Turning her eyes from her mother, Claire’s brow furrows as she 
eyes her eldest brother with some distaste. “Mikell. What do you get 
the man who’s taken everything?” She gestures calmly to Tamlin, 


who rummages in his bag, before pulling forth a case roughly two 
feet long, maybe a foot wide, hard shell and flip open latches, like for 
a musical instrument. He slides this down the table to Mikell, who 
stops it with one hand. 


Leaning forward, Mikell unlatches the case, and studies the contents 
with a look of confusion, before turning it to face his family. Inside 
are the remains of a broadsword, nestled in a fitted red velvet 
casing. A foot and a half of handle and blade fill the bottom, while 
the top holds several shards of the blade strapped in with elastic. He 
turns his quizzical gaze to the screen, one eyebrow arching. “What 
the devil is this?” 


“The name of my little underground railroad, or, at least, the one that 
stuck, is the Little Sisters. I’ve always loved it, because it works on 
so many levels. On the one hand, everyone love to make the 1984 
reference, with the Little Sisters forming to help keep an eye on, and 
harass, the Big Brother that is the Foundation. And, on a more 
personal level, it was always a jab from me, at you, saying little 
sister is always watching her personal big brother. With me gone, 
while the name lives on,” the video nods to her descendants, “Il am 
no longer here to give you my personal attention. So | had to leave 
you with something that would always remind you of me. That,” one 
dark hand pointing towards where Mikell is inspecting the damaged 
blade, “is the original sword of Damocles. Let me tell you, it took a 
fair doing to track down a work of fiction, and, as you can see, it’s 
been through a lot. But now, whenever you look at this, you will feel 
the weight, hanging over your head, and remember me.” A cruel 
smile passes over her face. “Who knows? It may save yout life, if 
you keep it nearby.” And she winks; knowing that even that little bit 
of a hint at forewarning would keep it close by him. 


“Which brings me to the middle brother, and my mixed feelings.” Her 
gaze shifts to Jack, who is caught in the middle of making sure TJ 
doesn't spill his juice box. He glances at the screen with a face that 
is devoid of emotion, unsure where his sister is taking this. “Jack. My 
brother, my friend, my greatest enemy, and often ally.” Jack doesn’t 
look at his older brother, and at-work superior. Mikell, however, lets 
his glare travel between screen and brother, scowling deeper and 
deeper. Claire continues, as if nothing was happening. “For you, my 


dear brother, | offer my silence, as | ever did.” A glance is shared, 
between the brothers, and their sister on screen, and you can 
almost see all three mentally agree to never bring it up. “And this. | 
know you thought you had accounted for all of them, but | managed 
to squirrel one away.” 


Dr. Tamlin pulls a bottle from his pack of many things, a bottle 
whose very shape causes Jack to gasp, and his face to light up in 
delight. The bottle appears to have been made by a glass blower 
with a bad case of the hiccups, and the liquid within it is dark, a little 
syrupy, and has a deep blue tint to it. 


Yorick makes an interrogative noise as Jack reaches out and pulls 

the bottle to him, cradling it as if it was a fragile, porcelain doll, or a 
baby. When the noise does nothing, he clears his throat. When that 
fails to illicit a response, he rolls his eyes and speaks. “Yo, gramps. 
What’s in the bottle?” 


Jacks head jerks up, a little guiltily, and he looks around the table. 
“Ah, yes. This. Well. This is a bottle of the first whiskey | ever made, 
back in my first life. I’ve got two bottles put aside for special 
occasions, but a third! Well!” He carefully pulls the stopper; just 
enough for a half an inch of cork to clear the rim, and even with that 
much exposed, the smell of fermented apples quickly fills the room. 
He laughs, and grins at the screen. “It just gets better with age! 
Thank you Claire. I'll drink to your memory.” 


“| wouldn’t expect you to do anything else. Which brings me to me 
favori-“ 


“No.” TJ is sitting upright in his chair, his eyes on the screen, paying 
attention for the first time, his eyes unusually aware, and intelligent. 


“Ah, TJ.” Claire clears her throat. “I have something very special for 
you.” 


“No,” TJ repeats, his voice stronger, his gaze focusing on her face. 
“Move on, sister.” 


There is a threat in his voice, that shocks those who have only 
known him as the mostly brain dead SCP-590. Even his closest 


relative, his darling brother Jack, seems to be at a loss for words at 
this reaction. 


“It's okay James, | knew she'd try this. We prepared.” TJ snakes a 
hand out to grab Jack's hand, squeezing it lightly. 


Claire’s brow furrows, staring down her younger brother. Then, she 
shrugs it off. “If you don’t want it, I'll make sure someone who needs 
it, gets it.” 


TJ nods once, and his face goes vacant, back to the senseless 
smile that normally accompanies him. He pulls his hand from his 
brothers, as he once again focuses on his drawing, without a care in 
the world. 


“My dear daughter. You knew this was coming, we've already 
discussed most of it.” Claire looks, and sounds, slightly disgruntled, 
her exchange with her brother clearly weighing on her. Junior 
glances up, dabbing at her eyes. “To you | leave everything. The 
safe houses, the deeds, the boons we are owed, all this and more is 
now in your name. The Runners will listen when you call, and the 
Deep Beneath has pledged itself to your service. All of the rest of it 
is in the case.” 


Joey Tamlin pulls a thick hefty leather briefcase from his bag, and 
forces it down the table. He struggles a little bit, it’s clearly heavy. 


“lll look at this later. Thank you mom.” Claire the Second smiles for 
a moment, placing her hands on the hefty luggage. A glance at her 

elder relatives is all it takes to make it clear that any of them who try 
to peek inside will get quite a shock. 


The dark gaze turns towards David, who stares back, ahem, blindly. 
“David. While we’ve never been what you might call close, you are 
the only member of the family who understands what it’s like to see 
more than others, to always be that one step ahead.” His head 
inclines gently towards the screen, as if to indicate she has a point. 
“But we’ve never seen eye to eye, no offense intended, about the 
problem of the Unumbered Brood.” 


David stirs, sitting up a little straighter. “We just want recognition. To 


be part of the family.” 


“You ARE part of the family, dash it all!” Mikell interjects, slamming 
his hand against the table. “You have ALWAYS been my son, | will 
ALWAYS be there for you!” 


“And the others dad? Hmm?” David leaps to his feet, staring down 
his father. “All your other children, all the bastards of the Bright 
blood, who have been left out in the cold? Will you be there for 
them? Will your protect them the way you tried to protect me?” He 
whips off his sunglasses, revealing the gaping craters where his 
eyes should be. “Will you neuter them when they begin to show up 
as anomalous? My brother, screaming Heebie Jeebies, would you 
tear out his vocal cords, so the Foundation wouldn’t come for him? 
Doesn't always work, removing the source of the power, does it? 
What about Poor Tessie Shakes? Gonna cut her spine, keep her 
from moving so she can’t make things fall? Huh, Dad? Gonna find 
some way to control all my brothers and sisters, and if they can’t 
pass for normal, lock them in some cell like-“ His finger darts out, 
pointing at TJ. 


Who is looking back at him, those young eyes dark, a grim frown on 
his youthful, freckled features. 


“Will... Will you...” David's rant falters, as 590 does not cease his 
staring. Even a blind man can feels the weight of that gaze on him. 


“David-“ Mikell begins, but he too falls silent when the hefty gaze of 
his youngest brother turns to him. The three are silent, two of them 
unsure of what is going on, the third sure, but unwilling to speak on 
it. 


“That will be enough, from both of you!” Claire's voice cracks like a 
whip in the quiet room. “You both have your differences, and they 
will NOT be worked out here, thank you very much.” She glares 
back and forth between them, cowing them into respectability, even 
from beyond the grave. “Now, as | was saying. We do not see eye to 
eye on many things, David.” She winces at the unintentional 
reference, but continues. “But | do agree with what you are doing. 
Therefore, | have deeded you the safe house in New Orleans, to act 
as a home base of sorts, for you and yours. Along with that is a list 


the lollipop. After 15 minutes, no 
changes were seen in the 
subject's vitals, nor any abnormal 
sensations were reported by the 
subject. When pressed subject 
remarked that he felt less of an 
urge to urinate than at the 
beginning of the procedure. Test 
was put on hold while subject was 
instructed to consume 1 L of 
water and wait until the urge to 
urinate was intense. Subject was 
again ordered to consumed 
SCP-819-C. After 2 minutes, 
subject reported the urge to 
urinate had decreased. After 10 
minutes, subject had no urge to 
urinate, and when ordered to 
attempt, no urine remained in 
subject's bladder. 


Note: While this may have some practical usage for field agents or 
sensitive operations, | would appreciate it if staff would stop 
requesting 819-C-1 for recreational uses. - Dr. Dreyn 


Experiment Log 819-D-1 
Test: 
Subject: 
Results: 


Green 
Effect of Consumption 
D-1151 
After about 3 minutes, the subject 
noted that it felt like his sinuses 
were beginning to clear, and 
happily continued. Within another 
3, subject reported his nose felt 
very dry and alittle painful. 
Further consumption caused 
sinus and nasal pain increases, 
as well as the development of his 
throat becoming sore and 
breathing becoming slightly 


of several of the Brood you may have missed.” Her eyes turn from 
him, to her mother. “Because none of us have ever been the least 
bit careful with our DNA.” 


Dr. Tamlin carefully walks over to the blind man, and hands him a 
small folder of papers. “Everything you need is in here,” he says, 
before returning to his place at the head of the table. 


“Yorick Elroy!” Her voice cracks like a whip, causing the named 
individual to jump, startled, from where he is trying to peer 
nonchalantly at David’s documents. “I know you’ve always thought 
of me as the aunt you never wanted, in a family you wish you didn’t 
know. But | foresee | will always have a soft spot for you, due to our 
time together in Tibet.” She smiles at the young man, while most of 
the other family members do a slow ‘turn and stare.’ 


“When did you-“ Jack begins, before being interrupted. 


“It was something | was doing for the Insurgency, back when. You 
know, Clef's special Task Force?” Yorick lies rather easily, but that’s 
a common survival trait amongst these relations. “I’m not allowed to 
talk about it.” Heads nod in response to that information. They all 
have things they cannot talk about. 


“Because of that, | did want to give you a small memento, a 
reminder of me, and a warning.” She gestures to her lackey Tamlin, 
who takes the opportunity to hand Yorick a small black stone. “It has 
no special properties. It’s just a chip off a certain gravestone, I’m 
sure you remember the one. All it is a reminder. Oh, and the 
warning, of course.” She straightens herself, letting her eyes adopt a 
fair away gaze, her voice deepening in the matter of cheap fortune 
tellers worldwide. “Do not go seeking immortality, it will find you.” 


Yorick shivers, and slips the stone in his pocket. “Thank you, Claire.” 


“You’re welcome, boy! Which, of course, leads us to the youngest 
member of the family. Hello Serra, we’ll never meet, my name is 
Claire, as | assume you’ve figured out.” Claire smiles beatifically at 
the young Miss Argent. 


“Considering | only found out about my relation to this group a 


couple of weeks ago, yeh, never met. Hey. Nice to know you. Sorry 
you’re dead.” Serra replies flippantly, brushing a long red lock of 
curly hair out of her face. 


“| don’t actually have much for you, just this.” Claire nods for Tamlin 
to go ahead. 


He reaches into the bag and pulls out a leather belt, a beautifully 
crafted and tooled thing, with dozens of tiny scenes of fantastical 
creatures carved into its length. Attached to the belt are two 
holsters, both clearly made with the same level of care. 


Serra snags the belt and frowns. Almost without thinking, she pulls 
one of her six shooters out, triggering the other side of the table to 
move back, and shake out their sleeves, then she slips it into the 
empty holster in front of her. “Huh. A perfect fit.” 


“Yes, of course it is. That belt was my father's.” Claire continues, as 
everyone resettles. “I find it only fitting that you should have it.” She 
turns her gaze from the youngest to Mikell. “And no Mikey, | won't 
tell you how | got it. If you feel she deserves the guns, then | can do 
no less than give her the belt. Oh, and a name.” Glancing back to 
Serra, Claire smirks. “You need to look up Alberto Giovanni. In some 
circles, he’s known as the Gunsmith.” 


The last present doled out, Claire once again turns her attention to 
the room at large. “My family. My loved ones. | am going to miss 
every last one of you. And | know you'll all miss me. And the last 
thing | have to say is a warning. Something is coming, something 
that will require both containers and contained to handle. If you don’t 
figure out a way to-* And the screen fills with static. 


“I’m afraid it ends there.” Tamlin says with a sigh, as he leans 
forward, and presses the stop button. “Either she never finished it, or 
age has wiped the tape, but that’s all she wrote. Or recorded, 
anyways.” He stands up, a clear dismissal. “Anything else she may 
have left, | will be handing out personally. In the end...” He clears 
his throat, looking around the room, making eye contact with each 
and every one of his descendants, or ancestors, depending on 
which way you look at it. Yes, including David, although Lord knows 
how he manages that. “In the end, she wanted this meeting, not 


simply to hand out trinkets, but to get you, all of you, together. To 
remind you that you ARE family.” Again the look at each of them, 
although at this point, many avoid his gaze. “And sometimes, family 
is more important.” He sighs, knowing he didn’t reach any of them. 
“Fine. Do what you will. Go. Remember, the truce holds, until the 
last has left.” 


The first to leave is Evelyn. She gathers her robes about her, 
walking with a gait that makes it seem as if she has too many legs. 
She squeezes Mikell on the shoulder, and touches Jack on the 
head, before ending with a hug for TJ. She shakes hands with both 
Yorick and Serra, muttering a brief “Welcome to the family,” to the 
latter. She leaves with the dignity of a queen, already beginning to 
mask her pain. 


Mikell and David stand up at the same time. They both open their 
mouths to speak, then glance at the black screen, and think better of 
it. They leave via separate doors, both deep in thought. 


Yorick moves to help his grandfather with 590, and his assistance is 
welcome. Together, the two of them manage to lead the young 
looking man away, as he cries for his crayons. He wasn’t done 
drawing. 


Claire the Second slips out during the commotion, unnoticed.