KaktusKontainer

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<BEGIN LOG>

[Gregory manifests, sitting in a chair next to SCP-XXXX-1. Gregory looks around quickly, before pulling out his briefcase, and resting it on the prosecution's table with a loud slam. The spectators let out an uproar as the judge bangs its gavel, calling for order.]

XXXX-1: Finally. Took you long enough. Get out your consulting papers - I've called for you in media res, as the Persians used to say.

Judge: I should've called a recess. [The judge, serpentine in appearance, strokes its neck frill with its tail.] But, now that you're here, prosecutor's help, let us get started.

Gregory: Uh, sure. [Gregory looks around in his briefcase, retrieving a pen and a small camera.]

XXXX-1: [whispering] Hide that damn thing. These folks are sticklers for the rules.

XXXX-2: I assure you, in my capacity here as a lawyer, I did not commit tax fraud. Nor evasion. Listen to me, new guy — I'm innocent. I swear man, I'm telling you.

Judge: The defendant will be quiet. Cross-examination is about to begin. The prosecution may call its 76th witness.

XXXX-1: Thank you, your Honor. We'd like to call Vilious to the stand.

[A humanoid figure in a worn, gray cloak walks up to the stand, and places a hand on the bailiff's hand. The two perform a handshake as the figure performs an oath, in a static, monotone voice.]

Vilious: Repeat. I solemnly swear to tell the truth, only the truth and nothing but the truth, so help me omnipotent figure or figures. Repeat over.

[The entity then takes the stand. SCP-XXXX-1 walks over to the stand, resting his right arm on it, gesturing to various members of SCP-XXXX as he talks.]

XXXX-1: So, Vilious. Please tell us what you saw on that day.

Vilious: Repeat. Ocular sensors detected suspicious activity on the outskirts of my store. Repeat over.

XXXX-1: What kind of store do you run, Mx. Vilious? What kind of activity?

Vilious: Repeat. I run a family outing location. Or, ran, rather. The time I have spent in here suggests that it is no longer existent. But to the crimes. Loitering. Smoking lunardust cigars. Littering. Activity banned in our sector, and some that would definitely drive down my revenue. I could not let such a heinous crime go unpunished. Repeat over.

[The jury gasps as each crime is said.]

XXXX-1: [Grinning] Yes, yes. Heinous indeed, Mx. Vilious. Now, could you identify the perpetrator, if they are in this very room?

Vilious: Error. Lack of suff— prevents me — [The entity then looks at SCP-XXXX-1, who nods in SCP-XXXX-2's direction and taps his belt buckle.] Er. Yes. That… thing. [The entity points at SCP-XXXX-2 with two metallic digits.] Repeat over.

[The jury gasps. SCP-XXXX-2 holds its hands up, gesturing for everyone to stop or slow down. It then turns to the judge, speaking softly.]

XXXX-2: Your honor, I-I-I'd like to cross-examine the witness here.

Judge: By all means, I say go ahead. It is only fair.

[SCP-XXXX-2 slowly walks up to the stand as SCP-XXXX-1 walks back, grinning. SCP-XXXX-2 purposefully avoids eye contact, before talking to the entity at the stand.]

XXXX-2: Mx. Vilious. I do want to ask you but one thing.

Vilious: Affirmative.

XXXX-2: Can you confirm it was me? I know there are certainly other equally ravishing extra-whatever entities around this universe, at least seven in this galaxy alone, so I do wish to ask. Do you have video evidence? Audio? Perhaps a photo?

Vilious: Negatory.

XXXX-2: Certainly, that's not the least bit concerning to any members of the jury? This is ridiculous, is it not? You started on crimes that actually made sense, but now have migrated to this… petty thievery? You could prosecute a little baby on any of this.

[As SCP-XXXX-2 continues to talk to the jury, SCP-XXXX-1 turns to Res. Gregory, whispering.]

XXXX-1: For such an asshole, he's got a damn good legal mind.

Gregory: Pardon me, but this stuff does seem fairly elementary—

XXXX-1: Yeah, and where'd you dredge that idea up? 12 Angry Men? We're dealing with what we in the anomalawyer department call a "special case." This one is extra special for me, because I've been stuck here for god knows how long trying to keep this thing inside.

Gregory: Certainly a… noble pursuit. You don't miss anything, do you?

[SCP-XXXX-1 stifles a laugh.]

XXXX-1: Miss? What is there to miss? This is the easiest case I've ever worked in my life, and I get to look just as hot doing it. My family's a bunch of incompetent chumps. I'm a single man, divorced a long time ago, and my firms are doing just fine. I bring in a rep every now and then for updates. And nobility, oh god, don't even get me started.

Gregory: Then— well, why are you asking us to help?

XXXX-1: Look. One gets into law because they believe in these hoity-toity ideals. You very, very quickly learn to drop them. That's it. Nobility, fairness, methodicalness. Drop it all, easily by your second or third year, after you're through the paralegal or deskwork grind.

[SCP-XXXX-1 sighs.]

XXXX-1: I've brought you in, because quite frankly, I'm running out of ideas.

Gregory: [Slowly] Ideas for…

XXXX-1: Things to prosecute this little shit on. Everyone who's here knows what's up, but it's not as if we can keep, er, finding crimes, no matter how small they are, that E's done forever.

[XXXX-1 looks to XXXX-2, who is speaking to the jury, none of whom are looking at it.]

XXXX-1: Granted, this… slowness is a bit nice. A good distraction from the constant hubbub that seems to find its way into here. I don't mind it as much. But I'm still tired of this all. So, so tired. So call it whatever you want.

<END LOG>

Two weeks after initial establishment of Foundation containment procedures, a member of SCP-XXXX's rotating roles, Vilious, was not present for proceedings. A search of SCP-XXXX returned no conclusive results. Following proceedings, during which another member substituted for Vilious' role as a bailiff, a loud crack was heard from the bathroom of the jury room.

Upon entry of the room, the body of Vilious was found inside a large wardrobe, which had tipped over. Death was tentatively ruled as premeditated, and cause of death was determined to be instantaneous via trauma to the neck.

Proceedings immediately shifted to prosecution of SCP-XXXX-2 for Vilious' murder.

Following Vilious' murder, a day for investigation was permitted by the judge at the time. SCP-XXXX-1 requested Foundation assistance with backup. Due to familiarity with SCP-XXXX's layout, Researcher Gregory was permitted to assist SCP-XXXX-1 with investigation, while wearing recording equipment.

---

<BEGIN LOG>

[SCP-XXXX-1 and Researcher Gregory are at the crime scene. SCP-XXXX-1 gestures Researcher Gregory over as it kneels near a corner of the room. It points at a small white mark with its other hand.]

XXXX-1: Alright. Get over here.

Gregory: On my way.

XXXX-1: Check this out.

[SCP-XXXX-1 runs its right hand in the mark. A white, viscous solution coats its pointer finger. It holds up the solution to the camera. Researcher Gregory kneels, and an audible sniffing can be heard.]

Gregory: Flowery —

[A loud crack is heard. Gregory jumps back.]

Gregory: Did— Did it just explode?

XXXX-1: No. Seems like it changes aroma based off of a user's preference. Smell it again.

Gregory: It's cherry blossom this time. Huh.

XXXX-1: Like I said. Preference.

Gregory: I mean, I'm a little allergic to cherry itself, but it has a nice smell, that's undeniable.

XXXX-1: [Shrugs] Hey, it ain't perfect.

Gregory: Y'know, I'm wondering — how'd you get into this sort of thing?

XXXX-1: What do you mean?

Gregory: Don't lawyers not… investigate, typically?

XXXX-1: Well, yeah. But, if you couldn't tell, it's not exactly a perfect and proper legal system here.

Gregory: Fair. How've you kept at it for so long?

XXXX-1: I just focused on, well, work. Like I said — haven't exactly got much to, well, deal with. I shut that down and cut it off before I came.

Gregory: I mean, that's boring, no?

XXXX-1: I took up drinking. Works like a charm.

[Gregory nods. He gets up from his position on the floor, and begins to move around the room.]

XXXX-1: See something?

Gregory: Well, no. There's something… missing?

XXXX-1: What would that be, oh wise one?

[Gregory picks at his chin.]

Gregory: It feels too clean.

XXXX-1: Ah. Yeah, that's probably Solomon's doing. Pretty… helpful, all things considered. Always there when you need him.

Gregory: Hm. Then what's this?

XXXX-1: What?

[Gregory is pointing at a set of small, brown marks on the floor. He gestures for SCP-XXXX-1, who comes over and examines them.]

XXXX-1: Well, damn. Shoe prints. Boots, it looks like. Or something else.

Gregory: Huh. When does Solomon normally come in?

XXXX-1: Early morning, I think? Before anyone else shows up.

Gregory: So he had to have been here after, y'know, it happened?

XXXX-1: Yes. But I doubt he would've done it. Doesn't exactly clean out closets. Plus, he's off doing work now — he's rather annoyed when bothered, from my experience.

Gregory: Fair. Later then.

XXXX-1: I suppose we could ask him about those prints, though. Seems like an oversight on his part.

Gregory: Could be. Let's, er, examine the elephant in the room, though? Nothing we've found has been quite… decisive.

XXXX-1: Fair point. So — this closet's typically empty. Used as a broom closet, only occasionally, and it's locked up a majority of the time. Bit of a dead end.

Gregory: Who's got the keys to it?

XXXX-1: Couldn't say. I have no idea when it was opened last. I'd wager the keys were probably lost, kid.

Gregory: Hm. Then how'd it get open?

XXXX-1: Got Piquer to open it. Fucker's a wiz with locks.

Gregory: And… the fact he could wasn't suspicious at all to you?

XXXX-1: Nah. I checked it out first. Lock was tight, rusted too. Near-impossible to open, really. So it's a damn confusion how the body actually… got in there.

Gregory: Huh. That's a bit of a fucking disappointment.

XXXX-1: Yeah, no shit. S'not like what happens in laywer dramas is a real thing. It's more incremental progress, if anything.

Gregory: Like a ladder.

XXXX-1: A stepladder.

Gregory: No, I'm— alright.

XXXX-1: I think we're about done here.

Gregory: You sure? It's a little quick.

XXXX-1: Yeah. Nothing much else of note.

<BEGIN LOG>

Gregory: What's unclear to me is how exactly this occurred — from what we can tell, you can't be injured here.

XXXX-1: Or so it may seem.

Gregory: Are you suggesting?

XXXX-1: I'm not suggesting anything yet. Don't get all twisted up. Just keep an open mind about this sort of thing.

Gregory: Understood. Where do we start?

XXXX-1: Where else? Where it happened.

Gregory: Ah. Logical.

XXXX-1: No shit kid, I said it.

Gregory: I'm your age.

XXXX-1: Thanks for the compliment. My exfoliation routine's been pretty alright here. Stayed in the bathroom for awhile before daily proceedings, spending an hour, maybe two. Lavender oil, lotion, face wash, the whole nine yards.

Gregory: You get that stuff in here?

XXXX-1: We're not savages, Gregory.

Gregory: Alright, alright. What're we looking at first?

XXXX-1: As I already said — the dead body. Stop getting your twizzlers in a tizzy, capische?

Gregory: Stop talking like fucking Columbo.

XXXX-1: Fine, fine.

Gregory: Alright, alright. So who's first on the list?

XXXX-1: The judge. Name's Carl Obra. Nice fellow.

Gregory: You know, what makes you think it's him?

XXXX-1: You'll see.

Gregory: If you say so.

[The two enter the judge's chambers. Obra uses its tail to remove its glasses, which it then polishes with its tongue and toupee.]

Obra: Didn't expect to see you two come in. Granted, I can't see much. But still.

XXXX-1: Obra.

Obra: Cyril. What brings you here?

XXXX-1: You tell me, Obra. What were you doing yesterday?

Obra: You think I did this?

XXXX-1: Stop feigning bullshit, Obra.

Obra: I'm not feigning anything. I'm the judge. My job is to preside on the case, not get it postponed. You think I want to be here?

XXXX-1: Maybe. Maybe you do.

Obra: If you're gonna talk about that—

Gregory: Ok, look. Everyone calm down. Mr. Jackson? You haven't exactly helped anyone here, alright? So just be quiet for a bit.

XXXX-1: Hmph.

Obra: Thank you. You're quite the gentleman. Is that a real silk tie?

Gregory: Yes. Thank you for noticing.

Obra: You seem that you have good taste, no? Would you say that about yourself?

Gregory: Well, heh, I don't know if I'd say that. But let's focus.

Obra: Whatever you say. So, what's it to you? How much did he give you?

Gregory: Er, nothing. He, if you mean Mr. Jackson, is not my employer.

Obra: Hm. You seem like the last few ones he's dragged up. Always lost their shit at the stand. Would've given them a nice deal or two on my goods, ya see?

Gregory: And what goods would that be?

Obra: You wanna buy?

XXXX-1: You don't. Trust me, you do not.

Obra: Oh shut up. It's not my fault you sold your shares away.

XXXX-1: Shares in what? Couldn't even call it a company. It was just the three of us, rolling up lunardust and pawning it to folks that couldn't tell left from right.

Obra: And it was money, Cyril. Money.

XXXX-1: Don't you fucking Cyril me. You don't get to call me that anymore.

Obra: Who said? It wasn't my decision for you to pull this straight and narrow bullshit. You left me and Vil' out to dry. Fucker went and started its own gun-for-hire business because of you. You had the goddamn connections, and you're the one who left, and your ballsacks are big enough to accuse me?

[Obra sighs.]

Obra: Look. That was years ago. But to think I'd kill someone like a brother to me, much less when we're dealing with something like this? You never quite knew me then, did you?

XXXX-1: I don't think I ever did.

Obra: I served this court as its judge for so long. I have at the very least, a concept of justice and what's right and what's not, despite my past. I get that's hard for you to understand. It wasn't me.

Gregory: Alright, alright. If you wouldn't mind me asking a few questions besides that? Typical witness-style questions?

Obra: Fine. But not with him around.

[Res. Gregory leads Obra to a corner of the room. SCP-XXXX-1 frowns, and waits.]

Obra: God, I forgot how much of a prick he is.

Gregory: Ignoring that, as I really don't want to hear about your business decisions, how long have you been the judge here?

Obra: Er, quite a while honestly. It's 'random,' but I always seem to lose to the odds. Not that I dislike being the judge or anything, it's arguably more interesting than anything else here.

Gregory: How would you say most trials went?

Obra: Pretty much the same way. Everyone's in agreement that Eykes is guilty. We're just not sure of what, so anything brought up, with witnesses and evidence of course, makes logical sense.

Gregory: What sort of crimes was Eykes accused of?

Obra: Small stuff. Things that would be easy to nail him on, really. Someone would dig up some photos and toss them over, and we'd try him for it. Simple.

Gregory: The largest would be….

Obra: Probably grand theft auto, and aggravated assault. Long, long story.

Gregory: Alright. But nothing more?

Obra: Hardly.

Gregory: And you were certain of his guilt?

Obra: Well, yes. Y'see, I suppose you could say we had it in for Eykes. Little shit.

Gregory: This whole scheme was your idea?

Obra:Well, no. I was the first to bring it up. Then I had folks interested. So was Vil. So was Cyril. It's funny how we all got together, huh?

Gregory: Yeah. You could say that.

Obra: You know, it wasn't always like… that.

Gregory: Like what?

Obra: We were friends. Then Cyril lost a pair, ditched our growery, and reported us. For nothing. Me and Vil left. Cyril turned out, well, the best. Then Vil. Then me.

Gregory: How so?

Obra: Eating scraps that people toss in the trash in 3 Ports isn't really the best lifestyle. It was just… me and my car. I'd stop by one of Vil's places every once in awhile, had a card for free pizza and some tokens, but it was a biweekly thing.

Gregory: What'd you think about the victim?

Obra: Vil was a good one. Robot. Thing. Whatever it was. It was one of the good ones. Always was excited to ditch the ol' assassin thing and do something… better. In truth, as much as we liked to rib it for it, we wanted the same. Hawking cheap fake watches and other shit like Times Square is the most unforgiving lifestyle on the planet, without a doubt.

Gregory: And how would you plan to do that?

Obra: Once we could stop trying Eykes for trivial shit. Get a big one, and put him away for awhile. Dig him up in 10 or 20 years.

Gregory: I see, I see.

Obra: You see, I just want out at this point. I don't mind judging — probably will pick it up back home. But it's too much of an unfruitful escapade at this point, you see? But that's it. That's all I know.

Gregory: Would you say you hate, er, Mr. Jackson?

Obra: Hate is a strong word. I dislike him. I'm disappointed in him. I blame him for a lot. But I don't hate him. He didn't do anything, and he sure as hell knows I didn't either.

Gregory: And you're sure about this?

Obra: I don't lie. Cheat, sell bootleg goods, and haggle? Yes. But I sure as hell don't lie.

Gregory: Would you say you spent time in the bathroom concerned for your appearance?

Obra: Well, yes. But I don't quite use any fancy things, no. No need to, given that I shed, plus everything in that bathroom smells terrible. Like that lavender stuff, augh. Everyone else likes it except me.

Gregory: Understood. Anything suspicious you saw around?

Obra: No, no that's all. Now, back to the ties. You look like a burgundy kinda guy. I've got somethin' for ya.

<END LOG>

<BEGIN LOG>

Gregory: Alright. So — the cream… is a bit of a tossup. Obra didn't use it.

XXXX-1: No leads as to who might've?

Gregory: No. Only mentioned that the smell was pretty repulsive.

XXXX-1: Did you mention the picked lock?

Gregory: Why would I? He doesn't exactly have hands.

XXXX-1: Mm. Next person it is, then. Not looking forward to this one, in all honesty.

Gregory: Are they like Obra? You know, hate your guts with a burning passion and all that.

XXXX-1: Perhaps. I've avoided them for so long.

Gregory: Name?

XXXX-1: Solomon. Solomon Kharee Goast.

Gregory: Where would we find them?

XXXX-1: No need to find them. They'll find us.

Gregory: Out of all the preposterous things you've said today, this is probably the most stoned—

XXXX-1: Solomon. Solomon. Solomon.

[A loud crack can be heard, as Goast manifests in front of the pair.]

Goast: Hello, newcomer. Pleased to make your acquaintance.

[Goast bows to Res. Gregory, placing its two right arms to its chest as it does so. However, given its incorporeal lower body, the meaning is lost. Goast then glares at SCP-XXXX-1.]

Goast: And you. It took you long enough to acknowledge my presence.

XXXX-1: Solomon, look—

Goast: I worked in your offices long enough to realize what is about to occur. I do not hate you no, not as much as Carl. But I do not wish to talk.

XXXX-1: Look, Solomon, what happened wasn't my fault.

Goast: I suppose you're… right in some regard. Fine. I'll talk to both of you. Though not you alone.

XXXX-1: Thank you. I knew you had a look about you when Andrews first brought you in for an interview.

Goast: Thank you, sir. My work always remained top quality.

Gregory: May I ask what kind of work?

Goast: Secretarial, primarily, sir. I'd occasionally transcribe audio, write letters, accompany lawyers during investigations.

Gregory: Er, lawyers don't —

Goast: Andrews did, you see, sir.

Gregory: I see.

Goast: I regret offering my services with the latter.

Gregory: Why would you say that?

XXXX-1: Solomon got shot. See that hole in his uniform?

Gregory: Yes.

Goast: Straight through the heart, you see, sir. I was at one of Vilious', may god rest its soul, child entertainment establishments, with a coworker and each with our own child. From what I was told, at least, by certain other spirits in the vicinity, was that a, er, debtor of Vilious' wished to repay. With quite the large amount of lead, sir. I was an unfortunate symptom of this business deal.

XXXX-1: I tried to get him to a hospital, but—

Goast: I had expired there, on the spot.

XXXX-1: And developed a couple more limbs, I see.

Goast: All the better to tend to my duties with, you see. Though I tend to develop more when stressed.

XXXX-1: Solomon. Could you do me a favor, for old time's sake, and tell me if you'd seen anything suspicious that night?

Goast: Hardly. I had returned from cleaning the bathroom floors, then took my post outside. Some got in and out—

[SCP-XXXX-1 clears his throat.]

Goast: But I only noticed Vilious. I— I heard a shriek. Given my intangibility, I could not open the door to the cabinet he was stuffed in.

XXXX-1: I see. Did you know it was Vilious?

Goast: Not at all, no. I was in too much of a rush. I immediately told Carl.

Gregory: Why Mr. Obra?

Goast: Well, proceedings would have to be slightly altered, of course.

Gregory: And you were alright with this?

Goast But of course, sir. Truth be told, I was somewhat happy to see it.

Gregory: Why?

Goast: I have forgotten the feelings of the before-place, you see. Things such as sunlight, or the sound of a child's laughter. Waking in the morning under covers with another, tired but rested . The sharing of a light under a streetlamp when it is cold. The way the trees rustle when you are walking. Sounds of other children's laughter. Drinks of many sugary varieties. And, of course. The warm rivers that pour down one's chest when shot. The numbness, and fading to black. The deafening of all the senses until you awake above yourself, not quite yourself. It is… strange. I miss both sensuality and pain.

Gregory: Though you can't touch anything.

Goast: Well, no. But the sight of these things is enough for me. I simply wish to see how my child is doing.

XXXX-1: Hmph.

Goast: How is Jeffrey, Cyril?

XXXX-1: We don't talk about him.

Goast: Unfortunate, sir.

Gregory: How would you classify your relationship with the deceased?

Goast: Rather… amenable, all things considered.

Gregory: I see. Is there anyone you could think of who may have harbored an ill will?

Goast: Hm. Give me a bit. Let me go fetch tea.

Gregory: No, no I assure you we're fine.

XXXX-1: Don't stop him. He can get rather insistent.

Goast: That is correct, sir.

[Goast leaves the room.]

Gregory: Nice guy.

XXXX-1: He is. Always has been, really. It's hard not to hate him.

Gregory: Yeah. Rather poetic.

XXXX-1: Seemed like a bit of a coping thing to me. Fucker's trapped here for awhile.

Gregory: I don't think it's him.

XXXX-1: Me neither.

[Goast returns, with three cups of tea in hand. It takes a seat.]

Goast: I still am pondering your question. Have you any other inquiries?

XXXX-1: Some.

Gregory: Well, you see, I understand you clean around here?

Goast: Correct. I do upkeep.

Gregory: There were some prints, shoe prints, in the bathroom yesterday — everything else was rather spick and span.

Goast: It must have been after I'd left. I assure you, Mr. Jackson can confirm that I am impeccable in noticing grime and grit.

XXXX-1: I mean, he's right.

Goast: I can still help with investigation, however.

[Goast places two left arms on its face, one twirling its mustache while the other scratches its head.]

Goast: I've had time to think, you see, sirs. I'd likely put it on Locke.

Gregory: Put what on lock?

Goast: No, no, sir. I'd hedge my bets on Locke Piquer being your man.

XXXX-1: Understandably. Well, thank you, Solomon.

Goast: It is my pleasure.

Gregory: Stay well.

Goast: I will do my best. The liminal space between unhappy and undying is a place for consideration. If I might only return to the beforetimes, because of my assistance to you, and see my darlings once more? I would be quite alright with that.

<END LOG>

<BEGIN LOG>

Piquer: Took you long enough to come. Thought you'd forgotten. How'd it go— oh. New guy…? Does he know?

XXXX-1: No. No he doesn't. And I'd like to keep it that way, alright?

Piquer: Alright, buddy. What're you looking for? Breaking into Carl's wine cellar again? Bumming cigars? What is it?

XXXX-1: Nothing, Locke. Just info.

Piquer: Info on what? Should I tell him?

Gregory: Tell me what?

Piquer: Assuming you're a new assistant— Cyril's known for, er, wringing assistants around. A lot.

XXXX-1: Locke. Shut up.

Piquer: Alright, alright. Not my fault this is, oh, your 47th?

XXXX-1: Forty ninth.

Piquer: Ah, yeah, those twins. You're notorious, you know.

XXXX-1: That I am.

Piquer: That's not a compliment.

XXXX-1: [Sighs] I know.

Piquer: Anyways — I take it you're here for the lock? It's not Friday yet, so the cellar stays locked.

Gregory: That would be right. Anything you noticed about it?

Piquer: Well, it was locked.

Gregory: Wonderful. Anything else?

Piquer: Maybe. What's it to you?

Gregory: I don't follow.

XXXX-1: He wants cash.

Gregory: I'm not giving him money.

XXXX-1: Fine. Locke, you want an advance?

Piquer: Certainly. That'll do just fine, Cyril.

XXXX-1: Oh shut it. You're not my mother. Just take the money and tell the kid.

Piquer: Whoa, whoa, cool it, Jackson. You can't do anything to me in here.

XXXX-1: I know I can't. I don't like you much either.

Gregory: What's up with you?

XXXX-1: I arrested him. Stole from one of Vil's places. That's about it, really.

Piquer: Fair. It's been a few years. No hard feelings or whatever, just a messed up ethical system. Y'know. Robbing from the rich, giving to the poor? I was doing that.

Gregory: Did you know the deceased?

Piquer: I knew of him. Word travels fast in the underground. 'Specially when someone as big as that decides to just… retire.

Gregory: I see. What else can you tell me about the lock?

Piquer: Look here. I've got it on me, actually.

[Piquer removes the lock from his pocket. It is a combination lock with an electronic keypad, and a keyhole on the bottom. He holds it up to Gregory, gesturing to various spots.]

Piquer: Looking there, that's pretty difficult to crack, see. Thankfully, someone such as myself has access to certain, mm, tools. Namely, tape. Checking each number and seeing which print is the freshest typically works.

Gregory: Typically, though. I assume this was a special case.

Piquer: Look at that, Cyril, he's already learning. So much smarter than your last, oh, whatever.

Gregory: I'll choose to take that as a compliment.

Piquer: Smarter than you too, Cyril. Wow. Anyways. No prints on this thing. Anywhere. Plus, the lock's so rusted it'd take me about 30 minutes to crack it, see. The mechanisms have sealed shut cause of it. God knows how it got this way.

Gregory: It was, er, exposed to steam.

Piquer: Oh, that does make sense. I'd expect it then, see.

Gregory: But you cracked it.

Piquer: Eventually.

Gregory: Impressive.

Piquer: See! Someone appreciate my talents, Cyril. You never complimented me once, whether it was with this lock, or with any others I helped you crack before you went all goody-two-shoes.

XXXX-1: Let's not have this discussion.

Piquer: Fine. But I want double next time.

XXXX-1: I paid you in advance!

Piquer: You can bring in money from anyone, just like that, see. Just imagine draining some from some megacorp or something. The sort of thing I'd steal. You can do that, right? Otherwise I'll cut you as a client.

XXXX-1: Ugh. Fine.

Piquer: Glad we could come to a happy agreement, see. Be seeing you two. I've got things to crack.

<END LOG>

<BEGIN LOG>

[The camera begins recording in the court's main room. Both Researcher Gregory and SCP-XXXX-1 are in the prosecution's chair, while SCP-XXXX-2 is in the defendant's.]

XXXX-1: It's been too long, and I've been— been living too hard. To shake it off. To believe things would get better with me and the firm. Maybe I came here because I needed an escape. Maybe it was a spark I needed. Because this, this is all I know now. This work. This is what I've signed up for.

Gregory: Don't talk about it like that.

XXXX-1: Emile, I— [XXXX-1 chokes briefly, before sitting back up straight.] I've spent so much time here, forgetting about how much time passes, just flowing through life like a sack of meat, shit, and bone, and— and it's easy to play it off as nothing much, as some radical lone-wolf type, taking on the system. I was never an eternal optimist like you. I did things. None of it mattered.

Gregory: Quiet Cyril, quiet. Look, Cyril, you—

XXXX-1: Don't 'Cyril' me. No one's called me that in ages. This bloody trite existence has been nothing for me. Hard drinking and nothing else. I'm — I'm not on the path of greatness. I never have been. I only took the one of least resistance. Don't do the same thing, Emile. Don't do what I did here.

Gregory: Mr. Jackson, respectfully, you did start a firm.

XXXX-1: Which is mine only in name. I haven't been back in ages. God knows what they're doing now. But chin up, Emile. We finished the case, didn't we?

Gregory: We did. But I can't help but feel there's something wrong.

XXXX-1: This is goodbye, Emile.

Gregory: You know who did it. Who?

XXXX-1: It's not as if it matters, doesn't it? He may have told you anything. Sure. But the best we can hope to do is ensure he never gets out to have that possibility.

Gregory: Certainly that feels wrong, no?

XXXX-1: When what you're doing is wrong, but for the right reasons, it really doesn't feel any way. I just want this to end. I want to hurry up and die already.

[SCP-XXXX-1 sighs, rubbing his temple and looking down at his cup.]

XXXX-1: The answer to your first question is a very simple one. But I can't. I can't do it.

Gregory: What can't you do? For god's sake, be clear to me for once. Alright? I've spent a fuckton of time this past day with you, and I think I deserve a little more than that.

XXXX-1: You're right, I just— Any of it. I can't do it at all. Go home, Emile. Go home, or I'll make you go home.

Gregory: How do you expect me to do that?

XXXX-1: Walk through the door. I'll send you back.

Gregory: So it's no different than if you just sent me now anyways, is it?

XXXX-1: It makes all the difference to me, Emile. All the difference.

Gregory: Alright. If you say so. Goodbye, partner.

XXXX-1: Yeah. So long, partner.

[Researcher Gregory gets up from his chair, and walks towards the door, keeping an eye on SCP-XXXX-1. Before he leaves, he tips his hat, which SCP-XXXX-1 reciprocates. He turns. He leaves. SCP-XXXX-1 smiles, and turns back to the bar as his gaze lingers on the door.]

XXXX-1: So long.

<END LOG>