One More Week

Charlie swam toward shore. He got out and dried off, taking his time in the glorious summer sun. He arched his back and tossed the towel down. He dressed and sat down next to his laptop. He sipped from water holder, and then picked up the laptop and started typing. It was a struggle to start but he was soon in the zone.

* * * * *

A sedan drove up to the Rosewood Diner and Agents Dax and Fossetti got out. Agent Dax looked around. “So this is where it's hiding. Quaint.”

Agent Fossetti smiled. “I bet they have a wonderful cherry pie.”

Agent Dax glared at him. “Yeah, whatever. The sooner we find that backpack the better.”

“Well, we do have a couple of days.”

The two mountains walked into the diner, asked a few questions, and walked out. Agent Fossetti carried a small bag. Agent Dax looked at him. Agent Fossetti bowed his head in shame. “I had to make sure.” Agent Dax rolled his eyes as the two got back into the sedan.

* * * * *

The laptop dinged, and Charlie looked at his alarm. He quickly picked up his stuff and put it into his old backpack. He smiled at the banana slug stickers and then put it on. It was hard not smiling; he had complete yet another seven-day mission and just had to upload to his blog. He walked briskly to the bus stop, arriving just a minute before the bus. He would soon be back in town.

A few minutes a sedan carrying the two agents passed by a few minutes later.

* * * * *

Charlie stepped off the bus and walked to the Rosewood Diner. As he sat down and logged in, the waitress came up to him, grabbing her pad from her apron as she came up. “Two guys are looking for you. Didn't catch the badge, but they were plenty scary." 

He barely looked up. “I'm just dodging an inheritance.” Her eyebrow cocked. “How's the meatloaf today?”

She smiled. “Dangerous as usual."

He grinned back. “Then the cheese lasagna, then.”

She wrote it down. She walked off. He realized he hadn't asked for a water, so e put up a finger, hoping to get her attention, and then dropped as he figured he could ask her when she returned. He returned to uploading. By the time his lasagna had been delivered (and he had gotten his water) he had uploaded the blog and accompanying pictures, and was on to deciding where he would be off to for the next week. He was having problems deciding between Arizona and South Dakota; he ended up flipping a coin. He picked up, left a few bills on the table, and departed to pick up his bus ticket.

* * * * *

The two agents were leaving the motel. Neither were happy. “So we missed him by a hair. He's checked out.” Agent Dax glared into the distance.

“It also means that his week is almost over. He should be on the move and the backpack with him. So...think we'll get lucky and he's taking a bus?” Agent Fossetti pulled out his smart phone to check bus schedules.

“Yeah. He bartered some basic repairs to the pipes for just materials and taking some new pictures for the place's website. He should be able to afford a ticket.”

“Okay, so there are four buses leaving in the next couple of hours. He's coming from Austin, so that's eliminated. And he was in San Francisco just last year. So I'd guess Phoenix or Rapid City.”

“Phoenix is always boring this time of year. That bike rally is in just a few weeks....”

“So we have a winner. We just have to hope we find the backpack before the bus leaves.” The two agents quickly mounted up and drove off.

* * * * *

Charlie had had to put the backpack under the bus, but had kept a notepad and pencil. It would be a boring trip, but that meant that he would be getting a lot of sleep. After the last week, he would need it. He had no idea where he had picked up the ability to fix the pipes, but it had come in handy; he had been so mechanically inept as a kid that it took him an hour to fix a flat bike tire. He had just heard the knocking and suggested fixing the pipes in exchange for a room; his muscles were sore from all of the work he had put in.

He had picked up a lot of skills over the last few years that he had no idea where they had come from. He had expected some success from his time management skills, but the trip had been more successful than he would have expected; by breaking down his time to week-long chunks he had been able to focus on what he was doing and had become a successful blogger because of it. He was completing things, and had control over his life, and that made him feel satisfied.

He was going places, and not just to Phoenix; he was beginning to see some real financial rewards and would be able to retire to a cabin the woods in the next couple of years. He smiled; he was looking forward to leaving the highways of America. He decided to go the facilities and then settle in for some writing.

* * * * *

Agents Dax and Fossetti were not happy. There was no sign of the backpack on the Dakota-bound bus. Well, this trip had been done as a favor anyway; they hoped someone else could find the backpack before it killed again. Agent Fossetti picked up his phone.

“Yeah, it escaped again. We think it's on its way to Phoenix. We'd pursue but it left an hour an ago. I doubt a a full MTF is needed; just someone able to look through the cargo. Sure. Good luck.” He put his phone away. “Guess we're headed back to Santa Cruz.”

Agent Dax just opened his door. “That jerk Donalds had better have my beer ready for this.”

* * * * *

Charlie pulled up his zipper and turned to the mirror. He fixed an errant strand of hair, and noticed the black eye. It was soon followed by the pain of broken ribs. He finally noticed the growing red splotch in his belly just below the ribs. He pulled his shirt to investigate and saw a deep incision.

He panicked, and tried to staunch the flow of blood with a mass of paper towels. Soon the floor was covered in his blood. He fainted, overcome by blood loss. In minutes there was nothing left of Charlie. It was if he had evaporated.

* * * * *

Agent Freidliner managed to get the bus driver to open up the cargo hold. He smiled as saw the backpack with the two banana slug patches. He looked at the tag and asked the driver who belonged to the bag. After a quick inquiry, no one claimed the bag. The bus driver counted his passengers and notice he was missing one. Agent Freidliner took the backpack into custody and left a perplexed bus driver in his wake.

He put the backpack in his back seat and pulled out his phone. “Yeah, I've taken possession of the backpack. No sign of the accompanying entity. Yeah, the week must have expired. I'm only a few hours out but I should be home soon. Love you.” He put his phone up.

In a few moments he pulled out and was heading home. Nice backpack, doesn't look too scary..... 

 

SCP XXXX: The College Backpack

Class: Safe 

Description: The backpack is a brown canvas backpack with banana slug patches. 

Containment: The backpack can be kept in a standard security locker in a case to prevent physical contact. Due to its nature, it requires site manager permission to release for testing. 

Effect: Once taken into possession, the backpack will cause the person possessing it to transform into a replica of Page. If the process is interrupted within an hour the person's genetic template will assert itself and revert the individual. This entity (to be referred to as SCP-XXXX-1) has all of the former entity's biometrics (the fingerprints and retinal patterns are the same) as well as memory of some of the original's skills, but for all other intents and purposes will become Charles Anton Page.  

After one week (168 hours), wounds resembling the ones that killed Page appear on the body of SCP-XXXX-1, and it dies within thirty minutes. No attempts will save it will succeed and the body will disintegrate within minutes, leaving just the body. The backpack cam begin the transformation within five minutes of the disintegration. It should be noted that he gains no additional abilities, and can die or otherwise suffer like any other person, and any death will just hasten the resurrection process. 

History: In 1989 Santa Cruz college freshman/chemistry major Charles Anton Page decided to drop out of UC, Santa Cruz, and hit the road, inspired by Kerouac. He had also decided on a life philosophy based on “just one more week”. Sometime early on he began submitting articles to magazines based on his experiences, and it helped finance his life on the road. Within a year, he was robbed and left for dead, and eventually succumbed to his wounds.

He was soon resurrected, and his memory of the death was removed. While he was unsure of how he had arrived at his current location, he just returned to life as normal. Well, normal for him. He no longer worries about his occasional black-outs and just goes with it, looking forward to the next week of his life.

Oswald's Night Out

As Oswald finished showering, his nervousness charged the air around him, making the water spark a bit. He quickly dried off and dressed; he only received a few days liberty every month and so wanted to make the most of them. The only thing he hated was that Santa Cruz was always so hot that it made wearing his wet suits itchy, especially when he wore them under even the loosest shirt.

Tonight was Slugathon and he had been waiting months to try out his new Guyver outfit. At least the suit hid that he was wearing a wet suit, and in fact the wet suit actually added authenticity to the outfit. With some special electronics he had been able to fashion a great single eye, and he was ready for the convention. He only hoped that there would only be the usual weirdness at a convention. He seemed to have a curse at conventions, and there was always someone who stared at him the wrong way.

Agent Adonses, on the other hand, disliked that she had been conned into babysitting duty. While the kid could escape from the site every so often, he still needed a bodyguard and he had conned her into the duty. At least there was the irony that there were so many agents in pop culture that she would not be out of place in her normal wear. She would be virtually invisible in the sea of costumes, and that made her smile.

A smile that faded a little when Oswald, grinning from ear to ear, had handed her a laser pen with the light perpendicular to the pen and shown how to trigger the light. “Oh, and don't hold the button down.” She didn't trust the smile.

A few hours later, and Agent Adonses was already hoping Oswald was ready to go home. One man kept hitting on her; she flashed him with the pen as a joke, but was happy when it stopped him for a moment, just long enough for her to escape, but he would be back at it as soon as he saw her enter the bar later on. Too bad the bar was the only place to find a decent juice.

Oswald sidled up to her. “We may have a problem. My electricity keeps fading in and out.”

“Could it be the general atmosphere? There's a lot of weirdness here.”

“Debated that, but then I started backing up and seeing if it was centered on a particular area.”

“Smart. That would establish the region and a rough diameter.

“Sooooo...see that guy with the red hair? Directly in my six.

“There's a lot of red hair behind you”

“He's the only buzz cut.”

“Yeah, that is a stand out in this crowd.”

“He's the only consistent feature when it cuts out.”

“Guess I'd better go check it out.”

She avoided eye contact with the man while scanning him. He worked out, and the buzz cut combined with the green vest made him look ex-military. She also noted tattoo of a boxing glove hitting a shark on his shoulder. He quickly made her, and retreated and tried to hide in the crowd; she was impressed at that, but also annoyed as it made him harder to catch up to. She let him think he had lost her but in reality arced across the room so as to catch him at a different spot. He was good at evading her, but she had already scanned the area and knew all of the exits; if he was trying to avoid her there was only one way to go, and it led to the....bar.

Frick.

“Hey! You're beautiful!” The man from earlier tried to put his arm around her but she dodged it. She saw the red-hair vet fade out of the bar. “Can we go get something real to drink?”

“Again, no.” She moved away from him.

“This is the first time you've said no!” He turned away. “Some people...”

She moved as fast as she could, but he had managed to lose her. Even a quick scan of the area revealed nothing. She then sought out Oswald. She grinned as she saw a red head sneaking up behind the boy. Power walking, she quickly cut into the distance separating them. She reached for her pistol, swore to herself as she grabbed her taser instead (she had left the pistol at home), and readied herself for the confrontation.

He slapped Oswald and the ran for a side exit and forced open the door. She had to catch the kid. She set him up and ran after her target. Oswald was right behind her. She passed the door, claw marks in in the ruined metal.

He ran for the wharf. She smiled as she realized that she had him. Even if he jumped off, he couldn't get far; she was an excellent swimmer. They ran halfway down the wharf, and then he predictably jumped into the water. She stopped to pull off her shoes, but paused as he saw that he was a good hundred meters in the few seconds she had stopped to pull of her shoes. He had stopped just a few hundred meters out.

Oswald ran up to her and started stripping to his shorts. “Man, he's fast.” He looked at her, a little worry in his eyes. “Think he still wants me?"

“Yeah. But that doesn't help us.”

Oswald smiled at her. He then appeared to be lost in concentration as he crunched some numbers. He broke out of it. “When he's about 50 meters from me, flash the pen I gave you.” He dove into the water.

She pulled out the pen and readied it.

The man had seen him dive and started swimming at him. Oswald was obviously nervous; he wasn't sure what he was planning would work. If it did, great; if not, he would be an easy target, a wimpy sixteen-year-old in nothing but a pair of shorts in the middle of the water. And the guy, who was nothing but muscle, was bearing down on him.

He saw the flash. He summoned a charge and let it go, illuminating the water around him. It quickly faded as the man's aura hit Oswald, but then the guy cruised right into Oswald.

The good thing about being in the middle of the ocean is that no one can see you wet your shorts.

The man appeared unconscious. It took Oswald a few seconds to realize he was still alive, and then he started pulling the man to shore. Agent Adonses was running up to him even as she called in a team.

When Oswald finally reached shore, he collapsed. “I hate being a junior agent.”

“In training. But good job.”

“Thanks. Did you have fun with the pen?”

“It's just a fancy laser pen. I showed it to one guy as a joke, but he still backed off. Must have thought I was a real agent. Heh. He kept coming back for more.

“The pen shot out a low-level amnestic. When he got hit by the spray, he forgot the last minute or so.”

She looked him. She looked at the pen. She made sure the pen was secure. Then she looked back at him. “So, have fun?"

“Yeah. Placed fourth in the costume contest, met with some friends, got my exercise in. Almost got killed by a guy with a tattoo. Yay.”

She smiled as she threw his wet suit at him. The beach was soon filled with red and blue lights.

SCP 5275: Lieutenant Felix Mannfred Smythe

Class: Safe

Description: A muscular red-headed military specialist. He bears a tattoo of boxing glove hitting a cartoon shark on his right shoulder and a pentagram composed of an octopus on his left.

History: SCP-5275 is a visitor from an alternate universe, one where the SCP Foundation has apparently been replaced by the “Shark Punching Center”, a group interested in defeating aquatic anomalies through hand-to-hand combat. He seems to have acquired several anomalous abilities as the result of an occult initiation. He currently seeks to return to his home universe, disliking the current one; it has an “oily” feeling to him.

SCP-5275 is currently exploring the world looking for challenging anomalies to fight. While he does find some challenge in fighting pits (as well as some money), he works as a mercenary for various groups interested in eliminating anomalies, especially when there is the chance of combat.

Containment: Ironically, if captured SCP-5275 would be contained next to any anomalies capable of reality warping in hopes of mitigating their effects. It should be noted that he must be secured in order to avoid escape, as he would attempt to rejoin the Shark Punching Center while sabotaging whichever Foundation site he ended up in.

This means that isites with an anomaly capable of penetrating dimensional walls need to be on special guard. SCP-5275 may attempt to be captured by security at said sites in order to escape at a later date and access the anomaly it was looking for. This tactic has actually been employed twice, but in one case the anomaly could only access a peaceful Hawai'i-style dimension, and the other would transport him but he would be deceased upon arrival. The subject escaped from the sites after determining that the anomalies were useless to it.

Effect: SCP-5275 is capable of mitigating the effects of other anomalies within a radius of approximately 50 meters, effecting acting as a reality anchor. While he has definite limits (there are some items and persons that he cannot seem to effect), nonetheless he effectively tamps down most anomalies he encounters. Also, the ability appears to be passive; it is in effect continuously and regardless of his conscious state. This ability does not seem to stem from his initiation but rather because he is foreign to the universe; several researchers want to study him further due to that effect.

He also seems to be completely amphibious, able to stay underwater indefinitely. As part of that adaptation, he has an extra layer of insulating fat and increased muscle density. Also, his fingernails are capable of scoring steel and he can swim at surprisingly fast speeds.

Slippery as a Knifefish

 

One great thing about Santa Cruz: The buses ran everywhere. Agent Maria Conchita Adonses got off bus and walked the final half-mile to the Institute of Marine Sciences. The warm sea air could only do her good.

When she finally arrived at the site, she checked her watch to ensure that she had arrived early. The windable watch showed she was five minutes early. A grinning large man in standard forest camos was walking towards her.

She saw a black van come into view, stopped, and armed men spilled out. And then the siren sounded.

The large man lost his grin. “At least your first day will be memorable.”

She pulled out her automatic pistol. “I hate memorable.”

He had already pulled his own pistol. “Understood.” He appraised the situation. “Agent Adonses, correct?” He pulled her to cover behind a sedan.

“Thanks, and yeah. Sergeant Steel, I presume?” She peeked out at the invaders.

“Yep.” He peeked out at the invaders. “Look, my men will have this contained in a few minutes. I need you inside looking for Asset Oswald.” He looked heavenwards. “Every friggin' July 8^th.”

“Asset Oswald?”

“Yep. Tell him he needs to get to the Genny-6 ASAP.” Sergeant Steel peeked again at the invaders. “We were expecting these jerks today, and that's their likely target. Oh, and mention the date.” He cocked his pistol. “Now GO!”

She kept low, but ran as fast as she could to the one open door she saw. As she entered she saw some soldiers engaging the invaders. She closed and secured the door before heading into the site. She saw a T-intersection and went right; she had no idea where to go, but she was confident she would figure it out.

She ran past all sorts personnel preparing for the worst. She would ask someone about “Asset Oswald” and was pointed in the direction of the containment section. She noted the increase in concrete and bulkhead doors; she had entered the containment section. A few questions later and she was directed to a cell. She peeked in and saw a teenager in his boxers listening to his headphones.

She knocked loudly on the door. The kid looked at her surprised. He removed his headset. “Can I help you?”

She lowered her pistol. “I'm looking for 'Asset Oswald'. That you?”

The kid smiled. “Definitely. How can I help you?”

She cocked her head. She was hoping for someone older. “Sargent Steel wants you at Genny-6 ASAP. Also, something about mentioning it's 'July 8^th'.”

The kid removed his headset and grabbed a wetsuit. “The same thing every year.” He put on the suit. “Okay, but you're going to need to watch my back, okay?”

She checked her pistol. “Got it."

He slipped into a pair of deck shoes and grabbed a pair of rubber glasses. “Cool.” He ran past her. “Let's go.”

She followed and the two ran past more panicked personnel. He led her through a maze of corridors deeper into the containment section. Eventually they were at a small electrical generator. “Agent, this is Genny-6.” He kneeled next to the generator and inspected it. “Okay, she was disconnected before the attack. Her charge has also been used up.” He looked up at the agent. “You have a taser, right?”

Her eyebrow cocked. “Of course. But you don't charge a generator that way.” She holstered her weapon before reaching into her purse. 

He quickly reconnected the generator. “Who says you're charging the generator?” He smiled at her. “You're charging me.”

She paused while grabbing her taser from her purse. “Wait...what?”

“You heard me.” He removed his glasses. “You're charging me. Now hurry. We only a minute or so left before the cages open!”

She did the math and determined that a dozen cages of individuals with weird abilities being freed would be a bad idea. She pulled out the taser. “Are you sure?”

“This is the---” A shot rang out and the taser flew out of her hand. Oswald ducked behind the generator.

“We knew someone would grab Oswald.” There were steps coming towards them. “Now I guess I get to retire that particular asset.

She turned to see a thin man heading towards her, taking aim at her. She heard Oswald scrambling in the direction of the lost taser. 

“Sorry, agent, but you are collateral damage.” He fired at her.

He missed as she crouched, pulling out her own weapon. She could feel the passage of the bullet. She just fired. The man went down.

“Oh yeah!” She heard the snickety-snack of a taser going off. “That's the stuff!”

She looked at Oswald as he ran to the generator. “You need a more powerful taser, for future reference.” He placed his hands on the generator. In moments it was charged up. He slumped to the ground but his head popped up. “And yet another July 8^th ruined.” He put his glasses back on.

She looked at the dead man before holstering her weapon. She retrieved her taser. “So what's up with the date?”

Oswald stood up. “SCP-5982.” He shrugged his shoulders as if that explained it all.

She glared at him. “SCP-5982?"

He walked away from her. “Once a year, there's a weird flux in the area that makes things more possible, especially bad things. Specifically, those actions that involve some sort of agency. Like invading a Foundation site.” He motioned for her to follow. “So every year they stage an invasion.” He paused. “You have no idea how lucky we were.” He continued walking.

She followed him. “Great. And this is just my first day.”

SITE 142 (Secured/Humanoid): Disguised as part of the Institute of Marine Sciences, Site 142 is a secure facility that tends to deal in a lot of weirdness thanks to the local scene. While they tend to deal in Safe- and Euclid-level storage problems, they also need to deal with a number of location-based anomalies. They also keep a number of humanoid anomalies, usually a dozen or so at a time. While the site keeps some of the more interesting humanoid anomalies, they are also assigned to find a way to help humanoid anomalies fit back into society when possible, and have incorporated some anomalies into site defense.

STF Delta-64 (Coconut Snails): Assigned to Site 142, the Coconut Snails are a clean-up squad at the disposal of the site commander. They tend to blow things off as guerilla video, and usually have at least one member with some sort of filming equipment, even if it's just a smart phone. They work with agents assigned to the site in order to rescue anomalies, but work with local agencies to deal with more interesting anomalies.

SCP 5698: Oswald K

Class: Safe (explained)

Description: A blond, athletic teenage boy of approximately sixteen years of age. He wears prescription rubber frames for his astigmatism and some sort of containment gear, such as a rain poncho or a wet suit.

History: SCP-5698 is the result of genetic engineering carried on by the Nazis during WWII to create a soldier capable of traveling underwater for long periods of time; the scientists used an anomalous item capable of combining the DNA of different creatures, and so combined a human and an electric eel (Electrophorus electricus). The subject acquired partial gills and the ability to create and project an electrical charge (exact parameters unknown). However, those abilities bred true in his descendants; SCP-5698 is the direct grandchild of that original solider.

SCP-5698 was rescued from a Marshall, Carter, and Dark, Ltd., auction where his abilities were seen in terms of their combat utility; the highest bidders ran an anomaly gladiatorial rings. The subject was remanded to Foundation custody for study, and was determined to be “explained” due to the specific origin of its anomaly. It should be noted that the subject did make the lists of various organizations, and so it was determined that the subject should remain in the custody of The Foundation both for his own safety and that of others.

Containment: SCP-5698 is required to wear an insulated wet suit whenever he is outside of his cell; this is for the safety of others more than that of the subject's. This also means that his shoes are insulated, and he generally wears Latex gloves. Optionally, he may wear rain gear. It should be noted that exposure to water does not short him out, s would be expected; the containment gear is more to safeguard against accidental contact during use of his abilities. 

It should be noted that he has been remanded to Foundation custody due to his anomaly, and that the custody is effectively permanent.

Effect: SCP-5698 has organic capacitors; he can absorb electricity from the surrounding area and then project it at varying strengths. He can carry a charge of around 1500 watt-hours, or enough to power several major appliances at once. He can project this electricity to a range of approximately 10 meters, and can use as little as a single watt to his maximum load. This has allowed him such feats as recharging handheld devices (with concentration) to approximating a taser.

As a secondary effect this makes him extremely difficult to effect with electricity, as tasers actually power him and are absorbed without harm. He is constantly drawing electricity, even from static electricity, and even his body produces a slight charge; without an outside source he could attain maximum capacity in about a month.

He is also able to swim for extended periods underwater; while not truly amphibious, he is able to remain underwater up to half an hour of average activity before needing to surface.

Dangerous Assumptions

Lamarr stepped out of the shower and glanced at his phone. He saw a message from an “Agent Harold Folletti” and decided he could deal with it later. He dressed quickly is his business suit and grabbed his fob. If he was lucky he would get to the store just before too many people showed up.

He felt the spray of water on his face. 

 “JAX! Put that gun down!”

He heard plastic on wood followed by giggling as a four-year-old disappeared down the hall. His eyes rolled and and he grabbed the clear plastic water pistol. He looked at for a moment; since they had bought in that antique store for a quarter Jax had not stopped playing with it to the consternation of his mother. He smiled as he put the water pistol in his coat pocket and headed for the door.

“Gena, I'm out of here! See you at dinner!”

He headed out the door to his vehicle. As he pulled out of the driveway a cheap sedan pulled in. A heavy-set Italian man in a crumpled suit practically rushed out of the car a he turned the corner.

He soon arrived at Lippstein Jewelry and parked in his usual spot. He saw Jenkins and waved. “I saw the game, man; I'll have the ten at lunch!” Jenkins gave him a thumbs up. He then hustled to the front door; he had lost the bet by a Hail Mary to the end goal and the idiot running back had actually caught the ball. His team only had three seconds for a final play. He reached the door with keys in hand; only two other people were there. He apologized and opened the door.

He made a mental note to take his shower ten minutes earlier; he should be the first one here and he hadn't the last few days. The store was up and going within minutes and Marsha's drawer was counted and ready to go; he didn't know why he bothered outside of tradition as their customers only used plastic to purchase their jewelry.

Just as they were set up, there was a burst of activity as two heavyset brutes burst in, faces masked, rifles at the ready. Lamarr's eyes rolled a he reached for the silent alarm. This was only the second robbery since he had bought the store from Sherman Lippstein two years ago; he had implemented upgrades since then. The security guard should stand down; however, it should take them about 30 seconds to deal with the guard. They should then take about 90 seconds to grab as much jewelry as possible, maybe some gems. They should then take about 15 seconds to deal with the cash register.

A total of approximately 2:15.

Unfortunately for them the cafe next door had a great chicken and waffle that was popular with the local cops.

Thus, Lamarr was hardly surprised when four cops, none of whom were incredibly happy to be there, took up positions just outside the shop, weapons at the ready.

While the robbers were busy grabbing, his crew had virtually disappeared into the back room and slammed the door shut. With only the guard left in the showroom, the robbers quickly gave up. He walked out to thank the policemen, but as he walked forward he noticed a weight in his pocket. He reached in, grabbed it, and pulled it out.

A cop noticed what he had pulled out and aimed his pistol at Lamarr. “PUT THAT DOWN!” The man's partner soon had his pistol also trained on Lamarr.

Lamarr looked at what was in his hand and panicked. He put his hands up. Before he could even get his hands past his chest, the two policemen fired three times each. Lamarr fell. The scene was quickly taped off as one cop called it in and the other called the shop steward.

Agent Folletti drove up and parked his car. He flashed a badge at the cops and asked what had happened. He glared at the reporting cop, but felt bad as the cop winced. He walked over to Lamarr's body while putting on a pair of gloves and bent down. He took out an evidence bag and put the SIG Sauer Lamarr still held in his hands in the bag. “Should have answered my message, poor sod.”

He walked past the cops, telling them that it would be all right. He knew their body cams would clear them even as they lost the civil suit. He got in his vehicle and drove off, a water pistol in the bag next to him.

SCP 5154: The Bad Optics Water Pistol

Class: Safe

Description: This normally looks like a small clear water pistol, and can even be used as such. However, it becomes a SIG Sauer pistol when the person carrying it is within 10 m of a uniformed police officer.

History: The water pistol first popped in the Watts riots and has yet to really disappear. The pistol usually finds it way into the hands of someone with some sort of criminal record or other reputation of problems with law enforcement. Everything is fine, the person has a lot of fun with the water pistol, and its a great little toy. However, the person will eventually encounter the police for whatever reason, and then find themselves in possession of a firearm. Suffice to say that the person will usually end up being fired upon as they attempt to figure out where the firearm came from even as the cop see someone they know can pose a threat who now has a firearm.

Containment: The pistol is usually kept in a storage locker.

Effect: As long as the pistol is kept away from any uniformed law enforcement, it appears and acts like a clear plastic water pistol; it can be filled with approximately .1 l of liquid and used to squirt others. However, within 10 m of a uniformed law enforcement officer, it takes on the appearance of P238 SIG Sauer pistol. However, it retains the ability to squirt water, even if it can't be reloaded, and is physically incapable of firing bullets.

The Phantom Freshman

Jaxton exited the car, the ancient backpack in hand. He had been told that he just had to walk about 50 meters drop the backpack, and stay there for twenty minutes. After that he could do whatever he wanted. The Institute had even given him a $1500 debit card and promised to wipe his record. He smiled as he walked off, expecting to be in Tulsa by morning. The weather wasn't bad for an October evening.

The spot he had been told to drop the backpack off was as unremarkable as the backpack, which only had a pair of huge slug patches on it. He checked the digital watch he had been given, and noted that he could walk at 8:23.

Before he could get bored he heard someone jogging. He turned to see a thin adolescent wearing nothing but running shoes running in his direction. He smiled at the poor kid. The kid slowed down and kneeled to open the backpack.

He grabbed his underwear first. “Thanks for waiting. I was sure the campus security would have chased you off.”

He watched the boy get dressed. “Yeah, no problem.” The boy was a little thin for him, but it had been a long ten years in prison.

The boy zipped his pants. “Man, this is so unlike home. You would never be able to do something like this in Idaho.”

Jaxton mentally fingered the debit card in his pocket. “Sort of a brisk night, isn't it?”

He slipped on his sweatshirt. “Yeah. There's a nice little coffee shop in Kresge. Great bagels.”

Jaxton debated if he could seduce the boy over a cup of coffee. “Lots of cream cheese?”

The kid tied his shoes. “Yeah. Nice and toasted.” The kid sighed, then stood up, grabbed the backpack, and started walking off.

Before Jaxton could yell after him, he suddenly felt itchy all over. He glanced at his hands; his skin dried, became powdery, blew off into the wind even as he watched. Before he could truly panic, the skin had blown away. Before he could scream, even his bones were reduced to ash.

Ten minutes later an agent retrieved the backpack and Jaxton's clothes. The backpack was a meter further from the body than expected; the lab boys would be excited over that! The agent silently mused to himself that it was somewhat sad that the debit card hadn't been used in the five years since it had been minted,but there was no way he was going to use it. At The Institute you did as you were told to avoid any ramifications, and he hadn't been told he could use card.

He drove off into the night. The backpack would be back in its locker before midnight.

SCP 1968: The College Backpack

Class: Euclid

Description: The backpack is a brown canvas backpack with banana slug patches.

Containment: The backpack can be kept in a standard security locker. It must be watched: Every year around October 13 the backpack fills with one set of clothes (a pair of brass spectacles, a University of California sweatshirt, a white T-shirt, a pair y-front underwear, a pair of white socks with green stripes at the top, and a pair of jeans with belt, wallet containing student identification, and sundry items). When this happens the backpack must be delivered to a specific location, preferably by an ephebofiliac anthrophage; after approximately thirty minutes it may be retrieved with no safety hazards.

Effect: If the preferred subject makes the delivery, the subject will meet a naked college freshmen who retrieves the backpack and dresses. The young man then walks off. When he reaches a point approximately 20 meters from the subject, the subject glow will calcify and then crumble; all that remains of the subject is his clothes and other belongings. The young man simply disappears. The backpack may then be retrieved safely.

If these events are not followed then the backpack with the force of a pound of plastic explosive.

History: In 1989 Santa Cruz college freshman/chemistry major Charles Anton Page was dared by several other freshmen to streak on University of California, Santa Cruz, campus; they had been joking around about how life was different in college and one of the boys brought up that the campus was clothing optional. They had taken Page's backpack and were waiting for him when they were chased off by campus security. His partially eaten remains were later found at the scene of a house that had exploded due to a chemical explosion. Strangely, there were no other chemicals in the area than those surrounding the backpack. Upon further investigation, other bodies were found; the house had been the lair of an anthrophage who preferred young male victims.

His backpack was returned to his parents along with the rest of his belongings, and removed to the garage. Over the next few years, the garage exploded yet the backpack remained undamaged. An insurance report was filed each year and eventually The Institute received news of the backpack.

The means of the containment were determined through research (the location was where Page was taken, the time was when he was taken, and the preferred subject was based on the alleged crime of the owner of the home). While it the Ethics Committee has debated asking the site administrator to just let the backpack explode, the radius and power of the explosion exponentially for each anniversary missed. Considering that it was been determined to just follow procedure to avoid a potentially larger explosion.

Never Take A Beer From Doctor Bright

Aaron Jindinski had clocked in when one of the researchers approached him. He quick called up the warning signs: The thick glasses, bright red hair, and huge circular pendant were signs of the one researcher he had been warned of.

Dr. Bright held out a plastic holster and a cold Guinness to him. “I need you to do something.”

Aaron grabbed the two items. He had been told to do what Dr. Bright told him to do, but to contact another researcher as quickly as possible. He had remembered something about a list of things the doctor was not allowed to do, but like all interns had thought that the list was a joke. “Okay, Doctor?”

Dr. Bright smiled. “Excellent. Be advised that the beer needs to be kept near you at all times; the holster should help. Also, now that you've accepted it be advised that it's a keter-class SCP; if it gets too far from you it will blow.” He made the gesture of an explosin with his hands. “I'll grab it before you head home.” Dr. Bright quickly ran off, disappearing around a corner.

11

Aaron felt the color slowly return to his face. He rigged the holster and slipped the beer into it. He quickly tracked down Dr. Delilah Rice. “Um, Doctor, I may have a problem.”

She looked at the beer on his hip. “Well, if you're drinking before the morning break....” She smiled at him.

His eyes rolled but quickly leveled off. “Dr. Bright gave it to me and told me to keep an eye on it. He claimed it was a keter.”

She lowered her glasses and smiled. “Well, then, he's either hazing you or it's an actual threat. Just do what he said and you should be okay either way.” She pushed her glasses back. “Meanwhile, we have received a shipment of hydrochloric acid that needs to be delivered to the appropriate room and you get the honor of delivering it.”

“Yes, doctor.” He ran off. After delivering the acid to its storage bin next to a room issuing the loudest roars, he started his rounds. Well, more accurately bounces; he went from mission to mission like a pinball, delivering messages, stacking deliveries, and helping with a couple of containment procedures. He checked his pedometer; he was well past his ten-thousand steps for the day. He smiled at yet another goal taken care.

Aaron turned a corner and found himself face-down in the middle of an orange puddle. He was suddenly filled with euphoria and had problems concentrating. Doctor Rice grimaced before having other interns pull him out. She pointed to the shower. He complied, enjoying the euphoria he went to the locker room.

Fortunately, he had several uniforms ready. He stripped down, grabbed a towel, and started walking to the shower. He got a full pace before he panicked. He had almost forgot about the beer. He quickly backtracked, put the holster on his bare thigh, and walked into the shower a much calmer person.

Some of the guys looked down and smiled. Of course Jules, the largest intern, was showering at the time. “First day and already have a drinking problem. Sadly impressive. At least it's not an IPA.” Aaron did his best to ignore Jules' jibes, and suffered through the quick shower. He had to maintain his silence; if Jules found out that Dr. Bright had given him the beer it could only have gotten worse.

He then dressed and ran off to the desk where he knew there was another job waiting for him. He had to beg off one job: It required him to not have any metal of any sort on his person and the can obviously disqualified him; something about how all metal become red-hot slag in the anomaly's presence. The person in charge looked at him with a pitying stare, the kind you give a person about to die, and then sent him on a clean-up detail.

That pretty much eliminated any lasting euphoria.

On the way there, Jules rushed past him, slowed, and then came back. “You're not supposed to have that during business hours.” He grabbed at the can. Aaron dodged, but Jules was still able to grab the can. Despite Aaron's best efforts, Jules was able to grab the can and began pulling off the holster. With some applied force and some twisting, Jules was able to pull off the can.

He was surprised that it had come off. Aaron was horrified.

Jules took a few steps away and smugly opened the can. He then proceeded to drink the contents of the can; while it did take a few drinks Aaron was too horrified to move. Jules finished, wiped his mouth, and tossed the can into a recycling bin.

“That worked out better than I thought it would.” Aaron heard Dr. Bright's voice from behind. “You did well, Aaron. Your friend, here, however, is going to have an interesting conversation with the intern coordinator. Something about 'interfering with a stud'y.”

Jules was in shock as he saw Dr. Bright's smiling face.

“But, Doctor....” Aaron managed to point at Jules. “He drank a keter-class object...?”

Jules now went into panic mode. He had been around long enough to know that keter-class objects usually killed whoever was at the center of its radius and he had just drunk one.

Dr. Bright tilted his head quizzically. “What keter-class object?” He thought for a moment, then brightened. “Oh, heh. No. I just told you that as incentive to keep it near you. I just wanted the beer warmed. Some bloody heathen had put a Guinness in a refrigerator and, well, that needed to be corrected.”

“But...”

“He'll be fine. Especially once the amnestics kick in.”

After his shift was over, Aaron walked home. He passed a liquor shop, stopped, and went in. He left with a twelve-pack of beer that was pointedly not Guinness.

SCP 5003: Dr. Bright's Rescued Can of Guinness

Class; Safe (Food) [Neutralized]

Description: A brown-colored aluminum can of Guinness Stout

History: Rescued from a refrigerator by Dr. Bright and given to an intern to warm. Later drunk by Dr. Bright.

Containment: Not in refrigerator, you bloody heathen. Neutralized by that idiot Jules.

Effect: Possible drunkenness.

Why Contracts in Blood Are Better

Agents Folletti and Dax were parked outside the well-lit law office of Mannfred Hamford Tellin. Agent Dax closed the lid to the beaten cooler in back and sat back down. He unwrapped the Italian sub. “Does this guy ever go home?”

“They all go home. Eventually.” Agent Folletti put his mocha latte into the cup holder and stood up just enough to be able to reach into the cooler. “Can't believe we got tipped off to this thing through the internet.”

Agent Dax smiled. “I can't believe you got a mocha latte. You're usually a chai guy.”

Agent Folletti looked through the cooler. “Thought I'd make a change. Something one of the lab guys suggested.”

“Interesting.” Agent Dax smiled. “Yeah, that starlet who was in that slavery pic thought her contract had changed so she posted pictures online of what she claimed was the original and a new copy. Her fans claimed photoshop and Mandela effect. Heh. Mandela effect.”

Agent Folletti unwrapped the ham and cheese he had pulled out. “Don't laugh, man. After that reality warper in Gilroy, that kid with the garlic problem, we know the Mandela effect is real.”

Agent Dax' eyes rolled. “Yeah, every time he fell asleep small cloves of garlic appeared in his shoes. If it weren't for his effect on the books near him we could have just ignored him.”

“That was the weirdest thing; entire chapters were rewritten in the books around him. Caused him some major problems with book reports.” Agent Folletti put half of the sandwich down. “It didn't help that the words went back after a while so that he couldn't prove he was reporting what he actually read. That reality anchor really helped him.” He bit his sandwich for emphasis.

“But a pen that erases the ink and allows you to rewrite those same marks?” The other agent waved his sub to emphasize his points. “That would so help contract negotiations: You could agree to anything and then make changes as you want later on.” He put his sub down. “I'd kill to use that pen on our contracts.” Agent Dax looked at the sub for a good entry point. “At least in theory. Think he's modifying the contract?” Deciding that all entry points were equal, he bit the sandwich.

“Definitely. I'm honestly surprised he's taking this long to make the changes. I thought we used a simple enough contract.”

Agent Dax put down his sub as he gulped down his bite. “He's most likely looking at all of the details, doing the math, crunching the numbers. If I had that pen, that's what I would do.”

“I may have to grab a sandwich.” He cradled his mocha latte. “But that makes sense.”

He picked up his sub. “You ready for this?” He took a bigger bite of the sandwich.

Agent Folletti glared at him. “We get in, exchange the pen, and get out.” He tapped the burgundy fountain pen in his pocket. “Then tomorrow hit him with a gaslighting amnestic so that he thinks that the pen was just lucky rather than an anomaly.” He looked forward. “Easy as pie.”

Agent Dax relaxed a little as he went nostalgic. “Hmmmm...pie.” He straightened up. “Your wife made an excellent pie.”

“She still does. Keeps me coming home every night.”

The other agent smiled but the smile quickly faded. “Hey, look at that!” Agent Folletti nodded to the office, where the lights were disappearing. Agent Dax grabbed his phone, punched in a few numbers, and watched Tellin punch in some numbers on a keypad through the a camera hidden by Agent Folletti earlier that day. In a few moments, a large man in a gorgeous suit locked up and walked over to his car. The car left the parking lot and headed for its garage.

Agent Dax put down his sub. “Guess we get to to work.”

The two agents left the car and walked to the office. Agent Dax worked the lock as Agent Folletti kept watch. They soon entered and quickly found the keypad and punched in the right numbers. They smiled to each other. In moments the pen had been found and replaced, and they left the office.

Agen Dax slowed to let Agent Folletti get ahead. He pulled out a blowpipe, loaded a dart, and then put it to his lips, stopping just long enough to blow into the pipe. Agent Folletti fell down. Agent Dax pulled out the dart, grabbed the pen, and walked away. “When I said I would kill for that pen, I wasn't kidding.”

Agent Folletti stood up and pulled out his gun. He fired at Agent Dax, who fell down. “The lab guys suggested switching to something with an anti-toxin in case of an accidental hit.” He holstered the pistol. “Can't believe you would shoot me for a few extra dollars.” He called it in and waited for the ambulance to show up. He went home to the best tasting pie he had ever tasted.

SCP 5017: The Ink Drinking Pen

Class: Safe

Description: The pen is burgundy-colored fountain pen with a nib of iron.

History: The pen has only been around for about a decade. Its origins are unknown, but it was last used by Mannfred Hamford Tellin, a well-known contract lawyer. Tellin used the anomalous nature of the pen to fill out contracts and then eliminate the points added in. As his clients made the mistake of allowing him to keep their copies, he could modify the contracts identically and then apply those changes. While his clients suspected the changes, they were usually small enough that they played them off as “tricks of memory”.

It wasn't until a starlet photographed a copy of the contract and later a changed contract, and then posted them online that The Institution was made aware of the pen.

Containment: The pen is part of a storage locker alongside other writing implements, tagged with its number.

Effect: The pen causes any ink stroke it contacts to effectively rehydrate the ink and then go into the pen. The ink can thus be used again. This allows the user to erase the original ink with no sign of it ever being there and then possibly write something else in its place with matching ink.