“He said you'd stop by and give them to me! He said you'd visit!” 
Harold banged his fist on the desktop. “But you never stopped by, 
Gregg! | waited three years, and you never came. Three years and 
the only face | saw was that stone cold bitch Freemont! But now I’m 
here. Where are the photos Gregg!?” 


#76 couldn't retreat any further. Its chair was now firmly pressed 
against the back wall, with it now trying to disappear into the 
upholstery. 


“Harold, I’m sorry that | didn’t visit, but you have to realize that the 
opportunity never presented itself. Christ, you were a researcher 
yourself once. Hell, we worked on projects together. You know how 
these things are...” #76 stopped as it watched Harold pull off one of 
his gloves. 


“Where are they,” he growled. 


“Harold, Zachary Johnson died about a year and a half ago. 
Glioblastoma multiforme. That was the reason behind his retirement. 
He wanted to live in peace for the last few months of his life. He 


didn’t have the heart to tell you. He had Conwell, Freemont, and | 
promise we wouldn’t let you know.” #76 quickly replied, “There are 
no photos. There never were.” 


Harold stopped. The anger in his eyes faded in an instant, and was 
quietly replaced with realization. Tears began to roll down his 
cheeks and he turned away. 


“God damn it...” Harold said between sobs. “God fucking damn it...” 


#76 stared on. It slowly began to leave its chair, and place a hand 
on Harold’s shoulder. 


“I’m sorry,” it said, jumping as Harold responded with a frustrated 
yell and turned on the spot. His bare fist struck #76 across its face, 
and all at once its outer skin turned to solid marble. 


Harold looked at what he accomplished and silently made his way to 
the other side of the room. He then slumped to the floor and placed 
his head in his hands and let out another furious cry, stopping only 
when he heard a sudden crack. He looked up to see marble Dr. 
Collins crack and eventually shatter, sending shards scattering 
across the room. Some sort of android now stared back at him. 


“That... was... unpleasant...” #76 said as it held out its right hand. A 
small chamber opened up followed by a small gust of air. A black 
ball the size of a large marble flew across the room and landed on 
Harold, quickly sprouting legs before anchoring itself down. Harold 
let out a horrified scream; the small creature quickly produced a 
needle, and with a short jab injected an unknown concoction into his 
arm. Within seconds he couldn’t move. 


“You've been injected with a strong paralyzing agent,” #76 said as 
he allowed the small Amur model to crawl back into its compartment 
in its hand. “You will be completely paralyzed for the next twenty 
four hours. More than enough time for them to drag you back to your 
cage.” 


#76 looked at its reflection in Collin’s computer monitor and shook 
its head. Whatever orders Anderson intended to give were now 
pointless. Its programming automatically calculated its next course 


of action. Without another word it quickly covered itself in a lab coat 
and hat and exited the office, leaving Dr. Harold Thompson behind. 


SCP-1360 sat quietly in its holding cell. Day in and day out it was 
restrained in the back corner with little to do but draw on its notepad. 
Unfortunately there was little for it to draw these days. As such, the 
droid sat silently awaiting for the next time a researcher would come 
to cut away its skin. 


The droid’s head snapped upwards as it heard gunshots coming 
from outside its cell, followed by muffled shouting, and then by 
silence. The door to the cell then opened, and what 1360 recognized 
as a Saker model android quickly stepped inside, sliding the door 
shut. The Saker quietly limped across the room and knelt next to 
1360. Several gunshot wounds were visible in its plastic casings and 
its left eye was cracked in numerous places. Its left forearm had 
been cut completely off. 


Silently the Saker grabbed 1360's left hand and popped open the 
left middle finger. It then forcefully jammed a small object inside the 
cavity. For the first time in almost ten years, SCP-1360 felt 
complete. Its missing component had finally been replaced. 


“Saker override commence,” the Saker said. “ID number 76. 
Reinitialize PSHUD #31 vocalization module. Restore PSHUD #31 
client data: James Hamilton and Sarah Hamilton.” 


1360 felt like a spark had ignited in its head. All the memories of its 
previous Clients flooded back, hitting its consciousness like a 
hurricane. As the good and bad memories alike settled back into 
place, it looked into the eyes of the Saker and searched for the 
words it desired to say. 


“Thank... you...” 1360 spoke slowly. It had not heard its voice in 
such a long time that it had forgotten it had been programmed to 
sound like a young man in his twenties. The Saker nodded in return. 


“We don’t have much time left #31. I’ve disabled the door 
mechanism, which should buy us a few minutes. If there is anything 
you'd like to ask or say, now would be the time.” 


1360 looked down at its notepad for a few moments, then back at 
#76. It had numerous questions saved up. Before long it chose one. 


“You've reinstalled my termination drive. Are we going to die?” 


“I’m afraid so #31,” the Saker replied. “But in all fairness, you and | 
were never really alive.” 1360 nodded quietly in understanding. Both 
of them were in no condition to fight their way out. 


“I’m sorry then,” 1360 said as it stared at the ground. “I’m a failure. 
I’ve caused Anderson nothing but grief. | should have been 
eliminated years ago, but they removed my termination drive when | 
lost them. I’m sorry.” 


“Yes. Yes you did fail, and yes you have caused Anderson trouble. 
But it’s alright #31. Anderson doesn’t blame you. They are always 
watching. They know it wasn’t your fault your termination drive was 
removed, or that you lost your last clients. Please consider yourself 
absolved.” 


There was now a loud banging coming from the door. Foundation 
personnel were attempting to get in to the containment cell. 


“Shall we then?” #76 asked. The Peregrine nodded and held out its 
hand, which the Saker unit clasped tightly. “Very well then. Activate 
Foundation protocol.” 


Researcher Conwell impatiently stood in front of SCP-1360’s holding 
cell. On his way out the door there had been not only a containment 
breach but an infiltration of Site-19 as well. Due to the fact that both 
involved SCP-1360 he had been detained to provide further 
assistance when the situation had been brought back under control. 
As he leaned against the wall, Conwell closed his eyes and rubbed 
his temples with his hands. The day just kept getting better and 
better. 


“You’re cleared to enter.” 


Conwell looked up and saw Jurgen Crayne standing in the remains 
of the holding cell door. The intruder had done a bang up job 


disabling the mechanism and jamming the door shut. It had taken 
security almost thirty minutes to get it open again. 


“Agent Crayne,” Conwell said as he offered a hand shake. “They 
have you leading the task force?” 


Crayne accepted with a smirk. "Please, it's Jurgen. But yeah, | am. 
Your droid has caused a bit of a disturbance." 


Conwell gave a small nod and slowly followed the agent inside. 
Aside from the commotion from the assembled security task force 
and a few administrative personnel the room was empty, save for 
1360’s notepad, pens and two large black puddles on the floor. 


Conwell quietly moved through the crowd to the notebook, gingerly 
picking it up and flipping through its pages. All were blank. He then 
sighed as he looked down at the puddles. Each was black as 
obsidian with the consistency of pudding. Kneeling down, Conwell 
swirled a gloved finger through the goo and gave a small, sad smile. 


Foundation Protocol, he thought to himself. 


“So, what’re you thinking, Jacob?” Crayne asked as he moved to 
stand by Conwell’s side, “You're the expert on this thing. Where 
should we start looking?” 


“Nowhere,” Conwell replied. “1360’s been neutralized. Anderson 
activated its Foundation Protocol.” 


“Its what?” 


“It’s a built in self-destruct mechanism,” Conwell answered, showing 
the black liquid on his hand to the agent. “We’ve seen it before 
during Agent Merlo’s failed sting last week. Anderson wasn’t trying 
to get the droid out. They wanted to destroy it.” 


The room fell silent. All eyes turned to the black puddles. Eventually, 
one of the administrative staff ordered samples to be taken and for 
the task force to disperse and await further orders. Conwell was 
given clearance to catch his flight. 


One by one the personnel filed out of the room, eventually leaving 


only Conwell and the researchers left behind to collect samples from 
the puddle. Conwell’s sad smile returned as he stared into the black 
liquid, barely able to see his own reflection in the dim lighting. 


Goodbye, he thought to himself, and then turned to take his leave. 


Part Four: Building Up | Peregrine | Part Five 


Good As New 


Aaron Howell sat quietly on his bed. While a normal eleven year old 
boy might be busy creating epic space battles with his toys, this one 
just did not have the energy. The late afternoon sun peered in from 
his window as he looked over the toys spread across the floor. 


“You really need to clean up this mess,” the voice of his mom 
echoed in his head. 


Without a sound, he got to his foot and proceeded to put all the toys 
away. When all was clean, he grabbed a picture from his nightstand 
with his right hand and hobbled back to his space on the bed. 


The picture was of his mom, dad, and himself, standing at the gate 
of an amusement park. He was holding a foam sword in his left hand 
and a box of candy in the other. His dad held him on his shoulders, 
a captain’s hat, eye patch, and goofy smile adorning his face. His 
mom wore a red skull-and-crossbones bandanna over her curly 
blond hair. A smile just as silly ran from ear to ear. Aaron placed the 
picture down. It had been taken almost two months ago. 


Aaron then looked at himself in the mirror on his closet door. His 
short brown hair, usually spiked, now sat flat. A heavy piece of 
gauze covered his left eye socket. A layer of bandages covered the 
stumps at the end of his left forearm and left knee. 


There had been a car accident. The doctors had told him at the 
hospital that they had done everything they could to keep him in as 
big a piece as possible. They told him that both he and his dad were 
lucky to be alive. His dad had emerged from the wreckage 
unscathed. His mom, however, had drawn the short straw. Aaron 
then reached down and threw the picture across the room, the frame 
bouncing off the mirror with a loud clack. The sound of voices in the 
nearby living room ceased, and was followed by the heavy thud of 
footsteps. 


“Buddy?” Aaron could hear his father ask as he slowly entered the 
room. “What’s going on in here?” 


“Go away...” Aaron mumbled. His dad came in anyway, stopping to 
pick up the picture from the floor and putting it back on his 
nightstand before taking a seat at the end of the bed. Aaron pulled 
as far away from his dad as he could and curled into a little ball in 
the corner. He closed his eyes and waited for the intruder to leave. 


“You have a visitor Aaron,” Mr. Howell said with a sigh. “Do you 
think that, maybe, you’d like to meet her?” 


Aaron looked over at his dad to see him starring at the floor. His 
eyes were red and puffy, and there were very dark rings underneath 
them. 


“Okay...” he whispered. His father nodded and turned towards the 
door. 


“You can come in now, Mrs. Saker.” 


Aaron watched as an old woman carrying a large case entered from 
the hallway. She wore a dark blue business suit and her grey hair 
was tied back in a bun. Her rosy skin and soft smile reminded him of 
his grandma. She slowly knelt down until she was at his eye level 
and placed the case beside him on the bed. 


“Hello Aaron,” she said in a warm voice. “My name is Mrs. Saker. It’s 
very nice to meet you.” The old woman extended out her right hand. 
For a few moments, Aaron stared at it in silence. Eventually, his 
hand slowly reached out and accepted the hand shake. 


“Are you a friend of my mom’s?” he asked. 
Mrs. Saker responded with a small chuckle before shaking her head. 


“I’m afraid not,” she replied. “I work fora man named Anderson. 
Your uncle hired my boss to make you a very special gift, Aaron. I’m 
here today to give it to you. Would you like to see it?” 


Aaron looked over at the case. He tilted his head sideways for a 
moment, imagining what it could be. After a few more seconds he 


the back seat of the vehicle; meanwhile, 
SCP-694-4 ties up SCP-694-1, then takes 
SCP-694-1's cellphone and crushes it underfoot. 
SCP-694-3 and -4 then drive away, with -2 as their 
prisoner. 


Time index: 07:00 - 19:00 SCP-694-1 struggles to 
his feet, then hops into his garage and knocks 
down a hacksaw. He rubs against the blade so as 
to cut the ropes holding him. Once he has freed 
himself, he takes a pistol from a tackle box. 
Meanwhile, SCP-694-3 and SCP-694-4 drive 
around in the neighborhood, but become lost. 
Notably, although the kidnappers’ dialogue at this 
point seems to indicate that they are encountering 
multiple spatial anomalies, no such anomalies 
have been observed by Foundation personnel; 
rather, the kidnappers’ vehicle abruptly changes 
direction on several occasions, and drives through 
multiple non-road areas (including a school 
playground, a farmer's market, and a public park). 


Time index: 19:00 - 20:00: SCP-694-3 and 
SCP-694-4 drive past SCP-694-1's home just as 
SCP-694-1 is emerging from the garage and 
loading his pistol. SCP-694-1, SCP-694-3, and 
SCP-694-4 recognize each other; SCP-694-1 
opens fire on SCP-694-3 and SCP-694-4's 
minivan, then gets into his car and drives after 
them as they flee. 


Time index: 20:00 - 27:00: SCP-694-1 pursues 
SCP-694-3 and -4, firing at them repeatedly. 
Analysis of SCP-694-3 and -4's dialogue during 
this stage indicates that they are no longer 
consulting the map; instead, they are driving down 
random streets in an attempt to escape 
SCP-694-1. 


Time index: 27:00 - 27:45: As the pursuit 
continues along [REDACTED] Road, SCP-694-1 


gave a small nod. Mrs. Saker then moved the case to the floor. With 
a fluid motion, she undid all the clips and opened the lid, turning it to 
Aaron with a warm smile. Sitting on the foam lining of the case was 
what appeared to be a hand, leg, and eye. 


“Wow...” 


Aaron’s mouth fell open as he crawled to the edge of his bed to get 
a closer look. All three objects appeared to be made of some kind of 
plastic, with the hand and leg containing metal joints. Both the leg 
and hand were covered with some kind of white fabric. The eye 
looked perfectly smooth. 


“Uncle James got me these?” Aaron asked, looking over to his dad. 


“That's right buddy,” Mr. Howell said with a weak smile. “You're 
going to be good as new.” 


Aaron returned his gaze to the pieces in front of him. His mouth 
continued to hang open for a few more moments until he managed 
to squeak, “Cool...” 


“We can put them on right now, if you want to Aaron,” Mrs. Saker 
cooed. “Would you like that?” 


Aaron looked back over at his dad, who in turn gave him a small 
nod. 


“Yes please!” 
“Well then,” Mrs. Saker smiled, “Let’s begin.” 


Mrs. Saker had Aaron stretch out on his bed, and carefully removed 
the bandages from his arm, eye and leg. She laid each of the plastic 
pieces out on the bed and then sprayed down each area with 
something that burned.