The Sandbox for Translating of a Penguin #1
CỦA TA! CẤM ĐỘNG VÀO!

Công Việc Dang Dở


đánh giá: 0+x

Các báo cáo gần đây về hoạt động não của SCP-239 cho thấy nó đang phát triển một sức đề kháng hoàn toàn đối lặp với các loại thuốc chúng ta đã sử dụng để giữ cho cô ấy hôn mê. Điều này có thể dễ dàng dẫn đến sự thức dậy của cô ấy. Kể từ khi nỗ lực của Ts. Clef mém thành công vào năm 2008, tất cả các cố gắng để tiêu diệt khác đều thất bại. SCP-239 đã chống lại tất cả các phương pháp tấn công trực tiếp trong tiềm thức và tất cả các phương pháp khác để tiêu diệt bằng cách dùng những người thay đổi hiện thực được đề xuất bởi đại sứ G.O.C. đã xác nhận không hiệu quả. Bây giờ tôi buộc phải yêu cầu O5 phải thả Ts. Alto Clef ra ngay khỏi việc bị tạm giam và cho anh ta nhiệm vụ ngay lập tức trong trường hợp này.

Ts. Jack Bright
Quản Lý Viên của Tổ Chức


Đôi mắt của Clef từ từ mở ra, và sau đó ngay lập tức nhắm lại khi bị ánh sáng mờ ảo làm loá mắt. Anh cảm thấy lạnh lẽo và trần trụi, da thịt anh chà xát với sự tê cóng cùng cả một thập kỷ như bất động. Anh đã tỉnh chưa vậy? Đây có phải lại là một giấc mơ lạnh lùng khác?

Anh cảm thấy có một bàn tay chạm trên cổ tay mình - ấm áp, mềm mại, như làn da phụ nữ. Mắt anh lại mở ra, và anh chớp chớp mắt, nhìn thẳng vào bộ ngực lớn căng mộng.

"Ts. Clef?"

Mắt Clef không hề rời đi khỏi ngực của cô ấy. "Cô khiến tôi hơi khó xử đấy, thưa Cô…?"

Người phụ nữ chỉnh lại phần trên của mình. "Là tiến sĩ. Tiến Sĩ Lore."

Anh nhìn cô dò dẫm khiêm tốn. Cô đang nói dối, anh biết. Đó không phải là tên của cô. Rất có thể thì anh cũng sẽ không tài nào biết được nó thực sự là gì.

"Đã có chuyện gì xảy ra?" Clef hỏi.

"Anh đã được giải thoát khỏi nhà tù đông lạnh," Lore nói, đưa cho anh tiến sĩ trần trụi một chiếc khăn. "Chúng tôi cần anh giúp."

"Vấn đề cũ hay mới?" Clef hỏi.

"Cũ."

"239 hay 343?"

"239."

"Đã đến lúc họ giết chết con nhóc đó rồi đấy."

"Cô ấy không còn nhỏ nữa đâu," Lore nói, đưa bản hồ sơ cho Clef.


"Ông cứ giữ mấy tên bẻ cong hiện thực ở đây mãi sao, Ts. Gears? Điều này trông có vẻ hơi ngu ngốc đấy, thậm chí là có theo tiêu chuẩn của Tổ Chức đi nữa."

"Tôi có thể đảm bảo với anh, cô ấy hoàn toàn nằm dưới sự kiểm soát của chúng ta, Tư Lệnh Schmetterling, "người đàn ông trọc lùn hơn trả lời.

Schmetterling dường như không bị thuyết phục bởi sự đảm bảo này của Gears. Gears biết rằng sĩ quan của Liên Minh không phải là đại sứ dễ dãi nhất mà Tổ Chức từng nhận được, đặc biệt là kể từ khi anh ta được thông báo về sự tồn tại của 239 vẫn còn.

"Chúng tôi tưởng người của ông đã khuất phục con bé," Schmetterling nói, gắt gỏng. "Chúng tôi biết ông đã giết đứa còn lại. Chúng tôi đã nhìn thấy nó từ một trong những đài quan sát của chúng tôi. Tôi đã có ấn tượng rằng cái này cũng đã bị loại."

"Tôi e rằng là không," Gears điềm đạm nói.

"Tốt thôi," Schmetterling nói, "Tôi e rằng mình sẽ phải cho cấp trên biết rằng Tổ Chức vẫn chưa đến lúc tỉnh ngộ vậy."


Clef thắt chiếc áo choàng quanh giữa thân mình, không buồn cố gắng che giấu cái thú tính mà anh đã để lộ ra từ khi anh tỉnh dậy và bắt gặp Lore.

"Thế nào rồi, bé yêu?"

"Tôi sẽ đưa anh đến để nhận thông báo, Ts. Clef. Anh sẽ gặp người đứng đầu dự án hiện tại của 239."

"Karrington à?"

"Ts. Karrington đã bị giết trong vụ 239-X năm 2017. Nó nằm hết trong bản báo cáo ấy."

Clef nhún vai và nhìn xung quanh mình. Trong năm câu chuyện trở lên, các ống thủy tinh lớn và chất làm lạnh đã giam giữ các tù nhân của Tổ chức. Khi anh bị giam, phương pháp này là cái lớn thứ ba, nó mới được áp dụng cho mục đích chi phí. Hàng chục tù nhân đã được chuyển đến đây khi O5 phát hiện ra việc đóng băng họ sẽ rẻ hơn so với việc cho họ ăn.

Clef dừng lại, bất ngờ nhìn thấy những khuôn mặt quen thuộc đằng sau lớp băng trong suốt. Trông đó có Imants, một nụ cười nhẹ thoáng qua khuôn mặt tái nhợt của anh ta như thể anh ta vừa nghe một câu đùa mà chỉ mình anh ta hiểu được. Bên cạnh anh ta là Glass, với vẻ mặt ngạc nhiên đến sửng sốt.

Clef quay lại nhìn Lore. "Tôi trông như thế nào khi tôi bị đóng băng?"

"Anh trông gợi cảm," Lore nói một cách thản nhiên. Clef cười và quay lại với mấy cái ống.

Cái kế tiếp không hề bất ngờ. Clef đã sốc khi chính anh ta lại bị 'giam cầm' trước Kondraki, một trong những kết quả sớm nhất về tham vọng thay đổi Tổ Chức. Khuôn mặt của người bạn đôi khi của anh nhăn nhó khi phát cáu, giãn ra trong một tiếng thét luôn thầm lặng, đôi mắt nheo lại vì giận dữ và hoài nghi. Kế bên anh ta, bị đóng băng cùng với hình thể tĩnh lặng của mình sau một lớp băng trong sạch một cách hoàn hảo, là vài con bướm còn lại vẫn lung linh những tia sáng mờ ảo. Clef giơ tay chạm lên nơi đó.

Vài giây sau, anh bỏ ra và cười. "Anh luôn là một thằng chó đẻ, Kondraki."

Anh quay lại với Lore. "Lũ khốn các người có giữ ai khác tôi quen biết ở đây sao?"

"Không hẳn," Lore nói. "Chủ yếu là một vài nhân chứng miễn dịch với thuốc Cấp-A. Một hay hai tên xâm phạm, một số nhân bản khác của Ts. Bright."

"Jack vẫn còn ở quanh đây?"

"Không," Lore nói. Cô ta lại nói dối lần nữa, Clef biết điều đó. Anh luôn biết điều đó.


Clef ngồi đối diện bàn với người phụ nữ thấp bé mặc áo khoác của phòng thí nghiệm màu trắng. Cô ấy đã cau có với anh từ khi anh bước vào phòng. Về phần mình, Clef đã không chú ý việc đó. Anh ngồi với chiếc áo choàng nhìn hở hang nhất, đọc bản hồ sơ mà anh được đưa một cách chậm nhất có thể. Một hay hai lần, anh ngước lên nhìn người phụ nữ, mỉm cười và quay lại chú ý vào bản hồ sơ của mình.

Sau một hồi, anh dừng lại, đặt cái bản hồ sơ xuống và nhìn vào cô ấy.

"Lũ khốn mấy người bị ngu hết rồi à?" anh hỏi.

"Cho tôi xin lỗi?" người phụ nữ lên tiếng, người mà Clef còn chẳng thèm để tâm mà ghi nhớ cả tên.

"Mấy trò đánh lừa tâm lý? Gây sức ép? Đâm con nhỏ bằng dao? Bắn nó bằng súng? Mấy cái kế hoạch dự phòng đâu hết rồi?"

"Each test was approved by a majority of the O5 command and I don't see-"

"Cô có biết cách để đọc không?" Clef đột ngột hỏi, đầy nguy hiểm.

Người phụ nữ không hề trả lời lại.

"Tôi sẽ cho đó là không. Tôi đã hoàn thành, một mình hoặc với một số viện trợ, xử lý hơn mười bốn tên thay đổi hiện thực dùm Tổ Chức một mình. Hơn mười bốn xác nhận đã giết hết. Tôi không thể nói nhiều hơn thế vì không ai sẽ nói cho tôi biết cái thứ gì vẫn đang chờ phân loại, nhưng tôi chắc chắn rằng ngay cả với những gì tôi phải giả sử là giấy phép bảo mật cực kỳ thấp của cô, cô phải được phép đọc ít nhất vài khai thác của tôi rồi chứ?"

"Đúng vậy," cô ấy trả lời. "Tôi đã đọc các báo cáo tiêu diệt một số SCP mà anh đã đ-"

"Cô có chú ý không?" Clef lại ngắt lời một lần nữa.

"Sao cơ?"

"Cô có chú ý từng cái thứ chết tiệt mà tôi đã ghi trong chúng không?"

"Tất nhiên. Những phương pháp anh đã sử dụng đã được thử nghiệm và thấy thiếu cho các mục đích của chúng tôi."

“Those ‘methods,’ as you call them, are merely scaffolding. You have to build on the scaffolding for it to hold up anything. Did you all just freeze everyone who was worth a damn around here?”

The woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat, not looking at Clef. “Then what do you propose, Doctor?”

“Simple,” smiled Clef grimly. “Since her subconscious defenses have been refined so far… I’m going to wake her up.”


“You’re waking her up?” yelled Schmetterling, turning suddenly and looking through the ten inches of transparent steel, as if the figure on the other side might have heard him. He dropped his voice, but his anger remained. “Are you all insane?”

“No,” replied Gears. “We have our best operative on the case.”

“Who?” snapped Schmetterling. “Who the hell do you think is capable of removing a Type Green that you’ve allowed to progress this far?”

“Dr. Clef,” replied Gears. “We’ve released him from confinement for this task.”

“Clef?” asked Schmetterling. “Alto Clef?”

“Do you know any other Clefs, Commandant?”

“Well, yes,” the representative replied, looking back through the steel at the sleeping form. Gears made a mental note to check in Schmetterling's claim, and then moved to stand next to him.

“You’ve nothing to fear, Commandant,” replied Gears. “The situation is well in hand.”

Schmetterling’s jowls quivered as he turned back to Gears. “So you say, Doctor. Tell me. Aren’t you worried about this?”

“Oh, yes,” said Gears, his expression unchanging, his voice perfectly, almost supernaturally level.


Dr. Clef is to be given access to any materials he currently requires. All personnel are to assist Dr. Clef by any and all non-carnal means. However, Dr. Clef is not to be informed of the continued existence of any personnel involved in his capture. Dr. Lore is designated as go-between for Clef and any wishing to contact him.


Clef walked into the Victorian styled study and smiled at the fragrance of pipe smoke and old books. The old man was seated in high-backed chair with a hardbound copy of Don Quixote open in his lap. The old man looked up and started with surprise before smiling.

“Doctor Clef!” he exclaimed, his grin widening until the wrinkles of his face became subsumed by it.

“Hello, 343.”

“Oh please,” said the old man, waving away the designation. “No numbers between friends. Sit. Please.”

Clef knew the chair would be there before he even bent his knees. He settled into a comfortable, overstuffed chair and looked at the elderly gentleman.

“We both know what you are,” said Clef, as seriously as he could. “I’ve never said anything about you, not to anyone, nor recommended your termination, mainly because you stayed at Level 3 and never posed a significant threat.”

The old man continued to smile happily.

“You remember me from the G.O.C., then? Geneva? 1989?”

The old man nodded, not quite as happily as before.

“And you remember that you owe me a favor?”

The aged gentleman’s smile faded slightly. “Yes, Doctor. I remember.”

“I’ve come to collect. There’s another Type Green. This one has progressed to Level 4.”

“I’m very old now, Doctor. I’m not sure how useful I can be. Sometimes, I look for books, but I can’t remember their names. And they’re just not there anymore. Just the other day, a young man came in here to ask me about… about something. And I forgot he was here. And then he wasn’t. Just gone, and I can’t remember him. No one wants to say anything…”

Tears formed at the corners of 343’s crinkled eyes. Clef almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Until he remembered Geneva.

“Your aid will be necessary.”

“I am a man of honor, Doctor. I will do whatever you need.”

Clef stood to leave. The hard part was over.


Clef sat at the table, going over his plans once again. SCP-343 would be located in the middle of the fallout zone. Clef himself would be the bait. 239 should remember him, and once awake, her subconscious defenses would be significantly weaker. That should allow him to—

Clef heard the door open and looked up as Schmetterling entered.

“I didn’t think you would ever be released, Doctor Clef,” said Schmetterling.

“Do I know you?”

“I’m not surprised you don’t recognize me,” replied Schmetterling. “It’s been a long time.”

Clef merely shrugged. “What do you want?”

“Only to give you something. A reward, for your service to the G.O.C.”

Schmetterling reached toward his pocket, but stopped as the shotgun suddenly became leveled cleanly at his face.

“The outline of your pocket looks like a gun,” replied Clef.

“It is a gun,” said Schmetterling. He reached into his pocket, and slowly pulled out the purple revolver. He turned it slightly―handle first―and passed it to the other man.

Clef smiled. “This used to be one of ours, didn’t it?”

“The Atomic Revolver. Reported lost by your Foundation several years ago. We found it.”

“And you had nothing to do with the original disappearance?”

“The G.O.C.? Of course not,” said Schmetterling.

"I wasn't asking about the G.O.C.," replied Clef.

Schmetterling merely shrugged.

"It was good to see you again, Doctor Clef. I wish you the best of luck."

Clef nodded, watching the other man’s back as he left the room. He quickly picked up the purple revolver and slid it into his pocket.

Lore walked in carrying two drinks and set them down between Clef and herself. “What’d the Commandant want?”

“To talk about old times,” replied Clef.

“Funny,” she said. “He never mentioned that he’d worked with you.”

“He didn’t,” said Clef.


Clef shut the safe, taking the small box carefully in his hands. He smiled. His trump card was ready, and everyone would soon be in place. He still had no idea what exactly he was going to be walking into, but he owed the Foundation this one.

He shivered, remembering the coldness of his preemptive coffin, and cracked his knuckles.


“Do you really think this will work?” asked Lore.

“It should. She shouldn’t be able to do anything about it from the other side.”

The mirror was slowly raised into place by the workmen as Clef palmed the jasper colored disk back and forth in his hand.

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then break the mirror before I get back.”


Clef looked at Gears, examining the shorter man briefly.

“Dr. Clef. You are looking well.”

“Gears. You look old as shit.”

Gears merely handed the keycard to Clef.

“This will get you all the way through the designated path. You’ll find the telekill body armor in the observation room, as well at the equipment you requested. Good luck, Dr. Clef.”

“Is that all, Gears?”

“Pardon, Dr. Clef?”

“You locked me in a frozen hell for eleven years, and I don’t even get an apology?”

“You were trying to kill our colleague, Dr. Clef. I was ordered to assist in your capture.”

Clef grimaced at Gears and turned to walk into the Observation Room.

“Alto?”

Clef stopped. “What, Gears?”

“It was… a regrettable set of circumstances.”


The chamber was quiet, except for the quiet hum of a dozen computers. This was the core of the facility, where everything was stored. Dozens of firewalls, hundreds of security protocols. All of them bypassed.

The man at the control panel typed for a few moments, laughed, and typed again. He walked over to the nearest set of panels, pulled out two of them, and slid the archival system into place.


Clef watched Gears walk away, heading to the last of the evacuation choppers. Site 19 was now abandoned, mostly. Those handful remaining were either vital to Clef’s plans or wouldn’t interfere with it.

He waited for perhaps fifteen minutes, looking through the steel at 239’s sleeping form. She was a young woman now, mature. And thanks to years of wrongfully committed attempts, particularly hard to kill. He watched her, watched the fading phantasms of her id flicker about the room, scratching at the telekill walls.

He turned and picked up the thin helmet, strapping it to his head. The body armor was a little bulkier than he’d anticipated, but it fit well enough. He pulled on the gloves, fingered the purple gun underneath his jacket, and felt through his pockets until he found the tiny box containing his emergency backup.

He grinned and picked up the keycard Gears had given him. Sliding it into a control panel in front of the glass, he flipped the switches all down into their off position and pulled out the revolver, bringing it up to point at the slowly rousing reality shifter.

The hammer fell, and a loud crack echoed through the room as the steel bent and shattered inward.


Clef was running very quickly. He could feel her back there, floating somewhere. He risked a glance backward, watching the floors buckle into water and piss, dirt and air. He hoped she would be off-balance enough from the medications that she would be less capable, less able to affect the environmental changes on the universe.

He was pretty sure it was a pointless hope, now.

He rounded the corner as the walls slid into chunks of burning babies, the smell of human flesh turning his stomach slightly, then making it growl uncomfortably. One more turn, and he’d be at ground zero.

Another ten feet, nine, eight, seven…

He burst through the doors, looking expectantly for 343 to be standing in position.


Lore was waiting next to the large mirror as Clef pounded through the double doors panting. He looked at her, incredulous.

“The fuck are you still doing here?”

“You guys never work alone, right? I’m here to help.”

“I’m not alone!” screamed Clef, as the doors behind him became a series of kittens with Barbie Doll arms sticking out of their eyes. “Where’s 343?!”

The doors opened slowly.

The being floating through them didn’t look like it was now or had ever been a little girl. Years of atrophy had turned her limbs into spindly wires of flesh wrapped around bone. She wasn’t able to lift them, or even to turn her head. The tubes that had hung out of her arms were now crawling over her body like centipedes. The wall of kittens began to mewl, plaintively.

She opened her mouth, trying to say something, but only a gurgle came out. She looked at Clef and gurgled again, louder, angrily. Her bowels began to empty black, blood smelling feces onto the floor, which in turn morphed into coals, and began to spread out slowly, burningly. Clef was preparing to make a mad dash when the floor’s progression slowed and stopped. He blinked twice and looked around the room.

343 was standing just behind Lore, his face knit in concentration. The old man’s nose had a drop of blood forming from the left nostril, slowly running down over the crest of his lip, and dropping to his shirt.

343 flinched. “If you’re going to do something, Doctor…”

Clef raised the gun again, and clicking the hammer back, let it fall.

The gun popped slightly, bars of energetic power running over its metal surface.

“FUCK!” screamed Clef. “A goddamned recharge rate?!”

The girl screamed in rage, and 343 cried out, staggered by the changes she was forcing into the world. The drugs in her system were quickly dissipating, her control over the world around her returning.

Clef grabbed Lore and pushed her hard, leaving her tottering toward the far wall of the wide room as he madly dashed for the opposite side.

The floating woman turned the air into chlorine for a moment, just a moment, before 343 could stop her. A child in an adult body, broken and beaten over the course of a decade, lashing out with her shattered mind. The older SCP was kneeling on the floor, ears bleeding. His knotted hands were clenched, as his foe turned for the moment from Clef to float toward him.

It was almost beautiful to watch, Clef thought, stopping for an instant to observe what he hoped was a rare circumstance. The distance between them crackled as the hovering female changed things, reversing the laws of physics and existence as 343 set them back into place. It was like watching a petulant child throwing her toys to the floor and her patient grandfather picking them up and setting them right.

Clef edged around near the now dead kitten door, raising the revolver again. He fired, the painful report running up his arm as chunks of the hovering menace were ripped from her body and thrown behind her to the mirror. She screamed as the cancers started to form almost instantly under her flesh.

“Don’t care much for that, do you little girl?” shouted Clef, as 343 suddenly locked the universal order back into place.

Clef dropped the gun and bull rushed her before she could recover, hitting her tiny midsection sharply and pushing her toward the mirror, grasping the red disk and shoving.


They fell into a strange field, with rolling wheat and smells of emptiness. The girl was rolling on the ground, willing herself up off the ground pitifully. Clef stood nearby, knocking the bits of wheat and grass off his armor. He walked over and forced her body over, straddling her small, heaving chest.

“Sorry, dearie,” he said, smirking. “Different world, different rules.”

He placed both his hands around her neck and brought his thumbs up to her trachea. Tears ran down her face, her quivering lips pleading wordlessly with him to reconsider. As the brittle, malnourished bones snapped, her eyes thankfully glossed in the pleasant emptiness of oblivion.

Clef stood and walked back toward the mirror. "Should have done that years ago…"


Clef stepped back through the mirror, unlocking the telekill body gear he was wearing and dropping it to the floor. 343 leaned against the wall nearby, being tended to by Lore. Clef watched as she dabbed the blood away from the old man’s eyes before he cleared his throat.

Lore looked up, smiled, and ran to the edge of the mirror.

“239’s status?”

“Eliminated,” said Clef.

“Good,” said Lore. She brought the gun only as far as Clef’s midsection before she fired.

Clef felt parts of him tear out of his back and staggered backward to the frame of the mirror. He looked up at Lore, the smiling face holding the violet pistol, feeling a tugging sense of recognition.

“Jack?”

Lore smiled, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, of course, Alto. Who else?”

Clef was sagging now, his legs giving out as the internal and external bleeding set in.

Dr. Bright jiggled happily as she sneered down at the bleeding, middle-aged man laying on the floor. “I don’t take kindly to people who try to kill me, Clef, regardless of the circumstances.”

"Really, Jack? But they were very good circumstances. Not even friends?" asked Clef. "What's a little murder between friends?"

"Especially not friends."

“That’s too bad, Jack,” said Clef, throwing up parts of his stomach. “You look good enough to fuck.”

Clef rolled over, struggling to stand up. Bright let him, if for no other reason than it made the blood pour out of his gaping body that much faster.

“You forgot one thing though, Jack,” said Clef, feeling his muscles twitching around the cancers forming in his midsection.

“What’s that, Alto?”

“You're jewelry.”

Clef stood in front of the mirror, smiling bloodily as he held SCP-963 at arm’s length in his gloved hand.

“Goodbye, Jack.”

As Clef lurched back through the mirror, Bright brought the pistol up a second time, pulling the trigger. The gun popped, electrical arcs running up and down its length. Bright screamed and rushed toward the mirror, but as she did, a loud shot―gunpowder and copper―echoed through the room, striking the disk hovering in the center of the glass. As Bright reached the mirror, she saw the disk chip, ever so slightly, and cease glowing.

She whirled around, looking for the source of the shot, raising the pistol over her head in rage. She found no one.


The room was cold as Schmetterling walked down the hall, shouldering the sniper rifle. It had been a while since he’d done any shooting, and he was proud that he still had the touch. He walked methodically toward the frozen tube, entered the old password they hadn’t thought to delete, and smiled boldly as Imants fell bodily to the floor.

He leaned down and slapped his face a few times. “Imants. IMANTS!”

“Whoza?”

Schmetterling sighed and picked up the larger man, resting him on his shoulder. He left the rifle behind and picked up the data backup, stashing it in his pocket. As he passed Dr. Kondraki’s tube, he stopped, looking at the frozen visage.

“C’mon,” he said. “I’m going to need all of you to help cover our escape.”

The tube shimmered as the butterflies flapped away from the empty containment chamber, floating around Schmetterling and his rescued friend for a moment before both of them vanished.


Jack Bright sat in the director’s office, tapping her polished nails on the desk. This would be a set back. The amount of time needed to repair SCP-093 was unknown, if it could be repaired at all, and the disappearance of Kondraki from containment was highly unsettling.

Bright stood and walked to the far wall, entering the long and complex code that was required for someone without stable voice recognition or handprint.

The door slid open, revealing a carefully crafted box. She opened it, revealing the almost circle with the three, inward pointing arrows.

‘Only a set back, Alto,’ thought Jack. ‘Only a set back.’


Alto Clef sat breathing heavily in a field of wheat and emptiness. He could feel the effects of having a Higgs boson thrown through his midsection, knew he didn’t have too much longer to live, and that what time he did have would be unpleasant. If he’d still had a gun, he might have shot himself, but since he didn’t…

Clef looked at the amulet. Tilting his head back, he positioned it perfectly over his mouth, and dropped it down his throat, thinking in his last moments how much nicer oblivion would be than the perpetual, eternally cold dreams.

And somewhere, somewhere on the other side of our world's mirrors, a cancer ridden, bleeding body shuts down―and reawakens screaming.


Công Việc Dang Dở II



Đây là ta: TheLegendaryAnimalsTheLegendaryAnimals, Chúa Cánh Cụt =)))

Trang của ta: Hồ Sơ Nhân Sự của Ts. Cwappy Penguin
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