AliV's Sandbox

Going, Going, Gone (Story)

Harry Baker paced through the streets of Dartford, doing his best to avoid the late-night revellers. He had long ago risen above these people. Harry thought back to the days of his fledgling company, and saw snippets of himself in each of the young men that crossed his path, but the feel of the perfectly fitted linen shirt on his chest and the five hundred pound pair of designer loafers on his feet banished his nostalgia just as quickly as it had arrived. The days of quiet desperation and Saturday night escapism were long gone. Nowadays Harry Baker, the owner, the chairman, the multi-millionaire was the kind of man who recieved invitations like the one he was clutching in his hand.

It had come as a surprise when the black rectangle of card embossed with gold writing had dropped through the door of his apartment in Covent Garden. Carter's of London. He remembered the name, he'd won several bids with them when he was a younger man, trying to decide how to spend his newly acquired riches. Harry thought back to the tack he'd bought. Some sort of rodent, cut in half and plasticised. Rubbish. A set of Victorian dental equipment. Tat. An antique gout stool. What kind of thirty year old would need one of those?

Harry had studied the invitation more carefully over his morning coffee. His name…the date of the event…some sort of auction….the address… The address. This wasn't the refurbished warehouse in Chelsea he remembered. This was an industrial estate just outside of Dartford. Dartford! Instructions to come alone and to arrive on foot? Harry bristled with his own self importance. This was not how a man like himself should be treated! He was about to crumple the invitation up when he spied the reverse.

Carter's of London invites you to a once in a lifetime opportunity! As you know, our auction house specialises in the unusual items that you have previously shown an interest in.

Harry snorted, thinking back to his younger self; a wannabe connoisseur of antiques and the arts. He despised that vain, flash young man.

We have recently acquired some unique items and we would like to give you the chance to have something truly amazing in your possession. Although we want to stress that these objects are perfectly legal, we ask you to keep the existence of this invitation to yourself. We look forward to seeing you in a week's time.

So here he was. Ambling through the mess of warehouses and workshops, Harry followed the clumsily placed sandwich boards, each one directing him to Carter's of London. It was a far cry from the tidy little piece of rennovation they had back in Chelsea, little more the a neglected steel building. Harry wandered inside, allowed the doorman to relieve him of his invitation and checked his coat in with the surly looking man behind the counter of the makeshift cloakroom. Harry sat down in one of the uncomfortable fold-out chairs, one of a few dozen well-dressed men and women just in time for a little white-haired man with a crisp, precise voice to begin speaking.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to welcome you to Carters Auction House. I hope you'll forgive the change of scenery, but we'd prefer the items on auction today to stay out of the public eye. Now, if I could direct your attention to the brochures in front of you…."

Harry leafed through the booklet in front of him and his eyes widened with incredulity. These items, what the brochure claimed they could do, it must be some sort of scam to get the rich idiot's money. But Harry Baker was a man of the world, he wasn't going to be taken in by something like this.

"We understand that some of these items may stretch the bounds of believabilty for you", the auctioneer continued, "which is why we will be holding a short demonstration before we begin the auction. I would like to show you the properties of lot 11." A small cardboard box was brought out by a man wearing white gloves, followed by a man with a terribly scarred face.

"As you can see, Peter here has had the misfortune of recieving serious burns to around 70 percent of his body, including his face and neck. With the use of lot 11, Peter, a man with no medical training will achieve what twenty times under the surgeon's knife could not. If you'd like to take lot 11, Peter, we have a mirror for you right here."

Applause. Gasps. The man on centre stage had taken a sculpting tool and moulded his scarred face into something beautiful. Several dozen pairs of hands rifled through brochures, looking for something that would make them superhuman. Harry's normal calm, frosty facade gave way to child-like wonderment as his eyes settled on lot 3. By the end of the night, he would have this item in his possession. An old man's head on young shoulders, that's what he always wanted, a chance to live ten wasted years all over again. He was prepared to pay through the nose to get it.

"Sold, to the lady in the grey trouser suit. Our next item is lot three, starting price is forty thousand. Forty thousand, do I hear fifty? Fifty to the gentleman over there, sixty, seventy, eighty to the young lady in the front row, one hundred thousand , one hundred and twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, two hundred thousand to the gentleman in the third row, do I hear two-hundred and twenty, two-twenty, that's once, that's- two-twenty to the woman in the front row, two-forty, two fifty, three hundred thousand, do I hear three fifty, three fifty to the gentleman in the third row, do I hear three-sixty, that's once, that's twice, do I hear three sixty, final chance. Sold to the gentleman in the third row for three hundred and fifty thousand pounds. Moving on to lot four…."

A bleary eyed doctor stood over the mass of flesh writhing around on the floor of a sumptuous apartment. "Do you think he can understand us, Mr. Dark?"

"I hope not, Richard." Came the rather distracted reply. John Dark looked into the single eye, peering out from a bundle of swollen muscle and swiveling desperately in its socket. "Always takes a bit of practice to get the hang of items that regenerate and rejuvinate tissue, you see? Silly bugger tried to fix himself all in one go." A wet, bubbling sound came from an unseen oriface. "Okay, Richard, I think it's time we put Mr Baker out of his misery."

"But how?" The doctor fumbled in his coat pocket for a vial of morphine and filled a syringe.

"Richard, you're the doctor here. Find a vein and put him down, for Christ's sake." Richard glanced sideways at the younger man. John Dark had always made him nervous. He was fully aware of the rumours about his family. The things they said his employer's grandfather had done to desperate, poverty stricken men returning from The Great War had become the stuff of urban legend. But John, John was something else. The man didn't seem capable of any violence beyond a sharp word, but there was something about the way he shifted uncomfortably in his skin. It seemed like he was playing the part of a pleasant man through gritted teeth. The doctor was not prepared to argue.

"Good man." Richard slid the needle into what he hoped to be a vein and waited for the unblinking eye staring back at him to roll upwards under the lid. "Thank you for coming down on such short notice, Doctor. I'll ensure a little extra something will be landing in your bank account. You can see yourself out."

Dark helped himself to a mug of tea and took a pamphlet for a London Gentleman's Club and a contract from his briefcase. No need for these now. Bloody idiot. Just because Dark and his associates used these items for profit didn't mean that they weren't to be treated with respect. A failed applicant, first one in a while. What would become of the company this man had left behind? It was understanably tricky to tie up the loose ends associated with the death of a rich man, but that was up to someone else. The ancient head on thirty year-old shoulders screwed up both documents, took lot 3 from the kitchen table and placed it inside his briefcase. The cleanup team would be here any minute now. Best make himself scarce. Dark took one last look at Harry Baker.

Vain, flash little boy.

The Best of Us (Story)


A "Smart" Polymer

rating: 0+x

Item #: SCP-XXX

Object Class: SCP-XXX-1: Safe SCP-XXX-2: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: All known instances of SCP-XXX-1 are to be kept in the filing cabinet in Dr. ██████'s office. Access to SCP-XXX-1 is permitted only with Dr. ██████'s permission. Synthesis and testing of SCP-XXX-2 is to be carried out only by Dr. ██████. Post synthesis, SCP-XXX-2 is to be kept in a climate controlled safe box when not in use. Acceptable temperature range is 289K- 290.5K, acceptable air pressure 101 kPa- 102kPa, and

Description: [Paragraphs explaining the Description]

Addendum: [Optional additional paragraphs]

Guest Room

Several instances, nice steampunky looking door on HD

rating: 0+x

Item #: SCP-XXX

Object Class: Safe/Euclid/Keter (indicate which class)

Special Containment Procedures: [Paragraphs explaining the Procedures]

Description: [Paragraphs explaining the Description]

Addendum: [Optional additional paragraphs]

Dental Equipment

rating: 0+x
SCP-XXX in its inert state

Item #: SCP-XXX

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXX is to be kept within the automated safe in the Foundation Interrogation Cell located at Site-██ when not in use. SCP-XXX is to be cleaned and sterilised immediately after an interrogation, and is to be returned to its safe within five hours. Following incident SCP-XXX-I1, SCP-XXX is to be

Description:SCP-XXX is a collection of standard dental equipment, circa 1970. It is unremarkable, except for the fact that the drill runs independant of an external power source. SCP-XXX is inert until it is within the view of at least two persons. SCP-XXX in its active form will cause affected persons to either become compelled to operate it, regardless of previous training in medicine of dentistry (SCP-XXX-A) or enter a catatonic but aware state, always with the head tilted back and the mouth open (SCP-XXX-B). —Instances of SCP-XXX-A and SCP-XXX-B seem to be decided based on social dominance.- Although social dominence is

In all cases, SCP-XXX-A has caused serious and in some cases catastrophic damage to the teeth, jaw and mouth of SCP-XXX-B. Since all instances of the former have never been known to use anasthesia, intense pain will always be inflicted on the latter. Subjects in the role of SCP-XXX-A have likened its use to that of ‘alien hand syndrome` or an out of body experience, whilst cases of SCP-XXX-B have likened the object’s effect to that of paralysis, or being "locked in". After a period of anywhere between five minutes and and hour, SCP-XXX-A will set the tools down and both SCP-XXX-A and SCP-XXX-B will gain complete control over their faculties. SCP-XXX will then become inert and remain so for between six and ten hours

It should be noted that the ‘procedures` performed by SCP-XXX-A don’t seem to bear any resemblance to known dental prodedures, regardless of whether or not SCP-XXX-A has received any training in this field. Healthy teeth have been needlessly damaged, pulp has been exposed and extracted, gums have been stipped using a dental burr, and in one case a probe was pushed through the tongue. Damage to the mouth or jaw has nearly always been non-fatal, and exceptions have always been linked to exacerbating circumstances or conditions.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License