She came to a stop in front of a room with a plastic slider under the 
viewing port which read, ‘SCP-1867, A Gentleman’. She tapped her 
security card to the black reader beside the door, and since they 
were in a low-security wing the containment cells didn’t have access 
control vestibules so she was able to roll the Punkz right in. 


“Hello Lord Blackwood, how are you today?” 


“Right as rain, old girl, though that’s hardly a wonder given the 


nature of my accommodations,” SCP-1867 replied from his 
aquarium. “Il see you’ve brought me some more curios to appraise. 
Splendid!” 


“Yes, we've given them the designation SCP-3717. They’re -” 


“Homunculi, and poorly made ones at that,” Blackwood harrumphed. 
“| do hope the alchemist who created them had his guild licence 
revoked.” 


“He never got it, technically,” Wilby replied. “He’s called the Amazing 
Zoltan because it’s amazing he’s never been arrested or sued for 
alchemical malpractice.” 


“Hmmm. Fully endowed with powers of mind and speech? Perhaps | 
spoke too soon,” Blackwood said. “Do forgive me, and let us have 
proper introductions. | am Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood, 
Viscount of Westminster, member of the House of Lords and 
Brigadier in the British army as well as an avid gentleman scientist, 
both freelance and in the service of Her Majesty’s Royal Foundation 
for the Study of Curiosities and Phantasmagoria.” 


“...We’re freaks!” Spratz introduced himself and his siblings. 


“Specifically, we were attractions in the Den of Freaks at the Circus 
of the Disquieting,” the twins added. 


“Good God, you don’t mean Herman Fuller’s Circus of the 
Disquieting, do you?” Blackwood asked. “You have my pity then, my 
humble Homunculi, for | myself once had the displeasure of 
encountering that disreputable vagabond.” 


Luna immediately cleared her throat. 


“Not to be rude, Lord Blackwood, but | was hoping we could keep 
the conversation focused on the Circus’s more recent -” 


“It was Fall of 1888...” 
“Too late,” she murmured as she hung her head in resignation. 


“| had come across The Pond to pay old Teddy a visit. The trip was 


a bit spur of the moment, and since the first ship available was 
headed to Boston, | decided to take it and make the journey to New 
York by land; take in some of that renown New England autumn 
foliage, you know. The first half of the trip was marvellously scenic, 
but whilst | was somewhere in Connecticut | found my eye curiously 
drawn to garish posters advertising something called Herman 
Fuller’s Circus of the Disquieting. I’m not normally taken in by such 
drivel, and | swear on my watery grave that some sort of hypnotism 
was afoot, but | nonetheless decided to attend." 


"Oh, was it actually just a nickel to get in?" Spratz asked. "Because 
whenever old people tell stories everything only cost a nickel, but 
even taking inflation into account | can't imagine Herman charging 
so little." 


"If memory serves, admission was precisely one dollar. Now -" 


"The nerve! That's twenty nickels! Do you know what a nickel could 
buy back then? Do you? I'm asking, because based on what I've 
heard everything cost a nickel, which makes zero economic sense." 


"Spratz, please, he's telling a story," the twins admonished. 


“Thank you, deary," Blackwood nodded. "Where was |? Ah yes. 
When | arrived, the fairgrounds were all a bustle with folk of every 
local ilk looking to escape the dreariness or hardships of their lives 
for an afternoon, and Herman Fuller did not disappoint. Enormous 
striped tents, flames in every colour of the rainbow, and the most 
enchanting music that seem to be everywhere and yet come from 
nowhere. | suppose it was quite a bit smaller then than it is now, and 
its attractions perhaps not quite so queer, but by Jove, it was a jolly 
good spectacle. There was a man with a thousand voices 
performing one heart-wrenching aria after another, a mummified 
mermaid | would have sworn was just a simian and a sturgeon sewn 
together if it hadn’t moved and cried of its own accord, and most 
curiously of all there was a boy with an upside-down face.” 


“Did they call him Boyie back then?” Spratz asked. 


“I’m afraid | never did catch his proper name. But never mind all that 
lads. It was the Big Top show that brought Fuller and | blow to blow. 


Let me tell you, Herman Fuller loved the role of Ringmaster. He 
stood in the spotlight, proud as can be in his top hat and red-tailed 
coat, the most preposterously verbose and verbosely preposterous 
poppycock rolling off his tongue as he presented each new marvel. 
For the fourth or fifth act, he brought out an enormous bear; nearly 
as big as an elephant on all fours and nearly as tall as a giraffe on 
its hind legs. Gave it some cockamamie backstory about being 
frozen in an iceberg from an age long past, and then produced a 
tricycle so tiny | had to squint to see it." 


"Did the bear chase him around while he tried to escape on the 
tricycle?” the twins asked. "That would have been funny, but | can't 
imagine Herman ever doing something like that himself." 


"Regrettably no. If | recall, the act consisted mainly of Fuller trying to 
convince the bear to ride the impossibly small contraption, but then 
the whole audience was aghast when the beast broke free from its 
iron leash and produced a roar so loud it nearly blew the tent free of 
its moorings. | could see in the creature’s eyes that its heart was 
filled with anger from its long captivity and torment, and | won’t say | 
didn’t pity it, but | could not remain idle and let it maul so many 
helpless innocents. | leapt from the stands, shouted at the ursine 
horror to draw its attention away from the crowds and -” 


“Did it eat you?” Spratz asked. “It ate you, didn’t it? Please tell me it 
ate you | NEED SOME CARNAGE!” 


“No lad, not on that day or any other did a beast get the better of 
Theodore Blackwood,” the sea slug chuckled smugly. “No, | just 
drew out Dr. Moth’s particle destabilizing pistol, good for only one 
shot you know, and fired straight at the great brute’s brow and blew 
a borehole straight through its brain. It was bloody brilliant if | do say 
so myself. Of course, Herman didn’t see it that way. You’d think 
he’d’ve been grateful to me for saving his life and the lives of his 
audience and employees, but oh no. He said it had all been part of 
the act, and | was a damnable fool who had ruined his show and 
murdered one of his star attractions. He demanded substantial 
recompense, and | of course refused. | called him a liar, told him that 
| had been around my share of beasts, wild and tamed alike, and 
there was not a single doubt in my mind that that poor creature was 
about to go on a rampage.” 


Once vision is fully restored, which usually occurs in under thirty 
minutes, subject begins experiencing visual hallucinations, often of 
‘ghosts' or other humanoid beings that seemingly ignore our physical 
reality. At this stage, subjects will progress to the final stage even if 
removed from SCP-626's presence. 


Once hallucinations begin, the subject will begin a gradual mental 
deterioration, beginning with a loss of logical and speech 
capabilities. Over the course of several days, the subject's brain 
functions will gradually cease. During this time, the subject may 
attempt to follow their hallucinations through walls and other solid 
objects; care should be taken to ensure the subjects do not harm 
themselves. Once all major brain function is lost, the subject 
becomes catatonic, and dies within several hours. Upon the 
subject's death, their eyes shrivel and dry out, all liquid evaporating 
from them in a matter of seconds. No matter the distance between 
the subject and SCP-626 at time of death, the evaporated fluid 
condenses on the surface of SCP-626, and is then apparently 
absorbed into its structure. 


Addendum: Dr. has expressed concern over the details of 
some of the most recent subject's hallucinations. The subject was 
able to describe a 'ghost' standing behind Dr. , which resembled 
the researcher's wife, who had died several months ago of 
congenital heart failure. The subject, with no prior knowledge of Dr. 

or his family, was able to answer several questions about Mrs. 

‘s medical condition at the time of her death. Further research 
suspended, pending O5-level review. 


« SCP-625 | SCP-626 | SCP-627 » 


"Fun fact: Since Icky and Manny took over, rampages at the Circus 
have a gone down a full forty percent," Spratz said. 


"Well, Fuller looked like he was going to go on a rampage himself, 
but the threat of Dr. Moth’s pistol — already out of munitions, 
unbeknownst to him — was enough to keep him at bay. He put ona 
slick, snake oil salesman’s smile and began to compliment my 
bravery and marksmanship, and suggested a compromise of sorts. 
With two snaps of his fingers, a bullseye target was rolled into the 
ring. He picked it up and twirled it on his finger, saying that if | could 
hit the center target in one shot whilst it was in motion, he would 
consider our debt squared. But if | missed, or refused his challenge, 
| would become indentured to him in servitude. Now, truth be told he 
really had no way to enforce the terms of such a ridiculous 
challenge, but I’ve never been one to back away from a wager." 


"Some might call that a problem, sir," the twins said. 


"Ugh, you sound just like Deeds. Regardless of the rationality of it, | 
agreed, but only on the condition that should | win the bear would be 
taxidermied and sent back to England at his expense. Fuller agreed 
without hesitation, and with a sharp whistle he tossed the target up 
into the air into the waiting hands of two acrobats. As they swung 
around the trapeze with grace and speed, the target was tossed 
between them in a blur. Fuller presented me with the rifle | was to 
use. | examined it thoroughly to assure no trickery was afoot, and 
when | was satisfied | went to take my shot. Given what was at stake 
| took my time, steadying my hand and studying the movements of 
the acrobats. | aimed straight for the center of the ring, and once | 
saw the target leave the acrobat’s hand | nearly pulled the trigger, 
only to hear the familiar empty click of Moth’s pistol against my own 
head! Despite holstering the gun myself, Fuller had used his 
prestidigitation to relieve me of it when he handed me the rifle and 
then attempted to murder me with." 


"Yep, that sounds like Herman," Wilby nodded. 


"| socked that rapscallion square in the jaw, knocking him down into 
the dirt, much to the audience’s delight. With the rifle locked on him, 
| called him a despicable dastard for trying to murder me from 
behind, in front of a crowd with women and children, with my own 


gun no less, and after we had made an honourable agreement. He 
was a liar and a cheat and a murderer, and a vile knave all around! 
And then, holding the rifle with only one hand and seeing the target 
only in the periphery of my vision, turned it away from Fuller and 
fired into the ring. 

"The target landed straight up, with a smoking bullseye clear 
through its center." 


"So the talent that would have made you an excellent circus 
performer is the same one that saved you from it? Is that ironic? It 
sounds ironic. I'm going to say it's ironic." 


"Ironic or not, the crowd erupted into cheering and applause, and 
calls for Fuller to be tarred and feathered came soon after. At this, 
Fuller sneered at the crowd and said ‘I’m a bit short on tar I’m afraid, 
but fortunately I’ve no shortage of feathers!’. He took off his top hat 
and a biblical flock of white doves burst forth, outnumbering the 
audience a thousand to one. It was pandemonium as the crowd 
attempted to flee the the vortex of flapping wings and more 
unmentionable nuisances, but once we were out the Big Top along 
with all the other tents and wagons vanished in a twinkling, leaving 
nothing but a flurry of fluttering snow-white feathers in their wake. 
"And that my lads was the first and last time | ever encountered 
Herman Pandareus Fuller.” 


The room was silent for a moment, no one quite sure what to say. 


“For the record, we can confirm none of that,” Wilby said at last. “Not 
even the middle name.” 


“Noted,” Luna nodded, though she did not actually bother to write 
anything down. 


« City of Wonder™ | Dread & Circuses Hub | Freaks, Friends 
and Fiends » 


Freaks, Friends and Fiends 


« The Sea Slug and the Showman | Dread & Circuses Hub | 
Let’s Get this Show on the Road! » 


“Okay, one more time; what’s the difference between magic and 
alchemy?” Victor asked as he examined the show globes filled with 
colourful philters and elixirs at Ed and Al’s Alchemist Emporium. 


“Alchemy is the study and manipulation of the Aether, the fluidic 
medium from which all reality emerges from,” Iris replied, her own 
attention devoted to the variety of alchemical catalysts the two 
brothers kept in stock. “It’s a Prima Materia of sorts, the closest 
mainstream science comes to it is String Theory. Celestial bodies 
generate substantial aetheric currents, which is where astrology 
factors in. 


"Magic, as in Thaumaturgy, is the use of ritualized methods to focus 
and amplify EVE into Aspect Radiation, EVE being the aetheric 
force that causes observer effects like wave function collapse, and 
Aspect Radiation being EVE that’s strong enough to cause 
macroscopic effects. Then, of course, there are Reality Warpers -” 


“Like me?” Lolly asked, her voice muffled by the fact that she had 
crammed herself into a one-gallon hermetic vase. 


“Yes, like you, who just don’t interact with the Hume field as strongly 
as normal and therefore have a much lower threshold for creating 
aspect radiation and can essentially do so at will. Though all three 
are colloquially referred to as magic, so it can get confusing.” 


Iris tipped Lolly’s vase and poured her out into the floor, where she 
quickly reconstituted into her Clown form. 


“Yeah, being a Reality Bender is definitely the best magic since we 
don’t have to learn a bunch of spells and stuff,” Lolly bragged. “Oh, 


and it is Reality Bender, not Reality Warper, because we bend 
reality like the kids bend the elements in that awesome cartoon.” 


Lolly playfully air bent a few gusts of wind towards Iris, who 
deliberately remained as implacable as usual. 


“| prefer Reality Warper,” she said. 
“How come?” 


“Because I’m British, and in British-English ‘Bender’ is a homophobic 
slur.” 


“Well, I'll stop saying Bender when you guys stop calling cigarettes 
fags.” 


“... Fair enough.” 


Their attention was diverted to the front of the shop by the sound of 
Ed the Alchemist emerging from the lab and setting a crate of 
potions down on the cashier counter. 


“There you are Ms. Dark, 48 phials of Pactolus Philter, guaranteed 
to cure any and all outbreaks of Midas Plague,” he said. “My brother 
and | are especially sympathetic to children being transfigured into 
metal. Be sure to give Carter a kick in the ass for both of us, won't 
you?” 


“Believe me I'd love too, but if there’s one thing he’s good at it’s 
avoiding his comeuppance. I’m pretty sure that’s why we keep him 
around,” she said as she took out one of the phials to examine it. 
“Did you really make all of these just since you got our ravenwave? 
That’s remarkable. While I’m here, Esq. Darke asked me to keep an 
eye out for some rare items for a project we’re working on. You 
wouldn't happen to have the flesh from an Old God Incarnate, would 
you?” 


“Old God as in?” 


“His exact words were ‘Titans birthed from the Primordial Chaos’. | 
think that means anything on par with Mekhane, Yaldabaoth, the 
Scarlet King, gods like those.” 


“Sorry. Best we got is a mummy of a Type Black Daevite warrior.” 
“Hmm. Still impressive.”