The City. Looking back on it now, its former gleaming skyscrapers 
now appear as formless smudges in my mind's eye. | can remember 
setpieces, places, bits and images that appear as vivid now as they 
did so many years ago - yet surely age must have distorted the 
memories, such that | perceive them as the people in Plato's cave 
perceived the shadows on the walls. 


We spent innumerable hours in the City, wandering between the 
buildings, venturing from their shadows into the cobblestone plazas. 
| can only assume that onlookers believed me to be his master - 
though if anything, the opposite was true. Once we attended a fair in 
the City together, sampling the local delicacies and watching the 
street performers. We shared some exotic foodstuff found only in the 
East, thin strands of wheat that you wound together and ate, 
enjoying the texture and its cool bland taste. Together we greedily 
gulped it all down, only to find ourselves fighting for the last strand. 
Our lips almost met - we pulled back as though struck by lightning. 


Too wrapped up in my own concerns over the moment, | let him 
finish the strand, and then let myself be coerced into buying more to 
hand out to the local underclass. | forgot the moment during our 
interactions with the underclass - as a child of privilege, | found it 
deliciously exotic, though to him it must have been home. Only now, 
looking back, do | realize that he was planting the seeds of his 
rebellion during the tenderness of our youth. How naive | must have 
appeared to him - how bland and rote my thinking must have been. 


The two of us were polar opposites, really. | was a child of nobility - 
born of machines, expected to fulfill the dreams of my parents: of 
building, servicing, and controlling the machines which birthed me. | 
don't think | ever had a dream of my own. lon, though... lon was 
born of slaves. Nobody had any dreams for him, so he made his 
own. He fought his way to the heights with which | had been gifted. 


Thus did his revolutionary dreams clash with my own stagnant 
desires. Though the revolt failed and its leaders hanged, lon 
continued to push forward. He began producing and distributing a 
manifesto: his vision for a better world that called for an end to the 
Empire and its abuses. He begged me to help him distribute his 
work, by accessing the duplicators in the heart of the City and 
producing thousands upon thousands of copies of his manifesto. As 
a prince of Cogwork, the Machines of the City were open to me. | 
merely needed the courage to use them. 


| lacked that courage. | was far too dependent on my privilege to 
allow any sort of shift to the Culture. | lied to him again - | pretended 
that my class was not allowed into the Machines, to keep us safe for 
our eventual rule. lon must have seen through my falsehoods - and | 
continue to wonder why he did not simply cast me aside that very 
moment - but he allowed me to hide behind my lies and continued 
anyways. He stole into the Machines that very night and produced 
thousands of his manifestos. | found a manifesto in my very 
bedchamber upon arising the next morning. 


The passion, discipline, and tenacity within him terrified me. He was 
everything | wanted to be, and he entranced me. | idolized him. | 
wanted to be him. | wanted for nothing except self-assuredness. The 
certainty that | had made my own path. The certainty that everything 
| did was because | wanted to. | wanted the certainty that | deserved 
everything | had. | wanted to kiss him. To reach out and touch him 
and caress his face. To receive a part of his ambition and 
persistence and intelligence and discipline. Even now | can feel my 
face flush at the thoughts. 


Faced with my own cowardice, | grew ever more certain that | was 
unfit to be in lon's presence. From then on | attempted to avoid him 
whenever possible. He sought me out instead, and after some 
weeks managed to corner me in university and coerce me to attend 
a play with him. Unable to develop a satisfactory excuse, | conceded 
and accompanied him. The performance was shockingly subversive 
for the Culture: telling the story of a Cogwork noble robbing the 
homes of Daeva royalty in order to free his lover, a slave in the 
arena. | was astounded that the City's rulers would allow such a play 
to be produced. Indeed, as the play reached its zenith, the City's 


enforcers stormed the theatre and clapped chains on all in 
attendance. 


We spent the night together, though not in any desirable way. lon 
spent that time educating me on the horrific abuses being 
perpetrated by the ruling class on the City's inhabitants, and how my 
own family, the Cogwork, were complicit in their crimes. | was 
aghast by the accusations, yet could not deny them - the irons we 
wore were unmistakably forged in the fires of the Machine. That 
night | swore my allegiance to his cause, though how much of it was 
to the cause and not to him | do not know. 


I,1,1,1... | still don't know that much about him. Did we ever really talk 
about ourselves? Did he know about my parents? | know my parents 
didn't know of him. Even looking past the obvious, | don't think | 
would have wanted them to. | wanted to shut everyone out. | 
enjoyed shutting them all out. Forcing them to open me up, and then 
just as quickly shutting them out again. | needed the validation that 
they cared about me - that they cared enough to keep opening me 
up again, even though | didn't want to be opened at all. lon never 
opened me up. But | thought he wanted to, and | was content with 
that delusion. Was it a delusion? Perhaps. | do enjoy deluding 
myself. | even deluded myself into believing | had any kind of honor 
at all. 


In the morn, when my father came to retrieve me, lon begged me to 
renounce him, the evils my family was complicit in, and the privilege 
that came at the cost of the downtrodden and the infirm. | promised 
him that | would. And when the time came, | looked into my father's 
eyes, and | fell at his feet and begged for his mercy. | renounced my 
first love out of fear and shame and a deep, programmed insecurity 
that demanded | debase myself for the merest shred of his approval. 
As he led me away from the cell, | averted my eyes from Ion - 
terrified to see the look in his eyes. 


Many days after, my father informed me that he was sending me to 
my more orthodox relatives in the West the following day. It would 
straighten me out, he claimed, and stamp out my wild 
rebelliousness. Little did he realize | had done that myself, with my 
own act of betrayal. The night before my departure, | awoke to find 
lon in my bed. He said nothing, and so too did |. What was there to 


say? How could | atone for my grievous betrayal? For my sin against 
my brother? 


| reached out to him, still lost for words, but he said nothing. He 
simply took my hand and kissed it, and | understood what needed to 
be done. 


| departed early that morning, certain beyond a doubt that | would 
never return. Sitting astride my mechanical horse as it galloped 
across the sand, | watched the sun rise against the horizon. At 
midday | turned around to look at the City, and watched as great 
pillars of flesh consumed it, clawing up at its great forges and towers 
and tearing them apart. 


When | went to bed that night, in the desert sands, | briefly imagined 
snuggling up to him. The pressure of his legs pressed against mine, 
the warmth of his back on my chin, the soft smoothness of his skin. 
Then the moment passed, and | clutched my pillow a little tighter. 


The Manager 


Good afternoon, Everett. May | call you Everett? Dr. Mann seems so 
impersonal. It's a fine summer day, isn't it? I'd offer you a drink, but it 
seems you're the host today. 


Don't be so shy. You want to know about the Factory, right? Don't 
worry, I'll tell you plenty. You can still torture me later, of course. I'm 
afraid my screaming circuits are a little rusty, but I'll put in the effort. 
For you. 


So what did you want to know? Perhaps the rundown on our 
upcoming products? There's a line of action figures coming up that 
I'm particularly proud of. We've got a new series of adult toys, anda 
couple others - don't want to give away too much, but let's just say 
there's nothing we can't make candy-coated. 


Come now. Don't be so dramatic. We're hardly the worst problem 
you have - | wouldn't even call us a problem. We're just trying to 
keep you on your toes. At worst we're your court jesters, your Friday 
night entertainment. 


Tell me you didn't find the monkeys and the liquid rock charming. Or 
the God series. The anti-gravity device - how could that fail to tickle 
you? The contact lenses were practically benevolent - doesn't 
everyone at the Foundation want to see the world for how it really 
is? The silly putty - don't deny your researchers got some laughs out 
of that. I've seen your testing logs, with those poor, hapless D- 
Classes. The pencil sharpeners, those really were a gift, considering 
the uses you've put them to. ...Oh? You're one of the Foundation's 
most brilliant stars now, Everett. I've heard stories... You can't tell 
me a few baby-faced schoolchildren still phase you. 


Oh, of course that's what you meant. No, we haven't infiltrated your 
organization. Infiltration implies we're the enemy, that we actually 
need to spy on you. 


They work with you every day, why don't you ask them? How about 
Jack, eh? Certainly worked with more than his share of Factory 
items. And his lovely little necklace - I'm sure you know the 
Foundation has since acquired a few more of those things. Even if 
there's... flaws... in the production line. Didn't you ever wonder... 


No, | see you're not ready to believe that one. That's alright. Loyalty 
is a virtue. It's true, you really have no reason to trust me. 


Oh, is that what this is about? Someone told you a little story. Was it 
the one with the faeries? Dear me, I've struck a nerve. | can see the 
seed of doubt was already there. Then perhaps you really don't want 
to hear that the best parts of that story are true. And the parts that 
aren't - well, don't worry, those only get better. You can't be told too 
much too fast. Don't want you to end up like poor Kondraki. 


You look unimpressed. I'm sorry, was that too dramatic? | try to save 
the drama for our products. But sometimes | just can't help myself. 
Look - you're important to us. Before you came along, where were 
we? Stuck mostly dealing in... oh no, wait, I'm not supposed to tell 
you that, yet. For now, let's just say they were hard times. We want 
you around. You're not our first love, but you're the best. 


We're not going to destroy the world, Everett. That isn't the point. 
We're just capitalists with a sense of humor. We want to add a little 
spice, a little flavor to the proceedings. 


We hold ourselves back, you see. We want to make sure you can 
handle us. For now. Soon we won't need to keep the kid gloves on. 


Of course that isn't a threat. We're the Factory. We produce, we 
don't posture. 


You're right. We've got plans. Big ones, it's true. Tell you what - if 
you do a good job torturing me, I'll drop you a few spoilers. You've 
got to go the extra mile, though. As | said, I've heard stories about 
you, Everett. They say there are few limits to how far you'll go, when 
given the proper motivation. I'll be disappointed if you just 
waterboard me or chop off a few of my extra limbs. And be quick 
about it. | can't stay with you much longer. 


SCP-967: Infinite Scrapyard 


Item #: SCP-967 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-967 is to be contained 
within a 12 (twelve)-meter-high electric fence (primary containment), 
surrounded by a 150 (one hundred and fifty)-meter-wide buffer zone 
of vegetation consisting of wildflowers, fruit trees, and mixed 
grasses, and monitored by no less than 60 (sixty) on-site personnel 
disguised as members of the Scrapyard Cleaning People 
environmental organization. Civilians are to be dissuaded from entry 
to the buffer zone by means of a "toxic waste bioremediation 
research" cover story. 


In the event of a containment breach, instances of SCP-967-1 can 
be distinguished from instances of SCP-967-2 by their reaction to 
the buffer zone. During a containment breach, SCP-967-1 will 
hesitate, manifest apparent confusion and fear, and then attempt to 
return within the confines of the electric fence. Any instances of 
SCP-967-1 which fail in this attempt will undergo decohesion within 
3 (three) minutes of having left SCP-967; metal detectors and 
industrial electromagnets are to be used to collect all decohered 
fragments. Any decohered fragments which are not used for 
research purposes are to be incinerated, with their ashes bound in a 
concrete matrix which is then stored within the overall confines of 
SCP-967. Any damage to the buffer zone caused by the 
containment breach must be repaired within no more than 30 (thirty) 
minutes. 


During a containment breach, SCP-967-2 will not react to the buffer 
zone. Individual instances of SCP-967-2 are to be immobilized with 
electromagnetic weaponry until they undergo decohesion; no 
instance of SCP-967-2 has endured more than 2 (two) hours before 
undergoing decohesion. Metal detectors and industrial 
electromagnets are to be used to collect all decohered fragments. 


Before you go, indulge me with one more question. About that story, 
Everett - the faerie story. Did he tell you he thought - at first - that he 
had us tamed? That he did it all for the good of mankind? 


Ah, | can see I'm right. | knew he was still a sentimental man. It 
warms my entirely metaphorical heart. 


The future is a brilliant place, Everett. You'll love it. We'll get there, 
together. | promise. 


The Martini Police 


Where does an Overseer even live? 


It's a good question, and one each member of the Council answers 
in their own way. Most of them opt for the classics: bunkers beneath 
half a kilometer of bedrock; cottages in the towns that maps forgot; 
military compounds surrounded by jungle. The only exception to the 
rule is O5-4, whose home came with the title for a very good reason. 


Look at Australia from a satellite's-eye view. Zoom in on its swirling 
orange center once, twice, a hundred times, and see a pixel-sized 
pinprick of black that breaks the warm contours of the outback 
countryside. You'd think it was a bit of dust on the camera until you 
saw it from ground level — with a telescope and some effort, you 
can make out individual Earths speckling that blackness. A hole in 
the sky, ripping itself open to reveal a band of shimmering blue 
marbles suspended in nothingness. 


Every new Earth in that band represents a different choice, a 
different Foundation. Four's job was merely to watch the worlds-that- 
would-be from the house beneath that hole, and report on how the 
Foundation's futures changed with every decision the Council made. 
He was a bystander, not an overseer, and his title as Observer Zero 
was meant to remind him of that fact. 


The fact that he was a voice without a vote made other Councillors 
tend to leave him be. After all, no use wasting time convincing him of 
the merits of your motion when you could badger someone else into 
actually getting it through. 


So when his secretary informed him that O5-3 had asked to meet 
him in person that night, Four didn't believe it before he saw the 
silhouette of the jeep from his office, its high-beams cutting a 
blinding path in the night towards the house as security swarmed to 
meet it. 


He still half-expects it to be an assassin even as Three steps out of 
the car, briefcase in hand and flanked on both sides by Four's 
security detail. Those flinty eyes mark him out as the real deal; easy 
to fake eyeballs, hard to fake the scheming glint inside them.