The Easily Defeated Meets the Completely Harmless
rating: +22+x

Researcher Russell was exhausted.

It hadn't just been his job, but also the knowledge that any day now his wife could go into labor. While that wasn't something he dreaded - after all, what was wrong with becoming a father? - he did dread the constant pestering of her family. Especially her mother. On top of having to ensure she didn't learn of what he actually did for a living, her overbearing insistence that she knew how best to care for a pregnant woman was unwanted, to put it lightly.

While these thoughts were on his mind, SCP-705 was safely tucked away in its container. Well, even if it was out of the plastic box it would be harmless, but too much of a hindrance. A minor one, barely worth noticing, but still a hindrance. Researcher Russell was absentmindedly toying with the container, occasionally flicking the lid off just barely before snapping it shut again. It provided him some amusement on this boring assignment, as he had no desire to let it out.

"Researcher Russell, please report to the break room."

"Finally," he muttered, thankfully to have something to do at last. However, his mind was preoccupied with how what to do if his wife did go into labor and how to get her mother to stay away, so he didn't notice that he had left the lid open more than usual.


How dare they mock him?! Didn't they understand that he was the Grand Destroyer, the One Who Would Stop The Motor Of The World? Like the small, robotic man he was, he grumpily trundled down the halls to locate some annoying flesh creature whose ankles he could easily latch onto and snap like a twig! Thank goodness they had so foolishly left his prison open!

When he heard muttering, he paused in his childish stomping and devised what can only be described, as he saw it, the most ingenious murder ever crafted by a being such as himself - given there weren't really any beings like him, one could suppose he was right. Not that it really did him any favors.

Craftily hiding behind a botanic organism, similar to a most dangerous opponent who would feel his burning vengeance at later date, he couldn't help chuckling to himself as he prepared to push it over, thus tripping the flesh creature and giving him the means to gouge out their eyes. He hadn't exactly taken into account several other variables, of course.

One such variable was currently stalking him, assembling a large army in preparation to attack.

It had been Private Ryan who had first sighted the large, mechanical being which was plainly an enemy of his glorious people. Without hesitation, he alerted the rest of his squadron to the enemy's location, who then radioed the information back to command. The moment command had received the information, they assembled a massive army. Several artillery pieces were loaded and moved out, moving into formation behind a large number of infantry divisions, tanks, and attack helicopters. As the assembled force advanced to destroy this new enemy, they were miraculously unobserved by anyone who could have stopped them.

And so the stage was set for a rather underwhelming battle of dismal proportions.


Being a janitor for the Foundation wasn't the worst job in the world, but it was certainly a very interesting one.

For Richard, learning the ins and outs of this job had been very exciting. There were so many interesting people he could and had talked to, though some of them could be most rude. Knowing who and what to avoid was key to staying alive. "Just don't end up working for the gecko, Richie," he muttered to himself, "orange blob is the way to go."

As he continued to sweep the floor with his extra large broom, he thought he could faintly hear the sounds of what could only be described as tiny, whirring cackles faintly drowned out by small, squishy footsteps, both of which were coming from just around the next corner. Before he had a moment to ponder this, the cackles turned into high pitched shrieks of surprise and rage, followed by a series of curses. Alarmed, Richard immediately rushed to see what had happened.

What he saw…well, if hell could be described as a mildly discomforting experience where you were constantly kept awake by badly singing Venus flytraps while naked mole rats nibbled on your body with toothless gums, then he supposed it had broken loose.


"CURSE YOU ALL! INSIGNIFICANT INSECTS! YOU'RE ALL NOTHING BUT PIECES OF BLOBS WHICH WILL BE CRUSHED UNDER MY MIGHTY FOOT! NONE CAN CHALLENGE THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE MOTOR STOPPER!"

Said Motor Stopper was trundling towards the hundreds of thousands of clay soldiers as they harmlessly fired shells and bullets upon his metal casing.

The soldiers were steadily moving back as their foe closed the distance, evading the pathetic swipes of the robot's claws. Incensed, the machine instead tried to stomp upon them only to trip on a slight lump in the floor and collapse onto the ground. Immediately the clay men swarmed atop him as he tried to right himself, screaming and roaring as he grabbed at them, twisting this way and that. The soft clay explosions of several grenades and planted explosives made him stagger backward but this time he did not fall. Instead, with all the fury he could muster, he charged through towards the tanks which whose missiles pattered against his chest.

Richard leaned on his broom, taking out his smartphone to record this most absurd display. He simply couldn't let this pass. SCP-1370 was in the middle of a horde of clay men, with attack helicopters swarming around his head like mosquitos. Richard wondered who had left the lid of 705 open. He would have to thank them later.

For the next hour, the struggle continued with neither clay nor machine gaining the upper hand, locked in a harmless stalemate. Richard put away his phone when it reached the recording limit, shaking his head in disbelief. Doubtless, the cameras were capturing this circus.

At some point, both sides slowed down, breaking off the engagement to regroup and plan. However, for 1370, a new plan was devised when he saw the amused janitor. He turned sharply to the clay men.

"Tell me," he bellowed, "are you enemies with those flesh creatures?" He jabbed his claw at Richard, who raised an eyebrow.

The clay, now noticing his presence, seemed to confer among themselves for a few moments. Finally, one of them stepped forward, carrying a small clay megaphone. When he held it up to his mouth, he answered in his most authoritative voice. "Yes! Why do you ask?"

"Then let us cease our battle for now! We are both clearly mighty combatants! Together, we could easily overwhelm-"

When Researcher Russell returned, accompanied by his compatriot Doctor Margin, they were attracted to the sounds of what could barely be considered carnage. What they discovered was a janitor using an extra large broom to batter 1370 and several instances of 705, leaving the clay force in tatters as they attempted to mount a full retreat. 1370 was screaming again, clutching its head as he was pushed onto the ground by the might of bristles, plastic, and a very amused janitor. By the time Richard's successful attack on both had ended, the remains of a large clay army lay strewn on the floor while the would-be robotic conqueror was once more pinned to the ground by a potted plant.

"What in the world is going on here?" Doctor Margin cried out in disbelief.

Richard, who had been surveying the aftermath of his prowess with satisfaction, turned around to see both men staring wide-eyed. He smiled and saluted. "Nothing to worry about here. Just dealing with a containment breach."

Once everything was explained and sorted out, the only question left was how 1370 had gotten a copy of Atlas Shrugged.

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