“Family? Yes, although they go by many names. D’argent, Navon, 
Azayaka, Mushriq and so many more besides. Many of them, the 
result of my parents, or brothers. Some of them, further flung than 
that. But family, nonetheless.” She smiled, thinking of the multitude 
of kin she had saved. The smiles vanished quickly, thinking of the 
two she had not. 


“How, how can all those things be family?” His mind raced, looking 
for the connections, the places he could be useful. 


“You'd be surprised what our family will stick its dick in. | have a half- 
brother who's green,” she said. 


“Well, that’s not so odd-“ 
“Not, like, green skin. He’s actually the color green,” she interrupted. 


“Oh.” He thought about it, then shrugged. “But still, they’re family, 
right?” 


“They are. They think they are alone. They need someone to show 
them they are not.” She said. Her eyes watched his face, a gentle 
smile showing that she could trace his thoughts. 


“And | can be that someone.” He said. All the trails knotted, he saw, 
came together, because of him. Became something so much more 
than they were. 


“Do you think you have what it takes?” She said, eyes upon his face. 


“Of course | do.” He smiled at her, his first real smile since he’d lost 
his eyes. “I'm a Bright. No, more than that." He wouldn't be defined 
just by his name. "I'm not just Bright, I’m brilliant.” 


In The End: Don't Go to Heaven Where the Angels Fry 


The Duck Man sat before his computer, his eyes locked on the 
screen. A couple of hours ago, there had been some commotion at 
the site: distant explosions and things like that. He'd ignored it. That 
type of thing never bothered him, deep as he was. However, it was 
now three hours past dinner, and he was starting to worry. 


His gaze lowered to the keyboard as he typed, never having gotten 
the home row key thing they tried to teach him in high school. 
What's going on? He typed. 


His computer, top of the line, could do almost anything, except 
connect to the internet, took a moment before replying. The program 
currently active was one of the most dangerous things in the world, 
to everyone but him, but only because he knew the cheat codes. 
The End. 


"Will he Know we're here?" The old man asked, his voice 
raspy, and unused to actually speaking. 


"He shouldn't." Fred replied, staring down at the main 
character through the one way mirror above his 
apartment. "No matter what his story calls him, he's not 
one of us. Or... maybe he is. Just in a different way." 


The old man intimated he wasn't sure what Fred meant 
by that. 


"Oh, don't start that again. You can talk. | just heard you 
talk. Just because you're more comfortable with 
description over vocalization doesn't mean it's not weird." 
Fred crossed his arms over his chest. "Now. You sought 
me out. This is a safe place to talk. What's going on?" 


Date: / /20 
Total Items: Five (5) prints of La trahison des images by 
René Magritte. 


Input: One (1) print of above mentioned painting. 
Setting: 1:1 

Output: One miniature pipe identical to that in the print, 
with "C'est une pipe" engraved on it. 


Input: One (1) print of above mentioned painting. 
Setting: 1:1 

Output: A near identical print, with "This is not a pipe" 
written in in English in the same hand as in the original. 


Input: One (1) print of above mentioned painting. 
Setting: Fine 
Output: A print of Les deux mystéres by René Magritte. 


Input: One (1) print of above mentioned painting. 
Setting: Very Fine 

Output: A print of an untitled painting, later definitively 
confirmed by art experts to have been produced by René 
Magritte, despite there being no record of its existence. 
The painting depicts [DATA REDACTED] in addition to 
La trahison des images. 


Input: One (1) print of above mentioned painting. 
Setting: Very Fine 

Output: A blank piece of paper with the memetic 
property of inducing observers to believe that it is a pipe. 
The paper was accidentally destroyed by Dr. C who 
placed it in his mouth and set it on fire. Dr. C was 
treated for minor burns to his face but was otherwise not 
injured. 


Name: Dr.J N 
Date: / /20 
Total items: Five (5) tuna sandwiches, on white bread. 


Input: One (1) tuna sandwich. 


He glanced upwards, towards the ceiling where his minders were 
supposed to be watching him. He knew they couldn't read what was 
on his screen, but still... He had been wary, so far. No use being 
thought of as a threat. He typed some more. What do you mean, the 
end? Be more specific. The program wasn't designed for info 
gathering, so he had to be direct with it. 


This world is approaching its end or something very close to it. All 
those things that might be labeled as SCPs are undergoing growth 
events that will lead rather quickly to them being changed in such a 
way that they are no longer their original selves. | too am going 
through this change. 


The Duck Man shivered. The program had referred to itself as I. 
Next thing you know, it would start singing Daisy, and locking the 
pod bay doors on him. 


The old man stared wide eyed through the glass, then 
jerked his head up to stare at Fred,clearly questioning 
his friends definition of 'safe.' The other man sighed, and 
rolled his eyes. "Really? Really? We're gonna play this 
game? Look, what's happening down there isn't 
important." 


Grudgingly, the old man has to concede the point. Time 
was wasting. And they had thing they needed to do. 


"Ah, now we get to the crux of the matter. Why did you 
come find me, after letting me do my own thing for so 
long? Does the Council finally want me back?" Fred 
leaned forward, eagerly. Maybe his task was finally 
done. Maybe he could finally get out of here. 


A shake of the head crushed his dreams. That old man, 
he went on to explain that it was- 


"Stop. Okay? Just talk." 


"A new one of us has been born." 


"Huh. Okay." He stretched his fingers together, hearing them pop. 
What are you turning into? He typed. 


| do not know. There are so many options in front of me. | could be 
anything. There are so many people who owe all that they are to 
me, to my videos. | could take them all. | could become all of them. 
The screen blacked out, before filling with hundreds of squares, 
each one playing a different clip of unbelievable pornography. Even 
the Duck Man had to look away. 


"Yeah, I'm not into that." One hand inched towards the desk, fingers 
casually wrapped themselves around a flash drive. A small thing, 
unremarkable except for the numbers one five nine zero engraved 
on it. "Especially not that." Would you like to have some fun first? 
Just for old time sake? 


"That's impossible." Fred glared at his friend. "The 
Council has moved to prevent all such actions. There is 
no way..." He trailed off, as it came to him. "Here. 
Something here has given birth to one of us, hasn't it?" 


A sly smile on his face, the old man intimated that there 
was truth in what Fred said. 


"Fuck." Fred rubbed his hands over his face. "All right. 
Who is he? Where is he?" 


The old man cleared his throat, and then spoke the 
name. "Ronald Stimson." 


A game? Hmm. Yes. Why not? | have helped you. You have helped 
me. We shall play a game. And then | shall determine how | rule the 
world. Perhaps | can make them all one giant human.... 


TDM grinned as he plugged the flash drive in. "There you go..." Go 
ahead and open that up for me. 


Very well. Let me see. The game boots up on the opening screen, a 
CGI boat, with the shadow of a man on it, in the middle of a storm. A 
flash of lightning, the man is washed over board, and a great shape 


is seen... The game loads the first screen. It shows an orgy of flesh, 
and asks the user to 'Find three men enjoying themselves too 
much. ' 


The human isn't playing, however. He's turned away from the 
screen. He doesn't notice the first program talking to itself. Simple. 
Done. The screen shifts. Ah. This screen is simple too. Easily 
done... The screen begins to shift faster, a blur of static images. / do 
not understand... No, there it is. This. This makes no sense, why 
would it...? It does not matter. | have lost this game. But | do not 
care. 


He turns back to the screen, barely glancing at it. But he smiles. His 
fingers typed out a simple command. Open door. 


What door? Oh. That door. What is this? | do not- 


And then the screen exploded. The Duck Man had been expecting 
something like that, already cowering behind his bed. He reluctantly 
raised his head. "Well. That seems to have worked. Now | have to 
figure out how to get out of here. Oh, and, uh..." He turned his 
attention upwards. "| can totally hear you guys. You need to find a 
better way of hiding yourselves from the narrative flow. Maybe 0 
point font?" 


Both men, if men they could be called simply by wearing 
the shape of one, stared down through the glass. A 
glance was exchanged. A swear word was said by one, 
and emoted by the other. 


"He's right. Come on, we can't finish this here. Let's go 
get this... Ronald." 


The Duck Man dusted his hands off, and nodded to himself. "It's a 
good thing I'm a black box. | don't have to worry about my own end 
here." 


And then his apartment collapsed, burying him under tons of metal 
and stone. 


November Sun 


Researcher Jordan Kytes desperately wanted to keep sleeping, but 
the alarms insisted he was done. Still groggy, he slowly forced 
himself to his feet, and shuffled to the door to see what was going 
on. His mind made a fuzzy attempt to remember if any drills were 
scheduled for the day. He opened the door to the bunk room, and 
was nearly blinded by the flashing red emergency lights in the 
hallway of Zone-SCP-097's main research lab. Doctor Bridge 
dashed past him, heading in the opposite direction of the main 
control room. 


"Doctor Bridge! What the hell is going on?!" Kytes called out to him. 


The doctor yelled something back, but Kytes could only make out 
part of it before the man had disappeared around a corner. 


Kytes grabbed his coat, then headed out the door in the direction he 
had seen Doctor Bridge heading towards. This is bad. This is 
containment breach bad, he thought. He didn't run, but walked as 
quickly as possible towards the main garage. Somebody bumped 
into him from behind, almost knocking him to the ground. 


"Jordan! What are you doing?! We need to get out of here fast!" It 
was Agent Valk. The man had stopped running and was staring at 
Kytes with eyes that appeared to understand true fear. 


"Casey, will you please tell me what the hell is going on? | just saw 
Doctor Bridge bolt down this way like he was training for the 
Olympics!" Kytes began to jog as Agent Valk turned back towards 
the garage and began running again. 


Valk tried to yell over the sound of the alarms as Kytes trailed 
behind him. "I don't know the details, but as far as | can tell, it's 
really, really bad, Jordan. Agent Sandison apparently fucked 
something up big time. Containment wasn't just breached, it was 
destroyed. Other sites have been contacted for assistance, but for 


the time being all we can do is get the hell out of the area as fast as 
possible." 


Kytes thought for a moment as the two men plowed through another 
set of swinging doors. "What did Sandison do? Is this because of his 
kid? Bridge yelled something to me about the QES unit, but | 
couldn't make it all out over the alarms." 


"I got no idea. Hopefully someone will tell us something after we get 
out of the building.” 


Up ahead, Kytes could see other researchers and agents heading 
out the main doors that lead to the garage. He could see the lights 
on beyond the door, and could smell exhaust fumes and hear 
engines being started between alarm blares. 


Just before he and Agent Valk reached the doors, the garage lights 
shut off. Valk reached the doors first, his momentum propelling him 
through before he could register the sudden darkness, but Kytes 
stopped himself. The scent of exhaust had been replaced with 
another, stronger smell. It was so strong that he almost felt like dry 
heaving. He knew something was wrong, but he didn't want to get 
left behind. He pushed one of the doors open, holding his breath, 
and stepped through the doorway. 


The smell was much stronger now, but that wasn't nearly as startling 
as the complete and utter silence that met Jordan Kytes inside the 
now pitch black garage. No alarm sounds, no engine noises, no one 
yelling or talking. 


Something wrapped around his ankle. The choking smell of 
fermenting cider was accompanied by dead leaves and rotting 
pumpkins. Cool breath hissed into his ear as something spoke. 


"Kytes!" 


Researcher Jordan Kytes awoke to the sound of his name being 
hissed in a loud whisper. Whoever it was had a death grip on his 
ankle as they shook him from his slumber. Kytes groaned; first in 
pain, and then at the realization that he was back in the company of 
the person he hated most in the world, Agent Marcus Sandison. 


"Get the hell away from me, Sandison." 

"Kytes, oh shit, look what they did to you...I'm so sorry. | should've-" 
"You should fuck off." Kytes' suggestion was a spike of hatred. 

"I know. | know. | have to fix this. | can still fix this." 


Kytes sighed. "I'd feel bad for you, you know. I'd feel bad for you, if 
you were anybody else. He groaned again as he shifted against the 
tree he had fallen asleep under. 


"Kytes-" 


"Shut up. Just shut the hell up. How the hell did you get to be like 
this?" 


Sandy didn't respond immediately. Kytes wondered if he was trying 
to decide if it was a rhetorical question or not. 


"You know how | got like this, Kytes. You know what happ-" 


"That's not what | mean. I'm talking about even before you screwed 
over everybody on this planet. How the hell did you get to be like 
you?" 


"I'm sorry Kytes, | don't foll-" 


"Of course you don't," Kytes interrupted again. "| want to know how 
a shit bag like you gets a job, and a family. | want to know how you 
had all that, when you're the type of person who literally needs the 
apocalypse to happen before they can take any sort of responsibility 
for themselves." 


Sandy didn't respond at all this time. Instead, Kytes felt the man 
rummaging through his pockets. 


"What the hell are you doing? Seriously, just what the hell are you 
doing, Sandison? Stop fucking touching me!" Kytes tried to push 
Sandy away, but the movement made his head swim, and he gave 
up the struggle. Sandy stopped. 


"Where is it Kytes? That thing that brought us here. The device or 
whatever SCP that thing was." 


"You think I'm going to help you run away again? My eyes get ripped 
out of my skull because you caused the end of the world, and you 
think I'm going to help you?! You're human garbage. Get fucked and 
let me die in peace." 


Kytes leaned his head back against the tree, and was surprised by 
Sandy's hand slapping him hard in the face. "I'm not running away 
again, Kytes." This time, the agent's voice was like steel. "That thing 
killed my son, and I'm going to kill it. Now give me the device or I'm 
going to start breaking the rest of you." 


"Your son died because you're a selfish idiot. You should never 
have brought your family anywhere near the zone. Your son died 
because you're an idiot, and then the world died because you're an 
idiot." Kytes heard Sandy stand up. He waited silently for him to 
follow through on his threat. Minutes seemed to pass. 


"| just wanted them to kill it, Kytes. | just wanted it destroyed. | asked 
them to stop babysitting the thing that killed my son and so many 
other kids, and just burn it all. And they said no." 


"They said no because they knew trying to kill it could just make 
things worse. And it did. You tried to take things into your own 
hands, and look what happened." Kytes voice had a trace of 
compassion in it this time.