Dr. Kondraki is seen now on the back of SCP-682, 
holding two ends of the high-tension cable he had 
recovered earlier. The rest was fitted into an improvised 
set of reins. Dr. Kondraki is observed “riding” SCP-682, 
while hollering something and waving his hat with his 
free hand. 


SCP-682 enters an enraged state, and makes a powerful 
charge towards the entrance. It easily plows through the 
obstructions made by SCP-083, and then through the 
sealing walls. 


Dr. Kondraki and SCP-682 have breached quarantine. 
Full evacuation protocols now in motion. 


It was obvious at this point that things had truly escalated out of 
control. SCP-083 had been presumed neutralized, yes, but at the 
cost of releasing SCP-682 into Site 19 without proper personnel to 
enact containment procedures. Much like causing a flood to put out 
a kitchen fire, Dr. Kondraki’s actions would put the entirety of Site 19 
in grave danger. Most of the site’s personnel had already been fully 


evacuated, while emergency teams attempted to stem the losses 
and mitigate what damages they could. The entire situation had 
become an unmanageable mess. Ironically, that’s the exact kind of 
mess that Dr. Kondraki excels at managing. - O5-2 


Security Log C-682-19-K 


Dr. Kondraki stays atop SCP-682 for the duration, 
holding on despite the rapid jerking motions made by 
SCP-682 during its run. 


SCP-682 begins to adapt as seen in previous 
observations, having incurred noticeable damage in its 
attempts to break through various obstacles. Spikes of a 
bone-like material begin to shoot up from its back, in an 
attempt to harm or kill Dr. Kondraki. 


Dr. Kondraki incurs several wounds in this manner, able 
to avoid most of the protrusions. He attempts to make a 
hard turn by pulling against the cables, and is able to 
direct SCP-682 from his course. 


SCP-682 continues to charge forward, now directed 
towards the personnel dormitories. During its dash, 
SCP-682 breaks through SCP-173’s containment. At this 
time, both SCP-682 and Dr. Kondraki are observed to 
keep direct eye contact with SCP-173, despite each 
continuing their attempts to outmaneuver the other. 


Dr. Kondraki is observed to speak to SCP-682, and a 
series of growls are recorded matching SCP-682’s 
“voice”. 


SCP-682 begins to crash its back into walls and ceilings, 
trying to crush the doctor. The apparent conversation 
continues. 


Dr. Kondraki appears to laugh, and then make another 
harsh tug. He redirects SCP-682 once more, to the 
personnel cafeteria, after checking a device on his wrist. 


SCP-682 crashes through the second quarantine 
dividers, and arrives in the personnel sector. 


Dr. Kondraki waits until SCP-682 arrives in the cafeteria. 
Holding onto the cables, he vaults forwards with 
tremendous force, swinging up and over SCP-682’s 
head. 


SCP-682 now attempts to bite down on Dr. Kondraki as 
he scrambles to sit in a lone chair placed at the end of a 
table. 


Dr. Kondraki vanishes from visual contact as SCP-682 
devours him. 


SCP-682 continues to cause further structural damage. 
Begins advancing towards current evacuation zone. 


Audio Log 682-K 
Dr. Kondraki: You really hold a grudge, don’t you? 


SCP-682: You are by far...the most annoying of 
your..."species" | have ever encountered. Killing you will 
be a favor for your whole reality. 


Dr. Kondraki: No need to do me any favors, Godzilla, 
since you made lunch of the vampire. Why don’t we just 
let me off and call things square? 


Sounds of crunching concrete and stressed metal 


Dr. Kondraki: | guess that’s not an option. How about 
you just-[grunt]-take me to my ride, and I'll get out of your 
hair? 


SCP-682: Not only the most annoying, but the one most 
lacking of common sense. The only way this ends is with 
you dead and rotting faster than you already are. 


Dr. Kondraki: Fair enough, let’s try that. 


withdrawn from it. Immediately after money is retrieved, subject 
shows visible signs of agitation. Subject is asked to recite the 
balance again, and the correct number is given. The account is then 
emptied of funds from the same off-site ATM. The subject begins to 
panic, and grieves over the loss of funds. When the money is 
deposited back into the account, the subject gradually recovers. 


Note: The off-site researcher was contacted by police after this test 
due to suspicious use of the subject's account. No charges were 
filed, but all personnel are advised not to perform a similar test with 
an off-site ATM again. 


Experiment Log 832-5a: 

Subject is given SCP-832. Subject is asked to quantify the balance 
in his savings account in terms of _ , the form of currency used in 
the online game . Subject is visibly shaken and remains 
silent for approximately 30 seconds before stating that he cannot 
quantify his wealth in those terms. 


Experiment Log 832-5b 

Subject is given an account for the online game , and is 
asked to quantify his wealth in again. Subject immediately states 
the current amount of virtual wealth in his account. 


Note: The effect seen in 832-5a was likely caused because has 
no consistent conversion rate to any real currency (While exchange 
between and real currency does occur, it is technically against 

's terms of service, and there is no set price.) Once the subject 
had wealth in that form, however, SCP-832 was able to measure it. 


Experiment Log 832-6 

Subject is given SCP-832 and shown to a room heated to 1100°C. A 
penny is tossed into the room, and the subject immediately follows. 
Subject dies due to extreme heat. When room is cooled, the penny 
has melted, but SCP-832 remains undamaged. 


« SCP-831 | SCP-832 | SCP-833 » 


SCP-682: That may be the first thing I've ever heard 
from one of you repulsive...things that I've agreed with. 


The sound of metal scraping against enamel cancels out 
any conversation. A sickening snap of SCP-682’s jaws 
concludes the recording. 


Evacuation Log S-E-19 


Removal of Safe and Euclid items from Site 19 continue. 
Transport to Helipads A-E for temporary offsite 
containment goes well despite the current chaos. 


[For the sake of relevance, this log has been redacted to 
focus on SCP-298 and the events in Hallway D-17] 


Several Level 1 personnel are used to transport 
SCP-298, due to its large size. The width of SCP-298 
takes up most of the hallway. 


One of the personnel is seated on top of SCP-298 as it is 
carried, mock-playing the organ. Audio logs confirm that 
the seated employee had won some form of bet previous 
to the incident. 


An explosion occurs elsewhere, causing a tremor. 
Several personnel falter, and SCP-298 is dropped. 

An odd sound is heard and noticed by several of the men 
(the sound is now confirmed to be that of displaced air.) 
The personnel move to the back of the organ as they 
begin to hear a struggle. 


Dr. Kondraki is spotted, having incurred several injuries. 
Making a leap, he bounds over SCP-298. 


SCP-083 is also spotted, covered in an unknown fluid. 
He rounds the corner after Dr. Kondraki, but only spots 
several personnel and the organ. Seen speaking. 


Dr. Kondraki directs the man next to him to begin 
playing. 


Audio Log C-298-K-083 


SCP-083: [yelling] Where is he! You, you must have 
seen him, tell me where he is, and | might not kill all of 
you! 


Personnel 1/298/3: Wh-who? That crazy guy who just 
ran past, he’s right behind this thing! 


SCP-083: Good. Maybe I'll even add you to my security 
detail, what an honor that would be...what the hell is that 
sound? 


Dr. Kondraki: Bach. It’s Bach. | like to call it, “Sucks to 
be you, Overture.” 


SCP-083: [Begins to scream] What are...is that my 
blood? What are you doing to my blood!? 


Personnel 1/298/2: Should | keep playing, sir? 


Dr. Kondraki: Don’t you dare stop, not even for a 
moment! 


SCP-083: S-stop! I'll do whatever you want, anything, 
just stop playing that thing! | can't.... 


Dr. Kondraki: So | was right, you can’t regenerate your 
blood. 


SCP-083: |...don’t want to die. | shouldn’t have to die, 
not me! I’m not like you! 


Dr. Kondraki: Everybody dies, Duke. Just matters who 
dies on a given day, and today is your lucky day. 


SCP-083: Son of a...[expires] 
Security Log S-E-19 


SCP-083’s blood is drained from his body by the effect of 
SCP-298’s music. It forms into a solid gel in the air, 


appearing as branches of a leafless tree. 


Dr. Kondraki moves from SCP-298’s platform, instructing 
him to keep playing. He disappears into a room down the 
hall. 


SCP-083’s blood is now completely drained, causing his 
desiccated corpse to fall prone. His body seems to 
undergo an extremely rapid decomposition, the corpse 
being reduced to a hollow skeleton within a minute. 


Dr. Kondraki returns with a glass container, and instructs 
the player to stop. He begins to collect the gelled blood 
from the air, placing it into the clear container. After less 
than a minute, the blood liquefies. 


Personnel appear to lack comprehension of the event 
that has just occurred. 


Dr. Kondraki seals the container and approaches the 
skeleton. Retrieving the skull, he places it under his arm. 
Dr. Kondraki exits Site 19 via helicopter with little trouble, 
assumed to be part of the evac team. 


Personnel are still somewhat stunned. The klaxons 
remind them that SCP-682 is still loose within Site 19. 


EXCERPT FROM POST-INCIDENT INTERVIEW 083- 
AR9-59 


Interviewer: So you do not think that Dr. Kondraki 
behaved recklessly? 


Dr. Rights: | didn't say that, but relatively, compared to 
some of the things he's done...at least this one almost 
had a plan. Or some facsimile of one. 


Interviewer: You have viewed the entirety of the logs, 
yes? 


Dr. Rights: Yep. All of it. A few times, actually, and | had 
to review my favorite parts. 


Interviewer: And you have no worries about Dr. 
Kondraki being a liability or a danger? 


Dr. Rights: Look, the man's a master of the Indy Ploy. 
And sometimes, actually...all the time, there's collateral 
damage. But that doesn't change the fact that he, in 
some bizarre way, knows what he's doing. And hey. ..if 
it's saved my ass a few dozen times over, that doesn't 
hurt. 


Interviewer: So your personal opinion is that he is not a 
liability? 


Dr. Rights: Not as much as Edward effing Cullen, there. 
| mean...I've got just as big a vampire fetish as the next 
girl who grew up reading Anne Rice, but come on. Plus, 
throwing cat pee on him! That was beautiful! 


Interviewer: ...And in your professional opinion, having 
worked with Dr. Kondraki in the past? 


Dr. Rights: ...You clearly haven't been to site 17 lately. 
Professional is...not my forte. Or Kondraki's for that 
matter. Shame about Site 19, though...at least it went 
out in a blaze of badassery. 


Breakroom Surveillance Log S17- - - 


Dr. :Oh my god, how does he keep making things 
worse? 


Dr. : No idea. This thing is on a delay too, by this 
time he probably leveled the whole facility...is he riding 
682?! 


Dr. :1| can’t believe we work for this guy. | have half a 
mind to tell that moron off myself, and resign! 


Dr. Kondraki: What are you guys watching? 


Dr. _: Nothing, just our boss wrecking the Foundation’s 
biggest site. Can you believe that guy? 


Dr. Kondraki: Wow, that is pretty intense. 
Dr. : Dude...might want to cut the chatter. 


Dr. _: Lay off it, it’s not like he’s going to know | said it. 
If | could get away with it, I'd terminate him my... 


Dr. Kondraki: Terminate who? | like this talk already. 


Dr. =I... think I've seen enough. | think I-l’m going to 
go take a walk. 


Dr. Kondraki: Dibs on your seat. Anyone got popcorn? 


Dusk 


He awoke in a world he had seen before, a world beset by perpetual 
dusk that lingered just on the edge of twilight. He looked up to see 
stars, but the sky was empty and all that remained of the tapestry of 
lights he had known was a dull orange haze that filled the air as if by 
obligation. There was usually a bench nearby, one they had sat on 
to watch the sun sink behind the mountains forever. The bench was 
gone. The mountains were gone. 


But the man was still there. His suit and cap were still there. His 
face, unrecognizable as it always was, seemed almost to fade into 
the haze around him. He knows. For a moment he might have 
thought the man looked angry, but the longer he looked the more he 
recognized the emotion. Fear. Sadness. Acceptance. 


"Something has happened," the man said. His voice seemed hollow 
and far away. 


He nodded. "Yes," he said softly. 


"| see." The man pulled slightly on the hem of his coat. "Will it 
happen again?" 


He said nothing. 


The man adjusted his cap now. "I always thought that one should 
strive to go out looking one's best. With dignity, as in all things." He 
straightened up. "| suppose this will be the last | see of you. | don't 
expect we'll be here much longer." 


He said nothing. 


The man nodded curtly. "Before it's over, | guess | should want to 
know whether or not... whether or not this thing that you've done is 
going to be worth the price you'll pay for it." He laughed, but the 
sound caught on the wind and was gone in an instant. "| had always 


thought that there would be a number you would not tolerate, but it 
seems | was mistaken. | don't think it matters much at this point, and 
certainly not to something as insignificant as a fading specter, but... 
the mind cannot help but wonder." 


He moved to speak, but the words caught in his throat and vanished 
into the haze. The man's sad eyes turned towards the horizon, 
where something dark hung in the sky. 


"Give them my best, would you?" The man didn't look back. "Tell 
them | had some dignity at the end." 


In another world, in a dark room beneath a mountain of ice, a 
massive machine groaned under an immeasurable force. A low 
sound filled the air, and the haze grew still. When he looked back, 
the man was gone. His cap danced in the wind for a moment more, 
before it folded inwards and disappeared. 


Then the Overseer woke up. 


Dust 


An old man stands alone in a dusty room. The man, who is older 
than the room and a great deal dustier, walks slowly along a row of 
shelves. It is dark and the man cannot see what is on the shelves, 
cannot see the plaques and plates that he knows are there. To the 
man this does not matter, the plaques and their words and titles and 
dates and shiny edges. He knows what they say, the myriad that 
lines the rows and rows of the dark room. He read them as they 
were first lain down, each one polished lovingly with the soft cloth he 
still carries. The old man stops and sighs, looking down at the space 
behind an especially small plate, where lays an aged photograph of 
a cluster of men standing in front of some great brass contraption. 
The plaque, had he been able to read it, would have read: 


S.C.P. 2374-L: Eisenburgh’s ‘Time Machine’ - Displaced 
following test 2374-L-1, 1937. Crew assumed deceased, 
no remains recovered. 


The old man remembers. He remembers the day that Doctor 
Henrickson had brought him the photo and the two-line obituary for 
the men that it displayed. He remembers when the others, the other 
researchers and the other doctors, came to visit and see the little 
shrine to their lost friends. He remembers when they stopped 
coming. He turns and looks with eyes that cannot see at another 
small plaque a few yards away, near-entirely obscuring the tiny 
sliver of colored glass that lay fixed behind it. It should read: 


S.C.P. 3298-L: The Rainbow’s Mirror - Destroyed 
following exploration attempt 3298-L-2, 1922. Exploration 
team confirmed deceased 1924.