, it gained a certain new 
quality. Something additional: a reward, a gift, exactly what it was 
didn’t matter. But he knew, again he knew with satisfaction that it 
was there, this extension of the plaything, this quality, that the 
children he lived to entertain would enjoy. 


The toymaker reflected upon all of his other work. His petty 
manufactures, it occurred to him, became only the background of his 
career — no, his life - compared to this. Well, not quite. This was 
certainly a quaint piece, far more interesting than his other, 
mundane constructions, but hardly so important. A simple doll could 
not be the greatest accomplishment of his forty-so years — could it? 


He stopped. These thoughts were not his. It was... it was as if 
someone was influencing him, influencing his thoughts so directly. 
Perhaps the doll... but no. No, he was getting away from himself. 
The clarity struck him: his life to now had been worthless. It seemed 
such a simple explanation. This doll, this doll was truly an 
amazement, so much so that- 


His ramblingly ponderous thoughts were cut short by a violent 
coughing fit. He was ill. He’d been ill since this whole affair had