"Let's get right to it then, shall we? Within the near future, we are 
anticipating a reactivation of SCP-3560, followed by an assault on 
the site. This assault is likely to be led by SCP-3860, or as more of 
you probably know him by now, Vincent Anderson." 


"Our resident Thaumatologists have identified eight key positions 
throughout the facility that may serve as entry points for the 
inhabitants of SCP-3560. These include most of the labs in F and G 
Wings, sections of H and A, and the administrative offices. These 
areas have been fortified with several Hoffman Portable Electro- 
Thaumic Units by our on-site staff. However, they alone will not be 
sufficient to deter a mass assault." 


"Until such a point that Command believes that SCP-3560 is likely to 
remain inactive, we'll be on standby. Each of your teams has been 
equipped with the needed materials for rapid exorcism. I'm told that 
the ammunition was reverse engineered from some old Specter tech 
by the Conwell Lab before he retired. Good stuff." 


"3860 is to be terminated on sight. He'll try to make his way to the 
AIAD lab; we think he wants to destroy an Al construct housed 
there. This is why so many of you will be stationed nearby. We 
believe 3860 is desperate and heavily wounded, so be ready for a 
fight." 


"Heh. Of course, this all hinges on the residents of SCP-3560 not 
killing 3860. Keep your fingers crossed that happens, and that this 
all proves to be a quiet, uneventful lockdown." 


"-a quiet, uneventful lockdown." 


Jessie Merlo's words echoed in her mind as she sprinted through 
the war-torn halls of Site-64's G-wing. A spectral Taita unit was 
in hot pursuit, its numerous legs crawling after her. The blood of 
three of her fellow agents dripped from its blades. Ahead of it, a 
small hoard of phantom Peregrine units led the charge. 


"This is Merlo!" she shouted into her mic as she turned a corner. 
The Taita unit was closing in. "G-Wing has been overrun, Taita unit 
inbound, my team is down, need back up n-" 


The agent felt her leg slip across a pool of blood. She hit the ground 
with a loud crack; her momentum carried her into the next 
intersection. 


"No, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO, NO!" 


She fumbled forward for her gun, attempting to preserve as much of 
the distance between her and them. She slipped again. 


Flipping herself over, she leveled her pistol and fired off the rest of 
the magazine. Silver bullets crashed into the spectral automatons. 
One by one, the Peregrine units were exorcised — popping out of 
existence. The Taita unit gave a loud mechanical whine in protest, 
its form beginning to evaporate as the incantation took effect. It still 
crawled forward, blades whirling. Jessie crawled back on her hands. 
She hit a wall. 


She closed her eyes and waited for the pain. 
"STAY DOWN!" 
Gunshots. A loud, mechanical whine. Silence. 


Jessie's eyes snapped open. From her left, a team of Mu-13 agents 
approached. Their guns were trained on where the Taita unit had 
crumpled. The lead agent spoke into his mic. 


"Mu-13, Team C. G-Wing resecured, retrieving casualties, over." 


He looked at Jessie and smiled. 


"You alright, Commander Merlo?" 


"Never better," she said with a nervous laugh. A Mu-13 agent helped 
her to her feet. She reloaded her pistol and surveyed the carnage 
down the hall. Then, she closed her eyes and sighed. "That thing 
came out of the fucking floor and eviscerated three of my agents. 
Too big for the Hoffman units to do much other than give it a tickle." 


"Yeah, ghosts will do that from time to time." The Mu-13 leader 
signaled for the rest of his team to make their way down the hallway 
and search for survivors. "Always fun." 


"Any sign of 3860 on your end?" 
"Negative." 


She frowned and rubbed her temple. "Come on. You've got to make 
your move eventually." 


"We have to make our move eventually." Hector observed as he 
loaded a rifle he had acquired from a deceased MTF operative. The 
apparition turned its head to the frail cyborg that sat at the nearby 
security console. 


"I'm well aware of that... #31," Anderson replied with labored 
breaths as he typed away at the keyboard. "Our move will go so 
much better, though... if we know where we are going. Benny will 
be... back soon. In the meantime, we can prep.” 


"Right. Couldn't we just have Benny fry the computer now? Save us 
the trouble?" 


Anderson shook his head. 


"This was always meant to be... a one-way trip. | need to say... 
goodbye. You understand?" 


Hector nodded. 


"It's your funeral." 


"So, it is." Anderson gave a wheezing chuckle. 


A few minutes later, a shimmering orb on spindly legs phased 
through the wall. It let out a little chirp to announce its presence. 


"Speak of the devil." Anderson held out an open palm. "What have 
you got for us, Benny?" 


The droid vanished, then reappeared on Anderson's hand, 
delivering an intricate series of chirps. The old cyborg nodded. With 
his spare hand, he pressed the enter key on the security console. 


Throughout the facility, the sound of security doors shutting filled the 
air. The lights died and were replaced with the soft glow of 
emergency lighting. Nodding at his work, Anderson removed a black 
flash drive from the console. A simple white ampersand was 
branded on its front. 


"Help me up, #31." Anderson pressed Benny to his chest. The little 
droid phased through the tissue and vanished. "It's time for us to 
leave." 


"Report." 


Assistant Director of Task Forces Clarissa Shaw stood within the 
main site security office, which had since been turned into a 
temporary command post. The low buzz of several Hoffman 
Portable Electro-Thaumic Units filled the room, ensuring a bubble of 
ectomorph exclusion. Before her, multiple screens showed video 
footage of the halls, labs, and offices of Site-64. 


"Gamma-13, Team B, Cafeteria has been cleared. We've managed 
to close the SCP-3560 instance in the kitchen. Tau-51 A assisting in 
mop up. Over." 


"Mu-13 Team C, G wing resecured. Recovered Gamma-13 A 
operatives and are still assisting with evac of casualties. Over." 


"Tau-51 B, standing post. No sign current sign of target or additional 
hostiles. Over." 


"Mu-13 Team B, primary SCP-3560 instance secured top side. No 
additional hostiles since the fifth wave. Standing by, over." 


"Think he gave up?" a security technician asked, looking up from her 
monitor. 


Shaw shook her head. "This was a pretty elaborate effort to just 
throw in the towel like that. He's got something up his sleeve, we 
just got to figure out wh-" 


The room went dark. Emergency lights kicked on. 


"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Shaw said under her breath. 
"Alright, everyone, game day, whatever fucking happened | want it 
fixed! Tau-51 B, incoming!" 


Ten members of MTF Tau-51, Team B, stood in the dim emergency 
lighting. Each had their weapon at the ready. The security doors up 
and down the hall had been sealed, leaving them alone in the dark. 
Within a confined space. Nearly half a mile underground. 


No member of the team made a sound, save their breath. On 
occasion, each member of the team swore they could hear the 
other's heartbeat. 


Where are you? A bead of sweat rolled down the operative's face. 
His eyes panned the dark hallway. 


Click. 


The lights came back on. The task force members blinked as they 
readjusted to the brightness. 


"Control was that you?" the team leader asked. 
"Negative, this is all on Anderson." 
"Any visuals? Help us help you." 


"Negative, those systems are still down. We're trying to get them 
back up as fast as we can. Hang tight." 


"Easy for you to say," the team leader mumbled. "Looks like we're 
still in the dark, fellas. Stay-" 


Two team members dropped, their armored forms ballistically 
shredded. 


The surviving members turned, leveled their weapons, and opened 
fire as a phantom Peregrine sprinted across the hallway. It hada 
machine gun in its hand and phased through the opposite wall. 


"Contact!" 


The team fanned out and prepared itself for a game of cat and 
mouse. The game did not last long. 


The door behind them opened to the sound of crackling electricity. 
The team leader turned his head. Vincent Anderson stood at the 
threshold, his index finger extended. A blue bolt of energy lashed 
out from its tip. 


Three more members of the team dropped. The remainder 
scattered, only to be struck by globs of neon-orange goo. The 
material hardened into a shell, incapacitating the unfortunate 
soldiers. 


"| believe... we're done here. #31, would you kindly?" Anderson 
stumbled to a wall to prop himself up. Soon after, Hector reappeared 
and approached the cyborg, offering his shoulder for support. The 
two began to make their way onward. 


"| think that went well." Hector stepped over a cocooned MTF 
operative. 


"Swimmingly." Anderson nodded. 


There was a series of bangs. The cyborg fell to the floor, his spectral 
companion evaporating in an instant. Several silver bullets lodged 
themselves in his torso. He turned his head. The monochrome 
comedy mask had chipped from where it hit the floor. 


One of the MTF operatives squirmed away. 


Anderson let out a shallow sigh. He reached into his pocket and 
pulled out a glob of neon-blue goo, chucking it through the air. It 
landed on the operative with a small plop, then began to hiss. 
Anderson watched the agent squirm and howl as their skin began to 
melt. Seconds later the operative then became still. A baseball-sized 
hole had been punched through the orange cocoon. 


Anderson shook as he got himself back on his feet and hobbled to 
the nearby wall for support. 


"I-I-I-I don't think... we'll-Il-II-Il... have any more tro-tro-tro-trouble, 
will we-e-e-e-e-e?" 


Anderson crept onward. Eventually, he arrived at the door Benny 
had informed him Phineas resided behind. 


As Anderson reached into his pocket to pull out more of the neon 
blue goo, the door opened. The old cyborg was met face to face with 
the business end of a shotgun. Behind it was Director Sasha Merlo. 
Anderson looked at the weapon then into his nemesis's eyes. 


"Well played, Sasha," he sputtered. 
BANG 


Anderson slumped to the floor. Sasha pumped the weapon again 
and fired. 


BANG 
Once for all the agents lost. 
BANG 
Again for all the careers ruined. 
BANG 
A third time for the grief he had given her family. 
BANG 


A final time for herself. 
The final shells hit the ground. Vincent Anderson was still. 


Sasha let out a sigh and lowered the weapon. She watched the 
body for a minute in silence, then began to laugh. Kneeling down, 
she pulled off the comedy mask and threw it away. 


"Got you." 


Sasha returned to her feet. She wore a satisfied smile as she went 
to assist the bound MTF members. She stopped when she heard a 
sad chirp. Slowly, she turned to look over her shoulder. Atop 
Anderson's corpse was a familiar Amur drone. The drone looked at 
her, then darted off towards the computer housing Phineas. 


"No." 


Sasha sprinted to the door, just in time to watch Benny dive through 
the air, phasing into the computer's hard drive. 


"No!" 


She pierced the room, slamming her hand into the button to activate 
the AIC. The computer sparked, and for a brief moment, a message 
flashed upon the screen. 


Goodbye, Director Merlo. 
The screen then went dark. 


"NO!" Sasha howled and began to beat on the keyboard with her 
fists. "You don't get to win this time, Vince! No!" 


She then shook the console, before kicking it several times. 
"Director?" 


Sasha did not hear Jessie enter, nor see the multitude of MTF 
operatives standing in the doorway. 


"God damn it! We had you! We had you fucking bastard!" 


"Director!" 
"Rot in hell, Anderson! ROT IN HELL!" 
"Mom!" 


Sasha felt her daughter shake her. Her expression of rage melted 
away. 


"Mom," Jessie said. "It's over. You won." 


Sasha nodded and closed her eyes as tears built up. Jessie pulled 
her into a hug, and Director Sasha Merlo, former Commander of 
Asimov's Lawbringers, broke down. 


Silence fell Site-64, save for an old woman's defeated sobs. 


Vincent Anderson awoke upon his back, a blanket of mist obscuring 
the monochrome canopy above. He slowly lifted his head and 
looked around, he was alone. 


With a relieved sigh, he got to his feet and brushed himself off. He 
was still dressed in the clothes he had worn when he died, the fabric 
pierced with countless holes from the shotgun blasts. Despite this, 
however, his pain was gone, and he felt lighter. 


"Guess this answers one question,” he said to himself. For a 
moment, the old cyborg took in the silence. "Rest in peace, Phineas. 
Where ever you are, I'm sorry." 


The silence was broken by the sounds of applause. 


"Well done." A familiar voice sounded from behind a tree."Selfless 
as always.” 


Saker #76 stepped into view. 
"Now, | believe a debt has come due." 


Anderson raised his index finger and then paused. A frown soon 
appeared. 


The following is also handwritten, but appears to be a formal letter: 


Your offer is accepted. The payment will be transferred 
upon completion of the project. 


Those miserable reprobates are going to destroy any 
chance of my reelection if the situation is not handled 
swiftly. | don't care what you have to do to take care of it, 
do it. 


Fingerprints on the letter are consistent with Dr. Forsythe and 


« SCP-630 | SCP-631 | SCP-632 » 


"Your magic won't work here, Mr. Anderson." Another voice cooed 
from Anderson's right. He turned to see a Peregrine unit emerge 
from the mist. "You're dead." 


Anderson backed away and raised his other hand. A long thin wire 
shot forth and pierced the Peregrine's head. The droid shot back, 
but within a few moments was back on its feet and resumed closing 
in. 


"We're dead too, you idiot," laughed a third voice from behind. "You 
have no more cards left to play." 


"Stay back!" Anderson shouted. He whipped the wire around, slicing 
through several droids. The laughter that surrounded him only grew 
louder. 


The wire snagged, and Anderson looked around. His vision was 
filled with the smiles of scores of androids. 


"Hector won't let you do this," Anderson shouted. "The Maxwellists 
will come for me. I'll get to the Data Transmuters. I'll escape. 
Eventually, | always —" 


"There's no place left to escape to," Saker #76 cut him off, shouting 
above the deafening roar of laughter. "It's the end of the line, Mr. 
Anderson. Welcome home." 


Six Months Later 


Upon the Oregon Coast, a man and a woman sat within the confines 
of their cottage. Curled together on a couch, each had a glass of red 
wine in hand. The warm rays of the dying sun cast themselves 
through the glass patio door and painted the room's interior with 
vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds. The waves in the distance 
caught the light and danced with fluid fire as twilight set in. 


The woman yawned and rested her head on her husband's 
shoulder. In return, he wrapped an arm tightly around her and kissed 
her forehead. She smiled and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. 


"Thank you," Gabe spoke. 


"For what?" Sasha asked. 


"Coming through the other side in one piece," Gabe answered. "And 
not leaving me to spend these years a widower." 


"Well you know me, | do try." Sasha snickered. 
"Do you miss it?" 


"| think part of me always will. But hey, all things come to an end, 
right?" 


"Right," Gabe chuckled. "Still, thank you all the same." 


Sasha nodded and then grinned, raising her half empty glass of 
wine. 


"To Asimov's Fuckups,” she said. 
"To Asimov's Fuckups," he replied. 
They then returned their eyes to the horizon, in time to watch the 


sun fade and give way to dusk, and a sky full of countless stars. 


« Volatile Memory | End of Line | END 


Family Disclosure Protocol 


Family Disclosure Protocol: 
Revision 90