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SAMUEL LLOYD and SAMUEL LLOYD sit together by a campfire, conversing quietly and eating warm rations from a box. After a moment, LLOYD raises a hand, silencing LLOYD and looking at his surroundings warily.

LLOYD: Do you feel something?

LLOYD: What- wait, I do. Is that—

ENTER SCP-507, displacing into the air above the desert. LLOYD and LLOYD stand, surprised.

LLOYD: Who is that?

LLOYD: Are you all right?

SCP-507: (incoherent groans)

LLOYD: Oh, shit, Yuke, it’s a 507!

LLOYD & LLOYD help SCP-507 to his feet, leading him to the campfire.

SCP-507: (shivering) Thank you.

LLOYD: Of course. We’ve seen our share of 507s. Always try to help out.

SCP-507: You have..? Sorry, what’s your, um-

LLOYD: (bowing) Foundation Researchers Samuel B. Lloyd, -FI7EN and -YUE4K, at your service. You can call me Finn, if you want. And he’s Yuke. (shrugs) Makes it a bit easier.

SCP-507: Oh. All right. Um… Tom. Call me Tom. (pause) I think… -SB8R2?

LLOYD: Yeah, well. Not like it matters here. (pulls a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it on a stray ember.)

LLOYD: Ugh, I’ve told you, I hate those things.

LLOYD: We’ve got the whole goddamn planet to ourselves, Finn, you can find another-

LLOYD: (interrupting) Okay, okay. Let’s not fight. We have a guest. (smiles nervously at SCP-507.) You know what they say about living with yourself. But enough about me, how’d you end up here?

SCP-507: (slumping over) I… I was panicking, and I shifted unconsciously. Fight or flight, you know. I was about to be… to be killed. By those… Project Palisade guys.

LLOYD: (whistles) Palisade? Oh, Jesus, man, I’m sorry. Lloyds have run into those guys before. Bad news. Very bad news.

LLOYD: So full of themselves. The multiverse is practically infinite. There is no “prime timeline.” Someone over there watched too much Star Trek. (exhaling smoke) I’m surprised some Foundation hasn’t tried to toss their Lloyd in there yet.

LLOYD: (shaking head) Remember -4046Y? No way Palisade doesn’t have every external channel closed up tighter than Director Ingo’s ass.

LLOYD laughs. SCP-507 looks back and forth at the friendly, identical strangers.

SCP-507: Yeah. That’s, um, that's why they sent me in. My, uh, “shifting” can get me in. I was supposed to infiltrate and stop them, but… (trails off, looking away)

LLOYD: …But?

SCP-507: (beginning to weep) They… they were depending on me. I said I could do it, and they said I had given them hope, a-a-and I just ran away—

LLOYD: Hey, hey, it’s all right. (moves to sit next to SCP-507) That’s a lot of pressure, man. Don’t blame yourself.


LLOYD: Hey. Yuke. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

LLOYD: That depends. But… (exhales, smiling) probably.

SCP-507: …what?

LLOYD: (standing up) Come on, Tom. We're taking you on a road trip.




LLOYD and LLOYD guide SCP-507 towards a metal door built into the side of a mountain. It is ajar, the hinges broken and twisted. LLOYD carefully pries it free, allowing a cool wind to exit the underground building, and gestures for the others to follow him inside.

SCP-507: Is this… a Foundation site?

LLOYD: Once upon a time.

LLOYD: Yeah, housekeeping hasn't been here in a while.

The trio enters the site. LLOYD produces a torch and lights it, guiding the others down a long, dark hallway.

LLOYD: It would be storage wing A, right?