They grabbed the Wolf's hand, or paw, it looked like a 
hand but it had claws and pads on its palms, and led it 
into the room. My neck hurt so much from before, | 
had to spend a minute to snap it back into place, 
which somehow hurt even more. | practically fainted 
from it the first time, but | didn't have to do it myself 
then. 


| managed to get back to spying on them in time for 
the show. Espen had the Wolf tied down, strapped to 
a rack and poured some motor oil-like drink through a 
funnel into its mouth... We both know what brand it 
was Clovis. | think it was using Pitch as a sort of 
sedative for what they were about to do. 


Espen cut its chest open... 


| don't want to see any more of this. There's only so 
much you can take before just quitting on trying to 
understand it all. They cut into his chest, and took out 
what | think were its large and small intestines. There 
wasn't a stomach before, or at least, it wasn't attached 
to his intestines when they took it out... Not for long 
though, because Espen took out both of them, and 
carried them over to a chopping block and cutting 


them in two with a pair of large clippers. They went 
back to the Wolf, took the stomach, and had it sown 
back in to connect the gap they'd made. 


Espen's been making or altering or helping the Wolf 
for Morgan. 


I'd say I'm shocked, but | don't know how to feel 
anymore. Joey told me that he's become used to this. 
| don't want to get used to this, but the more | look into 
this... Morgan's been geasing people to come here. 
We'll see how that holds up against itself. 


Day 6; (Tuesday/Wednesday) 


Evening (Auditions): 


Wish me luck. 


Morning ( ): 


To be written. 


Chapter 10 


Clovis remained seated for what, to her, seemed like weeks. She 
wanted to cry after reading what Stuart wrote down, but her eyes 


had lost that function a long time ago. Instead, she only stammered. 
This isn't what he wanted when he did this to himself. She regretted 


interfering, maybe he would have had a real mother if she hadn't. 


No, this is better for the long run, she told herself. They both wanted 


normal lives, but these things were going to catch up to them 


unprepared if their grief-blind plan went through unhindered. This is 


necessary, forgetting their offences will not make everything okay. 
They needed to know how to prepare for this, it had to be done. 


Clovis took a deep breath, and flipped back to a part in his journal 
she took interest of: 


he told me of a spot down below the stage. According 
to him, if | crawled under the altar’s platform, there's a 
ventilation system that would let me hear into his 
room. Apparently, his bed is right underground with 
us, just secluded from us. 


It might be best to have a chat with the source of all this, show 
herself, if he didn't already know of her presence. Clovis shut 
Stuart's book and took it with her. It might actually come in handy. 
He'd be at the First Hound right about now, probably trying to find a 
way to introduce himself to the First Hound owner. 


It may have been because she was used to such environments, but 
navigating through the underground was not much of a bother for 
her. She understood why Stuart might have difficulty with it all, but 
she was almost content to crawl along the ceiling, avoiding any 
urchins that may be happening by. 


Not many shops were open around this time at night. Only a few 
restaurants and the First Hound, none of which were too close to 
where she needed to go anyways. It wasn't likely that she'd be 
discovered by going outside this once. It'd take a close look to find 
something amiss about her, since she already had a half-decent 
disguise anyways. 


lt was a short distance between the exit and the reactor room, and 
an even shorter distance between the exit and the chapel, she was 
practically there before she realized it. Clovis approached the 
chapel's enormous wooden doors, looking over her shoulder for any 
possible witnesses to her entry. None. 


It was odd seeing this sort of door inside. The door was so huge, a 


smaller door was installed out of necessity. She creeped the doors 
open; it was unlocked. That probably means someone is inside, or 
left for just a moment, Clovis thought to herself, quietly peering 
inside and clutching. 


It didn't look like anyone was there, thankfully. The chapel seemed 
almost eerie, the sudden lack of praying masses almost jarring. She 
walked though the pews, thinking to herself what kind of religion is 
this anyways? as she pilfered a leather book from the pews. The 
cover seemed to imply it was a religious text, but there were no 
words or symbols indicating an actual religion. 


Maybe the text itself will help? she thought, opening the book. 


There was no text. Blank page after black page, no publication, no 
copyright, ink has not touched this book, nor any others she had 
searched until, eventually, she found the one page that did, 


HIDE. 


NOW. 


Ears raised, she immediately heard the sound of the door's handle 
being grasped. Need to get to the altar. Running as fast as she 
could manage, she dove under the altar's stage, concealed by the 
stage drape. 


Did he see me? Fuck, fuck, fuck, she hoped her cover wasn't blown. 
The person approached the altar to where she dove, and jumped up 
onto the stage above her, the sound of his steps slowly fading out as 
he moved towards the back of the stage before she heard the slam 
of a door. 


Relief overcame her, as she crawled towards the back of the stage 
further, looking for this vent Joey had told Stuart about. Crawling 
forward, she lifted the stage drape and found a small, bronze plated 
vent practically hidden. 


Pressing an ear against it, Clovis could hear the steps a lot clearer. 
Finally, she heard his old decrepit voice. Definitely Morgan. 


"Evening, came into check on you. how's my favorite benefactor 
today?" 


There was a brief pause, but no response. 


"Come now, you can't keep up this silence, you know. I'm that only 
one who speaks with you." 


".. No." 
"... No, what?" 


"No, | do not want to speak with you. | see neither business, nor 
pleasure in it." 


"Well I'm sorry to hear that. | thought you were meant to be polite, 
especially in one's own home." 


"That is what I'm doing. | have nothing polite to say, so | am electing 


not to say anything. Although | am unsure why | bother, this is my 
home. | worked for it, not you." This voice sounded so familiar to 
Clovis. Could this really be him? 


"You're under contract, Fredrick. It's all fair, so long as | hold my end 
of the deal.” It was. 


"Yes... Fair." 
"... SO, do you want anything?" 
"You know what | want." 


"... Nothing then. In that case, | will be going out. | suppose | will see 
you when | return then." 


"Good. So long then." 


Shortly after, Clovis heard the thuds of steps just above her, trailing 
off until they finally reached the chapel's oversized door, and closed 
it with a slam. 


"Clovis, come on in! I've been dying to see you," Fredrick exclaimed. 


She was taken at first about how he knew she was there, but then 
again, of course he knew. He warned her to hide. "I'll be there ina 
bit." 


"Just behind the stage, I'm sure you'll find it... Though you'll have to 
get out from beneath it first, doll." 


Crawling out from beneath and climbing on top of the set to find the 
door to Morgan's quarters, she prayed to herself. Please let him 
understand, please let him understand. Don't be let him be mad. 


She opened the door and looked down the metal spiral stairway 
inside seeing a warm, friendly glow radiating from the bottom. The 
downstairs led to an immaculate living quarters; practically 
everything was made of mahogany wood or clean marble, works of 
art in gold frames were hung liberally on the wall, and a bed fit for 
five crafted primarily out of imported Egyptian cotton. This entire 


place reeked of luxury. 


"Clovis! Come in, come in! I'm in the office, first door to your right," 
the Wolf said. 


Entering the office, Clovis was greeted to the sight of an extravagant 
mahogany desk with an ornate, cast iron frame. The desk seemed 
almost alive, carved with imagery and symbols Clovis was all too 
familiar with. It had been many millenniums since she had seen 
many of these scenes, but they were hard to forget. 


The desk reminded her of the First War, her betrayal, the theft of the 
score, and so many other memories that were painful to be 
remembering. The cast iron frame, placed at the sides of the desk, 
were molded into the form of a large wolf's forearms. Behind the 
desk was a tall, high arched back chair with similar motifs, but one 
carving seemed to address Clovis directly. At first, it appeared to be 
Jesus pinned to the cross, but that wouldn't have made sense in 
context with everything else in Haven. 


As she moved forward, it became clearer that it was not a man, but 
the Wolf, Fredrick. The voice calling her forward spoke up again. 


"How are you, doll? Long time no see! You haven't aged a day | see. 
| hope you haven't forgotten about me, have you?" 


"No, how could I?... Where are you?" 
"You're looking at me." 
"... The desk?" 


"Yes, sorry you have to see me like this. I'll be moving on from this 
soon enough. Pull up a chair! We have a lot to talk about." 


Clovis obliged. 


"So," Fredrick continued. "Are you okay? What have you been up 
to? Meet up with any pretty girls while | was away? Oh! What did 
you do with On Mount Golgotha? You got rid of it, right? It's unsafe 
to keep it around. Even if you can't die, you, or anyone for that 
matter, shouldn't be around it." 


"I-I'm alright. It's been... difficult. Don't worry, the score's gone. 
Buried." 


"Oh, good. Thank the Thirteen. How long ago? Where?" 
"... Athousand years. After |... She..." 


"... Say no more, | understand. I'm just glad to have you back, doll. 
It's been too long." 


"... We need to talk." 


"Yes. Yes we do. | have a lot of explaining to do, don't |? Where do 
you want to start?" 


"Why are you a desk?" 


"... Not the first question | was expecting, I'll give you that. The desk 
and chair are my effigies. A man in America, Anderson, made this 
desk with the intent of me inhabiting it. | suppose he thought it 
convenient. Let's just say | haven't talked with him very much, and 
based on what I've heard of him, he has some very skewed opinions 
on me, and what | want. Sent me here, to a business partner of his, 
of whom, | have the displeasure of knowing." 


"Father Morgan?" 


"Yes... Him. Better than Anderson, I'll give him that, but a monster's 
a monster... But enough about that, I'm sure you have other things 
on your mind." 


"| do actually. Why are you here? Why are you helping this person? 
This, what he's been doing, isn't anything like you." 


"... You know, I've been expecting this question ever since Suwaird 
was reborn? I've been trying to think of an answer that properly 
explains all of this, but... No. | came to him because it was my best 
shot at a body on Earth. Not just... this, but a true body. One of flesh 
and bone." 


"Do you know what he's been doing?" 


key wound up, SCP-914 will “refine” the object in the booth. No 
energy is lost in the process, and the object appears to be in stasis 
until the Output Booth door is opened. Intense observation and 
testing have not shown how SCP-914 accomplishes this, and no test 
object has ever been observed inside SCP-914 during the “refining” 
process. The process takes between five and ten minutes, 
depending on the size of the object being refined. 


Addendum: 5/14: Dr. Test Log 
Input: 1kg of steel (setting: Rough) 


Output: Pile of steel chunks of various sizes, appearing to be cut by 
laser. 


Input: 1kg of steel (setting: 1:1) 
Output: 1kg of steel screws 

Input: 1kg of steel (setting: Fine) 
Output: 1kg of steel carpet tacks 
Input: 1kg of steel (setting: Very Fine) 


Output: Several gases that dissipated into the air quickly, and 1 
gram of an unknown metal, resistant to heat of 50,000 degrees, 
impossible to bend or break with any force, and a near-perfect 
(1.6x10-75 p) conductor of electricity 


Input: 1 wristwatch belonging to Dr. (setting: Coarse) 
Output: 1 completely disassembled wristwatch 

Input: 1 cellphone belonging to (setting: 1:1) 
Output: 1 cellphone, although different make and model 
Input: 1 standard Colt Python revolver (setting: Very Fine) 


Output: [DATA EXPUNGED] Aforementioned completely 


"Not as much as I'd like. He's been trying his best to keep me in the 
dark about his activities... But that just tells me he's not to be 
trusted. " 


Clovis paused, and placed Stuart's journal on top of the desk. 
"What's this?" 


"Stuart's account of what's been happening. It has most of what's 
been going on, from a victim's perspective." 


"Victim?... Let me read it, put it in my drawer," Fredrick said, 
allowing a drawer to slide open. Clovis obliged, and gave him a few 
moments to process everything. 


"| know what to do with him," he began, anger beginning to show. 
"His Haven will crumble, and nothing will be salvaged. He deserves 
everything Anderson got." 


"... What did he get?" 


"... I'm sorry, doll. This's nothing to discuss with your daughter. He's 
a bad man, let's leave it at that. I'd love your help in it. It's just the 
first step towards returning things back to the way they were." 


"Just what do you mean by that?" 


"Well, | mean just back to the way things were! Before humans 
messed it all up, before hunger, paradise! And now that you and 
Suw-... Stuart | should say, are here with me, we'll be ever closer!" 


"Before humans? You don't mean getting rid of them, do you?" 


"... Yes? I'm sorry, is that a problem? Clovis, are you saying they 
shouldn't pay for what they did?" 


"Yes! Humans are nothing like they were when you met them." 


"You're right, they went from very stupid to very greedy. Not much of 
an improvement, is it?" 


"Okay, Fredrick, how many humans have you met lately? Ones that 


are alive?" 
"... Two... five if | count you, Stuart, and Espen, but | don't." 


"Okay, that's fine, but do you know how many humans are out 
there? A few million." 


"What are you getting at?" 


"Do you truly think everyone is like this? You have a two person 
basis, and let's be honest, wouldn't you say you're a tad biased? Are 
we all like the serpent? You would be upset if we were compared 
to... it, wouldn't you?” 


"... | would." 


"Listen, I'm just saying that not all of them are like... this, like 
Morgan, or Anderson. Many of them are the kindest people I've ever 
met. They aren't perfect by any means, but they don't deserve what 
you're suggesting.” 


"... You say this. You're my daughter. And you have more 
experience with them than anyone else | know..." 


"Listen, I'll help you, and Stuart will as well, at least for this, but we 
should discuss terms." 


"... Alright. | will give them a chance. Them, not Morgan." 
"That is all | ask." 


"I'm... glad we can come to a consensus. So, what would you 
suggest?" 


"No." 
"Pleasel" 


"| said no. We have enough performers already. Besides, | need you 
here." 


"I can still do that if you want me to, but please, I'm only asking for 
fifteen minutes of your time, two if you don't like it. What do you 
have to lose?" 


"... Huh, | doubt you could handle shining shoes and cleaning up the 
floors and tables while up on the stage," the owner looked down at 
Stuart, and sighed. The First Hound had just closed up shop, and 
the pub was vacant. He was right about one thing; there really was 
nothing to lose. If the child was allowed to perform, it was not as if 
he weren't replaceable: shoe shiners are cheap. The worst thing that 
could honestly happen is a small portion of wasted time. "Ugh, fine, 
fine. Let's get it over with. What, do you sing? Dance? What?"