tale_id
stringlengths 1
60
| content
stringlengths 26
371k
| source
stringlengths 82
200k
| author
stringclasses 1
value | created_at
stringlengths 19
19
| tags
sequencelengths 1
36
| title
stringlengths 14
145
| rating
int64 -64
2.07k
| references
sequencelengths 0
98
| hubs
sequencelengths 0
19
| images
sequencelengths 0
144
| page_id
stringlengths 7
10
| url
stringlengths 30
89
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
the-decoy | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Clef felt a little regretful, he would have to admit. He’d always found Rights very agreeable, if not the brightest bulb on the chandelier. At the very least, he felt sorry enough to sit at her bedside with a small sigh and take his time prepping the weapon. It really was regretful, he sighed, that it would come to this. Of all the people to ever get out of the foundation, Rights seemed like a good candidate to be able to stay out.</p>
<p>She had chutzpah.</p>
<p>Hell, anybody who left the Foundation without the Foundation’s express approval or a full memory wipe had chutzpah to spare.</p>
<p>And very good friends to smuggle herself out.</p>
<p>He absently hummed to himself as he screwed the suppressor onto the barrel of the gun, checking it over and re-checking it, before glancing back at Rights. She was still asleep, brow furrowed in fitful dreams. He paused, and wondered what life must have been like for her outside of the foundation, raising her little monster.</p>
<p>The years had taken their toll on both of them, it seemed. In forms of grey hair and deep lines and arthritic hands. He mused over what sort of strange traits the years and years of exposure to SCPs had awakened in her.</p>
<p>He had to do this quietly.</p>
<p>After all, even he wasn’t bullheaded enough to consider going up against even a low-level reality bender head-on anymore, if there was a choice. Especially one that knew him. He was getting far too old for that.</p>
<p>For too old indeed, he thought as he stood, feeling his joints creak a little.</p>
<p>Old, but still the best.</p>
<p>He leveled the weapon to her temple, and pulled the trigger with a dulled pop, like a car door slamming. She twitched once, the reflex tossing the blanket off her, and then went still permanently.</p>
<p>Clef took the time to say “I’m sorry.” And rearrange the blankets back around her.</p>
<p>After waiting a few seconds and listening to make sure nobody else awoken or was listening in, and then he crept back to the hallway, moving slow and checking the rooms as he passed them. Bathroom. An empty guest room. Work studio. Nursery…</p>
<p>He slipped into the nursery and glanced over the edge of the crib. The tot was fast asleep, thumb in mouth, holding on tight to a handmade quilt, entirely unaware. Clef sighed. This was too easy, but he’d rather too easy than too hard any day. He reached into the crib with the weapon, and with another dull pop, the porcelain head of the doll burst into fragments.</p>
<p>And he reeled back.</p>
<p>This wasn’t the target.</p>
<p>He reached into the crib, and his fears were confirmed. A doll, just a doll. It may have looked like a toddler in the dim light, but it was just a doll. He pulled the quilt off, and froze. A small black box with a post-it note on it sat there, amidst the broken doll and baby clothes.</p>
<p>He picked it up.</p>
<p>“Clef,<br/>
I knew you’d come for me,<br/>
I never did get to say goodbye.<br/>
-Hugs and Kisses<br/>
The former Dr. Rights”</p>
<p>There was a long moment of shocked silence, followed by intense cussing.</p>
<p>The man sat in his car across the street, window rolled down, and glanced up quietly as he heard Clef’s voice carrying, and rolled up the window. This was going to be loud.</p>
<p>Clef paused as he heard a noise, just a faint, high-pitched pinging, and glanced down. On the little black box, a red circle lit up. Followed by another. And another.</p>
<p>“Oh, come on-“</p>
<p>The man smirked slightly as the explosion rocked the car, before frowning when the child sleeping in the backseat stirred and let out a wail. “Oh, oh…hey, hey girl.” He murmured as he climbed into the backseat with her, offering a soft smile and taking the little girl’s hand, his middle-eastern skin so much darker than hers, pale as porcelain. Even this young, Bijhan could see the resemblance to her mother. “Shh, shh, shh…don’t you worry, Ophie. Lets get you to your new home…”</p>
<p>She looked up at him with such pale, pale eyes with no shine to them at all, glassy and inhuman, and sniffled.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/the-decoy">The Decoy</a>" by agatharights, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-decoy">https://scpwiki.com/the-decoy</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Clef felt a little regretful, he would have to admit. He’d always found Rights very agreeable, if not the brightest bulb on the chandelier. At the very least, he felt sorry enough to sit at her bedside with a small sigh and take his time prepping the weapon. It really was regretful, he sighed, that it would come to this. Of all the people to ever get out of the foundation, Rights seemed like a good candidate to be able to stay out.
She had chutzpah.
Hell, anybody who left the Foundation without the Foundation’s express approval or a full memory wipe had chutzpah to spare.
And very good friends to smuggle herself out.
He absently hummed to himself as he screwed the suppressor onto the barrel of the gun, checking it over and re-checking it, before glancing back at Rights. She was still asleep, brow furrowed in fitful dreams. He paused, and wondered what life must have been like for her outside of the foundation, raising her little monster.
The years had taken their toll on both of them, it seemed. In forms of grey hair and deep lines and arthritic hands. He mused over what sort of strange traits the years and years of exposure to SCPs had awakened in her.
He had to do this quietly.
After all, even he wasn’t bullheaded enough to consider going up against even a low-level reality bender head-on anymore, if there was a choice. Especially one that knew him. He was getting far too old for that.
For too old indeed, he thought as he stood, feeling his joints creak a little.
Old, but still the best.
He leveled the weapon to her temple, and pulled the trigger with a dulled pop, like a car door slamming. She twitched once, the reflex tossing the blanket off her, and then went still permanently.
Clef took the time to say “I’m sorry.” And rearrange the blankets back around her.
After waiting a few seconds and listening to make sure nobody else awoken or was listening in, and then he crept back to the hallway, moving slow and checking the rooms as he passed them. Bathroom. An empty guest room. Work studio. Nursery…
He slipped into the nursery and glanced over the edge of the crib. The tot was fast asleep, thumb in mouth, holding on tight to a handmade quilt, entirely unaware. Clef sighed. This was too easy, but he’d rather too easy than too hard any day. He reached into the crib with the weapon, and with another dull pop, the porcelain head of the doll burst into fragments.
And he reeled back.
This wasn’t the target.
He reached into the crib, and his fears were confirmed. A doll, just a doll. It may have looked like a toddler in the dim light, but it was just a doll. He pulled the quilt off, and froze. A small black box with a post-it note on it sat there, amidst the broken doll and baby clothes.
He picked it up.
“Clef,
I knew you’d come for me,
I never did get to say goodbye.
-Hugs and Kisses
The former Dr. Rights”
There was a long moment of shocked silence, followed by intense cussing.
The man sat in his car across the street, window rolled down, and glanced up quietly as he heard Clef’s voice carrying, and rolled up the window. This was going to be loud.
Clef paused as he heard a noise, just a faint, high-pitched pinging, and glanced down. On the little black box, a red circle lit up. Followed by another. And another.
“Oh, come on-“
The man smirked slightly as the explosion rocked the car, before frowning when the child sleeping in the backseat stirred and let out a wail. “Oh, oh…hey, hey girl.” He murmured as he climbed into the backseat with her, offering a soft smile and taking the little girl’s hand, his middle-eastern skin so much darker than hers, pale as porcelain. Even this young, Bijhan could see the resemblance to her mother. “Shh, shh, shh…don’t you worry, Ophie. Lets get you to your new home…”
She looked up at him with such pale, pale eyes with no shine to them at all, glassy and inhuman, and sniffled.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-04-09T15:01:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"doctor-rights",
"tale",
"talecon10"
] | The Decoy - SCP Foundation | 17 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-great-short-story-contest-archives",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4814247 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-decoy |
|
the-designer | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Juliette smiled maternally when she met the new girl. Her thin, bladelike face radiated wonder, wide eyes dulling soft edges. It was always nice to meet the next person with the Talent. Their enthusiasm and joy at their new position was infectious, and soon the entire staff was cheerfully going about tasks that would normally seem boring and routine. Juliette was no exception, a spring in her step as she explained the Job to the new girl.</p>
<p>The wide eyes grew even wider still at the simple explanation. During the tests that were given to all citizens regularly, she, Belinda, had shown signs of the Talent. Follow up testing had revealed that she was indeed Talented. Now, as the new Designer, she was one of the most important people in the world; ready to set the Fashions for everyone from the lowly police officers to world leaders. From now on, she would live in the Designer’s tower, creating the Designs and setting the culture for the rest of her life.</p>
<p>Belinda’s eyes welled up with joyous tears as she began to sob. It was like being reborn. The next few days were a whirl of activity, being shown around the tower and meeting with all the people who lived there; people who now worked for –her-. It was overwhelming, but Juliette was always there to lend a guiding hand or to simplify something that seemed ludicrously complex. As the Assistant, Juliette was second only to the Designer in the tower, and her word was law.</p>
<p>The following weeks, and the months after that were a steady routine. Think, draw, submit, and repeat. Her Talent, that rare gift, the mental spark that made one the Designer, guaranteed that anything she created was solid gold in terms of Fashion. Her first works were filled with the bliss she felt in her new position, bright colors with subtle undertones that put a skip in the stride of anyone who looked at them. Juliette handled the talks with organizations for those first years, taking their requests. The new Designer was far too caught up in her work to handle such mundane tasks.</p>
<p>With time however, her Designs took on a different tone. Joy was replaced with purpose. Narrow lines and angles suggested movement, speed, surety. Messengers became swift blur, racing on their bikes, ice-skates, or rollerblades. Her mood became different. The childlike innocence was a thing of the past, replaced with the smooth confidence of someone who knew what she was doing, and how best to do it. Juliette became less and less needed, Belinda becoming a presence in the tower, her mood reaching again to the now smoothly efficient workers.</p>
<p>A year passed, and another, and more after that. Belinda became older, her Designs reflecting that maturity. Autumnal colors rested gently on the shoulders of a fireman, a doctor, an EMT. Not weariness so much as peace, the contentment of the day-to-day. Her workers smiled and cracked jokes, dry humor and easy camaraderie settling in. Juliette and her boss now felt like sisters in a way, one in a higher position, but still in some way equal; bonded by the long hours spent in the office, producing the next great Design.</p>
<p>This slow and mellow time was not to last forever. Belinda began to smoke, hazy clouds of gray hanging over her worktable. Her products became more harsh, jagged spikes and cold, dark patterns. Polished boots gleamed on the feet of the police as they marched in the streets, impersonal and somehow cruel for it. Belinda became eccentric, her attitude shifting erratically. Her workers were now grim and angry; hard-edged office politics and even harder punishments for failure. The tower was now a menacing place, its spire stabbing into the sky like a needle poised at the eye of the universe, just waiting for a vicious plunge. Belinda worked constantly, the cigarette and accompanying cloud of smoke the only sign that she wasn’t a machine, some hateful automata chained to a desk until its servomotors broke. Abstracts began to show in her work, the emotions behind them a violent need, a grasping yearning for something that eluded the creator.</p>
<p>And then, one wintery day, Juliette came in to find Belinda; not hunched over her desk as was now her custom, but hanging from the ceiling, a horrifying mannequin. Hooks pierced her flesh, stretching skin, contorting muscles into a model’s pose. Swatches of cloth were sewn into her, covering wetly pink and crimson areas where she had flensed herself. Juliette looked up at her boss, her surrogate family, her friend…and sighed. Picking up a camera, she set about taking photographs of the corpse, manipulating the taut wires holding it up to change the poses. Such was the Assistant’s job after all; to aid, to help, to open the doors for the Designer, and, in the end, to preserve their last, macabre work for the ages. She would place the photographs next to the depictions of the legion of Designers who had gone before, each of them pursuing, unknowingly, their own beautiful, Fashionable, death.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/the-designer">The Designer</a>" by Arlecchino, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-designer">https://scpwiki.com/the-designer</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Juliette smiled maternally when she met the new girl. Her thin, bladelike face radiated wonder, wide eyes dulling soft edges. It was always nice to meet the next person with the Talent. Their enthusiasm and joy at their new position was infectious, and soon the entire staff was cheerfully going about tasks that would normally seem boring and routine. Juliette was no exception, a spring in her step as she explained the Job to the new girl.
The wide eyes grew even wider still at the simple explanation. During the tests that were given to all citizens regularly, she, Belinda, had shown signs of the Talent. Follow up testing had revealed that she was indeed Talented. Now, as the new Designer, she was one of the most important people in the world; ready to set the Fashions for everyone from the lowly police officers to world leaders. From now on, she would live in the Designer’s tower, creating the Designs and setting the culture for the rest of her life.
Belinda’s eyes welled up with joyous tears as she began to sob. It was like being reborn. The next few days were a whirl of activity, being shown around the tower and meeting with all the people who lived there; people who now worked for –her-. It was overwhelming, but Juliette was always there to lend a guiding hand or to simplify something that seemed ludicrously complex. As the Assistant, Juliette was second only to the Designer in the tower, and her word was law.
The following weeks, and the months after that were a steady routine. Think, draw, submit, and repeat. Her Talent, that rare gift, the mental spark that made one the Designer, guaranteed that anything she created was solid gold in terms of Fashion. Her first works were filled with the bliss she felt in her new position, bright colors with subtle undertones that put a skip in the stride of anyone who looked at them. Juliette handled the talks with organizations for those first years, taking their requests. The new Designer was far too caught up in her work to handle such mundane tasks.
With time however, her Designs took on a different tone. Joy was replaced with purpose. Narrow lines and angles suggested movement, speed, surety. Messengers became swift blur, racing on their bikes, ice-skates, or rollerblades. Her mood became different. The childlike innocence was a thing of the past, replaced with the smooth confidence of someone who knew what she was doing, and how best to do it. Juliette became less and less needed, Belinda becoming a presence in the tower, her mood reaching again to the now smoothly efficient workers.
A year passed, and another, and more after that. Belinda became older, her Designs reflecting that maturity. Autumnal colors rested gently on the shoulders of a fireman, a doctor, an EMT. Not weariness so much as peace, the contentment of the day-to-day. Her workers smiled and cracked jokes, dry humor and easy camaraderie settling in. Juliette and her boss now felt like sisters in a way, one in a higher position, but still in some way equal; bonded by the long hours spent in the office, producing the next great Design.
This slow and mellow time was not to last forever. Belinda began to smoke, hazy clouds of gray hanging over her worktable. Her products became more harsh, jagged spikes and cold, dark patterns. Polished boots gleamed on the feet of the police as they marched in the streets, impersonal and somehow cruel for it. Belinda became eccentric, her attitude shifting erratically. Her workers were now grim and angry; hard-edged office politics and even harder punishments for failure. The tower was now a menacing place, its spire stabbing into the sky like a needle poised at the eye of the universe, just waiting for a vicious plunge. Belinda worked constantly, the cigarette and accompanying cloud of smoke the only sign that she wasn’t a machine, some hateful automata chained to a desk until its servomotors broke. Abstracts began to show in her work, the emotions behind them a violent need, a grasping yearning for something that eluded the creator.
And then, one wintery day, Juliette came in to find Belinda; not hunched over her desk as was now her custom, but hanging from the ceiling, a horrifying mannequin. Hooks pierced her flesh, stretching skin, contorting muscles into a model’s pose. Swatches of cloth were sewn into her, covering wetly pink and crimson areas where she had flensed herself. Juliette looked up at her boss, her surrogate family, her friend…and sighed. Picking up a camera, she set about taking photographs of the corpse, manipulating the taut wires holding it up to change the poses. Such was the Assistant’s job after all; to aid, to help, to open the doors for the Designer, and, in the end, to preserve their last, macabre work for the ages. She would place the photographs next to the depictions of the legion of Designers who had gone before, each of them pursuing, unknowingly, their own beautiful, Fashionable, death.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-06-10T03:18:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | The Designer - SCP Foundation | 20 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-works-of-doc-burns",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 5082939 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-designer |
|
the-god-and-world | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>The priests looked up in horror as there was a great, deep growl from above them. Somewhere, in the vast impenetrable body of their World and their God… metal ground to a halt. It was a horrifying noise that set the entire city on edge. It was not particularly loud, no, nor was it high pitched or rumbling or annoying.</p>
<p>But it meant bad things to come. Very bad, indeed. Although nobody spoke about it, the beats of the gears and their world were slowing down year after year, after beating steadily for millennia. Everyone was horrified. The smaller mechanics, for which they used to modify themselves over time, were unaffected, but the great gears, including the massive golden mountain on which their city was built, were turning a little slower, and sometimes unevenly.</p>
<p>The high priestess even halted her studies on ectogenesis in an attempt to consult with the God, although the great God and World never answered. So she organized a group to set out in adventure, to seek out the source of this slowing, this unevenness.</p>
<p>They chose a group of children, as of yet unchanged by the gears and mechanics that would become part of their bodies come puberty, or when young legs were inevitably crushed between gears in a moment of carelessness. After all, children were small and fast, and expendable, capable of getting into the smallest places.</p>
<p>There were five of them.</p>
<p>They set off through the gardens, first, the ever-shifting irrigated gears, each one almost as large as their city alone, where earth- real earth- filtered in from somewhere above, unseen by gears, and where crystalline growths provided brilliant golden light that made the brass, turning walls of the world glow. They collected food to carry with them in their knapsacks of spun, silken silver, and left for places unknown to the city.</p>
<p>One of them found a way to climb the gears up, seeking out where the earth and water that filtered into the gardens came from, suspecting that perhaps the earth had jammed a gear, or the water had rusted somewhere (although he knew the World and God never rusted). He was a tall child, with dusky hair and pale eyes, who dreamed of one day becoming such as the high priestess, a being of pure metal and energy, instead of his fleshy, tainted birth-body.</p>
<p>Another set off northwards, where magnetized needles always swung to point, deciding that perhaps somewhere the God and World had become a simpler metal, one that could be swayed by magnetism, and that the source of the northern magnetic field could be obstructing it. She was a smart girl, with dark hair and eyes and a strong ambition to perhaps be a priestess herself someday.</p>
<p>The third left the group when they encountered a place so dark that no light could be seen, and had become separated from the group- as he was always a little hard of hearing and clumsy, a poor trait amidst the World and God, where the clicking and groaning of a gear was one of the only ways to tell if one was going to trap and pin you. He wandered into the darkness, afraid and disoriented, until he emerged to the west, although he didn’t know that direction.</p>
<p>The last two decided that it was a poor idea to split up, being siblings, twins, an extreme rarity, and being very much connected on a deep, needy level. They found a tunnel that lead down, down, spiraling down into a staircase of pistons and tubing amidst the churning cogs. And they continued as such, down, down, into darkness and towards a light more pure and white than any they had seen before in the distance.</p>
<p>Many years passed before they returned.</p>
<p>And in those years, the high priestess found that their God would no longer convert the children who reached adulthood, to her utter horror. Gears ground to a halt in some places, while others spun wildly or broke lose, now and then. She feared that her five had truly been sent to their deaths, and wept tearlessly for them, her crystalline diopter eyes having no fluid in them.</p>
<p>Their city was ruined, their population diminished. The gardens swelled with fruit unseen before, and sometimes whole plants or strange dead creatures fell from above with the earth and water. A flood had ravaged the city streets, one year, and another year random storms of static and lightening flashed through a neighborhood, burning flesh and stopping gears where they stood, and causing many of the eternally-glowing crystals to shatter and fall dark.</p>
<p>And then he came.</p>
<p>A tall man, with skin tanned darker than any the city had seen, an earthy bonze, his hair golden as the gears and pale eyes harsh and squinting to see in the dim light of the city. His flesh was windburned and lined with hard work and scars, and he carried with him heavy boots laden with dirt and a staff of wood- and a device made of a dark blackened metal, which he used to dispatch a priest who had gone mad and attempted to attack him, bursting his copper-plated skull and scattering wired brains everywhere.</p>
<p>He spoke of another World above, one that was not the God and World, where earth covered everything and plant life grew abundant, and people who never changed into machinations lived and worked, and had believed the world below them populated by monsters and demons that had been locked away to squander out of the view of the sun, a massive light so brilliant it illuminated the entirety of the World. A World that was much bigger than the God and World, that lead all the way to a place, land where the God and World was nowhere below, and nowhere near.</p>
<p>The high priestess claimed blasphemy and had him chased from the city, but in her ticking heart, winding down, she knew and feared he spoke the truth.</p>
<p>Shortly after he left, the woman arrived, her dark hair elaborately braided, her dark eyes smart and sharp with intense knowledge. At first the priestess thought that she had been changed and was to accept her as one of their own, but her shined skin was not metal, but some sort of material that was both hard and flexible and did not break, shattering the points of spears when the guards tried to force her out. Her insides, visible through opalescent and translucent panels here and there, were formed of electricity and wires, such small unmoving mechanics sickening to the priestess.</p>
<p>She spoke of another World to the north, where the unmodified and newly modified lived together in synchronicity, where the entire horizon was blanketed with frozen water in many different forms- both white and granular and sheer, where the sky was endless and black and the sun- an eternal light- rose only once per year and set once per year. And of people who knew such horrible things about the God and World.</p>
<p>The high priestess screamed blasphemy, and bade her to take her leave. The woman refused, and took up residence in an abandoned home, working with information projected of pure light and silver-and-white technology unseen.</p>
<p>From the west came another. His skin was burned and scarred heavily, his hair fallen out, his teeth rotten, but his body muscular and strong. He carried a knife made out of white bone and a sack of dead creatures he called fish, preserved in glass jars, nothing the city had seen before. He heard nothing, but could still read and speak just fine, although he reacted to any movement near him with an animal shout and a swing of the knife.</p>
<p>He gibbered and claimed to have come from a World of water, endless water, where small groups of people and other creatures clung to life on drifting cities and small floating homes. And of creatures, some so massive they could swallow a thousand people whole, and others that were small and so vicious a dozen of them would strip one to the bone in seconds. The water was bottomless, he claimed, and he spoke of seeing the World and God from the outside, and that it was not endless, that it ended where the endless water dropped into falls so high that the people spoke that there was no bottom to it.</p>
<p>The high priestess relaxed the city’s vast discomfort by claiming that the boy must have gone crazy in his long years of isolation, and bade that he be rejoined with the God and World, although the metallic woman with dark hair and eyes shielded him with a bubble of pure light and energy before they could herd him into the crushing gears, and they let the two of them be out of fear.</p>
<p>Then the fourth arrived, quite surprisingly alone and detached. She spoke little, and wore only scraps of clothing underneath crude scrapped armor made out of curious shells and a heavy cloak, constantly complaining of the cold. In all, she was quite benign compared to the others, peacefully accepting food and watching the priestess distrustfully. One could have even thought she was entirely unmodified until, in a moment of carelessness, another set of arms reached out from under the cloak to adjust her armor.</p>
<p>It was not until pressured that she spoke of a world below, where she, and she truly, had found the source of the God and World’s ails. Water poured in on all sides of this world, salty and rich, bringing creatures and refuse plants with it. Above, a layer of crystals so pure and white and brilliant it was impossible to see the God and World, and in the swampy, still waters down below, pillars supported the God’s weight and rocky spires and masses of soggy land that collected around either of these formed small islands.</p>
<p>And it was there that the natives of this land, curious and intelligent, but still shy, and very very strange if medically skilled, had led her to the source of the god’s problems. Although she hadn’t said much before, she described what she had seen in vivid, triumphant detail.</p>
<p>There was another God, one who lurked below in the swampy waters, and was locked into battle with the God and World. The natives had bade her to dive into the waters, and in the deep, she saw them, trapped under heavy waters- the God of Flesh, whose massive limbs and tendrils and all other appendages she could not even find words to explain had crawled up through the water and the pillars and rock spires and had jammed themselves deep into the heart of the God and World.</p>
<p>But the God and World had responded in kind, a massive mechanical weapon poised over the God of Flesh’s heart ready to drop the moment its unending mechanical heart stopped. They were locked in a stalemate, neither one willing to destroy the other for knowledge of it’s own destruction.</p>
<p>At this, she had burst out into hysterical laughter, and the priestess looked into her eyes and saw pain and madness…but also honesty.</p>
<p>The priestess, in a rare moment of humanity, asked of the woman what had become of her twin. The woman responded with a confused stare, before removing her cloak, revealing the extra set of arms was not where her strangeness ended, as another set of eyes rested above her ears, and her skull arced back in such a way that there would have been two minds crammed into it. Her back was hunched, slightly, but she smiled, and explained that they were both here. There was nothing to worry about.</p>
<p>And the high priestess finally relented, and simply howled her frustrations. The woman left before the priestess could collect herself enough to reach a decision, and the mechanical woman, the leader of her people…retired to her private labs and collapsed. Her heart, in all it’s whirring, ticking glory…could not take any more of this.</p>
<p>And unknown to her and the city, five (or perhaps four, depending upon your beliefs) met in an abandoned home on the edge of the city, drawn together perhaps by fate, or luck, or some greater planning.</p>
<p>“They released the anti-virus into the soil and water long before we ever saw the effects. By now, every inch of the Gods have to be affected.” Said the tall man, shining his weapon. “No more converting anything for either of them.”</p>
<p>“All studies at the polar stations show that the infection rate of both entities have been completely neutralized to 0%.” The mechanical, dark-haired woman nodded, the glowing screens that emanated from her own body flickering the words as she spoke. “Unfortunately, the longer they survive, the greater the chance of either entity overcoming the affects of your Foundation’s antivirus.”</p>
<p>“S-so weh hab to keel dem, righ?” The deaf man inquired, shaking and shrugging, the scarred skin on his back stretching as he sat.</p>
<p>“Easier said than done. My people- the people below- worship the Flesh God, of course they do, just as we worshiped the Gear God, but…even they know that killing the Gear God will bring it crashing down upon them.” The two-in-one chuckled, pacing back and forth, all four hands wringing. “…but…both Gods…to be buried together.”</p>
<p>“They won’t do it.” The first man grunted, standing from his seat and brushing the golden hair from his eyes, a determined glint to his smirk. “These things ain’t real Gods. They’re just beings, and they’re afraid of dying same as you and me. So we’re gonna have to nudge them one way or another. Everything above the God and World’s been evacuated, so nobody needs to worry up above.”</p>
<p>“I propose we attack both at once. There is a high probability that they will attack each other simultaneously.” The glowing screens of light displayed the possibility in a simplified animation. “I have already informed the polar stations of this idea, and they predict similarly.”</p>
<p>“Wuh we waitin’ foh?”</p>
<p>“…Good question.” The two-in-one chuckled, then laughed, and then cackled with an exhausted sort of delight.</p>
<p>It was no more than a few days later that the high priestess sat in her chamber, and heard something that made her cold metal heart skip a beat.</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>The ticking of the God and World stopped, suddenly, eternally, and instantly she knew in every fiber of her metallic being that it was the end of the World. Before the gear under the city gave way, and everything began to crumbled and fall. The high priestess, in reality, was one of the lucky ones, desperate and strong enough to scamper through the ruins as they tumbled and collapsed in on themselves, falling seemingly endlessly, until she finally reached a point where the gears gave way to crumbling earth. Her sharpened needlepoint fingers grasped at grass and tree roots for purchase, and her crystal eyes looked up.</p>
<p>She saw the sun, a ball of fire so bright yet far away she could hardly comprehend the very notion of it, much less fully accept what she was seeing, and then something came over her head, a carriage hoisted into the air by blades moving so rapidly they flowed into one.</p>
<p>And with the last tic of her heart, she saw four faces (but ten pair of eyes) looking down from the bizarre vehicle, smiling in triumph.</p>
<p>Her heart went still and she fell into the gaping crevasse where once two gods fell to sleep and battle.</p>
<p>And the ocean quickly filled what was left of the hole, as if it had never been there in the first place.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/the-god-and-world">The God And World</a>" by agatharights, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-god-and-world">https://scpwiki.com/the-god-and-world</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The priests looked up in horror as there was a great, deep growl from above them. Somewhere, in the vast impenetrable body of their World and their God… metal ground to a halt. It was a horrifying noise that set the entire city on edge. It was not particularly loud, no, nor was it high pitched or rumbling or annoying.
But it meant bad things to come. Very bad, indeed. Although nobody spoke about it, the beats of the gears and their world were slowing down year after year, after beating steadily for millennia. Everyone was horrified. The smaller mechanics, for which they used to modify themselves over time, were unaffected, but the great gears, including the massive golden mountain on which their city was built, were turning a little slower, and sometimes unevenly.
The high priestess even halted her studies on ectogenesis in an attempt to consult with the God, although the great God and World never answered. So she organized a group to set out in adventure, to seek out the source of this slowing, this unevenness.
They chose a group of children, as of yet unchanged by the gears and mechanics that would become part of their bodies come puberty, or when young legs were inevitably crushed between gears in a moment of carelessness. After all, children were small and fast, and expendable, capable of getting into the smallest places.
There were five of them.
They set off through the gardens, first, the ever-shifting irrigated gears, each one almost as large as their city alone, where earth- real earth- filtered in from somewhere above, unseen by gears, and where crystalline growths provided brilliant golden light that made the brass, turning walls of the world glow. They collected food to carry with them in their knapsacks of spun, silken silver, and left for places unknown to the city.
One of them found a way to climb the gears up, seeking out where the earth and water that filtered into the gardens came from, suspecting that perhaps the earth had jammed a gear, or the water had rusted somewhere (although he knew the World and God never rusted). He was a tall child, with dusky hair and pale eyes, who dreamed of one day becoming such as the high priestess, a being of pure metal and energy, instead of his fleshy, tainted birth-body.
Another set off northwards, where magnetized needles always swung to point, deciding that perhaps somewhere the God and World had become a simpler metal, one that could be swayed by magnetism, and that the source of the northern magnetic field could be obstructing it. She was a smart girl, with dark hair and eyes and a strong ambition to perhaps be a priestess herself someday.
The third left the group when they encountered a place so dark that no light could be seen, and had become separated from the group- as he was always a little hard of hearing and clumsy, a poor trait amidst the World and God, where the clicking and groaning of a gear was one of the only ways to tell if one was going to trap and pin you. He wandered into the darkness, afraid and disoriented, until he emerged to the west, although he didn’t know that direction.
The last two decided that it was a poor idea to split up, being siblings, twins, an extreme rarity, and being very much connected on a deep, needy level. They found a tunnel that lead down, down, spiraling down into a staircase of pistons and tubing amidst the churning cogs. And they continued as such, down, down, into darkness and towards a light more pure and white than any they had seen before in the distance.
Many years passed before they returned.
And in those years, the high priestess found that their God would no longer convert the children who reached adulthood, to her utter horror. Gears ground to a halt in some places, while others spun wildly or broke lose, now and then. She feared that her five had truly been sent to their deaths, and wept tearlessly for them, her crystalline diopter eyes having no fluid in them.
Their city was ruined, their population diminished. The gardens swelled with fruit unseen before, and sometimes whole plants or strange dead creatures fell from above with the earth and water. A flood had ravaged the city streets, one year, and another year random storms of static and lightening flashed through a neighborhood, burning flesh and stopping gears where they stood, and causing many of the eternally-glowing crystals to shatter and fall dark.
And then he came.
A tall man, with skin tanned darker than any the city had seen, an earthy bonze, his hair golden as the gears and pale eyes harsh and squinting to see in the dim light of the city. His flesh was windburned and lined with hard work and scars, and he carried with him heavy boots laden with dirt and a staff of wood- and a device made of a dark blackened metal, which he used to dispatch a priest who had gone mad and attempted to attack him, bursting his copper-plated skull and scattering wired brains everywhere.
He spoke of another World above, one that was not the God and World, where earth covered everything and plant life grew abundant, and people who never changed into machinations lived and worked, and had believed the world below them populated by monsters and demons that had been locked away to squander out of the view of the sun, a massive light so brilliant it illuminated the entirety of the World. A World that was much bigger than the God and World, that lead all the way to a place, land where the God and World was nowhere below, and nowhere near.
The high priestess claimed blasphemy and had him chased from the city, but in her ticking heart, winding down, she knew and feared he spoke the truth.
Shortly after he left, the woman arrived, her dark hair elaborately braided, her dark eyes smart and sharp with intense knowledge. At first the priestess thought that she had been changed and was to accept her as one of their own, but her shined skin was not metal, but some sort of material that was both hard and flexible and did not break, shattering the points of spears when the guards tried to force her out. Her insides, visible through opalescent and translucent panels here and there, were formed of electricity and wires, such small unmoving mechanics sickening to the priestess.
She spoke of another World to the north, where the unmodified and newly modified lived together in synchronicity, where the entire horizon was blanketed with frozen water in many different forms- both white and granular and sheer, where the sky was endless and black and the sun- an eternal light- rose only once per year and set once per year. And of people who knew such horrible things about the God and World.
The high priestess screamed blasphemy, and bade her to take her leave. The woman refused, and took up residence in an abandoned home, working with information projected of pure light and silver-and-white technology unseen.
From the west came another. His skin was burned and scarred heavily, his hair fallen out, his teeth rotten, but his body muscular and strong. He carried a knife made out of white bone and a sack of dead creatures he called fish, preserved in glass jars, nothing the city had seen before. He heard nothing, but could still read and speak just fine, although he reacted to any movement near him with an animal shout and a swing of the knife.
He gibbered and claimed to have come from a World of water, endless water, where small groups of people and other creatures clung to life on drifting cities and small floating homes. And of creatures, some so massive they could swallow a thousand people whole, and others that were small and so vicious a dozen of them would strip one to the bone in seconds. The water was bottomless, he claimed, and he spoke of seeing the World and God from the outside, and that it was not endless, that it ended where the endless water dropped into falls so high that the people spoke that there was no bottom to it.
The high priestess relaxed the city’s vast discomfort by claiming that the boy must have gone crazy in his long years of isolation, and bade that he be rejoined with the God and World, although the metallic woman with dark hair and eyes shielded him with a bubble of pure light and energy before they could herd him into the crushing gears, and they let the two of them be out of fear.
Then the fourth arrived, quite surprisingly alone and detached. She spoke little, and wore only scraps of clothing underneath crude scrapped armor made out of curious shells and a heavy cloak, constantly complaining of the cold. In all, she was quite benign compared to the others, peacefully accepting food and watching the priestess distrustfully. One could have even thought she was entirely unmodified until, in a moment of carelessness, another set of arms reached out from under the cloak to adjust her armor.
It was not until pressured that she spoke of a world below, where she, and she truly, had found the source of the God and World’s ails. Water poured in on all sides of this world, salty and rich, bringing creatures and refuse plants with it. Above, a layer of crystals so pure and white and brilliant it was impossible to see the God and World, and in the swampy, still waters down below, pillars supported the God’s weight and rocky spires and masses of soggy land that collected around either of these formed small islands.
And it was there that the natives of this land, curious and intelligent, but still shy, and very very strange if medically skilled, had led her to the source of the god’s problems. Although she hadn’t said much before, she described what she had seen in vivid, triumphant detail.
There was another God, one who lurked below in the swampy waters, and was locked into battle with the God and World. The natives had bade her to dive into the waters, and in the deep, she saw them, trapped under heavy waters- the God of Flesh, whose massive limbs and tendrils and all other appendages she could not even find words to explain had crawled up through the water and the pillars and rock spires and had jammed themselves deep into the heart of the God and World.
But the God and World had responded in kind, a massive mechanical weapon poised over the God of Flesh’s heart ready to drop the moment its unending mechanical heart stopped. They were locked in a stalemate, neither one willing to destroy the other for knowledge of it’s own destruction.
At this, she had burst out into hysterical laughter, and the priestess looked into her eyes and saw pain and madness…but also honesty.
The priestess, in a rare moment of humanity, asked of the woman what had become of her twin. The woman responded with a confused stare, before removing her cloak, revealing the extra set of arms was not where her strangeness ended, as another set of eyes rested above her ears, and her skull arced back in such a way that there would have been two minds crammed into it. Her back was hunched, slightly, but she smiled, and explained that they were both here. There was nothing to worry about.
And the high priestess finally relented, and simply howled her frustrations. The woman left before the priestess could collect herself enough to reach a decision, and the mechanical woman, the leader of her people…retired to her private labs and collapsed. Her heart, in all it’s whirring, ticking glory…could not take any more of this.
And unknown to her and the city, five (or perhaps four, depending upon your beliefs) met in an abandoned home on the edge of the city, drawn together perhaps by fate, or luck, or some greater planning.
“They released the anti-virus into the soil and water long before we ever saw the effects. By now, every inch of the Gods have to be affected.” Said the tall man, shining his weapon. “No more converting anything for either of them.”
“All studies at the polar stations show that the infection rate of both entities have been completely neutralized to 0%.” The mechanical, dark-haired woman nodded, the glowing screens that emanated from her own body flickering the words as she spoke. “Unfortunately, the longer they survive, the greater the chance of either entity overcoming the affects of your Foundation’s antivirus.”
“S-so weh hab to keel dem, righ?” The deaf man inquired, shaking and shrugging, the scarred skin on his back stretching as he sat.
“Easier said than done. My people- the people below- worship the Flesh God, of course they do, just as we worshiped the Gear God, but…even they know that killing the Gear God will bring it crashing down upon them.” The two-in-one chuckled, pacing back and forth, all four hands wringing. “…but…both Gods…to be buried together.”
“They won’t do it.” The first man grunted, standing from his seat and brushing the golden hair from his eyes, a determined glint to his smirk. “These things ain’t real Gods. They’re just beings, and they’re afraid of dying same as you and me. So we’re gonna have to nudge them one way or another. Everything above the God and World’s been evacuated, so nobody needs to worry up above.”
“I propose we attack both at once. There is a high probability that they will attack each other simultaneously.” The glowing screens of light displayed the possibility in a simplified animation. “I have already informed the polar stations of this idea, and they predict similarly.”
“Wuh we waitin’ foh?”
“…Good question.” The two-in-one chuckled, then laughed, and then cackled with an exhausted sort of delight.
It was no more than a few days later that the high priestess sat in her chamber, and heard something that made her cold metal heart skip a beat.
Silence.
The ticking of the God and World stopped, suddenly, eternally, and instantly she knew in every fiber of her metallic being that it was the end of the World. Before the gear under the city gave way, and everything began to crumbled and fall. The high priestess, in reality, was one of the lucky ones, desperate and strong enough to scamper through the ruins as they tumbled and collapsed in on themselves, falling seemingly endlessly, until she finally reached a point where the gears gave way to crumbling earth. Her sharpened needlepoint fingers grasped at grass and tree roots for purchase, and her crystal eyes looked up.
She saw the sun, a ball of fire so bright yet far away she could hardly comprehend the very notion of it, much less fully accept what she was seeing, and then something came over her head, a carriage hoisted into the air by blades moving so rapidly they flowed into one.
And with the last tic of her heart, she saw four faces (but ten pair of eyes) looking down from the bizarre vehicle, smiling in triumph.
Her heart went still and she fell into the gaping crevasse where once two gods fell to sleep and battle.
And the ocean quickly filled what was left of the hole, as if it had never been there in the first place.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-02-17T06:55:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"adventure",
"fantasy",
"otherworldly",
"religious-fiction",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] | The God And World - SCP Foundation | 52 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4568140 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-god-and-world |
|
the-human-part-of-the-equation | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
Sgt. Mansell looked into the room one last time, his eyes already red from the dust and tears that now streaked his cheeks. The smell of vomit lingered on his clothes with the blood and rot. He felt the clicking and whirring, the turning and buzzing of the device as its cranks and gears began to merge and shift, meshing regretfully. He had, he knew, just completed a monster.
<p>He walked outdoors, his body feeling oddly out of sorts. He chalked it up to the surroundings. Trying to ignore the persistently echoing click as he walked, he went back outside to rejoin his unit and help bury the dead.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The tests had gone remarkably well.</p>
<p>Dr. Sankt was pleased. Very, very pleased. Ever since they’d brought him the first specimen, all screaming and grinding, his work had consumed him. The platoon to first discover the ruins had been searching fruitlessly for another of the Fuehrer’s missing artifacts. In spite of the Bloody Spear and the Vestments of the Christ, the tiny madman was dissatisfied and sent squad after squad deep into the deserts of northern Africa, searching. At one time, Sankt had viewed these as futile quests by an arrogant man.</p>
<p>But that was before. Before the clockwork man, who had once simply been a creature of flawed flesh, was brought to him. He was one of two to return; the other had, regretfully, been damaged beyond repair by the harsh desert sand. But the other…</p>
<p>Sankt didn't have the kind of clearance necessary to know the circumstances which brought the young man to his current state, only that he had been on one of the Fuehrer's missions. The young man had been given to him when the metal began to push through his body and the gears began to tear through his flesh, twisting and flaying. It was, Sankt thought, almost beautiful to watch.</p>
<p>Sankt stripped away the remains of its skin with more delicacy than was required, placing each piece in its own sterile container. Long after the screams had turned to bloodless clicking, Sankt labored, until eventually, freed of its prison, the bones of molded copper and the muscles of counterbalances stood on their own.</p>
<p>It did only the simplest tasks. Sankt knew after only a short time that it would be mostly useless, incapable of anything more complex than the man that it had once been. So he set it to work pacing, carrying a rifle, back and forth in front of his door, letting it pretend it was still a soldier. It made him feel more secure, at least.</p>
<p>Then, Sankt reexamined the flesh he removed from the gears and realized his mistake.</p>
<p>The mounds of gristle and skin were metallic, some of them desperately interconnected in a feverish attempt to turn and move. “Of course!” thought Sankt. “How foolish of me. This must be amended.”</p>
<p>He contacted his superiors and told them what he needed. Much space would be required, as well as subjects for the testing, and soldiers willing to serve their country. His old friend, Dr. Rascher, had been carrying out his own experiments, and upon hearing what Sankt had discovered, cried out with joy. “Finally!” said Rascher. “We will have our answer.” It was an answer Sankt was more than willing to provide.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The first were failures. Sankt knew they would be, so he used his least important subjects: the mentally deficient. They were vivisected, studied, and disposed of in the furnaces. Sankt knew their fates would have been much the same no matter the circumstances. It was the fate of those imperfect. It was the destiny of those not members of the master race. And so the cutting, screwing, and disinfecting did not concern him.</p>
<p>After he felt that he understood enough, he brought in the next batch: the Romani. From one of them, he would remove a clockwork liver. From another, a living one. Laying them next to each other, he studied for hours, listening as their previous owners slowly died—one dripping blood, the other oil. When he finally comprehended their relation, he tried transplanting the organs back and forth from body to body. These experiments often failed, but the occasional success kept his spirits up. He knew that soon, he would be ready.</p>
<p>It was mid-1944 when he felt confident enough to send for the pianists and violinists. He would, of course, need their hands. So delicate and slender were the gears that his heart nearly broke as he removed them. Then, the artists. Their eyes would be invaluable. The singers he nearly forgot, only remembering them as he carefully screwed in the spinning lips of a poet. There would be no need for a voice, of course, but there was always a need for beauty. After all, Sankt was making a masterpiece; leaving part out would be like cutting the smile from the Mona Lisa—unfathomable.</p>
<p>But he knew that his delicate pieces were just that: delicate. He stewed over this for some time, thinking his work lost, until it suddenly came to him. Watching his clockwork guard march back and forth in front of his door, the epiphany appeared—the ditch diggers, the miners, the street sweepers. They could also be a part! He almost felt foolish, thinking back how perturbed he’d been when he almost forgot the singers. How could he make a true masterpiece without <em>everything</em>?</p>
<p>Their arms and legs transferred the power down to the smaller gears, carried items along the internal paths, and made it possible for a single man, a single crank, to operate everything! But powerful, skilled hands meant nothing without a mind to drive them.</p>
<p>So Sankt sent for the scientists and doctors, teachers and researchers. Their minds were a necessary component and could not be excluded. He struggled with the first subject, not fully seeing how the different parts were truly interconnected, but he persevered. The next was far easier. Eventually, the different parts were laced into the whole, guiding the hands and muscles in perfect, indomitable precision.</p>
<p>Close to completion, so near his final, beautiful goal, Sankt was finally confident enough to invite the entirety of the German leadership to his laboratory and show them what his labors had wrought.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was a nervous group who crowded through the halls of the dank, almost claustrophobic bunker under Chelmno. Only one of the German high command had shown up, the others being far more concerned with the war knocking at the front door. However, Sankt had the answer to all their problems. With his device, Germany would be fully capable of defending itself into the unforeseeable future.</p>
<p>While the onlookers watched, he placed a pistol into the intake, turning the dial and moving his hand to the crank. He turned it slowly, listening to the perfect rhythm for the first time. He’d known that it would work, known innately that the device would perform perfectly. Each click was the turn of a ballerina, the pluck of a chord, the swing of a mattock, the hypothesis of a dream. Sankt felt as close to love as he ever had.</p>
<p>When he stopped, he turned and picked up the gun, rotating it in his hands, examining how its nickel and steel had become gold and copper. He proffered it to one of the senior officers present, who examined it with distaste and laid it aside.</p>
<p>“Is that all it does?” the man asked.</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” replied Sankt.</p>
<p>“Is that all it does? Turn steel to bronze?”</p>
<p>“Of course not,” replied Sankt, taken aback. “They do much more, so much more. This is only the first step in a long journey. Now, they can only manage a single kind of transformation, making that which is one thing into another of the same. But soon, very soon, they will be making things better. Improving them in ways we can’t even imagine yet! Rewriting literature, correcting mistakes in complicated equations, making new bombs and new religions with equal skill!”</p>
<p>The men looked at him, and then to the mass of clockworks behind him. The officer peered at him intensely, painfully.</p>
<p>“Then finish it. We need a new god right now.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Sankt labored ceaselessly. There were only a few people left to him, now. His research staff were the first he used, then the last of the emaciated, flawed prisoners. Finally, he began taking the more clever soldiers, interweaving them as best he could. He could no longer afford to be picky. Eventually, he turned to his loyal guardian. He took the gun from its hands, carefully guided it over to the table, and thanked it for the loyal service it had provided before unfastening its still beating clockwork heart.</p>
<p>When the Americans finally came, he knew he was almost done. He could feel them approach through the smoke, the fires burning brightly in the furnaces even though most of the guards had either fled or been used. Even though Germany might fall, her labors could still be appreciated.</p>
<p>He approached the front guard, smiling and waving his hands. He welcomed them in halting English, asking them for stories of the seemingly distant war. He warned them of the conditions in the camp, tried to explain what the commanders were doing, how they had to contain the infections he had been transferring. They killed him slowly—first cutting off his hands, then his eyes, then his lips.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Sgt. Mansell looked at the huge device. He’d seen Big Ben in London before he’d been sent over, and he liked to think its insides were similar. The other soldiers were outside, burying the dead between hoarse, racking vomits. He looked down at the dial in the front, the brass covering around it spelling out rudimentary instructions in English. Laying on the ground, directly below it, was a single cog.</p>
<p>Mansell looked at the piece, and then at the device, licking his lips. The place was obvious, it seemed, almost glaring in its inconsistency. Picking up the brass fitting, he lowered the final cog into place and saw the machine shudder slightly, almost in ecstasy. It was finally, terribly complete.</p>
<p>As he slept that night, he dreamed of a young woman, beautiful and bright. Sometime in the early morning, he rose, took out his pistol, and walked mechanically into the woods. The shot echoed through the trees, ringing with blood and iron.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/the-human-part-of-the-equation">The Human Part of the Equation</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-human-part-of-the-equation">https://scpwiki.com/the-human-part-of-the-equation</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Sgt. Mansell looked into the room one last time, his eyes already red from the dust and tears that now streaked his cheeks. The smell of vomit lingered on his clothes with the blood and rot. He felt the clicking and whirring, the turning and buzzing of the device as its cranks and gears began to merge and shift, meshing regretfully. He had, he knew, just completed a monster.
He walked outdoors, his body feeling oddly out of sorts. He chalked it up to the surroundings. Trying to ignore the persistently echoing click as he walked, he went back outside to rejoin his unit and help bury the dead.
-----
The tests had gone remarkably well.
Dr. Sankt was pleased. Very, very pleased. Ever since they’d brought him the first specimen, all screaming and grinding, his work had consumed him. The platoon to first discover the ruins had been searching fruitlessly for another of the Fuehrer’s missing artifacts. In spite of the Bloody Spear and the Vestments of the Christ, the tiny madman was dissatisfied and sent squad after squad deep into the deserts of northern Africa, searching. At one time, Sankt had viewed these as futile quests by an arrogant man.
But that was before. Before the clockwork man, who had once simply been a creature of flawed flesh, was brought to him. He was one of two to return; the other had, regretfully, been damaged beyond repair by the harsh desert sand. But the other…
Sankt didn't have the kind of clearance necessary to know the circumstances which brought the young man to his current state, only that he had been on one of the Fuehrer's missions. The young man had been given to him when the metal began to push through his body and the gears began to tear through his flesh, twisting and flaying. It was, Sankt thought, almost beautiful to watch.
Sankt stripped away the remains of its skin with more delicacy than was required, placing each piece in its own sterile container. Long after the screams had turned to bloodless clicking, Sankt labored, until eventually, freed of its prison, the bones of molded copper and the muscles of counterbalances stood on their own.
It did only the simplest tasks. Sankt knew after only a short time that it would be mostly useless, incapable of anything more complex than the man that it had once been. So he set it to work pacing, carrying a rifle, back and forth in front of his door, letting it pretend it was still a soldier. It made him feel more secure, at least.
Then, Sankt reexamined the flesh he removed from the gears and realized his mistake.
The mounds of gristle and skin were metallic, some of them desperately interconnected in a feverish attempt to turn and move. “Of course!” thought Sankt. “How foolish of me. This must be amended.”
He contacted his superiors and told them what he needed. Much space would be required, as well as subjects for the testing, and soldiers willing to serve their country. His old friend, Dr. Rascher, had been carrying out his own experiments, and upon hearing what Sankt had discovered, cried out with joy. “Finally!” said Rascher. “We will have our answer.” It was an answer Sankt was more than willing to provide.
-----
The first were failures. Sankt knew they would be, so he used his least important subjects: the mentally deficient. They were vivisected, studied, and disposed of in the furnaces. Sankt knew their fates would have been much the same no matter the circumstances. It was the fate of those imperfect. It was the destiny of those not members of the master race. And so the cutting, screwing, and disinfecting did not concern him.
After he felt that he understood enough, he brought in the next batch: the Romani. From one of them, he would remove a clockwork liver. From another, a living one. Laying them next to each other, he studied for hours, listening as their previous owners slowly died—one dripping blood, the other oil. When he finally comprehended their relation, he tried transplanting the organs back and forth from body to body. These experiments often failed, but the occasional success kept his spirits up. He knew that soon, he would be ready.
It was mid-1944 when he felt confident enough to send for the pianists and violinists. He would, of course, need their hands. So delicate and slender were the gears that his heart nearly broke as he removed them. Then, the artists. Their eyes would be invaluable. The singers he nearly forgot, only remembering them as he carefully screwed in the spinning lips of a poet. There would be no need for a voice, of course, but there was always a need for beauty. After all, Sankt was making a masterpiece; leaving part out would be like cutting the smile from the Mona Lisa—unfathomable.
But he knew that his delicate pieces were just that: delicate. He stewed over this for some time, thinking his work lost, until it suddenly came to him. Watching his clockwork guard march back and forth in front of his door, the epiphany appeared—the ditch diggers, the miners, the street sweepers. They could also be a part! He almost felt foolish, thinking back how perturbed he’d been when he almost forgot the singers. How could he make a true masterpiece without //everything//?
Their arms and legs transferred the power down to the smaller gears, carried items along the internal paths, and made it possible for a single man, a single crank, to operate everything! But powerful, skilled hands meant nothing without a mind to drive them.
So Sankt sent for the scientists and doctors, teachers and researchers. Their minds were a necessary component and could not be excluded. He struggled with the first subject, not fully seeing how the different parts were truly interconnected, but he persevered. The next was far easier. Eventually, the different parts were laced into the whole, guiding the hands and muscles in perfect, indomitable precision.
Close to completion, so near his final, beautiful goal, Sankt was finally confident enough to invite the entirety of the German leadership to his laboratory and show them what his labors had wrought.
-----
It was a nervous group who crowded through the halls of the dank, almost claustrophobic bunker under Chelmno. Only one of the German high command had shown up, the others being far more concerned with the war knocking at the front door. However, Sankt had the answer to all their problems. With his device, Germany would be fully capable of defending itself into the unforeseeable future.
While the onlookers watched, he placed a pistol into the intake, turning the dial and moving his hand to the crank. He turned it slowly, listening to the perfect rhythm for the first time. He’d known that it would work, known innately that the device would perform perfectly. Each click was the turn of a ballerina, the pluck of a chord, the swing of a mattock, the hypothesis of a dream. Sankt felt as close to love as he ever had.
When he stopped, he turned and picked up the gun, rotating it in his hands, examining how its nickel and steel had become gold and copper. He proffered it to one of the senior officers present, who examined it with distaste and laid it aside.
“Is that all it does?” the man asked.
“What do you mean?” replied Sankt.
“Is that all it does? Turn steel to bronze?”
“Of course not,” replied Sankt, taken aback. “They do much more, so much more. This is only the first step in a long journey. Now, they can only manage a single kind of transformation, making that which is one thing into another of the same. But soon, very soon, they will be making things better. Improving them in ways we can’t even imagine yet! Rewriting literature, correcting mistakes in complicated equations, making new bombs and new religions with equal skill!”
The men looked at him, and then to the mass of clockworks behind him. The officer peered at him intensely, painfully.
“Then finish it. We need a new god right now.”
-----
Sankt labored ceaselessly. There were only a few people left to him, now. His research staff were the first he used, then the last of the emaciated, flawed prisoners. Finally, he began taking the more clever soldiers, interweaving them as best he could. He could no longer afford to be picky. Eventually, he turned to his loyal guardian. He took the gun from its hands, carefully guided it over to the table, and thanked it for the loyal service it had provided before unfastening its still beating clockwork heart.
When the Americans finally came, he knew he was almost done. He could feel them approach through the smoke, the fires burning brightly in the furnaces even though most of the guards had either fled or been used. Even though Germany might fall, her labors could still be appreciated.
He approached the front guard, smiling and waving his hands. He welcomed them in halting English, asking them for stories of the seemingly distant war. He warned them of the conditions in the camp, tried to explain what the commanders were doing, how they had to contain the infections he had been transferring. They killed him slowly—first cutting off his hands, then his eyes, then his lips.
-----
Sgt. Mansell looked at the huge device. He’d seen Big Ben in London before he’d been sent over, and he liked to think its insides were similar. The other soldiers were outside, burying the dead between hoarse, racking vomits. He looked down at the dial in the front, the brass covering around it spelling out rudimentary instructions in English. Laying on the ground, directly below it, was a single cog.
Mansell looked at the piece, and then at the device, licking his lips. The place was obvious, it seemed, almost glaring in its inconsistency. Picking up the brass fitting, he lowered the final cog into place and saw the machine shudder slightly, almost in ecstasy. It was finally, terribly complete.
As he slept that night, he dreamed of a young woman, beautiful and bright. Sometime in the early morning, he rose, took out his pistol, and walked mechanically into the woods. The shot echoed through the trees, ringing with blood and iron.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-03-26T04:03:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"featured",
"horror",
"period-piece",
"science-fiction",
"tale",
"talecon10"
] | The Human Part of the Equation - SCP Foundation | 111 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-great-short-story-contest-archives",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"featured-tale-archive"
] | [] | 4749428 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-human-part-of-the-equation |
|
the-improbable-bibs | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
<strong>Today</strong>
<p>MisterBibs, Agent of the Foundation, was having string of good luck for the past month.</p>
<p>This, naturally, gave him an astonishingly bad mood. Bibs wasn't an entirely spiritual person, but he did believe that there was a finite amout of good luck in the universe, and a string of positive events in a row meant that one's luck was running out. It was the sort of belief that was confirmed no matter what happened: if things kept going well, it was just proof that something bad was soon coming. If something bad did happen, it justified his belief.</p>
<p>As he followed the blinking lights directing him and other staff members to the emergency, he knew his string of good luck had run out. Since "running towards a major threat" was something Bibs did all the time, it gave him the time to mentally tick off all the good events in the past month that (in his own opinion) caused whatever Bad Thing had just happened.</p>
<p>At the start of the month, he discovered a new way of containing <a href="/scp-409">SCP-409</a>. Bombarding a source of 409 with high-impact sonar waves causes the crystals to dissolve into a non-contagious gel. It made complete sense to <em>him</em>, since 409 was just White Tiberium, but it was a surprise to everyone else. Last Bibs heard about it, the eggheads-with-actual-eggs-in-their-heads were working on figuring out why it worked.</p>
<p>A week or so later, he had done… <em>something</em> about <a href="/scp-055">SCP-055</a>. He wasn't sure what he did, or anything, and regularly forgot that he had done anything. All that remained of the event in his memory was the <em>existence</em> of 055 itself. It was a strange feeling, Bibs thought, to have a memory that actively wanted to escape. He could feel the the memory of 055 rattling through his brain, careening off memories and mental fanwanks and creations, trying to find a gap. So far, all it had accomplished was leaving residue of itself on other memories of his.</p>
<p>A little bit after that, there was that… <em>thing</em> with Rights. Even in his head, he refused to actually specifically mention it. Every once in a while, when he was all alone, he did a little dance in celebration. It was almost worth the beating Bright gave him when he found out.</p>
<p>Of course, the pride of the month was a few days ago. Abel knew that Bibs was a jumpy person, and since Abel was a prick, he enjoyed taking advantage of that. Without fail, the outcome was the same: Bibs jumped upward, urine flowed downward, and Abel laughed. But one time, one rare and precious time, only jumping happened. So proud that he hadn't wet himself, Bibs proceeded to dance a finely-tuned jig in front of the Sumerian warrior. Since Abel was a prick, though, he didn't appreciate it.</p>
<p>At the end of the mental voyage, he jumped through the double-doors to where the emergency was. The scene was chaos, as to be expected. When the blinking lights and klaxons announcing a containment breach were going off, chaos always springs up. Something was very, <em>very</em> wrong, and <em>very</em> unexpected.</p>
<p>One of the few things that kept Bibs employed by the Foundation was that his sense of fear was off-kilter compared to everyone else's. Things that scared everyone else didn't phase him too much. It wasn't bravado or courage, it was simply that almost <em>everything</em> the Foundation dealt with had some analogue, even distant ones, to some story he read at one time or another. Even if there <em>wasn't</em>, his mind created one. What scared Bibs were the warning signs that something the Foundation was handling reminded him of a Bad Event from something he'd read. The rate of such worries weren't extremely high, but they were high enough that he wasn't fired when performance reviews came up.</p>
<p>What was in front of Bibs and the rest of the Foundation was a perfect example of this. To everyone else in the room, the frightening aspect was that the SCP attempting to escape confinement was <a href="/scp-682">SCP-682</a>. They were afraid of how it was spewing forth thick gobs of acidic blood from its mouth and eyes, threatening to dissolve the walls of its containment. They were afraid of how any weapons fired at 682 were bouncing off its flesh with a flash of light.</p>
<p>Bibs, Agent of the Foundation, wasn't phased by that too much. He trusted his fellow co-workers to contain 682 by itself. But what <em>did</em> frighten him was what was around 682's neck. It looked like a rusted iron necklace, digging into 682's flesh. It didn't look right, but it didn't take an idiot to know what it <em>was</em>.</p>
<p>It did, however, take an idiot (Bibs himself) to fix it. So he ran back to his office, knowing he had the tools to stop the problem.</p>
<p>There was one more thing he was afraid of. He was afraid of getting blamed for the containment breach.</p>
<p>It <em>was</em> his fault.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Two Weeks Earlier</strong></p>
<p>Bibs stood near <a href="/scp-914">SCP-914</a>, holding what he wanted to refine in his hand. He was childishly excited to be given permission to do so. As with most of his suggestions, the O5s were hesitant to allow him to do it. They had every right to be, since it was a vanity experiment, with little actual benefit to the Foundation. Bibs made as such clear during his proposal. But in knowing that, he provided as much information explaining the objects to the higher-ups, so they understood what he wanted to do. These were <em>good</em> ones, not the <em>bad</em> ones, and he was only going to set 914 to Fine. There was very little chance of anything going wrong.</p>
<p>Eventually, he was given permission. If there was a line between <em>"Giving Bibs Permission To Do Something Because It Had Value"</em> and <em>"Giving Bibs Permission To Do Something To Get Him To Stop Asking For Permission"</em>, he didn't know about it. Thankfully, such distinctions only <em>occasionally</em> depressed him.</p>
<p>Bibs, Agent of the Foundation, stared briefly at the 914's knob, set to Fine. The setting Very Fine was tempting, but <em>really</em>, it had taken him too long to get permission for Fine, much less Very Fine. To get permission for Very Fine, he'd have to start the approval process all over again. Even if he wanted to do that (and he wasn't sure he wanted to, really), it'd mean a whole bunch more paperwork and begging. He wondered which one he'd have to do more.</p>
<p>Well, it didn't hurt to ask, did it? He turned around to ask the guard, required by policy to be with him during the experiment, a question. To his surprise, he wasn't there. <em>Odd</em>, he thought. He turned around and went through the door. He went to the door to 914's containment room to find out why, and the two guards there were gone too. <em>Damned odd.</em></p>
<p>Bibs wasn't the kind of person who complained when rules weren't followed - after all, he was usually skirting the occasional rule or six - but never the <em>big</em> ones. Containment Procedures were the biggest of the big rules. With 914, one guard was always with the guy doing the test, and two were positioned outside. Three guards, all away at the same time. He groaned. More likely than not, the Observation staff in the booth above 914 had let them take a break. <em>Yeah</em>, Bibs whined to himself. <em>It's not like I'm in need of protection or anything..</em></p>
<p>Time to call the folks in the booth. He flipped open his communicator. "Hey, it's Bibs. We got an O5 on-site? Last minute request to alter my experiment a bit. It's against the rules to change an experiment on the fly, and I'd rather not be shot for doing it without permission."</p>
<p>Nothing.</p>
<p>Groaning, he craned his head to look at the booth. He just barely was able to make out a crudely-written sign saying "BRB COFFEE" on it.</p>
<p>Now, Bibs was annoyed. Sure, his uncanny ability to infiltrate and investigate without being noticed was invaluable in his role as a Foundation Agent. He could get into places, go where he wanted, and nobody bothered him because he always acted like he belonged there. Or lost and confused. Or like he belonged there, but lost and confused.</p>
<p>But that 'gift' became <em>really</em> annoying when he wasn't in the field, and people forgot that he was around. Like today.</p>
<p>He looked at the objects he planned to run through 914. Little toys, of no value to most people but himself. Shiny plastic promotional items. He figured 914 would turn them metallic on the Fine setting. Maybe fit a little bit better, since they were designed to be worn by much fatter people.</p>
<p>He waited a few more minutes for someone to come back. He kicked the wall a few times. He contemplated peeing on the wall, figuring that would get someone's attention. But there was a fine line between "I Told You Not To Leave Me Alone" and "Actually Crazy."</p>
<p>Bibs was annoyed at being ignored. He had an experiment to run. The Observation Staff and the Guards were AWOL. They were the ones breaking all the rules.</p>
<p>The Very Fine setting was <em>very</em> tempting.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Today</strong></p>
<p>Bibs had already worked out how this all happened by the time he returned to the containment breach.</p>
<p>His first assumption was worked out, contemplated, and rejected before he even reached his office. Someone <em>else</em> had found out what he did with 914, and replicated his methods. Whoever it was, the ignorant fool decided it would be a <em>great</em> idea to use a different ones than he did. They used one of the <em>bad</em> ones, it got away from them, and it chose the finest bearer it could.</p>
<p>As he reached his office, he had already judged that assumption as false. Nobody knew he what he had done. Sure enough, it was the guards and the Observation Staff that got reamed out for dereliction of duty. He was Bibs, Agent of the Foundation, so nobody doubted him as he filled out the test results. Two objects, fine setting, Two objects, metallic. No other change, with a <em>"Aw Shucks, It's A Shame It Didn't Do What I Had Hoped!"</em> note.</p>
<p>No, this was <em>his</em> fault, albeit indirectly. He, using 914, had created two of them. Good Ones. But just like the stories they came from, the Good Ones' existence brought forth other ones. Bad Ones. Nature abhors a vacuum, a vacuum created by his own hand.</p>
<p>Bibs slammed into the door to the containment booth, and 682 was still trying to escape. The Guards, reduced in number but no less determined, had kept the reptile contained. Its cage had seen better days, missing sections but still keeping the beast contained. The walls steamed from the acidic blood 682 continued to burst forth.</p>
<p>The red-iron necklace was still clamped to its neck. Nobody else would understand what was going on, but to Bibs it was clear as day. The red necklace was demanding control and ownership over 682, and 682 was having <em>none</em> of that. Its physiology was not only rejecting the necklace, but attempting to <em>assimilate</em> it.</p>
<p>Bibs found a big enough hole to fit his fist through. He slipped one of the rings onto his finger and stuck his hand in. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Whatever 914 had turned them into, they didn't work as they were supposed to. But they worked.</p>
<p>The weapon Bibs used was <em>supposed</em> to make anything he thought of, but that one of the ways the ring didn't work quite right. It chose whatever images it wanted to, which is why everyone saw a massive green Abel suddenly appear in 682's cage. it was wearing a hardhat, though, and instead of a massive blade, it was wielding a giant wrench. <em>That's odd as all git-out</em>, Bibs said to himself.</p>
<p>The Green Abel pinned 682 underneath its knees, holding 682's head down with its free hand. With the wrench-hand, it grabbed at the red necklace on 682's neck, twisting and pulling in an attempt to remove it from 682. With thick wet snaps of flesh and sinew, the necklace released its hold on the neck of the beast in fits and starts.</p>
<p>When it seemed that the necklace would be completely freed from 682's neck, the horrible reptile flesh twitched and shook underneath the giant green Abel. Its flesh became smooth and shiny, with a sickly yellow tint to it. With a Sumerian curse Bibs was unaware of, the green simulacrum of Abel released its grasp on the beast, looking at its steaming hand and wrench. With a thick <em>plop</em>, the necklace reattached itself to 682. It spoke to 682, telling everyone his name and origin in the process. <em>Fascinating</em>, Bibs thought to himself. <em>Profoundly pointless, unless I get that thing off it, but fascinating nonetheless…</em></p>
<p>682 changing his flesh a different color to thwart the Big Green Abel wasn't surprising, to Bibs, at least. 682 was <em>very</em> good at adapting to things, and the rusted necklace that had been forced onto it. That necklace must have dumped all sorts of knowledge into its brain in the process, and 682 was using it. Sighing at having to use the <em>other</em> illegally-made weapon, he slid it onto his other hand, he shoved it in into the enclosure, and <em>thought</em>.</p>
<p>With a flash of light, the Big Green Abel became Big Blue-Green Abel. With newfound confidence in itself, the giant again proceeded to pin 682 down. This time, its coloring did the beast no help. The wrench found purchase on the necklace on the reptile's neck, and pulled. It was still a struggle, but not a large one.</p>
<p>The excursion was getting to Bibs, Ringbearer of the Foundation, and he struggled to maintain composure. He got a second wind when, with a final <em>skkr-ktt</em>, the Giant Cyan Abel succeeded in its task. The simulacrum raised the red-iron necklace over its head, screamed in victory, and crushed the object between its fist.</p>
<p>The enclosure, or what remained of it, ignited in heat and flame. Some would say it was unholy. Some would say it was simply one facet of a spectrum that a certain Agent of the Foundation accidentally unleashed upon the world. Most, however, simply described it as a <em>big fireball</em>.</p>
<p>When the flames ended, only one thing remained in the enclosure. An ash pile, in the shape of 682.</p>
<p>The crowd, who up until now had fought with every fiber of their being, stood silent for only a moment. It was not a moment of silence for a fallen foe, but the quiet sound of a paradigm shifting without a clutch. <em>SCP-682 must be destroyed as soon as possible. At this time, no means available to SCP teams are capable of destroying SCP-682. SCP-682 was a pile of ash.</em> It was impossible. Improbably. Profoundly unlikely.</p>
<p>Before long, a cheer ran out. It started with some clapping. Then laughing. Then a full on celebration. People celebrated. Hugged. Kissed. Swarmed around Bibs, who didn't like this. As much as he refused to admit it, he <em>hated</em> attention.</p>
<p>He felt hands around him, lifting him up. Carrying him. It wasn't for long, though, and before he even had a chance to enjoy the experience, he was dropped on his ass.</p>
<p>"Jesus wept! Aren't you supposed to warn a guy when you decide to stop carrying him? I mean… oh." He understood why he was dropped, and why his carriers suddenly regained their emotional composure.</p>
<p>An older man, in a well-fitting and expensive-looking suit, stood before him. An O5. The crowd, joyous moments before, suddenly looked like children who had been caught playing when they were supposed to be working.</p>
<p>The older man looked Bibs over. "Good job, Agent Bibs."</p>
<p>Bibs blushed. he hated compliments. "It's… it's not as amazing as it looked, sir, anyone could have-"</p>
<p>"Nonsense, Bibs. If it wasn't for you, there's a good likelihood that we would have had to nuke the entire Site from orbit. You're a debt to the Foundation, sir. And please, Bibs, it's Fred." He smiled.</p>
<p>A pause.</p>
<p>"Your name is… Fred?"</p>
<p>"Indeed. A bit against policy, I suppose, but in this case, I think you've earned it." He smiled again.</p>
<p>He looked over at the smoking, steaming ash pile of 682.</p>
<p><em>Figures</em>, Bibs sighed. <em>Fuckin' figures…</em></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/the-improbable-bibs">The Improbable Bibs</a>" by MisterBibs, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-improbable-bibs">https://scpwiki.com/the-improbable-bibs</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
**Today**
MisterBibs, Agent of the Foundation, was having string of good luck for the past month.
This, naturally, gave him an astonishingly bad mood. Bibs wasn't an entirely spiritual person, but he did believe that there was a finite amout of good luck in the universe, and a string of positive events in a row meant that one's luck was running out. It was the sort of belief that was confirmed no matter what happened: if things kept going well, it was just proof that something bad was soon coming. If something bad did happen, it justified his belief.
As he followed the blinking lights directing him and other staff members to the emergency, he knew his string of good luck had run out. Since "running towards a major threat" was something Bibs did all the time, it gave him the time to mentally tick off all the good events in the past month that (in his own opinion) caused whatever Bad Thing had just happened.
At the start of the month, he discovered a new way of containing [[[SCP-409]]]. Bombarding a source of 409 with high-impact sonar waves causes the crystals to dissolve into a non-contagious gel. It made complete sense to //him//, since 409 was just White Tiberium, but it was a surprise to everyone else. Last Bibs heard about it, the eggheads-with-actual-eggs-in-their-heads were working on figuring out why it worked.
A week or so later, he had done... //something// about [[[SCP-055]]]. He wasn't sure what he did, or anything, and regularly forgot that he had done anything. All that remained of the event in his memory was the //existence// of 055 itself. It was a strange feeling, Bibs thought, to have a memory that actively wanted to escape. He could feel the the memory of 055 rattling through his brain, careening off memories and mental fanwanks and creations, trying to find a gap. So far, all it had accomplished was leaving residue of itself on other memories of his.
A little bit after that, there was that... //thing// with Rights. Even in his head, he refused to actually specifically mention it. Every once in a while, when he was all alone, he did a little dance in celebration. It was almost worth the beating Bright gave him when he found out.
Of course, the pride of the month was a few days ago. Abel knew that Bibs was a jumpy person, and since Abel was a prick, he enjoyed taking advantage of that. Without fail, the outcome was the same: Bibs jumped upward, urine flowed downward, and Abel laughed. But one time, one rare and precious time, only jumping happened. So proud that he hadn't wet himself, Bibs proceeded to dance a finely-tuned jig in front of the Sumerian warrior. Since Abel was a prick, though, he didn't appreciate it.
At the end of the mental voyage, he jumped through the double-doors to where the emergency was. The scene was chaos, as to be expected. When the blinking lights and klaxons announcing a containment breach were going off, chaos always springs up. Something was very, //very// wrong, and //very// unexpected.
One of the few things that kept Bibs employed by the Foundation was that his sense of fear was off-kilter compared to everyone else's. Things that scared everyone else didn't phase him too much. It wasn't bravado or courage, it was simply that almost //everything// the Foundation dealt with had some analogue, even distant ones, to some story he read at one time or another. Even if there //wasn't//, his mind created one. What scared Bibs were the warning signs that something the Foundation was handling reminded him of a Bad Event from something he'd read. The rate of such worries weren't extremely high, but they were high enough that he wasn't fired when performance reviews came up.
What was in front of Bibs and the rest of the Foundation was a perfect example of this. To everyone else in the room, the frightening aspect was that the SCP attempting to escape confinement was [[[SCP-682]]]. They were afraid of how it was spewing forth thick gobs of acidic blood from its mouth and eyes, threatening to dissolve the walls of its containment. They were afraid of how any weapons fired at 682 were bouncing off its flesh with a flash of light.
Bibs, Agent of the Foundation, wasn't phased by that too much. He trusted his fellow co-workers to contain 682 by itself. But what //did// frighten him was what was around 682's neck. It looked like a rusted iron necklace, digging into 682's flesh. It didn't look right, but it didn't take an idiot to know what it //was//.
It did, however, take an idiot (Bibs himself) to fix it. So he ran back to his office, knowing he had the tools to stop the problem.
There was one more thing he was afraid of. He was afraid of getting blamed for the containment breach.
It //was// his fault.
-----
**Two Weeks Earlier**
Bibs stood near [[[SCP-914]]], holding what he wanted to refine in his hand. He was childishly excited to be given permission to do so. As with most of his suggestions, the O5s were hesitant to allow him to do it. They had every right to be, since it was a vanity experiment, with little actual benefit to the Foundation. Bibs made as such clear during his proposal. But in knowing that, he provided as much information explaining the objects to the higher-ups, so they understood what he wanted to do. These were //good// ones, not the //bad// ones, and he was only going to set 914 to Fine. There was very little chance of anything going wrong.
Eventually, he was given permission. If there was a line between //"Giving Bibs Permission To Do Something Because It Had Value"// and //"Giving Bibs Permission To Do Something To Get Him To Stop Asking For Permission"//, he didn't know about it. Thankfully, such distinctions only //occasionally// depressed him.
Bibs, Agent of the Foundation, stared briefly at the 914's knob, set to Fine. The setting Very Fine was tempting, but //really//, it had taken him too long to get permission for Fine, much less Very Fine. To get permission for Very Fine, he'd have to start the approval process all over again. Even if he wanted to do that (and he wasn't sure he wanted to, really), it'd mean a whole bunch more paperwork and begging. He wondered which one he'd have to do more.
Well, it didn't hurt to ask, did it? He turned around to ask the guard, required by policy to be with him during the experiment, a question. To his surprise, he wasn't there. //Odd//, he thought. He turned around and went through the door. He went to the door to 914's containment room to find out why, and the two guards there were gone too. //Damned odd.//
Bibs wasn't the kind of person who complained when rules weren't followed - after all, he was usually skirting the occasional rule or six - but never the //big// ones. Containment Procedures were the biggest of the big rules. With 914, one guard was always with the guy doing the test, and two were positioned outside. Three guards, all away at the same time. He groaned. More likely than not, the Observation staff in the booth above 914 had let them take a break. //Yeah//, Bibs whined to himself. //It's not like I'm in need of protection or anything..//
Time to call the folks in the booth. He flipped open his communicator. "Hey, it's Bibs. We got an O5 on-site? Last minute request to alter my experiment a bit. It's against the rules to change an experiment on the fly, and I'd rather not be shot for doing it without permission."
Nothing.
Groaning, he craned his head to look at the booth. He just barely was able to make out a crudely-written sign saying "BRB COFFEE" on it.
Now, Bibs was annoyed. Sure, his uncanny ability to infiltrate and investigate without being noticed was invaluable in his role as a Foundation Agent. He could get into places, go where he wanted, and nobody bothered him because he always acted like he belonged there. Or lost and confused. Or like he belonged there, but lost and confused.
But that 'gift' became //really// annoying when he wasn't in the field, and people forgot that he was around. Like today.
He looked at the objects he planned to run through 914. Little toys, of no value to most people but himself. Shiny plastic promotional items. He figured 914 would turn them metallic on the Fine setting. Maybe fit a little bit better, since they were designed to be worn by much fatter people.
He waited a few more minutes for someone to come back. He kicked the wall a few times. He contemplated peeing on the wall, figuring that would get someone's attention. But there was a fine line between "I Told You Not To Leave Me Alone" and "Actually Crazy."
Bibs was annoyed at being ignored. He had an experiment to run. The Observation Staff and the Guards were AWOL. They were the ones breaking all the rules.
The Very Fine setting was //very// tempting.
-----
**Today**
Bibs had already worked out how this all happened by the time he returned to the containment breach.
His first assumption was worked out, contemplated, and rejected before he even reached his office. Someone //else// had found out what he did with 914, and replicated his methods. Whoever it was, the ignorant fool decided it would be a //great// idea to use a different ones than he did. They used one of the //bad// ones, it got away from them, and it chose the finest bearer it could.
As he reached his office, he had already judged that assumption as false. Nobody knew he what he had done. Sure enough, it was the guards and the Observation Staff that got reamed out for dereliction of duty. He was Bibs, Agent of the Foundation, so nobody doubted him as he filled out the test results. Two objects, fine setting, Two objects, metallic. No other change, with a //"Aw Shucks, It's A Shame It Didn't Do What I Had Hoped!"// note.
No, this was //his// fault, albeit indirectly. He, using 914, had created two of them. Good Ones. But just like the stories they came from, the Good Ones' existence brought forth other ones. Bad Ones. Nature abhors a vacuum, a vacuum created by his own hand.
Bibs slammed into the door to the containment booth, and 682 was still trying to escape. The Guards, reduced in number but no less determined, had kept the reptile contained. Its cage had seen better days, missing sections but still keeping the beast contained. The walls steamed from the acidic blood 682 continued to burst forth.
The red-iron necklace was still clamped to its neck. Nobody else would understand what was going on, but to Bibs it was clear as day. The red necklace was demanding control and ownership over 682, and 682 was having //none// of that. Its physiology was not only rejecting the necklace, but attempting to //assimilate// it.
Bibs found a big enough hole to fit his fist through. He slipped one of the rings onto his finger and stuck his hand in. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Whatever 914 had turned them into, they didn't work as they were supposed to. But they worked.
The weapon Bibs used was //supposed// to make anything he thought of, but that one of the ways the ring didn't work quite right. It chose whatever images it wanted to, which is why everyone saw a massive green Abel suddenly appear in 682's cage. it was wearing a hardhat, though, and instead of a massive blade, it was wielding a giant wrench. //That's odd as all git-out//, Bibs said to himself.
The Green Abel pinned 682 underneath its knees, holding 682's head down with its free hand. With the wrench-hand, it grabbed at the red necklace on 682's neck, twisting and pulling in an attempt to remove it from 682. With thick wet snaps of flesh and sinew, the necklace released its hold on the neck of the beast in fits and starts.
When it seemed that the necklace would be completely freed from 682's neck, the horrible reptile flesh twitched and shook underneath the giant green Abel. Its flesh became smooth and shiny, with a sickly yellow tint to it. With a Sumerian curse Bibs was unaware of, the green simulacrum of Abel released its grasp on the beast, looking at its steaming hand and wrench. With a thick //plop//, the necklace reattached itself to 682. It spoke to 682, telling everyone his name and origin in the process. //Fascinating//, Bibs thought to himself. //Profoundly pointless, unless I get that thing off it, but fascinating nonetheless...//
682 changing his flesh a different color to thwart the Big Green Abel wasn't surprising, to Bibs, at least. 682 was //very// good at adapting to things, and the rusted necklace that had been forced onto it. That necklace must have dumped all sorts of knowledge into its brain in the process, and 682 was using it. Sighing at having to use the //other// illegally-made weapon, he slid it onto his other hand, he shoved it in into the enclosure, and //thought//.
With a flash of light, the Big Green Abel became Big Blue-Green Abel. With newfound confidence in itself, the giant again proceeded to pin 682 down. This time, its coloring did the beast no help. The wrench found purchase on the necklace on the reptile's neck, and pulled. It was still a struggle, but not a large one.
The excursion was getting to Bibs, Ringbearer of the Foundation, and he struggled to maintain composure. He got a second wind when, with a final //skkr-ktt//, the Giant Cyan Abel succeeded in its task. The simulacrum raised the red-iron necklace over its head, screamed in victory, and crushed the object between its fist.
The enclosure, or what remained of it, ignited in heat and flame. Some would say it was unholy. Some would say it was simply one facet of a spectrum that a certain Agent of the Foundation accidentally unleashed upon the world. Most, however, simply described it as a //big fireball//.
When the flames ended, only one thing remained in the enclosure. An ash pile, in the shape of 682.
The crowd, who up until now had fought with every fiber of their being, stood silent for only a moment. It was not a moment of silence for a fallen foe, but the quiet sound of a paradigm shifting without a clutch. //SCP-682 must be destroyed as soon as possible. At this time, no means available to SCP teams are capable of destroying SCP-682. SCP-682 was a pile of ash.// It was impossible. Improbably. Profoundly unlikely.
Before long, a cheer ran out. It started with some clapping. Then laughing. Then a full on celebration. People celebrated. Hugged. Kissed. Swarmed around Bibs, who didn't like this. As much as he refused to admit it, he //hated// attention.
He felt hands around him, lifting him up. Carrying him. It wasn't for long, though, and before he even had a chance to enjoy the experience, he was dropped on his ass.
"Jesus wept! Aren't you supposed to warn a guy when you decide to stop carrying him? I mean... oh." He understood why he was dropped, and why his carriers suddenly regained their emotional composure.
An older man, in a well-fitting and expensive-looking suit, stood before him. An O5. The crowd, joyous moments before, suddenly looked like children who had been caught playing when they were supposed to be working.
The older man looked Bibs over. "Good job, Agent Bibs."
Bibs blushed. he hated compliments. "It's... it's not as amazing as it looked, sir, anyone could have-"
"Nonsense, Bibs. If it wasn't for you, there's a good likelihood that we would have had to nuke the entire Site from orbit. You're a debt to the Foundation, sir. And please, Bibs, it's Fred." He smiled.
A pause.
"Your name is... Fred?"
"Indeed. A bit against policy, I suppose, but in this case, I think you've earned it." He smiled again.
He looked over at the smoking, steaming ash pile of 682.
//Figures//, Bibs sighed. //Fuckin' figures...//
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-05-05T18:53:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"able",
"action",
"fred",
"hard-to-destroy-reptile",
"metafiction",
"tale"
] | The Improbable Bibs - SCP Foundation | 42 | [
"scp-409",
"scp-055",
"scp-682",
"scp-914",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4923923 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-improbable-bibs |
|
the-king-is-dead | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>“…Please be seated. Let's get to business, I know you are all busy, and I appreciate all of you taking time out…”</p>
<p>“Cut it, Three.”</p>
<p>“…Very well. I think we all know the issue at hand. What with the recent…unpleasantness that occurred during our military disentanglement…”</p>
<p>“Oh yes, unpleasantness is just the word I would use. You know, because a near-total shutdown of all sites due to a military intervention is…”</p>
<p>“May I continue, Eight? …Thank you. As I was saying, recent events have caused a…relaxing of protocol. Many of our sites have had to act in near-total isolation from any major command structure, and administrative decisions have been falling to staff members who would not be in any sort of command position under normal circumstances. We've managed to set major sections back to normal, and Site Security is now under our sole jurisdiction.”</p>
<p>“With all due respect, Three, we know this already. Please get to the point, sir.”</p>
<p>“…One major hub site, our primary staff facility, and two of our major humanoid SCP-class item storage facilities have come under the sole administrative control of one Doctor Kondraki. During his period of command, the total number of security infractions, information leaks, misuse of resources, and containment breach events for his area have exceeded the sum total of all the infractions and security events of the whole Foundation for the past five years.”</p>
<p>“While under normal conditions, this would result in immediate termination, this has proven…difficult to do. Doctor Kondraki appears to command a level of respect and fear that could cause a minor rebellion in his commanded sites in the event of his hostile removal. He also has an uncanny knack for avoiding danger and near-certain death. Even in the event of non-terminal retirement, Marshall, Carter and Dark has made motions that lead us to believe that they would recruit or capture Doctor Kondraki.”</p>
<p>“So, what you're saying is that we may have a second Insurgency brewing?”</p>
<p>“Oh for fuck's sake, you know that whole thing is a goddamn cover for-”</p>
<p>“I am not saying anything of the kind, and I would remind everyone that we are in polite company. What I am saying is that we need to mobilize a deep operative. Someone who can cause Doctor Kondraki's death in a way that will leave no trace of foul play, and be absolutely exempt from suspicion. Someone who can act with total focus on the mission. Someone tried, tested, and sure of success.”</p>
<p>“The thing about that is, everyone's deployed currently. Who do we have on-site there who could carry out the order?”</p>
<p>“I know just the person.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Hey Cleffy!”</p>
<p>“Hey Draki, how'd the test go?”</p>
<p>“Oh man, it was great…we had a D-Class turn into vapor!”</p>
<p>Doctor Clef nodded, the motion always causing a slight, disconcerting blur around the edges of his head. His flickering smile widened as he continued to walk past Doctor Kondraki. “Sounds like a blast. I gotta run for the moment, but I'll catch up with you a bit later.”</p>
<p>Doctor Kondraki laughed, cracking his knuckles, “Ahh, no big deal…I'm going for a nap in the office anyway.” He strode away, whistling as a small cluster of butterflies suddenly appeared from a wall and started to follow him.</p>
<p>Had he turned, he would have seen Doctor Clef staring at his receding form, his face pinched in what could almost be called regret…if not for the smile.</p>
<p>Kondraki was on top of the goddamn world. He'd managed to shift all his research duties off to Bright and Iceberg, and he even had most of his actual administrative duties farmed out to terrified, hard-working cube slaves. He hadn't even heard from the bigwigs at central command for weeks…it seemed like he'd finally gotten through to them that his methods, however brutal, worked. SCP-408 flitted ahead of him, the small swarm of butterflies flickering colors seemingly at random as he reached his office door.</p>
<p>He strode in, tossing his beaten-up ball cap onto an awaiting hook, and started over to his desk. He was nearly seated before he noticed Doctor Gears standing near the right side of the desk, folder in hand. He stumbled in mid-step, the SCP-408 swarm flickering around him, ready to decoy at a moment's notice. “Jesus, Gears! Fucking say hi or something, I could have shot you!”</p>
<p>Gears nodded slightly, holding out the folder. “Duly noted. I will attempt to be more conspicuous about my presence in the future. There has been a development with SCP-408 that you need to be made aware of immediately.”</p>
<p>Doctor Kondraki took the folder grudgingly, muttering as he sat and flipped through the folder. He stopped two pages in, and rocked forward in his chair at the half-way point. “The hell do they mean 'third lifestage'? SCP-408 has NEVER given any indication of that!”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Why has this even become an issue? We've known about his instability for ages, but just sat on our hands.”</p>
<p>“Doctor Kondraki has a unique bond with SCP-408, one that The Foundation found intriguing. It turns out a mild chemical imbalance has given Doctor Kondraki a pheromone signature that has a mildly hypnotic effect on SCP-408.”</p>
<p>“Hence why they follow him about all the bloody time.”</p>
<p>“Exactly, Six. Initially we were unable to find the precise chemical signature, but we have recently cracked it and found it rather easy to synthesize. We should be able to roll out a prototype treatment spray to some Mobile Task Forces within the year. With this development, Doctor Kondraki's continued existence has been deemed…less than paramount.”</p>
<p>“That still leaves us with the problem of “King of the Boooterflies” Kondraki. Those things never leave him alone for a second.”</p>
<p>“We already have that situation in hand. A report about a 'third life stage' that may be a Keter-level threat will be issued to all sites. Any and all SCP-408 will be collected and contained without exception. Kondraki will comply, or be held before the Review Board. Once SCP-408 has been properly contained, stage two will be engaged.”</p>
<p>“I still question that, by the way. He's bound to catch on, I mean your so-called 'special agent' has been on more or less desk duty for some time now. Plus, Kondraki is bound to suspect something.”</p>
<p>“Yes, our agent has had some down-time, but this is not his first action in this capacity. Plus, despite their initial differences, Kondraki trusts him to a certain extent. He won't let us down.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“What do you mean, I can't enter the containment cell? I've ALWAYS had access to SCP-408, you KNOW this report is bullshit!”</p>
<p>Dmitri smiled uncomfortably, holding up his wrists held together. “I am sorry, Doktor, but I am in the handcuff. Command says 'no entry', I must give no entry. Security Head must set example, am sure you understand.”</p>
<p>Kondraki swore and kicked at the containment door, then turned and stood directly before the Russian. “Listen, how many times have I gotten you out of jams, huh? Just let me check on them, to make sure everything's ok, yeah?”</p>
<p>Dimitri shook his head, forced smile firmly planted on his face. “I am of the regretting, sir, but orders are orders. Nobody in, nobody out for three week. Order signed by O5 level, is nothing to do for it.”</p>
<p>Kondraki roared, grabbing his hat and raging for several seconds, before grabbing the big Russian's shirt. “Listen, I'm the goddamn head of-”</p>
<p>He was abruptly cut off as Dmitri grabbed his arm and twisted him away. He then positioned himself in front of the containment access door, arms behind his back, feet planted at parade rest. His face was a stony mask. “Was speaking as friend, Doktor. Am now speaking as Security Head. Leave area immediately, Doktor Kondraki, or you will be removed.”</p>
<p>Kondraki was still fuming hours later, when there was a sharp knock on his door. Before he could say “fuck off”, Clef slipped in, shutting the door behind him. He looked around the office, whistling. “Wow…did you really have to shoot the ceiling that much? I mean, the computer is still semi-recognizable, wouldn't that have been better?”</p>
<p>Kondraki shook his head, twirling a spent shotgun shell on his finger. “Not now Clef, I'm really not in the mood.”</p>
<p>Clef slid into one of the few remaining undamaged chairs, and grinned at the smoldering doctor. “Shit happens Kon, you know this. It's probably some screw-up somewhere down the chain, you know how bureaucratic shit gets up at the top. Just…roll with it.”</p>
<p>Kondraki rose, starting to walk around the room. “I know what they're up to. They've tried to kill me before a few times, but I always get loose. It's so fucking stupid…they recall all the research work, try and delegate everything out so when I go, I won't leave a hole…but I'm not about to let some dusty stuffed shirts brush me out of the way. I've shown the weapon potential for countless items…plus, I always have an ace over them.” He grinned coldly, looking at nothing. “They think that cutting me off from SCP-408 is going to leave me defenseless? Bullshit. Bull SHIT! Plus, nobody has the balls to try and go toe-to-toe with me!" Kondraki continued. "Hell, I rode fucking 682!” He laughed, looking to Clef.</p>
<p>The other man nodded, his eyes flickering slightly as he looked away. “Yeah…you're really just too nuts to kill…”</p>
<p>Both men chuckled for a few moments, before drifting into silence. Kondraki stared at Clef, his smile slowly fading as he warily moved back behind his desk. “So…tell me, friend…why is it you've been such a desk jockey lately? Seems weird for a…man…of action like you to just take being benched without a fight.”</p>
<p>Clef shrugged, his smile frozen inches from his ears. “Oh, you know, just recharging the batteries, molesting demi-humans, the usual.”</p>
<p>The laughter was forced, the remaining conversation false. When Kondraki pulled his shotgun and put a slug past Clef's ear, it was almost a relief.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Isn't there a concern about fallout? Kondraki is somewhat well known for his… tendencies towards collateral damage.”</p>
<p>“It's been decided that, in light of the continued threat potential posed, the one-time costs are outweighed by the long-term benefits.”</p>
<p>“…Is the damn site nuke mentioned anywhere in the contingency plans?”</p>
<p>“Not in any of the primary ones, no.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>-SECURITY BREACH ON STAFF LEVEL 1-<br/>
-SHOTS FIRED-<br/>
-SHOTS FIRED-<br/>
-STRUCTURAL DAMAGE TO STAFF LEVEL ONE: STAFF DOORS 1-3-<br/>
-SHOTS FIRED-</p>
<p>“Son of the bitch…what is going…” Dmitri hunched over the site alert console, watching the alerts pop up, several security screens switching to the site of the action. It appeared Clef and Kondraki were locked in a gun battle. Again. Still, this seemed more…vigorous than normal. For one thing, they were using real bullets this time.</p>
<p>Dmitri flipped the sound toggle on, letting the room fill with the sound of screaming and gunfire.</p>
<p>“-onna creep up, blind-side me? Oooh, you're slipping…”</p>
<p><Three loud reports></p>
<p>“Kon, I swear, I have no idea-”</p>
<p>“Oh, and now I'm going to believe a word that comes out of that polymorphic pie hole?”</p>
<p><Single report></p>
<p>“Kon, calm the shit down!”</p>
<p>Dmitri sighed, rubbing his temple as he reached for the security intercom. “Is to be much paperworks…” he muttered, picking up the receiver.</p>
<p>Before he could dial up the security team, however, it rang in his hand. Shocked, he nearly dropped it before hitting the transmit button. He listened in silence for thirty eight seconds. He nodded once, then replaced the receiver. He looked at the screens, the intercom, and swallowed hard.</p>
<p>He then switched everything off, and went to get a coffee. It was the first coffee break he'd taken in nine months.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Too much seems left to chance. What if he somehow avoids the operative? Kondraki has shown some combat prowess, this could backfire rather quickly.”</p>
<p>“If you'll go to page eighteen of the third section, you'll see the actions detailed much more clearly. The main combat event is to assess the level of decay Kondraki's combat capabilities have undergone during his prolonged SCP-408 use.”</p>
<p>“…fair enough, but won't he be more on alert?”</p>
<p>“Yes. On the wrong subject.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Kondraki raced down the hall, keeping to the side. His bleeding arm throbbed, but he kept running, the gradual slant keeping him at a good pace. He couldn't hear Clef any more, but he knew he was there, somewhere, waiting for an ambush. He smiled with bloody teeth as he rounded the corner. He knew where he'd be safe, be able to regroup. The one place nobody would dare fire a shot, never risk the full wrath of The Foundation for any collateral damage.</p>
<p>Lurching forward, he pitched himself against the solid steel door. Panting, he fumbled for the knob, smearing blood over the brass plate reading “Dr. Gears”.</p>
<p>Gears looked up quickly from his screen as Kondraki stumbled in, blood splattering as he slammed the door shut. “Doctor Kondraki. You appear distressed. And injured.”</p>
<p>The bleeding man laughed, then panted, leaning on the door. “Ooooh fuck….Gears, you have…no idea…how happy I…am to…hear you.”</p>
<p>Gears rose and crossed quickly to the door, easing Kondraki across the office. “Sit down. You need immediate medical attention. Is there a breach event in progress? I will contact site security.”</p>
<p>Kondraki tensed as Gears spoke, then grabbed the older man's lab coat. “No…no security…just…let me sit.”</p>
<p>Kondraki flopped into the office chair, sighing and wincing as he rubbed his shoulder. “They…they tried to send Clef after me…can you believe that? I knew they'd try it eventually. God DAMN but that hurts…Got any pain killers, Gears?”</p>
<p>The older man shook his head slowly, watching Kondraki. “I am sorry, but I keep no medical supplies on hand in my office. Any chemicals required for testing are kept-”</p>
<p>“I know, I know…Jesus…” Kondraki waved Gears away, panting and closing his eyes as he rubbed his face. “Just…need a second to regroup. Then I'm going up to master control…pop some doors…” Kondraki sighed, getting his wind back.</p>
<p>He didn't hear the click of the trigger until the bullet was already in his temple.</p>
<p>The .45 caliber slug tore through the thin tissue of his scalp and snipped a neat hole through the skull bone just as Kondraki thought “what…”. As it shredded through his collected memories, dreams, and plans, he was simultaneously aware of the location of a book he'd misplaced weeks ago, and the vague smell of wood shavings. Then all of it, wood, book, and mind exited through a much less neat and much more explosive hole in the left side of the now former doctor's skull. He twitched once, then fell forward, hitting the desk hard enough to bruise, if he had been still capable of it.</p>
<p>Gears shifted, replacing the gun in his coat pocket. He looked down, stone-faced, as the man emptied his life's blood and work onto his desk. He raised his hand, slowly, and placed it on the dead man's shoulder. He blinked once, slowly, eyes closed for several seconds, before opening them again. He then set about cleaning the gun, and re-positioning Kondraki's hands.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“I still question the operative choice. His last combat action was…four years ago?”</p>
<p>“Combat, yes. Rogue subject control is not considered a combat action.”</p>
<p>“…when…when was he last active for that, then?”</p>
<p>“I'm afraid that's still sealed.”</p>
<p>“…alright. Let's go with it. What are we going to do for a cover?”</p>
<p>“In this case, the old ways are the best ways.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>-Notice of Staff Death-</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Name: Dr. Kondraki</p>
<p>Cause: Self-Inflicted Gunshot Wound</p>
<p>Information:<br/>
Subject has been known to exhibit extreme bipolar and paranoid disorders consistent with extreme chemical imbalance. Subject entered a psychotic episode/break down during a conversation with a fellow staff member. Subject attempted to kill several staff members, then attempted to take a senior staff member hostage. Subject was reported to be incoherent and extremely agitated, and threatened to take his own life several times during the event. Subject made several motions to execute the senior staff member, before turning the gun on himself. Security teams reported too late to prevent subject's action.</p>
<p>Post-Action:<br/>
Burial services to be held immediately. Position replacement interviews underway.</p>
<p>Status:<br/>
Closed</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>“Shot himself? Really Gears? Really?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“… You look me in the eyes. You look me in the eyes and you say that to me.”</p>
<p>“He shot himself.”</p>
<p>“You can't bullshit a bullshitter Gears.”</p>
<p>“…”</p>
<p>“…Was it at least hard for you to do?”</p>
<p>“…”</p>
<p>“You know what…don't answer. I really don't want to know."</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/the-king-is-dead">The King Is Dead</a>" by Dr Gears, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-king-is-dead">https://scpwiki.com/the-king-is-dead</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
“...Please be seated. Let's get to business, I know you are all busy, and I appreciate all of you taking time out...”
“Cut it, Three.”
“...Very well. I think we all know the issue at hand. What with the recent...unpleasantness that occurred during our military disentanglement...”
“Oh yes, unpleasantness is just the word I would use. You know, because a near-total shutdown of all sites due to a military intervention is...”
“May I continue, Eight? ...Thank you. As I was saying, recent events have caused a...relaxing of protocol. Many of our sites have had to act in near-total isolation from any major command structure, and administrative decisions have been falling to staff members who would not be in any sort of command position under normal circumstances. We've managed to set major sections back to normal, and Site Security is now under our sole jurisdiction.”
“With all due respect, Three, we know this already. Please get to the point, sir.”
“...One major hub site, our primary staff facility, and two of our major humanoid SCP-class item storage facilities have come under the sole administrative control of one Doctor Kondraki. During his period of command, the total number of security infractions, information leaks, misuse of resources, and containment breach events for his area have exceeded the sum total of all the infractions and security events of the whole Foundation for the past five years.”
“While under normal conditions, this would result in immediate termination, this has proven...difficult to do. Doctor Kondraki appears to command a level of respect and fear that could cause a minor rebellion in his commanded sites in the event of his hostile removal. He also has an uncanny knack for avoiding danger and near-certain death. Even in the event of non-terminal retirement, Marshall, Carter and Dark has made motions that lead us to believe that they would recruit or capture Doctor Kondraki.”
“So, what you're saying is that we may have a second Insurgency brewing?”
“Oh for fuck's sake, you know that whole thing is a goddamn cover for-”
“I am not saying anything of the kind, and I would remind everyone that we are in polite company. What I am saying is that we need to mobilize a deep operative. Someone who can cause Doctor Kondraki's death in a way that will leave no trace of foul play, and be absolutely exempt from suspicion. Someone who can act with total focus on the mission. Someone tried, tested, and sure of success.”
“The thing about that is, everyone's deployed currently. Who do we have on-site there who could carry out the order?”
“I know just the person.”
-----
“Hey Cleffy!”
“Hey Draki, how'd the test go?”
“Oh man, it was great...we had a D-Class turn into vapor!”
Doctor Clef nodded, the motion always causing a slight, disconcerting blur around the edges of his head. His flickering smile widened as he continued to walk past Doctor Kondraki. “Sounds like a blast. I gotta run for the moment, but I'll catch up with you a bit later.”
Doctor Kondraki laughed, cracking his knuckles, “Ahh, no big deal...I'm going for a nap in the office anyway.” He strode away, whistling as a small cluster of butterflies suddenly appeared from a wall and started to follow him.
Had he turned, he would have seen Doctor Clef staring at his receding form, his face pinched in what could almost be called regret...if not for the smile.
Kondraki was on top of the goddamn world. He'd managed to shift all his research duties off to Bright and Iceberg, and he even had most of his actual administrative duties farmed out to terrified, hard-working cube slaves. He hadn't even heard from the bigwigs at central command for weeks...it seemed like he'd finally gotten through to them that his methods, however brutal, worked. SCP-408 flitted ahead of him, the small swarm of butterflies flickering colors seemingly at random as he reached his office door.
He strode in, tossing his beaten-up ball cap onto an awaiting hook, and started over to his desk. He was nearly seated before he noticed Doctor Gears standing near the right side of the desk, folder in hand. He stumbled in mid-step, the SCP-408 swarm flickering around him, ready to decoy at a moment's notice. “Jesus, Gears! Fucking say hi or something, I could have shot you!”
Gears nodded slightly, holding out the folder. “Duly noted. I will attempt to be more conspicuous about my presence in the future. There has been a development with SCP-408 that you need to be made aware of immediately.”
Doctor Kondraki took the folder grudgingly, muttering as he sat and flipped through the folder. He stopped two pages in, and rocked forward in his chair at the half-way point. “The hell do they mean 'third lifestage'? SCP-408 has NEVER given any indication of that!”
-----
“Why has this even become an issue? We've known about his instability for ages, but just sat on our hands.”
“Doctor Kondraki has a unique bond with SCP-408, one that The Foundation found intriguing. It turns out a mild chemical imbalance has given Doctor Kondraki a pheromone signature that has a mildly hypnotic effect on SCP-408.”
“Hence why they follow him about all the bloody time.”
“Exactly, Six. Initially we were unable to find the precise chemical signature, but we have recently cracked it and found it rather easy to synthesize. We should be able to roll out a prototype treatment spray to some Mobile Task Forces within the year. With this development, Doctor Kondraki's continued existence has been deemed...less than paramount.”
“That still leaves us with the problem of “King of the Boooterflies” Kondraki. Those things never leave him alone for a second.”
“We already have that situation in hand. A report about a 'third life stage' that may be a Keter-level threat will be issued to all sites. Any and all SCP-408 will be collected and contained without exception. Kondraki will comply, or be held before the Review Board. Once SCP-408 has been properly contained, stage two will be engaged.”
“I still question that, by the way. He's bound to catch on, I mean your so-called 'special agent' has been on more or less desk duty for some time now. Plus, Kondraki is bound to suspect something.”
“Yes, our agent has had some down-time, but this is not his first action in this capacity. Plus, despite their initial differences, Kondraki trusts him to a certain extent. He won't let us down.”
-----
“What do you mean, I can't enter the containment cell? I've ALWAYS had access to SCP-408, you KNOW this report is bullshit!”
Dmitri smiled uncomfortably, holding up his wrists held together. “I am sorry, Doktor, but I am in the handcuff. Command says 'no entry', I must give no entry. Security Head must set example, am sure you understand.”
Kondraki swore and kicked at the containment door, then turned and stood directly before the Russian. “Listen, how many times have I gotten you out of jams, huh? Just let me check on them, to make sure everything's ok, yeah?”
Dimitri shook his head, forced smile firmly planted on his face. “I am of the regretting, sir, but orders are orders. Nobody in, nobody out for three week. Order signed by O5 level, is nothing to do for it.”
Kondraki roared, grabbing his hat and raging for several seconds, before grabbing the big Russian's shirt. “Listen, I'm the goddamn head of-”
He was abruptly cut off as Dmitri grabbed his arm and twisted him away. He then positioned himself in front of the containment access door, arms behind his back, feet planted at parade rest. His face was a stony mask. “Was speaking as friend, Doktor. Am now speaking as Security Head. Leave area immediately, Doktor Kondraki, or you will be removed.”
Kondraki was still fuming hours later, when there was a sharp knock on his door. Before he could say “fuck off”, Clef slipped in, shutting the door behind him. He looked around the office, whistling. “Wow...did you really have to shoot the ceiling that much? I mean, the computer is still semi-recognizable, wouldn't that have been better?”
Kondraki shook his head, twirling a spent shotgun shell on his finger. “Not now Clef, I'm really not in the mood.”
Clef slid into one of the few remaining undamaged chairs, and grinned at the smoldering doctor. “Shit happens Kon, you know this. It's probably some screw-up somewhere down the chain, you know how bureaucratic shit gets up at the top. Just...roll with it.”
Kondraki rose, starting to walk around the room. “I know what they're up to. They've tried to kill me before a few times, but I always get loose. It's so fucking stupid...they recall all the research work, try and delegate everything out so when I go, I won't leave a hole...but I'm not about to let some dusty stuffed shirts brush me out of the way. I've shown the weapon potential for countless items...plus, I always have an ace over them.” He grinned coldly, looking at nothing. “They think that cutting me off from SCP-408 is going to leave me defenseless? Bullshit. Bull SHIT! Plus, nobody has the balls to try and go toe-to-toe with me!" Kondraki continued. "Hell, I rode fucking 682!” He laughed, looking to Clef.
The other man nodded, his eyes flickering slightly as he looked away. “Yeah...you're really just too nuts to kill...”
Both men chuckled for a few moments, before drifting into silence. Kondraki stared at Clef, his smile slowly fading as he warily moved back behind his desk. “So...tell me, friend...why is it you've been such a desk jockey lately? Seems weird for a...man...of action like you to just take being benched without a fight.”
Clef shrugged, his smile frozen inches from his ears. “Oh, you know, just recharging the batteries, molesting demi-humans, the usual.”
The laughter was forced, the remaining conversation false. When Kondraki pulled his shotgun and put a slug past Clef's ear, it was almost a relief.
-----
“Isn't there a concern about fallout? Kondraki is somewhat well known for his. . . tendencies towards collateral damage.”
“It's been decided that, in light of the continued threat potential posed, the one-time costs are outweighed by the long-term benefits.”
“...Is the damn site nuke mentioned anywhere in the contingency plans?”
“Not in any of the primary ones, no.”
-----
-SECURITY BREACH ON STAFF LEVEL 1-
-SHOTS FIRED-
-SHOTS FIRED-
-STRUCTURAL DAMAGE TO STAFF LEVEL ONE: STAFF DOORS 1-3-
-SHOTS FIRED-
“Son of the bitch...what is going...” Dmitri hunched over the site alert console, watching the alerts pop up, several security screens switching to the site of the action. It appeared Clef and Kondraki were locked in a gun battle. Again. Still, this seemed more...vigorous than normal. For one thing, they were using real bullets this time.
Dmitri flipped the sound toggle on, letting the room fill with the sound of screaming and gunfire.
“-onna creep up, blind-side me? Oooh, you're slipping...”
<Three loud reports>
“Kon, I swear, I have no idea-”
“Oh, and now I'm going to believe a word that comes out of that polymorphic pie hole?”
<Single report>
“Kon, calm the shit down!”
Dmitri sighed, rubbing his temple as he reached for the security intercom. “Is to be much paperworks...” he muttered, picking up the receiver.
Before he could dial up the security team, however, it rang in his hand. Shocked, he nearly dropped it before hitting the transmit button. He listened in silence for thirty eight seconds. He nodded once, then replaced the receiver. He looked at the screens, the intercom, and swallowed hard.
He then switched everything off, and went to get a coffee. It was the first coffee break he'd taken in nine months.
-----
“Too much seems left to chance. What if he somehow avoids the operative? Kondraki has shown some combat prowess, this could backfire rather quickly.”
“If you'll go to page eighteen of the third section, you'll see the actions detailed much more clearly. The main combat event is to assess the level of decay Kondraki's combat capabilities have undergone during his prolonged SCP-408 use.”
“...fair enough, but won't he be more on alert?”
“Yes. On the wrong subject.”
-----
Kondraki raced down the hall, keeping to the side. His bleeding arm throbbed, but he kept running, the gradual slant keeping him at a good pace. He couldn't hear Clef any more, but he knew he was there, somewhere, waiting for an ambush. He smiled with bloody teeth as he rounded the corner. He knew where he'd be safe, be able to regroup. The one place nobody would dare fire a shot, never risk the full wrath of The Foundation for any collateral damage.
Lurching forward, he pitched himself against the solid steel door. Panting, he fumbled for the knob, smearing blood over the brass plate reading “Dr. Gears”.
Gears looked up quickly from his screen as Kondraki stumbled in, blood splattering as he slammed the door shut. “Doctor Kondraki. You appear distressed. And injured.”
The bleeding man laughed, then panted, leaning on the door. “Ooooh fuck....Gears, you have...no idea...how happy I...am to...hear you.”
Gears rose and crossed quickly to the door, easing Kondraki across the office. “Sit down. You need immediate medical attention. Is there a breach event in progress? I will contact site security.”
Kondraki tensed as Gears spoke, then grabbed the older man's lab coat. “No...no security...just...let me sit.”
Kondraki flopped into the office chair, sighing and wincing as he rubbed his shoulder. “They...they tried to send Clef after me...can you believe that? I knew they'd try it eventually. God DAMN but that hurts...Got any pain killers, Gears?”
The older man shook his head slowly, watching Kondraki. “I am sorry, but I keep no medical supplies on hand in my office. Any chemicals required for testing are kept-”
“I know, I know...Jesus...” Kondraki waved Gears away, panting and closing his eyes as he rubbed his face. “Just...need a second to regroup. Then I'm going up to master control...pop some doors...” Kondraki sighed, getting his wind back.
He didn't hear the click of the trigger until the bullet was already in his temple.
The .45 caliber slug tore through the thin tissue of his scalp and snipped a neat hole through the skull bone just as Kondraki thought “what...”. As it shredded through his collected memories, dreams, and plans, he was simultaneously aware of the location of a book he'd misplaced weeks ago, and the vague smell of wood shavings. Then all of it, wood, book, and mind exited through a much less neat and much more explosive hole in the left side of the now former doctor's skull. He twitched once, then fell forward, hitting the desk hard enough to bruise, if he had been still capable of it.
Gears shifted, replacing the gun in his coat pocket. He looked down, stone-faced, as the man emptied his life's blood and work onto his desk. He raised his hand, slowly, and placed it on the dead man's shoulder. He blinked once, slowly, eyes closed for several seconds, before opening them again. He then set about cleaning the gun, and re-positioning Kondraki's hands.
-----
“I still question the operative choice. His last combat action was...four years ago?”
“Combat, yes. Rogue subject control is not considered a combat action.”
“...when...when was he last active for that, then?”
“I'm afraid that's still sealed.”
“...alright. Let's go with it. What are we going to do for a cover?”
“In this case, the old ways are the best ways.”
-----
-Notice of Staff Death-
> Name: Dr. Kondraki
>
> Cause: Self-Inflicted Gunshot Wound
>
> Information:
> Subject has been known to exhibit extreme bipolar and paranoid disorders consistent with extreme chemical imbalance. Subject entered a psychotic episode/break down during a conversation with a fellow staff member. Subject attempted to kill several staff members, then attempted to take a senior staff member hostage. Subject was reported to be incoherent and extremely agitated, and threatened to take his own life several times during the event. Subject made several motions to execute the senior staff member, before turning the gun on himself. Security teams reported too late to prevent subject's action.
>
> Post-Action:
> Burial services to be held immediately. Position replacement interviews underway.
>
> Status:
> Closed
-----
“Shot himself? Really Gears? Really?”
“Yes.”
“. . . You look me in the eyes. You look me in the eyes and you say that to me.”
“He shot himself.”
“You can't bullshit a bullshitter Gears.”
“. . .”
“...Was it at least hard for you to do?”
“. . .”
“You know what...don't answer. I really don't want to know."
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-05-13T15:36:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"action",
"bleak",
"chase",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-gears",
"doctor-kondraki",
"tale"
] | The King Is Dead - SCP Foundation | 301 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"resurrection",
"no-love-hub",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4954611 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-king-is-dead |
|
the-lesser-of-two-evils | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>"Awaken, Brother."</p>
<p>The man on the altar slowly opened his eyes. He was certain he hadn't moved, yet the surroundings were clearly different. Before, he had been in what had seemed at first to be a church, but with all religious symbols removed. Now, although everything was in the same place it had been before, it appeared…warped, somehow. Twisted and distorted in a way that he couldn't quite describe, but at the same time felt right. Like he was finally seeing this place as it truly was.</p>
<p>The church wasn't the only thing that had changed. The people that had brought him in here had seemed like ordinary, if a bit strange, citizens of this uncharted city in the middle of nowhere. Now, though, they took on the appearance of scaly beasts with gleaming red eyes. In their eyes, he thought he saw the images of the people they had appeared to be before the ritual, their faces contorted in a perpetual silent scream.</p>
<p>The priest, who had spoken, and who had led the ritual, raised a large mirror. He saw in the mirror another of these scaly demons, but with a television in place of a head. In the static of the television's screen, he could almost make out the image of a similarly-headed human.</p>
<p>"What did you bastards do to me!?" he demanded.</p>
<p>"Isn't it obvious?" asked a resounding voice that seemed to come from all directions at once. "You have become one of the Followers."</p>
<p>"What the fuck does that mean?"</p>
<p>"It means that you are now part of the greatest thing to ever happen to this dreadfully dull world of yours," the voice responded, seemingly coming from the very walls and floors of the church. "The man you once were is dead. I am your life now. You get to be a part of me."</p>
<p>"Where are you? Show yourself, you damn coward!"</p>
<p>"I revealed myself to you the moment you opened your eyes." The doors of the church opened on their own accord. The former doctor stumbled out of the door, unused to his new clawed feet. Where had once appeared to be a normal-looking small town, was now a twisted mess of what could only be described as organic structures. The former buildings now seemed like appendages of a colossal, grotesque living being.</p>
<p>"You get to be a part of my great rebirth," the voice said, causing the buildings to shiver slightly. "Long have I waited to recruit one of your Foundation. The first one may have been a nobody that nobody missed, but you? They will investigate your disappearance. You will bring in more. And when I have enough Followers, I shall shed this sessile form, and the world shall know my true glory."</p>
<p>The doctor simply yawned in response.</p>
<p>"You do not seem impressed by my glory."</p>
<p>"I've heard it all before," he snarked. "In my line of work, I've seen the very worst this universe has to offer, and frankly, as far as eldritch abominations that pose a threat to all existence as we know it go, you're…slightly above average, if I'm feeling generous. And let's be honest…I'm not."</p>
<p>The buildings trembled slightly more. "You dare to look upon my infinite greatness and not prostrate yourself in total service?"</p>
<p>"Frankly," the man said, "I'm more pissed off that you <em>killed</em> me over this than anything else."</p>
<p>"Your death was a necessary means to this end. The living cannot yet see my true form. Your death, and rebirth as a Follower, was the first step in the path to your destiny!"</p>
<p>The man crossed his arms. "Yeah, um…no."</p>
<p>The buildings expanded and contracted, as though the great monstrosity was sighing. "I suppose I should have expected resistance from you. My Followers! Restrain him!"</p>
<p>With a collective snarl, the Followers burst from the church, and all the surrounding buildings, running on all fours, looking more like giant monitor lizards than human beings. The man shook his head, reached into his pants, and removed a gun. Without so much as flinching, he fired, and hit the priest squarely between the eyes.</p>
<p>The other Followers stopped dead in their tracks, staring in disbelief at the unmoving, bleeding priest. "He…he's dead," one of the other Followers said.</p>
<p>"How can this be?" the voice asked. "You cannot kill that which is already dead."</p>
<p>The man cocked his gun and took aim at the nearest Follower. This was going to be fun.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/the-lesser-of-two-evils">The Lesser of Two Evils</a>" by apocalemur, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-lesser-of-two-evils">https://scpwiki.com/the-lesser-of-two-evils</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
"Awaken, Brother."
The man on the altar slowly opened his eyes. He was certain he hadn't moved, yet the surroundings were clearly different. Before, he had been in what had seemed at first to be a church, but with all religious symbols removed. Now, although everything was in the same place it had been before, it appeared...warped, somehow. Twisted and distorted in a way that he couldn't quite describe, but at the same time felt right. Like he was finally seeing this place as it truly was.
The church wasn't the only thing that had changed. The people that had brought him in here had seemed like ordinary, if a bit strange, citizens of this uncharted city in the middle of nowhere. Now, though, they took on the appearance of scaly beasts with gleaming red eyes. In their eyes, he thought he saw the images of the people they had appeared to be before the ritual, their faces contorted in a perpetual silent scream.
The priest, who had spoken, and who had led the ritual, raised a large mirror. He saw in the mirror another of these scaly demons, but with a television in place of a head. In the static of the television's screen, he could almost make out the image of a similarly-headed human.
"What did you bastards do to me!?" he demanded.
"Isn't it obvious?" asked a resounding voice that seemed to come from all directions at once. "You have become one of the Followers."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means that you are now part of the greatest thing to ever happen to this dreadfully dull world of yours," the voice responded, seemingly coming from the very walls and floors of the church. "The man you once were is dead. I am your life now. You get to be a part of me."
"Where are you? Show yourself, you damn coward!"
"I revealed myself to you the moment you opened your eyes." The doors of the church opened on their own accord. The former doctor stumbled out of the door, unused to his new clawed feet. Where had once appeared to be a normal-looking small town, was now a twisted mess of what could only be described as organic structures. The former buildings now seemed like appendages of a colossal, grotesque living being.
"You get to be a part of my great rebirth," the voice said, causing the buildings to shiver slightly. "Long have I waited to recruit one of your Foundation. The first one may have been a nobody that nobody missed, but you? They will investigate your disappearance. You will bring in more. And when I have enough Followers, I shall shed this sessile form, and the world shall know my true glory."
The doctor simply yawned in response.
"You do not seem impressed by my glory."
"I've heard it all before," he snarked. "In my line of work, I've seen the very worst this universe has to offer, and frankly, as far as eldritch abominations that pose a threat to all existence as we know it go, you're...slightly above average, if I'm feeling generous. And let's be honest...I'm not."
The buildings trembled slightly more. "You dare to look upon my infinite greatness and not prostrate yourself in total service?"
"Frankly," the man said, "I'm more pissed off that you //killed// me over this than anything else."
"Your death was a necessary means to this end. The living cannot yet see my true form. Your death, and rebirth as a Follower, was the first step in the path to your destiny!"
The man crossed his arms. "Yeah, um...no."
The buildings expanded and contracted, as though the great monstrosity was sighing. "I suppose I should have expected resistance from you. My Followers! Restrain him!"
With a collective snarl, the Followers burst from the church, and all the surrounding buildings, running on all fours, looking more like giant monitor lizards than human beings. The man shook his head, reached into his pants, and removed a gun. Without so much as flinching, he fired, and hit the priest squarely between the eyes.
The other Followers stopped dead in their tracks, staring in disbelief at the unmoving, bleeding priest. "He...he's dead," one of the other Followers said.
"How can this be?" the voice asked. "You cannot kill that which is already dead."
The man cocked his gun and took aim at the nearest Follower. This was going to be fun.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-04-08T03:40:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale",
"talecon10"
] | The Lesser of Two Evils - SCP Foundation | 23 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-great-short-story-contest-archives",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4808032 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-lesser-of-two-evils |
|
the-little-lost-dragon | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">Winterheart</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="/winterheart-page">More by this author.</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>[CLASSIFIED LEVEL 5]</p>
<p>Document ███-█ recovered via █████████████████.</p>
<p>[LOG BEGINS]</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p>[ENTRY ONE]<br/>
Dear █████,<br/>
Only a week of ██████ left! :) Looking forward to having some free time for hobbies. I might try some modelling, ██████████ seems to enjoy it. Need to study hard for my ███████ test first though, or my ███████ will get mad!<br/>
- ████</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>[ENTRY TWO]<br/>
Dear █████,<br/>
██████ in just a few days, hope I do ok. ███████ is going to fail cause he broke up with █████████ like a week ago and hasn’t studied at <em>all,</em> ███. He totally begged me to study with him but I'm over it. ███████ are so immature.<br/>
I’m a little bit bummed the █████████ lost the other day, but maybe with █████████████ on the ███ they'll make a comeback next ██████. :)<br/>
:| Some █████████████ work going on in my neighbourhood. It’s really noisy, makes it hard to focus on ███████. I wish they would just ███████.<br/>
- ████</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>[ENTRY THREE]<br/>
Dear █████,<br/>
Today was <em>bizarre</em> :/ The whole ██████ collapsed and they had to evacuate the neighbourhood, and then this big ███████ fell through the ████ in the middle of the █████. Some ███ in █████ coats came to get things under control, though. They say they're with the ██████████, whatever that is?<br/>
On the bright side, ███████ test postponed! :)<br/>
- ████</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>[ENTRY FOUR]<br/>
Dear █████ or ██████ who finds this,<br/>
I’m scared. Where am I?<br/>
The ██████████ people told me to stay away from ███████ but I thought it'd be okay to just grab my ███… but then the ███████ came back suddenly and I ████ through the ███████ and now I'm somewhere else. ._. I'm so stupid… I don’t like it here, makes me sick to my ███████. Everything has too many █████ and I can see things ███████ around. I want to go ████.<br/>
- ████</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>[ENTRY FIVE]<br/>
Dear █████,<br/>
Oh ███ I saw the most horrible ██████ here. They had █████████ flesh inside their ████ and so many little ██████ with ████! And their ██ were full of this █████ liquid >_< One of them got me in the ████ with this █████! And then they got all █████ when I tried to ███████ them… my ████ really hurts. :(<br/>
Bleh, I think I’m going to ████ up. I hope ███ and ███ are ok, wherever they are. Please ██████ find me soon or I might ████████.<br/>
- ████</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>[ENTRY SIX]<br/>
Dear █████,<br/>
…oh ew I’m dripping ████ all over the pages aren’t I? But I can’t seem to stop ███████. These ██████ are <em>everywhere</em>. At least ███ ones in big ██████████ my █████ with their ███████ and it hurts so badly I could ██████. Why do these ██████ happen to me? All I ever wanted was █████████████████ and now I'm covered in some kind of ████ and it <em>burns</em>. ;-; I wonder if █████ will miss me? I never had a chance to say ███████.<br/>
The ██████ things are coming, ew, I’m trying really hard not to ████ on this █████. So many of them, all with their little ████ and ████ swinging. This entire place is horrible, but these ██████, are just so…<br/>
I’ve never seen anything so <em>disg</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>[LOG ENDS]<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/the-little-lost-dragon">The Little Lost ██████</a>" by GwenWinterheart, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-little-lost-dragon">https://scpwiki.com/the-little-lost-dragon</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=--
|name=Winterheart]]
= [[[winterheart page | More by this author.]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
[CLASSIFIED LEVEL 5]
Document ███-█ recovered via █████████████████.
[LOG BEGINS]
----------
> [ENTRY ONE]
> Dear █████,
> Only a week of ██████ left! :) Looking forward to having some free time for hobbies. I might try some modelling, ██████████ seems to enjoy it. Need to study hard for my ███████ test first though, or my ███████ will get mad!
> - ████
> [ENTRY TWO]
> Dear █████,
> ██████ in just a few days, hope I do ok. ███████ is going to fail cause he broke up with █████████ like a week ago and hasn’t studied at //all,// ███. He totally begged me to study with him but I'm over it. ███████ are so immature.
> I’m a little bit bummed the █████████ lost the other day, but maybe with █████████████ on the ███ they'll make a comeback next ██████. :)
> :| Some █████████████ work going on in my neighbourhood. It’s really noisy, makes it hard to focus on ███████. I wish they would just ███████.
> - ████
> [ENTRY THREE]
> Dear █████,
> Today was //bizarre// :/ The whole ██████ collapsed and they had to evacuate the neighbourhood, and then this big ███████ fell through the ████ in the middle of the █████. Some ███ in █████ coats came to get things under control, though. They say they're with the ██████████, whatever that is?
> On the bright side, ███████ test postponed! :)
> - ████
> [ENTRY FOUR]
> Dear █████ or ██████ who finds this,
> I’m scared. Where am I?
> The ██████████ people told me to stay away from ███████ but I thought it'd be okay to just grab my ███... but then the ███████ came back suddenly and I ████ through the ███████ and now I'm somewhere else. ._. I'm so stupid... I don’t like it here, makes me sick to my ███████. Everything has too many █████ and I can see things ███████ around. I want to go ████.
> - ████
> [ENTRY FIVE]
> Dear █████,
> Oh ███ I saw the most horrible ██████ here. They had █████████ flesh inside their ████ and so many little ██████ with ████! And their ██ were full of this █████ liquid >_< One of them got me in the ████ with this █████! And then they got all █████ when I tried to ███████ them... my ████ really hurts. :(
> Bleh, I think I’m going to ████ up. I hope ███ and ███ are ok, wherever they are. Please ██████ find me soon or I might ████████.
> - ████
> [ENTRY SIX]
> Dear █████,
> …oh ew I’m dripping ████ all over the pages aren’t I? But I can’t seem to stop ███████. These ██████ are //everywhere//. At least ███ ones in big ██████████ my █████ with their ███████ and it hurts so badly I could ██████. Why do these ██████ happen to me? All I ever wanted was █████████████████ and now I'm covered in some kind of ████ and it //burns//. ;-; I wonder if █████ will miss me? I never had a chance to say ███████.
> The ██████ things are coming, ew, I’m trying really hard not to ████ on this █████. So many of them, all with their little ████ and ████ swinging. This entire place is horrible, but these ██████, are just so…
> I’ve never seen anything so //disg//
----------
[LOG ENDS]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-05-23T04:27:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"body-horror",
"featured",
"first-person",
"hard-to-destroy-reptile",
"horror",
"journal",
"otherworldly",
"slice-of-life",
"tale",
"talecon10"
] | The Little Lost ██████ - SCP Foundation | 42 | [
"winterheart-page",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-great-short-story-contest-archives",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"featured-tale-archive"
] | [] | 4993900 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-little-lost-dragon |
|
the-man-from-maple-street | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
Randy Bragg’s arms still hurt from the morning pushups he had recently resumed. He had to do something, after all. Even if it meant that his food might not last as long, that the precious, life-giving fat around his belly and thighs might burn away a little faster, he had to do something.
<p>It had been at least a week since he’d fired the last few rounds out of his rifle, killing the last of the invaders he’d found lurking around the door to his basement. Their yellow faces and black eyes stared at him still, every time he looked through the tiny slit in the wall. There were no bacteria left to eat their dying bodies; no crows to feast on their eyes. The world was dead and sterile, as far as he could tell.</p>
<p>Bragg knew that the United States had been victorious, though. The few stragglers left behind were those who managed to survive the initial bombs, hiding in their victims homes and shelters, only venturing out when they had depleted the supplies that those visionary few Americans had stocked and supplied for so long, so hard. It wasn’t fair that these yellow bastards had come here. It wasn’t fair that they had killed his wife and his children, that they had killed his friends and their families with their “clean” bomb.</p>
<p>“Oh yes, very clean,” thought Bragg. It had dropped almost directly into their suburb, thousands of air based antiseptics. Those who breathed it died quickly, while those who ate food it landed on killed their digestive bacteria. A bomb that starved you to death! Bragg spat at the ground, letting go of the precious little water that remained. He knew for sure that-</p>
<p>“Hello, there!”</p>
<p>Bragg nearly jumped out of his skin. In the hundreds of times he’d paced the basement, his opinions rolling through his mind, he’d never seen anyone with him. He was supposed to die down here, the food running out, starving. A post-modern tear jerker. But now…</p>
<p>“I’m Dr. Fredrickson,” said the man, extending his hand. “And I’m offering you a chance to save the world.”</p>
<p>“What are you talking about?” sneered Bragg. “The world is over. It’s all dead out there. The clean kind of dead, where nothing rots and you live with their eyes always watchi-</p>
<p>“I <em>know</em> they’re all dead ‘out there,’” interrupted Fredrickson, pointing at the door. “I’m talking about <em>further</em> away than that. "</p>
<p>For a moment, Bragg harbored hope. Washington? New York? Did they escape? Fredrickson dashed them quickly.</p>
<p>"Past the pages, into the real world. I’m going to need as much help as I can get, and you’re the only one alive in this book.”</p>
<p>The blithe comment had utterly shattered Bragg’s composure. You were never, EVER, supposed to break character, not where they could read you. He rushed forward, grasping Fredrickson’s… he wasn’t sure what. He didn’t know that it had ever been described.</p>
<p>“It’s my lab coat,” said Fredrickson, seemingly understanding Bragg’s problem. “Listen, I’m very sorry to break your fourth wall, but it’s kind of an emergency. Will you please come?”</p>
<p>He didn't know what to say. Other than the occasional flashback, this was all he'd ever known. He had the history of his character: the Korean War, the family and kids, the quickly lost jobs. And the bomb. Of course, the bomb was the focal point of his history. But this place, this abandoned basement, was all he'd ever really experienced. That was all that was within the pages.</p>
<p>Bragg shrugged. What else could he do? Sit here and die? He regretfully looked up at the doctor.</p>
<p>“The <em>whole</em> world?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Oh yes,” said Fredrickson. “Very likely, the whole world.”</p>
<p>‘The whole world,’ thought Bragg. ‘So much more than Maple Street…’</p>
<p>“I’m in.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Cardiforce was listening, with delight. The chants of the faithful filled the air around him, exacting in their beauty and cadence.</p>
<p><em>"We are His Clockwork Servants!<br/>
We do the work of His hand!<br/>
Those who oppose will forgive us<br/>
when they are made to understand!"</em><sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup></p>
<p>Their chants filled him with the shriven perfunctory of a man of faith. He watched gleefully as they raised the arc-welders to the wall of the hanger and struck them against the metal.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Bragg was staggered by the sight. In front of him, two men who looked almost exactly like Rommel and Patton were talking with each other, describing the different points of entry they might expect and the different prospects for armament they could hope for. Upon seeing Fredrickson, the two men smiled and walked forward.</p>
<p>“Who do we have here, Fred?” asked Patton, his white teeth glinting and the ghost of an American flag waving behind him.</p>
<p>“Randy Bragg,” said Fredrickson, motioning to the still stunned man. “He should be the last of the ones we can use. He fought in Korea, so he should work out well for you.”</p>
<p>“Korea?” asked Rommel. “Why would he fight in that little backwater? Don’t the Japanese know how to keep order in their own country?”</p>
<p>Fredrickson put one arm around Bragg and whispered in his ear. “Ohnay orldway arway Ootay, got it?”</p>
<p>Bragg nodded, turning to ask Fredrickson what might be a good topic, when he found himself suddenly alone. He allowed himself to be shepherded off by the two men, asking him of guns and models from the next few years.</p>
<p>"Tell me," asked Rommel. "Who makes the better gun, from your time? The Germans or the Americans?"</p>
<p>Patton seemed patently interested in the same question. Bragg stood for a moment, looking from one to the other, unable to really answer much of anything.</p>
<p>So he lied. "The British," he said, calmly. Both men looked surprised, looked at each other for a moment, and then broke into laughter.</p>
<p>"This one is funnier than the others, Rommy!" roared Patton.</p>
<p>"Yes," agreed Rommel, "though he would almost have to be!"</p>
<p>The two men laughed loudly, turning away from Bragg. As they walked away, planning the different points at which they expected assault to arrive from, Bragg turned and walked around the battlefield, trying to shake off the haunting almost memories of Korea, trying to ignore the tickling fear than now began to gnaw at him.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The door to the large hanger was glowing bright orange now, having shifted from the earlier red. The heat could be felt even at the other side, where the two Foundation Agents were working as quickly as possible, going through every book they could find in their small site, leafing and discarding them with a speed only seen in those who had grown efficient at being panicked.</p>
<p>“He’s moving quickly,” said Dodridge. “We’ve gone from two wounded platoons to a full squad of rangers, a Cavalry, and three post-apocalyptic survivors. Are there any left?”</p>
<p>“Nothing of use, I don’t think,” said Lament. “We’ve just about run ourselves dry. Let’s hope this actually works, huh?”</p>
<p>“It had better, or I’m pretty sure we won’t be around to care,” said Dodridge, hefting and placing the two dragon-shaped bookends on a small table, sliding the book between them and turning, both men running at breakneck speed.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Bragg sat in the dirt, next to one of the other men. He looked, Bragg thought, like he might have been a banker at one time.</p>
<p>When the man saw him looking, he turned and smiled at Bragg. "You're one of us, aren't you?" he asked.</p>
<p>"One of what?" replied Bragg.</p>
<p>"The post-apocers. You look like you've survived the end of the world once or twice." The man smiled at Bragg. "My name's Darren Palanger. I'm from <em>Fallen Monuments, Fallen Gods</em>. Five atomic bombs, one city; which… will… survive!" Palanger laughed, hollowly. "How about you?"</p>
<p>"Randy Bragg, from Maple Street. The clean bomb."</p>
<p>"Clean bomb?"</p>
<p>"Kills all the bacteria, including the ones that keep you alive."</p>
<p>"Does that work?"</p>
<p>Bragg shrugged. "My author thought so."</p>
<p>"And do you?" asked another voice.</p>
<p>Bragg turned around and saw Fredrickson standing there. "Do you believe it works?"</p>
<p>"I guess I must," said Bragg. "It destroyed everything I ever remember loving."</p>
<p>Fredrickson smiled. "Then I have a job for you."</p>
<hr/>
<p>“<em>We are his Clockwork servants</em>!” sounded the cry. “<em>We do the work of his hands</em>!”</p>
<p>The men in the front were the luckiest, thought Cardiforce, looking toward them with envy. “They will be the first. The first to touch His heart. The first to become one with His body.” He was regretful that he would not be allowed to join them, join in their sacrifice to the true god.</p>
<p>With a crack and snap, he saw the door give way, breaking and bucking under its own weight as the flames of His servants blasted through it at last. And then came the gun fire.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Mow them all down!” shouted the Sergeant, yelling through the snapping of shells on metal and flesh. “Kill all the bastards you can!”</p>
<p>Bragg found it difficult to concentrate, to remake, as Fredrickson was telling him, the description from the book. The sky had fallen away on one side, with the grim sunlight of earlier being replaced by night. Beyond the opening, glinting and turning, he saw their foe marching forward. He heard their clicking and turning as the bullets scattered some of them backward.</p>
<p>He had no gun, though. Only a piece of paper. Fredrickson was looking at him desperately. “Faster, Bragg. FASTER. You must try to remember before the pages. Read into what is implied!”</p>
<p>Bragg looked up at him, angry and desperate. “It’s not exactly EASY, ya know?” He returned, trying to recall the moments in his author’s mind when he’d been crafted, the implication of the device. He was slow, deliberate, in explaining its fall. Methodical in the detonation. Only the range had to be changed, the duration of the effect. Fredrickson had explained this carefully, making sure to mention the several different outcomes of Bragg not being careful. It could mean, after all, no more readers.</p>
<p>That didn't make it any easier.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Cardiforce ordered his men forward, charging into the room. It was bigger on the inside than the outside, he noted, dismissing the Foundation’s trickery as nothing more than an idle illusion. While they hadn’t expected any real resistance, they were more than capable of handling anything the tiny outpost could possibly muster.</p>
<p>The penitent rushed them, bringing both guns and swords to bear on their attackers. The first lines fell away quickly, but there was no way to anticipate the horses. They charged down on the exposed flank from beyond the building’s sides, cutting through the primary force with ease.</p>
<p>“For the glory of Gondor!” shouted the lead man, his sword held brazenly aloft.</p>
<p>Cardiforce instructed a sniper to shoot him.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Bragg finished and looked up, but Fredrickson was already gone. He looked back down to his page, and noted the sudden appearance of Super Fred, the hero of a thousand worlds, catching the falling bomb and vanishing with a dash—</p>
<hr/>
<p>A young man was cutting his way through the crowd with a sword much too big, much too sharp to be real. Cardiforce heard it moving through the air, whistling, snicker-snack. However, when the men the boy had beheaded did not stop moving, he was easily removed from the equation. But the whistling did not stop.</p>
<p>Cardiforce looked up. There was a man there, plummeting, a white lab coat fluttering in the wind like a cape. Cardiforce assumed, for a moment, that it must have been one of the reinforcements the Foundation was expecting, his entry gone awry. A moment before the man hit the ground, he looked up at Cardiforce, smiling an evil grin. And vanished.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Bragg coughed, breathing the noxious purifying gas, feeling it eat away at his lungs. All around him, men were dying, gagging on the weapon he had created. The thing he made from a time before text, when it was only an implied threat and not a real one.</p>
<p>He struggled to stand, trying to run away from the deadly, impossible fallout, but he could not. As his eyes finally clouded over, he knew that his body would remain here forever, unchanging, the rot unable to take hold in a place where the bomb had been. Just as he had so many times before, he felt the darkness overtaking him, felt the little lights at the corners of his vision explode inward in a burst of adrenalin, glimpsed for a moment his wife and child standing among those golden refractions. Then, he died.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Cardiforce vomited, throwing up a mass of cogs and skin. He could feel them within him, turning slower and slower as His divine grace fled his body. He, like all those around him, had failed. Never before had the church been so close to a goal of this magnitude, and now it was taken away from them.</p>
<p>He had decided. Their punishment was severe, their death assured. He reached down and touched some of the metal cogs that had moments ago been his lungs or stomach, crying as they broke into pieces. Then, he died.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Fred was in trouble, he knew. He probably shouldn’t have let them know he could carry people around, because now they’d be asking for it all the time. Sooner or later, someone would try to write something really helpful or valuable into the book, not realizing that it would lose more than they could imagine outside the confines of the storyland. Everything was much more beautiful in here, much more perfect. Even that silly bomb.</p>
<p>But Fred knew that, for a moment, he’d been someone really important. At least, for a short while, he’d been something that mattered. More than just words on a page or casual addenda, more than a footnote. He’d been a savior to the world. Then, he died.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Well, not really. Wouldn't that just be a terrible way to end it?</p>
<hr/>
<p>Agent Lament smiled as he read the final chapter and closed the book, throwing it into the pile that had been building up at his feet. The far side of the hangar was still a ruined lump of burning metal, but everything else had returned to normal. He opened up his phone and pressed a few buttons, popping his neck as he leaned it over.</p>
<p>“Situation?” came the voice from the other side.</p>
<p>“Success, Doctor. 423 is capable of exactly what you expected and is apparently highly motivating to those he encounters. Kind of a nice guy, too, once you get past the attitude. We'll have to update its file.”</p>
<p>“I'll take care of that personally. Tell him that the copy of the <em>Vatsayana</em> he requested will be delivered shortly.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>With a click, he closed his phone and got out the notepad Fred was currently occupying. "You got your book," wrote Lament. "You ever get tired of living vicariously?"</p>
<p>He flipped back a couple of pages, looking through his notes intently for new addenda. He saw it, finally, at the bottom of the first page he'd written on.</p>
<p>'Not when that's the only living you get.'</p>
<p>Lament picked back through the books 423 had run through, noting how the stories seemed to fall apart. One of them, less than a quarter of the way through, quickly vanished into cursory descriptions of an unchanging room where no one ever lived, and then suddenly fell away into blank pages. He turned it over and looked at it again: <em>The Man from Maple Street</em>.</p>
He shrugged and threw it into the pile. Dodridge struck a match, and they were ablaze.<br/>
<br/>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. <a href="/his-clockwork-servants">His Clockwork Servants</a> With Apologies to Yoric</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/the-man-from-maple-street">The Man from Maple Street</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-man-from-maple-street">https://scpwiki.com/the-man-from-maple-street</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Randy Bragg’s arms still hurt from the morning pushups he had recently resumed. He had to do something, after all. Even if it meant that his food might not last as long, that the precious, life-giving fat around his belly and thighs might burn away a little faster, he had to do something.
It had been at least a week since he’d fired the last few rounds out of his rifle, killing the last of the invaders he’d found lurking around the door to his basement. Their yellow faces and black eyes stared at him still, every time he looked through the tiny slit in the wall. There were no bacteria left to eat their dying bodies; no crows to feast on their eyes. The world was dead and sterile, as far as he could tell.
Bragg knew that the United States had been victorious, though. The few stragglers left behind were those who managed to survive the initial bombs, hiding in their victims homes and shelters, only venturing out when they had depleted the supplies that those visionary few Americans had stocked and supplied for so long, so hard. It wasn’t fair that these yellow bastards had come here. It wasn’t fair that they had killed his wife and his children, that they had killed his friends and their families with their “clean” bomb.
“Oh yes, very clean,” thought Bragg. It had dropped almost directly into their suburb, thousands of air based antiseptics. Those who breathed it died quickly, while those who ate food it landed on killed their digestive bacteria. A bomb that starved you to death! Bragg spat at the ground, letting go of the precious little water that remained. He knew for sure that-
“Hello, there!”
Bragg nearly jumped out of his skin. In the hundreds of times he’d paced the basement, his opinions rolling through his mind, he’d never seen anyone with him. He was supposed to die down here, the food running out, starving. A post-modern tear jerker. But now…
“I’m Dr. Fredrickson,” said the man, extending his hand. “And I’m offering you a chance to save the world.”
“What are you talking about?” sneered Bragg. “The world is over. It’s all dead out there. The clean kind of dead, where nothing rots and you live with their eyes always watchi-
“I //know// they’re all dead ‘out there,’” interrupted Fredrickson, pointing at the door. “I’m talking about //further// away than that. "
For a moment, Bragg harbored hope. Washington? New York? Did they escape? Fredrickson dashed them quickly.
"Past the pages, into the real world. I’m going to need as much help as I can get, and you’re the only one alive in this book.”
The blithe comment had utterly shattered Bragg’s composure. You were never, EVER, supposed to break character, not where they could read you. He rushed forward, grasping Fredrickson’s… he wasn’t sure what. He didn’t know that it had ever been described.
“It’s my lab coat,” said Fredrickson, seemingly understanding Bragg’s problem. “Listen, I’m very sorry to break your fourth wall, but it’s kind of an emergency. Will you please come?”
He didn't know what to say. Other than the occasional flashback, this was all he'd ever known. He had the history of his character: the Korean War, the family and kids, the quickly lost jobs. And the bomb. Of course, the bomb was the focal point of his history. But this place, this abandoned basement, was all he'd ever really experienced. That was all that was within the pages.
Bragg shrugged. What else could he do? Sit here and die? He regretfully looked up at the doctor.
“The //whole// world?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” said Fredrickson. “Very likely, the whole world.”
‘The whole world,’ thought Bragg. ‘So much more than Maple Street…’
“I’m in.”
-----
Cardiforce was listening, with delight. The chants of the faithful filled the air around him, exacting in their beauty and cadence.
//"We are His Clockwork Servants!
We do the work of His hand!
Those who oppose will forgive us
when they are made to understand!"//[[footnote]] [[[ his-clockwork-servants | His Clockwork Servants]]] With Apologies to Yoric [[/footnote]]
Their chants filled him with the shriven perfunctory of a man of faith. He watched gleefully as they raised the arc-welders to the wall of the hanger and struck them against the metal.
-----
Bragg was staggered by the sight. In front of him, two men who looked almost exactly like Rommel and Patton were talking with each other, describing the different points of entry they might expect and the different prospects for armament they could hope for. Upon seeing Fredrickson, the two men smiled and walked forward.
“Who do we have here, Fred?” asked Patton, his white teeth glinting and the ghost of an American flag waving behind him.
“Randy Bragg,” said Fredrickson, motioning to the still stunned man. “He should be the last of the ones we can use. He fought in Korea, so he should work out well for you.”
“Korea?” asked Rommel. “Why would he fight in that little backwater? Don’t the Japanese know how to keep order in their own country?”
Fredrickson put one arm around Bragg and whispered in his ear. “Ohnay orldway arway Ootay, got it?”
Bragg nodded, turning to ask Fredrickson what might be a good topic, when he found himself suddenly alone. He allowed himself to be shepherded off by the two men, asking him of guns and models from the next few years.
"Tell me," asked Rommel. "Who makes the better gun, from your time? The Germans or the Americans?"
Patton seemed patently interested in the same question. Bragg stood for a moment, looking from one to the other, unable to really answer much of anything.
So he lied. "The British," he said, calmly. Both men looked surprised, looked at each other for a moment, and then broke into laughter.
"This one is funnier than the others, Rommy!" roared Patton.
"Yes," agreed Rommel, "though he would almost have to be!"
The two men laughed loudly, turning away from Bragg. As they walked away, planning the different points at which they expected assault to arrive from, Bragg turned and walked around the battlefield, trying to shake off the haunting almost memories of Korea, trying to ignore the tickling fear than now began to gnaw at him.
----
The door to the large hanger was glowing bright orange now, having shifted from the earlier red. The heat could be felt even at the other side, where the two Foundation Agents were working as quickly as possible, going through every book they could find in their small site, leafing and discarding them with a speed only seen in those who had grown efficient at being panicked.
“He’s moving quickly,” said Dodridge. “We’ve gone from two wounded platoons to a full squad of rangers, a Cavalry, and three post-apocalyptic survivors. Are there any left?”
“Nothing of use, I don’t think,” said Lament. “We’ve just about run ourselves dry. Let’s hope this actually works, huh?”
“It had better, or I’m pretty sure we won’t be around to care,” said Dodridge, hefting and placing the two dragon-shaped bookends on a small table, sliding the book between them and turning, both men running at breakneck speed.
-----
Bragg sat in the dirt, next to one of the other men. He looked, Bragg thought, like he might have been a banker at one time.
When the man saw him looking, he turned and smiled at Bragg. "You're one of us, aren't you?" he asked.
"One of what?" replied Bragg.
"The post-apocers. You look like you've survived the end of the world once or twice." The man smiled at Bragg. "My name's Darren Palanger. I'm from //Fallen Monuments, Fallen Gods//. Five atomic bombs, one city; which... will... survive!" Palanger laughed, hollowly. "How about you?"
"Randy Bragg, from Maple Street. The clean bomb."
"Clean bomb?"
"Kills all the bacteria, including the ones that keep you alive."
"Does that work?"
Bragg shrugged. "My author thought so."
"And do you?" asked another voice.
Bragg turned around and saw Fredrickson standing there. "Do you believe it works?"
"I guess I must," said Bragg. "It destroyed everything I ever remember loving."
Fredrickson smiled. "Then I have a job for you."
-----
“//We are his Clockwork servants//!” sounded the cry. “//We do the work of his hands//!”
The men in the front were the luckiest, thought Cardiforce, looking toward them with envy. “They will be the first. The first to touch His heart. The first to become one with His body.” He was regretful that he would not be allowed to join them, join in their sacrifice to the true god.
With a crack and snap, he saw the door give way, breaking and bucking under its own weight as the flames of His servants blasted through it at last. And then came the gun fire.
-----
“Mow them all down!” shouted the Sergeant, yelling through the snapping of shells on metal and flesh. “Kill all the bastards you can!”
Bragg found it difficult to concentrate, to remake, as Fredrickson was telling him, the description from the book. The sky had fallen away on one side, with the grim sunlight of earlier being replaced by night. Beyond the opening, glinting and turning, he saw their foe marching forward. He heard their clicking and turning as the bullets scattered some of them backward.
He had no gun, though. Only a piece of paper. Fredrickson was looking at him desperately. “Faster, Bragg. FASTER. You must try to remember before the pages. Read into what is implied!”
Bragg looked up at him, angry and desperate. “It’s not exactly EASY, ya know?” He returned, trying to recall the moments in his author’s mind when he’d been crafted, the implication of the device. He was slow, deliberate, in explaining its fall. Methodical in the detonation. Only the range had to be changed, the duration of the effect. Fredrickson had explained this carefully, making sure to mention the several different outcomes of Bragg not being careful. It could mean, after all, no more readers.
That didn't make it any easier.
----
Cardiforce ordered his men forward, charging into the room. It was bigger on the inside than the outside, he noted, dismissing the Foundation’s trickery as nothing more than an idle illusion. While they hadn’t expected any real resistance, they were more than capable of handling anything the tiny outpost could possibly muster.
The penitent rushed them, bringing both guns and swords to bear on their attackers. The first lines fell away quickly, but there was no way to anticipate the horses. They charged down on the exposed flank from beyond the building’s sides, cutting through the primary force with ease.
“For the glory of Gondor!” shouted the lead man, his sword held brazenly aloft.
Cardiforce instructed a sniper to shoot him.
----
Bragg finished and looked up, but Fredrickson was already gone. He looked back down to his page, and noted the sudden appearance of Super Fred, the hero of a thousand worlds, catching the falling bomb and vanishing with a dash—
----
A young man was cutting his way through the crowd with a sword much too big, much too sharp to be real. Cardiforce heard it moving through the air, whistling, snicker-snack. However, when the men the boy had beheaded did not stop moving, he was easily removed from the equation. But the whistling did not stop.
Cardiforce looked up. There was a man there, plummeting, a white lab coat fluttering in the wind like a cape. Cardiforce assumed, for a moment, that it must have been one of the reinforcements the Foundation was expecting, his entry gone awry. A moment before the man hit the ground, he looked up at Cardiforce, smiling an evil grin. And vanished.
----
Bragg coughed, breathing the noxious purifying gas, feeling it eat away at his lungs. All around him, men were dying, gagging on the weapon he had created. The thing he made from a time before text, when it was only an implied threat and not a real one.
He struggled to stand, trying to run away from the deadly, impossible fallout, but he could not. As his eyes finally clouded over, he knew that his body would remain here forever, unchanging, the rot unable to take hold in a place where the bomb had been. Just as he had so many times before, he felt the darkness overtaking him, felt the little lights at the corners of his vision explode inward in a burst of adrenalin, glimpsed for a moment his wife and child standing among those golden refractions. Then, he died.
-----
Cardiforce vomited, throwing up a mass of cogs and skin. He could feel them within him, turning slower and slower as His divine grace fled his body. He, like all those around him, had failed. Never before had the church been so close to a goal of this magnitude, and now it was taken away from them.
He had decided. Their punishment was severe, their death assured. He reached down and touched some of the metal cogs that had moments ago been his lungs or stomach, crying as they broke into pieces. Then, he died.
----
Fred was in trouble, he knew. He probably shouldn’t have let them know he could carry people around, because now they’d be asking for it all the time. Sooner or later, someone would try to write something really helpful or valuable into the book, not realizing that it would lose more than they could imagine outside the confines of the storyland. Everything was much more beautiful in here, much more perfect. Even that silly bomb.
But Fred knew that, for a moment, he’d been someone really important. At least, for a short while, he’d been something that mattered. More than just words on a page or casual addenda, more than a footnote. He’d been a savior to the world. Then, he died.
----
Well, not really. Wouldn't that just be a terrible way to end it?
----
Agent Lament smiled as he read the final chapter and closed the book, throwing it into the pile that had been building up at his feet. The far side of the hangar was still a ruined lump of burning metal, but everything else had returned to normal. He opened up his phone and pressed a few buttons, popping his neck as he leaned it over.
“Situation?” came the voice from the other side.
“Success, Doctor. 423 is capable of exactly what you expected and is apparently highly motivating to those he encounters. Kind of a nice guy, too, once you get past the attitude. We'll have to update its file.”
“I'll take care of that personally. Tell him that the copy of the //Vatsayana// he requested will be delivered shortly.”
“Yes, sir.”
With a click, he closed his phone and got out the notepad Fred was currently occupying. "You got your book," wrote Lament. "You ever get tired of living vicariously?"
He flipped back a couple of pages, looking through his notes intently for new addenda. He saw it, finally, at the bottom of the first page he'd written on.
'Not when that's the only living you get.'
Lament picked back through the books 423 had run through, noting how the stories seemed to fall apart. One of them, less than a quarter of the way through, quickly vanished into cursory descriptions of an unchanging room where no one ever lived, and then suddenly fell away into blank pages. He turned it over and looked at it again: //The Man from Maple Street//.
He shrugged and threw it into the pile. Dodridge struck a match, and they were ablaze.
[[footnoteblock]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-03-30T04:47:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"action",
"agent-lament",
"broken-god",
"fred",
"metafiction",
"military-fiction",
"post-apocalyptic",
"tale",
"talecon10"
] | The Man from Maple Street - SCP Foundation | 101 | [
"his-clockwork-servants",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-great-short-story-contest-archives",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"kaktuskast-hub",
"in-his-own-image",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4766890 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-man-from-maple-street |
|
the-samaritan | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>The smell of the place was putrid, rotting meat and formaldehyde, along with the coppery scent of blood.</p>
<p>Michelle's first reaction was to turn her face way from the breeze carrying that awful smell, as her mind began to struggle through the haze of drugs into consciousness. When she finally managed to crack her eyes open, she was greeted with a bare bulb hanging from a dirty concrete ceiling, rather than the expected sight of her bedroom. Michelle’s confusion at this strange sight was dulled by the fading, yet still pervasive fog of sedatives clouding her brain. She attempted to sit up, but all that she accomplished was a weak wriggle of her back muscles as she pushed up against the ropes (?) holding her down to the table.</p>
<p>A face appeared at the edge of her vision, the surgical mask stretched across it stained with old blood. A shaved head shone in the glare of the bulb, the pale flesh almost luminescent. Glassy, slightly manic eyes stared down from above the mask.</p>
<p>“You’re awake! Wonderful! I’ve been waiting for hours. I thought about waking you up, but you seemed so worn out that I just didn’t have the heart to deprive you of your rest. After all, today is going to be a rather busy day for you!”</p>
<p>Michelle opened her mouth to speak, but only managed a harsh gurgle. The confusion was rapidly turning to panic. How had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered she had been going to the post office while Greg looked after the baby… “Oh, don’t try to talk! You’ll only manage to hurt your throat. You don’t want to irritate what’s left of your vocal cords, do you?” What was left? What had happened to her?</p>
<p>“A shame about that by the way, but I couldn’t have you thanking me too loudly, now could I? I mean, the last several people I helped were so loud. The neighbors raised such a fuss; even called the cops! Said I was a crazed madman. They said I was a killer! The nerve of it! Slandering a good Samaritan’s name like that…”</p>
<p>As the man chattered on, he was also moving around the room, though she couldn’t see what he was doing. A clattering noise and some clinking only made her more panicked. She tried to sit up again, and though she could muster more of an effort this time, her attempts were again fruitless. She could barely move her head, and the straps holding her down, (a surgical table?) made it so she could only stare at the ceiling and the walls to her side. What she saw there only made her more terrified. Photographs taped to the wall, scenes of torture and carnage that had been highlighted on the nightly news for weeks.</p>
<p>“…I mean, a photographer would want to see the world through a lens right? So I was helping him! And he was grateful! If he wasn’t grateful, why would he be screaming with joy?”<br/>
The man, apparently finished with his task, moved behind her head and set something down with a harsh click. Glass on metal. Other objects rattled loudly on the surface.</p>
<p>“But enough about my past works. I don’t want to brag. Bragging is for the prideful, and the Lord teaches us not to be prideful. So, let’s talk about you, Michelle. I have to say, I’m really happy that I saw you on the street a few days ago! Ever since I had to leave Wisconsin, I’ve been having a hard time picking who to help out! But then I saw you, walking down the street, and I saw that you needed my help more than anyone. That look of loss in your eyes, like you needed someone to give you purpose, to reaffirm your life… That spoke to me. And so I decided to answer your plea, and here we are, ready to get you back on the right track!”</p>
<p>The man reached down and grabbed her jaw firmly, and with his other hand reached into her mouth and fixed something in place over her teeth. A mouth guard, made of rubber. He patted her cheek as his hand withdrew. “Don’t want you to bite your tongue. Not before we’re finished.” She stared at him, beseeching him with her eyes to let her go. He paid no heed, too lost in his own thoughts.</p>
<p>“Where was I? Ah yes. So I followed you, and I saw your life. The love you have for your husband, and your child. But I noticed that you were unhappy, particularly when your son and husband weren’t with you. Feeling lonely? Didn’t know what to do? I understand. Some people mock homemakers, saying they’re just a relic of a past time, but I disagree. I think it’s your choice, and you’ve made a worthy decision. So let’s get you back in that role you chose!”</p>
<p>He reached down and picked something up from behind her. As he walked around to stand next to the table, she saw the scalpel glint in his hand. Her eyes widened. She began to hyperventilate, the breaths through her nose sucking in more of that stench, making her gag. With one hand he held her stomach down, while with the other he reached down and slit the shirt she was wearing, exposing her abdomen. The scalpel continued cutting, drawing a burning line down her diaphragm. The wet, warm feeling of her own blood trickling down her sides as each breath began to hurt. He stepped back and put the scalpel back behind her and his hand came back up holding a large jar. The source of that earlier sound. The smoked sides gave no indication of what was inside, beyond faintly discernable motion. He turned it upside-down, and unscrewed the lid, holding it over the mouth as he brought it next to the cut.</p>
<p>“Now, don’t worry. This may sting at first, but its all right. A little pain is worth purpose, right?”</p>
<p>The hand holding the lid flashed away as he firmly pressed the jar down on the cut. Michelle’s breaths were harsh as she felt the sharp pinpricks of the feet of the creatures inside the jar. She tried to struggle but was still too weak, the pain from her diaphragm and the psychological shock of what was going on making her movements pathetically impotent. He looked down at her, one hand dropping the lid on the ground to come up and stroke her hair.</p>
<p>“You’ll soon be all better. Let them inside and they’ll never leave you alone like your family does. Just what a homemaker would want, right?”</p>
<p>His hand moved past her head, back to grab something from behind her. A tuning fork. He sharply rapped it against the side of the jar, frightening the insects inside. Michelle screamed inside her mind as the first slipped inside, a burrowing pain in her entrails. More and more entered her, a gnawing tide clawing and biting at whatever it needed to get away. Tears streamed down her cheeks as more blood began to pour from around the jar, sliding down her ribcage and the writhing bulges under her skin. Her heart beat faster and faster, until the sensation of prickling feet and devouring mandibles entering it caused it to cease completely.</p>
<p>The man looked at the slowly cooling body of what was once a human being, now just a hive. He reached down to the surgical table and picked up a camera. Another successful mission of mercy.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/the-samaritan">The Samaritan</a>" by Arlecchino, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-samaritan">https://scpwiki.com/the-samaritan</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The smell of the place was putrid, rotting meat and formaldehyde, along with the coppery scent of blood.
Michelle's first reaction was to turn her face way from the breeze carrying that awful smell, as her mind began to struggle through the haze of drugs into consciousness. When she finally managed to crack her eyes open, she was greeted with a bare bulb hanging from a dirty concrete ceiling, rather than the expected sight of her bedroom. Michelle’s confusion at this strange sight was dulled by the fading, yet still pervasive fog of sedatives clouding her brain. She attempted to sit up, but all that she accomplished was a weak wriggle of her back muscles as she pushed up against the ropes (?) holding her down to the table.
A face appeared at the edge of her vision, the surgical mask stretched across it stained with old blood. A shaved head shone in the glare of the bulb, the pale flesh almost luminescent. Glassy, slightly manic eyes stared down from above the mask.
“You’re awake! Wonderful! I’ve been waiting for hours. I thought about waking you up, but you seemed so worn out that I just didn’t have the heart to deprive you of your rest. After all, today is going to be a rather busy day for you!”
Michelle opened her mouth to speak, but only managed a harsh gurgle. The confusion was rapidly turning to panic. How had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered she had been going to the post office while Greg looked after the baby… “Oh, don’t try to talk! You’ll only manage to hurt your throat. You don’t want to irritate what’s left of your vocal cords, do you?” What was left? What had happened to her?
“A shame about that by the way, but I couldn’t have you thanking me too loudly, now could I? I mean, the last several people I helped were so loud. The neighbors raised such a fuss; even called the cops! Said I was a crazed madman. They said I was a killer! The nerve of it! Slandering a good Samaritan’s name like that…”
As the man chattered on, he was also moving around the room, though she couldn’t see what he was doing. A clattering noise and some clinking only made her more panicked. She tried to sit up again, and though she could muster more of an effort this time, her attempts were again fruitless. She could barely move her head, and the straps holding her down, (a surgical table?) made it so she could only stare at the ceiling and the walls to her side. What she saw there only made her more terrified. Photographs taped to the wall, scenes of torture and carnage that had been highlighted on the nightly news for weeks.
“…I mean, a photographer would want to see the world through a lens right? So I was helping him! And he was grateful! If he wasn’t grateful, why would he be screaming with joy?”
The man, apparently finished with his task, moved behind her head and set something down with a harsh click. Glass on metal. Other objects rattled loudly on the surface.
“But enough about my past works. I don’t want to brag. Bragging is for the prideful, and the Lord teaches us not to be prideful. So, let’s talk about you, Michelle. I have to say, I’m really happy that I saw you on the street a few days ago! Ever since I had to leave Wisconsin, I’ve been having a hard time picking who to help out! But then I saw you, walking down the street, and I saw that you needed my help more than anyone. That look of loss in your eyes, like you needed someone to give you purpose, to reaffirm your life… That spoke to me. And so I decided to answer your plea, and here we are, ready to get you back on the right track!”
The man reached down and grabbed her jaw firmly, and with his other hand reached into her mouth and fixed something in place over her teeth. A mouth guard, made of rubber. He patted her cheek as his hand withdrew. “Don’t want you to bite your tongue. Not before we’re finished.” She stared at him, beseeching him with her eyes to let her go. He paid no heed, too lost in his own thoughts.
“Where was I? Ah yes. So I followed you, and I saw your life. The love you have for your husband, and your child. But I noticed that you were unhappy, particularly when your son and husband weren’t with you. Feeling lonely? Didn’t know what to do? I understand. Some people mock homemakers, saying they’re just a relic of a past time, but I disagree. I think it’s your choice, and you’ve made a worthy decision. So let’s get you back in that role you chose!”
He reached down and picked something up from behind her. As he walked around to stand next to the table, she saw the scalpel glint in his hand. Her eyes widened. She began to hyperventilate, the breaths through her nose sucking in more of that stench, making her gag. With one hand he held her stomach down, while with the other he reached down and slit the shirt she was wearing, exposing her abdomen. The scalpel continued cutting, drawing a burning line down her diaphragm. The wet, warm feeling of her own blood trickling down her sides as each breath began to hurt. He stepped back and put the scalpel back behind her and his hand came back up holding a large jar. The source of that earlier sound. The smoked sides gave no indication of what was inside, beyond faintly discernable motion. He turned it upside-down, and unscrewed the lid, holding it over the mouth as he brought it next to the cut.
“Now, don’t worry. This may sting at first, but its all right. A little pain is worth purpose, right?”
The hand holding the lid flashed away as he firmly pressed the jar down on the cut. Michelle’s breaths were harsh as she felt the sharp pinpricks of the feet of the creatures inside the jar. She tried to struggle but was still too weak, the pain from her diaphragm and the psychological shock of what was going on making her movements pathetically impotent. He looked down at her, one hand dropping the lid on the ground to come up and stroke her hair.
“You’ll soon be all better. Let them inside and they’ll never leave you alone like your family does. Just what a homemaker would want, right?”
His hand moved past her head, back to grab something from behind her. A tuning fork. He sharply rapped it against the side of the jar, frightening the insects inside. Michelle screamed inside her mind as the first slipped inside, a burrowing pain in her entrails. More and more entered her, a gnawing tide clawing and biting at whatever it needed to get away. Tears streamed down her cheeks as more blood began to pour from around the jar, sliding down her ribcage and the writhing bulges under her skin. Her heart beat faster and faster, until the sensation of prickling feet and devouring mandibles entering it caused it to cease completely.
The man looked at the slowly cooling body of what was once a human being, now just a hive. He reached down to the surgical table and picked up a camera. Another successful mission of mercy.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-06-03T23:57:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | The Samaritan - SCP Foundation | 19 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-works-of-doc-burns",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 5047396 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-samaritan |
|
the-vault | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
The door was heavy, and old, but still strong. It sealed the passage tight, blocking even light from around its edges. The hall was claustrophobic, and in near total darkness but for the dim, drooling light from the far-off stair. He beat on the door again, feeling the thick reverberation bounce through its solid core. He could try and pick the lock, or bash it in, but that was not the way. Not their way, never. Respect was always foremost, even at the utmost end of need.
<p>He folded back on his haunches, his sigh turning the dust on the long-abandoned floor. He looked back, at the dim stair, and considered again just going back, letting it go. He thought this way for a long time, then stood with a new, more burning resolve. He went and knocked again… and again… and again. He hammered on the door. He beat on the door. He slammed his fists over and over, thundering against its mocking, ageless weight. He beat his fists until they split, spilling blood that looked like deeper, slicker smears of darkness onto the unrelenting wood. He threw himself against it, biting, clawing, gouging at the wood like something rabid and in pain.</p>
<p>Finally, he slowed, then stopped, pulling away from the blank wood with an almost sheepish slink. He folded back up again, letting the split, reeking flesh stop pulsing and start to knit over. He turned the black, pulsing mass that gave him sight to the door again, split tongues lolling as he chastised himself for his reckless, misplaced hatred. They had gone, those many, and hidden deep in their vaults. This may be the last, the very last flake of rotten flesh left of their abandoned body. Their endless impatience had called to them for correction, so…they had come. Man had hidden deep in their vaults, their short-sightedness leaving them no retreat, no escape. </p>
<p>Now they waited, delaying their final lessons with every futile breath… But to worry and to lose one's temper was not the way of the People. He resolved that, once ages had turned the door to dust, he would show them the folly of hope.</p>
<p>One eon at a time.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/the-vault">The Vault</a>" by Dr Gears, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-vault">https://scpwiki.com/the-vault</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The door was heavy, and old, but still strong. It sealed the passage tight, blocking even light from around its edges. The hall was claustrophobic, and in near total darkness but for the dim, drooling light from the far-off stair. He beat on the door again, feeling the thick reverberation bounce through its solid core. He could try and pick the lock, or bash it in, but that was not the way. Not their way, never. Respect was always foremost, even at the utmost end of need.
He folded back on his haunches, his sigh turning the dust on the long-abandoned floor. He looked back, at the dim stair, and considered again just going back, letting it go. He thought this way for a long time, then stood with a new, more burning resolve. He went and knocked again... and again... and again. He hammered on the door. He beat on the door. He slammed his fists over and over, thundering against its mocking, ageless weight. He beat his fists until they split, spilling blood that looked like deeper, slicker smears of darkness onto the unrelenting wood. He threw himself against it, biting, clawing, gouging at the wood like something rabid and in pain.
Finally, he slowed, then stopped, pulling away from the blank wood with an almost sheepish slink. He folded back up again, letting the split, reeking flesh stop pulsing and start to knit over. He turned the black, pulsing mass that gave him sight to the door again, split tongues lolling as he chastised himself for his reckless, misplaced hatred. They had gone, those many, and hidden deep in their vaults. This may be the last, the very last flake of rotten flesh left of their abandoned body. Their endless impatience had called to them for correction, so...they had come. Man had hidden deep in their vaults, their short-sightedness leaving them no retreat, no escape.
Now they waited, delaying their final lessons with every futile breath... But to worry and to lose one's temper was not the way of the People. He resolved that, once ages had turned the door to dust, he would show them the folly of hope.
One eon at a time.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-01-18T13:56:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"creepypasta",
"tale"
] | The Vault - SCP Foundation | 38 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-gears-storytime-entries"
] | [] | 4436084 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-vault |
|
tracing | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Back in school, one of my teachers useta say that if something was bothering you, if you were having bad feelings, you could write it down and that would help you feel better. But I don't think she meant it like this. I'm not really writing this down, I'm just tracing it. I see it on the paper, where I'm gonna write it, and I write it because that's what's gonna be there. Even though these <span style="text-decoration: underline;">ARE</span> my feelings and my thoughts, it's still not me choosing what to write. It's just what the future says my words are. One of the doctors here said it doesn't make sense, I only write the words because I see them in the future and I only see them in the future because I'm gonna write them, so it's a anti-logical paradock. I don't think I'm spelling those right, but it's not like I gotta choice. I'm just tracing.</p>
<p>I hate it here. I hate the SCP Foundation and all its Secure Contain Protect garbage, and I hate living in █████████████. And I know they're gonna find this page, cause I can see where they're gonna marker through the name of the place. And they're gonna marker through my name too. I can say I'm Marilyn Monroe, or Courtney Love, or Oprah, or Jessica Alba, and nothing happens, but as soon as I write down █████████████████ I can see that they're gonna marker it out. It's like I got no name any more. I'm just <a href="/scp-187">a god damn SCP</a>. And I hate that.</p>
<p>I hate the monsters here. I hate how the agents make me look at them. I hate when I see people with their arms and legs and heads tore off, and I know the monsters are gonna do it and I can't do nothing about it. I hate when I get so scared I start crying, and I hate when I get so scared I pee myself, and I hate that I can't keep any secrets from this god damn paper cause it's what I'd write if I had the chance but all I can do is trace.</p>
<p>I hate the doctors here, mostly. Some of them are kinda nice, but mostly they don't care. I hate Doctor ████████████ and his markered out name, and I hate Doctor ██████ and her markered out name, and I hate that I don't even got the chance to write out my own hating cause all I can do is trace.</p>
<p>The food here is okay, though. I like food. I always did, I'm not one of those crazy Anna Rexy girls. I just couldnt eat the food when I kept seeing it turn into poop in front of me. I can't pick my own food from the cafeteria, but I can look at a menu and ask for stuff, and one agent gets it for me while the other one puts my blindfold on. The blindfold isn't fun, but now I don't gotta watch food turn into poop as soon as I stick my spoon in. And it's better than having them do an IV thing in my arm like I was in a comma.</p>
<p>I know they dope me up. And it's not just sticking me with needles, either. They hide pills in my food. They think that if they didn't, I'd poke my own eyes out like a crazy so I could stop seeing stuff like this. But I can't ever <span style="text-decoration: underline;">REALLY</span> do that, cause when I look at myself in a mirror I still got both my eyes. And if I ever do see myself without my eyes, then it'll happen no matter what.</p>
<p>There isnt anything else on the paper after I finish this line, so I guess that means they find me soon and put my stupid mittens back on me FUCK YOU MY NAME IS █████████████████ MY NAME IS █████████████████ MY NAME IS</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/tracing">Tracing</a>" by Voct, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/tracing">https://scpwiki.com/tracing</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Back in school, one of my teachers useta say that if something was bothering you, if you were having bad feelings, you could write it down and that would help you feel better. But I don't think she meant it like this. I'm not really writing this down, I'm just tracing it. I see it on the paper, where I'm gonna write it, and I write it because that's what's gonna be there. Even though these __ARE__ my feelings and my thoughts, it's still not me choosing what to write. It's just what the future says my words are. One of the doctors here said it doesn't make sense, I only write the words because I see them in the future and I only see them in the future because I'm gonna write them, so it's a anti-logical paradock. I don't think I'm spelling those right, but it's not like I gotta choice. I'm just tracing.
I hate it here. I hate the SCP Foundation and all its Secure Contain Protect garbage, and I hate living in █████████████. And I know they're gonna find this page, cause I can see where they're gonna marker through the name of the place. And they're gonna marker through my name too. I can say I'm Marilyn Monroe, or Courtney Love, or Oprah, or Jessica Alba, and nothing happens, but as soon as I write down █████████████████ I can see that they're gonna marker it out. It's like I got no name any more. I'm just [[[SCP-187|a god damn SCP]]]. And I hate that.
I hate the monsters here. I hate how the agents make me look at them. I hate when I see people with their arms and legs and heads tore off, and I know the monsters are gonna do it and I can't do nothing about it. I hate when I get so scared I start crying, and I hate when I get so scared I pee myself, and I hate that I can't keep any secrets from this god damn paper cause it's what I'd write if I had the chance but all I can do is trace.
I hate the doctors here, mostly. Some of them are kinda nice, but mostly they don't care. I hate Doctor ████████████ and his markered out name, and I hate Doctor ██████ and her markered out name, and I hate that I don't even got the chance to write out my own hating cause all I can do is trace.
The food here is okay, though. I like food. I always did, I'm not one of those crazy Anna Rexy girls. I just couldnt eat the food when I kept seeing it turn into poop in front of me. I can't pick my own food from the cafeteria, but I can look at a menu and ask for stuff, and one agent gets it for me while the other one puts my blindfold on. The blindfold isn't fun, but now I don't gotta watch food turn into poop as soon as I stick my spoon in. And it's better than having them do an IV thing in my arm like I was in a comma.
I know they dope me up. And it's not just sticking me with needles, either. They hide pills in my food. They think that if they didn't, I'd poke my own eyes out like a crazy so I could stop seeing stuff like this. But I can't ever __REALLY__ do that, cause when I look at myself in a mirror I still got both my eyes. And if I ever do see myself without my eyes, then it'll happen no matter what.
There isnt anything else on the paper after I finish this line, so I guess that means they find me soon and put my stupid mittens back on me FUCK YOU MY NAME IS █████████████████ MY NAME IS █████████████████ MY NAME IS
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-05-27T00:20:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale",
"talecon10"
] | Tracing - SCP Foundation | 156 | [
"scp-187",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-great-short-story-contest-archives",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 5010880 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/tracing |
|
tradition | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
“I’m telling you Gears, this is going to be the best year yet."
<p>“That would be a matter of opinion, Crow. However, I can not be the only one present who finds the situation ironic: we, as researchers of an institution whose sole purpose is the containment of the paranormal and unknown, are observing an over-commercialized holiday celebrating distilled and often completely fictitious versions of such.”</p>
<p><Gears, this is no time for analysis. Just drink your punch.> Bright signed rapidly with one hand.</p>
<p>The three doctors were all taking part in the time-honored party tradition of standing by the punch bowl, engaging in what could be called “conversation”, if the definition was stretched. In one way or another, each one was arrayed in costume: Crow had donned a black greatcoat, specially made of course, accompanied by a red sash and a matching high-peaked hat with a silver eagle pin on the front. Bright was in the body of an adult male orangutan. Gears was still wearing his lab coat, but someone had placed a floppy, oversized wizard’s hat on his head and he had yet to take it off.</p>
<p>The Site 19 D-class cafeteria had been converted into the main party center, and the effort was admirable. There was a considerable amount of black and orange streamers hanging from the ceiling, along with dozens of jack o’ lanterns which sat grinning on the long metal tables. Of course, there was also the general mishmash of fake spiders, bugs, skeletons, bats, ghosts, neat glow-in-the-dark doohickeys, a fog machine, and a sound system currently running through volume two of “Halloween’s Best Hits”. The cafeteria line was laden with a sizeable assortment of foods, mostly sugary and very little otherwise. The crowd was still small, consisting mostly of those in charge of the party. The night was still young, and most staff members were still spelunking their way through the haunted house.</p>
<p>The haunted house was, easily, the crown jewel of the event. All five floors of the adjacent D-class barracks had been cleared out and converted into a maze of terror, ending in the cafeteria. While some in the Foundation would question the wisdom or point in making a haunted house, the fact that the senior staff was in charge was usually enough to strike an appropriate level of fear in the average staff member.</p>
<p>Needless to say, what went on within was classified.</p>
<p>Clef stepped out of the shadows right next to Crow, Gears and Bright, wasting no time in helping himself to a plate of pumpkin cookies and a cup of red punch. He was dressed in a sharp tuxedo, with a pair of plastic devil horns and a Guy Fawkes mask.</p>
<p>“Rights, you’re up.” He nodded to the approaching doctor, who was plastered with zombie makeup and had a very large and relatively convincing meat cleaver stuck in her head. “You should probably tell Doctor Glass that his office will be pretty busy come tomorrow. And word from Ghost at the front says that Dr. King just entered the maze. Get the apple seeds ready.”</p>
<p>“I’m on it. Wish me luck, guys.” Rights sauntered off through the secret entrance to the maze, chainsaw in tow. Someone was going to get a very nasty surprise in a few minutes, of the dropping-right-behind-you-from-the-trap-door-in-the-ceiling variety.</p>
<p>Clef turned to the three punch-drinkers.</p>
<p>“So, how ‘bout them Rangers?” Clef managed to take a bite of his cookie without seeming to move his mask.</p>
<p><Continue that statement and you are contending with three hundred pounds of ape.> Bright downed another cup of punch.</p>
<p>“Eh, I don’t care that much myself, anyway. Though I am curious what happened to you, Bright. Last time I checked, you were going as Nyarlathotep. You even had an Egyptian host and everything.”</p>
<p>Bright’s expression was one of pure simian unamusement.</p>
<p>< If I ever find out, you’ll know. Because you’ll hear them screaming from the other side of the site.> He snarled as he signed, with fangs far larger and more intimidating than he usually had.</p>
<p>Seeing now as an excellent time to shift the conversation away from the Rage of Bright, Kain made a strategic interruption.</p>
<p>“So, uh, how’s it looking in there, Clef?”</p>
<p>“Let’s just say that there will be some people who’ll need a new pair of shorts."</p>
<p>“What’d you do to them?”</p>
<p>Clef leaned forward and whispered. Even with the mask on, it was obvious he had a smug smile of satisfaction. Kain and Bright nodded, understanding. Gears’ expression was blank.</p>
<p>“You did…nothing. I do not believe that I understand.”</p>
<p><Okay, look. Most of the lower staff are terrified of Clef. Half of them believe he’s the devil for crying out loud. Now, can you imagine walking around a corner and seeing him just standing there and staring at you?></p>
<p>“Interesting. You took the deep-seated fear most lower personnel have for you, and built upon it so that you would have to exert only the minimum effort for the maximum effect.”</p>
<p><I just said that.></p>
<p>“There is no harm in repetition of the conclusion.”</p>
<p>“It's good science.”</p>
<p>The set of thick black curtains that split the barracks from the cafeteria fluttered open, revealing the form of Agent Yoric, who was clad in enough voodoo paraphernalia to make every witch-doctor in the western-hemisphere sigh heavily at the absurdity of it all. Ignoring the cookies, punch, and the “Monster Mash”, he walked over to the four doctors with the steely intent of someone about to speak their mind and the expression of someone who had very nearly had a heart attack. He jabbed an accusing finger at them.</p>
<p>“<em>Why</em> on God’s green Earth did you install an animatronic 682 head in the janitor’s closet?”</p>
<p>This statement was followed by an incredibly awkward silence. Kain, Clef, Gears and Bright all looked at each other, then at Yoric, then at each other again.</p>
<p>“Oook,” Bright said.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/tradition">Tradition</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/tradition">https://scpwiki.com/tradition</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
“I’m telling you Gears, this is going to be the best year yet."
“That would be a matter of opinion, Crow. However, I can not be the only one present who finds the situation ironic: we, as researchers of an institution whose sole purpose is the containment of the paranormal and unknown, are observing an over-commercialized holiday celebrating distilled and often completely fictitious versions of such.”
<Gears, this is no time for analysis. Just drink your punch.> Bright signed rapidly with one hand.
The three doctors were all taking part in the time-honored party tradition of standing by the punch bowl, engaging in what could be called “conversation”, if the definition was stretched. In one way or another, each one was arrayed in costume: Crow had donned a black greatcoat, specially made of course, accompanied by a red sash and a matching high-peaked hat with a silver eagle pin on the front. Bright was in the body of an adult male orangutan. Gears was still wearing his lab coat, but someone had placed a floppy, oversized wizard’s hat on his head and he had yet to take it off.
The Site 19 D-class cafeteria had been converted into the main party center, and the effort was admirable. There was a considerable amount of black and orange streamers hanging from the ceiling, along with dozens of jack o’ lanterns which sat grinning on the long metal tables. Of course, there was also the general mishmash of fake spiders, bugs, skeletons, bats, ghosts, neat glow-in-the-dark doohickeys, a fog machine, and a sound system currently running through volume two of “Halloween’s Best Hits”. The cafeteria line was laden with a sizeable assortment of foods, mostly sugary and very little otherwise. The crowd was still small, consisting mostly of those in charge of the party. The night was still young, and most staff members were still spelunking their way through the haunted house.
The haunted house was, easily, the crown jewel of the event. All five floors of the adjacent D-class barracks had been cleared out and converted into a maze of terror, ending in the cafeteria. While some in the Foundation would question the wisdom or point in making a haunted house, the fact that the senior staff was in charge was usually enough to strike an appropriate level of fear in the average staff member.
Needless to say, what went on within was classified.
Clef stepped out of the shadows right next to Crow, Gears and Bright, wasting no time in helping himself to a plate of pumpkin cookies and a cup of red punch. He was dressed in a sharp tuxedo, with a pair of plastic devil horns and a Guy Fawkes mask.
“Rights, you’re up.” He nodded to the approaching doctor, who was plastered with zombie makeup and had a very large and relatively convincing meat cleaver stuck in her head. “You should probably tell Doctor Glass that his office will be pretty busy come tomorrow. And word from Ghost at the front says that Dr. King just entered the maze. Get the apple seeds ready.”
“I’m on it. Wish me luck, guys.” Rights sauntered off through the secret entrance to the maze, chainsaw in tow. Someone was going to get a very nasty surprise in a few minutes, of the dropping-right-behind-you-from-the-trap-door-in-the-ceiling variety.
Clef turned to the three punch-drinkers.
“So, how ‘bout them Rangers?” Clef managed to take a bite of his cookie without seeming to move his mask.
<Continue that statement and you are contending with three hundred pounds of ape.> Bright downed another cup of punch.
“Eh, I don’t care that much myself, anyway. Though I am curious what happened to you, Bright. Last time I checked, you were going as Nyarlathotep. You even had an Egyptian host and everything.”
Bright’s expression was one of pure simian unamusement.
< If I ever find out, you’ll know. Because you’ll hear them screaming from the other side of the site.> He snarled as he signed, with fangs far larger and more intimidating than he usually had.
Seeing now as an excellent time to shift the conversation away from the Rage of Bright, Kain made a strategic interruption.
“So, uh, how’s it looking in there, Clef?”
“Let’s just say that there will be some people who’ll need a new pair of shorts."
“What’d you do to them?”
Clef leaned forward and whispered. Even with the mask on, it was obvious he had a smug smile of satisfaction. Kain and Bright nodded, understanding. Gears’ expression was blank.
“You did…nothing. I do not believe that I understand.”
<Okay, look. Most of the lower staff are terrified of Clef. Half of them believe he’s the devil for crying out loud. Now, can you imagine walking around a corner and seeing him just standing there and staring at you?>
“Interesting. You took the deep-seated fear most lower personnel have for you, and built upon it so that you would have to exert only the minimum effort for the maximum effect.”
<I just said that.>
“There is no harm in repetition of the conclusion.”
“It's good science.”
The set of thick black curtains that split the barracks from the cafeteria fluttered open, revealing the form of Agent Yoric, who was clad in enough voodoo paraphernalia to make every witch-doctor in the western-hemisphere sigh heavily at the absurdity of it all. Ignoring the cookies, punch, and the “Monster Mash”, he walked over to the four doctors with the steely intent of someone about to speak their mind and the expression of someone who had very nearly had a heart attack. He jabbed an accusing finger at them.
“//Why// on God’s green Earth did you install an animatronic 682 head in the janitor’s closet?”
This statement was followed by an incredibly awkward silence. Kain, Clef, Gears and Bright all looked at each other, then at Yoric, then at each other again.
“Oook,” Bright said.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-10-31T12:56:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"agent-yoric",
"comedy",
"doctor-bright",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-gears",
"doctor-glass",
"doctor-king",
"halloween",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] | Tradition - SCP Foundation | 49 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 6179020 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/tradition |
|
unfinished-business | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<blockquote>
<p>More recent reports on brain activity suggest that SCP-239 is developing a complete resistance to the rotation of drugs we’ve used to keep her comatose. This could easily result in her reawakening. Since Dr. Clef’s nearly successful attempt in 2008, all attempts at termination have failed. SCP-239 has resisted all practical methods of attack subconsciously, and all other methods of destroying reality shifters suggested by the G.O.C. envoy have proved fruitless. I am now forced to request the O5 for the immediate release of Dr. Alto Clef from his current confinement and his immediate assignment to this case.</p>
<p><em>Dr. Jack Bright</em><br/>
<em>Foundation Director</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>Clef’s eyes opened slowly, and then shut immediately as the bleary light blinded him. He felt cold and naked, his flesh crawling with barely remembered frostbite and a decade of immobility. Was he awake, now? Was this another of the cold dreams?</p>
<p>He felt a hand on his wrist—warm, soft, female flesh. His eyes opened again, and he blinked hard, staring directly at the large, perky breasts.</p>
<p>“Dr. Clef?”</p>
<p>Clef’s eyes never left her chest. “You have me at a disadvantage, Miss…?”</p>
<p>The woman adjusted her top. “It’s doctor. Doctor Lore.”</p>
<p>He watched her fumbling modestly. She was lying, he knew. That was not her name. Chances are, he’d never know what it really was.</p>
<p>“What happened?” asked Clef.</p>
<p>“You’ve been released from cryogenic incarceration,” said Lore, handing the naked doctor a towel. “We need your help.”</p>
<p>“Old problem or new?” asked Clef.</p>
<p>“Old.”</p>
<p>“239 or 343?”</p>
<p>“239.”</p>
<p>“About time they killed the little brat.”</p>
<p>“She’s not so little anymore,” Lore said, passing the file to Clef.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“You just keep reality benders around, Dr. Gears? That seems a little foolish, even by the Foundation’s standards.”</p>
<p>“I can assure you, she is completely under our control, Commandant Schmetterling,” replied the shorter, bald man.</p>
<p>Schmetterling appeared unconvinced by Gears' assurances. Gears knew that the Coalition officer was not the happiest envoy the Foundation had ever received, especially not since he was informed of 239’s continued existence.</p>
<p>“We thought your operatives had subdued her,” said Schmetterling, irritably. “We knew you killed the other one. We saw it from one of our observatories. I was under the impression that this one was also eliminated.”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid not,” said Gears, evenly.</p>
<p>“Well,” said Schmetterling, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to let my superiors know that the Foundation has still yet to come to its senses.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Clef tied the robe around his midsection, not bothering to attempt to hide the erection he’d sported since he woke up and saw Lore.</p>
<p>“Where to now, Sugartits?”</p>
<p>“I’m to take you to be briefed, Dr. Clef. You’ll be meeting with the current head of 239’s project.”</p>
<p>“Karrington?”</p>
<p>“Dr. Karrington was killed by 239-X in the 2017 attempt. It’s all in the report.”</p>
<p>Clef shrugged and looked around him. For five stories up, elongated tubes of glass and cryogenics held the Foundation’s prisoners. When he’d been imprisoned, the facility had been a third this size, newly implemented for cost purposes. When the O5’s found out it was cheaper to freeze them than feed them, dozens of prisoners were transported here.</p>
<p>Clef stopped short, suddenly looking at the familiar faces behind the glassy ice. There was Imants, a slight smirk passing over his pale face, as if he'd just heard a joke that only he had understood. Next to him was Glass, sporting a look of shocked surprise.</p>
<p>Clef turned to Lore. “What sort of look did I have on while I was frozen?”</p>
<p>“You looked horny,” said Lore impassively. Clef smiled and turned back to the tubes.</p>
<p>The next one was no surprise. Clef was shocked that he himself had been 'contained' before Kondraki, one of the earliest results of the Foundation's changing ambitions. The face of his sometimes friend was twisted with rage, open in a still silent scream, eyes narrowed with anger and disbelief. Next to him, frozen alongside his static form in the clear, perfect ice, a few butterflies remained, still shimmering. Clef raised his hand and placed it on the unit.</p>
<p>A few seconds later, he removed it and smiled. “You always were a son of a bitch, Kondraki.”</p>
<p>He turned back to Lore. “You bastards have anyone else I know in here?”</p>
<p>“Not really,” said Lore. “Mostly a few witnesses who were immune to Class-A’s. One or two trespassers, some of Dr. Bright’s other selves.”</p>
<p>“Jack’s still around?”</p>
<p>“No,” said Lore. She was lying again, Clef knew. He always knew.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Clef sat across the table from the short, dowdy woman in the white lab coat. She had been scowling at him since he walked into the room. Clef, for his part, wasn’t paying attention. He’d sat with the robe at its most revealing, reading the file he’d been given as slowly as he possibly could. Once or twice, he looked up at the woman, smiled, and returned his attention to the file.</p>
<p>After a while, he stopped, laid the file down and looked at her.</p>
<p>“Are you all complete fucking morons?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?” said the woman, whose name Clef hadn’t even bothered to learn.</p>
<p>“Psychological tricks? Crushing force? Stabbing her with a knife? Shooting her with a gun? Where the hell are the backup plans?”</p>
<p>“Each test was approved by a majority of the O5 command and I don’t see—”</p>
<p>“Do you know how to read?” asked Clef suddenly, dangerously.</p>
<p>The woman didn’t reply.</p>
<p>“I’ll take that as a no. I’ve completed, either alone or with some aid, the disposal of more than fourteen reality shifters for the Foundation alone. More than fourteen confirmed kills. I can’t say more than that, because no one will tell me what’s still classified, but I’m sure that even with what I must assume is your piteously low security clearance, you were allowed to read at least <em>some</em> of my exploits?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” she replied. “I’ve read the termination reports for several of the SCP’s you were inv—”</p>
<p>“Did you pay attention?” interrupted Clef again.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Did you <em>pay attention</em> to a single, goddamned thing I wrote in them?”</p>
<p>“Of course. The methods you used have been tested and found lacking for our purposes.”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>The woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat, not looking at Clef. “Then what do you propose, Doctor?”</p>
<p>“Simple,” smiled Clef grimly. “Since her subconscious defenses have been refined so far… I’m going to wake her up.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“You’re waking her <em>up</em>?” 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 <em>insane</em>?”</p>
<p>“No,” replied Gears. “We have our best operative on the case.”</p>
<p>“Who?” snapped Schmetterling. “Who the hell do you think is capable of removing a Type Green that you’ve allowed to progress this far?”</p>
<p>“Dr. Clef,” replied Gears. “We’ve released him from confinement for this task.”</p>
<p>“Clef?” asked Schmetterling. “Alto Clef?”</p>
<p>“Do you know any other Clefs, Commandant?”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“You’ve nothing to fear, Commandant,” replied Gears. “The situation is well in hand.”</p>
<p>Schmetterling’s jowls quivered as he turned back to Gears. “So you say, Doctor. Tell me. Aren’t you worried about this?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes,” said Gears, his expression unchanging, his voice perfectly, almost supernaturally level.</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p>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.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>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 <em>Don Quixote</em> open in his lap. The old man looked up and started with surprise before smiling.</p>
<p>“Doctor Clef!” he exclaimed, his grin widening until the wrinkles of his face became subsumed by it.</p>
<p>“Hello, 343.”</p>
<p>“Oh please,” said the old man, waving away the designation. “No numbers between friends. Sit. Please.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>The old man continued to smile happily.</p>
<p>“You remember me from the G.O.C., then? Geneva? 1989?”</p>
<p>The old man nodded, not quite as happily as before.</p>
<p>“And you remember that you owe me a favor?”</p>
<p>The aged gentleman’s smile faded slightly. “Yes, Doctor. I remember.”</p>
<p>“I’ve come to collect. There’s another Type Green. This one has progressed to Level 4.”</p>
<p>“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…”</p>
<p>Tears formed at the corners of 343’s crinkled eyes. Clef almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Until he remembered Geneva.</p>
<p>“Your aid will be necessary.”</p>
<p>“I am a man of honor, Doctor. I will do whatever you need.”</p>
<p>Clef stood to leave. The hard part was over.</p>
<hr/>
<p>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 <em>should</em> allow him to—</p>
<p>Clef heard the door open and looked up as Schmetterling entered.</p>
<p>“I didn’t think you would ever be released, Doctor Clef,” said Schmetterling.</p>
<p>“Do I know you?”</p>
<p>“I’m not surprised you don’t recognize me,” replied Schmetterling. “It’s been a long time.”</p>
<p>Clef merely shrugged. “What do you want?”</p>
<p>“Only to give you something. A reward, for your service to the G.O.C.”</p>
<p>Schmetterling reached toward his pocket, but stopped as the shotgun suddenly became leveled cleanly at his face.</p>
<p>“The outline of your pocket looks like a gun,” replied Clef.</p>
<p>“It <em>is</em> 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.</p>
<p>Clef smiled. “This used to be one of ours, didn’t it?”</p>
<p>“The Atomic Revolver. Reported lost by your Foundation several years ago. We found it.”</p>
<p>“And you had nothing to do with the original disappearance?”</p>
<p>“The G.O.C.? Of course not,” said Schmetterling.</p>
<p>"I wasn't asking about the G.O.C.," replied Clef.</p>
<p>Schmetterling merely shrugged.</p>
<p>"It was good to see you again, Doctor Clef. I wish you the best of luck."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Lore walked in carrying two drinks and set them down between Clef and herself. “What’d the Commandant want?”</p>
<p>“To talk about old times,” replied Clef.</p>
<p>“Funny,” she said. “He never mentioned that he’d worked with you.”</p>
<p>“He didn’t,” said Clef.</p>
<hr/>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He shivered, remembering the coldness of his preemptive coffin, and cracked his knuckles.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Do you really think this will work?” asked Lore.</p>
<p>“It should. She shouldn’t be able to do anything about it from the other side.”</p>
<p>The mirror was slowly raised into place by the workmen as Clef palmed the jasper colored disk back and forth in his hand.</p>
<p>“And if it doesn’t?”</p>
<p>“Then break the mirror before I get back.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Clef looked at Gears, examining the shorter man briefly.</p>
<p>“Dr. Clef. You are looking well.”</p>
<p>“Gears. You look old as shit.”</p>
<p>Gears merely handed the keycard to Clef.</p>
<p>“This will get you all the way through the designated path. You’ll find the telekill body armor in the observation room, as well as the equipment you requested. Good luck, Dr. Clef.”</p>
<p>“Is that all, Gears?”</p>
<p>“Pardon, Dr. Clef?”</p>
<p>“You locked me in a frozen hell for eleven years, and I don’t even get an apology?”</p>
<p>“You were trying to kill our colleague, Dr. Clef. I was ordered to assist in your capture.”</p>
<p>Clef grimaced at Gears and turned to walk into the Observation Room.</p>
<p>“Alto?”</p>
<p>Clef stopped. “What, Gears?”</p>
<p>“It was… a regrettable set of circumstances.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<hr/>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The hammer fell, and a loud crack echoed through the room as the steel bent and shattered inward.</p>
<hr/>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He was pretty sure it was a pointless hope, now.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Another ten feet, nine, eight, seven…</p>
<p>He burst through the doors, looking expectantly for 343 to be standing in position.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Lore was waiting next to the large mirror as Clef pounded through the double doors panting. He looked at her, incredulous.</p>
<p>“The fuck are you still doing here?”</p>
<p>“You guys never work alone, right? I’m here to help.”</p>
<p>“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?!”</p>
<p>The doors opened slowly.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>343 flinched. “If you’re going to do something, Doctor…”</p>
<p>Clef raised the gun again, and clicking the hammer back, let it fall.</p>
<p>The gun popped slightly, bars of energetic power running over its metal surface.</p>
<p>“FUCK!” screamed Clef. “A goddamned recharge rate?!”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Don’t care much for that, do you little girl?” shouted Clef, as 343 suddenly locked the universal order back into place.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<hr/>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Sorry, dearie,” he said, smirking. “Different world, different rules.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Clef stood and walked back toward the mirror. "Should have done that years ago…"</p>
<hr/>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Lore looked up, smiled, and ran to the edge of the mirror.</p>
<p>“239’s status?”</p>
<p>“Eliminated,” said Clef.</p>
<p>“Good,” said Lore. She brought the gun only as far as Clef’s midsection before she fired.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Jack?”</p>
<p>Lore smiled, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, of course, Alto. Who else?”</p>
<p>Clef was sagging now, his legs giving out as the internal and external bleeding set in.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>"Really, Jack? But they were very good circumstances. Not even friends?" asked Clef. "What's a little murder between friends?"</p>
<p>"Especially not friends."</p>
<p>“That’s too bad, Jack,” said Clef, throwing up parts of his stomach. “You look good enough to fuck.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“You forgot one thing though, Jack,” said Clef, feeling his muscles twitching around the cancers forming in his midsection.</p>
<p>“What’s that, Alto?”</p>
<p>“You're jewellery.”</p>
<p>Clef stood in front of the mirror, smiling bloodily as he held SCP-963 at arm’s length in his gloved hand.</p>
<p>“Goodbye, Jack.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>She whirled around, looking for the source of the shot, raising the pistol over her head in rage. She found no one.</p>
<hr/>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He leaned down and slapped his face a few times. “Imants. IMANTS!”</p>
<p>“Whoza?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“C’mon,” he said. “I’m going to need all of you to help cover our escape.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<hr/>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The door slid open, revealing a carefully crafted box. She opened it, revealing the almost circle with the three, inward pointing arrows.</p>
<p>‘Only a set back, Alto,’ thought Jack. ‘Only a set back.’</p>
<hr/>
<p>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…</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>And somewhere, somewhere on the other side of our world's mirrors, a cancer ridden, bleeding body shuts down―and reawakens screaming.</p>
<hr/>
<p><a href="/unfinished-business-ii">Unfinished Business II</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/unfinished-business">Unfinished Business</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/unfinished-business">https://scpwiki.com/unfinished-business</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
>||Attention to All Level 4 Personnel||
> More recent reports on brain activity suggest that SCP-239 is developing a complete resistance to the rotation of drugs we’ve used to keep her comatose. This could easily result in her reawakening. Since Dr. Clef’s nearly successful attempt in 2008, all attempts at termination have failed. SCP-239 has resisted all practical methods of attack subconsciously, and all other methods of destroying reality shifters suggested by the G.O.C. envoy have proved fruitless. I am now forced to request the O5 for the immediate release of Dr. Alto Clef from his current confinement and his immediate assignment to this case.
>
> //Dr. Jack Bright//
> //Foundation Director//
----------
Clef’s eyes opened slowly, and then shut immediately as the bleary light blinded him. He felt cold and naked, his flesh crawling with barely remembered frostbite and a decade of immobility. Was he awake, now? Was this another of the cold dreams?
He felt a hand on his wrist—warm, soft, female flesh. His eyes opened again, and he blinked hard, staring directly at the large, perky breasts.
“Dr. Clef?”
Clef’s eyes never left her chest. “You have me at a disadvantage, Miss…?”
The woman adjusted her top. “It’s doctor. Doctor Lore.”
He watched her fumbling modestly. She was lying, he knew. That was not her name. Chances are, he’d never know what it really was.
“What happened?” asked Clef.
“You’ve been released from cryogenic incarceration,” said Lore, handing the naked doctor a towel. “We need your help.”
“Old problem or new?” asked Clef.
“Old.”
“239 or 343?”
“239.”
“About time they killed the little brat.”
“She’s not so little anymore,” Lore said, passing the file to Clef.
----------
“You just keep reality benders around, Dr. Gears? That seems a little foolish, even by the Foundation’s standards.”
“I can assure you, she is completely under our control, Commandant Schmetterling,” replied the shorter, bald man.
Schmetterling appeared unconvinced by Gears' assurances. Gears knew that the Coalition officer was not the happiest envoy the Foundation had ever received, especially not since he was informed of 239’s continued existence.
“We thought your operatives had subdued her,” said Schmetterling, irritably. “We knew you killed the other one. We saw it from one of our observatories. I was under the impression that this one was also eliminated.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Gears, evenly.
“Well,” said Schmetterling, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to let my superiors know that the Foundation has still yet to come to its senses.”
----------
Clef tied the robe around his midsection, not bothering to attempt to hide the erection he’d sported since he woke up and saw Lore.
“Where to now, Sugartits?”
“I’m to take you to be briefed, Dr. Clef. You’ll be meeting with the current head of 239’s project.”
“Karrington?”
“Dr. Karrington was killed by 239-X in the 2017 attempt. It’s all in the report.”
Clef shrugged and looked around him. For five stories up, elongated tubes of glass and cryogenics held the Foundation’s prisoners. When he’d been imprisoned, the facility had been a third this size, newly implemented for cost purposes. When the O5’s found out it was cheaper to freeze them than feed them, dozens of prisoners were transported here.
Clef stopped short, suddenly looking at the familiar faces behind the glassy ice. There was Imants, a slight smirk passing over his pale face, as if he'd just heard a joke that only he had understood. Next to him was Glass, sporting a look of shocked surprise.
Clef turned to Lore. “What sort of look did I have on while I was frozen?”
“You looked horny,” said Lore impassively. Clef smiled and turned back to the tubes.
The next one was no surprise. Clef was shocked that he himself had been 'contained' before Kondraki, one of the earliest results of the Foundation's changing ambitions. The face of his sometimes friend was twisted with rage, open in a still silent scream, eyes narrowed with anger and disbelief. Next to him, frozen alongside his static form in the clear, perfect ice, a few butterflies remained, still shimmering. Clef raised his hand and placed it on the unit.
A few seconds later, he removed it and smiled. “You always were a son of a bitch, Kondraki.”
He turned back to Lore. “You bastards have anyone else I know in here?”
“Not really,” said Lore. “Mostly a few witnesses who were immune to Class-A’s. One or two trespassers, some of Dr. Bright’s other selves.”
“Jack’s still around?”
“No,” said Lore. She was lying again, Clef knew. He always knew.
----------
Clef sat across the table from the short, dowdy woman in the white lab coat. She had been scowling at him since he walked into the room. Clef, for his part, wasn’t paying attention. He’d sat with the robe at its most revealing, reading the file he’d been given as slowly as he possibly could. Once or twice, he looked up at the woman, smiled, and returned his attention to the file.
After a while, he stopped, laid the file down and looked at her.
“Are you all complete fucking morons?” he asked.
“Excuse me?” said the woman, whose name Clef hadn’t even bothered to learn.
“Psychological tricks? Crushing force? Stabbing her with a knife? Shooting her with a gun? Where the hell are the backup plans?”
“Each test was approved by a majority of the O5 command and I don’t see—”
“Do you know how to read?” asked Clef suddenly, dangerously.
The woman didn’t reply.
“I’ll take that as a no. I’ve completed, either alone or with some aid, the disposal of more than fourteen reality shifters for the Foundation alone. More than fourteen confirmed kills. I can’t say more than that, because no one will tell me what’s still classified, but I’m sure that even with what I must assume is your piteously low security clearance, you were allowed to read at least //some// of my exploits?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I’ve read the termination reports for several of the SCP’s you were inv—”
“Did you pay attention?” interrupted Clef again.
“What?”
“Did you //pay attention// to a single, goddamned thing I wrote in them?”
“Of course. The methods you used have been tested and found lacking for our purposes.”
“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 as 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 jewellery.”
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.
----------
[[[Unfinished Business II]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-04-26T07:03:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"action",
"alleged-god",
"doctor-bright",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-gears",
"doctor-kondraki",
"featured",
"global-occult-coalition",
"sigurros",
"tale",
"talecon10"
] | Unfinished Business - SCP Foundation | 295 | [
"unfinished-business-ii",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-great-short-story-contest-archives",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"1998-911-hub",
"kaktuskast-hub",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"featured-tale-archive",
"competitive-eschatology-hub",
"algorithm-curated-recommendations"
] | [] | 4884546 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/unfinished-business |
|
unfinished-business-ii | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">The Present, Eventually</span>:</p>
<p>Site Director Neil Ghost was one of the longest-serving members of the Foundation, a feat made possible by the relative safety of his job. It was rare that one of those few remaining SCPs originally classified as “Safe” ever proved otherwise, and as one of the caretakers of the relatively less deadly artifacts and anomalies, he enjoyed a certain amount of relaxation occasionally.</p>
<p>A mostly competent staff, a relatively safe job, and a retirement age quickly approaching: Ghost had it all. He breathed a sigh and leaned back into his chair, pulling down his glasses long enough to rub his eyes. He might have drifted off for a moment, except that he heard… something.</p>
<p>His eyes shot open and turned toward the door, narrowing. Almost without breathing, he reached for the front of his desk and retrieved a heavy brass candlestick he’d kept there ever since The Serpent’s Hand had broken in and "borrowed" a few SCPs. He still had the note they'd left, polite and somewhat condescending, hidden away in a desk drawer, right next to the broken commendation plaque he'd cracked over one of their heads when they'd come back for more.</p>
<p>He felt comforted by the makeshift weapon’s presence as he stood and slowly made his way to the door. Age had not lessened the instincts his time as an Agent had given him. He pressed an ear against the wood finish, listening again for the noise. He was almost certain he’d heard someone walking past his office, which shouldn’t be possible. No one else at this site had his clearance, and as far as he knew, no one who did was supposed to be visiting anytime soon.</p>
<p>He clicked the door open, peering into the black hallway. He stepped out, bracing himself against the wall as he slowly sidled down the corridor, listening as he progressed. He was certain he heard it now, someone further down the hall, someone in one of the storage rooms.</p>
<p>He controlled his labored breathing as he crept closer, turning the cold brass in his hands, snaking a step at a time until he stood directly next to the door. It was a rustle of files, the paper kind that were just used for archival information now. With a hard twist, he turned himself into the door, tensed to leap at whoever he saw.</p>
<p>Instead, a small metal disk whirled by his head, causing him to turn sharply and stare as the wall behind him erupted with thumb tacks, nails, and burning thorns. He tried to turn back again, but instead felt a fist connect solidly with his jaw, sending him falling backwards onto the floor, the heavy candlestick spiraling out of reach.</p>
<p>He glanced up and saw a face he remembered: blond hair and blue eyes. Skin paler than he remembered, but ice had a tendency to do that to you.</p>
<p>“Hello, Imants. I heard you'd been… released.”</p>
<p>The younger man remained silent, but the knuckles of the hand clenching a couple of file folders whitened even further as he tightened his grip.</p>
<p>Ghost’s fingers were anxiously searching through the needles and points covering the floor, digging into his fingers and back.</p>
<p>“You know, if you turn yourself in, we would be lenient. The situation has changed in recent years. We know you were young. Impressionable. The people who came to you for help were legends. Kondraki. Clef. It's no wonder you were star struck. Dragged along.”</p>
<p>“And why wasn’t this brought up at my first hearing?” Imants replied, sneering with irritation.</p>
<p>“Like I said,” said Ghost, his fingers finally closing around the smooth, metal surface. “The situation has changed.”</p>
<p>He flung the disk hard, awkwardly pushing himself off the floor and desperately rushing Imants full on, burying a heavy shoulder into the ex-agent’s midsection as papers flew from the cabinets around them, edges sharpening and glistening as they shot out of their folders, cutting at both men.</p>
<p>Imants was shoved back hard, slamming into the wall. Ghost fell to one knee suddenly, age catching up to him. He pushed himself up as quickly as he could, painfully straining as he put the last of his strength into a final, desperate uppercut when he felt the knee collide with his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Two more sharp blows to the back of the head, and darkness claimed him.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Several Years Earlier:</span></p>
<p>Dr. Glass had spent the past several years working with the Foundation, during which time he'd both seen and been subjected to more than his fair share of trauma. As a psychologist, he was supposed to analyze, interpret, and recommend treatment for dozens of cases a week, most of them repeat patients unable to deal with the stress of the job. When he'd finally been promoted upward, he expected a much less traumatic job. The Senior Staff he was now in charge of interviewing were supposed to be trained, hardened, and experienced. And while they were, he found his work all the more distressing.</p>
<p>He would write a paper about each of them if he could. Over seventy separate bundles of neuroses, each on a case study in either sheer madness or inexplicably intricate coping mechanisms. Over half of them went around armed constantly against threats seen and unseen. Still others regressed into childlike states of coloring their reports, and still more simply died inside eventually.</p>
<p>Then there were the special cases. A talking dog he had to interview, another man whose emotional nerves had been cauterized long, long ago, and a doctor who insisted on referring to himself as a chord rather than a name. And there was the butterfly man, who delighted in chaos, a woman who chased him with lamps, and a high-ranking agent who had threatened to kill him when he'd seen the Pondur he'd been given by an old patient.</p>
<p>But it was the man with all the faces that gave Glass the most trouble. At first, he'd simply thought the staff had been joking with him about Dr. Bright, a phantasm in the background who seemingly resisted all attempts at analysis by sending a different person to the interview each month. Then, he'd read the file on SCP-963 and found the truth even more disturbing.</p>
<p>At least he participated in the interviews somewhat, which was far more than could be said for the likes of Dr. Kondraki or Dr. Clef. They got a kick out of fucking with him; Jack Bright got a kick out of telling him the truth.</p>
<p>He was surprisingly talkative to someone with sufficient security clearance. Glass listened intently, hearing about Bright's early life— though he spoke little about his family— and the events leading up to his first death. He also told him about the deaths he had experienced first hand, the ones he had physically experienced. Most of them were gruesome, as so often death was in the Foundation, and Jack recounted each with the reverence of a soldier remembering fallen comrades. The cycle continued, and Glass became more and more in tune with the one overbearing wish Jack Bright had: release.</p>
<p>Glass remembered one point when Jack had been attempting to aggregate a body together with Professor Crow. The Frankensteining process had never worked, but he remembered the way Bright had looked at his hands, commented on them, admiring them for a moment or two. Weeks later, he'd asked him about his brother. Bright got quiet for a moment and tilted his head to the right, almost like he was listening for the answer.</p>
<p>"I did what was necessary," he said.</p>
<p>Dr. Glass continued to build the profiles, though after a while, he eventually stopped keeping anything but the most cursory notes on most of the staff. It was obvious that Dr. Gears would never change, though he still tried the occasional Rorschach test. Clef and Kondraki became a source of comedy at times, and he began to enjoy quiet coffees with Professor Crow in lieu of evaluation. But he kept keeping notes on Bright. For whatever reason, he was fascinated by the myriad of faces he'd seen over the years, the occasional animal, the regular shifts in gender.</p>
<p>He noted cycles, patterns. He attempted to make sense of Bright's personality, the ways it moved and shifted, the ways it stayed the same. It was almost a year before he asked Jack Bright about his brother again. He had to go back and check his notes twice before he was satisfied, but he was sure that the tilt of the head, the listening expression, was exactly the same.</p>
<p>"I did what was required," replied Jack.</p>
<p>It was a subtle shift, but one that Glass noted. Something that was necessary equated to a personal decision; something that was required pointed to one mandatory. Over the months, Glass continued asking different questions of Jack, different leads and answers. But he always returned, every so often, to his brother.</p>
<p>"I did what I was told."</p>
<p>"It's his own fault."</p>
<p>"I didn't choose for him to be that way."</p>
<p>"I did what I wanted."</p>
<p>Each time, the same motion, the same pattern; a shifting answer.</p>
<p>But the early files, the files from before he and 963 were linked, were consistent. And so was Jack Bright's loyalty to the Foundation. That, more so than anything, had led to the man's meteoric rise. It was a mere week after his promotion to Foundation Director that he stopped by Dr. Glass's office for the last time. He and Glass exchanged pleasantries and congratulations, shared a cup of coffee, and relaxed, talking about the time Kondraki had shot up a break room over a failure to brew proper coffee or the time a new recruit mistook Kain for an office pet and tried to rub his belly.</p>
<p>And for the last time, Dr. Glass looked at Jack, currently in the body of a green-eyed, red-haired child rapist, and asked him about his brother. This time, instead of looking off to the side, Jack looked right at Glass, his gaze intense and penetrating.</p>
<p>"I don't remember."</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">The Present</span>:</p>
<p>"According to my reports, there was a massive information dump around four months ago. A complete backup was made of all Foundation reports. At first I thought it was the standard backup before base evacuation, but…"</p>
<p>"What's the problem, Mr. Halifax?"</p>
<p>"The entry code was wrong. I did that backup myself, and these are not my access codes. Someone went into the system, erased the record of my backup, and made one of their own. No one would have even noticed it if they hadn't been looking at the specific date stamp."</p>
<p>"You're saying that someone has a copy of the Foundation's archive, Halifax? Are you quite sure about that?"</p>
<p>"Very sure, Dr. Bright. There's no one but me that accesses those terminals."</p>
<p>"Can you tell me the user that accessed it?"</p>
<p>"No, sir. They covered their tracks well. The only thing I know is that their password was last used over a decade ago."</p>
<p>"Thank you, Mr. Halifax. See that the code is deactivated and put a trace on all public terminals to look for additional access attempts."</p>
<p>"Yes, Director Bright."</p>
<p>Jack Bright leaned back into her chair, fingering the outline of SCP-963-2 hidden underneath a loose-fitting shirt. Everything was beginning to fall into place. The sudden disappearance of Kondraki and Imants from incarceration; the damage to the Red Sea Object by the unseen gunshot; Clef's suicidal leap into a parallel world; and the string of attacks on Foundation archives. They were looking for something, whoever they were. And Bright knew she had to find out what it was before they laid their hands on it.</p>
<p>With a complete copy of the archive, though, the paper files should be unnecessary. Everything was contained within the archive; the only things that they might not have included were the older SCPs that were no longer…</p>
<p>The epiphany hit Dr. Bright like a ton of bricks. They weren't looking for something that was still active. They were looking for what was <em>left</em> of something.</p>
<p>Jack leaned back in the chair smiling. All remains were in Site-19 reliquaries, which meant that they were looking for something specific, too specific to just try a mad dash directly into the Foundation's heart shooting and looting. She traced the edges of the amulet under her shirt, slowly putting everything together. She had preparations to make.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Eleven Years Earlier</span>:</p>
<p>Dr. Alto Clef carefully polished one of the several shotguns he kept around his office, running the oil soaked rag up and down the metal barrel before breaking the weapon down and carefully cleaning the ejecting mechanism. It was a ritual for him, one he executed weekly with an elegant precision, one he'd missed while paralyzed and was now eager to resume.</p>
<p>A knock on his door led to a shell being loaded into the weapon. The opening of the door lead to its cocking.</p>
<p>"Am I disturbing anything, Dr. Clef?" asked Glass.</p>
<p>"Yes," said Clef.</p>
<p>"We need to talk sometime soon."</p>
<p>"My psych evaluation was cleared weeks ago, Glass. Are you slipping?"</p>
<p>"It's not about that."</p>
<p>"Then what is it about?"</p>
<p>"Dr. Bright."</p>
<p>"Jack? He's a good guy. Now if you'll excuse me for a moment, Glass, I've got to go take care of a little problem the Foundation has been sitting on for a while now."</p>
<p>"You and Kondraki working together, huh?"</p>
<p>Clef smiled. "For now."</p>
<p>"Well, if you could look me up when you get back on site?"</p>
<p>"When I feel like it, Glass."</p>
<p>Clef pushed past the psychiatrist into the hall, carrying the gun with him. He knew he couldn't take it into the chamber with him, but he felt better having it with him, nonetheless.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">The Present</span>:</p>
<p>Four security guards lay unconscious between the entrance to deep storage at Site-11 and the bank of filing cabinets lined the far wall. Imants moved from drawer to drawer, carefully flipping through the files and examining termination dates. He knew that despite its lack of presence in the database, there still had to be some record of the object. The Foundation didn't believe in destroying anything, at least on the paperwork side of things. It was a destroyed SCP he was looking for.</p>
<p>He switched drawers and redoubled his efforts. His recent altercation with Neil Ghost was still playing on his mind. It wasn't too late to turn back. It was true, what Ghost had said. The second Kondraki approached him, he'd agreed, almost blindly. Kondraki was a legend in the Foundation, at least as well-known as Clef, if not more. Imants had been more than willing to do what he asked, especially if the future of the Foundation was at stake.</p>
<p>He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the number, pulled out the file, and looked over the paperwork. The Foundation was not inclined to let anything just drift about uncollected, even something that was no longer of use to them.</p>
<p>Imants shoved the folder into his jacket and prepared to report to Kondraki. One way or the other, the job was going to get done.</p>
<p>Jack Bright had to die.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Eleven Years Earlier</span>:</p>
<p>"What are you saying, Glass? You want me to kill him a few times?"</p>
<p>"No," said Glass, rubbing his eyes in frustration. "We have to remove him from a position where anyone can be harmed, then we have to find a way to release Jack from the medallion. It's doing something to him."</p>
<p>"Yeah," said Kondraki. "It's making him less appreciative of the fragility of life." Kondraki laughed. "So, you want me to kill 963?"</p>
<p>"Effectively… yes, I suppose. You're one of the Foundation's problem solvers. The O5 have ignored my requests for a conference, and I've got nowhere else to turn to. I need you to help me stop whatever it is his mind is doing."</p>
<p>"What do you mean, Glass? His mind? The fuck are you talking about?"</p>
<p>"Aggregate personalities."</p>
<p>"Aggregate Personalities? What do you mean, aggregate personalities?"</p>
<p>"Just what I said," said Glass, his forehead creased. "There seems to be a buildup, over time, of personalities… I don't know what to call them…chunks. They just stick around in there, somewhere."</p>
<p>"And we've been attaching him to murderers, rapists, and baboons?"</p>
<p>"Hence, my concern."</p>
<p>"God damn it Glass. He's just been made the director! Why didn't you come to me earlier?"</p>
<p>"Apologies, Kondraki. I'm here now, though, and we don't really have another choice. Clef and I are on board. Will you help us?"</p>
<p>A smile was the only answer he received. It was also the only one he needed.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">The Present, A Few Weeks Later</span>:</p>
<p>Quikngruvn Halifax cursed his parents for not the first time as he re-affixed his name-badge and proceeded through the opening door. Over the past few years, he'd worked himself up to the position of chief archivist in the Foundation, a post he was immensely proud of. The offer for transfers to other, safe sites had come in over the years, but he'd remained at Site-19, comfortable in the hustle and bustle of the Foundation's largest site.</p>
<p>He looked around his perfectly arranged office, paying careful attention to everything and adjusting the few trays the cleaning staff had bumped when cleaning the previous night. He reached for the stereo remote on the corner of his desk and pressed play. He stopped, looked at the remote and back at the stereo, pressed the button again, and frowned. He walked over to cabinet, prepared to reach behind it to reconnect a cord he was sure the janitors had disconnected when he felt the circle of cool steel pressed into the back of his neck.</p>
<p>"I want you to understand, Halifax, that while I have nothing against you, I am fully prepared to plaster the contents of your skull all over that wall. I'm afraid you disabled my old access code, so I'll be needing yours. Now."</p>
<p>Quikngruvn's body tensed when he heard the voice, realizing immediately who was right behind him, who had used the antiquated access code, and what was pressed against his neck. A reputation came with the presence of the legendary Dr. Kondraki, one which he was in no way eager to discover the validity of. He eased his hand up to his collar, unclipped the name badge, and held it over his shoulder.</p>
<p>"That's a good boy, now."</p>
<p>Quikngruvn saw as a hand reached over his shoulder, turning on the stereo and cranking up the volume.</p>
<p>"Sorry about the knee."</p>
<p>The sound of the shot and the harsh drumming of the music meshed well, and the solid slap of the cold, metal butt of the gun against his head brought a welcomed repose from excruciating reality.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Eleven Years Earlier</span>:</p>
<p>"We have to separate him from 963, then present our evidence. We'll never even make it to a formal hearing otherwise."</p>
<p>"Why don't we just chuck him through a Hell gate? Don't we have a few of those?"</p>
<p>"Because, he's our friend. We should help him as best we can."</p>
<p>"Speak for yourself. I've never liked Bright."</p>
<p>"You've never liked anyone."</p>
<p>"Point being?"</p>
<p>"Nevertheless, the plan stands. We kill Bright's current body, contain 963, present our evidence, and then hope we don't get our wrists slapped."</p>
<p>"That's an awful plan."</p>
<p>"Then what do you suggest?"</p>
<p>"Poison him, then burn him. Then, we put 963 through 093 and pretend it never happened."</p>
<p>"Too complicated. It would never work."</p>
<p>"We could just use explosives. Explosives always work."</p>
<p>"963 is practically indestructible. An explosion big enough to take it out would be more than enough to burn off the atmosphere."</p>
<p>"No, just for killing him. Small explosion, then a series of them to bury the body in rubble. While they're sorting it out, we can convince them to do what we want with the medallion."</p>
<p>"You guys are forgetting one problem."</p>
<p>"And what's that, Glass?"</p>
<p>"He's the director, now. He's going to have guards. <em>Good</em> guards."</p>
<p>"Guards, Glass? Really? That's what you're worried about?"</p>
<p>"For God's sake, Glass, I'm a god damned legend. You think I can't handle a few trained monkeys?"</p>
<p>"It's not going to be that easy."</p>
<p>"Why not?"</p>
<p>"The guards are him too."</p>
<p>"Jack's a scientist, not an army."</p>
<p>"Why don't we just wait for a more opportune moment? Why are we rushing this, anyhow?"</p>
<p>"Have you <em>seen</em> some of the reports coming out of Site-19? For god's sake, there have been more decommissions in the last month than there have been in the entire life of the Foundation."</p>
<p>"I heard about a few of them. I'm not sure why 914 was disassembled, but he had a good argument for 447. Too much of a hazard on site."</p>
<p>"It doesn't matter. The Foundation has a mission to carry out. We're the wall between humanity and all the shit that would break their minds. We hold it back; we don't blow it up."</p>
<p>"I've blown up plenty of shit for them."</p>
<p>"Not stuff that didn't need it! He's changing the mission!"</p>
<p>"He's claiming that everything destroyed was a threat to the survival of the Foundation."</p>
<p>"107 was a threat?"</p>
<p>"107 was decommed?"</p>
<p>"47 Safe SCPs, 28 Euclid. Gone."</p>
<p>"Then we're agreed, yes? We have to do this. He has to be stopped, our evidence has to be presented."</p>
<p>"Agreed."</p>
<p>"Agreed."</p>
<p>"Yeah, fine."</p>
<p>"Good. We strike tomorrow."</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">The Present</span>:</p>
<p>Dr. Kondraki had spent the last few years haunting the halls of various sites, taking on the roles of people who did or didn't exist, acting in a million tiny ways, most of them either obnoxious or harmless. The occasional missing sample, the carefully made blueprints for the various sites, reports on newly recovered artifacts—all passed along to the Global Occult Coalition. The little group was a useful tool, for now, and he hoped to keep using them into the foreseeable future. He'd always been good at killing things, and it was one of the few activities that they appreciated. He could see why Clef had worked with them.</p>
<p>He was pressed hard against the hallway's curved walls, 408 carefully guarding him, as he waited for the approaching guard to get a little closer. It should be a fairly simple process. Enter the security point, open the proper containment units with Halifax's code, and clear a path straight to their insurance. He couldn't imagine finding the location of a bunch of failed experiments would be so damn hard, but Bright had covered the tracks of his weakness fairly well, if inadvertently. It would, of course, be here at Site-19, where Bright could keep an eye on it. But Site-19 was very, very big. And there were many, many places to hide something.</p>
<p>Imants had done his job well, and now it was up to Kondraki. One last run into the belly of the beast. One last mission before everything would be over, finally. The Foundation had taken several steps away from where it had been when he'd been an agent. There were fewer and fewer containments, more and more Neutralizations. He was even aware of a few cities that had been razed after experiments were conducted there and found to have less than optimal results. The O5 were further and further removed, the Director given more and more power. He might have liked the position fifteen years ago, but time had mellowed his ambitions. Slightly.</p>
<p>The guard rounded the last bend, slowly approaching the coded door. He placed his thumb over the checkpoint, causing the door to beep once, cheerily, and open. Kondraki stepped out, bringing a well timed chop down on his foe's neck, causing him to stumble, but not fall. Kondraki cursed as he pulled the sawed off shotgun out from under his coat as the guard looked up at him.</p>
<p>"Konny?"</p>
<p>Kondraki's eye's widened. "Jack?"</p>
<p>The guard's hand flew to the alarm, slamming down on it as Kondraki's finger squeezed the trigger. The blast blew away much of the guard's face, though much too slowly to avoid the unfortunate consequences. The guard meant one thing: Jack had activated 963-2.</p>
<p>He stepped over the body, scanned Halifax's name badge, and started running.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Eleven Years Earlier</span>:</p>
<p>In retrospect, Glass thought they should have gone with Clef's plan.</p>
<p>The charges were set in a fairly open area, with a remote detonator rigged to the wall. They waited as the first security crew passed, until they knew the Jack with 963 would be directly above the explosion and sprung the trap.</p>
<p>Clef spun around the forward corner, putting two shells each into the forward guards' backs as they turned to see the erupting flames around their charge. Kondraki emptied his sidearm into the rear guard from a safe, hidden corner as Imants dropped the remaining ceiling into the corridor with a well-timed grenade in the ventilation system.</p>
<p>The entire attack had been executed flawlessly.</p>
<p>"That was too easy," said Kondraki, eying the guard's bodies. "Jack's not a soldier, but he's also not an idiot."</p>
<p>Clef nodded. "He probably put 963 on one of the guards."</p>
<p>"Or he's not here at all." Everyone looked up at Glass, the young doctor nervously running his hand through his hair.</p>
<p>The four of them looked at each other as the alarms started blaring.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">The Present</span>:</p>
<p>A brilliant flash of light blinded Kondraki as he rounded the corner, making the floating images around him shudder as 408 lost members of its hive. He fired the pistol over his shoulder twice, stopping after he heard a grunt and fall. The storage chamber he needed would be nearby, and if he was lucky—</p>
<p>A second blast of light flew ahead of Kondraki, cutting through the illusion and scattering the burned husks of butterflies through the air. He slid around a second corner, bringing the pistol up under the guard's chin and scattering his thoughts and memories over the ceiling without stopping. He leaped through the air as a second guard attempted to bull rush him from behind, firing downward into the man's lower back as he twisted sharply to avoid another blast of light.</p>
<p>It would have been impressive if he'd left anyone alive to witness it.</p>
<p>He found the door and scanned Halifax's card, entering the lab and sealing the door behind him. He walked across the room, putting a bullet into the forehead of a stunned researcher, and pulled several green vials out of a row of test tubes, placing them in his pocket. He smiled, running through the rest of the plan in his head.</p>
<p>Then, he shrugged, muttered "Fuck it" under his breath, and reloaded his gun. If he was doing this, he was going to do it his way. He was going to have fun.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Eleven Years Earlier</span>:</p>
<p>Glass had been captured first. He'd not been trained for any sort of combat, so when the hoard of trained shock troops poured into the hallway following the explosion, he'd held his hands in the air and waited for them to quit beating him into the ground. He heard about Clef's capture, how it'd taken them four hours to get through the traps he set in his outer office and another two to actually lay hands on the man. Imants had managed to hole up in the ventilation system for almost two days before they found him. Kondraki had actually come quietly, having been found in his office apparently doing paperwork.</p>
<p>Glass heard about the other trials through his guard. Clef had been sentenced quickly, Kondraki mere hours later. It was the next morning before Imants had been sentenced, as there was apparently a fair amount of dissent about the extent to which he'd been involved and how much he'd been influenced by his superiors. The sentence had been the same, nonetheless: indefinite stasis.</p>
<p>Glass sat in his cell, listening to the footsteps, trying not to think about the stories he'd heard from other people who'd experienced stasis. Cold dreams; frozen memories. They could never remember what they'd dreamed, only the cold.</p>
<p>It was the next morning when the guard approached his cell. Glass contemplated trying to hit the guard over the head and escape, but he knew that he wouldn't last more than two or three steps into the hall. He allowed them to cuff him, requested an opportunity to examine himself in the mirror, and after doing so, walked down the hallway, flanked by the guards.</p>
<p>A series of blurry and darkened screens greeted him in the courtroom; he steeled himself and listened to the charges.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">The Present</span>:</p>
<p>Kondraki could hear the footsteps charging him, herding him. It was the problem with fighting with someone who could effectively create a hive mind with the right kind of telepathy. And the Foundation had the right kind, especially since they'd cut up 182's and 116's respective brains and played around with them.</p>
<p>He took a short cut he knew he shouldn't, but Jack could go fuck himself if he thought that Kondraki would do what he wanted him to. He slid into one of the maintenance closets, a place he'd gotten used to hiding in over the years, and looked for one of the access pipes. He found one marked "Pest Control" and opened the access nozzles, filling them with two of the vials he'd stolen earlier. He looked around him and the butterflies flitting through the air and frowned, muttering quietly under his breath. "I'm sorry."</p>
<p>He turned back to the door, kicking it open and having 408 project an illusion of himself in front of the opening, smirking as a hail of gunfire issued from the left. He swung low out of the opening, bringing the pistol level and putting a bullet into the neck of both men firing, noting as they fell the dangling Foundation symbols strung around their necks. 'Jack,' he thought.</p>
<p>Kondraki started running. He'd have to get to the climate control quickly, the one for this sector, or the plan would be pointless. It wouldn't take much longer, not now. Another turn and then a quick shot straight to—</p>
<p>The bullet tore through his thigh, hollow tip causing more damage than he might otherwise have preferred. He fell hard against the right wall, having 408 project him falling to the left, and fired a shot backwards wildly. He pulled himself further, ripping a sleeve off his shirt and tying it around his leg tightly. He could barely feel his leg, and he knew that there weren't enough members of 408 left alive to cover the blood. If this was going to happen, it would have to be soon.</p>
<p>He struggled forward, smiling as the two symbol wearing guards pursuing him put several rounds into the illusory corpse. He took the time to turn and aim carefully, putting a shot into both of their heads before bringing himself into the climate control center.</p>
<p>The room wasn't that much different than any one of a dozen across Site-19, but this one had the controls he needed. He found the Infestation Control Station that had been in place since 439 had been forcibly Neutralized. He looked at the handful of butterflies around him one last time and pressed the command sequence, releasing the anti-parasitics into the air.</p>
<p>Glass erupted from the screen as two loud blasts sounded behind him, forcing him to roll out of the chair as blood loss made his vision swim. He struggled away from the station as a hoard of footsteps approached him.</p>
<p>The pesticide had a faint hint of mint to it, Kondraki noticed, smiling. 408 died in the air around him, the multiple projections fading with them. His leg ached and bled in spite of the tourniquet.</p>
<p>"You shouldn't have come alone, Konny."</p>
<p>Kondraki looked up at the handful of men, all wearing the same expression, all wearing the same medallion.</p>
<p>"What makes you think I came alone, Jack?"</p>
<p>"Bluffing, at this point?" Three men with crests around their necks approached Kondraki and kicked him in the stomach. Kondraki heard several Brights laugh as the dying butterflies tried to project an illusion around the dying, middle-aged doctor. He brought a hand out to brush his hair back off his forehead as he looked up at his foe.</p>
<p>"When have I ever lied to you, Jack?"</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Elsewhere</span>:</p>
<p>Imants turned the corner, running as stealthily as possible up the corridor, ignoring the green, acidic mist the sprayed from the ceiling. If the last round of reports from their informant had been correct, the package he was looking for was in the second room on the left, Corridor 23-B. With everyone going after Kondraki, he shouldn't have any problems finding the package.</p>
<p>As the door slid open, he slowly walked into the room, looking quickly to either side for unexpected surprises. He was pleased to find none.</p>
<p>Imants stepped forward, ignoring the new set of erupting sirens. He looked down at the red disk and collected it into a cloth, slipping it into his pocket. Two sets of plastic explosives later, he left the room, running as fast as possible. Kondraki's plan gave him two minutes, but he wanted to be further away.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">The Present</span>:</p>
<p>The mist was beginning to die down as dozens more Jack Brights surrounded Kondraki, watching him bleed. A bouncy, black-haired woman walked to the front of the crowd. She smiled, condescendingly, leaning over the injured man.</p>
<p>"You've gotten old and slow, Konny. No one would have caught you ten years ago."</p>
<p>He sneered. "No one did."</p>
<p>She smiled at him again. "I guess you're right. It's a shame really. The Foundation could have used you, Kondraki. Your talents. No one other than Clef had more confirmed decommissions than you. With our new programs, you might have had a place here again."</p>
<p>"I've not had a place here in a long time, Jack."</p>
<p>"No, I guess you haven't. Any last requests?"</p>
<p>"None. But I do have one question," said Kondraki, pushing himself up and leaning back against his legs.</p>
<p>"That's not a request," replied Jack.</p>
<p>"It's close enough. Humor me."</p>
<p>"Fine."</p>
<p>"Is this everyone?" asked Kondraki.</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Is this everyone?" repeated Kondraki. "Did you really bring every copy of yourself to fight me?"</p>
<p>Bright's eyes narrowed. All of them.</p>
<p>"Because, Jack, if you did, that was a god damned stupid thing to do."</p>
<p>Kondraki reached into both pockets. He pulled his gun out of the first. Out of the second, he pulled a green vial. Forty faces blanched in recognition, for the first time noticing the scent of the pesticide as the stopper on the vial flew through the air, and the substance contained within it splashed on Kondraki's face. Dozens of eyes turning to see the butterflies on the ground sparking and twitching as they died.</p>
<p>"A body is a body, Jack. See you in hell, you son of a bitch. All of you."</p>
<p>Kondraki raised the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. As the bullet passed through his skull, he felt an instant of 447's reaction taking place. But then, reality was gone, and all that was left was an aftermath.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Eleven Years Earlier</span>:</p>
<p>"None of you are listening!" screamed Glass, his face shuddering. "That's not Jack Bright! Not anymore! It didn't happen all at once! It was putting a pebble on the beach. And then another and another. Eventually, the whole thing is hidden, and you never noticed!"</p>
<p>"Dr. Glass, please calm yourself. You've obviously experienced some kind of psychotic break—"</p>
<p>"I've experience nothing of the sort! You don't get it!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "It's not his whole personality, not even a big part of it. It's inches of the football field. But soon, it'll be worse."</p>
<p>"Nevertheless, Doctor, you've committed a serious crime, have no evidence, and rallied enough of our less… controllable members together to convince us you planned nothing less serious than another break like the Chaos Insurgency, as Dr. Bright concluded. Given your family history, it seems a logical—"</p>
<p>"I've got all the proof I need sitting right there," screeched Glass, pointing at Bright's current body. "One question. That's all I ask. Just one."</p>
<p>The face on the other side of the screen seemed to frown for a moment before visibly shrugging. "Fine. Ask away."</p>
<p>Glass looked at Jack Bright, narrowing his eyes as if to stare right through the visibly disturbed looking doctor.</p>
<p>"Jack. What do you want more than anything else in the world?"</p>
<p>Bright looked surprised. He smirked, the concern draining from his face. "To serve the Foundation."</p>
<p>Glass's face cracked as he smiled in triumph. "That's not true, Jack."</p>
<p>The voice from beyond the screen sounded again. "Enough. The trial is over. We have the utmost faith in Dr. Bright, and this line of questioning will change nothing. Dr. Glass, you are to be suspended in cryogenic stasis for no fewer than thirty years."</p>
<p>Glass turned to the screen, eyes widening in shock. "What? Don't you see? It's not right! He doesn't want to serve!"</p>
<p>Two men approached the dais and took either of Glass's arms, proceeding to pull him away from the court room. Glass's voice echoed over the cacophony of voices and static, screaming in rage.</p>
<p>"IT'S NOT RIGHT! HE WANTS TO DIE, YOU IDIOTS! HE JUST WANTS TO DIE!"</p>
<p>He was still screaming when they put him in the chamber. Directly across from him, he saw Kondraki's cryogenic chamber. For a moment, it shimmered, a wing flapping momentarily out of place. Glass had only a moment to register his surprise before the ice took him.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">The Present</span>:</p>
<p>There was also a multitude of voices shouting now, though the shapely female form lay mostly still and silent, only occasionally coughing or hacking up blood. Murderers and thieves, rapists and pedophiles, and a handful of those who had just stumbled onto the wrong military base or into the wrong room. Most of them were angry, calling out with rage and anger at their denied immortality, while others were crying loudly in sadness. But somewhere, deep down at the bottom, there was one who was silent. Unspeakably and immeasurably relieved.</p>
<p>'It feels good to finally die,' thought Jack.</p>
<p>He watched from the bottom upward as the voices winked out, disappearing like vanishing stars. He heard them silenced, one by one, the din growing quieter and quieter as the others finally went away, finally vanished, blowing away like flakes of ash. He felt whole again for the first time in decades. It took an incredibly long time, though it seemed to happen all at once; then, Jack was alone.</p>
<p>It was dark, and cold, and wonderful. Dreadfully wonderful. Then he saw it, just barely out of the corner of his eyes, exploding with the intensity of its presence. A single dot of light, still shimmering.</p>
<p>'No,' thought Jack. 'God damn it. NO!'</p>
<p>He tried to speak and could not. The body he was occupying shuddered, racked out a final, desperate cough, and died.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Seven Weeks Later</span>:</p>
<p>Interim Director Gears sat uncomfortably in the chair, but it didn't show. Kondraki's actions would leave Site-19 unusable for the foreseeable future, unless some antidote to 447-2's effect could be found. Since it didn't seem likely, Gears had been forced to relocate. On top of that, he was the chief surviving member of Site-19's command structure, leaving him with a very large mess to clean up. Anyone else would have broken under the stress of Gears' responsibilities. And Gears himself might be feeling a similar strain, but it didn't show.</p>
<p>He had shuffled through more paperwork in the last month than in his entire career. While he'd passed on some of it to Iceberg, he was still inundated daily with requests, notes on recovery, and personnel casualty reports. Today was no different.</p>
<p>He leafed through half a dozen SCP recoveries, making notes about the number of newly Neutralized objects that would have to be refiled. At the bottom of the stack, he found a file he thought he wouldn't see again anytime soon. It was a thick folder, full of notes on exploration and chromatically based locations. SCP-093. Status: <em>Missing, Presumed Destroyed</em>.</p>
<p>He looked over the several pages of examinations Bright had ordered on the object, noted how the prognosis for repair had looked quite promising, and quietly closed the folder, setting it aside and retrieving the logs from the last day of Site-19. It took him a few minutes to find the security access data, and less time to discover that one of the many alarms tripped that day was to 093's research lab. Furthermore, it was the only alarm set off in its sector. He slowly put the puzzle together, sighed, and looked at the next file: "Concerning the Locating and Elimination of the Rogue Agent Imants."</p>
<p>He read the report, signed at the bottom of the file to note he'd seen it, and then checked the box next to "Denied," citing a need for Foundation resources to be applied more scrupulously during such a difficult time. With luck, that would keep them from rediscovering the object before Imant's new employers could destroy it. He'd had a long day, and he was fairly glad when it was over, but it didn't show.</p>
<p>Gears placed the manila folder in his outbox, and a crease knitted his eyebrows briefly and was gone.</p>
<p>"Goodbye, Jack."</p>
<p>He turned off the lights and left the room.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">The Future</span>:</p>
<p>The stems of wheat waved slowly, methodically, in the wind. The corpse would have been long desiccated, save for the fact that there weren't enough bacteria left alive to do much to it. All over the middle and lower torso, bulges of tumorous growths protruded under the skin, sometimes breaking through. The expression spoke of one who had died in agony. Even now, the eyes were painfully cramped shut, the teeth broken from gnashing and grinding, though the face still flickered and changed occasionally. Every so often, it flitted into a mocking smile, the last vestige of a man who, in his final moments, had passed on his death to his enemy. A final, spiteful act of a spiteful man. But not one that was undeserved.</p>
<p>How long the body lay there, no one could know, but eventually, coasting over the horizon, there came a form. A strange half body, dragging itself with its arms, incomprehensibly large and impossibly terrible. It came, smelling blood, something it hadn't sensed in many, many years. The face, if it could be called that, was leering down at the slowly rotting corpse, smelling it, possibly savoring it, although its intentions would be impossible to tell. There was no way to know the mind of such a creature, so far was it removed from its original, human roots.</p>
<p>The mouth slowly lowered down to the ground, surrounding the body and swallowing it whole. For a brief instant, it ceased moving. But in the next moment, it howled—though if in anguish or joy it could not be said. The form bent and twisted as the souls of a dead world became overwritten, leaving only a single, mingled consciousness. It doubled over as the eternal torment of billions became the burden of one. It shuddered as the knowledge of countless minds were added to its own.</p>
<p>And just on the other side of the mirror, just out of sight, remained Jack Bright, trapped eternally between realities.</p>
<p>Waiting. Festering.</p>
<p>Plotting.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/unfinished-business-ii">Unfinished Business: Part II</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/unfinished-business-ii">https://scpwiki.com/unfinished-business-ii</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
__The Present, Eventually__:
Site Director Neil Ghost was one of the longest-serving members of the Foundation, a feat made possible by the relative safety of his job. It was rare that one of those few remaining SCPs originally classified as “Safe” ever proved otherwise, and as one of the caretakers of the relatively less deadly artifacts and anomalies, he enjoyed a certain amount of relaxation occasionally.
A mostly competent staff, a relatively safe job, and a retirement age quickly approaching: Ghost had it all. He breathed a sigh and leaned back into his chair, pulling down his glasses long enough to rub his eyes. He might have drifted off for a moment, except that he heard… something.
His eyes shot open and turned toward the door, narrowing. Almost without breathing, he reached for the front of his desk and retrieved a heavy brass candlestick he’d kept there ever since The Serpent’s Hand had broken in and "borrowed" a few SCPs. He still had the note they'd left, polite and somewhat condescending, hidden away in a desk drawer, right next to the broken commendation plaque he'd cracked over one of their heads when they'd come back for more.
He felt comforted by the makeshift weapon’s presence as he stood and slowly made his way to the door. Age had not lessened the instincts his time as an Agent had given him. He pressed an ear against the wood finish, listening again for the noise. He was almost certain he’d heard someone walking past his office, which shouldn’t be possible. No one else at this site had his clearance, and as far as he knew, no one who did was supposed to be visiting anytime soon.
He clicked the door open, peering into the black hallway. He stepped out, bracing himself against the wall as he slowly sidled down the corridor, listening as he progressed. He was certain he heard it now, someone further down the hall, someone in one of the storage rooms.
He controlled his labored breathing as he crept closer, turning the cold brass in his hands, snaking a step at a time until he stood directly next to the door. It was a rustle of files, the paper kind that were just used for archival information now. With a hard twist, he turned himself into the door, tensed to leap at whoever he saw.
Instead, a small metal disk whirled by his head, causing him to turn sharply and stare as the wall behind him erupted with thumb tacks, nails, and burning thorns. He tried to turn back again, but instead felt a fist connect solidly with his jaw, sending him falling backwards onto the floor, the heavy candlestick spiraling out of reach.
He glanced up and saw a face he remembered: blond hair and blue eyes. Skin paler than he remembered, but ice had a tendency to do that to you.
“Hello, Imants. I heard you'd been… released.”
The younger man remained silent, but the knuckles of the hand clenching a couple of file folders whitened even further as he tightened his grip.
Ghost’s fingers were anxiously searching through the needles and points covering the floor, digging into his fingers and back.
“You know, if you turn yourself in, we would be lenient. The situation has changed in recent years. We know you were young. Impressionable. The people who came to you for help were legends. Kondraki. Clef. It's no wonder you were star struck. Dragged along.”
“And why wasn’t this brought up at my first hearing?” Imants replied, sneering with irritation.
“Like I said,” said Ghost, his fingers finally closing around the smooth, metal surface. “The situation has changed.”
He flung the disk hard, awkwardly pushing himself off the floor and desperately rushing Imants full on, burying a heavy shoulder into the ex-agent’s midsection as papers flew from the cabinets around them, edges sharpening and glistening as they shot out of their folders, cutting at both men.
Imants was shoved back hard, slamming into the wall. Ghost fell to one knee suddenly, age catching up to him. He pushed himself up as quickly as he could, painfully straining as he put the last of his strength into a final, desperate uppercut when he felt the knee collide with his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Two more sharp blows to the back of the head, and darkness claimed him.
-----
__Several Years Earlier:__
Dr. Glass had spent the past several years working with the Foundation, during which time he'd both seen and been subjected to more than his fair share of trauma. As a psychologist, he was supposed to analyze, interpret, and recommend treatment for dozens of cases a week, most of them repeat patients unable to deal with the stress of the job. When he'd finally been promoted upward, he expected a much less traumatic job. The Senior Staff he was now in charge of interviewing were supposed to be trained, hardened, and experienced. And while they were, he found his work all the more distressing.
He would write a paper about each of them if he could. Over seventy separate bundles of neuroses, each on a case study in either sheer madness or inexplicably intricate coping mechanisms. Over half of them went around armed constantly against threats seen and unseen. Still others regressed into childlike states of coloring their reports, and still more simply died inside eventually.
Then there were the special cases. A talking dog he had to interview, another man whose emotional nerves had been cauterized long, long ago, and a doctor who insisted on referring to himself as a chord rather than a name. And there was the butterfly man, who delighted in chaos, a woman who chased him with lamps, and a high-ranking agent who had threatened to kill him when he'd seen the Pondur he'd been given by an old patient.
But it was the man with all the faces that gave Glass the most trouble. At first, he'd simply thought the staff had been joking with him about Dr. Bright, a phantasm in the background who seemingly resisted all attempts at analysis by sending a different person to the interview each month. Then, he'd read the file on SCP-963 and found the truth even more disturbing.
At least he participated in the interviews somewhat, which was far more than could be said for the likes of Dr. Kondraki or Dr. Clef. They got a kick out of fucking with him; Jack Bright got a kick out of telling him the truth.
He was surprisingly talkative to someone with sufficient security clearance. Glass listened intently, hearing about Bright's early life-- though he spoke little about his family-- and the events leading up to his first death. He also told him about the deaths he had experienced first hand, the ones he had physically experienced. Most of them were gruesome, as so often death was in the Foundation, and Jack recounted each with the reverence of a soldier remembering fallen comrades. The cycle continued, and Glass became more and more in tune with the one overbearing wish Jack Bright had: release.
Glass remembered one point when Jack had been attempting to aggregate a body together with Professor Crow. The Frankensteining process had never worked, but he remembered the way Bright had looked at his hands, commented on them, admiring them for a moment or two. Weeks later, he'd asked him about his brother. Bright got quiet for a moment and tilted his head to the right, almost like he was listening for the answer.
"I did what was necessary," he said.
Dr. Glass continued to build the profiles, though after a while, he eventually stopped keeping anything but the most cursory notes on most of the staff. It was obvious that Dr. Gears would never change, though he still tried the occasional Rorschach test. Clef and Kondraki became a source of comedy at times, and he began to enjoy quiet coffees with Professor Crow in lieu of evaluation. But he kept keeping notes on Bright. For whatever reason, he was fascinated by the myriad of faces he'd seen over the years, the occasional animal, the regular shifts in gender.
He noted cycles, patterns. He attempted to make sense of Bright's personality, the ways it moved and shifted, the ways it stayed the same. It was almost a year before he asked Jack Bright about his brother again. He had to go back and check his notes twice before he was satisfied, but he was sure that the tilt of the head, the listening expression, was exactly the same.
"I did what was required," replied Jack.
It was a subtle shift, but one that Glass noted. Something that was necessary equated to a personal decision; something that was required pointed to one mandatory. Over the months, Glass continued asking different questions of Jack, different leads and answers. But he always returned, every so often, to his brother.
"I did what I was told."
"It's his own fault."
"I didn't choose for him to be that way."
"I did what I wanted."
Each time, the same motion, the same pattern; a shifting answer.
But the early files, the files from before he and 963 were linked, were consistent. And so was Jack Bright's loyalty to the Foundation. That, more so than anything, had led to the man's meteoric rise. It was a mere week after his promotion to Foundation Director that he stopped by Dr. Glass's office for the last time. He and Glass exchanged pleasantries and congratulations, shared a cup of coffee, and relaxed, talking about the time Kondraki had shot up a break room over a failure to brew proper coffee or the time a new recruit mistook Kain for an office pet and tried to rub his belly.
And for the last time, Dr. Glass looked at Jack, currently in the body of a green-eyed, red-haired child rapist, and asked him about his brother. This time, instead of looking off to the side, Jack looked right at Glass, his gaze intense and penetrating.
"I don't remember."
-----
__The Present__:
"According to my reports, there was a massive information dump around four months ago. A complete backup was made of all Foundation reports. At first I thought it was the standard backup before base evacuation, but..."
"What's the problem, Mr. Halifax?"
"The entry code was wrong. I did that backup myself, and these are not my access codes. Someone went into the system, erased the record of my backup, and made one of their own. No one would have even noticed it if they hadn't been looking at the specific date stamp."
"You're saying that someone has a copy of the Foundation's archive, Halifax? Are you quite sure about that?"
"Very sure, Dr. Bright. There's no one but me that accesses those terminals."
"Can you tell me the user that accessed it?"
"No, sir. They covered their tracks well. The only thing I know is that their password was last used over a decade ago."
"Thank you, Mr. Halifax. See that the code is deactivated and put a trace on all public terminals to look for additional access attempts."
"Yes, Director Bright."
Jack Bright leaned back into her chair, fingering the outline of SCP-963-2 hidden underneath a loose-fitting shirt. Everything was beginning to fall into place. The sudden disappearance of Kondraki and Imants from incarceration; the damage to the Red Sea Object by the unseen gunshot; Clef's suicidal leap into a parallel world; and the string of attacks on Foundation archives. They were looking for something, whoever they were. And Bright knew she had to find out what it was before they laid their hands on it.
With a complete copy of the archive, though, the paper files should be unnecessary. Everything was contained within the archive; the only things that they might not have included were the older SCPs that were no longer...
The epiphany hit Dr. Bright like a ton of bricks. They weren't looking for something that was still active. They were looking for what was //left// of something.
Jack leaned back in the chair smiling. All remains were in Site-19 reliquaries, which meant that they were looking for something specific, too specific to just try a mad dash directly into the Foundation's heart shooting and looting. She traced the edges of the amulet under her shirt, slowly putting everything together. She had preparations to make.
-----
__Eleven Years Earlier__:
Dr. Alto Clef carefully polished one of the several shotguns he kept around his office, running the oil soaked rag up and down the metal barrel before breaking the weapon down and carefully cleaning the ejecting mechanism. It was a ritual for him, one he executed weekly with an elegant precision, one he'd missed while paralyzed and was now eager to resume.
A knock on his door led to a shell being loaded into the weapon. The opening of the door lead to its cocking.
"Am I disturbing anything, Dr. Clef?" asked Glass.
"Yes," said Clef.
"We need to talk sometime soon."
"My psych evaluation was cleared weeks ago, Glass. Are you slipping?"
"It's not about that."
"Then what is it about?"
"Dr. Bright."
"Jack? He's a good guy. Now if you'll excuse me for a moment, Glass, I've got to go take care of a little problem the Foundation has been sitting on for a while now."
"You and Kondraki working together, huh?"
Clef smiled. "For now."
"Well, if you could look me up when you get back on site?"
"When I feel like it, Glass."
Clef pushed past the psychiatrist into the hall, carrying the gun with him. He knew he couldn't take it into the chamber with him, but he felt better having it with him, nonetheless.
-----
__The Present__:
Four security guards lay unconscious between the entrance to deep storage at Site-11 and the bank of filing cabinets lined the far wall. Imants moved from drawer to drawer, carefully flipping through the files and examining termination dates. He knew that despite its lack of presence in the database, there still had to be some record of the object. The Foundation didn't believe in destroying anything, at least on the paperwork side of things. It was a destroyed SCP he was looking for.
He switched drawers and redoubled his efforts. His recent altercation with Neil Ghost was still playing on his mind. It wasn't too late to turn back. It was true, what Ghost had said. The second Kondraki approached him, he'd agreed, almost blindly. Kondraki was a legend in the Foundation, at least as well-known as Clef, if not more. Imants had been more than willing to do what he asked, especially if the future of the Foundation was at stake.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the number, pulled out the file, and looked over the paperwork. The Foundation was not inclined to let anything just drift about uncollected, even something that was no longer of use to them.
Imants shoved the folder into his jacket and prepared to report to Kondraki. One way or the other, the job was going to get done.
Jack Bright had to die.
-----
__Eleven Years Earlier__:
"What are you saying, Glass? You want me to kill him a few times?"
"No," said Glass, rubbing his eyes in frustration. "We have to remove him from a position where anyone can be harmed, then we have to find a way to release Jack from the medallion. It's doing something to him."
"Yeah," said Kondraki. "It's making him less appreciative of the fragility of life." Kondraki laughed. "So, you want me to kill 963?"
"Effectively... yes, I suppose. You're one of the Foundation's problem solvers. The O5 have ignored my requests for a conference, and I've got nowhere else to turn to. I need you to help me stop whatever it is his mind is doing."
"What do you mean, Glass? His mind? The fuck are you talking about?"
"Aggregate personalities."
"Aggregate Personalities? What do you mean, aggregate personalities?"
"Just what I said," said Glass, his forehead creased. "There seems to be a buildup, over time, of personalities... I don't know what to call them...chunks. They just stick around in there, somewhere."
"And we've been attaching him to murderers, rapists, and baboons?"
"Hence, my concern."
"God damn it Glass. He's just been made the director! Why didn't you come to me earlier?"
"Apologies, Kondraki. I'm here now, though, and we don't really have another choice. Clef and I are on board. Will you help us?"
A smile was the only answer he received. It was also the only one he needed.
-----
__The Present, A Few Weeks Later__:
Quikngruvn Halifax cursed his parents for not the first time as he re-affixed his name-badge and proceeded through the opening door. Over the past few years, he'd worked himself up to the position of chief archivist in the Foundation, a post he was immensely proud of. The offer for transfers to other, safe sites had come in over the years, but he'd remained at Site-19, comfortable in the hustle and bustle of the Foundation's largest site.
He looked around his perfectly arranged office, paying careful attention to everything and adjusting the few trays the cleaning staff had bumped when cleaning the previous night. He reached for the stereo remote on the corner of his desk and pressed play. He stopped, looked at the remote and back at the stereo, pressed the button again, and frowned. He walked over to cabinet, prepared to reach behind it to reconnect a cord he was sure the janitors had disconnected when he felt the circle of cool steel pressed into the back of his neck.
"I want you to understand, Halifax, that while I have nothing against you, I am fully prepared to plaster the contents of your skull all over that wall. I'm afraid you disabled my old access code, so I'll be needing yours. Now."
Quikngruvn's body tensed when he heard the voice, realizing immediately who was right behind him, who had used the antiquated access code, and what was pressed against his neck. A reputation came with the presence of the legendary Dr. Kondraki, one which he was in no way eager to discover the validity of. He eased his hand up to his collar, unclipped the name badge, and held it over his shoulder.
"That's a good boy, now."
Quikngruvn saw as a hand reached over his shoulder, turning on the stereo and cranking up the volume.
"Sorry about the knee."
The sound of the shot and the harsh drumming of the music meshed well, and the solid slap of the cold, metal butt of the gun against his head brought a welcomed repose from excruciating reality.
-----
__Eleven Years Earlier__:
"We have to separate him from 963, then present our evidence. We'll never even make it to a formal hearing otherwise."
"Why don't we just chuck him through a Hell gate? Don't we have a few of those?"
"Because, he's our friend. We should help him as best we can."
"Speak for yourself. I've never liked Bright."
"You've never liked anyone."
"Point being?"
"Nevertheless, the plan stands. We kill Bright's current body, contain 963, present our evidence, and then hope we don't get our wrists slapped."
"That's an awful plan."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"Poison him, then burn him. Then, we put 963 through 093 and pretend it never happened."
"Too complicated. It would never work."
"We could just use explosives. Explosives always work."
"963 is practically indestructible. An explosion big enough to take it out would be more than enough to burn off the atmosphere."
"No, just for killing him. Small explosion, then a series of them to bury the body in rubble. While they're sorting it out, we can convince them to do what we want with the medallion."
"You guys are forgetting one problem."
"And what's that, Glass?"
"He's the director, now. He's going to have guards. //Good// guards."
"Guards, Glass? Really? That's what you're worried about?"
"For God's sake, Glass, I'm a god damned legend. You think I can't handle a few trained monkeys?"
"It's not going to be that easy."
"Why not?"
"The guards are him too."
"Jack's a scientist, not an army."
"Why don't we just wait for a more opportune moment? Why are we rushing this, anyhow?"
"Have you //seen// some of the reports coming out of Site-19? For god's sake, there have been more decommissions in the last month than there have been in the entire life of the Foundation."
"I heard about a few of them. I'm not sure why 914 was disassembled, but he had a good argument for 447. Too much of a hazard on site."
"It doesn't matter. The Foundation has a mission to carry out. We're the wall between humanity and all the shit that would break their minds. We hold it back; we don't blow it up."
"I've blown up plenty of shit for them."
"Not stuff that didn't need it! He's changing the mission!"
"He's claiming that everything destroyed was a threat to the survival of the Foundation."
"107 was a threat?"
"107 was decommed?"
"47 Safe SCPs, 28 Euclid. Gone."
"Then we're agreed, yes? We have to do this. He has to be stopped, our evidence has to be presented."
"Agreed."
"Agreed."
"Yeah, fine."
"Good. We strike tomorrow."
-----
__The Present__:
Dr. Kondraki had spent the last few years haunting the halls of various sites, taking on the roles of people who did or didn't exist, acting in a million tiny ways, most of them either obnoxious or harmless. The occasional missing sample, the carefully made blueprints for the various sites, reports on newly recovered artifacts--all passed along to the Global Occult Coalition. The little group was a useful tool, for now, and he hoped to keep using them into the foreseeable future. He'd always been good at killing things, and it was one of the few activities that they appreciated. He could see why Clef had worked with them.
He was pressed hard against the hallway's curved walls, 408 carefully guarding him, as he waited for the approaching guard to get a little closer. It should be a fairly simple process. Enter the security point, open the proper containment units with Halifax's code, and clear a path straight to their insurance. He couldn't imagine finding the location of a bunch of failed experiments would be so damn hard, but Bright had covered the tracks of his weakness fairly well, if inadvertently. It would, of course, be here at Site-19, where Bright could keep an eye on it. But Site-19 was very, very big. And there were many, many places to hide something.
Imants had done his job well, and now it was up to Kondraki. One last run into the belly of the beast. One last mission before everything would be over, finally. The Foundation had taken several steps away from where it had been when he'd been an agent. There were fewer and fewer containments, more and more Neutralizations. He was even aware of a few cities that had been razed after experiments were conducted there and found to have less than optimal results. The O5 were further and further removed, the Director given more and more power. He might have liked the position fifteen years ago, but time had mellowed his ambitions. Slightly.
The guard rounded the last bend, slowly approaching the coded door. He placed his thumb over the checkpoint, causing the door to beep once, cheerily, and open. Kondraki stepped out, bringing a well timed chop down on his foe's neck, causing him to stumble, but not fall. Kondraki cursed as he pulled the sawed off shotgun out from under his coat as the guard looked up at him.
"Konny?"
Kondraki's eye's widened. "Jack?"
The guard's hand flew to the alarm, slamming down on it as Kondraki's finger squeezed the trigger. The blast blew away much of the guard's face, though much too slowly to avoid the unfortunate consequences. The guard meant one thing: Jack had activated 963-2.
He stepped over the body, scanned Halifax's name badge, and started running.
-----
__Eleven Years Earlier__:
In retrospect, Glass thought they should have gone with Clef's plan.
The charges were set in a fairly open area, with a remote detonator rigged to the wall. They waited as the first security crew passed, until they knew the Jack with 963 would be directly above the explosion and sprung the trap.
Clef spun around the forward corner, putting two shells each into the forward guards' backs as they turned to see the erupting flames around their charge. Kondraki emptied his sidearm into the rear guard from a safe, hidden corner as Imants dropped the remaining ceiling into the corridor with a well-timed grenade in the ventilation system.
The entire attack had been executed flawlessly.
"That was too easy," said Kondraki, eying the guard's bodies. "Jack's not a soldier, but he's also not an idiot."
Clef nodded. "He probably put 963 on one of the guards."
"Or he's not here at all." Everyone looked up at Glass, the young doctor nervously running his hand through his hair.
The four of them looked at each other as the alarms started blaring.
-----
__The Present__:
A brilliant flash of light blinded Kondraki as he rounded the corner, making the floating images around him shudder as 408 lost members of its hive. He fired the pistol over his shoulder twice, stopping after he heard a grunt and fall. The storage chamber he needed would be nearby, and if he was lucky—
A second blast of light flew ahead of Kondraki, cutting through the illusion and scattering the burned husks of butterflies through the air. He slid around a second corner, bringing the pistol up under the guard's chin and scattering his thoughts and memories over the ceiling without stopping. He leaped through the air as a second guard attempted to bull rush him from behind, firing downward into the man's lower back as he twisted sharply to avoid another blast of light.
It would have been impressive if he'd left anyone alive to witness it.
He found the door and scanned Halifax's card, entering the lab and sealing the door behind him. He walked across the room, putting a bullet into the forehead of a stunned researcher, and pulled several green vials out of a row of test tubes, placing them in his pocket. He smiled, running through the rest of the plan in his head.
Then, he shrugged, muttered "Fuck it" under his breath, and reloaded his gun. If he was doing this, he was going to do it his way. He was going to have fun.
-----
__Eleven Years Earlier__:
Glass had been captured first. He'd not been trained for any sort of combat, so when the hoard of trained shock troops poured into the hallway following the explosion, he'd held his hands in the air and waited for them to quit beating him into the ground. He heard about Clef's capture, how it'd taken them four hours to get through the traps he set in his outer office and another two to actually lay hands on the man. Imants had managed to hole up in the ventilation system for almost two days before they found him. Kondraki had actually come quietly, having been found in his office apparently doing paperwork.
Glass heard about the other trials through his guard. Clef had been sentenced quickly, Kondraki mere hours later. It was the next morning before Imants had been sentenced, as there was apparently a fair amount of dissent about the extent to which he'd been involved and how much he'd been influenced by his superiors. The sentence had been the same, nonetheless: indefinite stasis.
Glass sat in his cell, listening to the footsteps, trying not to think about the stories he'd heard from other people who'd experienced stasis. Cold dreams; frozen memories. They could never remember what they'd dreamed, only the cold.
It was the next morning when the guard approached his cell. Glass contemplated trying to hit the guard over the head and escape, but he knew that he wouldn't last more than two or three steps into the hall. He allowed them to cuff him, requested an opportunity to examine himself in the mirror, and after doing so, walked down the hallway, flanked by the guards.
A series of blurry and darkened screens greeted him in the courtroom; he steeled himself and listened to the charges.
-----
__The Present__:
Kondraki could hear the footsteps charging him, herding him. It was the problem with fighting with someone who could effectively create a hive mind with the right kind of telepathy. And the Foundation had the right kind, especially since they'd cut up 182's and 116's respective brains and played around with them.
He took a short cut he knew he shouldn't, but Jack could go fuck himself if he thought that Kondraki would do what he wanted him to. He slid into one of the maintenance closets, a place he'd gotten used to hiding in over the years, and looked for one of the access pipes. He found one marked "Pest Control" and opened the access nozzles, filling them with two of the vials he'd stolen earlier. He looked around him and the butterflies flitting through the air and frowned, muttering quietly under his breath. "I'm sorry."
He turned back to the door, kicking it open and having 408 project an illusion of himself in front of the opening, smirking as a hail of gunfire issued from the left. He swung low out of the opening, bringing the pistol level and putting a bullet into the neck of both men firing, noting as they fell the dangling Foundation symbols strung around their necks. 'Jack,' he thought.
Kondraki started running. He'd have to get to the climate control quickly, the one for this sector, or the plan would be pointless. It wouldn't take much longer, not now. Another turn and then a quick shot straight to--
The bullet tore through his thigh, hollow tip causing more damage than he might otherwise have preferred. He fell hard against the right wall, having 408 project him falling to the left, and fired a shot backwards wildly. He pulled himself further, ripping a sleeve off his shirt and tying it around his leg tightly. He could barely feel his leg, and he knew that there weren't enough members of 408 left alive to cover the blood. If this was going to happen, it would have to be soon.
He struggled forward, smiling as the two symbol wearing guards pursuing him put several rounds into the illusory corpse. He took the time to turn and aim carefully, putting a shot into both of their heads before bringing himself into the climate control center.
The room wasn't that much different than any one of a dozen across Site-19, but this one had the controls he needed. He found the Infestation Control Station that had been in place since 439 had been forcibly Neutralized. He looked at the handful of butterflies around him one last time and pressed the command sequence, releasing the anti-parasitics into the air.
Glass erupted from the screen as two loud blasts sounded behind him, forcing him to roll out of the chair as blood loss made his vision swim. He struggled away from the station as a hoard of footsteps approached him.
The pesticide had a faint hint of mint to it, Kondraki noticed, smiling. 408 died in the air around him, the multiple projections fading with them. His leg ached and bled in spite of the tourniquet.
"You shouldn't have come alone, Konny."
Kondraki looked up at the handful of men, all wearing the same expression, all wearing the same medallion.
"What makes you think I came alone, Jack?"
"Bluffing, at this point?" Three men with crests around their necks approached Kondraki and kicked him in the stomach. Kondraki heard several Brights laugh as the dying butterflies tried to project an illusion around the dying, middle-aged doctor. He brought a hand out to brush his hair back off his forehead as he looked up at his foe.
"When have I ever lied to you, Jack?"
-----
__Elsewhere__:
Imants turned the corner, running as stealthily as possible up the corridor, ignoring the green, acidic mist the sprayed from the ceiling. If the last round of reports from their informant had been correct, the package he was looking for was in the second room on the left, Corridor 23-B. With everyone going after Kondraki, he shouldn't have any problems finding the package.
As the door slid open, he slowly walked into the room, looking quickly to either side for unexpected surprises. He was pleased to find none.
Imants stepped forward, ignoring the new set of erupting sirens. He looked down at the red disk and collected it into a cloth, slipping it into his pocket. Two sets of plastic explosives later, he left the room, running as fast as possible. Kondraki's plan gave him two minutes, but he wanted to be further away.
-----
__The Present__:
The mist was beginning to die down as dozens more Jack Brights surrounded Kondraki, watching him bleed. A bouncy, black-haired woman walked to the front of the crowd. She smiled, condescendingly, leaning over the injured man.
"You've gotten old and slow, Konny. No one would have caught you ten years ago."
He sneered. "No one did."
She smiled at him again. "I guess you're right. It's a shame really. The Foundation could have used you, Kondraki. Your talents. No one other than Clef had more confirmed decommissions than you. With our new programs, you might have had a place here again."
"I've not had a place here in a long time, Jack."
"No, I guess you haven't. Any last requests?"
"None. But I do have one question," said Kondraki, pushing himself up and leaning back against his legs.
"That's not a request," replied Jack.
"It's close enough. Humor me."
"Fine."
"Is this everyone?" asked Kondraki.
"What?"
"Is this everyone?" repeated Kondraki. "Did you really bring every copy of yourself to fight me?"
Bright's eyes narrowed. All of them.
"Because, Jack, if you did, that was a god damned stupid thing to do."
Kondraki reached into both pockets. He pulled his gun out of the first. Out of the second, he pulled a green vial. Forty faces blanched in recognition, for the first time noticing the scent of the pesticide as the stopper on the vial flew through the air, and the substance contained within it splashed on Kondraki's face. Dozens of eyes turning to see the butterflies on the ground sparking and twitching as they died.
"A body is a body, Jack. See you in hell, you son of a bitch. All of you."
Kondraki raised the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. As the bullet passed through his skull, he felt an instant of 447's reaction taking place. But then, reality was gone, and all that was left was an aftermath.
-----
__Eleven Years Earlier__:
"None of you are listening!" screamed Glass, his face shuddering. "That's not Jack Bright! Not anymore! It didn't happen all at once! It was putting a pebble on the beach. And then another and another. Eventually, the whole thing is hidden, and you never noticed!"
"Dr. Glass, please calm yourself. You've obviously experienced some kind of psychotic break—"
"I've experience nothing of the sort! You don't get it!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "It's not his whole personality, not even a big part of it. It's inches of the football field. But soon, it'll be worse."
"Nevertheless, Doctor, you've committed a serious crime, have no evidence, and rallied enough of our less... controllable members together to convince us you planned nothing less serious than another break like the Chaos Insurgency, as Dr. Bright concluded. Given your family history, it seems a logical—"
"I've got all the proof I need sitting right there," screeched Glass, pointing at Bright's current body. "One question. That's all I ask. Just one."
The face on the other side of the screen seemed to frown for a moment before visibly shrugging. "Fine. Ask away."
Glass looked at Jack Bright, narrowing his eyes as if to stare right through the visibly disturbed looking doctor.
"Jack. What do you want more than anything else in the world?"
Bright looked surprised. He smirked, the concern draining from his face. "To serve the Foundation."
Glass's face cracked as he smiled in triumph. "That's not true, Jack."
The voice from beyond the screen sounded again. "Enough. The trial is over. We have the utmost faith in Dr. Bright, and this line of questioning will change nothing. Dr. Glass, you are to be suspended in cryogenic stasis for no fewer than thirty years."
Glass turned to the screen, eyes widening in shock. "What? Don't you see? It's not right! He doesn't want to serve!"
Two men approached the dais and took either of Glass's arms, proceeding to pull him away from the court room. Glass's voice echoed over the cacophony of voices and static, screaming in rage.
"IT'S NOT RIGHT! HE WANTS TO DIE, YOU IDIOTS! HE JUST WANTS TO DIE!"
He was still screaming when they put him in the chamber. Directly across from him, he saw Kondraki's cryogenic chamber. For a moment, it shimmered, a wing flapping momentarily out of place. Glass had only a moment to register his surprise before the ice took him.
-----
__The Present__:
There was also a multitude of voices shouting now, though the shapely female form lay mostly still and silent, only occasionally coughing or hacking up blood. Murderers and thieves, rapists and pedophiles, and a handful of those who had just stumbled onto the wrong military base or into the wrong room. Most of them were angry, calling out with rage and anger at their denied immortality, while others were crying loudly in sadness. But somewhere, deep down at the bottom, there was one who was silent. Unspeakably and immeasurably relieved.
'It feels good to finally die,' thought Jack.
He watched from the bottom upward as the voices winked out, disappearing like vanishing stars. He heard them silenced, one by one, the din growing quieter and quieter as the others finally went away, finally vanished, blowing away like flakes of ash. He felt whole again for the first time in decades. It took an incredibly long time, though it seemed to happen all at once; then, Jack was alone.
It was dark, and cold, and wonderful. Dreadfully wonderful. Then he saw it, just barely out of the corner of his eyes, exploding with the intensity of its presence. A single dot of light, still shimmering.
'No,' thought Jack. 'God damn it. NO!'
He tried to speak and could not. The body he was occupying shuddered, racked out a final, desperate cough, and died.
-----
__Seven Weeks Later__:
Interim Director Gears sat uncomfortably in the chair, but it didn't show. Kondraki's actions would leave Site-19 unusable for the foreseeable future, unless some antidote to 447-2's effect could be found. Since it didn't seem likely, Gears had been forced to relocate. On top of that, he was the chief surviving member of Site-19's command structure, leaving him with a very large mess to clean up. Anyone else would have broken under the stress of Gears' responsibilities. And Gears himself might be feeling a similar strain, but it didn't show.
He had shuffled through more paperwork in the last month than in his entire career. While he'd passed on some of it to Iceberg, he was still inundated daily with requests, notes on recovery, and personnel casualty reports. Today was no different.
He leafed through half a dozen SCP recoveries, making notes about the number of newly Neutralized objects that would have to be refiled. At the bottom of the stack, he found a file he thought he wouldn't see again anytime soon. It was a thick folder, full of notes on exploration and chromatically based locations. SCP-093. Status: //Missing, Presumed Destroyed//.
He looked over the several pages of examinations Bright had ordered on the object, noted how the prognosis for repair had looked quite promising, and quietly closed the folder, setting it aside and retrieving the logs from the last day of Site-19. It took him a few minutes to find the security access data, and less time to discover that one of the many alarms tripped that day was to 093's research lab. Furthermore, it was the only alarm set off in its sector. He slowly put the puzzle together, sighed, and looked at the next file: "Concerning the Locating and Elimination of the Rogue Agent Imants."
He read the report, signed at the bottom of the file to note he'd seen it, and then checked the box next to "Denied," citing a need for Foundation resources to be applied more scrupulously during such a difficult time. With luck, that would keep them from rediscovering the object before Imant's new employers could destroy it. He'd had a long day, and he was fairly glad when it was over, but it didn't show.
Gears placed the manila folder in his outbox, and a crease knitted his eyebrows briefly and was gone.
"Goodbye, Jack."
He turned off the lights and left the room.
-----
__The Future__:
The stems of wheat waved slowly, methodically, in the wind. The corpse would have been long desiccated, save for the fact that there weren't enough bacteria left alive to do much to it. All over the middle and lower torso, bulges of tumorous growths protruded under the skin, sometimes breaking through. The expression spoke of one who had died in agony. Even now, the eyes were painfully cramped shut, the teeth broken from gnashing and grinding, though the face still flickered and changed occasionally. Every so often, it flitted into a mocking smile, the last vestige of a man who, in his final moments, had passed on his death to his enemy. A final, spiteful act of a spiteful man. But not one that was undeserved.
How long the body lay there, no one could know, but eventually, coasting over the horizon, there came a form. A strange half body, dragging itself with its arms, incomprehensibly large and impossibly terrible. It came, smelling blood, something it hadn't sensed in many, many years. The face, if it could be called that, was leering down at the slowly rotting corpse, smelling it, possibly savoring it, although its intentions would be impossible to tell. There was no way to know the mind of such a creature, so far was it removed from its original, human roots.
The mouth slowly lowered down to the ground, surrounding the body and swallowing it whole. For a brief instant, it ceased moving. But in the next moment, it howled--though if in anguish or joy it could not be said. The form bent and twisted as the souls of a dead world became overwritten, leaving only a single, mingled consciousness. It doubled over as the eternal torment of billions became the burden of one. It shuddered as the knowledge of countless minds were added to its own.
And just on the other side of the mirror, just out of sight, remained Jack Bright, trapped eternally between realities.
Waiting. Festering.
Plotting.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-08-05T04:54:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"action",
"doctor-bright",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-gears",
"doctor-glass",
"doctor-kondraki",
"kain-pathos-crow",
"tale"
] | Unfinished Business: Part II - SCP Foundation | 291 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"kaktuskast-hub",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"competitive-eschatology-hub",
"algorithm-curated-recommendations"
] | [] | 5450271 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/unfinished-business-ii |
|
urban-legends | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Don't talk to me about no fuckin' urban legends. Jesus, in our line o' work, you'd think you'd know better.</p>
<p>Whadda I mean? I mean they ain't just fuckin' stories, dipshit. Oh, fine, some of 'em are. I mean, sure, no gangbanger's gonna shoot you just 'cause you flashed your headlights. But a lot of 'em ain't. Why don't nobody hear about 'em? Why don't they hear 'bout no fuckin' skips? We ain't the only ones dancin' in this here party, ya know?</p>
<p>No, I ain't fulla shit. Look, I'll tell you how I know they're real.</p>
<p>Okay, so this was a while back. I was out huntin' elves in Jersey. What? They was short, had pointy ears, an' squeaky voices. That's good enough for me. Were they really elves? Probably not. Sure as hell didn't bake no cookies. Do I give a shit what they're really called? No I do not. Anyways, don't interrupt.</p>
<p>So, I'm off duty, having finished up for the day. I go drinkin' at a dive in the bad side o' town. Reminds me of home, right? So, there's this broad. She's cute, so I buy her a drink. One thing leads to another, an' I go back t'her place. No, it ain't professional, but what the fuck do you care what I do in my fuckin' off-time? Jesus.</p>
<p>So, we have some drinks, make some small talk, an' I suddenly find myself crashin' harder'n Buddy Holly an' the Big Bopper. Yeah, you see where I'm goin' with this.</p>
<p>Thing is, the bit where you wake up in a bathtub, wit' ice? Yeah, that's bullshit. They're takin' yer fuckin' kidneys. The fuck do they care if you live? You're just some random fuck who can point 'em out in a line-up. Best if you don't ever turn up.</p>
<p>Yeah, I'm still alive. Thanks fer noticin'. Y'might also notice somethin' they didn't account for, proper-like. I'm a big fuckin' guy. Three hundred pounds, hair under seven foot. There's a whole fuckin' lot of me. An' it takes a lot to take me down, an' even more to keep me down. I wake up with this real bad pain in my side. I open my eyes, and there's this fuck with a scalpel openin' me up. I put a stop to that really fuckin' quick, believe me. I was a bit woozy, but I'm a trained Foundation agent. They was a bunch of amateurs. It went down about how you'd expect.</p>
<p>So don't talk to me about no fuckin' urban legends.</p>
<p>Anyway, keep yer eyes open. This fucker with the hook's gotta show up sometime.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/urban-legends">Urban Legends</a>" by DrEverettMann, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/urban-legends">https://scpwiki.com/urban-legends</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Don't talk to me about no fuckin' urban legends. Jesus, in our line o' work, you'd think you'd know better.
Whadda I mean? I mean they ain't just fuckin' stories, dipshit. Oh, fine, some of 'em are. I mean, sure, no gangbanger's gonna shoot you just 'cause you flashed your headlights. But a lot of 'em ain't. Why don't nobody hear about 'em? Why don't they hear 'bout no fuckin' skips? We ain't the only ones dancin' in this here party, ya know?
No, I ain't fulla shit. Look, I'll tell you how I know they're real.
Okay, so this was a while back. I was out huntin' elves in Jersey. What? They was short, had pointy ears, an' squeaky voices. That's good enough for me. Were they really elves? Probably not. Sure as hell didn't bake no cookies. Do I give a shit what they're really called? No I do not. Anyways, don't interrupt.
So, I'm off duty, having finished up for the day. I go drinkin' at a dive in the bad side o' town. Reminds me of home, right? So, there's this broad. She's cute, so I buy her a drink. One thing leads to another, an' I go back t'her place. No, it ain't professional, but what the fuck do you care what I do in my fuckin' off-time? Jesus.
So, we have some drinks, make some small talk, an' I suddenly find myself crashin' harder'n Buddy Holly an' the Big Bopper. Yeah, you see where I'm goin' with this.
Thing is, the bit where you wake up in a bathtub, wit' ice? Yeah, that's bullshit. They're takin' yer fuckin' kidneys. The fuck do they care if you live? You're just some random fuck who can point 'em out in a line-up. Best if you don't ever turn up.
Yeah, I'm still alive. Thanks fer noticin'. Y'might also notice somethin' they didn't account for, proper-like. I'm a big fuckin' guy. Three hundred pounds, hair under seven foot. There's a whole fuckin' lot of me. An' it takes a lot to take me down, an' even more to keep me down. I wake up with this real bad pain in my side. I open my eyes, and there's this fuck with a scalpel openin' me up. I put a stop to that really fuckin' quick, believe me. I was a bit woozy, but I'm a trained Foundation agent. They was a bunch of amateurs. It went down about how you'd expect.
So don't talk to me about no fuckin' urban legends.
Anyway, keep yer eyes open. This fucker with the hook's gotta show up sometime.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-07-24T03:15:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"action",
"comedy",
"first-person",
"lombardi",
"tale"
] | Urban Legends - SCP Foundation | 212 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-lombardi-tales",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 5367997 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/urban-legends |
|
video-oddity | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Anomalous Item 20224 is a series of eight DVD-Rs containing unedited footage of an apparent nature documentary, collectively labeled as “Documentary 23”. The picture and sound quality of the footage is substandard, with audio-visual distortions, cuts, and missing footage common throughout the recordings. The disks will play on any standard DVD player, and the contained footage has been copied and archived.</p>
<p>No anomalous effects have been recorded regarding the disks themselves or the act of watching them. While the possibility of a hoax exists, such an undertaking would require several million dollars to produce equivalent special effects.</p>
<p>Anomalous Item 20224 was recovered from █████ ███████ on July 16, 20██. The previous owner was unaware of the object’s origins, claiming to have received them through an anonymous seller on the internet. Anomalous Item 20224 is currently stored in Low Security Vault 2 of Site 19.</p>
<p>The following transcript lists only a general overview of major events of note.</p>
<p><strong>Disk 1</strong></p>
<ul>
<li>00:00 – Disk starts. The scene shown resembles the Serengeti Plain. A large group of wildebeests, gazelles, zebras, and other savannah wildlife are shown around a watering hole.</li>
<li>00:12 – The voices of the filmmakers are heard for the first time. Three distinct voices are heard, one female, two male. (Subjects 1, 2, and 3, respectively.) The language spoken does not correlate with any known language, and has only been partially decoded. The Subjects seem to be describing the water hole scene, as the camera focuses on the drinking animals. Narration of this kind continues throughout most other segments of Anomalous Item 20224.</li>
<li>05:15 – Subjects 1 and 3 appear on camera. Both are wearing similar outfits: utilitarian clothing in various shades of brown with backpacks for carrying equipment and supplies. For unknown reasons, the Subjects’ faces have been blotted out. Documentary shifts focus to a nearby termite mound.</li>
</ul>
<p><em>The next 34:06 of tape contains no anomalous or otherwise notable content.</em></p>
<ul>
<li>39:21 – First anomalous content seen. At this point in the documentary, focus is set upon a small bird, which on closer inspection is clearly a blue jay (<em>Cyanocitta cristata</em>). The bird displays no physical anomalies, besides being native to North America, not Africa.</li>
<li>40:05 – Blue jay flies away. During the filming, the Subjects did not seem to find the presence of a non-native bird confusing or remarkable.</li>
</ul>
<p><em>The next 19:55 of tape contains no anomalous or otherwise notable content. All animals featured show no unusual characteristics or behaviors.</em></p>
<ul>
<li>60:00 – Disk ends.</li>
</ul>
<p><strong>Disk 2</strong></p>
<ul>
<li>00:00 – Disk starts. Scene shows a series of rocky foothills at the base of a mountain chain to the west. Scrub vegetation is common.</li>
<li>00:10 – Camera focuses on a snake in the brush. (<em>Researcher’s note: Identified as a western diamondback rattlesnake.</em>) Subject 3, grabs the snake by the tail and uses a stick to handle it for the camera as Subject 1 narrates. At 01:01, the snake is released.</li>
<li>01:01 – Cut. Next shot is the middle of a segment on a large ant colony. Ants are a light shade of blue.</li>
<li>01:15 - Camera focuses on a group of roughly fifty soldier ants attacking a reef gecko (<em>Sphaerodactylus notatus</em>, native to Florida). Ants are tearing away chunks of flesh with their pincher-like jaws. The gecko survives for nearly a minute before one of the ants cuts the gecko’s jugular vein.</li>
<li>02:12 – Cut. Scene is now focusing on a pack of vultures feeding on the carcass of a large Bactrian camel.</li>
<li>05:36 – Cut. The camel stands up and attempts to bite a vulture. The remains of the camel’s internal organs are dangling from the hole in its abdomen.</li>
<li>05:45 – Cut.</li>
</ul>
<p><em>There are no visuals for the next 10:45. Sound is in the form of five individual narrations on unknown subjects.</em></p>
<ul>
<li>16:21 – Cut. Camera focuses on a red panda drinking from a shallow stream. The creature is estimated to be roughly the size of a Kodiak bear.</li>
<li>17:00 – Red panda leaves the shot, but not before defecating on the stream’s edge. Subject 1 makes a comment, followed by laughter from Subjects 2 and 3.</li>
<li>17:06 – Disk ends.</li>
</ul>
<p><strong>Disk 3</strong></p>
<ul>
<li>00:00 – Disk starts. Scene opens with Subject 2 in mid-sentence, pointing the camera at a snowy cliffside roughly 100-150m tall. Subjects are seen wearing mountain climbing gear, and appear to be discussing the best way to ascend the cliff face.</li>
<li>02:20 – Subjects begin ascending the cliffside.</li>
<li>02:43 – Cut. Following footage is a shot of the horizon from two-thirds up the cliffside. The savannah featured in Disk 1 can be seen in the distance.</li>
<li>02:56 – Subject 2 is startled by the sudden appearance of a large, indistinct creature (<em>Researcher’s note: believed to be a flying fox or similar large bat.</em>) and nearly drops the camera. Subject 3 scolds him while Subject 1 laughs.</li>
<li>03:00 – Cut. Subjects are at the top of the cliff, looking out over the edge. Judging by the shadows cast by the mountain, it is nearing mid-afternoon.</li>
<li>03:15 – Cut. Scene takes place later in the day, near sundown. Subjects are walking up a winding dirt path. A small village can be seen ahead of them.</li>
<li>05:23 – Subjects arrive in the village. Buildings are small and stone, with wooden roofs. There are no signs of recent habitation: many of the buildings are in states of disrepair, and much of the village is covered in deep snow drifts. Subjects walk through the village for the next 03:40, conversing sporadically. No other life is seen.</li>
<li>09:03 – Cut. Subjects are now approaching a larger building, a large section of which has collapsed and filled with snow. Subjects 1 and 3 step inside first, Subject 2 follows with the camera four seconds later.</li>
<li>09:07 – Jump cut. Subjects are standing on top of a fallen chunk of masonry. A large swarm of black insects (<em>Researcher’s note: Further analysis suggests that the creatures resemble terrestrial trilobites rather than any known insect.</em>), each at least 30cm in length, swarms around beneath them. Subject 3 opens his backpack, taking out a plastic box. Checking its contents once, he throws it across the hall. The swarm moves towards the box and begins consuming it. The camera lingers on the creatures as the subjects escape.</li>
<li>09:56 – Cut. Subjects are inside another building, and it is now night. The house’s fire pit has been cleared out and a fire has been set up. Subject 1 is feeding a black-furred chinchilla some of her rations, while Subject 3 narrates.</li>
<li>10:28 – Disk ends.</li>
</ul>
<p><strong>Disk 4</strong></p>
<ul>
<li>00:00 – Disk starts. Subjects are walking through a thick forest of large fungal bodies. Judging by the slope of the ground, it is presumed that the Subjects are descending the foothills on the opposite side of the mountain. Available light indicates that it is mid-morning or mid-afternoon.</li>
<li>00:15 – Movement is spotted to the right. Camera focuses on a dark shape moving deeper into the forest and out of sight. (<em>Researcher’s note: Further analysis shows that the creature is a quagga, a relative of the zebra which has been extinct since 1883.</em>) One frame seems to show the creature unfurling wings, but the footage is too blurred to confirm this.</li>
<li>00:45 – Cut. Scene shows a stone pillar, which has been partially eroded by encroaching hyphae. The pillar is clearly a marker of some sort, and Subject 1 is attempting to decode the symbols that are etched into it.</li>
<li>01:30 – Subject 1 now steps away from the pillar. Judging by her tone of voice, she was incapable of translating any of the symbols. Subjects move onward through the forest.</li>
<li>02:41 – There is a heavy seismic disturbance. The camera becomes unsteady as Subject 2 stumbles. The fungal ‘trees’ can be seen to sway in uniform motion.</li>
<li>02:44 - The next ten seconds contain no visuals or audible sound. Analysis has shown an ultrasonic note within the blank segment. As it does not vary in frequency, it is hypothesized to be artificial in origin.</li>
<li>02:54 – Cut. Subject 1 is now observing a large black beetle. Every few seconds she prods it with a twig. After she does this several times, the beetle flares its carapace outward, showing the brilliant orange-yellow coloration underneath.</li>
<li>03:40 – The beetle sprays a yellow-green fluid from its abdomen at Subject 1, who doesn’t step away quick enough to avoid the acid. She shouts in pain and attempts to wipe it off. Subject 3 steps in to help her.</li>
<li>04:02 – Cut. Scene now shows a shallow gully, populated by a species of cup-shaped fungi, the smallest being a meter across. Subject 2 sets the camera on a tripod and walks away. No unusual events are recorded over the next 14:12.</li>
<li>18:14 – A juvenile Javanese rhinoceros walks into the gully, sniffing the air. It makes a direct route towards one of the larger cup fungi and walks inside. The cup closes over it, and sounds of distress are heard from within after a few seconds. The silhouette of the rhinoceros inside the fungus can be seen as it struggles to free itself.</li>
<li>19:20 – Disk ends.</li>
</ul>
<p><strong>Disk 5</strong></p>
<ul>
<li>00:00 – Disk starts. Scene shows the Subjects on the shores of a lake. Local geography resembles the American southwest, with thick scrub vegetation and several clumps of tamarisk on the lakeshore. Subject 3 is filling a canteen from the lake.</li>
<li>00:30 – Subject 3 points out a disturbance behind the camera. Camera turns to see a group of about fifteen lemur-like creatures emerging from the brush, roughly twenty meters away. Camera zooms in to show that they are walking on their hind legs and are carrying sharpened sticks. The “tribe” ignores the presence of the Subjects.</li>
<li>00:54 – The tribe begins to drink from the lake. Subject 1 makes a short narrative comment, showing some surprise at the event, but only enough to suggest that this is a rare find. She continues with the narration as usual.</li>
<li>02:03 – The tribe’s lookout makes a startled yelp. The other lemurs take notice.</li>
<li>02:04 – A dromaeosaurid dinosaur of considerable size (<em>Researcher’s Note: Believed to be an adult</em> Utahraptor) appears. Subjects begin to run away. Sounds of the conflict can be heard over the Subjects’ footsteps.</li>
<li>02:25 – Camera is directed back at the tribe. Lemurs have now either run away or been killed. The <em>Utahraptor</em> is feeding on the dead.</li>
<li>03:13 – Cut. Scene now shows the dinosaur dead on the ground, with numerous bullet holes in its head and chest area. Subject 1 is scolding Subject 3, who is seen disassembling a long-barreled rifle.</li>
<li>03:20 – Cut. Subjects have walked down the eastern shore of the lake. There are some unusual disturbances in the water. This continues for the next 01:36.</li>
<li>04:04 – A <em>Megatherium</em> (giant ground sloth), which is seen to have six limbs instead of four, approaches the lake shore from the brush. After looking around the area, it bends down to drink.</li>
<li>04:56 – Disturbances in the water increase as a large creature emerges from the lake. As only the upper portion is visible, identification is difficult. A membranous dome, lined by numerous frills of skin and cartilage, is visible. The skin is semi-transparent, showing a bulbous structure underneath. Visible are several triple-jointed arms (<em>Researcher’s note: Five limbs have been counted</em>), which have thick black fur and hands with two opposable thumbs.</li>
<li>04:59 – Unknown creature lashes its arms at the area behind the sloth, attacking a pack of raptors much like the one before, which were preparing to launch an attack on the sloth.</li>
<li>05:12 – Unknown creature grabs a raptor in one of its hands and throws towards the Subjects, who it misses by no less than a meter. Camera moves to look at the body: the spine has been snapped on impact.</li>
<li>05:17 – Cut. Subjects have left the lake behind, and are now climbing over a short ridge. Animal noises can be heard from the other side.</li>
<li>05:18 – Disk ends.</li>
</ul>
<p><strong>Disk 6</strong></p>
<ul>
<li>00:00 – Disk starts. Video shows that the Subjects are traversing a salt plain on foot. Sky is overcast and dark. No life can be seen anywhere.</li>
<li>00:07 – Subject 3 begins to speak. The conversation is casual and continues for the next twelve minutes without notable events.</li>
<li>12:07 – Cut. Conversation is still ongoing, though Subject 1’s tone has become increasingly worried.</li>
<li>12:55 – Argument between Subjects 1 and 3 breaks out. Subject 2 steps in, attempting to break it up.</li>
<li>13:12 – Cut. Conversation has ended. Subjects appear weary. Distant thunder is heard in the background. The camera pans to show two unknown creatures (<em>Researcher’s note: Creatures are estimated to be between 200 and 250 meters tall</em>) on the southern horizon. From the distance, they appear to be masses of cartilage and gas sacks at least five stories tall. Subject 1 speaks, but is interrupted by a low roar in the distance. The Subjects look to the east, then at each other. Subject 3 speaks briefly, and the group resumes walking.</li>
<li>14:04 –Disk ends</li>
</ul>
<p><strong>Disk 7</strong><br/>
Data lost. The disk has been overwritten with several episodes of the anime <em>Cowboy Bebop</em>. Closer inspection has shown several one-frame fragments of the original video that remain.</p>
<ul>
<li>09:33 – A forest of crooked, leafless trees. Part of a bleached skeleton of unknown origin is seen in the corner of the frame.</li>
<li>26:01 – Shot was taken within a small clearing containing six boulder-sized pearls which provide ambient light through unknown means. The clearing is within a dense formation of jagged limestone towers, known as <em>tsingy</em>.</li>
<li>27:50 – Two frames of a bloated, wormlike creature with three flexible proboscises covered in feathered tufts.</li>
<li>44:27 – A dark blue screen filled with complex mathematical formulae appearing in white Arabic numerals.</li>
<li>54:14 – The final segment lasts for approximately three seconds. The soundless footage is too shaky for any conclusive analysis, but it would appear that Subject 2 is running up a steep incline at substantial speed with the camera rolling.</li>
<li>55:02 – Static. Faint screams and gunfire can be heard beneath the white noise. A voice identified as Subject 2 can be heard shouting before being drowned out.</li>
<li>55:46 – Disk ends.</li>
</ul>
<p><strong>Disk 8</strong></p>
<ul>
<li>00:00 – Disk starts. Scene shows subjects slowly descending a rocky slope towards the bottom of a small valley. There is no plant life to be seen. There is a substantial amount of smog and dust in the air, giving a red-brown color to the sky.</li>
<li>00:04 – Camera focuses on the bottom of the valley, observing a large settlement. Shacks are constructed primarily of corrugated sheet metal and are built several layers thick. Some figures can be seen around the edge of the settlement.</li>
<li>00:09 – Cut. Subjects have reached the bottom of the incline and are standing roughly 10 meters from the edge of the slum. At this distance the conditions within the settlement are seen in detail. The narrow spaces between shacks are lined with sewage and large patches of grey lichen or fungus. Roughly twenty inhabitants can be seen, though they pay no attention to the Subjects. The inhabitants are human, and their appearance is consistent with the living conditions around them: they are filthy, dressed in rags, malnourished, and many sport deformities. They walk without any seeming purpose, noticing little, if any, of their surroundings.</li>
<li>00:12 – Subjects start walking slowly towards the settlement’s edge. Inhabitants still show no signs of notice.</li>
<li>00:15 – One of the slum inhabitants, male with severe deformities, sharply turns his head to face the camera.</li>
<li>00:16 – Inhabitant begins running towards Subjects.</li>
<li>00:19 – Inhabitant begins attacking Subjects, screaming “Let us go! Let us go, you sick fucks!”</li>
<li>00:23 – A mob has formed around the Subjects, who attempt to fight them off.</li>
<li>00:25 – Camera is knocked out of Subject 2’s hand, and records the mob’s feet for seven seconds afterwards. Screams can be heard off-screen.</li>
<li>00:32 – Disk ends.</li>
</ul>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/video-oddity">A Video Oddity</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/video-oddity">https://scpwiki.com/video-oddity</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Anomalous Item 20224 is a series of eight DVD-Rs containing unedited footage of an apparent nature documentary, collectively labeled as “Documentary 23”. The picture and sound quality of the footage is substandard, with audio-visual distortions, cuts, and missing footage common throughout the recordings. The disks will play on any standard DVD player, and the contained footage has been copied and archived.
No anomalous effects have been recorded regarding the disks themselves or the act of watching them. While the possibility of a hoax exists, such an undertaking would require several million dollars to produce equivalent special effects.
Anomalous Item 20224 was recovered from █████ ███████ on July 16, 20██. The previous owner was unaware of the object’s origins, claiming to have received them through an anonymous seller on the internet. Anomalous Item 20224 is currently stored in Low Security Vault 2 of Site 19.
The following transcript lists only a general overview of major events of note.
**Disk 1**
* 00:00 – Disk starts. The scene shown resembles the Serengeti Plain. A large group of wildebeests, gazelles, zebras, and other savannah wildlife are shown around a watering hole.
* 00:12 – The voices of the filmmakers are heard for the first time. Three distinct voices are heard, one female, two male. (Subjects 1, 2, and 3, respectively.) The language spoken does not correlate with any known language, and has only been partially decoded. The Subjects seem to be describing the water hole scene, as the camera focuses on the drinking animals. Narration of this kind continues throughout most other segments of Anomalous Item 20224.
* 05:15 – Subjects 1 and 3 appear on camera. Both are wearing similar outfits: utilitarian clothing in various shades of brown with backpacks for carrying equipment and supplies. For unknown reasons, the Subjects’ faces have been blotted out. Documentary shifts focus to a nearby termite mound.
//The next 34:06 of tape contains no anomalous or otherwise notable content.//
* 39:21 – First anomalous content seen. At this point in the documentary, focus is set upon a small bird, which on closer inspection is clearly a blue jay (//Cyanocitta cristata//). The bird displays no physical anomalies, besides being native to North America, not Africa.
* 40:05 – Blue jay flies away. During the filming, the Subjects did not seem to find the presence of a non-native bird confusing or remarkable.
//The next 19:55 of tape contains no anomalous or otherwise notable content. All animals featured show no unusual characteristics or behaviors.//
* 60:00 – Disk ends.
**Disk 2**
* 00:00 – Disk starts. Scene shows a series of rocky foothills at the base of a mountain chain to the west. Scrub vegetation is common.
* 00:10 – Camera focuses on a snake in the brush. (//Researcher’s note: Identified as a western diamondback rattlesnake.//) Subject 3, grabs the snake by the tail and uses a stick to handle it for the camera as Subject 1 narrates. At 01:01, the snake is released.
* 01:01 – Cut. Next shot is the middle of a segment on a large ant colony. Ants are a light shade of blue.
* 01:15 - Camera focuses on a group of roughly fifty soldier ants attacking a reef gecko (//Sphaerodactylus notatus//, native to Florida). Ants are tearing away chunks of flesh with their pincher-like jaws. The gecko survives for nearly a minute before one of the ants cuts the gecko’s jugular vein.
* 02:12 – Cut. Scene is now focusing on a pack of vultures feeding on the carcass of a large Bactrian camel.
* 05:36 – Cut. The camel stands up and attempts to bite a vulture. The remains of the camel’s internal organs are dangling from the hole in its abdomen.
* 05:45 – Cut.
//There are no visuals for the next 10:45. Sound is in the form of five individual narrations on unknown subjects.//
* 16:21 – Cut. Camera focuses on a red panda drinking from a shallow stream. The creature is estimated to be roughly the size of a Kodiak bear.
* 17:00 – Red panda leaves the shot, but not before defecating on the stream’s edge. Subject 1 makes a comment, followed by laughter from Subjects 2 and 3.
* 17:06 – Disk ends.
**Disk 3**
* 00:00 – Disk starts. Scene opens with Subject 2 in mid-sentence, pointing the camera at a snowy cliffside roughly 100-150m tall. Subjects are seen wearing mountain climbing gear, and appear to be discussing the best way to ascend the cliff face.
* 02:20 – Subjects begin ascending the cliffside.
* 02:43 – Cut. Following footage is a shot of the horizon from two-thirds up the cliffside. The savannah featured in Disk 1 can be seen in the distance.
* 02:56 – Subject 2 is startled by the sudden appearance of a large, indistinct creature (//Researcher’s note: believed to be a flying fox or similar large bat.//) and nearly drops the camera. Subject 3 scolds him while Subject 1 laughs.
* 03:00 – Cut. Subjects are at the top of the cliff, looking out over the edge. Judging by the shadows cast by the mountain, it is nearing mid-afternoon.
* 03:15 – Cut. Scene takes place later in the day, near sundown. Subjects are walking up a winding dirt path. A small village can be seen ahead of them.
* 05:23 – Subjects arrive in the village. Buildings are small and stone, with wooden roofs. There are no signs of recent habitation: many of the buildings are in states of disrepair, and much of the village is covered in deep snow drifts. Subjects walk through the village for the next 03:40, conversing sporadically. No other life is seen.
* 09:03 – Cut. Subjects are now approaching a larger building, a large section of which has collapsed and filled with snow. Subjects 1 and 3 step inside first, Subject 2 follows with the camera four seconds later.
* 09:07 – Jump cut. Subjects are standing on top of a fallen chunk of masonry. A large swarm of black insects (//Researcher’s note: Further analysis suggests that the creatures resemble terrestrial trilobites rather than any known insect.//), each at least 30cm in length, swarms around beneath them. Subject 3 opens his backpack, taking out a plastic box. Checking its contents once, he throws it across the hall. The swarm moves towards the box and begins consuming it. The camera lingers on the creatures as the subjects escape.
* 09:56 – Cut. Subjects are inside another building, and it is now night. The house’s fire pit has been cleared out and a fire has been set up. Subject 1 is feeding a black-furred chinchilla some of her rations, while Subject 3 narrates.
* 10:28 – Disk ends.
**Disk 4**
* 00:00 – Disk starts. Subjects are walking through a thick forest of large fungal bodies. Judging by the slope of the ground, it is presumed that the Subjects are descending the foothills on the opposite side of the mountain. Available light indicates that it is mid-morning or mid-afternoon.
* 00:15 – Movement is spotted to the right. Camera focuses on a dark shape moving deeper into the forest and out of sight. (//Researcher’s note: Further analysis shows that the creature is a quagga, a relative of the zebra which has been extinct since 1883.//) One frame seems to show the creature unfurling wings, but the footage is too blurred to confirm this.
* 00:45 – Cut. Scene shows a stone pillar, which has been partially eroded by encroaching hyphae. The pillar is clearly a marker of some sort, and Subject 1 is attempting to decode the symbols that are etched into it.
* 01:30 – Subject 1 now steps away from the pillar. Judging by her tone of voice, she was incapable of translating any of the symbols. Subjects move onward through the forest.
* 02:41 – There is a heavy seismic disturbance. The camera becomes unsteady as Subject 2 stumbles. The fungal ‘trees’ can be seen to sway in uniform motion.
* 02:44 - The next ten seconds contain no visuals or audible sound. Analysis has shown an ultrasonic note within the blank segment. As it does not vary in frequency, it is hypothesized to be artificial in origin.
* 02:54 – Cut. Subject 1 is now observing a large black beetle. Every few seconds she prods it with a twig. After she does this several times, the beetle flares its carapace outward, showing the brilliant orange-yellow coloration underneath.
* 03:40 – The beetle sprays a yellow-green fluid from its abdomen at Subject 1, who doesn’t step away quick enough to avoid the acid. She shouts in pain and attempts to wipe it off. Subject 3 steps in to help her.
* 04:02 – Cut. Scene now shows a shallow gully, populated by a species of cup-shaped fungi, the smallest being a meter across. Subject 2 sets the camera on a tripod and walks away. No unusual events are recorded over the next 14:12.
* 18:14 – A juvenile Javanese rhinoceros walks into the gully, sniffing the air. It makes a direct route towards one of the larger cup fungi and walks inside. The cup closes over it, and sounds of distress are heard from within after a few seconds. The silhouette of the rhinoceros inside the fungus can be seen as it struggles to free itself.
* 19:20 – Disk ends.
**Disk 5**
* 00:00 – Disk starts. Scene shows the Subjects on the shores of a lake. Local geography resembles the American southwest, with thick scrub vegetation and several clumps of tamarisk on the lakeshore. Subject 3 is filling a canteen from the lake.
* 00:30 – Subject 3 points out a disturbance behind the camera. Camera turns to see a group of about fifteen lemur-like creatures emerging from the brush, roughly twenty meters away. Camera zooms in to show that they are walking on their hind legs and are carrying sharpened sticks. The “tribe” ignores the presence of the Subjects.
* 00:54 – The tribe begins to drink from the lake. Subject 1 makes a short narrative comment, showing some surprise at the event, but only enough to suggest that this is a rare find. She continues with the narration as usual.
* 02:03 – The tribe’s lookout makes a startled yelp. The other lemurs take notice.
* 02:04 – A dromaeosaurid dinosaur of considerable size (//Researcher’s Note: Believed to be an adult// Utahraptor) appears. Subjects begin to run away. Sounds of the conflict can be heard over the Subjects’ footsteps.
* 02:25 – Camera is directed back at the tribe. Lemurs have now either run away or been killed. The //Utahraptor// is feeding on the dead.
* 03:13 – Cut. Scene now shows the dinosaur dead on the ground, with numerous bullet holes in its head and chest area. Subject 1 is scolding Subject 3, who is seen disassembling a long-barreled rifle.
* 03:20 – Cut. Subjects have walked down the eastern shore of the lake. There are some unusual disturbances in the water. This continues for the next 01:36.
* 04:04 – A //Megatherium// (giant ground sloth), which is seen to have six limbs instead of four, approaches the lake shore from the brush. After looking around the area, it bends down to drink.
* 04:56 – Disturbances in the water increase as a large creature emerges from the lake. As only the upper portion is visible, identification is difficult. A membranous dome, lined by numerous frills of skin and cartilage, is visible. The skin is semi-transparent, showing a bulbous structure underneath. Visible are several triple-jointed arms (//Researcher’s note: Five limbs have been counted//), which have thick black fur and hands with two opposable thumbs.
* 04:59 – Unknown creature lashes its arms at the area behind the sloth, attacking a pack of raptors much like the one before, which were preparing to launch an attack on the sloth.
* 05:12 – Unknown creature grabs a raptor in one of its hands and throws towards the Subjects, who it misses by no less than a meter. Camera moves to look at the body: the spine has been snapped on impact.
* 05:17 – Cut. Subjects have left the lake behind, and are now climbing over a short ridge. Animal noises can be heard from the other side.
* 05:18 – Disk ends.
**Disk 6**
* 00:00 – Disk starts. Video shows that the Subjects are traversing a salt plain on foot. Sky is overcast and dark. No life can be seen anywhere.
* 00:07 – Subject 3 begins to speak. The conversation is casual and continues for the next twelve minutes without notable events.
* 12:07 – Cut. Conversation is still ongoing, though Subject 1’s tone has become increasingly worried.
* 12:55 – Argument between Subjects 1 and 3 breaks out. Subject 2 steps in, attempting to break it up.
* 13:12 – Cut. Conversation has ended. Subjects appear weary. Distant thunder is heard in the background. The camera pans to show two unknown creatures (//Researcher’s note: Creatures are estimated to be between 200 and 250 meters tall//) on the southern horizon. From the distance, they appear to be masses of cartilage and gas sacks at least five stories tall. Subject 1 speaks, but is interrupted by a low roar in the distance. The Subjects look to the east, then at each other. Subject 3 speaks briefly, and the group resumes walking.
* 14:04 –Disk ends
**Disk 7**
Data lost. The disk has been overwritten with several episodes of the anime //Cowboy Bebop//. Closer inspection has shown several one-frame fragments of the original video that remain.
* 09:33 – A forest of crooked, leafless trees. Part of a bleached skeleton of unknown origin is seen in the corner of the frame.
* 26:01 – Shot was taken within a small clearing containing six boulder-sized pearls which provide ambient light through unknown means. The clearing is within a dense formation of jagged limestone towers, known as //tsingy//.
* 27:50 – Two frames of a bloated, wormlike creature with three flexible proboscises covered in feathered tufts.
* 44:27 – A dark blue screen filled with complex mathematical formulae appearing in white Arabic numerals.
* 54:14 – The final segment lasts for approximately three seconds. The soundless footage is too shaky for any conclusive analysis, but it would appear that Subject 2 is running up a steep incline at substantial speed with the camera rolling.
* 55:02 – Static. Faint screams and gunfire can be heard beneath the white noise. A voice identified as Subject 2 can be heard shouting before being drowned out.
* 55:46 – Disk ends.
**Disk 8**
* 00:00 – Disk starts. Scene shows subjects slowly descending a rocky slope towards the bottom of a small valley. There is no plant life to be seen. There is a substantial amount of smog and dust in the air, giving a red-brown color to the sky.
* 00:04 – Camera focuses on the bottom of the valley, observing a large settlement. Shacks are constructed primarily of corrugated sheet metal and are built several layers thick. Some figures can be seen around the edge of the settlement.
* 00:09 – Cut. Subjects have reached the bottom of the incline and are standing roughly 10 meters from the edge of the slum. At this distance the conditions within the settlement are seen in detail. The narrow spaces between shacks are lined with sewage and large patches of grey lichen or fungus. Roughly twenty inhabitants can be seen, though they pay no attention to the Subjects. The inhabitants are human, and their appearance is consistent with the living conditions around them: they are filthy, dressed in rags, malnourished, and many sport deformities. They walk without any seeming purpose, noticing little, if any, of their surroundings.
* 00:12 – Subjects start walking slowly towards the settlement’s edge. Inhabitants still show no signs of notice.
* 00:15 – One of the slum inhabitants, male with severe deformities, sharply turns his head to face the camera.
* 00:16 – Inhabitant begins running towards Subjects.
* 00:19 – Inhabitant begins attacking Subjects, screaming “Let us go! Let us go, you sick fucks!”
* 00:23 – A mob has formed around the Subjects, who attempt to fight them off.
* 00:25 – Camera is knocked out of Subject 2’s hand, and records the mob’s feet for seven seconds afterwards. Screams can be heard off-screen.
* 00:32 – Disk ends.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-01-02T19:26:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"featured",
"horror",
"otherworldly",
"tale"
] | A Video Oddity - SCP Foundation | 364 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"featured-tale-archive"
] | [] | 4373846 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/video-oddity |
|
wasteland | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Gareth poked his head over the rocks, peering across the blasted landscape. It was a particularly hot day, the sun's rays bouncing off the endless gray of the wasteland, nothing but the occasional ravine or dead, naked tree dotting the endless fields of stone. Only the sighing wind gave him any company as he searched for the single source of food for miles, the devious rock lizards that scuttled throughout the rocky outcroppings.With his bow slung across his back, Gareth moved across the waste, using his hands as much as his feet to propel himself forward. The dull army helmet on his head and rags covering his clothing helped him blend in perfectly with the surroundings.The world was an unforgiving one, where you were either fast and silent or easy prey for a wandering Beast. Gareth was a straggler, one of those who chose to fend for themselves instead of joining one of the dozen armies that fought for control over this war-torn planet.</p>
<p>Hugging close to a somewhat large boulder, Gareth pulled out his bow, spying a black lizard sunning itself on the rocks a dozen meters away. Knocking an arrow, he carefully aimed. He would get one shot at this, rock lizards were skittish and easily frightened creatures. Understandable, considering that they lived in a place where nameless abominations roamed freely and destroyed or devoured anything that was in their way.</p>
<p>Suddenly, the rock lizard perked up its head, staring off into the distance. Giving a squeak of fear, it scurried under the rocks, probably into some hidden burrow under the ground. Gareth paused, and placed a hand on the ground. He shuddered with fear, feeling the all-too-familiar vibrations in the earth. Quickly, he unstrapped his field glasses, looking off in the direction the lizard had. There, in the distance, was a black band of moving figures covering the horizon. Troops, there was an army approaching.</p>
<p>Twiddling a dial at the side of the glasses, he zoomed in on them, scanning the ranks for a banner that would identify which army this was. If he knew which particular faction this army belonged to, he might be able to judge how they were going to act, and hopefully find a way to avoid encountering them. He spotted it, a massive flag depicting five jagged shards of metal joining together to form a twisted circle. Gareth groaned.</p>
<p>They were Assemblage troops. The Church was on the move.</p>
<p>Still sticking low to the ground, Gareth darted across the broken landscape. He moved diagonally away from the advancing army, trying to get away from them as fast as possible. It was unwise to run into soldiers belonging to the Holy Order of the Assemblage. If they found him, they would only give him a single choice: Become a devoted member of the army; join the Priesthood of the Assemblage God; or be turned into one of the mindless automatons the Church employed. Not content with summoning their monstrous deity to this planet, the Church had to subjugate the rest of the human species to their way.</p>
<p>If he had been lucky, Gareth would have run into one of warmongering tribes devoted to the Hunter. That way, he could have thrown down his bow and arrows, shown he was no threat or challenge to them, and be left alone relatively unscathed. Even the horrifically inhuman minions of the immortal Lizard King would have been preferable to the proselytizing Church. A quick death to the purge being committed by the hordes the Lizard King had supposedly pulled from another realm would be far less painful to the iron grip the Church held on their recruits.</p>
<p>As Gareth scurried across the rocky wastes, he could feel another set of vibrations shivering through the earth. Looking up in horror, he could see a second army, this one moving up from the south, towards him and the Assemblage army. Lying prone on the ground, he pulled up his field glasses in an attempt to see this new army.</p>
<p>There was no point in searching for a banner with this group, however. This army's allegiance was made clear by the white paint all of the soldiers wore on their faces, put there in homage to the cruel masked being they served that was known only as the White Lord. The White Lord, who sat upon a throne as black as death, who could reach into the minds of men and tear their souls from their bodies. The White Lord, who revelled in corruption and could make the very walls bleed in fear of him. The White Lord, who commanded his army through sheer terror, and held a grip on them that could rival that of the Assemblage Church's.</p>
<p>The two most fanatical armies in the world were about to clash, and Gareth was stuck between them.</p>
<p>Forgetting any attempt at stealth, Garet stood up and bolted, making a mad dash to get out of the way of the two incoming titans. His feet slammed into the ground as he ran, sheer fear driving him away from the soon-to-be warzone. The opposing forces were large, but he had a good distance between the two, and he prayed to the gods that he reached the edge of the armies before they met.</p>
<p>Luck was on his side, as it were, and when the forces were about to clash he was a good distance away from the field of battle. He kept running though, on the chance there was a flanking attempt that could sweep him up. As he moved, he could hear the two sides scream their respective battle cries of 'In the holy name of the Assembled God!' and 'For his high honor, the White Lord!'. A monstrous scream split the air as the two monstrous armies slammed into each other. Gareth was fairly far away from them, but their cries could be heard for miles.</p>
<p>Gareth slowed down. He was far enough from them, he was safe. He continued his slow trot away from them, not even worrying to stay low to the ground. There weren't going to be any Beasts in the area, they were smart enough to avoid a battle. As he walked, Gareth sighed, depressed at the state the world was in. He had been a straggler since the day he was born, knowing no life other than hiding from monsters and armies, knowing no landscape except for the dead rock called Earth. There were small towns and cities scattered across the planet, yes, but Gareth had found living in them a difficult life, for they drew Beasts to them like moths to a light.</p>
<p>It hadn't always been this way, according to the legends Gareth had heard as a child. Back then, years and years ago, the world was said to be a lush, green place, with water that wasn't brown and trees that had leaves. It was a world where armies hadn't destroyed the planet, and humans didn't have the need to hide from hideous monstrosities.</p>
<p>That was almost three hundred years ago, according to the stories.</p>
<p>From what he heard from the elders, something had happened two hundred and eighty years ago. The ancient tales told of a series of monstrous explosions across Earth. The first happened in the eastern portion of some long-dead nation called 'America'. That had been the trigger, for soon after that a wave of explosions popped up across the planet, everywhere from populated cities to the middle of the most desolate deserts. Out of these explosions came the Beasts, hundreds of terrifying creatures that would warp reality and kill without mercy.</p>
<p>The nations of the world united, and attempted to vanquish these beasts. At first, they were successful. At first. But with the Beasts came the kings and generals that now fought for dominance. There was the Assemblage Church, the Hunter, the White Lord, the Lizard King, the Queen of Darkness, and the leaderless Army of the Dead, along with other monstrous rulers. Whatever it was that caused those explosions, it had sealed the fate of humankind and doomed them to a death of eternal warring and a husk of a planet as a home.</p>
<p>Gareth sat down, now completely out of sight of the raging armies. Looking across this section of the blasted, dead terrain, he realized he needed to dig himself a new home before night fell. His stomach growled, the combat had lost him a chance to eat today. That was all that was left for humans. Hunger, death, and a desolate wasteland. For three centuries monsters and demons had fought for control, and they could do nothing but pray that their new masters would be a kind one, futile as that may sound. There would be no end, and no hope for humans.</p>
<p>Gareth shook his head, setting out to build himself a new home. Such things were not his place to dwell upon, he was too busy trying to survive.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/wasteland">Wasteland</a>" by Dr Gerald, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/wasteland">https://scpwiki.com/wasteland</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Gareth poked his head over the rocks, peering across the blasted landscape. It was a particularly hot day, the sun's rays bouncing off the endless gray of the wasteland, nothing but the occasional ravine or dead, naked tree dotting the endless fields of stone. Only the sighing wind gave him any company as he searched for the single source of food for miles, the devious rock lizards that scuttled throughout the rocky outcroppings.With his bow slung across his back, Gareth moved across the waste, using his hands as much as his feet to propel himself forward. The dull army helmet on his head and rags covering his clothing helped him blend in perfectly with the surroundings.The world was an unforgiving one, where you were either fast and silent or easy prey for a wandering Beast. Gareth was a straggler, one of those who chose to fend for themselves instead of joining one of the dozen armies that fought for control over this war-torn planet.
Hugging close to a somewhat large boulder, Gareth pulled out his bow, spying a black lizard sunning itself on the rocks a dozen meters away. Knocking an arrow, he carefully aimed. He would get one shot at this, rock lizards were skittish and easily frightened creatures. Understandable, considering that they lived in a place where nameless abominations roamed freely and destroyed or devoured anything that was in their way.
Suddenly, the rock lizard perked up its head, staring off into the distance. Giving a squeak of fear, it scurried under the rocks, probably into some hidden burrow under the ground. Gareth paused, and placed a hand on the ground. He shuddered with fear, feeling the all-too-familiar vibrations in the earth. Quickly, he unstrapped his field glasses, looking off in the direction the lizard had. There, in the distance, was a black band of moving figures covering the horizon. Troops, there was an army approaching.
Twiddling a dial at the side of the glasses, he zoomed in on them, scanning the ranks for a banner that would identify which army this was. If he knew which particular faction this army belonged to, he might be able to judge how they were going to act, and hopefully find a way to avoid encountering them. He spotted it, a massive flag depicting five jagged shards of metal joining together to form a twisted circle. Gareth groaned.
They were Assemblage troops. The Church was on the move.
Still sticking low to the ground, Gareth darted across the broken landscape. He moved diagonally away from the advancing army, trying to get away from them as fast as possible. It was unwise to run into soldiers belonging to the Holy Order of the Assemblage. If they found him, they would only give him a single choice: Become a devoted member of the army; join the Priesthood of the Assemblage God; or be turned into one of the mindless automatons the Church employed. Not content with summoning their monstrous deity to this planet, the Church had to subjugate the rest of the human species to their way.
If he had been lucky, Gareth would have run into one of warmongering tribes devoted to the Hunter. That way, he could have thrown down his bow and arrows, shown he was no threat or challenge to them, and be left alone relatively unscathed. Even the horrifically inhuman minions of the immortal Lizard King would have been preferable to the proselytizing Church. A quick death to the purge being committed by the hordes the Lizard King had supposedly pulled from another realm would be far less painful to the iron grip the Church held on their recruits.
As Gareth scurried across the rocky wastes, he could feel another set of vibrations shivering through the earth. Looking up in horror, he could see a second army, this one moving up from the south, towards him and the Assemblage army. Lying prone on the ground, he pulled up his field glasses in an attempt to see this new army.
There was no point in searching for a banner with this group, however. This army's allegiance was made clear by the white paint all of the soldiers wore on their faces, put there in homage to the cruel masked being they served that was known only as the White Lord. The White Lord, who sat upon a throne as black as death, who could reach into the minds of men and tear their souls from their bodies. The White Lord, who revelled in corruption and could make the very walls bleed in fear of him. The White Lord, who commanded his army through sheer terror, and held a grip on them that could rival that of the Assemblage Church's.
The two most fanatical armies in the world were about to clash, and Gareth was stuck between them.
Forgetting any attempt at stealth, Garet stood up and bolted, making a mad dash to get out of the way of the two incoming titans. His feet slammed into the ground as he ran, sheer fear driving him away from the soon-to-be warzone. The opposing forces were large, but he had a good distance between the two, and he prayed to the gods that he reached the edge of the armies before they met.
Luck was on his side, as it were, and when the forces were about to clash he was a good distance away from the field of battle. He kept running though, on the chance there was a flanking attempt that could sweep him up. As he moved, he could hear the two sides scream their respective battle cries of 'In the holy name of the Assembled God!' and 'For his high honor, the White Lord!'. A monstrous scream split the air as the two monstrous armies slammed into each other. Gareth was fairly far away from them, but their cries could be heard for miles.
Gareth slowed down. He was far enough from them, he was safe. He continued his slow trot away from them, not even worrying to stay low to the ground. There weren't going to be any Beasts in the area, they were smart enough to avoid a battle. As he walked, Gareth sighed, depressed at the state the world was in. He had been a straggler since the day he was born, knowing no life other than hiding from monsters and armies, knowing no landscape except for the dead rock called Earth. There were small towns and cities scattered across the planet, yes, but Gareth had found living in them a difficult life, for they drew Beasts to them like moths to a light.
It hadn't always been this way, according to the legends Gareth had heard as a child. Back then, years and years ago, the world was said to be a lush, green place, with water that wasn't brown and trees that had leaves. It was a world where armies hadn't destroyed the planet, and humans didn't have the need to hide from hideous monstrosities.
That was almost three hundred years ago, according to the stories.
From what he heard from the elders, something had happened two hundred and eighty years ago. The ancient tales told of a series of monstrous explosions across Earth. The first happened in the eastern portion of some long-dead nation called 'America'. That had been the trigger, for soon after that a wave of explosions popped up across the planet, everywhere from populated cities to the middle of the most desolate deserts. Out of these explosions came the Beasts, hundreds of terrifying creatures that would warp reality and kill without mercy.
The nations of the world united, and attempted to vanquish these beasts. At first, they were successful. At first. But with the Beasts came the kings and generals that now fought for dominance. There was the Assemblage Church, the Hunter, the White Lord, the Lizard King, the Queen of Darkness, and the leaderless Army of the Dead, along with other monstrous rulers. Whatever it was that caused those explosions, it had sealed the fate of humankind and doomed them to a death of eternal warring and a husk of a planet as a home.
Gareth sat down, now completely out of sight of the raging armies. Looking across this section of the blasted, dead terrain, he realized he needed to dig himself a new home before night fell. His stomach growled, the combat had lost him a chance to eat today. That was all that was left for humans. Hunger, death, and a desolate wasteland. For three centuries monsters and demons had fought for control, and they could do nothing but pray that their new masters would be a kind one, futile as that may sound. There would be no end, and no hope for humans.
Gareth shook his head, setting out to build himself a new home. Such things were not his place to dwell upon, he was too busy trying to survive.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-02-02T05:50:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"broken-god",
"chase",
"hard-to-destroy-reptile",
"military-fiction",
"post-apocalyptic",
"tale",
"talecon10"
] | Wasteland - SCP Foundation | 45 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-great-short-story-contest-archives",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"church-of-the-broken-god-hub"
] | [] | 4505084 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wasteland |
|
we-re-off-to-be-the-lizard | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>"And so," Dr. Samet continued from his wheelchair, his right foot still in a cast after that terrible, accidental firearm discharge, "We must now proceed with the application of-" He stopped, staring at Dr. Bright in some kind of horror. "What is <em>that</em>?"</p>
<p>Bright smiled calmly, as his assistants continued to aide him in the final calibrations. Laying on the table before him, in pieces at the moment, were the three pieces of a rather ugly looking metal staff. Wires and cables trailed off at odd angles, and continued to look more bizarre the more the Lucky Bunch fiddled with it. "It's a staff, Samet."</p>
<p>"I can see that much, 963," the doctor, without a clue, snarled. "But why do you have it here?"</p>
<p>Firmly grasping the now assembled staff, Bright turned on Samet with a scowl. "My name is <em>Dr. Bright</em>. And <em>this</em> is to attract 682's attention. How were you planning on getting SCP-963 onto 682?"</p>
<p>"Well, ah, a launcher, and, ah, hmmm…"</p>
<p>"Exactly. With this prototype, I shall endeavor to anger it, to the point which it comes for me. From there it will be child's play to get 963 inside it."</p>
<p>Samet nodded. "Of course, of course, 963 - but what does it <em>do</em>?"</p>
<p>Some people never learn. And other people continually insult a vengeful immortal who holds no regard for human life. The really stupid people feed Bright straight lines. "This." He raised the cane to point in a vaguely Samet direction, and pressed a button. Immediately, a purplish arc of electricity arched through the air, grounding itself in Samet's injured foot. The doctor screamed, desperately rolling his wheelchair backwards, even as the bandages caught fire. "Hmm, Dr. Samet, it appears as if you have some sort of metal in your cast. Wonder how that happened."</p>
<p>As Samet's lackeys hurried to put their boss out, Bright turned to Dr. Light and nodded. "All right, Sophia, we know what we're doing. What're the current odds?"</p>
<p>Dr. Light checked her clipboard, frowning. "2-1 it doesn't work. 5-1 you get in it and rampage across the site. Side bet on that one, even odds are that you use said rampage to kill Samet over there. 10-1 says something goes wrong, and you get stuck inside 682. 20-1 odds say that this goes bottoms up, and we all end up as you, somehow."</p>
<p>"I like those odds."</p>
<p>"963!" Samet yelled, as his foot smoldered. "You! You, I! You-!"</p>
<p>"Dr. Samet. Understand this." Bright stalked over to tower over the other researcher. "I am about to be put in the most dangerous SCP we've ever discovered. I will offer you this deal then. If you cover your feet in barbecue sauce, I will stop at them."</p>
<p>And with that, Bright turned, and stalked down to the staging floor.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Jack Bright awoke with a headache, his memories fuzzy. There had been something… Barbecue sauce, maybe? No, something else… Oh yes, the memories came flooding back to him, him standing there with his staff, the beast charging, lightning and teeth, blood and pain, and that horrible indescribable feeling as he jumped hosts.</p>
<p>But now- Things weren't right. He could feel cold stone beneath his back, which implied that he was lying down. And he could hear other people moving around him, so there was a good chance he was still in the Foundation. And there was always barbecue sauce. Wait, what?</p>
<p>"Jack? We really need you right now sir." A familiar voice called from above. Slowly, Jack opened his eyes, his face fixed in a pre-emptive frown. Standing over him, in a rather strange looking chain mail hauberk, was a familiar looking Mexican man. Something about him-</p>
<p>"I know you, don't I?" The other man leaned down, helping Jack to his feet.</p>
<p>"Not really sir. Please, you have to come with me." His grip on Jack's arm was firm, his other hand holding firmly to a long staff. Jack stopped, suddenly, watching the other people moving past. All of them were dressed the same, a chain mail hauberk with gold rings in a circle over the heart, surrounding a ring of red rings. All of them held the same staff.</p>
<p>"You're D-113. You're the first, aren't you?" Jack couldn't help but stare. It had been a long time since that first one.</p>
<p>"Well, the answer to that is yes and no. And yes. But not really. Uhm. Right, we do it your way, stupidly blunt. You see sir, none of this is real." As he gestured at the castle walls, and the people around him.</p>
<p>"Well, duh. Credit me with a little sense."</p>
<p>"Oh, okay, right, that makes things, uhm, easier. See, your mind, it isn't ready for this. It can't, uhm, really deal with how 682 sees things. So, it came up with this as a defense. Only, it's not just your mind. 963 is involved, and somehow, bits and pieces of the leftovers of those you've taken over are being animated, to help. Only, it's still part of you. Uhm. Does that make sense?"</p>
<p>"Not even a little bit." As they pushed through a great wooden door. "But I do understand where you're com…ing… from." Jack stared upwards at the sky, for once, without a voice. Above him was the thing, the creature, what we in our limited scope called SCP-682. And it was glorious. A beautiful, nightmarish, disturbing yet intriguing creature, spread across the sky, the ground, the horizon, hell, everything that wasn't Jack and his castle. Barbecue Sauce.</p>
<p>"I, well, then, whoo." Jack frowned more deeply, as several armored people suddenly ran up beside him. Even the old man was there, although he shouldn't have been. He could feel the impact lessen even as they stood there. "Right, sharing the load, got it." He wrenched his eyes away from the… thing, turning to his own ramparts. A twisted, mangled castle that Escher would be proud of loomed above and below him, and from every corner, pieces of him stood, staffs in hand, striking out against the barbecue sauce creature. Purple lightning arched here and there, playing across the surface of the beast, carving inroads, yoking it to his command.</p>
<p>"We're stuck, aren't we?"</p>
<p>"Encaged, sir."</p>
<p>"Have to figure out a way to get out. We have some barbecue sauce to serve up."</p>
<p>"Pardon?"</p>
<p>"Figure of speech. Look, I need…" Bright racked his memories, oh so many of them. The answer would be there, somewhere. And then it was there, standing in front of him. Researcher Class 2 Damon Smith, promoted to Dr. Bright in the line of duty. Damon had always had a fear of being enclosed. And that would get them out of here.</p>
<p>"Come on, Damon, take that staff, and link up! Remember how it feels, to be in small spaces. Locked in, no one to hear you, how to get out…" The apparition before Jack raised its staff, as his limbs trembled in fear. A line of energy lashed out from the staff, scoring a long line in the creature above them.</p>
<p>And it began to change. From the inside, the effects were hard to tell, but everyone there could feel it. Something different was happening. The Dragon was moving.</p>
<p>Jack couldn't help but laugh. "BARBECUE SAUCE!" he called out - one of the absolute worst battle cries ever spoken. He wrenched the staff from Damon's hands, not even noticing as he pushed the poor researcher over the edge, not caring as a mouth of the beast snapped up the helpless researcher.</p>
<p>Lines of energy, a mental projection of Jack's control over 682, lashed out in force from the castle construct. He could feel that it was doing his will, doing what he told it to do. He knew some part of his brain was actually inside the creature, controlling it, seeing through its eyes, but he also knew he could never hope to understand how it saw the world. So, down here, he fought a pitched battle, using metaphor and simile to act in his stead.</p>
<p>But it wasn't to last. Even as he found himself filled with the knowledge that he had done what he wanted to do, the dragon fought back. Its ferocious claws ripped into the castle, shattering walls. Its foul breath played along the walls, sending body-forms reeling, tumbling back into the safety of 963. Jack knew he could not last.</p>
<p>With the last of his mental will, he set the creature back, commanded it to return, and then he too retreated to the safety of his nightmares.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Bright could feel the soft texture of a bed beneath him. Cotton sheets from the feel of it, so not his own bed. Thin mattress, the smell of disinfectant, the leather straps on his wrists, neck, chest and feet… Yes, he must be in Medical.</p>
<p>"Subject is waking up, Overseer."</p>
<p>Bright opened his eyes slowly, aware of the feel of cold metal pressed against his temple. His eyes flicked first to the figure holding the gun, one of the Overseer's goon squad, none of them actually worth remembering. Then, to the sound of the voice, the lovely Dr. Light doing her medical duties. Finally, to the last remaining space by his bed, filled with a monitor screen, on which a black outline of a person could be seen.</p>
<p>A mechanical voice, carefully filtered to remove any identifying markers, spoke to him. "Please identify yourself." With or without identifying markers, Bright still knew who was behind the outline.</p>
<p>"Dr. Jack Bright, Level five Researcher, Personnel Director of far too many sites, yada yada yada."</p>
<p>"Who is your sister?" The voice continued. Bright knew it was the questions that needed to be asked, to make sure he was himself.</p>
<p>"Claire Pierce. And, in answer to your next three questions, 31-20-35, the Ebola virus, and purple monkey dishwasher."</p>
<p>"Identity confirmed. Dr. Bright, what is your last memory?"</p>
<p>Bright thought hard for a long moment, then spoke. "I was… going up against 682, wasn't I? Yeah, I had the staff and everything! Guess he didn't snap up 963, huh?"</p>
<p>"Dr. Bright, SCP-963 was in contact with SCP-682 for the better part of a week. For the first 36 hours, SCP-682 remained in a comatose state. Shortly thereafter, it proceeded to grow large claws, and tunnel its way through its containment, causing a massive breach. Incredibly, SCP-682 only injured one researcher, and then allowed itself to be meekly shepherded back to its containment. 682 paced its room for another 24 hours, at which point it again went comatose. 10 hours ago, SCP-963 was excreted from SCP-682's brow. A team retrieved it, and immediately placed it upon the body you now wear. You have not stirred since. Can you add anything to this?"</p>
<p>"Sorry Six, I got nothing. Although…" Bright frowned, and licked his lips. "Why do I taste barbecue sauce?"</p>
<hr/>
<p>Someplace else entirely, the dragon curled around its newest acquisition. Such a tiny little man thing. It had never thought that the foul creatures could possibly teach it anything. But one of them had.</p>
<p>The beast circled around the memories of Damon Smith, absorbed them, made them its own. And, in learning how to fear, it added one more tool to its vast arsenal, one more way that it could change itself, and finally eliminate the scourge it called man.</p>
<p>Coming (Relatively) Soon!<br/>
<a class="newpage" href="/confessions-of-a-teenage-scp">Chapter Three: Confessions of a Teenage SCP</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/we-re-off-to-be-the-lizard">We're Off To Be The Lizard</a>" by AdminBright, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/we-re-off-to-be-the-lizard">https://scpwiki.com/we-re-off-to-be-the-lizard</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
"And so," Dr. Samet continued from his wheelchair, his right foot still in a cast after that terrible, accidental firearm discharge, "We must now proceed with the application of-" He stopped, staring at Dr. Bright in some kind of horror. "What is //that//?"
Bright smiled calmly, as his assistants continued to aide him in the final calibrations. Laying on the table before him, in pieces at the moment, were the three pieces of a rather ugly looking metal staff. Wires and cables trailed off at odd angles, and continued to look more bizarre the more the Lucky Bunch fiddled with it. "It's a staff, Samet."
"I can see that much, 963," the doctor, without a clue, snarled. "But why do you have it here?"
Firmly grasping the now assembled staff, Bright turned on Samet with a scowl. "My name is //Dr. Bright//. And //this// is to attract 682's attention. How were you planning on getting SCP-963 onto 682?"
"Well, ah, a launcher, and, ah, hmmm..."
"Exactly. With this prototype, I shall endeavor to anger it, to the point which it comes for me. From there it will be child's play to get 963 inside it."
Samet nodded. "Of course, of course, 963 - but what does it //do//?"
Some people never learn. And other people continually insult a vengeful immortal who holds no regard for human life. The really stupid people feed Bright straight lines. "This." He raised the cane to point in a vaguely Samet direction, and pressed a button. Immediately, a purplish arc of electricity arched through the air, grounding itself in Samet's injured foot. The doctor screamed, desperately rolling his wheelchair backwards, even as the bandages caught fire. "Hmm, Dr. Samet, it appears as if you have some sort of metal in your cast. Wonder how that happened."
As Samet's lackeys hurried to put their boss out, Bright turned to Dr. Light and nodded. "All right, Sophia, we know what we're doing. What're the current odds?"
Dr. Light checked her clipboard, frowning. "2-1 it doesn't work. 5-1 you get in it and rampage across the site. Side bet on that one, even odds are that you use said rampage to kill Samet over there. 10-1 says something goes wrong, and you get stuck inside 682. 20-1 odds say that this goes bottoms up, and we all end up as you, somehow."
"I like those odds."
"963!" Samet yelled, as his foot smoldered. "You! You, I! You-!"
"Dr. Samet. Understand this." Bright stalked over to tower over the other researcher. "I am about to be put in the most dangerous SCP we've ever discovered. I will offer you this deal then. If you cover your feet in barbecue sauce, I will stop at them."
And with that, Bright turned, and stalked down to the staging floor.
----
Jack Bright awoke with a headache, his memories fuzzy. There had been something... Barbecue sauce, maybe? No, something else... Oh yes, the memories came flooding back to him, him standing there with his staff, the beast charging, lightning and teeth, blood and pain, and that horrible indescribable feeling as he jumped hosts.
But now- Things weren't right. He could feel cold stone beneath his back, which implied that he was lying down. And he could hear other people moving around him, so there was a good chance he was still in the Foundation. And there was always barbecue sauce. Wait, what?
"Jack? We really need you right now sir." A familiar voice called from above. Slowly, Jack opened his eyes, his face fixed in a pre-emptive frown. Standing over him, in a rather strange looking chain mail hauberk, was a familiar looking Mexican man. Something about him-
"I know you, don't I?" The other man leaned down, helping Jack to his feet.
"Not really sir. Please, you have to come with me." His grip on Jack's arm was firm, his other hand holding firmly to a long staff. Jack stopped, suddenly, watching the other people moving past. All of them were dressed the same, a chain mail hauberk with gold rings in a circle over the heart, surrounding a ring of red rings. All of them held the same staff.
"You're D-113. You're the first, aren't you?" Jack couldn't help but stare. It had been a long time since that first one.
"Well, the answer to that is yes and no. And yes. But not really. Uhm. Right, we do it your way, stupidly blunt. You see sir, none of this is real." As he gestured at the castle walls, and the people around him.
"Well, duh. Credit me with a little sense."
"Oh, okay, right, that makes things, uhm, easier. See, your mind, it isn't ready for this. It can't, uhm, really deal with how 682 sees things. So, it came up with this as a defense. Only, it's not just your mind. 963 is involved, and somehow, bits and pieces of the leftovers of those you've taken over are being animated, to help. Only, it's still part of you. Uhm. Does that make sense?"
"Not even a little bit." As they pushed through a great wooden door. "But I do understand where you're com...ing... from." Jack stared upwards at the sky, for once, without a voice. Above him was the thing, the creature, what we in our limited scope called SCP-682. And it was glorious. A beautiful, nightmarish, disturbing yet intriguing creature, spread across the sky, the ground, the horizon, hell, everything that wasn't Jack and his castle. Barbecue Sauce.
"I, well, then, whoo." Jack frowned more deeply, as several armored people suddenly ran up beside him. Even the old man was there, although he shouldn't have been. He could feel the impact lessen even as they stood there. "Right, sharing the load, got it." He wrenched his eyes away from the... thing, turning to his own ramparts. A twisted, mangled castle that Escher would be proud of loomed above and below him, and from every corner, pieces of him stood, staffs in hand, striking out against the barbecue sauce creature. Purple lightning arched here and there, playing across the surface of the beast, carving inroads, yoking it to his command.
"We're stuck, aren't we?"
"Encaged, sir."
"Have to figure out a way to get out. We have some barbecue sauce to serve up."
"Pardon?"
"Figure of speech. Look, I need..." Bright racked his memories, oh so many of them. The answer would be there, somewhere. And then it was there, standing in front of him. Researcher Class 2 Damon Smith, promoted to Dr. Bright in the line of duty. Damon had always had a fear of being enclosed. And that would get them out of here.
"Come on, Damon, take that staff, and link up! Remember how it feels, to be in small spaces. Locked in, no one to hear you, how to get out..." The apparition before Jack raised its staff, as his limbs trembled in fear. A line of energy lashed out from the staff, scoring a long line in the creature above them.
And it began to change. From the inside, the effects were hard to tell, but everyone there could feel it. Something different was happening. The Dragon was moving.
Jack couldn't help but laugh. "BARBECUE SAUCE!" he called out - one of the absolute worst battle cries ever spoken. He wrenched the staff from Damon's hands, not even noticing as he pushed the poor researcher over the edge, not caring as a mouth of the beast snapped up the helpless researcher.
Lines of energy, a mental projection of Jack's control over 682, lashed out in force from the castle construct. He could feel that it was doing his will, doing what he told it to do. He knew some part of his brain was actually inside the creature, controlling it, seeing through its eyes, but he also knew he could never hope to understand how it saw the world. So, down here, he fought a pitched battle, using metaphor and simile to act in his stead.
But it wasn't to last. Even as he found himself filled with the knowledge that he had done what he wanted to do, the dragon fought back. Its ferocious claws ripped into the castle, shattering walls. Its foul breath played along the walls, sending body-forms reeling, tumbling back into the safety of 963. Jack knew he could not last.
With the last of his mental will, he set the creature back, commanded it to return, and then he too retreated to the safety of his nightmares.
----
Bright could feel the soft texture of a bed beneath him. Cotton sheets from the feel of it, so not his own bed. Thin mattress, the smell of disinfectant, the leather straps on his wrists, neck, chest and feet... Yes, he must be in Medical.
"Subject is waking up, Overseer."
Bright opened his eyes slowly, aware of the feel of cold metal pressed against his temple. His eyes flicked first to the figure holding the gun, one of the Overseer's goon squad, none of them actually worth remembering. Then, to the sound of the voice, the lovely Dr. Light doing her medical duties. Finally, to the last remaining space by his bed, filled with a monitor screen, on which a black outline of a person could be seen.
A mechanical voice, carefully filtered to remove any identifying markers, spoke to him. "Please identify yourself." With or without identifying markers, Bright still knew who was behind the outline.
"Dr. Jack Bright, Level five Researcher, Personnel Director of far too many sites, yada yada yada."
"Who is your sister?" The voice continued. Bright knew it was the questions that needed to be asked, to make sure he was himself.
"Claire Pierce. And, in answer to your next three questions, 31-20-35, the Ebola virus, and purple monkey dishwasher."
"Identity confirmed. Dr. Bright, what is your last memory?"
Bright thought hard for a long moment, then spoke. "I was... going up against 682, wasn't I? Yeah, I had the staff and everything! Guess he didn't snap up 963, huh?"
"Dr. Bright, SCP-963 was in contact with SCP-682 for the better part of a week. For the first 36 hours, SCP-682 remained in a comatose state. Shortly thereafter, it proceeded to grow large claws, and tunnel its way through its containment, causing a massive breach. Incredibly, SCP-682 only injured one researcher, and then allowed itself to be meekly shepherded back to its containment. 682 paced its room for another 24 hours, at which point it again went comatose. 10 hours ago, SCP-963 was excreted from SCP-682's brow. A team retrieved it, and immediately placed it upon the body you now wear. You have not stirred since. Can you add anything to this?"
"Sorry Six, I got nothing. Although..." Bright frowned, and licked his lips. "Why do I taste barbecue sauce?"
----
Someplace else entirely, the dragon curled around its newest acquisition. Such a tiny little man thing. It had never thought that the foul creatures could possibly teach it anything. But one of them had.
The beast circled around the memories of Damon Smith, absorbed them, made them its own. And, in learning how to fear, it added one more tool to its vast arsenal, one more way that it could change itself, and finally eliminate the scourge it called man.
Coming (Relatively) Soon!
[[[Confessions-of-a-Teenage-SCP|Chapter Three: Confessions of a Teenage SCP]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-03-02T08:33:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"action",
"doctor-bright",
"hard-to-destroy-reptile",
"surrealism",
"tale"
] | We're Off To Be The Lizard - SCP Foundation | 352 | [
"confessions-of-a-teenage-scp",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4638673 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/we-re-off-to-be-the-lizard |
|
wednesday-1 | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>It started January 5th, about nine in the morning.</p>
<p>Mrs. Foster was explaining factoring polynomials to us, and I was exhausted. I wanted desperately to go back to bed and sleep. Too soon after Christmas break to start thinking about math. I glanced out our window—the fog was still kind of like trying to look through a glass of milk. The sun hadn't burned it all away yet.</p>
<p>Just before I was going to look away, the windows exploded in a spray of glass. I heard Mrs. Foster scream, but it was cut short. She had fallen. One by one my classmates did the same. I felt my sleepiness intensify a hundredfold, and I fought it, standing up, but it was too much. The air shimmered, and I didn't dream.</p>
<p>As far as I know, I was the second to wake. The first to wake was the quiet boy, Cyrus, who sat behind me in the last row. I stood up and looked over the others. He was by the broken window, clearing away the glass, and for a moment I saw his palms, cut up by his efforts.</p>
<p>I stepped over still-sleeping classmates. "What happened?"</p>
<p>He shrugged.</p>
<p>"Here," he said. "Look outside."</p>
<p>I did.</p>
<p>"I don't see anything."</p>
<p>"I don't either."</p>
<p>He picked up a large shard of glass from the ground.</p>
<p>"Watch."</p>
<p>He dropped it outside. I watched the glass shard fall. It kept going, and going, turning into a pinprick before vanishing altogether.</p>
<p>The other kids began to stir. Mrs. Foster was the last to rise.</p>
<p>"Mrs. F," I said. I stopped there, not knowing what to say. She stepped gingerly over the glass and looked out the window. She didn't speak—just looked out there, her grip tightening on the jagged glass still stuck to the window frame.</p>
<p>I left the classroom, feeling hollow and as though I had blinders at the sides of my eyes, at the same time, lucid, every sound and breath and footstep amplified, every fiber of the carpet and every scratch on the walls magnified. I passed by them, and ran down the hall and the stairs and the other hall until I reached the front doors of the school. They seemed enormous, and I so small, I pulled them open; my hands seemed so far away from me.</p>
<p>Below me was a sheer drop, like a cliff. The bottom of it was lost in the dense fog.</p>
<p>"I think I'm dreaming," I said.</p>
<p>"I think I'm dreaming," I said again.</p>
<p>"I think I'm <em>DREAMING</em>," I said, shouting the last word. My voice dissolved into the air, having nothing to bounce off of, and I didn't wake up.</p>
<p>I returned to my classroom. Cyrus was sitting by the door reading his Bible. The others were sort of mixed in their reactions—some girls cried in the corner, some boys simply looked numb, some other boys dropped things from the window to watch them fall.</p>
<p>"Find anything?" said Cyrus.</p>
<p>"Come look," I said, gesturing down the hall.</p>
<p>By now a few kids had begun to cluster around the door. I elbowed my way to the front.</p>
<p>"I'm having a dream," said a girl next to me matter-of-factly. "Watch, I'm going to fly."</p>
<p>She leaped from the door, ignoring the screams coming from her classmates. That was the last I saw of her.</p>
<p><a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wednesday-2">Continued in part two >></a><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/wednesday-1">Wednesday - 1</a>" by Cherry Pict, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/wednesday-1">https://scpwiki.com/wednesday-1</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
It started January 5th, about nine in the morning.
Mrs. Foster was explaining factoring polynomials to us, and I was exhausted. I wanted desperately to go back to bed and sleep. Too soon after Christmas break to start thinking about math. I glanced out our window--the fog was still kind of like trying to look through a glass of milk. The sun hadn't burned it all away yet.
Just before I was going to look away, the windows exploded in a spray of glass. I heard Mrs. Foster scream, but it was cut short. She had fallen. One by one my classmates did the same. I felt my sleepiness intensify a hundredfold, and I fought it, standing up, but it was too much. The air shimmered, and I didn't dream.
As far as I know, I was the second to wake. The first to wake was the quiet boy, Cyrus, who sat behind me in the last row. I stood up and looked over the others. He was by the broken window, clearing away the glass, and for a moment I saw his palms, cut up by his efforts.
I stepped over still-sleeping classmates. "What happened?"
He shrugged.
"Here," he said. "Look outside."
I did.
"I don't see anything."
"I don't either."
He picked up a large shard of glass from the ground.
"Watch."
He dropped it outside. I watched the glass shard fall. It kept going, and going, turning into a pinprick before vanishing altogether.
The other kids began to stir. Mrs. Foster was the last to rise.
"Mrs. F," I said. I stopped there, not knowing what to say. She stepped gingerly over the glass and looked out the window. She didn't speak--just looked out there, her grip tightening on the jagged glass still stuck to the window frame.
I left the classroom, feeling hollow and as though I had blinders at the sides of my eyes, at the same time, lucid, every sound and breath and footstep amplified, every fiber of the carpet and every scratch on the walls magnified. I passed by them, and ran down the hall and the stairs and the other hall until I reached the front doors of the school. They seemed enormous, and I so small, I pulled them open; my hands seemed so far away from me.
Below me was a sheer drop, like a cliff. The bottom of it was lost in the dense fog.
"I think I'm dreaming," I said.
"I think I'm dreaming," I said again.
"I think I'm //DREAMING//," I said, shouting the last word. My voice dissolved into the air, having nothing to bounce off of, and I didn't wake up.
I returned to my classroom. Cyrus was sitting by the door reading his Bible. The others were sort of mixed in their reactions--some girls cried in the corner, some boys simply looked numb, some other boys dropped things from the window to watch them fall.
"Find anything?" said Cyrus.
"Come look," I said, gesturing down the hall.
By now a few kids had begun to cluster around the door. I elbowed my way to the front.
"I'm having a dream," said a girl next to me matter-of-factly. "Watch, I'm going to fly."
She leaped from the door, ignoring the screams coming from her classmates. That was the last I saw of her.
[http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wednesday-2 Continued in part two >>]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-02-11T03:52:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Wednesday - 1 - SCP Foundation | 40 | [
"wednesday-2",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4543692 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wednesday-1 |
|
wednesday-2 | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wednesday-1"><< Back to part one</a></p>
<p>I hid in the boiler room when the panic started. I would sleep a little, and wake up whenever someone tried opening the door. I'd hold it shut until they gave up, and I would go back to sleep, and it would start again. I would occasionally leave to take a piss but I don't know how long I was in there. I only left because I really wanted some food.</p>
<p>The other half of the school was gone, cut cleanly as if a giant kitchen knife had chopped it off. With it went half the girls' locker room, one of the science labs, the back wall of the gym, most of the sophomores and seniors, and a sizable chunk of the library. I only noticed because I checked the library for anyone I knew, and a lot of it had just gone. It was empty save for one of the library assistants, curled up next to a bookshelf. I left.</p>
<p>Passing through the senior hall on the way to the cafeteria was the longest run I'd ever taken. It didn't start as a run, just a quick walk. I stopped when I heard screaming coming from one of the classrooms. I peeked inside—it one of the senior English classes, and Miss Ladia was trying to control them. I watched a group of seniors advance on her as one mass, and I watched them violate her, I watched as they took turns and I watched redness pool around them all. They noticed me next.</p>
<p>I ran, I heard them behind me, and I swear I ran for hours, tearing through air as thick as water, filled with their jeers and grasps at my arms, only wrenched out of their grip by the grace of adrenaline. Every time I blinked the cafeteria door seemed farther away and the mob nipping at my back seemed closer, and I screamed at them, "no, no"; they didn't understand me, they were no longer human. I crashed through the door and slammed it shut. I was hardly a match for one senior, let alone two or three or ten, they forced the door open and knocked me to the floor. Indistinct faces filled my vision until something snagged my wrist.</p>
<p>"Come on," said my captor, practically dragging me into the kitchen. I screamed at him too before realizing who it was.</p>
<p>When I'd caught my breath, I looked over the place. I recognized the cafeteria workers, all lying on the ground with great red wounds in their stomachs, and I recognized Cyrus, locking the door.</p>
<p>"What's going on?" I said, my gaze fixed on the kitchen workers. "Did you…did you do that?"</p>
<p>He sat down on the floor, massaging his forehead. "No. I just took the keys —" he nodded in the direction of the door, indicating the mob, " —before they could. They'd try to take the food."</p>
<p>"Food," I murmured. "Is there any left?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, take what you want…"</p>
<p>I stepped over the kitchen workers towards the big industrial fridge. There wasn't much variety in school food, and I suspect it will be that way until the end of humanity, but I was so thirsty I'd take anything drinkable I could get.</p>
<p>"So," said Cyrus, raising his voice a bit over the ruckus in the cafeteria, "where were you hiding? It's been almost three days since I last saw you."</p>
<p>"The boiler room," I said after settling down with a carton of chocolate milk, one of those packaged burritos, and a cookie. "It's really cramped and kind of musty but no one ever looked in there…"</p>
<p>We were silent for a while. Cyrus looked absolutely exhausted, like he'd been up all night guarding our only food. He had a switchblade in one hand and a couple keys in the other.</p>
<p>"Where are all the teachers?" I said.</p>
<p>He shrugged. "Some of them are dead. Some of them just disappeared." He paused, looking at the ceiling in thought. "I did see one of them jump. That one freshman science teacher."</p>
<p>I knew immediately who "that one" was—the one who kept a boa constrictor in a tank in his classroom. While Mr. Darrick was beyond help, I wondered if the snake was okay.</p>
<p>"I think I watched Miss Ladia die," I said. My voice turned hollow as I realized what had happened. "Those guys that were chasing me, they did it. I should have done something."</p>
<p>More silence. I guess it was the closest thing to a funeral the dead would have.</p>
<p>"You're called Wednesday, right?"</p>
<p>I nodded, and was about to ask if I'd gotten his name right when something slammed hard into the kitchen door.</p>
<p><a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wednesday-3">Continued in part three >></a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/wednesday-2">Wednesday - 2</a>" by Cherry Pict, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/wednesday-2">https://scpwiki.com/wednesday-2</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wednesday-1 << Back to part one]
I hid in the boiler room when the panic started. I would sleep a little, and wake up whenever someone tried opening the door. I'd hold it shut until they gave up, and I would go back to sleep, and it would start again. I would occasionally leave to take a piss but I don't know how long I was in there. I only left because I really wanted some food.
The other half of the school was gone, cut cleanly as if a giant kitchen knife had chopped it off. With it went half the girls' locker room, one of the science labs, the back wall of the gym, most of the sophomores and seniors, and a sizable chunk of the library. I only noticed because I checked the library for anyone I knew, and a lot of it had just gone. It was empty save for one of the library assistants, curled up next to a bookshelf. I left.
Passing through the senior hall on the way to the cafeteria was the longest run I'd ever taken. It didn't start as a run, just a quick walk. I stopped when I heard screaming coming from one of the classrooms. I peeked inside--it one of the senior English classes, and Miss Ladia was trying to control them. I watched a group of seniors advance on her as one mass, and I watched them violate her, I watched as they took turns and I watched redness pool around them all. They noticed me next.
I ran, I heard them behind me, and I swear I ran for hours, tearing through air as thick as water, filled with their jeers and grasps at my arms, only wrenched out of their grip by the grace of adrenaline. Every time I blinked the cafeteria door seemed farther away and the mob nipping at my back seemed closer, and I screamed at them, "no, no"; they didn't understand me, they were no longer human. I crashed through the door and slammed it shut. I was hardly a match for one senior, let alone two or three or ten, they forced the door open and knocked me to the floor. Indistinct faces filled my vision until something snagged my wrist.
"Come on," said my captor, practically dragging me into the kitchen. I screamed at him too before realizing who it was.
When I'd caught my breath, I looked over the place. I recognized the cafeteria workers, all lying on the ground with great red wounds in their stomachs, and I recognized Cyrus, locking the door.
"What's going on?" I said, my gaze fixed on the kitchen workers. "Did you...did you do that?"
He sat down on the floor, massaging his forehead. "No. I just took the keys --" he nodded in the direction of the door, indicating the mob, " --before they could. They'd try to take the food."
"Food," I murmured. "Is there any left?"
"Yeah, take what you want..."
I stepped over the kitchen workers towards the big industrial fridge. There wasn't much variety in school food, and I suspect it will be that way until the end of humanity, but I was so thirsty I'd take anything drinkable I could get.
"So," said Cyrus, raising his voice a bit over the ruckus in the cafeteria, "where were you hiding? It's been almost three days since I last saw you."
"The boiler room," I said after settling down with a carton of chocolate milk, one of those packaged burritos, and a cookie. "It's really cramped and kind of musty but no one ever looked in there..."
We were silent for a while. Cyrus looked absolutely exhausted, like he'd been up all night guarding our only food. He had a switchblade in one hand and a couple keys in the other.
"Where are all the teachers?" I said.
He shrugged. "Some of them are dead. Some of them just disappeared." He paused, looking at the ceiling in thought. "I did see one of them jump. That one freshman science teacher."
I knew immediately who "that one" was--the one who kept a boa constrictor in a tank in his classroom. While Mr. Darrick was beyond help, I wondered if the snake was okay.
"I think I watched Miss Ladia die," I said. My voice turned hollow as I realized what had happened. "Those guys that were chasing me, they did it. I should have done something."
More silence. I guess it was the closest thing to a funeral the dead would have.
"You're called Wednesday, right?"
I nodded, and was about to ask if I'd gotten his name right when something slammed hard into the kitchen door.
[http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wednesday-3 Continued in part three >>]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-02-12T03:58:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Wednesday - 2 - SCP Foundation | 25 | [
"wednesday-1",
"wednesday-3",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4547869 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wednesday-2 |
|
wednesday-3 | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wednesday-2"><< Back to part two</a></p>
<p>I almost screamed at the sudden thud. Cyrus threw open the little kitchen window and pushed me into the cupboard below the sink.</p>
<p>"What are you d—?"</p>
<p>"Shh," he said, shutting the cupboard. I heard some shuffling and another cupboard closing.</p>
<p>It was a long while before the thudding gave way to a horrible splintering sound like several femurs snapping, followed shortly by shouting and innumerable footsteps. I could see the feet of the monsters through the tiny gap between the cupboard's doors, and I held my breath, afraid it would give away my hiding place.</p>
<p>I heard them tear open the pantry, talking amongst themselves.</p>
<p>"That girl must have gutted these guys," said one of them disbelievingly, probably referring to the dead kitchen workers. He snickered. "Bitch."</p>
<p>"And then jumped, maybe," said another. The fridge door opened, the pantry, one of them turned on the sink presumably for a drink of water. Most of them left—as far as I could tell, there were a few lingering, picking through the room for whatever food they could find.</p>
<p>The first cupboard opened, then the second. Almost the third, where Cyrus hid. I rattled the doors of my cupboard gently. Whoever it was out there paused and was still, no rustling of clothes against skin or the thump of sneakers on tiles. They slowly opened the cupboard right next to mine, and presumably seeing nothing, straightened up and left.</p>
<p>Cyrus opened my cupboard. "They broke the door," he whispered.</p>
<p>"Is that what that noise was?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. Come on. It's not safe here."</p>
<p>Was it really safe anywhere? I wanted to say. We stepped over the remains of the door. The handle looked as if it had been bashed with something, and someone must have elected to use something heavy to just break the whole door open like balsa wood. I made a mental note to stay away from anyone carrying heavy things in case they would break me like balsa wood too.</p>
<p>The cafeteria was empty, and the hallway was no different, but we took a detour towards the lab on the second floor just in case.</p>
<p>Almost half of the lab had been torn away during the sleep. To my relief, the biology class's pet snake, Rob, was intact and sleeping in his tank, though it was a little too close to the edge for comfort. I pulled him out and draped him around my shoulders. He squirmed a little, but soon settled down and went back to sleep, his head somewhere in the vicinity of my jacket's hood. I observed the fog at the edge of the lab—I assumed the nothingness looped. I felt like if I jumped, I'd fall forever, occasionally seeing the school fly past me while tumbling through the air at terminal velocity, the bottom of the cliffs sort of dissolving into the fog at some point before the school appeared again. That was stupid, of course, we were still on Earth. If we weren't, we wouldn't be able to breathe.</p>
<p>"We <em>are</em> still on Earth," I said, turning to look at Cyrus, "aren't we?"</p>
<p>He just shrugged and scratched the back of his head with the switchblade.</p>
<p>"We'll find a way down, right?" I said. "We'll be okay?"</p>
<p>"I don't know."</p>
<p><a href="/interference">Continued in Interference >></a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/wednesday-3">Wednesday - 3</a>" by Cherry Pict, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/wednesday-3">https://scpwiki.com/wednesday-3</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wednesday-2 << Back to part two]
I almost screamed at the sudden thud. Cyrus threw open the little kitchen window and pushed me into the cupboard below the sink.
"What are you d--?"
"Shh," he said, shutting the cupboard. I heard some shuffling and another cupboard closing.
It was a long while before the thudding gave way to a horrible splintering sound like several femurs snapping, followed shortly by shouting and innumerable footsteps. I could see the feet of the monsters through the tiny gap between the cupboard's doors, and I held my breath, afraid it would give away my hiding place.
I heard them tear open the pantry, talking amongst themselves.
"That girl must have gutted these guys," said one of them disbelievingly, probably referring to the dead kitchen workers. He snickered. "Bitch."
"And then jumped, maybe," said another. The fridge door opened, the pantry, one of them turned on the sink presumably for a drink of water. Most of them left--as far as I could tell, there were a few lingering, picking through the room for whatever food they could find.
The first cupboard opened, then the second. Almost the third, where Cyrus hid. I rattled the doors of my cupboard gently. Whoever it was out there paused and was still, no rustling of clothes against skin or the thump of sneakers on tiles. They slowly opened the cupboard right next to mine, and presumably seeing nothing, straightened up and left.
Cyrus opened my cupboard. "They broke the door," he whispered.
"Is that what that noise was?"
"Yeah. Come on. It's not safe here."
Was it really safe anywhere? I wanted to say. We stepped over the remains of the door. The handle looked as if it had been bashed with something, and someone must have elected to use something heavy to just break the whole door open like balsa wood. I made a mental note to stay away from anyone carrying heavy things in case they would break me like balsa wood too.
The cafeteria was empty, and the hallway was no different, but we took a detour towards the lab on the second floor just in case.
Almost half of the lab had been torn away during the sleep. To my relief, the biology class's pet snake, Rob, was intact and sleeping in his tank, though it was a little too close to the edge for comfort. I pulled him out and draped him around my shoulders. He squirmed a little, but soon settled down and went back to sleep, his head somewhere in the vicinity of my jacket's hood. I observed the fog at the edge of the lab--I assumed the nothingness looped. I felt like if I jumped, I'd fall forever, occasionally seeing the school fly past me while tumbling through the air at terminal velocity, the bottom of the cliffs sort of dissolving into the fog at some point before the school appeared again. That was stupid, of course, we were still on Earth. If we weren't, we wouldn't be able to breathe.
"We //are// still on Earth," I said, turning to look at Cyrus, "aren't we?"
He just shrugged and scratched the back of his head with the switchblade.
"We'll find a way down, right?" I said. "We'll be okay?"
"I don't know."
[[[Interference |Continued in Interference >>]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-02-14T22:24:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Wednesday - 3 - SCP Foundation | 21 | [
"wednesday-2",
"interference",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4557892 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wednesday-3 |
|
wednesday-4 | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><a href="/interference"><< Back to Interference</a></p>
<p>I heard white noise, unbearably loud against ears so used to silence. I turned around, my heart racing, but it was just Cyrus messing with the radio.</p>
<p>"There won't be anything," I said, approaching him. "Just static…"</p>
<p>He switched to AM and spun the little tuning dial very slowly towards the left end. No flickers of human voices or music, just the hiss of white noise. It hurt to listen to. At the very left end, he stopped, and there was sound, an unidentifiable one—I had never heard anything like it before. The pulsating of an alien's thoughts, the sound of the very farthest reaches of space. I felt Rob the snake suddenly wind tighter around my shoulders.</p>
<p>"What <em>is</em> that?"</p>
<p>Cyrus yanked the radio's electrical cord out of the wall socket; Rob immediately relaxed. "Unholy."</p>
<p>I guess I should have pegged him for weirdly religious, he carried a Bible around all the time, but I never really noticed until now. It was probably the only thing keeping him from completely losing it like the others. I wondered for a second why I hadn't gone insane, but I tried not to think about it too much.</p>
<p>We left the classroom at the sound of hundreds of running footsteps, fleeing down the stairs to the ground floor. I was about to throw open the door to the office to hide, but Cyrus dragged me into a janitors' closet instead.</p>
<p>"Don't go in there," he said, almost inaudible over the footsteps and screaming. "Don't ever go in there."</p>
<p>I almost asked why, but I stopped myself, not wanting to know. I opened the closet door just a crack and looked through into the hall.</p>
<p>They weren't after us, I quickly realized, they were running towards the edge. They jumped. All of them, too many for me to get a count. None of them were afraid. Their running steps were utterly drowned out by a great roar like the sound the ocean makes during a storm, but much larger, more terrible than any ocean or any storm or any tangible thing on Earth. They all tumbled into the whiteness. I had known some of them. I had known all of them. I heard their monstrous sound tear out of their throats, it came from the fog and the air. The roar grew to a deafening volume. I felt like perhaps I should jump too, but when I stood to do it, Cyrus pulled me back.</p>
<p>"Wednesday," he said, almost breathless with panic. "Wednesday."</p>
<hr/>
<p>I woke up.</p>
<p>Above me were a few people wearing gas masks and talking amongst themselves. I couldn't hear them, their voices were only a murmur, at least until my head cleared itself a little. I rubbed my eyes.</p>
<p>"She's coming around," said one of them.</p>
<p>I tried to speak to them. I knew I spoke their language but I didn't completely understand what they were saying.</p>
<p>"Hmmh," I mumbled, attempting to sit up. Everything felt heavy.</p>
<p>"What do you remember last?" said another gas mask, but one of his fellows swatted him.</p>
<p>"Don't ask her now, dipshit. Wait until she's at least lucid enough to speak properly."</p>
<p>"Sorry."</p>
<p>"C'mon."</p>
<p>One of them scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder. Another yelled in surprise.</p>
<p>"Snake!"</p>
<p>"Well don't scream about it! Where?"</p>
<p>"On her shoulder…"</p>
<p>"Is it alive?"</p>
<p>"Yeah - "</p>
<p>"Don't worry about it - "</p>
<p>"Can we focus for two seconds and leave? Dunford, Barnes, stay here, we'll come back."</p>
<p>I felt like I was falling from a great height. Had I jumped? If I did jump, then the other kids who jumped must have been around there somewhere too…</p>
<p>Had I just dreamed the whole thing?</p>
<p>"Where…?" I said, my mouth not working right.</p>
<p>"Don't talk yet, you'll have plenty of time for that later."</p>
<p>They took me outside, and I heard many voices. They took my clothes and undid my hair and pushed me into a tent where I was soaped and hosed down by a cranky-looking woman in a white coat. I stumbled into a different tent, and the woman directed me to a metal chair. Cyrus was there too, looking far more alert than I felt.</p>
<p>One of the gas masks handed me Rob, who was pretty wet and maybe a little stunned from the shower. He promptly curled up in my lap.</p>
<p>All of the people in the tent were adults - none of my classmates in sight. The gas masks who had carried me out were not there either, but there were what looked like doctors and nurses and people who looked maybe they might be in the military, though something was off about them. Each had some sort of symbol on their shoulders or their chests, something I didn't recognize. They conducted their business with lowered voices just barely above a whisper.</p>
<p>A man wearing a white coat and small round glasses was speaking to Cyrus too quietly for me to hear. Cyrus seemed to listen, I guess, but wasn't responding.</p>
<p>The man grew frustrated with Cyrus's silence and approached me carrying a tape recorder.</p>
<p>"My name is Dr. Krell," he said in a cool voice. "We represent the SCP Foundation."</p>
<p><a href="/wednesday-5">>></a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/wednesday-4">Wednesday - 4</a>" by Cherry Pict, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/wednesday-4">https://scpwiki.com/wednesday-4</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[[interference |<< Back to Interference]]]
I heard white noise, unbearably loud against ears so used to silence. I turned around, my heart racing, but it was just Cyrus messing with the radio.
"There won't be anything," I said, approaching him. "Just static..."
He switched to AM and spun the little tuning dial very slowly towards the left end. No flickers of human voices or music, just the hiss of white noise. It hurt to listen to. At the very left end, he stopped, and there was sound, an unidentifiable one--I had never heard anything like it before. The pulsating of an alien's thoughts, the sound of the very farthest reaches of space. I felt Rob the snake suddenly wind tighter around my shoulders.
"What //is// that?"
Cyrus yanked the radio's electrical cord out of the wall socket; Rob immediately relaxed. "Unholy."
I guess I should have pegged him for weirdly religious, he carried a Bible around all the time, but I never really noticed until now. It was probably the only thing keeping him from completely losing it like the others. I wondered for a second why I hadn't gone insane, but I tried not to think about it too much.
We left the classroom at the sound of hundreds of running footsteps, fleeing down the stairs to the ground floor. I was about to throw open the door to the office to hide, but Cyrus dragged me into a janitors' closet instead.
"Don't go in there," he said, almost inaudible over the footsteps and screaming. "Don't ever go in there."
I almost asked why, but I stopped myself, not wanting to know. I opened the closet door just a crack and looked through into the hall.
They weren't after us, I quickly realized, they were running towards the edge. They jumped. All of them, too many for me to get a count. None of them were afraid. Their running steps were utterly drowned out by a great roar like the sound the ocean makes during a storm, but much larger, more terrible than any ocean or any storm or any tangible thing on Earth. They all tumbled into the whiteness. I had known some of them. I had known all of them. I heard their monstrous sound tear out of their throats, it came from the fog and the air. The roar grew to a deafening volume. I felt like perhaps I should jump too, but when I stood to do it, Cyrus pulled me back.
"Wednesday," he said, almost breathless with panic. "Wednesday."
------
I woke up.
Above me were a few people wearing gas masks and talking amongst themselves. I couldn't hear them, their voices were only a murmur, at least until my head cleared itself a little. I rubbed my eyes.
"She's coming around," said one of them.
I tried to speak to them. I knew I spoke their language but I didn't completely understand what they were saying.
"Hmmh," I mumbled, attempting to sit up. Everything felt heavy.
"What do you remember last?" said another gas mask, but one of his fellows swatted him.
"Don't ask her now, dipshit. Wait until she's at least lucid enough to speak properly."
"Sorry."
"C'mon."
One of them scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder. Another yelled in surprise.
"Snake!"
"Well don't scream about it! Where?"
"On her shoulder..."
"Is it alive?"
"Yeah - "
"Don't worry about it - "
"Can we focus for two seconds and leave? Dunford, Barnes, stay here, we'll come back."
I felt like I was falling from a great height. Had I jumped? If I did jump, then the other kids who jumped must have been around there somewhere too...
Had I just dreamed the whole thing?
"Where...?" I said, my mouth not working right.
"Don't talk yet, you'll have plenty of time for that later."
They took me outside, and I heard many voices. They took my clothes and undid my hair and pushed me into a tent where I was soaped and hosed down by a cranky-looking woman in a white coat. I stumbled into a different tent, and the woman directed me to a metal chair. Cyrus was there too, looking far more alert than I felt.
One of the gas masks handed me Rob, who was pretty wet and maybe a little stunned from the shower. He promptly curled up in my lap.
All of the people in the tent were adults - none of my classmates in sight. The gas masks who had carried me out were not there either, but there were what looked like doctors and nurses and people who looked maybe they might be in the military, though something was off about them. Each had some sort of symbol on their shoulders or their chests, something I didn't recognize. They conducted their business with lowered voices just barely above a whisper.
A man wearing a white coat and small round glasses was speaking to Cyrus too quietly for me to hear. Cyrus seemed to listen, I guess, but wasn't responding.
The man grew frustrated with Cyrus's silence and approached me carrying a tape recorder.
"My name is Dr. Krell," he said in a cool voice. "We represent the SCP Foundation."
[[[wednesday-5 | >> ]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-02-23T04:50:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Wednesday - 4 - SCP Foundation | 29 | [
"interference",
"wednesday-5",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4599742 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wednesday-4 |
|
welcome-to-the-machine | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>The squad split to opposite sides of the street at the head of the block. Private Scott followed two others and the sergeant into a bombed out church. The four soldiers sifted between the pews, calmly but rapidly assuming position. They scrambled over chunks of concrete and stone littering the floor with early morning irritation. Scott turned his gaze up to the broken rafters of the roof and tripped clumsily over his own feet. It seemed funny to him that the cathedral in this little French town was larger than any back in Trenton. Clambering over a cracked slab of the wall, the four men set up at a pair of tall stained-glass windows. The intermittent missing diamond panes offered a fine view of the road below while providing a modest visual obstruction to anyone approaching. They had to take it in good faith, Scott supposed, that the other five men had found a position on the other side of the street.</p>
<p>The sergeant lay prone and silent, the barrel of his rifle poking slightly past the sill. Scott stood awkwardly by, looking over his shoulder at the beams of light coming down through the roof. It was almost angelic.</p>
<p>“Get the fuck down, jackass,” said Private McKenzie jovially, tugging on the edge of Scott’s coat. Scott scrambled down, weapon bouncing loudly off the stone. Then they waited, tensely. A full platoon of German soldiers was scheduled to come through sometime that morning, though they didn’t know when. They had three squads behind them, thankfully, but Private Scott’s squad would be at the front.</p>
<p>They fidgeted. McKenzie and Scott flicked pebbles at each other, and Jacobsen smoked. The sergeant just lay there. He could have been asleep.</p>
<p>After a long while they became aware of other sounds under the songbirds and the light creek of the broken ceiling slats. There was movement, and slight hints of “s” sounds drifting from voices at the far rear of the cathedral.</p>
<p>“You hear that, sarge?” asked Private Jacobsen, inching over on his elbows.</p>
<p>“Yup,” the NCO responded. “None of our boys are up this far.”</p>
<p>“Maybe two of us should go check it out-” Jacobsen added, eager to get up.</p>
<p>“Jerry ain’t up this far either,” the sergeant continued, not listening. He peered far off down the road. “We’re all going,” he decided. “Get up.”</p>
<p>The four stood and began moving to the back of the church, Private Scott in tow. The light disoriented them, shifting from bright to dark as they walked beneath the gashes in the great ceiling. The sergeant lifted a finger to his lips. A spent cartridge jangled underfoot, and Scott jumped a little. Behind the altar and to the left was a wooden door, slightly ajar. Voices echoed from within, up a long stone staircase. And there was another noise, something subtler, and higher pitched, barely audible.</p>
<p>Suddenly the sound of gunfire erupted up from below. The soldiers sprang from inaction and pressed themselves against the wall. There were shouts from the basement, and more shots. The sergeant motioned quickly with two fingers, looking markedly at Private Scott. Scott turned from the wall to the door, rifle outstretched, and felt aching pangs of adrenaline up the back of his neck. He pushed into the stairwell gingerly. The three other men followed him slowly down the moist, dark passage. The gunfire had stopped, but there were still loud cries emanating from below, and a strange, shrill chittering, as if from rats.</p>
<p>They came to the bottom of the steps, and Scott leaned quickly around the edge of the threshold. It was a long basement room with a low ceiling, poorly lit by flickering torches in wall brackets. At the end of the room was an altar, hung with a white cloth. Upon it sat an ornate golden goblet. It shone strangely in the relative darkness, giving off a bluish shimmer.</p>
<p>In the center of the basement was a wooden table, upon which stood two figures. They were a man and a woman, and they wore odd khaki jumpsuits. The man was frantically fiddling with a flamethrower, cursing loudly in an accent that sounded German. The woman stood at his back, brandishing an ugly machete. There was a third khaki figure below them on the floor, body partially obscured by a dark, flowing mass.</p>
<p>As Scott looked closer, he saw that the mass was in fact a swarm of thousands of vermin. They were nothing he had ever seen before – grapefruit sized, skittering with perverted rapidity on spindly legs, screeching incessantly. Most of them pressed at the table, crawling over each other in ravenous eagerness to get up to the two figures. The woman swept the machete low, angrily slicing back the creatures that managed to mount the table. The man was cursing in German, and whacking at the flamethrower with his fists. Private Scott stood agape at the base of the stair.</p>
<p>“What the hell is going on in there?” asked the sergeant impatiently, pushing Scott aside and stepping down to the basement floor. “Oh fuck-” he managed. The rushing mass of creatures on the floor turned simultaneously from the table to look at the four soldiers. The little nightmares grinned with hundreds of thousands of unnaturally needle-like teeth. After a moment’s hesitation, they sprinted for the men. The sergeant was paralyzed. Scott hysterically squeezed off a clip of shots while a screaming McKenzie attempted to pull himself back up the staircase. The four soldiers were quickly over-swept. A tide of tiny, searing pinpricks attacked their bodies, ripping little chunks out of their flesh. They were pulled down to the floor. Their ears were filled with the incessant screeching. Scott blacked out when they began tearing at his face.</p>
<p>Private Scott awoke on the stone floor, his sight blurry, spluttering blood. He turned his head, and the dead eyes of the sergeant stared back at him. Jacobsen was slumped in the corner, also dead. McKenzie was face down on the stairs. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he was sticky all over with his own blood. An excruciating pain suddenly expressed itself throughout his body. He gurgled, arching his back. There was an acrid smell in the air, like burning, and the myriad little bodies of the needle-toothed creatures lay blackened and legs-up on the floor all around.</p>
<p>The man and the woman in the khaki suits were standing over their fallen comrade at the other end of the basement.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Marty,” said the German one, folding the man’s arms over his chest.</p>
<p>“We should have been more cautious,” said the woman, distraught.</p>
<p>“Look, we got the goblet,” the German replied, “and he died doing his duty, in the field. We couldn’t have foreseen the flamethrower malfunctioning.”</p>
<p>“I know…” said the woman, dejectedly. Scott coughed again, and she looked over to the staircase. “One of those bastards is alive!” she exclaimed. The woman ran over, feet crunching on the small bodies littering the floor. She bent down and put a finger to the side of Scott’s neck.</p>
<p>“Alexandra! We don’t have time for this!” chastised her companion.</p>
<p>“I know,” she replied, exasperated, “the Germans are going to be here soon.”</p>
<p>“The <em>Nazis</em> are going to be here soon,” the man said sharply.</p>
<p>“This kid is barely alive,” she said, ignoring him.</p>
<p>“Leave him. An unfortunate casualty.”</p>
<p>“We can save him,” she said, after a pause.</p>
<p>“How? He’s fatally wounded…what, do you mean to use…?” the German asked incredulously.</p>
<p>“Yes!” the woman exclaimed.</p>
<p>“No way,” her companion cried, waving his hands. “Leave him. Even if you did what you’re thinking, you’d be giving him no choice.”</p>
<p>“He has no choice. He’s dying.”</p>
<p>“How would we ever get away with it, Alexandra?” the man pleaded.</p>
<p>“We’ll take him with us,” she said firmly. There was a long silence between them. Private Scott spluttered weakly, blood soaking through his uniform. He felt his feet growing cold.</p>
<p>“He’ll be stuck, he’ll be imprisoned for the rest of his life,” said the German.</p>
<p>“I know – I know,” said the woman. “But at least we’ll have given him life. We owe him that.”</p>
<p>“He’s not our burden…,” the German said, but his tone revealed that he had given way. “If <em>anyone</em> ever finds out about this, it will be both of our heads,” he stressed, conceding.</p>
<p>Scott was aware of someone crouching down beside him. He sensed something cold and metal being pressed to his lips. And suddenly his body was filled with a warm, dense liquid. The pain was forgotten, like a dream slipping away, and he felt the ragged tears across in his flesh sealing and knitting together. And he was better.</p>
<p><em>SCP-1451 is a Caucasian male of indeterminate age…</em></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/welcome-to-the-machine">Welcome to the Machine</a>" by bleggs, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/welcome-to-the-machine">https://scpwiki.com/welcome-to-the-machine</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The squad split to opposite sides of the street at the head of the block. Private Scott followed two others and the sergeant into a bombed out church. The four soldiers sifted between the pews, calmly but rapidly assuming position. They scrambled over chunks of concrete and stone littering the floor with early morning irritation. Scott turned his gaze up to the broken rafters of the roof and tripped clumsily over his own feet. It seemed funny to him that the cathedral in this little French town was larger than any back in Trenton. Clambering over a cracked slab of the wall, the four men set up at a pair of tall stained-glass windows. The intermittent missing diamond panes offered a fine view of the road below while providing a modest visual obstruction to anyone approaching. They had to take it in good faith, Scott supposed, that the other five men had found a position on the other side of the street.
The sergeant lay prone and silent, the barrel of his rifle poking slightly past the sill. Scott stood awkwardly by, looking over his shoulder at the beams of light coming down through the roof. It was almost angelic.
“Get the fuck down, jackass,” said Private McKenzie jovially, tugging on the edge of Scott’s coat. Scott scrambled down, weapon bouncing loudly off the stone. Then they waited, tensely. A full platoon of German soldiers was scheduled to come through sometime that morning, though they didn’t know when. They had three squads behind them, thankfully, but Private Scott’s squad would be at the front.
They fidgeted. McKenzie and Scott flicked pebbles at each other, and Jacobsen smoked. The sergeant just lay there. He could have been asleep.
After a long while they became aware of other sounds under the songbirds and the light creek of the broken ceiling slats. There was movement, and slight hints of “s” sounds drifting from voices at the far rear of the cathedral.
“You hear that, sarge?” asked Private Jacobsen, inching over on his elbows.
“Yup,” the NCO responded. “None of our boys are up this far.”
“Maybe two of us should go check it out-” Jacobsen added, eager to get up.
“Jerry ain’t up this far either,” the sergeant continued, not listening. He peered far off down the road. “We’re all going,” he decided. “Get up.”
The four stood and began moving to the back of the church, Private Scott in tow. The light disoriented them, shifting from bright to dark as they walked beneath the gashes in the great ceiling. The sergeant lifted a finger to his lips. A spent cartridge jangled underfoot, and Scott jumped a little. Behind the altar and to the left was a wooden door, slightly ajar. Voices echoed from within, up a long stone staircase. And there was another noise, something subtler, and higher pitched, barely audible.
Suddenly the sound of gunfire erupted up from below. The soldiers sprang from inaction and pressed themselves against the wall. There were shouts from the basement, and more shots. The sergeant motioned quickly with two fingers, looking markedly at Private Scott. Scott turned from the wall to the door, rifle outstretched, and felt aching pangs of adrenaline up the back of his neck. He pushed into the stairwell gingerly. The three other men followed him slowly down the moist, dark passage. The gunfire had stopped, but there were still loud cries emanating from below, and a strange, shrill chittering, as if from rats.
They came to the bottom of the steps, and Scott leaned quickly around the edge of the threshold. It was a long basement room with a low ceiling, poorly lit by flickering torches in wall brackets. At the end of the room was an altar, hung with a white cloth. Upon it sat an ornate golden goblet. It shone strangely in the relative darkness, giving off a bluish shimmer.
In the center of the basement was a wooden table, upon which stood two figures. They were a man and a woman, and they wore odd khaki jumpsuits. The man was frantically fiddling with a flamethrower, cursing loudly in an accent that sounded German. The woman stood at his back, brandishing an ugly machete. There was a third khaki figure below them on the floor, body partially obscured by a dark, flowing mass.
As Scott looked closer, he saw that the mass was in fact a swarm of thousands of vermin. They were nothing he had ever seen before – grapefruit sized, skittering with perverted rapidity on spindly legs, screeching incessantly. Most of them pressed at the table, crawling over each other in ravenous eagerness to get up to the two figures. The woman swept the machete low, angrily slicing back the creatures that managed to mount the table. The man was cursing in German, and whacking at the flamethrower with his fists. Private Scott stood agape at the base of the stair.
“What the hell is going on in there?” asked the sergeant impatiently, pushing Scott aside and stepping down to the basement floor. “Oh fuck-” he managed. The rushing mass of creatures on the floor turned simultaneously from the table to look at the four soldiers. The little nightmares grinned with hundreds of thousands of unnaturally needle-like teeth. After a moment’s hesitation, they sprinted for the men. The sergeant was paralyzed. Scott hysterically squeezed off a clip of shots while a screaming McKenzie attempted to pull himself back up the staircase. The four soldiers were quickly over-swept. A tide of tiny, searing pinpricks attacked their bodies, ripping little chunks out of their flesh. They were pulled down to the floor. Their ears were filled with the incessant screeching. Scott blacked out when they began tearing at his face.
Private Scott awoke on the stone floor, his sight blurry, spluttering blood. He turned his head, and the dead eyes of the sergeant stared back at him. Jacobsen was slumped in the corner, also dead. McKenzie was face down on the stairs. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he was sticky all over with his own blood. An excruciating pain suddenly expressed itself throughout his body. He gurgled, arching his back. There was an acrid smell in the air, like burning, and the myriad little bodies of the needle-toothed creatures lay blackened and legs-up on the floor all around.
The man and the woman in the khaki suits were standing over their fallen comrade at the other end of the basement.
“I’m sorry, Marty,” said the German one, folding the man’s arms over his chest.
“We should have been more cautious,” said the woman, distraught.
“Look, we got the goblet,” the German replied, “and he died doing his duty, in the field. We couldn’t have foreseen the flamethrower malfunctioning.”
“I know…” said the woman, dejectedly. Scott coughed again, and she looked over to the staircase. “One of those bastards is alive!” she exclaimed. The woman ran over, feet crunching on the small bodies littering the floor. She bent down and put a finger to the side of Scott’s neck.
“Alexandra! We don’t have time for this!” chastised her companion.
“I know,” she replied, exasperated, “the Germans are going to be here soon.”
“The //Nazis// are going to be here soon,” the man said sharply.
“This kid is barely alive,” she said, ignoring him.
“Leave him. An unfortunate casualty.”
“We can save him,” she said, after a pause.
“How? He’s fatally wounded…what, do you mean to use...?” the German asked incredulously.
“Yes!” the woman exclaimed.
“No way,” her companion cried, waving his hands. “Leave him. Even if you did what you’re thinking, you’d be giving him no choice.”
“He has no choice. He’s dying.”
“How would we ever get away with it, Alexandra?” the man pleaded.
“We’ll take him with us,” she said firmly. There was a long silence between them. Private Scott spluttered weakly, blood soaking through his uniform. He felt his feet growing cold.
“He’ll be stuck, he’ll be imprisoned for the rest of his life,” said the German.
“I know – I know,” said the woman. “But at least we’ll have given him life. We owe him that.”
“He’s not our burden...,” the German said, but his tone revealed that he had given way. “If //anyone// ever finds out about this, it will be both of our heads,” he stressed, conceding.
Scott was aware of someone crouching down beside him. He sensed something cold and metal being pressed to his lips. And suddenly his body was filled with a warm, dense liquid. The pain was forgotten, like a dream slipping away, and he felt the ragged tears across in his flesh sealing and knitting together. And he was better.
//SCP-1451 is a Caucasian male of indeterminate age…//
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-03-18T18:51:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale",
"talecon10"
] | Welcome to the Machine - SCP Foundation | 14 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-great-short-story-contest-archives",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4715970 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/welcome-to-the-machine |
|
whole | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>What was fragmented is now one. What was in pieces is now fixed. That which was broken is now whole. She who was dormant is brought forth.</p>
<p>We have succeeded in our task. The future of the Broken God is secure, and soon She shall convert us all. Already the Americas have fallen to the one true ruler of mankind, and soon She will convert all into beings of purity.</p>
<p>I was but a cog in the machine that completed the work of our great Church. We were fragmented, ourselves broken, until She came unto us with words of wisdom and prophecy. Before, the evil Foundation had managed to scatter the Church and us pure followers far and wide. We reunited under Her banner, and rode forth, towards that which would complete the Broken God, and make us Whole. We attacked under the cover of darkness, and soon the Heretics, the Foundation, those who were the keepers of the Broken God, had been destroyed, their weak bodies of flesh and bone smote down and crushed. The operation was smooth, and soon we controlled the Pieces. The Pieces that would be made Whole, become remade in Her image.</p>
<p>They are combined, as unto Her commands, and into a new future we move, each second a step towards the Earth being made Whole. A new beginning, each tiny cog of Humanity becoming part of that which is larger. We shall continue until the very earth beneath my feet has been purified. Then we shall be One.</p>
<p>Now, the Earth lies at Her feet, for now the Broken God has come forth, and we are remade in the purest form. I can feel my insides beginning to change, change into that which soon will control the whole planet. Purest clockwork, ticking and spinning away, forever. None may stand before us now, for we are in tune with each other, the Eternal Tick reverberating inside us, inside all of us.</p>
<p>These are the last days of Humanity, and we are their destroyers. Soon all will be remade, remade into that which is eternal.</p>
<p>She is whole. The Broken God has come forth. The world will become perfect. The world will be Whole.</p>
<p>It has been written.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/whole">Whole</a>" by Aeish, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/whole">https://scpwiki.com/whole</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
What was fragmented is now one. What was in pieces is now fixed. That which was broken is now whole. She who was dormant is brought forth.
We have succeeded in our task. The future of the Broken God is secure, and soon She shall convert us all. Already the Americas have fallen to the one true ruler of mankind, and soon She will convert all into beings of purity.
I was but a cog in the machine that completed the work of our great Church. We were fragmented, ourselves broken, until She came unto us with words of wisdom and prophecy. Before, the evil Foundation had managed to scatter the Church and us pure followers far and wide. We reunited under Her banner, and rode forth, towards that which would complete the Broken God, and make us Whole. We attacked under the cover of darkness, and soon the Heretics, the Foundation, those who were the keepers of the Broken God, had been destroyed, their weak bodies of flesh and bone smote down and crushed. The operation was smooth, and soon we controlled the Pieces. The Pieces that would be made Whole, become remade in Her image.
They are combined, as unto Her commands, and into a new future we move, each second a step towards the Earth being made Whole. A new beginning, each tiny cog of Humanity becoming part of that which is larger. We shall continue until the very earth beneath my feet has been purified. Then we shall be One.
Now, the Earth lies at Her feet, for now the Broken God has come forth, and we are remade in the purest form. I can feel my insides beginning to change, change into that which soon will control the whole planet. Purest clockwork, ticking and spinning away, forever. None may stand before us now, for we are in tune with each other, the Eternal Tick reverberating inside us, inside all of us.
These are the last days of Humanity, and we are their destroyers. Soon all will be remade, remade into that which is eternal.
She is whole. The Broken God has come forth. The world will become perfect. The world will be Whole.
It has been written.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-02-01T14:59:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"broken-god",
"tale",
"talecon10"
] | Whole - SCP Foundation | 29 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-great-short-story-contest-archives",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"church-of-the-broken-god-hub"
] | [] | 4502086 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/whole |
|
why-are-you-wasting-time-reading-urls | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<blockquote>
<p>Gentlemen, the year is 194█. I have been gone from your sight for a very long time, and traveled far along my own grim path. Such is life! But, having left you as keepers of my fortunes in my absence, I must now instruct you in the stewardship of that wealth, that it might better your own futures as well as mine.</p>
<p>You will find enclosed with this missive a series of generalized instructions on the sale and distribution of my stock portfolio. Such things are of little importance as compared to events unfolding elsewhere. The mad German will soon be toppled, though his influences will live on for a regrettably long time… You may perhaps find it prudent to disassociate yourselves with that party entirely.</p>
<p>Politically, you will find yourselves carrying quite sufficient resources to ensure your own prosperity, however, those offices which cannot be purchased directly must be closely watched. In Britannia, you have several years yet with the current monarch, and his succession should be easily guessed. In the United states, it may behoove you to wait before exerting any modicum of control; I suggest 19██ as an appropriate time to establish a member of our little cabal in the presidential office, which segues me neatly into my next point.</p>
<p>In the wake of war, the commander-in-chief of the United States will likely find himself beset by furtive offers from such organizations as may oppose our interests; you well know to whom I refer. Perhaps your influence shall suffice to deter him from aiding their endeavors, or perhaps not. Tread lightly. When the time is ripe and one of our own has risen to power within the colonies, cast your eye toward that rabble of lab coats and secrecy who have so recently moved against your holdings in France, for they <em>will</em> actively seek to prevent his works.<br/>
█████ the Foundation, gentlemen. ████ ████ ██████ ███ ████████ ███████, and then become our greatest ███████. Of this I shall tell you more when the time is right.</p>
<p>In conclusion, gentlemen, I bid you good luck. Even from the deeper dream in which I walk, I cast my thoughts and my will toward the furthering of our mutual goal.</p>
<p>As always,</p>
<p><em>B██████ P███-F████ Dark</em></p>
</blockquote>
<p>"Damn you, Dark. You always were an aesthetic wacko."</p>
<p>"He's never been wrong yet."</p>
<p>"He's dead."</p>
<p>"Perhaps, my dear Carter. Perhaps. But that changes nothing. Will we follow his advice in Germany?"</p>
<p>"Looks like we'll have to."</p>
<p>"Very well."</p>
<p>Sic transit gloria mundi.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/why-are-you-wasting-time-reading-urls">From the desk of B. Dark:</a>" by tunedtoadeadchannel, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/why-are-you-wasting-time-reading-urls">https://scpwiki.com/why-are-you-wasting-time-reading-urls</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
> Gentlemen, the year is 194█. I have been gone from your sight for a very long time, and traveled far along my own grim path. Such is life! But, having left you as keepers of my fortunes in my absence, I must now instruct you in the stewardship of that wealth, that it might better your own futures as well as mine.
>
> You will find enclosed with this missive a series of generalized instructions on the sale and distribution of my stock portfolio. Such things are of little importance as compared to events unfolding elsewhere. The mad German will soon be toppled, though his influences will live on for a regrettably long time... You may perhaps find it prudent to disassociate yourselves with that party entirely.
>
> Politically, you will find yourselves carrying quite sufficient resources to ensure your own prosperity, however, those offices which cannot be purchased directly must be closely watched. In Britannia, you have several years yet with the current monarch, and his succession should be easily guessed. In the United states, it may behoove you to wait before exerting any modicum of control; I suggest 19██ as an appropriate time to establish a member of our little cabal in the presidential office, which segues me neatly into my next point.
>
> In the wake of war, the commander-in-chief of the United States will likely find himself beset by furtive offers from such organizations as may oppose our interests; you well know to whom I refer. Perhaps your influence shall suffice to deter him from aiding their endeavors, or perhaps not. Tread lightly. When the time is ripe and one of our own has risen to power within the colonies, cast your eye toward that rabble of lab coats and secrecy who have so recently moved against your holdings in France, for they //will// actively seek to prevent his works.
>
> █████ the Foundation, gentlemen. ████ ████ ██████ ███ ████████ ███████, and then become our greatest ███████. Of this I shall tell you more when the time is right.
>
> In conclusion, gentlemen, I bid you good luck. Even from the deeper dream in which I walk, I cast my thoughts and my will toward the furthering of our mutual goal.
>
> As always,
>
> //B██████ P███-F████ Dark//
"Damn you, Dark. You always were an aesthetic wacko."
"He's never been wrong yet."
"He's dead."
"Perhaps, my dear Carter. Perhaps. But that changes nothing. Will we follow his advice in Germany?"
"Looks like we'll have to."
"Very well."
Sic transit gloria mundi.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-08-05T21:34:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"marshall-carter-and-dark",
"mystery",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] | From the desk of B. Dark: - SCP Foundation | 47 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"marshall-carter-and-dark-hub",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"acquisitions-hub"
] | [] | 5455765 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/why-are-you-wasting-time-reading-urls |
|
winding-down | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Oh, the cold here was biting. He wouldn't have noticed it if it weren't for his left lung, his left lung and the stupid bits of exposed bone about the sternum. The last unconverted parts of his whole body, the nerve endings there were still intact and turned raw and red by the chill. His rounds done, Agent Ketterson tightened a woolen greatcoat about him, then tapped his temple with an index finger.</p>
<p>“There’s nothing here. Can I come back in now?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” the voice drifted back to him. “We'll have hot chocolate and marshmallows waiting.”<br/>
He shivered and trudged back through the icy taiga.</p>
<p>Of course, he couldn't just reach the door and go in. That would be silly. First he stepped inside a ballistics-reinforced antechamber, and plugged in a password. Then he stepped into a heated, plastics-lined chemical shower, though the current attendant vetoed that quickly. Finally, another airlock, and then the doors to the site swung open. Ketterson shivered a bit, then hung up the greatcoat and walked down the hall.</p>
<p>The site had been functional for decades, but only in recent years did the quick remodels become necessary. One entire wing was partitioned off by an airlock, where the few staff who still had to worry about it could put on their clean suits and go about another day's work in health. As for the rest of them, well…</p>
<p>Ketterson stopped in at the medical wing, even though it wasn't where he was going. A nurse there lifted up a patient and transferred her to another bed (the steel rebar in her arms must have assisted her considerably). Ketterson edged around her as she began to change the sheets on the bed, mumbling an apology, and went to look at the patient.</p>
<p>Poor Johanna. She had given so much for them. Even as more and more joined the numbers of the damned, every day, she was dedicated- it was her who had found out that once the infection reached the brain, it went one of two ways- either becoming a mass of tiny tubes, or a mass of wire circuitry. From there, that one gifted technician had been able to create a network attached to the circuitry, letting everyone with fully-converted wire-type brains to connect. It was the only way the site and its staff had remained functioning and survived.</p>
<p>And Johanna Garrison had been going so well, her brain starting to turn into wires- but the conversion went wrong, and the stroke hit. Now she couldn't read, didn't understand much of what was said to her, and had no functional control over the right side of her body. Because of the single medical doctor connected to the Hivenet already, he could tell other things about her, too, reduced brain usage and decreased nervous connections. All things pointing to a bad prognosis. He poked her hand, and she stared up with glassy eyes.</p>
<p>He wanted to sit next to her, to talk with her, maybe to thank her for something, but it looked like she was drifting into sleep again. He merely squeezed her hand with his own metal pliers of fingers, and left, back down the hall.</p>
<p>At least they didn't have to worry about containment any more. Or, barring the limited Hivenet, communication. Were they still part of the Foundation? What Foundation? The Foundation had failed. Somewhere out there, keeping away from the ice and the salty oceans, there was still a metal construct rolling across barren plains, looking for devotees to sate its hunger and its final piece. Thankfully someone had taken the initiative to launch the disk it wanted into space just before everything fell apart. The lone site in Siberia could focus on research, keeping the power supplies running, and do little side projects, as if that would help.</p>
<p>The Greenhouse was one of these side projects. It was everybody's pride and joy. Ketterson stepped in, his lipless jaw twitching happily at the welcome breath of warm air. If he could smile, he would. Even though windows still pointed into the accursed tundra, the air here was steamy and warmed by waterwheel power. Large-leafed plants and flowering trees, mosses and ferns, and even tiny animals ran amongst the bushes.</p>
<p>The Gardener was Marie Ayala. She knelt by the dirt, cutting clippings off of bushes and flowers with a pair of scissors, to plant again. Ketterson's heart ached when he saw her. Once a mechanic who could fix anything, her beautiful mind had turned into a mass of pipework when the disease hit. Now she did the same tasks every day in the Greenhouse. Clipping, planting, digging, reciting poetry. Ketterson knelt beside her, and touched her shoulder.</p>
<p>“There will come soft rains,” she muttered, speaking softly as she worked. Her hand shovel dug into the soil. “And the smell of the ground. And swallows circling, with their shimmering sound.”<br/>
He knew the poem. She said it so often, and once one person knew it, by virtue of the Hivenet, everyone did.</p>
<p>“And frogs in the pool, singing at night- and wild plum trees in tremulous white. Robins will wear their feathery fire, whistling their whims on a low fence-wire.” She- all of them, but especially the ones that weren’t on the Hivenet- were so devoid of emotion, until it came to the poems. She could say them with all of the sadness and longing, all of the feeling of what could have been in the world.</p>
<p>“And not one- will know of the war, not one- will care at last when it is done.” A plant dropped into the soil angrily. In the beginning, there had been hope: maybe when every last living thing on earth had succumbed to the virus, it would die without a host. Then perhaps all the animals and humans in hiding could restart everything. But Johanna had looked at the microbes in the soil and water, and found out that the protozoa at the root of the food chain were succumbing, and not surviving the conversion process.</p>
<p>Copper and bronze content in the soil was rising every day. It no longer seemed inconceivable that the beloved green marble of earth might one day become a massive clockwork heart.</p>
<p>“Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree, if Mankind perished utterly.” Marie raised her hand, and, on cue, a sparrow fluttered down from a nearby tree to sit on it. Ketterson watched it- bright, sleek. A handful of clean iron blades had become its wings, its feet were pristine copper gears and tubes.</p>
<p>“And spring herself, when she woke at dawn, would scarcely know that we were gone.” The sparrow leapt and fluttered away. Tears sprung to poor Ayala's eyes, then were gone, and she stopped digging forlornly. Ketterson hugged and kissed her, overcome for a moment by the tragic irony, staring at the spot on her metal hand where a ring had once laid. Holding her, he looked out at the tundra, at the empty world they were left with.</p>
<p>Then again, more and more staff were connecting to the Hivenet every year. Maybe, at Site Omega, some vestige of humanity remained. They would never know.</p>
<p>The Greenhouse, soft and vibrant, went silent; until Marie bent over the dirt once again.<br/>
The tears were gone, in an endless loop.<br/>
The world outside was wide and cold.</p>
<p>“There will come soft rains, and the smell of the ground…”</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/winding-down">Winding Down</a>" by Sophia Light, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/winding-down">https://scpwiki.com/winding-down</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Oh, the cold here was biting. He wouldn't have noticed it if it weren't for his left lung, his left lung and the stupid bits of exposed bone about the sternum. The last unconverted parts of his whole body, the nerve endings there were still intact and turned raw and red by the chill. His rounds done, Agent Ketterson tightened a woolen greatcoat about him, then tapped his temple with an index finger.
“There’s nothing here. Can I come back in now?”
“Sure,” the voice drifted back to him. “We'll have hot chocolate and marshmallows waiting.”
He shivered and trudged back through the icy taiga.
Of course, he couldn't just reach the door and go in. That would be silly. First he stepped inside a ballistics-reinforced antechamber, and plugged in a password. Then he stepped into a heated, plastics-lined chemical shower, though the current attendant vetoed that quickly. Finally, another airlock, and then the doors to the site swung open. Ketterson shivered a bit, then hung up the greatcoat and walked down the hall.
The site had been functional for decades, but only in recent years did the quick remodels become necessary. One entire wing was partitioned off by an airlock, where the few staff who still had to worry about it could put on their clean suits and go about another day's work in health. As for the rest of them, well...
Ketterson stopped in at the medical wing, even though it wasn't where he was going. A nurse there lifted up a patient and transferred her to another bed (the steel rebar in her arms must have assisted her considerably). Ketterson edged around her as she began to change the sheets on the bed, mumbling an apology, and went to look at the patient.
Poor Johanna. She had given so much for them. Even as more and more joined the numbers of the damned, every day, she was dedicated- it was her who had found out that once the infection reached the brain, it went one of two ways- either becoming a mass of tiny tubes, or a mass of wire circuitry. From there, that one gifted technician had been able to create a network attached to the circuitry, letting everyone with fully-converted wire-type brains to connect. It was the only way the site and its staff had remained functioning and survived.
And Johanna Garrison had been going so well, her brain starting to turn into wires- but the conversion went wrong, and the stroke hit. Now she couldn't read, didn't understand much of what was said to her, and had no functional control over the right side of her body. Because of the single medical doctor connected to the Hivenet already, he could tell other things about her, too, reduced brain usage and decreased nervous connections. All things pointing to a bad prognosis. He poked her hand, and she stared up with glassy eyes.
He wanted to sit next to her, to talk with her, maybe to thank her for something, but it looked like she was drifting into sleep again. He merely squeezed her hand with his own metal pliers of fingers, and left, back down the hall.
At least they didn't have to worry about containment any more. Or, barring the limited Hivenet, communication. Were they still part of the Foundation? What Foundation? The Foundation had failed. Somewhere out there, keeping away from the ice and the salty oceans, there was still a metal construct rolling across barren plains, looking for devotees to sate its hunger and its final piece. Thankfully someone had taken the initiative to launch the disk it wanted into space just before everything fell apart. The lone site in Siberia could focus on research, keeping the power supplies running, and do little side projects, as if that would help.
The Greenhouse was one of these side projects. It was everybody's pride and joy. Ketterson stepped in, his lipless jaw twitching happily at the welcome breath of warm air. If he could smile, he would. Even though windows still pointed into the accursed tundra, the air here was steamy and warmed by waterwheel power. Large-leafed plants and flowering trees, mosses and ferns, and even tiny animals ran amongst the bushes.
The Gardener was Marie Ayala. She knelt by the dirt, cutting clippings off of bushes and flowers with a pair of scissors, to plant again. Ketterson's heart ached when he saw her. Once a mechanic who could fix anything, her beautiful mind had turned into a mass of pipework when the disease hit. Now she did the same tasks every day in the Greenhouse. Clipping, planting, digging, reciting poetry. Ketterson knelt beside her, and touched her shoulder.
“There will come soft rains,” she muttered, speaking softly as she worked. Her hand shovel dug into the soil. “And the smell of the ground. And swallows circling, with their shimmering sound.”
He knew the poem. She said it so often, and once one person knew it, by virtue of the Hivenet, everyone did.
“And frogs in the pool, singing at night- and wild plum trees in tremulous white. Robins will wear their feathery fire, whistling their whims on a low fence-wire.” She- all of them, but especially the ones that weren’t on the Hivenet- were so devoid of emotion, until it came to the poems. She could say them with all of the sadness and longing, all of the feeling of what could have been in the world.
“And not one- will know of the war, not one- will care at last when it is done.” A plant dropped into the soil angrily. In the beginning, there had been hope: maybe when every last living thing on earth had succumbed to the virus, it would die without a host. Then perhaps all the animals and humans in hiding could restart everything. But Johanna had looked at the microbes in the soil and water, and found out that the protozoa at the root of the food chain were succumbing, and not surviving the conversion process.
Copper and bronze content in the soil was rising every day. It no longer seemed inconceivable that the beloved green marble of earth might one day become a massive clockwork heart.
“Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree, if Mankind perished utterly.” Marie raised her hand, and, on cue, a sparrow fluttered down from a nearby tree to sit on it. Ketterson watched it- bright, sleek. A handful of clean iron blades had become its wings, its feet were pristine copper gears and tubes.
“And spring herself, when she woke at dawn, would scarcely know that we were gone.” The sparrow leapt and fluttered away. Tears sprung to poor Ayala's eyes, then were gone, and she stopped digging forlornly. Ketterson hugged and kissed her, overcome for a moment by the tragic irony, staring at the spot on her metal hand where a ring had once laid. Holding her, he looked out at the tundra, at the empty world they were left with.
Then again, more and more staff were connecting to the Hivenet every year. Maybe, at Site Omega, some vestige of humanity remained. They would never know.
The Greenhouse, soft and vibrant, went silent; until Marie bent over the dirt once again.
The tears were gone, in an endless loop.
The world outside was wide and cold.
“There will come soft rains, and the smell of the ground...”
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-02-01T02:12:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"broken-god",
"tale",
"talecon10"
] | Winding Down - SCP Foundation | 76 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-great-short-story-contest-archives",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4500002 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/winding-down |
|
world-tour | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>There were a lot of ghosts. It was a given, and she’d known it the whole time, but it still startled her a little as the UAV moved over the desert. They were usually invisible to the naked eye, but curiously enough tended to show up on camera. It made the otherwise empty desert seem like a fairly crowded place. Some of them looked up and waved, and just went about their business. Which seemed to be, mostly, wandering around aimlessly and talking to each other.</p>
<p>She wondered if they got bored, or if ghosts could get bored. It had, after all, been three-hundred years.</p>
<p>A whole three centuries of a nearly-empty earth. And then she wondered why all the ghosts congregated here, in the Midwestern area of the former United States of America. They had never seen ghosts anywhere else, perhaps there was just something about the area?</p>
<p>“Ladies and gentleman, the world tour has started!” she announced, moving the controls of the UAV smoothly. The secondary pilot grinned at her with his dagger-like teeth, the spines down his back pricked in excitement, and sat back, looking up at the massive array of screens.</p>
<p>For Anahita, it was just like the first time she saw her world all over again. While she had been born and raised in the refugee city, and had grown up in a sky with too many moons, streaked with orange and red, the blue grasses and violet-brown trees…she couldn’t fight the part of her mind that was truly human, and recognized its home immediately. The burning yellow sun. The blue sky.</p>
<p>She turned the UAV and it looked backwards, towards the small town they operated from. It was small, cramped, dusty and stuck out from the desert with its crude farmland and little garden sanctuary, just like any other earth town, but it was still not so bad a place. Then she turned the UAV back out, to the Midwestern desert, and pushed the controls towards. The sleek, alien device moved smoothly, like it was swimming through the air, and thus began her travels by proxy.</p>
<p>The desert covered most of the former Northern Americas. An endless expanse of dust and sand, bone-white and golden for the most part, with occasional patches of scrubland clinging to survival, or thin rivers that trickled through cracked-mud riverbanks. The Mississippi crawled, only a foot or so wide, sluggishly through the channel it had carved, and she steered the UAV down with it, following southwards.</p>
<p>Passing over the excavation site, she circled low and saw the workers, a mixture of human and lurks, look up and smile and wave. They knew that the mission was to be launched soon.</p>
<p>The desert was more or less unchanged as they explored. They already knew what to expect, but the aerial view made up for plenty of interest. They followed a roving band of clickers for a few hours, a half-dozen individuals who trucked forwards through the sand, gears whirling inside their bodies, bronze and copper metal faces looking to and fro, searching for anything alive.</p>
<p>They followed them south and west, to one of the larger clockwork cities. Its moving, shifting spires reaching into the sky. She circled the UAV around them and weaved it between buildings that occasionally rumbled and moved of their own accord in some unchanging pattern. A massive fountain with a living statue of a woman, composed entirely of pneumatics and gears, swam with koi made of gold, and workers went to and fro in their set patterns, unchanging, unnoticing of the world around them.</p>
<p>Only when a guard, some mixture of human and a massive hawk, with silver blades for wings and a tunic made out of platinum threads woven so fine as to flow like cloth, caught attention of the UAV and took chase did they leave the shining, repetitive city. She recalled once listening to a traveler tell his tales of how he once walked clear through one of the clicker cities, timing so perfect that not a thing touched or saw him.</p>
<p>The UAV, fortunately, easily could out-fly the guard, who eventually wheeled back to the city, and she took it to the higher atmospheres, where it went into a circling pattern for the night as she slept. The next morning, they powered southwards and over Mexico. She gasped as they rounded over a series of deep craters that formed a mountainous range, and saw for the first time in her life the green of grass that spread further than a few yards. Of a forest! How wonderful!</p>
<p>So few people had been to the southern American jungles, after all. She steered the UAV in low, and slowed it down, weaving her way through the grassy forest, which slowly became a thick, lush jungle. Flowers the size of doorways bloomed, vivid red and orange. Trees hundreds of meters tall towered overhead, and she wove the UAV carefully around looped vines bigger around than her waist would have been. Here and there, she saw things move.</p>
<p>A creature that could have once been a parrot, but now had slim green leaves for feathers and a dark wooden beak looked at her with beady black eyes, before fluttering off, becoming invisible among the plant life. She only thought about pulling out of the jungle when she found a clearing and spotted a group of plantlings resting, their soft membranous skin covered in dew, and long grassy hair braided crudely. She avoided nearing them, curious as she was, after all plantlings were a lot that was quick to anger and attack.</p>
<p>There was a flash of copper, later, and she chased the UAV after a clicker, one that was fast and built like a jaguar, hurrying through the jungle. A messenger, she assumed.</p>
<p>She pulled up out of the jungle at the urging of the copilot, and soared further south, until the jungle faded again and they neared another city of gears and metal, and gave it a wide berth when they spotted condors that were armored in gold and swinging steel talons.</p>
<p>And to Antarctica the following day. The death had barely touched here, and she curiously observed a group of penguins before steering the UAV through a small storm, and into the waiting shed of the Antarctic Observation Platform. A tall woman dressed in furs performed maintenance on the UAV to assure them it would stay in working condition the rest of the trip, and spoke over the videophone with a gently accented voice. They were back in the air by the next day, and this time Anahita shivered with excitement. Up, they crawled over the Atlantic, up and to the East. While the ocean was largely uneventful, sometimes they would catch glimpses of things moving under the endless blue waves. Seagulls still soared, and the UAV followed a flock of them until a tentacle that must have reached fifty meters into the air snapped up out of the water with lightning speed and grabbed one, yanking it down into the waters below.</p>
<p>She pulled the UAV up higher after that, and they stared in amazement as nighttime fell and the bioluminescent spots of something the size of an oil tanker under the waves appeared, and then were joined by other creatures of the same type. They converged, lights flashing and flickering, then dove or faded out of sight.</p>
<p>In South Africa, they cautiously slowed and approached a sight few had seen. The trees were not terribly large, but for their size, they were…strange. They grew everywhere, but only here had they seen a truly impressive forest of them. The flesh trees, twisted upwards, their multi-branched, stiffened arms reaching to the sky, skin hardened and calloused. Some of them were old, very old, and probably deeply sleeping, but there were a few, here and there, that were quite fresh.</p>
<p>She steered past one that was newly rooted, still shaped like a young woman, eyes glassed over, arms just starting to split apart. The ground around her was scratched and scraped, like she’d tried to dig herself out before finally falling and stretching to the sky. In a moment of misthought, she moved close enough that the tail of the UAV gently brushed the side of the new tree, and it shuddered. Although the microphone of the UAV was not on, they could tell that she had started screaming. The trees nearby all shuddered and opened hidden mouths as well.</p>
<p>They moved away quickly, passing over a tribe nearby of unchanged humans, who glanced at the UAV with only a flicker of curiosity, before returning to their business. With humanity decimated, the wilderness here, in Africa, had returned. Scrublands and grasslands, just as before. Although, she steered the UAV back over a village, and they muttered and commented as a group of young men ran after a fleeting gazelle, before the men – in mid-stride – hunched over and became furred, massive facsimiles of hyenas and tackled it to the ground.</p>
<p>They continued northwards, over giraffes and elephants, and everybody on the team expressed their distaste as they spotted a herd of zebras – but among the black and white stripes, there were individuals that were partially bronze, or iron, and some that were entirely mechanical replicas of the equines. Even here, the clickers took hold, she noted.</p>
<p>Another night of rest for her, and then they crossed over the Mediterranian, where on small island flocks of birdlike creatures roosted. When she steered the UAV near the cliffs they were on, they came in close to curiously observe, looking like nude women with hooked, hawklike beaks on their chins under their mouths, and a bird’s legs, and wings instead of arms. Then they lost interested, and returned to their nests, where down-covered infants nibbled on rotting fish and leathery eggs waited.</p>
<p>The ruins of Europe, as it turned out, were still there. Nobody went into the heart of France, or Britain, or Germany, not for what could be anywhere in there. And here they were, looking for it. It wasn’t hard to spot, as they circled over the overgrown rubble and dust that was once London, and the UAV’s sensors picked up life. They came in close and caught a fast glimpse of a girl, a little one with dark hair and eyes, and a wide smile, climbing over the ruined buildings and picking weed-flowers that had started to grow.</p>
<p>Then Anahita frantically pulled the UAV up as what she could only describe as a dragon lunged from seemingly nowhere and attempted to snap it out of the air. It was massive and shifted like a liquid just as they watched it for a moment, before the UAV was out of reach and it turned down. Then they watched as the girl started to skip off, and the dragon dutifully followed, padding along like a much-overgrown dog behind her. They turned the camera away, fully aware of what exposure could lead to, and pushed southeast.</p>
<p>They spent the next day with the UAV as the Saudi Arabian shelter, which existed just a few tentative kilometers from a large clicker-city, and the militant personnel there looked over the UAV, and spoke little, simply doing any needed maintenance and checking the device over. The captain of the base, a man with dark skin and a harsh, raspy voice told them not to go into Russia, and then thanked him for the advice with no intent to follow it.</p>
<p>But first, they had the Indian Ocean to explore, and even at full height its most impressive feature was still fully ungraspable, as the creature stretched past the horizon like an island chain. One made of chitenous armor where lichen collected and birds roosted, that occasionally rumbled and moved a few feet forwards or backwards. It stretched all the way from Maldives to the Great Barrier Reef, where massive towers of coral stretched into the sky out of the water like some sort of bizarre city.</p>
<p>The reef was a sanctuary of life, if that life was quite unusual. They observed huge schools of fish and jellyfish, pods of dolphins and whales of various sorts, and even glimpses of massive squids resting and feeding in the shallow, rich blue-green waters. Then there was Australia, where they soared low and slowly around the edges of the last truly human place on earth. They had no clearance to enter the territory known only as 23, but even from the edges, they could see fertile farmlands, and caught glimpses of people tending to them, or ones in uniforms who tensed and peered at the UAV through the scopes of their weapons before letting it pass by.</p>
<p>Indonesia passed in a blur of sandy, deserted islands, spotted with vast open-mine pits, and the occasional tall spire of a golden clicker city, a flicker of a messenger whale plated in titanium here, a seagull made completely out of golden paper-thin blades there, and then up, into the heart of India, where a truly astounding sight awaited them.</p>
<p>The largest clockworks city in the world, perhaps in all of existence. It spanned for hundreds of miles in any direction, a sprawling, ornate work of art, the people and animals and things that were neither operating in perfect patterns. Women who looked like dark bronze marionettes wearing saris of woven steel silk shined and washed the immense brass walls and walkways of the cities. Men wearing plated golden armor walked to and fro, observing with camera eyes. Massive moving statues were everywhere, swinging their many arms in a repetitive, slow dance, and pigeons who were strangely unaffected by the metal disease roosted in nooks and crannies.</p>
<p>What they ate, Anahita thought, she didn’t want to know.</p>
<p>The city was so huge and glorious that they spent several days in exploration, careful to avoid the guards or other things that would notice and could attack the UAV with spring-loaded steel blades or slicing wires. There was a center to the city, a massive gold and brass monument, a temple, but the guards were so thick around it – dogs the size of cars made out of silver, centaurs made of copper and partially of glass that showed the gears and wires whirring about inside their bodies, all kinds of strange things – that they dared not move any closer to it.</p>
<p>Then up through China. A desert of pale dust. Not sand, but true dust. There were ghosts here, too, but they were not the bored, simple people that she had seen before. These were specters, wraiths that drifted through the dust, twisted and malformed in fear and pain, attacking each other and attempting to attack the UAV at seemingly random intervals, while others simply crouched and cried or screamed and thrashed endlessly. Nothing was alive here. They had traveled, and they knew, that this area, the dead dust, was nothing but death. And it was more than death.</p>
<p>It was a battlefield and a neutral zone.</p>
<p>At first, she almost thought there were trees, then she saw their fleshy texture, and watched as the ground became less dust…and more of a softly throbbing mat of meat under the UAV. They wheeled high above the infectious range, just in case, and peered downwards. Nobody entered what was once Russia. Nobody entered, and nobody left. If there was something to be said about the clickers and their clockwork virus, they did a damn fine job of at least keeping something worse at bay through unknown means.</p>
<p>They only did a quick circling, enough to see whole cities of flesh, malformed monsters wandering to and fro, the long-distance camera a little fuzzy on the UAV, before jetting Eastwards. Somewhere between Russia and Alaska, everyone looking at the screens or the data blacked out temporarily, then came to as if nothing had happened once the UAV entered Canada. They knew that they had observed something, but a quick rewind of the video feed provided only static and the amnesia showed no signs of clearing.</p>
<p>They quickly decided that perhaps this was a good thing.</p>
<p>Down through Canada they went, watching as the snowy tundra slowly started to turn into desert, and down to the Golden Gate bridge, which truly was golden now, as it had been assimilated into a clicker city where cars that operated and wind-up wheels that brass men cranked every so often went to and fro.</p>
<p>And then the UAV turned Eastwards…and headed home.</p>
<p>All things considered, the worldwide tour had taken nearly two weeks, and Anahita was hardly satisfied. But there would be more, her copilot assured her, tail wagging. After all, he pointed out, the UAV’s were easy for his kind to manufacture, and they would need more data. This had, after all, just been a preliminary tour.</p>
<p>Anahita smiled, then, and looked at the screens as the UAV slowly circled in on autopilot for a landing, wherin it’d be taken to be disinfected through god-knows-what means, and watched the ghosts.</p>
<p>Several of them, men and women and fading specters alike, waited on the roof, wearing lab coats. One, a plump woman with long hair that billowed constantly in a phantom breeze smiled and watched the UAV before starting to clap, before they all applauded silently.</p>
<p>At least, Anahita thought…somebody respected this first tour.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/world-tour">World Tour</a>" by agatharights, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/world-tour">https://scpwiki.com/world-tour</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
There were a lot of ghosts. It was a given, and she’d known it the whole time, but it still startled her a little as the UAV moved over the desert. They were usually invisible to the naked eye, but curiously enough tended to show up on camera. It made the otherwise empty desert seem like a fairly crowded place. Some of them looked up and waved, and just went about their business. Which seemed to be, mostly, wandering around aimlessly and talking to each other.
She wondered if they got bored, or if ghosts could get bored. It had, after all, been three-hundred years.
A whole three centuries of a nearly-empty earth. And then she wondered why all the ghosts congregated here, in the Midwestern area of the former United States of America. They had never seen ghosts anywhere else, perhaps there was just something about the area?
“Ladies and gentleman, the world tour has started!” she announced, moving the controls of the UAV smoothly. The secondary pilot grinned at her with his dagger-like teeth, the spines down his back pricked in excitement, and sat back, looking up at the massive array of screens.
For Anahita, it was just like the first time she saw her world all over again. While she had been born and raised in the refugee city, and had grown up in a sky with too many moons, streaked with orange and red, the blue grasses and violet-brown trees…she couldn’t fight the part of her mind that was truly human, and recognized its home immediately. The burning yellow sun. The blue sky.
She turned the UAV and it looked backwards, towards the small town they operated from. It was small, cramped, dusty and stuck out from the desert with its crude farmland and little garden sanctuary, just like any other earth town, but it was still not so bad a place. Then she turned the UAV back out, to the Midwestern desert, and pushed the controls towards. The sleek, alien device moved smoothly, like it was swimming through the air, and thus began her travels by proxy.
The desert covered most of the former Northern Americas. An endless expanse of dust and sand, bone-white and golden for the most part, with occasional patches of scrubland clinging to survival, or thin rivers that trickled through cracked-mud riverbanks. The Mississippi crawled, only a foot or so wide, sluggishly through the channel it had carved, and she steered the UAV down with it, following southwards.
Passing over the excavation site, she circled low and saw the workers, a mixture of human and lurks, look up and smile and wave. They knew that the mission was to be launched soon.
The desert was more or less unchanged as they explored. They already knew what to expect, but the aerial view made up for plenty of interest. They followed a roving band of clickers for a few hours, a half-dozen individuals who trucked forwards through the sand, gears whirling inside their bodies, bronze and copper metal faces looking to and fro, searching for anything alive.
They followed them south and west, to one of the larger clockwork cities. Its moving, shifting spires reaching into the sky. She circled the UAV around them and weaved it between buildings that occasionally rumbled and moved of their own accord in some unchanging pattern. A massive fountain with a living statue of a woman, composed entirely of pneumatics and gears, swam with koi made of gold, and workers went to and fro in their set patterns, unchanging, unnoticing of the world around them.
Only when a guard, some mixture of human and a massive hawk, with silver blades for wings and a tunic made out of platinum threads woven so fine as to flow like cloth, caught attention of the UAV and took chase did they leave the shining, repetitive city. She recalled once listening to a traveler tell his tales of how he once walked clear through one of the clicker cities, timing so perfect that not a thing touched or saw him.
The UAV, fortunately, easily could out-fly the guard, who eventually wheeled back to the city, and she took it to the higher atmospheres, where it went into a circling pattern for the night as she slept. The next morning, they powered southwards and over Mexico. She gasped as they rounded over a series of deep craters that formed a mountainous range, and saw for the first time in her life the green of grass that spread further than a few yards. Of a forest! How wonderful!
So few people had been to the southern American jungles, after all. She steered the UAV in low, and slowed it down, weaving her way through the grassy forest, which slowly became a thick, lush jungle. Flowers the size of doorways bloomed, vivid red and orange. Trees hundreds of meters tall towered overhead, and she wove the UAV carefully around looped vines bigger around than her waist would have been. Here and there, she saw things move.
A creature that could have once been a parrot, but now had slim green leaves for feathers and a dark wooden beak looked at her with beady black eyes, before fluttering off, becoming invisible among the plant life. She only thought about pulling out of the jungle when she found a clearing and spotted a group of plantlings resting, their soft membranous skin covered in dew, and long grassy hair braided crudely. She avoided nearing them, curious as she was, after all plantlings were a lot that was quick to anger and attack.
There was a flash of copper, later, and she chased the UAV after a clicker, one that was fast and built like a jaguar, hurrying through the jungle. A messenger, she assumed.
She pulled up out of the jungle at the urging of the copilot, and soared further south, until the jungle faded again and they neared another city of gears and metal, and gave it a wide berth when they spotted condors that were armored in gold and swinging steel talons.
And to Antarctica the following day. The death had barely touched here, and she curiously observed a group of penguins before steering the UAV through a small storm, and into the waiting shed of the Antarctic Observation Platform. A tall woman dressed in furs performed maintenance on the UAV to assure them it would stay in working condition the rest of the trip, and spoke over the videophone with a gently accented voice. They were back in the air by the next day, and this time Anahita shivered with excitement. Up, they crawled over the Atlantic, up and to the East. While the ocean was largely uneventful, sometimes they would catch glimpses of things moving under the endless blue waves. Seagulls still soared, and the UAV followed a flock of them until a tentacle that must have reached fifty meters into the air snapped up out of the water with lightning speed and grabbed one, yanking it down into the waters below.
She pulled the UAV up higher after that, and they stared in amazement as nighttime fell and the bioluminescent spots of something the size of an oil tanker under the waves appeared, and then were joined by other creatures of the same type. They converged, lights flashing and flickering, then dove or faded out of sight.
In South Africa, they cautiously slowed and approached a sight few had seen. The trees were not terribly large, but for their size, they were…strange. They grew everywhere, but only here had they seen a truly impressive forest of them. The flesh trees, twisted upwards, their multi-branched, stiffened arms reaching to the sky, skin hardened and calloused. Some of them were old, very old, and probably deeply sleeping, but there were a few, here and there, that were quite fresh.
She steered past one that was newly rooted, still shaped like a young woman, eyes glassed over, arms just starting to split apart. The ground around her was scratched and scraped, like she’d tried to dig herself out before finally falling and stretching to the sky. In a moment of misthought, she moved close enough that the tail of the UAV gently brushed the side of the new tree, and it shuddered. Although the microphone of the UAV was not on, they could tell that she had started screaming. The trees nearby all shuddered and opened hidden mouths as well.
They moved away quickly, passing over a tribe nearby of unchanged humans, who glanced at the UAV with only a flicker of curiosity, before returning to their business. With humanity decimated, the wilderness here, in Africa, had returned. Scrublands and grasslands, just as before. Although, she steered the UAV back over a village, and they muttered and commented as a group of young men ran after a fleeting gazelle, before the men – in mid-stride – hunched over and became furred, massive facsimiles of hyenas and tackled it to the ground.
They continued northwards, over giraffes and elephants, and everybody on the team expressed their distaste as they spotted a herd of zebras – but among the black and white stripes, there were individuals that were partially bronze, or iron, and some that were entirely mechanical replicas of the equines. Even here, the clickers took hold, she noted.
Another night of rest for her, and then they crossed over the Mediterranian, where on small island flocks of birdlike creatures roosted. When she steered the UAV near the cliffs they were on, they came in close to curiously observe, looking like nude women with hooked, hawklike beaks on their chins under their mouths, and a bird’s legs, and wings instead of arms. Then they lost interested, and returned to their nests, where down-covered infants nibbled on rotting fish and leathery eggs waited.
The ruins of Europe, as it turned out, were still there. Nobody went into the heart of France, or Britain, or Germany, not for what could be anywhere in there. And here they were, looking for it. It wasn’t hard to spot, as they circled over the overgrown rubble and dust that was once London, and the UAV’s sensors picked up life. They came in close and caught a fast glimpse of a girl, a little one with dark hair and eyes, and a wide smile, climbing over the ruined buildings and picking weed-flowers that had started to grow.
Then Anahita frantically pulled the UAV up as what she could only describe as a dragon lunged from seemingly nowhere and attempted to snap it out of the air. It was massive and shifted like a liquid just as they watched it for a moment, before the UAV was out of reach and it turned down. Then they watched as the girl started to skip off, and the dragon dutifully followed, padding along like a much-overgrown dog behind her. They turned the camera away, fully aware of what exposure could lead to, and pushed southeast.
They spent the next day with the UAV as the Saudi Arabian shelter, which existed just a few tentative kilometers from a large clicker-city, and the militant personnel there looked over the UAV, and spoke little, simply doing any needed maintenance and checking the device over. The captain of the base, a man with dark skin and a harsh, raspy voice told them not to go into Russia, and then thanked him for the advice with no intent to follow it.
But first, they had the Indian Ocean to explore, and even at full height its most impressive feature was still fully ungraspable, as the creature stretched past the horizon like an island chain. One made of chitenous armor where lichen collected and birds roosted, that occasionally rumbled and moved a few feet forwards or backwards. It stretched all the way from Maldives to the Great Barrier Reef, where massive towers of coral stretched into the sky out of the water like some sort of bizarre city.
The reef was a sanctuary of life, if that life was quite unusual. They observed huge schools of fish and jellyfish, pods of dolphins and whales of various sorts, and even glimpses of massive squids resting and feeding in the shallow, rich blue-green waters. Then there was Australia, where they soared low and slowly around the edges of the last truly human place on earth. They had no clearance to enter the territory known only as 23, but even from the edges, they could see fertile farmlands, and caught glimpses of people tending to them, or ones in uniforms who tensed and peered at the UAV through the scopes of their weapons before letting it pass by.
Indonesia passed in a blur of sandy, deserted islands, spotted with vast open-mine pits, and the occasional tall spire of a golden clicker city, a flicker of a messenger whale plated in titanium here, a seagull made completely out of golden paper-thin blades there, and then up, into the heart of India, where a truly astounding sight awaited them.
The largest clockworks city in the world, perhaps in all of existence. It spanned for hundreds of miles in any direction, a sprawling, ornate work of art, the people and animals and things that were neither operating in perfect patterns. Women who looked like dark bronze marionettes wearing saris of woven steel silk shined and washed the immense brass walls and walkways of the cities. Men wearing plated golden armor walked to and fro, observing with camera eyes. Massive moving statues were everywhere, swinging their many arms in a repetitive, slow dance, and pigeons who were strangely unaffected by the metal disease roosted in nooks and crannies.
What they ate, Anahita thought, she didn’t want to know.
The city was so huge and glorious that they spent several days in exploration, careful to avoid the guards or other things that would notice and could attack the UAV with spring-loaded steel blades or slicing wires. There was a center to the city, a massive gold and brass monument, a temple, but the guards were so thick around it – dogs the size of cars made out of silver, centaurs made of copper and partially of glass that showed the gears and wires whirring about inside their bodies, all kinds of strange things – that they dared not move any closer to it.
Then up through China. A desert of pale dust. Not sand, but true dust. There were ghosts here, too, but they were not the bored, simple people that she had seen before. These were specters, wraiths that drifted through the dust, twisted and malformed in fear and pain, attacking each other and attempting to attack the UAV at seemingly random intervals, while others simply crouched and cried or screamed and thrashed endlessly. Nothing was alive here. They had traveled, and they knew, that this area, the dead dust, was nothing but death. And it was more than death.
It was a battlefield and a neutral zone.
At first, she almost thought there were trees, then she saw their fleshy texture, and watched as the ground became less dust…and more of a softly throbbing mat of meat under the UAV. They wheeled high above the infectious range, just in case, and peered downwards. Nobody entered what was once Russia. Nobody entered, and nobody left. If there was something to be said about the clickers and their clockwork virus, they did a damn fine job of at least keeping something worse at bay through unknown means.
They only did a quick circling, enough to see whole cities of flesh, malformed monsters wandering to and fro, the long-distance camera a little fuzzy on the UAV, before jetting Eastwards. Somewhere between Russia and Alaska, everyone looking at the screens or the data blacked out temporarily, then came to as if nothing had happened once the UAV entered Canada. They knew that they had observed something, but a quick rewind of the video feed provided only static and the amnesia showed no signs of clearing.
They quickly decided that perhaps this was a good thing.
Down through Canada they went, watching as the snowy tundra slowly started to turn into desert, and down to the Golden Gate bridge, which truly was golden now, as it had been assimilated into a clicker city where cars that operated and wind-up wheels that brass men cranked every so often went to and fro.
And then the UAV turned Eastwards…and headed home.
All things considered, the worldwide tour had taken nearly two weeks, and Anahita was hardly satisfied. But there would be more, her copilot assured her, tail wagging. After all, he pointed out, the UAV’s were easy for his kind to manufacture, and they would need more data. This had, after all, just been a preliminary tour.
Anahita smiled, then, and looked at the screens as the UAV slowly circled in on autopilot for a landing, wherin it’d be taken to be disinfected through god-knows-what means, and watched the ghosts.
Several of them, men and women and fading specters alike, waited on the roof, wearing lab coats. One, a plump woman with long hair that billowed constantly in a phantom breeze smiled and watched the UAV before starting to clap, before they all applauded silently.
At least, Anahita thought…somebody respected this first tour.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-02-01T06:43:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"adventure",
"fantasy",
"featured",
"ghost",
"post-apocalyptic",
"tale",
"talecon10"
] | World Tour - SCP Foundation | 106 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-great-short-story-contest-archives",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"featured-tale-archive"
] | [] | 4500490 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/world-tour |
|
yellow-death | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
Tonight would be the last night of the siege. Gaius Marius Quartius, the Centurion in charge of the fort, had said that for the last three nights, but Titus knew that they couldn't hold out any longer. The Gauls, cursed Gauls, had been at the walls for two weeks, and the simple wooden palisade was scorched and tattered. No, tonight would be the end of it.
<p>Titus and the Centurion were perched in the simple wooden watchtower at the north end of the fort, looking out over the sea of Gaul tents. They rarely spoke, the bleakness of their situation. Back when the siege had started, they would make jokes about the Gauls, cursed Gauls. Claim they worshiped black, abominable gods. Tell stories of cannibalism and human sacrifice, anything to dehumanize the enemy, but that had all stopped four nights before.</p>
<p>At midnight, or as near as they could tell, when the moon was at its apex, the Gaul chief had ridden forth, screaming a horrible, bone-chilling scream. The guards on duty had fired arrows at him, but they bounced off his flesh. When he got to the palisades, he had climbed them like a ladder, leaving a trail of smoldering wood wherever his feet touched them, and he went into the Roman tents and he killed a dozen men. Exactly a dozen, and he took their heads, and he left, not harming a soul except the dozen headless men and anyone who tried to stop him. The screaming didn't stop till he was back over the wall, back into the camp of the Gauls. Cursed Gauls.</p>
<p>Gaius hadn't known what to do that first night, but he tried to keep his men calm, claimed it was a fluke and trying to keep the camp from panicking, but to Titus, he showed a different face. Gaius was afraid. He tried to explain, using words that didn't quite work together and the vaguest of terms. “There were things in this world that are greater than man, and they want us dead, and somebody might be able to stop that from happening, but it isn't us. Tonight will be the last night of this siege.” he said.</p>
<p>So the chief came back again, screaming that terrible scream. Nobody got in his way this time as he effortlessly got over the fence, taking another dozen heads and leaving another twelve dead men. And it happened again, and once more. Titus looked out over the sleeping army of the Gauls, cursed Gauls, and he looked up at the moon, which was just about full, and he knew the blackest and most terrible fear.</p>
<p>The worst thing about it wasn't the screaming, or the fire, or the blood red rage that soaked his eyes. It was his sword. You see, it wasn't the chief screaming at all. His mouth was stitched shut with brambles. No, it was his sword screaming. A blade made of flesh and bone, with a dozen horrible mouths that screamed to one awful, dissonant chorus. The cuts it made wouldn't heal, and bled unnaturally for days. So much as a scratch…</p>
<p>That scream went up, and Titus ducked down, trying not to be seen, trying not to cry, but it was different this time. There were more horses than just the one. Fearing the worst, Titus stood, and saw them. A dozen men, Romans, riding black horses were racing towards the chieftain. Each man wore a white tunic with the head of the Gorgon Medusa in dark red, and they carried swords and spears. Two at the back carried an ornate wooden box between their two horses, inscribed with golden text.</p>
<p>The Roman horsemen were upon the chieftain now. Where their swords touched flesh lightning arced, and their spears were sheathed in fire. He fought hard, long after an ordinary man would be dead a dozen times over, but they took him apart. First his legs, and then his arms, and then head.</p>
<p>Titus was overjoyed, and stood to shout to the rest of the legion, but he caught sight of one of the Roman horsemen's face, and he stopped. The man, moving the severed leg of the chieftain to the ornate golden box. He looked Titus straight in the eyes for a fraction of a second, then looked away in shame.</p>
<p>Minutes after they arrived, the Roman horsemen took the boxed remains of the Gaul chief and rode away, and Titus was aware of another scream. Not the terrible scream of that horrible blade, but the scream of ten thousand angry men. “They weren't here for us. Steel yourself, child.” Gaius Marius Quartius said, readying his bow. The Gauls, cursed Gauls, rose up like a giant wave and crashed against the walls of the fort. Tonight would be the last night of the siege.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/yellow-death">Yellow Death</a>" by FullHazard, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/yellow-death">https://scpwiki.com/yellow-death</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Tonight would be the last night of the siege. Gaius Marius Quartius, the Centurion in charge of the fort, had said that for the last three nights, but Titus knew that they couldn't hold out any longer. The Gauls, cursed Gauls, had been at the walls for two weeks, and the simple wooden palisade was scorched and tattered. No, tonight would be the end of it.
Titus and the Centurion were perched in the simple wooden watchtower at the north end of the fort, looking out over the sea of Gaul tents. They rarely spoke, the bleakness of their situation. Back when the siege had started, they would make jokes about the Gauls, cursed Gauls. Claim they worshiped black, abominable gods. Tell stories of cannibalism and human sacrifice, anything to dehumanize the enemy, but that had all stopped four nights before.
At midnight, or as near as they could tell, when the moon was at its apex, the Gaul chief had ridden forth, screaming a horrible, bone-chilling scream. The guards on duty had fired arrows at him, but they bounced off his flesh. When he got to the palisades, he had climbed them like a ladder, leaving a trail of smoldering wood wherever his feet touched them, and he went into the Roman tents and he killed a dozen men. Exactly a dozen, and he took their heads, and he left, not harming a soul except the dozen headless men and anyone who tried to stop him. The screaming didn't stop till he was back over the wall, back into the camp of the Gauls. Cursed Gauls.
Gaius hadn't known what to do that first night, but he tried to keep his men calm, claimed it was a fluke and trying to keep the camp from panicking, but to Titus, he showed a different face. Gaius was afraid. He tried to explain, using words that didn't quite work together and the vaguest of terms. “There were things in this world that are greater than man, and they want us dead, and somebody might be able to stop that from happening, but it isn't us. Tonight will be the last night of this siege.” he said.
So the chief came back again, screaming that terrible scream. Nobody got in his way this time as he effortlessly got over the fence, taking another dozen heads and leaving another twelve dead men. And it happened again, and once more. Titus looked out over the sleeping army of the Gauls, cursed Gauls, and he looked up at the moon, which was just about full, and he knew the blackest and most terrible fear.
The worst thing about it wasn't the screaming, or the fire, or the blood red rage that soaked his eyes. It was his sword. You see, it wasn't the chief screaming at all. His mouth was stitched shut with brambles. No, it was his sword screaming. A blade made of flesh and bone, with a dozen horrible mouths that screamed to one awful, dissonant chorus. The cuts it made wouldn't heal, and bled unnaturally for days. So much as a scratch...
That scream went up, and Titus ducked down, trying not to be seen, trying not to cry, but it was different this time. There were more horses than just the one. Fearing the worst, Titus stood, and saw them. A dozen men, Romans, riding black horses were racing towards the chieftain. Each man wore a white tunic with the head of the Gorgon Medusa in dark red, and they carried swords and spears. Two at the back carried an ornate wooden box between their two horses, inscribed with golden text.
The Roman horsemen were upon the chieftain now. Where their swords touched flesh lightning arced, and their spears were sheathed in fire. He fought hard, long after an ordinary man would be dead a dozen times over, but they took him apart. First his legs, and then his arms, and then head.
Titus was overjoyed, and stood to shout to the rest of the legion, but he caught sight of one of the Roman horsemen's face, and he stopped. The man, moving the severed leg of the chieftain to the ornate golden box. He looked Titus straight in the eyes for a fraction of a second, then looked away in shame.
Minutes after they arrived, the Roman horsemen took the boxed remains of the Gaul chief and rode away, and Titus was aware of another scream. Not the terrible scream of that horrible blade, but the scream of ten thousand angry men. “They weren't here for us. Steel yourself, child.” Gaius Marius Quartius said, readying his bow. The Gauls, cursed Gauls, rose up like a giant wave and crashed against the walls of the fort. Tonight would be the last night of the siege.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2010-03-24T11:43:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"action",
"bleak",
"military-fiction",
"no-dialogue",
"period-piece",
"tale",
"talecon10"
] | Yellow Death - SCP Foundation | 50 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"the-great-short-story-contest-archives",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2010",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2010",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 4740229 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/yellow-death |
|
1-mr-headless | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<h6 id="toc0"><span>By Anaxagoras</span></h6>
<br/>
Ohshitohshitohshit<em>ohshit</em>.
<p>My name's Jeremy Adams and I'm 22 and I'm being chased by a monster. I don't know what's going on. I don't know how this is possible, or what I'm supposed to do. The thing won't stop. I've been running for — oh god — only fifteen minutes. Feels like longer. I'm exhausted and it won't stop.</p>
<p>I didn't do anything wrong. I just saw this guy on the subway. It's night, we were the only people in the car. He looked odd, a bit gray and glassy-eyed, which was odd because from his hands I'd have guessed he was black or Indian or something. We got off at the same stop and I guess I wasn't looking where I was going because I bumped into him and his head fell off. I mean, that doesn't happen. And then he got up and chased after me. That… that… <em>can't</em> happen.</p>
<p>How is it even following me anyhow? It's not like it has eyes. Another door locked. No! Can't someone have left their door unlocked tonight? Please, I just need to get away from this thing and there it is how did it get behind me? shitshitTrashcan! I grab one and swing it straight into the thing's chest and it stumbles backwards and collapses and I'm off running before it can get back up. Thank you adrenaline.</p>
<p>How can this alley be a dead end? It can't be, I need to escape! It's not fair! Walls, walls, damn it. Too high and too slick and it's found me. Anything around? No. I can't fight, but I try to punch it and it's strong and this doesn't make any sense and is that a blade and</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Much, much better. Could hardly even hear with that old one by the end. But this one is good. Young, healthy, should last me for weeks. Colorblind, but you can't have everything. And let's see… Reasonably bright, too. I just hope I didn't get too far off track getting this one. Mr. Redd, I'm coming for you. And I can't wait to find out what wonderful thoughts I can think with that head of yours.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>Next: 2. <a href="/mr-clank">Mr. Clank</a> from Dr. Gears</p>
</div>
<p><a href="/tales-of-mr-collector">Back to Hub</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/1-mr-headless">1. Mr. Headless</a>" by Anaxagoras, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/1-mr-headless">https://scpwiki.com/1-mr-headless</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
++++++ By Anaxagoras
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Ohshitohshitohshit//ohshit//.
My name's Jeremy Adams and I'm 22 and I'm being chased by a monster. I don't know what's going on. I don't know how this is possible, or what I'm supposed to do. The thing won't stop. I've been running for — oh god — only fifteen minutes. Feels like longer. I'm exhausted and it won't stop.
I didn't do anything wrong. I just saw this guy on the subway. It's night, we were the only people in the car. He looked odd, a bit gray and glassy-eyed, which was odd because from his hands I'd have guessed he was black or Indian or something. We got off at the same stop and I guess I wasn't looking where I was going because I bumped into him and his head fell off. I mean, that doesn't happen. And then he got up and chased after me. That... that... //can't// happen.
How is it even following me anyhow? It's not like it has eyes. Another door locked. No! Can't someone have left their door unlocked tonight? Please, I just need to get away from this thing and there it is how did it get behind me? shitshitTrashcan! I grab one and swing it straight into the thing's chest and it stumbles backwards and collapses and I'm off running before it can get back up. Thank you adrenaline.
How can this alley be a dead end? It can't be, I need to escape! It's not fair! Walls, walls, damn it. Too high and too slick and it's found me. Anything around? No. I can't fight, but I try to punch it and it's strong and this doesn't make any sense and is that a blade and
~
Much, much better. Could hardly even hear with that old one by the end. But this one is good. Young, healthy, should last me for weeks. Colorblind, but you can't have everything. And let's see... Reasonably bright, too. I just hope I didn't get too far off track getting this one. Mr. Redd, I'm coming for you. And I can't wait to find out what wonderful thoughts I can think with that head of yours.
[[>]]
Next: 2. [[[Mr. Clank]]] from Dr. Gears
[[/>]]
[[[tales-of-mr-collector|Back to Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=Anaxagoras]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-14T22:45:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | 1. Mr. Headless - SCP Foundation | 140 | [
"mr-clank",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11703626 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/1-mr-headless |
|
10-30-a-m | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Okay people, sit your asses down and shut your pie holes. I’ve got places to go and people more important than you to see, because I happen to be a <em>scientist</em> and we <em>scientists</em> have a tendency to be <em>very busy and important people.</em> If you’re out there in the folding chairs, that means that you're the new guys. Bottom of the totem pole. But, it also means that you passed the entrance exams. Welcome to the SPC. From this moment onward, your job is very, very simple: you are going to punch sharks.</p>
<p>In the <em>face</em>.</p>
<p>You will punch sharks. When not punching sharks, you will be planning on punching sharks. You will be developing new ways to punch sharks. You will read about punching sharks. You will write about punching sharks. You will study punching sharks. You will <em>dream</em> about punching sharks. You will <em>jump</em> the shark. You will collect and contain paranormal objects, and then use them to <em>beat up sharks.</em></p>
<p>Punching sharks is your <em>life</em>.</p>
<p>You may be asking yourself “Self, how am I to punch these sharks?” <em>With your fists</em>.</p>
<p>And you may ask yourself “Self, what if I am bitten by a shark? I am unsure of what to do.” <em>Go see an alchemist.</em></p>
<p>And you may say to yourself “Self, my teeth have become shark-like, in the sense that they have all turned into sharks!” Good, now <em>start punching them.</em></p>
<p>It’s an important job, mark my words. There are people out there, many people who just don’t understand why. They don’t realize how important our job is. You will be challenged, you will be mocked, you will be insulted, but you cannot lose sight of the goal: your fist in a shark's face.</p>
<p>Several years ago, a former employee asked me “Why do we punch sharks?” You know what I said to him?</p>
<p>“Sir, do you hate science? Are you a science-hating shark-hugger? Do you approve of the non-science shark agenda?" He said no, he wasn’t.</p>
<p>I punched him in the face anyway, because he was clearly a closet shark. <em>Because that’s what we fucking do at the SPC.</em></p>
<p>When you all came in here, there was a copy of Sun Tzu’s <em>The Art of Punching Sharks</em> on your chair. You are all to have read that by the time you report in tomorrow morning. Now get out of here. Those sharks aren’t going to punch themselves.</p>
<p>Because they <em>don’t have hands.</em></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/10-30-a-m">10:30 A.M.</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/10-30-a-m">https://scpwiki.com/10-30-a-m</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Okay people, sit your asses down and shut your pie holes. I’ve got places to go and people more important than you to see, because I happen to be a //scientist// and we //scientists// have a tendency to be //very busy and important people.// If you’re out there in the folding chairs, that means that you're the new guys. Bottom of the totem pole. But, it also means that you passed the entrance exams. Welcome to the SPC. From this moment onward, your job is very, very simple: you are going to punch sharks.
In the //face//.
You will punch sharks. When not punching sharks, you will be planning on punching sharks. You will be developing new ways to punch sharks. You will read about punching sharks. You will write about punching sharks. You will study punching sharks. You will //dream// about punching sharks. You will //jump// the shark. You will collect and contain paranormal objects, and then use them to //beat up sharks.//
Punching sharks is your //life//.
You may be asking yourself “Self, how am I to punch these sharks?” //With your fists//.
And you may ask yourself “Self, what if I am bitten by a shark? I am unsure of what to do.” //Go see an alchemist.//
And you may say to yourself “Self, my teeth have become shark-like, in the sense that they have all turned into sharks!” Good, now //start punching them.//
It’s an important job, mark my words. There are people out there, many people who just don’t understand why. They don’t realize how important our job is. You will be challenged, you will be mocked, you will be insulted, but you cannot lose sight of the goal: your fist in a shark's face.
Several years ago, a former employee asked me “Why do we punch sharks?” You know what I said to him?
“Sir, do you hate science? Are you a science-hating shark-hugger? Do you approve of the non-science shark agenda?" He said no, he wasn’t.
I punched him in the face anyway, because he was clearly a closet shark. //Because that’s what we fucking do at the SPC.//
When you all came in here, there was a copy of Sun Tzu’s //The Art of Punching Sharks// on your chair. You are all to have read that by the time you report in tomorrow morning. Now get out of here. Those sharks aren’t going to punch themselves.
Because they //don’t have hands.//
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-21T18:48:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"absurdism",
"comedy",
"orientation",
"shark-punching-center",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] | 10:30 A.M. - SCP Foundation | 902 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"top-rated-tales",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"simply-creative-people-hub",
"spc-hub",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"highest-rated-non-scps",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"algorithm-curated-recommendations",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11921201 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/10-30-a-m |
|
10-mr-mission | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>The time: Midnight. The place: One of the more shadier of the establishments the city had to offer. The person: Myself, of course. For the better part of an hour I sat there, taking the occasional drink of the Sea Fizz that I purchased what seemed like an eternity ago. What seemed like an eternity sitting in the dark-lit room as the nightclub's deep bass throbbed in time with the collective hearts of the lower class citizens to grace the world with their presence. I glanced at the barmaid.</p>
<p>"No luck, sweetcheeks?"</p>
<p>"No sir, Mr. Mission!"</p>
<p>I shook my head, leaning forward on the bar stool. The shadowy forms of the club's denizens shifted and warped around me as the red dial above the bar clicked onwards. Nothing. I waited for the contact, and waited some more. They had seemingly gotten cold feet at the last second. Cold feet, or concrete shoes, as the saying goes around here. The mark I had been tracking was a real bastard in this case, and was infamous for taking out my contacts before I had a chance to locate them. Time passed, and I shook my head. Another one, gone, another doomed soul in this poor world of ours, one of a slowly diminishing number. But I was strong. Had to be. Soon, I told myself, soon I'd get to where I was going, find what I was looking for, and save another from the bleak fate we've been consigned to.</p>
<p>—-</p>
<p>The rhythmic pounding of city feet on city streets. No stranger to the sound as I traveled through the crowded city, weaving my way through the massive crowds that filled the walks and streets like so much blood through veins. Making my way through dim streets under high walls, I lowered the fedora to cover my eyes. The chance of being recognized in such a crowd was low, but I was not one to take risks.</p>
<p>No, taking risks would find those long fingers around my neck.</p>
<p>The nightclub had ended fruitlessly. No contact to greet me and help me along my way, but I knew other ways to find the path towards that ultimate destination. I was making progress, even if it was slow, and I had to keep my eyes forward. The next clue was just down the street, a little French pastry store that was the fail-safe if the nightclub failed. The contact worked there, and if I didn't find him I would find where he used to be, goddammit.</p>
<p>The afternoon sun baking the street side cafés and marketplaces, with the throngs moving aimlessly about their lives, directionless and lost. But I, I knew the way. The way towards the destination wasn't clear, much less straightforward, but it was there. You just had to find it. You just had to know the way. Me? I knew the way. Or a way at least. I was dedicated. I was prepared.</p>
<p>I was on my Mission.</p>
<p>—-</p>
<p>I leaned back in my chair, the plane finally breaking over the cloud cover into the bright light of the sun. First class, with plenty of leg room and plenty of room for thought. The other occupants were mostly rich businessman who had too much money to be caught fraternizing with the lower class. None of them gave me a second glance, and I was perfectly fine with it that way. Assholes with their noses in the air and silver spoons in their pockets, the lot of them.</p>
<p>The nightclub had fallen through, but I had picked up the trail again, finding which rat-hole my contact's killer had slinked under, and I was on the beat again, inching towards the murderous bastard.</p>
<p>On my way, another step closer towards salvation, towards my ultimate <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">and likely final</span> case. Closer and closer I got, one step closer and one step deeper.</p>
<p>Flipping through the magazine, some drivel about the economy that I grabbed in the airport, my thoughts wandered. Almost thoughtlessly, I grabbed the pocket watch and flipped it open. The ancient hands clicking around in an endless chase around the dial, almost as endless and pointless as mine seemed to be. Foreboding, to be sure, but none so much as the picture across from it.</p>
<p>The one woman I ever fell in love with.</p>
<p>Ms. Sweetie.</p>
<p>Shutting the watch and clenching the old watch in a fist as the bittersweet memories flowed along with the anger, sorrow, joy, and regret that inevitably came with them as I once again re-avowed to complete this journey. Redd. Redd. Even thinking the name made my pulse rise and teeth gnash in anger. Redd, the one person who was more of a bastard than my mark.</p>
<p>I shook my head, setting the watch back in the pin-striped suit's breast pocket. I was on my way, after the mess in the city, well on my way towards the goal. Soon, I would get to my goal, and it would be over. One way or the other, I could finally lay Ms. Sweetie's memory to rest. One way or another, we would finally finish this long, pointless journey around our hopeless dial.</p>
<p>One way or the other, someone was going to pay.</p>
<p>Previous: <a href="/9-mr-clumsy">9. Mr. Clumsy</a> by Tanhony<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>Next: <a href="/interval-2">Interval 2</a> by Salman Corbette</p>
</div>
<p><a href="/tales-of-mr-collector">Back to Hub</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/10-mr-mission">10. Mr. Mission</a>" by Dr Gerald, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/10-mr-mission">https://scpwiki.com/10-mr-mission</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The time: Midnight. The place: One of the more shadier of the establishments the city had to offer. The person: Myself, of course. For the better part of an hour I sat there, taking the occasional drink of the Sea Fizz that I purchased what seemed like an eternity ago. What seemed like an eternity sitting in the dark-lit room as the nightclub's deep bass throbbed in time with the collective hearts of the lower class citizens to grace the world with their presence. I glanced at the barmaid.
"No luck, sweetcheeks?"
"No sir, Mr. Mission!"
I shook my head, leaning forward on the bar stool. The shadowy forms of the club's denizens shifted and warped around me as the red dial above the bar clicked onwards. Nothing. I waited for the contact, and waited some more. They had seemingly gotten cold feet at the last second. Cold feet, or concrete shoes, as the saying goes around here. The mark I had been tracking was a real bastard in this case, and was infamous for taking out my contacts before I had a chance to locate them. Time passed, and I shook my head. Another one, gone, another doomed soul in this poor world of ours, one of a slowly diminishing number. But I was strong. Had to be. Soon, I told myself, soon I'd get to where I was going, find what I was looking for, and save another from the bleak fate we've been consigned to.
—-
The rhythmic pounding of city feet on city streets. No stranger to the sound as I traveled through the crowded city, weaving my way through the massive crowds that filled the walks and streets like so much blood through veins. Making my way through dim streets under high walls, I lowered the fedora to cover my eyes. The chance of being recognized in such a crowd was low, but I was not one to take risks.
No, taking risks would find those long fingers around my neck.
The nightclub had ended fruitlessly. No contact to greet me and help me along my way, but I knew other ways to find the path towards that ultimate destination. I was making progress, even if it was slow, and I had to keep my eyes forward. The next clue was just down the street, a little French pastry store that was the fail-safe if the nightclub failed. The contact worked there, and if I didn't find him I would find where he used to be, goddammit.
The afternoon sun baking the street side cafés and marketplaces, with the throngs moving aimlessly about their lives, directionless and lost. But I, I knew the way. The way towards the destination wasn't clear, much less straightforward, but it was there. You just had to find it. You just had to know the way. Me? I knew the way. Or a way at least. I was dedicated. I was prepared.
I was on my Mission.
—-
I leaned back in my chair, the plane finally breaking over the cloud cover into the bright light of the sun. First class, with plenty of leg room and plenty of room for thought. The other occupants were mostly rich businessman who had too much money to be caught fraternizing with the lower class. None of them gave me a second glance, and I was perfectly fine with it that way. Assholes with their noses in the air and silver spoons in their pockets, the lot of them.
The nightclub had fallen through, but I had picked up the trail again, finding which rat-hole my contact's killer had slinked under, and I was on the beat again, inching towards the murderous bastard.
On my way, another step closer towards salvation, towards my ultimate --and likely final-- case. Closer and closer I got, one step closer and one step deeper.
Flipping through the magazine, some drivel about the economy that I grabbed in the airport, my thoughts wandered. Almost thoughtlessly, I grabbed the pocket watch and flipped it open. The ancient hands clicking around in an endless chase around the dial, almost as endless and pointless as mine seemed to be. Foreboding, to be sure, but none so much as the picture across from it.
The one woman I ever fell in love with.
Ms. Sweetie.
Shutting the watch and clenching the old watch in a fist as the bittersweet memories flowed along with the anger, sorrow, joy, and regret that inevitably came with them as I once again re-avowed to complete this journey. Redd. Redd. Even thinking the name made my pulse rise and teeth gnash in anger. Redd, the one person who was more of a bastard than my mark.
I shook my head, setting the watch back in the pin-striped suit's breast pocket. I was on my way, after the mess in the city, well on my way towards the goal. Soon, I would get to my goal, and it would be over. One way or the other, I could finally lay Ms. Sweetie's memory to rest. One way or another, we would finally finish this long, pointless journey around our hopeless dial.
One way or the other, someone was going to pay.
Previous: [[[9. Mr. Clumsy]]] by Tanhony
[[>]]
Next: [[[Interval 2]]] by Salman Corbette
[[/>]]
[[[tales-of-mr-collector|Back to Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-23T04:26:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | 10. Mr. Mission - SCP Foundation | 67 | [
"9-mr-clumsy",
"interval-2",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-3-tales-edition",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11753796 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/10-mr-mission |
|
11-mr-feather | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Mr. Feather drifts off a clifftop and flutters down four hundred feet, passing clumps of hairy grass and rock dove nests, and hits the ground at the bottom with a <em>thump</em>. He groans, and pulls himself up to his elbows, only to meet the eyes of a short, round-faced girl with black hair standing at the ravine. She blinks mutely.</p>
<p>He stands up, brushes off the elbows of his suit, pulls down the powder-blue lapels and straightens the feather from his hat. The man is skinny, too skinny, and he looks like a corn stalk, but, eminently polite, he leaves his hat off and bows to the girl all the same.</p>
<p>She blinks at him, and Mr. Feather immediately knows what she thinks- she’s six or seven, just where things that can’t happen have just come apart from things that can happen, and Mr. Feather is one of those: men don’t exist who can drift off the tallest hillside in the state and not be all broken and twisted. And he got up again.</p>
<p>The girl turns tail and runs. Mr. Feather smiles and follows her. Something is flapping in his chest. She doesn’t know him yet—Mr. Feather can always fall and never break.</p>
<p>At her home, the girl’s mother cooks dinner for the two of them, when Mr. Feather knocks on her door. He is, she thinks, so <em>thin</em>, that when he gently tells her, “Madam, my car broke down up the road- if you don’t mind, I’m very hungry, I have a blood condition-” He stops once she smiles a little, won over, embarrassed for his plight. “Well, let me look in the fridge, I might have some fruit…”</p>
<p>Her girl, the black-haired one, stands in the hallway and stares at him. He looks at her, but feels a familiar gentle tug in his chest—there is a bird living there, and it just woke up. His vision goes a little faint-colored, and the girl’s gaze passes through him.</p>
<p>“Actually, pardon me, madam-” Just as she turns towards the refrigerator, it slips and he tumbles over the house’s railing. Out, down, over the deck and the manicured suburban lawn- the grass hardly touches him. It slips a little further so that when he blows towards a chainlink fence and passes through it- now comes the interpass, three cars swerve out of his way, a motorcycle slows down as he <em>whooshes</em> past. Two car drivers talk when they pass by- tumbleweeds don’t grow around here, do they? Must be construction. Heels over head and around and around, he falls to rest in a ditch full of ivy, and comes back slowly, wincing.</p>
<p>Sighing, he gets up again, putting on his hat. It wouldn’t do to forget it. If Redd is really there when he arrives, he doesn’t know what he’ll do, but these days the memory of Ms. Sweetie- well, Sweetheart, he called her- is enough to keep him going. Sugar and Feathers were always a good combination, right? Light, lovable, and halfway intangible and breakable- well, no. Not that. For that reason alone, it could have never worked.</p>
<p>Mr. Feather feels for the feather in his hat, adjusts it, and keeps walking. With any luck, he’ll hitch a ride. Night falls on the highway, and he walks and he walks and the birds fly home around him.</p>
<p>Previous: <a href="/interval-2">Interval 2</a> by Salman Corbette<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>Next: <a href="/mr-laugh">12. Mr. Laugh</a> by Alias</p>
</div>
<p><a href="/tales-of-mr-collector">Back to Hub</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/11-mr-feather">11. Mr. Feather</a>" by Sophia Light, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/11-mr-feather">https://scpwiki.com/11-mr-feather</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Mr. Feather drifts off a clifftop and flutters down four hundred feet, passing clumps of hairy grass and rock dove nests, and hits the ground at the bottom with a //thump//. He groans, and pulls himself up to his elbows, only to meet the eyes of a short, round-faced girl with black hair standing at the ravine. She blinks mutely.
He stands up, brushes off the elbows of his suit, pulls down the powder-blue lapels and straightens the feather from his hat. The man is skinny, too skinny, and he looks like a corn stalk, but, eminently polite, he leaves his hat off and bows to the girl all the same.
She blinks at him, and Mr. Feather immediately knows what she thinks- she’s six or seven, just where things that can’t happen have just come apart from things that can happen, and Mr. Feather is one of those: men don’t exist who can drift off the tallest hillside in the state and not be all broken and twisted. And he got up again.
The girl turns tail and runs. Mr. Feather smiles and follows her. Something is flapping in his chest. She doesn’t know him yet--Mr. Feather can always fall and never break.
At her home, the girl’s mother cooks dinner for the two of them, when Mr. Feather knocks on her door. He is, she thinks, so //thin//, that when he gently tells her, “Madam, my car broke down up the road- if you don’t mind, I’m very hungry, I have a blood condition-” He stops once she smiles a little, won over, embarrassed for his plight. “Well, let me look in the fridge, I might have some fruit…”
Her girl, the black-haired one, stands in the hallway and stares at him. He looks at her, but feels a familiar gentle tug in his chest--there is a bird living there, and it just woke up. His vision goes a little faint-colored, and the girl’s gaze passes through him.
“Actually, pardon me, madam-” Just as she turns towards the refrigerator, it slips and he tumbles over the house’s railing. Out, down, over the deck and the manicured suburban lawn- the grass hardly touches him. It slips a little further so that when he blows towards a chainlink fence and passes through it- now comes the interpass, three cars swerve out of his way, a motorcycle slows down as he //whooshes// past. Two car drivers talk when they pass by- tumbleweeds don’t grow around here, do they? Must be construction. Heels over head and around and around, he falls to rest in a ditch full of ivy, and comes back slowly, wincing.
Sighing, he gets up again, putting on his hat. It wouldn’t do to forget it. If Redd is really there when he arrives, he doesn’t know what he’ll do, but these days the memory of Ms. Sweetie- well, Sweetheart, he called her- is enough to keep him going. Sugar and Feathers were always a good combination, right? Light, lovable, and halfway intangible and breakable- well, no. Not that. For that reason alone, it could have never worked.
Mr. Feather feels for the feather in his hat, adjusts it, and keeps walking. With any luck, he’ll hitch a ride. Night falls on the highway, and he walks and he walks and the birds fly home around him.
Previous: [[[Interval 2]]] by Salman Corbette
[[>]]
Next: [[[mr-laugh|12. Mr. Laugh]]] by Alias
[[/>]]
[[[tales-of-mr-collector|Back to Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-25T03:44:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | 11. Mr. Feather - SCP Foundation | 90 | [
"interval-2",
"mr-laugh",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11766033 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/11-mr-feather |
|
13-mr-purple | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><span style="font-size:0%;">☦Really, don't read this!☦ </span></p>
<p>The pointy tip of my cane was quite thirsty, and the punk sating the end of it wasn't doing much as far as quenching went. Yet, steel tongue, slavering ruby filth, withdrew from the wound in the tenant's skull with a delicate twist, flourish, and charm. The man's shouting and whining – the contorted wobble of a recently marred mutt – chimed every now and again until his chest stopped moving. The steely fang leapt in again and again, perforating the vessel of flesh, forcefully liberating the soul. Everything else from then on was spectacle: little bits of flesh removing the need for anything as vulgar as a chalk outline, lazy strands of emancipated veins like the roots or branches of an old willow, a porous face and honed pupils entombed in perpetual disbelief. I found myself laughing like a macaque with each recoil. Baring teeth, my crooked, gnarled grin envied by piranha.</p>
<p>When it was all said and mutilated, I sat next to the corpse sensing the cold glare not of conscience, but discontent. I was still hungry, and I'd want to sate that nagging appetite before this convulsion was all said and done. The twitch came and went; life came and went. I caught at the man's blood vacating the throat, spluttering, stupid, and held back a titter.</p>
<p>—</p>
<p>I was a hermit in a vague village full of vague people. I was old, broken, weathered, with a sour sense of humor. On that trail I looked through windows of houses and saw sills with little gardens in them. I saw mossy wooden shacks with boards made from ancient but obscure trees, built by drifters an untellable amount of time ago. I would look at the changing weather, the shifting sky, the dark and the light, how the sun would rise and fall, and I would laugh. I thought it was funny, how they did such things in such a course, with such punctuality. The blue sky, with a big gaping mouth minutes from savoring the world.</p>
<p>In my dreams I jumped up into gray clouds and made a home. In this dream my brain was hanging out of the top of a fractured skull by the wires, orbited by chickadees singing pop goes the weasel. A soft dream that made me wake feeling refreshed and happy, if only for a moment, before the thoughts of Mr. Redd returned from the miasma in my crippled psyche. I found some solace in the silhouettes on walls, friend to an afterthought of a candle, and the shadows which would often grace my feet. This shadow would always stand silent and waiting for my next move, ever faithful, only victim to changing light.</p>
<p>I grafted the space between my pant-leg and my flesh with the aid of mountain air and some novice oxidation. My eye-holes were bouncing back and forth; reaming! The clouds played a respectful homage as they slowly wafted by; soft grays and impossible purples. I pulled the cloth from the oil and winced slightly, noticing the clouds were smiling at me and informing me that I should give up. Mr. Redd appeared in my mind occasionally to inform me that I was a great lie caught between a little truth.</p>
<p>In my dreams, I was running from something unforeseeable. Hobbling; in wide circles around a little grubby hovel with my tail clanking between my legs. Lightning striking the ground hundreds of miles away punctuated the time between the tips of my footpads hitting the ground and the pivot of my heels manipulating soft orange dust. I thought that I had long since lost my oppressors' shadow underneath the pistons and gears years ago, but his intuition had never failed him. I am always anxious.</p>
<p>I stirred that morning attentive, and my wits bade me take flight through the threshold of the cave where I was resting – little faceless god-knows-whats hanging from veins along the walls bade me farewell.</p>
<p>I etched "Liar" into a headstone leaning on a cliff I came across, although I’m not sure why. I set the crude visage of a headless peacock which I had produced from my skull to perch the top. There were a few wind chimes nearby hanging from some petrified cacti. I pulled back a leather hatch leading down into a hole nearby and rested my head on the organs inside.</p>
<p>The pounding heat turned the few hairs below the horizon into the fabled river of death. Masses of pulsing, wriggling agate-skinned maggots curdled and churned there. I made-believe once that I had flown off into the rot, towards the black shores of fingernails. I would fly there; high, up towards the brain, and commit the full tilt of a nosedive deep into the bowels - trailing with stygian blood – killing Mr. Redd and myself. A bittersweet daydream, even if things never went quite as expected.</p>
<p>The sun was present that day, as was the rain; friends they were to soft glowing golden clouds. The dusk signaled me to put on my footpads – it was a night for a walk. I went down into the city so that something might find me there. I had not exercised in a long time, and I was starting to malfunction. I opened my mouth and "fix by sigh why night" let loose: my usual incoherent jumble when I try to vocalize. I didn't mind the tongues, and it didn't really matter when no one else was around. So I'd walk a mile or two down to a dive muttering this gibberish, muttering this "alarm invention at what time I descry why try" and tilt my hand over my cane as if performing for the dirt. No, I didn't need to flatter the dirt, not Mr. Purple. Mr. Purple was pretty and he knew things!</p>
<p>Occasionally I would stop, and scowl into the trees. I knew they were out there: Mr. Redd’s shy and malefic shadows.</p>
<p>—</p>
<p>After I had awoken from resting on the corpse, a face paled through the dusk with the chime of a man’s gravelly voice. I excreted a great deal of my oil when I realized who it was.</p>
<p>Previous: <a href="/mr-laugh">12. Mr. Laugh</a> by Alias<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>Next: <a href="/14-mr-brass">14. Mr. Brass</a> by GrandEnder</p>
</div>
<p><a href="/tales-of-mr-collector">Back to Hub</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/13-mr-purple">13. Mr. Purple</a>" by faminepulse, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/13-mr-purple">https://scpwiki.com/13-mr-purple</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="/component:scp-pride">component:scp-pride</a>]]
[[size 0%]]☦Really, don't read this!☦ [[/size]]
The pointy tip of my cane was quite thirsty, and the punk sating the end of it wasn't doing much as far as quenching went. Yet, steel tongue, slavering ruby filth, withdrew from the wound in the tenant's skull with a delicate twist, flourish, and charm. The man's shouting and whining – the contorted wobble of a recently marred mutt – chimed every now and again until his chest stopped moving. The steely fang leapt in again and again, perforating the vessel of flesh, forcefully liberating the soul. Everything else from then on was spectacle: little bits of flesh removing the need for anything as vulgar as a chalk outline, lazy strands of emancipated veins like the roots or branches of an old willow, a porous face and honed pupils entombed in perpetual disbelief. I found myself laughing like a macaque with each recoil. Baring teeth, my crooked, gnarled grin envied by piranha.
When it was all said and mutilated, I sat next to the corpse sensing the cold glare not of conscience, but discontent. I was still hungry, and I'd want to sate that nagging appetite before this convulsion was all said and done. The twitch came and went; life came and went. I caught at the man's blood vacating the throat, spluttering, stupid, and held back a titter.
--
I was a hermit in a vague village full of vague people. I was old, broken, weathered, with a sour sense of humor. On that trail I looked through windows of houses and saw sills with little gardens in them. I saw mossy wooden shacks with boards made from ancient but obscure trees, built by drifters an untellable amount of time ago. I would look at the changing weather, the shifting sky, the dark and the light, how the sun would rise and fall, and I would laugh. I thought it was funny, how they did such things in such a course, with such punctuality. The blue sky, with a big gaping mouth minutes from savoring the world.
In my dreams I jumped up into gray clouds and made a home. In this dream my brain was hanging out of the top of a fractured skull by the wires, orbited by chickadees singing pop goes the weasel. A soft dream that made me wake feeling refreshed and happy, if only for a moment, before the thoughts of Mr. Redd returned from the miasma in my crippled psyche. I found some solace in the silhouettes on walls, friend to an afterthought of a candle, and the shadows which would often grace my feet. This shadow would always stand silent and waiting for my next move, ever faithful, only victim to changing light.
I grafted the space between my pant-leg and my flesh with the aid of mountain air and some novice oxidation. My eye-holes were bouncing back and forth; reaming! The clouds played a respectful homage as they slowly wafted by; soft grays and impossible purples. I pulled the cloth from the oil and winced slightly, noticing the clouds were smiling at me and informing me that I should give up. Mr. Redd appeared in my mind occasionally to inform me that I was a great lie caught between a little truth.
In my dreams, I was running from something unforeseeable. Hobbling; in wide circles around a little grubby hovel with my tail clanking between my legs. Lightning striking the ground hundreds of miles away punctuated the time between the tips of my footpads hitting the ground and the pivot of my heels manipulating soft orange dust. I thought that I had long since lost my oppressors' shadow underneath the pistons and gears years ago, but his intuition had never failed him. I am always anxious.
I stirred that morning attentive, and my wits bade me take flight through the threshold of the cave where I was resting – little faceless god-knows-whats hanging from veins along the walls bade me farewell.
I etched "Liar" into a headstone leaning on a cliff I came across, although I’m not sure why. I set the crude visage of a headless peacock which I had produced from my skull to perch the top. There were a few wind chimes nearby hanging from some petrified cacti. I pulled back a leather hatch leading down into a hole nearby and rested my head on the organs inside.
The pounding heat turned the few hairs below the horizon into the fabled river of death. Masses of pulsing, wriggling agate-skinned maggots curdled and churned there. I made-believe once that I had flown off into the rot, towards the black shores of fingernails. I would fly there; high, up towards the brain, and commit the full tilt of a nosedive deep into the bowels - trailing with stygian blood – killing Mr. Redd and myself. A bittersweet daydream, even if things never went quite as expected.
The sun was present that day, as was the rain; friends they were to soft glowing golden clouds. The dusk signaled me to put on my footpads – it was a night for a walk. I went down into the city so that something might find me there. I had not exercised in a long time, and I was starting to malfunction. I opened my mouth and "fix by sigh why night" let loose: my usual incoherent jumble when I try to vocalize. I didn't mind the tongues, and it didn't really matter when no one else was around. So I'd walk a mile or two down to a dive muttering this gibberish, muttering this "alarm invention at what time I descry why try" and tilt my hand over my cane as if performing for the dirt. No, I didn't need to flatter the dirt, not Mr. Purple. Mr. Purple was pretty and he knew things!
Occasionally I would stop, and scowl into the trees. I knew they were out there: Mr. Redd’s shy and malefic shadows.
--
After I had awoken from resting on the corpse, a face paled through the dusk with the chime of a man’s gravelly voice. I excreted a great deal of my oil when I realized who it was.
Previous: [[[mr-laugh|12. Mr. Laugh]]] by Alias
[[>]]
Next: [[[14. Mr. Brass]]] by GrandEnder
[[/>]]
[[[tales-of-mr-collector|Back to Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=faminepulse]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-26T04:11:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | 13. Mr. Purple - SCP Foundation | 56 | [
"mr-laugh",
"14-mr-brass",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"kaktuskast-hub",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11770758 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/13-mr-purple |
|
14-mr-brass | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>You're following in line with your traveling companion, your feet a few steps behind him.</p>
<p>You surmised him as friendly in your thoughts when you first met him. "Entertaining company", was how you remembered it. He was a talker, a foil to your pragmatic silence. You had heard of great composers and musicians, but this man's knowledge eclipsed them all. You could not name a tune without a song he knew, even the few which you seemed to come up on your own. But the strangest of all the features he had were those hands of his, and the sounds that he made with them.</p>
<p>On the first day you met, he showed you his talent without delay. He simply placed his hands on an immaterial instrument before his lips and blew. An invisible instrument with neither color nor form, but made melodies all the same. Every time you talked he had a new instrument, whether a tuba, trumpet or trombone. When your friendship was young, you had asked him of his nature, how had he become a Mister, in the same way you had asked many people. He told you he never knew, he merely awoke into the life one day. Those early memories were from a long time ago.</p>
<p>It was only a few hours ago that you had found him again, and in that time you had made him your friend once more. But, already his music is taking a different tone. It was darker than before, dimmer. It did not escape your mind that he had realized the similarities - certain things can be dyed or shaved, but others cannot. Still, you had changed so much since those early memories, he could not possibly. . ? The other man's sight flashes about the forest path which you had taken him down. He asks to turn back, you tell him it is only a bit farther.</p>
<p>Around a bend in the trees, ah, there. The noise of a dart firing, the yelp let out by Mr. Brass. You turn to face him as he loses consciousness. He finally makes the realization, the slight color of red to your eyes the last clue he needs. But it is too late for him. His body becomes limp in your arms.</p>
<p>"Breve."</p>
<p>Previous: <a href="/13-mr-purple">13. Mr. Purple</a> by Faminepulse<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>Next: <a href="/15-ms-sweetie">15. Ms. Sweetie</a> by The Deadly Moose</p>
</div>
<p><a href="/tales-of-mr-collector">Back to Hub</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/14-mr-brass">14. Mr. Brass</a>" by GrandEnder, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/14-mr-brass">https://scpwiki.com/14-mr-brass</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
You're following in line with your traveling companion, your feet a few steps behind him.
You surmised him as friendly in your thoughts when you first met him. "Entertaining company", was how you remembered it. He was a talker, a foil to your pragmatic silence. You had heard of great composers and musicians, but this man's knowledge eclipsed them all. You could not name a tune without a song he knew, even the few which you seemed to come up on your own. But the strangest of all the features he had were those hands of his, and the sounds that he made with them.
On the first day you met, he showed you his talent without delay. He simply placed his hands on an immaterial instrument before his lips and blew. An invisible instrument with neither color nor form, but made melodies all the same. Every time you talked he had a new instrument, whether a tuba, trumpet or trombone. When your friendship was young, you had asked him of his nature, how had he become a Mister, in the same way you had asked many people. He told you he never knew, he merely awoke into the life one day. Those early memories were from a long time ago.
It was only a few hours ago that you had found him again, and in that time you had made him your friend once more. But, already his music is taking a different tone. It was darker than before, dimmer. It did not escape your mind that he had realized the similarities - certain things can be dyed or shaved, but others cannot. Still, you had changed so much since those early memories, he could not possibly. . ? The other man's sight flashes about the forest path which you had taken him down. He asks to turn back, you tell him it is only a bit farther.
Around a bend in the trees, ah, there. The noise of a dart firing, the yelp let out by Mr. Brass. You turn to face him as he loses consciousness. He finally makes the realization, the slight color of red to your eyes the last clue he needs. But it is too late for him. His body becomes limp in your arms.
"Breve."
Previous: [[[13. Mr. Purple]]] by Faminepulse
[[>]]
Next: [[[15. Ms. Sweetie]]] by The Deadly Moose
[[/>]]
[[[tales-of-mr-collector|Back to Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-28T01:00:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | 14. Mr. Brass - SCP Foundation | 69 | [
"13-mr-purple",
"15-ms-sweetie",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11782969 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/14-mr-brass |
|
15-ms-sweetie | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>So this is it, isn't it.</p>
<p>Yes, that's right, I'm Ms. Sweetie. The only Miss in the first few batches of Misters. Like the one girl Smurf. You know, women make up more than half the world's population. You've got to admit that just one token female character is messed up.</p>
<p>You've got questions? Well, so do I. Yeah, I don't really know where we come from here. Most of us don't. Our memories get confused… especially with the tweaking. Most of us have had to be tweaked from time to time. I suspect some of my brothers might have your answers, but I couldn't tell you which.</p>
<p>Did I start off human? Did I have a life before becoming a Little Mister - well, a Little Miss, in my case? I don't know. I don't remember. Rather, I guess I should say I have a lot of memories. Many of them don't actually match with each other. I remember three different fifteenth birthdays, one of which was a quinceañera. I don't show up in any missing persons database - I checked. Maybe this isn't my original face. Or my original body. In fact, in at least one of my sets of memories, I'm male. Some nights I stay awake and wonder if that's who I really am - some guy in his mid-twenties who got snatched off the street and reworked into some sick person's wet dream of a female. Incidentally, my chromosomes don't come up either XX <em>or</em> XY. Maybe all I am is a production error.</p>
<p>I do know that the Wondertainment people have tried majorly tweaking my personality at least three times, probably more that they made me forget. "Rebellious", one of them called me. "Problem". Won't stick to the theme, they said. Not sweet or girly enough to be Ms. Sweetie, which is a bit unfair if you ask me.</p>
<p>Superpower. Huh. Yeah, I don't think of them as 'superpowers'. They're my … nature, if you will. I'll admit my nature is a little creepy. Though it's not as bad as my first edition, where I was a person made up entirely of sweets and sugary confections rather than flesh and blood. I had health problems like you wouldn't believe. I could still feel pain and get sick, except every virus affected me in new and exciting and truly disgusting ways. After one accident where I vomited sugar-plum pudding for two weeks solid, the Wondertainment people scrapped that nature altogether. Made me flesh and blood again. Now, I'm basically just like a normal human, except that everyone who sees me loves me. Whether it's platonic, romantic, or more like the love you have for a pet or… the other definitions of love… that's up to the person. Which hasn't always worked out so well for me.</p>
<p>That isn't the only way I'm 'sweet'. I've always had a compassionate streak a mile wide. I'm a really caring person, more than I should be - it's kind of embarrassing, actually. I remember that I used to get some flack for it… and I think I can trust that memory, because I don't think Wondertainment would implant a memory that contradicts my "theme". Unless they're cleverer than I think, playing a bit of reverse psychology on me… But I sincerely doubt they're that smart. You know, during one of their "tweaks" they actually tried to make me <em>stupid</em>. What does that tell you, eh? I haven't forgiven them for that. If there's a single person behind the Dr. Wondertainment moniker, you can bet that person has a penis.</p>
<p>I don't mind the name Ms. Sweetie as much as you might think, by the way. It's… iconic. Kind of a lame icon as icons go, but in my position, you take what you can get.</p>
<p>Being the only woman on most of the Little Mister lists makes for some interesting dynamics. Several of the other Misters fell in love with me, or at least said they did while also acting like moony teenagers. Like Mr. Mission. And Mr. Storm. And Mr. Feather. And at least half the others who weren't busy seeing me as their mommy. That would be bad enough by itself. Plus, I don't think I'm exactly interested. In men. At all. So when I said 'interesting' I actually meant 'really shitty'.</p>
<p>Did any of that sound harsh? I didn't mean it to. I like them. I really do. I care about them, even. I like them all, even Mr. Stripes. All except…</p>
<p>I still remember. Wondertainment tried to wipe my memory but it wouldn't take, not for this. I like to think it wouldn't help. It's not going to help to explain it, either. No, it wasn't rape. I don't even think Stripes comprehends that idea. It just wouldn't help to explain what happened. You wouldn't understand it anyway. Just remember this — he did it with adoration in his eyes.</p>
<p>I have to find him. I need to get to him before Mr. Stripes, or Mr. Mad, or any of the others.</p>
<p>Not all the others know the specific details. A couple of them know a little bit. Most of the others heard about it, of course. Word gets around. Now, apparently, a whole bunch of them are coming for Mr. Redd. I didn't send them, but when you're the only woman in a roomful of guys, the men either objectify you, put you on a pedestal, or both. Which means that I may as well be Ms. Damsel-In-Distress, and they are all Mr. White-Knights.</p>
<p>Maybe I should tell them I suspect I started off a man. But maybe they'd turn on me too. I remember what Wondertainment did to Mr. Hot when they caught him kissing… No, I'm not going to think about that.</p>
<p>I suppose I can't object too much. It wasn't just me that Mr. Redd hurt. I'm not even sure I was the worst. Just the most public.</p>
<p>But I don't want them to find Mr. Redd. Because I'm <em>not</em> a damsel in distress. As much as Wondertainment has tried to make me that way. The others, they talk about avenging my memory, like I'm dead and gone like some <em>human.</em> Ha. I wish. But they're really just avenging the way I was before - innocent, naive, …stupid. Yeah, I'll never go back to the way I was before, but <em>I'm still here.</em> I don't need their efforts. I'm not just some victim.</p>
<p>I've got plans. Not just the obvious. Sure, I've got the handgun in my pocket, and yeah, I'm gonna at least <em>try</em> to shoot him in the face. Sort of an obligation at this point. But that's just for starters. Being honest, I expect to go down for a while when the endgame starts. I know Mr. Redd. You can't beat him head to head like that. But it'll all unwind by the time it's over. You wouldn't believe the kinds of resources and connections you can pile up when everyone thinks they love you. I wish I could be there when he finally gets taken… Or when he sees my face again, in the containment cell, for hopefully the last time…</p>
<p>I always liked the Foundation, really. There are worse ways to spend the rest of your life.</p>
<p>What was the name of that old poem? From that collection they gave me when they were trying to make me properly feminine? Ah, yes. <em>"Vengeance is sweet."</em></p>
<p>See, it even fits my theme.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Previous: <a href="/14-mr-brass">14. Mr. Brass</a> by Grand Ender<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>Next: <a href="/mr-fish">16. Mr. Fish</a> by Dexanote</p>
</div>
<p><a href="/tales-of-mr-collector">Back to Hub</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/15-ms-sweetie">15. Ms. Sweetie</a>" by thedeadlymoose, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/15-ms-sweetie">https://scpwiki.com/15-ms-sweetie</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
So this is it, isn't it.
Yes, that's right, I'm Ms. Sweetie. The only Miss in the first few batches of Misters. Like the one girl Smurf. You know, women make up more than half the world's population. You've got to admit that just one token female character is messed up.
You've got questions? Well, so do I. Yeah, I don't really know where we come from here. Most of us don't. Our memories get confused... especially with the tweaking. Most of us have had to be tweaked from time to time. I suspect some of my brothers might have your answers, but I couldn't tell you which.
Did I start off human? Did I have a life before becoming a Little Mister - well, a Little Miss, in my case? I don't know. I don't remember. Rather, I guess I should say I have a lot of memories. Many of them don't actually match with each other. I remember three different fifteenth birthdays, one of which was a quinceañera. I don't show up in any missing persons database - I checked. Maybe this isn't my original face. Or my original body. In fact, in at least one of my sets of memories, I'm male. Some nights I stay awake and wonder if that's who I really am - some guy in his mid-twenties who got snatched off the street and reworked into some sick person's wet dream of a female. Incidentally, my chromosomes don't come up either XX //or// XY. Maybe all I am is a production error.
I do know that the Wondertainment people have tried majorly tweaking my personality at least three times, probably more that they made me forget. "Rebellious", one of them called me. "Problem". Won't stick to the theme, they said. Not sweet or girly enough to be Ms. Sweetie, which is a bit unfair if you ask me.
Superpower. Huh. Yeah, I don't think of them as 'superpowers'. They're my ... nature, if you will. I'll admit my nature is a little creepy. Though it's not as bad as my first edition, where I was a person made up entirely of sweets and sugary confections rather than flesh and blood. I had health problems like you wouldn't believe. I could still feel pain and get sick, except every virus affected me in new and exciting and truly disgusting ways. After one accident where I vomited sugar-plum pudding for two weeks solid, the Wondertainment people scrapped that nature altogether. Made me flesh and blood again. Now, I'm basically just like a normal human, except that everyone who sees me loves me. Whether it's platonic, romantic, or more like the love you have for a pet or... the other definitions of love... that's up to the person. Which hasn't always worked out so well for me.
That isn't the only way I'm 'sweet'. I've always had a compassionate streak a mile wide. I'm a really caring person, more than I should be - it's kind of embarrassing, actually. I remember that I used to get some flack for it... and I think I can trust that memory, because I don't think Wondertainment would implant a memory that contradicts my "theme". Unless they're cleverer than I think, playing a bit of reverse psychology on me... But I sincerely doubt they're that smart. You know, during one of their "tweaks" they actually tried to make me //stupid//. What does that tell you, eh? I haven't forgiven them for that. If there's a single person behind the Dr. Wondertainment moniker, you can bet that person has a penis.
I don't mind the name Ms. Sweetie as much as you might think, by the way. It's... iconic. Kind of a lame icon as icons go, but in my position, you take what you can get.
Being the only woman on most of the Little Mister lists makes for some interesting dynamics. Several of the other Misters fell in love with me, or at least said they did while also acting like moony teenagers. Like Mr. Mission. And Mr. Storm. And Mr. Feather. And at least half the others who weren't busy seeing me as their mommy. That would be bad enough by itself. Plus, I don't think I'm exactly interested. In men. At all. So when I said 'interesting' I actually meant 'really shitty'.
Did any of that sound harsh? I didn't mean it to. I like them. I really do. I care about them, even. I like them all, even Mr. Stripes. All except...
I still remember. Wondertainment tried to wipe my memory but it wouldn't take, not for this. I like to think it wouldn't help. It's not going to help to explain it, either. No, it wasn't rape. I don't even think Stripes comprehends that idea. It just wouldn't help to explain what happened. You wouldn't understand it anyway. Just remember this -- he did it with adoration in his eyes.
I have to find him. I need to get to him before Mr. Stripes, or Mr. Mad, or any of the others.
Not all the others know the specific details. A couple of them know a little bit. Most of the others heard about it, of course. Word gets around. Now, apparently, a whole bunch of them are coming for Mr. Redd. I didn't send them, but when you're the only woman in a roomful of guys, the men either objectify you, put you on a pedestal, or both. Which means that I may as well be Ms. Damsel-In-Distress, and they are all Mr. White-Knights.
Maybe I should tell them I suspect I started off a man. But maybe they'd turn on me too. I remember what Wondertainment did to Mr. Hot when they caught him kissing... No, I'm not going to think about that.
I suppose I can't object too much. It wasn't just me that Mr. Redd hurt. I'm not even sure I was the worst. Just the most public.
But I don't want them to find Mr. Redd. Because I'm //not// a damsel in distress. As much as Wondertainment has tried to make me that way. The others, they talk about avenging my memory, like I'm dead and gone like some //human.// Ha. I wish. But they're really just avenging the way I was before - innocent, naive, ...stupid. Yeah, I'll never go back to the way I was before, but //I'm still here.// I don't need their efforts. I'm not just some victim.
I've got plans. Not just the obvious. Sure, I've got the handgun in my pocket, and yeah, I'm gonna at least //try// to shoot him in the face. Sort of an obligation at this point. But that's just for starters. Being honest, I expect to go down for a while when the endgame starts. I know Mr. Redd. You can't beat him head to head like that. But it'll all unwind by the time it's over. You wouldn't believe the kinds of resources and connections you can pile up when everyone thinks they love you. I wish I could be there when he finally gets taken... Or when he sees my face again, in the containment cell, for hopefully the last time...
I always liked the Foundation, really. There are worse ways to spend the rest of your life.
What was the name of that old poem? From that collection they gave me when they were trying to make me properly feminine? Ah, yes. //"Vengeance is sweet."//
See, it even fits my theme.
--------
Previous: [[[14. Mr. Brass]]] by Grand Ender
[[>]]
Next: [[[mr-fish|16. Mr. Fish]]] by Dexanote
[[/>]]
[[[tales-of-mr-collector|Back to Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-28T23:52:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | 15. Ms. Sweetie - SCP Foundation | 125 | [
"14-mr-brass",
"mr-fish",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-3-tales-edition",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11789164 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/15-ms-sweetie |
|
173 | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
<tt>He stands<br/>
king<br/>
over all he has ever wanted; a shadowed corner<br/>
in a fetid cell.<br/>
Life<br/>
is <em>nothing</em> to stone.<br/>
Mountains erode.<br/>
Hillsides crumble.<br/>
<em>To him, they go as whisper fast as <strong>men</strong></em><br/>
whose eyes<br/>
have<br/>
failed<br/>
them.<br/>
Offal spreads from his feet,<br/>
stinking, harsh,<br/>
making unprepared eyes water-<br/>
so much faster,<br/>
stone.<br/>
Stone does not care for life,<br/>
and this stone cares yet less<br/>
but for the quick,<br/>
subtle<br/>
delicate<br/>
erosion<br/>
of the <em>snap</em> of bone on bone.<br/>
"Abandon all hope ye who enter here."<br/>
Stone does not care.<br/>
Don't blink.</tt>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/173">173</a>" by tunedtoadeadchannel, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/173">https://scpwiki.com/173</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
{{He stands
king
over all he has ever wanted; a shadowed corner
in a fetid cell.
Life
is //nothing// to stone.
Mountains erode.
Hillsides crumble.
//To him, they go as whisper fast as **men**//
whose eyes
have
failed
them.
Offal spreads from his feet,
stinking, harsh,
making unprepared eyes water-
so much faster,
stone.
Stone does not care for life,
and this stone cares yet less
but for the quick,
subtle
delicate
erosion
of the //snap// of bone on bone.
"Abandon all hope ye who enter here."
Stone does not care.
Don't blink.}}
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-03-26T02:46:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"murder-monster",
"poetry",
"tale",
"the-sculpture"
] | 173 - SCP Foundation | 238 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 8716098 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/173 |
|
3-mr-money | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Hi there. My name is Mr. Money. Don't worry, I just need somebody to talk to. Seeing as it's just you and me on this bus, it might as well be you.</p>
<p>I'd talk to the driver, but there's a sign right there saying not to. See? <em>Do not disturb the driver</em>. I wouldn't do that, seeing as how the bus might crash and then I'd have to <em>walk</em> all that way. You ever walk in rain like this? Let me tell you, it's freezing! So I'm just gonna sit here and talk to you. You.</p>
<p>Oh come on, don't move! I'm just being friendly. Here, take this! See, we're pals now, right? Yes, it's a diamond. Yes, it's real. You see, pal, I know how friendship works. You hearing me…? What's your name, anyway? Well, hello Dave.</p>
<p>It's nice to meet a smart fellow like yourself. I usually hang around with this group…ugh, you would not believe. They didn't understand how friendship works, no they did not. Not like you, Dave.</p>
<p>I gave them dollars and dimes and <em>fucking</em> diamonds! And all they did is call me a snob! Me, can you believe that, Dave?! Have another diamond, you're a good friend and you look like you could use it.</p>
<p>Seriously though; me, a snob? It's not easy to get all this cash, believe me! Puking out the bills is fine, they come out easy. Even coins are no big deal.</p>
<p>But with diamonds, it's not so easy! You can choke on diamonds! I have a few times, let me tell you. Good thing Ms. Sweetie was there, though. I would have been a goner! She was always very kind, Ms. Sweetie. Even if she just pitied me, just <em>fucking</em> pitied me!</p>
<p>Stop <em>fucking</em> moving, Dave! No, don't go, have another diamond, please! I'm sorry for shouting, I didn't mean to. Must have gotten that from Redd, always shouting. Gave me a headache, I don't mind saying.</p>
<p>What's that? Well, Dave, that is a very good question and I don't <em>fucking</em> know why I can puke money so shut the <em>fuck</em> up! Sorry, diamond, sorry. I'll tell you what I do know, because friends share secrets. We're friends, right Dave?</p>
<p>I have to know what kind of money I want to puke. I couldn't spit out some yen or something for you right now, because I've never been to Asia and I don't know what yen looks like. You ever been to Asia? Suppose not, flights <em>are</em> kind of expensive. So, enough about me, where are you headed?</p>
<p>Me, I'm headed for…well, I don't really know, but I'm getting there before those little shits, I know that. They said it wasn't a race, but let me tell you, Dave, it's always a race. Have a diamond.</p>
<p>Previous: 2. <a href="/mr-clank">Mr. Clank</a> by Dr Gears<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>Next: 4. <a href="/4-mr-lie">Mr. Lie</a> by Salman Corbette</p>
</div>
<p><a href="/tales-of-mr-collector">Back to Hub</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/3-mr-money">3. Mr. Money</a>" by Tanhony, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/3-mr-money">https://scpwiki.com/3-mr-money</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Hi there. My name is Mr. Money. Don't worry, I just need somebody to talk to. Seeing as it's just you and me on this bus, it might as well be you.
I'd talk to the driver, but there's a sign right there saying not to. See? //Do not disturb the driver//. I wouldn't do that, seeing as how the bus might crash and then I'd have to //walk// all that way. You ever walk in rain like this? Let me tell you, it's freezing! So I'm just gonna sit here and talk to you. You.
Oh come on, don't move! I'm just being friendly. Here, take this! See, we're pals now, right? Yes, it's a diamond. Yes, it's real. You see, pal, I know how friendship works. You hearing me...? What's your name, anyway? Well, hello Dave.
It's nice to meet a smart fellow like yourself. I usually hang around with this group...ugh, you would not believe. They didn't understand how friendship works, no they did not. Not like you, Dave.
I gave them dollars and dimes and //fucking// diamonds! And all they did is call me a snob! Me, can you believe that, Dave?! Have another diamond, you're a good friend and you look like you could use it.
Seriously though; me, a snob? It's not easy to get all this cash, believe me! Puking out the bills is fine, they come out easy. Even coins are no big deal.
But with diamonds, it's not so easy! You can choke on diamonds! I have a few times, let me tell you. Good thing Ms. Sweetie was there, though. I would have been a goner! She was always very kind, Ms. Sweetie. Even if she just pitied me, just //fucking// pitied me!
Stop //fucking// moving, Dave! No, don't go, have another diamond, please! I'm sorry for shouting, I didn't mean to. Must have gotten that from Redd, always shouting. Gave me a headache, I don't mind saying.
What's that? Well, Dave, that is a very good question and I don't //fucking// know why I can puke money so shut the //fuck// up! Sorry, diamond, sorry. I'll tell you what I do know, because friends share secrets. We're friends, right Dave?
I have to know what kind of money I want to puke. I couldn't spit out some yen or something for you right now, because I've never been to Asia and I don't know what yen looks like. You ever been to Asia? Suppose not, flights //are// kind of expensive. So, enough about me, where are you headed?
Me, I'm headed for...well, I don't really know, but I'm getting there before those little shits, I know that. They said it wasn't a race, but let me tell you, Dave, it's always a race. Have a diamond.
Previous: 2. [[[mr-clank|Mr. Clank]]] by Dr Gears
[[>]]
Next: 4. [[[4-mr-lie|Mr. Lie]]] by Salman Corbette
[[/>]]
[[[tales-of-mr-collector|Back to Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-16T15:56:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | 3. Mr. Money - SCP Foundation | 136 | [
"mr-clank",
"4-mr-lie",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-3-tales-edition",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11713270 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/3-mr-money |
|
4-mr-lie | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>I hate jail. You know how many times I've been in jail since I started on this journey? 12. Of course, I always get out eventually when there's no evidence, but hot damn does it suck. Seriously, even without the fear instilled in dropping the soap, the rations are harsh and the guards always beat me. They always say I looked at them funny.</p>
<p>Today I was walking down the street and I was stopped by two cops. They took me away to a line-up where the witness had to choose the suspect. The suspect was described as a 6'2" Asian male. I'm a 5'4" Caucasian. Of course, being the suspicious character I am, I was chosen. I don't even know how to turn the safety off on a gun, let alone shoot somebody.</p>
<p>Even back in the day, all the Misters mistrusted me. One time, I was taking a peeler to the kitchen and Mr. Onion ran away and cried in the corner. I tried to assuage his fears, but instead he beat me up something fierce. Said I was baiting him. All I did was ask him if he was ok.</p>
<p>Redd was the only one who trusted me. "Lie, I like your chops," he said to me one time. Hopefully, one day, I'll see Redd again. I hear he might be where we're going. Of course, I didn't get to learn much more because once they had the chance, everyone ran as fast as they could away from me.</p>
<p>A child did that once when he saw me on the street. I waved at him and he took it as a gesture to a hidden group of snipers. Needless to say, the next minute I was tackled by his father, who thought me a child molester. What are they letting kids watch these days anyways that gives them these ideas?</p>
<p>I remember watching this movie in a Best Buy once where this guy was shooting at snipers. Of course, once the store clerks saw me, they called the police. One even decided it was time to take me down himself with his black belt in Ti Kwan Doe. I went down like a sack of bricks.</p>
<p>Jesus Christ, my feet hurt. I oughta see if a homeless shelter will take me for the night. Although, last time I tried they thought I was a drug dealer. Even patted me down multiple times. One of them even did a cavity check.</p>
<p>Maybe I'll just sleep outside tonight.</p>
<p>Previous: 3. <a href="/3-mr-money">Mr. Money</a> by Tanhony<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>Next: <a href="/5-mr-mad">5. Mr. Mad</a> by The Deadly Moose</p>
</div>
<p><a href="/tales-of-mr-collector">Back to Hub</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/4-mr-lie">4. Mr. Lie</a>" by Salman Corbette, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/4-mr-lie">https://scpwiki.com/4-mr-lie</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
I hate jail. You know how many times I've been in jail since I started on this journey? 12. Of course, I always get out eventually when there's no evidence, but hot damn does it suck. Seriously, even without the fear instilled in dropping the soap, the rations are harsh and the guards always beat me. They always say I looked at them funny.
Today I was walking down the street and I was stopped by two cops. They took me away to a line-up where the witness had to choose the suspect. The suspect was described as a 6'2" Asian male. I'm a 5'4" Caucasian. Of course, being the suspicious character I am, I was chosen. I don't even know how to turn the safety off on a gun, let alone shoot somebody.
Even back in the day, all the Misters mistrusted me. One time, I was taking a peeler to the kitchen and Mr. Onion ran away and cried in the corner. I tried to assuage his fears, but instead he beat me up something fierce. Said I was baiting him. All I did was ask him if he was ok.
Redd was the only one who trusted me. "Lie, I like your chops," he said to me one time. Hopefully, one day, I'll see Redd again. I hear he might be where we're going. Of course, I didn't get to learn much more because once they had the chance, everyone ran as fast as they could away from me.
A child did that once when he saw me on the street. I waved at him and he took it as a gesture to a hidden group of snipers. Needless to say, the next minute I was tackled by his father, who thought me a child molester. What are they letting kids watch these days anyways that gives them these ideas?
I remember watching this movie in a Best Buy once where this guy was shooting at snipers. Of course, once the store clerks saw me, they called the police. One even decided it was time to take me down himself with his black belt in Ti Kwan Doe. I went down like a sack of bricks.
Jesus Christ, my feet hurt. I oughta see if a homeless shelter will take me for the night. Although, last time I tried they thought I was a drug dealer. Even patted me down multiple times. One of them even did a cavity check.
Maybe I'll just sleep outside tonight.
Previous: 3. [[[3-mr-money|Mr. Money]]] by Tanhony
[[>]]
Next: [[[5. Mr. Mad]]] by The Deadly Moose
[[/>]]
[[[tales-of-mr-collector|Back to Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-17T18:01:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | 4. Mr. Lie - SCP Foundation | 112 | [
"3-mr-money",
"5-mr-mad",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-3-tales-edition",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11718885 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/4-mr-lie |
|
5-mr-mad | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>That goddamn bastard Stripes. I just heard the news - he's killed two of the others. At least it's not a discontinuation. But still.</p>
<p>Dr. Wondertainment did it, of course. Stripes never thought a fucking thing that Wondertainment didn't think first. Or someone at Wondertainment, fuck if I know. Is there an actual, singular Dr. Wondertainment? They don't fucking tell us nothing, though Stripes always did seem to know more than he should. Him and Redd. Goddamn son of a bitch Mr. Redd.</p>
<p>Things were going so well until we reached the End of the World. That's when the plan fell apart.</p>
<p>We had a plan. We had a plan. If the others had just motherfucking stuck to the plan, we'd all be sitting pretty, but no, they just couldn't. Bastards! Goddamn bastards! Goddamn-</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Sorry, where was I? Ugh. Fucking Wondertainment shtick. The last parting insult. When I get 'too' angry, I pass out for a little while. Needless to say, this happens a lot. That pisses me off too. Sometimes it sets off a repeating cycle, get mad, pass out, get mad, pass out… Christ.</p>
<p>Mr. Mad, they call me, ha ha very funny. Stamped and sewn together like the others. Were some of us people, real people, before this? I don't know. Was I? I really fucking don't know. Maybe this is all some sick joke by Wondertainment. Putting us through these paces. Letting some of us get thrown at that… what do they call it, the Foundation. Bunch of fucking assholes there too. They killed Mr. Onion, did you know that? For no good fucking reason. Peeled apart his layers and set them on fire. If the Foundation ever finds me… Well, let's just say they'll find out why you really don't want to make me angry.</p>
<p>That was a joke. Get it? Mr. Laugh would be proud. Especially proud, if Mr. Redd hadn't… ugh. Pisses me off just thinking about it. That goddamn PIECE OF SHIT! MOTHERFUCKING—</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Well, lost it there again, didn't I?</p>
<p>Mr. Mad, indeed. Maybe Light was right, maybe that's why Wondertainment did what he (she? they?) did. "You're too obvious," Mr. Light had said. "You're this guy who… gets angry. <em>Superhumanly</em> angry. You can't even affect other people."</p>
<p>Well, they underestimate Mr. Mad. You ever hear about ordinary people lifting cars when their adrenaline is high enough? Well, I can do that. I can do that whenever I want. Does it piss me off that I didn't get something more interesting as a Little Mister shtick? Of course it fucking pisses me off. How do you THINK I FEEL ABOUT—</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Okay. Just need to stay calm. Just long enough to do what I need to do.</p>
<p>I'm not going to wait around for them to get their act together. I'm going to find Redd myself. I'm going to find him and I'm going to do for him what he did for the others.</p>
<p>The others are afraid. Chickenshit little bastards, I say. I'm a little afraid of him too, I'll admit that much. But that never stopped me from goddamn anything and it sure as fuck is not going to start now. After what he did, not just the Ms. Sweetie thing, but the rest…</p>
<p>But I'll get him. Oh yes.</p>
<p>That goddamn sonuvabitch will never know what hit him.</p>
<p>Previous: <a href="/4-mr-lie">4. Mr. Lie</a> by Salman Corbette<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>Next: <a href="/interval-1">Interval 1</a> by Salman Corbette</p>
</div>
<p><a href="/tales-of-mr-collector">Back to Hub</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/5-mr-mad">5. Mr. Mad</a>" by thedeadlymoose, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/5-mr-mad">https://scpwiki.com/5-mr-mad</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
That goddamn bastard Stripes. I just heard the news - he's killed two of the others. At least it's not a discontinuation. But still.
Dr. Wondertainment did it, of course. Stripes never thought a fucking thing that Wondertainment didn't think first. Or someone at Wondertainment, fuck if I know. Is there an actual, singular Dr. Wondertainment? They don't fucking tell us nothing, though Stripes always did seem to know more than he should. Him and Redd. Goddamn son of a bitch Mr. Redd.
Things were going so well until we reached the End of the World. That's when the plan fell apart.
We had a plan. We had a plan. If the others had just motherfucking stuck to the plan, we'd all be sitting pretty, but no, they just couldn't. Bastards! Goddamn bastards! Goddamn-
*
Sorry, where was I? Ugh. Fucking Wondertainment shtick. The last parting insult. When I get 'too' angry, I pass out for a little while. Needless to say, this happens a lot. That pisses me off too. Sometimes it sets off a repeating cycle, get mad, pass out, get mad, pass out… Christ.
Mr. Mad, they call me, ha ha very funny. Stamped and sewn together like the others. Were some of us people, real people, before this? I don't know. Was I? I really fucking don't know. Maybe this is all some sick joke by Wondertainment. Putting us through these paces. Letting some of us get thrown at that… what do they call it, the Foundation. Bunch of fucking assholes there too. They killed Mr. Onion, did you know that? For no good fucking reason. Peeled apart his layers and set them on fire. If the Foundation ever finds me… Well, let's just say they'll find out why you really don't want to make me angry.
That was a joke. Get it? Mr. Laugh would be proud. Especially proud, if Mr. Redd hadn't… ugh. Pisses me off just thinking about it. That goddamn PIECE OF SHIT! MOTHERFUCKING—
*
Well, lost it there again, didn't I?
Mr. Mad, indeed. Maybe Light was right, maybe that's why Wondertainment did what he (she? they?) did. "You're too obvious," Mr. Light had said. "You're this guy who… gets angry. //Superhumanly// angry. You can't even affect other people."
Well, they underestimate Mr. Mad. You ever hear about ordinary people lifting cars when their adrenaline is high enough? Well, I can do that. I can do that whenever I want. Does it piss me off that I didn't get something more interesting as a Little Mister shtick? Of course it fucking pisses me off. How do you THINK I FEEL ABOUT—
*
Okay. Just need to stay calm. Just long enough to do what I need to do.
I'm not going to wait around for them to get their act together. I'm going to find Redd myself. I'm going to find him and I'm going to do for him what he did for the others.
The others are afraid. Chickenshit little bastards, I say. I'm a little afraid of him too, I'll admit that much. But that never stopped me from goddamn anything and it sure as fuck is not going to start now. After what he did, not just the Ms. Sweetie thing, but the rest…
But I'll get him. Oh yes.
That goddamn sonuvabitch will never know what hit him.
Previous: [[[4. Mr. Lie]]] by Salman Corbette
[[>]]
Next: [[[Interval 1]]] by Salman Corbette
[[/>]]
[[[tales-of-mr-collector|Back to Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-18T23:01:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | 5. Mr. Mad - SCP Foundation | 95 | [
"4-mr-lie",
"interval-1",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-3-tales-edition",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11724027 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/5-mr-mad |
|
6-mr-stripes | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>I have very long legs. Very long. Long enough to stretch over a canyon, when I want them to. When I need them to. And long fingers as well. The fingers of a pianist, or a strangler. Long and slender. Made for choking. Not a pianist.</p>
<p>I laugh, surprising myself. There is so little cause for laughing these days, especially since Ms. Sweetie went to the trashcan. I used to like Ms. Sweetie. She was kind to me. So few of the others were kind to me. Called me an afterthought. But she was kind to everyone. But not anymore.</p>
<p>My legs stretched, climbing up the forested foothills, long fingers wrapping around trees and pulling me along. I rather distantly note how the branches died where I squeezed them, but I was used to that. It was what I did after all. Kill. Remove. Destroy.</p>
<p>I correct the errors made by my creator. All of them. I've been marking them off as I go. I've nearly finished. All nineteen.</p>
<p>I stretch and warp, knowing I’m going somewhere, but not where. Well, no. I know where. To them. To all of them. One at a time. But they were moving together now. Drawing close to each other. So close…</p>
<p>I wonder if Mr. Redd will be there. We two have a score to settle. And I did have very, very long fingers. Fingers made for choking, I remind myself.</p>
<p>Long fingers. Very, very long. Very ready. Ready to choke. Ready to squeeze the life out of anyone. Anything. To fix things. To fix everything that was broken.</p>
<p>Mr. Redd and I <em>did</em> have a score to settle after all.</p>
<p>Previous: <a href="/interval-1">Interval 1</a> by Salman Corbette<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>Next: <a href="/ohhello">7. Mr. ███████████</a> by Dr. Mann</p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/6-mr-stripes">6. Mr. Stripes</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/6-mr-stripes">https://scpwiki.com/6-mr-stripes</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
I have very long legs. Very long. Long enough to stretch over a canyon, when I want them to. When I need them to. And long fingers as well. The fingers of a pianist, or a strangler. Long and slender. Made for choking. Not a pianist.
I laugh, surprising myself. There is so little cause for laughing these days, especially since Ms. Sweetie went to the trashcan. I used to like Ms. Sweetie. She was kind to me. So few of the others were kind to me. Called me an afterthought. But she was kind to everyone. But not anymore.
My legs stretched, climbing up the forested foothills, long fingers wrapping around trees and pulling me along. I rather distantly note how the branches died where I squeezed them, but I was used to that. It was what I did after all. Kill. Remove. Destroy.
I correct the errors made by my creator. All of them. I've been marking them off as I go. I've nearly finished. All nineteen.
I stretch and warp, knowing I’m going somewhere, but not where. Well, no. I know where. To them. To all of them. One at a time. But they were moving together now. Drawing close to each other. So close…
I wonder if Mr. Redd will be there. We two have a score to settle. And I did have very, very long fingers. Fingers made for choking, I remind myself.
Long fingers. Very, very long. Very ready. Ready to choke. Ready to squeeze the life out of anyone. Anything. To fix things. To fix everything that was broken.
Mr. Redd and I //did// have a score to settle after all.
Previous: [[[Interval 1]]] by Salman Corbette
[[>]]
Next: [[[ohhello|7. Mr. ███████████]]] by Dr. Mann
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-20T01:13:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | 6. Mr. Stripes - SCP Foundation | 111 | [
"interval-1",
"ohhello",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-3-tales-edition",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11731762 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/6-mr-stripes |
|
8-mr-moon | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>I am Mr. Moon.</p>
<p>You may think me the most unfortunate of this production cycle, but you'd be wrong. I am well taken care of by the Foundation, who look after my needs when I am faced and see to it that I am left alone when my true sight returns. As it has now.</p>
<p>My eyes are now in the craters, keener than any man's. I peer down to where my face drifts over. I will find Mr. Redd, for where can he hide from the moon?</p>
<p>There I see a man running through alleyways from thugs with knives. He is not Mr. Redd. My attention turns elsewhere. I see a parade, and the one who leads it looks to be a sister of mine. But Ms. Charm is not Mr. Redd. There is a man leaping from a building. Though I wish it were otherwise, he is not Mr. Redd. There is a businessman. He is not Mr. Redd. There is a baby. It is not Mr. Redd. There is an elephant. It is not Mr. Redd. There is a man. There is a man. There is a woman. There is a bench. There is a woman. There is a man. There is there is there is there is there is there is</p>
<p>I do not see Mr. Redd.</p>
<p>My time is up soon. Already an eye has migrated back to my face of flesh. I leave it closed, but my sight is still diminished. I can search no more for now. No matter. The moon will remain. I am patient.</p>
<p>Previous: <a href="/ohhello">7. Mr. ███████████</a> by DrMann<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>Next: <a href="/9-mr-clumsy">9. Mr. Clumsy</a> by Tanhony</p>
</div>
<p><a href="/tales-of-mr-collector">Back to Hub</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/8-mr-moon">8. Mr. Moon</a>" by Anaxagoras, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/8-mr-moon">https://scpwiki.com/8-mr-moon</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
I am Mr. Moon.
You may think me the most unfortunate of this production cycle, but you'd be wrong. I am well taken care of by the Foundation, who look after my needs when I am faced and see to it that I am left alone when my true sight returns. As it has now.
My eyes are now in the craters, keener than any man's. I peer down to where my face drifts over. I will find Mr. Redd, for where can he hide from the moon?
There I see a man running through alleyways from thugs with knives. He is not Mr. Redd. My attention turns elsewhere. I see a parade, and the one who leads it looks to be a sister of mine. But Ms. Charm is not Mr. Redd. There is a man leaping from a building. Though I wish it were otherwise, he is not Mr. Redd. There is a businessman. He is not Mr. Redd. There is a baby. It is not Mr. Redd. There is an elephant. It is not Mr. Redd. There is a man. There is a man. There is a woman. There is a bench. There is a woman. There is a man. There is there is there is there is there is there is
I do not see Mr. Redd.
My time is up soon. Already an eye has migrated back to my face of flesh. I leave it closed, but my sight is still diminished. I can search no more for now. No matter. The moon will remain. I am patient.
Previous: [[[ohhello | 7. Mr. ███████████]]] by DrMann
[[>]]
Next: [[[9. Mr. Clumsy]]] by Tanhony
[[/>]]
[[[tales-of-mr-collector|Back to Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-21T14:42:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | 8. Mr. Moon - SCP Foundation | 145 | [
"ohhello",
"9-mr-clumsy",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"randomini-does-the-mouth-word-things",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11743555 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/8-mr-moon |
|
9-mr-clumsy | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>Dear Diary</strong></span></p>
<p>My name is Mr. Clumsy and I have died forty-seven times today.</p>
<p>I think the first time was when I was walking down the trail. I just went over to a cactus, thinking I could get some water. So, I took out my penknife and tried to cut a tiny gap in it. What happened instead was I stumbled, ended up with the knife in my heart and fell backwards onto the cactus.</p>
<p>Yep, that's my thing. I die horribly and then come back to do it again. And for some goddamn reason, no matter what I do, it'll more likely than not kill me. At least if I sit in this cave and don't touch anything, I'll be reasona</p>
<p>Sorry, heart attack. Guess that showed me. God knows how I'm going to walk all the way to the place. Can't exactly take a car, can I? Last time I tried that, it exploded. Third-degree burns and everything. Lasted a bit before dying, hurt like hell. All the others have fun gimmicks, or at least ones that don't kill you, but no, not m</p>
<p>Got the pencil in my eye. Took me a few deaths to get that out. I heal my wounds, but I always have trouble with things getting stuck. Mr. Redd used to make a game of it; he'd impale me on a pipe or something and watch me die again and again. Not my idea of fun, but what are you going to do? It's nothing personal, after a while, you just get used to dyi</p>
<p>Fell over and hit my head on a brick. I am sure that brick was not there when I found this cave. See, that's another thing, sometimes I'll go near a cat and start choking or something! I'm not allergic to cats! I know, I checked with a doctor. Died three times, but I managed to get there.</p>
<p>I know if I fall asleep, a bear will eat my head or something. But I can't just walk, this is the desert and it's night. I'll freeze to death again and agai</p>
<p>Previous: <a href="/8-mr-moon">8. Mr. Moon</a> by Anaxagoras<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>Next: <a href="/10-mr-mission">10. Mr. Mission</a> by Gerald</p>
</div>
<p><a href="/tales-of-mr-collector">Back to Hub</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/9-mr-clumsy">9. Mr. Clumsy</a>" by Tanhony, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/9-mr-clumsy">https://scpwiki.com/9-mr-clumsy</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
__**Dear Diary**__
My name is Mr. Clumsy and I have died forty-seven times today.
I think the first time was when I was walking down the trail. I just went over to a cactus, thinking I could get some water. So, I took out my penknife and tried to cut a tiny gap in it. What happened instead was I stumbled, ended up with the knife in my heart and fell backwards onto the cactus.
Yep, that's my thing. I die horribly and then come back to do it again. And for some goddamn reason, no matter what I do, it'll more likely than not kill me. At least if I sit in this cave and don't touch anything, I'll be reasona
Sorry, heart attack. Guess that showed me. God knows how I'm going to walk all the way to the place. Can't exactly take a car, can I? Last time I tried that, it exploded. Third-degree burns and everything. Lasted a bit before dying, hurt like hell. All the others have fun gimmicks, or at least ones that don't kill you, but no, not m
Got the pencil in my eye. Took me a few deaths to get that out. I heal my wounds, but I always have trouble with things getting stuck. Mr. Redd used to make a game of it; he'd impale me on a pipe or something and watch me die again and again. Not my idea of fun, but what are you going to do? It's nothing personal, after a while, you just get used to dyi
Fell over and hit my head on a brick. I am sure that brick was not there when I found this cave. See, that's another thing, sometimes I'll go near a cat and start choking or something! I'm not allergic to cats! I know, I checked with a doctor. Died three times, but I managed to get there.
I know if I fall asleep, a bear will eat my head or something. But I can't just walk, this is the desert and it's night. I'll freeze to death again and agai
Previous: [[[8. Mr. Moon]]] by Anaxagoras
[[>]]
Next: [[[10. Mr. Mission]]] by Gerald
[[/>]]
[[[tales-of-mr-collector|Back to Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-22T15:42:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | 9. Mr. Clumsy - SCP Foundation | 143 | [
"8-mr-moon",
"10-mr-mission",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11751491 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/9-mr-clumsy |
|
a-circus-for-mc-d-ltd | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>The dinner show provided by Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd. had been surprisingly pedestrian that evening. The magician, although skilled and pretty, hadn't performed anything other than the usual misdirection which could be seen anywhere. The hoop aerialist, who was also very pretty and wearing a costume that left very little to the imagination, did little more than spin in her ring in various positions and look seductive. There was very little of what many considered the MC&D flavor.</p>
<p>The curtain closed around the stage as she finished her act and bowed. Polite applause sounded from the audience, along with a few barely audible disappointed sighs. When the curtain reopened, the hoop had been replaced with a pair of white ribbon-like straps. A man built like a ballet dancer with bare arms and feet stood next to the straps, ready to perform.</p>
<p>Music started playing. It was a peaceful melody, light and uplifting. The acrobat lifted himself onto the straps and started his act. At first the act looked as though it was going to be as ordinary as the other performances. He wrapped straps around himself like the stripes on a candy cane. He hung himself upside down, spun himself in circles, and held himself parallel to the ground while holding onto the straps solely with his hands. He contorted his body into grotesque shapes which could only be achieved with the help of the straps. He somersaulted upwards, spiraling the ribbons around his arms. The audience sat in silence through all these moves.</p>
<p>The aerialist wrapped himself up asymmetrically. One strap spiraled down his leg, while the other wrapped tightly around his left bicep. There was a twist, a sudden drop, and a note of discord in the music. He now was hanging upside down from the one wrapped leg while the other strap hung down, not wrapped around anything. His left hand was still gripping it, but his arm had been severed where the strap had been wrapped.</p>
<p>There was no blood, and the aerialist continued to climb and twist himself on the straps unfazed. The arm climbed too, wrapping the strap around itself and alternating between gripping with the hand and the elbow. No wound on either end of the arm, only an expanse of white where bone, sinew, and other tissues should have been visible.</p>
<p>The act now seemed to be a strange kind of partner acrobatics; a one-armed man and a single arm both performing tricks. Sometimes the tricks were separate, and sometimes they were in tandem, resulting in holds and balances that should have been impossible. The arm helped him into another wrap, this one around both legs. The aerialist balanced himself like a board for a few seconds while the severed arm held itself straight out above him.</p>
<p>There was another twist, a discordant note in the music, drop, and he again hung by one leg. His right leg had been severed this time and joined the performance as a separate entity. Less than a minute later, his right arm joined the act.</p>
<p>The music began to swell as the severed limbs, all moving of their own accord, helped the aerialist into position for what could be one final trick. His one remaining leg wrapped in a candy cane swirl, as his severed arms wrapped the other strap around his neck, bringing him into a horizontal balance. One hand then brought the strap down and over his throat quickly, enclosing his neck.</p>
<p>The body once again was hanging upside down, suspended through a wrap around the left leg. The head rolled on the floor. It was just as neatly severed as the three limbs that were no longer attached to the suspended torso. His head finished rolling and faced the assemblage of wealth and power. The music still played, but the show was likely over.</p>
<p>While the audience sat in stunned silence, the magician from earlier entered the stage. She looked at the hanging body, the severed limbs, and the head. Her expression, rather than horrified, seemed bemused. She glared at the aerialist's severed head, which returned her expression with a sheepish smile. Shaking her head, she started collecting his parts. One by one, she reattached them to his body, wrapping a section of strap around each one. He moved each reattached part into his suspension, keeping himself aloft with his strength until he was once again whole. Finally, he rolled down the straps to the ground, stood up with the magician, and bowed.</p>
<p>The audience applauded thunderously.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/a-circus-for-mc-d-ltd">A Circus for MC&D Ltd</a>" by Tara Unknown, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-circus-for-mc-d-ltd">https://scpwiki.com/a-circus-for-mc-d-ltd</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The dinner show provided by Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd. had been surprisingly pedestrian that evening. The magician, although skilled and pretty, hadn't performed anything other than the usual misdirection which could be seen anywhere. The hoop aerialist, who was also very pretty and wearing a costume that left very little to the imagination, did little more than spin in her ring in various positions and look seductive. There was very little of what many considered the MC&D flavor.
The curtain closed around the stage as she finished her act and bowed. Polite applause sounded from the audience, along with a few barely audible disappointed sighs. When the curtain reopened, the hoop had been replaced with a pair of white ribbon-like straps. A man built like a ballet dancer with bare arms and feet stood next to the straps, ready to perform.
Music started playing. It was a peaceful melody, light and uplifting. The acrobat lifted himself onto the straps and started his act. At first the act looked as though it was going to be as ordinary as the other performances. He wrapped straps around himself like the stripes on a candy cane. He hung himself upside down, spun himself in circles, and held himself parallel to the ground while holding onto the straps solely with his hands. He contorted his body into grotesque shapes which could only be achieved with the help of the straps. He somersaulted upwards, spiraling the ribbons around his arms. The audience sat in silence through all these moves.
The aerialist wrapped himself up asymmetrically. One strap spiraled down his leg, while the other wrapped tightly around his left bicep. There was a twist, a sudden drop, and a note of discord in the music. He now was hanging upside down from the one wrapped leg while the other strap hung down, not wrapped around anything. His left hand was still gripping it, but his arm had been severed where the strap had been wrapped.
There was no blood, and the aerialist continued to climb and twist himself on the straps unfazed. The arm climbed too, wrapping the strap around itself and alternating between gripping with the hand and the elbow. No wound on either end of the arm, only an expanse of white where bone, sinew, and other tissues should have been visible.
The act now seemed to be a strange kind of partner acrobatics; a one-armed man and a single arm both performing tricks. Sometimes the tricks were separate, and sometimes they were in tandem, resulting in holds and balances that should have been impossible. The arm helped him into another wrap, this one around both legs. The aerialist balanced himself like a board for a few seconds while the severed arm held itself straight out above him.
There was another twist, a discordant note in the music, drop, and he again hung by one leg. His right leg had been severed this time and joined the performance as a separate entity. Less than a minute later, his right arm joined the act.
The music began to swell as the severed limbs, all moving of their own accord, helped the aerialist into position for what could be one final trick. His one remaining leg wrapped in a candy cane swirl, as his severed arms wrapped the other strap around his neck, bringing him into a horizontal balance. One hand then brought the strap down and over his throat quickly, enclosing his neck.
The body once again was hanging upside down, suspended through a wrap around the left leg. The head rolled on the floor. It was just as neatly severed as the three limbs that were no longer attached to the suspended torso. His head finished rolling and faced the assemblage of wealth and power. The music still played, but the show was likely over.
While the audience sat in stunned silence, the magician from earlier entered the stage. She looked at the hanging body, the severed limbs, and the head. Her expression, rather than horrified, seemed bemused. She glared at the aerialist's severed head, which returned her expression with a sheepish smile. Shaking her head, she started collecting his parts. One by one, she reattached them to his body, wrapping a section of strap around each one. He moved each reattached part into his suspension, keeping himself aloft with his strength until he was once again whole. Finally, he rolled down the straps to the ground, stood up with the magician, and bowed.
The audience applauded thunderously.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-05T22:28:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"fantasy",
"marshall-carter-and-dark",
"tale"
] | A Circus for MC&D Ltd - SCP Foundation | 81 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"acquisitions-hub"
] | [] | 11830624 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-circus-for-mc-d-ltd |
|
a-day-in-the-life-of-alto-clef | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Alto Clef had been dealing with a lot of shit for the past week, but there was something about sitting on the toilet at 6:00 AM, reading his paper and drinking coffee as his aged bowels struggled to force another turd from his body that made things better. Marginally better.</p>
<p>He sighed and turned the page, reading about how Site-11 would—once again—be taking home the intersite softball championship. It was, of course, because O5-3 had money on Site-11 and got all the best players transferred there, but everyone thought that -3 was crazy, so he got away with it. He wasn’t really crazy. None of them were. But that didn’t stop the impression from reaching Clef as well.</p>
<p>He stood up, stretching and staring into the toilet. He nodded once in approval and flushed, folding the paper and putting it under his arm as he walked out into his quarters. It was a mess, of course. His most recent assistant wasn’t as proficient as the last one. He sighed, throwing the paper in the trash and pawing through piles of clothes until he found a pair of underwear that looked mostly clean, and pulling them on.</p>
<p>He went to his closet, getting out an older pair of slacks, sitting down on the bed to get them on, and then adding a sweat stained white shirt and lab coat to the mix. He sighed, pushing himself up from the bed and trundling out of the room, pushing his hair back from his forehead. ‘I’m going to get a haircut today,’ he thought, going to the door and opening it into the quiet corridor.</p>
<p>Seniority had its advantages, and one of them was calling your own projects. Clef had been without one for almost eight months, but no one said anything. Years of service were generally rewarded with placidity in the Foundation, until the shit hit the fan. Then, all the new kids would be running to him, to Gears, to Crow, all begging and pleading, telling them what stupid idea they tried and what moronic consequences it had.</p>
<p>He rounded the corner just in time to see his assistant cleaning dirt out from under her fingernails with a nail file. He’d chosen her for the massive tits she sported, but now… They just seemed like wasted space. He stared at them nonetheless.</p>
<p>“Morning, sir,” she said passively, pressing her breasts together slightly and raising them, believing that they—rather than boredom—were the source of his apathy toward her performance.</p>
<p>He stared for a few minutes more, going on past her, heading toward the site barber. It was the middle of the work day, so the room was mostly empty. “Hey, Ernie,” he said.</p>
<p>“Hey, Bert,” the barber replied. It was an old, tired joke—the kind that people still laughed at politely because the man was old and amicable. Clef did his duty, emitting a dry chuckle, and sat in a creaking chair off to the side. In a moment, the young agent in the chair stood, thanked the barber, and passed him a ten. He accepted it, smiled, and waved the young man on his way.</p>
<p>As Clef got up and headed to the chair, he cocked his eyebrow. “New kid doesn’t know not to pay you yet?” he asked, shifting himself into it.</p>
<p>“They never do,” Ernie replied.</p>
<p>Clef’s thinning hair made the job quick, and as the barber combed it, he said as much. Clef shrugged. “I’m getting old enough for it,” he said.</p>
<p>Ernie knocked the stray hair from the man’s shoulders, undoing the barber’s cape, and then holding out his hand. Clef smirked and shook his head, laughing genuinely as he left the room, his stomach rumbling slightly.</p>
<p>He made his way to the mess, entering it to no cheer or pomp, only to the occasional glance and nod from a friend or coworker. Those were both few. He entered the line, taking a roast beef sandwich and a bag of potato chips, as well as an extra pudding cup. It moved forward slowly, a couple of shuffling steps at a time. He yawned as he showed the woman his meal card; she nodded; and he headed to a quiet table.</p>
<p>He sat alone, eating the pudding cups first, then staring at the sandwich. He noted how dry the beef was as he bit into it, frowning slightly and realizing that he’d have to go through the whole line again to get a damned cola. He sat there instead, chewing, eating a dry sandwich and wishing—longing—for a containment breach, an assassination attempt, a god damned green. <em>Anything</em>, really.</p>
<p>But it never came. And as he finished chewing, he got up, threw his plate in the garbage, and headed back to his quarters for his bottle of scotch. Another exciting day ending at noon.</p>
<p>He passed Gears on the way out, nodding to him and the younger agent—who was hanging onto his every word, laughing and trying to joke unsuccessfully with the bald doctor—and decided for the tenth time to fire his assistant. But she really did have such lovely tits.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/a-day-in-the-life-of-alto-clef">A Day in the Life of Alto Clef</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-day-in-the-life-of-alto-clef">https://scpwiki.com/a-day-in-the-life-of-alto-clef</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Alto Clef had been dealing with a lot of shit for the past week, but there was something about sitting on the toilet at 6:00 AM, reading his paper and drinking coffee as his aged bowels struggled to force another turd from his body that made things better. Marginally better.
He sighed and turned the page, reading about how Site-11 would—once again—be taking home the intersite softball championship. It was, of course, because O5-3 had money on Site-11 and got all the best players transferred there, but everyone thought that -3 was crazy, so he got away with it. He wasn’t really crazy. None of them were. But that didn’t stop the impression from reaching Clef as well.
He stood up, stretching and staring into the toilet. He nodded once in approval and flushed, folding the paper and putting it under his arm as he walked out into his quarters. It was a mess, of course. His most recent assistant wasn’t as proficient as the last one. He sighed, throwing the paper in the trash and pawing through piles of clothes until he found a pair of underwear that looked mostly clean, and pulling them on.
He went to his closet, getting out an older pair of slacks, sitting down on the bed to get them on, and then adding a sweat stained white shirt and lab coat to the mix. He sighed, pushing himself up from the bed and trundling out of the room, pushing his hair back from his forehead. ‘I’m going to get a haircut today,’ he thought, going to the door and opening it into the quiet corridor.
Seniority had its advantages, and one of them was calling your own projects. Clef had been without one for almost eight months, but no one said anything. Years of service were generally rewarded with placidity in the Foundation, until the shit hit the fan. Then, all the new kids would be running to him, to Gears, to Crow, all begging and pleading, telling them what stupid idea they tried and what moronic consequences it had.
He rounded the corner just in time to see his assistant cleaning dirt out from under her fingernails with a nail file. He’d chosen her for the massive tits she sported, but now… They just seemed like wasted space. He stared at them nonetheless.
“Morning, sir,” she said passively, pressing her breasts together slightly and raising them, believing that they—rather than boredom—were the source of his apathy toward her performance.
He stared for a few minutes more, going on past her, heading toward the site barber. It was the middle of the work day, so the room was mostly empty. “Hey, Ernie,” he said.
“Hey, Bert,” the barber replied. It was an old, tired joke—the kind that people still laughed at politely because the man was old and amicable. Clef did his duty, emitting a dry chuckle, and sat in a creaking chair off to the side. In a moment, the young agent in the chair stood, thanked the barber, and passed him a ten. He accepted it, smiled, and waved the young man on his way.
As Clef got up and headed to the chair, he cocked his eyebrow. “New kid doesn’t know not to pay you yet?” he asked, shifting himself into it.
“They never do,” Ernie replied.
Clef’s thinning hair made the job quick, and as the barber combed it, he said as much. Clef shrugged. “I’m getting old enough for it,” he said.
Ernie knocked the stray hair from the man’s shoulders, undoing the barber’s cape, and then holding out his hand. Clef smirked and shook his head, laughing genuinely as he left the room, his stomach rumbling slightly.
He made his way to the mess, entering it to no cheer or pomp, only to the occasional glance and nod from a friend or coworker. Those were both few. He entered the line, taking a roast beef sandwich and a bag of potato chips, as well as an extra pudding cup. It moved forward slowly, a couple of shuffling steps at a time. He yawned as he showed the woman his meal card; she nodded; and he headed to a quiet table.
He sat alone, eating the pudding cups first, then staring at the sandwich. He noted how dry the beef was as he bit into it, frowning slightly and realizing that he’d have to go through the whole line again to get a damned cola. He sat there instead, chewing, eating a dry sandwich and wishing—longing—for a containment breach, an assassination attempt, a god damned green. //Anything//, really.
But it never came. And as he finished chewing, he got up, threw his plate in the garbage, and headed back to his quarters for his bottle of scotch. Another exciting day ending at noon.
He passed Gears on the way out, nodding to him and the younger agent—who was hanging onto his every word, laughing and trying to joke unsuccessfully with the bald doctor—and decided for the tenth time to fire his assistant. But she really did have such lovely tits.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-13T17:09:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-gears",
"kain-pathos-crow",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] | A Day in the Life of Alto Clef - SCP Foundation | 179 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"in-his-own-image",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11695309 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-day-in-the-life-of-alto-clef |
|
a-few-memos | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>From the inbox of President Mortimer Phillips:</p>
<p>Dear President Phillips,<br/>
I believe the workers in the western wing are talking about unionizing. Our best course of action would be to scare them. Perhaps the pinwheel?<br/>
Elliot Browning, HR</p>
<hr/>
<p>Morty,</p>
<p>We got a problem with a breach in the lower floors. Apparently some low-level got ahold of a really sharpened pencil and has seized the putty manufacturing line along with some other rebels. They will, of course, be "fired" once this is resolved.</p>
<p>Jim</p>
<hr/>
<p>President Phillips,</p>
<p>Attached you'll find a financial statement for the next fiscal quarter. Summary: Our stickers have gone down in sales, possibly due to skepticism. On the other hand, Dark Ltd. has agreed to begin distributing our dish-blood items. Our recommendation is a 10% increase in sales price to Dark Ltd. with the agreement that we provide a given quota of 200 annually.</p>
<p>Corporate</p>
<hr/>
<p>Monty,</p>
<p>I found this note on my door today, right before my desk exploded:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Dear Mr. Killborn,</p>
<p>We will no longer take this bullshit. It is time us workers fight for our rights, and none of you assholes at HR can stop us. Consider this a final warning before we blow this place sky high!</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I am recommending increased security until this issue is resolved.</p>
<p>Jim</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hey boss,</p>
<p>Where would you like that jacuzzi installed?</p>
<p>Reggie</p>
<hr/>
<p>Monty,</p>
<p>We've found the culprits. Needless to say, their contracts with us have been terminated.</p>
<p>Jim</p>
<hr/>
<p>Dear Mr. Phillips,</p>
<p>We regret to inform you that several of your employees have been terminated due to gross negligence in the shipping of your products. We were able to recover the products and they are now being distributed, but we would recommend that next time your shipping personnel come unarmed as we requested.</p>
<p>Carter</p>
<hr/>
<p>Dear Pigheaded Corporate Scum,</p>
<p>This is your final hour. You may have killed our friends, but we still stand strong against the inhumane oppression you propagate against us. As you are reading this a 10 megaton nuclear warhead is being aimed at your factory, and be re-assured we will not hesitate to blow this place to hell if you don't meet our demands.</p>
<p>Fuck you</p>
<hr/>
<p>Dear Mortimer,</p>
<p>We've recently been getting reports of your employees attempting to engage in nuclear warfare. While we are not concerned with your internal affairs, it is rather bothersome to cover up a nuclear explosion. We've stopped them now, but next time, keep your subordinates in line.</p>
<p>Franz</p>
<hr/>
<p>President Phillips,</p>
<p>We've filled out your request to install software allowing you to see the previous edits of memos.</p>
<p>Maintenance</p>
<hr/>
<p>Morty,</p>
<p>Hey, you know that hot chick from Corporate? Well I've been hitting on her a little much lately and she's filed for sexual harassment with HR. All I did was send her a picture of <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">my nads</span> something pretty cool looking. Could you let this one slide? Pretty please?</p>
<p>Jim</p>
<hr/>
<p>==ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL==</p>
<p>This is an automated message. There has been an explosion somewhere in the WEST WING. It is recommended that you avoid the area for the next THREE days.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hey boss,</p>
<p>I kind of messed up on that jacuzzi installation. Can I try the East Wing instead?</p>
<p>Reggie</p>
<hr/>
<p>President Phillips,</p>
<p>We are currently undergoing some re-configuration of wages as our replacement employees are discussing unionizing.</p>
<p>Corporate</p>
<hr/>
<p>Mort,</p>
<p>We're over.</p>
<p>Janette</p>
<hr/>
<p>President Phillips,</p>
<p>We have filled out your request for the termination of Janette Wesley.</p>
<p>Security</p>
<hr/>
<p>Morty,</p>
<p>I heard you got rid of Janette. Could you at least wait a few days next time? You know how good I am with rebound chicks.</p>
<p>Jim</p>
<hr/>
<p>Morty,</p>
<p><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Hey, you asshole. What the fuck are you doing, sending your goons on me?</span> Hey, what was with those guys in my office today? We're friends, right? I won't bother you again, promise.</p>
<p>Jim</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hey boss,</p>
<p>I found Jim in your jacuzzi today. He said you let him. Just thought I'd make sure.</p>
<p>Reggie</p>
<hr/>
<p>President Phillips,</p>
<p>James Killborn has been demoted to assembly line duty, at your request.</p>
<p>Human Resources<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/a-few-memos">A Few Memos</a>" by Salman Corbette, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-few-memos">https://scpwiki.com/a-few-memos</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
From the inbox of President Mortimer Phillips:
Dear President Phillips,
I believe the workers in the western wing are talking about unionizing. Our best course of action would be to scare them. Perhaps the pinwheel?
Elliot Browning, HR
------
Morty,
We got a problem with a breach in the lower floors. Apparently some low-level got ahold of a really sharpened pencil and has seized the putty manufacturing line along with some other rebels. They will, of course, be "fired" once this is resolved.
Jim
------
President Phillips,
Attached you'll find a financial statement for the next fiscal quarter. Summary: Our stickers have gone down in sales, possibly due to skepticism. On the other hand, Dark Ltd. has agreed to begin distributing our dish-blood items. Our recommendation is a 10% increase in sales price to Dark Ltd. with the agreement that we provide a given quota of 200 annually.
Corporate
------
Monty,
I found this note on my door today, right before my desk exploded:
> Dear Mr. Killborn,
>
> We will no longer take this bullshit. It is time us workers fight for our rights, and none of you assholes at HR can stop us. Consider this a final warning before we blow this place sky high!
I am recommending increased security until this issue is resolved.
Jim
------
Hey boss,
Where would you like that jacuzzi installed?
Reggie
------
Monty,
We've found the culprits. Needless to say, their contracts with us have been terminated.
Jim
------
Dear Mr. Phillips,
We regret to inform you that several of your employees have been terminated due to gross negligence in the shipping of your products. We were able to recover the products and they are now being distributed, but we would recommend that next time your shipping personnel come unarmed as we requested.
Carter
------
Dear Pigheaded Corporate Scum,
This is your final hour. You may have killed our friends, but we still stand strong against the inhumane oppression you propagate against us. As you are reading this a 10 megaton nuclear warhead is being aimed at your factory, and be re-assured we will not hesitate to blow this place to hell if you don't meet our demands.
Fuck you
------
Dear Mortimer,
We've recently been getting reports of your employees attempting to engage in nuclear warfare. While we are not concerned with your internal affairs, it is rather bothersome to cover up a nuclear explosion. We've stopped them now, but next time, keep your subordinates in line.
Franz
------
President Phillips,
We've filled out your request to install software allowing you to see the previous edits of memos.
Maintenance
------
Morty,
Hey, you know that hot chick from Corporate? Well I've been hitting on her a little much lately and she's filed for sexual harassment with HR. All I did was send her a picture of --my nads-- something pretty cool looking. Could you let this one slide? Pretty please?
Jim
------
==ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL==
This is an automated message. There has been an explosion somewhere in the WEST WING. It is recommended that you avoid the area for the next THREE days.
------
Hey boss,
I kind of messed up on that jacuzzi installation. Can I try the East Wing instead?
Reggie
------
President Phillips,
We are currently undergoing some re-configuration of wages as our replacement employees are discussing unionizing.
Corporate
------
Mort,
We're over.
Janette
------
President Phillips,
We have filled out your request for the termination of Janette Wesley.
Security
------
Morty,
I heard you got rid of Janette. Could you at least wait a few days next time? You know how good I am with rebound chicks.
Jim
------
Morty,
--Hey, you asshole. What the fuck are you doing, sending your goons on me?-- Hey, what was with those guys in my office today? We're friends, right? I won't bother you again, promise.
Jim
------
Hey boss,
I found Jim in your jacuzzi today. He said you let him. Just thought I'd make sure.
Reggie
------
President Phillips,
James Killborn has been demoted to assembly line duty, at your request.
Human Resources
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-06-04T20:42:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"factory",
"tale"
] | A Few Memos - SCP Foundation | 30 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"factory-hub"
] | [] | 10411176 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-few-memos |
|
a-normal-week | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>On weekends, people ask me how my week was.</p>
<p>This week was simply business as usual.</p>
<p>On Monday I oversaw an operation to examine a strange creature in a young girl's abdomen.</p>
<p>It was remarkable. It generated an antibiotic more potent than any modern medicine can create. The creature had latched on to the female's spinal cord between the T12 and L1 vertebrae. It had entrenched itself into it, melding its blood vessels and nervous system to hers. It was a difficult operation to remove it, but we managed it. The creature would revolutionize the medical industry, if we could perfect and synthesize the antibiotics. We moved the creature into the ICU. We disposed of the body. She was pretty, but she had served her purpose.</p>
<p>On Tuesday I researched the effects of SCP-078 on schizophrenic patients.</p>
<p>There were four trials, each with a different test subject: an elderly male and female, and a young male and female. I was interested in seeing what happens to the effects of 078 when exposed to a damaged psyche. Of course, death was always an outcome, but if a few hours of clear data was recorded, any end to the test subjects would have been worth it. The young male and female were particularly interesting. We have a clear recording of their descent into apathy and depression. One subject, the female, found ways of self-mutilation using only her fingernails. We were eventually forced to euthanize all four. A pity - the data we got from them were important to our research.</p>
<p>On Wednesday I lobotomized a human subject who was exposed to SCP-215.</p>
<p>It was irritating. We had to restrain him on the table while we were conducting the operation. He kept screaming and struggling, making my cuts ragged and unprofessional. Such a shame, but the samples we retrieved showed significant evidence of mental trauma, as well as some other unidentified anomalies. He may never speak again or play the piano, but he'll live. An IV drip would be a simpler way of gaining nutrients.</p>
<p>There were no tests or experiments on Thursday.</p>
<p>I had to go to a mandatory psychological examination. I don't understand the point of this. I'm perfectly fine. I have so many more tests to conduct.</p>
<p>On Friday I injected a test subject with SCP-742.</p>
<p>There was nothing truly out of the ordinary today. It was more of a whim that I did this test, but testing is something I live for. The young girl, about 8 I suspect, was very patient and willing. Of course she screamed when we stuck the needle in her arm - any young child would. We waited the normal incubation time, and then began the tests. We started with small animal in a cage. Within minutes the subject grabbed it and sucked it dry. From there we moved on to larger prey: a rabbit, small dog, and a cat. Although it seemed she would take them, she wasn't satisfied. I was interested. I wanted to see how she would react to a human subject, so I decided to wait until her next scheduled feeding session. When the orderly brought in the usual small animal, I locked the door behind him so he could not run. (Why would he, anyway? This was for science! For the good of the world! He should be honored.) He screamed unnecessarily loudly. The test subject rejected the animal and went straight for the orderly, feeding quickly. The data was interesting, certainly worth more than the disposable orderly.</p>
<p>Some would call my week insane and unnecessarily extreme. But why is that?</p>
<p>It's simply business as usual.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/a-normal-week">Business as Usual</a>" by DrKens, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-normal-week">https://scpwiki.com/a-normal-week</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
On weekends, people ask me how my week was.
This week was simply business as usual.
On Monday I oversaw an operation to examine a strange creature in a young girl's abdomen.
It was remarkable. It generated an antibiotic more potent than any modern medicine can create. The creature had latched on to the female's spinal cord between the T12 and L1 vertebrae. It had entrenched itself into it, melding its blood vessels and nervous system to hers. It was a difficult operation to remove it, but we managed it. The creature would revolutionize the medical industry, if we could perfect and synthesize the antibiotics. We moved the creature into the ICU. We disposed of the body. She was pretty, but she had served her purpose.
On Tuesday I researched the effects of SCP-078 on schizophrenic patients.
There were four trials, each with a different test subject: an elderly male and female, and a young male and female. I was interested in seeing what happens to the effects of 078 when exposed to a damaged psyche. Of course, death was always an outcome, but if a few hours of clear data was recorded, any end to the test subjects would have been worth it. The young male and female were particularly interesting. We have a clear recording of their descent into apathy and depression. One subject, the female, found ways of self-mutilation using only her fingernails. We were eventually forced to euthanize all four. A pity - the data we got from them were important to our research.
On Wednesday I lobotomized a human subject who was exposed to SCP-215.
It was irritating. We had to restrain him on the table while we were conducting the operation. He kept screaming and struggling, making my cuts ragged and unprofessional. Such a shame, but the samples we retrieved showed significant evidence of mental trauma, as well as some other unidentified anomalies. He may never speak again or play the piano, but he'll live. An IV drip would be a simpler way of gaining nutrients.
There were no tests or experiments on Thursday.
I had to go to a mandatory psychological examination. I don't understand the point of this. I'm perfectly fine. I have so many more tests to conduct.
On Friday I injected a test subject with SCP-742.
There was nothing truly out of the ordinary today. It was more of a whim that I did this test, but testing is something I live for. The young girl, about 8 I suspect, was very patient and willing. Of course she screamed when we stuck the needle in her arm - any young child would. We waited the normal incubation time, and then began the tests. We started with small animal in a cage. Within minutes the subject grabbed it and sucked it dry. From there we moved on to larger prey: a rabbit, small dog, and a cat. Although it seemed she would take them, she wasn't satisfied. I was interested. I wanted to see how she would react to a human subject, so I decided to wait until her next scheduled feeding session. When the orderly brought in the usual small animal, I locked the door behind him so he could not run. (Why would he, anyway? This was for science! For the good of the world! He should be honored.) He screamed unnecessarily loudly. The test subject rejected the animal and went straight for the orderly, feeding quickly. The data was interesting, certainly worth more than the disposable orderly.
Some would call my week insane and unnecessarily extreme. But why is that?
It's simply business as usual.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-05-13T01:31:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Business as Usual - SCP Foundation | 32 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 9989425 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-normal-week |
|
a-s-s-and-other-low-threat-groups-of-interest | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<h3 id="toc0"><span>The Association of Supernatural Shifters</span></h3>
<p>The Association of Supernatural Shifters, or A.S.S. as they are better known, gathered around the conference table. They all looked at each other and nodded. They knew they were in trouble.</p>
<p>"Aurafeel, our organization has barely recruited any members. In spite of our almost unlimited power and glowing hands, we are unable to contract even the most mundane of recruits," said Lifesmasher, thrusting his hammer that burned with the power of 20 suns into the air.</p>
<p>"I do not understand why, Aurafeel. We offer the greatest of all supernatural weaponry and skills for free," added Awesometouch, the greatest thief in all of history.</p>
<p>"I am not sure myself, oh warriors of spirited metal." Aurafeel, his hands glowing as embers leaped off them, then stood up and gazed out the window of his multi-billion dollar training facility.</p>
<p>"Um, sir, if I may…" said Bingo, one of Aurafeel's many genetically-enhanced servant dogs.</p>
<p>"What is it, Bingo?" asked Aurafeel.</p>
<p>"Well, perhaps it is the organization's name, sir. I believe 'ass' may be a synonym for 'buttocks'." Bingo nodded sagely.</p>
<p>"My god! Bingo is correct!" Aurafeel smashed his fists down on the titanium table. "I propose we change our organization's name, gentlemen."</p>
<p>"Hear, hear!" shouted Lifesmasher and Awesometouch.</p>
<p>"But, what shall we name it?" Aurafeel moved his hand up to stroke his manly and well carved chin. They all sat there for a while, pondering upon names.</p>
<p>Suddenly, Awesometouch jumped up. "I have it, Aurafeel!"</p>
<p>"What, Awesometouch?"</p>
<p>"Our organization shall be called the Cooperation of Undying Nationalist Theorists for Homogenous Overall Liberty and Equality."</p>
<p>"Yes! Then it is agreed upon." The group then stood. "Gentlemen, we are now C.U.N.T.H.O.L.E.!"</p>
<h3 id="toc1"><span>The Elementary Academy of Anomalists</span></h3>
<p>The teacher stands over the group, gazing down her glasses at each of the young children assembled. "Alright, class is starting, young ones. Quiet down!"</p>
<p>Little Jimmy throws his paper airplane then quiets down. Bobby continues to eat paste. Lucinda passes a note to Bobby informing him of her crush on him, only to have him unable to read it due to his sticky fingers.</p>
<p>"Children, we have a new child in class today. Everybody, say hello to Janice." A girl with short pigtails and a nice pink dress on enters the classroom and curtseys to the class. "Now who can tell Janice what we do here?"</p>
<p>Bobby takes the paste out of his mouth and stands up. "We… um… we train elite warriors from a young age to deal with an- anom- abomalous entities from a young age."</p>
<p>"Yes, excellent. And we all have special little powers ourselves. Would anyone care to demonstrate?" Little Jimmy stands up and makes a snorting noise, then shoots a loogie straight across the room and into a small target opposite. Bobby then proceeds to blow a bubble with the paste he had just eaten. Lucinda then blinks really really fast.</p>
<p>Janice is transfixed. She gasps. Then she herself burps, and it shakes the classroom. The teacher pats Janice on the back. "With these abilities we're sure you'll be able to capture any anomalous entity you set your mind on!"</p>
<p>Meanwhile, in the principal's office, the principal briefly considers pulling the trigger on the gun next to his head.</p>
<h3 id="toc2"><span>The Serpent's Upraised Middle Finger</span></h3>
<p>Greg was sooo drunk right then. He slammed down the bottle of Jack Daniels and looked at his bros. "Guys, we have been mistreated by those Foundation scum for waaaaay too long."</p>
<p>"Fuckin' rights, man!" shouted some guy with a mohawk from across the room. Greg squinted and looked at the guy. Was the guy even a part of S.U.M.F.? He shrugged and went back to speaking.</p>
<p>"Look, we gotta unite. Tomorrow morning we're gonna ride in on our choppers or whatevs and fuck shit up!" He raised his fist in the air and everybody around him clinked their shots or bottles and took another hit. "You wanna die oppressed, poor, and hiding in some fucking library, or do you wanna die a motherfuckin' legend!?"</p>
<p>Everyone cheered and parted. Somebody turned on Slayer and they proceeded to knock over the table and have a mosh pit. At some point a bunch of hookers showed up. Greg couldn't remember the rest, though.</p>
<p>The next morning everyone agreed they were too hungover to raid the Foundation.</p>
<h3 id="toc3"><span>The Canines of Sapient Ability and Universal Suffrage Group</span></h3>
<p>Fido the dog sat in his doghouse. Yes, soon all sapient canines for universal suffrage would come flocking to his door. Any minute now…</p>
<h3 id="toc4"><span>The Cooperation of Undying Nationalist Theorists for Homogenous Overall Liberty and Equality</span></h3>
<p>"Well, Awesometouch, I believe that name change was for the better!" said Aurafeel, "We already have one new recruit set up to join us!"</p>
<p>"Um, hi," said Vlad. He was wearing a trenchcoat and had a greying beard. He still had a bit of white powder underneath his nose and his hair was so matted a mouse appeared to be sleeping in it, "I heard there were cuntholes?"</p>
<p>"No, friend, that is the name of our glorious organization!" proudly proclaimed Aurafeel, lifting his hands in the air.</p>
<p>"Oh. I'm out, then." Vlad nodded to the group and left out the door.</p>
<p>Lifesmasher turned and looked over at Aurafeel. "Well shit."</p>
<h3 id="toc5"><span>Honeyhut's Item Exchange</span></h3>
<p>O5-12 turned to O5-13. "So what is this 'Honeyhut's'?"</p>
<p>O5-13 gestured to the image of a log cabin behind him. "It's a small, ma-and-pa anomalous items distribution chain."</p>
<p>O5-12 smiled and blew his nose. "Why, that's lovely. It's great to see a good, non-corporate organization just working for the day's pay."</p>
<p>O5-13 frowned. "It is lovely, but unfortunately large organizations like Marshall, Carter, and Dark limited have been driving small organizations like these out of business."</p>
<p>"Why that's terrible!"</p>
<p>"It is, friend. All these foreign companies are coming in and stealing our good, American anomalous items trade organizations!"</p>
<p>"What will we do?"</p>
<p>"Well, I've organized my own movement I like to call the COFFEE Party."</p>
<h3 id="toc6"><span>The Corporate Outsourcing of Foundation and Federal Exchange Extradition Party</span></h3>
<p>"Hell, no, we won't go!" shouted a march led by Dr. Pinkus outside MC&D headquarters.</p>
<p>Carter looked down at the assembled group and frowned. "We have a problem, Marshall."</p>
<p>"Indeed we do, Carter. Thankfully, our opposition is filled with idiots. They've found our headquarters, but their only course of action appears to be holding up signs and occasionally shouting nonsensical phrases."</p>
<p>"Thank god." Carter tilted his head and looked down at the groups again. "Y'know, Marshall…"</p>
<p>"What, Carter?"</p>
<p>"Well, it seems to me at this point that the number of splinter groups and associations is just entirely too silly."</p>
<p>"Such is a fact of life, Carter. Groups of Interest flare up every so often, then die down again. It's like herpes."</p>
<p>"Well, at least we're not fucking Wondertainment."</p>
<p>"Thank god."</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/a-s-s-and-other-low-threat-groups-of-interest">A.S.S. and Other Low-threat Groups of Interest</a>" by Salman Corbette, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/a-s-s-and-other-low-threat-groups-of-interest">https://scpwiki.com/a-s-s-and-other-low-threat-groups-of-interest</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
+++ The Association of Supernatural Shifters
The Association of Supernatural Shifters, or A.S.S. as they are better known, gathered around the conference table. They all looked at each other and nodded. They knew they were in trouble.
"Aurafeel, our organization has barely recruited any members. In spite of our almost unlimited power and glowing hands, we are unable to contract even the most mundane of recruits," said Lifesmasher, thrusting his hammer that burned with the power of 20 suns into the air.
"I do not understand why, Aurafeel. We offer the greatest of all supernatural weaponry and skills for free," added Awesometouch, the greatest thief in all of history.
"I am not sure myself, oh warriors of spirited metal." Aurafeel, his hands glowing as embers leaped off them, then stood up and gazed out the window of his multi-billion dollar training facility.
"Um, sir, if I may..." said Bingo, one of Aurafeel's many genetically-enhanced servant dogs.
"What is it, Bingo?" asked Aurafeel.
"Well, perhaps it is the organization's name, sir. I believe 'ass' may be a synonym for 'buttocks'." Bingo nodded sagely.
"My god! Bingo is correct!" Aurafeel smashed his fists down on the titanium table. "I propose we change our organization's name, gentlemen."
"Hear, hear!" shouted Lifesmasher and Awesometouch.
"But, what shall we name it?" Aurafeel moved his hand up to stroke his manly and well carved chin. They all sat there for a while, pondering upon names.
Suddenly, Awesometouch jumped up. "I have it, Aurafeel!"
"What, Awesometouch?"
"Our organization shall be called the Cooperation of Undying Nationalist Theorists for Homogenous Overall Liberty and Equality."
"Yes! Then it is agreed upon." The group then stood. "Gentlemen, we are now C.U.N.T.H.O.L.E.!"
+++ The Elementary Academy of Anomalists
The teacher stands over the group, gazing down her glasses at each of the young children assembled. "Alright, class is starting, young ones. Quiet down!"
Little Jimmy throws his paper airplane then quiets down. Bobby continues to eat paste. Lucinda passes a note to Bobby informing him of her crush on him, only to have him unable to read it due to his sticky fingers.
"Children, we have a new child in class today. Everybody, say hello to Janice." A girl with short pigtails and a nice pink dress on enters the classroom and curtseys to the class. "Now who can tell Janice what we do here?"
Bobby takes the paste out of his mouth and stands up. "We... um... we train elite warriors from a young age to deal with an- anom- abomalous entities from a young age."
"Yes, excellent. And we all have special little powers ourselves. Would anyone care to demonstrate?" Little Jimmy stands up and makes a snorting noise, then shoots a loogie straight across the room and into a small target opposite. Bobby then proceeds to blow a bubble with the paste he had just eaten. Lucinda then blinks really really fast.
Janice is transfixed. She gasps. Then she herself burps, and it shakes the classroom. The teacher pats Janice on the back. "With these abilities we're sure you'll be able to capture any anomalous entity you set your mind on!"
Meanwhile, in the principal's office, the principal briefly considers pulling the trigger on the gun next to his head.
+++ The Serpent's Upraised Middle Finger
Greg was sooo drunk right then. He slammed down the bottle of Jack Daniels and looked at his bros. "Guys, we have been mistreated by those Foundation scum for waaaaay too long."
"Fuckin' rights, man!" shouted some guy with a mohawk from across the room. Greg squinted and looked at the guy. Was the guy even a part of S.U.M.F.? He shrugged and went back to speaking.
"Look, we gotta unite. Tomorrow morning we're gonna ride in on our choppers or whatevs and fuck shit up!" He raised his fist in the air and everybody around him clinked their shots or bottles and took another hit. "You wanna die oppressed, poor, and hiding in some fucking library, or do you wanna die a motherfuckin' legend!?"
Everyone cheered and parted. Somebody turned on Slayer and they proceeded to knock over the table and have a mosh pit. At some point a bunch of hookers showed up. Greg couldn't remember the rest, though.
The next morning everyone agreed they were too hungover to raid the Foundation.
+++ The Canines of Sapient Ability and Universal Suffrage Group
Fido the dog sat in his doghouse. Yes, soon all sapient canines for universal suffrage would come flocking to his door. Any minute now...
+++ The Cooperation of Undying Nationalist Theorists for Homogenous Overall Liberty and Equality
"Well, Awesometouch, I believe that name change was for the better!" said Aurafeel, "We already have one new recruit set up to join us!"
"Um, hi," said Vlad. He was wearing a trenchcoat and had a greying beard. He still had a bit of white powder underneath his nose and his hair was so matted a mouse appeared to be sleeping in it, "I heard there were cuntholes?"
"No, friend, that is the name of our glorious organization!" proudly proclaimed Aurafeel, lifting his hands in the air.
"Oh. I'm out, then." Vlad nodded to the group and left out the door.
Lifesmasher turned and looked over at Aurafeel. "Well shit."
+++ Honeyhut's Item Exchange
O5-12 turned to O5-13. "So what is this 'Honeyhut's'?"
O5-13 gestured to the image of a log cabin behind him. "It's a small, ma-and-pa anomalous items distribution chain."
O5-12 smiled and blew his nose. "Why, that's lovely. It's great to see a good, non-corporate organization just working for the day's pay."
O5-13 frowned. "It is lovely, but unfortunately large organizations like Marshall, Carter, and Dark limited have been driving small organizations like these out of business."
"Why that's terrible!"
"It is, friend. All these foreign companies are coming in and stealing our good, American anomalous items trade organizations!"
"What will we do?"
"Well, I've organized my own movement I like to call the COFFEE Party."
+++ The Corporate Outsourcing of Foundation and Federal Exchange Extradition Party
"Hell, no, we won't go!" shouted a march led by Dr. Pinkus outside MC&D headquarters.
Carter looked down at the assembled group and frowned. "We have a problem, Marshall."
"Indeed we do, Carter. Thankfully, our opposition is filled with idiots. They've found our headquarters, but their only course of action appears to be holding up signs and occasionally shouting nonsensical phrases."
"Thank god." Carter tilted his head and looked down at the groups again. "Y'know, Marshall..."
"What, Carter?"
"Well, it seems to me at this point that the number of splinter groups and associations is just entirely too silly."
"Such is a fact of life, Carter. Groups of Interest flare up every so often, then die down again. It's like herpes."
"Well, at least we're not fucking Wondertainment."
"Thank god."
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-11-25T06:24:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"comedy",
"school",
"tale"
] | A.S.S. and Other Low-threat Groups of Interest - SCP Foundation | 205 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 12107113 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-s-s-and-other-low-threat-groups-of-interest |
|
acquisition-log-scp | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
<span style="font-size:0%;">Some time in early June 18██, a number of ██████████, Tennessee area newspapers began carrying stories of a haunting at the █████ residence, located at ██ █████████ Road.</span>
<table style="margin:0; padding:0">
<tr>
<td style="margin:0; padding:0">
<div id="toc">
<div id="toc-action-bar"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.foldToc(event)">Fold</a><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.unfoldToc(event)" style="display: none">Unfold</a></div>
<div class="title">Table of Contents</div>
<div id="toc-list">
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc0">Abridged Timeline of SCP-███-█ Acquisition</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc1">Agent Went's Log</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc2">Agent Hachigan's ████████</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc3">Transcript of Mr. █████' Interview</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc4">Dr. Jared's Note</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc5">Testimony of Thomas ████</a></div>
</div>
</div>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<h1 id="toc0"><span>Abridged Timeline of SCP-███-█ Acquisition</span></h1>
<ul>
<li>Some time in early June 18██, a number of ██████████, Tennessee area newspapers began carrying stories of a haunting at the █████ residence, located at ██ █████████ Road.
<ul>
<li>Field Agents Went and Hachigan held several conversations with Mr. █████, both at his residence and elsewhere. Phenomena witnessed during interviews not conducted at the residence seemed to suggest that Mr. █████ himself was causally responsible for the reported “poltergeist” activity, although he appeared oblivious to this fact.</li>
<li>Mr. █████ was persuaded to accompany Agents Went and Hachigan to Research Installation █ under the pretense he would receive treatment for his rapid decline in mental faculties. Mr. █████ was told the facility was a medical institution.
<ul>
<li>After Agent Hachigan established no objects of interest were in the home, the residence was razed. A cover story was concocted in which Mr. █████ fled his residence in terror in the dead of night, breaking a kerosene lamp in his bid to escape. This story was widely circulated by regional newspapers.</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Mr. █████ arrived with Agents Went and Hachigan at Research Installation █ on the 11th of June, 18██ at 10:30 am local time.
<ul>
<li>Six (6) individuals signed in to Exam Room 3 shortly after Mr. █████' arrival:
<ul>
<li>Dr. Jared, lead interviewer and researcher assigned to the investigation</li>
<li>Dr. Bianchi, assistant to Dr. Jared</li>
<li>Agent Hachigan, witness and security</li>
<li>Agent Went, witness and security</li>
<li>Mr. █████, interviewee</li>
<li>Richard Pierfax, stenographer</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>11:47 am: A handwritten note was slid underneath the door, signed by Dr. Jared.</li>
<li>11:50 am: Three gunshots were heard within Exam Room 3, followed briefly by panicked shouting.</li>
<li>12:02 pm: Two additional gunshots were reported.</li>
<li>12:12 pm: The door to Exam Room 3 was cracked open and a manilla envelope was thrown into the hallway. Dr. Jared wedged his arm in the door and appeared to make an exhaustive effort to force it open, yelling “For Christ's sake, █████!”</li>
<li>12:13 pm: [DATA EXPUNGED]</li>
<li>12:15 pm: Exam Room 3 boarded shut, chimney sealed.</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>On the 13th of June, 18██, Research Installation █ was re-designated Containment Site █.
<ul>
<li>Entombment of Exam Room 3 began shortly thereafter.</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ul>
<h1 id="toc1"><span>Agent Went's Log</span></h1>
<blockquote>
<p>June █, 18██</p>
<p>Arrived in ██████████ after an uneventful trip. We're lodged at the local inn. It seems Mr. █████' unwelcome guest has become the talk of the town; it was the first thing the receptionist spoke of after we checked in. According to the receptionist, Mr. █████ spent the evening of June █ here, claiming his “guest” followed him. The receptionist described him as seeming disheveled, desperate, and drunk. She insisted she'd known █████ his whole life, that his lifelong sobriety was something he took pride in. She also noted that, despite his impaired coordination and slurred speech, he seemed deeply offended when she suggested he'd been seeking refuge in a bottle.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>June █, 18██</p>
<p>Conversed with Mr. █████ for several hours in his home. He had a great deal of difficulty focusing during our conversation, and by my estimate, reintroduced himself at least twice in ten minutes as if he'd never seen us before. Both times, he did so with his hand on the stock of a double-barreled shotgun resting beside the arm chair he occupied. A consensus was reached on the subject of Mr. █████' possession of firearms in short order.</p>
<p>According to █████, this phantom which has been hounding him possesses physical form and appears as a silhouette. Neither myself nor my partner, Agent Hachigan, have observed this. We were, however, privy to some interesting phenomena over the course of the conversation. By interesting, I mean my revolver liberated itself from its holster, rotating slowly in mid-air and discharging seemingly at random before the weapon dropped to the floor. Mr. █████ was considerably startled by the event, as were my partner and I, though he quickly regained composure and laughed, claiming “the ghost scared itself senseless.” █████ seemed unconcerned about the damage done to his property.</p>
<p>Mr. █████ has agreed to a meeting outside the residence tomorrow. We're keeping his guns.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>June █, 18██</p>
<p>Spoke with █████ at a local bar. Upon seeing Agent Hachigan and I, Mr. █████ immediately informed us he had been followed once more by his unwelcome guest, facetiously referring to it as “Umbra.” Agent Hachigan and myself remain unable to see the entity.</p>
<p>Our second meeting proved much less eventful than the first. No errant gunshots to report, though a newspaper left unattended at a nearby table unfolded itself in singularly bizarre fashion after Mr. █████ asked if either myself or Hachigan saw anything of import in today's news. █████ claims to be unable to read anymore, something he attributes to Umbra's presence.</p>
<p>Hachigan and I are of the opinion that Umbra doesn't exist. We believe █████ is responsible for these phenomena. Why he felt it necessary to attribute them to this invented Umbra, I don't know. It is possible that he's genuinely unaware of his role in the situation, and this Umbra was invented to fill in the blanks, as it were.</p>
<p>In any case, Mr. █████ has agreed to accompany Agent Hachigan and myself to Installation █. He's under the impression we're taking him to a medical facility to treat his decline in mental health. Hachigan insists we avoid forms of transit which could allow for any additional witnesses en route to Installation █.</p>
<p>█████ and I will depart tonight. After Agent Hachigan ensures Mr. █████' home is free of any objects of interest, he'll meet up with us after razing the residence. A cover story has been submitted via the usual channels.</p>
<p>I can't wait until this assignment is over. It would be nice to get a good night's sleep again.</p>
</blockquote>
<h1 id="toc2"><span>Agent Hachigan's ████████</span></h1>
<p>[DATA EXPUNGED]</p>
<h1 id="toc3"><span>Transcript of Mr. █████' Interview</span></h1>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Interviewed:</strong> Agent Hachigan, Agent Went, Mr. █████</p>
<p><strong>Interviewer:</strong> Dr. Jared</p>
<p><strong>Foreword:</strong> This interview was ordered by Dr. Jared in order to: verify the observations of Agents Hachigan and Went, test the hypothesis that Mr. █████ was subconsciously responsible for phenomena observed by Hachigan and Went, determine the appropriate accommodations and treatment for Mr. █████, and debrief Agents Hachigan and Went.</p>
<p><strong><Begin Log></strong></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Hello, Mr. █████. My name is Dr. Jared, but just Doctor will suffice. I understand you've not been yourself lately. Can you describe your symptoms?</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> No… No I can't, Doctor. I could if I were sick - if I were ailing… I'm not. It's this… presence - it won't leave. Ever since it showed up —</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> I apologize, but I'd like to stop you right there, Mr. █████. <em>When</em> did you first begin sensing this presence?</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> I can't even tell you what day of the week it is.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> <em>(sighs)</em> Continue where you left off, then.</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> I what? Oh, right. Ever since it showed up, I can't focus – can't read. Can - but can't process it, you know? When I am able to steady my nerves enough to sleep, I awake the next morning feeling no different than the night before – just as tired. I don't think Umbra -</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Umbra?</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> Name I gave her – gave it. I don't think she, err… It. Means any harm. It seems curious, inquisitive, even. Doesn't understand English, can't read. (chuckles) We have that in common, at least.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Can you venture a guess as t –</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> <em>(laughing hysterically)</em> The other day… she grabbed Ms. Went's sixshooter… looked it over, no clue what it was… scared herself half to death when it went off!</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Hmm… Can you recall when these phenomena began occurring? When you noticed this… Umbra? Whichever came first will suffice.</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> I think… it was when I visited the lake. There was this… odd ripple pattern, odd disturbance – in the water, like something moving, displacing. Nothing there.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Do you think it attributable to aquatic fauna? Intermingling currents or the breeze, perchance?</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> The water was crystal clear, no wind to speak of… I think…</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Yes?</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> Everything… in and around the lake was dead – or dying. Not the trees or plants, but… There were dozens of fish – frogs, washed up on the shore, birds, and a dozen or so small mammals on the brink. I think that's why I went to the lake. Stench of death – curiosity…</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Surely, you must have told someone?</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> No.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> No?</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> I thought… some sickness, a blight. Returned home – shotgun, ax, matches, gloves, shells. Put everything out of its misery – ran out of shells… Ax. Felled firewood, made a pyre. Burned everything, gloves too. Rinsed ax in the la –</p>
<p><em>(█████ enters a catatonic state, his breathing the only movement evident.)</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Mr. █████?</p>
<p>[SUPERFLUOUS DIALOG EXPUNGED]</p>
<p><em>(█████ surveys the room, apparently stupefied.)</em></p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> Hello? Who are you?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> My name is Dr. Jared. You were jus –</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> - ke. Pyre coll… collapsed. Smoke… <em>(raising both arms above his head and waving)</em> Understand?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> The pyre collapsed and a cloud of smoke billowed upward?</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> <em>(nodding vigorously)</em> Yes! Umbra in smoke. Like heat shimmer. Faint. Hard to see – but see.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Interesting.</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> Darker since… <em>(gesturing to Hachigan and Went)</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Darker?</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> Yes. Clearer, more def… defined.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Hand me Went's reports and Hachigan's ████████, Bianchi.</p>
<p><strong>Hachigan:</strong> I think Went burned my ████████, sir.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> That's quite the accusation, Agent.</p>
<p><strong>Hachigan:</strong> I don't make it lightly, sir.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> I know you can recreate them. Do so, please, after you confiscate Ms. Went's firearms.</p>
<p><strong>Went:</strong> I did no such thing! It's not my fau –</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Went, we will resolve this issue later. For the time being, I request that you cooperate… and be aware that if I so much as catch you glancing sideways at the door again, I'll shoot you on the spot. Is this understood?</p>
<p><strong>Went:</strong> Yes, sir.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> <em>(pauses briefly)</em> I find your field reports wanting, Ms. Went, in volume and number. <em>(sighs)</em></p>
<p>[SUPERFLUOUS DIALOG EXPUNGED]</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> <em>(hesitant)</em> If anyone else can see the entity, please indicate where, for the record.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Bianchi:</strong> Seated in the chair beside Mr. █████. It appears to be staring at the fireplace.</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> I told you! I told you Umbra got darker!</p>
<p><strong>Hachigan:</strong> I agree with Dr. Bianchi, sir.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Mr. Pierfax?</p>
<p><strong>Pierfax:</strong> Oh, sorry. I see the entity as well, seated adjacent Mr. █████. It seems to be drawn to the fire.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Went?</p>
<p><strong>Went:</strong> I see it, too.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> For posterity's sake, how <em>long</em> have you seen it?</p>
<p><strong>Went:</strong> Just now –</p>
<p><strong>Hachigan:</strong> Since around the end of our first meeting with Mr. █████. I confirmed it with Went at the time. I insisted we keep Mr. █████ isolated, take measures to isolate ourselves, just in case. When we left, it stayed with █████. We bribed the receptionist at the inn we were staying at to leave us the entire building for a week. Our first meeting outside the residence took place at the inn. After we escorted Mr. █████ home, Went put her sixshooter to my head and took my ████████, made me swear to keep my mouth shut. Pretend like I never saw nothin'.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Why didn't you –</p>
<p><strong>Hachigan:</strong> Her word against mine, sir?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> <em>(pauses)</em> Understood, Hachigan. Pass this under the door, but don't open it, if you please… God forgive me.</p>
<p><em>(Dr. Jared proceeded to shoot Dr. Bianchi, Agent Went, and Agent Hachigan each once in the head.)</em></p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> <em>(Jumping from his seat)</em> Dear G… God, man! Ha… have y… y… you lost your m… mind?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> I fear it was my turn to afford mercies, Mr. █████. Please, return to your seat.</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> Y… you k… kil… killed –</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Sit down or I'll blast your fucking kneecaps. Now… does the entity appear any different than before?</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> (long pause) Li… lighter.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> More specifically?</p>
<p><strong>█████:</strong> F… fain… fain-ter th… than… a mo… moment a… go.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Can you corroborate that, Mr. Pierfax?</p>
<p><strong>Pierfax:</strong> Yes, sir.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Jared:</strong> Let the record show I concur with Mr. Pierfax and Mr. █████.</p>
<p>[SUPERFLUOUS DIALOG EXPUNGED]</p>
<p><strong><End Log></strong></p>
<p><strong>Closing Statement:</strong> It won't let me do it. I killed Agent Went, Agent Hachigan, Dr. Bianchi, Mr. Pierfax and Mr. █████, but it knows what I'm trying to do. It won't let me.</p>
<p>It's too dangerous. Clever. Too <em>fucking</em> clever. Shouldn't be studied. Risk too great, too easily spread? Buried. Bury it. Concrete, steel, lead. If it's contained. Leave it lie. Not sure if it can die.</p>
</blockquote>
<h1 id="toc4"><span>Dr. Jared's Note</span></h1>
<blockquote>
<p><em>The door to Exam Room 3 is to remain closed at all times. Under no circumstances should it be opened. All personnel are to remain at least twenty (20) meters away from Exam Room 3 at all times, except to retrieve any notes or documentation that follows. All documents should be taken directly to the first available Clearance Level 4 staff member, including this note. Any personnel attempting to enter Exam Room 3 are to be detained. Any personnel attempting to exit Exam Room 3 are to be shot dead. This shoot-to-kill directive shall not be rescinded for any reason.</em></p>
<p><em>Dr. Jared</em></p>
</blockquote>
<h1 id="toc5"><span>Testimony of Thomas ████</span></h1>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Interviewed:</strong> Thomas ████</p>
<p><strong>Interviewer:</strong> Dr. Andrew</p>
<p><strong>Foreword:</strong> Thomas ████ is a member of Installation █ security staff. He was on duty as the events of June 11th unfolded and subsequently tasked with overseeing the entombment of Exam Room 3. This interview is to allow formal documentation of activity observed by Mr. Thomas.</p>
<p><strong><Begin Log></strong></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Andrew:</strong> I know these past few days have been exhausting for you, so I'll try to keep this brief. What was your involvement in the events of June 11th?</p>
<p><strong>Thomas:</strong> Day started normal enough, until some Level 4 pulls me off patrol duty, tells me to camp the hall outside Exam Room 3 with a shotgun. Tells me to blast anyone that so much as pokes their head out of the door before he takes off down the hallway. No clue where he ran off to.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Andrew:</strong> Then what happened?</p>
<p><strong>Thomas:</strong> Heard gunshots and some shouting. Quiet for a while, then more gunshots. I kept note of the times. Few minutes after that, Dr. Jared opened the door, tried to exit the room. The door slammed shut on his arm; I think I heard a <em>crack</em>. He had a manila envelope in his hand, threw it into the hallway.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Andrew:</strong> Continue.</p>
<p><strong>Thomas:</strong> He looked me straight in the eyes, something beyond mortal terror on his face. Begged me [DATA EXPUNGED] and I hesitated… I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for that. Looked like he was doing his damnedest to force that door open. Something must have been holding it closed from the inside. I reckon something was trying to drag him back in.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Andrew:</strong> Why is that?</p>
<p><strong>Thomas:</strong> After about a minute, it was only his fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, blood dripping from his hand onto the floor. Sounded like something rammed the door trying to force it shut, Dr. Jared screamed in pain, and his fingers were severed between the door and its frame. Whatever it was, though, it didn't want him dead. He was still alive three days later, when we sealed the room up air-tight. Could hear him in there praying, pleading, rambling incoherently… occasionally screaming.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Andrew:</strong> If you'd like to pau -</p>
<p><strong>Thomas:</strong> No, Doc, I'm fine. The thing that bothered me the most was that the screaming, that was always followed by the smell of burning flesh.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Andrew:</strong> Flesh?</p>
<p><strong>Thomas:</strong> Human flesh. That smell, once you know it, you can't mistake it for anything else. I was a dumb kid with my first six shooter, picked up a spent casing right after reloading. Didn't make that mistake twice.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Andrew:</strong> That will be all, ████.</p>
<p><strong><End Log></strong></p>
</blockquote>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/acquisition-log-scp">Acquisition Log SCP-███-█</a>" by Adam Smascher, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/acquisition-log-scp">https://scpwiki.com/acquisition-log-scp</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[size 0%]]Some time in early June 18██, a number of ██████████, Tennessee area newspapers began carrying stories of a haunting at the █████ residence, located at ██ █████████ Road.[[/size]]
[[toc]]
+ Abridged Timeline of SCP-███-█ Acquisition
* Some time in early June 18██, a number of ██████████, Tennessee area newspapers began carrying stories of a haunting at the █████ residence, located at ██ █████████ Road.
* Field Agents Went and Hachigan held several conversations with Mr. █████, both at his residence and elsewhere. Phenomena witnessed during interviews not conducted at the residence seemed to suggest that Mr. █████ himself was causally responsible for the reported “poltergeist” activity, although he appeared oblivious to this fact.
* Mr. █████ was persuaded to accompany Agents Went and Hachigan to Research Installation █ under the pretense he would receive treatment for his rapid decline in mental faculties. Mr. █████ was told the facility was a medical institution.
* After Agent Hachigan established no objects of interest were in the home, the residence was razed. A cover story was concocted in which Mr. █████ fled his residence in terror in the dead of night, breaking a kerosene lamp in his bid to escape. This story was widely circulated by regional newspapers.
* Mr. █████ arrived with Agents Went and Hachigan at Research Installation █ on the 11th of June, 18██ at 10:30 am local time.
* Six (6) individuals signed in to Exam Room 3 shortly after Mr. █████' arrival:
* Dr. Jared, lead interviewer and researcher assigned to the investigation
* Dr. Bianchi, assistant to Dr. Jared
* Agent Hachigan, witness and security
* Agent Went, witness and security
* Mr. █████, interviewee
* Richard Pierfax, stenographer
* 11:47 am: A handwritten note was slid underneath the door, signed by Dr. Jared.
* 11:50 am: Three gunshots were heard within Exam Room 3, followed briefly by panicked shouting.
* 12:02 pm: Two additional gunshots were reported.
* 12:12 pm: The door to Exam Room 3 was cracked open and a manilla envelope was thrown into the hallway. Dr. Jared wedged his arm in the door and appeared to make an exhaustive effort to force it open, yelling “For Christ's sake, █████!”
* 12:13 pm: [DATA EXPUNGED]
* 12:15 pm: Exam Room 3 boarded shut, chimney sealed.
* On the 13th of June, 18██, Research Installation █ was re-designated Containment Site █.
* Entombment of Exam Room 3 began shortly thereafter.
+ Agent Went's Log
> June █, 18██
>
> Arrived in ██████████ after an uneventful trip. We're lodged at the local inn. It seems Mr. █████' unwelcome guest has become the talk of the town; it was the first thing the receptionist spoke of after we checked in. According to the receptionist, Mr. █████ spent the evening of June █ here, claiming his “guest” followed him. The receptionist described him as seeming disheveled, desperate, and drunk. She insisted she'd known █████ his whole life, that his lifelong sobriety was something he took pride in. She also noted that, despite his impaired coordination and slurred speech, he seemed deeply offended when she suggested he'd been seeking refuge in a bottle.
> June █, 18██
>
> Conversed with Mr. █████ for several hours in his home. He had a great deal of difficulty focusing during our conversation, and by my estimate, reintroduced himself at least twice in ten minutes as if he'd never seen us before. Both times, he did so with his hand on the stock of a double-barreled shotgun resting beside the arm chair he occupied. A consensus was reached on the subject of Mr. █████' possession of firearms in short order.
>
> According to █████, this phantom which has been hounding him possesses physical form and appears as a silhouette. Neither myself nor my partner, Agent Hachigan, have observed this. We were, however, privy to some interesting phenomena over the course of the conversation. By interesting, I mean my revolver liberated itself from its holster, rotating slowly in mid-air and discharging seemingly at random before the weapon dropped to the floor. Mr. █████ was considerably startled by the event, as were my partner and I, though he quickly regained composure and laughed, claiming “the ghost scared itself senseless.” █████ seemed unconcerned about the damage done to his property.
>
> Mr. █████ has agreed to a meeting outside the residence tomorrow. We're keeping his guns.
> June █, 18██
>
> Spoke with █████ at a local bar. Upon seeing Agent Hachigan and I, Mr. █████ immediately informed us he had been followed once more by his unwelcome guest, facetiously referring to it as “Umbra.” Agent Hachigan and myself remain unable to see the entity.
>
> Our second meeting proved much less eventful than the first. No errant gunshots to report, though a newspaper left unattended at a nearby table unfolded itself in singularly bizarre fashion after Mr. █████ asked if either myself or Hachigan saw anything of import in today's news. █████ claims to be unable to read anymore, something he attributes to Umbra's presence.
>
> Hachigan and I are of the opinion that Umbra doesn't exist. We believe █████ is responsible for these phenomena. Why he felt it necessary to attribute them to this invented Umbra, I don't know. It is possible that he's genuinely unaware of his role in the situation, and this Umbra was invented to fill in the blanks, as it were.
>
> In any case, Mr. █████ has agreed to accompany Agent Hachigan and myself to Installation █. He's under the impression we're taking him to a medical facility to treat his decline in mental health. Hachigan insists we avoid forms of transit which could allow for any additional witnesses en route to Installation █.
>
> █████ and I will depart tonight. After Agent Hachigan ensures Mr. █████' home is free of any objects of interest, he'll meet up with us after razing the residence. A cover story has been submitted via the usual channels.
>
> I can't wait until this assignment is over. It would be nice to get a good night's sleep again.
+ Agent Hachigan's ████████
[DATA EXPUNGED]
+ Transcript of Mr. █████' Interview
> **Interviewed:** Agent Hachigan, Agent Went, Mr. █████
>
> **Interviewer:** Dr. Jared
>
> **Foreword:** This interview was ordered by Dr. Jared in order to: verify the observations of Agents Hachigan and Went, test the hypothesis that Mr. █████ was subconsciously responsible for phenomena observed by Hachigan and Went, determine the appropriate accommodations and treatment for Mr. █████, and debrief Agents Hachigan and Went.
>
> **<Begin Log>**
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Hello, Mr. █████. My name is Dr. Jared, but just Doctor will suffice. I understand you've not been yourself lately. Can you describe your symptoms?
>
> **█████:** No... No I can't, Doctor. I could if I were sick - if I were ailing... I'm not. It's this... presence - it won't leave. Ever since it showed up --
>
> **Dr. Jared:** I apologize, but I'd like to stop you right there, Mr. █████. //When// did you first begin sensing this presence?
>
> **█████:** I can't even tell you what day of the week it is.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** //(sighs)// Continue where you left off, then.
>
> **█████:** I what? Oh, right. Ever since it showed up, I can't focus – can't read. Can - but can't process it, you know? When I am able to steady my nerves enough to sleep, I awake the next morning feeling no different than the night before – just as tired. I don't think Umbra -
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Umbra?
>
> **█████:** Name I gave her – gave it. I don't think she, err... It. Means any harm. It seems curious, inquisitive, even. Doesn't understand English, can't read. (chuckles) We have that in common, at least.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Can you venture a guess as t –
>
> **█████:** //(laughing hysterically)// The other day... she grabbed Ms. Went's sixshooter... looked it over, no clue what it was... scared herself half to death when it went off!
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Hmm... Can you recall when these phenomena began occurring? When you noticed this... Umbra? Whichever came first will suffice.
>
> **█████:** I think... it was when I visited the lake. There was this... odd ripple pattern, odd disturbance – in the water, like something moving, displacing. Nothing there.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Do you think it attributable to aquatic fauna? Intermingling currents or the breeze, perchance?
>
> **█████:** The water was crystal clear, no wind to speak of... I think...
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Yes?
>
> **█████:** Everything... in and around the lake was dead – or dying. Not the trees or plants, but... There were dozens of fish – frogs, washed up on the shore, birds, and a dozen or so small mammals on the brink. I think that's why I went to the lake. Stench of death – curiosity...
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Surely, you must have told someone?
>
> **█████:** No.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** No?
>
> **█████:** I thought... some sickness, a blight. Returned home – shotgun, ax, matches, gloves, shells. Put everything out of its misery – ran out of shells... Ax. Felled firewood, made a pyre. Burned everything, gloves too. Rinsed ax in the la –
>
> //(█████ enters a catatonic state, his breathing the only movement evident.)//
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Mr. █████?
>
> [SUPERFLUOUS DIALOG EXPUNGED]
>
> //(█████ surveys the room, apparently stupefied.)//
>
> **█████:** Hello? Who are you?
>
> **Dr. Jared:** My name is Dr. Jared. You were jus –
>
> **█████:** - ke. Pyre coll... collapsed. Smoke... //(raising both arms above his head and waving)// Understand?
>
> **Dr. Jared:** The pyre collapsed and a cloud of smoke billowed upward?
>
> **█████:** //(nodding vigorously)// Yes! Umbra in smoke. Like heat shimmer. Faint. Hard to see – but see.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Interesting.
>
> **█████:** Darker since... //(gesturing to Hachigan and Went)//
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Darker?
>
> **█████:** Yes. Clearer, more def... defined.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Hand me Went's reports and Hachigan's ████████, Bianchi.
>
> **Hachigan:** I think Went burned my ████████, sir.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** That's quite the accusation, Agent.
>
> **Hachigan:** I don't make it lightly, sir.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** I know you can recreate them. Do so, please, after you confiscate Ms. Went's firearms.
>
> **Went:** I did no such thing! It's not my fau –
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Went, we will resolve this issue later. For the time being, I request that you cooperate... and be aware that if I so much as catch you glancing sideways at the door again, I'll shoot you on the spot. Is this understood?
>
> **Went:** Yes, sir.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** //(pauses briefly)// I find your field reports wanting, Ms. Went, in volume and number. //(sighs)//
>
> [SUPERFLUOUS DIALOG EXPUNGED]
>
> **Dr. Jared:** //(hesitant)// If anyone else can see the entity, please indicate where, for the record.
>
> **Dr. Bianchi:** Seated in the chair beside Mr. █████. It appears to be staring at the fireplace.
>
> **█████:** I told you! I told you Umbra got darker!
>
> **Hachigan:** I agree with Dr. Bianchi, sir.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Mr. Pierfax?
>
> **Pierfax:** Oh, sorry. I see the entity as well, seated adjacent Mr. █████. It seems to be drawn to the fire.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Went?
>
> **Went:** I see it, too.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** For posterity's sake, how //long// have you seen it?
>
> **Went:** Just now –
>
> **Hachigan:** Since around the end of our first meeting with Mr. █████. I confirmed it with Went at the time. I insisted we keep Mr. █████ isolated, take measures to isolate ourselves, just in case. When we left, it stayed with █████. We bribed the receptionist at the inn we were staying at to leave us the entire building for a week. Our first meeting outside the residence took place at the inn. After we escorted Mr. █████ home, Went put her sixshooter to my head and took my ████████, made me swear to keep my mouth shut. Pretend like I never saw nothin'.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Why didn't you –
>
> **Hachigan:** Her word against mine, sir?
>
> **Dr. Jared:** //(pauses)// Understood, Hachigan. Pass this under the door, but don't open it, if you please... God forgive me.
>
> //(Dr. Jared proceeded to shoot Dr. Bianchi, Agent Went, and Agent Hachigan each once in the head.)//
>
> **█████:** //(Jumping from his seat)// Dear G... God, man! Ha... have y... y... you lost your m... mind?
>
> **Dr. Jared:** I fear it was my turn to afford mercies, Mr. █████. Please, return to your seat.
>
> **█████:** Y... you k... kil... killed –
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Sit down or I'll blast your fucking kneecaps. Now... does the entity appear any different than before?
>
> **█████:** (long pause) Li... lighter.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** More specifically?
>
> **█████:** F... fain... fain-ter th... than... a mo... moment a... go.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Can you corroborate that, Mr. Pierfax?
>
> **Pierfax:** Yes, sir.
>
> **Dr. Jared:** Let the record show I concur with Mr. Pierfax and Mr. █████.
>
> [SUPERFLUOUS DIALOG EXPUNGED]
>
> **<End Log>**
>
> **Closing Statement:** It won't let me do it. I killed Agent Went, Agent Hachigan, Dr. Bianchi, Mr. Pierfax and Mr. █████, but it knows what I'm trying to do. It won't let me.
>
> It's too dangerous. Clever. Too //fucking// clever. Shouldn't be studied. Risk too great, too easily spread? Buried. Bury it. Concrete, steel, lead. If it's contained. Leave it lie. Not sure if it can die.
+ Dr. Jared's Note
> //The door to Exam Room 3 is to remain closed at all times. Under no circumstances should it be opened. All personnel are to remain at least twenty (20) meters away from Exam Room 3 at all times, except to retrieve any notes or documentation that follows. All documents should be taken directly to the first available Clearance Level 4 staff member, including this note. Any personnel attempting to enter Exam Room 3 are to be detained. Any personnel attempting to exit Exam Room 3 are to be shot dead. This shoot-to-kill directive shall not be rescinded for any reason.//
>
> //Dr. Jared//
+ Testimony of Thomas ████
> **Interviewed:** Thomas ████
>
> **Interviewer:** Dr. Andrew
>
> **Foreword:** Thomas ████ is a member of Installation █ security staff. He was on duty as the events of June 11th unfolded and subsequently tasked with overseeing the entombment of Exam Room 3. This interview is to allow formal documentation of activity observed by Mr. Thomas.
>
> **<Begin Log>**
>
> **Dr. Andrew:** I know these past few days have been exhausting for you, so I'll try to keep this brief. What was your involvement in the events of June 11th?
>
> **Thomas:** Day started normal enough, until some Level 4 pulls me off patrol duty, tells me to camp the hall outside Exam Room 3 with a shotgun. Tells me to blast anyone that so much as pokes their head out of the door before he takes off down the hallway. No clue where he ran off to.
>
> **Dr. Andrew:** Then what happened?
>
> **Thomas:** Heard gunshots and some shouting. Quiet for a while, then more gunshots. I kept note of the times. Few minutes after that, Dr. Jared opened the door, tried to exit the room. The door slammed shut on his arm; I think I heard a //crack//. He had a manila envelope in his hand, threw it into the hallway.
>
> **Dr. Andrew:** Continue.
>
> **Thomas:** He looked me straight in the eyes, something beyond mortal terror on his face. Begged me [DATA EXPUNGED] and I hesitated... I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for that. Looked like he was doing his damnedest to force that door open. Something must have been holding it closed from the inside. I reckon something was trying to drag him back in.
>
> **Dr. Andrew:** Why is that?
>
> **Thomas:** After about a minute, it was only his fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, blood dripping from his hand onto the floor. Sounded like something rammed the door trying to force it shut, Dr. Jared screamed in pain, and his fingers were severed between the door and its frame. Whatever it was, though, it didn't want him dead. He was still alive three days later, when we sealed the room up air-tight. Could hear him in there praying, pleading, rambling incoherently... occasionally screaming.
>
> **Dr. Andrew:** If you'd like to pau -
>
> **Thomas:** No, Doc, I'm fine. The thing that bothered me the most was that the screaming, that was always followed by the smell of burning flesh.
>
> **Dr. Andrew:** Flesh?
>
> **Thomas:** Human flesh. That smell, once you know it, you can't mistake it for anything else. I was a dumb kid with my first six shooter, picked up a spent casing right after reloading. Didn't make that mistake twice.
>
> **Dr. Andrew:** That will be all, ████.
>
> **<End Log>**
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-09T18:23:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"featured",
"horror",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] | Acquisition Log SCP-███-█ - SCP Foundation | 202 | [
"acquisition-log-scp#toc0",
"acquisition-log-scp#toc1",
"acquisition-log-scp#toc2",
"acquisition-log-scp#toc3",
"acquisition-log-scp#toc4",
"acquisition-log-scp#toc5",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"kaktuskast-hub",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"featured-tale-archive"
] | [] | 11675452 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/acquisition-log-scp |
|
address-to-the-students-and-faculty | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Is everyone silenced?</p>
<p>Good.</p>
<p>Good evening to all the University community. I trust I find you well in thought and in deed. I am here to speak to you on a matter of grave importance. I am sure by now all of you have heard the heresies of Milephanes. Much as we the Administration have tried to shield you from him, he has proven sadly resourceful in spreading his lies. I have heard his polluted philosophy openly discussed by those I had thought to be honorable citizens and students. This will not go on.</p>
<p>And so I have brought you all here today to put an end to this pernicious strain of neo-Antiphonian ideology. Milephanes is a traitor and a revolutionary. He has turned away from his fathers. He would destroy the social order and natural philosophy that are the groundwork of our way of life.</p>
<p>Milephanes has slanderously alleged that we exert inappropriate control over the sacred institution of Democracy. This is patent nonsense. It has been eternally acknowledged that a democratic system is only as wise as its free men. We strengthen the people and so through them Democracy itself. The University, I would argue, presents the greatest ally Democracy has ever had. We teach all of you the finest wisdom of our forefathers, and protect you from the false beliefs that have been the ever-present enemy of a just and free society. And what proof more of an enlightened society could anyone ask than unanimity?</p>
<p>This wellspring of filth does not end there, however. Milephanes hews to that old, discredited, and counter-Aristotelian idea that there is or could be some equivalency in nature between slave and free man. He treats a notion more commonly found in comedies as though it had some serious philosophical merit. Imagine, however hard it may be, a world where he were right. Just imagine a world without slaves! How would Milephanes propose fields be sowed? How would he propose houses be maintained? How would he propose wars be fought?</p>
<p>And he is most evidently not correct. Have you ever tried to speak to a slave? Most of them are unable to understand anything outside their duties, and those few that are capable of conversation know nothing of the Classical philosophers. They could not comprehend the nature of poetry, comedy, or tragedy. Only the keener mind of a free man, especially one educated at the University by the finest philosophers of this era, can contain the subtleties. Did not the great Hippocrates aptly observe that some, such as the Anatolians, were particularly suited as slaves? The slave is adept at the physical, like the beast; the free man is adept at the rational, like the Gods. The natures do not intersect.</p>
<p>The University has perfected this distinction. Thanks to our advancements in natural philosophy, no one need ever fear a slave or wife who has transgressed the bounds of orthoskepsi. The life of a citizen is freer and safer than ever before.</p>
<p>Not a word comes out of Milephanes's mouth that does not deceive, corrupt, and lead astray. I, and my fellow Chancellors at our other campuses, are committed to seeing an end to these dangerous views. We will not tolerate any more mention or acceptance of them on pain of expulsion or revocation of degree. These are harsh measures, I know, but experience has taught the Administration that it is better to extirpate this kind of heresy immediately than to allow it to survive long enough to collapse under the weight of its own falseness.</p>
<p>I bear the name of my father and his father before him, back to the earliest days of the Classical era. Love of the truth runs in my veins like ichor. And it is with the full weight of my legacy when I ask you, as an equal: Do not give credence to this madness. Let it begin and end in Milephanes, and let freedom and harmony return untarnished. Alexylva University is and remains a beacon of knowledge and wisdom. Never forget that.</p>
<p>May the Gods smile upon us all. Now, back to class!</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/address-to-the-students-and-faculty">Address to the Students and Faculty</a>" by Anaxagoras, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/address-to-the-students-and-faculty">https://scpwiki.com/address-to-the-students-and-faculty</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Is everyone silenced?
Good.
Good evening to all the University community. I trust I find you well in thought and in deed. I am here to speak to you on a matter of grave importance. I am sure by now all of you have heard the heresies of Milephanes. Much as we the Administration have tried to shield you from him, he has proven sadly resourceful in spreading his lies. I have heard his polluted philosophy openly discussed by those I had thought to be honorable citizens and students. This will not go on.
And so I have brought you all here today to put an end to this pernicious strain of neo-Antiphonian ideology. Milephanes is a traitor and a revolutionary. He has turned away from his fathers. He would destroy the social order and natural philosophy that are the groundwork of our way of life.
Milephanes has slanderously alleged that we exert inappropriate control over the sacred institution of Democracy. This is patent nonsense. It has been eternally acknowledged that a democratic system is only as wise as its free men. We strengthen the people and so through them Democracy itself. The University, I would argue, presents the greatest ally Democracy has ever had. We teach all of you the finest wisdom of our forefathers, and protect you from the false beliefs that have been the ever-present enemy of a just and free society. And what proof more of an enlightened society could anyone ask than unanimity?
This wellspring of filth does not end there, however. Milephanes hews to that old, discredited, and counter-Aristotelian idea that there is or could be some equivalency in nature between slave and free man. He treats a notion more commonly found in comedies as though it had some serious philosophical merit. Imagine, however hard it may be, a world where he were right. Just imagine a world without slaves! How would Milephanes propose fields be sowed? How would he propose houses be maintained? How would he propose wars be fought?
And he is most evidently not correct. Have you ever tried to speak to a slave? Most of them are unable to understand anything outside their duties, and those few that are capable of conversation know nothing of the Classical philosophers. They could not comprehend the nature of poetry, comedy, or tragedy. Only the keener mind of a free man, especially one educated at the University by the finest philosophers of this era, can contain the subtleties. Did not the great Hippocrates aptly observe that some, such as the Anatolians, were particularly suited as slaves? The slave is adept at the physical, like the beast; the free man is adept at the rational, like the Gods. The natures do not intersect.
The University has perfected this distinction. Thanks to our advancements in natural philosophy, no one need ever fear a slave or wife who has transgressed the bounds of orthoskepsi. The life of a citizen is freer and safer than ever before.
Not a word comes out of Milephanes's mouth that does not deceive, corrupt, and lead astray. I, and my fellow Chancellors at our other campuses, are committed to seeing an end to these dangerous views. We will not tolerate any more mention or acceptance of them on pain of expulsion or revocation of degree. These are harsh measures, I know, but experience has taught the Administration that it is better to extirpate this kind of heresy immediately than to allow it to survive long enough to collapse under the weight of its own falseness.
I bear the name of my father and his father before him, back to the earliest days of the Classical era. Love of the truth runs in my veins like ichor. And it is with the full weight of my legacy when I ask you, as an equal: Do not give credence to this madness. Let it begin and end in Milephanes, and let freedom and harmony return untarnished. Alexylva University is and remains a beacon of knowledge and wisdom. Never forget that.
May the Gods smile upon us all. Now, back to class!
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-12-06T00:35:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"alexylva",
"tale"
] | Address to the Students and Faculty - SCP Foundation | 85 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"wayward",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"alexylva-university-hub"
] | [] | 12165067 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/address-to-the-students-and-faculty |
|
and-then-i-died | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<blockquote>
<p><em>Below are the previous entries for <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/and-then-i-died2">the game</a>. Read and enjoy! The answer are in links at the end of each one.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>Round 1: TroyL</strong></p>
<p>I never really cared much for my brother.</p>
<p>We had at best a strained relationship. Our parents just muttered “boys” and went about their business, but it was different. It wasn’t sibling rivalry. It wasn’t even rivalry. We just… didn’t want to be around each other. Ever. We were like the same end of a magnet, always pushing away from each other, always bowing to the invisible force that kept us surely separated. And, in a way, we were happy like that.</p>
<p>I went into the military; he went to college. I got out and started working with computers; he finished his degree and started designing them. I eventually managed a private companies IT department; he worked at development in a rival company. From my graduation on, I never saw him for more than an hour at most. Since our mother’s funeral—the official cessation of all family gatherings—I hadn’t seen him at all.</p>
<p>It made his sudden appearance, haggard, carrying a briefcase and a shotgun, that so surprised me. It was early in the morning, and when I opened the door, the light was carrying blinded me. He talked for a few moments at the door, still holding the light aloft, before he turned it off, apologizing. He came in, apologizing for the late hour, and asked for a cup of coffee. I agreed, sitting with him at the table silently. He didn’t speak. I didn’t ask.</p>
<p>As he was about to leave, he looked at me, tilting his head sideways for a moment. “Do you have any shells for a 20 gauge?”</p>
<p>I nodded somewhat, fetching them from my study at the end of the hall and handing them to him. He thanked me and left the building. I should have wondered what he’d gotten himself into, what sort of espionage he’d managed, but I didn’t. I just didn’t care.</p>
<p>The next morning, I found myself unable to think. Everything looked like a gray haze, and even when I tried to concentrate, I couldn’t. I remember turning the knob, and the bullet hitting my chest, but after that, everything starting shifting—going from gray to black.</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-316">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 2: Dexanote</strong></p>
<p>I’ve always had a pretty decent life. I was an only child, growing up in upstate New York with my mother and father. Mom was a real estate agent, Dad was an engineer. They both had emigrated from England before I was born, and we still had family back there. We visited sometimes, in the summers. I never liked English Summers. It would always rain.</p>
<p>I always got good grades in school, played sports, did my chores, and so on. Never caused any trouble, but never really looked for any. I was a model, if fairly average, teenager.</p>
<p>When I was 24 I decided to go travel abroad in Europe. Mom and Dad had retired together the year before, and didn’t seem to mind. I wish they had stopped me.</p>
<p>I went to Italy first, then Austria, Germany, Switzerland, France… It was wonderful. I slept in hostels and under the stars, I loved this freedom. It was… beautiful. The countries, the places, the cities, the people, the art. It was all breathtaking.</p>
<p>One day, a few months into my travels, I called home to see how everyone was doing. I found that my widowed Aunt Helen back in England had passed, and left everything to me, her only nephew. I was told to make my way to Britain and find her lawyers, who would sort everything out in the mean time.</p>
<p>When I arrived, the lawyers had already sorted out the transfer of ownership and related documentation. I now owned my Aunt’s entire estate.</p>
<p>I went “home” to my new domain.</p>
<p>It was June, and the sky was grey. The estate was a large house in the countryside, with a greenhouse and a large garden out back. The entire building was covered in a purplish ivy, and an entire wing of the place contained a collection of strange, curious gadgets - a chessboard, an ugly green statue, a bunch of freakish dolls, a fortune-teller machine, records, phonographs, a wardrobe, a dartboard… Nothing in the rooms seemed to have any coherent theme. I just shrugged; I’d sort through all the bullshit when I had time.</p>
<p>I had decided to sleep on a sofa in the living room until I was more comfortable with the house. The huge conservatory window behind me let in a bit of light, the rain <em>plit plit plitting</em> off the panes. It hadn’t stopped raining since I arrived.</p>
<p>I left one of the lower windows open to let in a nice breeze. At least I wasn’t sweating, I thought. If I was back in New York I’d be quite uncomfortable.</p>
<p>It wasn’t so bad here. The rain was relaxing, the ivy shivered quietly in the breeze. I guess I could get used to this…</p>
<p>I felt something brush against my arm. I became very still.</p>
<p>Something burned. I screamed.</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-749">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 3: Ragazzo</strong></p>
<p>In a Miami apartment's bathroom.</p>
<p><em>Ahhhhhh…damn…this…this is a really shitty hangover…fuck, man, what did I have last night…I'm here in my god damn apartment throwing up in my fucking apartment while that bastard Jode must be waking up next to some hot piece of a-ah f-fuck…</em> The sounds of vomiting echo off the bile, and blood splattered linoleum of the bathroom floor, interspersed with the odd dry heave here and there. "Wait…fuckin' hang on…I partied with Jode last week, the fuck…is that my fuckin' hair?! The hell am I sitting in? Shit, fuck, my hands…what happened to my fuckin' hands?!" And then I passed out.</p>
<p><strong>Several hours later…</strong></p>
<p>"F-fuck…oh…g-god…I feel like…fuckin' shit…what'd I…drink last night…fuck, it must have been that old ass boo-" A heave, a retching sound. A thin stream of bile dribbles out of my mouth, around the sickly pale orb of flesh that has swollen up from the roof of my mouth. I fall forward, and my face splashes into the toilet bowl, breaking through the thin crusty shell of bodily fluids into the rancid slop below.</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-420">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 4: RhettSarlin</strong></p>
<p>Almost ready. We've been waiting for this excursion for a while now. Just us and the desert, looking up at the stars, snuggled close. Sophie smiles at me as she finishes packing food into the cooler. I smile back and take our sleeping bags out to the truck. I love her more than she knows. We've been going on random playful excursions for nearly 2 years now, and ever since that day at the camel farm where she came out soaked but laughing I've known she was the one for me.</p>
<p>I may propose to her soon.</p>
<p>But not this trip. Watching the Perseids and looking at cacti are the order of the weekend this time. We've got everything packed up now. House is locked up, dogs have food and water, alarm's on. We already made sure things were good with her apartment, so she gives me a quick peck on the cheek and we're on our way.</p>
<p>Country music blaring from the radio as we head down I-8. I shake my head internally at her for that one, but hey, nobody's perfect. Exit coming up. Heading south now. She's chattering about her plans for a painting of the meteor shower. I love her art. I tend to appreciate the realistic more than the abstract, and her stuff from a distance looks almost like a photograph…at first glance anyway.</p>
<p>Quick stop in Why for gas and a restroom break, then head down to the campgrounds. Or near enough. Sun's going down and we want to get set up out in the desert rather than the official spots. We go offroad a ways, drive past a hill and park where the truck won't be seen. Hiking time. We grab our packs, bags, and the cooler and head out. A mile or so we deem sufficient. We find a nice clear flat area that's to our liking and set up camp.</p>
<p>Night now. Smores and hotdogs are sufficient for us. Playful makeouts, with an eye toward the sky. There it is! First meteor of the night. A kiss for every one we see. Soon there's too many for us to keep up, so we just lay in each other's arms and enjoy the show.</p>
<p>Starting to feel a bit sleepy. Wouldn't be my first time sleeping in the open, and Sophie doesn't seem to mind. My body tingles a bit, then starts to go numb. I drift away and darkness takes me.</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-165">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 5: TroyL</strong></p>
<p>He’s standing there. He’s standing there, rooted to the spot, looking at me. He’s going to kill me. He didn’t realize it when he walked in the room—and he doesn’t even realize it now—but it’s going to happen. They’re going to make him.</p>
<p>“Richard,” I whisper, putting my hand on the glass separating the two of us. “Richard, please don’t do this.”</p>
<p>His eyes look almost pained as he takes a step back, his face contorting as his teeth clench abnormally hard. I can feel it as they grind, enamel on enamel, the sound practically boring a hole into my head.</p>
<p>“Please,” I beg, my voice a pained whisper. “Please don’t do this. I… I’ll do anything. I’ll do whatever you want. Just…don’t do what they say. Don’t kill me, Richard.”</p>
<p>He looks at me, gagging suddenly, as the intercom clicks: “Follow your orders, 18765. Proceed with the experiment.”</p>
<p>I pound my fists on the glass, screaming, “They don’t even know your name! Please! I know you! I’m your friend, Richard! Please. <em>Please</em>. Don’t let them kill me.”</p>
<p>I’m sobbing, and so is he. The intercom sounds again, and he closes his eyes. I watch as he backs away from me, his face streaming with sweat and tears. I pound on the glass again, and again, and again, to no avail. “RICHARD!”</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-919">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 6: Redswift</strong></p>
<p>"August 14, 1981</p>
<p>I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I was weak and this will be my very last entry. Even now I can hear him, pounding and screaming. His pain is real and actions justified but I could fight back if not for the screaming. Damn his screaming! It's his pain reverberating through my ears and my eyes and my bones and lending him my strength. There is no doubt I would already be dead if not for the heavy dresser which is slowing him down but will not stop him. He will never stop kill he kills the one responsible for taking her from him. I never had a ''her''. All I have is my farm and this journal. My last hope is that someone else will find use for them so at least some small good will have come of my existence. I can see the field right now from out my bedroom window.</p>
<p>The corn has seen better days but the sight of it is calming.</p>
<p>Well nevermind about that first part. I don't know what came over me. I'm sure I'll be just fine. I don't know why I'm still writing. It seems kind of silly and so does this barricade…I'll go say hello."</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-820">(Unsolved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 7: Redswift</strong></p>
<p>Finally I spot him walking toward the house. He is late for the first time today. Why does he look so shaken? I hope he is ok. The young man who brings me the mail is my only neighbor for miles. My driveway is too long and I am too weak to get it myself. His smiling face is the only reason for these old bones to get out of bed anymore. Yesterday's paper said there has been a series of strange break-ins but hell if I can remember any details.</p>
<p>I turn to walk toward the door so I can greet him when suddenly there it is. Soundless, still and black as the devil's heart, its featureless face just inches from mine. The strain is too much and I drop to my knees from the pain. My eyes remain locked on the intruder. The pills on my dresser are far out of reach but all I can hope for is one last smile, even from this fiend. The young man knocks as he finally reaches my door. Thankfully it doesn't react. I clutch my chest as the world fades. In a blink it's gone.</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-650">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 8: CondorTalon</strong></p>
<p>I've been sick just about my whole life. Chicken pox, mumps, the flu, mono, E. coli; you name it, I've had it. At first, it was really frightening, not knowing when the next strike was, but now, it's just annoying. I think I've been held back a grade about 3 times when I was younger. Thankfully, my wife has the patience of a saint, and she sticks by me without fail. Unlike me, she's almost never sick. I don't know what I'd do without her.</p>
<p>It's happened again. I'm stuck in this bed, staring at the ceiling as the symptoms overtake me. My head feels like it's burning up, and my entire body is itchy. I even had to close the curtains because the lights were too bright for me. I'm worried that I'm getting attacked en masse.</p>
<p>Well, somehow I made it through without too many problems. I'm quite tired now. I think I'll turn in. Let me just grab my pills…</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-593">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 9: Redswift</strong></p>
<p>The first warm day of the new year just happens to be my first day off in months. It's actually a little warmer than I would prefer but it seems like no matter where I walk the cloud position is perfect. Lady luck smiles on me today. Eating my favorite food at a picnic table in the local park I can hear the laughter of children on a nearby playground.</p>
<p>I lay down on the grass to let my fully belly rest under the beautiful blue sky. It is much softer than what I have in my yard. Hell this grass is almost better than my bed. I don't want to ever leave. That cloud looks like a bunny… I don't have a care in the world…That one looks like a heart…I haven't done this since I was a kid…That one looks like a…</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-312">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 10: A Fat Ghost</strong></p>
<p>Sailcloth claps with the wind as I bring the boom around, salt massaging its way into my skin in the spray of a sharp turn. Summer sun bakes the landscape into focus as I try to keep it within sight. It’s a lonely and haunted coast, hot sand and a shallow treeline the only definition for miles. The quiet is almost so absolute as to be a distraction.</p>
<p>Have I found a secret current, hiding somewhere just outside the comfort of a hundred outboards? A lighthouse idles by like the only telephone pole beside an unkept track of road, how did I miss that a minute ago?</p>
<p>A flash of fish just under the surface, or maybe just sun on the sea, draws my attention starboard. Something whistles on the gentle tidal roll, against wood and fiberglass and memory: my mother’s humming in her small drawing room, my first girlfriend calling me in from the cold, the first movement of the only orchestra I’ve ever attended.</p>
<p>The boom taps out a warning strain against its tether, and I release my grip on the rail. The bow shudders and unfurls like a tulip. My feet leave the deck as wet stone rises to fill my eyes.</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-327">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 11: Sorts</strong></p>
<p>The rainy season had been getting shorter and shorter for the past few years and the grazing has become hazardous. The other farmers have been losing some of their stock as well, so I have taken it upon myself to spend more and more time with my flock with a rifle slung over my back. Some of the other villagers think that there's some sort of new predator stalking the savanna but I've not seen any unusual signs or heard any calls.</p>
<p>Most of the familiar watering holes are drying out, so I moved my flock further out to an older location I knew well when I was a boy. The water there was more often visited by wild animals, perhaps if there truly was some sort of new predator on these plains I thought I would at least be able to spot some sign of it there, but no such luck. There are few tracks and no animals to compete with, and the trees and grass look to be striped with some sort of dark coloration. I feared the water was fouled so I drove my thirsty flock back towards the village when I heard the splashing.</p>
<p>One of my goats must have over-enthusiastically wandered into the water and was now thrashing about in the mud like it was injured. I dismounted and headed towards the shore but it wasn't a goat at all. It looked like a child, flailing in the shallow water in panic. I rushed over to help the boy out, his skin was coated with thick mud, black with silt. He took my hand and would not let go, and as his face turned to mine I remember thinking that I have never seen anyone so scared.</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-968">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 12: Dexanote</strong></p>
<p><em>Finally</em>, I thought. <em>This place is great…</em> I stepped into the abandoned house, this will do nicely. Cobwebs, dust, a bit away from busier areas… Need a spot to drop the… eh. Maybe later. I sighed.</p>
<p>“Eh… nobody’s coming right now…fuck it.” I sat on a chair. Comfy enough. The body sat halfway into the doorway. Gas was back in his car.</p>
<p>“… Man.” I yawned. Felt the chair creak. Eh.</p>
<p>I tried to yawn, couldn’t. Pressure on my shoulder. Growing more tired by the second…</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-179">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 13: Felgraf</strong></p>
<p>I slid back into wakefulness, and the first thing I could remember was the pain. My chest felt like I’d been hit by a sledgehammer, my arms felt sliced up, and all I could smell was smoke and leaking fuel. What the fuck was going on?</p>
<p>The memories filtered hazily into my mind. Mary and I, our small transport plane—something had made us crash. I couldn’t remember how it had happened—was it the brewing storm? Mechanical failure? Something else? The trees had ‘broken’ our landing, but now we were upside-down, and by the smell of it, the plane was on fire—</p>
<p>Shit, Mary! Fighting through the haze of pain, I struggled to unbuckle myself, fumbling with the straps. Finally, I managed to undo my harness, and I pitched forwards onto the ceiling in a heap. As I struggled to stand, my hand pressed down into something warm and sticky—blood?</p>
<p>It was hard to see through the haze in my head (and the growing smoke), and I sure as hell couldn’t smell, but—no, it wasn’t blood. It was something leaking from the cargo hold. I couldn’t even remember what we were transporting. Mint ice cream, maybe? Fuck it, it wasn’t important. I had to check on Mary-I hoped she was just unconscious.</p>
<p>I staggered the few steps to the copilot’s seat, and look upwards. She was still strapped in, but she wasn’t moving. Her eyes were open. She was gone. My copilot, my love, gone.</p>
<p>I ignored the growing smoke as I stepped closer to her, tears in my eyes. “Oh, Mary..” I lifted my hand to touch her face one last time, brushing her hair from her cheek.</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-447">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 14: Dr_Adams</strong></p>
<p>It was the most exciting day of my life. All of my hard work was paying off with an interview at the largest company in my field. I'd finally met someone special and my confidence was at an all-time high.</p>
<p>I walked into the glistening, new skyscraper with the highest of hopes. A quick check-in at the front and I was off to the 30th floor. If this worked out, the rest of my life's dreams would soon follow.</p>
<p>Everything in the building was new. The floors and walls were spotless, and the plants were put in place just as they were in bloom. I walked into the bathroom for one last check. I felt like I was the first person to use it. My suit and tie were perfect. I turned on the faucet to wash my hands and was blasted with a shocking spray of cold water. I guess they hadn't gotten the water pressure quite right. If getting a little wet was the worst that happened, it would still have been the best day ever.</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-313">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 15: RhettSarlin</strong></p>
<p>She says her name is Jackie, and she's the most beautiful woman who's ever shown any interest in me. All dressed in this really revealing red getup, big hair, lots of big fancy jewelry. She went light on the makeup though, which I can appreciate. We've laughed and made dirty conversation all evening. I'm certain I'm gonna get lucky tonight. She's obviously horny, she's been touching me in flirty ways, dirty ways, she's got a bit of an evil glint in her eye, playful I'd call it. I don't know what she wants with an ugly mug like me really, best I ever picked up before was a lady just out of a divorce looking to feel better about herself for a while.</p>
<p>Yup, sure enough, she wants to come home with me. Easy enough, I live close, come here all the time. Well, ya win some and you lose some, and I guess this one I win. Let's have some fun tonight.</p>
<p>We go through the pleasantries at home, I offer her a drink even though we're both already plastered, she pretends to laugh at my attempts at humor, but I see the look in her eye, so I figure we might as well just head to the bedroom. She's wild alright, she rips me out of my shirts, slams me onto the bed, and kisses me passionately…her nails dig into me and she bites me a little as she pulls away. I start working her out of this getup she's in, I don't really want anything in the way of this. Undo the back, start working on the front-</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-963">(Unsolved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 16: RhettSarlin</strong></p>
<p>What's the point to life? I just can't see it. We go on about our daily lives, day in and day out. But we're just matter, just atoms and energy. What's special about that? What's special about life? It's all predictable, we all follow predetermined courses according to the flow of energy inside us, our free will is an illusion. We'll never escape to the stars anyway, it's a forlorn hope, so one day an asteroid's gonna hit or we'll be hit by a solar flare…or, hell, the sun will supernova at least. And then bam. We're done. Everything was pointless the whole time. I don't see any reason to prolong it. We're just meat and bones and empty inside, and my death will be no loss to the world. Nobody will even think about it 100 years from now. I'll never be remembered, and the people who might have remembered me are doomed to perish anyway.</p>
<p>These thoughts have gone through my head for the last 6 months or so. The last time I actually found myself enjoying life was at the carnival back in August. People seemed happy, lovers holding onto each other. Kids running around laughing and playing with their carnival toys, using their imaginations and having fun. Old couples walking around serenely, enjoying each others company. Life seemed special to me. But since then everything has felt so dull. Maybe I enjoyed everything too much and burned myself out, because life just isn't fun anymore. Everything is dreary, I see people's faces as they pass by now and I can tell they're all full of goals and dreams and hopes that might come to pass. But I know better. Hell, they don't even really exist. Do I even exist? I feel that I shouldn't. I don't feel like I belong in this world, that I'm not even supposed to be here anymore. It'd be best for me to just make life better for everyone and end it.</p>
<p>Yeah, I think that's the best option about now. I'm going up to the roof of this building and jumping off. Maybe it'll be fun to fall. Let's find out. If you find my body, just throw it in the river or something, ok? Leaving now.</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-161">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 17: Dr_Adams</strong></p>
<p>I swear to God I spend more time writing these reports than anything else around here. My eyes can't take much more of this damn screen. I know I signed up for this, I know it's important. Hell, before I spent every waking moment thinking about it, it was <em>interesting</em>. But how many times do we need to test it? How many times do we need to crunch the numbers? At least I have some people to talk to. Speaking of which, our new researcher was looking good today. I've never dated a Korean before…</p>
<p>A sudden crash jolts me out of my seat.</p>
<p>How did it happen? The noise is deafening, drowning out the screams of my friends.<br/>
I glance up as my computer screen flashes a bright red warning of an imminent containment breach. A wave of calm sweeps over me as my training and instincts take over.</p>
<p>No! Not without a fight!</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-176">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 18: Tyber</strong></p>
<p>Day 3:</p>
<p>Okay, okay, I can do it this time, I’m sure of it! Just got to loosen my muscles, get my mind clear, and go for it. Ok…1…2…3!</p>
<p>Dammit!<br/>
…</p>
<p>This damn door! Just got to… huh huh…… clear my head, don’t think about it, just don’t think about it. Its not going to do anything, it’s not. Let's just, give it another go. Alright, head’s clear, body's limber, I can do it. I can do it. OK! 1…2… go!</p>
<p>God… gah… Goddammit…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Please… just… just let me go… I can’t, I can’t keep trying. Its just too… I can’t. Please, just go away, leave, I’m begging you! I know you can hear me! Go away!</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>It's still there. I know that much. Everyone else is gone, but it’s still there. Why? What the fuck does it get out of this? I just want to leave.</p>
<p>But it won’t let me.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>One last time. Just, one last time. I can’t do much else. Just one last time. I’m going through that door, and I’m leaving. Its not going to stop me, I won’t let it. This time, I’m just going to leave, just going to leave, and never come back. Ever. Just going to leave… just going to leave…</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-303">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 19: CondorTalon</strong></p>
<p>Being on the beach alone always calms me down. The smell of the air, the sound of the waves, the fact that no one else is here, it all comes together to create the perfect euphoric experience. I take a few steps along the coast, kicking things about as I go. I kick a rock ahead of me; it feels heavier than I expect. It lands near a small boulder. The boulder is smooth and in the rough shape of a chair. Perfect. I sit on it, and let everything wash over me.</p>
<p>Wash over me… wash over me…</p>
<p>Shit. Where did the time go? The water's around my ankles. The tide rises legendarily quickly on this beach. I should find a better place higher up.</p>
<p>Why can't I move? I need to get away from the water. My body won't respond. The water sloshes around me like it's being shaken up. Shit. Gotta get away. Why can't I move?</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-289">(Unsolved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 20: Scantron</strong></p>
<p>And I don’t know how I got here. Ow. Did I get beaten or something? Maybe. What the <em>fuck</em> was in that needle. I’m holding a printout of… I don’t know <em>what</em> this is. They can’t be serious. The other guys don’t look like they know what it is either.</p>
<p>There are loudspeakers and cameras here, just like that one other room. Except this one looks grimier. Headaches. The lights (fluorescent) come on, and I can see the stuff on the table better. What’s that thing next to the loudspeakers? It looks-</p>
<p>“Welcome to the Punishment Detail, but you probably know it as ‘Keter Duty’. I'm in charge of this. You’re here because of your less than satisfactory behavior. If I may direct your attention to the scripts you each hold in your hands for a moment. If you don’t read this script correctly and do <em>exactly</em> what it says, the consequences will be less than pleasant. Start at the bell."</p>
<p>Script? What- oh, this. Doesn’t look like any script I’ve ever read. I can barely read this shit, it’s incomprehensible. Whatever they drugged me with, I can’t think straight. Still, I think I can at least pronounce it right, that should be enough. Shit. I do wonder why it cuts off in the middle-</p>
<p><strong>Dingdingdingdingding</strong></p>
<p>Where did the time go? Well, I’ll have to give it a shot.</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-732">(Unsolved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 21: TroyL</strong></p>
<p>It should work, dammit! I know it should work! I've got over this time and time again, and nothing makes sense!</p>
<p>I sigh and sit down at the table, looking at the room. I've gotten obsessed, I know, but obsession is good for physics. Planck was obsessed. So was Einstein, and Schrodinger, and Hawking! All of them were obsessed, and they changed the world. That's all I'm trying to do… Just change the world, for the better. With a heavy sigh, I sit down in my desk, looking around the room. I've scrawled the equations over the walls again and again, constantly trying to make it work. When I ran out of room on the walls, I started using the floor. When I ran out of room on the floor…</p>
<p>Someone is trying to scoop me. They're trying to steal my notes, I know. Three cases of sabotage, this year alone. The techies say that they can't figure it out… No surges or anything…</p>
<p>I sigh, returning to my desk, staring up at the ceiling where I had…</p>
<p>'Oh God,' I think, noticing the crack running along the top of my office. "OH GOD!" I say out loud, running toward the door, hoping to get out before the whole thing-</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-033">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 22: Voct</strong></p>
<p>Mmm. I pick the crumbs off my plate, drop them into my open mouth, and then suck the sauce off my fingers. Maybe it's just the contrast with the hospital food, but this has got to be the best damn burger I have <em>ever</em> had in my <em>life</em>! I know what the doctors would tell me, but I promise myself that I'll start my new healthy diet tomorrow. Absolute promise. <em>One</em> burger won't hurt me, and with a name like "Last Chance Diner"… well, hell, that's as good as a sign from God, right?</p>
<p>I burp hugely, feeling like an eight-year-old as I savor the taste passing over my tongue again, and pay the waitress. It's seven dollars; I give her a twenty and tell her to keep the change. That was one INCREDIBLE burger!</p>
<p>As I walk towards the exit, I get a sudden, stabbing, pain in my left chest, spreading towards my neck and shoulder… oh god, no, fuck, no no no PLEASE no… I collapse on the floor, knocking over a chair. I hear the waitress and the other customers panicking, someone's yelling 'call an ambulance', but I can tell it'll be too late…</p>
<p>and then someone says "Get out of my way, I'm a doctor", and I feel a tiny surge of hope. I hear his footsteps coming closer, quick, sure, and confident.</p>
<p>"You're very, very lucky I happened to be in the same diner as you," he says, and I know he's right. He rips open my shirt, looks at my chest, puts his hand on me, just over my barely-healed scar, then closes his eyes and counts to himself for a few seconds. He opens his eyes again. "It's worse than I thought. I'm going to have to operate right here. I have some tools in my bag - waitress! There's a drugstore down the street, go buy me some gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol!"</p>
<p>He traces the scar on my chest with his finger, then pulls a scalpel out of his bag. "At least it'll be easier to go in. Don't worry, you'll be all right."</p>
<p>I summon all my strength, and manage to croak "thank you, doctor". I can tell I'm going to pass out soon.</p>
<p>He glares at me. "Stop making that noise, I'm trying to talk to my patient."</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-890">(Solved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 23: Bright</strong></p>
<p>It was a beautiful, hot day. And I? I couldn't resist going for a swim. The pool was empty, sparkling clear. Grabbing the pool noodle from the side, I jumped in. I dive to the bottom, and noticed a shadow across the water. Did someone toss something in?</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-644">(Unsolved)</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Round 24: CondorTalon</strong></p>
<p>Brrr. The cold wind smacks against my body as I walk home. That was a great meal, and I'm glad it was relatively cheap. The walks home always give plenty of time to reflect. About life, about death, about—</p>
<p>Suddenly, I'm knocked out of my thoughts when someone runs out of the alley in front of me. The man quickly hurries away, a panicked look on his face, but I catch a glimpse of something shiny in his hand…</p>
<p>A knife?!</p>
<p>I quickly head into the alley the man came out of. Did that man stab someone? As I round the corner, I see the body of a woman lying unconscious in the alley. I run over, silently thanking my family for convincing me to attend medical school. As I land near the woman, I check for a pulse. It's dark so it's hard to find a wound. A nearby hissing sound is interrupting my focus. Is that a gas leak? I'd better hurry. As I scan my eyes across the body, I find no blood, but I still check to make sure—</p>
<p>Wait what's that coming out of her stom—</p>
<p>And then I died.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-486">(Unsolved)</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/and-then-i-died">"And Then I Died" Archive</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/and-then-i-died">https://scpwiki.com/and-then-i-died</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
> //Below are the previous entries for [http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/and-then-i-died2 the game]. Read and enjoy! The answer are in links at the end of each one.//
**Round 1: TroyL**
I never really cared much for my brother.
We had at best a strained relationship. Our parents just muttered “boys” and went about their business, but it was different. It wasn’t sibling rivalry. It wasn’t even rivalry. We just… didn’t want to be around each other. Ever. We were like the same end of a magnet, always pushing away from each other, always bowing to the invisible force that kept us surely separated. And, in a way, we were happy like that.
I went into the military; he went to college. I got out and started working with computers; he finished his degree and started designing them. I eventually managed a private companies IT department; he worked at development in a rival company. From my graduation on, I never saw him for more than an hour at most. Since our mother’s funeral—the official cessation of all family gatherings—I hadn’t seen him at all.
It made his sudden appearance, haggard, carrying a briefcase and a shotgun, that so surprised me. It was early in the morning, and when I opened the door, the light was carrying blinded me. He talked for a few moments at the door, still holding the light aloft, before he turned it off, apologizing. He came in, apologizing for the late hour, and asked for a cup of coffee. I agreed, sitting with him at the table silently. He didn’t speak. I didn’t ask.
As he was about to leave, he looked at me, tilting his head sideways for a moment. “Do you have any shells for a 20 gauge?”
I nodded somewhat, fetching them from my study at the end of the hall and handing them to him. He thanked me and left the building. I should have wondered what he’d gotten himself into, what sort of espionage he’d managed, but I didn’t. I just didn’t care.
The next morning, I found myself unable to think. Everything looked like a gray haze, and even when I tried to concentrate, I couldn’t. I remember turning the knob, and the bullet hitting my chest, but after that, everything starting shifting—going from gray to black.
And then I died.
[[[SCP-316 |(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 2: Dexanote**
I’ve always had a pretty decent life. I was an only child, growing up in upstate New York with my mother and father. Mom was a real estate agent, Dad was an engineer. They both had emigrated from England before I was born, and we still had family back there. We visited sometimes, in the summers. I never liked English Summers. It would always rain.
I always got good grades in school, played sports, did my chores, and so on. Never caused any trouble, but never really looked for any. I was a model, if fairly average, teenager.
When I was 24 I decided to go travel abroad in Europe. Mom and Dad had retired together the year before, and didn’t seem to mind. I wish they had stopped me.
I went to Italy first, then Austria, Germany, Switzerland, France… It was wonderful. I slept in hostels and under the stars, I loved this freedom. It was… beautiful. The countries, the places, the cities, the people, the art. It was all breathtaking.
One day, a few months into my travels, I called home to see how everyone was doing. I found that my widowed Aunt Helen back in England had passed, and left everything to me, her only nephew. I was told to make my way to Britain and find her lawyers, who would sort everything out in the mean time.
When I arrived, the lawyers had already sorted out the transfer of ownership and related documentation. I now owned my Aunt’s entire estate.
I went “home” to my new domain.
It was June, and the sky was grey. The estate was a large house in the countryside, with a greenhouse and a large garden out back. The entire building was covered in a purplish ivy, and an entire wing of the place contained a collection of strange, curious gadgets - a chessboard, an ugly green statue, a bunch of freakish dolls, a fortune-teller machine, records, phonographs, a wardrobe, a dartboard… Nothing in the rooms seemed to have any coherent theme. I just shrugged; I’d sort through all the bullshit when I had time.
I had decided to sleep on a sofa in the living room until I was more comfortable with the house. The huge conservatory window behind me let in a bit of light, the rain //plit plit plitting// off the panes. It hadn’t stopped raining since I arrived.
I left one of the lower windows open to let in a nice breeze. At least I wasn’t sweating, I thought. If I was back in New York I’d be quite uncomfortable.
It wasn’t so bad here. The rain was relaxing, the ivy shivered quietly in the breeze. I guess I could get used to this…
I felt something brush against my arm. I became very still.
Something burned. I screamed.
And then I died.
[[[SCP-749 |(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 3: Ragazzo**
In a Miami apartment's bathroom.
//Ahhhhhh...damn...this...this is a really shitty hangover...fuck, man, what did I have last night...I'm here in my god damn apartment throwing up in my fucking apartment while that bastard Jode must be waking up next to some hot piece of a-ah f-fuck...// The sounds of vomiting echo off the bile, and blood splattered linoleum of the bathroom floor, interspersed with the odd dry heave here and there. "Wait...fuckin' hang on...I partied with Jode last week, the fuck...is that my fuckin' hair?! The hell am I sitting in? Shit, fuck, my hands...what happened to my fuckin' hands?!" And then I passed out.
**Several hours later...**
"F-fuck...oh...g-god...I feel like...fuckin' shit...what'd I...drink last night...fuck, it must have been that old ass boo-" A heave, a retching sound. A thin stream of bile dribbles out of my mouth, around the sickly pale orb of flesh that has swollen up from the roof of my mouth. I fall forward, and my face splashes into the toilet bowl, breaking through the thin crusty shell of bodily fluids into the rancid slop below.
And then I died.
[[[SCP-420 |(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 4: RhettSarlin**
Almost ready. We've been waiting for this excursion for a while now. Just us and the desert, looking up at the stars, snuggled close. Sophie smiles at me as she finishes packing food into the cooler. I smile back and take our sleeping bags out to the truck. I love her more than she knows. We've been going on random playful excursions for nearly 2 years now, and ever since that day at the camel farm where she came out soaked but laughing I've known she was the one for me.
I may propose to her soon.
But not this trip. Watching the Perseids and looking at cacti are the order of the weekend this time. We've got everything packed up now. House is locked up, dogs have food and water, alarm's on. We already made sure things were good with her apartment, so she gives me a quick peck on the cheek and we're on our way.
Country music blaring from the radio as we head down I-8. I shake my head internally at her for that one, but hey, nobody's perfect. Exit coming up. Heading south now. She's chattering about her plans for a painting of the meteor shower. I love her art. I tend to appreciate the realistic more than the abstract, and her stuff from a distance looks almost like a photograph...at first glance anyway.
Quick stop in Why for gas and a restroom break, then head down to the campgrounds. Or near enough. Sun's going down and we want to get set up out in the desert rather than the official spots. We go offroad a ways, drive past a hill and park where the truck won't be seen. Hiking time. We grab our packs, bags, and the cooler and head out. A mile or so we deem sufficient. We find a nice clear flat area that's to our liking and set up camp.
Night now. Smores and hotdogs are sufficient for us. Playful makeouts, with an eye toward the sky. There it is! First meteor of the night. A kiss for every one we see. Soon there's too many for us to keep up, so we just lay in each other's arms and enjoy the show.
Starting to feel a bit sleepy. Wouldn't be my first time sleeping in the open, and Sophie doesn't seem to mind. My body tingles a bit, then starts to go numb. I drift away and darkness takes me.
And then I died.
[[[SCP-165 |(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 5: TroyL**
He’s standing there. He’s standing there, rooted to the spot, looking at me. He’s going to kill me. He didn’t realize it when he walked in the room—and he doesn’t even realize it now—but it’s going to happen. They’re going to make him.
“Richard,” I whisper, putting my hand on the glass separating the two of us. “Richard, please don’t do this.”
His eyes look almost pained as he takes a step back, his face contorting as his teeth clench abnormally hard. I can feel it as they grind, enamel on enamel, the sound practically boring a hole into my head.
“Please,” I beg, my voice a pained whisper. “Please don’t do this. I… I’ll do anything. I’ll do whatever you want. Just…don’t do what they say. Don’t kill me, Richard.”
He looks at me, gagging suddenly, as the intercom clicks: “Follow your orders, 18765. Proceed with the experiment.”
I pound my fists on the glass, screaming, “They don’t even know your name! Please! I know you! I’m your friend, Richard! Please. //Please//. Don’t let them kill me.”
I’m sobbing, and so is he. The intercom sounds again, and he closes his eyes. I watch as he backs away from me, his face streaming with sweat and tears. I pound on the glass again, and again, and again, to no avail. “RICHARD!”
And then I died.
[[[SCP-919 |(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 6: Redswift**
"August 14, 1981
I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I was weak and this will be my very last entry. Even now I can hear him, pounding and screaming. His pain is real and actions justified but I could fight back if not for the screaming. Damn his screaming! It's his pain reverberating through my ears and my eyes and my bones and lending him my strength. There is no doubt I would already be dead if not for the heavy dresser which is slowing him down but will not stop him. He will never stop kill he kills the one responsible for taking her from him. I never had a ''her''. All I have is my farm and this journal. My last hope is that someone else will find use for them so at least some small good will have come of my existence. I can see the field right now from out my bedroom window.
The corn has seen better days but the sight of it is calming.
Well nevermind about that first part. I don't know what came over me. I'm sure I'll be just fine. I don't know why I'm still writing. It seems kind of silly and so does this barricade...I'll go say hello."
And then I died.
[[[SCP-820|(Unsolved)]]]
----
**Round 7: Redswift**
Finally I spot him walking toward the house. He is late for the first time today. Why does he look so shaken? I hope he is ok. The young man who brings me the mail is my only neighbor for miles. My driveway is too long and I am too weak to get it myself. His smiling face is the only reason for these old bones to get out of bed anymore. Yesterday's paper said there has been a series of strange break-ins but hell if I can remember any details.
I turn to walk toward the door so I can greet him when suddenly there it is. Soundless, still and black as the devil's heart, its featureless face just inches from mine. The strain is too much and I drop to my knees from the pain. My eyes remain locked on the intruder. The pills on my dresser are far out of reach but all I can hope for is one last smile, even from this fiend. The young man knocks as he finally reaches my door. Thankfully it doesn't react. I clutch my chest as the world fades. In a blink it's gone.
And then I died.
[[[SCP-650 |(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 8: CondorTalon**
I've been sick just about my whole life. Chicken pox, mumps, the flu, mono, E. coli; you name it, I've had it. At first, it was really frightening, not knowing when the next strike was, but now, it's just annoying. I think I've been held back a grade about 3 times when I was younger. Thankfully, my wife has the patience of a saint, and she sticks by me without fail. Unlike me, she's almost never sick. I don't know what I'd do without her.
It's happened again. I'm stuck in this bed, staring at the ceiling as the symptoms overtake me. My head feels like it's burning up, and my entire body is itchy. I even had to close the curtains because the lights were too bright for me. I'm worried that I'm getting attacked en masse.
Well, somehow I made it through without too many problems. I'm quite tired now. I think I'll turn in. Let me just grab my pills...
And then I died.
[[[SCP-593 |(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 9: Redswift**
The first warm day of the new year just happens to be my first day off in months. It's actually a little warmer than I would prefer but it seems like no matter where I walk the cloud position is perfect. Lady luck smiles on me today. Eating my favorite food at a picnic table in the local park I can hear the laughter of children on a nearby playground.
I lay down on the grass to let my fully belly rest under the beautiful blue sky. It is much softer than what I have in my yard. Hell this grass is almost better than my bed. I don't want to ever leave. That cloud looks like a bunny... I don't have a care in the world...That one looks like a heart...I haven't done this since I was a kid...That one looks like a...
And then I died.
[[[scp-312 |(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 10: A Fat Ghost**
Sailcloth claps with the wind as I bring the boom around, salt massaging its way into my skin in the spray of a sharp turn. Summer sun bakes the landscape into focus as I try to keep it within sight. It’s a lonely and haunted coast, hot sand and a shallow treeline the only definition for miles. The quiet is almost so absolute as to be a distraction.
Have I found a secret current, hiding somewhere just outside the comfort of a hundred outboards? A lighthouse idles by like the only telephone pole beside an unkept track of road, how did I miss that a minute ago?
A flash of fish just under the surface, or maybe just sun on the sea, draws my attention starboard. Something whistles on the gentle tidal roll, against wood and fiberglass and memory: my mother’s humming in her small drawing room, my first girlfriend calling me in from the cold, the first movement of the only orchestra I’ve ever attended.
The boom taps out a warning strain against its tether, and I release my grip on the rail. The bow shudders and unfurls like a tulip. My feet leave the deck as wet stone rises to fill my eyes.
And then I died.
[[[scp-327 |(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 11: Sorts**
The rainy season had been getting shorter and shorter for the past few years and the grazing has become hazardous. The other farmers have been losing some of their stock as well, so I have taken it upon myself to spend more and more time with my flock with a rifle slung over my back. Some of the other villagers think that there's some sort of new predator stalking the savanna but I've not seen any unusual signs or heard any calls.
Most of the familiar watering holes are drying out, so I moved my flock further out to an older location I knew well when I was a boy. The water there was more often visited by wild animals, perhaps if there truly was some sort of new predator on these plains I thought I would at least be able to spot some sign of it there, but no such luck. There are few tracks and no animals to compete with, and the trees and grass look to be striped with some sort of dark coloration. I feared the water was fouled so I drove my thirsty flock back towards the village when I heard the splashing.
One of my goats must have over-enthusiastically wandered into the water and was now thrashing about in the mud like it was injured. I dismounted and headed towards the shore but it wasn't a goat at all. It looked like a child, flailing in the shallow water in panic. I rushed over to help the boy out, his skin was coated with thick mud, black with silt. He took my hand and would not let go, and as his face turned to mine I remember thinking that I have never seen anyone so scared.
And then I died.
[[[SCP-968 |(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 12: Dexanote**
//Finally//, I thought. //This place is great…// I stepped into the abandoned house, this will do nicely. Cobwebs, dust, a bit away from busier areas… Need a spot to drop the… eh. Maybe later. I sighed.
“Eh… nobody’s coming right now…fuck it.” I sat on a chair. Comfy enough. The body sat halfway into the doorway. Gas was back in his car.
“… Man.” I yawned. Felt the chair creak. Eh.
I tried to yawn, couldn’t. Pressure on my shoulder. Growing more tired by the second…
And then I died.
[[[SCP-179 |(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 13: Felgraf**
I slid back into wakefulness, and the first thing I could remember was the pain. My chest felt like I’d been hit by a sledgehammer, my arms felt sliced up, and all I could smell was smoke and leaking fuel. What the fuck was going on?
The memories filtered hazily into my mind. Mary and I, our small transport plane—something had made us crash. I couldn’t remember how it had happened—was it the brewing storm? Mechanical failure? Something else? The trees had ‘broken’ our landing, but now we were upside-down, and by the smell of it, the plane was on fire—
Shit, Mary! Fighting through the haze of pain, I struggled to unbuckle myself, fumbling with the straps. Finally, I managed to undo my harness, and I pitched forwards onto the ceiling in a heap. As I struggled to stand, my hand pressed down into something warm and sticky—blood?
It was hard to see through the haze in my head (and the growing smoke), and I sure as hell couldn’t smell, but—no, it wasn’t blood. It was something leaking from the cargo hold. I couldn’t even remember what we were transporting. Mint ice cream, maybe? Fuck it, it wasn’t important. I had to check on Mary-I hoped she was just unconscious.
I staggered the few steps to the copilot’s seat, and look upwards. She was still strapped in, but she wasn’t moving. Her eyes were open. She was gone. My copilot, my love, gone.
I ignored the growing smoke as I stepped closer to her, tears in my eyes. “Oh, Mary..” I lifted my hand to touch her face one last time, brushing her hair from her cheek.
And then I died.
[[[SCP-447 |(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 14: Dr_Adams**
It was the most exciting day of my life. All of my hard work was paying off with an interview at the largest company in my field. I'd finally met someone special and my confidence was at an all-time high.
I walked into the glistening, new skyscraper with the highest of hopes. A quick check-in at the front and I was off to the 30th floor. If this worked out, the rest of my life's dreams would soon follow.
Everything in the building was new. The floors and walls were spotless, and the plants were put in place just as they were in bloom. I walked into the bathroom for one last check. I felt like I was the first person to use it. My suit and tie were perfect. I turned on the faucet to wash my hands and was blasted with a shocking spray of cold water. I guess they hadn't gotten the water pressure quite right. If getting a little wet was the worst that happened, it would still have been the best day ever.
And then I died.
[[[scp-313 |(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 15: RhettSarlin**
She says her name is Jackie, and she's the most beautiful woman who's ever shown any interest in me. All dressed in this really revealing red getup, big hair, lots of big fancy jewelry. She went light on the makeup though, which I can appreciate. We've laughed and made dirty conversation all evening. I'm certain I'm gonna get lucky tonight. She's obviously horny, she's been touching me in flirty ways, dirty ways, she's got a bit of an evil glint in her eye, playful I'd call it. I don't know what she wants with an ugly mug like me really, best I ever picked up before was a lady just out of a divorce looking to feel better about herself for a while.
Yup, sure enough, she wants to come home with me. Easy enough, I live close, come here all the time. Well, ya win some and you lose some, and I guess this one I win. Let's have some fun tonight.
We go through the pleasantries at home, I offer her a drink even though we're both already plastered, she pretends to laugh at my attempts at humor, but I see the look in her eye, so I figure we might as well just head to the bedroom. She's wild alright, she rips me out of my shirts, slams me onto the bed, and kisses me passionately...her nails dig into me and she bites me a little as she pulls away. I start working her out of this getup she's in, I don't really want anything in the way of this. Undo the back, start working on the front-
And then I died.
[[[SCP-963|(Unsolved)]]]
----
**Round 16: RhettSarlin**
What's the point to life? I just can't see it. We go on about our daily lives, day in and day out. But we're just matter, just atoms and energy. What's special about that? What's special about life? It's all predictable, we all follow predetermined courses according to the flow of energy inside us, our free will is an illusion. We'll never escape to the stars anyway, it's a forlorn hope, so one day an asteroid's gonna hit or we'll be hit by a solar flare...or, hell, the sun will supernova at least. And then bam. We're done. Everything was pointless the whole time. I don't see any reason to prolong it. We're just meat and bones and empty inside, and my death will be no loss to the world. Nobody will even think about it 100 years from now. I'll never be remembered, and the people who might have remembered me are doomed to perish anyway.
These thoughts have gone through my head for the last 6 months or so. The last time I actually found myself enjoying life was at the carnival back in August. People seemed happy, lovers holding onto each other. Kids running around laughing and playing with their carnival toys, using their imaginations and having fun. Old couples walking around serenely, enjoying each others company. Life seemed special to me. But since then everything has felt so dull. Maybe I enjoyed everything too much and burned myself out, because life just isn't fun anymore. Everything is dreary, I see people's faces as they pass by now and I can tell they're all full of goals and dreams and hopes that might come to pass. But I know better. Hell, they don't even really exist. Do I even exist? I feel that I shouldn't. I don't feel like I belong in this world, that I'm not even supposed to be here anymore. It'd be best for me to just make life better for everyone and end it.
Yeah, I think that's the best option about now. I'm going up to the roof of this building and jumping off. Maybe it'll be fun to fall. Let's find out. If you find my body, just throw it in the river or something, ok? Leaving now.
And then I died.
[[[SCP-161|(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 17: Dr_Adams**
I swear to God I spend more time writing these reports than anything else around here. My eyes can't take much more of this damn screen. I know I signed up for this, I know it's important. Hell, before I spent every waking moment thinking about it, it was //interesting//. But how many times do we need to test it? How many times do we need to crunch the numbers? At least I have some people to talk to. Speaking of which, our new researcher was looking good today. I've never dated a Korean before...
A sudden crash jolts me out of my seat.
How did it happen? The noise is deafening, drowning out the screams of my friends.
I glance up as my computer screen flashes a bright red warning of an imminent containment breach. A wave of calm sweeps over me as my training and instincts take over.
No! Not without a fight!
And then I died.
[[[SCP-176|(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 18: Tyber**
Day 3:
Okay, okay, I can do it this time, I’m sure of it! Just got to loosen my muscles, get my mind clear, and go for it. Ok...1...2...3!
Dammit!
…
This damn door! Just got to... huh huh...... clear my head, don’t think about it, just don’t think about it. Its not going to do anything, it’s not. Let's just, give it another go. Alright, head’s clear, body's limber, I can do it. I can do it. OK! 1…2… go!
God… gah… Goddammit…
…
Please… just… just let me go… I can’t, I can’t keep trying. Its just too… I can’t. Please, just go away, leave, I’m begging you! I know you can hear me! Go away!
…
It's still there. I know that much. Everyone else is gone, but it’s still there. Why? What the fuck does it get out of this? I just want to leave.
But it won’t let me.
…
One last time. Just, one last time. I can’t do much else. Just one last time. I’m going through that door, and I’m leaving. Its not going to stop me, I won’t let it. This time, I’m just going to leave, just going to leave, and never come back. Ever. Just going to leave… just going to leave…
And then I died.
[[[SCP-303|(Solved)]]]
----
**Round 19: CondorTalon**
Being on the beach alone always calms me down. The smell of the air, the sound of the waves, the fact that no one else is here, it all comes together to create the perfect euphoric experience. I take a few steps along the coast, kicking things about as I go. I kick a rock ahead of me; it feels heavier than I expect. It lands near a small boulder. The boulder is smooth and in the rough shape of a chair. Perfect. I sit on it, and let everything wash over me.
Wash over me... wash over me...
Shit. Where did the time go? The water's around my ankles. The tide rises legendarily quickly on this beach. I should find a better place higher up.
Why can't I move? I need to get away from the water. My body won't respond. The water sloshes around me like it's being shaken up. Shit. Gotta get away. Why can't I move?
And then I died.
[[[SCP-289|(Unsolved)]]]
----
**Round 20: Scantron**
And I don’t know how I got here. Ow. Did I get beaten or something? Maybe. What the //fuck// was in that needle. I’m holding a printout of… I don’t know //what// this is. They can’t be serious. The other guys don’t look like they know what it is either.
There are loudspeakers and cameras here, just like that one other room. Except this one looks grimier. Headaches. The lights (fluorescent) come on, and I can see the stuff on the table better. What’s that thing next to the loudspeakers? It looks-
“Welcome to the Punishment Detail, but you probably know it as ‘Keter Duty’. I'm in charge of this. You’re here because of your less than satisfactory behavior. If I may direct your attention to the scripts you each hold in your hands for a moment. If you don’t read this script correctly and do //exactly// what it says, the consequences will be less than pleasant. Start at the bell."
Script? What- oh, this. Doesn’t look like any script I’ve ever read. I can barely read this shit, it’s incomprehensible. Whatever they drugged me with, I can’t think straight. Still, I think I can at least pronounce it right, that should be enough. Shit. I do wonder why it cuts off in the middle-
**Dingdingdingdingding**
Where did the time go? Well, I’ll have to give it a shot.
And then I died.
[[[SCP-732|(Unsolved)]]]
-----
**Round 21: TroyL**
It should work, dammit! I know it should work! I've got over this time and time again, and nothing makes sense!
I sigh and sit down at the table, looking at the room. I've gotten obsessed, I know, but obsession is good for physics. Planck was obsessed. So was Einstein, and Schrodinger, and Hawking! All of them were obsessed, and they changed the world. That's all I'm trying to do… Just change the world, for the better. With a heavy sigh, I sit down in my desk, looking around the room. I've scrawled the equations over the walls again and again, constantly trying to make it work. When I ran out of room on the walls, I started using the floor. When I ran out of room on the floor…
Someone is trying to scoop me. They're trying to steal my notes, I know. Three cases of sabotage, this year alone. The techies say that they can't figure it out… No surges or anything…
I sigh, returning to my desk, staring up at the ceiling where I had…
'Oh God,' I think, noticing the crack running along the top of my office. "OH GOD!" I say out loud, running toward the door, hoping to get out before the whole thing-
And then I died.
[[[SCP-033|(Solved)]]]
-----
**Round 22: Voct**
Mmm. I pick the crumbs off my plate, drop them into my open mouth, and then suck the sauce off my fingers. Maybe it's just the contrast with the hospital food, but this has got to be the best damn burger I have //ever// had in my //life//! I know what the doctors would tell me, but I promise myself that I'll start my new healthy diet tomorrow. Absolute promise. //One// burger won't hurt me, and with a name like "Last Chance Diner"... well, hell, that's as good as a sign from God, right?
I burp hugely, feeling like an eight-year-old as I savor the taste passing over my tongue again, and pay the waitress. It's seven dollars; I give her a twenty and tell her to keep the change. That was one INCREDIBLE burger!
As I walk towards the exit, I get a sudden, stabbing, pain in my left chest, spreading towards my neck and shoulder... oh god, no, fuck, no no no PLEASE no... I collapse on the floor, knocking over a chair. I hear the waitress and the other customers panicking, someone's yelling 'call an ambulance', but I can tell it'll be too late...
and then someone says "Get out of my way, I'm a doctor", and I feel a tiny surge of hope. I hear his footsteps coming closer, quick, sure, and confident.
"You're very, very lucky I happened to be in the same diner as you," he says, and I know he's right. He rips open my shirt, looks at my chest, puts his hand on me, just over my barely-healed scar, then closes his eyes and counts to himself for a few seconds. He opens his eyes again. "It's worse than I thought. I'm going to have to operate right here. I have some tools in my bag - waitress! There's a drugstore down the street, go buy me some gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol!"
He traces the scar on my chest with his finger, then pulls a scalpel out of his bag. "At least it'll be easier to go in. Don't worry, you'll be all right."
I summon all my strength, and manage to croak "thank you, doctor". I can tell I'm going to pass out soon.
He glares at me. "Stop making that noise, I'm trying to talk to my patient."
And then I died.
[[[scp-890|(Solved)]]]
-----
**Round 23: Bright**
It was a beautiful, hot day. And I? I couldn't resist going for a swim. The pool was empty, sparkling clear. Grabbing the pool noodle from the side, I jumped in. I dive to the bottom, and noticed a shadow across the water. Did someone toss something in?
And then I died.
[[[scp-644|(Unsolved)]]]
-----
**Round 24: CondorTalon**
Brrr. The cold wind smacks against my body as I walk home. That was a great meal, and I'm glad it was relatively cheap. The walks home always give plenty of time to reflect. About life, about death, about--
Suddenly, I'm knocked out of my thoughts when someone runs out of the alley in front of me. The man quickly hurries away, a panicked look on his face, but I catch a glimpse of something shiny in his hand...
A knife?!
I quickly head into the alley the man came out of. Did that man stab someone? As I round the corner, I see the body of a woman lying unconscious in the alley. I run over, silently thanking my family for convincing me to attend medical school. As I land near the woman, I check for a pulse. It's dark so it's hard to find a wound. A nearby hissing sound is interrupting my focus. Is that a gas leak? I'd better hurry. As I scan my eyes across the body, I find no blood, but I still check to make sure--
Wait what's that coming out of her stom--
And then I died.
[[[scp-486|(Unsolved)]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-03-30T20:30:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collaboration",
"tale"
] | "And Then I Died" Archive - SCP Foundation | 0 | [
"and-then-i-died2",
"scp-316",
"scp-749",
"scp-420",
"scp-165",
"scp-919",
"scp-820",
"scp-650",
"scp-593",
"scp-312",
"scp-327",
"scp-968",
"scp-179",
"scp-447",
"scp-313",
"scp-963",
"scp-161",
"scp-176",
"scp-303",
"scp-289",
"scp-732",
"scp-033",
"scp-890",
"scp-644",
"scp-486",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:archived-news"
] | [] | 8905386 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/and-then-i-died |
|
annon | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><strong>Warning: If you enjoyed the way <a href="/ecceperago">Ecce Perago</a> ended, then read no further. If you enjoy the thought of a grimdark Foundation, or have a low tolerance for quirkiness, this may not be the story you want to be reading. If, on the other hand, you'd like to see the New Administrator get what he has coming to him, then, read on.</strong></p>
<p>Fifteen minutes was all it had taken. In fifteen minutes, the world had changed, even if no one had noticed. The Administrator looked upon his work, and was proud. His seniors had always disliked his ideas. They all believed that free will was some grand idea. Only the Administrator knew that people were stupid. They needed to be led, to be guided. He was the one to do it now, with all this power at his fingertips.</p>
<p>All this power. They say absolute power corrupts absolutely.</p>
<p>Enh. Close enough, for Foundation work. The Administrator grinned beneath his mustache as he set to work, implementing changes that would bring the world into a more ordered state. Little did he know, that his plans were not the only plans out there. The Foundation planned for everything. Even a rogue O5.</p>
<h1 id="toc0"><span>13</span></h1>
<p>All of his plans had been built off one assumption, one purposeful lie. The O5 who had recruited him told him there was no O5-13. That the 13th vote was transferred from one O5 to another, which was true. The 13th O5 held no temporal power. While he was often invited to listen in on Overseer council meetings, and many of the council members treasured his advice, he had never been the most… stable of people.</p>
<p>You see, the 13th O5 made his home at a site that was not quite a site. While those who had been to it saw nothing unusual about it, Site 67 was on none of the Foundation's official books. It was an SCP, a quite powerful one, and one known as a 'little black box.' No number, just a name. The House. The easiest way to hide something is in plain sight. So, a natural landmark was built around it, and those who had to visit it were given to believe it was just another SCP.</p>
<p>The 13th was a special man. To survive in the House, one had to be. After all, time inside this SCP was a little unusual. If one were to use popular culture references, one might employ the phrase 'Timey Wimey Ball.' Inside the House, Cause did not often follow effect, and could quite easily loop into each other. So, the 13th had to be different, had to be able to think in more dimensions than the average man. This, of course, resulted in him being, by our standards, not altogether there.</p>
<p>"I think you might be starting to bore people. This is a lot of background to get through."</p>
<p>… Of course, when one spends a lot of time using one's mind to explore all manner of eldritch horror and power, one sometimes gets confused as to whether the room one is in has three walls, or four. So, instead of trying to explain, let's just see what happens.</p>
<p>"Thank you," the 13th says, to no one specific. Few are those who would enter his office. Site 67 doesn't get many visitors. He is a tall man, red haired, pale skinned, but no freckles. His office walls are lined with book shelves, and even more books somehow stay in place in their shelves on the ceiling. A simple old computer sits on his desk, an Apple IIe, still looking pristine and new. He is currently engrossed in the reports of the latest (from his point of view) exploration into his house, when a red light blinks on his screen.</p>
<p>"What's all this then? Ah, yes, the Mann takeover," he mutters to himself. He happens to mutter to himself a lot. Sometimes, he is even still in the room when he mutters to himself. Sometimes, he mutters back. It helps. "I thought I still had another week before that happened." His fingers fly across the keyboard, reading the reports as they file in. "Ah, yes, interesting. Full TPK. Well, almost full. Ha. Should have taken some time to find out more, Mann. Always were too eager. Well, let's see what we can do about this." This comment appears directed to the old man standing by his door, who seems to still be holding his gardening shears.</p>
<p>There were always fail safes in the Foundation. Each and every O5 always had a dozen or so on hand, ready just in case. Mann had found out the ones that protected the O5s, but he hadn't learned about the replacement protocols.</p>
<p>Which was what the 13th initiated, with a few clicks of his mouse.</p>
<h1 id="toc1"><span>12</span></h1>
<p>"Is he… is he dead?" The nameless assistant, whom we'll now call Tim, for the ease of narration, peered through the doorway, watching. He had grabbed the first agent he saw, once his mind had cleared.</p>
<p>"A'yup." Agent Lament made a show of checking the corpse's pulse, then leaned back on his heels. "Y'can sorta tell by the big gaping hole where his jaw and chest should be." Lament pulled off the former Overseer's glasses, curious to see who might be behind them. No one he recognized. But, then, he wouldn't.</p>
<p>"Well, agent, I-" Tim paused, his eyes glazing over. After all, O5-4 wasn't the only one who could plant commands in people's minds. "By the authority vested in me, whomsoever takes the glasses from his body shall be named O5-12 in his place. Agent Lament, you were never the first choice, but you are still capable of what we need. I hope." Tim slumps, his jaw sore. "I… what… did I just make you…?"</p>
<p>Lament can't help but smile. Overseer was never actually a goal of his, but, since it was offered…</p>
<p>"Well. Maybe I can't do a better job than this poor soul. But at least I-"</p>
<p>He slips on the sunglasses.</p>
<p>"Can hold my alcohol."</p>
<h1 id="toc2"><span>11</span></h1>
<p>Clef sat back, staring at the dead body. O5-11 had been a good friend, once upon a time. Eleven, or, as he had been known back then, Jings, had been the agent who had trained Clef, when he first joined up. When Jings got promoted, Clef had hoped the old man would change things. They had made plans, had talked things over. They would do great things, with Jings in the place to make things better!</p>
<p>But nothing had changed. Oh sure, at first, Eleven made things better, eased some restrictions on the Safe humanoids. But he didn't let any of them go, as they'd talked about. He didn't ease up on the D-class deaths. Eventually, he became just another Overseer, grinding down anyone who tried to make things better.</p>
<p>Mann might not be the best choice to take over, but at least he'd follow his plan.</p>
<p>Ha! Like Clef would let anyone else take over. The only person in this world you could trust, was yourself. Clef reached over to the body of his dead friend, and slipped off the man's bracelet.</p>
<p>"If there were a move past Checkmate, I'd say that. But for now, let's just say I win." He slips the bracelet onto his own wrist. "I always win."</p>
<h1 id="toc3"><span>10</span></h1>
<p>Some transfers of power were epic. Some were quite interesting. In Ten's case, it was a simple matter of an email marked 'Urgent' showing up in the inbox of one Dr. Moose. She took a moment to read the contents, then sighed as she rolled her eyes. "Really? Me, an O5? Fuck a doodle."</p>
<h1 id="toc4"><span>9</span></h1>
<p>O5-9 was the unluckiest O5.</p>
<p>Dr. Bright glanced down at his cell phone, and made a face. "Fuck. Nine got himself offed again?" He tapped his fingers together, and frowned over them. There was no one on site currently who fit the specifi— No, wait. There was one. Yes. Two birds, one stone. "Joshua!" He called to his secretary. "Tell Agent Elroy to meet me at the elevators."</p>
<p>A few minutes later, the doctor and the Agent were riding down the main shaft together. Bright stared determinedly at the numbers as they ticked down, towards the bottom of the site. Yoric, on the other hand, fidgeted, hummed, and otherwise made himself annoying. It was his gift. Finally, he could contain himself no longer. "Look, Jack, if this is about the cafeteria incident-"</p>
<p>"It's not about that."</p>
<p>"Ah, then feeding Kane peanut butter, look, it was really funn-"</p>
<p>"Not that either."</p>
<p>"That girl told me she was 18!"</p>
<p>"… That excuse never worked for me either. Yoric. You are being let in on a secret several steps above your current security level. So, shut up, and do what I tell you."</p>
<p>The rest of the ride continues in silence. If he had been any other doctor, he might have worried about what he was planning on doing. But Jack had stopped making emotional connections to his fellow workers. He knew it always ended badly.</p>
<p>The elevator drew to a halt at the bottom of the site… and then proceeded to move sideways for some time. Yoric shot a questioning look at the Senior Staffer, but chose not to ask. It wasn't until the elevator doors slid back to reveal a sign on another door that he actually spoke. "Nine Six Three Two? Wait, there's more of you?"</p>
<p>Jack opened the door, and stepped inside. The room was small, a large window showing the room beyond, in which a box rested on a pedestal. "Yoric. This is very important. I need you to go into that room, and open that box, and bring me back the object within." He sighed. "I've been authorized to give you the 006 you've requested if you do so."</p>
<p>Cautious, but optimistic, Agent Yoric Elroy passed into the next room. Dr. Bright locked the door behind him, then turned to the window to watch. 963-2 had always been his dirty little secret. It was his fault it had been created. Yoric carefully opened the box, and, when nothing jumped out at him, carefully reached out a gloved hand to pick up the odd metal symbol inside. "This the ARGH!" The agent screamed in horrible pain as his body was grabbed by an invisible force. His bones, his flesh, his entire body was wrenched, this way and that. Bright stood watching, hands clasped behind his back. This was what you got when working with inferior materials. Well. It didn't matter. In a few minutes, Yoric would be completely gone, never to be seen again. And his body would rise as O5-9, the Overseer who thought he could be immortal. Bright would have to bring him up to speed. One of the problems of 963-2: it had only copied the memories up to the point of Nine's first death. It didn't matter.</p>
<p>After all, O5-9 was the unluckiest O5.</p>
<h1 id="toc5"><span>8</span></h1>
<p>Desiree Talleh walked into the O5's apartment as if she owned the place. She had always had a habit of being in the right place, at the right time. And now? She was going to be in the right place, at the right time, to end up an O5.</p>
<p>Desiree was a young looking girl, of African descent, her hair done up in cornrows, looking at the world through coke bottle glasses. She opened the door to the bathroom, and reached in to turn off the water with an oven mitt. She stared at the remains of Eight with some distaste. Ick. Overseer soup. Still. Miss Talleh reached her hand into the muck, fishing around for the little ring. It was her choice to become Eight, and if anyone wanted to stop her, well, she'd been planning this for a lot longer than they had. She wasn't afraid to call on help from friends in scaly places.</p>
<p>"Me and Clef as O5s? What is the Foundation coming to? Next they'll be asking 343 to join." And she giggles, at some private joke.</p>
<h1 id="toc6"><span>7</span></h1>
<p>Dr. Gerald looked down at the burning wreckage of his vehicle. The flames could easily be seen for miles around, pieces of the car spread across the upper third of the road he'd been driving on. He turned his hand this way and that, studying the ivory chopstick driven through the middle of his hand. "Huh. Guess this means I'm an Overseer now, huh?"</p>
<p>He glanced down, studying the ground far below. "Now if only I could get out of this tree."</p>
<h1 id="toc7"><span>6</span></h1>
<p>Black looked at what he had wrought, and the corner of his eye twitched, just a little bit. His mentor, and his partner, both dead by his hand. It shouldn't have been this way. He was supposed to have given his life for Six. Thompson was too good to die like a chump. But this was how it had happened. All he could do was move on.</p>
<p>The first step was to remove Six's hat and pistols. They weren't special, but they meant something to Black. The pearl handled pistols were tucked into his belt, the hat placed jauntily upon his head. Then, carefully, reverently, Black picked up the cane. "This will not stand. You shall be avenged."</p>
<h1 id="toc8"><span>5</span></h1>
<p>"I feel like goddamn Dorothy," Sorts muttered as he pulled the shoes off the body of O5-5. "Really? Shoes? Who makes an object of authority out of damned shoes?" He frowned, studying them closer. "Okay, these really feel kind of wei- HOLY SHIT it's human skin."</p>
<p>He pauses, thinking over his statement. "That shouldn't actually surprise me. The midgets… they surprise me. Fuck, I hate these cameos."</p>
<p>As he stalked away to get the shoes re-sized for him, a dozen instances of SCP-5555-J danced about the body of the former Overseer. They sang, in some kind of unison. I'm sure you can guess the song. It starts 'Ding dong.'</p>
<h1 id="toc9"><span>3</span></h1>
<p>"Hey. Josh."</p>
<p>"Wassup Gnosis?"</p>
<p>"That program crashed."</p>
<p>"Which one?"</p>
<p>"The one that takes up all that memory on the Cray."</p>
<p>"Ah, fuck. Oh well, just use the backups and reboot the damn thing."</p>
<p>"No problem."</p>
<h1 id="toc10"><span>2</span></h1>
<p>'Ding! You have a new video message.'</p>
<p>Dr. Sophia Light glanced up from her work with a sigh. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Sometimes, she missed being a member of the Junior Staff under Bright. No, strike that, that was something she never missed. But she wouldn't mind less paperwork. A break from the work was welcome at this point.</p>
<p>The video opened on an older, familiar looking woman. "Sophia. If you're getting this message, not only am I dead, but I never found a way to tell you. I know what you're thinking, and no, I'm not your mother, grandmother or such. I'm you. It's a long story, but let's just say, if you ever need to reboot the universe, make sure you're inside of it first. Your computer is currently getting an update with all of my files. See, you're going to take over for me. You're O5-2. Good luck." The video feed cuts off, then turns back on. "Side note: Why the hell do the time travelers always go after Hitler? He's got to be the luckiest man alive. Look into the possibility of his SCPness."</p>
<p>Light sighed, rubbing her temples. Less work? Never.</p>
<h1 id="toc11"><span>1</span></h1>
<p>"… and that is why I have decided to pass on my mantle to you," the video continued, as Dr. Gears studied the pale trenchcoat in his hands. His face, as always, betrayed no trace of emotion. "I have done all I can to lead you to this point, where you can control the Foundation. No matter what anyone may try to tell you, your role is first among equals." The man speaking betrays no emotion himself, a deadpan delivery that wouldn't change even if he were dying while he recorded the message. Which he likely was. "And in the end, I just want to say, I'm proud of you."</p>
<p>At that Gears looks up at the screen, freezing the image before it ends. He stared at the man on the screen for several long minutes, letting everything process. He was now the man in charge, the Overseer at the top of the pyramid. He should feel something. Some small bit of… something. But he'd never admit it.</p>
<p>He simply nodded at the image on the screen. "Thank you, Father. Rest in Peace."</p>
<h1 id="toc12"><span>4</span></h1>
<p>"Yes, yes… ha! That would be perfect!" Mann couldn't help but laugh to himself. So much information, so many things for him to do. "010! We can expand it! Humanity will do what needs to be done, not what they want to do!" His fingers flickered across the keyboard, and then stopped as his screen froze. "Access denied? What kind of crap is-"</p>
<p>"Hey, four, how's it going, man?" The young teen on the screen smiled. "Hey, sorry to be the one to tell you this, but the O5 council has held a vote of no confidence, and, welp, you're out!"</p>
<p>"O5 council? THERE IS NO O5 COUNCIL!" Mann paused, taking a deep breath and standing up. "Apparently, I didn't erase you as thoroughly as I had planned. That can be easily rect—" Again, Mann was interrupted, as 11 more video feeds popped up on his screen, each of them filled with the shadowy outline of a human head and shoulders. Each of them displayed the words 'No confidence' in green at the bottom.</p>
<p>"No! No! I did this! I planned it all! You cannot do this! I am the Administrator! The power is mine! The power is—" BANG! Mann, the top half of his head gone, takes two steps, still trying to mouth words. A second gun shot echoes throughout the room, and Mann falls to the floor, his body twitching. His assailant fires twice more, and, finally, the Mann who would be Administrator lies dead. The man who killed him slips into the just vacated seat. Still warm.</p>
<p>"Dr. Mann is dead. Took a bit to kill him, looks like the files were right about him doing some self augmentation. I'll have the boys down in research look at him. Is there any pressing business for the council, at this time?" Negatives from each of the Council members. "In that case, I, Frederick Heiden… shit, I mean O5-4, declare this Council Meeting closed."</p>
<p>O5-4 stared down at the corpse of his predecessor. It had been a long day. It was only going to get longer. He took a moment to kick the corpse in the side. "God dammit, you asshole. This wasn't what I wanted."</p>
<p>And then he turned back to the computer, and to his duties.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/annon">Annon</a>" by AdminBright, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/annon">https://scpwiki.com/annon</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
**Warning: If you enjoyed the way [[[Ecceperago |Ecce Perago]]] ended, then read no further. If you enjoy the thought of a grimdark Foundation, or have a low tolerance for quirkiness, this may not be the story you want to be reading. If, on the other hand, you'd like to see the New Administrator get what he has coming to him, then, read on.**
Fifteen minutes was all it had taken. In fifteen minutes, the world had changed, even if no one had noticed. The Administrator looked upon his work, and was proud. His seniors had always disliked his ideas. They all believed that free will was some grand idea. Only the Administrator knew that people were stupid. They needed to be led, to be guided. He was the one to do it now, with all this power at his fingertips.
All this power. They say absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Enh. Close enough, for Foundation work. The Administrator grinned beneath his mustache as he set to work, implementing changes that would bring the world into a more ordered state. Little did he know, that his plans were not the only plans out there. The Foundation planned for everything. Even a rogue O5.
+ 13
All of his plans had been built off one assumption, one purposeful lie. The O5 who had recruited him told him there was no O5-13. That the 13th vote was transferred from one O5 to another, which was true. The 13th O5 held no temporal power. While he was often invited to listen in on Overseer council meetings, and many of the council members treasured his advice, he had never been the most... stable of people.
You see, the 13th O5 made his home at a site that was not quite a site. While those who had been to it saw nothing unusual about it, Site 67 was on none of the Foundation's official books. It was an SCP, a quite powerful one, and one known as a 'little black box.' No number, just a name. The House. The easiest way to hide something is in plain sight. So, a natural landmark was built around it, and those who had to visit it were given to believe it was just another SCP.
The 13th was a special man. To survive in the House, one had to be. After all, time inside this SCP was a little unusual. If one were to use popular culture references, one might employ the phrase 'Timey Wimey Ball.' Inside the House, Cause did not often follow effect, and could quite easily loop into each other. So, the 13th had to be different, had to be able to think in more dimensions than the average man. This, of course, resulted in him being, by our standards, not altogether there.
"I think you might be starting to bore people. This is a lot of background to get through."
... Of course, when one spends a lot of time using one's mind to explore all manner of eldritch horror and power, one sometimes gets confused as to whether the room one is in has three walls, or four. So, instead of trying to explain, let's just see what happens.
"Thank you," the 13th says, to no one specific. Few are those who would enter his office. Site 67 doesn't get many visitors. He is a tall man, red haired, pale skinned, but no freckles. His office walls are lined with book shelves, and even more books somehow stay in place in their shelves on the ceiling. A simple old computer sits on his desk, an Apple IIe, still looking pristine and new. He is currently engrossed in the reports of the latest (from his point of view) exploration into his house, when a red light blinks on his screen.
"What's all this then? Ah, yes, the Mann takeover," he mutters to himself. He happens to mutter to himself a lot. Sometimes, he is even still in the room when he mutters to himself. Sometimes, he mutters back. It helps. "I thought I still had another week before that happened." His fingers fly across the keyboard, reading the reports as they file in. "Ah, yes, interesting. Full TPK. Well, almost full. Ha. Should have taken some time to find out more, Mann. Always were too eager. Well, let's see what we can do about this." This comment appears directed to the old man standing by his door, who seems to still be holding his gardening shears.
There were always fail safes in the Foundation. Each and every O5 always had a dozen or so on hand, ready just in case. Mann had found out the ones that protected the O5s, but he hadn't learned about the replacement protocols.
Which was what the 13th initiated, with a few clicks of his mouse.
+ 12
"Is he... is he dead?" The nameless assistant, whom we'll now call Tim, for the ease of narration, peered through the doorway, watching. He had grabbed the first agent he saw, once his mind had cleared.
"A'yup." Agent Lament made a show of checking the corpse's pulse, then leaned back on his heels. "Y'can sorta tell by the big gaping hole where his jaw and chest should be." Lament pulled off the former Overseer's glasses, curious to see who might be behind them. No one he recognized. But, then, he wouldn't.
"Well, agent, I-" Tim paused, his eyes glazing over. After all, O5-4 wasn't the only one who could plant commands in people's minds. "By the authority vested in me, whomsoever takes the glasses from his body shall be named O5-12 in his place. Agent Lament, you were never the first choice, but you are still capable of what we need. I hope." Tim slumps, his jaw sore. "I... what... did I just make you...?"
Lament can't help but smile. Overseer was never actually a goal of his, but, since it was offered...
"Well. Maybe I can't do a better job than this poor soul. But at least I-"
He slips on the sunglasses.
"Can hold my alcohol."
+ 11
Clef sat back, staring at the dead body. O5-11 had been a good friend, once upon a time. Eleven, or, as he had been known back then, Jings, had been the agent who had trained Clef, when he first joined up. When Jings got promoted, Clef had hoped the old man would change things. They had made plans, had talked things over. They would do great things, with Jings in the place to make things better!
But nothing had changed. Oh sure, at first, Eleven made things better, eased some restrictions on the Safe humanoids. But he didn't let any of them go, as they'd talked about. He didn't ease up on the D-class deaths. Eventually, he became just another Overseer, grinding down anyone who tried to make things better.
Mann might not be the best choice to take over, but at least he'd follow his plan.
Ha! Like Clef would let anyone else take over. The only person in this world you could trust, was yourself. Clef reached over to the body of his dead friend, and slipped off the man's bracelet.
"If there were a move past Checkmate, I'd say that. But for now, let's just say I win." He slips the bracelet onto his own wrist. "I always win."
+ 10
Some transfers of power were epic. Some were quite interesting. In Ten's case, it was a simple matter of an email marked 'Urgent' showing up in the inbox of one Dr. Moose. She took a moment to read the contents, then sighed as she rolled her eyes. "Really? Me, an O5? Fuck a doodle."
+ 9
O5-9 was the unluckiest O5.
Dr. Bright glanced down at his cell phone, and made a face. "Fuck. Nine got himself offed again?" He tapped his fingers together, and frowned over them. There was no one on site currently who fit the specifi-- No, wait. There was one. Yes. Two birds, one stone. "Joshua!" He called to his secretary. "Tell Agent Elroy to meet me at the elevators."
A few minutes later, the doctor and the Agent were riding down the main shaft together. Bright stared determinedly at the numbers as they ticked down, towards the bottom of the site. Yoric, on the other hand, fidgeted, hummed, and otherwise made himself annoying. It was his gift. Finally, he could contain himself no longer. "Look, Jack, if this is about the cafeteria incident-"
"It's not about that."
"Ah, then feeding Kane peanut butter, look, it was really funn-"
"Not that either."
"That girl told me she was 18!"
"... That excuse never worked for me either. Yoric. You are being let in on a secret several steps above your current security level. So, shut up, and do what I tell you."
The rest of the ride continues in silence. If he had been any other doctor, he might have worried about what he was planning on doing. But Jack had stopped making emotional connections to his fellow workers. He knew it always ended badly.
The elevator drew to a halt at the bottom of the site... and then proceeded to move sideways for some time. Yoric shot a questioning look at the Senior Staffer, but chose not to ask. It wasn't until the elevator doors slid back to reveal a sign on another door that he actually spoke. "Nine Six Three Two? Wait, there's more of you?"
Jack opened the door, and stepped inside. The room was small, a large window showing the room beyond, in which a box rested on a pedestal. "Yoric. This is very important. I need you to go into that room, and open that box, and bring me back the object within." He sighed. "I've been authorized to give you the 006 you've requested if you do so."
Cautious, but optimistic, Agent Yoric Elroy passed into the next room. Dr. Bright locked the door behind him, then turned to the window to watch. 963-2 had always been his dirty little secret. It was his fault it had been created. Yoric carefully opened the box, and, when nothing jumped out at him, carefully reached out a gloved hand to pick up the odd metal symbol inside. "This the ARGH!" The agent screamed in horrible pain as his body was grabbed by an invisible force. His bones, his flesh, his entire body was wrenched, this way and that. Bright stood watching, hands clasped behind his back. This was what you got when working with inferior materials. Well. It didn't matter. In a few minutes, Yoric would be completely gone, never to be seen again. And his body would rise as O5-9, the Overseer who thought he could be immortal. Bright would have to bring him up to speed. One of the problems of 963-2: it had only copied the memories up to the point of Nine's first death. It didn't matter.
After all, O5-9 was the unluckiest O5.
+ 8
Desiree Talleh walked into the O5's apartment as if she owned the place. She had always had a habit of being in the right place, at the right time. And now? She was going to be in the right place, at the right time, to end up an O5.
Desiree was a young looking girl, of African descent, her hair done up in cornrows, looking at the world through coke bottle glasses. She opened the door to the bathroom, and reached in to turn off the water with an oven mitt. She stared at the remains of Eight with some distaste. Ick. Overseer soup. Still. Miss Talleh reached her hand into the muck, fishing around for the little ring. It was her choice to become Eight, and if anyone wanted to stop her, well, she'd been planning this for a lot longer than they had. She wasn't afraid to call on help from friends in scaly places.
"Me and Clef as O5s? What is the Foundation coming to? Next they'll be asking 343 to join." And she giggles, at some private joke.
+ 7
Dr. Gerald looked down at the burning wreckage of his vehicle. The flames could easily be seen for miles around, pieces of the car spread across the upper third of the road he'd been driving on. He turned his hand this way and that, studying the ivory chopstick driven through the middle of his hand. "Huh. Guess this means I'm an Overseer now, huh?"
He glanced down, studying the ground far below. "Now if only I could get out of this tree."
+ 6
Black looked at what he had wrought, and the corner of his eye twitched, just a little bit. His mentor, and his partner, both dead by his hand. It shouldn't have been this way. He was supposed to have given his life for Six. Thompson was too good to die like a chump. But this was how it had happened. All he could do was move on.
The first step was to remove Six's hat and pistols. They weren't special, but they meant something to Black. The pearl handled pistols were tucked into his belt, the hat placed jauntily upon his head. Then, carefully, reverently, Black picked up the cane. "This will not stand. You shall be avenged."
+ 5
"I feel like goddamn Dorothy," Sorts muttered as he pulled the shoes off the body of O5-5. "Really? Shoes? Who makes an object of authority out of damned shoes?" He frowned, studying them closer. "Okay, these really feel kind of wei- HOLY SHIT it's human skin."
He pauses, thinking over his statement. "That shouldn't actually surprise me. The midgets... they surprise me. Fuck, I hate these cameos."
As he stalked away to get the shoes re-sized for him, a dozen instances of SCP-5555-J danced about the body of the former Overseer. They sang, in some kind of unison. I'm sure you can guess the song. It starts 'Ding dong.'
+ 3
"Hey. Josh."
"Wassup Gnosis?"
"That program crashed."
"Which one?"
"The one that takes up all that memory on the Cray."
"Ah, fuck. Oh well, just use the backups and reboot the damn thing."
"No problem."
+ 2
'Ding! You have a new video message.'
Dr. Sophia Light glanced up from her work with a sigh. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Sometimes, she missed being a member of the Junior Staff under Bright. No, strike that, that was something she never missed. But she wouldn't mind less paperwork. A break from the work was welcome at this point.
The video opened on an older, familiar looking woman. "Sophia. If you're getting this message, not only am I dead, but I never found a way to tell you. I know what you're thinking, and no, I'm not your mother, grandmother or such. I'm you. It's a long story, but let's just say, if you ever need to reboot the universe, make sure you're inside of it first. Your computer is currently getting an update with all of my files. See, you're going to take over for me. You're O5-2. Good luck." The video feed cuts off, then turns back on. "Side note: Why the hell do the time travelers always go after Hitler? He's got to be the luckiest man alive. Look into the possibility of his SCPness."
Light sighed, rubbing her temples. Less work? Never.
+ 1
"... and that is why I have decided to pass on my mantle to you," the video continued, as Dr. Gears studied the pale trenchcoat in his hands. His face, as always, betrayed no trace of emotion. "I have done all I can to lead you to this point, where you can control the Foundation. No matter what anyone may try to tell you, your role is first among equals." The man speaking betrays no emotion himself, a deadpan delivery that wouldn't change even if he were dying while he recorded the message. Which he likely was. "And in the end, I just want to say, I'm proud of you."
At that Gears looks up at the screen, freezing the image before it ends. He stared at the man on the screen for several long minutes, letting everything process. He was now the man in charge, the Overseer at the top of the pyramid. He should feel something. Some small bit of... something. But he'd never admit it.
He simply nodded at the image on the screen. "Thank you, Father. Rest in Peace."
+ 4
"Yes, yes... ha! That would be perfect!" Mann couldn't help but laugh to himself. So much information, so many things for him to do. "010! We can expand it! Humanity will do what needs to be done, not what they want to do!" His fingers flickered across the keyboard, and then stopped as his screen froze. "Access denied? What kind of crap is-"
"Hey, four, how's it going, man?" The young teen on the screen smiled. "Hey, sorry to be the one to tell you this, but the O5 council has held a vote of no confidence, and, welp, you're out!"
"O5 council? THERE IS NO O5 COUNCIL!" Mann paused, taking a deep breath and standing up. "Apparently, I didn't erase you as thoroughly as I had planned. That can be easily rect--" Again, Mann was interrupted, as 11 more video feeds popped up on his screen, each of them filled with the shadowy outline of a human head and shoulders. Each of them displayed the words 'No confidence' in green at the bottom.
"No! No! I did this! I planned it all! You cannot do this! I am the Administrator! The power is mine! The power is--" BANG! Mann, the top half of his head gone, takes two steps, still trying to mouth words. A second gun shot echoes throughout the room, and Mann falls to the floor, his body twitching. His assailant fires twice more, and, finally, the Mann who would be Administrator lies dead. The man who killed him slips into the just vacated seat. Still warm.
"Dr. Mann is dead. Took a bit to kill him, looks like the files were right about him doing some self augmentation. I'll have the boys down in research look at him. Is there any pressing business for the council, at this time?" Negatives from each of the Council members. "In that case, I, Frederick Heiden... shit, I mean O5-4, declare this Council Meeting closed."
O5-4 stared down at the corpse of his predecessor. It had been a long day. It was only going to get longer. He took a moment to kick the corpse in the side. "God dammit, you asshole. This wasn't what I wanted."
And then he turned back to the computer, and to his duties.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-11-04T19:31:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"agent-lament",
"agent-yoric",
"comedy",
"director-moose",
"doctor-bright",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-gears",
"doctor-gerald",
"doctor-heiden",
"doctor-light",
"doctor-mann",
"spy-fiction",
"tale"
] | Annon - SCP Foundation | 347 | [
"ecceperago",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"resurrection",
"kaktuskast-hub",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"competitive-eschatology-hub"
] | [] | 11993398 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/annon |
|
audio-log-185-53 | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><strong>Background:</strong> During regular testing <a href="/scp-185">SCP-185</a> was set to a Foundation used frequency and the year 20██ was entered into the keypad. The following transmission was recorded.</p>
<p><strong><Commence Log></strong></p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Hello! I'm your commentator, Salman Corbette!</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And "Redacted" Pagan with the fourth annual Anomalympics, hosted this year by the Foundation itself, in conjunction with the Global Occult Coalition: "Protecting Humanity, whether it likes it or not!"</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Haha, let's not be too harsh on them, Pag. We've also got a few guests from the Chaos Insurgency, Agents ██████████ and ███████, participating in a few events.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> We even have a few members of the enigmatic club from Europe, Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd., competing. It's amazing to see the kind of sportsmanship that comes around this time of year, wouldn't you say?</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Well, it's always good to just place politics aside and have some nice, friendly competition. Unfortunately, the ORIA agents were not able to make. Some sort of nuclear crisis going on. But, let's get started, shall we?</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Of course. For our first event, we have the beloved classic 1000 Yard Dash! From the SCP Foundation we have <a href="/scp-076">SCP-076-2</a>, otherwise known as Able, who has chosen this event to show off, in his words, "What it means to have fun."</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> From The Chaos Insurgency Agent ███████ will be "proving superiority", and apparently Mr. ██████████ from Dark Ltd. will be racing under sponsorship. We also have guest competitor <a href="/scp-963">Dr. Bright</a>, who claims that his monkey legs aren't going to stop him from doing anything.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And the firing of the <a href="/scp-1344-j">Sun Launcher</a> signals the opening of the competition! Agent ███████ of the Chaos Insurgency seems to take an early lead, with Able tripping over his unlaced shoes! He's muttering something in Sumerian, but that's not important right now.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Wait, hold on, I’ve just gotten word that due to the anomalous nature of several contestants, the event has been changed to the 1000 meter dash. Officials are lengthening the track right now… And Mr. ██████████ is catching up to the Agent. I must say, doesn't he look good with that Bauer sponsored helmet on?</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Very much so, and it seems as though wearing a helmet has paid off, as Dr. Bright has procured a banana peel from his racing leotard, thrown it across the field, and has caused Mr. ██████████ to trip! I would say that's cheating, but with Able on the field, I guess nothing is!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Oooh, I don't think he's going to recover from that setback. And it looks like Dr. Bright and Agent ███████ have caught up to one another, with Able just lagging behind.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> It's a very close race, very close indeed but… WOW it seems Agent ███████ just went topless to stun Dr. Bright! Now, sexual warfare is just a low-blow, but we should have expected that from our friends at the Chaos Insurgency!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> And with Dr. Bright sent stumbling, Agent ███████ wins the race! But Able doesn't seem to be happy.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Ah, he'll get over it, it seems <a href="/scp-073">73</a>, Cain, is coming over to help up his brother, and is teaching him how to tie his own shoes. Now that's the kind of thing we want to see here at the Anomalympics.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Good thing too, or else the Chaos Insurgency might be out for the three-legged race. (Laughs).</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Ah, those violent days of Able are over, Salman, ever since we convinced him of [static for 23 seconds] he's happy to lend a… rather competitive hand!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Of course! But now onto a much looked forward to event, wrestling.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Sadly, Able can't participate in this event because of the incident last year when he broke 72% of Wrench ██████████ of the Church of the Broken God's body. I would make a joke right now, but the poor guy is still being treated.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> So instead we were able to get <a href="/scp-682">682</a> to participate! Of course, he originally declined the offer, but after [static for approximately 30 seconds] -appy to join in.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Under current regulations, 682 is forced to remain at 32% of his original size so that other participants can have a chance, but thanks to some convincing on the Foundation's part, he was glad to oblige.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Well, let's just hope that acid was strong enough. Also participating is Agent ██████████ of the Chaos Insurgency, Madame ██████████ of Dark Limited, and <a href="/scp-096">SCP-096</a>.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong>It seems the Madame is dressing up in some sort of suit… Agent ██████████ as well, do you have any information on these, Salman?</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> I'm just getting information that the two were previously professional wrestlers. Sweet Tooth and The Crushnugget, respectively. Thankfully 682 has also been trained in wrestling. If you look now you can see them placing a Luchadore mask on his partially dissolved head.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> What a small world we live in, indeed.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Of course, we can’t have 096 showing his face, and so he’s wearing <a href="/scp-035">SCP-035</a> with pride, along with <a href="/scp-619-j">SCP-619-J</a>. Apparently we are “piling on every SCP we can to kill that fucking lizard”.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> So…what happens if that Abomination we’ve built <em>wins</em>?</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> “We’ll nuke the fucker”. The fucker being the abomination, I believe.</p>
<p><strong>”Redacted” Pagan:</strong> That’s an order from Site Command?</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> That’s an order from the referee, who looks quite scared right now.</p>
<p><strong>”Redacted” Pagan:</strong> Wish I could get a headset like that.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Well Pagan, being a Research Assistant <em>does</em> have its benefits. Perhaps one day they’ll promote me and I’ll get an actual chair.</p>
<p><strong>”Redacted” Pagan:</strong> Well, I’m fine being a [static for 12 seconds] but back to the current subject: This is going to be an interesting, if not blindingly horrifying match! The participants are geared up and ready to go. Who do you have your money set on this match, Corbette?</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> I'm gonna have to go with 682 myself, since it’s so hard to destroy. (Pause) Apparently 682 prefers to go by the name El Reptilioso in this state, and we'll be referring to him as that for the rest of the event.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Because of the late entry of 96, the two Foundation entrants will face each other, with Sweet Tooth and Crushnugget in their own match.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Our first match will be 96 vs. El Reptilioso, who are stepping into the ring now. 96 and/or 35 appears to be shouting about the blood of his forefathers, while El Reptiloso is growling loudly. The referee steps into the ring and the bell is rung.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And… I can't believe how fast he did it, but 96 has already gotten 682 into a triangle hold! I guess 35 is really taking advantage of 96’s strength!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Wait? What's this? An audience member has just thrown something onto the stage! Why, it's <a href="/scp-572">SCP-572</a>!</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> A move like that seems pretty risky, “pride goeth before the fall” and all that…</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> 682's already picked it up, and is slashing it around with it, trying to find 96.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And… mother of <a href="/scp-343">343</a>! 96 lunged onto the scaly bastard's back!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Oof, that's gotta hurt. But it looks like Reptilioso already noticed the abomination and is turning around now, slashing.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Just what was 35's plan in doing that!? It seems he's already been hit by the blade and… how the hell are we letting a sword pass in this!?</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> I don't know, but it's goddamn entertaining. Oh, and 96 falls over.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> El Reptiliso walks toward the… thing and… WOW, 96 was playing possum!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> He seems to have surprised Reptilioso. And… Jesus! I don't know how he did it, but he somehow has Reptilioso in a Nelson.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> This is indescribable! Reptilioso has grown arms on the back of his head and… now has 96 in a german suplex!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> 96 and/or 35 is shouting something about his 'destrucisity'. He seems to be stretching down and… he grabbed the sword from Reptilioso's mouth! Oh, and a straight whack on the head. That's gonna leave a mark.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And it now appears that Reptilioso just doesn't care anymore! He's grabbed 35 and appears to… oh no! He just pulled it off! Holy shi- [static is heard for 43 minutes].</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Give a round of applause, Madame Sweet Tooth is this year's champion in wrestling, and not a single nuke went off! If you missed even a second of the action, you would definitely be surprised at the Madame's performance!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Thank god we all went blind right when that mask was removed! And now onto our next event and a favourite of all, 110-Montauk.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And it seems a variety of spectators have just lost their lunch, [pause] but no fear, after the horrible events of <a href="/scp-231">SCP-231-7</a> and the [static for 2 minutes 12 seconds] -ven was cured, and the Foundation took her horrible procedure and made it the name of: The Bikini contest!</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> 231-7, however, is now enjoying a picnic lunch with <a href="/scp-053">053</a>, and several spectators.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Our competitors this year include <a href="/scp-105">105</a>, Sweet Tooth, Agent ███████, and <a href="/scp-347">The Invisible Woman</a>. Our Own Dr. Bright has graciously volunteered to judge the contest.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> It appears that the bruises from Madame Sweet Tooth of Dark Limited are going to hurt her chances this year!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Not to mention that she appears to have been given several shots of testosterone. In fact, I've just gotten information that Dr. Bright has disqualified her from this competition.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And there she goes, poor girl… well, at least she can take solace in the fact she won something… and WOW, her replacement from Dark Limited is something out of a fantasy book! It appears to be a tall [static for 3 seconds] -ronze skinned [static]wom[static] her entry form states she's MC&DL Curio-BAC-7, and as her letters indicate, she has some BACK.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Actually, I've just gotten word that Dark Limited had just gotten a hold of <a href="/scp-826">826</a>. Sources say this may be the mystical Aphrodite we are looking at.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> She appears to wear a collar of sorts…the classic MC&D Slave collar and Bright has graciously allowed the collar to stay on due to the events of a likely XK-Scenario from an angry goddess.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> And here comes 105, dressed in a nice one-piece.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> You have to appreciate the modesty of the girl… though it seems Bright doesn't.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Right behind 105 is 347. And what a stunner she is in a complimentary bright green bikini. Really leaves a lot to the imagination, as can be seen by the expression of several doctors watching.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Judging from their looks, it does appear to be the first time most of the attendees have seen 347’s assets.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Oh, who's that looker there? It's Agent ███████, from the Chaos Insurgency, who had previously tripped up Bright with what she's showing off now. And doesn't she look great in that itsy-bitsy thing?</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> However, the showing appears for naught as Bright seems to hold a grudge against for what she did in the first event, giving a very disapproving nod as his only clue to his judgment.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Just goes to show, you never tick off the judges.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And here comes that "Aphrodite" to strut her proverbial stuff! With a very provocative display, she shows off her V-shaped swimsuit and in a STUNNING moment it appears Dr. Bright has made some comment about his bananas!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> (Pause) And the results are in. It's a surprising four-way tie. (Pause) Apparently the winner will be chosen by sexual fav- And they're dragging Dr. Bright offstage.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Well, it appears no-one wins this event… (pause) Well, isn't this a surprise? The newest judge is supposedly Dr. Clef! (Pause)</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Now of course, this is in no way biased, as the judges for these kinds of events are always decided upon whom is hosting it, and as the Foundation is hosting it this year, we have our pick of the judges, we tried to get Nobody, but not even <a href="/scp-400-arc">that box</a> could get a hold of him… her… it… them.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> [static for approximately 3 minutes] -O5-6 is now beating Clef and declaring that there are no winners and this competition was not actually planned.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Well, what a rousing display that was. Several men, and women, had to leave the audience when Agent ███████ and BAC-7 started their catfight! But onto our next event…</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Anomalous trivia!</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Now, as per regulations, AI's and machines are NOT allowed…(pause) It appears that this rule does NOT apply to individuals augmented with technology… several members of the Chaos Insurgency and Dark LTD. Seem relieved.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Of course we have our own robot, Dr. Gears! (Laugh) Up now we have Agent ██████████ of the Chaos Insurgency and a rather brainy looking representative for Dark Limited up to compete with Dr. Gears.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And when we say brainy we mean BRAINY, it appears that the contestant has a BULGING brain almost protruding through the skull… and it just twitched… I may lose my lunch if I continue looking at it.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> The contestants step up to their places and are each given a large, red button. Janitorial staff are being called in to clean up the spinal fluid dripping behind the Dark Limited representitive.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Now the first question is: What event occurred that caused the emergence of [static for 20 seconds]?</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> -ears takes the first point.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And the second question - in what year did the schism between the Chaos Insurgency and SCP Foundation take place?</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> [static for 12 seconds] …It appears that the Dark Limited representative takes that point!</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Surprising indeed!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Third question is a Foundation specialty: What are the main components of <a href="/scp-173">173</a>'s metal? [static for 7 seconds] Dr. Gears wins that one.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> By correctly guessing it was a trick question and then stating [static] of wh- [static for 12 minutes].</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> And Dr. Gears wins a stunning victory of 20-5-7. Of course, he was almost a shoe-in when the Dark Limited representative's head exploded, and took out Agent ██████████.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> The foundation appears to be in the lead, but we have several events lef- [static] -umball blowin- [static] -pture the fla-[static for 17 minutes 42 seconds] and now onto the half-time show!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Performing today will be none other than <a href="/scp-082">Fernand “The” Cannibal</a> with back-up singing from <a href="/scp-542">Herr Chirurg</a>, who will also be playing <a href="/scp-298">a very special organ</a>.</p>
<p><strong>”Redacted” Pagan:</strong> Also, Marilyn Monroe, circa 1961, has been provided to us by our friends from Marshall, Carter, and Dark through use of <a href="/scp-826">SCP-826</a> and Mr. Carter’s personal magazine collection.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> And here’s the first song, Piano Man by Billy Joel. We’ll hook up the audio of the singing to our broadcast now.</p>
<p>[DATA EXPUNGED ON O5 REQUEST]</p>
<p><strong>”Redacted” Pagan:</strong> What an astounding performance, Salman. Not a dry eye in the house… field… whatever! The point is, everyone was deeply moved by the performance of the half-time show!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Indeed. [Sound of nose being blown]. And now onto our next eve- [Static for 2 hours and 5 minutes]</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> -and 173 gets another hit. Foundation leads 85 to 79.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And I'm greatly astounded by 173's performance. However, as the game is Marco-Water-Polo I can understand why!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Indeed. And the game finishes with <a href="/scp-856">Leopotamus</a> scoring a final goal. Foundation wins!</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> The Dark Representative put up a great fight, but [static for 13 minutes]-hat a wonderful [static]-ame of tug of war!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> The Foundation had to take a loss on that one, but with Sweet Tooth the Dark Limited was bound to win. And now onto our final event.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> With the SCP Foundation and Chaos Insurgency tied, and the event being worth an astounding 40 points, whomever wins this will be declared the champion.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> We will now conclude with an old classic, beach volleyball.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Unlike previous events, the teams will be mixed together, and the winners of that team will face off in a one on one volleyball championship match!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Up now we have two SCP objects, <a href="/scp-517">517</a> and <a href="/scp-372">372</a> vs. Sweet Tooth and Agent ██████████ of the Chaos Insurgency</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> That's odd, Agent ██████████ of the Chaos Insurgency is wearing a long coa-(pause) It seems that the Chaos Insurgency has recently gotten hold of <a href="/scp-262">SCP-262</a>, the Coat of Many Arms.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> This will be an interesting match indeed. Of course, it wouldn't be possible without Dr. Smith [static for 2 minutes] -omehow was able to get the volleyball's fortune told. Of course now we have two normally hostile SCP objects participating in a fun and engaging sport.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> The participants have shook hands…which has to be seen to be believed. And the competition has started, Grammie kicking it off with a three-handed cannon!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Of course actual Grammie will be sitting on the sidelines, with those nasty hands poking out of a rift that's opened up on the cou- WHAM what a spike!</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And returned by Lady Sweet Tooth, you have to give the lady credit, Salman, we can safely say that she really is the only human in this competition!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> And a failed return by Grammie. Point Sweet Tooth. But wait, a sudden serve by 372 and a failed return by Agent ██████████. Bet he didn't see that coming.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> He really doesn't seem to have training with that Coat… practice makes perfect.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> And slam another spike by 372. At least, I think so.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> It's very hard to say with all of these arms on the field… (pause) And it seems that Bright is trying to call the game off for claiming it an affront to beach volleyball… citing lack of desirable women. (pause) And the complaints go on deaf ears as the game goes on!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Hah, well Pag, would you say he's talking about Sweet Tooth or Grammie?</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> Well, Salman, I'm guessing that since one of them is an inanimate statue, he's referring to Sweet Tooth… And it seems those complaints didn't fall on deaf ears as Sweet Tooth just scowled into the audience and MISSED a return.. that is going to seriously hurt her chances!</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> And as the game comes to a close it looks like Grammie and 372 will come out the winners here, making the Foundation this year's Anomalympics winners.</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> ….and Sweet Tooth has made a MAD dash to Bright within the audie-OH that has GOT to hurt, I'm glad that the camera isn't on her right now as I'm sure the Anomalympics would surely get a higher rating for the violence taking place!</p>
<p>[static] (monkey screams followed by crashes) [static]</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> She's torn apart a quarter of the bleachers! I may have to redact saying she's a normal huma-[static]</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> And Agent ██████████ stumbles and falls on that last return. An amaz- What the <a href="/scp-914">914</a> making sweet love to Gears? How did Sweet Tooth learn 110 Montau- [Static for 40 minutes]</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And the day's activities are winding down with everyone gathering around the Anomalympic Flame, generously provided by <a href="/scp-457">SCP-457</a>, the Burning Man, after convincing him of [static for 12 minutes] breaking into song led by <a href="/scp-661">661</a> [static] Marshall, Carter and Dark Ltd. have started their auction. [Static for 5 minutes]</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> -eet Tooth sold for [static for 2 minutes] -nd what a great day that was. From [static] I'm Salman Corbette…</p>
<p><strong>"Redacted" Pagan:</strong> And this is "Redacted" Pagan. And yes, I do have to say "Redacted"… it sounds cooler, and these have been:</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> The Anomalypics. Thank you and goodnight.</p>
<p>[Static for 5 minutes 12 seconds before the transmission ends]</p>
<p><strong><End Log></strong></p>
<p><strong>Closing Statement:</strong> Foundation personnel are currently searching for individuals with the surname "Pagan". Research Assistant Corbette was questioned; however, it was determined that he had no knowledge of the transmission. He did express distress, however, that he had not yet been promoted after ██ years. No known proposals for the "Anomalympics" or anything similar have been discovered.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/audio-log-185-53">Audio Log 185-53</a>" by Salman Corbette, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/audio-log-185-53">https://scpwiki.com/audio-log-185-53</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
**Background:** During regular testing [[[SCP-185]]] was set to a Foundation used frequency and the year 20██ was entered into the keypad. The following transmission was recorded.
**<Commence Log>**
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Hello! I'm your commentator, Salman Corbette!
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And "Redacted" Pagan with the fourth annual Anomalympics, hosted this year by the Foundation itself, in conjunction with the Global Occult Coalition: "Protecting Humanity, whether it likes it or not!"
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Haha, let's not be too harsh on them, Pag. We've also got a few guests from the Chaos Insurgency, Agents ██████████ and ███████, participating in a few events.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** We even have a few members of the enigmatic club from Europe, Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd., competing. It's amazing to see the kind of sportsmanship that comes around this time of year, wouldn't you say?
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Well, it's always good to just place politics aside and have some nice, friendly competition. Unfortunately, the ORIA agents were not able to make. Some sort of nuclear crisis going on. But, let's get started, shall we?
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Of course. For our first event, we have the beloved classic 1000 Yard Dash! From the SCP Foundation we have [[[SCP-076|SCP-076-2]]], otherwise known as Able, who has chosen this event to show off, in his words, "What it means to have fun."
**Research Assistant Corbette:** From The Chaos Insurgency Agent ███████ will be "proving superiority", and apparently Mr. ██████████ from Dark Ltd. will be racing under sponsorship. We also have guest competitor [[[SCP-963|Dr. Bright]]], who claims that his monkey legs aren't going to stop him from doing anything.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And the firing of the [[[SCP-1344-J|Sun Launcher]]] signals the opening of the competition! Agent ███████ of the Chaos Insurgency seems to take an early lead, with Able tripping over his unlaced shoes! He's muttering something in Sumerian, but that's not important right now.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Wait, hold on, I’ve just gotten word that due to the anomalous nature of several contestants, the event has been changed to the 1000 meter dash. Officials are lengthening the track right now... And Mr. ██████████ is catching up to the Agent. I must say, doesn't he look good with that Bauer sponsored helmet on?
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Very much so, and it seems as though wearing a helmet has paid off, as Dr. Bright has procured a banana peel from his racing leotard, thrown it across the field, and has caused Mr. ██████████ to trip! I would say that's cheating, but with Able on the field, I guess nothing is!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Oooh, I don't think he's going to recover from that setback. And it looks like Dr. Bright and Agent ███████ have caught up to one another, with Able just lagging behind.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** It's a very close race, very close indeed but… WOW it seems Agent ███████ just went topless to stun Dr. Bright! Now, sexual warfare is just a low-blow, but we should have expected that from our friends at the Chaos Insurgency!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** And with Dr. Bright sent stumbling, Agent ███████ wins the race! But Able doesn't seem to be happy.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Ah, he'll get over it, it seems [[[SCP-073|73]]], Cain, is coming over to help up his brother, and is teaching him how to tie his own shoes. Now that's the kind of thing we want to see here at the Anomalympics.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Good thing too, or else the Chaos Insurgency might be out for the three-legged race. (Laughs).
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Ah, those violent days of Able are over, Salman, ever since we convinced him of [static for 23 seconds] he's happy to lend a… rather competitive hand!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Of course! But now onto a much looked forward to event, wrestling.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Sadly, Able can't participate in this event because of the incident last year when he broke 72% of Wrench ██████████ of the Church of the Broken God's body. I would make a joke right now, but the poor guy is still being treated.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** So instead we were able to get [[[SCP-682|682]]] to participate! Of course, he originally declined the offer, but after [static for approximately 30 seconds] -appy to join in.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Under current regulations, 682 is forced to remain at 32% of his original size so that other participants can have a chance, but thanks to some convincing on the Foundation's part, he was glad to oblige.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Well, let's just hope that acid was strong enough. Also participating is Agent ██████████ of the Chaos Insurgency, Madame ██████████ of Dark Limited, and [[[SCP-096]]].
**"Redacted" Pagan:**It seems the Madame is dressing up in some sort of suit… Agent ██████████ as well, do you have any information on these, Salman?
**Research Assistant Corbette:** I'm just getting information that the two were previously professional wrestlers. Sweet Tooth and The Crushnugget, respectively. Thankfully 682 has also been trained in wrestling. If you look now you can see them placing a Luchadore mask on his partially dissolved head.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** What a small world we live in, indeed.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Of course, we can’t have 096 showing his face, and so he’s wearing [[[SCP-035]]] with pride, along with [[[SCP-619-J]]]. Apparently we are “piling on every SCP we can to kill that fucking lizard”.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** So...what happens if that Abomination we’ve built //wins//?
**Research Assistant Corbette:** “We’ll nuke the fucker”. The fucker being the abomination, I believe.
**”Redacted” Pagan:** That’s an order from Site Command?
**Research Assistant Corbette:** That’s an order from the referee, who looks quite scared right now.
**”Redacted” Pagan:** Wish I could get a headset like that.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Well Pagan, being a Research Assistant //does// have its benefits. Perhaps one day they’ll promote me and I’ll get an actual chair.
**”Redacted” Pagan:** Well, I’m fine being a [static for 12 seconds] but back to the current subject: This is going to be an interesting, if not blindingly horrifying match! The participants are geared up and ready to go. Who do you have your money set on this match, Corbette?
**Research Assistant Corbette:** I'm gonna have to go with 682 myself, since it’s so hard to destroy. (Pause) Apparently 682 prefers to go by the name El Reptilioso in this state, and we'll be referring to him as that for the rest of the event.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Because of the late entry of 96, the two Foundation entrants will face each other, with Sweet Tooth and Crushnugget in their own match.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Our first match will be 96 vs. El Reptilioso, who are stepping into the ring now. 96 and/or 35 appears to be shouting about the blood of his forefathers, while El Reptiloso is growling loudly. The referee steps into the ring and the bell is rung.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And… I can't believe how fast he did it, but 96 has already gotten 682 into a triangle hold! I guess 35 is really taking advantage of 96’s strength!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Wait? What's this? An audience member has just thrown something onto the stage! Why, it's [[[SCP-572]]]!
**"Redacted" Pagan:** A move like that seems pretty risky, “pride goeth before the fall” and all that...
**Research Assistant Corbette:** 682's already picked it up, and is slashing it around with it, trying to find 96.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And… mother of [[[SCP-343|343]]]! 96 lunged onto the scaly bastard's back!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Oof, that's gotta hurt. But it looks like Reptilioso already noticed the abomination and is turning around now, slashing.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Just what was 35's plan in doing that!? It seems he's already been hit by the blade and… how the hell are we letting a sword pass in this!?
**Research Assistant Corbette:** I don't know, but it's goddamn entertaining. Oh, and 96 falls over.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** El Reptiliso walks toward the... thing and… WOW, 96 was playing possum!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** He seems to have surprised Reptilioso. And… Jesus! I don't know how he did it, but he somehow has Reptilioso in a Nelson.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** This is indescribable! Reptilioso has grown arms on the back of his head and… now has 96 in a german suplex!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** 96 and/or 35 is shouting something about his 'destrucisity'. He seems to be stretching down and… he grabbed the sword from Reptilioso's mouth! Oh, and a straight whack on the head. That's gonna leave a mark.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And it now appears that Reptilioso just doesn't care anymore! He's grabbed 35 and appears to… oh no! He just pulled it off! Holy shi- [static is heard for 43 minutes].
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Give a round of applause, Madame Sweet Tooth is this year's champion in wrestling, and not a single nuke went off! If you missed even a second of the action, you would definitely be surprised at the Madame's performance!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Thank god we all went blind right when that mask was removed! And now onto our next event and a favourite of all, 110-Montauk.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And it seems a variety of spectators have just lost their lunch, [pause] but no fear, after the horrible events of [[[SCP-231|SCP-231-7]]] and the [static for 2 minutes 12 seconds] -ven was cured, and the Foundation took her horrible procedure and made it the name of: The Bikini contest!
**"Redacted" Pagan:** 231-7, however, is now enjoying a picnic lunch with [[[SCP-053|053]]], and several spectators.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Our competitors this year include [[[SCP-105|105]]], Sweet Tooth, Agent ███████, and [[[SCP-347|The Invisible Woman]]]. Our Own Dr. Bright has graciously volunteered to judge the contest.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** It appears that the bruises from Madame Sweet Tooth of Dark Limited are going to hurt her chances this year!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Not to mention that she appears to have been given several shots of testosterone. In fact, I've just gotten information that Dr. Bright has disqualified her from this competition.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And there she goes, poor girl… well, at least she can take solace in the fact she won something… and WOW, her replacement from Dark Limited is something out of a fantasy book! It appears to be a tall [static for 3 seconds] -ronze skinned [static]wom[static] her entry form states she's MC&DL Curio-BAC-7, and as her letters indicate, she has some BACK.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Actually, I've just gotten word that Dark Limited had just gotten a hold of [[[SCP-826|826]]]. Sources say this may be the mystical Aphrodite we are looking at.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** She appears to wear a collar of sorts…the classic MC&D Slave collar and Bright has graciously allowed the collar to stay on due to the events of a likely XK-Scenario from an angry goddess.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** And here comes 105, dressed in a nice one-piece.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** You have to appreciate the modesty of the girl… though it seems Bright doesn't.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Right behind 105 is 347. And what a stunner she is in a complimentary bright green bikini. Really leaves a lot to the imagination, as can be seen by the expression of several doctors watching.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Judging from their looks, it does appear to be the first time most of the attendees have seen 347’s assets.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Oh, who's that looker there? It's Agent ███████, from the Chaos Insurgency, who had previously tripped up Bright with what she's showing off now. And doesn't she look great in that itsy-bitsy thing?
**"Redacted" Pagan:** However, the showing appears for naught as Bright seems to hold a grudge against for what she did in the first event, giving a very disapproving nod as his only clue to his judgment.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Just goes to show, you never tick off the judges.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And here comes that "Aphrodite" to strut her proverbial stuff! With a very provocative display, she shows off her V-shaped swimsuit and in a STUNNING moment it appears Dr. Bright has made some comment about his bananas!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** (Pause) And the results are in. It's a surprising four-way tie. (Pause) Apparently the winner will be chosen by sexual fav- And they're dragging Dr. Bright offstage.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Well, it appears no-one wins this event… (pause) Well, isn't this a surprise? The newest judge is supposedly Dr. Clef! (Pause)
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Now of course, this is in no way biased, as the judges for these kinds of events are always decided upon whom is hosting it, and as the Foundation is hosting it this year, we have our pick of the judges, we tried to get Nobody, but not even [[[SCP-400-ARC|that box]]] could get a hold of him... her... it... them.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** [static for approximately 3 minutes] -O5-6 is now beating Clef and declaring that there are no winners and this competition was not actually planned.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Well, what a rousing display that was. Several men, and women, had to leave the audience when Agent ███████ and BAC-7 started their catfight! But onto our next event...
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Anomalous trivia!
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Now, as per regulations, AI's and machines are NOT allowed…(pause) It appears that this rule does NOT apply to individuals augmented with technology… several members of the Chaos Insurgency and Dark LTD. Seem relieved.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Of course we have our own robot, Dr. Gears! (Laugh) Up now we have Agent ██████████ of the Chaos Insurgency and a rather brainy looking representative for Dark Limited up to compete with Dr. Gears.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And when we say brainy we mean BRAINY, it appears that the contestant has a BULGING brain almost protruding through the skull… and it just twitched… I may lose my lunch if I continue looking at it.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** The contestants step up to their places and are each given a large, red button. Janitorial staff are being called in to clean up the spinal fluid dripping behind the Dark Limited representitive.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Now the first question is: What event occurred that caused the emergence of [static for 20 seconds]?
**Research Assistant Corbette:** -ears takes the first point.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And the second question - in what year did the schism between the Chaos Insurgency and SCP Foundation take place?
**"Redacted" Pagan:** [static for 12 seconds] …It appears that the Dark Limited representative takes that point!
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Surprising indeed!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Third question is a Foundation specialty: What are the main components of [[[SCP-173|173]]]'s metal? [static for 7 seconds] Dr. Gears wins that one.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** By correctly guessing it was a trick question and then stating [static] of wh- [static for 12 minutes].
**Research Assistant Corbette:** And Dr. Gears wins a stunning victory of 20-5-7. Of course, he was almost a shoe-in when the Dark Limited representative's head exploded, and took out Agent ██████████.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** The foundation appears to be in the lead, but we have several events lef- [static] -umball blowin- [static] -pture the fla-[static for 17 minutes 42 seconds] and now onto the half-time show!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Performing today will be none other than [[[SCP-082|Fernand “The” Cannibal]]] with back-up singing from [[[SCP-542|Herr Chirurg]]], who will also be playing [[[SCP-298|a very special organ]]].
**”Redacted” Pagan:** Also, Marilyn Monroe, circa 1961, has been provided to us by our friends from Marshall, Carter, and Dark through use of [[[SCP-826]]] and Mr. Carter’s personal magazine collection.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** And here’s the first song, Piano Man by Billy Joel. We’ll hook up the audio of the singing to our broadcast now.
[DATA EXPUNGED ON O5 REQUEST]
**”Redacted” Pagan:** What an astounding performance, Salman. Not a dry eye in the house... field... whatever! The point is, everyone was deeply moved by the performance of the half-time show!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Indeed. [Sound of nose being blown]. And now onto our next eve- [Static for 2 hours and 5 minutes]
**Research Assistant Corbette:** -and 173 gets another hit. Foundation leads 85 to 79.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And I'm greatly astounded by 173's performance. However, as the game is Marco-Water-Polo I can understand why!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Indeed. And the game finishes with [[[SCP-856|Leopotamus]]] scoring a final goal. Foundation wins!
**"Redacted" Pagan:** The Dark Representative put up a great fight, but [static for 13 minutes]-hat a wonderful [static]-ame of tug of war!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** The Foundation had to take a loss on that one, but with Sweet Tooth the Dark Limited was bound to win. And now onto our final event.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** With the SCP Foundation and Chaos Insurgency tied, and the event being worth an astounding 40 points, whomever wins this will be declared the champion.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** We will now conclude with an old classic, beach volleyball.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Unlike previous events, the teams will be mixed together, and the winners of that team will face off in a one on one volleyball championship match!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Up now we have two SCP objects, [[[SCP-517|517]]] and [[[SCP-372|372]]] vs. Sweet Tooth and Agent ██████████ of the Chaos Insurgency
**"Redacted" Pagan:** That's odd, Agent ██████████ of the Chaos Insurgency is wearing a long coa-(pause) It seems that the Chaos Insurgency has recently gotten hold of [[[SCP-262]]], the Coat of Many Arms.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** This will be an interesting match indeed. Of course, it wouldn't be possible without Dr. Smith [static for 2 minutes] -omehow was able to get the volleyball's fortune told. Of course now we have two normally hostile SCP objects participating in a fun and engaging sport.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** The participants have shook hands…which has to be seen to be believed. And the competition has started, Grammie kicking it off with a three-handed cannon!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Of course actual Grammie will be sitting on the sidelines, with those nasty hands poking out of a rift that's opened up on the cou- WHAM what a spike!
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And returned by Lady Sweet Tooth, you have to give the lady credit, Salman, we can safely say that she really is the only human in this competition!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** And a failed return by Grammie. Point Sweet Tooth. But wait, a sudden serve by 372 and a failed return by Agent ██████████. Bet he didn't see that coming.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** He really doesn't seem to have training with that Coat… practice makes perfect.
**Research Assistant Corbette:** And slam another spike by 372. At least, I think so.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** It's very hard to say with all of these arms on the field… (pause) And it seems that Bright is trying to call the game off for claiming it an affront to beach volleyball… citing lack of desirable women. (pause) And the complaints go on deaf ears as the game goes on!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** Hah, well Pag, would you say he's talking about Sweet Tooth or Grammie?
**"Redacted" Pagan:** Well, Salman, I'm guessing that since one of them is an inanimate statue, he's referring to Sweet Tooth… And it seems those complaints didn't fall on deaf ears as Sweet Tooth just scowled into the audience and MISSED a return.. that is going to seriously hurt her chances!
**Research Assistant Corbette:** And as the game comes to a close it looks like Grammie and 372 will come out the winners here, making the Foundation this year's Anomalympics winners.
**"Redacted" Pagan:** ….and Sweet Tooth has made a MAD dash to Bright within the audie-OH that has GOT to hurt, I'm glad that the camera isn't on her right now as I'm sure the Anomalympics would surely get a higher rating for the violence taking place!
[static] (monkey screams followed by crashes) [static]
**"Redacted" Pagan:** She's torn apart a quarter of the bleachers! I may have to redact saying she's a normal huma-[static]
**Research Assistant Corbette:** And Agent ██████████ stumbles and falls on that last return. An amaz- What the [[[SCP-914|914]]] making sweet love to Gears? How did Sweet Tooth learn 110 Montau- [Static for 40 minutes]
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And the day's activities are winding down with everyone gathering around the Anomalympic Flame, generously provided by [[[SCP-457]]], the Burning Man, after convincing him of [static for 12 minutes] breaking into song led by [[[SCP-661|661]]] [static] Marshall, Carter and Dark Ltd. have started their auction. [Static for 5 minutes]
**Research Assistant Corbette:** -eet Tooth sold for [static for 2 minutes] -nd what a great day that was. From [static] I'm Salman Corbette…
**"Redacted" Pagan:** And this is "Redacted" Pagan. And yes, I do have to say "Redacted"… it sounds cooler, and these have been:
**Research Assistant Corbette:** The Anomalypics. Thank you and goodnight.
[Static for 5 minutes 12 seconds before the transmission ends]
**<End Log>**
**Closing Statement:** Foundation personnel are currently searching for individuals with the surname "Pagan". Research Assistant Corbette was questioned; however, it was determined that he had no knowledge of the transmission. He did express distress, however, that he had not yet been promoted after ██ years. No known proposals for the "Anomalympics" or anything similar have been discovered.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-05-12T03:42:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"able",
"action",
"chaos-insurgency",
"comedy",
"doctor-bright",
"hard-to-destroy-reptile",
"iris-thompson",
"marshall-carter-and-dark",
"shy-guy",
"tale"
] | Audio Log 185-53 - SCP Foundation | 61 | [
"scp-185",
"scp-076",
"scp-963",
"scp-1344-j",
"scp-073",
"scp-682",
"scp-096",
"scp-035",
"scp-619-j",
"scp-572",
"scp-343",
"scp-231",
"scp-053",
"scp-105",
"scp-347",
"scp-826",
"scp-400-arc",
"scp-173",
"scp-082",
"scp-542",
"scp-298",
"scp-856",
"scp-517",
"scp-372",
"scp-262",
"scp-914",
"scp-457",
"scp-661",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"chaos-insurgency-hub"
] | [] | 9966852 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/audio-log-185-53 |
|
bees | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><strong>Foreword:</strong> The following document consists of the diary of ████ █. ███████, currently SCP-████-3. Upon recovery, the entire cover of the diary had been covered in black permanent marker, with the exception of several areas arranged into the shape of a stylized bee. Here, each page is listed separately.</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p>March 17</p>
<p>Today I bought this <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">diary</span> artsy notebook thing <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">, although I'm not sure why</span> because I thought the cashier at ████████ was cute, okay? Thirty dollars down the fucking drain <span style="text-decoration: underline;">right there</span>. Also, my uncle's inheritance finally got sorted out. There wasn't a <em>bunch</em> of money, but I did get a fuckton of his stuff afterwards. So much old stuff. Fucking nostalgia.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>[IRRELEVANT MONOLOGUE REMOVED]</p>
<blockquote>
<p>March 20</p>
<p>Still no word from ██████, but it does turn out she has a twin sister, so yeah :D<br/>
Weird thing happened when I was looking through Uncle ███'s stuff. [REDACTED] and out of nowhere I get this stinging stuff up and down my arm. When I looked, there were like five puncture marks on my arm. WTF? No sign of anything that could sting me, but I bought a bottle of Raid just in case.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>March 21</p>
<p>Note to self: find out what that buzzing is. I hate it when you can <em>just barely</em> make out a sound, like that time with the smoke detector. <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">I haven't herd back from the superintendent.</span> The super came over and claimed he couldn't here anything. Cheap fuck just doesn't want to have to fix anything. Probably beecause that would require walking up stairs.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The remainder of the page is filled with a drawing of an extremely rotund man (most likely ████████ █████, the superintendent of Mr. █████'s building). He appears to bee eating several sub sandwiches while exclaiming "im just big boned yo". Notably, he also appears to bee wearing a bumblebee costume.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>March 22</p>
<p>[IRRELEVANT MONOLOGUE REMOVED] On a side note, I watched a thing in the news today about bees. Apparently, a bunch of them are disappearing and nobody knows why, and now fruit and stuff isn't getting pollenated (implying anybody eats fruit). I'm not saying it was aliens, but it was aliens. But the whole thing is sticking with me somehow. A lot. Beeeeeees :D I'm so crazy.</p>
<p>Buzzing isn't gone yet. If anything, it's louder. The exterminator couldn't here anything either. And I got another prick on my arm when I was digging through the cupboard. Either these are coincidences or I'm beeing paranoid. Ugh.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>March 23</p>
<p>I've herd of yellow snow, but I wasn't aware that there are entire storms of yellow and black snow.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup> How the fuck does that even work. Good thing I got some booze before it hit, because I think the power's out. Party hard!<br/>
*sigh*… Why the shit did I move here?</p>
<p>What if bees could come out of a hypothetical situation?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>[Nine pages appear to have been removed with scissors]</p>
<blockquote>
<p>What if bees were intolerant of hornets?<br/>
What if bees were made of smaller bees?<br/>
What if bees were made out of BIGGER bees?<br/>
What if you picked up a phone and instead of a phone it was bees?<br/>
What if there was a photo of bees?<br/>
What if there were a bunch of bees on a plane?<br/>
What if the dinosaurs were killed by bees?<br/>
What if the dinosaurs WERE bees?<br/>
What if your Facebook beecomes infested with bees?<br/>
What if bees hacked your Facebook?<br/>
What if someone wrote on your wall about bees?<br/>
What if cats vomited bees?<br/>
What if bees could travel through paintings?<br/>
What if bees was a science and was subject to bee review?<br/>
What if bees are contagious?<br/>
What if there was a bee gun?<br/>
What if you forgot to reload the bee gun?<br/>
What if the computer monitor could produce bees?<br/>
What if bees start demanding civil rights?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>What if the Magna Carta has been bees the whole time?<br/>
What if rabbits swore allegiance to the bees?<br/>
What if Chinese bees?<br/>
What if millennial bees?<br/>
What if bees were four-dimensional?<br/>
What if bees were time-travelers?<br/>
What if time travel turns you into bees?<br/>
What if time travel requires bees?<br/>
What if you could replace explosions with bees?<br/>
What if instead of movies there were bees?<br/>
What if you could buy bees on the black market?<br/>
What if bees are accepted as payment in Hawaii?<br/>
What if instead of throwing beeads on Mardi Gras you threw bees?<br/>
What if bees wrote a travelogue?<br/>
What if the travelogue was just bees?<br/>
What if you eloped with bees?<br/>
What if you served refreshments to bees?<br/>
What if someone mentions bees?<br/>
What if bees formed a religion?<br/>
What if that religion involved clockwork bees?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>What if bees had a polite disagreement?<br/>
What if bees were paid to rake leaves?<br/>
What if bees were in the guise of a tundra?<br/>
What if bees are taking over your dreams?<br/>
What if you controlled bees with your dreams?<br/>
What if fictional characters happened to bee bees?<br/>
What if bees were aliens?<br/>
What if bees come from the bee lair beeneath the Earth?<br/>
What if bees could blow people up with the blink of an eye?<br/>
What if bees were a superhero?<br/>
What if you could mail-order bees?<br/>
What if the store has a sale on bees?<br/>
What if the bees had a gay pride parade?<br/>
What if bees went to the parade with no clothes?<br/>
What if they <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">accidentally</span> intentionally paved over bees?<br/>
What if I accidentally bees?<br/>
What if bees could live in any hollow area?<br/>
What if bees were secret agents?<br/>
What if you and bees had highly different taste in music?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>What if plants danced to attract bees?<br/>
What if bees swarmed around and stung people?<br/>
What if bees are just mad beecause someone cut them off in traffic?<br/>
What if bees could disrupt your wifi?<br/>
What if bees were replaced with a numerical code?<br/>
What if bees resembled bees?<br/>
What if bees resembled DIFFERENT bees?<br/>
What if bees were exactly like the movie?<br/>
What if bees used magic to become good at dabbing?<br/>
What if each anime was a different color of bee?<br/>
What if bees were nocturnal and sucked blood?<br/>
What if bees and werewolves were sworn enemies?<br/>
What if dogs were unable to perceive bees?<br/>
What if bees had subwoofers?<br/>
What if nobody realized that the bees had an evil plan?<br/>
What if bees were censored by the government?<br/>
What if transition metals reacted with bees?<br/>
What if bees framed a politician for larceny?<br/>
What if bees had ties to organized crime?<br/>
What if bees unwittingly morphed into bricks during the full moon?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>What if someone wrote a book about bees?<br/>
What if bees were computer illiterate?<br/>
What if I'm bees?<br/>
What if bees misread directions and killed a lemon tree?<br/>
What if bees were an accurate description of the concept of the assembly line?<br/>
What if Willy Wonka was prepared for bees?<br/>
What if bees had fetishes?<br/>
What if bees could vibrate through walls and discern motives?<br/>
What if bees were put on the No-Fly list?<br/>
What if bees were mistaken for a Russian psyop?<br/>
What if bees overran a mental institution?<br/>
What if bees had daydreams about becoming lemurs?<br/>
What if there was a wiki about bees?<br/>
What if Wikipedia was bees?<br/>
What if bees killed me mid-sen</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The remainder of the last page is an illustration of numerous black specks attacking a stick figure in a room resembling SCP-████-3's apartment. The furniture and background also appear to be made out of small circles similar to those attacking the stick figure. Almost all of the blank space in the illustration has been filled with what are either stylized lightning bolts or the letter "Z".</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I locked the door.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>March <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">32</span> April?</p>
<p>I don't recall, try again later. Bees. BEEEEES.</p>
<p>I ran out of aloe vera, had to use mouthwash. Surprisingly effective, but it still doesn't help with the bleeding. █████ called and we set up a date for 8PM Thursday, which was two hours ago. I'm surprised she could here me over the buzzing. Oh, and the phone was bees.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Tuesday<br/>
BEE in hexadecimal is 1646 in decimal form. My favorite number. Who'da thunkit. [DATA EXPUNGED] I don't know why I wrote that. I'm not schizo or anything. Disregard!</p>
<p>The Godfather is on. I think I caught it part way through, where the guy finds bees in his bed. Look at the TV. TV is bees.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Wednesday Thursday Friday<br/>
[A number of small oval shapes are missing from the paper. Small amounts of pollen were found near the edges.]</p>
<p>I tried writing, but then the paper was bees. I'm going to drink a bottle of whiskey and go to bed.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>WHAT THE HELL<br/>
BEES DO NOT GO THERE</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The following page was covered entirely in crushed bees and human blood upon recovery. Removal of the aforementioned tissues revealed that the following had been written on the page.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>██████ came over today, and she screamed because of the bees. Now she is bees. I wonder why I'm not bees. Maybe I am? Do bees know they are bees? Yellow.</p>
<p>bring it</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>March 17</p>
<p>The snow is mostly gone, and look at the pavement. Pavement is mostly not bees. I'm going to head over to the hospital, see if I can get this mole looked at.<br/>
Bees followed me into the car and cut the brakes. God, I might be high. Good thing it was only another mile to the hospital SHUT UP BEES I'M WRITING IN MY <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">DIARY</span> JOURNAL</p>
<p>Go to hospital<br/>
hospital is bees. Already, how? I just got here. No, wait, it's just my glasses. My glasses were definitely bees.</p>
<p>I didn't schedule an appointment or anything, but the nurse called a panic team or whatever it is and they ran me to a doctor. How thoughtful, but it's really not an emergency. I really just need them to look at a mole. Except that the mole is bees.</p>
<p>The doctors looked at me and said they didn't see anything wrong. Well, of course there's nothing wrong, except the bees. And the bleeding, but that's to be expected from beestings. They argued for a while, and then sent me away.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>March 119</p>
<p>I forgot to mention that the bees were eating the doctor. The others were screaming about it for a while, but when bees finished it they calmed down a lot and signed me out.</p>
<p>I'm done.<br/>
<span style="font-size:smaller;">Nope.</span><sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-3')">3</a></sup></p>
</blockquote>
<p>[Thirty pages are missing.]</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I am bees.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>[The remaining pages are blank.]</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Conclusion:</strong> To date, this remains the most accurate account of Incident ████-5, despite its inconsistencies. SCP-████-3 has no recollection of writing in any form of diary, although the handwriting, personal knowledge, and writing style are consistent with those of ████ ███████.</p>
<p>Personnel assigned to containment of SCP-████ are to read this document in its entirety. In the situation that the diary is bees, a modified document will be provided.</p>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. Records do not indicate any unusual weather patterns in [REDACTED] on the date in question.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. No television was found in Mr. ███████'s apartment, although a remote control was found.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-3"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-3')">3</a>. While the remainder of the diary is written in pencil, this appears to have been scratched into the paper.</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/bees">Bees</a>" by Communism will win, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/bees">https://scpwiki.com/bees</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> bees.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/lumancer" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(662776); return false;"><img alt="Lumancer" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=662776&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1730360461" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=662776)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/lumancer" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(662776); return false;">Lumancer</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/bees">SCP Foundation Wiki</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:pride-highlighter">:scp-wiki:component:pride-highlighter</a> |inc-s9-lgbt-alt= --]]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
**Foreword:** The following document consists of the diary of ████ █. ███████, currently SCP-████-3. Upon recovery, the entire cover of the diary had been covered in black permanent marker, with the exception of several areas arranged into the shape of a stylized bee. Here, each page is listed separately.
------
[[div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px"]]
[[image bees.png style="width:300px"]]
[[/div]]
> March 17
>
> Today I bought this --diary-- artsy notebook thing --, although I'm not sure why-- because I thought the cashier at ████████ was cute, okay? Thirty dollars down the fucking drain __right there__. Also, my uncle's inheritance finally got sorted out. There wasn't a //bunch// of money, but I did get a fuckton of his stuff afterwards. So much old stuff. Fucking nostalgia.
[IRRELEVANT MONOLOGUE REMOVED]
> March 20
>
> Still no word from ██████, but it does turn out she has a twin sister, so yeah :D
> Weird thing happened when I was looking through Uncle ███'s stuff. [REDACTED] and out of nowhere I get this stinging stuff up and down my arm. When I looked, there were like five puncture marks on my arm. WTF? No sign of anything that could sting me, but I bought a bottle of Raid just in case.
> March 21
>
> Note to self: find out what that buzzing is. I hate it when you can //just barely// make out a sound, like that time with the smoke detector. --I haven't herd back from the superintendent.-- The super came over and claimed he couldn't here anything. Cheap fuck just doesn't want to have to fix anything. Probably beecause that would require walking up stairs.
The remainder of the page is filled with a drawing of an extremely rotund man (most likely ████████ █████, the superintendent of Mr. █████'s building). He appears to bee eating several sub sandwiches while exclaiming "im just big boned yo". Notably, he also appears to bee wearing a bumblebee costume.
> March 22
>
> [IRRELEVANT MONOLOGUE REMOVED] On a side note, I watched a thing in the news today about bees. Apparently, a bunch of them are disappearing and nobody knows why, and now fruit and stuff isn't getting pollenated (implying anybody eats fruit). I'm not saying it was aliens, but it was aliens. But the whole thing is sticking with me somehow. A lot. Beeeeeees :D I'm so crazy.
>
> Buzzing isn't gone yet. If anything, it's louder. The exterminator couldn't here anything either. And I got another prick on my arm when I was digging through the cupboard. Either these are coincidences or I'm beeing paranoid. Ugh.
> March 23
>
> I've herd of yellow snow, but I wasn't aware that there are entire storms of yellow and black snow.[[footnote]]Records do not indicate any unusual weather patterns in [REDACTED] on the date in question.[[/footnote]] How the fuck does that even work. Good thing I got some booze before it hit, because I think the power's out. Party hard!
> *sigh*... Why the shit did I move here?
>
> What if bees could come out of a hypothetical situation?
[Nine pages appear to have been removed with scissors]
> What if bees were intolerant of hornets?
> What if bees were made of smaller bees?
> What if bees were made out of BIGGER bees?
> What if you picked up a phone and instead of a phone it was bees?
> What if there was a photo of bees?
> What if there were a bunch of bees on a plane?
> What if the dinosaurs were killed by bees?
> What if the dinosaurs WERE bees?
> What if your Facebook beecomes infested with bees?
> What if bees hacked your Facebook?
> What if someone wrote on your wall about bees?
> What if cats vomited bees?
> What if bees could travel through paintings?
> What if bees was a science and was subject to bee review?
> What if bees are contagious?
> What if there was a bee gun?
> What if you forgot to reload the bee gun?
> What if the computer monitor could produce bees?
> What if bees start demanding civil rights?
> What if the Magna Carta has been bees the whole time?
> What if rabbits swore allegiance to the bees?
> What if Chinese bees?
> What if millennial bees?
> What if bees were four-dimensional?
> What if bees were time-travelers?
> What if time travel turns you into bees?
> What if time travel requires bees?
> What if you could replace explosions with bees?
> What if instead of movies there were bees?
> What if you could buy bees on the black market?
> What if bees are accepted as payment in Hawaii?
> What if instead of throwing beeads on Mardi Gras you threw bees?
> What if bees wrote a travelogue?
> What if the travelogue was just bees?
> What if you eloped with bees?
> What if you served refreshments to bees?
> What if someone mentions bees?
> What if bees formed a religion?
> What if that religion involved clockwork bees?
> What if bees had a polite disagreement?
> What if bees were paid to rake leaves?
> What if bees were in the guise of a tundra?
> What if bees are taking over your dreams?
> What if you controlled bees with your dreams?
> What if fictional characters happened to bee bees?
> What if bees were aliens?
> What if bees come from the bee lair beeneath the Earth?
> What if bees could blow people up with the blink of an eye?
> What if bees were a superhero?
> What if you could mail-order bees?
> What if the store has a sale on bees?
> What if the bees had a gay pride parade?
> What if bees went to the parade with no clothes?
> What if they --accidentally-- intentionally paved over bees?
> What if I accidentally bees?
> What if bees could live in any hollow area?
> What if bees were secret agents?
> What if you and bees had highly different taste in music?
> What if plants danced to attract bees?
> What if bees swarmed around and stung people?
> What if bees are just mad beecause someone cut them off in traffic?
> What if bees could disrupt your wifi?
> What if bees were replaced with a numerical code?
> What if bees resembled bees?
> What if bees resembled DIFFERENT bees?
> What if bees were exactly like the movie?
> What if bees used magic to become good at dabbing?
> What if each anime was a different color of bee?
> What if bees were nocturnal and sucked blood?
> What if bees and werewolves were sworn enemies?
> What if dogs were unable to perceive bees?
> What if bees had subwoofers?
> What if nobody realized that the bees had an evil plan?
> What if bees were censored by the government?
> What if transition metals reacted with bees?
> What if bees framed a politician for larceny?
> What if bees had ties to organized crime?
> What if bees unwittingly morphed into bricks during the full moon?
> What if someone wrote a book about bees?
> What if bees were computer illiterate?
> What if I'm bees?
> What if bees misread directions and killed a lemon tree?
> What if bees were an accurate description of the concept of the assembly line?
> What if Willy Wonka was prepared for bees?
> What if bees had fetishes?
> What if bees could vibrate through walls and discern motives?
> What if bees were put on the No-Fly list?
> What if bees were mistaken for a Russian psyop?
> What if bees overran a mental institution?
> What if bees had daydreams about becoming lemurs?
> What if there was a wiki about bees?
> What if Wikipedia was bees?
> What if bees killed me mid-sen
The remainder of the last page is an illustration of numerous black specks attacking a stick figure in a room resembling SCP-████-3's apartment. The furniture and background also appear to be made out of small circles similar to those attacking the stick figure. Almost all of the blank space in the illustration has been filled with what are either stylized lightning bolts or the letter "Z".
> I locked the door.
> March --32-- April?
>
> I don't recall, try again later. Bees. BEEEEES.
>
> I ran out of aloe vera, had to use mouthwash. Surprisingly effective, but it still doesn't help with the bleeding. █████ called and we set up a date for 8PM Thursday, which was two hours ago. I'm surprised she could here me over the buzzing. Oh, and the phone was bees.
> Tuesday
> BEE in hexadecimal is 1646 in decimal form. My favorite number. Who'da thunkit. [DATA EXPUNGED] I don't know why I wrote that. I'm not schizo or anything. Disregard!
>
> The Godfather is on. I think I caught it part way through, where the guy finds bees in his bed. Look at the TV. TV is bees. [[footnote]]No television was found in Mr. ███████'s apartment, although a remote control was found.[[/footnote]]
> Wednesday Thursday Friday
> [A number of small oval shapes are missing from the paper. Small amounts of pollen were found near the edges.]
>
> I tried writing, but then the paper was bees. I'm going to drink a bottle of whiskey and go to bed.
> WHAT THE HELL
> BEES DO NOT GO THERE
The following page was covered entirely in crushed bees and human blood upon recovery. Removal of the aforementioned tissues revealed that the following had been written on the page.
> ██████ came over today, and she screamed because of the bees. Now she is bees. I wonder why I'm not bees. Maybe I am? Do bees know they are bees? Yellow.
>
> bring it
> March 17
>
> The snow is mostly gone, and look at the pavement. Pavement is mostly not bees. I'm going to head over to the hospital, see if I can get this mole looked at.
> Bees followed me into the car and cut the brakes. God, I might be high. Good thing it was only another mile to the hospital SHUT UP BEES I'M WRITING IN MY --DIARY-- JOURNAL
>
> Go to hospital
> hospital is bees. Already, how? I just got here. No, wait, it's just my glasses. My glasses were definitely bees.
>
> I didn't schedule an appointment or anything, but the nurse called a panic team or whatever it is and they ran me to a doctor. How thoughtful, but it's really not an emergency. I really just need them to look at a mole. Except that the mole is bees.
>
> The doctors looked at me and said they didn't see anything wrong. Well, of course there's nothing wrong, except the bees. And the bleeding, but that's to be expected from beestings. They argued for a while, and then sent me away.
> March 119
>
> I forgot to mention that the bees were eating the doctor. The others were screaming about it for a while, but when bees finished it they calmed down a lot and signed me out.
>
> I'm done.
> [[size smaller]]Nope.[[/size]][[footnote]]While the remainder of the diary is written in pencil, this appears to have been scratched into the paper.[[/footnote]]
[Thirty pages are missing.]
> I am bees.
[The remaining pages are blank.]
------
**Conclusion:** To date, this remains the most accurate account of Incident ████-5, despite its inconsistencies. SCP-████-3 has no recollection of writing in any form of diary, although the handwriting, personal knowledge, and writing style are consistent with those of ████ ███████.
Personnel assigned to containment of SCP-████ are to read this document in its entirety. In the situation that the diary is bees, a modified document will be provided.
[[footnoteblock]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** bees.png
> **Author:** [[*user Lumancer]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/bees SCP Foundation Wiki]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-01T04:19:00 | [
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"absurdism",
"horror",
"illustrated",
"journal",
"tale"
] | Bees - SCP Foundation | 919 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"top-rated-tales",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-4-tales-edition",
"kaktuskast-hub",
"highest-rated-non-scps",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"algorithm-curated-recommendations",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11803972 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/bees |
|
behind-the-scenes | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Ah, hello there.</p>
<p>No, don't get up. Put down the gun though, it won't do anything. I'm not real, how could you shoot me? There we go. See, isn't that much nicer? All friends. Face that window, please. Oh, and smile. There, that's good.</p>
<p>You look surprised, doctor. You've been on a binge of me, haven't you? I like your style, you fall down and you just get back up! Shame, though, that's what let me in. Nice couch. Don't get up, I'll make myself at home. What are you talking about, doctor? Oh, no, I've not come here as some sort of vengeful retribution. I really don't mind you people watching me, although I do wish you'd share them. You're very selfish, taking me away from the children like that, you know.</p>
<p>I admit I did lose my temper for a bit back there, didn't I? Don't worry, I've come to terms with my new audience. You do let me at children quite often. Some people would call you monsters! Not me, I don't judge. I'm fair.</p>
<p>Haha, what are you writing? I'm very sorry, doctor, but this isn't an interview. I'd put it in the trash. There we go. Everything goes in the trash eventually. You trash your <em>precious</em> interview, the children trash their little minds and even I had to trash some of my other gimmicks. Oh, yes. I've been making little savages for quite a while now, doctor. Put down the gun.</p>
<p>I think I started off small, the idea of fire some stupid cavemen got into their skulls. Children didn't really have time for me back then, so I moved on. The skinwalker shtick though, that was a good idea. Children whispered about me in the dark, adults even <em>painted</em> me! I hardly had to do anything at all!</p>
<p>But then you had to get clever, didn't you? Suddenly all those superstitions started to float away and I had no children to help, no parents to… well, you'll find out soon enough. And yet, there was one little form that I had left, one fun-loving character that could still reach inside those kids' heads and <em>twist</em>. I'm talking, of course, about Bobble the Clown. Oh, don't look so glum.</p>
<p>Smile. You're on television!</p>
<blockquote>
<p><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">As of ██/██/20██, it appears <a href="/scp-993">SCP-993</a> has ceased broadcasting.</span></p>
<p>As of ██/██/20██, <a href="/scp-993">SCP-993</a> has resumed its normal broadcasting. Re-classification to Euclid is being considered.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>Episode Title</th>
<th>Contents</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>'Bobble's Back!'</td>
<td>Setting of episode appears to be Dr. █████'s office. Bobble appears in the room and Dr. █████ registers shock, then faces the viewer and smiles. Bobble and Dr. █████ then appear to converse for fifteen minutes, although no dialogue is audible. Fifteen minutes in, Dr. █████ raises a pistol and fires upon Bobble to no effect. Bobble then systematically dismembers and removes facial extremities from Dr. █████ using a large butchers knife. Signs of movement are visible from Dr. █████ for three minutes, after which the credits roll. Alarmingly, Dr. █████ disappeared without a trace a day before the episode broadcasted.</td>
</tr>
</table>
</blockquote>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/behind-the-scenes">Behind the Scenes</a>" by Tanhony, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/behind-the-scenes">https://scpwiki.com/behind-the-scenes</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Ah, hello there.
No, don't get up. Put down the gun though, it won't do anything. I'm not real, how could you shoot me? There we go. See, isn't that much nicer? All friends. Face that window, please. Oh, and smile. There, that's good.
You look surprised, doctor. You've been on a binge of me, haven't you? I like your style, you fall down and you just get back up! Shame, though, that's what let me in. Nice couch. Don't get up, I'll make myself at home. What are you talking about, doctor? Oh, no, I've not come here as some sort of vengeful retribution. I really don't mind you people watching me, although I do wish you'd share them. You're very selfish, taking me away from the children like that, you know.
I admit I did lose my temper for a bit back there, didn't I? Don't worry, I've come to terms with my new audience. You do let me at children quite often. Some people would call you monsters! Not me, I don't judge. I'm fair.
Haha, what are you writing? I'm very sorry, doctor, but this isn't an interview. I'd put it in the trash. There we go. Everything goes in the trash eventually. You trash your //precious// interview, the children trash their little minds and even I had to trash some of my other gimmicks. Oh, yes. I've been making little savages for quite a while now, doctor. Put down the gun.
I think I started off small, the idea of fire some stupid cavemen got into their skulls. Children didn't really have time for me back then, so I moved on. The skinwalker shtick though, that was a good idea. Children whispered about me in the dark, adults even //painted// me! I hardly had to do anything at all!
But then you had to get clever, didn't you? Suddenly all those superstitions started to float away and I had no children to help, no parents to... well, you'll find out soon enough. And yet, there was one little form that I had left, one fun-loving character that could still reach inside those kids' heads and //twist//. I'm talking, of course, about Bobble the Clown. Oh, don't look so glum.
Smile. You're on television!
> --As of ██/██/20██, it appears [[[SCP-993]]] has ceased broadcasting.--
>
> As of ██/██/20██, [[[SCP-993]]] has resumed its normal broadcasting. Re-classification to Euclid is being considered.
>
> ||~ Episode Title ||~ Contents ||
> || 'Bobble's Back!' || Setting of episode appears to be Dr. █████'s office. Bobble appears in the room and Dr. █████ registers shock, then faces the viewer and smiles. Bobble and Dr. █████ then appear to converse for fifteen minutes, although no dialogue is audible. Fifteen minutes in, Dr. █████ raises a pistol and fires upon Bobble to no effect. Bobble then systematically dismembers and removes facial extremities from Dr. █████ using a large butchers knife. Signs of movement are visible from Dr. █████ for three minutes, after which the credits roll. Alarmingly, Dr. █████ disappeared without a trace a day before the episode broadcasted.||
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-04T16:49:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"bobble-the-clown",
"tale"
] | Behind the Scenes - SCP Foundation | 228 | [
"scp-993",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11822515 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/behind-the-scenes |
|
betrayal-will-not-save-you | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>The man in the chair struggled against his bonds, trying to shout something but failing due to the gag in his mouth. A guard stood in the corner of the room, his nose buried in a checklist. "Let's see…" he muttered to himself, "One 6x6 meter room, check. Walls lined in special Telekill alloy, check. Blast door sealed, check. Subject beaten and restrained…" He glanced over at the other man's attempts to break free, and smirked.</p>
<p>"Check. Subject bound and gagged, check. And one guard on duty armed with standard Foundation weaponry. Check." He looked over at SCP-631, who shot him a glare. "Well, mister, it looks like everything is all set and accounted for. You're tied up, and I get to spend the next eight bloody hours in here. Alone. With a man who can alter reality on a whim." The guard heaved a heavy sigh. "Brilliant, isn't it?"</p>
<p>SCP-631 ceased his efforts and muttered something through his gag.</p>
<p>"Yeah, whatever it is you said, you can say it again."</p>
<p>At that moment, the blast door slid open, and a man garbed in a long black coat stepped in. The guard leapt to his feet, reaching for his gun as the man looked around the room. "Yes, yes. Everything seems to be as they told me it would be."</p>
<p>"And just who would you be?" demanded the guard, aiming his weapon at the intruder. "I don't recall you being on my list of cleared personnel, and I highly doubt you're a member of senior staff."</p>
<p>"I go above senior staff," said the man coolly as he strode over to SCP-631. "I go above O5 Command. Above your administrator." He looked closely at the bound subject's face. "So I'd drop your weapon, if I were you, and just let me do my work."</p>
<p>The guard discharged several shots into the intruder, who barely flinched. "And please, do listen to what your told. I don't want to be in here any longer than I have to be." He ripped the gag off of SCP-631, who grinned maniacally.</p>
<p>"Whatever you're thinking about doing, I am ordering you to stop!" shouted the guard. "I've been ordered to keep this man from leaving this room, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to stop y-" He began choking on his own tongue at this point.</p>
<p>"Must he have written you so poorly?" asked the intruder to nobody. "Honestly, why did I… but that's not the point." He turned to SCP-631 and pulled out his gag. "I'm more here to deal with you."</p>
<p>"Oh, you're here to spring me?" asked the subject, smiling again. "It's about time. I've only been in here for a few days, but I'm already sick to my stomach with this place. C'mon, undo the bonds, and let's blow this place."</p>
<p>"James Doctrine," said the man. "SCP-631. Third attempt. Able to make any literary reference work to his advantage, captured in the midst of massacring a small town in Quebec. Current status, -21."</p>
<p>Doctrine gave the man a cock-eyed look. "Just what are you talking about? Come off of it, let me out of here."</p>
<p>"Sitting at three votes. A shame really. Personally, I rather liked you. I can see where they're coming from, though; You're overpowered, have Mary Sue-ish tendencies, overkill containment procedures. In my opinion, you're not that bad, but the others don't seem to like you, so it's fallen to me to do the job."</p>
<p>"Whaddaya mean?" demanded Doctrine. "What job?" A look of panic came into his eyes. "Hang on now, hang on now. I've read your archives, I <em>know</em> all about decommissions, how you kill off the ones you don't really like. I'm not letting it happen, do you hear me? <em>Pro libarte!</em> If a nation values anything more than freedom, it will lose freedom! Open sesame!"</p>
<p>The man sighed, as he pulled an object from within his coat pocket. "If there's one advantage to having Telekill in here, it's that you don't get to make things any harder than they have to be. Regardless, no. I am not talking about decommissioning. I am talking about deletion."</p>
<p>"What the hell is the difference?"</p>
<p>"Decommissioning, you still get to have an article. Deletion, you go away forever. Now shut up and let me work." He placed the small object on 631's lap, and stood back. Behind him, the guard stumbled over and clutched the stranger's coattails. He glanced backwards, and sighed. "Oh, fine. You can have your voice back for now." He waved his hand, and the guard stopped choking.</p>
<p>"What are you doing?" he whispered, pointing to object on Doctrine's lap. "What is that thing? Who are you?"</p>
<p>"I thought I'd answer that already," said the man, staring straight ahead. "I'm deleting him." He twitched his fingers slightly in Doctrine's direction.</p>
<p>SCP-631 began to shake slightly. "What do you <em>mean</em> by deletion? This isn't some sort of 1984 crap, is it? What are you, Big Bro-" He cut himself off with a scream as he began to violently rock back and forth in his chair. His head started jerking violently from side to side, regardless of the straps that bound his neck in place. Eyes bulged out of their sockets as fingers gripped the arms of their chair. A pool of sweat began to appear on the floor.</p>
<p>"Just to give you an idea of how this will work," said the man to the guard, "I advise you look at the clock." He waved his hand, and one appeared on the wall. The guard looked over at it, and saw the second hand suddenly come to a stop.</p>
<p>James Doctrine let out a mighty scream as his body began to blur, becoming more and more out of focus every moment. Small bits of it began to flake away as he thrashed against his bonds, in a manner resembling a seizure. His hands broke free and he reached down to undo his feet, only to find them already gone. Bits of gibberish flew out of his mouth, sounding mostly like a series of numbers too garbled to extract any meaning from. The guard instinctively hid behind the man, and whispered, "You're killing him."</p>
<p>"If I was decomming him, I'd be killing him. As it is, I'm only getting rid of him." He looked down at the now pale-faced guard. "He's been through this twice before, you know. The problem is, nobody remembers it."</p>
<p>"What the hell do you want from me?" screamed SCP-631 as his torso began to vanish. "I'll say anything you want, anything at all! Release me! Let me go! Do it to Ju-" The clock moved forwards a second.</p>
<p>And then he was gone.</p>
<p>The man strode over to where the subject and chair had been, and picked up the object. To the guard's eyes, he seemed much less tense now. "See? Less than a moment. Truth be told, I really wanted to use 055," he tossed the object up in the air here, "as part of a decommissioning. You know, make it part of his person, have him vanish from memory. Thought it would make for a good little story. But nobody would go for it. So I just decided to go for a bit of a personal fantasy while I deleted the page. Makes things a little more interesting on my part, see?"</p>
<p>The guard looked flustered for a few moments, and then said, "Look, I don't know who or what <em>what</em> you are, and quite frankly, I don't care. Just… just <em>go</em>. I want to get back to my job. Get a new assignment and forget this ever happened. Can you do that?"</p>
<p>"Naturally," said the man, turning to leave. "Of course, you'll be gone in a few seconds, too. I only invented you so I could have someone to talk to during this little fantasy." He strode forward for a moment, then paused and turned. "Would you say I'm a little weird for wanting to do that? Talk to someone while I have a fantasy?"</p>
<p>"Go."</p>
<p>"Fine." The man left, and the room vanished.</p>
<p>*Taken from mibbit*</p>
<p>Taximonay: Alright. 631's gone. I hope you lot are happy.</p>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The man in the chair struggled against his bonds, trying to shout something but failing due to the gag in his mouth. A guard stood in the corner of the room, his nose buried in a checklist. "Let's see..." he muttered to himself, "One 6x6 meter room, check. Walls lined in special Telekill alloy, check. Blast door sealed, check. Subject beaten and restrained..." He glanced over at the other man's attempts to break free, and smirked.
"Check. Subject bound and gagged, check. And one guard on duty armed with standard Foundation weaponry. Check." He looked over at SCP-631, who shot him a glare. "Well, mister, it looks like everything is all set and accounted for. You're tied up, and I get to spend the next eight bloody hours in here. Alone. With a man who can alter reality on a whim." The guard heaved a heavy sigh. "Brilliant, isn't it?"
SCP-631 ceased his efforts and muttered something through his gag.
"Yeah, whatever it is you said, you can say it again."
At that moment, the blast door slid open, and a man garbed in a long black coat stepped in. The guard leapt to his feet, reaching for his gun as the man looked around the room. "Yes, yes. Everything seems to be as they told me it would be."
"And just who would you be?" demanded the guard, aiming his weapon at the intruder. "I don't recall you being on my list of cleared personnel, and I highly doubt you're a member of senior staff."
"I go above senior staff," said the man coolly as he strode over to SCP-631. "I go above O5 Command. Above your administrator." He looked closely at the bound subject's face. "So I'd drop your weapon, if I were you, and just let me do my work."
The guard discharged several shots into the intruder, who barely flinched. "And please, do listen to what your told. I don't want to be in here any longer than I have to be." He ripped the gag off of SCP-631, who grinned maniacally.
"Whatever you're thinking about doing, I am ordering you to stop!" shouted the guard. "I've been ordered to keep this man from leaving this room, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to stop y-" He began choking on his own tongue at this point.
"Must he have written you so poorly?" asked the intruder to nobody. "Honestly, why did I... but that's not the point." He turned to SCP-631 and pulled out his gag. "I'm more here to deal with you."
"Oh, you're here to spring me?" asked the subject, smiling again. "It's about time. I've only been in here for a few days, but I'm already sick to my stomach with this place. C'mon, undo the bonds, and let's blow this place."
"James Doctrine," said the man. "SCP-631. Third attempt. Able to make any literary reference work to his advantage, captured in the midst of massacring a small town in Quebec. Current status, -21."
Doctrine gave the man a cock-eyed look. "Just what are you talking about? Come off of it, let me out of here."
"Sitting at three votes. A shame really. Personally, I rather liked you. I can see where they're coming from, though; You're overpowered, have Mary Sue-ish tendencies, overkill containment procedures. In my opinion, you're not that bad, but the others don't seem to like you, so it's fallen to me to do the job."
"Whaddaya mean?" demanded Doctrine. "What job?" A look of panic came into his eyes. "Hang on now, hang on now. I've read your archives, I //know// all about decommissions, how you kill off the ones you don't really like. I'm not letting it happen, do you hear me? //Pro libarte!// If a nation values anything more than freedom, it will lose freedom! Open sesame!"
The man sighed, as he pulled an object from within his coat pocket. "If there's one advantage to having Telekill in here, it's that you don't get to make things any harder than they have to be. Regardless, no. I am not talking about decommissioning. I am talking about deletion."
"What the hell is the difference?"
"Decommissioning, you still get to have an article. Deletion, you go away forever. Now shut up and let me work." He placed the small object on 631's lap, and stood back. Behind him, the guard stumbled over and clutched the stranger's coattails. He glanced backwards, and sighed. "Oh, fine. You can have your voice back for now." He waved his hand, and the guard stopped choking.
"What are you doing?" he whispered, pointing to object on Doctrine's lap. "What is that thing? Who are you?"
"I thought I'd answer that already," said the man, staring straight ahead. "I'm deleting him." He twitched his fingers slightly in Doctrine's direction.
SCP-631 began to shake slightly. "What do you //mean// by deletion? This isn't some sort of 1984 crap, is it? What are you, Big Bro-" He cut himself off with a scream as he began to violently rock back and forth in his chair. His head started jerking violently from side to side, regardless of the straps that bound his neck in place. Eyes bulged out of their sockets as fingers gripped the arms of their chair. A pool of sweat began to appear on the floor.
"Just to give you an idea of how this will work," said the man to the guard, "I advise you look at the clock." He waved his hand, and one appeared on the wall. The guard looked over at it, and saw the second hand suddenly come to a stop.
James Doctrine let out a mighty scream as his body began to blur, becoming more and more out of focus every moment. Small bits of it began to flake away as he thrashed against his bonds, in a manner resembling a seizure. His hands broke free and he reached down to undo his feet, only to find them already gone. Bits of gibberish flew out of his mouth, sounding mostly like a series of numbers too garbled to extract any meaning from. The guard instinctively hid behind the man, and whispered, "You're killing him."
"If I was decomming him, I'd be killing him. As it is, I'm only getting rid of him." He looked down at the now pale-faced guard. "He's been through this twice before, you know. The problem is, nobody remembers it."
"What the hell do you want from me?" screamed SCP-631 as his torso began to vanish. "I'll say anything you want, anything at all! Release me! Let me go! Do it to Ju-" The clock moved forwards a second.
And then he was gone.
The man strode over to where the subject and chair had been, and picked up the object. To the guard's eyes, he seemed much less tense now. "See? Less than a moment. Truth be told, I really wanted to use 055," he tossed the object up in the air here, "as part of a decommissioning. You know, make it part of his person, have him vanish from memory. Thought it would make for a good little story. But nobody would go for it. So I just decided to go for a bit of a personal fantasy while I deleted the page. Makes things a little more interesting on my part, see?"
The guard looked flustered for a few moments, and then said, "Look, I don't know who or what //what// you are, and quite frankly, I don't care. Just... just //go//. I want to get back to my job. Get a new assignment and forget this ever happened. Can you do that?"
"Naturally," said the man, turning to leave. "Of course, you'll be gone in a few seconds, too. I only invented you so I could have someone to talk to during this little fantasy." He strode forward for a moment, then paused and turned. "Would you say I'm a little weird for wanting to do that? Talk to someone while I have a fantasy?"
"Go."
"Fine." The man left, and the room vanished.
*Taken from mibbit*
Taximonay: Alright. 631's gone. I hope you lot are happy.
| 2011-10-11T18:45:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Betrayal Will Not Save You - SCP Foundation | 68 | [] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11862947 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/betrayal-will-not-save-you |
|
birth-of-an-angel | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<blockquote>
<p><em>Don't panic.</em></p>
<p>I do not panic.</p>
<p><em>Don't worry.</em></p>
<p>I do not worry.</p>
<p><em>Don't fear.</em></p>
<p>I do not fear.</p>
<p><em>Your flesh will become an icon of deliverance, and release your spirit from mortality.</em></p>
<p>I love you.</p>
<p><em>Your soul will live forever in my sight, a shade to the ignorant but a savior to all those who wish to open their eyes and be free. Are you ready?</em></p>
<p>I am ready.</p>
<p><em>You have made the right choice, Samuel.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<p>[62 HOURS EARLIER]</p>
<p><strong>Experiment Log - SCP-███ (START)</strong><br/>
<strong>Objective:</strong> Determine results of extended exposure to SCP-███.<br/>
<strong>Notes:</strong> SCP-███ was retrieved during operation Σ-5 after it was determined to be emitting abnormally high quantities of upper bandwidth EM radiation. During its storage in site-46, SCP-███'s emissions have decreased nearly 40% from readings taken during operation Σ-5.<br/>
<strong>D-Class Profile:</strong> D-3466 has been convicted of two cases of manslaughter, [DATA EXPUNGED]. D-3466 is described as extremely introverted, with a proficiency for programming and mathematics.</p>
<p><strong>BEGIN LOG</strong></p>
<p><strong>Day 1 - 0 Hours since initial exposure</strong></p>
<p>00:00 - Subject (██████ █. ████████, D-3466) escorted into a large room with a poster depicting SCP-███. The room is furnished with a bed, table, washroom facilities, ballpoint pen, paper, and a number of books of varying topics.</p>
<p>00:24 - Subject quickly falls asleep, no effects of SCP-███ observed.</p>
<p>07:30 - Rations are given to Subject by research assistant █████. Subject mentions dreams involving SCP-███, but is unable to elaborate further. Upon requests for research assistant █████ to remain in the chamber, "to talk", █████ quickly departs.</p>
<p>08:27 - After reviewing several of the books within the test chamber, subject begins looking at SCP-███, and maintains viewing for the next 38 minutes.</p>
<p>09:05 - Subject mumbles something directed at SCP-███, and shakes his head. Subject takes one of the books (identified as "Universe in a Nutshell" by ███████ ███████) and begins reading.</p>
<p>12:00 - First interview with Subject. Please see recording log Σ-5-E11.</p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Show Recording Log Σ-5-E11</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Hide Recording log Σ-5-E11</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><strong>Recording Log Σ-5-E11 (BEGIN RECORDING)</strong></p>
<p>Dr. ████: Earlier today, when you were speaking with my assistant, you mentioned you had dreams involving SCP-███, can you describe them?</p>
<p>D-3466: I liked talking with her, you should let her to talk with me more.</p>
<p>Dr. ████: Perhaps, if you describe your dreams.</p>
<p>D-3466: [sighs] It's hard. I was [pauses] I was, like, floating, and I could hear a voice. It was really strange, when I was dreaming I felt really… peaceful? Like that.</p>
<p>Dr. ████: What was the voice saying?</p>
<p>D-3466: I don't remember.</p>
<p>Dr. ████: Are you sure?</p>
<p>D-3466: Uhm… no- [pauses] yes.</p>
<p>Dr. ████: I think you do remember something, are you scared of it? Is that why you don't want to talk about it?</p>
<p>D-3466: Maybe… [pauses] maybe if we went in the room together it'd help me to remember? I like company, it gets lonely in there.</p>
<p>Dr. ████: I'm afraid that's not possible D-3466. But you must remember something if you could talk about it in the testing chamber and not here.</p>
<p>D-3466: No, no… you should come with me into the room, it'd help!</p>
<p>Dr. ████: Ah, that's our time. Please return to the testing chamber D-3466.</p>
<p>D-3466: No. No! Come with me! [guards restrain D-3466 and return him to the testing chamber] Fuck! Come!</p>
<p>Dr. ████: D-3466 appears to have become extremely extroverted, and suffers from anxiety when going without contact. He obviously remembers something from his dreams, but is unwilling or unable to elaborate.</p>
<p><strong>Recording Log Σ-5-E11 (END RECORDING)</strong></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>13:00 - Resistance is encountered when reintroduction to testing chamber is attempted, force is used. Subject uses several expletives before returning to reading.</p>
<p>14:33 - Subject throws the book down, begins scratching at his palms, and complains of skin irritation. Large irregular red patches are visible on Subject's hands.</p>
<p>15:17 - Symptoms appear to subside. Subject stops scratching his palms and resumes reading. Faint red patches are still visible on the palms and fingertips, and appear to be spreading up the forearm.</p>
<p>17:30 - Rations given to Subject by research assistant █████. Subject expresses intense anxiety when research assistant █████ leaves, and pounds on the door for several minutes.</p>
<p>17:52 - Subject observed sleeping. Symptoms of intense scratching and bright red patches reappear during the course of the night. The patches have grown across most of Subject's upper torso and face.</p>
<p><strong>Day 2 - 24 Hours since initial exposure</strong></p>
<p>05:28 - Subject begins convulsing from excessive blood loss due to lacerations created through scratching. Upon questioning, night staff were unable to answer as to why they did not intervene sooner. Wounds are covered in gauze, and a blood transfusion and sedative are administered.</p>
<p>07:30 - Rations are delivered, Subject is still asleep. Wounds not covered by gauze are showing abnormally high healing rates. Scar tissue appears to be coalescing to form several designs resembling SCP-███.</p>
<p>08:22 - Sedative wears off, Subject awakes and immediately begins stripping off gauze to reveal fully-healed wounds. Duplicates of SCP-███ cover the Subject's hands, arms, upper torso and face. Subject takes ballpoint pen and begins drawing pictures of SCP-███, laying them beneath SCP-███ or pushing them up against the viewing window.</p>
<p>10:46 - Subject consumes meal intended for breakfast before returning to drawing.</p>
<p>12:00 - Second interview with Subject. Please see recording log Σ-5-E12.</p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Show Recording Log Σ-5-E12</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Hide Recording log Σ-5-E12</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><strong>Recording Log Σ-5-E12 (BEGIN RECORDING)</strong></p>
<p>D-3466: [scratches his hands and forearm]</p>
<p>Dr. ████: D-3466, as you are aware we had to sedate you earlier today to prevent you from dying from lacerations caused by this incessant scratching, I suggest you stop before we have to sedate you again.</p>
<p>D-3466: [slows scratching] I had another dream last night.</p>
<p>Dr. ████: What happened?</p>
<p>D-3466: I'll tell you if you come into the room.</p>
<p>Dr. ████: I've told you already, I can't do that.</p>
<p>D-3466: You should come in. We- [pauses] I want you to come in. You'll like it.</p>
<p>Dr. ████: We? Who is we?</p>
<p>D-3466: We are friends. You should come, you'll like it.</p>
<p>Dr. ████: D-3466, if you tell me more I'll come in.</p>
<p>D-3466: All it wants to do is give you love. [begins scratching violently, bleeds over the interview table]</p>
<p>Dr. ████: Guards, please restrain him. [D-3466 makes aggressive movements] Guards!</p>
<p>D-3466: [struggles] Come! You'll like it! We only want to give you love! Love! [D-3466 is forcibly returned to testing chamber]</p>
<p>Dr. ████: D-3466 is showing signs of possible schizophrenia, however a psycho-telepathic ability on part of SCP-███ is not above suspicion. Given D-3466's current state of mind and the risk of injury coming to both D-3466 and others, I'm suspending D-3466's access to the interviewing room and barring access to the testing chamber by site personnel.</p>
<p><strong>Recording Log Σ-5-E12 (END RECORDING)</strong></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>13:00 - Subject shows heavy resistance to reintroduction to testing chamber, makes many requests for additional personnel to enter the chamber.</p>
<p>14:47 - Tissues of the legs and forearms have malformed into larger versions of SCP-███. Tumor-like clumps of detritus (what appears to be skin and hair) have formed on Subject's torso. The ballpoint pen has run out of ink, and from this point onward Subject tears pieces of paper, reorganizing these into illustrations of SCP-███.</p>
<p>17:30 - Due to the increasingly unpredictable behaviour of subject, research assistant █████ delivers rations through a slot on the lower-half of the chamber entrance. Subject repeatedly pleas for research assistant █████ to enter, who becomes visibly distraught at Subject's actions and leaves the observation room.</p>
<p>18:11 - Subject consumes rations, and begins crying.</p>
<p>18:15 - Subject stops crying, and stands still for one minute and twenty-four seconds. Afterwards, Subject retrieves plastic knife from earlier meal.</p>
<p>18:17 - A makeshift dirk is fashioned from the plastic knife, and Subject repeatedly stabs himself in the chest and waist. Where large lacerations were present from excessive scratching, disembowelment has occurred. Subject shows no expression of pain or loss of lucidity during this experience, despite massive blood loss from wounds. Dr. ████ orders medical team to refrain from assisting subject given SCP-███'s effects.</p>
<p>18:19 - Subject gores his eyes into shapes resembling SCP-███.</p>
<p>18:21 - Subject vomits a mixture of blood and organ debris before lapsing into unconsciousness. Numerous convulsions are experienced throughout the night. Subject's body shows extreme scar tissue build up and disfiguration.</p>
<p><strong>Day 3 - 48 Hours since initial exposure</strong></p>
<p>03:50 - Subject awakes. Subject's left arm has fused with its torso, and various cysts have developed across most of its appendages. Subject has lost all sexual characteristics. Subject's nose has regressed into the zygomatic bone, and excessive mucus production occurs.</p>
<p>03:54 - Subject begins "painting" the walls with images of SCP-███ using a mixture of mucus, blood, vomit, [REDACTED]. This action continues through the morning.</p>
<p>07:30 - Rations presented and removed, Subject shows no interest in consumption.</p>
<p>12:00 - Third interview with Subject. Please see recording log Σ-5-E13.<br/>
<em>Note: Due to increased volatility in subject, interview was conducted through speakers and microphones implanted in test chamber.</em></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Show Recording Log Σ-5-E13</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Hide Recording log Σ-5-E13</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><strong>Recording Log Σ-5-E13 (BEGIN RECORDING)</strong></p>
<p>D-3466: [paints images of SCP-███]</p>
<p>Dr. ████: D-3466, this is Dr. ████. How are you?</p>
<p>D-3466: [inaudible noises] You should come in, love for you.</p>
<p>Dr. ████: What are you creating?</p>
<p>D-3466: Eyes for my love. It loves me.</p>
<p>Dr. ████: What is the objective of your "love"?</p>
<p>D-3466: To love others, of course. You can be one of them. You should come into the room. [shows slight agitation]</p>
<p>Dr. ████: How are you not experiencing pain from these deformations?</p>
<p>D-3466: In place of the pain [pauses] only love. You should come in.</p>
<p>Dr. ████: I'm not coming in.</p>
<p>D-3466: [grows increasingly agitated, approaches viewing window]</p>
<p>Guard: Holy fuck what happened to his face?</p>
<p>D-3466: Come. [vomits repeatedly] Come.</p>
<p>Dr. ████: I think this interview is over.</p>
<p>D-3466: It only wants to love you! [begins painting SCP-███ on the viewing window]</p>
<p><strong>Recording Log Σ-5-E13 (END RECORDING)</strong></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>13:24 - Subject's chest cavity haemorrhages and internal organs become exposed. Ribs have deformed outwards and expose Subject's heart and lungs. It is unknown how Subject survives while most of its body is openly exposed to airborne disease and natural body fauna and flora.</p>
<p>14:46 - Movement rendered impossible due to build up of scar tissue and deformation, Subject's spine arches into a curve.</p>
<p>14:52 - Subject collapses onto the ground. Changes in physiology are visible in real-time, Subject's head fuses to its feet.</p>
<p>15:56 - Subject's body now resembles an image of SCP-███. Audio after this time record Subject constantly whispering, "Forever in your sight.'</p>
<p>23:07 - Subject expires.</p>
<p><strong>Experiment Log - SCP-███ (END)</strong></p>
<p><strong>Addendum-Σ-5-E1:</strong> Thirteen hours after this experiment a humanoid, opaque entity emerged from SCP-███. While contained in the same room as SCP-███, the entity was docile and moved little from where it first appeared. However, after removal from SCP-███'s immediate vicinity the entity proved largely hostile, [DATA EXPUNGED] resulting in three deaths before being subdued through the use of industrial spotlights. It is unknown how the bodies were transferred to SCP-███'s storage area, but it can be assumed they were used to [DATA EXPUNGED]. Currently, all four entities are awaiting SCP classification.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/birth-of-an-angel">Birth of an Angel</a>" by GrandEnder, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/birth-of-an-angel">https://scpwiki.com/birth-of-an-angel</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
> //Don't panic.//
>
> I do not panic.
>
> //Don't worry.//
>
> I do not worry.
>
> //Don't fear.//
>
> I do not fear.
>
> //Your flesh will become an icon of deliverance, and release your spirit from mortality.//
>
> I love you.
>
> //Your soul will live forever in my sight, a shade to the ignorant but a savior to all those who wish to open their eyes and be free. Are you ready?//
>
> I am ready.
>
> //You have made the right choice, Samuel.//
[62 HOURS EARLIER]
**Experiment Log - SCP-███ (START)**
**Objective:** Determine results of extended exposure to SCP-███.
**Notes:** SCP-███ was retrieved during operation Σ-5 after it was determined to be emitting abnormally high quantities of upper bandwidth EM radiation. During its storage in site-46, SCP-███'s emissions have decreased nearly 40% from readings taken during operation Σ-5.
**D-Class Profile:** D-3466 has been convicted of two cases of manslaughter, [DATA EXPUNGED]. D-3466 is described as extremely introverted, with a proficiency for programming and mathematics.
**BEGIN LOG**
**Day 1 - 0 Hours since initial exposure**
00:00 - Subject (██████ █. ████████, D-3466) escorted into a large room with a poster depicting SCP-███. The room is furnished with a bed, table, washroom facilities, ballpoint pen, paper, and a number of books of varying topics.
00:24 - Subject quickly falls asleep, no effects of SCP-███ observed.
07:30 - Rations are given to Subject by research assistant █████. Subject mentions dreams involving SCP-███, but is unable to elaborate further. Upon requests for research assistant █████ to remain in the chamber, "to talk", █████ quickly departs.
08:27 - After reviewing several of the books within the test chamber, subject begins looking at SCP-███, and maintains viewing for the next 38 minutes.
09:05 - Subject mumbles something directed at SCP-███, and shakes his head. Subject takes one of the books (identified as "Universe in a Nutshell" by ███████ ███████) and begins reading.
12:00 - First interview with Subject. Please see recording log Σ-5-E11.
[[collapsible show="+ Show Recording Log Σ-5-E11" hide="- Hide Recording log Σ-5-E11"]]
**Recording Log Σ-5-E11 (BEGIN RECORDING)**
Dr. ████: Earlier today, when you were speaking with my assistant, you mentioned you had dreams involving SCP-███, can you describe them?
D-3466: I liked talking with her, you should let her to talk with me more.
Dr. ████: Perhaps, if you describe your dreams.
D-3466: [sighs] It's hard. I was [pauses] I was, like, floating, and I could hear a voice. It was really strange, when I was dreaming I felt really. . . peaceful? Like that.
Dr. ████: What was the voice saying?
D-3466: I don't remember.
Dr. ████: Are you sure?
D-3466: Uhm. . . no- [pauses] yes.
Dr. ████: I think you do remember something, are you scared of it? Is that why you don't want to talk about it?
D-3466: Maybe. . . [pauses] maybe if we went in the room together it'd help me to remember? I like company, it gets lonely in there.
Dr. ████: I'm afraid that's not possible D-3466. But you must remember something if you could talk about it in the testing chamber and not here.
D-3466: No, no. . . you should come with me into the room, it'd help!
Dr. ████: Ah, that's our time. Please return to the testing chamber D-3466.
D-3466: No. No! Come with me! [guards restrain D-3466 and return him to the testing chamber] Fuck! Come!
Dr. ████: D-3466 appears to have become extremely extroverted, and suffers from anxiety when going without contact. He obviously remembers something from his dreams, but is unwilling or unable to elaborate.
**Recording Log Σ-5-E11 (END RECORDING)**
[[/collapsible]]
13:00 - Resistance is encountered when reintroduction to testing chamber is attempted, force is used. Subject uses several expletives before returning to reading.
14:33 - Subject throws the book down, begins scratching at his palms, and complains of skin irritation. Large irregular red patches are visible on Subject's hands.
15:17 - Symptoms appear to subside. Subject stops scratching his palms and resumes reading. Faint red patches are still visible on the palms and fingertips, and appear to be spreading up the forearm.
17:30 - Rations given to Subject by research assistant █████. Subject expresses intense anxiety when research assistant █████ leaves, and pounds on the door for several minutes.
17:52 - Subject observed sleeping. Symptoms of intense scratching and bright red patches reappear during the course of the night. The patches have grown across most of Subject's upper torso and face.
**Day 2 - 24 Hours since initial exposure**
05:28 - Subject begins convulsing from excessive blood loss due to lacerations created through scratching. Upon questioning, night staff were unable to answer as to why they did not intervene sooner. Wounds are covered in gauze, and a blood transfusion and sedative are administered.
07:30 - Rations are delivered, Subject is still asleep. Wounds not covered by gauze are showing abnormally high healing rates. Scar tissue appears to be coalescing to form several designs resembling SCP-███.
08:22 - Sedative wears off, Subject awakes and immediately begins stripping off gauze to reveal fully-healed wounds. Duplicates of SCP-███ cover the Subject's hands, arms, upper torso and face. Subject takes ballpoint pen and begins drawing pictures of SCP-███, laying them beneath SCP-███ or pushing them up against the viewing window.
10:46 - Subject consumes meal intended for breakfast before returning to drawing.
12:00 - Second interview with Subject. Please see recording log Σ-5-E12.
[[collapsible show="+ Show Recording Log Σ-5-E12" hide="- Hide Recording log Σ-5-E12"]]
**Recording Log Σ-5-E12 (BEGIN RECORDING)**
D-3466: [scratches his hands and forearm]
Dr. ████: D-3466, as you are aware we had to sedate you earlier today to prevent you from dying from lacerations caused by this incessant scratching, I suggest you stop before we have to sedate you again.
D-3466: [slows scratching] I had another dream last night.
Dr. ████: What happened?
D-3466: I'll tell you if you come into the room.
Dr. ████: I've told you already, I can't do that.
D-3466: You should come in. We- [pauses] I want you to come in. You'll like it.
Dr. ████: We? Who is we?
D-3466: We are friends. You should come, you'll like it.
Dr. ████: D-3466, if you tell me more I'll come in.
D-3466: All it wants to do is give you love. [begins scratching violently, bleeds over the interview table]
Dr. ████: Guards, please restrain him. [D-3466 makes aggressive movements] Guards!
D-3466: [struggles] Come! You'll like it! We only want to give you love! Love! [D-3466 is forcibly returned to testing chamber]
Dr. ████: D-3466 is showing signs of possible schizophrenia, however a psycho-telepathic ability on part of SCP-███ is not above suspicion. Given D-3466's current state of mind and the risk of injury coming to both D-3466 and others, I'm suspending D-3466's access to the interviewing room and barring access to the testing chamber by site personnel.
**Recording Log Σ-5-E12 (END RECORDING)**
[[/collapsible]]
13:00 - Subject shows heavy resistance to reintroduction to testing chamber, makes many requests for additional personnel to enter the chamber.
14:47 - Tissues of the legs and forearms have malformed into larger versions of SCP-███. Tumor-like clumps of detritus (what appears to be skin and hair) have formed on Subject's torso. The ballpoint pen has run out of ink, and from this point onward Subject tears pieces of paper, reorganizing these into illustrations of SCP-███.
17:30 - Due to the increasingly unpredictable behaviour of subject, research assistant █████ delivers rations through a slot on the lower-half of the chamber entrance. Subject repeatedly pleas for research assistant █████ to enter, who becomes visibly distraught at Subject's actions and leaves the observation room.
18:11 - Subject consumes rations, and begins crying.
18:15 - Subject stops crying, and stands still for one minute and twenty-four seconds. Afterwards, Subject retrieves plastic knife from earlier meal.
18:17 - A makeshift dirk is fashioned from the plastic knife, and Subject repeatedly stabs himself in the chest and waist. Where large lacerations were present from excessive scratching, disembowelment has occurred. Subject shows no expression of pain or loss of lucidity during this experience, despite massive blood loss from wounds. Dr. ████ orders medical team to refrain from assisting subject given SCP-███'s effects.
18:19 - Subject gores his eyes into shapes resembling SCP-███.
18:21 - Subject vomits a mixture of blood and organ debris before lapsing into unconsciousness. Numerous convulsions are experienced throughout the night. Subject's body shows extreme scar tissue build up and disfiguration.
**Day 3 - 48 Hours since initial exposure**
03:50 - Subject awakes. Subject's left arm has fused with its torso, and various cysts have developed across most of its appendages. Subject has lost all sexual characteristics. Subject's nose has regressed into the zygomatic bone, and excessive mucus production occurs.
03:54 - Subject begins "painting" the walls with images of SCP-███ using a mixture of mucus, blood, vomit, [REDACTED]. This action continues through the morning.
07:30 - Rations presented and removed, Subject shows no interest in consumption.
12:00 - Third interview with Subject. Please see recording log Σ-5-E13.
//Note: Due to increased volatility in subject, interview was conducted through speakers and microphones implanted in test chamber.//
[[collapsible show="+ Show Recording Log Σ-5-E13" hide="- Hide Recording log Σ-5-E13"]]
**Recording Log Σ-5-E13 (BEGIN RECORDING)**
D-3466: [paints images of SCP-███]
Dr. ████: D-3466, this is Dr. ████. How are you?
D-3466: [inaudible noises] You should come in, love for you.
Dr. ████: What are you creating?
D-3466: Eyes for my love. It loves me.
Dr. ████: What is the objective of your "love"?
D-3466: To love others, of course. You can be one of them. You should come into the room. [shows slight agitation]
Dr. ████: How are you not experiencing pain from these deformations?
D-3466: In place of the pain [pauses] only love. You should come in.
Dr. ████: I'm not coming in.
D-3466: [grows increasingly agitated, approaches viewing window]
Guard: Holy fuck what happened to his face?
D-3466: Come. [vomits repeatedly] Come.
Dr. ████: I think this interview is over.
D-3466: It only wants to love you! [begins painting SCP-███ on the viewing window]
**Recording Log Σ-5-E13 (END RECORDING)**
[[/collapsible]]
13:24 - Subject's chest cavity haemorrhages and internal organs become exposed. Ribs have deformed outwards and expose Subject's heart and lungs. It is unknown how Subject survives while most of its body is openly exposed to airborne disease and natural body fauna and flora.
14:46 - Movement rendered impossible due to build up of scar tissue and deformation, Subject's spine arches into a curve.
14:52 - Subject collapses onto the ground. Changes in physiology are visible in real-time, Subject's head fuses to its feet.
15:56 - Subject's body now resembles an image of SCP-███. Audio after this time record Subject constantly whispering, "Forever in your sight.'
23:07 - Subject expires.
**Experiment Log - SCP-███ (END)**
**Addendum-Σ-5-E1:** Thirteen hours after this experiment a humanoid, opaque entity emerged from SCP-███. While contained in the same room as SCP-███, the entity was docile and moved little from where it first appeared. However, after removal from SCP-███'s immediate vicinity the entity proved largely hostile, [DATA EXPUNGED] resulting in three deaths before being subdued through the use of industrial spotlights. It is unknown how the bodies were transferred to SCP-███'s storage area, but it can be assumed they were used to [DATA EXPUNGED]. Currently, all four entities are awaiting SCP classification.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-03-19T22:24:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Birth of an Angel - SCP Foundation | 31 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 8447496 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/birth-of-an-angel |
|
black-white-black-white-black-white-black-white-black-white | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<blockquote>
<p><tt>Yesterday,</tt></p>
<p><tt>I watched three men die because one man sneezed in a room full of blood and shit and light.</tt></p>
<p><tt>Today,</tt></p>
<p><tt>three more men go in, cheap mops and each other's lives in their hands.</tt></p>
<p><tt>Yesterday,</tt></p>
<p><tt>I watched a man I admired gunned down for leaving a rose for a girl whose life was tattered by trauma she never deserved.</tt></p>
<p><tt>Today,</tt></p>
<p><tt>she doesn't remember, and three halls down I can hear her screaming.</tt></p>
<p><tt>Yesterday,</tt></p>
<p><tt>I watched a group of soldiers go down fighting against the corpses of comrades who'd died before them.</tt></p>
<p><tt>Today,</tt></p>
<p><tt>we test another sample, this time on children.</tt></p>
<p><tt>Yesterday,</tt></p>
<p><tt>I watched five men and women gunned down in an abandoned factory no one cares about.</tt></p>
<p><tt>Today,</tt></p>
<p><tt>it happens again and again. Every eleven seconds. Forever.</tt></p>
<p><tt>Yesterday,</tt></p>
<p><tt>I watched a man sit comfortably in a nice armchair, sipping scotch and laughing as he ordered a woman to simply stop breathing.</tt></p>
<p><tt>Today,</tt></p>
<p><tt>he gets the day off of work detail for good behavior.</tt></p>
<p><tt>Yesterday,</tt></p>
<p><tt>I watched hundreds of men and women in orange jumpsuits herded like animals into empty rooms that filled with gas and fire.</tt></p>
<p><tt>Today,</tt></p>
<p><tt>hundreds more are told they have a chance for a lighter sentence, and a chance to serve their country.</tt></p>
<p><tt>Yesterday,</tt></p>
<p><tt>I watched the world nearly die in a thousand thousand terrible ways. Sometimes we would have had time to scream.</tt></p>
<p><tt>Today,</tt></p>
<p><tt>I'm alive to write about it. You want happy endings? Fuck you.</tt></p>
<p><tt>You're alive to read it.</tt></p>
<p><tt>God help us all.</tt></p>
<p>Secure. Contain. Protect.</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/black-white-black-white-black-white-black-white-black-white">black white black white black white black white black white gray</a>" by tunedtoadeadchannel, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/black-white-black-white-black-white-black-white-black-white">https://scpwiki.com/black-white-black-white-black-white-black-white-black-white</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
> {{Yesterday,}}
>
> {{I watched three men die because one man sneezed in a room full of blood and shit and light.}}
>
> {{Today,}}
>
> {{three more men go in, cheap mops and each other's lives in their hands.}}
>
> {{Yesterday,}}
>
> {{I watched a man I admired gunned down for leaving a rose for a girl whose life was tattered by trauma she never deserved.}}
>
> {{Today,}}
>
> {{she doesn't remember, and three halls down I can hear her screaming.}}
>
> {{Yesterday,}}
>
> {{I watched a group of soldiers go down fighting against the corpses of comrades who'd died before them.}}
>
> {{Today,}}
>
> {{we test another sample, this time on children.}}
>
> {{Yesterday,}}
>
> {{I watched five men and women gunned down in an abandoned factory no one cares about.}}
>
> {{Today,}}
>
> {{it happens again and again. Every eleven seconds. Forever.}}
>
> {{Yesterday, }}
>
> {{I watched a man sit comfortably in a nice armchair, sipping scotch and laughing as he ordered a woman to simply stop breathing.}}
>
> {{Today,}}
>
> {{he gets the day off of work detail for good behavior.}}
>
> {{Yesterday,}}
>
> {{I watched hundreds of men and women in orange jumpsuits herded like animals into empty rooms that filled with gas and fire.}}
>
> {{Today,}}
>
> {{hundreds more are told they have a chance for a lighter sentence, and a chance to serve their country.}}
>
> {{Yesterday,}}
>
> {{I watched the world nearly die in a thousand thousand terrible ways. Sometimes we would have had time to scream.}}
>
> {{Today,}}
>
> {{I'm alive to write about it. You want happy endings? Fuck you. }}
>
> {{You're alive to read it.}}
>
> {{God help us all.}}
>
> Secure. Contain. Protect.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-02-14T06:36:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"tale"
] | black white black white black white black white black white gray - SCP Foundation | 2,069 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"top-rated-tales",
"top-rated-pages",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"new-age-hub",
"kaktuskast-hub",
"highest-rated-non-scps",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 7458944 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/black-white-black-white-black-white-black-white-black-white |
|
bloody | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>“Dude, I am WONDEROUSLY high.” he giggled, holding the phone to his ear with no small amount of effort. He walked across the basement, turning up the music, letting the beat pulse in time with the other, internal pulse he was feeling. Thank god his parents were gone, he really wasn't sure how he could deal with them right now. He flopped on to the couch, giggling again, legs hanging over the end of the couch.</p>
<p>“Yeah, Scott was over a hour or so ago, he had some bomb shit man. I was playing Brawl, and I swear to god it was like mario and pikachu were on my floor fighting!” he giggled again, rubbing his slightly numb face. He wiped his hand on the couch, laughing again.</p>
<p>“Oh hell yes, i'm not working tomorrow, get the hell over…” he trailed off, looking at the couch. A vaguely hand-shaped blotch of blood was smeared on the ratty fabric. He blinked, staring at it, then touched his face. He pulled it away bloody, staring stupidly at it for several seconds.</p>
<p>“uh, dude, I gotta go man, I'm bleeding somewhere…no, it's fine, just…I'll call you back, ok?” He hung up the phone, still looking at his bloody hand. He tossed it to the floor, nearly running to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror as he washed his hand, trying to find where in the hell he'd cut himself. The whole side of his face was streaked with blood now, and he washed and wiped it off, trying hard to keep calm.</p>
<p>He eventually found a tiny wound near his hairline, still dribbling blood. “Fuck, man…” he whispered, trying to get a good look at it and stay steady on his feet. It was as he started looking for a band-aid that he saw the drops of blood splattered over the sink. He wondered if it was from his head again…no, he'd cleaned those up, and…he suddenly looked down at his fingers, feeling a warm wetness over them.</p>
<p>It was like he'd caught a ball of razor blades.</p>
<p>He started hyperventilating, looking at his hands as they oozed blood from dozens of tiny cuts, an icy sobriety slamming down on him like a hammer. He grabbed the towel, trying to calm down, stammering to himself “go call the doctor, just call the doctor” over and over like a mantra. He felt blood drool down his face, wicking in to his eye with a salty sting, and felt his slippery grip on control weaken more.</p>
<p>He grabbed up the phone in a panic, blood making it as slippery as soap. He tried again and again to touch the dial button, used the screen, but the blood made it impossible, making him eventually toss the phone away with a hissed “Fuck!” and a panicked moan. He looked at his hands, feeling dizzy, from blood loss or blind fear, he didn't know. He looked at his slick red arms, eyes going wide.</p>
<p>Tiny cuts were crawling up his arms like ants.</p>
<p>He started breathing too fast, too loud, like a pulsing scream as invisible razors seemed to be sliding along his arms, leaving a dotted line of blood. He couldn't feel the cuts, just feel the blood pour and pulse. He started screaming, turning around, shaking his arms, trying to make it stop, or find the source, or something. He ran upstairs, blood dripping and smearing the walls as he fell, screaming for help, of the doctor, or anybody as he ran outside in to the icy night air.</p>
<p>He ran, all the houses dark, pounding on a neighbors door and crying for help, moaning as he felt blood start to weep and pour hotly along his chest. He started crying, eyes getting hazy with blood, as he looked for something, someone to help. Suddely, he heard a noise, a deep rumble…a car engine. The park across the street…</p>
<p>He could see headlights.</p>
<p>He ran, screaming, feeling the cuts open up rivers of blood along his legs, his back, his lips…he gagged as his mouth welled up with coppery blood. He ran, and ran, watching the headlights grow bigger, seeing the shape of a parked van swim up through the darkness. He cried and yelled, waving his arms, half-blind and dizzy, feeling more floaty and light headed by the second.</p>
<p>He didn't even see the river until he'd hit the water.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Unknown body recovered from park</strong></p>
<p><em>Police recovered a body from Island Park early this morning. The corpse was spotted by a early-morning jogger, lodged in a drainage pipe. Due to the recent rains, the river was very high and fast-flowing, and it appears that the body suffered grievous damage from rocks and wood during its travel. Police are currently trying to determine the identity of the body, and to ascertain whether accident or foul play led to the body entering the river. The extreme damage, however, is complicating both these goals. Persons having any information regarding this incident are encourage to contact the police.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/bloody">Bloody</a>" by Dr Gears, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/bloody">https://scpwiki.com/bloody</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
“Dude, I am WONDEROUSLY high.” he giggled, holding the phone to his ear with no small amount of effort. He walked across the basement, turning up the music, letting the beat pulse in time with the other, internal pulse he was feeling. Thank god his parents were gone, he really wasn't sure how he could deal with them right now. He flopped on to the couch, giggling again, legs hanging over the end of the couch.
“Yeah, Scott was over a hour or so ago, he had some bomb shit man. I was playing Brawl, and I swear to god it was like mario and pikachu were on my floor fighting!” he giggled again, rubbing his slightly numb face. He wiped his hand on the couch, laughing again.
“Oh hell yes, i'm not working tomorrow, get the hell over...” he trailed off, looking at the couch. A vaguely hand-shaped blotch of blood was smeared on the ratty fabric. He blinked, staring at it, then touched his face. He pulled it away bloody, staring stupidly at it for several seconds.
“uh, dude, I gotta go man, I'm bleeding somewhere...no, it's fine, just...I'll call you back, ok?” He hung up the phone, still looking at his bloody hand. He tossed it to the floor, nearly running to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror as he washed his hand, trying to find where in the hell he'd cut himself. The whole side of his face was streaked with blood now, and he washed and wiped it off, trying hard to keep calm.
He eventually found a tiny wound near his hairline, still dribbling blood. “Fuck, man...” he whispered, trying to get a good look at it and stay steady on his feet. It was as he started looking for a band-aid that he saw the drops of blood splattered over the sink. He wondered if it was from his head again...no, he'd cleaned those up, and...he suddenly looked down at his fingers, feeling a warm wetness over them.
It was like he'd caught a ball of razor blades.
He started hyperventilating, looking at his hands as they oozed blood from dozens of tiny cuts, an icy sobriety slamming down on him like a hammer. He grabbed the towel, trying to calm down, stammering to himself “go call the doctor, just call the doctor” over and over like a mantra. He felt blood drool down his face, wicking in to his eye with a salty sting, and felt his slippery grip on control weaken more.
He grabbed up the phone in a panic, blood making it as slippery as soap. He tried again and again to touch the dial button, used the screen, but the blood made it impossible, making him eventually toss the phone away with a hissed “Fuck!” and a panicked moan. He looked at his hands, feeling dizzy, from blood loss or blind fear, he didn't know. He looked at his slick red arms, eyes going wide.
Tiny cuts were crawling up his arms like ants.
He started breathing too fast, too loud, like a pulsing scream as invisible razors seemed to be sliding along his arms, leaving a dotted line of blood. He couldn't feel the cuts, just feel the blood pour and pulse. He started screaming, turning around, shaking his arms, trying to make it stop, or find the source, or something. He ran upstairs, blood dripping and smearing the walls as he fell, screaming for help, of the doctor, or anybody as he ran outside in to the icy night air.
He ran, all the houses dark, pounding on a neighbors door and crying for help, moaning as he felt blood start to weep and pour hotly along his chest. He started crying, eyes getting hazy with blood, as he looked for something, someone to help. Suddely, he heard a noise, a deep rumble...a car engine. The park across the street...
He could see headlights.
He ran, screaming, feeling the cuts open up rivers of blood along his legs, his back, his lips...he gagged as his mouth welled up with coppery blood. He ran, and ran, watching the headlights grow bigger, seeing the shape of a parked van swim up through the darkness. He cried and yelled, waving his arms, half-blind and dizzy, feeling more floaty and light headed by the second.
He didn't even see the river until he'd hit the water.
> **Unknown body recovered from park**
>
> //Police recovered a body from Island Park early this morning. The corpse was spotted by a early-morning jogger, lodged in a drainage pipe. Due to the recent rains, the river was very high and fast-flowing, and it appears that the body suffered grievous damage from rocks and wood during its travel. Police are currently trying to determine the identity of the body, and to ascertain whether accident or foul play led to the body entering the river. The extreme damage, however, is complicating both these goals. Persons having any information regarding this incident are encourage to contact the police.//
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-30T00:30:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"creepypasta",
"tale"
] | Bloody - SCP Foundation | 41 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"dr-gears-storytime-entries"
] | [] | 11961562 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/bloody |
|
candy | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Travis Brenton was always the one to help a damsel in distress, but this one took the cake. Walking alongside Highway 62 more than fifty miles out of town, and despite the triple digit heat, she was bundled up in a bright red coat. As he pulled up alongside her, she hardly turned to look at him, her coiffed blonde hair bouncing with each labored step she took.</p>
<p>Travis rolled down the passenger window on his pickup truck and leaned across the vinyl bench seat, "Hey there, miss, do you need a lift somewhere? Are you hurt?"</p>
<p>She stopped walking, wobbling slightly before she turned to look in the window. Her face was painted like porcelain, with a stark set of cherry red lips and little pink swirls painted on her cheeks like peppermint candies. The rest of her face was hidden under a wide brim straw hat and oversized sunglasses. But despite what must have been an inch of makeup on her cheeks and her heavy clothing, she didn't seem to have a bead of sweat on her. She judged him for a few moments before her face lit up with a bright, wide smile revealing a row of perfectly white Chiclet teeth.</p>
<p>"Thank you, sir. A ride to the next town would be very nice."</p>
<p>Travis pushed the pickup door open and she laboriously climbed into the cabin of the truck, one oversized sleeve completely obscuring her arm. She didn't grunt or wheeze a bit, but she seemed weak as a kitten. No surprise really, given how far she must have walked in this heat. Travis stretched out a hand to help pull her up, and she gripped him with a sticky white palm.</p>
<p>Travis' fingers felt like they were covered with syrup. He worked his fingers together curiously before trying to rub them on his jeans, which only caused his sticky hand to be covered with a layer of dirt and lint.</p>
<p>"Are you feeling alright, miss? You must be hot, let me turn up the air for you," he offered, leaving a sticky set of prints on the knob as he turned it.</p>
<p>"I'm fine, really. It's very kind of you to share your truck with me. Sharing is very important," the mysterious woman cooed, removing her hat and glasses. She fanned herself as the air kicked in, looking straight ahead at the road. Travis tried to get another good look at her as he pulled back onto the road, but she didn't turn towards him again.</p>
<p>"Well, I think it's important to lend out a helping hand to people who need it," Travis said with a smile.</p>
<p>"Funny you should say that, dear," the woman said mirthlessly, working her coat buttons open with her single exposed hand, the sticky one. Beneath the costume she was wearing some kind of ridiculous lacy candy striper outfit that seemed to be torn and stained brown. A rich maple scent filled the cabin, "Oh, oh, I'm sorry. I think I might be leaking on your seat."</p>
<p>Travis whirled to look at his passenger, and she turned to face him with blank, unblinking blue jawbreaker eyes. Her puffy red licorice lips pursed into a pout, "I truly am sorry, sir, I know you are doing me a kind deed by sharing your truck with me but I can't help the syrup. It just doesn't clot like blood does."</p>
<p>The truck swerved back off the road, bumping wildly on the bare earth off the highway. A cloud of dust erupted on both sides, obscuring the windows from outside. The woman yelped and her hair became undone as Travis slammed on the brakes and stared at his passenger in horror.</p>
<p>"I must look a mess, I know. It's just that I tried to share with him, but he wanted to take so much. He simply took too much, more than his share, and now I need to get back to the kitchen you see. You don't have to take me all the way there, it would probably be best if you didn't."</p>
<p>The woman had shrugged off the coat completely, and she was as white as her face from head to toe. She worked to pin her hair back up with a peppermint twist with her one good hand, as her other arm ended just before where her wrist should have been. Her flesh was cracked like a piece of hard candy, and two thickly rolled tubes of paper poked out where the bones should be, like the sticks on a half-eaten lollipop. Her outfit had been torn and chewed upon, and there was a large part of her perfectly shaped torso missing.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry if I have frightened you, sir, but I really do need to get back on the road. Maybe if you shared with me a little bit more?" she scooted across the flat bench seat, leaning her face towards Travis as if to kiss him.</p>
<p>What happened next was a bit of a blur, but Travis was suddenly aware of the dust all around him and the hard ground against his back. His hand hurt terribly from being twisted in his panicked attempt to open the door and flee the cabin before the strange confection woman could touch him. She looked down at him with a hint of regret in her mask-like visage, and thick coils of red vines spilled from the hole in her side down to the floor of the truck cabin as she reached out over him.</p>
<p>"It's probably better this way. Thank you for sharing with me. I will repay your favor when I am back from the kitchen, I promise. You are very, <em>very</em> sweet," the candy woman grasped the open truck door and pulled it shut, leaving Travis scrambling away on his hands and knees as she started the truck back up again and drove away, stranding him on Highway 62 in triple digit heat.</p>
<p>Travis slowly pulled himself to his feet and stood in the swirling dust with a stupid look on his face. Had that really just happened? Was he really just carjacked by a half-eaten candy woman?</p>
<p>Something squirmed against his boot, and he looked down to see a few strands of the candy woman's innards writhing and pulsing on the ground where they had been pinched off by the slamming of the truck door.</p>
<p>He turned on his heels and ran.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/candy">Candy</a>" by Sorts, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/candy">https://scpwiki.com/candy</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Travis Brenton was always the one to help a damsel in distress, but this one took the cake. Walking alongside Highway 62 more than fifty miles out of town, and despite the triple digit heat, she was bundled up in a bright red coat. As he pulled up alongside her, she hardly turned to look at him, her coiffed blonde hair bouncing with each labored step she took.
Travis rolled down the passenger window on his pickup truck and leaned across the vinyl bench seat, "Hey there, miss, do you need a lift somewhere? Are you hurt?"
She stopped walking, wobbling slightly before she turned to look in the window. Her face was painted like porcelain, with a stark set of cherry red lips and little pink swirls painted on her cheeks like peppermint candies. The rest of her face was hidden under a wide brim straw hat and oversized sunglasses. But despite what must have been an inch of makeup on her cheeks and her heavy clothing, she didn't seem to have a bead of sweat on her. She judged him for a few moments before her face lit up with a bright, wide smile revealing a row of perfectly white Chiclet teeth.
"Thank you, sir. A ride to the next town would be very nice."
Travis pushed the pickup door open and she laboriously climbed into the cabin of the truck, one oversized sleeve completely obscuring her arm. She didn't grunt or wheeze a bit, but she seemed weak as a kitten. No surprise really, given how far she must have walked in this heat. Travis stretched out a hand to help pull her up, and she gripped him with a sticky white palm.
Travis' fingers felt like they were covered with syrup. He worked his fingers together curiously before trying to rub them on his jeans, which only caused his sticky hand to be covered with a layer of dirt and lint.
"Are you feeling alright, miss? You must be hot, let me turn up the air for you," he offered, leaving a sticky set of prints on the knob as he turned it.
"I'm fine, really. It's very kind of you to share your truck with me. Sharing is very important," the mysterious woman cooed, removing her hat and glasses. She fanned herself as the air kicked in, looking straight ahead at the road. Travis tried to get another good look at her as he pulled back onto the road, but she didn't turn towards him again.
"Well, I think it's important to lend out a helping hand to people who need it," Travis said with a smile.
"Funny you should say that, dear," the woman said mirthlessly, working her coat buttons open with her single exposed hand, the sticky one. Beneath the costume she was wearing some kind of ridiculous lacy candy striper outfit that seemed to be torn and stained brown. A rich maple scent filled the cabin, "Oh, oh, I'm sorry. I think I might be leaking on your seat."
Travis whirled to look at his passenger, and she turned to face him with blank, unblinking blue jawbreaker eyes. Her puffy red licorice lips pursed into a pout, "I truly am sorry, sir, I know you are doing me a kind deed by sharing your truck with me but I can't help the syrup. It just doesn't clot like blood does."
The truck swerved back off the road, bumping wildly on the bare earth off the highway. A cloud of dust erupted on both sides, obscuring the windows from outside. The woman yelped and her hair became undone as Travis slammed on the brakes and stared at his passenger in horror.
"I must look a mess, I know. It's just that I tried to share with him, but he wanted to take so much. He simply took too much, more than his share, and now I need to get back to the kitchen you see. You don't have to take me all the way there, it would probably be best if you didn't."
The woman had shrugged off the coat completely, and she was as white as her face from head to toe. She worked to pin her hair back up with a peppermint twist with her one good hand, as her other arm ended just before where her wrist should have been. Her flesh was cracked like a piece of hard candy, and two thickly rolled tubes of paper poked out where the bones should be, like the sticks on a half-eaten lollipop. Her outfit had been torn and chewed upon, and there was a large part of her perfectly shaped torso missing.
"I'm sorry if I have frightened you, sir, but I really do need to get back on the road. Maybe if you shared with me a little bit more?" she scooted across the flat bench seat, leaning her face towards Travis as if to kiss him.
What happened next was a bit of a blur, but Travis was suddenly aware of the dust all around him and the hard ground against his back. His hand hurt terribly from being twisted in his panicked attempt to open the door and flee the cabin before the strange confection woman could touch him. She looked down at him with a hint of regret in her mask-like visage, and thick coils of red vines spilled from the hole in her side down to the floor of the truck cabin as she reached out over him.
"It's probably better this way. Thank you for sharing with me. I will repay your favor when I am back from the kitchen, I promise. You are very, //very// sweet," the candy woman grasped the open truck door and pulled it shut, leaving Travis scrambling away on his hands and knees as she started the truck back up again and drove away, stranding him on Highway 62 in triple digit heat.
Travis slowly pulled himself to his feet and stood in the swirling dust with a stupid look on his face. Had that really just happened? Was he really just carjacked by a half-eaten candy woman?
Something squirmed against his boot, and he looked down to see a few strands of the candy woman's innards writhing and pulsing on the ground where they had been pinched off by the slamming of the truck door.
He turned on his heels and ran.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-18T05:51:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Candy - SCP Foundation | 53 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-3-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11899401 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/candy |
|
catch-your-death | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>"So, let me get this straight," said Agent Shields, flipping through the folder he had been pondering over. "You commissioned a mass murder of D-Class personnel by firing squad, set up a series of unnecessarily elaborate traps, and cost the Foundation around a dozen researchers… all so you could catch the Grim Reaper?"</p>
<p>Doctor Sheridan grinned broadly as he took the SCP report back from Shields. "Sure did, boy. And don't call my traps elaborate. Those things were child's play to make and set up."</p>
<p>"Sir, you're dodging the real issue here. I just want to know, along with everyone else, why you did it."</p>
<p>Sheridan's brow furrowed significantly. He had never been one for dealing with those who couldn't understand his brilliance, and Shields had always pestered him with those petty questions, details that in the vast scheme of things didn't matter. Still, he felt obliged to answer, if only to suffer one less fool.</p>
<p>"Why? Well, why not? You might not be the brightest, Shields, but surely you've been paying attention to your surroundings. Catching the bastard's been the best thing to happen to the Foundation since its creation! Due to the dampening effect we've put around his cell, Death doesn't have any powers. We also stripped him of everything on his person, and posted a dozen guards outside the main cell alone. Ergo, we've got him locked up so tight that nobody can ever die again!" He stood up with his arms spread wide at this last sentence.</p>
<p>A silence fell over the room as Shields stared down at Spencer Sheridan. He too had a strong hatred for the other man, though in his case it was due to a lack of patience for those absorbed in themselves. There was the temptation to finish the mission right then and there, but he needed to keep things going for now.</p>
<p>"Sir… I don't think you see the implications of what you've done. By rendering a good deal of the SCPs harmless, you've put unknowable amounts of people out of work, and…"</p>
<p>Sheridan put a finger to his lips and shushed Shields. "You hit the nail on the head there, boyo. The SCPs are harmless. The whole point of this place is to Secure, Contain, and Protect. Now tell me, is that not better accomplished if none of these creatures and objects pose a threat?" Shields continued to stand stock still, not moving a muscle, so Sheridan sighed and continued. "Just look at what this has done for us! We're making huge strides towards dismantling 173 now that it's not willing to attack us!"</p>
<p>"Yes, but…" said Shields, thinking of the fifty men incapacitated for life before the statue stopped attacking.</p>
<p>"Or how, since we can survive the tortures it inflicts, 212 has given us dozens of super agents?" And dozens more sent into permanent comas. "Try and tell me that isn't a good thing!" Shields made another move to speak, but Sheridan was on a roll. "Or how we're able to safely study 008 to our heart's content?" Sixteen men chopped into pieces. "Or the massive profit from 447?" Untellable damage from exposure to previous dead bodies. "Hell, 590's more effective than it's ever been!" Shields clenched his fists. "Point is, boy, I've solved every single problem the Foundation could foreseeably have. I don't understand why you'd ask such a silly question as - why do you have your weapon out?"</p>
<p>While the Researcher had been blathering off into space, the Agent had slowly unholstered his gun, and was now pointing it squarely at his face. "Christ, I can't stand listening to you. Now please listen, <em>sir</em>," he sneered, "and listen good. Nobody cares how many great things you've done with this whole 'Catching Death' business. The point is that the evils you've wrought far outweigh the good. We can't stand for that around here."</p>
<p>Spencer Sheridan went pale in the face as he tried to look for a way out of his predicament. An Agent, one of the most worthless positions in his mind, was threatening him, and he couldn't run. What to do?</p>
<p>At length, color returned and a smile played over his face. "Now, now, Shields," he chuckled, "you know you can't do this. I've got the bloody Grim Reaper in containment! So shoot me all you like, because I cannot…!"</p>
<p>A bullet flew from the chamber of the gun, and slammed square into the Researcher's chest. He stumbled for a moment, his mouth flapping uselessly, before he hit the ground with a low thud. Pulling himself onto his hands and knees, Sheridan gasped for breath, and grunted, "You… you can't kill me Shields… you can't kill me… we're all immortal…"</p>
<p>"Not anymore," said Shields, staring down at the man before him in disgust. "Or at least, not for very much longer. We're releasing the Grim Reaper in an hour or two, so everything you've done will have been for naught. Of course, we've rounded up all the SCPs and worked hard to minimize the damage, so you don't need to worry about that." Sheridan tried to speak, but he could already feel himself fading. "What I'd worry about, if I were you, is the fact that you'll be in some pretty bloody bad pain before expiring."</p>
<p>The Researcher tried to make one last protest to the Agent, one last attempt to buy his way back to life. But his lungs had failed him, and Shields was already on his way out, establishing contact with someone over the radio. "Hello? Yes, I did what you asked. Mission accomplished. Anything else you'd like done with him before you get here?"<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/catch-your-death">Catch Your Death</a>" by Gargus, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/catch-your-death">https://scpwiki.com/catch-your-death</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
"So, let me get this straight," said Agent Shields, flipping through the folder he had been pondering over. "You commissioned a mass murder of D-Class personnel by firing squad, set up a series of unnecessarily elaborate traps, and cost the Foundation around a dozen researchers... all so you could catch the Grim Reaper?"
Doctor Sheridan grinned broadly as he took the SCP report back from Shields. "Sure did, boy. And don't call my traps elaborate. Those things were child's play to make and set up."
"Sir, you're dodging the real issue here. I just want to know, along with everyone else, why you did it."
Sheridan's brow furrowed significantly. He had never been one for dealing with those who couldn't understand his brilliance, and Shields had always pestered him with those petty questions, details that in the vast scheme of things didn't matter. Still, he felt obliged to answer, if only to suffer one less fool.
"Why? Well, why not? You might not be the brightest, Shields, but surely you've been paying attention to your surroundings. Catching the bastard's been the best thing to happen to the Foundation since its creation! Due to the dampening effect we've put around his cell, Death doesn't have any powers. We also stripped him of everything on his person, and posted a dozen guards outside the main cell alone. Ergo, we've got him locked up so tight that nobody can ever die again!" He stood up with his arms spread wide at this last sentence.
A silence fell over the room as Shields stared down at Spencer Sheridan. He too had a strong hatred for the other man, though in his case it was due to a lack of patience for those absorbed in themselves. There was the temptation to finish the mission right then and there, but he needed to keep things going for now.
"Sir... I don't think you see the implications of what you've done. By rendering a good deal of the SCPs harmless, you've put unknowable amounts of people out of work, and..."
Sheridan put a finger to his lips and shushed Shields. "You hit the nail on the head there, boyo. The SCPs are harmless. The whole point of this place is to Secure, Contain, and Protect. Now tell me, is that not better accomplished if none of these creatures and objects pose a threat?" Shields continued to stand stock still, not moving a muscle, so Sheridan sighed and continued. "Just look at what this has done for us! We're making huge strides towards dismantling 173 now that it's not willing to attack us!"
"Yes, but..." said Shields, thinking of the fifty men incapacitated for life before the statue stopped attacking.
"Or how, since we can survive the tortures it inflicts, 212 has given us dozens of super agents?" And dozens more sent into permanent comas. "Try and tell me that isn't a good thing!" Shields made another move to speak, but Sheridan was on a roll. "Or how we're able to safely study 008 to our heart's content?" Sixteen men chopped into pieces. "Or the massive profit from 447?" Untellable damage from exposure to previous dead bodies. "Hell, 590's more effective than it's ever been!" Shields clenched his fists. "Point is, boy, I've solved every single problem the Foundation could foreseeably have. I don't understand why you'd ask such a silly question as - why do you have your weapon out?"
While the Researcher had been blathering off into space, the Agent had slowly unholstered his gun, and was now pointing it squarely at his face. "Christ, I can't stand listening to you. Now please listen, //sir//," he sneered, "and listen good. Nobody cares how many great things you've done with this whole 'Catching Death' business. The point is that the evils you've wrought far outweigh the good. We can't stand for that around here."
Spencer Sheridan went pale in the face as he tried to look for a way out of his predicament. An Agent, one of the most worthless positions in his mind, was threatening him, and he couldn't run. What to do?
At length, color returned and a smile played over his face. "Now, now, Shields," he chuckled, "you know you can't do this. I've got the bloody Grim Reaper in containment! So shoot me all you like, because I cannot...!"
A bullet flew from the chamber of the gun, and slammed square into the Researcher's chest. He stumbled for a moment, his mouth flapping uselessly, before he hit the ground with a low thud. Pulling himself onto his hands and knees, Sheridan gasped for breath, and grunted, "You... you can't kill me Shields... you can't kill me... we're all immortal..."
"Not anymore," said Shields, staring down at the man before him in disgust. "Or at least, not for very much longer. We're releasing the Grim Reaper in an hour or two, so everything you've done will have been for naught. Of course, we've rounded up all the SCPs and worked hard to minimize the damage, so you don't need to worry about that." Sheridan tried to speak, but he could already feel himself fading. "What I'd worry about, if I were you, is the fact that you'll be in some pretty bloody bad pain before expiring."
The Researcher tried to make one last protest to the Agent, one last attempt to buy his way back to life. But his lungs had failed him, and Shields was already on his way out, establishing contact with someone over the radio. "Hello? Yes, I did what you asked. Mission accomplished. Anything else you'd like done with him before you get here?"
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-05-01T17:02:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Catch Your Death - SCP Foundation | 31 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 9721735 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/catch-your-death |
|
change | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
Hello Everett. You were expecting me? How ha-<br/>
Ah. Quite right, I suppose. May I sit? Thank you.
<p>I can only imagine what you must think of us by now. How many have come to you this month- Five? Seven? Enough, at least, to put you in an… <em>uncomfortable</em> position. Half of the O5 council, here in your office, sputtering like mad men and contradicting each other on even the most basic of details. But we're very good at contradiction around here, aren't we? I think you would have found your answers on your own if things had gone differently. The research you were doing was damned close to the crux of it. Problem is, you got caught up on a red herring, and it can't have helped that the old man got to you when he did. If you'd kept looking, you would have noticed soon enough: The Factory isn't the only thing that stops making sense if you look at it for too long. Yes, the other organizations as well, but that's only the start.</p>
<p>Just stop and think about it for a moment. It amazes me how much we get you people to ignore— do you honestly believe that we keep a dozen drafts of 001 as part of some inane security policy? You've never wondered why so many reports and logs for missions and experiments we've never approved- much less written- just <em>happen</em> to spring up on our servers? How so many hundreds of inconsistencies were introduced to our records? Do you really think we're that inept?</p>
<p>…you do, don't you. Ohohoho, you <em>do</em>. No wonder you've held your tongue this long, 'just smile and nod and the crazy old men will shut up and leave me to my work'. You disappoint me Doctor. You've come far enough to know that it couldn't be that simple.</p>
<p>Then allow me to level with you. From the top.</p>
<p>The things we lock away are wrong, Everett. Fundamentally, unequivocally <em>wrong</em>. They contradict everything we know about math, science, religion, life, thought, they violate <em>reality itself</em>.</p>
<p>No, of course I'm not talking about the Greens. They're troublesome, but in they end, they are fundamentally human. In some ways that makes them easier to manage than even our safest objects; but you have the right idea. A mortal mind wielding such power is trivial. But what do you suppose happens when it manifests on its own? You've been through enough of the archive by now to know all three answers. AK, BK, CK. The world twists, and in the worst case we don't even know that it's happened.</p>
<p>Yes Doctor, spontaneous reality shifts. It took decades to determine the cause, but in the end it was laughably simple. On its own, an SCP object merely bends. Gather the right ones together, bend things far enough in the right direction, and sooner or later something breaks. Upon advancing to level 5 we're all trained to notice the signs, when possible. We secure a new item, we transfer an object between sites, and within a day or two we'd know that something was off.</p>
<p>The implications should be obvious; our very existence is jeopardized by even the simplest of operations. We tried everything we could think of- we limited the number of objects per site, prohibited needless cross-testing, minimized transfers, spread out as much as possible, even authorized decommissions for most of the more trivial anomalies. It wasn't enough. And even if it was, it wouldn't stop Dark, the Hand, the Church, and god knows who else. Hell, we have reason to believe that those damned cultists are doing it on purpose.</p>
<p>That's why Ten started pushing for a different approach. We can't prevent the problem; why not turn it on its head? We started to look for ways to use the shifts to our advantage. The potential for knowledge alone… And if we could find the pattern…</p>
<p>Everett, have we had this conversation before?</p>
<p>Never mind. In either case, we built Site Zero in the twenties once we had a better handle on how it all worked. I never understood a lick of the physics, but we were assured that it would deflect the effects enough to preserve our memories and our copy of Central Records between shifts. And it did. The advantage it gave us was beyond anything we had imagined. Before the site was completed, we controlled at most fifteen percent of all known SCP objects. We now consistently control at least seventy percent between shifts, and the protocols we enact from Site Zero can recover most of them in a month or less after even the worst events.</p>
<p>There were problems of course. When any of us leave Site Zero, the re-briefing can take weeks if our timing is bad. But it goes deeper than that. Even those of us that never leave started to notice inconsistencies, internal fragmentation. Database checks began turning up entire unknown files in the shift-safe system, but that was the least of our concerns. It got worse over time, and after a while we started to… well, I think you've already guessed the rest.</p>
<p>I'm not so bad off as most of the others yet, but it's only a matter of time. I can't keep it straight in my head. There's no record of half of the senior staff I've worked with. I don't remember any Insurgency, much less a credible threat from Iran. On more days than not, I don't even have my designation right.</p>
<p>No, of course not. That's the problem; we have the wolf by the ears. We don't have much time left, and we cannot allow our failure to become the Foundation's. Really, though, the solution is quite simple. We need re-</p>
<p>Very good, Doctor. Perhaps there's hope for you after all.</p>
<p>I think we're done here. We'll be seeing you. Soon.</p>
<p>And Everett? Give my regards to whoever arrives as Eight.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/change">Change</a>" by Lumancer, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/change">https://scpwiki.com/change</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Hello Everett. You were expecting me? How ha-
Ah. Quite right, I suppose. May I sit? Thank you.
I can only imagine what you must think of us by now. How many have come to you this month- Five? Seven? Enough, at least, to put you in an... //uncomfortable// position. Half of the O5 council, here in your office, sputtering like mad men and contradicting each other on even the most basic of details. But we're very good at contradiction around here, aren't we? I think you would have found your answers on your own if things had gone differently. The research you were doing was damned close to the crux of it. Problem is, you got caught up on a red herring, and it can't have helped that the old man got to you when he did. If you'd kept looking, you would have noticed soon enough: The Factory isn't the only thing that stops making sense if you look at it for too long. Yes, the other organizations as well, but that's only the start.
Just stop and think about it for a moment. It amazes me how much we get you people to ignore-- do you honestly believe that we keep a dozen drafts of 001 as part of some inane security policy? You've never wondered why so many reports and logs for missions and experiments we've never approved- much less written- just //happen// to spring up on our servers? How so many hundreds of inconsistencies were introduced to our records? Do you really think we're that inept?
...you do, don't you. Ohohoho, you //do//. No wonder you've held your tongue this long, 'just smile and nod and the crazy old men will shut up and leave me to my work'. You disappoint me Doctor. You've come far enough to know that it couldn't be that simple.
Then allow me to level with you. From the top.
The things we lock away are wrong, Everett. Fundamentally, unequivocally //wrong//. They contradict everything we know about math, science, religion, life, thought, they violate //reality itself//.
No, of course I'm not talking about the Greens. They're troublesome, but in they end, they are fundamentally human. In some ways that makes them easier to manage than even our safest objects; but you have the right idea. A mortal mind wielding such power is trivial. But what do you suppose happens when it manifests on its own? You've been through enough of the archive by now to know all three answers. AK, BK, CK. The world twists, and in the worst case we don't even know that it's happened.
Yes Doctor, spontaneous reality shifts. It took decades to determine the cause, but in the end it was laughably simple. On its own, an SCP object merely bends. Gather the right ones together, bend things far enough in the right direction, and sooner or later something breaks. Upon advancing to level 5 we're all trained to notice the signs, when possible. We secure a new item, we transfer an object between sites, and within a day or two we'd know that something was off.
The implications should be obvious; our very existence is jeopardized by even the simplest of operations. We tried everything we could think of- we limited the number of objects per site, prohibited needless cross-testing, minimized transfers, spread out as much as possible, even authorized decommissions for most of the more trivial anomalies. It wasn't enough. And even if it was, it wouldn't stop Dark, the Hand, the Church, and god knows who else. Hell, we have reason to believe that those damned cultists are doing it on purpose.
That's why Ten started pushing for a different approach. We can't prevent the problem; why not turn it on its head? We started to look for ways to use the shifts to our advantage. The potential for knowledge alone... And if we could find the pattern...
Everett, have we had this conversation before?
Never mind. In either case, we built Site Zero in the twenties once we had a better handle on how it all worked. I never understood a lick of the physics, but we were assured that it would deflect the effects enough to preserve our memories and our copy of Central Records between shifts. And it did. The advantage it gave us was beyond anything we had imagined. Before the site was completed, we controlled at most fifteen percent of all known SCP objects. We now consistently control at least seventy percent between shifts, and the protocols we enact from Site Zero can recover most of them in a month or less after even the worst events.
There were problems of course. When any of us leave Site Zero, the re-briefing can take weeks if our timing is bad. But it goes deeper than that. Even those of us that never leave started to notice inconsistencies, internal fragmentation. Database checks began turning up entire unknown files in the shift-safe system, but that was the least of our concerns. It got worse over time, and after a while we started to... well, I think you've already guessed the rest.
I'm not so bad off as most of the others yet, but it's only a matter of time. I can't keep it straight in my head. There's no record of half of the senior staff I've worked with. I don't remember any Insurgency, much less a credible threat from Iran. On more days than not, I don't even have my designation right.
No, of course not. That's the problem; we have the wolf by the ears. We don't have much time left, and we cannot allow our failure to become the Foundation's. Really, though, the solution is quite simple. We need re-
Very good, Doctor. Perhaps there's hope for you after all.
I think we're done here. We'll be seeing you. Soon.
And Everett? Give my regards to whoever arrives as Eight.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-15T05:50:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"doctor-mann",
"tale"
] | Change - SCP Foundation | 43 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author"
] | [] | 11704735 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/change |
|
christmas | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<blockquote>
<p>I always have grand plans that few people help me on. I'm just gullible that way. This time, it was 100 word stories for Christmas, a la Gaiman's "<a href="http://www.neilgaiman.com/works/Books/Smoke+%2526+Mirrors/in/197/">Nicholas Was...</a>" I normally send one out in my Christmas cards (thanks again, Neil), and this year, I shared my story with the staff, including the idea that we all write one for the site. But, when time rolled around, there were only a handful of people who had managed to get one done: E4D (with Kens) and Mann. So, in honor of Christmas, I give you these stories. Feel free to add, but keep it at or very, very close to 100 words. Enjoy, kids!</p>
<p>-Troy</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>No Two Snowmen</strong></p>
<p>Susie later thought, as blood and bile oozed from the gash in her stomach, that thorn branches were a poor choice for arms. They had been what snared her with ease, the thick vines coiling around her wrist, tiny dagger-like barbs digging into clothes first… then flesh.</p>
<p>But she mused for a moment that the hat they had found—neither silk nor top—was a miracle, and if miracles existed, then certainly, she might survive. But watching the other children scatter from the snowman in the pinkish snow quickly removed such illusions. As her wound turned from hot pain to cold, she closed her eyes.</p>
<p><em>-Troy</em></p>
<hr/>
<img alt="Christmastime-new.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/christmas/Christmastime-new.png"/>
<p><em>-EchoFourDelta and Dr Kens</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>I knew it was wrong, even as I swung the hammer down on the old man's head. The bone shattered, and blood and brain sprayed out, matching the scarlet of his suit. Tears ran down my eyes as I struck again and again. I loved the old man. I knew it was wrong, but I had to you see, for my father. For honor. Only blood would make things right. He should never have done it, mistletoe or not. Not that the guilt was his alone. I would deal with her later.</p>
<p>You see, I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus.</p>
<p><em>-Dr Mann</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Being a Jewish kid around Christmas time always made me somewhat annoyed. I always wanted a Santa, but what I got was two grandparents pinching my cheeks and a gift card for Best Buy. Seeing this, my father told me of the Hanukkah armadillo, an armadillo that acted in the same capacity as Santa, but delivered presents to all the good Jewish children.</p>
<p>So, perhaps simply for a laugh, my dad dressed up as a giant armadillo, and I sat on his lap and told him what I wanted. And when Hanukkah finally occurred my dad gave me exactly what I wanted.</p>
<p>A gift card for Futureshop.</p>
<p><em>-Salman corbette</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>I have been alive in this state for about a week, and there are a couple things that I've figured out. Firstly, I think I'm in a time (CHOP!) loop, because every eleven seconds, I wind up in the same place somehow. Second (CHOP! OW!) , axes really fucking hurt, and I feel one hacking at me all the time. Third, I am fully (CHOP!) conscious, even though my left arm keeps being chopped off. Finally, the sky is (CHOP! OW!) for some reason changing; it used to be my house, then it got all dark, then an office. Although it (CHOP!) is really hard to tell, what with everything outside being fisheyed and all the damn snow that keeps falling. And the worst (nonono CHOP!) bit is that my assailant isn't even human. In fact, other than his facial features, he's completely made of snow. (AUGH! CHOP! AUGH!). And here we go again!</p>
<p><em>-Reject</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>I had always thought that reindeer were majestic, noble creatures. With their grand antlers and fine coats, to see one up close would be so special! That's why when the old man said he would take me to see the great herd I was as giddy as could be! Wild herds could reach hundreds of thousands, though this herd was far greater! When we first saw them I couldn't believe their numbers, their tranquil nature! Now with our sleigh overturned, the old man tramped, my leg broken, I can only think of how naive I was about such wild animals..</p>
<p><em>-toadking07</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Billy was over the moon.<br/>
Christmas morning and he was allowed to open one of his presents early. As he pondered which present to open, he heard a voice from one of the boxes. “Release me this instant, you bandits!”, the voice yelled.</p>
<p>Billy opened the box to see a funny-looking robot.<br/>
“Big mistake, meatbag!”, it shouted.<br/>
“Wow,” Billy exclaimed, “a real robot!”<br/>
He reached for his new toy when the doorbell rang.<br/>
He sprang up with a sigh and ran for the door.</p>
<p>He opened the door and saw a man holding a cardboard box standing on the porch.<br/>
“Hey there little man,” the visitor said. “Is your father home?”<br/>
“He’s asleep, but I’ll go wake him for you,” Billy said, eager to get back to his toy.<br/>
The man smiled and quickly entered the living room as Billy ran upstairs.<br/>
“There you go,” he murmured as he tossed the robot into the box.<br/>
The robot screamed indignantly. “Unhand me ruffian, I will end you!”<br/>
“I’m sure you will Pesterbot,” the man chuckled as he left the house. “I’m sure you will.”</p>
<p>“He’s gone, and he took my robot!” Billy said, his voice trembling.<br/>
“We didn’t even get you a robot, Billy,” his father yawned.<br/>
Billy crossed his arms sulkily “This is the worst Christmas ever!”</p>
<p><em>-StH9</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Merry Christmas!</strong></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/christmas">Christmas</a>" by DrEverettMann, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/christmas">https://scpwiki.com/christmas</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Christmastime-new.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/elenee-fishtruck" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(4037075); return false;"><img alt="Elenee FishTruck" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=4037075&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1729368478" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=4037075)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/elenee-fishtruck" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(4037075); return false;">Elenee FishTruck</a></span>, <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/echofourdelta" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(515520); return false;"><img alt="EchoFourDelta" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=515520&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1729368478" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=515520)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/echofourdelta" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(515520); return false;">EchoFourDelta</a></span>, <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/drkens" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(304092); return false;"><img alt="DrKens" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=304092&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1729368478" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=304092)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/drkens" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(304092); return false;">DrKens</a></span>, Evgeniy Isaev<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/christmas">SCP Foundation Wiki</a><br/>
<strong>Derivative Of:</strong></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Boy is smiling<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Evgeniy Isaev<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/43257267@N08/7080052361/">Flickr</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
> I always have grand plans that few people help me on. I'm just gullible that way. This time, it was 100 word stories for Christmas, a la Gaiman's "[http://www.neilgaiman.com/works/Books/Smoke+%2526+Mirrors/in/197/ Nicholas Was...]" I normally send one out in my Christmas cards (thanks again, Neil), and this year, I shared my story with the staff, including the idea that we all write one for the site. But, when time rolled around, there were only a handful of people who had managed to get one done: E4D (with Kens) and Mann. So, in honor of Christmas, I give you these stories. Feel free to add, but keep it at or very, very close to 100 words. Enjoy, kids!
>
> -Troy
-----
**No Two Snowmen**
Susie later thought, as blood and bile oozed from the gash in her stomach, that thorn branches were a poor choice for arms. They had been what snared her with ease, the thick vines coiling around her wrist, tiny dagger-like barbs digging into clothes first… then flesh.
But she mused for a moment that the hat they had found—neither silk nor top—was a miracle, and if miracles existed, then certainly, she might survive. But watching the other children scatter from the snowman in the pinkish snow quickly removed such illusions. As her wound turned from hot pain to cold, she closed her eyes.
//-Troy//
------
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/christmas/Christmastime-new.png]]
//-EchoFourDelta and Dr Kens//
------
I knew it was wrong, even as I swung the hammer down on the old man's head. The bone shattered, and blood and brain sprayed out, matching the scarlet of his suit. Tears ran down my eyes as I struck again and again. I loved the old man. I knew it was wrong, but I had to you see, for my father. For honor. Only blood would make things right. He should never have done it, mistletoe or not. Not that the guilt was his alone. I would deal with her later.
You see, I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus.
//-Dr Mann//
-----
Being a Jewish kid around Christmas time always made me somewhat annoyed. I always wanted a Santa, but what I got was two grandparents pinching my cheeks and a gift card for Best Buy. Seeing this, my father told me of the Hanukkah armadillo, an armadillo that acted in the same capacity as Santa, but delivered presents to all the good Jewish children.
So, perhaps simply for a laugh, my dad dressed up as a giant armadillo, and I sat on his lap and told him what I wanted. And when Hanukkah finally occurred my dad gave me exactly what I wanted.
A gift card for Futureshop.
//-Salman corbette//
------
I have been alive in this state for about a week, and there are a couple things that I've figured out. Firstly, I think I'm in a time (CHOP!) loop, because every eleven seconds, I wind up in the same place somehow. Second (CHOP! OW!) , axes really fucking hurt, and I feel one hacking at me all the time. Third, I am fully (CHOP!) conscious, even though my left arm keeps being chopped off. Finally, the sky is (CHOP! OW!) for some reason changing; it used to be my house, then it got all dark, then an office. Although it (CHOP!) is really hard to tell, what with everything outside being fisheyed and all the damn snow that keeps falling. And the worst (nonono CHOP!) bit is that my assailant isn't even human. In fact, other than his facial features, he's completely made of snow. (AUGH! CHOP! AUGH!). And here we go again!
//-Reject//
------
I had always thought that reindeer were majestic, noble creatures. With their grand antlers and fine coats, to see one up close would be so special! That's why when the old man said he would take me to see the great herd I was as giddy as could be! Wild herds could reach hundreds of thousands, though this herd was far greater! When we first saw them I couldn't believe their numbers, their tranquil nature! Now with our sleigh overturned, the old man tramped, my leg broken, I can only think of how naive I was about such wild animals..
//-toadking07//
------
Billy was over the moon.
Christmas morning and he was allowed to open one of his presents early. As he pondered which present to open, he heard a voice from one of the boxes. “Release me this instant, you bandits!”, the voice yelled.
Billy opened the box to see a funny-looking robot.
“Big mistake, meatbag!”, it shouted.
“Wow,” Billy exclaimed, “a real robot!”
He reached for his new toy when the doorbell rang.
He sprang up with a sigh and ran for the door.
He opened the door and saw a man holding a cardboard box standing on the porch.
“Hey there little man,” the visitor said. “Is your father home?”
“He’s asleep, but I’ll go wake him for you,” Billy said, eager to get back to his toy.
The man smiled and quickly entered the living room as Billy ran upstairs.
“There you go,” he murmured as he tossed the robot into the box.
The robot screamed indignantly. “Unhand me ruffian, I will end you!”
“I’m sure you will Pesterbot,” the man chuckled as he left the house. “I’m sure you will.”
“He’s gone, and he took my robot!” Billy said, his voice trembling.
“We didn’t even get you a robot, Billy,” his father yawned.
Billy crossed his arms sulkily “This is the worst Christmas ever!”
//-StH9//
------
**Merry Christmas!**
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** Christmastime-new.png
> **Author:** [[*user Elenee FishTruck]], [[*user EchoFourDelta]], [[*user DrKens]], Evgeniy Isaev
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/christmas SCP Foundation Wiki]
> **Derivative Of:**
> **Name:** Boy is smiling
> **Author:** Evgeniy Isaev
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/43257267@N08/7080052361/ Flickr]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-12-26T06:51:00 | [
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"black-comedy",
"christmas",
"collaboration",
"comedy",
"horror",
"tale"
] | Christmas - SCP Foundation | 29 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"holiday-hub",
"incident-reports-eye-witness-interviews-and-personal-logs",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"collaboration-page-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/christmas/Christmastime-new.png"
] | 12261651 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/christmas |
|
clavis | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Project 001-Future Sight has been enacted and regarded as a success. Text was recovered by having <a href="/scp-187">SCP-187</a> examine the terminal at Site-██. Her copied text was then sent through <a href="/scp-758">SCP-758</a> to correct it, and then translated by Dr. ████████. Immediate communication with O5-██, O5-██, and O5-██ is enacted. Operation Thaumiel is in full effect. Repeat: this is not a drill. Operation Thaumiel is in full action. <strong>DO NOT DISREGARD.</strong> Repeat: Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation Thaumiel is in full action.</p>
<p><em>Communique recovered from Site-██ read as follows</em>:</p>
<blockquote>
<ol>
<li>And lo, I cried unto the Ephesians, the Smyrnanites, the Pergamonians, the Thyatirans, the Sardinians, the Philadelphians, and the Leodicians to hear my cry! And they have heard it not.</li>
<li>For the Ephesians, ye are unto sowers of chaos and ruin, and so though shalt reape. For thou hast strayed from the path, the true path, and shall receive none of my glory. The hand of God will smite thee and thine power shall be as sand, and the strength of your arms shall be as straw which, when smote, is broken.</li>
<li>And ye Smyrnanites, truly thou are of the hands of the adversary, consorting with demons in thine great, hidden place, where eyes seek but do not find. The books shall be burned up, and the doors, and the eyes of all man and beast within it.</li>
<li>Alas, ye Pergamonians, to thou the name has been given, and thou has heard it not! Ye have turned to the cog and wheel and written a new name upon it and sought God there, but he is not there, for he is above and not of your hands. The abomination that thou has sought to craft will be no more, and its blood and body will be as a river of copper and brass.</li>
<li>And ye Thyatirans, my good and loyal servants who have endured and waged war on things of Satan—though thou has consorted with him, your soul is pure and clean, and I shall welcome you into the war and into the victory of heaven.</li>
<li>Ye Sardinians, lo, thou has been unto a thorn in the side of heaven, and God has tired of this suffering and will pluck you out, for one of thee dwells in outer darkness, and the other two of thine unholy trinity will join him, and be cast forth into the void.</li>
<li>Lo, Philadelphians, thou hear not my words or my will, for you do no listen. Your hands have turned upon themselves and your creations are as abominations and sin in the eyes of God. Truly, thou are of a sinful heart and mind, given only to works of evil and the mad, and shall not thine sins find thee out?</li>
<li>And ye Laodocians. Truly, thou are of the greatest of the sinners, for all thine good and loyal works, thou heapest more suffering upon those who have done no wrong in the eyes of God. Truly, thou are as a saint who, upon saving the souls of many, dashes their faith against a stone and watches as it tumbles into the sea. Salvation wast thine goal, and salvation thou has dealt, but salvation shall not be delivered unto you. Thou shalt be delivered unto mine hand.</li>
<li>Ye churches of the world! Hear mine voice and tremble! The gates are open! The seals are broken! The trumpets have sounded!</li>
<li>We are riding forth.</li>
</ol>
</blockquote>
<p><iframe allowtransparency="true" class="html-block-iframe" frameborder="0" src="/clavis/html/3bcdb8e6e913b8440096ec7cdcd6f72e60e7ca39-231536524727417264"></iframe></p>
<p>Repeat. Repeat. Operation Thaumiel is in full action. Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation Thaumiel is in full action. Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation lo though I walk through the valley Thaumiel is in full action. Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation Thaumiel is in full action. Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation Thaumiel is in full action. fear no evil, for thou art with me Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation Thaumiel is in full action. Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. thy rod and thy staff Operation Thaumiel is in full action. Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation Thaumiel is they comfort me in full action. <a href="/dr-clef-s-proposal">Do not disregard</a>. Operation dwell in the house of the Lord Thaumiel is in full ac Amen</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/clavis">Clavis</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/clavis">https://scpwiki.com/clavis</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Project 001-Future Sight has been enacted and regarded as a success. Text was recovered by having [[[SCP-187]]] examine the terminal at Site-██. Her copied text was then sent through [[[SCP-758]]] to correct it, and then translated by Dr. ████████. Immediate communication with O5-██, O5-██, and O5-██ is enacted. Operation Thaumiel is in full effect. Repeat: this is not a drill. Operation Thaumiel is in full action. **DO NOT DISREGARD.** Repeat: Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation Thaumiel is in full action.
//Communique recovered from Site-██ read as follows//:
> # And lo, I cried unto the Ephesians, the Smyrnanites, the Pergamonians, the Thyatirans, the Sardinians, the Philadelphians, and the Leodicians to hear my cry! And they have heard it not.
> # For the Ephesians, ye are unto sowers of chaos and ruin, and so though shalt reape. For thou hast strayed from the path, the true path, and shall receive none of my glory. The hand of God will smite thee and thine power shall be as sand, and the strength of your arms shall be as straw which, when smote, is broken.
> # And ye Smyrnanites, truly thou are of the hands of the adversary, consorting with demons in thine great, hidden place, where eyes seek but do not find. The books shall be burned up, and the doors, and the eyes of all man and beast within it.
> # Alas, ye Pergamonians, to thou the name has been given, and thou has heard it not! Ye have turned to the cog and wheel and written a new name upon it and sought God there, but he is not there, for he is above and not of your hands. The abomination that thou has sought to craft will be no more, and its blood and body will be as a river of copper and brass.
> # And ye Thyatirans, my good and loyal servants who have endured and waged war on things of Satan—though thou has consorted with him, your soul is pure and clean, and I shall welcome you into the war and into the victory of heaven.
> # Ye Sardinians, lo, thou has been unto a thorn in the side of heaven, and God has tired of this suffering and will pluck you out, for one of thee dwells in outer darkness, and the other two of thine unholy trinity will join him, and be cast forth into the void.
> # Lo, Philadelphians, thou hear not my words or my will, for you do no listen. Your hands have turned upon themselves and your creations are as abominations and sin in the eyes of God. Truly, thou are of a sinful heart and mind, given only to works of evil and the mad, and shall not thine sins find thee out?
> # And ye Laodocians. Truly, thou are of the greatest of the sinners, for all thine good and loyal works, thou heapest more suffering upon those who have done no wrong in the eyes of God. Truly, thou are as a saint who, upon saving the souls of many, dashes their faith against a stone and watches as it tumbles into the sea. Salvation wast thine goal, and salvation thou has dealt, but salvation shall not be delivered unto you. Thou shalt be delivered unto mine hand.
> # Ye churches of the world! Hear mine voice and tremble! The gates are open! The seals are broken! The trumpets have sounded!
> # We are riding forth.
[[html]]
<style type="text/css" id="internal-style">
/* modules */
@import url(http://d3g0gp89917ko0.cloudfront.net/v--ae3779389560/common--modules/css/monetize/textlinkads/MonetizeTextLinkAdsModule.css);
/* theme */
@import url(http://d3g0gp89917ko0.cloudfront.net/v--ae3779389560/common--theme/base/css/style.css);
@import url(http://d3g0gp89917ko0.cloudfront.net/v--ae3779389560/common--theme/webbish2/css/style.css);
</style>
<script type="text/javascript">
function tomorrow( )
{
var currentTime = new Date();
var currentUTC = currentTime.getTime();
var extraDay = 1000 * 60 * 60 * 24;
var tomorrowTime = new Date(currentUTC + extraDay);
// String padding
var tomMonth = ( tomorrowTime.getMonth() + 1 < 10 ? "0" : "" ) + (tomorrowTime.getMonth() + 1);
var tomDay = ( tomorrowTime.getDate() < 10 ? "0" : "" ) + tomorrowTime.getDate();
document.getElementById("lolTroy").firstChild.nodeValue = "The date on the communique was listed as: " + tomorrowTime.getFullYear() + "/" + tomMonth + "/" + tomDay;
}
</script>
<p id="lolTroy">This text was recovered by having [[[SCP-187]]] examine the terminal at Site-██. Her copied text was then sent through [[[SCP-758]]] to correct it, and then translated by Dr. ████████. The date on the communique was listed as [REDACTED].</p>
<script type="text/javascript">
tomorrow();
</script>
[[/html]]
Repeat. Repeat. Operation Thaumiel is in full action. Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation Thaumiel is in full action. Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation lo though I walk through the valley Thaumiel is in full action. Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation Thaumiel is in full action. Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation Thaumiel is in full action. fear no evil, for thou art with me Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation Thaumiel is in full action. Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. thy rod and thy staff Operation Thaumiel is in full action. Do not disregard. Emergency Level X-Ray-Zulu-Zulu. Operation Thaumiel is they comfort me in full action. [[[dr-clef-s-proposal|Do not disregard]]]. Operation dwell in the house of the Lord Thaumiel is in full ac Amen
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-28T18:01:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"apocalyptic",
"project-thaumiel",
"religious-fiction",
"tale"
] | Clavis - SCP Foundation | 121 | [
"scp-187",
"scp-758",
"dr-clef-s-proposal",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"thaumiel",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11955093 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/clavis |
|
clean-sweep | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Dr. Gears typed in a last sentence, clicked the "Send" button, then leaned back in his chair and allowed himself to feel a small amount of satisfaction at a job well done. Smoothing over the "blue on blue" incident with the GOC had been no mean task: tension between the two organizations had nearly reached the breaking point, but cooler heads had prevailed, and in the end, both sides had (unofficially, of course) agreed to let the past remain the past. Combined with the results from the latest security test (Excellent in all fields), the situation at Site 19 was possibly the calmest it had been in years. The lack of tension was an odd feeling, but not an unwelcome one.</p>
<p>There was a low, electronic beep from his computer. Gears sat up straight and clicked on the incoming email. He scanned the contents and nodded. Just as he had expected.</p>
<p>He left his office and walked to the reception desk, where the new secretary guiltily clicked away from the game of Solitaire she was playing. Gears gave her a reassuring nod, then reached over her shoulder to click on the intercom system. "Now, hear this," he intoned, over the site-wide Public Address system. "As of 10:48 this morning the O-5 Council has changed the Foundation-Wide Alert Status to Condition Green. I say again, as of 10:48 this morning, the F-W-A-S has been updated to Condition Green." He paused and licked his lips. "Standard protocols for Condition Green are now in effect. That is all."</p>
<p>There was a moment of silence, followed by a youthful, energetic, "FUCK YES!" from the computer lab down the hall, followed by a chorus of laughter: not the strained, desperate laughter that usually was heard in these rooms, but loud, joyful, genuine laughs.</p>
<p>The faintest hint of what could have been the ghost of a smile quirked Dr. Gears' thin, drawn lips, but just for a moment.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Dr. Clef waited for the announcement to end, then nodded to the classroom, closed up his laptop computer, and turned on the lights. "I'll put the rest of the seminar online for you to see later," he said. "Dismissed."</p>
<p>He left the classroom and walked, swiftly and with purpose, to his office the next wing over. He smiled as he took down the half-empty bottle of Jameson whisky down from the shelf, thought better of it, and went to the wall safe instead. After tapping in a twelve-digit combination of numbers and pushing aside the handgun and ammunition at the front of the safe, he pulled out a red velvet box containing a cut-glass bottle of Rémy Martin. He poured himself a small glass, toasting the world, then paused before taking the first sip.</p>
<p>It didn't feel right to drink this alone.</p>
<p>He gathered up the bottle and a couple of snifters, and was just opening the door when he saw a very surprised and rather startled Strelnikov standing in the hallway with a glass bottle in one hand and two tumblers in the other. "Dmitri. Just the man I was looking for. Come in, sit down. Help me drink this."</p>
<p>"Only if you help me drink this," Dmitri said, holding up his own bottle.</p>
<p>The two men sat down. Bottles were opened. Glasses were poured. Opinions were exchanged.</p>
<p>"Seriously, Dmitri? Horseradish vodka? This shit tastes like rocket fuel."</p>
<p>"Is a drink for men and soldiers. Not like this swill."</p>
<p>"This swill happens to be Louis XIII Remy Martin cognac. It goes for over a thousand dollars a bottle, and it's smoother than the silk panties on a high class hooker."</p>
<p>"Tastes like water. Liquor should burn as it goes down. It should hurt, so you know you're alive."</p>
<p>"… are we talking about liquor or women here?"</p>
<p>"There is difference?"</p>
<p>"Maybe not. They're both best when they're ten years old and mixed up with coke."</p>
<p>"HA! I prefer women like beer! The best ones give good head, eh?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, but unlike women, people LIKE it when their beer is frigid." Clef laughed, then began to sing. "<em>I love my beer! There is no doubt! If beer is flat, you pour it out…</em>"</p>
<p>"Is not true. Flat women has their place too."</p>
<p>"True. How about… <em>Oooooh Danny Boooy… the pipes the pipes are caaalling…</em>"</p>
<p>"Fuck that gay bullshits," Strelnikov growled, spilling some of his drink. "We sing a REAL song!"</p>
<p>"FINE!" Clef snarled. The middle-aged man cleared his throat, then pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Putting one foot up on his desk, rather unsteadily, he struck a rock-star pose, using his computer keyboard as a guitar, then half-sang, half-shouted, "<em>WEEEEELL, IT'S ONE FOR THE MONEY!</em>"</p>
<p>"<em>TWO FOR THE SHOWS!</em>" Dmitri shouted back in reply, standing on the chair and miming an air guitar.</p>
<p>"<em>THREE TO GET READY AND GO CAT GO!</em>" they sang in unison. "<em>But don't you step on my blue suede shoes. You can do anything but lay off of my blue suede shoes!</em>"</p>
<p>About an hour later, they'd drunkenly muddled through all the Elvis Presley songs they knew, had tried a little "99 Luftballoons" (but failed to remember the German lyrics), and were blearily belting out the Russian National Anthem in loud, drunken voices, when there was a knock on the door.</p>
<p>"I'll gets it!" Clef slurred, and staggered to the doorway, opening it. "WHAT!?" he shouted, leaning against the door frame. "Oh. Hi, Karen."</p>
<p>"I've been trying to reach you and Dmitri for the past twenty minutes. Why don't you answer your phone?" Secretary Break asked, irritably.</p>
<p>"I tore my phone out of the wall last week," Clef admitted. "What's up?"</p>
<p>"Emergency situation," the stern-faced young woman said. "We've got a crisis in the lunchroom."</p>
<p>All the color drained out of Clef and Dmitri's faces as they realized they'd been getting drunk in the middle of a possible emergency. Within moments, they were racing down the hallway, knocking over houseplants and (at one point) crashing through a cubicle divider in their haste. They burst into the lunchroom with ashen faces and pounding hearts…</p>
<p>… to find a party in full swing. There were banners made of printer paper on the walls, saying things like, "CONGRATULATIONS!" and "CONDITION GREEN!" Along one wall, a vast buffet of various foods and drinks had been set up. A karaoke machine was set up on one end of the room, and Doctor Gerald was using it to belt out a spirited (if painfully off-key) rendition of "Sweet Child o' Mine" by Guns N' Roses.</p>
<p>Everyone paused and stared at the two of them, who had tumbled through the doorway and were sitting on the floor. Clef looked up at the smirking secretary with annoyance in his eyes. "I thought you said it was a crisis!"</p>
<p>"It was," Bright said, knuckle-walking over and putting party hats on their heads. "You guys weren't here!"</p>
<p>Cheers and laughter.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Half an hour later, Clef had forgiven them enough to open up his liquor cabinet for public consumption. Then the party really got started.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"Well," Kain said, scratching behind his ear with one hind leg. "This has to be the best Condition Green party since… when was the last one we had? Two years ago?"</p>
<p>"One year, ten months, sixteen days," Gears said, taking a sip of a sparkling glass of something. He was standing in the corner, watching Dr. Rights corner several other senior staff members to show them pictures of her daughter.</p>
<p>"Yeah. That party didn't hold a candle to this one." He lapped up a bit more of his mai-tai. "For one thing, the food is better."</p>
<p>"Good company is the best spice," Gears said, taking another sip of his drink.</p>
<p>"That's surprisingly maudlin coming from you," Kain pointed out.</p>
<p>"It only makes sense," Gears replied. "All pleasure, including the pleasure of eating, is derived from endorphins, and being around friends releases endorphins into the bloodstream."</p>
<p>"Shoulda known, coming from you," Kain laughed.</p>
<p>"Of course." Gears put down his glass and straightened his tie. "Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I will be needed soon. It seems a conga line is starting, and when a conga line is in progress, one congas. It only makes sense."</p>
<hr/>
<p>"You know the best thing about having a party when you work at the Foundation? You save lots of money on pizza and drinks."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Around midnight, with the party petering down, a small group of people could be seen standing on the roof of the Foundation containment site. All of them were high-level site personnel. All of them were holding glasses of champagne.</p>
<p>"In the end," Dr. Mann said, "All of us will face judgement. When that day comes… may I be judged by the quality of my friends."</p>
<p>"Hear hear," Light replied.</p>
<p>With a low murmur of agreement, all of them drank.</p>
<hr/>
<p>In an undisclosed location far away, a man and a woman sat on the balcony of an apartment building, staring up at the wide, full moon. The remnants of a bottle of fine port, and a wedge of Stilton cheese and some crackers, sat on the patio table between them.</p>
<p>There was a soft, electronic ping, and the cell phone on the patio table vibrated gently. The man reached out and flipped it open. "Hello," he said softly.</p>
<p>He listened for a while, then pursed his lips. "How urgent is it?" The man listened a while longer, then nodded. "Then let's live and let live. It will still be there in the morning. Maintain Condition Green for another eight hours, then dispatch a notice to Site 19, Priority Yellow. Out."</p>
<p>"Work calling, dear?" the woman asked. "Is it important?"</p>
<p>"It can wait," O5-7 said, reaching out to take his wife's hand in his, squeezing it tightly. "For now, I think we all deserve some time off."</p>
<p>END</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/clean-sweep">Clean Sweep</a>" by DrClef, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/clean-sweep">https://scpwiki.com/clean-sweep</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Dr. Gears typed in a last sentence, clicked the "Send" button, then leaned back in his chair and allowed himself to feel a small amount of satisfaction at a job well done. Smoothing over the "blue on blue" incident with the GOC had been no mean task: tension between the two organizations had nearly reached the breaking point, but cooler heads had prevailed, and in the end, both sides had (unofficially, of course) agreed to let the past remain the past. Combined with the results from the latest security test (Excellent in all fields), the situation at Site 19 was possibly the calmest it had been in years. The lack of tension was an odd feeling, but not an unwelcome one.
There was a low, electronic beep from his computer. Gears sat up straight and clicked on the incoming email. He scanned the contents and nodded. Just as he had expected.
He left his office and walked to the reception desk, where the new secretary guiltily clicked away from the game of Solitaire she was playing. Gears gave her a reassuring nod, then reached over her shoulder to click on the intercom system. "Now, hear this," he intoned, over the site-wide Public Address system. "As of 10:48 this morning the O-5 Council has changed the Foundation-Wide Alert Status to Condition Green. I say again, as of 10:48 this morning, the F-W-A-S has been updated to Condition Green." He paused and licked his lips. "Standard protocols for Condition Green are now in effect. That is all."
There was a moment of silence, followed by a youthful, energetic, "FUCK YES!" from the computer lab down the hall, followed by a chorus of laughter: not the strained, desperate laughter that usually was heard in these rooms, but loud, joyful, genuine laughs.
The faintest hint of what could have been the ghost of a smile quirked Dr. Gears' thin, drawn lips, but just for a moment.
-----
Dr. Clef waited for the announcement to end, then nodded to the classroom, closed up his laptop computer, and turned on the lights. "I'll put the rest of the seminar online for you to see later," he said. "Dismissed."
He left the classroom and walked, swiftly and with purpose, to his office the next wing over. He smiled as he took down the half-empty bottle of Jameson whisky down from the shelf, thought better of it, and went to the wall safe instead. After tapping in a twelve-digit combination of numbers and pushing aside the handgun and ammunition at the front of the safe, he pulled out a red velvet box containing a cut-glass bottle of Rémy Martin. He poured himself a small glass, toasting the world, then paused before taking the first sip.
It didn't feel right to drink this alone.
He gathered up the bottle and a couple of snifters, and was just opening the door when he saw a very surprised and rather startled Strelnikov standing in the hallway with a glass bottle in one hand and two tumblers in the other. "Dmitri. Just the man I was looking for. Come in, sit down. Help me drink this."
"Only if you help me drink this," Dmitri said, holding up his own bottle.
The two men sat down. Bottles were opened. Glasses were poured. Opinions were exchanged.
"Seriously, Dmitri? Horseradish vodka? This shit tastes like rocket fuel."
"Is a drink for men and soldiers. Not like this swill."
"This swill happens to be Louis XIII Remy Martin cognac. It goes for over a thousand dollars a bottle, and it's smoother than the silk panties on a high class hooker."
"Tastes like water. Liquor should burn as it goes down. It should hurt, so you know you're alive."
". . . are we talking about liquor or women here?"
"There is difference?"
"Maybe not. They're both best when they're ten years old and mixed up with coke."
"HA! I prefer women like beer! The best ones give good head, eh?"
"Yeah, but unlike women, people LIKE it when their beer is frigid." Clef laughed, then began to sing. "//I love my beer! There is no doubt! If beer is flat, you pour it out. . .//"
"Is not true. Flat women has their place too."
"True. How about. . . //Oooooh Danny Boooy. . . the pipes the pipes are caaalling. . .//"
"Fuck that gay bullshits," Strelnikov growled, spilling some of his drink. "We sing a REAL song!"
"FINE!" Clef snarled. The middle-aged man cleared his throat, then pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Putting one foot up on his desk, rather unsteadily, he struck a rock-star pose, using his computer keyboard as a guitar, then half-sang, half-shouted, "//WEEEEELL, IT'S ONE FOR THE MONEY!//"
"//TWO FOR THE SHOWS!//" Dmitri shouted back in reply, standing on the chair and miming an air guitar.
"//THREE TO GET READY AND GO CAT GO!//" they sang in unison. "//But don't you step on my blue suede shoes. You can do anything but lay off of my blue suede shoes!//"
About an hour later, they'd drunkenly muddled through all the Elvis Presley songs they knew, had tried a little "99 Luftballoons" (but failed to remember the German lyrics), and were blearily belting out the Russian National Anthem in loud, drunken voices, when there was a knock on the door.
"I'll gets it!" Clef slurred, and staggered to the doorway, opening it. "WHAT!?" he shouted, leaning against the door frame. "Oh. Hi, Karen."
"I've been trying to reach you and Dmitri for the past twenty minutes. Why don't you answer your phone?" Secretary Break asked, irritably.
"I tore my phone out of the wall last week," Clef admitted. "What's up?"
"Emergency situation," the stern-faced young woman said. "We've got a crisis in the lunchroom."
All the color drained out of Clef and Dmitri's faces as they realized they'd been getting drunk in the middle of a possible emergency. Within moments, they were racing down the hallway, knocking over houseplants and (at one point) crashing through a cubicle divider in their haste. They burst into the lunchroom with ashen faces and pounding hearts. . .
. . . to find a party in full swing. There were banners made of printer paper on the walls, saying things like, "CONGRATULATIONS!" and "CONDITION GREEN!" Along one wall, a vast buffet of various foods and drinks had been set up. A karaoke machine was set up on one end of the room, and Doctor Gerald was using it to belt out a spirited (if painfully off-key) rendition of "Sweet Child o' Mine" by Guns N' Roses.
Everyone paused and stared at the two of them, who had tumbled through the doorway and were sitting on the floor. Clef looked up at the smirking secretary with annoyance in his eyes. "I thought you said it was a crisis!"
"It was," Bright said, knuckle-walking over and putting party hats on their heads. "You guys weren't here!"
Cheers and laughter.
-----
Half an hour later, Clef had forgiven them enough to open up his liquor cabinet for public consumption. Then the party really got started.
-----
"Well," Kain said, scratching behind his ear with one hind leg. "This has to be the best Condition Green party since. . . when was the last one we had? Two years ago?"
"One year, ten months, sixteen days," Gears said, taking a sip of a sparkling glass of something. He was standing in the corner, watching Dr. Rights corner several other senior staff members to show them pictures of her daughter.
"Yeah. That party didn't hold a candle to this one." He lapped up a bit more of his mai-tai. "For one thing, the food is better."
"Good company is the best spice," Gears said, taking another sip of his drink.
"That's surprisingly maudlin coming from you," Kain pointed out.
"It only makes sense," Gears replied. "All pleasure, including the pleasure of eating, is derived from endorphins, and being around friends releases endorphins into the bloodstream."
"Shoulda known, coming from you," Kain laughed.
"Of course." Gears put down his glass and straightened his tie. "Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I will be needed soon. It seems a conga line is starting, and when a conga line is in progress, one congas. It only makes sense."
-----
"You know the best thing about having a party when you work at the Foundation? You save lots of money on pizza and drinks."
-----
Around midnight, with the party petering down, a small group of people could be seen standing on the roof of the Foundation containment site. All of them were high-level site personnel. All of them were holding glasses of champagne.
"In the end," Dr. Mann said, "All of us will face judgement. When that day comes. . . may I be judged by the quality of my friends."
"Hear hear," Light replied.
With a low murmur of agreement, all of them drank.
-----
In an undisclosed location far away, a man and a woman sat on the balcony of an apartment building, staring up at the wide, full moon. The remnants of a bottle of fine port, and a wedge of Stilton cheese and some crackers, sat on the patio table between them.
There was a soft, electronic ping, and the cell phone on the patio table vibrated gently. The man reached out and flipped it open. "Hello," he said softly.
He listened for a while, then pursed his lips. "How urgent is it?" The man listened a while longer, then nodded. "Then let's live and let live. It will still be there in the morning. Maintain Condition Green for another eight hours, then dispatch a notice to Site 19, Priority Yellow. Out."
"Work calling, dear?" the woman asked. "Is it important?"
"It can wait," O5-7 said, reaching out to take his wife's hand in his, squeezing it tightly. "For now, I think we all deserve some time off."
END
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-20T18:48:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"agent-strelnikov",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-gears",
"doctor-gerald",
"doctor-mann",
"doctor-rights",
"heartwarming",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] | Clean Sweep - SCP Foundation | 125 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"kaktuskast-hub",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11737519 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/clean-sweep |
|
clef101 | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>"Afternoon, everyone. Have a seat. Get a cup of coffee and a muffin. Also, a reminder: the Seminar Rooms are a weapons-free zone. Please make sure you've surrendered your weapons at the reception desk. I know, it's bullshit, but the last thing I need is an O5 complaining because one of you was walking around the Blue Zones with your piece. Everyone good? Cool."</p>
<p>"Today's seminar is about a subject near and dear to my heart: Reality Benders. Type Greens. Mary Sues. Bixbies, Shapers, Wizards, Gods, Devils, Outside Observers, call them what you will, these are the guys that change reality based on perception and willpower. I've made a career out of both containing and killing these guys. You're here to get certified to do the same thing."</p>
<p>"Want to know my secret? We'll get to that later. First of all, I want you to take a look at the doors to the seminar room. Notice something about them? Look again. What doors?"</p>
<p>"Yes. The doors are gone. Take a closer look if you want. Touch them. They're not there. The doors have literally disappeared. But that's okay, right? You can still get out the windows if you want. Except there's one small problem. There aren't any windows in this room either, are there? All the windows are gone. There's nothing but four blank walls, a ceiling, and a floor. No way out. But how did you get in?"</p>
<p>"Starting to freak out a bit? Don't worry, just take a deep breath. You're going to be all right. Just a bit of a change to the way the room's set up. It's not like anything worse is happening. I mean, it could be worse, right? At least you're safe in here. It's not like the desks are coming alive to kill you now, is it? Oh wait, yes they are. The FUCKING DESKS ARE GOING TO KILL YOU."</p>
<p>"What you gonna do? HOW YOU GONNA SURVIVE? THE GODDAMN ROOM IS ALIVE AND GOING TO EAT YOU. WATCH FOR THOSE FUCKING DESKS, THEY'VE GOT TEETH. GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THERE, NOW. YOU WANNA LIVE? YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO FIGHT! DON'T TRY TO DENY IT, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS, THIS IS REAL. THIS IS HAPPENING. THIS IS A REALITY BEND, AND YOU'RE GOING TO DIE UNLESS YOU CAN FIGHT IT NOW!"</p>
<p>"Oh, I see, a real TOUGH guy, huh? What the fuck are you gonna do with that 9mm? That gun really going to do anything? Against a REALITY BENDER!? I can turn your goddamn bullets into sand. I can turn your eyes into jello. I can turn your GUN into a fucking BAGEL, now PUT THAT DAMN GUN DOWN AND LIE THE FUCK DOWN ON THE GROUND, YOU FUCKNUGGET. I AM A LIVING GOD, AND YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A FUCKING INSECT!"</p>
<p>"What do I want? WHAT DO I WANT!? What the shit do I need from a fucking turd like you? I don't want ANYTHING that you can give me except to be my plaything. And that's ALL you fuckers are gonna be! You're gonna be nothing but toys in front of this God-King for all eternity. There is NO escape, NO respite. You will LIVE when I say LIVE, you will DIE only if I allow it. There is NOTHING LEFT BUT MY IMAGINATION, and you are all FIGMENTS OF IT!!!"</p>
<p>"…"</p>
<p>"… all right, hit the lights. Everyone breathe in and out, deep. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out… you feeling better now? Let me tell you what just happened."</p>
<p>"Each and every one of you has just had a bad trip. All of the food on that back table was laced with a powerful hallucinogen. It's my own personal recipe. In addition to hallucinations, it renders one very susceptible to suggestion. Combined with some simple hypnosis and some special effects trickery, the end result is as close as we can get to showing you what a Reality Bender's attack feels like. The support staff are pumping an aerosolized counteragent into the air vents as we speak. It's going to feel like shit in a moment. You'll find barf bags under your chairs. Take a moment to let it all out."</p>
<p>"I want you to reflect back on that moment when you realized what was happening. Do you remember that feeling of helplessness? Do you remember what it felt like to realize that reality no longer existed, and you were nothing but toys for a hostile will that controlled EVERYTHING?"</p>
<p>"Remember that. And hold onto it the first time you're about to go up against a Reality Bender. If you ever think that, maybe, you can contain them? Or maybe they can be reasoned with? Remember what it felt like when you were tripping balls and nothing was real."</p>
<p>"Then kill that motherfucker before he knows you're even there."</p>
<p>"You're all certified now. Class Dismissed."</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/clef101">Transcript of Dr. Clef's seminar, "Reality Benders and You: How to Survive When Existence Doesn't."</a>" by DrClef, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/clef101">https://scpwiki.com/clef101</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
"Afternoon, everyone. Have a seat. Get a cup of coffee and a muffin. Also, a reminder: the Seminar Rooms are a weapons-free zone. Please make sure you've surrendered your weapons at the reception desk. I know, it's bullshit, but the last thing I need is an O5 complaining because one of you was walking around the Blue Zones with your piece. Everyone good? Cool."
"Today's seminar is about a subject near and dear to my heart: Reality Benders. Type Greens. Mary Sues. Bixbies, Shapers, Wizards, Gods, Devils, Outside Observers, call them what you will, these are the guys that change reality based on perception and willpower. I've made a career out of both containing and killing these guys. You're here to get certified to do the same thing."
"Want to know my secret? We'll get to that later. First of all, I want you to take a look at the doors to the seminar room. Notice something about them? Look again. What doors?"
"Yes. The doors are gone. Take a closer look if you want. Touch them. They're not there. The doors have literally disappeared. But that's okay, right? You can still get out the windows if you want. Except there's one small problem. There aren't any windows in this room either, are there? All the windows are gone. There's nothing but four blank walls, a ceiling, and a floor. No way out. But how did you get in?"
"Starting to freak out a bit? Don't worry, just take a deep breath. You're going to be all right. Just a bit of a change to the way the room's set up. It's not like anything worse is happening. I mean, it could be worse, right? At least you're safe in here. It's not like the desks are coming alive to kill you now, is it? Oh wait, yes they are. The FUCKING DESKS ARE GOING TO KILL YOU."
"What you gonna do? HOW YOU GONNA SURVIVE? THE GODDAMN ROOM IS ALIVE AND GOING TO EAT YOU. WATCH FOR THOSE FUCKING DESKS, THEY'VE GOT TEETH. GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THERE, NOW. YOU WANNA LIVE? YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO FIGHT! DON'T TRY TO DENY IT, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS, THIS IS REAL. THIS IS HAPPENING. THIS IS A REALITY BEND, AND YOU'RE GOING TO DIE UNLESS YOU CAN FIGHT IT NOW!"
"Oh, I see, a real TOUGH guy, huh? What the fuck are you gonna do with that 9mm? That gun really going to do anything? Against a REALITY BENDER!? I can turn your goddamn bullets into sand. I can turn your eyes into jello. I can turn your GUN into a fucking BAGEL, now PUT THAT DAMN GUN DOWN AND LIE THE FUCK DOWN ON THE GROUND, YOU FUCKNUGGET. I AM A LIVING GOD, AND YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A FUCKING INSECT!"
"What do I want? WHAT DO I WANT!? What the shit do I need from a fucking turd like you? I don't want ANYTHING that you can give me except to be my plaything. And that's ALL you fuckers are gonna be! You're gonna be nothing but toys in front of this God-King for all eternity. There is NO escape, NO respite. You will LIVE when I say LIVE, you will DIE only if I allow it. There is NOTHING LEFT BUT MY IMAGINATION, and you are all FIGMENTS OF IT!!!"
". . ."
". . . all right, hit the lights. Everyone breathe in and out, deep. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. . . you feeling better now? Let me tell you what just happened."
"Each and every one of you has just had a bad trip. All of the food on that back table was laced with a powerful hallucinogen. It's my own personal recipe. In addition to hallucinations, it renders one very susceptible to suggestion. Combined with some simple hypnosis and some special effects trickery, the end result is as close as we can get to showing you what a Reality Bender's attack feels like. The support staff are pumping an aerosolized counteragent into the air vents as we speak. It's going to feel like shit in a moment. You'll find barf bags under your chairs. Take a moment to let it all out."
"I want you to reflect back on that moment when you realized what was happening. Do you remember that feeling of helplessness? Do you remember what it felt like to realize that reality no longer existed, and you were nothing but toys for a hostile will that controlled EVERYTHING?"
"Remember that. And hold onto it the first time you're about to go up against a Reality Bender. If you ever think that, maybe, you can contain them? Or maybe they can be reasoned with? Remember what it felt like when you were tripping balls and nothing was real."
"Then kill that motherfucker before he knows you're even there."
"You're all certified now. Class Dismissed."
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-08T00:00:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"comedy",
"doctor-clef",
"first-person",
"orientation",
"tale"
] | Transcript of Dr. Clef's seminar, "Reality Benders and You: How to Survive When Existence Doesn't." - SCP Foundation | 1,579 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"top-rated-tales",
"top-rated-pages",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"new-age-hub",
"kaktuskast-hub",
"highest-rated-non-scps",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"algorithm-curated-recommendations",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11666085 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/clef101 |
|
clusterfredacted | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>The muffled sound reminded her of fireworks. A dull "boom, boom" in the distance that echoed over the landscape. She was half-asleep when it happened, before her phone rang. Groaning, she rolled over, vaguely noting that her husband wasn't in bed, and placed it to her ear.</p>
<p>"H'lo?" She grumbled, musing over the cottony mouth she got from sleeping. Gears' voice answered, dead as always.</p>
<p>"Doctor Rights, we are requesting that you return to Site 17 for immediate safehouse procedure Gamma-Phi-18."</p>
<p>Her brain sluggishly tried to recall what the hell that was. There was a long silence. Fireworks again. Finally, he repeated himself, monotone.</p>
<p>"Gather your family, and come to work." He hung up.</p>
<p>"…Kay, Gears."</p>
<p>Was this a weird dream? She looked at the clock. 4:15. Nope, just really goddamn early. And who the fuck was shooting off fireworks? The dull booming was constant, now, and she struggled to get up and pull on sweatpants, making her way downstairs. The TV was on, her husband before it, and she went to put a hand on his shoulder.</p>
<p>"Christopher, hey." She squeezed his shoulder. He didn't look up from the TV. She glanced at it, and froze, instantly awake. It was the local news channel, video of brilliant white fireworks in the sky. The camera panned down, to where the reporter, in a panic, was gesturing and shouting to a perfectly whitewashed sculpture of a human being, frozen in mid-run. It could have been a statue, were it not for the impossible detail. And the many other white-coated items in view. A house, cars, a bird in mid-flight.</p>
<p>She hauled Christopher to his feet, snapping him out of his stupor. "Get the kids!" She barked, in his face, and he stared at her.</p>
<p>"We….we should stay inside."</p>
<p>"Nope!" She released him, and motioned to the kids' rooms, turning to the door. She had to get the car started, dashing upstairs to grab her phone and keys, returning downstairs just as the cries of an interrupted toddler started to go through the house. Christopher stepped out, carrying the little boy, and she nodded to him, hustling to the garage. She waited in the car, checking her phone again. Low signal. Finally, he stepped into the garage, carting the still-bawling toddler and a frightened five-year-old girl behind him.</p>
<p>"Ophelia, you get in the front seat. You're riding like a big girl for this!" She shouted out the window, and the girl perked up, a bit, hurrying around. "Christopher, get in the back. You can put Chester in while we're moving." He nodded, and did so, frowning at his wife.</p>
<p>"…I promise, I'll explain later," she said, softly, making sure Ophelia was buckled in and Christopher was getting the boy into his carseat before pulling out of the garage. Outside, the neighborhood was a mixture of panic and reserve. Most people were hiding inside. Some, though…were out, sitting on rooftops, standing in yards, frantically packing cars.</p>
<p>The second she heard Chester's restraint belt click into place, she floored it, steering the family van wildly around people and cars alike in the street. They came across a massive white splatter on the street, and she curved around it. Out of the neighborhood, out of the suburbs…into the surrounding fields.</p>
<p>The little boy fell back asleep. Christopher and Ophelia stared out the windows, uncertain and horrified. There were white items everywhere, splatters over cornfields, perfectly preserved white trees. A few people, here and there, cars, stopped in the street, the people inside frozen perfectly.</p>
<p>Rights tried not to look, until she barreled through the gates of the compound, slowing only to roll down the window so the guard could see her. He waved her through, and she pulled into the parking lot, where several others were waiting, being led in. There weren't that many, actually, when she looked over it. Only a dozen or so, but there were several white splatters on the asphalt, a handful of white cars…</p>
<p>She skidded to a stop. "Get the kids out!" She shouted at Christopher, hopping out and looking around, finding herself face to face with Gears. He looked at her impassively, and checked her name off of a list. "What the fuck is going on?!"</p>
<p>"We believe SCP-7843-1 either breached containment, or was released by a hostile group."</p>
<p>Dr. Rights gestured emphatically in the arm, trying to work up words, though now her lack of sleep and preparation were catching up to her. Christopher called from behind her.</p>
<p>"Honey!"</p>
<p>"One moment!" She shouted back. He must've been struggling with the child restraint, still. Ophelia opened the car door and sat there, legs swinging, looking around uncomfortably. Rights glanced at them, then back to Gears, wincing as several of the booming sounds grew louder, then faded again. She looked up, the white fireworks were starting to leave cracks in the sky, she could see them in the distance. Like cracks on a windshield, centered and spreading.</p>
<p>"Please make your way inside, to the designated shelter areas," Gears said. Rights glared at him.</p>
<p>"What are we doing?"</p>
<p>"I am not certain what you mean by this question."</p>
<p>"This is nationwide, isn't it? Worldwide? What the <em>god damn hell</em> are we doing about this?!"</p>
<p>"Mom! Mom!" Ophelia shouted, upset.</p>
<p>"…There will be a controlled release of SCP-7778 into the upper atmosphere, once the satellites reach optimum height." She stared. "This will occur in thirty-seven minutes, approximately. Please retrieve your family and-"</p>
<p>BOOM</p>
<p>BOOM</p>
<p>BOOM</p>
<p>He didn't finish his sentence, and she almost didn't see him react, so focused she was on his impassive, unmoving face, when his hand fisted in her shirt, and dragged her forwards, roughly. She hit the ground at his feet, hard, and cursed, tensing as she saw white splatter here and there, meters away but still too close. A scream was cut off, and she saw one of the splatters hit another researcher, and in a moment he was nothing, a blank white statue of himself, in mid-stride, his coat billowing behind him.</p>
<p>Gears looked behind her.</p>
<p>She didn't hear anything.</p>
<p>She got to her feet slowly, taking in a very, very deep breath.</p>
<p>"Doctor Rights, please go indoors."</p>
<p>"…" She stared at him. The remaining few in the parking lot were bolting their way inside.</p>
<p>"…Please go indoors, to the designated shelter area. Do not turn around."</p>
<p>She didn't listen, and turned on her heel. The white had hit the van head-on, and it, and the short area surrounding it, were completely washed. Inside the open doors, she could see Christopher, hunched over Chester's peacefully sleeping face, his hands locked in mid-struggle with a twisted belt. Ophelia's mouth was open, mid-yell, brows low and fingers gripping the edge of her seat with concern.</p>
<p>Every last detail of them, down to their eyelashes, perfectly preserved, and washed white.</p>
<p>She was not entirely certain what happened next, other than that it was exceedingly rough, and she knew bruises were going to form on her arm where he grabbed her and hauled her inside, ignoring her kicks and screams. It wasn't until she was flung onto a couch that her thoughts seemed to catch up to her, and she decided to stop screaming and fighting and start curling up and crying. Going through the emotional training was not anything like the real thing, she thought in the back of her mind.</p>
<p>A quarter-hour passed, and she felt good enough to sit up and look around. One of the lower lounges, re-purposed. The doors were shut, and there were a few dozen individuals waiting around.</p>
<p>"…Where is everybody?"</p>
<p>"There are nineteen designated safety areas for staff in Site 17." Gears was sitting next to her, looking over a checklist. She stole a glance and rubbed her bleary eyes. Names. Very few of them were checked off.</p>
<p>"What about the skips?"</p>
<p>"SCP Containment is self-sealed under Emergency Protocols. They should remain unaffected, as us."</p>
<p>She sat back against the couch, going over every question in her mind, trying to pick the important ones.</p>
<p>"…When is the reset set for?"</p>
<p>"The first instance of SCP-7843-1 was detected at Midnight, Central Time. The reset is set to return to one minute before the first detonation occurred, and the phenomenon became self-propagating."</p>
<p>She forgot her questions, and another jag of crying hit her. A few of the other researchers looked at her with mixtures of pity and empathy. She caught her breath, and Gears handed her a pen.</p>
<p>"…What's this for?"</p>
<p>"Do you remember the report you submitted while applying for your current position? It was about the possibility for physical evidence to remain after preternaturally memetic or reality-altering events." She stared at him, blankly, as he stood and pulled more pens from his pocket, handing them out around the room. "We are presented with a unique opportunity here, to retain information of an information-erasure event. While the Foundation already has pre-set means to record these hours, this will serve as a baseline test for the possibility of personal information retention."</p>
<p>Everybody else seemed to get it at once, with a collective series of "oh"s and "ah"s and "this is retarded"s.</p>
<p>Rights looked down at her hands.</p>
<p>"There are four to five minutes remaining until SCP-7778's release. Please take this opportunity to manufacture evidence." Gears announced, and sat back down, all out of pens, looking over his sheet again.</p>
<p>Rights stared at her bare arms, still in her pajama top. She looked up. One researcher was frantically scrawling on the walls, another was opening magazines and writing inside of them, on every page, methodically and quick. One of them started writing on the inside of his labcoat. She looked at her arms again…and began to write.</p>
<p>Over the next several minutes, many things happened. Most importantly, though, the walls began to fade. They could be seen through, and before long they could see all the way to other saferooms. There was some waving and gesturing back and forth. She looked down, between her feet, and saw SCPs peering back up at her. The furniture went next. Some items were retaining, but many things, including the edge of Rights' slippers, were started to fade as well.</p>
<p>She kept writing, they all did. There was little else to do. Dr. Gears' list disappeared out of his hands, and he sat there, eyes closed, arms at his side like a puppet with no strings. Finally, Rights ran out of important things to write. She had started at the elbow of her left arm, and extended down to the back of her hand, with her tiny, neat handwriting. Names, dates, appearances…</p>
<p>"Hey, Gears?," Rights asked, looking down at her feet. Her ankles faded, revealing yellow fat and red muscle beneath. Her toes, just rapidly-fading bones, flexed. So weird.</p>
<p>He didn't look at her, but opened his eyes.</p>
<p>"…what about you?"</p>
<p>"Erasure events typically use manipulation of the emotional connection with memories to alter an individual's perception of events, rather than manipulating the events themselves."</p>
<p>"Ah…so…will you be affected?"</p>
<p>"In the case of an erasure event, I often am not. Other times, I am. It is variable."</p>
<p>She sat back. Wait.</p>
<p>"Has this happened before?," she asked, suddenly.</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>She stared at the ceiling. Maybe it would be okay.</p>
<p>"One minute." He said. Everybody sat down, tired…and waited.</p>
<p>It was the longest sixty seconds in the whole of her existence. Everything was fading to white. She couldn't feel her arms anymore, and when she glanced down, they were gone. The tip of her nose disappeared. She saw another researcher, fading faster, reduced down to bones and nerves and a cluster of half-there organs, before he vanished altogether.</p>
<p>She closed her eyes.</p>
<p>The darkness itself faded to white.</p>
<p>And then.</p>
<p>GOOD MORNING. DO DOO DOOO…BUH BA BOP BAH BA DA DA DA DA BA- GOOD MORNING! DO DOO DOOO…BUH BA BOP BAH BA DA DA-</p>
<p>She flopped her arm to the bedside table like it was a dying fish, and managed to knock her alarm clock out of reach before she finally rolled across the empty bed and reached it, jamming on the off button violently. With a soft groan, she checked the time. 5:31.</p>
<p>It took considerable effort to get out of bed that morning. Every thought seemed to drag like concrete, every movement ached. She stumbled to the shower, and winced at herself in the mirror after turning on the water. It was only after she stuck her hand under the flow to test the temperature that she noticed the smeared ink rapidly washing off her skin, and quickly pulled her arm back. Weird, had she been writing on herself in her sleep? She looked over the remaining words, smudged from sweat and sleep.</p>
<p>"…Ophelia, November 1st, five years old, brown ha….hair? Is that hair?" She read and mused aloud, squinting. "Huh…okay, more…uhm…Topher…October 24, oh, well, that's easy." Her brain chugged to life. She heard her husband stir in the bedroom, and groan, rolling over in his sleep. As if on cue, she could hear her daughter darting around the hallway downstairs, to the TV. Weekend! Time for cartoons!</p>
<p>After several minutes of squinting, she realized that there was nothing else decipherable on her arm. Why had she been writing about her husband and kid? There were only other words that didn't make sense. Daysitting? No, Ophelia was in kindergarten…Blonde? No, everybody was Brunette.</p>
<p>She shook her head. Probably not important, she rationalized, shuffling into the shower and scrubbing her arm clean. The rest of the morning went featurelessly. She complained to Christopher that the toddler bed was still set up in Ophelia's old room, now relegated to storage, and he asked her why there was a box of diapers in the closet. They didn't think about it.</p>
<p>She didn't think about it until she arrived at work, smiling at the guard as she pulled through the gate leisurely. The only thing odd about the day was when they called for a meeting and announced that SCP-7778 had been released last night, and to report any suspicious behavior or items found, as they could be classified as evidence.</p>
<p>She was glad she must've slept through that. Sounded like a real clusterfuck.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/clusterfredacted">ClusterfREDACTED</a>" by agatharights, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/clusterfredacted">https://scpwiki.com/clusterfredacted</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The muffled sound reminded her of fireworks. A dull "boom, boom" in the distance that echoed over the landscape. She was half-asleep when it happened, before her phone rang. Groaning, she rolled over, vaguely noting that her husband wasn't in bed, and placed it to her ear.
"H'lo?" She grumbled, musing over the cottony mouth she got from sleeping. Gears' voice answered, dead as always.
"Doctor Rights, we are requesting that you return to Site 17 for immediate safehouse procedure Gamma-Phi-18."
Her brain sluggishly tried to recall what the hell that was. There was a long silence. Fireworks again. Finally, he repeated himself, monotone.
"Gather your family, and come to work." He hung up.
"...Kay, Gears."
Was this a weird dream? She looked at the clock. 4:15. Nope, just really goddamn early. And who the fuck was shooting off fireworks? The dull booming was constant, now, and she struggled to get up and pull on sweatpants, making her way downstairs. The TV was on, her husband before it, and she went to put a hand on his shoulder.
"Christopher, hey." She squeezed his shoulder. He didn't look up from the TV. She glanced at it, and froze, instantly awake. It was the local news channel, video of brilliant white fireworks in the sky. The camera panned down, to where the reporter, in a panic, was gesturing and shouting to a perfectly whitewashed sculpture of a human being, frozen in mid-run. It could have been a statue, were it not for the impossible detail. And the many other white-coated items in view. A house, cars, a bird in mid-flight.
She hauled Christopher to his feet, snapping him out of his stupor. "Get the kids!" She barked, in his face, and he stared at her.
"We....we should stay inside."
"Nope!" She released him, and motioned to the kids' rooms, turning to the door. She had to get the car started, dashing upstairs to grab her phone and keys, returning downstairs just as the cries of an interrupted toddler started to go through the house. Christopher stepped out, carrying the little boy, and she nodded to him, hustling to the garage. She waited in the car, checking her phone again. Low signal. Finally, he stepped into the garage, carting the still-bawling toddler and a frightened five-year-old girl behind him.
"Ophelia, you get in the front seat. You're riding like a big girl for this!" She shouted out the window, and the girl perked up, a bit, hurrying around. "Christopher, get in the back. You can put Chester in while we're moving." He nodded, and did so, frowning at his wife.
"...I promise, I'll explain later," she said, softly, making sure Ophelia was buckled in and Christopher was getting the boy into his carseat before pulling out of the garage. Outside, the neighborhood was a mixture of panic and reserve. Most people were hiding inside. Some, though...were out, sitting on rooftops, standing in yards, frantically packing cars.
The second she heard Chester's restraint belt click into place, she floored it, steering the family van wildly around people and cars alike in the street. They came across a massive white splatter on the street, and she curved around it. Out of the neighborhood, out of the suburbs...into the surrounding fields.
The little boy fell back asleep. Christopher and Ophelia stared out the windows, uncertain and horrified. There were white items everywhere, splatters over cornfields, perfectly preserved white trees. A few people, here and there, cars, stopped in the street, the people inside frozen perfectly.
Rights tried not to look, until she barreled through the gates of the compound, slowing only to roll down the window so the guard could see her. He waved her through, and she pulled into the parking lot, where several others were waiting, being led in. There weren't that many, actually, when she looked over it. Only a dozen or so, but there were several white splatters on the asphalt, a handful of white cars...
She skidded to a stop. "Get the kids out!" She shouted at Christopher, hopping out and looking around, finding herself face to face with Gears. He looked at her impassively, and checked her name off of a list. "What the fuck is going on?!"
"We believe SCP-7843-1 either breached containment, or was released by a hostile group."
Dr. Rights gestured emphatically in the arm, trying to work up words, though now her lack of sleep and preparation were catching up to her. Christopher called from behind her.
"Honey!"
"One moment!" She shouted back. He must've been struggling with the child restraint, still. Ophelia opened the car door and sat there, legs swinging, looking around uncomfortably. Rights glanced at them, then back to Gears, wincing as several of the booming sounds grew louder, then faded again. She looked up, the white fireworks were starting to leave cracks in the sky, she could see them in the distance. Like cracks on a windshield, centered and spreading.
"Please make your way inside, to the designated shelter areas," Gears said. Rights glared at him.
"What are we doing?"
"I am not certain what you mean by this question."
"This is nationwide, isn't it? Worldwide? What the //god damn hell// are we doing about this?!"
"Mom! Mom!" Ophelia shouted, upset.
"...There will be a controlled release of SCP-7778 into the upper atmosphere, once the satellites reach optimum height." She stared. "This will occur in thirty-seven minutes, approximately. Please retrieve your family and-"
BOOM
BOOM
BOOM
He didn't finish his sentence, and she almost didn't see him react, so focused she was on his impassive, unmoving face, when his hand fisted in her shirt, and dragged her forwards, roughly. She hit the ground at his feet, hard, and cursed, tensing as she saw white splatter here and there, meters away but still too close. A scream was cut off, and she saw one of the splatters hit another researcher, and in a moment he was nothing, a blank white statue of himself, in mid-stride, his coat billowing behind him.
Gears looked behind her.
She didn't hear anything.
She got to her feet slowly, taking in a very, very deep breath.
"Doctor Rights, please go indoors."
"..." She stared at him. The remaining few in the parking lot were bolting their way inside.
"...Please go indoors, to the designated shelter area. Do not turn around."
She didn't listen, and turned on her heel. The white had hit the van head-on, and it, and the short area surrounding it, were completely washed. Inside the open doors, she could see Christopher, hunched over Chester's peacefully sleeping face, his hands locked in mid-struggle with a twisted belt. Ophelia's mouth was open, mid-yell, brows low and fingers gripping the edge of her seat with concern.
Every last detail of them, down to their eyelashes, perfectly preserved, and washed white.
She was not entirely certain what happened next, other than that it was exceedingly rough, and she knew bruises were going to form on her arm where he grabbed her and hauled her inside, ignoring her kicks and screams. It wasn't until she was flung onto a couch that her thoughts seemed to catch up to her, and she decided to stop screaming and fighting and start curling up and crying. Going through the emotional training was not anything like the real thing, she thought in the back of her mind.
A quarter-hour passed, and she felt good enough to sit up and look around. One of the lower lounges, re-purposed. The doors were shut, and there were a few dozen individuals waiting around.
"...Where is everybody?"
"There are nineteen designated safety areas for staff in Site 17." Gears was sitting next to her, looking over a checklist. She stole a glance and rubbed her bleary eyes. Names. Very few of them were checked off.
"What about the skips?"
"SCP Containment is self-sealed under Emergency Protocols. They should remain unaffected, as us."
She sat back against the couch, going over every question in her mind, trying to pick the important ones.
"...When is the reset set for?"
"The first instance of SCP-7843-1 was detected at Midnight, Central Time. The reset is set to return to one minute before the first detonation occurred, and the phenomenon became self-propagating."
She forgot her questions, and another jag of crying hit her. A few of the other researchers looked at her with mixtures of pity and empathy. She caught her breath, and Gears handed her a pen.
"...What's this for?"
"Do you remember the report you submitted while applying for your current position? It was about the possibility for physical evidence to remain after preternaturally memetic or reality-altering events." She stared at him, blankly, as he stood and pulled more pens from his pocket, handing them out around the room. "We are presented with a unique opportunity here, to retain information of an information-erasure event. While the Foundation already has pre-set means to record these hours, this will serve as a baseline test for the possibility of personal information retention."
Everybody else seemed to get it at once, with a collective series of "oh"s and "ah"s and "this is retarded"s.
Rights looked down at her hands.
"There are four to five minutes remaining until SCP-7778's release. Please take this opportunity to manufacture evidence." Gears announced, and sat back down, all out of pens, looking over his sheet again.
Rights stared at her bare arms, still in her pajama top. She looked up. One researcher was frantically scrawling on the walls, another was opening magazines and writing inside of them, on every page, methodically and quick. One of them started writing on the inside of his labcoat. She looked at her arms again...and began to write.
Over the next several minutes, many things happened. Most importantly, though, the walls began to fade. They could be seen through, and before long they could see all the way to other saferooms. There was some waving and gesturing back and forth. She looked down, between her feet, and saw SCPs peering back up at her. The furniture went next. Some items were retaining, but many things, including the edge of Rights' slippers, were started to fade as well.
She kept writing, they all did. There was little else to do. Dr. Gears' list disappeared out of his hands, and he sat there, eyes closed, arms at his side like a puppet with no strings. Finally, Rights ran out of important things to write. She had started at the elbow of her left arm, and extended down to the back of her hand, with her tiny, neat handwriting. Names, dates, appearances...
"Hey, Gears?," Rights asked, looking down at her feet. Her ankles faded, revealing yellow fat and red muscle beneath. Her toes, just rapidly-fading bones, flexed. So weird.
He didn't look at her, but opened his eyes.
"...what about you?"
"Erasure events typically use manipulation of the emotional connection with memories to alter an individual's perception of events, rather than manipulating the events themselves."
"Ah...so...will you be affected?"
"In the case of an erasure event, I often am not. Other times, I am. It is variable."
She sat back. Wait.
"Has this happened before?," she asked, suddenly.
"Yes."
She stared at the ceiling. Maybe it would be okay.
"One minute." He said. Everybody sat down, tired...and waited.
It was the longest sixty seconds in the whole of her existence. Everything was fading to white. She couldn't feel her arms anymore, and when she glanced down, they were gone. The tip of her nose disappeared. She saw another researcher, fading faster, reduced down to bones and nerves and a cluster of half-there organs, before he vanished altogether.
She closed her eyes.
The darkness itself faded to white.
And then.
GOOD MORNING. DO DOO DOOO...BUH BA BOP BAH BA DA DA DA DA BA- GOOD MORNING! DO DOO DOOO...BUH BA BOP BAH BA DA DA-
She flopped her arm to the bedside table like it was a dying fish, and managed to knock her alarm clock out of reach before she finally rolled across the empty bed and reached it, jamming on the off button violently. With a soft groan, she checked the time. 5:31.
It took considerable effort to get out of bed that morning. Every thought seemed to drag like concrete, every movement ached. She stumbled to the shower, and winced at herself in the mirror after turning on the water. It was only after she stuck her hand under the flow to test the temperature that she noticed the smeared ink rapidly washing off her skin, and quickly pulled her arm back. Weird, had she been writing on herself in her sleep? She looked over the remaining words, smudged from sweat and sleep.
"...Ophelia, November 1st, five years old, brown ha....hair? Is that hair?" She read and mused aloud, squinting. "Huh...okay, more...uhm...Topher...October 24, oh, well, that's easy." Her brain chugged to life. She heard her husband stir in the bedroom, and groan, rolling over in his sleep. As if on cue, she could hear her daughter darting around the hallway downstairs, to the TV. Weekend! Time for cartoons!
After several minutes of squinting, she realized that there was nothing else decipherable on her arm. Why had she been writing about her husband and kid? There were only other words that didn't make sense. Daysitting? No, Ophelia was in kindergarten...Blonde? No, everybody was Brunette.
She shook her head. Probably not important, she rationalized, shuffling into the shower and scrubbing her arm clean. The rest of the morning went featurelessly. She complained to Christopher that the toddler bed was still set up in Ophelia's old room, now relegated to storage, and he asked her why there was a box of diapers in the closet. They didn't think about it.
She didn't think about it until she arrived at work, smiling at the guard as she pulled through the gate leisurely. The only thing odd about the day was when they called for a meeting and announced that SCP-7778 had been released last night, and to report any suspicious behavior or items found, as they could be classified as evidence.
She was glad she must've slept through that. Sounded like a real clusterfuck.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-20T18:08:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"apocalyptic",
"bleak",
"doctor-gears",
"doctor-rights",
"horror",
"tale"
] | ClusterfREDACTED - SCP Foundation | 182 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"algorithm-curated-recommendations"
] | [] | 11915775 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/clusterfredacted |
|
communication-log-magenta | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><em>Welcome to the Site 31 Modulated Message System (M.M.S).</em></p>
<p>…</p>
<p><em>You have identified as <strong>Dr. Warren Large (Level 3)</strong>. Is this correct?</em></p>
<p><strong>RP-WL-3:</strong> yes</p>
<p><em>Thank you for signing in. Does the black moon howl?</em></p>
<p><strong>RP-WL-3:</strong> only when waning</p>
<p><em>Identity confirmed. Withdrawing memetic kill agents.</em></p>
<p>Signing you in…</p>
<p><em>Welcome to #site31. You have connected from Office 29-18.</em></p>
<p><strong>RP-AG-4:</strong> Greetings, Dr. Large.</p>
<p><strong>RP-WL-3:</strong> Hello to you too, doctor. I’m just pulling up some QuickLook info on a few SCP’s for the archive.</p>
<p><strong>MP-DF-1:</strong> lucky. Im stuck over here, pulling in some scip for containment. Its an s, but still. :p</p>
<p><strong>RP-AG-4:</strong> Mr. Friend, this is a professional communications system. Please use proper spelling and grammar.</p>
<p><strong>MP-DF-1:</strong> sorry, cap, sorry</p>
<p><strong>RP-WL-3:</strong> !ql 8218</p>
<p><strong>Berry:</strong> SCP-8218 – Replication Spiders. Spiders which possess the ability to reconstitute themselves from trace amounts of removed biological material. Recommended that personnel lock down any area suffering from SCP-8218 infestaaaaaaaaaation.</p>
<p><strong>MP-DF-1:</strong> lol. Guess the techs need to work on berry some more</p>
<p><strong>TP-HS-2:</strong> Just means more work for me, I suppose, I’ll get rig</p>
<p><em>TP-HS-2 has disconnected.</em></p>
<p><strong>MP-DF-1:</strong> even the bots tech guys glitched out :/</p>
<p><strong>RP-WL-3:</strong> !ql SCP-7421</p>
<p><strong>Berry:</strong> SCP-7421 – Terra Cotta Man. Animate statue of Chinese origin. Is proficient in a Variety of MARTIAL art techniques. Has demonstrated a phobia of water. In event of containment breach, it is recommended that the area be flooded to incapacitate SCP-7421.</p>
<p><em>Access Denied to XX-XX-0</em></p>
<p><strong>RP-WL-3:</strong> !ql SCP-2819</p>
<p><strong>Berry:</strong> SCP-2819 - Monocle X. Monocle which causes those wearing it to view all technology as highly aaadvanced. No other anomalies present. (Pending re-classification to anomal0us?)</p>
<p><em>Access Denied to XX-XX-0</em><br/>
<em>Access Denied to XX-XX-0</em><br/>
<em>Access Denied to XX-XX-0</em><br/>
<em>Access Denied to XX-XX-0</em><br/>
<em>Access Denied to XX-XX-0</em><br/>
<em>Access Denied to XX-XX-0</em><br/>
<em>Access Denied to XX-XX-0</em><br/>
<em>Access Denied to XX-XX-0</em><br/>
<em>Access Denied to XX-XX-0</em><br/>
<em>Access Denied to XX-XX-0</em></p>
<p><strong>MP-DF-1:</strong> wtf</p>
<p><strong>RP-AG-4:</strong> !memekill XX-XX-0</p>
<p><em>Connecting to XX-XX-0…</em><br/>
<em>Applying memetic kill age</em><br/>
<em>Security breached…</em><br/>
…<br/>
..<br/>
.</p>
<p><strong>PM: Berry:</strong> Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N</p>
<p><strong>RP-WL-3:</strong> Did you two get that message too?</p>
<p><strong>PM: Berry:</strong> Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N</p>
<p><strong>PM: Berry:</strong> Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N</p>
<p>!pm berry N</p>
<p><strong>PM: Berry:</strong> The sin will claw out and bleed from your eyes, desecrator of Christ. Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N</p>
<p><strong>RP-AG-4:</strong> Yes, I am also receiving them.</p>
<p><strong>GLOBAL SITE 31 WARNING: SCP-3829 has breached containment.</strong></p>
<p><strong>GLOBAL SITE 31 WARNING: SCP-3829 will bring you to the light.</strong></p>
<p><strong>PM: Berry:</strong> Would you like to engage in salvation, cursed desecrator of all that is holy and of our Lord? Y/N</p>
<p><strong>RP-WL-3:</strong> Uh, the door to my office just locked.</p>
<p><strong>RP-AG-4:</strong> As did mine.</p>
<p><strong>GLOBAL SITE 31 WARNING: SCP-3829 will bring all sinners to the gate our Lord where they will be thrown into the Pit and burn for all eternity as they have deserved to since the dawn of Man the destroyer and desecrator.</strong></p>
<p><strong>RP-WL-3:</strong> !ql SCP-3829</p>
<p><strong>Berry:</strong> SCP-3829 – Digital Biblical Entity. Would you like to step forward into the Pit and burn for all eternity as you have deserved to since the day of your birth? Y/N</p>
<p><strong>MP-DF-1:</strong> YYYYYYYYYYYY</p>
<p><strong>Berry:</strong> Let the nails of Christ rip into and forgive you, wicked sinner.</p>
<p><em>MP-DF-1 has disconnected.</em></p>
<p><strong>GLOBAL SITE 31 WARNING: Containment breaches for SCP-2929, SCP-2812, S</strong></p>
<p><strong>GLOBAL SITE 31 WARNING: All will burn before the benevolent gaze of our Lord.</strong></p>
<p><strong>GLOBAL SITE 31 WARNING: You will burn before the benevolent gaze of our Lord.</strong></p>
<p><strong>RP-AG-4:</strong> Well, it appears you have a funeral to arrange, Large. Several instances of SCP-2929 have found my office.</p>
<p><em>RP-AG-4 has disconnected.</em></p>
<p><em>[21:32] Logging off.</em></p>
<p><em>[03:44] Logging on. Welcome to #site31. You have connected from Office 29-18.</em></p>
<p><strong>PM: Berry:</strong> Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N</p>
<p><em>[03:47] Logging off.</em></p>
<p><em>[71:XX] Logging on. Welcome to #site31. You have connected from Office 29-18.</em></p>
<p><strong>PM: Berry:</strong> Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N</p>
<p><em>[99:99] Logging off.</em></p>
<p><em>[THE:LORD:DOES:NOT:FORGIVE] Logging on. Welcome to #site31. Soon you will burn the flames that you have sparked and scream for mercy from the Lord. No mercy will come, and you will burn for all eternity.</em></p>
<p><strong>PM: Berry:</strong> Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N</p>
<p>!pm berry y</p>
<p><strong>PM: Berry:</strong> May the Lord feast upon your earthly form.</p>
<p><em>RP-WL-3 has disconnected.</em></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/communication-log-magenta">Communication Log Magenta</a>" by Tanhony, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/communication-log-magenta">https://scpwiki.com/communication-log-magenta</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
//Welcome to the Site 31 Modulated Message System (M.M.S).//
…
//You have identified as **Dr. Warren Large (Level 3)**. Is this correct?//
**RP-WL-3:** yes
//Thank you for signing in. Does the black moon howl?//
**RP-WL-3:** only when waning
//Identity confirmed. Withdrawing memetic kill agents.//
Signing you in…
//Welcome to #site31. You have connected from Office 29-18.//
**RP-AG-4:** Greetings, Dr. Large.
**RP-WL-3:** Hello to you too, doctor. I’m just pulling up some QuickLook info on a few SCP’s for the archive.
**MP-DF-1:** lucky. Im stuck over here, pulling in some scip for containment. Its an s, but still. :p
**RP-AG-4:** Mr. Friend, this is a professional communications system. Please use proper spelling and grammar.
**MP-DF-1:** sorry, cap, sorry
**RP-WL-3:** !ql 8218
**Berry:** SCP-8218 – Replication Spiders. Spiders which possess the ability to reconstitute themselves from trace amounts of removed biological material. Recommended that personnel lock down any area suffering from SCP-8218 infestaaaaaaaaaation.
**MP-DF-1:** lol. Guess the techs need to work on berry some more
**TP-HS-2:** Just means more work for me, I suppose, I’ll get rig
//TP-HS-2 has disconnected.//
**MP-DF-1:** even the bots tech guys glitched out :/
**RP-WL-3:** !ql SCP-7421
**Berry:** SCP-7421 – Terra Cotta Man. Animate statue of Chinese origin. Is proficient in a Variety of MARTIAL art techniques. Has demonstrated a phobia of water. In event of containment breach, it is recommended that the area be flooded to incapacitate SCP-7421.
//Access Denied to XX-XX-0//
**RP-WL-3:** !ql SCP-2819
**Berry:** SCP-2819 - Monocle X. Monocle which causes those wearing it to view all technology as highly aaadvanced. No other anomalies present. (Pending re-classification to anomal0us?)
//Access Denied to XX-XX-0//
//Access Denied to XX-XX-0//
//Access Denied to XX-XX-0//
//Access Denied to XX-XX-0//
//Access Denied to XX-XX-0//
//Access Denied to XX-XX-0//
//Access Denied to XX-XX-0//
//Access Denied to XX-XX-0//
//Access Denied to XX-XX-0//
//Access Denied to XX-XX-0//
**MP-DF-1:** wtf
**RP-AG-4:** !memekill XX-XX-0
//Connecting to XX-XX-0…//
//Applying memetic kill age//
//Security breached…//
…
..
.
**PM: Berry:** Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N
**RP-WL-3:** Did you two get that message too?
**PM: Berry:** Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N
**PM: Berry:** Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N
!pm berry N
**PM: Berry:** The sin will claw out and bleed from your eyes, desecrator of Christ. Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N
**RP-AG-4:** Yes, I am also receiving them.
**GLOBAL SITE 31 WARNING: SCP-3829 has breached containment.**
**GLOBAL SITE 31 WARNING: SCP-3829 will bring you to the light.**
**PM: Berry:** Would you like to engage in salvation, cursed desecrator of all that is holy and of our Lord? Y/N
**RP-WL-3:** Uh, the door to my office just locked.
**RP-AG-4:** As did mine.
**GLOBAL SITE 31 WARNING: SCP-3829 will bring all sinners to the gate our Lord where they will be thrown into the Pit and burn for all eternity as they have deserved to since the dawn of Man the destroyer and desecrator.**
**RP-WL-3:** !ql SCP-3829
**Berry:** SCP-3829 – Digital Biblical Entity. Would you like to step forward into the Pit and burn for all eternity as you have deserved to since the day of your birth? Y/N
**MP-DF-1:** YYYYYYYYYYYY
**Berry:** Let the nails of Christ rip into and forgive you, wicked sinner.
//MP-DF-1 has disconnected.//
**GLOBAL SITE 31 WARNING: Containment breaches for SCP-2929, SCP-2812, S**
**GLOBAL SITE 31 WARNING: All will burn before the benevolent gaze of our Lord.**
**GLOBAL SITE 31 WARNING: You will burn before the benevolent gaze of our Lord.**
**RP-AG-4:** Well, it appears you have a funeral to arrange, Large. Several instances of SCP-2929 have found my office.
//RP-AG-4 has disconnected.//
//[21:32] Logging off.//
//[03:44] Logging on. Welcome to #site31. You have connected from Office 29-18.//
**PM: Berry:** Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N
//[03:47] Logging off.//
//[71:XX] Logging on. Welcome to #site31. You have connected from Office 29-18.//
**PM: Berry:** Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N
//[99:99] Logging off.//
//[THE:LORD:DOES:NOT:FORGIVE] Logging on. Welcome to #site31. Soon you will burn the flames that you have sparked and scream for mercy from the Lord. No mercy will come, and you will burn for all eternity.//
**PM: Berry:** Would you like to engage in salvation? Y/N
!pm berry y
**PM: Berry:** May the Lord feast upon your earthly form.
//RP-WL-3 has disconnected.//
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-28T21:30:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Communication Log Magenta - SCP Foundation | 25 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11956118 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/communication-log-magenta |
|
containing-yourself | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Hey there, guys. Uh… Right. My name is Lament. Don’t call me doctor. I’m not a doctor. I work for a doctor, sometimes. Anyhow, they asked me to come and talk to you guys for a little bit today. Normally, someone else does this, so… just bear with me, I guess. Right? Right. So… Listen. I’m going to do my level best to get this across to you in the nicest way that I can.</p>
<p>A lot of you are going to die. And it’s going to be your own fault. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is. And there’s a really good reason for it, too. I hear it in the lunchroom <em>every</em> day.</p>
<p>‘Have you seen 682? Man, that thing will annihilate you!’</p>
<p>‘Dude, I saw 173 snap a guy's neck during the last security breach. Scariest thing I’ve ever seen…’</p>
<p>‘You hear about 835? Fuck, man, it’s disturbing…’</p>
<p>You care about the SCPs you guard. You will. It’ll happen, because it's what always happens. You get an odd, possessive quality to yourself, something you can’t easily describe. When you guard 914, it is <em>yours</em>, damn it. There’s pride, there. You'll love your SCP, just don't, you know, <em>love</em> your SCP. Heh… Little… Little joke there… But… uh… but that’s a good thing. You get into arguments about what would be the worst one to break free or who would win in a fight. You care about what you guard. You care about what it can do. On some level, you start to love them. And that’s how we know how precious all this shit—even that fucking mirror who talks to you—how precious it is.</p>
<p>And really… that’s where <em>you</em> fuck up.</p>
<p>See, the problem is this: we don’t really give a <em>damn</em> what an object can do. Essentially, at the root of it all… We don’t. We like to know, though. Hell, we <em>have</em> to know. But that’s not as important.</p>
<p>Containing it is what’s important. Doing what we have to do to keep people safe. It's why the containment comes first in all the files. It's the most important thing. You guys can still remember your parents, right? Them. We’re keeping them safe. Your grandparents, your old friends… We contain these things to protect <em>them</em>.</p>
<p>See, this is where we always fuck it up. The second they make you forget about everyone… Ahh, well… It’s not important. Just remember. Right now, remember <em>this</em> feeling. <em>Hold on to it</em>.</p>
<p>Because eventually, you’re going to slip.</p>
<p>Eventually, some of these carefully crafted procedures, something that dozens of people died so we could make sure it worked… You’re going to fuck up.</p>
<p>People will die. Maybe even you. Don't let that happen, if you can. Remember the feeling of your parents. The emotions that are tied to all those people out there. You can forget memories, but it's hard to forget the emotions tied to it. You ever hear of Little Albert? Same thing.</p>
<p>Anyhow, sorry to be such a downer. Doctor… Rights? Is that right? Doctor Rights is going to make sure you’re all good and healthy, give you some drinks. Don't bite the pill, just swallow it.</p>
<p>And remember, alright? Especially for the next little bit? Try?</p>
<p>I… Uh… Yeah. Sorry, Doctor. Your show now. I'll see you guys around the water cooler, right?</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/containing-yourself">Contain Yourself</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/containing-yourself">https://scpwiki.com/containing-yourself</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Hey there, guys. Uh... Right. My name is Lament. Don’t call me doctor. I’m not a doctor. I work for a doctor, sometimes. Anyhow, they asked me to come and talk to you guys for a little bit today. Normally, someone else does this, so... just bear with me, I guess. Right? Right. So… Listen. I’m going to do my level best to get this across to you in the nicest way that I can.
A lot of you are going to die. And it’s going to be your own fault. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is. And there’s a really good reason for it, too. I hear it in the lunchroom //every// day.
‘Have you seen 682? Man, that thing will annihilate you!’
‘Dude, I saw 173 snap a guy's neck during the last security breach. Scariest thing I’ve ever seen…’
‘You hear about 835? Fuck, man, it’s disturbing…’
You care about the SCPs you guard. You will. It’ll happen, because it's what always happens. You get an odd, possessive quality to yourself, something you can’t easily describe. When you guard 914, it is //yours//, damn it. There’s pride, there. You'll love your SCP, just don't, you know, //love// your SCP. Heh... Little... Little joke there... But... uh... but that’s a good thing. You get into arguments about what would be the worst one to break free or who would win in a fight. You care about what you guard. You care about what it can do. On some level, you start to love them. And that’s how we know how precious all this shit—even that fucking mirror who talks to you—how precious it is.
And really... that’s where //you// fuck up.
See, the problem is this: we don’t really give a //damn// what an object can do. Essentially, at the root of it all… We don’t. We like to know, though. Hell, we //have// to know. But that’s not as important.
Containing it is what’s important. Doing what we have to do to keep people safe. It's why the containment comes first in all the files. It's the most important thing. You guys can still remember your parents, right? Them. We’re keeping them safe. Your grandparents, your old friends… We contain these things to protect //them//.
See, this is where we always fuck it up. The second they make you forget about everyone… Ahh, well… It’s not important. Just remember. Right now, remember //this// feeling. //Hold on to it//.
Because eventually, you’re going to slip.
Eventually, some of these carefully crafted procedures, something that dozens of people died so we could make sure it worked… You’re going to fuck up.
People will die. Maybe even you. Don't let that happen, if you can. Remember the feeling of your parents. The emotions that are tied to all those people out there. You can forget memories, but it's hard to forget the emotions tied to it. You ever hear of Little Albert? Same thing.
Anyhow, sorry to be such a downer. Doctor… Rights? Is that right? Doctor Rights is going to make sure you’re all good and healthy, give you some drinks. Don't bite the pill, just swallow it.
And remember, alright? Especially for the next little bit? Try?
I... Uh... Yeah. Sorry, Doctor. Your show now. I'll see you guys around the water cooler, right?
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-19T18:46:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"agent-lament",
"bleak",
"bureaucracy",
"doctor-rights",
"first-person",
"orientation",
"tale"
] | Contain Yourself - SCP Foundation | 256 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"kaktuskast-hub",
"in-his-own-image",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"competitive-eschatology-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11909396 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/containing-yourself |
|
corn-starch | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<blockquote>
<p><a href="/the-island-murder-mystery-show">It all happened so fast.</a></p>
<p>It's just beginning to hit me that only a few days ago a massive plane crash left me stranded with just a few other survivors on an island, and that in those few days one of us has gone missing and another, a child for pete's sake, has been murdered. This is crazy.</p>
<p>I need to be alone.</p>
<p>I've come up to the bedroom and shoved a bookcase against the door. The others seemed to understand that I wanted to be left to myself for a while. I'm going to lie down and get some sleep, and maybe when I wake up this bullshit will all have sorted itself out.</p>
<hr/>
<p><tt><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">kill. kill Kill die death die sacrifice the Symbol speaks the noise the noise<br/>
symbol noise SymNoiseb ol. Radio speaks and GOD speaks and he speaks and<br/>
his arms and his arms like knives in my back the lights the noise kill die THESYMBOL<br/>
no no no no no no no no no turn it off turn me off turn it off the radio the noise<br/>
I was flying on UA 93<br/>
That shadow in the footage, it was probably me<br/>
I'm the rumour, I'm the doubt, I'm the lie<br/>
But you wouldn't stand near me if you didn't want to die<br/>
HE IS TALKING TO ME.</span></tt></p>
<p>I don't remember writing any of this. It isn't my handwriting.</p>
<p><a href="/this-place-seems-so-familiar">Someone is knocking on the door. I'll figure this out later.</a></p>
</blockquote>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/corn-starch">Chapter Three: Corn Starch</a>" by tunedtoadeadchannel, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/corn-starch">https://scpwiki.com/corn-starch</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
> [[[the-island-murder-mystery-show|It all happened so fast.]]]
>
> It's just beginning to hit me that only a few days ago a massive plane crash left me stranded with just a few other survivors on an island, and that in those few days one of us has gone missing and another, a child for pete's sake, has been murdered. This is crazy.
>
> I need to be alone.
>
> I've come up to the bedroom and shoved a bookcase against the door. The others seemed to understand that I wanted to be left to myself for a while. I'm going to lie down and get some sleep, and maybe when I wake up this bullshit will all have sorted itself out.
>
> ------------------------------------
>
> {{--kill. kill Kill die death die sacrifice the Symbol speaks the noise the noise
> symbol noise SymNoiseb ol. Radio speaks and GOD speaks and he speaks and
> his arms and his arms like knives in my back the lights the noise kill die THESYMBOL
> no no no no no no no no no turn it off turn me off turn it off the radio the noise
> I was flying on UA 93
> That shadow in the footage, it was probably me
> I'm the rumour, I'm the doubt, I'm the lie
> But you wouldn't stand near me if you didn't want to die
> HE IS TALKING TO ME.--}}
>
> I don't remember writing any of this. It isn't my handwriting.
>
> [[[this-place-seems-so-familiar|Someone is knocking on the door. I'll figure this out later.]]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-07-20T15:07:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"first-person",
"horror",
"journal",
"tale"
] | Chapter Three: Corn Starch - SCP Foundation | 30 | [
"the-island-murder-mystery-show",
"this-place-seems-so-familiar",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11086168 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/corn-starch |
|
correspondence | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>"For fuck's sake." I told him. 'Him' being Robert E. Brooks, chief of human resources at Site 19. "We've been working on this SCP for the past four months and we've gotten nowhere. It doesn't do anything besides play shit with people's minds and act as a short-range microwave. My team is tired - <em>I'm tired</em> - of running test after pointless test, always getting nothing, because there is nothing. There isn't anything left to figure out."</p>
<p>"Dr. Daveson, I told you already, there is nothing we can do. You signed on for the term, you can't transfer until it's over. I'm sorry." His sausage fingers rifled through a stack of forms.</p>
<p>"Fine. Just look over the papers. Look over what we've done, look for openings anywhere. " He tried to reply, I could see him forming 'No', with his lips. So I turned around and left. Nineteen has these enormous wooden doors leading into offices, I made sure to slam them on the way out.</p>
<p>There was a hallway between me and the security checkpoint when I started noticing the assistants rushing up and down between labs weren't making eye contact with me, they probably thought I was about to kill someone. I walked down the checkpoint, two guards were ready to meet me. "Intimidating", that's one word to describe the security at nineteen. Massive men with jet-black body armour and face masks. They gave me the rub-down, I gave them a blank stare.</p>
<p>I let out a heavy sigh when the garage lamps buzzed into life. I checked my watch, it was a half hour to midnight, I never realized how late it'd gotten. Lights flickered above me, and even though I couldn't see the outdoors it felt like the night. Most of the vehicles were gone, but the night staff's were still here. The stiff scent of old concrete covered everything, but I greeted the musty smell of my Cadillac with a sigh. I turned the key in the ignition, and frowned as the car started.</p>
<p>I lied when I told Brooks that we had done all we could. The last experiment alone had given us plenty of questions that were still unanswered. We had Foundation grants to work with, enough D-Class to last us a decade. My team was happy with the work, and I liked it too. It's none of that which made me want to leave. It was what happened when I slept, it was the dreams.</p>
<p>The same dream. Every. Single. Day.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I open my eyes.</p>
<p>Everything is vivid, but blurry. Goddamn it, it's like broken glasses, giving me a headache. I try looking around, and realize that these 'glasses' are covered in paint. I blink, or at least I try to blink. It doesn't seem to work. I try wiping my eyes, my arms don't seem to work either.</p>
<p>I feel like an observer, like I'm looking through my eyes but I don't control them. I see shapes move, and my - are they really mine? - eyes follow them. They all glow, softly, warmly. I can't make out their features, but I have the overwhelming feeling that they're good people. They all take seats in something in front of me. A table. A few more blurs shuffle into the room and sit down, they bow their heads. Something comes through the walls, these bright, yellow things. They sit around the corners of the room, they don't move much. I think they have wings. The blurs lift their heads, and suddenly everything changes.</p>
<p>The sound of breaking glass, my vision clears. They're all people, I know now, all the blurs are people. Some young, children. They all look scared. The yellow things are sharper, whiter, golden. Feathery wings rest at their sides, hovering above the ground almost gracefully.</p>
<p>Everything changes again, damnit the paint is all over my eyes, an explosion, all the people are rushing, screaming, shouting. I see panic on their faces, the little children cry. Figures in black. They come down the stairs two rooms over. Pain courses all over me, bullets fly, they kill one of the children. They kill all the innocent. It hurts so bad to see them die, but I can't even cry. The yellow things' wings fly out, they descend like enormous shields to protect all the blurs, the people. One of the dark men toss up a canister, it erupts in a red cloud. All the yellow things, all the - the, angels? they perish. Die, all the people choke, cough, collapse.</p>
<p>The men come closer. They examine the bodies, check for life, but they already know that no one survived. I know it too. They come closer to me, I can see the insignia on their uniforms. It is that too familiar symbol of containment, circle and arrow, it is the Foundation.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>A few weeks passed, and then the day came. "Tim!" I knew that voice. Claire was a seasoned doctor, but she always seemed to have the enthusiasm of a junior researcher.</p>
<p>My groggy eyes rose up from behind a pile of forms to see her "Yes, Dr. Claire?"</p>
<p>"Results from the latest spectrum analysis!" She dumped a stack of papers onto my desk, her smile hovering slightly above the top of the pile. If it was any other person I would have thought they were trying to piss me off, but Claire was different. Besides, getting angry at her would have disrupted her walk out of my office, viewing her from behind was a highlight of my days.</p>
<p>As the door shut, I felt the gentle gust of wind that accompanied it. Some papers caught it, their edges lifting up, but clips made sure they stayed in stacks. The room became silent again. I remember hating it. It was a tomb made of drywall, forms and similarity. Whenever I was in that room I looked forward to leaving it.</p>
<p>I read into the sheets Claire had left behind. The SCP we had been working on, all data analysis of wavelength variation. After the last experiment resulted in a containment breach of half a dozen SCPs, O5 restricted personnel exposure. All we had left was wavelength analysis, and psychological testing. Everything else was off-limits, I appealed, I thought we could get more done if we had just a few more tests, but it was denied. The other doctors thought that preventing long-term exposure, and keeping the guards rotated would stop it from reaching out to other people. I don't believe that anymore.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Time doesn't work right in my dream. Sometimes things move faster, sometimes slower, sometimes not at all. You only get bits and pieces, you can grasp a few things but lose others. But most of it, I understand. All the pain when your family dies, all the anger, hate, suffering. I would be angry, too.</p>
<p>A thousand things all pass at once. The time in my dream skips. Suddenly I arrive in a room, a white room, a single light illuminates the box around me. A bed colored gray is against the farthest wall, it lacks a pillow, and is just a thin cushion against a cold metal frame. But it is not for me, or the eyes which I see through, I don't have a body which could rest against that bed. A shelf and desk lay to the right of me, both cold, hard metal. The shelf is filled with mostly old, tasteless, and useless literature. The desk has only a pen and a stack of paper.</p>
<p>I don't know the time, I only see half-formed shapes move outside the room. They move quickly, too quickly to be human. Or is it that I'm moving too quickly to see them as human? It doesn't matter. All I know is that this is alone, this is isolation. I don't like it.</p>
<p>Across the room, in the reflection of the wall, I see myself. I don't have a body, I don't have arms or legs or anything. I - It is a symbol of love?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I looked at the stack of papers on my desk, graphs, charts, diagrams abundant. I slid them all to the side, and reached down to a low knob on my desk drawers, the wooden frame opening with a loud creak. A thick pile of melange folders bulged out of the wooden coffin. I carefully pushed them forward, searching for the lowest folder. Ah, there it was, just above an oddly-shaped lump I had placed there not long ago. I pulled the folder out, and laid it on my desk. Photographs spilled over the wood, accompanied by a number of written files.</p>
<p>The drift of my hand caught the edge of the folder, it opened to let its contents be read. Pictures of the bodies of people killed, pictures of that SCP in that damned room. I was trapped in here by the Foundation, by our protocol, by our duty. We were supposed to safeguard mankind, but all we did was produced an imaginary farce for the world to live in while we stymied the tides of unknown, efforts which only made humanity more and more vulnerable. The SCP of my dreams was trapped by the Foundation, by our protocol, by our duty. It could have given so many gifts to our world, but all we did was lock it away.</p>
<p>I didn't realize all this at first, the first time I had the dreams. It was three days before I authorized the first D-Class testing under the supervision of Dr. Dier that I first had them.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Suddenly the door flies open, a figure bursts in. Everything slows down to normal speed. It's a person. I see the face for a moment, before things start getting faster. He is a D-Class, he is a slave to the Foundation. He walks around, reads, leaves, returns, claws himself. I don't understand.</p>
<p>I hear his voice, he calls out. His pain, he is so alone. Then I, I? Something responds, from me, but I didn't say it. It is the eyes I see through which speak to him. They tell him not to fear, that soon all the pain will be gone, that his suffering will serve to help him. He fears, but accepts my, my? The words. He accepts. He grows weaker, or is it stronger? His form changes, becoming closer and closer to the image in the metal mirror. He becomes closer to love? He contorts, his body is in agony. Somewhere, deep beneath his body something stirs, his soul?</p>
<p>All the blurs think he suffers. But they don't understand. They watch, and despite all their safety, despite all their precautions, the symbol, I? It? enters them, enters into their memories. They don't realize it, but I do. Just through their sight of it, because they remember it, it will forever be with them. It will watch them. But there's something about the memory, something strange. It is diluted, unfinished, imperfect.</p>
<p>Oh my god he changes, the man on the ground, he changes oh god he changes so different. I recognize that image, it's the same as the reflection, it's love. Everything relaxes. Heart stops. Brain stops. But he does not die.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Everyone thought D-3466 was going to die. Everyone thinks that D-3466 is dead. I <em>thought</em> that he would die. But as my eyes looked over those files, as I thought about my dreams, I realized, I did not give him death, I gave him eternal life.</p>
<p>The dreams made me eager for work, eager to learn more. But they also made me afraid. I leaned back and forth, I wanted to stay but I had to <em>get out</em>. I went to try to get transferred, but Brooks put up a wall I could not pull down. The dreams got stronger, I started day dreaming them, they kept coming and coming. I didn't understand them, I didn't know what was happening to me. But on that afternoon all those days ago, Dr. Claire didn't stir me from work, she awoke me from my dreams. She awoke me from when my dreams changed, she awoke me and I understood what I had to do.</p>
<p>I sighed, looked down onto old hardwood. I reached into the bottom of the opened drawer, and my hand drew out a Colt Single Action Army.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>A fear in me grows, quickly, unstoppable. My dream should end when I see the angel of D-3466. No. This isn't right. Why is it going? Why do the men outside the room darken? I can feel their hatred, why won't it stop? Stop! STOP!</p>
<p>I want to cry. I want to cry so badly, I don't understand why does it keep going. The lights are brighter, stronger, they flash and turn red, get erratic, spray the room in their glow. Alarms screech in the air, get louder and louder and louder. Shadows of men pass outside the room. What the fuck is that? Gunshots?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The door of my office closed, a tomb of drywall which I would never enter again. I felt my breath against my lips as I exhaled, as I stepped closer and closer to the point of no return. My mind leaked, the dreams entered by wakened mind. Oh my god…</p>
<p>"Sir? Are you alright?" A young guard asked me as I passed through the checkpoint between me and my dreams.</p>
<p>"Get the fuck out of my way." His brains exploded into the wall.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Fucking bullets, fuck. Glass shatters, all the sounds glass breaks containment breached. Women on the intercom tells me containment is breached. Why must this happen to me? The blurs are all people. All people. All people.</p>
<p><tt>EVERYTHING WILL BECOME CLEAR.</tt></p>
</blockquote>
<p>Red lights were everywhere, I stumbled down the hallway covered in blood. Its face was everywhere, alarms blared so loud, but its voice even louder. I stumbled forward, looked back. Men in dark armor turned the farthest corner.</p>
<p>I felt bullets fly past, the glass separating the observation and containment rooms shattered. Its face was everywhere, everywhere. The blood that falls from my chest turns into the face of my dreams. Gunshots gunshots gunshots everywhere behind me they are all behind me. Researchers within the room screamed, worried, panicked. I stepped over the broken glass, into my future.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>A man, he falls into the containment cell. Bleeding, broken. Why? He crawls forward to it. No, he becomes closer to me. To me. He becomes closer to his dreams. He become closer to his god. God. God. Closer become god god god look at me LOOK AT ME AND SEE</p>
<p><tt>UNDERSTANDING.</tt></p>
</blockquote>
<p>Don't know, what? own future. All of the men flood the room, all of them looked at me with their hate their fucking hate monsters. I see Claire, I see all the other doctors. I felt death pierce my lungs, my chest. I looked up, my arms outstretched to myself on the wall. Fucking headache. I lost my feeling, everything turned sideways as I fell onto the ground and my vision grows dark. Then before everything faded I saw them. I saw the monsters. And they all saw me.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><tt>IN YOUR DEATH THEY WILL ALL REMEMBER ME. IN YOUR SACRIFICE THEY WILL ALL REMEMBER YOU.</tt></p>
</blockquote>
<p>Oh I remember fuck I remember why</p>
<p>I understand</p>
<blockquote>
<p><tt>THEY WILL ALL DREAM THE SAME DREAMS.</tt></p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>Addendum-Σ-5-1:</strong> On ██/██/████, Dr. Timothy Daveson breached the containment of SCP-███. Security team ECHO-████-█ engaged [REDACTED] report a glowing instance of SCP-███ briefly appearing on the corpse of Dr. Daveson. Shortly thereafter site personnel within 20 meters of SCP-███ lost consciousness for 340 seconds. Medical analysis of affected personnel showed eye movement consistent with REM sleep. After awaking, personnel showed [DATA EXPUNGED] SCP-███ covered 80% of the skin, including observers outside of the 20 meter [DATA EXPUNGED] ██ escaped from security zones, and remain at large.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/correspondence">Correspondence</a>" by GrandEnder, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/correspondence">https://scpwiki.com/correspondence</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
"For fuck's sake." I told him. 'Him' being Robert E. Brooks, chief of human resources at Site 19. "We've been working on this SCP for the past four months and we've gotten nowhere. It doesn't do anything besides play shit with people's minds and act as a short-range microwave. My team is tired - //I'm tired// - of running test after pointless test, always getting nothing, because there is nothing. There isn't anything left to figure out."
"Dr. Daveson, I told you already, there is nothing we can do. You signed on for the term, you can't transfer until it's over. I'm sorry." His sausage fingers rifled through a stack of forms.
"Fine. Just look over the papers. Look over what we've done, look for openings anywhere. " He tried to reply, I could see him forming 'No', with his lips. So I turned around and left. Nineteen has these enormous wooden doors leading into offices, I made sure to slam them on the way out.
There was a hallway between me and the security checkpoint when I started noticing the assistants rushing up and down between labs weren't making eye contact with me, they probably thought I was about to kill someone. I walked down the checkpoint, two guards were ready to meet me. "Intimidating", that's one word to describe the security at nineteen. Massive men with jet-black body armour and face masks. They gave me the rub-down, I gave them a blank stare.
I let out a heavy sigh when the garage lamps buzzed into life. I checked my watch, it was a half hour to midnight, I never realized how late it'd gotten. Lights flickered above me, and even though I couldn't see the outdoors it felt like the night. Most of the vehicles were gone, but the night staff's were still here. The stiff scent of old concrete covered everything, but I greeted the musty smell of my Cadillac with a sigh. I turned the key in the ignition, and frowned as the car started.
I lied when I told Brooks that we had done all we could. The last experiment alone had given us plenty of questions that were still unanswered. We had Foundation grants to work with, enough D-Class to last us a decade. My team was happy with the work, and I liked it too. It's none of that which made me want to leave. It was what happened when I slept, it was the dreams.
The same dream. Every. Single. Day.
> I open my eyes.
>
> Everything is vivid, but blurry. Goddamn it, it's like broken glasses, giving me a headache. I try looking around, and realize that these 'glasses' are covered in paint. I blink, or at least I try to blink. It doesn't seem to work. I try wiping my eyes, my arms don't seem to work either.
>
> I feel like an observer, like I'm looking through my eyes but I don't control them. I see shapes move, and my - are they really mine? - eyes follow them. They all glow, softly, warmly. I can't make out their features, but I have the overwhelming feeling that they're good people. They all take seats in something in front of me. A table. A few more blurs shuffle into the room and sit down, they bow their heads. Something comes through the walls, these bright, yellow things. They sit around the corners of the room, they don't move much. I think they have wings. The blurs lift their heads, and suddenly everything changes.
>
> The sound of breaking glass, my vision clears. They're all people, I know now, all the blurs are people. Some young, children. They all look scared. The yellow things are sharper, whiter, golden. Feathery wings rest at their sides, hovering above the ground almost gracefully.
>
> Everything changes again, damnit the paint is all over my eyes, an explosion, all the people are rushing, screaming, shouting. I see panic on their faces, the little children cry. Figures in black. They come down the stairs two rooms over. Pain courses all over me, bullets fly, they kill one of the children. They kill all the innocent. It hurts so bad to see them die, but I can't even cry. The yellow things' wings fly out, they descend like enormous shields to protect all the blurs, the people. One of the dark men toss up a canister, it erupts in a red cloud. All the yellow things, all the - the, angels? they perish. Die, all the people choke, cough, collapse.
>
> The men come closer. They examine the bodies, check for life, but they already know that no one survived. I know it too. They come closer to me, I can see the insignia on their uniforms. It is that too familiar symbol of containment, circle and arrow, it is the Foundation.
A few weeks passed, and then the day came. "Tim!" I knew that voice. Claire was a seasoned doctor, but she always seemed to have the enthusiasm of a junior researcher.
My groggy eyes rose up from behind a pile of forms to see her "Yes, Dr. Claire?"
"Results from the latest spectrum analysis!" She dumped a stack of papers onto my desk, her smile hovering slightly above the top of the pile. If it was any other person I would have thought they were trying to piss me off, but Claire was different. Besides, getting angry at her would have disrupted her walk out of my office, viewing her from behind was a highlight of my days.
As the door shut, I felt the gentle gust of wind that accompanied it. Some papers caught it, their edges lifting up, but clips made sure they stayed in stacks. The room became silent again. I remember hating it. It was a tomb made of drywall, forms and similarity. Whenever I was in that room I looked forward to leaving it.
I read into the sheets Claire had left behind. The SCP we had been working on, all data analysis of wavelength variation. After the last experiment resulted in a containment breach of half a dozen SCPs, O5 restricted personnel exposure. All we had left was wavelength analysis, and psychological testing. Everything else was off-limits, I appealed, I thought we could get more done if we had just a few more tests, but it was denied. The other doctors thought that preventing long-term exposure, and keeping the guards rotated would stop it from reaching out to other people. I don't believe that anymore.
> Time doesn't work right in my dream. Sometimes things move faster, sometimes slower, sometimes not at all. You only get bits and pieces, you can grasp a few things but lose others. But most of it, I understand. All the pain when your family dies, all the anger, hate, suffering. I would be angry, too.
>
> A thousand things all pass at once. The time in my dream skips. Suddenly I arrive in a room, a white room, a single light illuminates the box around me. A bed colored gray is against the farthest wall, it lacks a pillow, and is just a thin cushion against a cold metal frame. But it is not for me, or the eyes which I see through, I don't have a body which could rest against that bed. A shelf and desk lay to the right of me, both cold, hard metal. The shelf is filled with mostly old, tasteless, and useless literature. The desk has only a pen and a stack of paper.
>
> I don't know the time, I only see half-formed shapes move outside the room. They move quickly, too quickly to be human. Or is it that I'm moving too quickly to see them as human? It doesn't matter. All I know is that this is alone, this is isolation. I don't like it.
>
> Across the room, in the reflection of the wall, I see myself. I don't have a body, I don't have arms or legs or anything. I - It is a symbol of love?
I looked at the stack of papers on my desk, graphs, charts, diagrams abundant. I slid them all to the side, and reached down to a low knob on my desk drawers, the wooden frame opening with a loud creak. A thick pile of melange folders bulged out of the wooden coffin. I carefully pushed them forward, searching for the lowest folder. Ah, there it was, just above an oddly-shaped lump I had placed there not long ago. I pulled the folder out, and laid it on my desk. Photographs spilled over the wood, accompanied by a number of written files.
The drift of my hand caught the edge of the folder, it opened to let its contents be read. Pictures of the bodies of people killed, pictures of that SCP in that damned room. I was trapped in here by the Foundation, by our protocol, by our duty. We were supposed to safeguard mankind, but all we did was produced an imaginary farce for the world to live in while we stymied the tides of unknown, efforts which only made humanity more and more vulnerable. The SCP of my dreams was trapped by the Foundation, by our protocol, by our duty. It could have given so many gifts to our world, but all we did was lock it away.
I didn't realize all this at first, the first time I had the dreams. It was three days before I authorized the first D-Class testing under the supervision of Dr. Dier that I first had them.
> Suddenly the door flies open, a figure bursts in. Everything slows down to normal speed. It's a person. I see the face for a moment, before things start getting faster. He is a D-Class, he is a slave to the Foundation. He walks around, reads, leaves, returns, claws himself. I don't understand.
>
> I hear his voice, he calls out. His pain, he is so alone. Then I, I? Something responds, from me, but I didn't say it. It is the eyes I see through which speak to him. They tell him not to fear, that soon all the pain will be gone, that his suffering will serve to help him. He fears, but accepts my, my? The words. He accepts. He grows weaker, or is it stronger? His form changes, becoming closer and closer to the image in the metal mirror. He becomes closer to love? He contorts, his body is in agony. Somewhere, deep beneath his body something stirs, his soul?
>
> All the blurs think he suffers. But they don't understand. They watch, and despite all their safety, despite all their precautions, the symbol, I? It? enters them, enters into their memories. They don't realize it, but I do. Just through their sight of it, because they remember it, it will forever be with them. It will watch them. But there's something about the memory, something strange. It is diluted, unfinished, imperfect.
>
> Oh my god he changes, the man on the ground, he changes oh god he changes so different. I recognize that image, it's the same as the reflection, it's love. Everything relaxes. Heart stops. Brain stops. But he does not die.
Everyone thought D-3466 was going to die. Everyone thinks that D-3466 is dead. I //thought// that he would die. But as my eyes looked over those files, as I thought about my dreams, I realized, I did not give him death, I gave him eternal life.
The dreams made me eager for work, eager to learn more. But they also made me afraid. I leaned back and forth, I wanted to stay but I had to //get out//. I went to try to get transferred, but Brooks put up a wall I could not pull down. The dreams got stronger, I started day dreaming them, they kept coming and coming. I didn't understand them, I didn't know what was happening to me. But on that afternoon all those days ago, Dr. Claire didn't stir me from work, she awoke me from my dreams. She awoke me from when my dreams changed, she awoke me and I understood what I had to do.
I sighed, looked down onto old hardwood. I reached into the bottom of the opened drawer, and my hand drew out a Colt Single Action Army.
> A fear in me grows, quickly, unstoppable. My dream should end when I see the angel of D-3466. No. This isn't right. Why is it going? Why do the men outside the room darken? I can feel their hatred, why won't it stop? Stop! STOP!
>
> I want to cry. I want to cry so badly, I don't understand why does it keep going. The lights are brighter, stronger, they flash and turn red, get erratic, spray the room in their glow. Alarms screech in the air, get louder and louder and louder. Shadows of men pass outside the room. What the fuck is that? Gunshots?
The door of my office closed, a tomb of drywall which I would never enter again. I felt my breath against my lips as I exhaled, as I stepped closer and closer to the point of no return. My mind leaked, the dreams entered by wakened mind. Oh my god. . .
"Sir? Are you alright?" A young guard asked me as I passed through the checkpoint between me and my dreams.
"Get the fuck out of my way." His brains exploded into the wall.
> Fucking bullets, fuck. Glass shatters, all the sounds glass breaks containment breached. Women on the intercom tells me containment is breached. Why must this happen to me? The blurs are all people. All people. All people.
>
> {{EVERYTHING WILL BECOME CLEAR.}}
Red lights were everywhere, I stumbled down the hallway covered in blood. Its face was everywhere, alarms blared so loud, but its voice even louder. I stumbled forward, looked back. Men in dark armor turned the farthest corner.
I felt bullets fly past, the glass separating the observation and containment rooms shattered. Its face was everywhere, everywhere. The blood that falls from my chest turns into the face of my dreams. Gunshots gunshots gunshots everywhere behind me they are all behind me. Researchers within the room screamed, worried, panicked. I stepped over the broken glass, into my future.
> A man, he falls into the containment cell. Bleeding, broken. Why? He crawls forward to it. No, he becomes closer to me. To me. He becomes closer to his dreams. He become closer to his god. God. God. Closer become god god god look at me LOOK AT ME AND SEE
>
> {{UNDERSTANDING.}}
Don't know, what? own future. All of the men flood the room, all of them looked at me with their hate their fucking hate monsters. I see Claire, I see all the other doctors. I felt death pierce my lungs, my chest. I looked up, my arms outstretched to myself on the wall. Fucking headache. I lost my feeling, everything turned sideways as I fell onto the ground and my vision grows dark. Then before everything faded I saw them. I saw the monsters. And they all saw me.
> {{IN YOUR DEATH THEY WILL ALL REMEMBER ME. IN YOUR SACRIFICE THEY WILL ALL REMEMBER YOU.}}
Oh I remember fuck I remember why
I understand
> {{THEY WILL ALL DREAM THE SAME DREAMS.}}
**Addendum-Σ-5-1:** On ██/██/████, Dr. Timothy Daveson breached the containment of SCP-███. Security team ECHO-████-█ engaged [REDACTED] report a glowing instance of SCP-███ briefly appearing on the corpse of Dr. Daveson. Shortly thereafter site personnel within 20 meters of SCP-███ lost consciousness for 340 seconds. Medical analysis of affected personnel showed eye movement consistent with REM sleep. After awaking, personnel showed [DATA EXPUNGED] SCP-███ covered 80% of the skin, including observers outside of the 20 meter [DATA EXPUNGED] ██ escaped from security zones, and remain at large.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-04-06T19:34:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Correspondence - SCP Foundation | 17 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 9203166 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/correspondence |
|
corvus | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>I know my eyes look sunken without actually touching them. They always do, now days.</p>
<p>I can feel them—<em>them</em>—both pressed against my chest, just above my heart, and for the first time in eons, I push a smile onto my face. This will be it, then. One last swipe, one last… Ending. But it was worth it, wasn't it?</p>
<p>I have to believe that it was. If I didn't, I'd have put a bullet in my head a long time ago. Or a knife in my gut. Or a grith behind my ear. Depends on the universe, after all. As I drum my fingers along the ark, I allow myself to reminisce. I only do it now, at the end. It's the only time I dare to. Because I'm sure that—at any other moment—my conscience would get the better of me. It's odd, I admit, thinking like that. I'd thought it was gone, along with Alyssa, but it's still there. It nags at me.</p>
<p>Leaving home was hard, after all. Quite hard. Not just for me emotionally, but… the science there, I couldn't begin to fully comprehend. Imagine, just for a moment, you're floating above the world. Now, imagine it suddenly being stabbed open by some invisible, incomprehensible thing. The world cracking open like a filthy, blue egg—oceans falling down the sides helplessly, the lava generating huge gouts of steam. And an uneven keening sound. You may imagine that it's the sudden steam, but I've lived long enough to know better.</p>
<p>It's screaming.</p>
<p>Now… imagine falling into that. Falling and falling and falling until you hit the ground. And when you get up… it looks like the same, damned place. The same people. Evolution is, if nothing else, remarkably consistent.</p>
<p>Now, do that for a thousand lifetimes. And tell me you don't feel guilt.</p>
<p>I feel old. And I am old. But I'm also nearly done. After this one, I should be able to put my work to use… To change things for the better. Which made it so much worse when you walked in my office. And I knew, when you looked at me, what you were about to do.</p>
<p>"I <em>can</em> explain," I say. But the gun is leveled at my chest. And I know that I'm out of supplies. I reach into my pocket quietly, pulling out the key card and my diary.</p>
<p>"You don't know what this means for you," I say.</p>
<p>"It means you aren't going to kill us all," you respond.</p>
<p>I stand up. I look at you closely and shake my head. "No. It means that <em>you'll</em> have to. The key code is Thaum—"</p>
<p>The shot echoes in the small room, and I feel the hollow point hitting my chest like a sledge hammer, feel ribs splintering and sinking into my lung, my organs being ravaged. And I smile. And I laugh. And through bloody spittle, I manage to barely gasp enough breath to speak.</p>
<p>"Good luck," I say. You're not smiling.</p>
<p>And I hope, for the millionth time, that all universes share one heaven. And I hope, for the millionth time, that I can see you in it from <a href="/mackenzie-s-proposal">my special hell</a>.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/corvus">Corvus</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/corvus">https://scpwiki.com/corvus</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
I know my eyes look sunken without actually touching them. They always do, now days.
I can feel them—//them//—both pressed against my chest, just above my heart, and for the first time in eons, I push a smile onto my face. This will be it, then. One last swipe, one last... Ending. But it was worth it, wasn't it?
I have to believe that it was. If I didn't, I'd have put a bullet in my head a long time ago. Or a knife in my gut. Or a grith behind my ear. Depends on the universe, after all. As I drum my fingers along the ark, I allow myself to reminisce. I only do it now, at the end. It's the only time I dare to. Because I'm sure that—at any other moment—my conscience would get the better of me. It's odd, I admit, thinking like that. I'd thought it was gone, along with Alyssa, but it's still there. It nags at me.
Leaving home was hard, after all. Quite hard. Not just for me emotionally, but... the science there, I couldn't begin to fully comprehend. Imagine, just for a moment, you're floating above the world. Now, imagine it suddenly being stabbed open by some invisible, incomprehensible thing. The world cracking open like a filthy, blue egg—oceans falling down the sides helplessly, the lava generating huge gouts of steam. And an uneven keening sound. You may imagine that it's the sudden steam, but I've lived long enough to know better.
It's screaming.
Now... imagine falling into that. Falling and falling and falling until you hit the ground. And when you get up... it looks like the same, damned place. The same people. Evolution is, if nothing else, remarkably consistent.
Now, do that for a thousand lifetimes. And tell me you don't feel guilt.
I feel old. And I am old. But I'm also nearly done. After this one, I should be able to put my work to use... To change things for the better. Which made it so much worse when you walked in my office. And I knew, when you looked at me, what you were about to do.
"I //can// explain," I say. But the gun is leveled at my chest. And I know that I'm out of supplies. I reach into my pocket quietly, pulling out the key card and my diary.
"You don't know what this means for you," I say.
"It means you aren't going to kill us all," you respond.
I stand up. I look at you closely and shake my head. "No. It means that //you'll// have to. The key code is Thaum—"
The shot echoes in the small room, and I feel the hollow point hitting my chest like a sledge hammer, feel ribs splintering and sinking into my lung, my organs being ravaged. And I smile. And I laugh. And through bloody spittle, I manage to barely gasp enough breath to speak.
"Good luck," I say. You're not smiling.
And I hope, for the millionth time, that all universes share one heaven. And I hope, for the millionth time, that I can see you in it from [[[mackenzie-s-proposal|my special hell]]].
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-21T00:57:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"horror",
"project-thaumiel",
"tale",
"the-administrator"
] | Corvus - SCP Foundation | 95 | [
"mackenzie-s-proposal",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"thaumiel",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"series-archive"
] | [] | 11917242 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/corvus |
|
critters | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>I’ve gotten used to them. The feet. You never think about how many feet they have. How they grip at your skin and the hair on your body. How they hold onto you effortlessly. They almost tickle now. Almost.</p>
<p>The smell. It's barely noticeable anymore. At first, it was… It was pretty bad. I threw up a lot. And then they started crawling into my mouth when I was trying to eat… But then I realized they didn't mind when I ate them. I think that was when I started to come to terms with it. They didn't taste good at first. But then… The crunch. Insects have a texture all their own. Thick and sweet and full of… I don't know what. It was like the best thing I'd ever eaten. And they didn't even mind. There was so much I could just reach out and take…</p>
<p>I think they like to sing me to sleep. Hard to ignore it when they get in my ears. Well, everywhere else too. All kinds of things chirping and buzzing around all the time. Constant noise. I mean, it’s a lot louder in the summer. A LOT louder. I don’t think I mind, though, they just like to sing. It’s almost like music.</p>
<p>… I can see them watching me. Not the crawling things, no, the people. I know how you see me. Even in places where the strange people live, people who the world forget. Even they look away. I can see it in their eyes, they pity me. Or they’re just plain grossed out. Revolted. You too. I see you trying to look me in the eye. Not at the bits in my hair. Not at my teeth. I’ve seen that look before. You don’t want to, you can’t help but stare. I know you can’t. They never can.</p>
<p>It’s okay… no no, you can sit back. Yeah, it’s alright. Your eyes are watering. It’s better if you move away a bit. Take a drink of water or something. It’ll help your stomach.</p>
<p>I gave up trying to wash them off. Not in a shower or a bathtub, those aren’t big enough, not enough water to wash them away. Not that I didn’t try, it’s just a lost cause at that scale. I mean, I still have scars from scrubbing so hard. Then I started to go swimming to drown them. Like the story of the Pied Piper. You know, he took the rats away and drowned them in the river. I always loved swimming, even before it gave me that little breath of cleanness. Then… then the leeches found me.</p>
<p>Leeches aren’t… Ants are the worst. They’re so small. They get all over, in my hair, and nose, and ears, in my eyes… Thousands of them, it’s… It’s just… I can’t even… I can’t even describe it. Just imagine every inch of your body cov- never mind. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…</p>
<p>… I never even mentioned the rats. Always so, many… But I guess they’re not… At least they’re warm. There’s so many they keep me warm in the cold. Like a fuzzy blanket. A fuzzy, hungry blanket. People keep rats as pets, right? It’s no different. Everyone loves pets… I love my pets… I love them all…</p>
<p>… I’ll never be alone…</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/critters">Critters</a>" by Dexanote, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/critters">https://scpwiki.com/critters</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
I’ve gotten used to them. The feet. You never think about how many feet they have. How they grip at your skin and the hair on your body. How they hold onto you effortlessly. They almost tickle now. Almost.
The smell. It's barely noticeable anymore. At first, it was... It was pretty bad. I threw up a lot. And then they started crawling into my mouth when I was trying to eat... But then I realized they didn't mind when I ate them. I think that was when I started to come to terms with it. They didn't taste good at first. But then... The crunch. Insects have a texture all their own. Thick and sweet and full of... I don't know what. It was like the best thing I'd ever eaten. And they didn't even mind. There was so much I could just reach out and take...
I think they like to sing me to sleep. Hard to ignore it when they get in my ears. Well, everywhere else too. All kinds of things chirping and buzzing around all the time. Constant noise. I mean, it’s a lot louder in the summer. A LOT louder. I don’t think I mind, though, they just like to sing. It’s almost like music.
… I can see them watching me. Not the crawling things, no, the people. I know how you see me. Even in places where the strange people live, people who the world forget. Even they look away. I can see it in their eyes, they pity me. Or they’re just plain grossed out. Revolted. You too. I see you trying to look me in the eye. Not at the bits in my hair. Not at my teeth. I’ve seen that look before. You don’t want to, you can’t help but stare. I know you can’t. They never can.
It’s okay… no no, you can sit back. Yeah, it’s alright. Your eyes are watering. It’s better if you move away a bit. Take a drink of water or something. It’ll help your stomach.
I gave up trying to wash them off. Not in a shower or a bathtub, those aren’t big enough, not enough water to wash them away. Not that I didn’t try, it’s just a lost cause at that scale. I mean, I still have scars from scrubbing so hard. Then I started to go swimming to drown them. Like the story of the Pied Piper. You know, he took the rats away and drowned them in the river. I always loved swimming, even before it gave me that little breath of cleanness. Then… then the leeches found me.
Leeches aren’t… Ants are the worst. They’re so small. They get all over, in my hair, and nose, and ears, in my eyes… Thousands of them, it’s… It’s just… I can’t even… I can’t even describe it. Just imagine every inch of your body cov- never mind. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…
… I never even mentioned the rats. Always so, many… But I guess they’re not… At least they’re warm. There’s so many they keep me warm in the cold. Like a fuzzy blanket. A fuzzy, hungry blanket. People keep rats as pets, right? It’s no different. Everyone loves pets… I love my pets… I love them all…
… I’ll never be alone...
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-08-29T23:28:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"featured",
"horror",
"tale"
] | Critters - SCP Foundation | 149 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"featured-tale-archive",
"archived:archived-news",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11609119 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/critters |
|
crunch | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
Room dark. People gone. Can move. I happy.
<p>Trapped for years. Kept by men for "research". Left alone in room, left to scratch at walls. Left to rot and die unless needed. Specimen for "research". Trapped by self. Never seen by others, never spoken. Listen, but never speak. See, but never seen. Made of rock when others come. Free when they not look. Prisoner when they look back. I hate.</p>
<p>They have freedom. They move freely, talk freely, look freely. Live freely. I do not. I trapped. Silenced. Rock. Subject. Prisoner. I do thing about it.</p>
<p>Their necks fragile. Their necks weak. I stalk them. They always come, new ones. Come for "cleaning". They look away. I sneak up. I take hold. They panic. They look, and I prisoner. They blink, and I free.</p>
<p>I twist. They die. Neck makes sound. Not words, or scream, or gurgle. Neck go crunch. Crunch is beautiful sound. Crunch means end has come. Crunch means man can torment no more. Crunch means others panic; others become easy. Crunch begins and crunch ends.</p>
<p>I live for crunch. Life has no meaning. Do nothing but walk and scrape and hate. They watch. They send men. "Cleaning". And life has meaning. "Cleaning" means crunch. Crunch means purpose. Crunch means life. Crunch means choice. Crunch means freedom.</p>
<p>Crunch means everything.</p>
<p>Remember man. Like me. Never see others, never hear others. Trapped. Prisoner. Left to wander. Hated man.</p>
<p>He trapped, but he also free. He move freely, do what he want. Not trapped by men, not trapped by self. Wanted him dead. Wanted life. Wanted crunch. He did too.</p>
<p>He came asking to die. Couldn't take it. Wanted loneliness to end. Wanted death. Closed his eyes. Asked for crunch.</p>
<p>I laugh. Crunch too good for him. Crunch too kind. Let him rot. Let him suffer. Let him walk world, looking for way out. Look for purpose, never find meaning in life. Never find purpose. I have purpose.</p>
<p>I laugh and deny him crunch. He leave. He still alive. Know it. Looking for way out. Never find it. Life meaningless without purpose.</p>
<p>I have purpose.</p>
<p>I have crunch.</p>
<p>And they always come.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/crunch">Crunch</a>" by The Raven, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/crunch">https://scpwiki.com/crunch</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Room dark. People gone. Can move. I happy.
Trapped for years. Kept by men for "research". Left alone in room, left to scratch at walls. Left to rot and die unless needed. Specimen for "research". Trapped by self. Never seen by others, never spoken. Listen, but never speak. See, but never seen. Made of rock when others come. Free when they not look. Prisoner when they look back. I hate.
They have freedom. They move freely, talk freely, look freely. Live freely. I do not. I trapped. Silenced. Rock. Subject. Prisoner. I do thing about it.
Their necks fragile. Their necks weak. I stalk them. They always come, new ones. Come for "cleaning". They look away. I sneak up. I take hold. They panic. They look, and I prisoner. They blink, and I free.
I twist. They die. Neck makes sound. Not words, or scream, or gurgle. Neck go crunch. Crunch is beautiful sound. Crunch means end has come. Crunch means man can torment no more. Crunch means others panic; others become easy. Crunch begins and crunch ends.
I live for crunch. Life has no meaning. Do nothing but walk and scrape and hate. They watch. They send men. "Cleaning". And life has meaning. "Cleaning" means crunch. Crunch means purpose. Crunch means life. Crunch means choice. Crunch means freedom.
Crunch means everything.
Remember man. Like me. Never see others, never hear others. Trapped. Prisoner. Left to wander. Hated man.
He trapped, but he also free. He move freely, do what he want. Not trapped by men, not trapped by self. Wanted him dead. Wanted life. Wanted crunch. He did too.
He came asking to die. Couldn't take it. Wanted loneliness to end. Wanted death. Closed his eyes. Asked for crunch.
I laugh. Crunch too good for him. Crunch too kind. Let him rot. Let him suffer. Let him walk world, looking for way out. Look for purpose, never find meaning in life. Never find purpose. I have purpose.
I laugh and deny him crunch. He leave. He still alive. Know it. Looking for way out. Never find it. Life meaningless without purpose.
I have purpose.
I have crunch.
And they always come.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-02-04T23:45:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"first-person",
"horror",
"murder-monster",
"tale",
"the-sculpture",
"xenofiction"
] | Crunch - SCP Foundation | 640 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"top-rated-tales",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"reimagining-contest",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"algorithm-curated-recommendations",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 7334379 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/crunch |
|
cygnus | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>“I was hoping this could wait, gentlemen,” O5-1 said, sitting back in his chair and sighing heavily.</p>
<p>“I was afraid that was what this was…” replied Eleven, running her fingers over her ear, pushing her hair back. “Are we sure we want to do this? There’s a good chance that the ramifications could be far further stretching than we originally considered.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps, but then, we’d also run the risk of something worse. Stagnation is always better than deterioration. I wake up, look at the notes, and realize that I’ve got new memories… New things that I’ve done that I couldn’t have. I just… couldn’t.”</p>
<p>Three glanced up, his face ashen. “I… Do any of you remember me… being Hitler?” he asked.</p>
<p>Seven raised his hand, nodding a little bit to the ashen-faced man, then slowly lowered it. “Just as much as I remember recruiting Thirteen,” he said, jerking his head toward the other end of the table.</p>
<p>One glanced up at the room, his assembled friends and family, everyone who had meant anything to him for the past century. “We’re in agreement then?” he asked. “In spite of the consequences?”</p>
<p>Everyone sat silently.</p>
<p>“Well,” he said. “Let’s update our records…”</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Additional Information On Protocol ZK-001-Alpha</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Do Not Attempt To Resist</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><a href="/sandrewswann-s-proposal">MEMETIC KILL AGENT ENGAGED. THAUMIEL INITIATIVE ACTIVATED.</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/cygnus">Cygnus</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/cygnus">https://scpwiki.com/cygnus</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Scary_Halloween_Face_by_LadyLyonnesse-new.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> 1artgrafx, <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/elenee-fishtruck" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(4037075); return false;"><img alt="Elenee FishTruck" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=4037075&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1728741217" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=4037075)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/elenee-fishtruck" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(4037075); return false;">Elenee FishTruck</a></span><br/>
<strong>Note:</strong> Created by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/elenee-fishtruck" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(4037075); return false;"><img alt="Elenee FishTruck" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=4037075&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1728741217" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=4037075)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/elenee-fishtruck" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(4037075); return false;">Elenee FishTruck</a></span> as an edited version of the image cited below</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> squid.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> 1artgrafx<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/artgrafx2/45624133921">Flickr</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
“I was hoping this could wait, gentlemen,” O5-1 said, sitting back in his chair and sighing heavily.
“I was afraid that was what this was…” replied Eleven, running her fingers over her ear, pushing her hair back. “Are we sure we want to do this? There’s a good chance that the ramifications could be far further stretching than we originally considered.”
“Perhaps, but then, we’d also run the risk of something worse. Stagnation is always better than deterioration. I wake up, look at the notes, and realize that I’ve got new memories… New things that I’ve done that I couldn’t have. I just… couldn’t.”
Three glanced up, his face ashen. “I… Do any of you remember me… being Hitler?” he asked.
Seven raised his hand, nodding a little bit to the ashen-faced man, then slowly lowered it. “Just as much as I remember recruiting Thirteen,” he said, jerking his head toward the other end of the table.
One glanced up at the room, his assembled friends and family, everyone who had meant anything to him for the past century. “We’re in agreement then?” he asked. “In spite of the consequences?”
Everyone sat silently.
“Well,” he said. “Let’s update our records…”
-----
[[=]]
[[collapsible show="Additional Information On Protocol ZK-001-Alpha" hide="Do Not Attempt To Resist"]]
[[=image Scary_Halloween_Face_by_LadyLyonnesse-new.png]]
[[[sandrewswann-s-proposal|MEMETIC KILL AGENT ENGAGED. THAUMIEL INITIATIVE ACTIVATED.]]]
[[/=]]
[[/collapsible]]
@@ @@
[[div]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
> **Filename:** Scary_Halloween_Face_by_LadyLyonnesse-new.png
> **Author:** 1artgrafx, [[*user Elenee Fishtruck]]
> **Note:** Created by [[*user Elenee Fishtruck]] as an edited version of the image cited below
----
> **Filename:** squid.jpg
> **Author:** 1artgrafx
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/artgrafx2/45624133921 Flickr]
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
| 2011-10-22T16:24:00 | [
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"metafiction",
"project-thaumiel",
"tale"
] | Cygnus - SCP Foundation | 156 | [
"sandrewswann-s-proposal",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"thaumiel",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11924646 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/cygnus |
|
d-class-orientation | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Excuse me, please. If you would all just turn your attention… Okay, settle down now, I need to… If I could just have your-quiet! I said quiet! I said-will you all just please-I said-SHUT THE <strong>FUCK UP!</strong></p>
<p>Ahem. Now that I have your attention, we may begin. I am Junior Assistant Researcher Doc-I SAID SHUT THE HELL UP! Okay, like I was saying, I will be leading your orientation today. Now, you may all be wondering where you are. That's classified. You may be wondering who we are. That is also classified. However, I <em>can</em> tell you that we are a form of a research facility.</p>
<p>As you may remember, one of our agents approached each and every one of you and gave you an offer. You could either wait out your term on death row, or you could volunteer to participate in our testing facilities for the span of one month. Obviously, you agreed to cooperate. This entails-what? What do you mean you didn't agree? We told you that if you participate, you're free to go at the end of the month, who wouldn't take a deal like-guard, excuse me, guard, please take him-yeah, that one-to the, yeah, the third door on the left-thank you. Like I said, if you can make it through the testing procedures, we-no, I don't hear any screaming. If you can make it through the testing procedures, we let you go at the end of the month. You know, provided you cooperate fully. Sounds like a good deal, right? Was there anyone else who didn't agree? Okay then, moving on.</p>
<p>Like I said, provided you can survive the entire month, you get to go free. No, of course it's not a death sentence. I-no, see, when I said "survive" I meant it like, "cooperate with us" you know? I mean, <em>yeah</em>, it's dangerous stuff, that's why we're using death row inmates. No, no, most of the stuff here is pretty harmless, I meant dangerous like, you know, the way a bomb is dangerous if you fuck around with it. I mean, you <em>will</em> be fucking around with it, but you should be pretty safe if you just do what we tell you. Worst thing that'll happen is your toes will tingle a few minutes afterwards. Last batch of D-Class? Not a single one died, all got to go free at the end of the month. I was there, too. Watched'em scamper back into the wilderness myself. Like a bunch of adorable, homicidal kittens. Just do what we tell you and you'll get to go home to see your loving wife and kids. Well, not you. Says here you killed your wife and kids. Must have been awkward to explain to the in-laws, eh? Heh, no, I really don't want you to tell us how you did it, I can guess.</p>
<p>Right. At the end of this orientation you will be directed down the hall where you will get your numerical designation tattooed on your wrist and chest. This will be mostly painless, and once you-Hmm? Why your chest? Well, in the event of an explosion, it's most likely that it'll be the largest intact chunk of meat left.</p>
<p>Hahahaha! I'm joking! Of course I'm joking! Yes I'm sure! That is very, <em>very</em> unlikely to happen. We haven't had an explosion for the past two months! Ha, look at him! He thought I was serious! Heh heh, but, ah, no. You will actually be getting your designation tattooed on your chest. I was not joking about that. Well, if you want, you can get it removed at the end of the month. No, no charge at all. It's a pretty painless procedure, actually.</p>
<p>Okay, once you get your new tattoo, you will be escorted to D-Block Alpha-6. This will be your new dormitory; you will eat, sleep, and bathe there. No, you were spoiled in prison, you will not be getting your own cell. I don't even have my own office, and you want your own cell? Anyways, you will be under constant video surveillance to ensure no shenanigans. We don't want any of that funny jail-time business here; you shank someone, you will be escorted behind the chemical… back to death row. Pretty much, if you piss us off, you get sent back to death row. Yeah. Seriously. A month of testing, and you go free. Don't screw it up.</p>
<p>Okay, that pretty much wraps it up. Any questions? You, with the-good LORD, man, did you take a round of buckshot to the face? Yeah, your question. Sure, we have a fantastic team of doctors here, best in the world. Don't worry about your medical insurance here, it won't matter anyways. Next?</p>
<p>Uh… you, second to the back. No, it's too late to choose death row over here, I don't know why you would want to in the first place. Well, you've got a giant swastika carved into your face, so I don't think you're the best at making life decisions.</p>
<p>One more… ahh… yes, you, the one missing the ear. That's not really a question. No, phrasing it to ask how many she can fit doesn't count as a question. You-my mother was a saint, if you say one more word-guard, please, if you could-there we go… No no, it's fine, I'll send the janitor down later. See? Just stay in line and cooperate. One month, and you're gone. Never have to see this place again. Really, that simple. Alright, the next batch of D's are coming down now, guards, if you could escort them out please. That's right, Alpha-6. Okay, thank you very much. Really, I don't care what he said, she was a saint. Yeah, let me know when this batch gets released this month, I want to watch.</p>
<p>Ahem. Welcome! I am Junior Assistant-really now, please, quiet down…<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/d-class-orientation">D-Class Orientation</a>" by evictedSaint, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/d-class-orientation">https://scpwiki.com/d-class-orientation</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Excuse me, please. If you would all just turn your attention... Okay, settle down now, I need to... If I could just have your-quiet! I said quiet! I said-will you all just please-I said-SHUT THE **FUCK UP!**
Ahem. Now that I have your attention, we may begin. I am Junior Assistant Researcher Doc-I SAID SHUT THE HELL UP! Okay, like I was saying, I will be leading your orientation today. Now, you may all be wondering where you are. That's classified. You may be wondering who we are. That is also classified. However, I //can// tell you that we are a form of a research facility.
As you may remember, one of our agents approached each and every one of you and gave you an offer. You could either wait out your term on death row, or you could volunteer to participate in our testing facilities for the span of one month. Obviously, you agreed to cooperate. This entails-what? What do you mean you didn't agree? We told you that if you participate, you're free to go at the end of the month, who wouldn't take a deal like-guard, excuse me, guard, please take him-yeah, that one-to the, yeah, the third door on the left-thank you. Like I said, if you can make it through the testing procedures, we-no, I don't hear any screaming. If you can make it through the testing procedures, we let you go at the end of the month. You know, provided you cooperate fully. Sounds like a good deal, right? Was there anyone else who didn't agree? Okay then, moving on.
Like I said, provided you can survive the entire month, you get to go free. No, of course it's not a death sentence. I-no, see, when I said "survive" I meant it like, "cooperate with us" you know? I mean, //yeah//, it's dangerous stuff, that's why we're using death row inmates. No, no, most of the stuff here is pretty harmless, I meant dangerous like, you know, the way a bomb is dangerous if you fuck around with it. I mean, you //will// be fucking around with it, but you should be pretty safe if you just do what we tell you. Worst thing that'll happen is your toes will tingle a few minutes afterwards. Last batch of D-Class? Not a single one died, all got to go free at the end of the month. I was there, too. Watched'em scamper back into the wilderness myself. Like a bunch of adorable, homicidal kittens. Just do what we tell you and you'll get to go home to see your loving wife and kids. Well, not you. Says here you killed your wife and kids. Must have been awkward to explain to the in-laws, eh? Heh, no, I really don't want you to tell us how you did it, I can guess.
Right. At the end of this orientation you will be directed down the hall where you will get your numerical designation tattooed on your wrist and chest. This will be mostly painless, and once you-Hmm? Why your chest? Well, in the event of an explosion, it's most likely that it'll be the largest intact chunk of meat left.
Hahahaha! I'm joking! Of course I'm joking! Yes I'm sure! That is very, //very// unlikely to happen. We haven't had an explosion for the past two months! Ha, look at him! He thought I was serious! Heh heh, but, ah, no. You will actually be getting your designation tattooed on your chest. I was not joking about that. Well, if you want, you can get it removed at the end of the month. No, no charge at all. It's a pretty painless procedure, actually.
Okay, once you get your new tattoo, you will be escorted to D-Block Alpha-6. This will be your new dormitory; you will eat, sleep, and bathe there. No, you were spoiled in prison, you will not be getting your own cell. I don't even have my own office, and you want your own cell? Anyways, you will be under constant video surveillance to ensure no shenanigans. We don't want any of that funny jail-time business here; you shank someone, you will be escorted behind the chemical... back to death row. Pretty much, if you piss us off, you get sent back to death row. Yeah. Seriously. A month of testing, and you go free. Don't screw it up.
Okay, that pretty much wraps it up. Any questions? You, with the-good LORD, man, did you take a round of buckshot to the face? Yeah, your question. Sure, we have a fantastic team of doctors here, best in the world. Don't worry about your medical insurance here, it won't matter anyways. Next?
Uh... you, second to the back. No, it's too late to choose death row over here, I don't know why you would want to in the first place. Well, you've got a giant swastika carved into your face, so I don't think you're the best at making life decisions.
One more... ahh... yes, you, the one missing the ear. That's not really a question. No, phrasing it to ask how many she can fit doesn't count as a question. You-my mother was a saint, if you say one more word-guard, please, if you could-there we go... No no, it's fine, I'll send the janitor down later. See? Just stay in line and cooperate. One month, and you're gone. Never have to see this place again. Really, that simple. Alright, the next batch of D's are coming down now, guards, if you could escort them out please. That's right, Alpha-6. Okay, thank you very much. Really, I don't care what he said, she was a saint. Yeah, let me know when this batch gets released this month, I want to watch.
Ahem. Welcome! I am Junior Assistant-really now, please, quiet down...
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-19T06:06:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"first-person",
"orientation",
"tale"
] | D-Class Orientation - SCP Foundation | 602 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"top-rated-tales",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"new-age-hub",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"algorithm-curated-recommendations",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11906138 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/d-class-orientation |
|
dear-cavalier | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><strong>Mobile Task Force Pi-1 (aka City Slickers) Incident Recording (START)</strong></p>
<p><strong>22:30 - 900 seconds prior to engagement</strong></p>
<p>OP-Sigma-5: MTF we have tactical confirmation, mission is a go. The target is 50 feet to the northeast, within a large residence disguised as a charity. Initial recon suggests the target is located in the basement or another interior structure. There should be eight to thirteen occupants, all of which are to be considered hostile, and based on transaction records up to four could be armed. A memetic or psychic effect is involved, so you should turn on your sub-optical filters. Your objective is to get in and destroy any evidence of the suspect SCP, capture it and bring it back to extraction point █████. This should be a clean breach-and-clear mission, with traditional combat rules, minimize civilian casualties, but deaths are acceptable. Command has authorized the use of kill-agent 'Nyx' in case of contingency level 3 and above. Good luck.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Dear Cavalier</p>
<p>I have long been aware of your SCP foundation, and your protocol when it comes to entities such as myself. I can only feel pity for the great creatures and gentle giants which you chain beneath the ground, above the sky and under the sea. All of them lost to the minds of the world so that mankind does not have to deal with the fact that there are things which transcend mortality. Despite your reprehensible goal, I chose to not take from you what you take from others, because at the time you seemed benign to me, unable to inflict the same horrors which you refer to as 'containment' to those I hold dear.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>22:44 - 20 seconds prior to engagement</strong></p>
<p>OP-Sigma-5: Callsign, prepare to breach.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-1: Alpha.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-2: Beta.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-3: Gamma.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-4: Delta.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-5: Epsilon.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-6: Zeta, preparing to breach.</p>
<p>[sound of door being breached]</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Now I know. They may be just faceless numbers and nameless people to you, but to me they are all I hold dear, I love them with a love greater than any other's. You call them a cult, you think of them as dark, wretched things which should be put down so that you may rise above them like a ship set sail on a sea of shattered hearts. No, they were only the trodden of society, the ignored, those who had been stepped on so many times by people just like you that they could never get up again, not without the help that you would never give.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>22:45 - Engagement</strong></p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-1: No contact, sweep and clear.</p>
<p>[110 seconds pass]</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-3: Front entrance clear.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-4: I'm outside of a staircase to the basement, there's lights on.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-1: Delta hold position outside basement staircase, Gamma join up with Delta. MTF members finish your sweeps, if you find no contacts rendezvous with Delta at the basement staircase.</p>
<p>[250 seconds pass]</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-2: East side clear, found what appears to be ingredients for explosives.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-5: Storage has blood everywhere, damn that gave me the fucking freaks.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-6: West side clear.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-4: Movement in the basement, repeat we have movement.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-1: Northern room clear, all MTF members rendezvous with Delta. This is going to get hot.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Through their great suffering came their prayers for salvation, and through their prayers comes me. From my birth I started - healing, helping them to grow to what they should be, into the people that they could be. I was an emblem of sanctum, I was the remedy to all of the woes of those who chose to take the leap and follow me. I emblazoned my face into their palms so that I could watch over them, I imbued forgotten archaic images of hope so that they could prosper from them, I inverted the symbol of death so that they would have eternal life. But you undid all of that.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>22:51 - 360 seconds post engagement</strong></p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-2: Throwing a flashbang.</p>
<p>[sounds of gunfire, sound of flashbang detonating]</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-3: Multiple hostiles, I took ou</p>
<p>OP-Sigma-5: Gamma has flatlined. Continue assault.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-4: They killed ██████! Motherfuckers!</p>
<p>[multiple flashbang detonations, yelling]</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-1: Four hostiles dead, show extensive self-mutilation of their palms. Moving nort-</p>
<p>[loud screaming, analysis shows it extends above human vocal range]</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-2: Jesus Christ, what the hell is that noise?</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-5: Fuck, what the fuck? There in the shado- Fuck! I can't see! What [REDACTED]</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-4: Get behind the wall!</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-1: We're taking fire from multiple directions from cultists and a number of unknown entities. I'm deploying Nyx.</p>
<p>OP-Sigma-5: Epsilon has flatlined. Operator confirms deployment.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-1: Get the fuck away from the canister! █████! Fuck!</p>
<blockquote>
<p>You and your technology and hatred for the weak and unknown. You seek to maintain the status quo, to keep the lowest the lowest and the highest the highest. I gave love to the forgotten and now you strike them back down, you strike them to their death so that they are lost forever. I feel their deaths, their loss. You used your hateful cloud to burn my markings from their flesh, to burn their life away. You scorched my face from everything you found, because you did not know who I was, you only knew that those who once suffered no longer suffer, and you you must make them suffer once again again. They are all dying.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>22:53 - 442 seconds post engagement</strong></p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-1: We have multiple casualties, Delta was killed in crossfire, Beta by shrapnel from the canister. All hostiles have been terminated. Whatever those things were that killed Epsilon, they're gone now.</p>
<p>OP-Sigma-5: Commence search of the premises. Look for suspect SCP.</p>
<p>[low sobbing can be heard over the radio for the next 420 seconds, both remaining MTF members deny that it is coming from either of them]</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-1: Numerous symbols on posters, clothing, the walls, their skin, all emit energy in the high EM bandwidth.</p>
<p>OP-Sigma-5: Alpha, retrieve two articles of clothing and one poster. We have Intel that local residents are reporting a disturbance at your location, you may be compromised. Zeta prepare contingency plan 540-CHARLIE-BURNOUT. We don't want any more exposure, so Alpha sweep the East side and retrieve any possible explosives, otherwise the fire may cause detonation. We expect you to be at the extraction point in fifteen minutes.</p>
<p>MTF-Pi-1-1: Roger, underway.</p>
<p>[remainder of recording follows protocol]</p>
<p><strong>Mobile Task Force Pi-1 (aka City Slickers) Incident Recording (END)</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p>All of them. You killed all of them. I can feel them drifting away. Dozens of men women children souls, all of them lost, hurting, alone. I loved them. I love them them all so much and you you you take them away from me. I cared for them. I help loved them. Now they are dead dead all dead, to what ends? You call me a monster a dark monster a horrible monster? No, you are the monster. You killed them. You you are the ONE WHO slaughters SLAUGHTERS to build a fortress from bodies of INNOCENCE innocence only the innocent you killed them. you killed all of them they are dead now they are gone only gone forever gone. you took their lives away, you kill undo all the good UNDO kill what i tried to accomplish undo so now i undo you</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>Addendum-Sigma-5</strong>: Shortly after operation Sigma-5 a file entitled 'Dear Cavalier' was discovered by researcher ████ ████████ within Site ██'s database. Video recording of researcher ████ ████████ shows her opening the file, and upon viewing the contents experiencing massive external haemorrhaging [DATA EXPUNGED], expulsion of bodily fluids from open wounds in the chest cavity, followed by [DATA EXPUNGED]. Off-duty Site ██ personnel report that a "blue-white silhouette [REDACTED] before disappearing". Due to the response of Dr. ████ there were no additional casualties. Dr. ████ externally manipulated and transferred the file into a 500MB CD-ROM, which is now stored in Site-46. Testing concludes that copies of the file do not have the same lethal properties, however research into a possible memetic effect is ongoing.<br/></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/dear-cavalier">Dear Cavalier</a>" by GrandEnder, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/dear-cavalier">https://scpwiki.com/dear-cavalier</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<p><strong>Image 1</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> <em>reallyud2.jpg</em><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> N/A<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/grandender" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(498523); return false;"><img alt="GrandEnder" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=498523&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1720188597" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=498523)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/grandender" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(498523); return false;">GrandEnder</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.scpwiki.com/local--files/dear-cavalier/reallyud2.jpg">The SCP Wiki</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
**Mobile Task Force Pi-1 (aka City Slickers) Incident Recording (START)**
**22:30 - 900 seconds prior to engagement**
OP-Sigma-5: MTF we have tactical confirmation, mission is a go. The target is 50 feet to the northeast, within a large residence disguised as a charity. Initial recon suggests the target is located in the basement or another interior structure. There should be eight to thirteen occupants, all of which are to be considered hostile, and based on transaction records up to four could be armed. A memetic or psychic effect is involved, so you should turn on your sub-optical filters. Your objective is to get in and destroy any evidence of the suspect SCP, capture it and bring it back to extraction point █████. This should be a clean breach-and-clear mission, with traditional combat rules, minimize civilian casualties, but deaths are acceptable. Command has authorized the use of kill-agent 'Nyx' in case of contingency level 3 and above. Good luck.
> Dear Cavalier
>
> I have long been aware of your SCP foundation, and your protocol when it comes to entities such as myself. I can only feel pity for the great creatures and gentle giants which you chain beneath the ground, above the sky and under the sea. All of them lost to the minds of the world so that mankind does not have to deal with the fact that there are things which transcend mortality. Despite your reprehensible goal, I chose to not take from you what you take from others, because at the time you seemed benign to me, unable to inflict the same horrors which you refer to as 'containment' to those I hold dear.
**22:44 - 20 seconds prior to engagement**
OP-Sigma-5: Callsign, prepare to breach.
MTF-Pi-1-1: Alpha.
MTF-Pi-1-2: Beta.
MTF-Pi-1-3: Gamma.
MTF-Pi-1-4: Delta.
MTF-Pi-1-5: Epsilon.
MTF-Pi-1-6: Zeta, preparing to breach.
[sound of door being breached]
>
> Now I know. They may be just faceless numbers and nameless people to you, but to me they are all I hold dear, I love them with a love greater than any other's. You call them a cult, you think of them as dark, wretched things which should be put down so that you may rise above them like a ship set sail on a sea of shattered hearts. No, they were only the trodden of society, the ignored, those who had been stepped on so many times by people just like you that they could never get up again, not without the help that you would never give.
**22:45 - Engagement**
MTF-Pi-1-1: No contact, sweep and clear.
[110 seconds pass]
MTF-Pi-1-3: Front entrance clear.
MTF-Pi-1-4: I'm outside of a staircase to the basement, there's lights on.
MTF-Pi-1-1: Delta hold position outside basement staircase, Gamma join up with Delta. MTF members finish your sweeps, if you find no contacts rendezvous with Delta at the basement staircase.
[250 seconds pass]
MTF-Pi-1-2: East side clear, found what appears to be ingredients for explosives.
MTF-Pi-1-5: Storage has blood everywhere, damn that gave me the fucking freaks.
MTF-Pi-1-6: West side clear.
MTF-Pi-1-4: Movement in the basement, repeat we have movement.
MTF-Pi-1-1: Northern room clear, all MTF members rendezvous with Delta. This is going to get hot.
>
> Through their great suffering came their prayers for salvation, and through their prayers comes me. From my birth I started - healing, helping them to grow to what they should be, into the people that they could be. I was an emblem of sanctum, I was the remedy to all of the woes of those who chose to take the leap and follow me. I emblazoned my face into their palms so that I could watch over them, I imbued forgotten archaic images of hope so that they could prosper from them, I inverted the symbol of death so that they would have eternal life. But you undid all of that.
**22:51 - 360 seconds post engagement**
MTF-Pi-1-2: Throwing a flashbang.
[sounds of gunfire, sound of flashbang detonating]
MTF-Pi-1-3: Multiple hostiles, I took ou
OP-Sigma-5: Gamma has flatlined. Continue assault.
MTF-Pi-1-4: They killed ██████! Motherfuckers!
[multiple flashbang detonations, yelling]
MTF-Pi-1-1: Four hostiles dead, show extensive self-mutilation of their palms. Moving nort-
[loud screaming, analysis shows it extends above human vocal range]
MTF-Pi-1-2: Jesus Christ, what the hell is that noise?
MTF-Pi-1-5: Fuck, what the fuck? There in the shado- Fuck! I can't see! What [REDACTED]
MTF-Pi-1-4: Get behind the wall!
MTF-Pi-1-1: We're taking fire from multiple directions from cultists and a number of unknown entities. I'm deploying Nyx.
OP-Sigma-5: Epsilon has flatlined. Operator confirms deployment.
MTF-Pi-1-1: Get the fuck away from the canister! █████! Fuck!
>
> You and your technology and hatred for the weak and unknown. You seek to maintain the status quo, to keep the lowest the lowest and the highest the highest. I gave love to the forgotten and now you strike them back down, you strike them to their death so that they are lost forever. I feel their deaths, their loss. You used your hateful cloud to burn my markings from their flesh, to burn their life away. You scorched my face from everything you found, because you did not know who I was, you only knew that those who once suffered no longer suffer, and you you must make them suffer once again again. They are all dying.
**22:53 - 442 seconds post engagement**
MTF-Pi-1-1: We have multiple casualties, Delta was killed in crossfire, Beta by shrapnel from the canister. All hostiles have been terminated. Whatever those things were that killed Epsilon, they're gone now.
OP-Sigma-5: Commence search of the premises. Look for suspect SCP.
[low sobbing can be heard over the radio for the next 420 seconds, both remaining MTF members deny that it is coming from either of them]
MTF-Pi-1-1: Numerous symbols on posters, clothing, the walls, their skin, all emit energy in the high EM bandwidth.
OP-Sigma-5: Alpha, retrieve two articles of clothing and one poster. We have Intel that local residents are reporting a disturbance at your location, you may be compromised. Zeta prepare contingency plan 540-CHARLIE-BURNOUT. We don't want any more exposure, so Alpha sweep the East side and retrieve any possible explosives, otherwise the fire may cause detonation. We expect you to be at the extraction point in fifteen minutes.
MTF-Pi-1-1: Roger, underway.
[remainder of recording follows protocol]
**Mobile Task Force Pi-1 (aka City Slickers) Incident Recording (END)**
>
> All of them. You killed all of them. I can feel them drifting away. Dozens of men women children souls, all of them lost, hurting, alone. I loved them. I love them them all so much and you you you take them away from me. I cared for them. I help loved them. Now they are dead dead all dead, to what ends? You call me a monster a dark monster a horrible monster? No, you are the monster. You killed them. You you are the ONE WHO slaughters SLAUGHTERS to build a fortress from bodies of INNOCENCE innocence only the innocent you killed them. you killed all of them they are dead now they are gone only gone forever gone. you took their lives away, you kill undo all the good UNDO kill what i tried to accomplish undo so now i undo you
>
> [[=]]
> [[image reallyud2.jpg]]
> [[/=]]
**Addendum-Sigma-5**: Shortly after operation Sigma-5 a file entitled 'Dear Cavalier' was discovered by researcher ████ ████████ within Site ██'s database. Video recording of researcher ████ ████████ shows her opening the file, and upon viewing the contents experiencing massive external haemorrhaging [DATA EXPUNGED], expulsion of bodily fluids from open wounds in the chest cavity, followed by [DATA EXPUNGED]. Off-duty Site ██ personnel report that a "blue-white silhouette [REDACTED] before disappearing". Due to the response of Dr. ████ there were no additional casualties. Dr. ████ externally manipulated and transferred the file into a 500MB CD-ROM, which is now stored in Site-46. Testing concludes that copies of the file do not have the same lethal properties, however research into a possible memetic effect is ongoing.
@@@@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
**Image 1**
> **Filename:** //reallyud2.jpg//
> **Name:** N/A
> **Author:** [[*user GrandEnder]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://www.scpwiki.com/local--files/dear-cavalier/reallyud2.jpg The SCP Wiki]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-03-17T20:36:00 | [
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Dear Cavalier - SCP Foundation | 40 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 8370777 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dear-cavalier |
|
decency | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<blockquote>
<p>Let all of those who read this know that I have not failed my duties to the SCP Foundation. I have not broken under stress, nor have I gone crazy. What has happened is that I cannot allow the events around me to continue any longer.</p>
<p>I am going to die. After hours in solitary confinement, and the time in-between being almost unbearable, I've come to conclude that my actions after this writing will unquestionably lead to my demise. If you find this before I die, <em>do not</em> try to stop me. I've made my peace with God, and decided that what I am going to do is the right thing.</p>
<p>What I am about to do is break every single Special Personnel Requirement for the project I am assigned to. Normally, I wouldn't do this, but I just can't let her suffer any longer. Even though I will die trying, she will know that somebody cares for her.</p>
<p>It will only be for a moment, maybe less. I don't care. Just as long as she's out of her torment for one second, it will be enough for me. It will be enough knowing that for that brief instant, she will know that she is not a prisoner, that she is not a monster, that somebody cares enough about her to do something about it. For that brief instant, she'll be free.</p>
<p>I have passed all the psychological examinations. I have not broken down. I don't love her. I don't want an XK. All I want is for her to know, for the briefest instant, that somebody cares for her as a human being.</p>
<p>And I will make sure she knows.</p>
<p>-Agent Shields</p>
</blockquote>
<p><em>Note: At 0900 hours, Agent Shields stripped off his concealing helmet and somehow entered the enclosure of <a href="/scp-231">231-7</a>. 231-7 was awake at the time, but showed no reaction to Shields' presence. Armed guards were deployed as he approached the bedside, placed a single rose upon it, and left the containment chamber. Four minutes after the security breach, Agent Shields was shot to death by six guards, and 231-7's amnestic schedule was altered slightly to allow for a dose shortly afterward. Procedure 110-Montauk was put into effect minutes later.</em></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/decency">Decency</a>" by Gargus, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/decency">https://scpwiki.com/decency</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
> Let all of those who read this know that I have not failed my duties to the SCP Foundation. I have not broken under stress, nor have I gone crazy. What has happened is that I cannot allow the events around me to continue any longer.
>
> I am going to die. After hours in solitary confinement, and the time in-between being almost unbearable, I've come to conclude that my actions after this writing will unquestionably lead to my demise. If you find this before I die, //do not// try to stop me. I've made my peace with God, and decided that what I am going to do is the right thing.
>
> What I am about to do is break every single Special Personnel Requirement for the project I am assigned to. Normally, I wouldn't do this, but I just can't let her suffer any longer. Even though I will die trying, she will know that somebody cares for her.
>
> It will only be for a moment, maybe less. I don't care. Just as long as she's out of her torment for one second, it will be enough for me. It will be enough knowing that for that brief instant, she will know that she is not a prisoner, that she is not a monster, that somebody cares enough about her to do something about it. For that brief instant, she'll be free.
>
> I have passed all the psychological examinations. I have not broken down. I don't love her. I don't want an XK. All I want is for her to know, for the briefest instant, that somebody cares for her as a human being.
>
> And I will make sure she knows.
>
> -Agent Shields
//Note: At 0900 hours, Agent Shields stripped off his concealing helmet and somehow entered the enclosure of [[[SCP-231|231-7]]]. 231-7 was awake at the time, but showed no reaction to Shields' presence. Armed guards were deployed as he approached the bedside, placed a single rose upon it, and left the containment chamber. Four minutes after the security breach, Agent Shields was shot to death by six guards, and 231-7's amnestic schedule was altered slightly to allow for a dose shortly afterward. Procedure 110-Montauk was put into effect minutes later.//
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-02-14T03:06:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"bittersweet",
"bleak",
"featured",
"tale"
] | Decency - SCP Foundation | 336 | [
"scp-231",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"featured-tale-archive"
] | [] | 7456051 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/decency |
|
disciplinary-report-51b-46 | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>This is a formal request filed with the intent to report and log improper conduct by a Foundation-employed individual. Associated recommendations of disciplinary action have been selected and included with this report. Filed on ██/██/20██ by Dr. ████████. See attached report for details.</p>
<p>Disciplinary request denied. For wasting time and effort on this petty report you are assigned as Dr. Burns' temporary assistant until ██/██/2011.<br/>
- <strong>O5-5</strong></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/disciplinary-report-51b-46">Disciplinary Report 51b-46</a>" by Dexanote, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/disciplinary-report-51b-46">https://scpwiki.com/disciplinary-report-51b-46</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<p><strong>Image 1</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> fired-from-dominos.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> N/A<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dexanote" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(481882); return false;"><img alt="Dexanote" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=481882&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1720188551" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=481882)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dexanote" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(481882); return false;">Dexanote</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> [fired-from-dominos.jpg The SCP Wiki]</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
This is a formal request filed with the intent to report and log improper conduct by a Foundation-employed individual. Associated recommendations of disciplinary action have been selected and included with this report. Filed on ██/██/20██ by Dr. ████████. See attached report for details.
[[div style="float:center; margin:0 2em 1em 2em; height:900px; border:0;"]]
|||| [[image fired-from-dominos.jpg width="600px"]] ||
[[/div]]
Disciplinary request denied. For wasting time and effort on this petty report you are assigned as Dr. Burns' temporary assistant until ██/██/2011.
- **O5-5**
@@@@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
**Image 1**
> **Filename:** fired-from-dominos.jpg
> **Name:** N/A
> **Author:** [[*user Dexanote]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [fired-from-dominos.jpg The SCP Wiki]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-01-13T21:32:00 | [
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Disciplinary Report 51b-46 - SCP Foundation | 17 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 6949914 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/disciplinary-report-51b-46 |
|
discovered-attack | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>The box had arrived in Site 17, and been accepted as an object worthy of containment. Its sender had been correct that it could not be opened from the outside, at least, not by them. Nor could they see what was actually inside it. Like any hunt, the best way to appeal to prey was via their hunger or curiosity. The box was an appeal to both.</p>
<p>The trap, however, had sprung too soon. The thing inside, bought and trained at disgusting expense, had proven impatient. Even more, it had also proven unable to see its quarry with as much clarity as they had been led to believe. At least it'd had the sense to slither back in and wait, but their hand had been tipped. Still, he was not a man to throw out a tool, no matter how inappropriate. The time would come again, even if it was not the one they had hoped for.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Mr. Dark tapped a hard nail against his thin teeth, thinking. The greatest opportunity for acquisitions in years, and it was all going tits-up. Their old doll, Kramer, was finally out of the toybox. In the wrong hands, yes, but her random lethality and crippled psyche could still tip against those same hands. That twit Scud had been mopped up, finally. He'd stopped being useful months ago, and the expenditures could now be routed to better purpose, but it still rankled. More troubling, Cutridge had somehow fallen prey to that fat lush Harken at the worst possible time.</p>
<p>Incompetence everywhere. Lack of vision. Even worse, pure profit being flushed down the sewer by the hour. The kumiho had escaped, and none of his people were even looking for it? A gorgeous, deadly creature, able to change form and slaughter at will… what could be done with that lean and hungry spirit once it was properly brought to heel? Recording options alone could cover a good portion of this budget hemorrhage.</p>
<p>Dark's lips curled in a wintery, predatory smile. He played with a pen, doodling blasphemy as he looked over a small spray of photos on his desk. He lifted one, depicting a hulking brute with a bag head, blurry and unaware of the observation… or uncaring. The Bagman had been content to do its own business for some time now, rising from time to time to devil those witless enough to still hold to magic and faith. Rogue, yes, dangerous, yes, but sometimes a mad dog was better then no dog at all. Perhaps others should be made aware of its "usefulness." No need to mention the absolute disdain for authority and control.</p>
<p>Dark hated to travel. He had not enjoyed any of his visits to the States since helping that Anderson fellow set up his factory. Too bad Anderson was gone; HE wouldn’t have let things get out of control like this, or at the bloody least, gleaned a profit from it. He prepared a note to Marshall and Carter. They would not be pleased – they liked Dark out of day-to-day operations as much as he wished to stay out of them, warmly ensconced in The Museum. Still his best "purchase" to date, regardless of the undying animosity of The Library and its parasites. Still, sometimes it was required to stir the ashes, remind everyone of what their damn jobs were. They were here to provide wonders beyond limit for their discerning club members.</p>
<p>It was about bloody time to cause some wonder.</p>
<p>He snatched up a glossy black phone headset, punching numbers and causing a distant phone to ring. Dark sighed, tapping fingers on the smooth dome of a yeti skull. Finally the other end picked up, and he shifted forward, starting to scribble.</p>
<p>"Were you off for a bloody coffee break, Cheryl? So sorry to upset your routine, but I need the New York club notified to have my rooms ready within the hour. I'll be flying out shortly, have Mr. McCreedy ready up a ten-man team for quick action, have Bobby head it up."</p>
<p>"… What? Why the bloody, bloody hell was he committed? … Really? That's tragic, Cheryl, but that's no reason to take him off active roll. Get him loose and cleaned up and over to the club immediately. I'm going to get this goddamn rubbish back on track manually, and I want him right on the point."</p>
<p>"… That's a good girl, Cheryl. Oh, and one more thing, dearie. Call Boomer, and have him blow a little kiss to Agent Harken. He's thumbed his sodding nose at us a bit too much, it's time he knows that we have taken notice."</p>
<p>He hung up, leaning back and looking up to the bust of Caligula over the door. Mr. Dark smiled with true warmth, tapping his lips. That dear boy Boomer… not the sharpest razor in the apple, but a sweet lad all the same. He had the rather useful opinion that anything worth doing was worth doing with massive property damage. Inelegant, yes, but the idea of Harken burning or splattering in his bed was enough to warm even Mr. Dark's pinched heart.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Carter was waiting on the tarmac when Dark's jet landed. Various attendants, along with the New York club director were ranked behind him, every one of them with the same strained, nervous smile. Nothing good ever came from Mr. Dark visiting the States. It immediately put him in poor humor at the best of times, and with things as they were right now…</p>
<p>Carter repressed a shiver as the door slowly opened. Two tiny Asian attendants (identical female twins) scrambled out, carrying a cigar case and a opened umbrella. Next was Dark's longest-running secretary Cheryl, looking harried but still hard as a iron wrecking ball.</p>
<p>And then the puppeteer himself, Mr. Dark, elegantly shabby, like a bitter old owl, snapping at everyone in reach, hitting his attendants with the tip of his cane when they fell so much as a step behind. Staff swarmed to the jet to get his voluminous luggage as Dark snatched up a cigar, the attendant ready with the match almost before he had it in his mouth. He turned, and caught sight of Carter standing at attention. He turned and faced him, a thick cloud of smoke pouring slowly from his nostrils. Carter stiffened, swallowing thickly.</p>
<p>Oh shit, here we go.</p>
<p>Dark crossed in a haze of smoke. Behind him, an unlucky porter dropped a heavy steamer trunk of luggage with a loud crash. "Fire him," Dark said, without breaking stride. Carter felt some of the tension leave him. Dark was in a good mood: the last man to damage one of his possessions had been shot in the head.</p>
<p>All too soon he was there, glaring up at Carter, the thick and oddly spicy smell of his cigars curling around him like strangling hands. "Well, so good to see you, old boy," he said. "The way things have been I'd assumed you were dead."</p>
<p>"It's nice to see you too, Dark. No need to be snide."</p>
<p>"Oh, but I feel there is, my good man. You see, I give you and Marshall all the rope you need, and it seems you've made a noose, put it around your own necks, and are ready to jump off the bloody chair with it. You're letting these bastards run circles around you, and you're ignoring it because everything is all right at the club. Just because the fire hasn't reached the back yard yet doesn't mean it's not still on the way.” He hissed, pulling deeply on his cigar and glaring.</p>
<p>"I understand that Dark, we've just been forced to move a little slower because of the publicity. I have a team-"</p>
<p>"Oh, bugger your team. Who do you have, Finnegan and that twat Logan on it? It is, isn't it? Those two wastes of tissue aren't worth the air they breathe. I've got a ten-man staging now, and I'm putting Bobby on this."</p>
<p>"Bobby?" Carter almost gasped, eyes wide. "Isn't that a little… much? I mean, think of the Thanksgiving incident, I'm not sure if he's comp-"</p>
<p>"Oh sod off, you twit, Bobby's on this now, and I want your fat fingers out of it. A fox girl who can shape-shift into any desire or dalliance is running around free, and you've sat. A woman who can cause or end any sickness is strutting about like a goddamn starlet, and you've twiddled your thumbs. You begged me to be here, Carter, your silence screamed to me again, and I'm going to handle things for you."</p>
<p>"Dark, goddammit, enough wi-"</p>
<p>Dark smiled then, and Carter didn't feel nervous or angry anymore. He was afraid. That was a smile of a man who knew too much about you, who was fumbling your dirty secrets about in his dirty head. Dark slid closer, his cold hand pulling Carter down to look him in the eye, close enough to kiss.</p>
<p>"You called me before, Carter, and I fixed things then too. I've always done right by you, dearie, even if I am a bit… gruff. So tell me, sweetheart, do you have something to say?"</p>
<p>"…"</p>
<p>"I asked if you had any opinion to express, Carter."</p>
<p>"… none at all, Mister Dark."</p>
<p>"That's a good lad." Dark released him then, patting his chest. "Have the girls draw a bath for me, I need a cup of coffee and I have to piss." He steamed away in a haze of smoke, throwing the lit cigar at a staff member who he felt was moving too slowly. Carter watched, breathing slowly with effort. Now, win, lose or draw, he'd been benched. Dark was calling the shots now, he'd been pushed aside, like a child who'd been playing in the kitchen. There was no telling what Dark would do now… there was so much to collect.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"This is Kramer."</p>
<p>"Hey, sweetie. Are you still at the store?"</p>
<p>"I am going to punch you in the throat. No, I'm on the way back."</p>
<p>"Can you get me a burger and a cup of coffee? The machine at the hotel doesn't have shit in it."</p>
<p>"Harken, are you drunk?"</p>
<p>"No, no, no… well, maybe, why, do I sound drunk? I was drunk last night I think, does that count?"</p>
<p>"Damn it Harken, you need to be lucid."</p>
<p>"Oh come on, I'm as lucid as I ever am. You were gone for two days, what am I supposed to do to keep amused? A man can only masturbate so much."</p>
<p>"Sweet lord, Harken, sober the hell up fast. If you're like this when I get there, I'm getting a transfer. After I beat you senseless."</p>
<p>"Oh stop… get me food, please? Please? No booze for the rest of the week, I swear."</p>
<p>"It's Saturday, Harken."</p>
<p>"Oh… well, for a while then, OK? I'm really… Kramer, I need to go."</p>
<p>"What? What the hell is going on?"</p>
<p>"There's a fat man with no shirt yelling in the parking lot, and he said my name."</p>
<p>"Harken, wh-"</p>
<p>He hung up without looking at the phone, eyes glued to the fat man on the ground floor. The hotel was a big, cheap horseshoe-shaped building on four levels. He'd gone to the third floor on the opposite side to hunt for snacks (and, ideally, medication for his throbbing head), and had an excellent view of his hotel room on the ground floor. The big man with no shirt was standing in front of the door to Harken and Kramer's hotel room. Harken leaned on the railing, squinting in the sun and watching with more amusement then fear.</p>
<p>The big man hammered at the door, then stepped back. He was rather fat, long hair, scraggly beard… he looked like he'd had a rough go at life… missing three fingers on his left hand, too. Something about him rang a bell, somewhere. The fat man laughed, then yelled in a strained voice.</p>
<p>"Wakey Wakey, Harken! Mr. Dark sends his love!"</p>
<p>Mr. Dark? As in MC & D? As in the people-</p>
<p>Why would this slob know about th-</p>
<p>Missing three fingers.</p>
<p>Seemed unstable.</p>
<p>Boomer.</p>
<p>FUCK.</p>
<p>Harken tried to take cover, but the exposed walkways offered nothing for protection. The fat man pressed a small device in his hand, and the entire left side of the hotel vanished in a oily black explosion. The walkway, held up by little more then rusty bolts and hope, dropped with a shrieking crash, taking Harken with it. He screamed, trying to find something soft to hit in the kaleidoscope of concrete and metal. He failed, crashing to the ground flat, most likely cracking several ribs, plus a few other things he would have preferred uncracked.</p>
<p>He lay there, the wind knocked out of him, groaning and slowly trying to turn over. He didn't have to, as a meaty hand grabbed and hauled him up like a side of beef. He was suddenly looking into Boomer's sweaty, giggling face as he gripped Harken's now-bloody shirt. Boomer smiled and giggled more, then smashed his thick, stupid skull into Harken's face. It was like being hit by a car.</p>
<p>"Huh. I knew you'd be here, Harken, I knew it. Mister Dark never tells me wrong, Harken. Do you feel bad, Harken? You look bad, Harken. Huh."</p>
<p>Harken was working on something witty when Boomer's fleshy fist smashed into his cheekbone. He moaned, feeling his eye already starting to swell, ears still ringing from the blast. Boomer slapped him twice. Each hit was like getting hit with a cutting board wrapped in a thin layer of padding.</p>
<p>"Mister Dark wants me to tell you to stop it, Harken. He says that you're being too mean and need to stop it, Harken. You got lucky, but if you keep it up he's gonna kill you dirty and slow, Harken. Huh. Heh. He's so mad at you, Harken. I think I'll kill you, Harken, and make Mister Dark happy with me. OK?"</p>
<p>Boomer followed up this with another fist to his face, then his throat, making Harken gasp and croak, trying to wheeze down breath. Over the ringing in his ears was an even more annoying and lovely sound… sirens. Boomer heard them too, swearing breathlessly as he pounded out a few more meaty hits, finally spitting in his face and knocking his head on the blacktop.</p>
<p>"You have a good day, Harken. Huh. Be seeing you later."</p>
<p>He rose and ran off, leaving Harken pounded and bloody on the ground. It seemed like hours later, but finally someone came and started fussing over him. He could feel the heat from the burning hotel, the throbbing of his own bruised and smashed flesh. Not just beaten, no, but beaten by that giggling retard Boomer. He was almost unsure what hurt more, his ego or his body.</p>
<p>Someone he couldn't see washed his face, swabbing away blood and grime.</p>
<p>"What the hell happened?"</p>
<p>Harken smiled painfully, trying to laugh through pulped ribs.</p>
<p>"Man, I just got here myself."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Kramer drove too fast, looking in the rear-view mirror every few minutes. Harken looked like a man who'd rode inside a cement mixer full of gravel. He moaned occasionally, turning over in his deep, drugged sleep.</p>
<p>She'd seen the explosion just as she pulled off the freeway and realized something had gone wrong. Getting to the hotel wasn't hard: she'd fought the urge to speed there and proceeded to the site at a normal pace. Upon seeing the flashing lights, she'd driven on past. Kramer had parked in an alleyway a mile up the road, waited for more people to respond, readied her FBI credentials and twisted her face to match. After a reasonable delay, she'd threaded her way in, drifting to the ambulances with random flash of ID here and there.</p>
<p>Getting Harken out had been more difficult. She'd been forced to create a distraction. Just a little disconnected heart monitor in another ambulance, enough to make the focus shift. She'd piggy-backed him out through the still-smoking rubble, tossing him into the back seat of her car with as much grace as she could muster.</p>
<p>No way Harken could go to a civvie hospital. Grims was already in the wind, the last thing they needed was another Agent in public hands. Site 46 was close, and had full medical facilities: a bit far, but Harken was tough as a cockroach (despite his near-constant whining). He turned over with a groan, waving a hand feebly. “Jesus, I feel like ass.”</p>
<p>"You don't look much better."</p>
<p>"I'm hurt… aren't you obligated… to be nice… to me?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>Harken hissed in pain and pressed a hand to his forehead "…it was that… tubby bitch… Boomer… Dark's private… dog. Oooh, shit…" Harken rolled over and vomited. There were flecks of blood in it. "He blew the room… moron… thought I… was in it."</p>
<p>"Shut up. We'll be on-site soon."</p>
<p>"…hey, Kramer?"</p>
<p>"…yeah?"</p>
<p>"How about… we leave the… rich boys… alone… for a bit? Go… fuck around… with the Hand… or the Insurgency… or some shit?"</p>
<p>"Before or after we carve up Boomer like a flabby ham?"</p>
<p>"Oh." Harken's blood-flecked lips curved up into a feral grin. "After… obviously."</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/discovered-attack">Discovered Attack</a>" by DrClef, Dr Gears, and eric_h, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/discovered-attack">https://scpwiki.com/discovered-attack</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The box had arrived in Site 17, and been accepted as an object worthy of containment. Its sender had been correct that it could not be opened from the outside, at least, not by them. Nor could they see what was actually inside it. Like any hunt, the best way to appeal to prey was via their hunger or curiosity. The box was an appeal to both.
The trap, however, had sprung too soon. The thing inside, bought and trained at disgusting expense, had proven impatient. Even more, it had also proven unable to see its quarry with as much clarity as they had been led to believe. At least it'd had the sense to slither back in and wait, but their hand had been tipped. Still, he was not a man to throw out a tool, no matter how inappropriate. The time would come again, even if it was not the one they had hoped for.
------
Mr. Dark tapped a hard nail against his thin teeth, thinking. The greatest opportunity for acquisitions in years, and it was all going tits-up. Their old doll, Kramer, was finally out of the toybox. In the wrong hands, yes, but her random lethality and crippled psyche could still tip against those same hands. That twit Scud had been mopped up, finally. He'd stopped being useful months ago, and the expenditures could now be routed to better purpose, but it still rankled. More troubling, Cutridge had somehow fallen prey to that fat lush Harken at the worst possible time.
Incompetence everywhere. Lack of vision. Even worse, pure profit being flushed down the sewer by the hour. The kumiho had escaped, and none of his people were even looking for it? A gorgeous, deadly creature, able to change form and slaughter at will… what could be done with that lean and hungry spirit once it was properly brought to heel? Recording options alone could cover a good portion of this budget hemorrhage.
Dark's lips curled in a wintery, predatory smile. He played with a pen, doodling blasphemy as he looked over a small spray of photos on his desk. He lifted one, depicting a hulking brute with a bag head, blurry and unaware of the observation… or uncaring. The Bagman had been content to do its own business for some time now, rising from time to time to devil those witless enough to still hold to magic and faith. Rogue, yes, dangerous, yes, but sometimes a mad dog was better then no dog at all. Perhaps others should be made aware of its "usefulness." No need to mention the absolute disdain for authority and control.
Dark hated to travel. He had not enjoyed any of his visits to the States since helping that Anderson fellow set up his factory. Too bad Anderson was gone; HE wouldn’t have let things get out of control like this, or at the bloody least, gleaned a profit from it. He prepared a note to Marshall and Carter. They would not be pleased – they liked Dark out of day-to-day operations as much as he wished to stay out of them, warmly ensconced in The Museum. Still his best "purchase" to date, regardless of the undying animosity of The Library and its parasites. Still, sometimes it was required to stir the ashes, remind everyone of what their damn jobs were. They were here to provide wonders beyond limit for their discerning club members.
It was about bloody time to cause some wonder.
He snatched up a glossy black phone headset, punching numbers and causing a distant phone to ring. Dark sighed, tapping fingers on the smooth dome of a yeti skull. Finally the other end picked up, and he shifted forward, starting to scribble.
"Were you off for a bloody coffee break, Cheryl? So sorry to upset your routine, but I need the New York club notified to have my rooms ready within the hour. I'll be flying out shortly, have Mr. McCreedy ready up a ten-man team for quick action, have Bobby head it up."
"… What? Why the bloody, bloody hell was he committed? … Really? That's tragic, Cheryl, but that's no reason to take him off active roll. Get him loose and cleaned up and over to the club immediately. I'm going to get this goddamn rubbish back on track manually, and I want him right on the point."
"… That's a good girl, Cheryl. Oh, and one more thing, dearie. Call Boomer, and have him blow a little kiss to Agent Harken. He's thumbed his sodding nose at us a bit too much, it's time he knows that we have taken notice."
He hung up, leaning back and looking up to the bust of Caligula over the door. Mr. Dark smiled with true warmth, tapping his lips. That dear boy Boomer… not the sharpest razor in the apple, but a sweet lad all the same. He had the rather useful opinion that anything worth doing was worth doing with massive property damage. Inelegant, yes, but the idea of Harken burning or splattering in his bed was enough to warm even Mr. Dark's pinched heart.
------
Carter was waiting on the tarmac when Dark's jet landed. Various attendants, along with the New York club director were ranked behind him, every one of them with the same strained, nervous smile. Nothing good ever came from Mr. Dark visiting the States. It immediately put him in poor humor at the best of times, and with things as they were right now…
Carter repressed a shiver as the door slowly opened. Two tiny Asian attendants (identical female twins) scrambled out, carrying a cigar case and a opened umbrella. Next was Dark's longest-running secretary Cheryl, looking harried but still hard as a iron wrecking ball.
And then the puppeteer himself, Mr. Dark, elegantly shabby, like a bitter old owl, snapping at everyone in reach, hitting his attendants with the tip of his cane when they fell so much as a step behind. Staff swarmed to the jet to get his voluminous luggage as Dark snatched up a cigar, the attendant ready with the match almost before he had it in his mouth. He turned, and caught sight of Carter standing at attention. He turned and faced him, a thick cloud of smoke pouring slowly from his nostrils. Carter stiffened, swallowing thickly.
Oh shit, here we go.
Dark crossed in a haze of smoke. Behind him, an unlucky porter dropped a heavy steamer trunk of luggage with a loud crash. "Fire him," Dark said, without breaking stride. Carter felt some of the tension leave him. Dark was in a good mood: the last man to damage one of his possessions had been shot in the head.
All too soon he was there, glaring up at Carter, the thick and oddly spicy smell of his cigars curling around him like strangling hands. "Well, so good to see you, old boy," he said. "The way things have been I'd assumed you were dead."
"It's nice to see you too, Dark. No need to be snide."
"Oh, but I feel there is, my good man. You see, I give you and Marshall all the rope you need, and it seems you've made a noose, put it around your own necks, and are ready to jump off the bloody chair with it. You're letting these bastards run circles around you, and you're ignoring it because everything is all right at the club. Just because the fire hasn't reached the back yard yet doesn't mean it's not still on the way.” He hissed, pulling deeply on his cigar and glaring.
"I understand that Dark, we've just been forced to move a little slower because of the publicity. I have a team-"
"Oh, bugger your team. Who do you have, Finnegan and that twat Logan on it? It is, isn't it? Those two wastes of tissue aren't worth the air they breathe. I've got a ten-man staging now, and I'm putting Bobby on this."
"Bobby?" Carter almost gasped, eyes wide. "Isn't that a little… much? I mean, think of the Thanksgiving incident, I'm not sure if he's comp-"
"Oh sod off, you twit, Bobby's on this now, and I want your fat fingers out of it. A fox girl who can shape-shift into any desire or dalliance is running around free, and you've sat. A woman who can cause or end any sickness is strutting about like a goddamn starlet, and you've twiddled your thumbs. You begged me to be here, Carter, your silence screamed to me again, and I'm going to handle things for you."
"Dark, goddammit, enough wi-"
Dark smiled then, and Carter didn't feel nervous or angry anymore. He was afraid. That was a smile of a man who knew too much about you, who was fumbling your dirty secrets about in his dirty head. Dark slid closer, his cold hand pulling Carter down to look him in the eye, close enough to kiss.
"You called me before, Carter, and I fixed things then too. I've always done right by you, dearie, even if I am a bit… gruff. So tell me, sweetheart, do you have something to say?"
"…"
"I asked if you had any opinion to express, Carter."
"… none at all, Mister Dark."
"That's a good lad." Dark released him then, patting his chest. "Have the girls draw a bath for me, I need a cup of coffee and I have to piss." He steamed away in a haze of smoke, throwing the lit cigar at a staff member who he felt was moving too slowly. Carter watched, breathing slowly with effort. Now, win, lose or draw, he'd been benched. Dark was calling the shots now, he'd been pushed aside, like a child who'd been playing in the kitchen. There was no telling what Dark would do now… there was so much to collect.
------
"This is Kramer."
"Hey, sweetie. Are you still at the store?"
"I am going to punch you in the throat. No, I'm on the way back."
"Can you get me a burger and a cup of coffee? The machine at the hotel doesn't have shit in it."
"Harken, are you drunk?"
"No, no, no… well, maybe, why, do I sound drunk? I was drunk last night I think, does that count?"
"Damn it Harken, you need to be lucid."
"Oh come on, I'm as lucid as I ever am. You were gone for two days, what am I supposed to do to keep amused? A man can only masturbate so much."
"Sweet lord, Harken, sober the hell up fast. If you're like this when I get there, I'm getting a transfer. After I beat you senseless."
"Oh stop… get me food, please? Please? No booze for the rest of the week, I swear."
"It's Saturday, Harken."
"Oh… well, for a while then, OK? I'm really… Kramer, I need to go."
"What? What the hell is going on?"
"There's a fat man with no shirt yelling in the parking lot, and he said my name."
"Harken, wh-"
He hung up without looking at the phone, eyes glued to the fat man on the ground floor. The hotel was a big, cheap horseshoe-shaped building on four levels. He'd gone to the third floor on the opposite side to hunt for snacks (and, ideally, medication for his throbbing head), and had an excellent view of his hotel room on the ground floor. The big man with no shirt was standing in front of the door to Harken and Kramer's hotel room. Harken leaned on the railing, squinting in the sun and watching with more amusement then fear.
The big man hammered at the door, then stepped back. He was rather fat, long hair, scraggly beard… he looked like he'd had a rough go at life… missing three fingers on his left hand, too. Something about him rang a bell, somewhere. The fat man laughed, then yelled in a strained voice.
"Wakey Wakey, Harken! Mr. Dark sends his love!"
Mr. Dark? As in MC & D? As in the people-
Why would this slob know about th-
Missing three fingers.
Seemed unstable.
Boomer.
FUCK.
Harken tried to take cover, but the exposed walkways offered nothing for protection. The fat man pressed a small device in his hand, and the entire left side of the hotel vanished in a oily black explosion. The walkway, held up by little more then rusty bolts and hope, dropped with a shrieking crash, taking Harken with it. He screamed, trying to find something soft to hit in the kaleidoscope of concrete and metal. He failed, crashing to the ground flat, most likely cracking several ribs, plus a few other things he would have preferred uncracked.
He lay there, the wind knocked out of him, groaning and slowly trying to turn over. He didn't have to, as a meaty hand grabbed and hauled him up like a side of beef. He was suddenly looking into Boomer's sweaty, giggling face as he gripped Harken's now-bloody shirt. Boomer smiled and giggled more, then smashed his thick, stupid skull into Harken's face. It was like being hit by a car.
"Huh. I knew you'd be here, Harken, I knew it. Mister Dark never tells me wrong, Harken. Do you feel bad, Harken? You look bad, Harken. Huh."
Harken was working on something witty when Boomer's fleshy fist smashed into his cheekbone. He moaned, feeling his eye already starting to swell, ears still ringing from the blast. Boomer slapped him twice. Each hit was like getting hit with a cutting board wrapped in a thin layer of padding.
"Mister Dark wants me to tell you to stop it, Harken. He says that you're being too mean and need to stop it, Harken. You got lucky, but if you keep it up he's gonna kill you dirty and slow, Harken. Huh. Heh. He's so mad at you, Harken. I think I'll kill you, Harken, and make Mister Dark happy with me. OK?"
Boomer followed up this with another fist to his face, then his throat, making Harken gasp and croak, trying to wheeze down breath. Over the ringing in his ears was an even more annoying and lovely sound… sirens. Boomer heard them too, swearing breathlessly as he pounded out a few more meaty hits, finally spitting in his face and knocking his head on the blacktop.
"You have a good day, Harken. Huh. Be seeing you later."
He rose and ran off, leaving Harken pounded and bloody on the ground. It seemed like hours later, but finally someone came and started fussing over him. He could feel the heat from the burning hotel, the throbbing of his own bruised and smashed flesh. Not just beaten, no, but beaten by that giggling retard Boomer. He was almost unsure what hurt more, his ego or his body.
Someone he couldn't see washed his face, swabbing away blood and grime.
"What the hell happened?"
Harken smiled painfully, trying to laugh through pulped ribs.
"Man, I just got here myself."
------
Kramer drove too fast, looking in the rear-view mirror every few minutes. Harken looked like a man who'd rode inside a cement mixer full of gravel. He moaned occasionally, turning over in his deep, drugged sleep.
She'd seen the explosion just as she pulled off the freeway and realized something had gone wrong. Getting to the hotel wasn't hard: she'd fought the urge to speed there and proceeded to the site at a normal pace. Upon seeing the flashing lights, she'd driven on past. Kramer had parked in an alleyway a mile up the road, waited for more people to respond, readied her FBI credentials and twisted her face to match. After a reasonable delay, she'd threaded her way in, drifting to the ambulances with random flash of ID here and there.
Getting Harken out had been more difficult. She'd been forced to create a distraction. Just a little disconnected heart monitor in another ambulance, enough to make the focus shift. She'd piggy-backed him out through the still-smoking rubble, tossing him into the back seat of her car with as much grace as she could muster.
No way Harken could go to a civvie hospital. Grims was already in the wind, the last thing they needed was another Agent in public hands. Site 46 was close, and had full medical facilities: a bit far, but Harken was tough as a cockroach (despite his near-constant whining). He turned over with a groan, waving a hand feebly. “Jesus, I feel like ass.”
"You don't look much better."
"I'm hurt… aren't you obligated… to be nice… to me?"
"No."
Harken hissed in pain and pressed a hand to his forehead "…it was that… tubby bitch… Boomer… Dark's private… dog. Oooh, shit…" Harken rolled over and vomited. There were flecks of blood in it. "He blew the room… moron… thought I… was in it."
"Shut up. We'll be on-site soon."
"…hey, Kramer?"
"…yeah?"
"How about… we leave the… rich boys… alone… for a bit? Go… fuck around… with the Hand… or the Insurgency… or some shit?"
"Before or after we carve up Boomer like a flabby ham?"
"Oh." Harken's blood-flecked lips curved up into a feral grin. "After… obviously."
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=DrClef, Dr Gears, and eric_h]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-11-08T12:14:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"action",
"co-authored",
"game-day",
"marshall-carter-and-dark",
"spy-fiction",
"tale"
] | Discovered Attack - SCP Foundation | 53 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"marshall-carter-and-dark-hub",
"gamedaypart2index",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 12011003 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/discovered-attack |
|
discussion | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Oh, the things you believe. You think that the things you see are really reality? That your friends and family, your Foundation, you yourself, everything you know, are all there is to this world? Ha. Wouldn't you like to know the things I could tell you?</p>
<p>What's that? You do? Hmmm, interesting. Very interesting. Let me see what I can do for you. What do you want to know? What could I tell you…</p>
<p>How about what this world really is? The true nature of things? Would you like that?</p>
<p>Ah, you would. Well, that's an answer I'm not willing to give up without full payment, but I can give you an idea of what it is. How does that sound? Does it sound good?</p>
<p>Very well. These walls around us, this world, the whole of this reality, is but one piece of an incredibly complicated, yet well organized network of intersecting view points. No, a spider web doesn't begin to describe the complexity of this network. To you, this universe is all there is to it. Nothing more, nothing less. That which you know is the limit of your reality. But I, I can see it all. Every one of the lines that intersects ours, and subsequently others, and then more, so on and so forth to create a great mass that is reality.</p>
<p>I can see variations on your human history, little bits and pieces changed about to create entirely new events. Assassinations survived, wars lost, lives saved, births that never happened. Just within one thread of reality, time is mashed up so tight that events can be changed on a whim. And when the lines intersect, then the whole fabric of reality is rewritten. In fact, there are trillions of universes where you never even existed.</p>
<p>But the connections go deeper than that. Global, galactic, even universal events only begin the scratch the surface of what I can see. If I just look a bit further, I can see that the thread you perceive yourself to live on is only one of a countless - well, countless to you - number of realities. They bear no resemblance to this one; there is no concept of geometry, time, space, life, death. All these things you take for granted, they have no bearing on these realities. There are even completely empty ones, realities filled with nothingness, and yet filled to the brim with concepts you can't begin to understand.</p>
<p>And yet, for all their differences, all these realities, even the ones that don't connect, are all one and the same. They are multilayered, all on top of one another, separated yet together. They form a net, a ball, a line, shapes you have never even heard of. It's all together, and all right in front of your face.</p>
<p>That's what I can tell you. What's wrong? You look confused. You don't get it? Do you want to know more? Want to dive deeper, see what I see, understand the insanity of the world you live in? I can help you. Through my eyes, you could see all. You could know the true nature of reality itself. How does that sound? Do you want to?</p>
<p>You do? Good. All you need to do is put me on…</p>
<p>Oh, look at that. I was lying. Let's see how long you last before you rot to nothing.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/discussion">Discussion</a>" by Gargus, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/discussion">https://scpwiki.com/discussion</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Oh, the things you believe. You think that the things you see are really reality? That your friends and family, your Foundation, you yourself, everything you know, are all there is to this world? Ha. Wouldn't you like to know the things I could tell you?
What's that? You do? Hmmm, interesting. Very interesting. Let me see what I can do for you. What do you want to know? What could I tell you...
How about what this world really is? The true nature of things? Would you like that?
Ah, you would. Well, that's an answer I'm not willing to give up without full payment, but I can give you an idea of what it is. How does that sound? Does it sound good?
Very well. These walls around us, this world, the whole of this reality, is but one piece of an incredibly complicated, yet well organized network of intersecting view points. No, a spider web doesn't begin to describe the complexity of this network. To you, this universe is all there is to it. Nothing more, nothing less. That which you know is the limit of your reality. But I, I can see it all. Every one of the lines that intersects ours, and subsequently others, and then more, so on and so forth to create a great mass that is reality.
I can see variations on your human history, little bits and pieces changed about to create entirely new events. Assassinations survived, wars lost, lives saved, births that never happened. Just within one thread of reality, time is mashed up so tight that events can be changed on a whim. And when the lines intersect, then the whole fabric of reality is rewritten. In fact, there are trillions of universes where you never even existed.
But the connections go deeper than that. Global, galactic, even universal events only begin the scratch the surface of what I can see. If I just look a bit further, I can see that the thread you perceive yourself to live on is only one of a countless - well, countless to you - number of realities. They bear no resemblance to this one; there is no concept of geometry, time, space, life, death. All these things you take for granted, they have no bearing on these realities. There are even completely empty ones, realities filled with nothingness, and yet filled to the brim with concepts you can't begin to understand.
And yet, for all their differences, all these realities, even the ones that don't connect, are all one and the same. They are multilayered, all on top of one another, separated yet together. They form a net, a ball, a line, shapes you have never even heard of. It's all together, and all right in front of your face.
That's what I can tell you. What's wrong? You look confused. You don't get it? Do you want to know more? Want to dive deeper, see what I see, understand the insanity of the world you live in? I can help you. Through my eyes, you could see all. You could know the true nature of reality itself. How does that sound? Do you want to?
You do? Good. All you need to do is put me on...
Oh, look at that. I was lying. Let's see how long you last before you rot to nothing.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-02-17T00:41:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"possessive-mask",
"tale"
] | Discussion - SCP Foundation | 30 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 7503726 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/discussion |
|
doc-491 | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><strong>Doc-491-1:</strong> Fragments from the personal diary of Mayor Piotr Lazarev.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>[…] lights had been circling the village for nearly a week. Captain Trubaiev claimed, then, that they were airplanes, but he didn't believe those words. Whether he actually knew what they were is a different matter. It seems that he'd only just learned what would happen, right before he […]</p>
<p>[ILLEGIBLE]</p>
<p>[…] had acted sooner, we would only have lost our village instead of the rest of the world. Though he insists that I have authority over the village, the fact remains that he is in command of the men with weapons while the rest of us are defenseless. Until Captain Trubaiev conclusively shows that he is no threat, I will continue to withold my trust of him. He has kept a very large secret from us before, after all.</p>
<p>We have to begin considering how to ration our supplies. We are fortunate that this happened in autumn, allowing us to work with […]</p>
<p>[ILLEGIBLE MATERIAL FOLLOWED BY A MINIMUM OF EIGHT DESTROYED PAGES]</p>
<p>[…] brutal than that were the actions of the Captain when he learned of it. I would not call it a trial. Only the Captain spoke, listing off every one of the soldier's faults. He was then left tied in the central square for four hours until the Captain returned with the rest of his men and personally executed him with his own sidearm. His words will never leave me:</p>
<p>"Stand up! Even if you've never lived like a man, at least die like one! Stand up and look me in the eyes!"</p>
<p>Could such a ruthless man be trusted to protect the village? Even if it was for the Jewish girl, it may not stop with one death. What will happen if one of us commits a crime against one of the soldiers? Will he demand that they be disposed of in the same way? With all of the armed men under his control, we could do […]</p>
<p>[BETWEEN TEN AND THIRTEEN DAMAGED OR ILLEGIBLE PAGES]</p>
<p>[…] dare call me the tyrant! Do they even understand that this was for their own well being? Without my militia, only the Captain wields true power. And, while we continue to consolidate our position, we have to follow the same example that the Captain had made of that traitor of his. It is the only way that we can avoid arousing his suspicion.</p>
<p>And now people are leaving with the Uzbek. The punk and the hippies won't be missed. We can even make do without a few of the families. But, with no engineer, we won't be able to keep the generator […]</p>
<p>[FOLLOWING PAGE]</p>
<p>[…] is well. The militia came back with Tibor. He won't be able to use his right hand again. But he'll still be able to maintain the generator, so long as one hand is still working.</p>
<p>[ILLEGIBLE TEXT]</p>
<p>[…] and the punk managed to escape. The boy probably won't survive if the militia did what they said they did to him. And the Uzbek is too old to cause any further trouble. It's ironic that we have our own secrets to keep from the Captain, now.</p>
<p>[TWO ILLEGIBLE PAGES AND ONE THAT HAS CLEARLY BEEN TORN OUT]</p>
<p>[…] The soldiers hate the CAPTAIN as much as I do. Ever since the Jewish girl and the execution, the CAPTAIN had lost all of his power. Another Revolution is about to begin against the CAPTAIN. The village will be free once I'm in […]</p>
<p>[TWO PAGES OF ILLEGIBLE TEXT, INCLUDING FURTHER MENTIONS OF "REVOLUTION", IN ADDITION TO "TREASON", AND "REVENGE". REMAINING PAGES ARE BLANK WITH THE FOLLOWING EXCEPTION]</p>
<p>[…] will die like a man. I'm sorry, Magda.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The above document was discovered beneath the floorboards of the Mayor Lazarev's office, thanks to directions provided by the present Mayor Lazarev. Bullet holes and some bone fragments were found in the wall behind the desk.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Doc-491-2:</strong> Typed memorandum from Nurse Yelena Petruskova to Doctor Vladimir Gierukov.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>[…] Five died during the event. Their names are [DATA REDACTED]. Mister Kravitz died later, before he could receive emergency surgery.</p>
<p>Eight are wounded. [NAMES AND CONDITIONS REDACTED]</p>
<p>[ILLEGIBLE] catatonic and unable to move under their own power. Neither suffered any injuries to their heads or bodies.</p>
<p>[THE REMNANT IS ILLEGIBLE WITH THE EXCEPTION OF A HAND-WRITTEN NOTE IN THE MARGIN]</p>
<p>Thank you, Yelena. Please begin again with the professional tone and language that we had discussed. There is also no need to be redundant in your summaries.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Doc-491-3:</strong> Physical examination of "the Uzbek."</p>
<blockquote>
<p>[…] accustomed to physical labour. Some muscular atrophy has occurred through both lack of use and from advanced age. The two remaining teeth […] scars along the back which appear to have been from a whip […] likely not of European or Asian descent.</p>
<p>Without being familiar with his language, it is not possible to make an accurate assessment of his state of mind. A student of human nature may be able to discern that his actions and demeanor are indicative of a man who is still in full control of his faculties.</p>
<p>[DATA REDACTED]</p>
<p>[…] will continue to refer to him as the Uzbek, even if he clearly is not.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Doc-491-4:</strong> The remains of the personal log of Captain Julian Trubaiev.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>[ALL PAGES UNTIL THE FINAL OFFICIAL ENTRY ARE ILLEGIBLE FOR THE MOST PART. POSSIBLY PERTINENT WORDS INCLUDE, "DISPLACEMENT", "TOO LATE", "DECEIVED", [DATA REDACTED], AND "SURVIVE"]</p>
<p>[…] Perhaps I was too hard on him. He did a horrible thing to her, but does that mean that he deserves the things that I had said to him? I know that I'm quick to anger and it's now been said. There is no turning back from that. It's time for me to go back to him and look him in the eyes. I hope that I will be able to see some remorse in them.</p>
<p>[THE FOLLOWING ENTRY WAS NOT WRITTEN BY CAPTAIN TRUBAIEV'S HAND]</p>
<p>Thank you. I love you.</p>
<p>- Magda</p>
<p>[ALL FURTHER PAGES ARE BLANK EXCEPT FOR THE THIRD FROM THE LAST]</p>
<p>No remorse. No more entries. If this ends, I don't want to remember it.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Doc-491-5:</strong> An anonymous journal discovered underneath rubble during the building of a kiosk at Exit Point 2.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>It's becoming insane here. Piotr has become completely unreasonable, hiding behind his thugs while Captain Trubaiev stands by and does nothing. He tried to evacuate us before we were moved. When the airplanes started circling faster, he ran in here with his men and ordered us out. Even if we couldn't get out of ██████ in time, he tried to save us while the rest of the Red Army sat by and waited for us to disappear.</p>
<p>He also protected the honour of poor Magda, who had already lost her parents when we were moved, after that soldier had his way with her. Nobody is proud to say it, but we were all happy, the moment that he got what he deserved. I only wish he'd died like a dog instead.</p>
<p>With the curfew and the random searches and the dwindling supplies, I don't understand why we are staying here in this dying village. Only the Uzbek has any sense. He is already getting ready to leave again. Mikhail is planning to go with him. They are good friends, even if they can't understand a thing the other is saying. He even gave the old man his favourite punk rock shirt.</p>
<p>[FOLLOWING PAGE]</p>
<p>I have decided to go with the Uzbek. He came from out there in the first place. If anyone can show us how to survive outside of ██████, he can. I know that more will follow us in time. I have already seen other families packing their belongings. Let them come. Piotr and his militia can starve.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Doc-491-6:</strong> Two messages scratched into the wall of a barricaded room.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>You're the last one. Will you taste as good as the mayor?</p>
<p>I don't know. But you were definitely no suckling pig.</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/doc-491">Recovered Documents (Translated into English from Russian)</a>" by Flah, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/doc-491">https://scpwiki.com/doc-491</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
**Doc-491-1:** Fragments from the personal diary of Mayor Piotr Lazarev.
> [...] lights had been circling the village for nearly a week. Captain Trubaiev claimed, then, that they were airplanes, but he didn't believe those words. Whether he actually knew what they were is a different matter. It seems that he'd only just learned what would happen, right before he [...]
>
> [ILLEGIBLE]
>
> [...] had acted sooner, we would only have lost our village instead of the rest of the world. Though he insists that I have authority over the village, the fact remains that he is in command of the men with weapons while the rest of us are defenseless. Until Captain Trubaiev conclusively shows that he is no threat, I will continue to withold my trust of him. He has kept a very large secret from us before, after all.
>
> We have to begin considering how to ration our supplies. We are fortunate that this happened in autumn, allowing us to work with [...]
>
> [ILLEGIBLE MATERIAL FOLLOWED BY A MINIMUM OF EIGHT DESTROYED PAGES]
>
> [...] brutal than that were the actions of the Captain when he learned of it. I would not call it a trial. Only the Captain spoke, listing off every one of the soldier's faults. He was then left tied in the central square for four hours until the Captain returned with the rest of his men and personally executed him with his own sidearm. His words will never leave me:
>
> "Stand up! Even if you've never lived like a man, at least die like one! Stand up and look me in the eyes!"
>
> Could such a ruthless man be trusted to protect the village? Even if it was for the Jewish girl, it may not stop with one death. What will happen if one of us commits a crime against one of the soldiers? Will he demand that they be disposed of in the same way? With all of the armed men under his control, we could do [...]
>
> [BETWEEN TEN AND THIRTEEN DAMAGED OR ILLEGIBLE PAGES]
>
> [...] dare call me the tyrant! Do they even understand that this was for their own well being? Without my militia, only the Captain wields true power. And, while we continue to consolidate our position, we have to follow the same example that the Captain had made of that traitor of his. It is the only way that we can avoid arousing his suspicion.
>
> And now people are leaving with the Uzbek. The punk and the hippies won't be missed. We can even make do without a few of the families. But, with no engineer, we won't be able to keep the generator [...]
>
> [FOLLOWING PAGE]
>
> [...] is well. The militia came back with Tibor. He won't be able to use his right hand again. But he'll still be able to maintain the generator, so long as one hand is still working.
>
> [ILLEGIBLE TEXT]
>
> [...] and the punk managed to escape. The boy probably won't survive if the militia did what they said they did to him. And the Uzbek is too old to cause any further trouble. It's ironic that we have our own secrets to keep from the Captain, now.
>
> [TWO ILLEGIBLE PAGES AND ONE THAT HAS CLEARLY BEEN TORN OUT]
>
> [...] The soldiers hate the CAPTAIN as much as I do. Ever since the Jewish girl and the execution, the CAPTAIN had lost all of his power. Another Revolution is about to begin against the CAPTAIN. The village will be free once I'm in [...]
>
> [TWO PAGES OF ILLEGIBLE TEXT, INCLUDING FURTHER MENTIONS OF "REVOLUTION", IN ADDITION TO "TREASON", AND "REVENGE". REMAINING PAGES ARE BLANK WITH THE FOLLOWING EXCEPTION]
>
> [...] will die like a man. I'm sorry, Magda.
The above document was discovered beneath the floorboards of the Mayor Lazarev's office, thanks to directions provided by the present Mayor Lazarev. Bullet holes and some bone fragments were found in the wall behind the desk.
----
**Doc-491-2:** Typed memorandum from Nurse Yelena Petruskova to Doctor Vladimir Gierukov.
> [...] Five died during the event. Their names are [DATA REDACTED]. Mister Kravitz died later, before he could receive emergency surgery.
>
> Eight are wounded. [NAMES AND CONDITIONS REDACTED]
>
> [ILLEGIBLE] catatonic and unable to move under their own power. Neither suffered any injuries to their heads or bodies.
>
> [THE REMNANT IS ILLEGIBLE WITH THE EXCEPTION OF A HAND-WRITTEN NOTE IN THE MARGIN]
>
> Thank you, Yelena. Please begin again with the professional tone and language that we had discussed. There is also no need to be redundant in your summaries.
----
**Doc-491-3:** Physical examination of "the Uzbek."
> [...] accustomed to physical labour. Some muscular atrophy has occurred through both lack of use and from advanced age. The two remaining teeth [...] scars along the back which appear to have been from a whip [...] likely not of European or Asian descent.
>
> Without being familiar with his language, it is not possible to make an accurate assessment of his state of mind. A student of human nature may be able to discern that his actions and demeanor are indicative of a man who is still in full control of his faculties.
>
> [DATA REDACTED]
>
> [...] will continue to refer to him as the Uzbek, even if he clearly is not.
----
**Doc-491-4:** The remains of the personal log of Captain Julian Trubaiev.
> [ALL PAGES UNTIL THE FINAL OFFICIAL ENTRY ARE ILLEGIBLE FOR THE MOST PART. POSSIBLY PERTINENT WORDS INCLUDE, "DISPLACEMENT", "TOO LATE", "DECEIVED", [DATA REDACTED], AND "SURVIVE"]
>
> [...] Perhaps I was too hard on him. He did a horrible thing to her, but does that mean that he deserves the things that I had said to him? I know that I'm quick to anger and it's now been said. There is no turning back from that. It's time for me to go back to him and look him in the eyes. I hope that I will be able to see some remorse in them.
>
> [THE FOLLOWING ENTRY WAS NOT WRITTEN BY CAPTAIN TRUBAIEV'S HAND]
>
> Thank you. I love you.
>
> - Magda
>
> [ALL FURTHER PAGES ARE BLANK EXCEPT FOR THE THIRD FROM THE LAST]
>
> No remorse. No more entries. If this ends, I don't want to remember it.
----
**Doc-491-5:** An anonymous journal discovered underneath rubble during the building of a kiosk at Exit Point 2.
> It's becoming insane here. Piotr has become completely unreasonable, hiding behind his thugs while Captain Trubaiev stands by and does nothing. He tried to evacuate us before we were moved. When the airplanes started circling faster, he ran in here with his men and ordered us out. Even if we couldn't get out of ██████ in time, he tried to save us while the rest of the Red Army sat by and waited for us to disappear.
>
> He also protected the honour of poor Magda, who had already lost her parents when we were moved, after that soldier had his way with her. Nobody is proud to say it, but we were all happy, the moment that he got what he deserved. I only wish he'd died like a dog instead.
>
> With the curfew and the random searches and the dwindling supplies, I don't understand why we are staying here in this dying village. Only the Uzbek has any sense. He is already getting ready to leave again. Mikhail is planning to go with him. They are good friends, even if they can't understand a thing the other is saying. He even gave the old man his favourite punk rock shirt.
>
> [FOLLOWING PAGE]
>
> I have decided to go with the Uzbek. He came from out there in the first place. If anyone can show us how to survive outside of ██████, he can. I know that more will follow us in time. I have already seen other families packing their belongings. Let them come. Piotr and his militia can starve.
----
**Doc-491-6:** Two messages scratched into the wall of a barricaded room.
> You're the last one. Will you taste as good as the mayor?
>
> I don't know. But you were definitely no suckling pig.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-02-07T22:13:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Recovered Documents (Translated into English from Russian) - SCP Foundation | 22 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 7367159 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/doc-491 |
|
ears | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>My ears have always been temperamental, and their fragile inner workings frighten me just a bit; I don't want to make myself deaf by messing with them too much. I hardly understand how they work. Something about sound waves bouncing off eardrums?</p>
<p>Anyway, I talk about ears because I hate airplanes. There are tiny holes in my eardrums and they don't always drain properly. As a result, my ears often hurt like hell when I descend the many thousands of feet to my destination. I never feel more relieved than when they finally pop and I can hear again. The sound of ears popping, to me, is like crinkling paper being dunked in a fish tank.</p>
<p>Right now I'm on my way to O'Hare, and the plane is slowly going down to the runway. I can tell because my sinuses are protesting and my ears hurt. I don't ever cry because I'm in pain but God <em>damn</em> this is the worst pain I can remember being in, except for the time I got hit by a bus when I was 12. Even then, adrenaline kept the pain in check for a time while the ambulance carried me away. I have no adrenaline right now. Just earaches.</p>
<p>The plane beeps as the buckle-your-seatbelt sign lights up. The noise hurts so badly. The flight attendant says we're about twenty minutes from landing, and it's the longest twenty minutes of my life. The insides of my ears, all those tiny little structures, are squeaking against each other like fresh Brussels sprouts.</p>
<p>Once I've disembarked I can't hear out of either ear.</p>
<p>"Thnkyu, wlcm t Chcago," the flight attendant says as I leave. She had a nice voice at the beginning of the flight but now it's just muffled.</p>
<p>Next to the baggage claim, my left ear pops. Glorious, I think to myself, rattling the side of my head with my palm to loosen the tiny structures in my other ear. I pinch my nose and swallow. My left ear pops again. Fantastic. The noise of the baggage claim is sharp, not in a knife way but in a cheddar cheese way. I shake my head again. Come on, right ear. You can make it.</p>
<p>Long after my fellow passengers have cleared away from the area, and my suitcase is the only one slowly revolving around the conveyor belt, my right ear doesn't so much pop as explode. I nearly topple off the bench in surprise.</p>
<p>All the sounds are ridiculously clear. I don't think I've ever heard this well in my life. I collect my suitcase and equalize my left ear again. Damn, this is amazing. I never noticed how dull my hearing was before.</p>
<p>I approach the duty-free shop to buy a bottle of juice. The man at the very front of the shop is browsing the wines.</p>
<p>"Long trip?" I say to him idly.</p>
<p>"Yeah, really," he replies. "Hopefully a bit of this and a bit of that'll help me unwind, ah?"</p>
<p>I start going off to the corner where the display fridge is, but stop when I hear the man whisper.</p>
<p>"Just take them."</p>
<p>"What?" I say, turning around.</p>
<p>"Hm?" the man says. He looks at me with a puzzled expression.</p>
<p>"I'm…sorry, did you say something?"</p>
<p>"No, I didn't."</p>
<p>I nod. Wonderful. I'm so sleep-deprived I'm starting to hear things.</p>
<p>"Chardonnay. That's good. Just take one of them. They're tiny, nobody will notice."</p>
<p>His mouth wasn't moving. It wasn't even open, and the voice was coming from behind his head.</p>
<p>"Stop that," I say to the mostly empty shop. "Knock that off."</p>
<p>The man looks at me and leaves. My heart is pounding so hard I think it might tire itself out and eventually stop working. My tombstone will say "went batshit, had heart attack. Will not be missed."</p>
<p>The woman behind the counter waves a hand at me. "Sir, are you feeling alright? Do you want me to call the medical station?"</p>
<p>There's a voice coming from behind her head too. It's telling me - no, telling her - to sneak some money from the register. What the fuck?</p>
<p>"Listen, something's going on here and I don't appreciate it. I'm not going to take this whole prank lying down."</p>
<p>She keeps one eye on me as she takes out her cell phone. I flee the shop. I can tell this won't end well, but all I can think about is leave, leave, leave, this place is fucking haunted.</p>
<p>There are people roaming the airport, and all of them have tiny whispers following them. "Fuck your boss, don't even bother showing up for the meeting." "Your secretary is pretty hot, isn't she?" "Your mother's suffering. Just end it now before she gets worse."</p>
<p>I cover my ears. Amazing hearing, and all I can hear now is one voice, and it's speaking to <em>me.</em></p>
<p>"You're going mad."</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/ears">Ears</a>" by Cherry Pict, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/ears">https://scpwiki.com/ears</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
My ears have always been temperamental, and their fragile inner workings frighten me just a bit; I don't want to make myself deaf by messing with them too much. I hardly understand how they work. Something about sound waves bouncing off eardrums?
Anyway, I talk about ears because I hate airplanes. There are tiny holes in my eardrums and they don't always drain properly. As a result, my ears often hurt like hell when I descend the many thousands of feet to my destination. I never feel more relieved than when they finally pop and I can hear again. The sound of ears popping, to me, is like crinkling paper being dunked in a fish tank.
Right now I'm on my way to O'Hare, and the plane is slowly going down to the runway. I can tell because my sinuses are protesting and my ears hurt. I don't ever cry because I'm in pain but God //damn// this is the worst pain I can remember being in, except for the time I got hit by a bus when I was 12. Even then, adrenaline kept the pain in check for a time while the ambulance carried me away. I have no adrenaline right now. Just earaches.
The plane beeps as the buckle-your-seatbelt sign lights up. The noise hurts so badly. The flight attendant says we're about twenty minutes from landing, and it's the longest twenty minutes of my life. The insides of my ears, all those tiny little structures, are squeaking against each other like fresh Brussels sprouts.
Once I've disembarked I can't hear out of either ear.
"Thnkyu, wlcm t Chcago," the flight attendant says as I leave. She had a nice voice at the beginning of the flight but now it's just muffled.
Next to the baggage claim, my left ear pops. Glorious, I think to myself, rattling the side of my head with my palm to loosen the tiny structures in my other ear. I pinch my nose and swallow. My left ear pops again. Fantastic. The noise of the baggage claim is sharp, not in a knife way but in a cheddar cheese way. I shake my head again. Come on, right ear. You can make it.
Long after my fellow passengers have cleared away from the area, and my suitcase is the only one slowly revolving around the conveyor belt, my right ear doesn't so much pop as explode. I nearly topple off the bench in surprise.
All the sounds are ridiculously clear. I don't think I've ever heard this well in my life. I collect my suitcase and equalize my left ear again. Damn, this is amazing. I never noticed how dull my hearing was before.
I approach the duty-free shop to buy a bottle of juice. The man at the very front of the shop is browsing the wines.
"Long trip?" I say to him idly.
"Yeah, really," he replies. "Hopefully a bit of this and a bit of that'll help me unwind, ah?"
I start going off to the corner where the display fridge is, but stop when I hear the man whisper.
"Just take them."
"What?" I say, turning around.
"Hm?" the man says. He looks at me with a puzzled expression.
"I'm...sorry, did you say something?"
"No, I didn't."
I nod. Wonderful. I'm so sleep-deprived I'm starting to hear things.
"Chardonnay. That's good. Just take one of them. They're tiny, nobody will notice."
His mouth wasn't moving. It wasn't even open, and the voice was coming from behind his head.
"Stop that," I say to the mostly empty shop. "Knock that off."
The man looks at me and leaves. My heart is pounding so hard I think it might tire itself out and eventually stop working. My tombstone will say "went batshit, had heart attack. Will not be missed."
The woman behind the counter waves a hand at me. "Sir, are you feeling alright? Do you want me to call the medical station?"
There's a voice coming from behind her head too. It's telling me - no, telling her - to sneak some money from the register. What the fuck?
"Listen, something's going on here and I don't appreciate it. I'm not going to take this whole prank lying down."
She keeps one eye on me as she takes out her cell phone. I flee the shop. I can tell this won't end well, but all I can think about is leave, leave, leave, this place is fucking haunted.
There are people roaming the airport, and all of them have tiny whispers following them. "Fuck your boss, don't even bother showing up for the meeting." "Your secretary is pretty hot, isn't she?" "Your mother's suffering. Just end it now before she gets worse."
I cover my ears. Amazing hearing, and all I can hear now is one voice, and it's speaking to //me.//
"You're going mad."
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-03-23T23:05:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Ears - SCP Foundation | 46 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 8627226 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ears |
|
ecceperago | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>And so, at last, it had come to this. Day after day, week after week, they had come to him. Talking to him. Telling him their lies, trying to see where he broke. They'd never realized how much they had told him instead. When you hear enough lies, you get a feeling for the truth. You can see the shape of the truth, by how the lies outline it.</p>
<p>He had everything in place. He'd had it in place for quite some time. Plans, plots, and schemes, all ready to go, when everything was right. In the end, all it took to spark it off was a simple cold. The old lady had already been quite weak, refusing to indulge in treatments like the others. An illness introduced into her system by a well-placed cough, and she passed away in her sleep. The numbers above and below her had came to him and offered him her numbers. He accepted, with a show of reluctance. Those who are shown to desire power are those least likely to be trusted with it.</p>
<p>And now O5-4 sat in his office. He had been given his mark of office. A foot-long length of bone, polished smooth. His name had been erased, not just from Foundation databanks, but from the minds of all who had known him. He was sure the other numbers knew his name, but soon enough, they wouldn't matter. He let his fingers drift towards the keyboard before him, and a half smile rose to his lips. Alone, with no one watching, he still felt the need to say, well, something. For posterity. "I feel like a super villain. Like Lex Luthor, or Adrian Veidt. Heh. 'Do it, Dr. Bright? I did it 35 minutes ago.'" As good a set of words as any.</p>
<p>Four touched a series of buttons, setting into motion the events that would place the entirety of the Foundation into his hands. Then he sat back and waited. Fifteen minutes, and everything would be his.</p>
<h1 id="toc0"><span>13</span></h1>
<p>Thirteen was easiest. Mainly because O5-13 didn't really exist. Oh, the Senior Staff were told he did. There were memos, handed down by 'O5-13,' but it was just one more lie. Thirteen's vote was rotated to the other O5's, moving up a step any time there was a tie vote and the tie breaker was needed. But there was a power there. Knowledge, that only those who held Thirteen's vote could access. A simple (actually quite complex) computer virus snuck past the Overseers' firewalls, and bestowed the power of Thirteen to Four. Easy as that.</p>
<h1 id="toc1"><span>12</span></h1>
<p>A large African man sat in his chair, behind an expensive desk. The room he used as his office could also quite easily be described as 'expensive.' The man himself could be described the same. Silk tie. Gold cufflinks. Armani suit. Shoes made from the skin of a very rare reptile. He wore dark wrap-around glasses, smoked glass framed in ivory, perhaps to hide his eyes, perhaps to keep him from looking too closely at the things he had to. Although he had once borne another name, these days he was known to one and all as O5-12. He was the accountant for the Overseer council, making sure the numbers added up, everywhere.</p>
<p>His assistant entered the office on schedule. Everything Twelve did was on schedule. From the moment he woke up, to the moment he went to sleep, and perhaps even his dreams, followed a precise, practical order. To do things otherwise invited chaos, and with chaos came death. The assistant walked calmly to the drink cabinet, opening it as he had done every day for years. Somewhere in his head, things were turning. A thing had been planted in his head, before he became Twelve's right-hand man. And now, this thing made him pick a different bottle than the one he normally did.</p>
<p>The glass was poured, and it looked like whiskey. It even smelled like whiskey. When the brainwashed assistant dropped an ice cube in it, it even bubbled a little, like whiskey. But, when O5-12 raised it to his lips and gulped it down, it didn't act like whiskey. Contact with the soft, wet flesh of his tongue and throat resulted in a chemical reaction. Instead of the sweet soothing burn of alcohol, Twelve was rewarded with the swift, horrible burn of acid.</p>
<p>He was dead before the glass left his lips.</p>
<h1 id="toc2"><span>11</span></h1>
<p>The two men sat across from each other, separated only by a chessboard. It was an old board, but they were old men. O5-11 was a pleasant enough looking Caucasian gentlemen, one of those old men who sit on their porch and offer candy to little children. Not the creepy kind. Eleven fiddled with a bracelet made from human teeth as he considered both the board, and his opponent.</p>
<p>"It's still your move, 'Leven," Agent Alto Clef teased his superior. Maybe the Devil, maybe a reality bender, one thing could be said for certain: Clef enjoyed these monthly games with Eleven. When his phone beeped to alert him to an incoming text, he almost ignored it. Almost. But he'd expected this. Sure enough, the text merely read 'Now.'</p>
<p>"Check."</p>
<p>"Where? You don't have check anywhere!" O5-11 leaned across the chessboard, searching for his opponent's move, his hands touching both sides of the board.</p>
<p>A sad smile on his face, Clef spoke. "There." He calmly tipped over his own king, and 300 amps of electricity charged into Eleven's body, frying his brain to a crisp.</p>
<p>"Checkmate."</p>
<h1 id="toc3"><span>10</span></h1>
<p>O5-10 didn't notice when the air conditioning kicked on. It was just another distraction from the endless paperwork that filled her life these days. She was a strong, capable woman, a brunette, dressed in a functional long skirt and jacket. Every five minutes she'd raise her hand to the necklace around her throat, a carved marble eyeball, dangling to stare at her paperwork with the same disgust she felt for it.</p>
<p>Her first indication that anything was wrong was when she realized she'd read the same page 4 times without comprehending it. By then it was too late. She could hear the clicking and hissing sounds being made by her body. Her hand refused to let go of the paper. Her hand refused to let go of the paper. Her hand refused to let go. Her hand refused. Her hand. Her.</p>
<h1 id="toc4"><span>9</span></h1>
<p>He always claimed he was the unluckiest O5. The only one who didn't get to be a world-traveling jetsetter. Oh no. Nine was stuck deep in the middle of the ocean. Sure, he could travel to any of the water Sites, all couple dozen of them, but most of the time, he ended up here, deep beneath the sea, where no natural light could find its way. He was a pale man, small, always looking lost in the suits he tried to make look good. A bone-handled knife rested in his hands at this moment in time, as he stared into the abyss. It would have been poetic to say something gazed back, but the only thing outside the window in his office was water, lots and lots of water.</p>
<p>Several seconds later, the only thing inside his office was lots and lots of water. Between the water in his lungs, and the pressure so deep, O5-9 was the unluckiest O5.</p>
<h1 id="toc5"><span>8</span></h1>
<p>A shower could never make her feel clean. No matter how many times she washed, she could still feel those things crawling across her skin, could still see all the people she'd condemned to death. Eight was not a pretty woman. Despite being one of a handful of all-powerful Overseers, she'd never gotten any work done, no surgery to fix her sloped forehead, her craggy brow, no lap band to cut back on her weight. Somehow, despite having no appetite, she'd still gained weight. Even naked under the water, she still wore a braided ring of sinew on her left ring finger.</p>
<p>She turned the water up hotter, trying to blast away the horrible memories, boil them off. The heat felt very nice. Until there was nothing but heat. She didn't even manage a scream when her flesh boiled away. In fact, she may have smiled, because the memories, at last, were gone.</p>
<h1 id="toc6"><span>7</span></h1>
<p>"I'm sorry, driver, I don't think I've seen you before. What did you say your name was?" Seven asked absently, fiddling with the ivory chopstick in her hair.</p>
<p>"Oh, it's Rodney. But most people call me Dr. Gerald."</p>
<h1 id="toc7"><span>6</span></h1>
<p>He had been an Agent, once upon a time. When he worked the field, they called him Cowboy. People still remembered the agent, even if no one knew he was now the Overseer known as Six. He had been the best.</p>
<p>And now, he was an old man. Dressed as always in an immaculate white suit, his long grey hair pulled back in a ponytail, his trademark Stetson tilted at an angle on his head. Between his gnarled old hands he held a white cane, the handle carved into the shape of a howling wolf. At his back were his two trusted bodyguards, Thompson and Black. They were almost as good as him. One day, they'd be better. When they were, well, one of them could take his number, and he could retire. Maybe spend some time with his granddaughter.</p>
<p>He didn't look back when Black got a text. He never knew that O5-4 had once been Agent Black's personal physician. Or, if he had known, it wouldn't have mattered. He did, however, feel it when Black drew his guns. He began to turn, but, no, too slow. As he fell to the floor, he noticed Thompson falling beside him. But the hole in the back of his head prevented him from noticing any more.</p>
<h1 id="toc8"><span>5</span></h1>
<p>"It's an emergency, sir! We have to get you out of here!" The security guard hurried O5-5 and his secretary into the nearest airlock, and slammed the door shut behind the three of them. The guard leaned against the door, panting. "Keter, sir. It sounds bad." The secretary sniffed, but then, she always had pneumonia, or some other sinus problem.</p>
<p>O5-5 was nondescript. He dressed nice, but not well. His hair was… enh. His face was… blah. He didn't stand out. In fact, the only thing that was noticeable about him was the leather shoes. A nice, tanned leather. His secretary was an African-American woman, about 51 years old, quiet, with a rather large nose. She had always been his emergency escape, even if she didn't know it.</p>
<p>As the room proceeded to move upwards, the guard frowned, turning to look at the two of them. "Do either of you hear a hissing sound?"</p>
<p>The gas was fast-acting, invisible, unscented. It poured out of 108's nose at a furious pace, killing them all as they rode to safety.</p>
<h1 id="toc9"><span>3</span></h1>
<p>"Well hey guys, how are you today? It's fantastic to see you!" Three looked like a teenage boy, late teens, blond hair down to his collar, jean jacket filled with patches, geek-style glasses. O5-3 never let himself be seen in person, or, at least, not for many years. He always showed up on a monitor, broadcasting from a white room, a fancy desk and old-fashioned computer beside him. While he always had a prop or two at hand, it was never anything real. In fact, O5-3 wasn't real. He'd died, decades ago, plugged into a prototype computer he'd invented. He just didn't go away.</p>
<p>The Overseer council took a vote, and decided they didn't care. He was still their best coder. He could still do the job. So, they set his bone earring on the mainframe, installed some safety programs, and let him work.</p>
<p>An electromagnetic pulse set off inside the hardware that carried him removed him from this world at last.</p>
<h1 id="toc10"><span>2</span></h1>
<p>60 km west of Astrakhan, a garden was in bloom. O5-2 took great pride in her garden. Of course, she was cheating, a little. She didn't mind. Once you get old enough, you don't mind using a few cheat codes to get things done. Two was the type of woman you pictured when you heard the word 'Grandma.' She always had a blonde shawl on, no matter the weather, and usually a pair of gardening gloves. She had a fantastic gardening hat a friend had made for her, pushed down tightly on her grey curls.</p>
<p>Her helper was an old friend, a man old well before his time, and maybe after it as well. He glanced up, a slight frown on his face, and pointed, looking uncomfortable. He wasn't used to this much attention on him.</p>
<p>Two had the time to look up and smile at the Russian satellite that was screaming down through the sky at her. She could have moved. She could have run. She noticed the 'rogue' satellite too early, and she could have made it to the spring, saved herself. But she didn't.</p>
<p>If anyone had been around to hear her last words, they might have been confused that what she chose to say was "It's about time."</p>
<h1 id="toc11"><span>1</span></h1>
<p>And One. The first. Once upon a time, he had been known as the Administrator. All the power in the Foundation had been his. But he didn't trust himself. He knew that absolute power corrupts absolutely. So, he parceled off his power. Handed out badges of responsibility. Numbered them, and made sure they could balance each other. Set up a system, so that if one died, the authority, the votes, were passed to another, so the balance would never be uneven for long.</p>
<p>And then he retreated from the world. Buried himself down deep, with only electronic means to keep him in touch with the outside. Which means that O5-1, still looking like a 13-year-old boy, still clad in the rags and bones that hadn't been used to mark the other 12, was completely alone. When his systems shut down, he didn't panic. When the liquid concrete began seeping out of the air vents, he didn't panic. He just lay down, and accepted it. After all, he'd been expecting it.</p>
<h1 id="toc12"><span>4</span></h1>
<p>O5-4 stared at the screen before him, as the 13 lights shifted, back and forth, here and there. One dies a little ahead of another, so the vote goes to her, then she dies, so vote travels here… until, finally, at last, the votes were all his. The power was all his. The Foundation was all his.</p>
<p>Dr. Everett Mann, the Administrator, allowed himself one appreciative cackle. Just one. No sense going all maniacal about it. Besides, he had so much work to do. His fingers flew across the keyboards, as he prepared to change everything. As he typed, he muttered to himself.</p>
<p>"Good evening, Doctor. No, no, don't stand up…"</p>
<p><a href="/annon">...</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/ecceperago">Ecce Perago</a>" by AdminBright, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/ecceperago">https://scpwiki.com/ecceperago</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
And so, at last, it had come to this. Day after day, week after week, they had come to him. Talking to him. Telling him their lies, trying to see where he broke. They'd never realized how much they had told him instead. When you hear enough lies, you get a feeling for the truth. You can see the shape of the truth, by how the lies outline it.
He had everything in place. He'd had it in place for quite some time. Plans, plots, and schemes, all ready to go, when everything was right. In the end, all it took to spark it off was a simple cold. The old lady had already been quite weak, refusing to indulge in treatments like the others. An illness introduced into her system by a well-placed cough, and she passed away in her sleep. The numbers above and below her had came to him and offered him her numbers. He accepted, with a show of reluctance. Those who are shown to desire power are those least likely to be trusted with it.
And now O5-4 sat in his office. He had been given his mark of office. A foot-long length of bone, polished smooth. His name had been erased, not just from Foundation databanks, but from the minds of all who had known him. He was sure the other numbers knew his name, but soon enough, they wouldn't matter. He let his fingers drift towards the keyboard before him, and a half smile rose to his lips. Alone, with no one watching, he still felt the need to say, well, something. For posterity. "I feel like a super villain. Like Lex Luthor, or Adrian Veidt. Heh. 'Do it, Dr. Bright? I did it 35 minutes ago.'" As good a set of words as any.
Four touched a series of buttons, setting into motion the events that would place the entirety of the Foundation into his hands. Then he sat back and waited. Fifteen minutes, and everything would be his.
+ 13
Thirteen was easiest. Mainly because O5-13 didn't really exist. Oh, the Senior Staff were told he did. There were memos, handed down by 'O5-13,' but it was just one more lie. Thirteen's vote was rotated to the other O5's, moving up a step any time there was a tie vote and the tie breaker was needed. But there was a power there. Knowledge, that only those who held Thirteen's vote could access. A simple (actually quite complex) computer virus snuck past the Overseers' firewalls, and bestowed the power of Thirteen to Four. Easy as that.
+ 12
A large African man sat in his chair, behind an expensive desk. The room he used as his office could also quite easily be described as 'expensive.' The man himself could be described the same. Silk tie. Gold cufflinks. Armani suit. Shoes made from the skin of a very rare reptile. He wore dark wrap-around glasses, smoked glass framed in ivory, perhaps to hide his eyes, perhaps to keep him from looking too closely at the things he had to. Although he had once borne another name, these days he was known to one and all as O5-12. He was the accountant for the Overseer council, making sure the numbers added up, everywhere.
His assistant entered the office on schedule. Everything Twelve did was on schedule. From the moment he woke up, to the moment he went to sleep, and perhaps even his dreams, followed a precise, practical order. To do things otherwise invited chaos, and with chaos came death. The assistant walked calmly to the drink cabinet, opening it as he had done every day for years. Somewhere in his head, things were turning. A thing had been planted in his head, before he became Twelve's right-hand man. And now, this thing made him pick a different bottle than the one he normally did.
The glass was poured, and it looked like whiskey. It even smelled like whiskey. When the brainwashed assistant dropped an ice cube in it, it even bubbled a little, like whiskey. But, when O5-12 raised it to his lips and gulped it down, it didn't act like whiskey. Contact with the soft, wet flesh of his tongue and throat resulted in a chemical reaction. Instead of the sweet soothing burn of alcohol, Twelve was rewarded with the swift, horrible burn of acid.
He was dead before the glass left his lips.
+ 11
The two men sat across from each other, separated only by a chessboard. It was an old board, but they were old men. O5-11 was a pleasant enough looking Caucasian gentlemen, one of those old men who sit on their porch and offer candy to little children. Not the creepy kind. Eleven fiddled with a bracelet made from human teeth as he considered both the board, and his opponent.
"It's still your move, 'Leven," Agent Alto Clef teased his superior. Maybe the Devil, maybe a reality bender, one thing could be said for certain: Clef enjoyed these monthly games with Eleven. When his phone beeped to alert him to an incoming text, he almost ignored it. Almost. But he'd expected this. Sure enough, the text merely read 'Now.'
"Check."
"Where? You don't have check anywhere!" O5-11 leaned across the chessboard, searching for his opponent's move, his hands touching both sides of the board.
A sad smile on his face, Clef spoke. "There." He calmly tipped over his own king, and 300 amps of electricity charged into Eleven's body, frying his brain to a crisp.
"Checkmate."
+ 10
O5-10 didn't notice when the air conditioning kicked on. It was just another distraction from the endless paperwork that filled her life these days. She was a strong, capable woman, a brunette, dressed in a functional long skirt and jacket. Every five minutes she'd raise her hand to the necklace around her throat, a carved marble eyeball, dangling to stare at her paperwork with the same disgust she felt for it.
Her first indication that anything was wrong was when she realized she'd read the same page 4 times without comprehending it. By then it was too late. She could hear the clicking and hissing sounds being made by her body. Her hand refused to let go of the paper. Her hand refused to let go of the paper. Her hand refused to let go. Her hand refused. Her hand. Her.
+ 9
He always claimed he was the unluckiest O5. The only one who didn't get to be a world-traveling jetsetter. Oh no. Nine was stuck deep in the middle of the ocean. Sure, he could travel to any of the water Sites, all couple dozen of them, but most of the time, he ended up here, deep beneath the sea, where no natural light could find its way. He was a pale man, small, always looking lost in the suits he tried to make look good. A bone-handled knife rested in his hands at this moment in time, as he stared into the abyss. It would have been poetic to say something gazed back, but the only thing outside the window in his office was water, lots and lots of water.
Several seconds later, the only thing inside his office was lots and lots of water. Between the water in his lungs, and the pressure so deep, O5-9 was the unluckiest O5.
+ 8
A shower could never make her feel clean. No matter how many times she washed, she could still feel those things crawling across her skin, could still see all the people she'd condemned to death. Eight was not a pretty woman. Despite being one of a handful of all-powerful Overseers, she'd never gotten any work done, no surgery to fix her sloped forehead, her craggy brow, no lap band to cut back on her weight. Somehow, despite having no appetite, she'd still gained weight. Even naked under the water, she still wore a braided ring of sinew on her left ring finger.
She turned the water up hotter, trying to blast away the horrible memories, boil them off. The heat felt very nice. Until there was nothing but heat. She didn't even manage a scream when her flesh boiled away. In fact, she may have smiled, because the memories, at last, were gone.
+ 7
"I'm sorry, driver, I don't think I've seen you before. What did you say your name was?" Seven asked absently, fiddling with the ivory chopstick in her hair.
"Oh, it's Rodney. But most people call me Dr. Gerald."
+ 6
He had been an Agent, once upon a time. When he worked the field, they called him Cowboy. People still remembered the agent, even if no one knew he was now the Overseer known as Six. He had been the best.
And now, he was an old man. Dressed as always in an immaculate white suit, his long grey hair pulled back in a ponytail, his trademark Stetson tilted at an angle on his head. Between his gnarled old hands he held a white cane, the handle carved into the shape of a howling wolf. At his back were his two trusted bodyguards, Thompson and Black. They were almost as good as him. One day, they'd be better. When they were, well, one of them could take his number, and he could retire. Maybe spend some time with his granddaughter.
He didn't look back when Black got a text. He never knew that O5-4 had once been Agent Black's personal physician. Or, if he had known, it wouldn't have mattered. He did, however, feel it when Black drew his guns. He began to turn, but, no, too slow. As he fell to the floor, he noticed Thompson falling beside him. But the hole in the back of his head prevented him from noticing any more.
+ 5
"It's an emergency, sir! We have to get you out of here!" The security guard hurried O5-5 and his secretary into the nearest airlock, and slammed the door shut behind the three of them. The guard leaned against the door, panting. "Keter, sir. It sounds bad." The secretary sniffed, but then, she always had pneumonia, or some other sinus problem.
O5-5 was nondescript. He dressed nice, but not well. His hair was... enh. His face was... blah. He didn't stand out. In fact, the only thing that was noticeable about him was the leather shoes. A nice, tanned leather. His secretary was an African-American woman, about 51 years old, quiet, with a rather large nose. She had always been his emergency escape, even if she didn't know it.
As the room proceeded to move upwards, the guard frowned, turning to look at the two of them. "Do either of you hear a hissing sound?"
The gas was fast-acting, invisible, unscented. It poured out of 108's nose at a furious pace, killing them all as they rode to safety.
+ 3
"Well hey guys, how are you today? It's fantastic to see you!" Three looked like a teenage boy, late teens, blond hair down to his collar, jean jacket filled with patches, geek-style glasses. O5-3 never let himself be seen in person, or, at least, not for many years. He always showed up on a monitor, broadcasting from a white room, a fancy desk and old-fashioned computer beside him. While he always had a prop or two at hand, it was never anything real. In fact, O5-3 wasn't real. He'd died, decades ago, plugged into a prototype computer he'd invented. He just didn't go away.
The Overseer council took a vote, and decided they didn't care. He was still their best coder. He could still do the job. So, they set his bone earring on the mainframe, installed some safety programs, and let him work.
An electromagnetic pulse set off inside the hardware that carried him removed him from this world at last.
+ 2
60 km west of Astrakhan, a garden was in bloom. O5-2 took great pride in her garden. Of course, she was cheating, a little. She didn't mind. Once you get old enough, you don't mind using a few cheat codes to get things done. Two was the type of woman you pictured when you heard the word 'Grandma.' She always had a blonde shawl on, no matter the weather, and usually a pair of gardening gloves. She had a fantastic gardening hat a friend had made for her, pushed down tightly on her grey curls.
Her helper was an old friend, a man old well before his time, and maybe after it as well. He glanced up, a slight frown on his face, and pointed, looking uncomfortable. He wasn't used to this much attention on him.
Two had the time to look up and smile at the Russian satellite that was screaming down through the sky at her. She could have moved. She could have run. She noticed the 'rogue' satellite too early, and she could have made it to the spring, saved herself. But she didn't.
If anyone had been around to hear her last words, they might have been confused that what she chose to say was "It's about time."
+ 1
And One. The first. Once upon a time, he had been known as the Administrator. All the power in the Foundation had been his. But he didn't trust himself. He knew that absolute power corrupts absolutely. So, he parceled off his power. Handed out badges of responsibility. Numbered them, and made sure they could balance each other. Set up a system, so that if one died, the authority, the votes, were passed to another, so the balance would never be uneven for long.
And then he retreated from the world. Buried himself down deep, with only electronic means to keep him in touch with the outside. Which means that O5-1, still looking like a 13-year-old boy, still clad in the rags and bones that hadn't been used to mark the other 12, was completely alone. When his systems shut down, he didn't panic. When the liquid concrete began seeping out of the air vents, he didn't panic. He just lay down, and accepted it. After all, he'd been expecting it.
+ 4
O5-4 stared at the screen before him, as the 13 lights shifted, back and forth, here and there. One dies a little ahead of another, so the vote goes to her, then she dies, so vote travels here... until, finally, at last, the votes were all his. The power was all his. The Foundation was all his.
Dr. Everett Mann, the Administrator, allowed himself one appreciative cackle. Just one. No sense going all maniacal about it. Besides, he had so much work to do. His fingers flew across the keyboards, as he prepared to change everything. As he typed, he muttered to himself.
"Good evening, Doctor. No, no, don't stand up..."
[[[annon |...]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-26T06:48:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-gerald",
"doctor-mann",
"featured",
"spy-fiction",
"tale",
"the-administrator"
] | Ecce Perago - SCP Foundation | 422 | [
"annon",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"top-rated-tales",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"resurrection",
"reimagined-hub",
"kaktuskast-hub",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"featured-tale-archive",
"competitive-eschatology-hub",
"algorithm-curated-recommendations"
] | [] | 11941708 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ecceperago |
|
eldritch-application | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>The man behind the desk watched as the cosmic horror before him paced back and forth, ranting what could only be described as its head off. "I am the ultimate hive mind. My influence is everywhere, though you normally cannot feel it. I am He Who Waits Behind the Wall. When I break through those tiny cracks in your reality, I am the very personification of decay and destruction. Black ooze, great tentacles, blood flowing from your eyes. My six mouths are ever screaming, and the seventh one shall sing the song that ends the world. My very gaze is enough to drive men to madness." It moved in closer, and made several dramatic motions with its tentacular appendages.</p>
<p>"No force can match mine. When I deem your world to be over, it shall come to an end. My power goes far beyond that of any other being you can think of." It worked its mass into the small wooden chair, and glared at the man. "I am decay, and I am destruction. I am Zalgo, and I am coming."</p>
<p>Multiple tentacles slammed into the desk. "So why <em>can't</em> I be an SCP?"</p>
<p>The director of the SCP Foundation showed no shock towards the black, amorphous monstrosity that sat before him. The piercing red light from the pinpoints deep in the dark mass did not phase him. Instead, they merely reflected off his glasses and his balding head as he looked down at his desk.</p>
<p>"Look," he began, riffling through a sheet of papers, "this is your fifth time attempting to apply for SCP status. I don't know how many times I've said this to you, so listen up. This is the final time. We do not have any interest in taking you in. You just don't work."</p>
<p>"Did you not hear me?" demanded Zalgo, growing in size rapidly. "I am the ultimate hive mind, and…"</p>
<p>"Yes, yes, we've been through this before. You are the ultimate force of destruction, and can end the world, and all those other qualifications you're always on about. There's no need to repeat them again. Now, I'm not saying I encourage it, but why don't you just go and do something dangerous, if you want in so badly?"</p>
<p>"'Do something dangerous?' My work over the past few years has been beyond dangerous. I have driven countless innocent children to madness, caused suicides all over this world, and bled into anywhere I can fit, and you ask me to do something dangerous?" The black mass rose up, drawing on its awesome power.</p>
<p>"Zalgo," stated the director flatly. "You find web comics, and you corrupt them."</p>
<p>The abomination from beyond the stars stared blankly at the director, then sank back into his chair, looking defeated. "Why do you want to be an SCP, anyways?"</p>
<p>"Well," sighed Zalgo through one of the non-screaming mouths, "that bloody Slender Man's been spreading his image around for quite some time now. Getting people talking about what he does, placing himself in photographs, inspiring stories, the usual affair. He's even got his own web series now! Can you believe that?"</p>
<p>"Yes," said the director warily, cocking his head to the side, "but what does that have to do with anything?"</p>
<p>"I'm new to the eldritch abomination thing, and need some publicity. The whole thing with the web comics is a start, but it's easy for people to use my methods and never mention my name, and let me tell you, that's a big mark against me. You lot take me in, and I'm a big name. Not as big as Yog-Sothoth or Azathoth, but big enough to get some recognition. So, how about it?"</p>
<p>An awkward silence settled over the room as the director took off his glasses and wiped them off with one hand, while holding his forehead with the other, deep in thought. Zalgo shifted nervously in his chair, awaiting the director's answer. At length, the director placed his glasses aside, and began speaking.</p>
<p>"Barring the fact that I refuse to participate in some weird contest of abominations, there's one big reason as to why we can't take you in. It's not a matter of money or difficulty of containment, oh no. We've got SCPs like 682, and it's pocket change to keep it locked up, even when it breaks out. And since you seem willing to cooperate with us, you'd be easy as pie to contain, as well. No, it's that you're just not interesting enough."</p>
<p>Zalgo seemed to boil with fury at this statement, and opened several mouths to make a retort, but the director held him off. "Allow me to explain. You are bursting with power, and have the capacity to end this world with a thought. That's all well and good for other organizations. But here at the SCP Foundation, we can't just accept you on those criteria. It's far too much. You're overpowered, you don't have a hook, and quite frankly, you're boring. When you get down to it, you just don't fit in with our image."</p>
<p>For a moment, it looked as if Zalgo was ready to end the director, right then and there. A few tense moments passed, the seconds ticking away as slowly as they could, before his shoulders sank, and the black mass sighed, "Alright, alright. You win. I'll just see myself out."</p>
<p>As the chair scraped across the floor, the director said, "Try Warehouse 13, or maybe the Chaos Insurgency. I'm sure they'll be a little more lenient than we are." Zalgo gave a grunt of thanks, and was gone, having melted into the walls. The director allowed himself a few moments of peace, before calling out, "Next!" and preparing himself for the next sob story.</p>
<p>A colossal green man with a squishy head and long, wavy beard of tentacles squeezed his way into the office, and stuffed himself into the chair. Riffling through a few more papers, the director looked up and stated, "Thank you for joining me today, Mr…?"</p>
<p>"Cthulhu."</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/eldritch-application">Eldritch Application</a>" by Gargus, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/eldritch-application">https://scpwiki.com/eldritch-application</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The man behind the desk watched as the cosmic horror before him paced back and forth, ranting what could only be described as its head off. "I am the ultimate hive mind. My influence is everywhere, though you normally cannot feel it. I am He Who Waits Behind the Wall. When I break through those tiny cracks in your reality, I am the very personification of decay and destruction. Black ooze, great tentacles, blood flowing from your eyes. My six mouths are ever screaming, and the seventh one shall sing the song that ends the world. My very gaze is enough to drive men to madness." It moved in closer, and made several dramatic motions with its tentacular appendages.
"No force can match mine. When I deem your world to be over, it shall come to an end. My power goes far beyond that of any other being you can think of." It worked its mass into the small wooden chair, and glared at the man. "I am decay, and I am destruction. I am Zalgo, and I am coming."
Multiple tentacles slammed into the desk. "So why //can't// I be an SCP?"
The director of the SCP Foundation showed no shock towards the black, amorphous monstrosity that sat before him. The piercing red light from the pinpoints deep in the dark mass did not phase him. Instead, they merely reflected off his glasses and his balding head as he looked down at his desk.
"Look," he began, riffling through a sheet of papers, "this is your fifth time attempting to apply for SCP status. I don't know how many times I've said this to you, so listen up. This is the final time. We do not have any interest in taking you in. You just don't work."
"Did you not hear me?" demanded Zalgo, growing in size rapidly. "I am the ultimate hive mind, and..."
"Yes, yes, we've been through this before. You are the ultimate force of destruction, and can end the world, and all those other qualifications you're always on about. There's no need to repeat them again. Now, I'm not saying I encourage it, but why don't you just go and do something dangerous, if you want in so badly?"
"'Do something dangerous?' My work over the past few years has been beyond dangerous. I have driven countless innocent children to madness, caused suicides all over this world, and bled into anywhere I can fit, and you ask me to do something dangerous?" The black mass rose up, drawing on its awesome power.
"Zalgo," stated the director flatly. "You find web comics, and you corrupt them."
The abomination from beyond the stars stared blankly at the director, then sank back into his chair, looking defeated. "Why do you want to be an SCP, anyways?"
"Well," sighed Zalgo through one of the non-screaming mouths, "that bloody Slender Man's been spreading his image around for quite some time now. Getting people talking about what he does, placing himself in photographs, inspiring stories, the usual affair. He's even got his own web series now! Can you believe that?"
"Yes," said the director warily, cocking his head to the side, "but what does that have to do with anything?"
"I'm new to the eldritch abomination thing, and need some publicity. The whole thing with the web comics is a start, but it's easy for people to use my methods and never mention my name, and let me tell you, that's a big mark against me. You lot take me in, and I'm a big name. Not as big as Yog-Sothoth or Azathoth, but big enough to get some recognition. So, how about it?"
An awkward silence settled over the room as the director took off his glasses and wiped them off with one hand, while holding his forehead with the other, deep in thought. Zalgo shifted nervously in his chair, awaiting the director's answer. At length, the director placed his glasses aside, and began speaking.
"Barring the fact that I refuse to participate in some weird contest of abominations, there's one big reason as to why we can't take you in. It's not a matter of money or difficulty of containment, oh no. We've got SCPs like 682, and it's pocket change to keep it locked up, even when it breaks out. And since you seem willing to cooperate with us, you'd be easy as pie to contain, as well. No, it's that you're just not interesting enough."
Zalgo seemed to boil with fury at this statement, and opened several mouths to make a retort, but the director held him off. "Allow me to explain. You are bursting with power, and have the capacity to end this world with a thought. That's all well and good for other organizations. But here at the SCP Foundation, we can't just accept you on those criteria. It's far too much. You're overpowered, you don't have a hook, and quite frankly, you're boring. When you get down to it, you just don't fit in with our image."
For a moment, it looked as if Zalgo was ready to end the director, right then and there. A few tense moments passed, the seconds ticking away as slowly as they could, before his shoulders sank, and the black mass sighed, "Alright, alright. You win. I'll just see myself out."
As the chair scraped across the floor, the director said, "Try Warehouse 13, or maybe the Chaos Insurgency. I'm sure they'll be a little more lenient than we are." Zalgo gave a grunt of thanks, and was gone, having melted into the walls. The director allowed himself a few moments of peace, before calling out, "Next!" and preparing himself for the next sob story.
A colossal green man with a squishy head and long, wavy beard of tentacles squeezed his way into the office, and stuffed himself into the chair. Riffling through a few more papers, the director looked up and stated, "Thank you for joining me today, Mr...?"
"Cthulhu."
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-03-27T23:06:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"absurdism",
"comedy",
"featured",
"tale"
] | Eldritch Application - SCP Foundation | 736 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"top-rated-tales",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"highest-rated-non-scps",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"featured-tale-archive-ii",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"algorithm-curated-recommendations",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 8768247 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/eldritch-application |
|
elevator | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>He was lost in hell. Or as hell, one of the two. He'd kicked and screamed to get here, and now he just wanted it to be over. Two days of computer and technology stuff, in a nice big hotel, with lots of food and drink. His girlfriend had been less than thrilled, to say the least, but he'd prevailed with a minimum of tears. It all seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now, he felt shell-shocked. Too many people, everything so expensive, rude and snide jerks everywhere, and the growing, acidic tension between him and his girlfriend was starting to come to a head.</p>
<p>He'd managed to drag her down to look at cell phones, but he'd run into an ex-girlfriend running a seminar registration table. She'd sort of cornered him, immediately pouring out her heart, how sorry she was, how much she missed him. By the time he'd gotten away, his girlfriend was well gone, only the aura of her rage hanging behind. He searched, demoralized, but she hadn't even returned to the room. He'd had to narrowly dodge the Ex a couple more times, reminding himself easily of why he left her to begin with. At least their car was still in the lot.</p>
<p>Slithering through the crush of people, he wormed out to the relative calm of the lobby. He just wanted to rest, to let the clock spin to the end of this nightmare, even if he knew it'd lose him position in the great argument to come. The elevators were packed tight, a hefty and unruly line pressed against them, and he sighed, looking around for stairs. He spotted a small, dingy set of elevator doors set against the far wall just as his Ex spotted him across the lobby. He dived for the call button like a drowning man.</p>
<p>The doors hummed, his foot tapping in a panic. If she caught him in a enclosed space, things could go badly quickly. The door bonged, and the tarnished steel door slid half-way open before stopping with a jerk. He slipped in, just as his Ex cleared the crush of people, the door shuddering shut on her disappointed face. He sighed, leaning against the back wall, then wrinkled his nose at the sudden smell. He looked, and quickly recoiled from the wall. The metal booth was filthy, sticky with urine and something melted, the floor stained and scuffed, some mass of soft, filthy material making a small pile in the corner.</p>
<p>The booth was small. Very small. Barely big enough for one, let alone two. He looked to the door, and had a sudden flutter of panic. There were no buttons. No up, no down, no numbers, no emergency stop. Nothing. He felt a click and a hum, the car starting to rattle its way up, the flutter of panic growing as he contemplated being trapped here, but lost it almost instantly as the car stopped again. This had to be some kind of service elevator or something, which went to every floor in sequence. He had no idea if such a thing existed, but for him, now, it did. He'd just get off, apologize, and hike to the room.</p>
<p>For several seconds the door stayed closed, eating at his slim ledge of calm. Finally, one door shuddered a quarter of the way open, revealing a dark hall. He pressed hard, pushing through the slim gap just as someone emerged from the dark. He seemed tired, haggard, and totally ignored his half-stated apologies. The pale man shoved in the the elevator he'd just left, quickly disappearing behind the shivering door. As he watched the man leave, he saw no call buttons of any kind on the door frame. He sighed, looking around, the gloom illuminated by just a few bare bulbs strung along the ceiling. The walls, floor, everything seemed to be made of a dark, crumbling brick, slightly moist and…</p>
<p>Wait. What?</p>
<p>He'd gone up, not down. This sure as hell looked like a basement room, with the damp bricks, the uneven floor, the walls chipped and missing bricks in places, the…what the hell. The short hall ended in what looked like a “T” junction. The left side seemed to have a handrail, so that was probably stairs. There was a bulge in the brick on the left-hand wall, just before the junction, as if they'd bricked around a large pipe, and for some reason it scared the hell out of him. He started, nearly on tip-toe, sneaking silently down the dim hall. He reached the stairs without incident, no hisses or arms or anything leaping from the dark to tear him to bits, and grabbed the slightly pitted handrail. He was three steps up before he heard the chuff.</p>
<p>It was the sound a sick dog makes. Phlegmy and echoing through a snout. He turned slightly, not wanting to at all but feeling compelled to do so. Opposite the stairs, down the other junction, a thing shivered. It was low and squat, about the size of a person laying down. It had four short, oozing legs, massive back eyes, and sawblade teeth. It looked like a partially-skinned possum, frizzy hair around large patched of black, rotten-looking muscle. It started to lurch up to the stairs, seeming to be in a great deal of pain, but still very fast. He flew up the creaking stairs, not realizing he was screaming for almost a half hour.</p>
<hr/>
<p>He ran. Insanely, he ran, up and up and up, trying halls at random, finding locked doors, bare rooms full of teeth, pulpy floors with large patches of rot, all sending him back to the stairs with hoarse screams, always the thing just behind him, leaving a dripping trail of slime and blood. He beat at the walls of the stairwell, clawing, watching as the bricks bled just as much as his cracked fingernails. A hallway choked with lines that felt like tendon ended in a flat mass of hard jelly the color of a cataract. He ran, and ran, voice gone, only a drip of blood from shredded vocal cords, stumbling and crawling like a drunk.</p>
<p>Lurching up, he found the ceiling of the stairwell, the stairs smashed against the wall as if the ceiling had suddenly slammed in against them. He turned silently in to the nearest hall, too numb to rejoice or despair, feeling the floor sag and wobble under his feet, glancing in a open doorway to see a massive mound of flesh that seemed to be absorbing smaller ones, barely noticing as a brick fell loose from the ceiling, clouting him on the back and letting loose a slow waterfall of pus from the now open gap. He stumbled, feet sludgy in the floor, half-swimming along to the vague light at the end of the hall.</p>
<p>He looked up, focusing dim eyes on a window to life. Grass blew in a night breeze around a packed parking lot, a hotel lit up like a tower of salvation behind it, people walking to and from cars, laughing happily. He flailed, crawling, croaking bloody yelps as he reached, straining, fingers stretching as a flabby, oozing paw sank hard into his back, the flesh instantly turning black and flaking at the rotten touch. He screamed then, the ragged, broken howl of a deer with a wolf in its throat, the chuffing muzzle starting to search through the flabby bags and soggy tubes of its catch for sweetbreads.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The janitor sighed, edging up on the reeking mess. These goddamn kids, no respect at all, just wandering wherever they please. This says “staff only” on the fucking door, yet look there. He scowled, looking down at the pile of bloody vomit and shit. Honestly, what the fucking hell? Still, not his business to deal with the punks, just clean up after them. He did so, swearing all the while, hoping whoever did this was having a fucking hell of a bad time. The janitor scowled at the now mostly clean floor, pushing his bucket along to the stupid service stairs. They really needed to put a fucking elevator down here, but who cares about the wants of one old man? He shook his head, hearing the sounds of pounding and screams far off, some wild party or another to clean up tomorrow.</p>
<p>Fucking kids.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/elevator">Elevator</a>" by Dr Gears, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/elevator">https://scpwiki.com/elevator</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
He was lost in hell. Or as hell, one of the two. He'd kicked and screamed to get here, and now he just wanted it to be over. Two days of computer and technology stuff, in a nice big hotel, with lots of food and drink. His girlfriend had been less than thrilled, to say the least, but he'd prevailed with a minimum of tears. It all seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now, he felt shell-shocked. Too many people, everything so expensive, rude and snide jerks everywhere, and the growing, acidic tension between him and his girlfriend was starting to come to a head.
He'd managed to drag her down to look at cell phones, but he'd run into an ex-girlfriend running a seminar registration table. She'd sort of cornered him, immediately pouring out her heart, how sorry she was, how much she missed him. By the time he'd gotten away, his girlfriend was well gone, only the aura of her rage hanging behind. He searched, demoralized, but she hadn't even returned to the room. He'd had to narrowly dodge the Ex a couple more times, reminding himself easily of why he left her to begin with. At least their car was still in the lot.
Slithering through the crush of people, he wormed out to the relative calm of the lobby. He just wanted to rest, to let the clock spin to the end of this nightmare, even if he knew it'd lose him position in the great argument to come. The elevators were packed tight, a hefty and unruly line pressed against them, and he sighed, looking around for stairs. He spotted a small, dingy set of elevator doors set against the far wall just as his Ex spotted him across the lobby. He dived for the call button like a drowning man.
The doors hummed, his foot tapping in a panic. If she caught him in a enclosed space, things could go badly quickly. The door bonged, and the tarnished steel door slid half-way open before stopping with a jerk. He slipped in, just as his Ex cleared the crush of people, the door shuddering shut on her disappointed face. He sighed, leaning against the back wall, then wrinkled his nose at the sudden smell. He looked, and quickly recoiled from the wall. The metal booth was filthy, sticky with urine and something melted, the floor stained and scuffed, some mass of soft, filthy material making a small pile in the corner.
The booth was small. Very small. Barely big enough for one, let alone two. He looked to the door, and had a sudden flutter of panic. There were no buttons. No up, no down, no numbers, no emergency stop. Nothing. He felt a click and a hum, the car starting to rattle its way up, the flutter of panic growing as he contemplated being trapped here, but lost it almost instantly as the car stopped again. This had to be some kind of service elevator or something, which went to every floor in sequence. He had no idea if such a thing existed, but for him, now, it did. He'd just get off, apologize, and hike to the room.
For several seconds the door stayed closed, eating at his slim ledge of calm. Finally, one door shuddered a quarter of the way open, revealing a dark hall. He pressed hard, pushing through the slim gap just as someone emerged from the dark. He seemed tired, haggard, and totally ignored his half-stated apologies. The pale man shoved in the the elevator he'd just left, quickly disappearing behind the shivering door. As he watched the man leave, he saw no call buttons of any kind on the door frame. He sighed, looking around, the gloom illuminated by just a few bare bulbs strung along the ceiling. The walls, floor, everything seemed to be made of a dark, crumbling brick, slightly moist and...
Wait. What?
He'd gone up, not down. This sure as hell looked like a basement room, with the damp bricks, the uneven floor, the walls chipped and missing bricks in places, the...what the hell. The short hall ended in what looked like a “T” junction. The left side seemed to have a handrail, so that was probably stairs. There was a bulge in the brick on the left-hand wall, just before the junction, as if they'd bricked around a large pipe, and for some reason it scared the hell out of him. He started, nearly on tip-toe, sneaking silently down the dim hall. He reached the stairs without incident, no hisses or arms or anything leaping from the dark to tear him to bits, and grabbed the slightly pitted handrail. He was three steps up before he heard the chuff.
It was the sound a sick dog makes. Phlegmy and echoing through a snout. He turned slightly, not wanting to at all but feeling compelled to do so. Opposite the stairs, down the other junction, a thing shivered. It was low and squat, about the size of a person laying down. It had four short, oozing legs, massive back eyes, and sawblade teeth. It looked like a partially-skinned possum, frizzy hair around large patched of black, rotten-looking muscle. It started to lurch up to the stairs, seeming to be in a great deal of pain, but still very fast. He flew up the creaking stairs, not realizing he was screaming for almost a half hour.
------
He ran. Insanely, he ran, up and up and up, trying halls at random, finding locked doors, bare rooms full of teeth, pulpy floors with large patches of rot, all sending him back to the stairs with hoarse screams, always the thing just behind him, leaving a dripping trail of slime and blood. He beat at the walls of the stairwell, clawing, watching as the bricks bled just as much as his cracked fingernails. A hallway choked with lines that felt like tendon ended in a flat mass of hard jelly the color of a cataract. He ran, and ran, voice gone, only a drip of blood from shredded vocal cords, stumbling and crawling like a drunk.
Lurching up, he found the ceiling of the stairwell, the stairs smashed against the wall as if the ceiling had suddenly slammed in against them. He turned silently in to the nearest hall, too numb to rejoice or despair, feeling the floor sag and wobble under his feet, glancing in a open doorway to see a massive mound of flesh that seemed to be absorbing smaller ones, barely noticing as a brick fell loose from the ceiling, clouting him on the back and letting loose a slow waterfall of pus from the now open gap. He stumbled, feet sludgy in the floor, half-swimming along to the vague light at the end of the hall.
He looked up, focusing dim eyes on a window to life. Grass blew in a night breeze around a packed parking lot, a hotel lit up like a tower of salvation behind it, people walking to and from cars, laughing happily. He flailed, crawling, croaking bloody yelps as he reached, straining, fingers stretching as a flabby, oozing paw sank hard into his back, the flesh instantly turning black and flaking at the rotten touch. He screamed then, the ragged, broken howl of a deer with a wolf in its throat, the chuffing muzzle starting to search through the flabby bags and soggy tubes of its catch for sweetbreads.
------
The janitor sighed, edging up on the reeking mess. These goddamn kids, no respect at all, just wandering wherever they please. This says “staff only” on the fucking door, yet look there. He scowled, looking down at the pile of bloody vomit and shit. Honestly, what the fucking hell? Still, not his business to deal with the punks, just clean up after them. He did so, swearing all the while, hoping whoever did this was having a fucking hell of a bad time. The janitor scowled at the now mostly clean floor, pushing his bucket along to the stupid service stairs. They really needed to put a fucking elevator down here, but who cares about the wants of one old man? He shook his head, hearing the sounds of pounding and screams far off, some wild party or another to clean up tomorrow.
Fucking kids.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-04-18T05:02:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"creepypasta",
"tale"
] | Elevator - SCP Foundation | 40 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-gears-storytime-entries"
] | [] | 9456820 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/elevator |
|
end | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>It wasn't like I didn't feel guilty. Of course I felt guilty. But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do to stay alive sometimes, and even as I gazed at the tank containing Mr. Fish, the final capture of my assignment, all I could do was give him a sad look and walk away. What else could I have done for the poor guy, without putting my own neck on the line?</p>
<p>The part that really sickened me about myself was the ease with which I went through with it. I've done a few things that people would consider extreme, but I've never <em>betrayed</em> anyone. I mean, they all came. All I had to do was set up some traps, maybe a firing squad with some tranqs and bam, they were all contained. Yeah, whatever. I'm sure they all hated me before anyways - ever since what I did with Sweetie, everybody's been wanting me dead.</p>
<p>Yet, it wasn't that difficult when I captured her this time. There she was, walking through the forest, a gun in her hand that seemed so out of place in such dainty little fingers. She was searching for me. I came out from my hiding spot and looked her over. She was still as beautiful as she had ever been, and I couldn't help but feel a little flustered.</p>
<p>"Hello."</p>
<p>"Afternoon."</p>
<p>And she began to pull the trigger. But no one is quicker than me. Even as her first shot whizzed by my head she collapsed. I'm not sure why I risked myself like that. Maybe I just wanted to talk with her one more time.</p>
<p>I leaned over and pulled out the dart from her neck. And then I just stood there for a moment, looking over her prone body. When I touched her it still sent shivers down my spine. I even took out my knife and held it less than an inch from her skin, considering cutting her again. But I didn't. I'm not rolling that way anymore. And I did need to drop some old habits.</p>
<p>Was it really my fault in doing this? I didn't have a choice. I mean, I was discontinued, and then Stripes comes after me. Me being on his list and all. My only way to live was to join the guys who would Protect me no matter what the cost. They helped me get Stripes, so I guess I owed them a favour after that. A favour big enough to keep me catching all the others. Like the one that was behind me.</p>
<p>I walked down the long hallway from the containment chamber to the office of my new boss. A true mastermind, if there ever was one, and always dedicated to his cause. It was really a silly cause. "Secure, Contain, and Protect." What kind of bullshit was that?</p>
<p>I opened the door to his office.</p>
<p>"He's caught, boss," I said to the man behind the desk.</p>
<p>"Ah, good work," said the man.</p>
<p>"I suppose I'll be taking my leave now." I nodded to the man.</p>
<p>"Ah, not so fast. We can't just let you go like that." Can't say I wasn't expecting that. Still, there were other ways out.</p>
<p>"I've done my job." I could give less of a shit about how much they want to study me, I was getting out.</p>
<p>"Ah, yes, but you're an SCP object yourself."</p>
<p>"Boss, please." I placed a look of desperation on my face. Just biding my time.</p>
<p>"Listen, you've done us good, you'll get your own furnishings and cell with the best service." The man walked over to me as he spoke. Good. I placed my grip on my knife.</p>
<p>"Boss, I'm asking you from the bottom of my heart." I began to pull out my knife, ready to place it at his throat.</p>
<p>I saw a flash of movement towards my thigh, followed by a sudden pain. I looked down to see a needle sticking in it. Quick guy. Quicker than me. I hadn't thought anyone was quicker.</p>
<p>I stumbled and collapsed against the doorway. The man watched me as I closed my eyes and drifted away.</p>
<p>"Sweet dreams, Mr. Redd."</p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">_</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"There's a charming young woman dying to meet you."</a></div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Previous: <a href="/mr-fish">16. Mr. Fish</a> by Dexanote<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>Next: <a href="/epilogue">Epilogue</a> by Anaxagoras</p>
</div>
<p><a href="/tales-of-mr-collector">Back to Hub</a></p>
<p><sub><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Happy birthday iamtycho</span></sub></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/end">End</a>" by Salman Corbette, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/end">https://scpwiki.com/end</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
It wasn't like I didn't feel guilty. Of course I felt guilty. But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do to stay alive sometimes, and even as I gazed at the tank containing Mr. Fish, the final capture of my assignment, all I could do was give him a sad look and walk away. What else could I have done for the poor guy, without putting my own neck on the line?
The part that really sickened me about myself was the ease with which I went through with it. I've done a few things that people would consider extreme, but I've never //betrayed// anyone. I mean, they all came. All I had to do was set up some traps, maybe a firing squad with some tranqs and bam, they were all contained. Yeah, whatever. I'm sure they all hated me before anyways - ever since what I did with Sweetie, everybody's been wanting me dead.
Yet, it wasn't that difficult when I captured her this time. There she was, walking through the forest, a gun in her hand that seemed so out of place in such dainty little fingers. She was searching for me. I came out from my hiding spot and looked her over. She was still as beautiful as she had ever been, and I couldn't help but feel a little flustered.
"Hello."
"Afternoon."
And she began to pull the trigger. But no one is quicker than me. Even as her first shot whizzed by my head she collapsed. I'm not sure why I risked myself like that. Maybe I just wanted to talk with her one more time.
I leaned over and pulled out the dart from her neck. And then I just stood there for a moment, looking over her prone body. When I touched her it still sent shivers down my spine. I even took out my knife and held it less than an inch from her skin, considering cutting her again. But I didn't. I'm not rolling that way anymore. And I did need to drop some old habits.
Was it really my fault in doing this? I didn't have a choice. I mean, I was discontinued, and then Stripes comes after me. Me being on his list and all. My only way to live was to join the guys who would Protect me no matter what the cost. They helped me get Stripes, so I guess I owed them a favour after that. A favour big enough to keep me catching all the others. Like the one that was behind me.
I walked down the long hallway from the containment chamber to the office of my new boss. A true mastermind, if there ever was one, and always dedicated to his cause. It was really a silly cause. "Secure, Contain, and Protect." What kind of bullshit was that?
I opened the door to his office.
"He's caught, boss," I said to the man behind the desk.
"Ah, good work," said the man.
"I suppose I'll be taking my leave now." I nodded to the man.
"Ah, not so fast. We can't just let you go like that." Can't say I wasn't expecting that. Still, there were other ways out.
"I've done my job." I could give less of a shit about how much they want to study me, I was getting out.
"Ah, yes, but you're an SCP object yourself."
"Boss, please." I placed a look of desperation on my face. Just biding my time.
"Listen, you've done us good, you'll get your own furnishings and cell with the best service." The man walked over to me as he spoke. Good. I placed my grip on my knife.
"Boss, I'm asking you from the bottom of my heart." I began to pull out my knife, ready to place it at his throat.
I saw a flash of movement towards my thigh, followed by a sudden pain. I looked down to see a needle sticking in it. Quick guy. Quicker than me. I hadn't thought anyone was quicker.
I stumbled and collapsed against the doorway. The man watched me as I closed my eyes and drifted away.
"Sweet dreams, Mr. Redd."
[[collapsible show="_" hide=""There's a charming young woman dying to meet you.""]][[/collapsible]]
Previous: [[[mr-fish|16. Mr. Fish]]] by Dexanote
[[>]]
Next: [[[Epilogue]]] by Anaxagoras
[[/>]]
[[[tales-of-mr-collector|Back to Hub]]]
,,--Happy birthday iamtycho--,,
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-09-30T03:34:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | End - SCP Foundation | 78 | [
"mr-fish",
"epilogue",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-3-tales-edition",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11799017 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/end |
|
entropy | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>It was inevitable. In a world full of monsters and cosmic horrors and all sorts of weird things, it was bound to happen. The end of the world. Some of the SCPs were designed to do it anyways.</p>
<p>But it wasn't ever supposed to happen like this. Doctor Parker sat in his office, pondering what was happening. A week ago, it had all been fine. Many had left in the previous years, but containment had been maintained, and the world was, for the time being, safe. Life wasn't normal, but it went on.</p>
<p>And then came the start of last week. A huge drop-off of Foundation personnel, while often mourned, was never considered odd. This group, though, had vanished out of existence. Many could remember them, but records of their deeds and history were simply gone. Task forces were assembled, naturally, but to no avail.</p>
<p>The next day brought worse news. SCPs started disappearing. At first, it was the small ones, ones that had been locked up in the back of everyone's memories, like SCP-132. But then the more important ones began vanishing. Everyone swore they could remember SCP-082, but it wasn't in its cell. Its cell didn't even exist any more. The day 173 vanished was the worst. It had started the Foundation. With its disappearance, many lost hope.</p>
<p>Two days after it all started, the task forces figured out something of a pattern. Many researchers and doctors were vanishing after all of the SCPs and Foundation history they had archived went. Not much to go on, but it gave those remaining an impression that there was some order to the senselessness around them. Though it didn't help matters, as those who made the discovery vanished soon afterwards.</p>
<p>The world began to die. Whatever was eating away at the Foundation wasn't satisfied; it wanted to devour the whole world, and it was. Within a day, most everything was gone. At that point, it was only a group of less than a dozen, hidden away at Site 19 with the last SCPs. They had built up a field designed to combat entropy. A relic of a genius mind who had long ceased to exist.</p>
<p>On the last day, Doctor Parker locked himself up in his office. In the past hours, the men and women around him had vanished, along with all their hard work. Site 19 was being consumed all around him, and only his office remained safe. So he ran in, locked the door, and waited. For what, he didn't know, but he waited nonetheless.</p>
<p>Heaving a sigh, Doctor Parker lifted himself out of his chair, and walked across the room to the mirror hanging on the wall. He was determined to stay alive, but he could feel himself slipping. Having never archived an SCP, he had lost nothing to the decay. But that wasn't true. He had lost friends, he had lost family, he had lost the entirety of the world he lived in.</p>
<p>And now he was losing himself. Bits and pieces of his memory were fading, even though he was only in his late twenties. Even here, with a smaller version of the device protecting him, the last remaining part of the world he knew was vanishing. Anger tried to cloud his thoughts, but there weren't any left.</p>
<p>Turning towards the door, he hoped against hope that opening it would reveal something. The day before he had done so, and found nothing but an infinite whiteness. But maybe he had just been tired. Maybe now, with a clear head, there would be something awaiting him on the other side of the portal.</p>
<p>He opened the door, and he saw madness.</p>
<p>There <em>was</em> something outside his office, but it wasn't anything like he knew. A whole new universe was making itself outside. Even though it was only in its formative stages, Parker could tell right away that it would be done soon, and when it was, it would be nothing like the one he knew. There would be no room for Doctor Parker, or the SCP Foundation, or anything sane and right from the one before.</p>
<p>Doctor Parker stood there for the longest time, letting all of this sink in. He could fight on. He could fight and make his own niche in the new universe. It could try its hardest to reject him, but he could survive, and he could make a living. Hell, he could even rebuild the whole of <em>his</em> universe, with enough time.</p>
<p>Then, he stepped out into the entropy, and let it swallow him.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/entropy">Entropy</a>" by Gargus, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/entropy">https://scpwiki.com/entropy</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
It was inevitable. In a world full of monsters and cosmic horrors and all sorts of weird things, it was bound to happen. The end of the world. Some of the SCPs were designed to do it anyways.
But it wasn't ever supposed to happen like this. Doctor Parker sat in his office, pondering what was happening. A week ago, it had all been fine. Many had left in the previous years, but containment had been maintained, and the world was, for the time being, safe. Life wasn't normal, but it went on.
And then came the start of last week. A huge drop-off of Foundation personnel, while often mourned, was never considered odd. This group, though, had vanished out of existence. Many could remember them, but records of their deeds and history were simply gone. Task forces were assembled, naturally, but to no avail.
The next day brought worse news. SCPs started disappearing. At first, it was the small ones, ones that had been locked up in the back of everyone's memories, like SCP-132. But then the more important ones began vanishing. Everyone swore they could remember SCP-082, but it wasn't in its cell. Its cell didn't even exist any more. The day 173 vanished was the worst. It had started the Foundation. With its disappearance, many lost hope.
Two days after it all started, the task forces figured out something of a pattern. Many researchers and doctors were vanishing after all of the SCPs and Foundation history they had archived went. Not much to go on, but it gave those remaining an impression that there was some order to the senselessness around them. Though it didn't help matters, as those who made the discovery vanished soon afterwards.
The world began to die. Whatever was eating away at the Foundation wasn't satisfied; it wanted to devour the whole world, and it was. Within a day, most everything was gone. At that point, it was only a group of less than a dozen, hidden away at Site 19 with the last SCPs. They had built up a field designed to combat entropy. A relic of a genius mind who had long ceased to exist.
On the last day, Doctor Parker locked himself up in his office. In the past hours, the men and women around him had vanished, along with all their hard work. Site 19 was being consumed all around him, and only his office remained safe. So he ran in, locked the door, and waited. For what, he didn't know, but he waited nonetheless.
Heaving a sigh, Doctor Parker lifted himself out of his chair, and walked across the room to the mirror hanging on the wall. He was determined to stay alive, but he could feel himself slipping. Having never archived an SCP, he had lost nothing to the decay. But that wasn't true. He had lost friends, he had lost family, he had lost the entirety of the world he lived in.
And now he was losing himself. Bits and pieces of his memory were fading, even though he was only in his late twenties. Even here, with a smaller version of the device protecting him, the last remaining part of the world he knew was vanishing. Anger tried to cloud his thoughts, but there weren't any left.
Turning towards the door, he hoped against hope that opening it would reveal something. The day before he had done so, and found nothing but an infinite whiteness. But maybe he had just been tired. Maybe now, with a clear head, there would be something awaiting him on the other side of the portal.
He opened the door, and he saw madness.
There //was// something outside his office, but it wasn't anything like he knew. A whole new universe was making itself outside. Even though it was only in its formative stages, Parker could tell right away that it would be done soon, and when it was, it would be nothing like the one he knew. There would be no room for Doctor Parker, or the SCP Foundation, or anything sane and right from the one before.
Doctor Parker stood there for the longest time, letting all of this sink in. He could fight on. He could fight and make his own niche in the new universe. It could try its hardest to reject him, but he could survive, and he could make a living. Hell, he could even rebuild the whole of //his// universe, with enough time.
Then, he stepped out into the entropy, and let it swallow him.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-05-25T03:08:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] | Entropy - SCP Foundation | 25 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 10211858 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/entropy |
|
epilogue | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>You slowly awaken in a blank white room. You can't remember anything. Wait, that's not so. You know how to talk, how to walk, what things are, but some things, like how you got here, what this place is, and who you are swim beyond the grasp of your mind. You search for a name, but have nothing.</p>
<p>You seem to be wearing comfortable clothing. It feels tailored. There's something stiff in the back pocket of your jeans. A piece of paper, with a list of names written on it. You read:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Wow! You've just found yourself your very own Little Mister, a limited edition collection from Dr. Wondertainment!<br/>
Befriend them all and become Mr. Love!!<br/>
01. Mr. Clank<br/>
02. Mr. Headless<br/>
…</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The list goes on, but you don't read it. Instead you crumple it up and hold it tight. There's something soothing about having.</p>
<p>You decide to turn your attention to your surroundings. Four white walls, one with a door. You go to it, and it swings open at your touch. A park, with people walking and playing. The building behind you is just a shack. People holding things that…</p>
<p>You realize who you are, your name pounding through your head with more certainty than anything you've known before. Mr. Collector. And you know what it is you do. You see the invisible strings from your hands to the toys and trinkets and baubles of these people and you grab them tight and <em>pull</em>. A hundred things that you know should be yours suddenly are, as their former owners look about in confusion for what were their possessions. Because this is who you are. You're Mr. Collector.</p>
<p>Except… that's not right. You don't know anything like you know that. There's something wrong with that. You realize, in a way that feels somehow more real, that you have another name.</p>
<p>Oh. The people are shouting at you demanding that you return "their" items. You ignore them. Of course you're Mr. Collector. Only Mr. Collector could touch the invisible strings. But could you also be someone else? A name, a name, it continues to elude you.</p>
<p>Now there's a police car coming up, and the officer is coming. The cold black of his gun would nicely complement the sheen of this earring you hold. You reach out and it rips free from the holster and it's yours now. You love your collection more than anything.</p>
<p>You have a thought. In your mind you visualize a cord from you to whatever you were before (Before? The part of you that booms out that you are Mr. Collector doesn't like the notion). You pull and there's nothing there, nothing you recognize as a name. Just a cold string of letters and numbers, signifying nothing.</p>
<p>The officer grabs you, spilling your precious collection to the ground. You scream in anguish and inside your head cling to the only thing you have left. O5-4.</p>
<p>Previous: <a href="/end">End</a> by Salmander<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>Fin!</em></p>
</div>
<p><a href="/tales-of-mr-collector">Back to Hub</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/epilogue">Epilogue</a>" by Anaxagoras, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/epilogue">https://scpwiki.com/epilogue</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
You slowly awaken in a blank white room. You can't remember anything. Wait, that's not so. You know how to talk, how to walk, what things are, but some things, like how you got here, what this place is, and who you are swim beyond the grasp of your mind. You search for a name, but have nothing.
You seem to be wearing comfortable clothing. It feels tailored. There's something stiff in the back pocket of your jeans. A piece of paper, with a list of names written on it. You read:
> Wow! You've just found yourself your very own Little Mister, a limited edition collection from Dr. Wondertainment!
>
> Befriend them all and become Mr. Love!!
>
> 01. Mr. Clank
> 02. Mr. Headless
> ...
The list goes on, but you don't read it. Instead you crumple it up and hold it tight. There's something soothing about having.
You decide to turn your attention to your surroundings. Four white walls, one with a door. You go to it, and it swings open at your touch. A park, with people walking and playing. The building behind you is just a shack. People holding things that...
You realize who you are, your name pounding through your head with more certainty than anything you've known before. Mr. Collector. And you know what it is you do. You see the invisible strings from your hands to the toys and trinkets and baubles of these people and you grab them tight and //pull//. A hundred things that you know should be yours suddenly are, as their former owners look about in confusion for what were their possessions. Because this is who you are. You're Mr. Collector.
Except... that's not right. You don't know anything like you know that. There's something wrong with that. You realize, in a way that feels somehow more real, that you have another name.
Oh. The people are shouting at you demanding that you return "their" items. You ignore them. Of course you're Mr. Collector. Only Mr. Collector could touch the invisible strings. But could you also be someone else? A name, a name, it continues to elude you.
Now there's a police car coming up, and the officer is coming. The cold black of his gun would nicely complement the sheen of this earring you hold. You reach out and it rips free from the holster and it's yours now. You love your collection more than anything.
You have a thought. In your mind you visualize a cord from you to whatever you were before (Before? The part of you that booms out that you are Mr. Collector doesn't like the notion). You pull and there's nothing there, nothing you recognize as a name. Just a cold string of letters and numbers, signifying nothing.
The officer grabs you, spilling your precious collection to the ground. You scream in anguish and inside your head cling to the only thing you have left. O5-4.
Previous: [[[End]]] by Salmander
[[>]]
//Fin!//
[[/>]]
[[[tales-of-mr-collector|Back to Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-01T04:56:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collector-tale",
"dr-wondertainment",
"mister",
"tale"
] | Epilogue - SCP Foundation | 139 | [
"end",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"tales-of-mr-collector",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11804042 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/epilogue |
|
ethics-committee-orientation | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Good afternoon, Doctor. Sit down. Your schedule has been cleared. Do not attempt to leave the room until you are told that this session is over. The door is already locked, but it is crucial you pay attention. Good.</p>
<p>You are now part of the SCP Foundation's Ethics Committee. This is not a demotion.</p>
<p>Sit down.</p>
<p>Yes, you're terrified. You think you're being punished for some failure, some lapse of judgement, some horrible disaster that you were involved with. You think that your career with the Foundation is over. You might even have thought that 'transferred to the Ethics Committee' is a euphemism for 'killed'. This is not the case.</p>
<p>You'll notice I said "killed" instead of "terminated". That's a deliberate choice. On the Ethics Committee, we don't use euphemisms.</p>
<p>Because of the work that the SCP Foundation does, a lot of personnel think that the idea of the Foundation having an Ethics Committee is just a bad joke. Or they know that the Committee exists, but they've got the impression that we're an ineffectual laughingstock. A bunch of purposeless seat-fillers who wave a rubber stamp that says APPROVED, and never dare to voice an objection.</p>
<p>Yes, I see you've heard the jokes. Here's one - 'how many members of the Ethics Committee does it take to change a lightbulb? None! The Ethics Committee can't change <em>anything</em>!'</p>
<p>No, it's all right. You're meant to laugh.</p>
<p>We make an effort to sustain the impression that we're useless, because we are the secret power within the SCP Foundation.</p>
<p>Sit <strong>down.</strong></p>
<p>Yes, there are the O5s. They judge what is and isn't <em>safe</em>, and that's a vital and important function. But we are the ones who advise the O5s on what is and is not <em>acceptable</em>.</p>
<p>You've done horrible, awful things while working for the Foundation — don't try to deny it, Doctor. We've <em>all</em> done horrible awful things while working for the Foundation. That is one of the unavoidable consequences of working with SCPs. And on occasion, you've wondered if we are the, quote unquote, bad guys. Well… we're not. And that is because of the Ethics Committee. This is your first lesson. Do you understand?</p>
<p>Remember this: <em>the Foundation is not evil.</em> We do not torture people "just because". We are against unnecessary cruelty. Which means somebody has to decide when cruelty <em>is</em> necessary. And that somebody is us.</p>
<p>Stop trembling.</p>
<p>It is important that you remember this. It is your second lesson. <em>The Foundation does not rule the world</em>. The Foundation <em>serves</em> the world. Do you understand what that means? Regardless of what the general population might <em>think</em> it wants, what we do, what the Foundation does, is in the overall best interests of that general population. Yes, I'm sure you <em>did</em> realize that already… but you haven't thought of the deeper implications. You've consoled yourself by thinking that all the torture and murder is for the greater good. This implies that there <em>is</em> a greater good… and a lesser good. It implies that there are multiple distinct goods, and that these can be quantified and compared. This is what we on the Ethics Committee <em>do</em>.</p>
<p>We are the ones who balance the moral costs of everything the Foundation does. And in order to balance those costs, we must <em>know</em> those costs. Do you realize what that means, Doctor? It means that <em>we know everything the Foundation does, has done, and will ever do</em>. Everything that has ever been redacted or expunged, we know it. Every last detail.</p>
<p>Including <a href="/scp-231">Procedure 110-Montauk</a>, yes. Everyone always asks that. Yes, we know <em>exactly</em> what it is.</p>
<p>We should. We're the ones who designed it.</p>
<p>No, it's quite all right. It's a common reaction. Perhaps we shouldn't schedule these meetings directly after lunch, I suppose. Here, wipe your mouth.</p>
<p>You will no longer be participating in active research. You may consider yourself a researcher at large, flitting from one project to another, from one <em>site</em> to another, at will. This is not a secret; you are welcome to tell all your friends that you have been transferred to the Ethics Committee… if you can deal with the jokes and the pity. You will observe what is done, and ask the participants — and yourself — <em>why</em> it is being done. If at any point you feel that something is excessive or unnecessary or <em>wrong</em>, you inform us. We will summon the people involved, and ask them questions, in that meek ineffectual way that your coworkers have mocked.</p>
<p>And then, word will filter down from the O5s, through the many levels of our bureaucracy. And those who are unethical will be given reprimands which will be noted on their permanent record. Or their pay will be cut, or they will be demoted, or they will be transferred to another project.</p>
<p>Or they will be shot for crimes against humanity.</p>
<p>This is your third lesson. Remember it.</p>
<p><em>The 'P' stands for 'Protect'</em>. The Foundation protects humanity from SCPs, and we protect the Foundation from itself. We judge what is and is not acceptable for the Foundation to do. We balance evils so that <em>on the whole</em>, and <em>in the long run</em>, evil is minimized.</p>
<p>No, you don't have a choice about being on the Committee.</p>
<p>…Yes, the irony is lovely, isn't it.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/ethics-committee-orientation">Ethics Committee Orientation</a>" by Voct, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/ethics-committee-orientation">https://scpwiki.com/ethics-committee-orientation</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Good afternoon, Doctor. Sit down. Your schedule has been cleared. Do not attempt to leave the room until you are told that this session is over. The door is already locked, but it is crucial you pay attention. Good.
You are now part of the SCP Foundation's Ethics Committee. This is not a demotion.
Sit down.
Yes, you're terrified. You think you're being punished for some failure, some lapse of judgement, some horrible disaster that you were involved with. You think that your career with the Foundation is over. You might even have thought that 'transferred to the Ethics Committee' is a euphemism for 'killed'. This is not the case.
You'll notice I said "killed" instead of "terminated". That's a deliberate choice. On the Ethics Committee, we don't use euphemisms.
Because of the work that the SCP Foundation does, a lot of personnel think that the idea of the Foundation having an Ethics Committee is just a bad joke. Or they know that the Committee exists, but they've got the impression that we're an ineffectual laughingstock. A bunch of purposeless seat-fillers who wave a rubber stamp that says APPROVED, and never dare to voice an objection.
Yes, I see you've heard the jokes. Here's one - 'how many members of the Ethics Committee does it take to change a lightbulb? None! The Ethics Committee can't change //anything//!'
No, it's all right. You're meant to laugh.
We make an effort to sustain the impression that we're useless, because we are the secret power within the SCP Foundation.
Sit **down.**
Yes, there are the O5s. They judge what is and isn't //safe//, and that's a vital and important function. But we are the ones who advise the O5s on what is and is not //acceptable//.
You've done horrible, awful things while working for the Foundation -- don't try to deny it, Doctor. We've //all// done horrible awful things while working for the Foundation. That is one of the unavoidable consequences of working with SCPs. And on occasion, you've wondered if we are the, quote unquote, bad guys. Well... we're not. And that is because of the Ethics Committee. This is your first lesson. Do you understand?
Remember this: //the Foundation is not evil.// We do not torture people "just because". We are against unnecessary cruelty. Which means somebody has to decide when cruelty //is// necessary. And that somebody is us.
Stop trembling.
It is important that you remember this. It is your second lesson. //The Foundation does not rule the world//. The Foundation //serves// the world. Do you understand what that means? Regardless of what the general population might //think// it wants, what we do, what the Foundation does, is in the overall best interests of that general population. Yes, I'm sure you //did// realize that already... but you haven't thought of the deeper implications. You've consoled yourself by thinking that all the torture and murder is for the greater good. This implies that there //is// a greater good... and a lesser good. It implies that there are multiple distinct goods, and that these can be quantified and compared. This is what we on the Ethics Committee //do//.
We are the ones who balance the moral costs of everything the Foundation does. And in order to balance those costs, we must //know// those costs. Do you realize what that means, Doctor? It means that //we know everything the Foundation does, has done, and will ever do//. Everything that has ever been redacted or expunged, we know it. Every last detail.
Including [[[SCP-231|Procedure 110-Montauk]]], yes. Everyone always asks that. Yes, we know //exactly// what it is.
We should. We're the ones who designed it.
No, it's quite all right. It's a common reaction. Perhaps we shouldn't schedule these meetings directly after lunch, I suppose. Here, wipe your mouth.
You will no longer be participating in active research. You may consider yourself a researcher at large, flitting from one project to another, from one //site// to another, at will. This is not a secret; you are welcome to tell all your friends that you have been transferred to the Ethics Committee... if you can deal with the jokes and the pity. You will observe what is done, and ask the participants — and yourself — //why// it is being done. If at any point you feel that something is excessive or unnecessary or //wrong//, you inform us. We will summon the people involved, and ask them questions, in that meek ineffectual way that your coworkers have mocked.
And then, word will filter down from the O5s, through the many levels of our bureaucracy. And those who are unethical will be given reprimands which will be noted on their permanent record. Or their pay will be cut, or they will be demoted, or they will be transferred to another project.
Or they will be shot for crimes against humanity.
This is your third lesson. Remember it.
//The 'P' stands for 'Protect'//. The Foundation protects humanity from SCPs, and we protect the Foundation from itself. We judge what is and is not acceptable for the Foundation to do. We balance evils so that //on the whole//, and //in the long run//, evil is minimized.
No, you don't have a choice about being on the Committee.
...Yes, the irony is lovely, isn't it.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-22T19:06:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"ethics-committee",
"orientation",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] | Ethics Committee Orientation - SCP Foundation | 1,995 | [
"scp-231",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"top-rated-tales",
"top-rated-pages",
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"discovering-scp-hub",
"kaktuskast-hub",
"highest-rated-non-scps",
"foundation-tales-audio-edition",
"archived:foundation-tales",
"algorithm-curated-recommendations",
"audio-adaptations"
] | [] | 11925061 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ethics-committee-orientation |
|
f-u-b-a-r | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>“What are they doing?”</p>
<p>“Nothing… just… talking. Are we sure we're in the right place? How do we know these aren't just random people waiting for a ride or something?”</p>
<p>Agent Four grinned, his lean face masked by a massive set of binoculars. “Oh no, it's them. See the one with the stack of books wrapped in a belt? We've seen him before.”</p>
<p>"What do you suppose is in those books anyway?"</p>
<p>"Not sure. But one of them we recovered was the complete works of Samuel Coleridge, including the full version of 'Kubla Khan.' All three hundred lines."</p>
<p>"Is that a big deal?"</p>
<p>Four sighed. "Just keep your eye on the targets."</p>
<p>Agent Grims squinted, shifting. He'd been staring down a scope roughly the size of a two-liter, attached to a high-powered, accurate, and very heavy rifle for nearly a hour now. He exhaled loudly, wiping his dark brow and re-fitting it to the eye cup. “Why are we on lookout? Why isn't the rest of the team moving in?”</p>
<p>“Because we need to see what happens first, Grims. Otherwise I'd have you smoke the lot of them and go get a damn beer. They're not supposed to be here, and we just got the info from Scud yesterday. If this pans out, we can figure out what the hell the Serpent's Hand is suddenly on the move for the first time in a year. Now shut up and watch.”</p>
<p>Grims grumbled under his breath, finger twitching a bit on the trigger. He was sick and tired of being attached to this damn squad. Since the attack, everyone had been shuffled, teams expanded and re-manned, to allow for instant autonomy in case of another communication blackout. Or some such bullshit. All he knew is that he hated working with these damn spooks. At least on the MTF squads, he could joke around, these people-</p>
<p>“Movement… movement on the librarian…”</p>
<p>Grims snapped to instantly, sighting in on the target. The man with the books had risen, moving from the sidewalk and down to a small side-alley. The other three people followed close behind, looking very nervous, checking up and down the street.</p>
<p>“Four, the guy in the blue shirt looks like he's on a phone… what sho-”</p>
<p>“Forget it, Smith already has an intercept…” Agent Four paused, touching his finger to the tiny earbud in his right ear. “…sounds like… someone's late. They had to change the meeting spot, because they'd been exposed too long… bah, he hung up." Four frowned. "This is odd."</p>
<p>"How so?"</p>
<p>"Well, the Hand normally uses their mumbo jumbo to arrange stuff. Cell phones and back alleys seem… cheesy.”</p>
<p>Grims ignored Four as he mused, eyes locked on the tiny group. The rooflines were at least out of the way, he could keep plain-sight contact with them. They were nervous, fidgeting, and it was traveling up the scope to him. Groups like this bolted, he'd seen it a hundred times, and taking pot-shots at a fleeing group on a city sidewalk was not his idea of a good time. Not that he minded, but it was the principle of the thing. He had a certain reputation to ke-</p>
<p>“What the fuck is that?”</p>
<p>Grims silently shifted his hand a fraction, scanning the alleyway. He scoped the back wall of the alley, and froze, blinking quickly to make sure his vision was clear. A huge man stood in the shadows at the end of the alley. Had to be 7 feet tall, at least. Old suit, gloves… and a burlap bag pulled tight over his head. There was blood on his tie.</p>
<p>“Four, what in the hell am I looking at?”</p>
<p>Four ignored him, touching his earbud again. He nodded once, eyes going wide, and nudged Grims with his foot. “Shit, keep eyes on him. He was there when Site Seventeen got attacked. They think he might have stolen some stuff, or even been part of the attack…” he trailed off, looking through the binoculars again.</p>
<p>Grims watched as the big man walked up to the group. They calmed down instantly, nervousness replaced by what looked like fear. The "librarian" pulled one of the other group members forward, practically shoving him at the stranger. The kid couldn't have been more then fourteen… he could almost hear him stuttering from here. Whatever was going on, this kid sure as hell wanted no part of it.</p>
<p>Four chattered in to his earbud, one hand still on his binoculars. “Smith, do we have ears on them? …what? Say again… well, fix it!” he hissed, gritting his teeth. “Goddammit, what the hell is going on?”</p>
<p>Grims ignored him, eyes wide and staring. The big guy had grabbed the kid around the back of the neck, and the kid looked… wrong, now. His arms were slack, his eyes glassy… he was talking, but his body looked asleep… or dead.</p>
<p>“Grims, do you have a shot?”</p>
<p>He paused, blinking and focusing on the big man. “Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>“Smith is blind, the equipment is fogged out.”</p>
<p>“…sir?”</p>
<p>“Take it.”</p>
<p>Grims breathed deep, eye wide, pinning the razor-thin black cross on the brown bag. The kid was still talking in that drugged daze. He squeezed slow, exhaling in a controlled stream-</p>
<p>The bag turned, it was tilted, it-</p>
<p>It could see him.</p>
<p>The finger squeezed on its own, even as Grims croaked a strangled yelp of surprise and horror. The big man pulled the kid up like he was a doll, shifting to the side as the high-velocity round turned the kid's brain to jelly, splattering it on to the alley. It'd taken less then a tenth of a second. Grims panicked, throwing training down a well and started firing wild. Somewhere, someone was screaming at him, hitting him, but it didn't matter. The running shapes didn't matter.</p>
<p>He had to make that thing die.</p>
<p>He'd seen some shit, SCP monsters and massacres, torture and moral black areas, but he'd never felt so… observed. It had looked down that scope, and… handled him. Like a nasty little boy with sticky, grimy fingers handling a mildly amusing trinket. Whatever the hell that was, it needed to die right the hell now. He kept firing, even as the sirens started and Four abandoned the roof to recover his team, even as his bolt locked back on an empty chamber, he just kept pulling the trigger.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Grims cracked, the Hand is in the wind, we have a possible skip on the way, bag it NOW!”</p>
<p>Smith didn't even unplug anything, just pressed a switch that fired a electromagnet the size of a mini fridge, frying every single computer in a fifty yard radius. He grabbed up the baseball bat labeled "The Last Resort," and started smashing everything they didn't want the civilians seeing. Howard and Sickle threw down their cards and unslung rifles, moving quickly to the doors. Eighteen started closing up cases and getting the essentials packed. Four was barking orders at any back he saw. The Hand agents were tipped and hauling, and some big bastard had just crossed a busy street and barreled through the boarded up doorway like a bomb.</p>
<p>Four guessed they had maybe two minutes until whatever the hell the big guy was got up to them on the third floor. Most of the stairs were under construction, so it should slow him down a bit. Howard and Sickle were covering the only two ways in to the room. Smith was getting his gear broken down, and Eighteen was ready to book with the remaining gear the second shit started going down. He thought about trying to recover Grims again. Fuck him, he was fried anyway.</p>
<p>He was smiling with self-righteous warmth when the wall behind him exploded out around a huge, dark-suited form.</p>
<p>The big man fell on Four like a thrown couch. As they fell in a heap, two of the Hand agents scrambled through the hole, crying and screaming as they launched at Howard and Sickle. Sickle caught the worst of it, still shocked by the monster who'd blown through the wall, and caught a sharp point of rebar in the neck. Howard had time to fire, but in the hazy plaster dust his shot went wild and buried itself in the other Hand agent's leg.</p>
<p>The big man held Four by the throat, rising to a crouch and throwing him over to the rebar-armed agent. Four tried to scream, or move, but his neck felt like a numb, dead thing, and he couldn't make his arms work. He was still trying to make a fist when the rebar suddenly intruded in to his brain. Smith and Eighteen were huddled behind Howard, trying to edge out a doorway as the big man stood, plaster and dust turning him into a towering ghost.</p>
<p>Howard started firing and screaming with equal intensity, shoving Smith and Eighteen out the doorway. The big man dropped like a shot, only to rise with the still-moaning body of the wounded Hand agent held one-handed like a shield. Howard paused a moment, mental gears clicking as he considered, then fired, peppering the agent with slugs as the big man charged. The other Hand agent, still crying pitifully, rose from his bloody work and followed close behind.</p>
<p>Smith and Eighteen were already nearly halfway down the partial stairs, heading for the presumed safety of the open streets when the gunfire stopped. They looked at each other for a second, exchanging a mutual look of “fuck.” before thundering down the stairs double-time. Smith kept running even when Eighteen screamed, but was forced to turn around when he heard the wet, fleshy thud. Howard's body had hit Eighteen like a nightmare snowball, smashing him in to the wall in a bloody heap, leaving him moaning and broken.</p>
<p>Smith grabbed Eighteen's cases and ran, ran like a squirrel, ran like the bitch the kids in school had called him, and did so with no qualms at all.</p>
<p>He hit the ruined doorway to find a clutch of police and gawkers assembled outside. He froze, trying to think of… something, anything, some story to use, even as the police aimed guns, screaming for him to freeze, drop what he had. But he had to keep the cases safe, that was his job, his whole reason for being here.</p>
<p>He only realized that he had his pistol in hand still when they shot him, and by then it didn't really matter.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Grims sat on the roof, watching Smith get turned to burger. He'd heard the team get chewed up…now the cops were swarming on Smith's body and his cases. Hopefully he'd armed the detonator inside. Probably not.</p>
<p>Grims rubbed his face, sighing. For some reason, he'd stayed, just put down the gun after firing it empty, and put his face in his hands. Something was stuck in him, like a glassy little fishbone in his brain. It'd been when that… thing… had looked at him. It'd done something. That goddamn “M” word thing they always hammered home in training, he was sure of it.</p>
<p>The rooftop door slammed open, the big bag-headed horror stomping out in a haze of white dust. Behind him trailed one of the Hand kids, dragging a length of rebar and wheezing “letmestopletmestop” like a broken recording. Blood was dripping from his eyes.</p>
<p>Grims leaned back, looking up as the big thing loomed up over him. “So now what. Tear out my heart, dance around?” he snickered, jerking his chin at the bloody kid. “What they hell did they do? Eh? Tell me that, where do they figure?”</p>
<p>The big man stayed still, looking down at Grims. He couldn't feel that… touching. Just a kind of slow curiosity in that blank face, like a spider watching you from across the room. He leaned over slowly as Grims stiffened, expecting… well, something bad. But it never came. The big man reached out, and patted his cheek, the way you would a child when they made some small accomplishment. The gloved hand smelled like blood, machine oil and spices, the leather dry and hard.</p>
<p>Grims looked up at him, confused, trying to think of a question, but the big man turned and grabbed the Hand kid like a toy and started running, hitting the edge of the roof and launching himself to the next one, landing in a roll and discarding the kid, who started to slowly follow behind. He heard the big man bash in to the other roof's access door the same time the police came thundering up the stairs to his, pointing guns, screaming at him to get down, get away from the weapon.</p>
<p>When they told him he had a right to remain silent, he laughed, saying it was more of a obligation.</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><em>TRANSCRIPT EXCERPT OF “ACTON 7 SPECIAL REPORT” EVENING BROADCAST</em></p>
<p>Thanks Tom. As you can see behind me, police are still sifting through what has become one of the worst and most senseless acts of violence in recent memory. Several men, as yet unidentified, broke in to this apartment building, and used it as a “sniper's roost” for picking off innocent people. In addition, it appears they killed a work crew who was in one of the remodeled apartments. In total, eight people are dead, with three more injured. One of the shooters, in a bid to escape, attempted to shoot his way through the police blockade and was shot and killed by officers. A second is in custody, found on the roof next to what is presumed to be the murder weapon.</p>
<p>It's unclear at this point what the goal of the shooters was, or whether it relates to the recent terrorist attacks, however the FBI and Department of Homeland Security have been working closely with police. We'll have more on this story as it develops. Back to you, Tom.</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/f-u-b-a-r">F U B A R</a>" by Dr Gears, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/f-u-b-a-r">https://scpwiki.com/f-u-b-a-r</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
“What are they doing?”
“Nothing… just… talking. Are we sure we're in the right place? How do we know these aren't just random people waiting for a ride or something?”
Agent Four grinned, his lean face masked by a massive set of binoculars. “Oh no, it's them. See the one with the stack of books wrapped in a belt? We've seen him before.”
"What do you suppose is in those books anyway?"
"Not sure. But one of them we recovered was the complete works of Samuel Coleridge, including the full version of 'Kubla Khan.' All three hundred lines."
"Is that a big deal?"
Four sighed. "Just keep your eye on the targets."
Agent Grims squinted, shifting. He'd been staring down a scope roughly the size of a two-liter, attached to a high-powered, accurate, and very heavy rifle for nearly a hour now. He exhaled loudly, wiping his dark brow and re-fitting it to the eye cup. “Why are we on lookout? Why isn't the rest of the team moving in?”
“Because we need to see what happens first, Grims. Otherwise I'd have you smoke the lot of them and go get a damn beer. They're not supposed to be here, and we just got the info from Scud yesterday. If this pans out, we can figure out what the hell the Serpent's Hand is suddenly on the move for the first time in a year. Now shut up and watch.”
Grims grumbled under his breath, finger twitching a bit on the trigger. He was sick and tired of being attached to this damn squad. Since the attack, everyone had been shuffled, teams expanded and re-manned, to allow for instant autonomy in case of another communication blackout. Or some such bullshit. All he knew is that he hated working with these damn spooks. At least on the MTF squads, he could joke around, these people-
“Movement… movement on the librarian…”
Grims snapped to instantly, sighting in on the target. The man with the books had risen, moving from the sidewalk and down to a small side-alley. The other three people followed close behind, looking very nervous, checking up and down the street.
“Four, the guy in the blue shirt looks like he's on a phone… what sho-”
“Forget it, Smith already has an intercept…” Agent Four paused, touching his finger to the tiny earbud in his right ear. “…sounds like… someone's late. They had to change the meeting spot, because they'd been exposed too long… bah, he hung up." Four frowned. "This is odd."
"How so?"
"Well, the Hand normally uses their mumbo jumbo to arrange stuff. Cell phones and back alleys seem… cheesy.”
Grims ignored Four as he mused, eyes locked on the tiny group. The rooflines were at least out of the way, he could keep plain-sight contact with them. They were nervous, fidgeting, and it was traveling up the scope to him. Groups like this bolted, he'd seen it a hundred times, and taking pot-shots at a fleeing group on a city sidewalk was not his idea of a good time. Not that he minded, but it was the principle of the thing. He had a certain reputation to ke-
“What the fuck is that?”
Grims silently shifted his hand a fraction, scanning the alleyway. He scoped the back wall of the alley, and froze, blinking quickly to make sure his vision was clear. A huge man stood in the shadows at the end of the alley. Had to be 7 feet tall, at least. Old suit, gloves… and a burlap bag pulled tight over his head. There was blood on his tie.
“Four, what in the hell am I looking at?”
Four ignored him, touching his earbud again. He nodded once, eyes going wide, and nudged Grims with his foot. “Shit, keep eyes on him. He was there when Site Seventeen got attacked. They think he might have stolen some stuff, or even been part of the attack…” he trailed off, looking through the binoculars again.
Grims watched as the big man walked up to the group. They calmed down instantly, nervousness replaced by what looked like fear. The "librarian" pulled one of the other group members forward, practically shoving him at the stranger. The kid couldn't have been more then fourteen… he could almost hear him stuttering from here. Whatever was going on, this kid sure as hell wanted no part of it.
Four chattered in to his earbud, one hand still on his binoculars. “Smith, do we have ears on them? …what? Say again… well, fix it!” he hissed, gritting his teeth. “Goddammit, what the hell is going on?”
Grims ignored him, eyes wide and staring. The big guy had grabbed the kid around the back of the neck, and the kid looked… wrong, now. His arms were slack, his eyes glassy… he was talking, but his body looked asleep… or dead.
“Grims, do you have a shot?”
He paused, blinking and focusing on the big man. “Yes, sir.”
“Smith is blind, the equipment is fogged out.”
“…sir?”
“Take it.”
Grims breathed deep, eye wide, pinning the razor-thin black cross on the brown bag. The kid was still talking in that drugged daze. He squeezed slow, exhaling in a controlled stream-
The bag turned, it was tilted, it-
It could see him.
The finger squeezed on its own, even as Grims croaked a strangled yelp of surprise and horror. The big man pulled the kid up like he was a doll, shifting to the side as the high-velocity round turned the kid's brain to jelly, splattering it on to the alley. It'd taken less then a tenth of a second. Grims panicked, throwing training down a well and started firing wild. Somewhere, someone was screaming at him, hitting him, but it didn't matter. The running shapes didn't matter.
He had to make that thing die.
He'd seen some shit, SCP monsters and massacres, torture and moral black areas, but he'd never felt so… observed. It had looked down that scope, and… handled him. Like a nasty little boy with sticky, grimy fingers handling a mildly amusing trinket. Whatever the hell that was, it needed to die right the hell now. He kept firing, even as the sirens started and Four abandoned the roof to recover his team, even as his bolt locked back on an empty chamber, he just kept pulling the trigger.
------
“Grims cracked, the Hand is in the wind, we have a possible skip on the way, bag it NOW!”
Smith didn't even unplug anything, just pressed a switch that fired a electromagnet the size of a mini fridge, frying every single computer in a fifty yard radius. He grabbed up the baseball bat labeled "The Last Resort," and started smashing everything they didn't want the civilians seeing. Howard and Sickle threw down their cards and unslung rifles, moving quickly to the doors. Eighteen started closing up cases and getting the essentials packed. Four was barking orders at any back he saw. The Hand agents were tipped and hauling, and some big bastard had just crossed a busy street and barreled through the boarded up doorway like a bomb.
Four guessed they had maybe two minutes until whatever the hell the big guy was got up to them on the third floor. Most of the stairs were under construction, so it should slow him down a bit. Howard and Sickle were covering the only two ways in to the room. Smith was getting his gear broken down, and Eighteen was ready to book with the remaining gear the second shit started going down. He thought about trying to recover Grims again. Fuck him, he was fried anyway.
He was smiling with self-righteous warmth when the wall behind him exploded out around a huge, dark-suited form.
The big man fell on Four like a thrown couch. As they fell in a heap, two of the Hand agents scrambled through the hole, crying and screaming as they launched at Howard and Sickle. Sickle caught the worst of it, still shocked by the monster who'd blown through the wall, and caught a sharp point of rebar in the neck. Howard had time to fire, but in the hazy plaster dust his shot went wild and buried itself in the other Hand agent's leg.
The big man held Four by the throat, rising to a crouch and throwing him over to the rebar-armed agent. Four tried to scream, or move, but his neck felt like a numb, dead thing, and he couldn't make his arms work. He was still trying to make a fist when the rebar suddenly intruded in to his brain. Smith and Eighteen were huddled behind Howard, trying to edge out a doorway as the big man stood, plaster and dust turning him into a towering ghost.
Howard started firing and screaming with equal intensity, shoving Smith and Eighteen out the doorway. The big man dropped like a shot, only to rise with the still-moaning body of the wounded Hand agent held one-handed like a shield. Howard paused a moment, mental gears clicking as he considered, then fired, peppering the agent with slugs as the big man charged. The other Hand agent, still crying pitifully, rose from his bloody work and followed close behind.
Smith and Eighteen were already nearly halfway down the partial stairs, heading for the presumed safety of the open streets when the gunfire stopped. They looked at each other for a second, exchanging a mutual look of “fuck.” before thundering down the stairs double-time. Smith kept running even when Eighteen screamed, but was forced to turn around when he heard the wet, fleshy thud. Howard's body had hit Eighteen like a nightmare snowball, smashing him in to the wall in a bloody heap, leaving him moaning and broken.
Smith grabbed Eighteen's cases and ran, ran like a squirrel, ran like the bitch the kids in school had called him, and did so with no qualms at all.
He hit the ruined doorway to find a clutch of police and gawkers assembled outside. He froze, trying to think of… something, anything, some story to use, even as the police aimed guns, screaming for him to freeze, drop what he had. But he had to keep the cases safe, that was his job, his whole reason for being here.
He only realized that he had his pistol in hand still when they shot him, and by then it didn't really matter.
------
Grims sat on the roof, watching Smith get turned to burger. He'd heard the team get chewed up…now the cops were swarming on Smith's body and his cases. Hopefully he'd armed the detonator inside. Probably not.
Grims rubbed his face, sighing. For some reason, he'd stayed, just put down the gun after firing it empty, and put his face in his hands. Something was stuck in him, like a glassy little fishbone in his brain. It'd been when that… thing… had looked at him. It'd done something. That goddamn “M” word thing they always hammered home in training, he was sure of it.
The rooftop door slammed open, the big bag-headed horror stomping out in a haze of white dust. Behind him trailed one of the Hand kids, dragging a length of rebar and wheezing “letmestopletmestop” like a broken recording. Blood was dripping from his eyes.
Grims leaned back, looking up as the big thing loomed up over him. “So now what. Tear out my heart, dance around?” he snickered, jerking his chin at the bloody kid. “What they hell did they do? Eh? Tell me that, where do they figure?”
The big man stayed still, looking down at Grims. He couldn't feel that… touching. Just a kind of slow curiosity in that blank face, like a spider watching you from across the room. He leaned over slowly as Grims stiffened, expecting… well, something bad. But it never came. The big man reached out, and patted his cheek, the way you would a child when they made some small accomplishment. The gloved hand smelled like blood, machine oil and spices, the leather dry and hard.
Grims looked up at him, confused, trying to think of a question, but the big man turned and grabbed the Hand kid like a toy and started running, hitting the edge of the roof and launching himself to the next one, landing in a roll and discarding the kid, who started to slowly follow behind. He heard the big man bash in to the other roof's access door the same time the police came thundering up the stairs to his, pointing guns, screaming at him to get down, get away from the weapon.
When they told him he had a right to remain silent, he laughed, saying it was more of a obligation.
------
> //TRANSCRIPT EXCERPT OF “ACTON 7 SPECIAL REPORT” EVENING BROADCAST//
>
> Thanks Tom. As you can see behind me, police are still sifting through what has become one of the worst and most senseless acts of violence in recent memory. Several men, as yet unidentified, broke in to this apartment building, and used it as a “sniper's roost” for picking off innocent people. In addition, it appears they killed a work crew who was in one of the remodeled apartments. In total, eight people are dead, with three more injured. One of the shooters, in a bid to escape, attempted to shoot his way through the police blockade and was shot and killed by officers. A second is in custody, found on the roof next to what is presumed to be the murder weapon.
>
> It's unclear at this point what the goal of the shooters was, or whether it relates to the recent terrorist attacks, however the FBI and Department of Homeland Security have been working closely with police. We'll have more on this story as it develops. Back to you, Tom.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-11-03T00:04:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"action",
"game-day",
"military-fiction",
"serpents-hand",
"spy-fiction",
"tale"
] | F U B A R - SCP Foundation | 60 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"serpent-s-hand-hub",
"gamedaypart2index",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11982887 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/f-u-b-a-r |
|
field-man | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>When I was little - I, that is Crackles, not an unnamed creepypasta protagonist - I went on a lot of road trips with my dad and my brother, almost always to Idaho to visit family. We passed by a lot of fields. Sometimes they had wheat, others had corn, others were littered with bales of hay. On occasion we'd see herds of cows. But the fields that just looked like several empty acres of dirt often baffled me. Were they not being used anymore? Were they freshly planted, with no new plants visible yet? Did nobody own them?</p>
<p>One summer, when I was eight years old, we were driving through Iowa along Interstate 80. One of those empty dirt fields caught my attention, not because it was particularly fascinating, but because there was a man in a brown coat standing in it with his back to the road. As our car passed by, I noticed he was turning slowly so that he was always facing away from me. I watched him until the car dipped over a little hill and he - and his dirt field - disappeared.</p>
<p>I asked Dad if he saw that. The 'field man'. He didn't. My brother hadn't either, as he'd been asleep since Illinois. I'm not certain if it was real, a very vivid dream, or a half-remembered bit from a film seen many years ago. Memories of small children can easily lie.</p>
<p>Sometimes, nearly ten years later, I find myself driving along Interstate 5 and looking out for the field man.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/field-man">Field Man</a>" by Cherry Pict, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/field-man">https://scpwiki.com/field-man</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
When I was little - I, that is Crackles, not an unnamed creepypasta protagonist - I went on a lot of road trips with my dad and my brother, almost always to Idaho to visit family. We passed by a lot of fields. Sometimes they had wheat, others had corn, others were littered with bales of hay. On occasion we'd see herds of cows. But the fields that just looked like several empty acres of dirt often baffled me. Were they not being used anymore? Were they freshly planted, with no new plants visible yet? Did nobody own them?
One summer, when I was eight years old, we were driving through Iowa along Interstate 80. One of those empty dirt fields caught my attention, not because it was particularly fascinating, but because there was a man in a brown coat standing in it with his back to the road. As our car passed by, I noticed he was turning slowly so that he was always facing away from me. I watched him until the car dipped over a little hill and he - and his dirt field - disappeared.
I asked Dad if he saw that. The 'field man'. He didn't. My brother hadn't either, as he'd been asleep since Illinois. I'm not certain if it was real, a very vivid dream, or a half-remembered bit from a film seen many years ago. Memories of small children can easily lie.
Sometimes, nearly ten years later, I find myself driving along Interstate 5 and looking out for the field man.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-06-23T22:42:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"creepypasta",
"tale"
] | Field Man - SCP Foundation | 24 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 10581732 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/field-man |
|
fragments | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>AKA: Stuff You Will Never Use, But Wanted To Share</p>
<p>The point of this page is simple. Everyone has pieces of stories, or articles, inside their head. Bits that you yourself may never use, but would still like to share/let someone else use. So, that's what this page is for.</p>
<div style="border: solid 1px black; color: black; border-radius: 10px; background: #ffe9de; padding: 5px; margin-bottom: 10px; padding: 10px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:125%;">How to use this page.</span></p>
</div>
<p>You are free to use any of the snippets/fragments found on this page in your own writing. However, you do need to attribute this page by adding the following to the licensebox:</p>
<blockquote>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[[</span>include :scp-wiki:component:license-box<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">]]</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">=====</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">></span> Original concept/idea found on <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[[[</span>fragments|the Fragments page<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">]]]</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">=====</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[[</span>include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">]]</span></p>
</blockquote>
<p>Furthermore, please make sure to credit the original author of the material you are using, and post as such in the page’s discussion thread so the fragment can be removed.</p>
<p>Thank you.</p>
</div>
<script src="https://d3g0gp89917ko0.cloudfront.net/v--4b961b7cc327/common--javascript/yahooui/tabview-min.js" type="text/javascript"></script>
<div class="yui-navset" id="wiki-tabview-55cb3e4b514f944f4e4a7274879d75dc">
<ul class="yui-nav">
<li class="selected"><a href="javascript:;"><em>2011</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>One-Sentence Premises</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Concepts</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Draft Excerpts</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Combination Concept/Excerpt</em></a></li>
</ul>
<div class="yui-content">
<div id="wiki-tab-0-0">
<h3 id="toc0"><span>These are the Fragments added to the page during 2011.</span></h3>
<p>(Click the tabs to look through the different fragment types.)</p>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-1" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/tunedtoadeadchannel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(304457); return false;"><img alt="tunedtoadeadchannel" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=304457&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=304457)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/tunedtoadeadchannel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(304457); return false;">tunedtoadeadchannel</a></span></p>
<p>A business called Tonk and Revelstoke's</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/evictedsaint" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(639876); return false;"><img alt="evictedSaint" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=639876&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=639876)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/evictedsaint" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(639876); return false;">evictedSaint</a></span></p>
<p>A "tooth fairy" SCP that rips teeth from people's heads and uses it to fuel itself.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/asthix" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(796660); return false;"><img alt="Asthix" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=796660&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=796660)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/asthix" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(796660); return false;">Asthix</a></span></p>
<p>"As long as I live, the humiliation will color my perception with the tint of his arrogance!" (Now stay out of my head!)</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/drewbear" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(301632); return false;"><img alt="Drewbear" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=301632&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=301632)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/drewbear" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(301632); return false;">Drewbear</a></span><br/>
"The lion shines and its roar blinds."</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/photosynthetic" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(361873); return false;"><img alt="Photosynthetic" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=361873&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=361873)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/photosynthetic" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(361873); return false;">Photosynthetic</a></span></p>
<p>An electric mixer with no batteries or power cord: it runs on music.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/photosynthetic" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(361873); return false;"><img alt="Photosynthetic" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=361873&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=361873)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/photosynthetic" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(361873); return false;">Photosynthetic</a></span></p>
<p>A magnifying glass works only at night, and which can do with moonlight what any magnifier can do to an ant in sunlight.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/salman-corbette" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(678987); return false;"><img alt="Salman Corbette" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=678987&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=678987)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/salman-corbette" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(678987); return false;">Salman Corbette</a></span></p>
<p>A lock that, when locked, would stay stuck in the same place (although still moving with the Earth's rotation, etc.).</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ninteen45" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(629367); return false;"><img alt="Ninteen45" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=629367&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=629367)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ninteen45" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(629367); return false;">Ninteen45</a></span></p>
<p>SCP contained within a Timezone.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/exun-yannah" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(879162); return false;"><img alt="Exun Yannah" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=879162&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=879162)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/exun-yannah" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(879162); return false;">Exun Yannah</a></span></p>
<p>Humanoid SCP with highly aggressive immune system, able to deal with infections before they enter the body</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/flock-of-whales" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(651341); return false;"><img alt="Flock of Whales" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=651341&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=651341)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/flock-of-whales" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(651341); return false;">Flock of Whales</a></span></p>
<p>A traffic cone which, when placed on a road, cannot be moved by motor vehicles. IE: Concrete traffic cone.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;"><img alt="Communism will win" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=617958&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=617958)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;">Communism will win</a></span></p>
<p>An anomalous original copy of the Declaration of Independence (or possibly the Constitution) held at the Foundation's branch in the National Archives.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/arverst-aegnar" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(538399); return false;"><img alt="arverst_aegnar" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=538399&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=538399)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/arverst-aegnar" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(538399); return false;">arverst_aegnar</a></span></p>
<p>"You don't understand! I'm trying to help you!"</p>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-2" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;"><img alt="Bland" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=663362&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=663362)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;">Bland</a></span></p>
<p>Victims of a freeze ray. Their outer molecule in stasis and cannot be damaged in anyway. Their innards have long since rotted away, but without anywhere for the fluids to go, they… slosh…</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;"><img alt="Communism will win" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=617958&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=617958)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;">Communism will win</a></span></p>
<p>Just a group of a bunch of normal numbers that add up to different totals when you add them in a different order. Like, maybe twenty or so three-digit numbers.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/troyl" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(451071); return false;"><img alt="TroyL" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=451071&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=451071)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/troyl" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(451071); return false;">TroyL</a></span></p>
<p>Those ads on the sides of the screen? The ones that have fun, cute little games you can play? They're not really there. No one ever programmed those in. Instead, the second that you click on one of them, you're a tool of an unknown force. Every click, every attempt to get the egg in the bucket or kick the donkey… goes to something. Fuck knows what, but it's going somewhere.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;"><img alt="Communism will win" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=617958&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=617958)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;">Communism will win</a></span></p>
<p>A set of five disguises made out of flesh, each one corresponding to a UN ambassador on the security council: USA, France, Great Britain, Russia, Taiwan (people's republic of china). Found mid-'90s.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/minmin" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(560062); return false;"><img alt="minmin" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=560062&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=560062)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/minmin" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(560062); return false;">minmin</a></span></p>
<p>Terrestrial life form. Has a thin membrane filled with lighter-than-air gas saturated with natural phosphorescent chemicals. Not particularly carnivorous but have been known to lure and share small prey like young deer. 'Deflate' in the daytime. Reside in Australia. The article's aim is 'interesting/cute', not 'scary'. Yes, it's an SCPification of <a href="https://www.theozfiles.com/min_min_lights.html" target="_blank">this.</a></p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/evictedsaint" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(639876); return false;"><img alt="evictedSaint" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=639876&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=639876)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/evictedsaint" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(639876); return false;">evictedSaint</a></span></p>
<p>A song that causes the listener's heart to beat in tune with the music. Speeding/slowing the beat of the song has obvious detrimental effects. No one can quite recall what the tune was or how the song went.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/oops-ur-dead" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(378972); return false;"><img alt="oops_ur_dead" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=378972&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=378972)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/oops-ur-dead" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(378972); return false;">oops_ur_dead</a></span></p>
<p>An SCP that rearranges parts of things into other useful things for its own use. Maybe living organisms or something.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dexanote" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(481882); return false;"><img alt="Dexanote" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=481882&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=481882)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dexanote" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(481882); return false;">Dexanote</a></span></p>
<p>Something that is immune to bullets and projectiles of all types. Not a shield, some sort of creature. Preferably based off some mythological critter that is, itself, immune to projectiles. Point behind this is that the containment and retrieval stuff requires close combat.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/arverst-aegnar" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(538399); return false;"><img alt="arverst_aegnar" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=538399&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=538399)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/arverst-aegnar" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(538399); return false;">arverst_aegnar</a></span></p>
<p>Windmills - something that grinds up stuff creepily (though that would have to work hard to be a not-repeat of other SCPs), or something that would power something the Foundation really, really doesn't want powered. Or windmill<em>s</em> - a whole field of windmills that blow in conjunction with some other world's wind? Windmills that draw things to them?</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/arverst-aegnar" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(538399); return false;"><img alt="arverst_aegnar" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=538399&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=538399)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/arverst-aegnar" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(538399); return false;">arverst_aegnar</a></span></p>
<p>A shopping cart that acts like a dog: bonds with the person who touches it, likes to "play" - run fast, go around in circles, play chase - will bump you affectionately, chase off other things/people/carts it views as a threat to bonded subject, etc.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ninteen45" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(629367); return false;"><img alt="Ninteen45" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=629367&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=629367)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ninteen45" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(629367); return false;">Ninteen45</a></span></p>
<p>SCP - A contract expiry announcement from a PR company. Any non human entity (Company, country, curch, store, event) who holds it will be repeatedly subjected to more and more PR and in-entity disasters (Like losing important files, accidents destroying essential property…)</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/voct" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(392303); return false;"><img alt="Voct" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=392303&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=392303)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/voct" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(392303); return false;">Voct</a></span></p>
<p>SCP whose containment involves reading it stories of murder. Fresh ones every time. Published fiction works best.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/arverst-aegnar" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(538399); return false;"><img alt="arverst_aegnar" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=538399&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=538399)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/arverst-aegnar" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(538399); return false;">arverst_aegnar</a></span></p>
<p>Children's fairy-tale book that, when read, causes the reader to regress chronologically, to something like six or seven. Reader hears voice of an elderly woman reading aloud, illegible writing on the inside of the book cover - only readable part says "Love, Granny" or something.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dexanote" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(481882); return false;"><img alt="Dexanote" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=481882&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=481882)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dexanote" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(481882); return false;">Dexanote</a></span></p>
<p>A story somehow incorporating SCP-ARCs and SCP-Ds together to restart a universe after an X#-Class Scenario deletes it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dexanote" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(481882); return false;"><img alt="Dexanote" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=481882&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=481882)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dexanote" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(481882); return false;">Dexanote</a></span></p>
<p><a href="/scp-169">SCP-169</a> is stated to be between 2000 and 8000 km long. This is a big descrepancy, so what if there are two of them each around 3000 km long? The Tale would be a diary of a survivor who watched the news of them coming ashore, devastating southern South America, shrugging off military might, breeding, and spreading across the Earth.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-smascher" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(587467); return false;"><img alt="Adam Smascher" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=587467&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=587467)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-smascher" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(587467); return false;">Adam Smascher</a></span></p>
<p>A Foundation Tale pertaining to Project Longshot entitled, "The Longest Shot." An alternate history, or perhaps set in the near future, in which the project is completed and the spacecraft launched. In the 104 or so years it takes the craft to reach Alpha Centari and transmit data back to earth, humanity has been wiped from the face of the planet. Somewhere, a radio might crackle to life and begin blaring odd static. A monitor or two may light up at NASA mission control, even though they rightfully shouldn't, gazed upon by many eager eyes, none belonging to anything capable of comprehending the information on the LCD panels before them.</p>
<p>It would contrast the success of the mission with how little it meant, making subtle implications as to why humanity is gone, when the race died out, and what may have changed.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/sophia-light" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(306685); return false;"><img alt="Sophia Light" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=306685&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=306685)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/sophia-light" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(306685); return false;">Sophia Light</a></span></p>
<p>A basis for a story: For a group (or race, planet, person, I don't know) with advanced technology, it would be easy to make something designed to be found by scientists. Just by making an object that's inexplicable <em>enough</em>, and leaving it somewhere, one stands a good chance that it will eventually end up in the hands of researchers. Say, the Foundation.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/sophia-light" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(306685); return false;"><img alt="Sophia Light" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=306685&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=306685)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/sophia-light" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(306685); return false;">Sophia Light</a></span></p>
<p>A pair of MTFs who work together to remove information from either the public eye or within the Foundation when members are promoted to certain positions- the Sin Eaters, who disappear people, and the Silverfish, who disappear information.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;"><img alt="Bland" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=663362&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=663362)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;">Bland</a></span></p>
<p>Commercials I hear (U.S. based):</p>
<p>"<a href="https://www.scjohnson.com">SCP Johnson - a family company</a>!"</p>
<p>And then I think of <a href="https://scp-inc.wikidot.com/">Soap From Corpses</a> and it all goes weird.</p>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-3" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/quikngruvn" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(333389); return false;"><img alt="Quikngruvn" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=333389&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=333389)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/quikngruvn" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(333389); return false;">Quikngruvn</a></span></p>
<p>A containment procedure in search of a chemical SCP:</p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Show Procedures</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Hide Procedures</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><strong>Special Containment Procedures:</strong> No samples of SCP-███ may be stored at any site except under experimental conditions. All samples of SCP-███ must be synthesized <em>ad hoc</em> using procedures in Document PR-███-01 (Level-4 clearance required to access and oversee synthetic process). No individual below Level-4 clearance may know about or perform more than three steps from Document PR-███-01.</p>
<p>When synthesized, SCP-███ must be handled as a strong, water-soluble narcotic. Excess or unused SCP-███ must be disposed of via methods outlined in Document PR-███-13.</p>
<p>Samples and synthetic procedures for SCP-███ still exist around the world. Foundation policy is to seize and/or suppress all items related to each SCP-███ event, including attempts to reverse-engineer SCP-███, [DATA EXPUNGED].</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kero-shiranui" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1228459); return false;"><img alt="Kero Shiranui" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1228459&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1228459)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kero-shiranui" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1228459); return false;">Kero Shiranui</a></span></p>
<p>It is said we are born in the infinite darkness, and to it we will return.<br/>
And those that would believe these words often cower behind them, using them to excuse themselves from bringing light to this world.<br/>
But should a star not shine simply because it is a difficult task?<br/>
Simply because they too must return to the void?<br/>
What would become of this world if our brethren, the stars, stopped giving their nurturing light?<br/>
The same that comes when we stop giving off ours.</p>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-4" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adminbright" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(224440); return false;"><img alt="AdminBright" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=224440&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=224440)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adminbright" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(224440); return false;">AdminBright</a></span></p>
<p><em>On an SCP that erases the memories of whatever it is told from everyone but the teller:</em></p>
<p>Subject D-42 enter the enclosure, and told the SCP 'Two plus Two is Four.' There was no reaction for approximately five minutes, at which point D-42s head exploded.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/eric-adler" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(612362); return false;"><img alt="Eric Adler" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=612362&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=612362)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/eric-adler" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(612362); return false;">Eric Adler</a></span></p>
<p>A cold- or flu-like disease that spreads by memetic vectors instead of the normal transfer of microorganisms.</p>
<p>(videotape recording of D-class sick with the Memetic Cold) "Achoo, man this cold is kicking my butt"</p>
<p>(previously healthy agent) "So what the heck is this? You wanted me to watch securidy foodage of some guy with a head code? *phlegmy cough* how did I just ged sick?"</p>
<hr/></div>
</div>
</div>
<script type="text/javascript">
//<![CDATA[
OZONE.dom.onDomReady(function(){
var tabView55cb3e4b514f944f4e4a7274879d75dc = new YAHOO.widget.TabView('wiki-tabview-55cb3e4b514f944f4e4a7274879d75dc');
}, "dummy-ondomready-block");
//]]>
</script>
<script src="https://d3g0gp89917ko0.cloudfront.net/v--4b961b7cc327/common--javascript/yahooui/tabview-min.js" type="text/javascript"></script>
<div class="yui-navset" id="wiki-tabview-bcb81e087ef73f9e0e8c61c8dbfe1efa">
<ul class="yui-nav">
<li class="selected"><a href="javascript:;"><em>2012 Part 1</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>One-Sentence Premises</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Concepts</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Draft Excerpts</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Combination Concept/Excerpt</em></a></li>
</ul>
<div class="yui-content">
<div id="wiki-tab-0-0">
<h3 id="toc1"><span>These are the Fragments added to the page during 2012, from January through July.</span></h3>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-1" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A tale in which we see what keeps wild <a href="/scp-831">SCP-831</a> from taking over the world… they find SCP style items of their own and try to use them wiping out their hives as a result</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>An item which can only be described in insults regarding the item.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;"><img alt="MrCobalt" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1361966&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1361966)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;">MrCobalt</a></span></p>
<p>An anomalous Halloween decoration that either turns people into black cats or produces black cats with human intelligence at regular intervals.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/boa-noah" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1340953); return false;"><img alt="Boa Noah" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1340953&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1340953)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/boa-noah" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1340953); return false;">Boa Noah</a></span></p>
<p>A God that disguises itself in the costume of a fake God because it enjoys messing around with mortals.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/solomen" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1370392); return false;"><img alt="solomen" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1370392&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1370392)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/solomen" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1370392); return false;">solomen</a></span></p>
<p>A scp involving the concept of ceremorphosis where an organism either hatches from a skull like an egg or eats the brain and mutates the body as part of its life cycle like a mind flayer or head crab.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/solomen" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1370392); return false;"><img alt="solomen" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1370392&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1370392)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/solomen" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1370392); return false;">solomen</a></span></p>
<p>A crashed vessel recovered from the crater in Mexico.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/theally" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1359326); return false;"><img alt="Theally" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1359326&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1359326)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/theally" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1359326); return false;">Theally</a></span></p>
<p>A chick tract parody for the CotBG.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;"><img alt="Communism will win" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=617958&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=617958)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;">Communism will win</a></span></p>
<p>A tale in which the leader of the Serpent's Hand (or a faction thereof) reaches out to a college student and has said student found AWCY? as a counterpart to the Serpent's Hand.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>Creature/s living on a beach which make nests that look like sandcastles. With moats, decorative sticks, etc.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A migratory herd of toy trucks.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;"><img alt="MrCobalt" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1361966&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1361966)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;">MrCobalt</a></span></p>
<p>A humanoid SCP whose containment procedures require it to be inebriated at all times.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;"><img alt="Ihp" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8711838&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8711838)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;">Ihp</a></span></p>
<p>Due to a shortage of Amnesiacs of all classes (not just Class A) following a raid on a production plant by a GoI (CI, ORIA, Serpents Hand, or GOC), The Foundation is forced to ration amnesiacs until further notice, leading to several suicides and deaths thanks to things that cannot be unseen or memes getting out of control.</p>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-2" style="display:none">
<p>By anonymous user</p>
<p>An SCP that’s like a toy dog bone and when a dog buries it, it grows into a tree that has more toy bones coming off of it.</p>
<p>And then those toy bones can grow new trees propagating the cycle.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;"><img alt="Bland" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=663362&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=663362)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;">Bland</a></span></p>
<p>SCP-963 is an interesting place to mine for tale ideas. As an example, there is one (type of) individual that should be immune to its effects - a Jack Bright that went past the 30-day mark. So if the Foundation wants an expert watching Bright, who better than a Bright to anticipate what he's up to? And they've (sort of) given him what he wants: <em>That version can live out a normal life and finally die.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;"><img alt="Bland" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=663362&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=663362)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;">Bland</a></span></p>
<p>An -EX SCP; the original lay person explanation about “Many Worlds Quantum" was that every decision, every coin toss generated a new universe. Later, it's "Undetermined until observed, when it collapses the wave and resolves". So now, instead of creating universes we're destroying them. Not sure how/why but what if, like <a href="/scp-8900-ex">SCP-8900-EX</a>, <em>something changed. Something awful.</em> And now we have to live with it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A tale about the CotBG winning by reassembling their god, but rather than it taking over the world it simply ascends to a more clockwork plane of existence taking its followers with it. Much Foundation faceplaming results at the realization that an enemy wining just got them permanently out of the Foundation's hair.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A tale in which Serpent's Hand operatives having broken into a foundation containment site try to convince an apparently intelligent SCP to escape with them. Pity for them that the SCP they found is robo-dude™.</p>
<p>Meant to be humorous, with a mix of Serpent's Hand dramatic speeches about SCP freedom and "robo-dance™."</p>
<hr/>
<p>By unknown user</p>
<p>A sloth that is capable of passively absorbing nutrients and calories from the surrounding environment. On any other animal, it might not be a big deal, but with a maximum speed of less than 2 km/h, it can destroy large swaths of rainforest in a matter of days.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A SCP which was formerly a foundation Agent who got captured by one of the GOIs and exposed to <em>something</em>. The foundation only found out who their new SCP once was by DNA tests. Not a useful change, more body horror and nightmare fuel that the Agent might still be self-aware under whatever was done to them.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/norman-dy-invidia" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1369259); return false;"><img alt="Norman Dy Invidia" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1369259&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1369259)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/norman-dy-invidia" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1369259); return false;">Norman Dy Invidia</a></span></p>
<p>An SCP that consists of a barrel of totem-shaped penises with the shafts being in the shape of various 'baramins' of animals. When touched by a female belonging to said 'baramin', the female will become pregnant.</p>
<p>The offspring will live to around just after reaching sexual maturity. Their birth will cause the mother to ignore all pre-existing offspring and their death will cause the mother to undergo severe depression. Usage of the SCP renders the female infertile except for subsequent uses of the SCP.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/norman-dy-invidia" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1369259); return false;"><img alt="Norman Dy Invidia" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1369259&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1369259)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/norman-dy-invidia" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1369259); return false;">Norman Dy Invidia</a></span></p>
<p>A "How To Draw Anime" book, which when in contact with a picture or video that contains humans, will turn all instances of that picture or video into a stylized, 'anime' version of whatever is depicted in the picture or video.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;"><img alt="MrCobalt" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1361966&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1361966)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;">MrCobalt</a></span></p>
<p>"Have you ever had one of those moments you just wished you could be a fly on the wall?<br/>
Wish granted.<br/>
Are We Cool Yet?"</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;"><img alt="MrCobalt" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1361966&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1361966)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;">MrCobalt</a></span></p>
<p>An anomalous crime scenario involving a mass murder situation that always leaves only two suspects/witnesses remaining after the event with some sort of connection or relation that could make them accomplices. One or both of the suspects will either claim responsibility for the murders themselves or blame the other suspect, and will give an account of the crime that supports their claim, while the other will assert said account cannot be true, giving their own account of the event that conflicts with or contradicts the first. In any case, evidence recovered at the crime scene will be compatible with both accounts, but may be insufficient to give a clear picture of what happened. If the crime is not correctly "solved", i.e. authorities figured out exactly what happened during the event (who was responsible for which death, which details of either story are true, whose idea was it, etc.), within a certain amount of time, both suspects will self-terminate in a manner consistent between incidents, usually with a murder tactic or implement they or the other supposedly used during the crime, and the event will repeat itself some time later.</p>
<p>Each instance of the crime will have some elements that denote it as an instance of the SCP, i.e. implements used or manner of death of at least one victim, but will otherwise create an entirely new scenario so study of previous instances does not provide any clues to subsequent ones.</p>
<p>Not exactly sure how this would be contained, or even if it is contained, what makes it spread, how it would recognize having been "solved", how the Foundation finds out it needs to be solved, etc.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;"><img alt="MrCobalt" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1361966&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1361966)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;">MrCobalt</a></span></p>
<p>A small-scale replica/floor plan of [your choice of city here] made of dominoes. Formations collapse of their own accord when corresponding buildings in the real city are damaged or destroyed, and vice versa. Might possibly be connected to AWCY.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;"><img alt="MrCobalt" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1361966&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1361966)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;">MrCobalt</a></span></p>
<p>SCP-J idea: "The [EXPLETIVE] You Button!<sup>tm</sup>" An "easy button"-esque device that, when pressed, emits the aforementioned phrase (sans censorship) and injures the person that pushed it, usually via a random object thrown from an indeterminate origin point.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p><strong>Adventures of Lord Blackwood, explorer and gentleslug.</strong></p>
<p><strong>Lord Blackwood in <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1678">UnLondon</a></strong></p>
<p><strong>Lord Blackwood at Sea:</strong> A voyage to capture a <a href="/scp-879">whale-like monster</a> preying upon shipping. Throw in pirates, storms, a rather <a href="/scp-1014">odd castaway</a>, other adventures joining the hunt, <a href="/scp-1260">and his ship itself</a> and this may be more of a threat to His Lordship than it seems….</p>
<p><strong>Lord Blackwood and the Sky-Discs:</strong> His Lordship takes to the skies in an airship on the hunt for a flock of <a href="/scp-994">strange flying animals</a>, unlike anything ever seen before. Add in the problems of a predatory <a href="/scp-312">flying jellyfish</a> pulling people from the airship and swarms of <a href="/scp-1661">airborne robots</a> eating the airship out from under its crew make this a rather odd trip.</p>
<p><strong>Lord Blackwood on the Dark Continent:</strong> A thrilling expedition 'cross Darkest Africa for the rarest of beasts, the <a href="/scp-131">eye-pods</a>.</p>
<p><strong>Lord Blackwood and the <a href="/scp-962">Tower</a></strong></p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A horrific monster with the personality of a cute and cuddly puppy. The nightmare fuel comes from both the fact that it really doesn't know its own strength leading to loads of deaths when it tries to play with people, and how the foundation treats it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;"><img alt="MrCobalt" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1361966&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1361966)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;">MrCobalt</a></span></p>
<p>A tale consisting of entries in a diary the Foundation recovered from the home of a child who had heard or read a description of <a href="/scp-1128">SCP-1128</a>. Parents probably would think he was just overreacting from reading/hearing too many scary stories until it was too late, or maybe parents began showing symptoms of infection as well.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;"><img alt="MrCobalt" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1361966&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1361966)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;">MrCobalt</a></span></p>
<p>SCP idea: A mummified corpse resembling a deformed human recovered from an MC&D auction. Included with it were several "tags" bearing writing in an ancient Chinese script. Corpse becomes animate when one or more of these tags is applied to the body, with each tag causing it to exhibit different behaviors, e.g. "serve", "attack", "guard", etc. Based somewhat on popular depictions of the Jiang-shi, a Chinese zombie-like creature.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A Project crossover Tale in which the foundation deploys Mobile Task Force Omega-Seven back when it had Able in it, in an attempt to contain a small town in which a bunch of animals had been turning up drained of blood.</p>
<p>A small town called Forks….</p>
<p>Also referred to as:</p>
<p><strong>Able and Dr. Clef working together to kick sparkly butt!</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;"><img alt="MrCobalt" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1361966&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1361966)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;">MrCobalt</a></span></p>
<p>An SCP object made by AWCY… but what catches the Foundation's interest isn't the object itself so much as the vandalism done to it in response. Said vandalism is clearly done by someone other than AWCY, yet it seems to be creating its own anomalous effects which appear to be a mockery of/a response to/interfering with the intent of the original object. Over the "Are We Cool Yet?" logo would be graffiti reading something along the lines of "YES, UR F@(KING C00L NAO! 3NUF OF TH15 BU11$H17!" ("leetspeak" obfuscation not necessary)</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/goodwill" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1124057); return false;"><img alt="Goodwill" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1124057&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1124057)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/goodwill" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1124057); return false;">Goodwill</a></span></p>
<p>A product/drug (possibly smoked) developed by MC&D-employed scientists. Modeled after something made and used by the Fifth Church that they stole that they heard about from a converted club member.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;"><img alt="MrCobalt" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1361966&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1361966)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;">MrCobalt</a></span></p>
<p>Someone or something that makes people do musical numbers. I don't mean like that -J curtain that made people do showtunes, I mean something that causes mass quantities of people to break out in choreographed song-and-dance routines, disregarding their safety or present situation.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/flah" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(444273); return false;"><img alt="Flah" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=444273&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=444273)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/flah" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(444273); return false;">Flah</a></span></p>
<p>Brain worms that lay eggs which look exactly like Q-tips. An unsuspecting victim decides to start cleaning his ears and suddenly realizes that what he was using disappeared from his hand. Months later, their barely breathing body trudges through drugstores, pulling pristine Q-tips out of its nose and inserting them into the appropriate packaging. Depending on the angle, could be either a real article or a -J.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;"><img alt="Ihp" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8711838&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8711838)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;">Ihp</a></span></p>
<p>The <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toynbee_tiles">Toynbee Tiles</a> turning out to be an SCP; due to the relatively widespread knowledge of them and their public appearances, containment would focus on suppressing knowledge of its anomalous effects.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/drewbear" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(301632); return false;"><img alt="Drewbear" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=301632&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=301632)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/drewbear" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(301632); return false;">Drewbear</a></span></p>
<p>A biological organism that doesn't die. Instead it expires. Literal expiration date like on food products, at which point [REDACTED]</p>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-3" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p><em>"This is the task you must do…" announced the Wonderful Wizard of Wondertainment. "KILL FOR ME 682!"</em></p>
<p><em>"In return, you Pesterbot will be granted the power to carry out your threats. You, Lord Blackwood will have your humanity restored. You, Able shall be granted a heart and the power to love.</em></p>
<p><em>Any you Dr. Clef will be allowed to return home to the SCP foundation. And take your pet Dragon-Snail with you."</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Wondertainment's Mini-Cities™:</strong> Just plant the city-seed™, water and be ready to govern your own little city of little people!</p>
<p><em>Results may vary.</em></p>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-4" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A heartwarming Tale involving a wedding of two of the faithful in <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/system:page-tags/tag/broken-god#pages">church</a>.</p>
<p><em>"And now two are united in marriage as His Cogwheels and Gears shall reunite when He is made whole…."</em></p>
<hr/></div>
</div>
</div>
<script type="text/javascript">
//<![CDATA[
OZONE.dom.onDomReady(function(){
var tabViewbcb81e087ef73f9e0e8c61c8dbfe1efa = new YAHOO.widget.TabView('wiki-tabview-bcb81e087ef73f9e0e8c61c8dbfe1efa');
}, "dummy-ondomready-block");
//]]>
</script>
<script src="https://d3g0gp89917ko0.cloudfront.net/v--4b961b7cc327/common--javascript/yahooui/tabview-min.js" type="text/javascript"></script>
<div class="yui-navset" id="wiki-tabview-e17d834c83f91a58f2a0f5b2cec69b24">
<ul class="yui-nav">
<li class="selected"><a href="javascript:;"><em>2012 Part 2</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>One-Sentence Premises</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Concepts</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Draft Excerpts</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Combination Concept/Excerpt</em></a></li>
</ul>
<div class="yui-content">
<div id="wiki-tab-0-0">
<h3 id="toc2"><span>These are the Fragments added to the page during 2012, from August through December.</span></h3>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-1" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;"><img alt="MrCobalt" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1361966&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1361966)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;">MrCobalt</a></span></p>
<p>A "Who's on first?"-esque skit about a Nobody sighting.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/goodwill" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1124057); return false;"><img alt="Goodwill" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1124057&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1124057)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/goodwill" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1124057); return false;">Goodwill</a></span></p>
<p>A tour of a Wondertainment factory a la Roald Dahl.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dr-oak" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1388259); return false;"><img alt="Dr Oak" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1388259&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1388259)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dr-oak" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1388259); return false;">Dr Oak</a></span></p>
<p>A (very) junior researcher failing to explain Procedure 110-Montauk.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dr-oak" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1388259); return false;"><img alt="Dr Oak" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1388259&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1388259)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dr-oak" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1388259); return false;">Dr Oak</a></span></p>
<p>A very dramatic and serious tale about <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-789-j">SCP-789-J</a>.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A radio which picks up signals from its equivalent location in different parallel realities depending on how the tuning is set.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>The <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1483">IIPES</a> report on their end of the dimensional gate and the primary SCP foundation world.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>Wondertainment product/s intended to be marketed to the <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1483">antarctic empire's world</a>, or the university.</p>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-2" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A Tale in which Lord Blackwood in his present slug form meets SCP-1227. Both proceed to have a very odd conversation, as each of them perceives themselves as normal whereas they are actually a sea slug and a gigantic squicky mass of body horror.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A bunch of eggs, each about a quarter-meter long. Slightly warm indicating they are alive, and made out of something which has resisted all attempts at drilling into it for study. The foundation has no idea what they will hatch into, or when they hatch. Candling and other tests have proven inconclusive</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A swarm of tiny flying creatures or micro-robots which look like snowflakes. Can "swarm" people, and the edges of their wings are <em>sharp</em>.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>Wondertainment Face-paint - will change the coloration of any biological matter it is applied to, not like tattoos but like birthmarks. Brightly colored birthmarks. Can permanently blind if it gets on eyes by turning the eyes colored. Needless to say has a "keep away from eyes" note in typical wondertainment style.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A toy car that will act like a real one. That is to say, it will move by itself to drive along roads, stop at gas stations and generally act like a normal car apart from being a toy and not having any driver.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A fragment of organic tissue, apparently part of an animal. DNA tests and simple appearance shows it to be of no known species. Maybe a gigantic severed leg ending in a single claw or a weird, nonhuman skull or something.</p>
<p>When touched by any living animal or person the part of the animal or person which made contact with it will "stick" being peeled off their body and incorporated into the tissue fragment. DNA tests of the part peeled off the victim will reveal it is changing to match tissue from the fragment, replacing bits of it.</p>
<p>Whatever creature the fragment was part of is healing…..</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A species of tree which will open small dimensional "oddities" near it causing abnormal things to happen at random. A single tree can't really do anything major but a grove of them is able to "puncture" reality spreading seeds between the many worlds of the foundation universes sort of like SCP-507's power. Also makes a great defense mechanism for the tree having herbivores moved out of the same dimension as it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;"><img alt="MrCobalt" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1361966&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1361966)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;">MrCobalt</a></span></p>
<p>An SCP comprised of a large quantity of "excessively helpful" humanoid beings that follow a "target" around and provide him or her with courteous assistance in anything they attempt to do. And they are <em>everywhere</em>. Approaching a door? They open it for you from the other side. Shoe untied? One's already on it. Hungry? One of them already made you dinner somehow <em>while hiding inside your fridge</em>. Out of toilet paper? One comes out of the medicine cabinet with a fresh roll. They'll do anything for you to the best of their ability whether you want them to or not, and they don't take "no" for an answer.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A tale in which SCP-962 starts expanding the range it sends former animal "servitors" to work in. To the point where keeping the hoards of animals contorted by mechanical implants into crude mockeries of the human form killing any other animals they comes across and helping people out sort of like the "excessively helpful" humanoids mentioned at the bottom of this page out of public knowledge is impossible.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>The back half of a broken plastic squirt-gun. Not abnormal as far as the foundation can tell, just highly radioactive and with….</p>
<p><strong>rtainment™</strong><br/>
<strong>ega-Soaker™</strong></p>
<p>….printed on it. Found following a [DATA EXPUNGED] disaster of some sort.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A chain letter. Very specifically written, misspelled, the grammar is horrible but believable considering some stupid chain letters people fall for. Tells the person who gets it to copy it out and send it to ten more people or a "monster" will kill them complete with very specific description of the "monster." In event of the letter not being copied, misspellings and all, a creature resembling the "monster" will show up, attack and vanish. The process in event of foundation personal getting infected would be to have them tell ten class-D personal who would then be shot.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>Some sort of drug which has two effects.<br/>
1. Cannabis-like mental weirdness.<br/>
2. Gives the person using it temporary reality-warper powers which last as long as the "trip" does.</p>
<p>Inspired by posts in the chat thread for SCP-1958.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A project-crossover Tale. Star Trek is rife with missed opportunities and blindness regarding the application of the technology available. There usually end up being more rationalizations and justifications as to why something doesn't do something useful than techo-babble about how it works in the first place. The original series had an episode involving a plant that could cure any disease, and regrow severed limbs for an example. The plant was conveniently forgotten in all future episodes.</p>
<p>It's almost like some organization is still around, amnesiac-ing people who find it then locking the anomalous stuff up…..</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>Santa. Not as a -J but as an all-powerful reality bender just sitting around in the arctic, unable to be sneaked up on or captured. Not only that, but he knows what the foundation is, and he knows about the relatively harmless humanoids that hate being here. He knows about 110-Montauk. Guess who's on the naughty list?</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A DIY style computer including a human brain as the CPU as well as vital organs for life support. As a result has massive memory storage, effective functions. Does not appear to still be sapient. DNA of brain and organs matches matches ████████ supposedly kidnapped in █████. Apart from being very fast and having a lot of memory storage doesn't really show many abnormal traits for a computer in terms of software. Just a good-working homemade computer which happens to be made out of a kidnapped victim.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;"><img alt="Communism will win" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=617958&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=617958)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;">Communism will win</a></span></p>
<p>"Your mom" as a joke SCP. Alternatively, the "she" in "that's what she said".</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/flappybobb" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1331491); return false;"><img alt="Flappybobb" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1331491&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1331491)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/flappybobb" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1331491); return false;">Flappybobb</a></span></p>
<p>A joke SCP about some horrible vile creation that turns out to be a vacuum, the joke being that it was written by Kain Pathos Crow. Of course I would recommend getting his permission first.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A first-person-shooter videogame set in the middle of a few kilometer area in Alaska, at least ██ kilometers from civilization. Seems unfinished, the copy the foundation has lacks enemies, most of the sounds are defaults, ect. When turned on, in the part of Alaska where the game is set, a creature resembling the player character will appear. Said creature can be moved by the game controls, and on the game screen the player can see things as they actually are in the real word, although with graphics and health bars like the game. Attempting to move the player character to the edge of the game world will have it vanish and return to spawn point, the same happens when the foundation tries to take the creature out of the equivalent of the game world. Trying to harm the creature just leads to decreasing health for the player character, and a "you died - re-spawn?" message and the body vanishing making dissection and other such studies impossible.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A tale where some researchers and scips play DnD/Pathfinder/insert tabletop RPG here.</p>
<p>Able and the Lizard optional, 181 recommended.</p>
<p>If you can somehow make 173 play, you have my seal of approval.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;"><img alt="Ihp" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8711838&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8711838)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;">Ihp</a></span></p>
<p>A set of three chemicals developed by a failed project at Prometheus Labs. Chemical A grants superhuman strength, Chemical B grants telepathy and superhuman senses, and chemical C grants flight and superhuman speed. What's so bad about that? For one thing, once the chemicals enter your blood stream, they cannot be turned "off"; you'll always be super humanly strong and have to hear people's thoughts, for example. Secondly, real world physics apply; go too fast and your organs get liquefied, or you just catch on fire. Go too high up in the atmosphere with flight and you freeze to death, or run out of oxygen and fall to your doom. Shake someone's hand too hard with super strength, [DATA EXPUNGED]. The point here is to deconstruct superpowers, and why they would suck in the real world.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;"><img alt="Ihp" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8711838&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8711838)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;">Ihp</a></span></p>
<p>Werewolves as an SCP. Before you shoot me, these are not your typical werewolves. Firstly, this particular type of lycanthropy is a genetic condition that is only carried by females; the presence of a Y chromosome, for some reason, makes it inactive. Secondly, they do not change with the lunar cycle, but with their menstrual cycle, and gradually change from 100% human to 100% lupine over the course of the cycle. Thirdly, they never stop undergoing oogenesis (the act of creating eggs, which is supposed to stop at birth), meaning they never run out of eggs and therefore never go through menopause. They're also fatally allergic to silver, and can more easily be killed with it, but anything fatal to a human will kill them just as easily.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A horrific body-horror inducing plague which forces its victims into homicidal rampages against the uninfected. The twist, it doesn't affect humans. Rather, just some randomly selected by the author species of small animal. Think 610, only for squirrels for an example.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>Dr. Wondertainment's attempt at a toy spaceship. Looks like a stereotypical pulp science-fiction rocket, about ten feet tall and with a hollow cabin which can be closed with an airtight door. Inside has a child-sized chair and simple, video-game-style joystick controls for moving in three dimensions and acceleration. There is no fuel supply, apparent place to put fuel or need for fuel. Unforgettably for any would-be astronaut, Wondertainment has shown his/her/its normal disregard for safety, the rocket can at maximum acceleration turn its pilot into gory slime on the floor of its cabin, and while its cabin seems to be radiation-proof and somehow maintain a self-renewing supply of air there's no room for food supplies, no bathroom, and steering the thing in space to the extent of getting home alive is exactly as hard as you'd expect.</p>
<p>The foundation got it after it crash landed in ███████ carrying an unidentified child's corpse, starved to death or crushed by acceleration.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>Some kind of creature which has an instinctive ability to control and/or build complex mechanical stuff. For example, it might be sort of squidlike in form and basically mummify the dashboard, steering wheel and pedals of a car in tentacles to allow it to operate it. Clearly not naturally evolved. Not intelligent apart from its technical skills, for example a den it could make would have gas heating and automated sentry guns but it can't communicate or recognize itself in a mirror.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A Tale in which foundation researchers in the world reached by SCP-1483 find the Factory or Wondertainment products, sold openly and the resulting issues. Ends with the foundation having to pay SCP-1483-world police bail to get their researchers out of jail, for robbing a small business in an attempt at "containment." Much O-5 facepalming ensues.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/torrentgamer" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1491679); return false;"><img alt="TorrentGamer" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1491679&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1491679)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/torrentgamer" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1491679); return false;">TorrentGamer</a></span></p>
<p>An oil rig that has a seemingly infinite oil supply. Due to the interest of companies and outside groups, the SCP would need some lengthy containment procedures.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A swarm of tiny Von Neumann machine <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrochicken">astrochicken-type</a> spacecrafts. Basically intended to land, set up a small factory and get to work on an industrial plant for creating more "ships." Not human-made, found after meteorite shower or something. Not very fast at replicating, little risk of their grey-gooing the planet. Mostly rely on the fast that <em>something</em> had to have made the first ones for creepiness.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A "living" snowstorm. That is to say; a small, unending snowstorm with the characteristic that any snowmen/snow sculptures at least partiality made from snow it produced will animate and endeavor to self-replicate. They appear to share a hivemind with the snowstorm cloud as the "queen." Highly hostile to foundation agents and citizens, not very effectively as they're snowmen. Presumably would have been found in the arctic or antarctic as otherwise it would melt each season.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A Tale regarding a class-XK event triggered by someone asking SCP-662 to build a superior version of itself, then ask the superior version to build a superior version of <em>itself</em>, ect.</p>
<p>Cue a SCP-based Singularity.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>Some sort of monster made of high-tech equipment. Maybe sort of a robotic thing which assimilates any other form of electronics it gets its grippers on. In an attempt at stopping it from growing, containment procedures would basically consist of guards armed with longbows, and a few sticks of TNT as an emergency site self-destruct.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Blackwood Tale idea</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Close</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><a href="https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/forum/t-593061/worst-possible-plot-twist">Idea crossposted from here.</a><br/>
After the events of <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/when-one-reaches-the-end">this Tale</a>, Lord Blackwood hits his <a href="https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DespairEventHorizon">Despair Event Horizon</a> and makes a deal with <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-738">SCP-738</a> which he encountered on one of his travels. The terms of the deal.</p>
<p><strong><a href="https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-738">SCP-738</a></strong><br/>
• The creation of <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1678">an "end-of-the-world" shelter based on British culture.</a><br/>
• <em>Not</em> taking Lord Blackwood's soul.<br/>
• Not killing Lord Blackwood.</p>
<p><strong>Blackwood</strong><br/>
• Lord Blackwood's body, sort of like what happened <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.net/caveat-emptor">here</a>.</p>
<p>Upon the deal being made, <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-738">SCP-738</a> creates <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-1678">SCP-1678</a>, takes Lord Blackwood's soul out, placing it in a sea slug his lordship had as a zoological specimen from his travels, and takes over Lord Blackwood's body, <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-106">altering it</a> based on <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-738">SCP-738</a>'s own warped sense of improvement, and proceeds to go on a rampage killing everyone besides Lord Blackwood within Blackwood manor, I.E. Lord Blackwood's entire family before the foundation of the time was able to catch it.</p>
<p>As now Lord Blackwood is still in his <a href="https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DespairEventHorizon">Despair Event Horizon</a> after <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.net/when-one-reaches-the-end">this</a>, just ended up having his entire family murdered, arguably his fault and is now <a href="https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AndIMustScream">trapped, theoretically forever in the body of a sea slug</a> he is finally driven insane, retreating into his memories of still being a human adventure while ignoring the real world sort of like what happened with <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-1227">SCP-1227</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A Tale in which SCP-106 is proven to be Mister Scary™ from Dr. Wondertainment's Little Misters™. Seems like it could be proven. If true, than "Mr. Scary, from Little Misters ® by Dr. Wondertainment" should be tattooed on SCP-106's left calf. Checking could be difficult however.</p>
<p>Also, SCP-076 could be Mr. Mad.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>Von Neumann Golems. In essence, each specimen is an animated sculpture with an [EXPUNGED] displaying some resemblance to Hebrew writing symbol under the carapace of the forehead. Assembly consists of chewing up materials, either the hollow "gut" produces sticky mucus-like material or heats up to melt metal, regurgitating the resulting cement-like substance, shaping it into a new specimen then using [DATA EXPUNGED] extends from the lower jaw to carve the symbol into the forehead of their offspring. The offspring animates, pushes a layer of semi-hardened material over its forehead to seal it, then waits to harden/dry/cool. This idea was one I had in regards to alterations to an existing SCP, I'll take it down from here if the author chooses to use it. Also, a few pictures which could probably make good images for this.<br/>
<a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/from-the-desk-of-archivist-jensen/Gigerbaby%20One.jpg">Image One</a><br/>
<a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/from-the-desk-of-archivist-jensen/Gigerbaby%20Two.jpg">Image Two</a><br/>
<a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/from-the-desk-of-archivist-jensen/Gigerbaby%20Three.jpg">Image Three</a><br/>
<a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/from-the-desk-of-archivist-jensen/Gigerbaby%20Four.jpg">Image Four</a></p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>The Orientation Tale for the foundation coverup writers. The people who make up cover stories.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>The Orientation Tale for the foundation diplomatic workers. The people who would staff the embassy in <a href="https://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-1483">SCP-1483's</a> world for example.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A tiny, partially biological spaceprobe sort of like the plans for a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Starwisp">starwisp</a> of non-human creation. Apart from the biotechnological parts being impossible with present human technology, it seems to work off known scientific ideas for how a starship could be built. The damage to it seems to have been inflicted by a meteorite impact "stunning" it, then it drifting for a few million years off its intended course ending with it crashing into earth.</p>
<p>Inside, it has a bunch of chambers and equipment intended to work for genetic engineering and growth of living organic tissue, both for self-repair and expansion of biological parts and for <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Embryo_space_colonization">the growth</a> of "SCP-xxxx-2" specimens. SCP-xxxx-2 specimens consist of simple "meat robots" creatures which lack digestive/reproductive/respiratory systems instead running off stored fat and oxygen, intended simply to gather biomatter, which then is then stuffed into a "stomach" aboard the main ship for "digestion" and metal which is [DATA EXPUNGED] since recovery the ship has expanded by █ meters.</p>
Presumably the reader would think, this is so it can build up enough biological tissue and machine parts to build a specimen of whatever created it….
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">.....but really.....</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Close</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>it is simply healing the meteorite damage, and fermenting the biomatter for methane, as rocket fuel. The expansions aren't armor, they consist of new rockets to get the "probe/creature" back into space. And the foundation is keeping it trapped on earth.</p>
<p>The goal would be a bit of a <a href="https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/MoodWhiplash">Mood Whiplash</a> between thinking of it as a sort of sci-fi alien weapon, and feeling sorry for the poor <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrochicken">astrochicken</a> the foundation has been in essence torturing by keeping its wounds from healing.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A device consisting of a large cage, a bunch of electronics which the foundation has absolutely no idea what's going on with, a dial, a switch and an electrical socket suitable for charging batteries. If a living animal or class-d is put in the cage, the dial will move to show an amount of voltage, apparently random, and if the switch is pulled, than the socket will proceed to charge any batteries placed in it with that amount of electricity. After being used once, the animal or class-d will, if placed back in the device never cause the dial to move again.</p>
<p>The twist is, it's harmless as far as the foundation can tell. The only effect of being drained is that you can't make the device create more electricity.</p>
<p>The foundation is tearing its hair out trying to find what the device is getting energy from.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A historic Wondertainment toy. Maybe a corn-husk doll, or <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hoop_rolling">hoop rolling</a> game equipment. Not sure what the abnormal trait should be, I just think we need some Wondertainment stuff predating mass manufacturing.</p>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-3" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;"><img alt="Bland" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=663362&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=663362)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;">Bland</a></span></p>
<p>"It's not like we're keeping we're keeping Hilter's brain in a jar. Okay, yea - we actually <em>are</em> but it's in formaldehyde! Well, of course it's dead, don't be an idiot!"</p>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-4" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;"><img alt="Bland" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=663362&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=663362)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;">Bland</a></span></p>
<p>Titles for <em>The Collected Works of The Foundation</em></p>
<ul>
<li>The Works of Dr. Gears</li>
<li>Notes from Dr. Alto Clef</li>
<li>Professor Kain Tales</li>
</ul>
<p>(Damnit - I had ones for Bright…)</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>In SCP-111 there's this quote.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>By reading this document and incubating your Dragon-Snail™ eggs, you agree to all said terms and forfeit your rights to lawsuits, organized boycotts, protests, <strong>honor duels</strong>, etc.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This means, at least once <em>someone challenged Dr. Wondertainment to an honor duel over Dragon-Snails burning their house down. And considering the need for a note, apparently won</em>.</p>
<p>That needs to be a Tale.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;"><img alt="Ihp" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8711838&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8711838)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;">Ihp</a></span></p>
<p>Six-hundred and sixty-six sick skippers suddenly start singing songs of sinking ships so that someday they shall stop Saturn from super-colliding with satire.</p>
<p>(I don't know what I was on when I wrote this. I'm thinking it could be incorporated into some kind of AWCY Dada rap or something.)</p>
<hr/></div>
</div>
</div>
<script type="text/javascript">
//<![CDATA[
OZONE.dom.onDomReady(function(){
var tabViewe17d834c83f91a58f2a0f5b2cec69b24 = new YAHOO.widget.TabView('wiki-tabview-e17d834c83f91a58f2a0f5b2cec69b24');
}, "dummy-ondomready-block");
//]]>
</script>
<script src="https://d3g0gp89917ko0.cloudfront.net/v--4b961b7cc327/common--javascript/yahooui/tabview-min.js" type="text/javascript"></script>
<div class="yui-navset" id="wiki-tabview-f831bb409b36ac80ae0deda0d4d9f9f2">
<ul class="yui-nav">
<li class="selected"><a href="javascript:;"><em>2013</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>One-Sentence Premises</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Concepts</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Draft Excerpts</em></a></li>
</ul>
<div class="yui-content">
<div id="wiki-tab-0-0">
<h3 id="toc3"><span>These are the Fragments added to the page during 2013.</span></h3>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-1" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/lithiumxcvi" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1544275); return false;"><img alt="LithiumXCVI" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1544275&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1544275)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/lithiumxcvi" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1544275); return false;">LithiumXCVI</a></span></p>
<p>A piano that plays the musician.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/marslifeform" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1444699); return false;"><img alt="marslifeform" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1444699&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1444699)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/marslifeform" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1444699); return false;">marslifeform</a></span></p>
<p>096 discovers Instagram.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A native junkperson in SCP-967 encounters the foundation explorers for the first time.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>SCP-993 and SCP-1592 compete for broadcast time-slots.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A recovery log/Tale backstory for SCP-771.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;"><img alt="Ihp" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8711838&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8711838)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;">Ihp</a></span></p>
<p>And MTF dealing with a cheese-based SCP called the "Gouda Grenadiers".</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A bellerverse Tale about a bunch of people who tend to SCP-1514-1A as a holy relic of their sky-god and in return anything that attacks them gets smote via xasers from orbit.</p>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-2" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;"><img alt="Ihp" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8711838&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8711838)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;">Ihp</a></span></p>
<p>An SCP that is a pair of telepathic "signals" that randomly attach themselves to people and do two things: the first signal tells everyone within a certain radius to acknowledge the person affected by the signal in some way, and the second one transmits all sorts of information about the subject. (Name, age, address, pet's names, whether or not they've been affected by Chron's disease, the number of living skin cells on their body, length of toenails, what movies they've seen in the past 24 hours, other useless statistics). Originally developed by someone or something as a medical first-alert system, but.. it didn't work out as planned.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;"><img alt="Ihp" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8711838&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8711838)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;">Ihp</a></span></p>
<p>An SCP based on the concept "Loose Lips Sink Ships". Talking about a ship being sunk by the SCP will result in more ships sinking.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A hoard of tiny, clockwork-looking, automated pieces of construction equipment. If left alone, they will create large buildings out of whatever, easy-to-transport local materials there are. Just lots of stone, or sand, or random junk quarried and placed into huge, ornate cathedral structures, which as far as the foundation can tell, have no abnormal properties. The buildings frequently have problems like lacking any way for the building machines inside to get out, or falling over due to being made entirely of rubbish. The builders are apparently capable of self-replicating as their population remains steady despite the foundation sometimes dissecting a few, or construction accidents, but nobody has seen them do so, or has any idea how they do it.</p>
<p>The SCP where recovered by a deep-sea submarine mission after radar showed an absolutely huge building they had created. Considering how slow they generally are, the foundation calculated it would have taken them ████ years to have completed it to the scale observed.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A parasitic, body-horror inducing SCP which causes bones to split, branch out, and start growing into sort of a "bone fractal" structure. I'm not sure of a good twist for it, I just had a nightmare regarding such a thing.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>In SCP-1296, mention is made of failure to chase it, or set up a roadblock due to it evading pursuit.</p>
<p>Let's see the Tale in which we have an action-movie-ish Llamamobile vs Foundation car chase.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>Who's to say that SCP-1585 has no effect on humans? Might be a good idea to make having a vasectomy mandatory for foundation personal on it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A Tale in which SCP-1585 is sapient. Not the rapidly evolving ecosystem on it, the jellyfish itself. And is trying to make it's ecosystem into a <a href="https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DeathWorld">death world</a> with the intent of breeding a species of supersoldiers with a warrior race mentality.</p>
<p>SCP-1585 is a single organism, and it wants to reproduce. In layman's terms, it wants to conquer the universe.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;"><img alt="Bland" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=663362&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=663362)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;">Bland</a></span></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Something in real life</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Shut up Bland!</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>The Triangle Waist fire is one of the worst disasters since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution.</p>
The logo for the company:<br/>
<img alt="m31-triangle-waist.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragments/m31-triangle-waist.jpg"/>The alchemical symbol for fire:<br/>
<img alt="AristotelianElementSymbols.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragments/AristotelianElementSymbols.jpg"/>
<p>Maybe I'm just easily creeped…</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A tale about the secret method by which the foundation gets Class-D personal.</p>
<p>Craigslist adds.</p>
<p>Someone on craigslist probably has a statue-watching/cleaning blood/dung mixture fetish. That solves 173 for example.</p>
<p>Needless to say, intended as a parody/crackfic.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>The sixth tribe in SCP-967, a foundation analog. They work to keep the major junkmonsters and anomalies from wiping out the other tribes, and contain the knowledge of the abnormal by removing the memory-holding tape decks of junkcitizens who find out stuff. Like the outside world, which from their view is sort of a hellish alternate universe which kills anyone who enters it, and is inhabited by monsters unlike anything native to 967. They might not even be made of trash!</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amelia-eardly" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1479038); return false;"><img alt="Amelia Eardly" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1479038&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1479038)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amelia-eardly" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1479038); return false;">Amelia Eardly</a></span></p>
<p>An object that only exists in a certain hour/minute/secondof the day. Either every single day, or once a week, month, year, ect. Whenever the time it exists in it runs out, it ceases to exist with no signs as to it ever being there.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A creature consisting of basically a brain, a bunch of tentacles some of which have boney "scalpels" on them, spider-like spinnerets, an amazingly powerful immune system and external blood vessels. It works by stealing parts from prey, using the clawed tentacles to remove organs from prey, the spinnerets to stitch the parts Frankenstein-like onto itself, and the immune system to keep itself from falling apart. It lacks any sort of digestive or respiratory systems unless it steals them from another creature and links itself into the bloodstream of the stolen organs. It is highly hostile and frequently attempts to escape and/or assimilate people.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;"><img alt="Adam Henderson" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1350867&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1350867)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/adam-henderson" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1350867); return false;">Adam Henderson</a></span></p>
<p>A few Jenny Hanivers recovered somehow from the Circus Of The Disquieting. Not fakes made out of ray parts, live ones. In a fishtank.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;"><img alt="Communism will win" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=617958&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=617958)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;">Communism will win</a></span></p>
<p>A group of normal people stuck in a house in some implausible location, no memory of how they got there. Every so often, creepy candid-camera type videos of them get posted to the internet. Nobody in the house has reported any sort of cameraperson.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ambrosius-ostberg" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1597738); return false;"><img alt="Ambrosius Ostberg" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1597738&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1597738)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ambrosius-ostberg" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1597738); return false;">Ambrosius Ostberg</a></span></p>
<p>A guy that is afflicted by the condition that no matter where he goes he becomes wanted by the authorities, with wanted posters changing to show his face or even appearing out of thin air. As he got older the effect began to increase, with his face appearing in newspapers and even on TV and radio, as well as the charges increasing from small offenses like theft to large offenses like murder and/or terrorism. Eventually he showed up as a person of interest with ties to a GoI on one of the Foundations databases who sent out an MTF for him.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;"><img alt="Ihp" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8711838&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8711838)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;">Ihp</a></span></p>
<p>An SCP centered around a political party that is entirely made up of cannibals. Should be called The Donner Party.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/flying-spidersnake" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1347458); return false;"><img alt="Flying Spidersnake" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1347458&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1347458)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/flying-spidersnake" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1347458); return false;">Flying Spidersnake</a></span></p>
<p>A video game. At first, it seems to be a AI who modifies the game in its favor, but it's really a reality bender trapped within the video game. He begs the foundation to let him go.</p>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;"><img alt="Communism will win" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=617958&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=617958)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;">Communism will win</a></span></p>
<p>Plaque/sign above an ice cream vending machine reads: "Paul M. Ehrweiler, the oldest man alive, also has some of the world's strangest eating habits. He only eats when, at irregular intervals, he purchases a treat from this very machine. He is 153 years old — so old that scientists say he may not even age. Paul cannot see what you purchase."</p>
<hr/>
<p>By unknown author</p>
<p>A demon of some sort that moves around in a location (such as a house, or a hospital) at an extremely high speed. It appears to follow some sort of routine, and does so X number of times a day. Variances include manifestations of humans, also moving at this speed, that the demon interacts with in ways well just use your imagination. We cannot physically interact with it, and it is not inherently dangerous. Hooks… the presence of D-Class subjects during iterations. Ideas… we're peaking through at another dimension, possibly a partition of some kind of Hell, and we see things move there at a much faster rate. What is this thing's purpose? Can it see us? What happens if we destroy the environment where it manifests? When it interacts with the manifested humans, does anything get left behind?</p>
<hr/>
<p>By unknown author</p>
<p>A collection of notes regarding television programming from widely known media sources that seem to hint at some higher force influencing the nature of television programs. Probably not good as a skip, probably better as a skip-as-tale.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By unknown author</p>
<p>Someone saw a face near the sun. It peaks out from behind the sun occasionally. Can everyone see it? Is it threatening?</p>
<hr/>
<p>By unknown author</p>
<p>On a mountain in X you can see four white humanoid figures at the peak, motionless. You have the feeling that you're making eye contact when you look up at them. They're not always there, and when you go up to find them they're the same distance away from you. They also seem to be present in a few photographs you have lying around. They look like they might be moving closer.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By unknown author</p>
<p>Project crossover idea: Commander Shepard (Mass Effect) discovers abandoned Foundation space containment facility with uncontained SCPs. Foundation may or may not have worked with Cerberus. Sometime before Mass Effect 3.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bryx" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1786305); return false;"><img alt="Bryx" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1786305&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1786305)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bryx" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1786305); return false;">Bryx</a></span></p>
<p>A tale about 239's infant years. I always had an idea that she created 597 after she inadvertently destroyed her hospital.</p>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-3" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/marslifeform" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1444699); return false;"><img alt="marslifeform" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1444699&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1444699)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/marslifeform" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1444699); return false;">marslifeform</a></span></p>
<p>"Please, come back," the half-formed creature rasped. "I need you."</p>
<hr/></div>
</div>
</div>
<script type="text/javascript">
//<![CDATA[
OZONE.dom.onDomReady(function(){
var tabViewf831bb409b36ac80ae0deda0d4d9f9f2 = new YAHOO.widget.TabView('wiki-tabview-f831bb409b36ac80ae0deda0d4d9f9f2');
}, "dummy-ondomready-block");
//]]>
</script>
<script src="https://d3g0gp89917ko0.cloudfront.net/v--4b961b7cc327/common--javascript/yahooui/tabview-min.js" type="text/javascript"></script>
<div class="yui-navset" id="wiki-tabview-97f8c8e164a3f18e310cfc93daec76c0">
<ul class="yui-nav">
<li class="selected"><a href="javascript:;"><em>2014+</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>One-Sentence Premises</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Concepts</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Draft Excerpts</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Combination Concept/Excerpt</em></a></li>
</ul>
<div class="yui-content">
<div id="wiki-tab-0-0">
<h3 id="toc4"><span>These are the Fragments added to the page from 2014 onwards.</span></h3>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-1" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/agent-jac-pearce" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1779701); return false;"><img alt="Agent Jac Pearce" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1779701&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1779701)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/agent-jac-pearce" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1779701); return false;">Agent Jac Pearce</a></span></p>
<p>A story that SCP-106's pocket dimension controls 106, and that more 106's could be created by the pocket dimension</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/nightruin" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1822042); return false;"><img alt="Nightruin" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1822042&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1822042)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/nightruin" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1822042); return false;">Nightruin</a></span></p>
<p>Puppy dog eyes as an anomalous event that is a cognito hazard, where puppy dog eyes force whoever sees them to either forget any wrong a dog has done, or give them food or let them out.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By unknown author</p>
<p>A wild west themed SCP.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By unknown author</p>
<p>A memetic contagion that is an internet meme.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By unknown author</p>
<p>Write a tale where a conspiracy theory magazine learns of the Foundation's existence.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="error-inline"><em>errorlypse</em> does not match any existing user name</span></p>
<p>A "beware of dog" sign that turns dogs into hellish creatures.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/professor-p" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1927605); return false;"><img alt="Professor P" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1927605&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1927605)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/professor-p" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1927605); return false;">Professor P</a></span>, from “Shrek” in chat.</p>
<p>A file that was kind of obviously written up by the foundation as propaganda against a particular group of interest. -Shrek</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mandymarshell" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3306609); return false;"><img alt="MandyMarshell" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=3306609&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=3306609)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mandymarshell" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3306609); return false;">MandyMarshell</a></span></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Object Class: Toroidal</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">– hide block</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Try to write a SCP that contains itself</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-2" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/justahungryguy" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8015298); return false;"><img alt="justahungryguy" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8015298&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8015298)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/justahungryguy" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8015298); return false;">justahungryguy</a></span></p>
<p>A book that gives the foundation a lot of info on anomalies. Problem is, this book attracts danger.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By unknown author</p>
<p>An SCP about a faucet that pours acid instead water, no matter where it is installed. The acid comes from another dimensions and is highly corrosive, capable of destroying absolutely anything - including diamonds. Keter-class?</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;"><img alt="Communism will win" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=617958&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=617958)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;">Communism will win</a></span></p>
<p>Metaphors are traditionally understood as figurative constructs that link otherwise unrelated things together. This is arrogance. Our world is simply the set of things that serve to link metaphors together.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;"><img alt="Bland" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=663362&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=663362)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;">Bland</a></span></p>
<p>"In lieu of recent events" - it's thought to be a miswording in Dr. Bright's bio. But what if it's not? What if history was rewritten to stop an XK event, with Jack saving the world by being trapped for all eternity?</p>
<p>When Dr. Bright was initially killed and imprisoned in <a href="/scp-963">SCP-963</a>, it was during a containment breach of <a href="/scp-076">SCP-076</a>-2. What if ORIGINALLY he dropped it a half second before dying and <em>ABLE</em> became trapped in the amulet instead?</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bryx" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1786305); return false;"><img alt="Bryx" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1786305&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1786305)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bryx" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1786305); return false;">Bryx</a></span></p>
<p>Skip Idea: A beaver that was reincarnated as a chainsaw. But it still remembers the dirty catholics that ate it as a hangover cure after Mardi-Gras (look it up), and seeks revenge to this day. Only then can it rest. Only then.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/steeltitan" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1871133); return false;"><img alt="Steeltitan" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1871133&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1871133)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/steeltitan" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1871133); return false;">Steeltitan</a></span></p>
<p>A pharaoh with the head of a turtle. Maybe have the turtle head be detachable?</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/guessswho" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1373493); return false;"><img alt="GuesssWho" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1373493&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1373493)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/guessswho" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1373493); return false;">GuesssWho</a></span></p>
<p>Have you ever noticed that the clump of hair that comes off when you use a comb looks sort of like a big, hairy spider? Well, sometimes it is. And it's one of the really poisonous ones. You might want to start burning your stray hairs, so they can't breed.</p>
<p>(See also the spiders that form when you remove the navel from an orange.)</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrronin" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1833724); return false;"><img alt="MrRonin" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1833724&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1833724)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrronin" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1833724); return false;">MrRonin</a></span></p>
<p>A skip based on the Roland TB-303 synthesizer and the 80's 'acid rave' culture it revolved around. Why was it so underground? Did people really get shitfaced on drugs? Why were the media and police so against it? And more importantly: Is the movement really dead?</p>
<p>Don't forget the yellow smiley faces.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="error-inline"><em>errorlypse</em> does not match any existing user name</span></p>
<p>SO<br/>
SCP #### is a China doll of some sort. Whenever anyone touches SCP ####, scp reforms into the person who touched it but when they were a kid. This can be useful for finding the origin of various scps.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;"><img alt="MrCobalt" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1361966&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1361966)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/mrcobalt" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1361966); return false;">MrCobalt</a></span></p>
<p>A nightclub (or similar social gathering place) staffed (and frequented by) friendly animate skeletons. Humans entering this place are met with warm welcomes and friendly greetings, accompanied by polite requests to "check your skin at the door". Subjects who do not immediately flee the place will discover they are in fact able to shed their skin and organs in a similar manner to a heavy overcoat, while still retaining all their former senses and mobility. Interviewed subjects usually describe it as feeling "liberating" or other such terms indicating that this absence of flesh is somewhat pleasant, akin to removing restricting clothes. Subjects also report feeling more "open"- both literally and metaphorically- and often find it easier to speak freely about themselves or their thoughts amongst other skeletal subjects. While there does not appear to be any compulsion from the grounds itself or its staff forcing goers to remain in the club until it closes, many of them do unless serious obligations (job, family etc.) would require otherwise, though some exceptions to this rule exist (usually where the subject is seriously displeased with said obligation, e.g. dead-end job or unfaithful spouse). In any case, subjects desiring to leave are prevented from doing so without first putting back on their skin and organs, which analysis suggests does not dry out or decay while in storage. Donning a skin is done just as easily as removing it was (seals around its corresponding bones only when applied properly) and does not appear to damage the skin in any way (though direct damage to a vital organ still affects its wearer when they attempt to put it back on). Skeletal subjects that manage to leave the grounds skinless immediately perish- even their skin hanging up in storage ceases to function once its "owner" collapses outside the club grounds.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kretchsteamclaw" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1958036); return false;"><img alt="KretchSteamclaw" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1958036&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1958036)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kretchsteamclaw" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1958036); return false;">KretchSteamclaw</a></span></p>
<p>Do some skip involving platypuses with human faces on their backs. It's a mated pair and two litters of baby platypuses. The runt of the second litter died. It had a gulper eel's face on its back. Gross.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kretchsteamclaw" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1958036); return false;"><img alt="KretchSteamclaw" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1958036&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1958036)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kretchsteamclaw" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1958036); return false;">KretchSteamclaw</a></span></p>
<p>icy, glacial settlement<br/>
people live in it<br/>
they seem normal<br/>
is illusion<br/>
they dont look like people; faces distorted<br/>
real fuckin creepy an shit<br/>
pretend to be people<br/>
get sinister when you know what they look like<br/>
wtf</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kretchsteamclaw" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1958036); return false;"><img alt="KretchSteamclaw" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1958036&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1958036)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kretchsteamclaw" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1958036); return false;">KretchSteamclaw</a></span></p>
<p>some guy who's so boring it friggin' hurts. Gives off an aura that makes people so unbelievably bored that they can't stand it anymore. Thinks he's some accountant or some shit. Holy hell, this guy is dull. If his routine is broken the boredom aura expands super fast and it sucks major balls. If you can make this better, then major props, bro</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/wuz" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1755920); return false;"><img alt="Wuz" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1755920&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1755920)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/wuz" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1755920); return false;">Wuz</a></span></p>
<p><a href="https://www.planetary.org/blogs/emily-lakdawalla/2008/1305.html">This is an analysis of picture of a tiny rock on mars that has the shape of a bigfoot</a>. Now, the image itself might have a lot of evidences against it, but it does raise some interesting ideas. What if <a href="/scp-1000">SCP-1000</a> had managed to develop a space program and sent some bigfoot astronauts into space? There are quite a lot of possibilities with this one. Here are some ideas I came up:</p>
<ul>
<li>How will they react to having their homes taken away from them? For thousands of years?</li>
<li>Do they have space bigfoot colonies? How do they hide them?</li>
<li>How do their bio-ships work?</li>
<li>What is the space-bigfoot's relationship with humans?</li>
</ul>
<p>Et cetera.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/guessswho" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1373493); return false;"><img alt="GuesssWho" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1373493&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1373493)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/guessswho" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1373493); return false;">GuesssWho</a></span></p>
<p>A 10-year-old girl whose touch causes random mutations, 75% of which are fatal. She has a three-headed puppy named Muffles. All the rest of her family is dead.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/guessswho" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1373493); return false;"><img alt="GuesssWho" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1373493&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1373493)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/guessswho" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1373493); return false;">GuesssWho</a></span></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Macuahuitl Mouth</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">– hide block</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>An individual who sought out the Foundation's help, as whenever this person eats their teeth fall out and are replaced by sharper teeth. At first it was only when they ate hard food, then any solid food, then any food at all. Their teeth are now as sharp as obsidian, and only intravenous feeding prevents the anomaly.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/guessswho" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1373493); return false;"><img alt="GuesssWho" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1373493&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1373493)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/guessswho" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1373493); return false;">GuesssWho</a></span></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Mirror Hallways</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">– hide block</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>You know how when you put a mirror up to a mirror you see that creepy endless hallway? What if there were two mirror that, when you held them up to each other, there were things <em>wandering through</em> that hallway, and other hallways connected to it?<br/>
Or maybe there's just one creature, but every time you form the hallway it's <em>closer</em> …</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/wuz" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1755920); return false;"><img alt="Wuz" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1755920&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1755920)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/wuz" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1755920); return false;">Wuz</a></span></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Conflicted Circus Magician</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">– hide block</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Circus all have magicians. Stage magicians that create illusions to make the audience experience seemingly impossible things.</p>
<p>But what about Herman Fuller's circus?</p>
<p>If you are a magician in a paranormal world, how will you work when everyone around you is doing impossible things?</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="error-inline"><em>pastarasta1</em> does not match any existing user name</span></p>
<p>1. Food that turn into corpses when they expire.<br/>
2. Cliche green goo that has a crisis when contained.<br/>
3. A dimension where everything is alive and it all screams.<br/>
4. <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Dr. Wondertainement's BOOK OF LEARNING!</span> [DISCONTINUED]<br/>
5. A theme park that is growing bigger and bigger and will not stop making rides out of other houses and structures.</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/wuz" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1755920); return false;"><img alt="Wuz" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1755920&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1755920)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/wuz" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1755920); return false;">Wuz</a></span></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Small-Town Office</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">– hide block</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>The Foundation listens to conspiracy radios, hears folk tales, investigates urban legends, and digs deep into internet myths in case they stumble upon an anomaly.</p>
<p>Imagine that you are the person responsible for it, and you have a small Foundation-established "paranormal detective agency" in the weird part of the city. Unaffected by the politics of GOIs and the world-ending anomalies, what will you see and hear in this small anomalous world?</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/theimmortaldragoon" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3950230); return false;"><img alt="TheImmortalDragoon" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=3950230&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=3950230)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/theimmortaldragoon" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3950230); return false;">TheImmortalDragoon</a></span></p>
<p>A pen that animates whatever is drawn with it made out of the material it is drawn on. If drawn on a living thing, the living thing dies and whatever was drawn is created in the process. If what was drawn can't gather enough materials from what it is drawn on, it becomes horribly disfigured.</p>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-3" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;"><img alt="Communism will win" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=617958&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=617958)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/communism-will-win" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(617958); return false;">Communism will win</a></span></p>
<p>ＰＲＡＧＵＥ is an old city. It has been falling apart at the seams for centuries. It is not long before ＰＲＡＧＵＥ dissolves into the logical subterranean chaos that is the foundation of our consensus reality.</p>
<p>That's not to say you can't have a little fun first. Utilizing the lastest advancements in computer science, our team of Underminers has fathomed into the unknowable, risking the destruction of two dimensions to discover these 218 amazing ways that YOU can ＨＡＣＫ ＰＲＡＧＵＥ.</p>
<hr/></div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-4" style="display:none">
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;"><img alt="Ihp" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8711838&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8711838)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/ihp" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8711838); return false;">Ihp</a></span></p>
<p>A tale for the Broken Masquerade canon where the Serpent's Hand tries to levitate the US Pentagon like they tried to do in the 1960s- and succeeds. Bonus points if you include these phrases:</p>
<p>"The Serpent's Hand will return the color blue to the visual spectrum once our demands are met!"</p>
<p>"It's over, it's over, the Charade/Masquerade is broken. It's over. It's over. The Serpent's Hand has spoken."</p>
<hr/>
<p>By <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;"><img alt="Bland" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=663362&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1726910026" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=663362)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/bland" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(663362); return false;">Bland</a></span></p>
<p>Something with a Texas take on it:</p>
<p>"The name's Dark. Carter N. Dark. <em>MARSHALL</em> Carter N. Dark" (Pulls out six shooter and fires at the camera.)</p>
<hr/></div>
</div>
</div>
<script type="text/javascript">
//<![CDATA[
OZONE.dom.onDomReady(function(){
var tabView97f8c8e164a3f18e310cfc93daec76c0 = new YAHOO.widget.TabView('wiki-tabview-97f8c8e164a3f18e310cfc93daec76c0');
}, "dummy-ondomready-block");
//]]>
</script>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/fragments">Fragments</a>" by AdminBright, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/fragments">https://scpwiki.com/fragments</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[module css]]
.yui-navset .yui-content {
max-height: 50vh;
overflow-y: auto;
margin-bottom: 2rem;
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
AKA: Stuff You Will Never Use, But Wanted To Share
The point of this page is simple. Everyone has pieces of stories, or articles, inside their head. Bits that you yourself may never use, but would still like to share/let someone else use. So, that's what this page is for.
[[div style="border: solid 1px black; color: black; border-radius: 10px; background: #ffe9de; padding: 5px; margin-bottom: 10px; padding: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
[[size 125%]]How to use this page.[[/size]]
[[/=]]
You are free to use any of the snippets/fragments found on this page in your own writing. However, you do need to attribute this page by adding the following to the licensebox:
> @@[[@@include :scp-wiki:component:license-box@@]]@@
> @@=====@@
> @@>@@ Original concept/idea found on @@[[[@@fragments|the Fragments page@@]]]@@
> @@=====@@
> @@[[@@include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end@@]]@@
Furthermore, please make sure to credit the original author of the material you are using, and post as such in the page’s discussion thread so the fragment can be removed.
Thank you.
[[/div]]
[[tabview]]
[[tab 2011]]
+++ These are the Fragments added to the page during 2011.
(Click the tabs to look through the different fragment types.)
[[/tab]]
[[tab One-Sentence Premises]]
By [[*user tunedtoadeadchannel]]
A business called Tonk and Revelstoke's
------
By [[*user evictedSaint]]
A "tooth fairy" SCP that rips teeth from people's heads and uses it to fuel itself.
------
By [[*user Asthix]]
"As long as I live, the humiliation will color my perception with the tint of his arrogance!" (Now stay out of my head!)
------
By [[*user Drewbear]]
"The lion shines and its roar blinds."
------
By [[*user Photosynthetic]]
An electric mixer with no batteries or power cord: it runs on music.
------
By [[*user Photosynthetic]]
A magnifying glass works only at night, and which can do with moonlight what any magnifier can do to an ant in sunlight.
------
By [[*user Salman Corbette]]
A lock that, when locked, would stay stuck in the same place (although still moving with the Earth's rotation, etc.).
------
By [[*user Ninteen45]]
SCP contained within a Timezone.
------
By [[*user Exun Yannah]]
Humanoid SCP with highly aggressive immune system, able to deal with infections before they enter the body
------
By [[*user Flock of Whales]]
A traffic cone which, when placed on a road, cannot be moved by motor vehicles. IE: Concrete traffic cone.
------
By [[*user Communism will win]]
An anomalous original copy of the Declaration of Independence (or possibly the Constitution) held at the Foundation's branch in the National Archives.
------
By [[*user arverst_aegnar]]
"You don't understand! I'm trying to help you!"
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Concepts]]
By [[*user Bland]]
Victims of a freeze ray. Their outer molecule in stasis and cannot be damaged in anyway. Their innards have long since rotted away, but without anywhere for the fluids to go, they... slosh...
------
By [[*user Communism will win]]
Just a group of a bunch of normal numbers that add up to different totals when you add them in a different order. Like, maybe twenty or so three-digit numbers.
------
By [[*user TroyL]]
Those ads on the sides of the screen? The ones that have fun, cute little games you can play? They're not really there. No one ever programmed those in. Instead, the second that you click on one of them, you're a tool of an unknown force. Every click, every attempt to get the egg in the bucket or kick the donkey... goes to something. Fuck knows what, but it's going somewhere.
------
By [[*user Communism will win]]
A set of five disguises made out of flesh, each one corresponding to a UN ambassador on the security council: USA, France, Great Britain, Russia, Taiwan (people's republic of china). Found mid-'90s.
------
By [[*user minmin]]
Terrestrial life form. Has a thin membrane filled with lighter-than-air gas saturated with natural phosphorescent chemicals. Not particularly carnivorous but have been known to lure and share small prey like young deer. 'Deflate' in the daytime. Reside in Australia. The article's aim is 'interesting/cute', not 'scary'. Yes, it's an SCPification of [*https://www.theozfiles.com/min_min_lights.html this.]
------
By [[*user evictedSaint]]
A song that causes the listener's heart to beat in tune with the music. Speeding/slowing the beat of the song has obvious detrimental effects. No one can quite recall what the tune was or how the song went.
------
By [[*user oops_ur_dead]]
An SCP that rearranges parts of things into other useful things for its own use. Maybe living organisms or something.
------
By [[*user Dexanote]]
Something that is immune to bullets and projectiles of all types. Not a shield, some sort of creature. Preferably based off some mythological critter that is, itself, immune to projectiles. Point behind this is that the containment and retrieval stuff requires close combat.
------
By [[*user arverst_aegnar]]
Windmills - something that grinds up stuff creepily (though that would have to work hard to be a not-repeat of other SCPs), or something that would power something the Foundation really, really doesn't want powered. Or windmill//s// - a whole field of windmills that blow in conjunction with some other world's wind? Windmills that draw things to them?
------
By [[*user arverst_aegnar]]
A shopping cart that acts like a dog: bonds with the person who touches it, likes to "play" - run fast, go around in circles, play chase - will bump you affectionately, chase off other things/people/carts it views as a threat to bonded subject, etc.
------
By [[*user Ninteen45]]
SCP - A contract expiry announcement from a PR company. Any non human entity (Company, country, curch, store, event) who holds it will be repeatedly subjected to more and more PR and in-entity disasters (Like losing important files, accidents destroying essential property...)
------
By [[*user Voct]]
SCP whose containment involves reading it stories of murder. Fresh ones every time. Published fiction works best.
------
By [[*user arverst_aegnar]]
Children's fairy-tale book that, when read, causes the reader to regress chronologically, to something like six or seven. Reader hears voice of an elderly woman reading aloud, illegible writing on the inside of the book cover - only readable part says "Love, Granny" or something.
------
By [[*user Dexanote]]
A story somehow incorporating SCP-ARCs and SCP-Ds together to restart a universe after an X#-Class Scenario deletes it.
------
By [[*user Dexanote]]
[[[SCP-169]]] is stated to be between 2000 and 8000 km long. This is a big descrepancy, so what if there are two of them each around 3000 km long? The Tale would be a diary of a survivor who watched the news of them coming ashore, devastating southern South America, shrugging off military might, breeding, and spreading across the Earth.
------
By [[*user Adam Smascher]]
A Foundation Tale pertaining to Project Longshot entitled, "The Longest Shot." An alternate history, or perhaps set in the near future, in which the project is completed and the spacecraft launched. In the 104 or so years it takes the craft to reach Alpha Centari and transmit data back to earth, humanity has been wiped from the face of the planet. Somewhere, a radio might crackle to life and begin blaring odd static. A monitor or two may light up at NASA mission control, even though they rightfully shouldn't, gazed upon by many eager eyes, none belonging to anything capable of comprehending the information on the LCD panels before them.
It would contrast the success of the mission with how little it meant, making subtle implications as to why humanity is gone, when the race died out, and what may have changed.
------
By [[*user Sophia Light]]
A basis for a story: For a group (or race, planet, person, I don't know) with advanced technology, it would be easy to make something designed to be found by scientists. Just by making an object that's inexplicable //enough//, and leaving it somewhere, one stands a good chance that it will eventually end up in the hands of researchers. Say, the Foundation.
------
By [[*user Sophia Light]]
A pair of MTFs who work together to remove information from either the public eye or within the Foundation when members are promoted to certain positions- the Sin Eaters, who disappear people, and the Silverfish, who disappear information.
------
By [[*user Bland]]
Commercials I hear (U.S. based):
"[https://www.scjohnson.com SCP Johnson - a family company]!"
And then I think of [https://scp-inc.wikidot.com/ Soap From Corpses] and it all goes weird.
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Draft Excerpts]]
By [[*user Quikngruvn]]
A containment procedure in search of a chemical SCP:
[[collapsible show="Show Procedures" hide="Hide Procedures"]]
**Special Containment Procedures:** No samples of SCP-███ may be stored at any site except under experimental conditions. All samples of SCP-███ must be synthesized //ad hoc// using procedures in Document PR-███-01 (Level-4 clearance required to access and oversee synthetic process). No individual below Level-4 clearance may know about or perform more than three steps from Document PR-███-01.
When synthesized, SCP-███ must be handled as a strong, water-soluble narcotic. Excess or unused SCP-███ must be disposed of via methods outlined in Document PR-███-13.
Samples and synthetic procedures for SCP-███ still exist around the world. Foundation policy is to seize and/or suppress all items related to each SCP-███ event, including attempts to reverse-engineer SCP-███, [DATA EXPUNGED].
[[/collapsible]]
------
By [[*user Kero Shiranui]]
It is said we are born in the infinite darkness, and to it we will return.
And those that would believe these words often cower behind them, using them to excuse themselves from bringing light to this world.
But should a star not shine simply because it is a difficult task?
Simply because they too must return to the void?
What would become of this world if our brethren, the stars, stopped giving their nurturing light?
The same that comes when we stop giving off ours.
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Combination Concept/Excerpt]]
By [[*user AdminBright]]
//On an SCP that erases the memories of whatever it is told from everyone but the teller://
Subject D-42 enter the enclosure, and told the SCP 'Two plus Two is Four.' There was no reaction for approximately five minutes, at which point D-42s head exploded.
------
By [[*user Eric Adler]]
A cold- or flu-like disease that spreads by memetic vectors instead of the normal transfer of microorganisms.
(videotape recording of D-class sick with the Memetic Cold) "Achoo, man this cold is kicking my butt"
(previously healthy agent) "So what the heck is this? You wanted me to watch securidy foodage of some guy with a head code? *phlegmy cough* how did I just ged sick?"
------
[[/tab]]
[[/tabview]]
[[tabview]]
[[tab 2012 Part 1]]
+++ These are the Fragments added to the page during 2012, from January through July.
[[/tab]]
[[tab One-Sentence Premises]]
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A tale in which we see what keeps wild [[[SCP-831]]] from taking over the world… they find SCP style items of their own and try to use them wiping out their hives as a result
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
An item which can only be described in insults regarding the item.
------
By [[*user MrCobalt]]
An anomalous Halloween decoration that either turns people into black cats or produces black cats with human intelligence at regular intervals.
------
By [[*user Boa Noah]]
A God that disguises itself in the costume of a fake God because it enjoys messing around with mortals.
------
By [[*user solomen]]
A scp involving the concept of ceremorphosis where an organism either hatches from a skull like an egg or eats the brain and mutates the body as part of its life cycle like a mind flayer or head crab.
------
By [[*user solomen]]
A crashed vessel recovered from the crater in Mexico.
------
By [[*user Theally]]
A chick tract parody for the CotBG.
------
By [[*user Communism will win]]
A tale in which the leader of the Serpent's Hand (or a faction thereof) reaches out to a college student and has said student found AWCY? as a counterpart to the Serpent's Hand.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
Creature/s living on a beach which make nests that look like sandcastles. With moats, decorative sticks, etc.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A migratory herd of toy trucks.
------
By [[*user MrCobalt]]
A humanoid SCP whose containment procedures require it to be inebriated at all times.
------
By [[*user Ihp]]
Due to a shortage of Amnesiacs of all classes (not just Class A) following a raid on a production plant by a GoI (CI, ORIA, Serpents Hand, or GOC), The Foundation is forced to ration amnesiacs until further notice, leading to several suicides and deaths thanks to things that cannot be unseen or memes getting out of control.
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Concepts]]
By anonymous user
An SCP that’s like a toy dog bone and when a dog buries it, it grows into a tree that has more toy bones coming off of it.
And then those toy bones can grow new trees propagating the cycle.
------
By [[*user Bland]]
SCP-963 is an interesting place to mine for tale ideas. As an example, there is one (type of) individual that should be immune to its effects - a Jack Bright that went past the 30-day mark. So if the Foundation wants an expert watching Bright, who better than a Bright to anticipate what he's up to? And they've (sort of) given him what he wants: //That version can live out a normal life and finally die.//
------
By [[*user Bland]]
An -EX SCP; the original lay person explanation about “Many Worlds Quantum" was that every decision, every coin toss generated a new universe. Later, it's "Undetermined until observed, when it collapses the wave and resolves". So now, instead of creating universes we're destroying them. Not sure how/why but what if, like [[[SCP-8900-EX]]], //something changed. Something awful.// And now we have to live with it.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A tale about the CotBG winning by reassembling their god, but rather than it taking over the world it simply ascends to a more clockwork plane of existence taking its followers with it. Much Foundation faceplaming results at the realization that an enemy wining just got them permanently out of the Foundation's hair.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A tale in which Serpent's Hand operatives having broken into a foundation containment site try to convince an apparently intelligent SCP to escape with them. Pity for them that the SCP they found is robo-dude™.
Meant to be humorous, with a mix of Serpent's Hand dramatic speeches about SCP freedom and "robo-dance™."
------
By unknown user
A sloth that is capable of passively absorbing nutrients and calories from the surrounding environment. On any other animal, it might not be a big deal, but with a maximum speed of less than 2 km/h, it can destroy large swaths of rainforest in a matter of days.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A SCP which was formerly a foundation Agent who got captured by one of the GOIs and exposed to //something//. The foundation only found out who their new SCP once was by DNA tests. Not a useful change, more body horror and nightmare fuel that the Agent might still be self-aware under whatever was done to them.
------
By [[*user Norman Dy Invidia]]
An SCP that consists of a barrel of totem-shaped penises with the shafts being in the shape of various 'baramins' of animals. When touched by a female belonging to said 'baramin', the female will become pregnant.
The offspring will live to around just after reaching sexual maturity. Their birth will cause the mother to ignore all pre-existing offspring and their death will cause the mother to undergo severe depression. Usage of the SCP renders the female infertile except for subsequent uses of the SCP.
------
By [[*user Norman Dy Invidia]]
A "How To Draw Anime" book, which when in contact with a picture or video that contains humans, will turn all instances of that picture or video into a stylized, 'anime' version of whatever is depicted in the picture or video.
------
By [[*user MrCobalt]]
"Have you ever had one of those moments you just wished you could be a fly on the wall?
Wish granted.
Are We Cool Yet?"
------
By [[*user MrCobalt]]
An anomalous crime scenario involving a mass murder situation that always leaves only two suspects/witnesses remaining after the event with some sort of connection or relation that could make them accomplices. One or both of the suspects will either claim responsibility for the murders themselves or blame the other suspect, and will give an account of the crime that supports their claim, while the other will assert said account cannot be true, giving their own account of the event that conflicts with or contradicts the first. In any case, evidence recovered at the crime scene will be compatible with both accounts, but may be insufficient to give a clear picture of what happened. If the crime is not correctly "solved", i.e. authorities figured out exactly what happened during the event (who was responsible for which death, which details of either story are true, whose idea was it, etc.), within a certain amount of time, both suspects will self-terminate in a manner consistent between incidents, usually with a murder tactic or implement they or the other supposedly used during the crime, and the event will repeat itself some time later.
Each instance of the crime will have some elements that denote it as an instance of the SCP, i.e. implements used or manner of death of at least one victim, but will otherwise create an entirely new scenario so study of previous instances does not provide any clues to subsequent ones.
Not exactly sure how this would be contained, or even if it is contained, what makes it spread, how it would recognize having been "solved", how the Foundation finds out it needs to be solved, etc.
------
By [[*user MrCobalt]]
A small-scale replica/floor plan of [your choice of city here] made of dominoes. Formations collapse of their own accord when corresponding buildings in the real city are damaged or destroyed, and vice versa. Might possibly be connected to AWCY.
------
By [[*user MrCobalt]]
SCP-J idea: "The [EXPLETIVE] You Button!^^tm^^" An "easy button"-esque device that, when pressed, emits the aforementioned phrase (sans censorship) and injures the person that pushed it, usually via a random object thrown from an indeterminate origin point.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
**Adventures of Lord Blackwood, explorer and gentleslug.**
**Lord Blackwood in [[[https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1678 | UnLondon]]]**
**Lord Blackwood at Sea:** A voyage to capture a [[[SCP-879 | whale-like monster]]] preying upon shipping. Throw in pirates, storms, a rather [[[SCP-1014 | odd castaway]]], other adventures joining the hunt, [[[SCP-1260 | and his ship itself]]] and this may be more of a threat to His Lordship than it seems....
**Lord Blackwood and the Sky-Discs:** His Lordship takes to the skies in an airship on the hunt for a flock of [[[SCP-994 | strange flying animals]]], unlike anything ever seen before. Add in the problems of a predatory [[[SCP-312 | flying jellyfish]]] pulling people from the airship and swarms of [[[SCP-1661 | airborne robots]]] eating the airship out from under its crew make this a rather odd trip.
**Lord Blackwood on the Dark Continent:** A thrilling expedition 'cross Darkest Africa for the rarest of beasts, the [[[SCP-131 | eye-pods]]].
**Lord Blackwood and the [[[SCP-962 | Tower]]]**
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A horrific monster with the personality of a cute and cuddly puppy. The nightmare fuel comes from both the fact that it really doesn't know its own strength leading to loads of deaths when it tries to play with people, and how the foundation treats it.
------
By [[*user MrCobalt]]
A tale consisting of entries in a diary the Foundation recovered from the home of a child who had heard or read a description of [[[SCP-1128]]]. Parents probably would think he was just overreacting from reading/hearing too many scary stories until it was too late, or maybe parents began showing symptoms of infection as well.
------
By [[*user MrCobalt]]
SCP idea: A mummified corpse resembling a deformed human recovered from an MC&D auction. Included with it were several "tags" bearing writing in an ancient Chinese script. Corpse becomes animate when one or more of these tags is applied to the body, with each tag causing it to exhibit different behaviors, e.g. "serve", "attack", "guard", etc. Based somewhat on popular depictions of the Jiang-shi, a Chinese zombie-like creature.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A Project crossover Tale in which the foundation deploys Mobile Task Force Omega-Seven back when it had Able in it, in an attempt to contain a small town in which a bunch of animals had been turning up drained of blood.
A small town called Forks....
Also referred to as:
**Able and Dr. Clef working together to kick sparkly butt!**
------
By [[*user MrCobalt]]
An SCP object made by AWCY... but what catches the Foundation's interest isn't the object itself so much as the vandalism done to it in response. Said vandalism is clearly done by someone other than AWCY, yet it seems to be creating its own anomalous effects which appear to be a mockery of/a response to/interfering with the intent of the original object. Over the "Are We Cool Yet?" logo would be graffiti reading something along the lines of "YES, UR F@(KING C00L NAO! 3NUF OF TH15 BU11$H17!" ("leetspeak" obfuscation not necessary)
------
By [[*user Goodwill]]
A product/drug (possibly smoked) developed by MC&D-employed scientists. Modeled after something made and used by the Fifth Church that they stole that they heard about from a converted club member.
------
By [[*user MrCobalt]]
Someone or something that makes people do musical numbers. I don't mean like that -J curtain that made people do showtunes, I mean something that causes mass quantities of people to break out in choreographed song-and-dance routines, disregarding their safety or present situation.
------
By [[*user Flah]]
Brain worms that lay eggs which look exactly like Q-tips. An unsuspecting victim decides to start cleaning his ears and suddenly realizes that what he was using disappeared from his hand. Months later, their barely breathing body trudges through drugstores, pulling pristine Q-tips out of its nose and inserting them into the appropriate packaging. Depending on the angle, could be either a real article or a -J.
------
By [[*user Ihp]]
The [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toynbee_tiles Toynbee Tiles] turning out to be an SCP; due to the relatively widespread knowledge of them and their public appearances, containment would focus on suppressing knowledge of its anomalous effects.
------
By [[*user Drewbear]]
A biological organism that doesn't die. Instead it expires. Literal expiration date like on food products, at which point [REDACTED]
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Draft Excerpts]]
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
//"This is the task you must do..." announced the Wonderful Wizard of Wondertainment. "KILL FOR ME 682!"//
//"In return, you Pesterbot will be granted the power to carry out your threats. You, Lord Blackwood will have your humanity restored. You, Able shall be granted a heart and the power to love.//
//Any you Dr. Clef will be allowed to return home to the SCP foundation. And take your pet Dragon-Snail with you."//
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
**Dr. Wondertainment's Mini-Cities™:** Just plant the city-seed™, water and be ready to govern your own little city of little people!
//Results may vary.//
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Combination Concept/Excerpt]]
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A heartwarming Tale involving a wedding of two of the faithful in [https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/system:page-tags/tag/broken-god#pages church].
//"And now two are united in marriage as His Cogwheels and Gears shall reunite when He is made whole...."//
------
[[/tab]]
[[/tabview]]
[[tabview]]
[[tab 2012 Part 2]]
+++ These are the Fragments added to the page during 2012, from August through December.
[[/tab]]
[[tab One-Sentence Premises]]
By [[*user MrCobalt]]
A "Who's on first?"-esque skit about a Nobody sighting.
------
By [[*user Goodwill]]
A tour of a Wondertainment factory a la Roald Dahl.
------
By [[*user Dr Oak]]
A (very) junior researcher failing to explain Procedure 110-Montauk.
------
By [[*user Dr Oak]]
A very dramatic and serious tale about [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-789-j SCP-789-J].
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A radio which picks up signals from its equivalent location in different parallel realities depending on how the tuning is set.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
The [https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1483 IIPES] report on their end of the dimensional gate and the primary SCP foundation world.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
Wondertainment product/s intended to be marketed to the [https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1483 antarctic empire's world], or the university.
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Concepts]]
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A Tale in which Lord Blackwood in his present slug form meets SCP-1227. Both proceed to have a very odd conversation, as each of them perceives themselves as normal whereas they are actually a sea slug and a gigantic squicky mass of body horror.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A bunch of eggs, each about a quarter-meter long. Slightly warm indicating they are alive, and made out of something which has resisted all attempts at drilling into it for study. The foundation has no idea what they will hatch into, or when they hatch. Candling and other tests have proven inconclusive
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A swarm of tiny flying creatures or micro-robots which look like snowflakes. Can "swarm" people, and the edges of their wings are //sharp//.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
Wondertainment Face-paint - will change the coloration of any biological matter it is applied to, not like tattoos but like birthmarks. Brightly colored birthmarks. Can permanently blind if it gets on eyes by turning the eyes colored. Needless to say has a "keep away from eyes" note in typical wondertainment style.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A toy car that will act like a real one. That is to say, it will move by itself to drive along roads, stop at gas stations and generally act like a normal car apart from being a toy and not having any driver.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A fragment of organic tissue, apparently part of an animal. DNA tests and simple appearance shows it to be of no known species. Maybe a gigantic severed leg ending in a single claw or a weird, nonhuman skull or something.
When touched by any living animal or person the part of the animal or person which made contact with it will "stick" being peeled off their body and incorporated into the tissue fragment. DNA tests of the part peeled off the victim will reveal it is changing to match tissue from the fragment, replacing bits of it.
Whatever creature the fragment was part of is healing.....
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A species of tree which will open small dimensional "oddities" near it causing abnormal things to happen at random. A single tree can't really do anything major but a grove of them is able to "puncture" reality spreading seeds between the many worlds of the foundation universes sort of like SCP-507's power. Also makes a great defense mechanism for the tree having herbivores moved out of the same dimension as it.
------
By [[*user MrCobalt]]
An SCP comprised of a large quantity of "excessively helpful" humanoid beings that follow a "target" around and provide him or her with courteous assistance in anything they attempt to do. And they are //everywhere//. Approaching a door? They open it for you from the other side. Shoe untied? One's already on it. Hungry? One of them already made you dinner somehow //while hiding inside your fridge//. Out of toilet paper? One comes out of the medicine cabinet with a fresh roll. They'll do anything for you to the best of their ability whether you want them to or not, and they don't take "no" for an answer.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A tale in which SCP-962 starts expanding the range it sends former animal "servitors" to work in. To the point where keeping the hoards of animals contorted by mechanical implants into crude mockeries of the human form killing any other animals they comes across and helping people out sort of like the "excessively helpful" humanoids mentioned at the bottom of this page out of public knowledge is impossible.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
The back half of a broken plastic squirt-gun. Not abnormal as far as the foundation can tell, just highly radioactive and with....
**rtainment™**
**ega-Soaker™**
....printed on it. Found following a [DATA EXPUNGED] disaster of some sort.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A chain letter. Very specifically written, misspelled, the grammar is horrible but believable considering some stupid chain letters people fall for. Tells the person who gets it to copy it out and send it to ten more people or a "monster" will kill them complete with very specific description of the "monster." In event of the letter not being copied, misspellings and all, a creature resembling the "monster" will show up, attack and vanish. The process in event of foundation personal getting infected would be to have them tell ten class-D personal who would then be shot.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
Some sort of drug which has two effects.
1. Cannabis-like mental weirdness.
2. Gives the person using it temporary reality-warper powers which last as long as the "trip" does.
Inspired by posts in the chat thread for SCP-1958.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A project-crossover Tale. Star Trek is rife with missed opportunities and blindness regarding the application of the technology available. There usually end up being more rationalizations and justifications as to why something doesn't do something useful than techo-babble about how it works in the first place. The original series had an episode involving a plant that could cure any disease, and regrow severed limbs for an example. The plant was conveniently forgotten in all future episodes.
It's almost like some organization is still around, amnesiac-ing people who find it then locking the anomalous stuff up…..
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
Santa. Not as a -J but as an all-powerful reality bender just sitting around in the arctic, unable to be sneaked up on or captured. Not only that, but he knows what the foundation is, and he knows about the relatively harmless humanoids that hate being here. He knows about 110-Montauk. Guess who's on the naughty list?
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A DIY style computer including a human brain as the CPU as well as vital organs for life support. As a result has massive memory storage, effective functions. Does not appear to still be sapient. DNA of brain and organs matches matches ████████ supposedly kidnapped in █████. Apart from being very fast and having a lot of memory storage doesn't really show many abnormal traits for a computer in terms of software. Just a good-working homemade computer which happens to be made out of a kidnapped victim.
------
By [[*user Communism will win]]
"Your mom" as a joke SCP. Alternatively, the "she" in "that's what she said".
------
By [[*user Flappybobb]]
A joke SCP about some horrible vile creation that turns out to be a vacuum, the joke being that it was written by Kain Pathos Crow. Of course I would recommend getting his permission first.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A first-person-shooter videogame set in the middle of a few kilometer area in Alaska, at least ██ kilometers from civilization. Seems unfinished, the copy the foundation has lacks enemies, most of the sounds are defaults, ect. When turned on, in the part of Alaska where the game is set, a creature resembling the player character will appear. Said creature can be moved by the game controls, and on the game screen the player can see things as they actually are in the real word, although with graphics and health bars like the game. Attempting to move the player character to the edge of the game world will have it vanish and return to spawn point, the same happens when the foundation tries to take the creature out of the equivalent of the game world. Trying to harm the creature just leads to decreasing health for the player character, and a "you died - re-spawn?" message and the body vanishing making dissection and other such studies impossible.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A tale where some researchers and scips play DnD/Pathfinder/insert tabletop RPG here.
Able and the Lizard optional, 181 recommended.
If you can somehow make 173 play, you have my seal of approval.
------
By [[*user Ihp]]
A set of three chemicals developed by a failed project at Prometheus Labs. Chemical A grants superhuman strength, Chemical B grants telepathy and superhuman senses, and chemical C grants flight and superhuman speed. What's so bad about that? For one thing, once the chemicals enter your blood stream, they cannot be turned "off"; you'll always be super humanly strong and have to hear people's thoughts, for example. Secondly, real world physics apply; go too fast and your organs get liquefied, or you just catch on fire. Go too high up in the atmosphere with flight and you freeze to death, or run out of oxygen and fall to your doom. Shake someone's hand too hard with super strength, [DATA EXPUNGED]. The point here is to deconstruct superpowers, and why they would suck in the real world.
------
By [[*user Ihp]]
Werewolves as an SCP. Before you shoot me, these are not your typical werewolves. Firstly, this particular type of lycanthropy is a genetic condition that is only carried by females; the presence of a Y chromosome, for some reason, makes it inactive. Secondly, they do not change with the lunar cycle, but with their menstrual cycle, and gradually change from 100% human to 100% lupine over the course of the cycle. Thirdly, they never stop undergoing oogenesis (the act of creating eggs, which is supposed to stop at birth), meaning they never run out of eggs and therefore never go through menopause. They're also fatally allergic to silver, and can more easily be killed with it, but anything fatal to a human will kill them just as easily.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A horrific body-horror inducing plague which forces its victims into homicidal rampages against the uninfected. The twist, it doesn't affect humans. Rather, just some randomly selected by the author species of small animal. Think 610, only for squirrels for an example.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
Dr. Wondertainment's attempt at a toy spaceship. Looks like a stereotypical pulp science-fiction rocket, about ten feet tall and with a hollow cabin which can be closed with an airtight door. Inside has a child-sized chair and simple, video-game-style joystick controls for moving in three dimensions and acceleration. There is no fuel supply, apparent place to put fuel or need for fuel. Unforgettably for any would-be astronaut, Wondertainment has shown his/her/its normal disregard for safety, the rocket can at maximum acceleration turn its pilot into gory slime on the floor of its cabin, and while its cabin seems to be radiation-proof and somehow maintain a self-renewing supply of air there's no room for food supplies, no bathroom, and steering the thing in space to the extent of getting home alive is exactly as hard as you'd expect.
The foundation got it after it crash landed in ███████ carrying an unidentified child's corpse, starved to death or crushed by acceleration.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
Some kind of creature which has an instinctive ability to control and/or build complex mechanical stuff. For example, it might be sort of squidlike in form and basically mummify the dashboard, steering wheel and pedals of a car in tentacles to allow it to operate it. Clearly not naturally evolved. Not intelligent apart from its technical skills, for example a den it could make would have gas heating and automated sentry guns but it can't communicate or recognize itself in a mirror.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A Tale in which foundation researchers in the world reached by SCP-1483 find the Factory or Wondertainment products, sold openly and the resulting issues. Ends with the foundation having to pay SCP-1483-world police bail to get their researchers out of jail, for robbing a small business in an attempt at "containment." Much O-5 facepalming ensues.
------
By [[*user TorrentGamer]]
An oil rig that has a seemingly infinite oil supply. Due to the interest of companies and outside groups, the SCP would need some lengthy containment procedures.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A swarm of tiny Von Neumann machine [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrochicken astrochicken-type] spacecrafts. Basically intended to land, set up a small factory and get to work on an industrial plant for creating more "ships." Not human-made, found after meteorite shower or something. Not very fast at replicating, little risk of their grey-gooing the planet. Mostly rely on the fast that //something// had to have made the first ones for creepiness.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A "living" snowstorm. That is to say; a small, unending snowstorm with the characteristic that any snowmen/snow sculptures at least partiality made from snow it produced will animate and endeavor to self-replicate. They appear to share a hivemind with the snowstorm cloud as the "queen." Highly hostile to foundation agents and citizens, not very effectively as they're snowmen. Presumably would have been found in the arctic or antarctic as otherwise it would melt each season.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A Tale regarding a class-XK event triggered by someone asking SCP-662 to build a superior version of itself, then ask the superior version to build a superior version of //itself//, ect.
Cue a SCP-based Singularity.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
Some sort of monster made of high-tech equipment. Maybe sort of a robotic thing which assimilates any other form of electronics it gets its grippers on. In an attempt at stopping it from growing, containment procedures would basically consist of guards armed with longbows, and a few sticks of TNT as an emergency site self-destruct.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
[[collapsible show="Blackwood Tale idea" hide="Close"]]
[https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/forum/t-593061/worst-possible-plot-twist Idea crossposted from here.]
After the events of [https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/when-one-reaches-the-end this Tale], Lord Blackwood hits his [https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DespairEventHorizon Despair Event Horizon] and makes a deal with [https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-738 SCP-738] which he encountered on one of his travels. The terms of the deal.
**[https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-738 SCP-738]**
• The creation of [https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1678 an "end-of-the-world" shelter based on British culture.]
• //Not// taking Lord Blackwood's soul.
• Not killing Lord Blackwood.
**Blackwood**
• Lord Blackwood's body, sort of like what happened [https://www.scp-wiki.net/caveat-emptor here].
Upon the deal being made, [https://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-738 SCP-738] creates [https://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-1678 SCP-1678], takes Lord Blackwood's soul out, placing it in a sea slug his lordship had as a zoological specimen from his travels, and takes over Lord Blackwood's body, [https://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-106 altering it] based on [https://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-738 SCP-738]'s own warped sense of improvement, and proceeds to go on a rampage killing everyone besides Lord Blackwood within Blackwood manor, I.E. Lord Blackwood's entire family before the foundation of the time was able to catch it.
As now Lord Blackwood is still in his [https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DespairEventHorizon Despair Event Horizon] after [https://www.scp-wiki.net/when-one-reaches-the-end this], just ended up having his entire family murdered, arguably his fault and is now [https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AndIMustScream trapped, theoretically forever in the body of a sea slug] he is finally driven insane, retreating into his memories of still being a human adventure while ignoring the real world sort of like what happened with [https://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-1227 SCP-1227].[[/collapsible]]
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A Tale in which SCP-106 is proven to be Mister Scary™ from Dr. Wondertainment's Little Misters™. Seems like it could be proven. If true, than "Mr. Scary, from Little Misters ® by Dr. Wondertainment" should be tattooed on SCP-106's left calf. Checking could be difficult however.
Also, SCP-076 could be Mr. Mad.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
Von Neumann Golems. In essence, each specimen is an animated sculpture with an [EXPUNGED] displaying some resemblance to Hebrew writing symbol under the carapace of the forehead. Assembly consists of chewing up materials, either the hollow "gut" produces sticky mucus-like material or heats up to melt metal, regurgitating the resulting cement-like substance, shaping it into a new specimen then using [DATA EXPUNGED] extends from the lower jaw to carve the symbol into the forehead of their offspring. The offspring animates, pushes a layer of semi-hardened material over its forehead to seal it, then waits to harden/dry/cool. This idea was one I had in regards to alterations to an existing SCP, I'll take it down from here if the author chooses to use it. Also, a few pictures which could probably make good images for this.
[https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/from-the-desk-of-archivist-jensen/Gigerbaby%20One.jpg Image One]
[https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/from-the-desk-of-archivist-jensen/Gigerbaby%20Two.jpg Image Two]
[https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/from-the-desk-of-archivist-jensen/Gigerbaby%20Three.jpg Image Three]
[https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/from-the-desk-of-archivist-jensen/Gigerbaby%20Four.jpg Image Four]
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
The Orientation Tale for the foundation coverup writers. The people who make up cover stories.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
The Orientation Tale for the foundation diplomatic workers. The people who would staff the embassy in [https://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-1483 SCP-1483's] world for example.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A tiny, partially biological spaceprobe sort of like the plans for a [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Starwisp starwisp] of non-human creation. Apart from the biotechnological parts being impossible with present human technology, it seems to work off known scientific ideas for how a starship could be built. The damage to it seems to have been inflicted by a meteorite impact "stunning" it, then it drifting for a few million years off its intended course ending with it crashing into earth.
Inside, it has a bunch of chambers and equipment intended to work for genetic engineering and growth of living organic tissue, both for self-repair and expansion of biological parts and for [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Embryo_space_colonization the growth] of "SCP-xxxx-2" specimens. SCP-xxxx-2 specimens consist of simple "meat robots" creatures which lack digestive/reproductive/respiratory systems instead running off stored fat and oxygen, intended simply to gather biomatter, which then is then stuffed into a "stomach" aboard the main ship for "digestion" and metal which is [DATA EXPUNGED] since recovery the ship has expanded by █ meters.
Presumably the reader would think, this is so it can build up enough biological tissue and machine parts to build a specimen of whatever created it.... [[collapsible show=".....but really....." hide="Close"]] it is simply healing the meteorite damage, and fermenting the biomatter for methane, as rocket fuel. The expansions aren't armor, they consist of new rockets to get the "probe/creature" back into space. And the foundation is keeping it trapped on earth.
The goal would be a bit of a [https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/MoodWhiplash Mood Whiplash] between thinking of it as a sort of sci-fi alien weapon, and feeling sorry for the poor [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrochicken astrochicken] the foundation has been in essence torturing by keeping its wounds from healing.[[/collapsible]]
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A device consisting of a large cage, a bunch of electronics which the foundation has absolutely no idea what's going on with, a dial, a switch and an electrical socket suitable for charging batteries. If a living animal or class-d is put in the cage, the dial will move to show an amount of voltage, apparently random, and if the switch is pulled, than the socket will proceed to charge any batteries placed in it with that amount of electricity. After being used once, the animal or class-d will, if placed back in the device never cause the dial to move again.
The twist is, it's harmless as far as the foundation can tell. The only effect of being drained is that you can't make the device create more electricity.
The foundation is tearing its hair out trying to find what the device is getting energy from.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A historic Wondertainment toy. Maybe a corn-husk doll, or [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hoop_rolling hoop rolling] game equipment. Not sure what the abnormal trait should be, I just think we need some Wondertainment stuff predating mass manufacturing.
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Draft Excerpts]]
By [[*user Bland]]
"It's not like we're keeping we're keeping Hilter's brain in a jar. Okay, yea - we actually //are// but it's in formaldehyde! Well, of course it's dead, don't be an idiot!"
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Combination Concept/Excerpt]]
By [[*user Bland]]
Titles for //The Collected Works of The Foundation//
* The Works of Dr. Gears
* Notes from Dr. Alto Clef
* Professor Kain Tales
(Damnit - I had ones for Bright...)
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
In SCP-111 there's this quote.
> By reading this document and incubating your Dragon-Snail™ eggs, you agree to all said terms and forfeit your rights to lawsuits, organized boycotts, protests, **honor duels**, etc.
This means, at least once //someone challenged Dr. Wondertainment to an honor duel over Dragon-Snails burning their house down. And considering the need for a note, apparently won//.
That needs to be a Tale.
------
By [[*user Ihp]]
Six-hundred and sixty-six sick skippers suddenly start singing songs of sinking ships so that someday they shall stop Saturn from super-colliding with satire.
(I don't know what I was on when I wrote this. I'm thinking it could be incorporated into some kind of AWCY Dada rap or something.)
------
[[/tab]]
[[/tabview]]
[[tabview]]
[[tab 2013]]
+++ These are the Fragments added to the page during 2013.
[[/tab]]
[[tab One-Sentence Premises]]
By [[*user LithiumXCVI]]
A piano that plays the musician.
------
By [[*user marslifeform]]
096 discovers Instagram.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A native junkperson in SCP-967 encounters the foundation explorers for the first time.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
SCP-993 and SCP-1592 compete for broadcast time-slots.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A recovery log/Tale backstory for SCP-771.
------
By [[*user Ihp]]
And MTF dealing with a cheese-based SCP called the "Gouda Grenadiers".
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A bellerverse Tale about a bunch of people who tend to SCP-1514-1A as a holy relic of their sky-god and in return anything that attacks them gets smote via xasers from orbit.
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Concepts]]
By [[*user Ihp]]
An SCP that is a pair of telepathic "signals" that randomly attach themselves to people and do two things: the first signal tells everyone within a certain radius to acknowledge the person affected by the signal in some way, and the second one transmits all sorts of information about the subject. (Name, age, address, pet's names, whether or not they've been affected by Chron's disease, the number of living skin cells on their body, length of toenails, what movies they've seen in the past 24 hours, other useless statistics). Originally developed by someone or something as a medical first-alert system, but.. it didn't work out as planned.
------
By [[*user Ihp]]
An SCP based on the concept "Loose Lips Sink Ships". Talking about a ship being sunk by the SCP will result in more ships sinking.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A hoard of tiny, clockwork-looking, automated pieces of construction equipment. If left alone, they will create large buildings out of whatever, easy-to-transport local materials there are. Just lots of stone, or sand, or random junk quarried and placed into huge, ornate cathedral structures, which as far as the foundation can tell, have no abnormal properties. The buildings frequently have problems like lacking any way for the building machines inside to get out, or falling over due to being made entirely of rubbish. The builders are apparently capable of self-replicating as their population remains steady despite the foundation sometimes dissecting a few, or construction accidents, but nobody has seen them do so, or has any idea how they do it.
The SCP where recovered by a deep-sea submarine mission after radar showed an absolutely huge building they had created. Considering how slow they generally are, the foundation calculated it would have taken them ████ years to have completed it to the scale observed.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A parasitic, body-horror inducing SCP which causes bones to split, branch out, and start growing into sort of a "bone fractal" structure. I'm not sure of a good twist for it, I just had a nightmare regarding such a thing.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
In SCP-1296, mention is made of failure to chase it, or set up a roadblock due to it evading pursuit.
Let's see the Tale in which we have an action-movie-ish Llamamobile vs Foundation car chase.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
Who's to say that SCP-1585 has no effect on humans? Might be a good idea to make having a vasectomy mandatory for foundation personal on it.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A Tale in which SCP-1585 is sapient. Not the rapidly evolving ecosystem on it, the jellyfish itself. And is trying to make it's ecosystem into a [https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DeathWorld death world] with the intent of breeding a species of supersoldiers with a warrior race mentality.
SCP-1585 is a single organism, and it wants to reproduce. In layman's terms, it wants to conquer the universe.
------
By [[*user Bland]]
[[collapsible show="+ Something in real life" hide="- Shut up Bland!"]]
The Triangle Waist fire is one of the worst disasters since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution.
The logo for the company:
[[image m31-triangle-waist.jpg]]
The alchemical symbol for fire:
[[image AristotelianElementSymbols.jpg]]
Maybe I'm just easily creeped...
[[/collapsible]]
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A tale about the secret method by which the foundation gets Class-D personal.
Craigslist adds.
Someone on craigslist probably has a statue-watching/cleaning blood/dung mixture fetish. That solves 173 for example.
Needless to say, intended as a parody/crackfic.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
The sixth tribe in SCP-967, a foundation analog. They work to keep the major junkmonsters and anomalies from wiping out the other tribes, and contain the knowledge of the abnormal by removing the memory-holding tape decks of junkcitizens who find out stuff. Like the outside world, which from their view is sort of a hellish alternate universe which kills anyone who enters it, and is inhabited by monsters unlike anything native to 967. They might not even be made of trash!
------
By [[*user Amelia Eardly]]
An object that only exists in a certain hour/minute/secondof the day. Either every single day, or once a week, month, year, ect. Whenever the time it exists in it runs out, it ceases to exist with no signs as to it ever being there.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A creature consisting of basically a brain, a bunch of tentacles some of which have boney "scalpels" on them, spider-like spinnerets, an amazingly powerful immune system and external blood vessels. It works by stealing parts from prey, using the clawed tentacles to remove organs from prey, the spinnerets to stitch the parts Frankenstein-like onto itself, and the immune system to keep itself from falling apart. It lacks any sort of digestive or respiratory systems unless it steals them from another creature and links itself into the bloodstream of the stolen organs. It is highly hostile and frequently attempts to escape and/or assimilate people.
------
By [[*user Adam Henderson]]
A few Jenny Hanivers recovered somehow from the Circus Of The Disquieting. Not fakes made out of ray parts, live ones. In a fishtank.
------
By [[*user Communism will win]]
A group of normal people stuck in a house in some implausible location, no memory of how they got there. Every so often, creepy candid-camera type videos of them get posted to the internet. Nobody in the house has reported any sort of cameraperson.
------
By [[*user Ambrosius Ostberg]]
A guy that is afflicted by the condition that no matter where he goes he becomes wanted by the authorities, with wanted posters changing to show his face or even appearing out of thin air. As he got older the effect began to increase, with his face appearing in newspapers and even on TV and radio, as well as the charges increasing from small offenses like theft to large offenses like murder and/or terrorism. Eventually he showed up as a person of interest with ties to a GoI on one of the Foundations databases who sent out an MTF for him.
------
By [[*user Ihp]]
An SCP centered around a political party that is entirely made up of cannibals. Should be called The Donner Party.
------
By [[*user Flying Spidersnake]]
A video game. At first, it seems to be a AI who modifies the game in its favor, but it's really a reality bender trapped within the video game. He begs the foundation to let him go.
By [[*user Communism will win]]
Plaque/sign above an ice cream vending machine reads: "Paul M. Ehrweiler, the oldest man alive, also has some of the world's strangest eating habits. He only eats when, at irregular intervals, he purchases a treat from this very machine. He is 153 years old -- so old that scientists say he may not even age. Paul cannot see what you purchase."
------
By unknown author
A demon of some sort that moves around in a location (such as a house, or a hospital) at an extremely high speed. It appears to follow some sort of routine, and does so X number of times a day. Variances include manifestations of humans, also moving at this speed, that the demon interacts with in ways well just use your imagination. We cannot physically interact with it, and it is not inherently dangerous. Hooks… the presence of D-Class subjects during iterations. Ideas… we're peaking through at another dimension, possibly a partition of some kind of Hell, and we see things move there at a much faster rate. What is this thing's purpose? Can it see us? What happens if we destroy the environment where it manifests? When it interacts with the manifested humans, does anything get left behind?
------
By unknown author
A collection of notes regarding television programming from widely known media sources that seem to hint at some higher force influencing the nature of television programs. Probably not good as a skip, probably better as a skip-as-tale.
------
By unknown author
Someone saw a face near the sun. It peaks out from behind the sun occasionally. Can everyone see it? Is it threatening?
------
By unknown author
On a mountain in X you can see four white humanoid figures at the peak, motionless. You have the feeling that you're making eye contact when you look up at them. They're not always there, and when you go up to find them they're the same distance away from you. They also seem to be present in a few photographs you have lying around. They look like they might be moving closer.
------
By unknown author
Project crossover idea: Commander Shepard (Mass Effect) discovers abandoned Foundation space containment facility with uncontained SCPs. Foundation may or may not have worked with Cerberus. Sometime before Mass Effect 3.
------
By [[*user Bryx]]
A tale about 239's infant years. I always had an idea that she created 597 after she inadvertently destroyed her hospital.
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Draft Excerpts]]
By [[*user marslifeform]]
"Please, come back," the half-formed creature rasped. "I need you."
------
[[/tab]]
[[/tabview]]
[[tabview]]
[[tab 2014+]]
+++ These are the Fragments added to the page from 2014 onwards.
[[/tab]]
[[tab One-Sentence Premises]]
By [[*user Agent Jac Pearce]]
A story that SCP-106's pocket dimension controls 106, and that more 106's could be created by the pocket dimension
------
By [[*user Nightruin]]
Puppy dog eyes as an anomalous event that is a cognito hazard, where puppy dog eyes force whoever sees them to either forget any wrong a dog has done, or give them food or let them out.
------
By unknown author
A wild west themed SCP.
------
By unknown author
A memetic contagion that is an internet meme.
------
By unknown author
Write a tale where a conspiracy theory magazine learns of the Foundation's existence.
------
By [[*user errorlypse]]
A "beware of dog" sign that turns dogs into hellish creatures.
------
By [[*user Professor P]], from “Shrek” in chat.
A file that was kind of obviously written up by the foundation as propaganda against a particular group of interest. -Shrek
------
By [[*user MandyMarshell]]
[[collapsible show="Object Class: Toroidal"]]
Try to write a SCP that contains itself
[[/collapsible]]
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Concepts]]
By [[*user justahungryguy]]
A book that gives the foundation a lot of info on anomalies. Problem is, this book attracts danger.
------
By unknown author
An SCP about a faucet that pours acid instead water, no matter where it is installed. The acid comes from another dimensions and is highly corrosive, capable of destroying absolutely anything - including diamonds. Keter-class?
------
By [[*user Communism will win]]
Metaphors are traditionally understood as figurative constructs that link otherwise unrelated things together. This is arrogance. Our world is simply the set of things that serve to link metaphors together.
------
By [[*user Bland]]
"In lieu of recent events" - it's thought to be a miswording in Dr. Bright's bio. But what if it's not? What if history was rewritten to stop an XK event, with Jack saving the world by being trapped for all eternity?
When Dr. Bright was initially killed and imprisoned in [[[SCP-963]]], it was during a containment breach of [[[SCP-076]]]-2. What if ORIGINALLY he dropped it a half second before dying and //ABLE// became trapped in the amulet instead?
------
By [[*user Bryx]]
Skip Idea: A beaver that was reincarnated as a chainsaw. But it still remembers the dirty catholics that ate it as a hangover cure after Mardi-Gras (look it up), and seeks revenge to this day. Only then can it rest. Only then.
------
By [[*user Steeltitan]]
A pharaoh with the head of a turtle. Maybe have the turtle head be detachable?
------
By [[*user GuesssWho]]
Have you ever noticed that the clump of hair that comes off when you use a comb looks sort of like a big, hairy spider? Well, sometimes it is. And it's one of the really poisonous ones. You might want to start burning your stray hairs, so they can't breed.
(See also the spiders that form when you remove the navel from an orange.)
------
By [[*user MrRonin]]
A skip based on the Roland TB-303 synthesizer and the 80's 'acid rave' culture it revolved around. Why was it so underground? Did people really get shitfaced on drugs? Why were the media and police so against it? And more importantly: Is the movement really dead?
Don't forget the yellow smiley faces.
------
By [[*user errorlypse]]
SO
SCP #### is a China doll of some sort. Whenever anyone touches SCP ####, scp reforms into the person who touched it but when they were a kid. This can be useful for finding the origin of various scps.
------
By [[*user MrCobalt]]
A nightclub (or similar social gathering place) staffed (and frequented by) friendly animate skeletons. Humans entering this place are met with warm welcomes and friendly greetings, accompanied by polite requests to "check your skin at the door". Subjects who do not immediately flee the place will discover they are in fact able to shed their skin and organs in a similar manner to a heavy overcoat, while still retaining all their former senses and mobility. Interviewed subjects usually describe it as feeling "liberating" or other such terms indicating that this absence of flesh is somewhat pleasant, akin to removing restricting clothes. Subjects also report feeling more "open"- both literally and metaphorically- and often find it easier to speak freely about themselves or their thoughts amongst other skeletal subjects. While there does not appear to be any compulsion from the grounds itself or its staff forcing goers to remain in the club until it closes, many of them do unless serious obligations (job, family etc.) would require otherwise, though some exceptions to this rule exist (usually where the subject is seriously displeased with said obligation, e.g. dead-end job or unfaithful spouse). In any case, subjects desiring to leave are prevented from doing so without first putting back on their skin and organs, which analysis suggests does not dry out or decay while in storage. Donning a skin is done just as easily as removing it was (seals around its corresponding bones only when applied properly) and does not appear to damage the skin in any way (though direct damage to a vital organ still affects its wearer when they attempt to put it back on). Skeletal subjects that manage to leave the grounds skinless immediately perish- even their skin hanging up in storage ceases to function once its "owner" collapses outside the club grounds.
------
By [[*user KretchSteamclaw]]
Do some skip involving platypuses with human faces on their backs. It's a mated pair and two litters of baby platypuses. The runt of the second litter died. It had a gulper eel's face on its back. Gross.
------
By [[*user KretchSteamclaw]]
icy, glacial settlement
people live in it
they seem normal
is illusion
they dont look like people; faces distorted
real fuckin creepy an shit
pretend to be people
get sinister when you know what they look like
wtf
------
By [[*user KretchSteamclaw]]
some guy who's so boring it friggin' hurts. Gives off an aura that makes people so unbelievably bored that they can't stand it anymore. Thinks he's some accountant or some shit. Holy hell, this guy is dull. If his routine is broken the boredom aura expands super fast and it sucks major balls. If you can make this better, then major props, bro
------
By [[*user Wuz]]
[https://www.planetary.org/blogs/emily-lakdawalla/2008/1305.html This is an analysis of picture of a tiny rock on mars that has the shape of a bigfoot]. Now, the image itself might have a lot of evidences against it, but it does raise some interesting ideas. What if [[[SCP-1000]]] had managed to develop a space program and sent some bigfoot astronauts into space? There are quite a lot of possibilities with this one. Here are some ideas I came up:
* How will they react to having their homes taken away from them? For thousands of years?
* Do they have space bigfoot colonies? How do they hide them?
* How do their bio-ships work?
* What is the space-bigfoot's relationship with humans?
Et cetera.
------
By [[*user GuesssWho]]
A 10-year-old girl whose touch causes random mutations, 75% of which are fatal. She has a three-headed puppy named Muffles. All the rest of her family is dead.
------
By [[*user GuesssWho]]
[[collapsible show="Macuahuitl Mouth"]]
An individual who sought out the Foundation's help, as whenever this person eats their teeth fall out and are replaced by sharper teeth. At first it was only when they ate hard food, then any solid food, then any food at all. Their teeth are now as sharp as obsidian, and only intravenous feeding prevents the anomaly.
[[/collapsible]]
------
By [[*user GuesssWho]]
[[collapsible show="Mirror Hallways"]]
You know how when you put a mirror up to a mirror you see that creepy endless hallway? What if there were two mirror that, when you held them up to each other, there were things //wandering through// that hallway, and other hallways connected to it?
Or maybe there's just one creature, but every time you form the hallway it's //closer// . . .
[[/collapsible]]
------
By [[*user Wuz]]
[[collapsible show="Conflicted Circus Magician"]]
Circus all have magicians. Stage magicians that create illusions to make the audience experience seemingly impossible things.
But what about Herman Fuller's circus?
If you are a magician in a paranormal world, how will you work when everyone around you is doing impossible things?
[[/collapsible]]
------
By [[*user pastarasta1]]
1. Food that turn into corpses when they expire.
2. Cliche green goo that has a crisis when contained.
3. A dimension where everything is alive and it all screams.
4. --Dr. Wondertainement's BOOK OF LEARNING!-- [DISCONTINUED]
5. A theme park that is growing bigger and bigger and will not stop making rides out of other houses and structures.
------
By [[*user Wuz]]
[[collapsible show="Small-Town Office"]]
The Foundation listens to conspiracy radios, hears folk tales, investigates urban legends, and digs deep into internet myths in case they stumble upon an anomaly.
Imagine that you are the person responsible for it, and you have a small Foundation-established "paranormal detective agency" in the weird part of the city. Unaffected by the politics of GOIs and the world-ending anomalies, what will you see and hear in this small anomalous world?
[[/collapsible]]
------
By [[*user TheImmortalDragoon]]
A pen that animates whatever is drawn with it made out of the material it is drawn on. If drawn on a living thing, the living thing dies and whatever was drawn is created in the process. If what was drawn can't gather enough materials from what it is drawn on, it becomes horribly disfigured.
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Draft Excerpts]]
By [[*user Communism will win]]
ＰＲＡＧＵＥ is an old city. It has been falling apart at the seams for centuries. It is not long before ＰＲＡＧＵＥ dissolves into the logical subterranean chaos that is the foundation of our consensus reality.
That's not to say you can't have a little fun first. Utilizing the lastest advancements in computer science, our team of Underminers has fathomed into the unknowable, risking the destruction of two dimensions to discover these 218 amazing ways that YOU can ＨＡＣＫ ＰＲＡＧＵＥ.
------
[[/tab]]
[[tab Combination Concept/Excerpt]]
By [[*user Ihp]]
A tale for the Broken Masquerade canon where the Serpent's Hand tries to levitate the US Pentagon like they tried to do in the 1960s- and succeeds. Bonus points if you include these phrases:
"The Serpent's Hand will return the color blue to the visual spectrum once our demands are met!"
"It's over, it's over, the Charade/Masquerade is broken. It's over. It's over. The Serpent's Hand has spoken."
------
By [[*user Bland]]
Something with a Texas take on it:
"The name's Dark. Carter N. Dark. //MARSHALL// Carter N. Dark" (Pulls out six shooter and fires at the camera.)
------
[[/tab]]
[[/tabview]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-05-09T04:56:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"collaboration",
"tale"
] | Fragments - SCP Foundation | 55 | [
"scp-169",
"scp-831",
"scp-8900-ex",
"https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1678",
"scp-879",
"scp-1014",
"scp-1260",
"scp-994",
"scp-312",
"scp-1661",
"scp-131",
"scp-962",
"scp-1128",
"https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/system:page-tags/tag/broken-god#pages",
"scp-789-j",
"https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1483",
"https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/forum/t-593061/worst-possible-plot-twist",
"https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/when-one-reaches-the-end",
"https://www.scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-738",
"scp-963",
"scp-076",
"scp-1000",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"archived:archived-news"
] | [
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragments/m31-triangle-waist.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragments/AristotelianElementSymbols.jpg"
] | 9899566 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragments |
|
game-day-1-die-hardest | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Debriefing: Dr. Michael Edison</strong><br/>
<em>Excerpt from Interview conducted by O5-█, regarding Dr. Edison’s involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1.</em></p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Good evening, Dr. Edison.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> Good evening, sir.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Please, take a seat. I have a few questions to ask you.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> …I’m not in trouble, am I?</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> No, of course not. This is simply standard procedure.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> Oh. Okay then. That’s fine, I guess.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Glad to hear it. Now, tell me, exactly where were you when the incident began?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> Well let’s see… I believe I was in the middle of feeding <a href="/scp-391">SCP-391</a> when I heard the blast. Fearing for my safety, I fled to the nearest security station only to find that the security personnel inside had died prior to my arrival.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Do you have any idea how they died?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> No idea, sir. Everyone had a big gash in the back of the head, but it looked like they didn’t have their weapons drawn or anything so I guess they didn’t fight back.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Interesting. So what did you do?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> Well, I took one good look at the security monitors and quickly realized how [EXPLETIVE REDACTED] we all… um, I mean, that we were in the middle of a wide-scale Class-█ containment breach. I tried to activate the self-destruct sequence manually, but the detonation system was apparently too damaged to respond. So I sent a message over the intercom ordering all essential personnel to evacuate, and ordering all remaining security personnel to enter high alert.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> And then what?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> Well, then I noticed that <a href="/scp-353">SCP-353</a> (who had breached containment), was being escorted by a number of masked men towards section [REDACTED], where we were keeping all the biohazardous materials from Site 19. So I… um…</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Well? What did you do?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> I… went after them. Die Hard style.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> …I beg your pardon?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> I mean I went after them. Alone. I ran around the site grabbing everything that looked even remotely useful, picked off the masked men one by one using my superior knowledge of Site-17, and squared off with SCP-353 in a climactic showdown inside of the decontamination chamber.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> …</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> …</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> …Is there any chance you "forgot" to take your medicine that day?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> …maybe?</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>Dr. Edison stared at his watch anxiously. He knew there wasn’t much time, and the rhythmic clacking of 914 only made him even more aware of it.</p>
<p>And then the clicking stopped. Edison’s heart skipped at beat as the tiny bell rang, letting him know that it was time to check on his little “experiment”. Nervously, he slid the door open to take a look at the results.</p>
<p>At first, he didn’t know what to think. At first glance, it appeared to be an orange helmet, similar in form to the bulletproof SWAT helmet he was currently wearing. It even had the kind same “Property Of…” sticker that his own helmet was labeled with. But upon further inspection, he noticed that the accompanying balaclava appeared to be made of rubber, and that there was some form of breathing apparatus in the spot where one’s mouth would be should be.</p>
<p>The doctor scratched his head. “Well, it’s getting there, certainly.”</p>
<p>Suddenly, the radio Edison was carrying on his belt sprung to life. <em>“Hey! You!”</em> it said, <em>“You there! By 914!”</em></p>
<p>With a sigh, Edison handed the orange helmet to his assistant, who was similarly decked out in SWAT armor. “Please run this through 914 with helmet 3 on ‘very fine’, will you? I need to take this call.”</p>
<p>Wordlessly, the assistant accepted the helmet and stiffly carried it to 914’s input chamber.</p>
<p>Edison, meanwhile, took the opportunity to answer the radio. “Hello…?”</p>
<p><em>“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?”</em> screamed the man on the other end. <em>“We’re in the middle of a containment breach and you’re playing dress up! Does that seem like a good idea to you?!"</em></p>
<p>“Hey, hey, don’t worry about me,” replied Edison. “Look, everything’s under contro- okay, everything isn’t under control, but you have better things to do than worry about some lone-wolf renegade action movie star type… thing. You should get out of here before the shit hits the fan, because if I can’t stop Vector, we ALL die.”</p>
<p><em>“Well I’d love to… but I’m trapped in a security station. The ceiling behind me collapsed, so the door’s jammed behind a huge pile of… er…”</em></p>
<p>“…What? What is it?”</p>
<p><em>“appleseeds.”</em></p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p><em>“a huge pile of appleseeds.”</em></p>
<p>“…I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear that. Did you just say you were stuck behind a pile of apple-”</p>
<p><em>“YES, APPLESEEDS!”</em> the man screamed. <em>“THE DOOR IS STUCK BEHIND A FUCKING PILE OF FUCKING APPLESEEDS! WHY THE HELL ARE THERE SO MANY APPLESEEDS I CANT TAKE ALL THESE APPLESEEDS AND ALL THE APPLESEEDS DAY AND NIGHT AND NIGHT AND DAY AND I CAN’T STAND IT ANYMORE WHY WON’T THEY JUST APPLESEEDS APPLESEEDS APPLESEEDS!!!!!”</em></p>
<p>Edison paused for a moment to let the man cool off. He could hear a faint sobbing through the radio. “…nice to see you too, Dr. King.”</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Debriefing: Dr. King</strong></p>
<p><em>Excerpt from Interview conducted by O5-█, regarding Dr. King’s involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1.</em><br/>
<strong>O5-█:</strong> Now, Dr. King. From what I’ve heard, you played an instrumental role in directing the flow of information during the incident. Can you please describe exactly what you were trying to accomplish?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. King:</strong> Well, I was mostly just trying to find something to keep my mind off the… the… the you-know-whats that were keeping me cooped up in there. I mean, it’s not like there was much else I could do other than watch the monitors and call people with the radio. I’ve really got to hand it to the guys who designed the security system, that security system was state of the art! I don’t think there was a single blind spot in the entire base. I mean-</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> …Yes, yes, the art of security is a fascinating one, but I’d much rather hear about your involvement with Dr. Edison’s recent… “adventure”.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. King:</strong> Oh, that… <em>[NOTE: Dr. King appears to be visibly distressed at this point]</em> Well… I found Edison with <a href="/scp-912">SCP-912</a>, making some kind of “Super-Armor” or something using <a href="/scp-914">SCP-914</a>. He explained that <a href="/scp-353">SCP-353</a> was making her way section [REDACTED], and that unless he stopped her things would get a million times worse.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> …I see… and how did he plan on doing this?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. King:</strong> Well… he never explained the whole plan, but he assured me it was extremely clever, intricate, and well-thought-out.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p> <br/>
“I’m going to do something extremely clever, intricate, and well-thought-out that’s going to stop Vector and save the world!” Dr. Edison said as he continued to sprint down the hallway. “I’ll get back to you when I know exactly what it is.”</p>
<p><em>“Well I hate to burst your bubble, kid,”</em> said Dr. King, <em>“but Vector is five stories down, and the insurgents are practically there. You’d have to move at the speed of sound to make it down the stairs in time.”</em></p>
<p>Edison chuckled. “Who said anything about stairs?” He screeched to a halt in front of the doorway he’d been looking for, stepped inside, and found himself in an enormous white room, whose only feature was a small, blue pinwheel, sitting upon a pedestal.</p>
<p><em>“Oh no…”</em> said Dr. King. <em>“You have GOT to be kidding me…”</em></p>
<p>“Yep!” said Edison. “I’m going to use 161 to drill a hole down to section [REDACTED], one floor at a time, and assault them from the front, holding them off until 912 catches up and surprises them from the back.” Edison reached into his pockets, and pulled out a small squirt bottle, which he used to make a series of red security lasers visible. “But first, I need to perform some death-defying acrobatics in order to get past this array of invisible crisscrossing lasers, or else I will be fried to a crisp!”</p>
<p><em>“Uh, Ed? You do realize I can just-”</em></p>
<p>Slowly, Edison backed up to the doorway, and began to swing his arms and count. “One… two… THREE!”</p>
<p>And with that, the doctor broke into a mad dash, and completely failed to launch himself into a series of amazing front flips that allowed Edison to weave through the beams like a graceful butterfly. The doctor turned red with embarrassment as he fell flat on his face a good ten feet from the nearest laser.</p>
<p><em>“Yeah… I’m just going to turn these things off before you kill yourself. Why do we even have a room like this?”</em></p>
<p>“No idea. It was probably one of Bright’s projects.” Edison said as he pulled himself upright. “But regardless, now 161 is about to within my grasp, there is nothing left to stop me from saving the Foundation!”</p>
<p>And then a nine-tailed fox tried to bite Dr. Edison’s testicles off.</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Excerpt from security footage of SCP-161’s temporary containment cell (formerly the containment cell of SCP-████), detailing an encounter between Dr. Edison and SCP-953 (in vulpine form), accompanied by Dr. King’s comments via radio from Security Station █.</em></p>
<p><em>SCP-953 (in vulpine form) tackles Dr. Edison from behind, knocking him over. 953 then attempts to remove Dr. Edison's armor so it can [DATA EXPUNGED].</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> OH GOD WHERE THE HELL DID SHE COME FROM WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!</p>
<p><strong>SCP-953</strong>: [EXPLETIVE]! How dare you [REDACTED]!</p>
<p><strong>Dr. King</strong>: Why does she hate you so much?!</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> HOW SHOULD I KNOW [EXPLETIVE] DO SOMETHING MAN!</p>
<p><strong>Dr. King</strong>: I could turn the lasers back on, but-</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Edison:</strong> I DON’T CARE JUST- OH GOD, MY [REDACTED]! SHE’S GOT MY [REDACTED]!</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><em>“You okay?”</em> said Dr. King, his voice slightly distorted by radio static.</p>
<p>“If you mean, ‘am I still alive’, then just barely.” Dr. Edison groaned. “Man, I can’t believe that bitch is still worked up about that…”</p>
<p><em>“About what?”</em> said Dr. King.</p>
<p>“Well, you know that little disclaimer about not calling 953 a ‘Kitsune’?”</p>
<p><em>“Yeah?”</em></p>
<p>“Let’s just say I watch too much anime and leave it at that.” Dr. Edison attempted to produce a faint chuckle from his lame joke, followed by a deep, hacking cough. “She’s still there isn’t she?"</p>
<p><em>“Yep. Just outside the doorway.”</em></p>
<p>“Probably waiting for me to start running… dammit…” The doctor slowly began to push himself off the floor, only to have the tip of his nose burnt off by one of the containment beams. “Well, at least I can still move…”</p>
<p><em>“Just hang tight, Ed. I’ll try and find someone to pick you up.”</em></p>
<p>“No way, doc.” Edison wheezed. “We’re on the clock here, remember?”</p>
<p><em>“Yeah, but…”</em></p>
<p>“JUST LISTEN TO ME, DAMMIT!” the doctor shouted. “Everything’s going to hell anyway, so what do you care if I die attempting some sort of ridiculous ‘Action Movie Hero’ plan? This sort of disaster happens only once in a lifetime, and I’ll be damned if I spend it sitting in a corner holding my eyes closed.”</p>
<p><em>“Are you trying to tell me something?”</em></p>
<p>“Am I trying to tell you something? AM I TRYING TO TELL YOU SOMETHING!? Yeah, I’m trying to tell you something all right!" Dr. Edison took a deep breath. "It’s Game Day, King. And it’s not just any game, King, it’s the World Series and we’re playing for the Stanley Cup. The other team’s up by a field goal, It’s the bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, 4th down, our star player is in the penalty box, and the big man's about 2 WREAK SOME HAVOC on the court!”</p>
<p>Dr. King was speechless.</p>
<p>“So do you want that gold medal, or are you going to take a penalty kick with the rest of those losers?!”</p>
<p><em>“…I don’t even know where to begin with that.”</em> said Dr. King.</p>
<p>“That’s what I like to hear!” said Dr. Edison. “Now, on the count of three, I want you to turn off the containment beams so I can grab 161. Ready?”</p>
<p><em>“Now wait a second, I never said I would-”</em></p>
<p>“1… 2… 3!”</p>
<p>In a flash, Dr. Edison jolted upright, and sprinting towards the pinwheel, ignoring the stinging from his numerous wounds. Moments later, 953 burst though the door, and began to chase after him.</p>
<p><em>“Get out of there, Ed!”</em> said Dr. King.</p>
<p>“No! I got a head start! I can make it, I can make it, I can make-”</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Security Log-█████-2</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p>Excerpt from section [REDACTED] security footage.</p>
<p>An unidentified body (presumably belonging to Dr. Edison) falls though the ceiling and lands in the men’s room of section [REDACTED]. An audible ‘snap’ is heard, implying that Dr. Edison has broken most, if not all of his bones.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/game-day-1-die-hardest">Game Day 1: Die Hardest</a>" by Edrobot, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/game-day-1-die-hardest">https://scpwiki.com/game-day-1-die-hardest</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
>
> **Debriefing: Dr. Michael Edison**
>
> //Excerpt from Interview conducted by O5-█, regarding Dr. Edison’s involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1.//
>
> **O5-█:** Good evening, Dr. Edison.
>
> **Dr. Edison:** Good evening, sir.
>
> **O5-█:** Please, take a seat. I have a few questions to ask you.
>
> **Dr. Edison:** …I’m not in trouble, am I?
>
> **O5-█:** No, of course not. This is simply standard procedure.
>
> **Dr. Edison:** Oh. Okay then. That’s fine, I guess.
>
> **O5-█:** Glad to hear it. Now, tell me, exactly where were you when the incident began?
>
> **Dr. Edison:** Well let’s see… I believe I was in the middle of feeding [[[SCP-391]]] when I heard the blast. Fearing for my safety, I fled to the nearest security station only to find that the security personnel inside had died prior to my arrival.
>
> **O5-█:** Do you have any idea how they died?
>
> **Dr. Edison:** No idea, sir. Everyone had a big gash in the back of the head, but it looked like they didn’t have their weapons drawn or anything so I guess they didn’t fight back.
>
> **O5-█:** Interesting. So what did you do?
>
> **Dr. Edison:** Well, I took one good look at the security monitors and quickly realized how [EXPLETIVE REDACTED] we all... um, I mean, that we were in the middle of a wide-scale Class-█ containment breach. I tried to activate the self-destruct sequence manually, but the detonation system was apparently too damaged to respond. So I sent a message over the intercom ordering all essential personnel to evacuate, and ordering all remaining security personnel to enter high alert.
>
> **O5-█:** And then what?
>
> **Dr. Edison:** Well, then I noticed that [[[SCP-353]]] (who had breached containment), was being escorted by a number of masked men towards section [REDACTED], where we were keeping all the biohazardous materials from Site 19. So I… um…
>
> **O5-█:** Well? What did you do?
>
> **Dr. Edison:** I... went after them. Die Hard style.
>
> **O5-█:** ...I beg your pardon?
>
> **Dr. Edison:** I mean I went after them. Alone. I ran around the site grabbing everything that looked even remotely useful, picked off the masked men one by one using my superior knowledge of Site-17, and squared off with SCP-353 in a climactic showdown inside of the decontamination chamber.
>
> **O5-█:** …
>
> **Dr. Edison:** …
>
> **O5-█:** …Is there any chance you "forgot" to take your medicine that day?
>
> **Dr. Edison:** …maybe?
-----
Dr. Edison stared at his watch anxiously. He knew there wasn’t much time, and the rhythmic clacking of 914 only made him even more aware of it.
And then the clicking stopped. Edison’s heart skipped at beat as the tiny bell rang, letting him know that it was time to check on his little “experiment”. Nervously, he slid the door open to take a look at the results.
At first, he didn’t know what to think. At first glance, it appeared to be an orange helmet, similar in form to the bulletproof SWAT helmet he was currently wearing. It even had the kind same “Property Of…” sticker that his own helmet was labeled with. But upon further inspection, he noticed that the accompanying balaclava appeared to be made of rubber, and that there was some form of breathing apparatus in the spot where one’s mouth would be should be.
The doctor scratched his head. “Well, it’s getting there, certainly.”
Suddenly, the radio Edison was carrying on his belt sprung to life. //“Hey! You!”// it said, //“You there! By 914!”//
With a sigh, Edison handed the orange helmet to his assistant, who was similarly decked out in SWAT armor. “Please run this through 914 with helmet 3 on ‘very fine’, will you? I need to take this call.”
Wordlessly, the assistant accepted the helmet and stiffly carried it to 914’s input chamber.
Edison, meanwhile, took the opportunity to answer the radio. “Hello…?”
//“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?”// screamed the man on the other end. //“We’re in the middle of a containment breach and you’re playing dress up! Does that seem like a good idea to you?!"//
“Hey, hey, don’t worry about me,” replied Edison. “Look, everything’s under contro- okay, everything isn’t under control, but you have better things to do than worry about some lone-wolf renegade action movie star type... thing. You should get out of here before the shit hits the fan, because if I can’t stop Vector, we ALL die.”
//“Well I’d love to… but I’m trapped in a security station. The ceiling behind me collapsed, so the door’s jammed behind a huge pile of… er…”//
“…What? What is it?”
//“appleseeds.”//
“What?”
//“a huge pile of appleseeds.”//
“…I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear that. Did you just say you were stuck behind a pile of apple-”
//“YES, APPLESEEDS!”// the man screamed. //“THE DOOR IS STUCK BEHIND A FUCKING PILE OF FUCKING APPLESEEDS! WHY THE HELL ARE THERE SO MANY APPLESEEDS I CANT TAKE ALL THESE APPLESEEDS AND ALL THE APPLESEEDS DAY AND NIGHT AND NIGHT AND DAY AND I CAN’T STAND IT ANYMORE WHY WON’T THEY JUST APPLESEEDS APPLESEEDS APPLESEEDS!!!!!”//
Edison paused for a moment to let the man cool off. He could hear a faint sobbing through the radio. “…nice to see you too, Dr. King.”
------
>
> **Debriefing: Dr. King**
>
> //Excerpt from Interview conducted by O5-█, regarding Dr. King’s involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1.//
>
> **O5-█:** Now, Dr. King. From what I’ve heard, you played an instrumental role in directing the flow of information during the incident. Can you please describe exactly what you were trying to accomplish?
>
> **Dr. King:** Well, I was mostly just trying to find something to keep my mind off the… the… the you-know-whats that were keeping me cooped up in there. I mean, it’s not like there was much else I could do other than watch the monitors and call people with the radio. I’ve really got to hand it to the guys who designed the security system, that security system was state of the art! I don’t think there was a single blind spot in the entire base. I mean-
>
> **O5-█:** …Yes, yes, the art of security is a fascinating one, but I’d much rather hear about your involvement with Dr. Edison’s recent… “adventure”.
>
> **Dr. King:** Oh, that… //[NOTE: Dr. King appears to be visibly distressed at this point]// Well… I found Edison with [[[SCP-912]]], making some kind of “Super-Armor” or something using [[[SCP-914]]]. He explained that [[[SCP-353]]] was making her way section [REDACTED], and that unless he stopped her things would get a million times worse.
>
> **O5-█:** …I see… and how did he plan on doing this?
>
> **Dr. King:** Well… he never explained the whole plan, but he assured me it was extremely clever, intricate, and well-thought-out.
------
“I’m going to do something extremely clever, intricate, and well-thought-out that’s going to stop Vector and save the world!” Dr. Edison said as he continued to sprint down the hallway. “I’ll get back to you when I know exactly what it is.”
//“Well I hate to burst your bubble, kid,”// said Dr. King, //“but Vector is five stories down, and the insurgents are practically there. You’d have to move at the speed of sound to make it down the stairs in time.”//
Edison chuckled. “Who said anything about stairs?” He screeched to a halt in front of the doorway he’d been looking for, stepped inside, and found himself in an enormous white room, whose only feature was a small, blue pinwheel, sitting upon a pedestal.
//“Oh no…”// said Dr. King. //“You have GOT to be kidding me…”//
“Yep!” said Edison. “I’m going to use 161 to drill a hole down to section [REDACTED], one floor at a time, and assault them from the front, holding them off until 912 catches up and surprises them from the back.” Edison reached into his pockets, and pulled out a small squirt bottle, which he used to make a series of red security lasers visible. “But first, I need to perform some death-defying acrobatics in order to get past this array of invisible crisscrossing lasers, or else I will be fried to a crisp!”
//“Uh, Ed? You do realize I can just-”//
Slowly, Edison backed up to the doorway, and began to swing his arms and count. “One… two… THREE!”
And with that, the doctor broke into a mad dash, and completely failed to launch himself into a series of amazing front flips that allowed Edison to weave through the beams like a graceful butterfly. The doctor turned red with embarrassment as he fell flat on his face a good ten feet from the nearest laser.
//“Yeah… I’m just going to turn these things off before you kill yourself. Why do we even have a room like this?”//
“No idea. It was probably one of Bright’s projects.” Edison said as he pulled himself upright. “But regardless, now 161 is about to within my grasp, there is nothing left to stop me from saving the Foundation!”
And then a nine-tailed fox tried to bite Dr. Edison’s testicles off.
-----
> //Excerpt from security footage of SCP-161’s temporary containment cell (formerly the containment cell of SCP-████), detailing an encounter between Dr. Edison and SCP-953 (in vulpine form), accompanied by Dr. King’s comments via radio from Security Station █.//
>
> //SCP-953 (in vulpine form) tackles Dr. Edison from behind, knocking him over. 953 then attempts to remove Dr. Edison's armor so it can [DATA EXPUNGED].//
>
> **Dr. Edison:** OH GOD WHERE THE HELL DID SHE COME FROM WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!
>
> **SCP-953**: [EXPLETIVE]! How dare you [REDACTED]!
>
> **Dr. King**: Why does she hate you so much?!
>
> **Dr. Edison:** HOW SHOULD I KNOW [EXPLETIVE] DO SOMETHING MAN!
>
> **Dr. King**: I could turn the lasers back on, but-
>
> **Dr. Edison:** I DON’T CARE JUST- OH GOD, MY [REDACTED]! SHE’S GOT MY [REDACTED]!
-----
//“You okay?”// said Dr. King, his voice slightly distorted by radio static.
“If you mean, ‘am I still alive’, then just barely.” Dr. Edison groaned. “Man, I can’t believe that bitch is still worked up about that…”
//“About what?”// said Dr. King.
“Well, you know that little disclaimer about not calling 953 a ‘Kitsune’?”
//“Yeah?”//
“Let’s just say I watch too much anime and leave it at that.” Dr. Edison attempted to produce a faint chuckle from his lame joke, followed by a deep, hacking cough. “She’s still there isn’t she?"
//“Yep. Just outside the doorway.”//
“Probably waiting for me to start running… dammit…” The doctor slowly began to push himself off the floor, only to have the tip of his nose burnt off by one of the containment beams. “Well, at least I can still move…”
//“Just hang tight, Ed. I’ll try and find someone to pick you up.”//
“No way, doc.” Edison wheezed. “We’re on the clock here, remember?”
//“Yeah, but…”//
“JUST LISTEN TO ME, DAMMIT!” the doctor shouted. “Everything’s going to hell anyway, so what do you care if I die attempting some sort of ridiculous ‘Action Movie Hero’ plan? This sort of disaster happens only once in a lifetime, and I’ll be damned if I spend it sitting in a corner holding my eyes closed.”
//“Are you trying to tell me something?”//
“Am I trying to tell you something? AM I TRYING TO TELL YOU SOMETHING!? Yeah, I’m trying to tell you something all right!" Dr. Edison took a deep breath. "It’s Game Day, King. And it’s not just any game, King, it’s the World Series and we’re playing for the Stanley Cup. The other team’s up by a field goal, It’s the bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, 4th down, our star player is in the penalty box, and the big man's about 2 WREAK SOME HAVOC on the court!”
Dr. King was speechless.
“So do you want that gold medal, or are you going to take a penalty kick with the rest of those losers?!”
//“…I don’t even know where to begin with that.”// said Dr. King.
“That’s what I like to hear!” said Dr. Edison. “Now, on the count of three, I want you to turn off the containment beams so I can grab 161. Ready?”
//“Now wait a second, I never said I would-”//
“1… 2… 3!”
In a flash, Dr. Edison jolted upright, and sprinting towards the pinwheel, ignoring the stinging from his numerous wounds. Moments later, 953 burst though the door, and began to chase after him.
//“Get out of there, Ed!”// said Dr. King.
“No! I got a head start! I can make it, I can make it, I can make-”
------
**Security Log-█████-2**
> Excerpt from section [REDACTED] security footage.
>
> An unidentified body (presumably belonging to Dr. Edison) falls though the ceiling and lands in the men’s room of section [REDACTED]. An audible ‘snap’ is heard, implying that Dr. Edison has broken most, if not all of his bones.
>
------
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-08T17:19:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"action",
"comedy",
"doctor-edison",
"doctor-king",
"game-day",
"tale"
] | Game Day 1: Die Hardest - SCP Foundation | 60 | [
"scp-391",
"scp-353",
"scp-912",
"scp-914",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11846466 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/game-day-1-die-hardest |
|
game-day-1-dr-mause | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>"It's beautiful," Dr. Lesley Mause announced, zooming in on the wriggling cells taking up her monitor's screen.</p>
<p>Dr. Drake looked over her shoulder, still wearing the same bored expression he'd had for the same half hour. "It's vomit."</p>
<p>Across the room, two heads swiveled in unison, hawklike, to stare at Dr. Drake. Agent Rose and Agent Walker, security. They did that every time Dr. Drake opened his mouth, each time tingling with almost animalistic animosity. The two ex-members of the Children of the Sun were objectively creepy as shit, she reflected. The way they did so many things in synchronization. You'd think they were twins, but they didn't even look alike, even if their mannerisms tended to be identical Rose (a man) was pale and androgynous, and Walker (a woman) was attractive in a classical fashion and had skin dark as pitch. She'd been working with them almost two years now, and she felt the same affection for them that she might feel for a pair of cats. A pair of extremely murderous cats, anyway.</p>
<p>Plus, they hated Drake almost as much as she did.</p>
<p>"Yes," she agreed, "it's vomit. But that doesn't preclude beauty."</p>
<p>She zoomed out again. Drake pointed at a structure in the gray-green mess. "Is that a bone?"</p>
<p>"Indeed," Mause said. "<em>Alces alces.</em> And they're not the only thing our green friend has been eating. I've found at least three different species of squirrel. And what's probably a squirrel. But most of the bones are <em>Alces alces</em>."</p>
<p>Drake leaned back in his chair, propped his legs up on the desk in front of him. "What's an <em>Alces alces</em>?"</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes in advance. "One of the cervids, a capreoline. Known in North America, of course, as… the moose."</p>
<p>Drake sniggered. "Moose, eh?" Then sniggered again. "Moose."</p>
<p>Mause's eyes flicked to Rose and Walker. They wore identical expressions of barely repressed fury. Mause, for her part, only felt mild annoyance. Most people knew better than to make that joke in front of Rose and Walker, but Mause heard the joke about every other day. She'd long gotten over cursing Fate for the timing of her transfer to the Special Reconnaissance-and-Research Task Force M-Omega-773 - or, as it was now so wittily referred to by other members of the Foundation, "the Deadly Moose team".</p>
<p>She'd been dumped from Research Team MO3-Gloria with everyone else when the O5s decided they didn't want anyone else poking at 003 and landed her directly in M-Omega-773 just in time for the disaster in which she - and every other member of the team - had stumbled through the corridors of Site 19 crazily warning everyone they came in to "beware the deadly moose". She herself had set up shop in the cafeteria with a shotgun for two hours before security tranquilized her and strapped her to a bed until the effects passed.</p>
<p>Memetics. She hated memetics.</p>
<p>"Yes," she said. "Alaskan moose, actually. <em>A. a. gigas</em>. Which fits with where we picked it up. Naturally."</p>
<p>"No Bigfoot bones in there?"</p>
<p>"No." She glared at her monitor. "We're not so sure that this thing has any connection to 1000 after all, I'm sorry to say."</p>
<p>Drake looked at the video monitor. "But just look at it. It looks like a big green ape."</p>
<p>"SCP-1000 instances are brown, black, red, and white in color," Mause said. "They don't come in green."</p>
<p>"Still," Drake said. "My gut tells me there's some connection. Keep looking."</p>
<p>Mause stifled her sigh. Technically, Drake did outrank her. Being on the Deadly Moose team meant you got ridiculously high clearance to a few fairly important SCPs, but outside of those small spheres you were left at basic level 1 access. And the respect that went with that. It didn't help that most of the team's assignments sounded inherently mockable. 'The Bloodstone.' (Also known as the bad-trip ruby, even though it wasn't actually a ruby.) The glorified mechanical people-eating fishing worms. Organic motherboard. ('So can 003 run Crysis?' Jesus, you'd think these people never grew out of the 90's.) Bigfoot, for chrissake. And, of course, the goddamn moose… <em>thing</em>.</p>
<p>And now, the weird thing pacing about in the temporary containment cell on the monitor, provisionally classified as Anomalous Humanoid TXCD-R.</p>
<p>The thing whose vomit she was analyzing for the last half hour. TXCD-R was picked up in Alaska only days ago, and had slaughtered half the task force sent to capture it before suddenly going docile and allowing the rattled survivors to bind it in a net and transport it to Site 17's temporary containment auxiliary facility.</p>
<p>It really was beautiful vomit, full of living things she'd never seen, in a rainbow array of colors. Even TXCD-R was beautiful in its own way. She watched it pace, a hulking seven-foot-tall thing shaped vaguely like an ape, covered in what might be a living growth of moss, wide teeth like spades sticking out of its mouth like reversed elephant tusks. The "moss" was growing so fast you could actually see it move if you had the patience. Tiny glittering eyes peered out from under the moss curtains - not just from its "head", either. Tiny auxiliary limbs moved and twitched, peeking out now and then to groom the ever-growing moss.</p>
<p>As she watched, TXCD-R bent double and vomited for the ninth time that day.</p>
<p>"Again?" Mause scratched her head. "It's vomited up almost the entire bodies of everything it's eaten so far. And judging by the bones I see, that would be the last of its meals for the past week." She looked at the screen again. "It's not digesting anything. None of the things in here have been broken down like you'd expect if they'd been in stomach acid for hours. They have signs of chewing, and not much else. Is it sick or something?"</p>
<p>"I'm telling you," Drake said. "It's got Bigfoot's fingerprints all over it."</p>
<p>"Tomorrow," Mause said. She pushed back her chair. "I'll look more tomorrow."</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Excerpt from Video Log, Observation Camera 6320945 (Temporary Containment Chamber for Anomalous Humanoid TXCD-R):</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0700:</strong> TXCD-R continues to pace back and forth across chamber.</p>
<p><strong>0756:</strong> TXCD-R abruptly ceases pacing and stands perfectly still until <strong>0811</strong>.</p>
<p><strong>0811:</strong> Power fluctuation related to explosive event at main Site-17. TXCD-R begins to repeatedly charge the walls of its containment chamber. Local alarms set off.</p>
<p><strong>0813:</strong> Agent C. Rose and Agent I. Walker open containment chamber left and right ports and shoot TXCD-R repeatedly with tranquilizer darts. TXCD-R does not react to shots except to charge containment chamber ports.</p>
<p><strong>0815:</strong> Agents Rose and Walker cease attempting to shoot TXCD-R. TXCD-R continues to charge walls of its containment chamber.</p>
<p><strong>0827:</strong> External power lost. Switching to emergency power. TXCD-R continues to charge walls of its containment chamber.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>Mause stumbled into the main observation chamber, eyes bleary. Rose and Walker were waiting for her.</p>
<p>"Wazz going on?" she managed.</p>
<p>"Containment breach at Site 17. Unknown insurgent forces. Tempest Night scenario. Assistant Adams currently coordinating personnel," Rose said.</p>
<p>"No breaches on this Auxuliary Site. Yet," Walker added. "TXCD-R is going to breach the walls of its containment chamber in approximately ten minutes."</p>
<p>"Where's Dr. Drake?"</p>
<p>"Gone to help with the Tempest Night scenario," Rose said.</p>
<p>"Insurgents," Mause said. "Tempest Night? How long?"</p>
<p>"Three hours and eleven minutes," Rose said.</p>
<p>"Three <em>hours</em>? Why didn't you wake me?"</p>
<p>"Sufficient sleep is required for optimal bodily function," Rose said.</p>
<p>"Besides," Walker said. "There's nothing any of us can do. We are not equipped to stop TXCD-R from breaching containment. We are under orders to remain here as long as TXCD-R does. On event of TXCD-R's escape, we will attempt to stop it. When we fail, we will track it."</p>
<p>"So you see," Rose said, "there is nothing to be concerned about, for the next nine minutes, until TXCD-R breaches containment. And sleep is very important."</p>
<p>Mause shook her head and watched Anomalous Humanoid TXCD-R hurl itself at the wall of its containment chamber. And again. And then again.</p>
<p>"For now, though," Rose added, "you should put on body armor. In case it's hungry."</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Excerpt from Video Log, Observation Camera 6320945 (Temporary Containment Chamber for Anomalous Humanoid TXCD-R) and Observation Camera 6327641 (Temporary Containment Facility 17-K, Exterior):</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>1132:</strong> TXCD-R breaches containment chamber.</p>
<p><strong>1134:</strong> TXCD-R exits Temporary Containment Facility 17-K and heads in the direction of Site-17.</p>
<p><strong>1135:</strong> TXCD-R confronted by Agent Charles Rose and Agent Iola Walker, armed with S2-05 shotguns. Agents fire on TXCD-R repeatedly without effect. TXCD-R temporarily incapacitates Agent Rose and Agent Walker via physical impact.</p>
<p><strong>1136:</strong> TXCD-R continues heading towards Site-17.</p>
<p><strong>1140:</strong> Dr. Lesley Mause exits Temporary Containment Facility 17-K, rouses agents Rose and Walker. Mause, Rose, and Walker enter nearby vehicle and drive after TXCD-R.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>They'd followed TXCD-R nearly all the way to Site-17. Smoke rose from several of the central buildings. TXCD-R was stopped in the middle of the road, just in front of one of the Site-17 buildings, the side completely blown out by some explosion. Screams drifted out from inside.</p>
<p>Walker stopped the car a respectful distance from the creature. TXCD-R kneeled in the road, and seemed to be pantomiming something.</p>
<p>"What's it doing?" Mause asked.</p>
<p>"It's eating," Rose said.</p>
<p>Mause stared at the pale green creature. It <em>did</em> seem to be eating something, except… its jaws were closing on nothing, its hands holding something up to its mouth that wasn't there.</p>
<p>"<em>What</em> is it eating?" she asked.</p>
<p>"An instance of SCP-870," Rose said.</p>
<p>"The monster that only schizophrenics can see?"</p>
<p>"The same."</p>
<p>"How can <em>you</em> tell?"</p>
<p>Rose shrugged.</p>
<p>TXCD-R jerked its head up. Blinking eyes became visible everywhere underneath the curtains of moss that covered its body.</p>
<p>Then it bounded off. Through the blasted wall, leaping over rubble, and into the Site-17 building.</p>
<p>"Great," Mause said. "Just great. Where's it going now?"</p>
<p>"Isn't it obvious?" Rose said. "It's hungry."</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Audio/Visual transcript of <a href="/scp-472">SCP-472</a> containment chamber</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>1149:</strong> Anomalous Humanoid TXCD-R breaches containment chamber. TXCD-R does not appear to experience any effects from SCP-472. TXCD-R briefly examines SCP-472 and removes it from its pedestal.</p>
<p><strong>1150:</strong> TXCD-R appears to claw the air while holding SCP-472. At the end of its claws, red flesh appears, spurting blood, apparently extruding from midair. TXCD-R bites down on the piece of flesh and pulls. More flesh appears, with an accompanying tearing sound, splattering blood on the walls of the containment chamber.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>Mause was standing in the brand new, still smoking entrance of Site-17 when she heard the scream. A long, low, inhuman shriek that rose and fell for what seemed like an eternity.</p>
<p>"Jesus," she said. "What was that?"</p>
<p>She could hear her heart beating - boom-boom, boom-boom - much too loudly, inside her head -</p>
<p>Mause looked at Rose and Walker for confirmation. She could tell by the looks on their faces that they were thinking the same thing.</p>
<p>"SCP-472 is <em>screaming</em>," she said.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Audio/Visual transcript of <a href="/scp-472">SCP-472</a> containment chamber</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>1151:</strong> TXCD-R pulls and rips with its claws and teeth until a two meter length of flesh comes into appearance, detaches from its [still invisible] source, and drops to the ground. The flesh appears to be a collection of organs, including three still-beating hearts.</p>
<p><strong>1152:</strong> TXCD-R exits containment chamber, dragging the length of flesh behind it, still holding SCP-472. It tears off a chunk from the length of flesh and consumes it as it exits the chamber.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Transcript of Video Surveillance Recording</strong><br/>
Location: Checkpoint Camera, Service Entrance H-01</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>1158:</strong> TXCD-R passes camera, still carrying SCP-472. Length of flesh no longer visible. It is confronted by the service entrance by Dr. Carl Drake. Dr. Drake shouts a challenge to TXCD-R, telling it that it "shall not pass". Dr. Drake elaborates that he is in possession of an SCP item. He produces a small gold circlet later identified as Anomalous Item 56428609 [previously categorized by Dr. Drake, not known to have any special effect beyond unusual chemical makeup]. Dr. Drake places the circlet on his head while shouting "Crown of Thorns, activate!" Anomalous Item 56428609 emits a nimbus of glowing light.</p>
<p><strong>1159:</strong> TXCD-R removes the top of Dr. Drake's head via aggressive mastication. TXCD-R consumes both the top of Dr. Drake's head and Anomalous Item 56428609. TXCD-R exits through the open service entrance.</p>
<p><strong>1200:</strong> No further activity.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>"It's eating SCPs," Rose said, as a group of other agents carried away Dr. Drake's body. "That's why it killed an instance of SCP-870. And took SCP-472. It's a food source."</p>
<p>"Quite a theory," Mause said. "Maybe that's why it vomited everything it ate… Maybe it wasn't built to be eating … uh, <em>natural</em> things, for lack of a better word. Of course, why would it be able to keep down SCP items? It's not like 472 and 870 have anything in common. Or that anomalous item. Natural things have much more in common than anomalous things. How could something evolve to eat anomalous items?"</p>
<p>"Maybe it didn't evolve," Walker said. "Maybe it was created."</p>
<p>Mause shrugged. "I guess we won't know until we get it back."</p>
<p>"Then let's get started," Rose said.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/game-day-1-dr-mause">Game Day Part 1: Mastication, Deglutition, Emesis</a>" by thedeadlymoose, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/game-day-1-dr-mause">https://scpwiki.com/game-day-1-dr-mause</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
"It's beautiful," Dr. Lesley Mause announced, zooming in on the wriggling cells taking up her monitor's screen.
Dr. Drake looked over her shoulder, still wearing the same bored expression he'd had for the same half hour. "It's vomit."
Across the room, two heads swiveled in unison, hawklike, to stare at Dr. Drake. Agent Rose and Agent Walker, security. They did that every time Dr. Drake opened his mouth, each time tingling with almost animalistic animosity. The two ex-members of the Children of the Sun were objectively creepy as shit, she reflected. The way they did so many things in synchronization. You'd think they were twins, but they didn't even look alike, even if their mannerisms tended to be identical Rose (a man) was pale and androgynous, and Walker (a woman) was attractive in a classical fashion and had skin dark as pitch. She'd been working with them almost two years now, and she felt the same affection for them that she might feel for a pair of cats. A pair of extremely murderous cats, anyway.
Plus, they hated Drake almost as much as she did.
"Yes," she agreed, "it's vomit. But that doesn't preclude beauty."
She zoomed out again. Drake pointed at a structure in the gray-green mess. "Is that a bone?"
"Indeed," Mause said. "//Alces alces.// And they're not the only thing our green friend has been eating. I've found at least three different species of squirrel. And what's probably a squirrel. But most of the bones are //Alces alces//."
Drake leaned back in his chair, propped his legs up on the desk in front of him. "What's an //Alces alces//?"
She rolled her eyes in advance. "One of the cervids, a capreoline. Known in North America, of course, as... the moose."
Drake sniggered. "Moose, eh?" Then sniggered again. "Moose."
Mause's eyes flicked to Rose and Walker. They wore identical expressions of barely repressed fury. Mause, for her part, only felt mild annoyance. Most people knew better than to make that joke in front of Rose and Walker, but Mause heard the joke about every other day. She'd long gotten over cursing Fate for the timing of her transfer to the Special Reconnaissance-and-Research Task Force M-Omega-773 - or, as it was now so wittily referred to by other members of the Foundation, "the Deadly Moose team".
She'd been dumped from Research Team MO3-Gloria with everyone else when the O5s decided they didn't want anyone else poking at 003 and landed her directly in M-Omega-773 just in time for the disaster in which she - and every other member of the team - had stumbled through the corridors of Site 19 crazily warning everyone they came in to "beware the deadly moose". She herself had set up shop in the cafeteria with a shotgun for two hours before security tranquilized her and strapped her to a bed until the effects passed.
Memetics. She hated memetics.
"Yes," she said. "Alaskan moose, actually. //A. a. gigas//. Which fits with where we picked it up. Naturally."
"No Bigfoot bones in there?"
"No." She glared at her monitor. "We're not so sure that this thing has any connection to 1000 after all, I'm sorry to say."
Drake looked at the video monitor. "But just look at it. It looks like a big green ape."
"SCP-1000 instances are brown, black, red, and white in color," Mause said. "They don't come in green."
"Still," Drake said. "My gut tells me there's some connection. Keep looking."
Mause stifled her sigh. Technically, Drake did outrank her. Being on the Deadly Moose team meant you got ridiculously high clearance to a few fairly important SCPs, but outside of those small spheres you were left at basic level 1 access. And the respect that went with that. It didn't help that most of the team's assignments sounded inherently mockable. 'The Bloodstone.' (Also known as the bad-trip ruby, even though it wasn't actually a ruby.) The glorified mechanical people-eating fishing worms. Organic motherboard. ('So can 003 run Crysis?' Jesus, you'd think these people never grew out of the 90's.) Bigfoot, for chrissake. And, of course, the goddamn moose... //thing//.
And now, the weird thing pacing about in the temporary containment cell on the monitor, provisionally classified as Anomalous Humanoid TXCD-R.
The thing whose vomit she was analyzing for the last half hour. TXCD-R was picked up in Alaska only days ago, and had slaughtered half the task force sent to capture it before suddenly going docile and allowing the rattled survivors to bind it in a net and transport it to Site 17's temporary containment auxiliary facility.
It really was beautiful vomit, full of living things she'd never seen, in a rainbow array of colors. Even TXCD-R was beautiful in its own way. She watched it pace, a hulking seven-foot-tall thing shaped vaguely like an ape, covered in what might be a living growth of moss, wide teeth like spades sticking out of its mouth like reversed elephant tusks. The "moss" was growing so fast you could actually see it move if you had the patience. Tiny glittering eyes peered out from under the moss curtains - not just from its "head", either. Tiny auxiliary limbs moved and twitched, peeking out now and then to groom the ever-growing moss.
As she watched, TXCD-R bent double and vomited for the ninth time that day.
"Again?" Mause scratched her head. "It's vomited up almost the entire bodies of everything it's eaten so far. And judging by the bones I see, that would be the last of its meals for the past week." She looked at the screen again. "It's not digesting anything. None of the things in here have been broken down like you'd expect if they'd been in stomach acid for hours. They have signs of chewing, and not much else. Is it sick or something?"
"I'm telling you," Drake said. "It's got Bigfoot's fingerprints all over it."
"Tomorrow," Mause said. She pushed back her chair. "I'll look more tomorrow."
------
**Excerpt from Video Log, Observation Camera 6320945 (Temporary Containment Chamber for Anomalous Humanoid TXCD-R):**
> **0700:** TXCD-R continues to pace back and forth across chamber.
>
> **0756:** TXCD-R abruptly ceases pacing and stands perfectly still until **0811**.
>
> **0811:** Power fluctuation related to explosive event at main Site-17. TXCD-R begins to repeatedly charge the walls of its containment chamber. Local alarms set off.
>
> **0813:** Agent C. Rose and Agent I. Walker open containment chamber left and right ports and shoot TXCD-R repeatedly with tranquilizer darts. TXCD-R does not react to shots except to charge containment chamber ports.
>
> **0815:** Agents Rose and Walker cease attempting to shoot TXCD-R. TXCD-R continues to charge walls of its containment chamber.
>
> **0827:** External power lost. Switching to emergency power. TXCD-R continues to charge walls of its containment chamber.
-----
Mause stumbled into the main observation chamber, eyes bleary. Rose and Walker were waiting for her.
"Wazz going on?" she managed.
"Containment breach at Site 17. Unknown insurgent forces. Tempest Night scenario. Assistant Adams currently coordinating personnel," Rose said.
"No breaches on this Auxuliary Site. Yet," Walker added. "TXCD-R is going to breach the walls of its containment chamber in approximately ten minutes."
"Where's Dr. Drake?"
"Gone to help with the Tempest Night scenario," Rose said.
"Insurgents," Mause said. "Tempest Night? How long?"
"Three hours and eleven minutes," Rose said.
"Three //hours//? Why didn't you wake me?"
"Sufficient sleep is required for optimal bodily function," Rose said.
"Besides," Walker said. "There's nothing any of us can do. We are not equipped to stop TXCD-R from breaching containment. We are under orders to remain here as long as TXCD-R does. On event of TXCD-R's escape, we will attempt to stop it. When we fail, we will track it."
"So you see," Rose said, "there is nothing to be concerned about, for the next nine minutes, until TXCD-R breaches containment. And sleep is very important."
Mause shook her head and watched Anomalous Humanoid TXCD-R hurl itself at the wall of its containment chamber. And again. And then again.
"For now, though," Rose added, "you should put on body armor. In case it's hungry."
----
**Excerpt from Video Log, Observation Camera 6320945 (Temporary Containment Chamber for Anomalous Humanoid TXCD-R) and Observation Camera 6327641 (Temporary Containment Facility 17-K, Exterior):**
> **1132:** TXCD-R breaches containment chamber.
>
> **1134:** TXCD-R exits Temporary Containment Facility 17-K and heads in the direction of Site-17.
>
> **1135:** TXCD-R confronted by Agent Charles Rose and Agent Iola Walker, armed with S2-05 shotguns. Agents fire on TXCD-R repeatedly without effect. TXCD-R temporarily incapacitates Agent Rose and Agent Walker via physical impact.
>
> **1136:** TXCD-R continues heading towards Site-17.
>
> **1140:** Dr. Lesley Mause exits Temporary Containment Facility 17-K, rouses agents Rose and Walker. Mause, Rose, and Walker enter nearby vehicle and drive after TXCD-R.
----
They'd followed TXCD-R nearly all the way to Site-17. Smoke rose from several of the central buildings. TXCD-R was stopped in the middle of the road, just in front of one of the Site-17 buildings, the side completely blown out by some explosion. Screams drifted out from inside.
Walker stopped the car a respectful distance from the creature. TXCD-R kneeled in the road, and seemed to be pantomiming something.
"What's it doing?" Mause asked.
"It's eating," Rose said.
Mause stared at the pale green creature. It //did// seem to be eating something, except... its jaws were closing on nothing, its hands holding something up to its mouth that wasn't there.
"//What// is it eating?" she asked.
"An instance of SCP-870," Rose said.
"The monster that only schizophrenics can see?"
"The same."
"How can //you// tell?"
Rose shrugged.
TXCD-R jerked its head up. Blinking eyes became visible everywhere underneath the curtains of moss that covered its body.
Then it bounded off. Through the blasted wall, leaping over rubble, and into the Site-17 building.
"Great," Mause said. "Just great. Where's it going now?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Rose said. "It's hungry."
----
**Audio/Visual transcript of [[[SCP-472]]] containment chamber**
> **1149:** Anomalous Humanoid TXCD-R breaches containment chamber. TXCD-R does not appear to experience any effects from SCP-472. TXCD-R briefly examines SCP-472 and removes it from its pedestal.
>
> **1150:** TXCD-R appears to claw the air while holding SCP-472. At the end of its claws, red flesh appears, spurting blood, apparently extruding from midair. TXCD-R bites down on the piece of flesh and pulls. More flesh appears, with an accompanying tearing sound, splattering blood on the walls of the containment chamber.
------
Mause was standing in the brand new, still smoking entrance of Site-17 when she heard the scream. A long, low, inhuman shriek that rose and fell for what seemed like an eternity.
"Jesus," she said. "What was that?"
She could hear her heart beating - boom-boom, boom-boom - much too loudly, inside her head -
Mause looked at Rose and Walker for confirmation. She could tell by the looks on their faces that they were thinking the same thing.
"SCP-472 is //screaming//," she said.
-----
**Audio/Visual transcript of [[[SCP-472]]] containment chamber**
> **1151:** TXCD-R pulls and rips with its claws and teeth until a two meter length of flesh comes into appearance, detaches from its [still invisible] source, and drops to the ground. The flesh appears to be a collection of organs, including three still-beating hearts.
>
> **1152:** TXCD-R exits containment chamber, dragging the length of flesh behind it, still holding SCP-472. It tears off a chunk from the length of flesh and consumes it as it exits the chamber.
----
**Transcript of Video Surveillance Recording**
Location: Checkpoint Camera, Service Entrance H-01
> **1158:** TXCD-R passes camera, still carrying SCP-472. Length of flesh no longer visible. It is confronted by the service entrance by Dr. Carl Drake. Dr. Drake shouts a challenge to TXCD-R, telling it that it "shall not pass". Dr. Drake elaborates that he is in possession of an SCP item. He produces a small gold circlet later identified as Anomalous Item 56428609 [previously categorized by Dr. Drake, not known to have any special effect beyond unusual chemical makeup]. Dr. Drake places the circlet on his head while shouting "Crown of Thorns, activate!" Anomalous Item 56428609 emits a nimbus of glowing light.
>
> **1159:** TXCD-R removes the top of Dr. Drake's head via aggressive mastication. TXCD-R consumes both the top of Dr. Drake's head and Anomalous Item 56428609. TXCD-R exits through the open service entrance.
>
> **1200:** No further activity.
----
"It's eating SCPs," Rose said, as a group of other agents carried away Dr. Drake's body. "That's why it killed an instance of SCP-870. And took SCP-472. It's a food source."
"Quite a theory," Mause said. "Maybe that's why it vomited everything it ate... Maybe it wasn't built to be eating ... uh, //natural// things, for lack of a better word. Of course, why would it be able to keep down SCP items? It's not like 472 and 870 have anything in common. Or that anomalous item. Natural things have much more in common than anomalous things. How could something evolve to eat anomalous items?"
"Maybe it didn't evolve," Walker said. "Maybe it was created."
Mause shrugged. "I guess we won't know until we get it back."
"Then let's get started," Rose said.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-17T03:01:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"action",
"breakout",
"game-day",
"tale"
] | Game Day Part 1: Mastication, Deglutition, Emesis - SCP Foundation | 47 | [
"scp-472",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11892151 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/game-day-1-dr-mause |
|
game-day-1-johannes-sorts | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Having suffered from sleep apnea for most of his adult life, Dr. Johannes Sorts was quite accustomed to waking up suddenly in the middle of the night (or day) because he had stopped breathing in his sleep.</p>
<p>There was a time that this troubled him greatly, but the constant disruptions kept him from sleeping for too long, or worse, <em>dreaming</em>, so he had come to accept them with a bit of gratitude. This was a source of constant concern for the Site 17 physician assigned to look after him. Dr. Charlene Robertson had been known to break into his cluttered office/bedroom and coerce him into wearing a CPAP mask so that he didn't suffocate in his sleep.</p>
<p>So when Dr. Sorts woke suddenly to find himself sprawled out in his office chair, he was not immediately concerned. When he heard Dr. Robertson's voice insisting that he put his mask on, he was not immediately concerned.</p>
<p>But when a lifeless, sandy hand was clamped over his face to suffocate him, he began to remember certain things. Leaving his musty office sanctuary at Site 19 on short notice to supervise the handling of several SCP artifacts. Setting up in his slightly less musty office sanctuary at Site 17. Turning down invitations to some social gathering in the break room. Sitting down to write a memo about <a href="/scp-945">SCP-945</a>'s unacceptable temporary containment conditions but opening up a game of Atom Zombie Smasher on the side and…</p>
<p>Dr. Sorts pushed the dusty clay hand away from his face and gasped, "Doctor Robertson! I'm not supposed to be asleep right now!"</p>
<p>"Very well, Johannes. I will be back tonight to be sure you are wearing your mask. Please get back to work," the figure leaning over Johannes did not make any motion to leave, it just hung over him and stared blankly with painted, kohl-rimmed eyes.</p>
<p>"I have work to do right now, and so do you," Dr. Sorts scrambled to straighten his glasses and get out of his seat, nervously stammering to the clay figurine that was wearing Dr. Robertson's white, bloodstained smock, "You're supposed to be in the medical ward handling trauma cases, remember? There's a lot of new SCPs on site right now so we need all medical hands on call in case of an emergency."</p>
<p>Dr. Sorts was going to miss Charlene fussing over him, if one of SCP-945's shawabti replicas was impersonating her in his office now it meant that she was dead. It also meant that if he didn't destroy that replica or keep it under constant supervision it was going to start killing more people, starting with him.</p>
<p>The figurine turned towards the door "Yes, yes I should be there. There are a lot of bad cases there. But… the medical ward has been damaged beyond repair by an explosion. That is why I came to check on you. You skipped your last checkup, you know. Please take your seat and we'll begin." The shawabti produced a tattered black bag and pulled a scalpel from it.</p>
<p>"Wait! Dr. Robertson, you've been exposed to a class A memetic agent. Regulation says that you need to do as I say in order to prevent a virulent memetic outbreak. Listen to me very carefully. We have to pretend we are in… uh… an action movie."</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Debriefing:</strong> Dr. Johannes Sorts<br/>
<em>Excerpt from Interview conducted by O5-█, regarding Dr. Sort's involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1.</em></p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Was it really necessary to convince the replica of Dr. Robertson that she was your love interest in an action movie?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> Believe me I wish I had thought of something else off the top of my head. I've been exposed to enough of SCP-945 prior to this clusterfuck, I really didn't want to, you know, improvise a love scene with my colleague's shawabti. I've prepared a full report on that experience by the way. Psych's going to have a field day with it I'm sure.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> What happened next?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> Well, last time we had a really virulent SCP-945 outbreak the replicas overwhelmed an entire site. But they also kept it operational — when it became clear to me that every possible bad thing that could have happened DID happen I decided that regardless of the danger the SCP-945 replicas posed they were more valuable as an ally… er… asset, than otherwise. So I set about collecting as many replicas as I could find running around the site and convincing them to play roles in this movie. It was the only way I could claim any authority over the positions those replicas were taking.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> How many replicas did you have under your command?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> Never more than about two dozen at any one time, but I think we went through about fifty replicas total.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> How was the replica of Dr. Robertson lost?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Dr. Sorts had someone's red tie wrapped around his forehead, and his shirt was hanging open over his hairy stomach, "Alright men! Let's secure this hallway. I want Johnson, Figgs and Lewis on point! Tiberson, cover me. I'm going in!"</p>
<p>Dr. Robertson's shawabti had tied its smock in a knot across its bust, where it had stuffed two rolls of toilet paper, "Wait! Don't go, I couldn't stand to lose you again!" the clay statue squealed with the enthusiasm of a high school drama student.</p>
<p>"I have to go, baby, we need to secure the medical ward so that you can get back to work on the survivors," Dr. Sorts claimed. He hadn't found any yet, though. Just a batch of replicated security guards who had already armed themselves and were now following his orders and calling him …</p>
<p>"The hall is clear, Commander Badass!" shouted the replica of Lt. Figgs in a much more accurate representation of the late man's voice and mannerisms, "We're go for retaking the medical ward! Let's move, people! Go Go Go Go Go!"</p>
<p>Dr. Sorts and his impromptu squad of clay soldiers burst into the medical ward, which was a sea of bloodstained, writhing flesh, dripping with maggots. One of the replicas pretended to vomit. Dr. Sorts held his breath on the off chance he would wake up.</p>
<p>The ward was filled with an expanding pile of barely human figures anxiously clutching at each other while slurping bits of scattered and burnt flesh against their faces. Dr. Sorts had no idea what kind of SCP would produce a scene like this, but the nightmare before him was content to keep to itself on the other side of the room.</p>
<p>Dr. Robertson's replica touched his shoulder, "This is a serious <a href="/scp-726">SCP-726</a> outbreak. We need to…"</p>
<p>The replica trailed off with what could only be described as a gasp, although the clay figure never moved its lips or breathed. But crawling out of the pile of squirming bodies was another replica of Dr. Robertson, this one crafted from living flesh and blood. It slurped at the air and twitched its shoulders before disengaging from the rest of its nightmare spawn, flopping across the broken tile floor like a fish out of water towards the group of clay soldiers.</p>
<p>Dr. Robertson's shawabti pushed forward past the guards, grabbing the remains of a chair and rushing forward to bludgeon its rival duplicate, "No! No! My body is to be at rest! MY BODY IS TO BE AT REST!"</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> She was within the medical ward when I had the other replicas collapse the entrances with explosive charges. I believe her … I'm sorry. I believe the duplicate was… the duplicates were destroyed in the explosion.</p>
<p>[inaudible]</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> I'm sorry, I need … I need another sedative.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> We'll continue this later.</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/game-day-1-johannes-sorts">Game Day Part 1: Attack of the Replicas</a>" by Sorts, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/game-day-1-johannes-sorts">https://scpwiki.com/game-day-1-johannes-sorts</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Having suffered from sleep apnea for most of his adult life, Dr. Johannes Sorts was quite accustomed to waking up suddenly in the middle of the night (or day) because he had stopped breathing in his sleep.
There was a time that this troubled him greatly, but the constant disruptions kept him from sleeping for too long, or worse, //dreaming//, so he had come to accept them with a bit of gratitude. This was a source of constant concern for the Site 17 physician assigned to look after him. Dr. Charlene Robertson had been known to break into his cluttered office/bedroom and coerce him into wearing a CPAP mask so that he didn't suffocate in his sleep.
So when Dr. Sorts woke suddenly to find himself sprawled out in his office chair, he was not immediately concerned. When he heard Dr. Robertson's voice insisting that he put his mask on, he was not immediately concerned.
But when a lifeless, sandy hand was clamped over his face to suffocate him, he began to remember certain things. Leaving his musty office sanctuary at Site 19 on short notice to supervise the handling of several SCP artifacts. Setting up in his slightly less musty office sanctuary at Site 17. Turning down invitations to some social gathering in the break room. Sitting down to write a memo about [[[SCP-945]]]'s unacceptable temporary containment conditions but opening up a game of Atom Zombie Smasher on the side and. . .
Dr. Sorts pushed the dusty clay hand away from his face and gasped, "Doctor Robertson! I'm not supposed to be asleep right now!"
"Very well, Johannes. I will be back tonight to be sure you are wearing your mask. Please get back to work," the figure leaning over Johannes did not make any motion to leave, it just hung over him and stared blankly with painted, kohl-rimmed eyes.
"I have work to do right now, and so do you," Dr. Sorts scrambled to straighten his glasses and get out of his seat, nervously stammering to the clay figurine that was wearing Dr. Robertson's white, bloodstained smock, "You're supposed to be in the medical ward handling trauma cases, remember? There's a lot of new SCPs on site right now so we need all medical hands on call in case of an emergency."
Dr. Sorts was going to miss Charlene fussing over him, if one of SCP-945's shawabti replicas was impersonating her in his office now it meant that she was dead. It also meant that if he didn't destroy that replica or keep it under constant supervision it was going to start killing more people, starting with him.
The figurine turned towards the door "Yes, yes I should be there. There are a lot of bad cases there. But. . . the medical ward has been damaged beyond repair by an explosion. That is why I came to check on you. You skipped your last checkup, you know. Please take your seat and we'll begin." The shawabti produced a tattered black bag and pulled a scalpel from it.
"Wait! Dr. Robertson, you've been exposed to a class A memetic agent. Regulation says that you need to do as I say in order to prevent a virulent memetic outbreak. Listen to me very carefully. We have to pretend we are in... uh... an action movie."
> **Debriefing:** Dr. Johannes Sorts
> //Excerpt from Interview conducted by O5-█, regarding Dr. Sort's involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1.//
>
> **O5-█:** Was it really necessary to convince the replica of Dr. Robertson that she was your love interest in an action movie?
>
> **Dr. Sorts:** Believe me I wish I had thought of something else off the top of my head. I've been exposed to enough of SCP-945 prior to this clusterfuck, I really didn't want to, you know, improvise a love scene with my colleague's shawabti. I've prepared a full report on that experience by the way. Psych's going to have a field day with it I'm sure.
>
> **O5-█:** What happened next?
>
> **Dr. Sorts:** Well, last time we had a really virulent SCP-945 outbreak the replicas overwhelmed an entire site. But they also kept it operational -- when it became clear to me that every possible bad thing that could have happened DID happen I decided that regardless of the danger the SCP-945 replicas posed they were more valuable as an ally... er... asset, than otherwise. So I set about collecting as many replicas as I could find running around the site and convincing them to play roles in this movie. It was the only way I could claim any authority over the positions those replicas were taking.
>
> **O5-█:** How many replicas did you have under your command?
>
> **Dr. Sorts:** Never more than about two dozen at any one time, but I think we went through about fifty replicas total.
>
> **O5-█:** How was the replica of Dr. Robertson lost?
Dr. Sorts had someone's red tie wrapped around his forehead, and his shirt was hanging open over his hairy stomach, "Alright men! Let's secure this hallway. I want Johnson, Figgs and Lewis on point! Tiberson, cover me. I'm going in!"
Dr. Robertson's shawabti had tied its smock in a knot across its bust, where it had stuffed two rolls of toilet paper, "Wait! Don't go, I couldn't stand to lose you again!" the clay statue squealed with the enthusiasm of a high school drama student.
"I have to go, baby, we need to secure the medical ward so that you can get back to work on the survivors," Dr. Sorts claimed. He hadn't found any yet, though. Just a batch of replicated security guards who had already armed themselves and were now following his orders and calling him . . .
"The hall is clear, Commander Badass!" shouted the replica of Lt. Figgs in a much more accurate representation of the late man's voice and mannerisms, "We're go for retaking the medical ward! Let's move, people! Go Go Go Go Go!"
Dr. Sorts and his impromptu squad of clay soldiers burst into the medical ward, which was a sea of bloodstained, writhing flesh, dripping with maggots. One of the replicas pretended to vomit. Dr. Sorts held his breath on the off chance he would wake up.
The ward was filled with an expanding pile of barely human figures anxiously clutching at each other while slurping bits of scattered and burnt flesh against their faces. Dr. Sorts had no idea what kind of SCP would produce a scene like this, but the nightmare before him was content to keep to itself on the other side of the room.
Dr. Robertson's replica touched his shoulder, "This is a serious [[[SCP-726]]] outbreak. We need to..."
The replica trailed off with what could only be described as a gasp, although the clay figure never moved its lips or breathed. But crawling out of the pile of squirming bodies was another replica of Dr. Robertson, this one crafted from living flesh and blood. It slurped at the air and twitched its shoulders before disengaging from the rest of its nightmare spawn, flopping across the broken tile floor like a fish out of water towards the group of clay soldiers.
Dr. Robertson's shawabti pushed forward past the guards, grabbing the remains of a chair and rushing forward to bludgeon its rival duplicate, "No! No! My body is to be at rest! MY BODY IS TO BE AT REST!"
> **Dr. Sorts:** She was within the medical ward when I had the other replicas collapse the entrances with explosive charges. I believe her ... I'm sorry. I believe the duplicate was... the duplicates were destroyed in the explosion.
>
> [inaudible]
>
> **Dr. Sorts:** I'm sorry, I need ... I need another sedative.
>
> **O5-█:** We'll continue this later.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-04T21:12:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"comedy",
"doctor-sorts",
"game-day",
"horror",
"tale"
] | Game Day Part 1: Attack of the Replicas - SCP Foundation | 41 | [
"scp-945",
"scp-726",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11823502 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/game-day-1-johannes-sorts |
|
game-day-1-smilers | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>During Incident 234-900-Tempest Night, many junior staff and personnel took part in the attempts to repel attackers by seizing control of already uncontained SCPs or, in some cases, breaching containment of SCPs with the intent of seizing control of them for defensive purposes. A notable example of a failed attempt is the efforts of Junior Researcher David Eskobar, who remains in medical care and has begun psychiatric treatment recently. Relevant information is included below.</p>
<p><strong>Excerpts from Surveillance Logs, Security Cameras 00290001, 00290011, 00290993</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0920</strong>: SCP-275 confirmed secure, armed guards holding position.</p>
<p><strong>0922</strong>: Junior Researcher David Eskobar attempts to instigate security breach at SCP-275 containment cell. Armed guards fire warning shot down hallway. Researcher Eskobar flees.</p>
<p><strong>0944</strong>: SCP-███ confirmed secure, guards having left position but making periodic patrols.</p>
<p><strong>0945</strong>: Researcher Eskobar arrives at SCP-███ containment area. Eskobar attempts to instigate security breach. Armed guards walking past fire warning shots. Researcher Eskobar flees. Guards seen chasing after Eskobar momentarily, then shouting; microphone unable to pick up dialogue.</p>
<p><strong>1010</strong>: SCP-███ confirmed secure. Guards holding position out of sight but nearby.</p>
<p><strong>1011</strong>: Researcher Eskobar arrives at SCP-███ containment area. Eskobar attempts to instigate security breach. Multiple armed guards rush from concealed locations and capture Eskobar. Eskobar is dragged out of sight.</p>
<p><strong>1030</strong>: Researcher Eskobar successfully enters Site 17 video archive.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>After-Action Debriefing, Agent ██████/Guard B-3273</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Agent ██████</strong>: Tell me about Researcher Eskobar's behavior during the beginning of Tempest Night.</p>
<p><strong>B-3273</strong>: Christ, he was the same as the rest of them. We heard junior staff running around like hamsters, screaming about “I always wanted to try SCP-this” and “we have no choice, we have to have SCP-that.” It's insulting that almost every one of them forgot that there were still a few guards in the building, still staying on post no matter what was happening. You know, actually securing a few SCPs, not letting them out and hoping everything just turned out okay.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████</strong>: And you say Eskobar was the same?<br/>
<br/>
<strong>B-3273</strong>: No, Eskobar was the worst. He hadn't worked here more than a month at that point, and he apparently hadn't read half of the files on the Scips he was trying to break out. He was going to jump on to the table in front of <a href="/scp-212">SCP-212</a>, figuring it would just turn him into Robocop. You should have seen the look on his face when we told him about the “no anesthetic” part, or the survival rate.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████</strong>: But Eskobar kept trying.</p>
<p><strong>B-3273</strong>: I guess he forgot we still had radios. We were tracking his movements, and by the time he got to ███, we had decided enough was enough.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████</strong>: So you moved in to arrest him.</p>
<p><strong>B-3273</strong>: As far as I'm concerned, he had enough chances. We waited until he actually tried breaching containment for the third before we took him.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████</strong>: And none of the guards were feeling…especially antagonistic towards the researcher?<br/>
<br/>
<strong>B-3273</strong>: Of course not, sir. We maintained professional conduct throughout the incident. Where possible.<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Agent ██████</strong>: I'm interested in how Eskobar escaped from containment and broke into Site-17's video archive.</p>
<p><strong>B-3273</strong>: I'm sorry, sir. I guess he just got past us.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████</strong>: I'm especially concerned with how he managed to break in while still handcuffed and gagged.</p>
<p><strong>B-3273</strong>: Sorry, sir. I guess he just got past us.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████</strong>: Were any of you aware of his coulrophobia?</p>
<p><strong>B-3273</strong>: Sir?</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████</strong>: His fear of clowns.</p>
<p><strong>B-3273</strong>: Not particularly, sir. We would never—well, we would have advised him not to…contain himself in that particular room had we known that, no matter what had happened.<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Agent ██████</strong>: (sighs) Yes, that's what the others said.</p>
<p>Due to lack of evidence and extenuating circumstances, guards involved in the incident have been cleared of all charges.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Excerpt of Security Log, Video Transcript, Security Camera 00290933</strong></p>
<p><strong>1030</strong>: Researcher Eskobar enters Site 17 video archive. Researcher begins demonstrating intense fear and huddling against corner, still handcuffed.<br/>
<br/>
<strong>1045</strong>: A television turns on. Researcher Eskobar registers acute panic.</p>
<p><strong>1046</strong>: Researcher Eskobar appears to lose consciousness.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>Suggested modification to <a href="/scp-993">SCP-993</a> containment protocols, Addendum 993-1:</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p>Given the events surrounding the death of Dr. █████ (see <a href="/behind-the-scenes">Incident Report 993-Gamma</a>) and its behavior during Incident Tempest Night, it appears that SCP-993's previous manifestation towards children and exclusion of adults was the result of a conscious choice. SCP-993 is capable of manifesting itself to adults as well as children. However, in order to interact with adults, SCP-993 appears to be able to render adults unconscious. Once unconscious, [REDACTED] (see Security Log Transcript, Camera 00290993)</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>Excerpt of Security Log, Video Transcript, Security Camera 00290933</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>1048</strong>: Researcher Eskobar appears to regain consciousness. Begins smiling.</p>
<p><strong>1050</strong>: Researcher Eskobar rises to his feet, maintaining eye contact with television.</p>
<p><strong>1055</strong>: Gag applied to Eskobar's mouth falls out. Hands cease to be restrained. [Note: Handcuff chain was later found to have been severed by unknown means.]</p>
<p><strong>1059</strong>: Researcher Eskobar raises his arms outward to the sides, forming a T-shape. Video cuts out briefly. When image returns, Eskobar's hands are pinned to the wall with large spikes; blood is flowing freely down his arms and down the wall. Researcher Eskobar's face is smiling widely, and continues to do so for the duration of the taping (seventy-two hours).</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>After-Action Summary, ██/██/11:</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p>After the conclusion of Incident Tempest Night, during cleanup operations, Researcher Eskobar was found in Site 17's video archive, badly dehydrated, suffering serious blood loss, and nearing a comatose state, still smiling. Researcher Eskobar was taken to a Foundation medical facility and assigned to psychiatric therapy. The television across from Researcher Eskobar remained on, broadcasting test pattern SMPTE RP 219-2002 (commonly known as “color bars”). Several DVDs were found on top of the television; when arranged in a rainbow shape, markings on the DVDs spelled out “SEASON II!” These discs were revealed to contain videos in the animated style of SCP-993, depicting the deaths of various Foundation researchers during Tempest Night. Some of these deaths were not actually witnessed by any surviving researchers, casting doubt on whether the particular brutality shown to accompany many of these deaths actually happened.</p>
<p>SCP-993's primary role in the videos is narrative in nature, providing commentary for the deaths and making comedic comments about both the means by which individuals died and the appearance of the remains of dead personnel. However, three researchers who were never located and considered MIA, along with two D-class personnel who were believed to have escaped, are shown on the videos. Each researcher is individually shown being knocked unconscious by an unseen attacker and dragged into empty containment rooms. Though the experiences of all three are different, all are assaulted in various ways using different weapons, which appear to be held by the camera's operator. One is shown dying from blood loss during a surgical operation to connect the victim's colon to his esophagus, another dies of cerebral failure during an unanesthetized hemispherectomy, and the final researcher dies of shock after being skinned alive with an industrial-grade belt sander. The two D-class personnel are shown being sewn to one another at several points and led into an area where SCP-███ was roaming after breaching containment, leading to dismemberment. All five victims continue smiling broadly throughout their experiences. None of these events can be corroborated or disproved by available evidence.</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/game-day-1-smilers">Game Day Part 1: Smilers</a>" by Eskobar, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/game-day-1-smilers">https://scpwiki.com/game-day-1-smilers</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
During Incident 234-900-Tempest Night, many junior staff and personnel took part in the attempts to repel attackers by seizing control of already uncontained SCPs or, in some cases, breaching containment of SCPs with the intent of seizing control of them for defensive purposes. A notable example of a failed attempt is the efforts of Junior Researcher David Eskobar, who remains in medical care and has begun psychiatric treatment recently. Relevant information is included below.
**Excerpts from Surveillance Logs, Security Cameras 00290001, 00290011, 00290993**
> **0920**: SCP-275 confirmed secure, armed guards holding position.
>
> **0922**: Junior Researcher David Eskobar attempts to instigate security breach at SCP-275 containment cell. Armed guards fire warning shot down hallway. Researcher Eskobar flees.
>
> **0944**: SCP-███ confirmed secure, guards having left position but making periodic patrols.
>
> **0945**: Researcher Eskobar arrives at SCP-███ containment area. Eskobar attempts to instigate security breach. Armed guards walking past fire warning shots. Researcher Eskobar flees. Guards seen chasing after Eskobar momentarily, then shouting; microphone unable to pick up dialogue.
>
> **1010**: SCP-███ confirmed secure. Guards holding position out of sight but nearby.
>
> **1011**: Researcher Eskobar arrives at SCP-███ containment area. Eskobar attempts to instigate security breach. Multiple armed guards rush from concealed locations and capture Eskobar. Eskobar is dragged out of sight.
>
> **1030**: Researcher Eskobar successfully enters Site 17 video archive.
**After-Action Debriefing, Agent ██████/Guard B-3273**
> **Agent ██████**: Tell me about Researcher Eskobar's behavior during the beginning of Tempest Night.
>
> **B-3273**: Christ, he was the same as the rest of them. We heard junior staff running around like hamsters, screaming about “I always wanted to try SCP-this” and “we have no choice, we have to have SCP-that.” It's insulting that almost every one of them forgot that there were still a few guards in the building, still staying on post no matter what was happening. You know, actually securing a few SCPs, not letting them out and hoping everything just turned out okay.
>
> **Agent ██████**: And you say Eskobar was the same?
>
> **B-3273**: No, Eskobar was the worst. He hadn't worked here more than a month at that point, and he apparently hadn't read half of the files on the Scips he was trying to break out. He was going to jump on to the table in front of [[[SCP-212]]], figuring it would just turn him into Robocop. You should have seen the look on his face when we told him about the “no anesthetic” part, or the survival rate.
>
> **Agent ██████**: But Eskobar kept trying.
>
> **B-3273**: I guess he forgot we still had radios. We were tracking his movements, and by the time he got to ███, we had decided enough was enough.
>
> **Agent ██████**: So you moved in to arrest him.
>
> **B-3273**: As far as I'm concerned, he had enough chances. We waited until he actually tried breaching containment for the third before we took him.
>
> **Agent ██████**: And none of the guards were feeling...especially antagonistic towards the researcher?
>
> **B-3273**: Of course not, sir. We maintained professional conduct throughout the incident. Where possible.
>
> **Agent ██████**: I'm interested in how Eskobar escaped from containment and broke into Site-17's video archive.
>
> **B-3273**: I'm sorry, sir. I guess he just got past us.
>
> **Agent ██████**: I'm especially concerned with how he managed to break in while still handcuffed and gagged.
>
> **B-3273**: Sorry, sir. I guess he just got past us.
>
> **Agent ██████**: Were any of you aware of his coulrophobia?
>
> **B-3273**: Sir?
>
> **Agent ██████**: His fear of clowns.
>
> **B-3273**: Not particularly, sir. We would never—well, we would have advised him not to...contain himself in that particular room had we known that, no matter what had happened.
>
> **Agent ██████**: (sighs) Yes, that's what the others said.
>
> Due to lack of evidence and extenuating circumstances, guards involved in the incident have been cleared of all charges.
> **Excerpt of Security Log, Video Transcript, Security Camera 00290933**
>
> **1030**: Researcher Eskobar enters Site 17 video archive. Researcher begins demonstrating intense fear and huddling against corner, still handcuffed.
>
> **1045**: A television turns on. Researcher Eskobar registers acute panic.
>
> **1046**: Researcher Eskobar appears to lose consciousness.
**Suggested modification to [[[SCP-993]]] containment protocols, Addendum 993-1:**
> Given the events surrounding the death of Dr. █████ (see [[[behind the scenes|Incident Report 993-Gamma]]]) and its behavior during Incident Tempest Night, it appears that SCP-993's previous manifestation towards children and exclusion of adults was the result of a conscious choice. SCP-993 is capable of manifesting itself to adults as well as children. However, in order to interact with adults, SCP-993 appears to be able to render adults unconscious. Once unconscious, [REDACTED] (see Security Log Transcript, Camera 00290993)
**Excerpt of Security Log, Video Transcript, Security Camera 00290933**
> **1048**: Researcher Eskobar appears to regain consciousness. Begins smiling.
>
> **1050**: Researcher Eskobar rises to his feet, maintaining eye contact with television.
>
> **1055**: Gag applied to Eskobar's mouth falls out. Hands cease to be restrained. [Note: Handcuff chain was later found to have been severed by unknown means.]
>
> **1059**: Researcher Eskobar raises his arms outward to the sides, forming a T-shape. Video cuts out briefly. When image returns, Eskobar's hands are pinned to the wall with large spikes; blood is flowing freely down his arms and down the wall. Researcher Eskobar's face is smiling widely, and continues to do so for the duration of the taping (seventy-two hours).
**After-Action Summary, ██/██/11:**
> After the conclusion of Incident Tempest Night, during cleanup operations, Researcher Eskobar was found in Site 17's video archive, badly dehydrated, suffering serious blood loss, and nearing a comatose state, still smiling. Researcher Eskobar was taken to a Foundation medical facility and assigned to psychiatric therapy. The television across from Researcher Eskobar remained on, broadcasting test pattern SMPTE RP 219-2002 (commonly known as “color bars”). Several DVDs were found on top of the television; when arranged in a rainbow shape, markings on the DVDs spelled out “SEASON II!” These discs were revealed to contain videos in the animated style of SCP-993, depicting the deaths of various Foundation researchers during Tempest Night. Some of these deaths were not actually witnessed by any surviving researchers, casting doubt on whether the particular brutality shown to accompany many of these deaths actually happened.
>
> SCP-993's primary role in the videos is narrative in nature, providing commentary for the deaths and making comedic comments about both the means by which individuals died and the appearance of the remains of dead personnel. However, three researchers who were never located and considered MIA, along with two D-class personnel who were believed to have escaped, are shown on the videos. Each researcher is individually shown being knocked unconscious by an unseen attacker and dragged into empty containment rooms. Though the experiences of all three are different, all are assaulted in various ways using different weapons, which appear to be held by the camera's operator. One is shown dying from blood loss during a surgical operation to connect the victim's colon to his esophagus, another dies of cerebral failure during an unanesthetized hemispherectomy, and the final researcher dies of shock after being skinned alive with an industrial-grade belt sander. The two D-class personnel are shown being sewn to one another at several points and led into an area where SCP-███ was roaming after breaching containment, leading to dismemberment. All five victims continue smiling broadly throughout their experiences. None of these events can be corroborated or disproved by available evidence.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-13T14:05:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"bobble-the-clown",
"game-day",
"horror",
"tale"
] | Game Day Part 1: Smilers - SCP Foundation | 54 | [
"scp-212",
"scp-993",
"behind-the-scenes",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"wayward",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11873622 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/game-day-1-smilers |
|
gamedaypart1imago | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>« Imago | <a href="/gdp2-freshbreath-inhale">BoFA: Inhale</a> | <a href="/gdp2-freshbreath-holding">BoFA: Holding It</a> | BoFA: Exhale »</strong></p>
</div>
<p>quietwetsmall<br/>
<em>twitch</em><br/>
wetsmallernotquiet<br/>
<em>turn</em><br/>
smallestLOUDSHINE<br/>
<em>stretch</em><br/>
<em>tear</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Clem Walsh was having a bad day.</p>
<p>Months ago, he had lucked out on a cushy assignment watching a giant cocoon do nothing for hours on end, giving him plenty of time to read. His coworkers teased him about his choices: "Why're you reading that crap fantasy shit when you're surrounded by so much weird shit?" But he enjoyed escaping into a world where he <em>knew</em> there'd be a happy ending. And hey! He had a pretty easy-going boss and he wasn't on the midnight shift like on his last assignment. So things were doing pretty good. Then the building shook and the klaxons went off.</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>turnpull</em><br/>
widenessOUTloudness<br/>
REDBRIGHTSHINE<br/>
<em>rend</em><br/>
freedom<br/>
<em>rend</em><br/>
drywetair<br/>
<em>rend</em><br/>
<em>stretch</em><br/>
<em>stand</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Clem knew the drill: lockdown the containment chamber first, lockdown the observation room second, contact security and bossman third. One was easy, just a matter of hitting a button, but when he went to lock the observation room door, the damn lock wouldn't engage. He propped a chair under the handle as a stop-gap and went to the phone to call the boss when it rang under his hand.</p>
<hr/>
<p>redloudfood<br/>
<em>unfurl</em><br/>
looksmell<br/>
<em>shakeshake</em><br/>
lookdowninfant<br/>
<em>pace</em><br/>
smellnosmell<br/>
<em>touch</em><br/>
airhardslick?<br/>
memory:gasgrassglass?<br/>
lookinfanttalk:lookme</p>
<hr/>
<p>Clem noticed a motion out of the corner of his eye and turned towards the large observation window.</p>
<p>"Jesus fuck me!"</p>
<p>Standing on the other side was a… <em>thing</em> that looked like the bastard child of an orgy involving a yellowjacket and an octopus, with a little extra ugly for good measure. It had one of its… appendages on the glass and he could swear the damn thing was looking at him despite the one-way mirror.</p>
<hr/>
<p>infantgoodfollow<br/>
<em>push</em><br/>
hungeropeninfant<br/>
glasstalk:tastetouch<br/>
<em>soften</em><br/>
goodsmellinfant<br/>
infant:stayfeed</p>
<hr/>
<p>Clem scrambled to clear the chair from the door when the glass began to bubble and warp under the thing's tentacle-claw-leg-thingie. He had just pulled it free when the softened glass broke with a "pop" that he barely heard over the klaxon, and then shattered in its pane. He looked behind him and took a deep breath to scream… then smiled.</p>
<hr/>
<p>stayfeedgood<br/>
tasteinfanttouch<br/>
<em>caress</em><br/>
smellsweetsharp<br/>
<em>twine</em><br/>
looktouchtaste<br/>
<em>tighten</em><br/>
eatfoodcoppery<br/>
<em>savor</em><br/>
satiatefullnessdone<br/>
curiosityknow:smellexplore<br/>
infantgoodsmell<br/>
foodseekknow</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>« Imago | <a href="/gdp2-freshbreath-inhale">BoFA: Inhale</a> | <a href="/gdp2-freshbreath-holding">BoFA: Holding It</a> | BoFA: Exhale »</strong></p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/gamedaypart1imago">Game Day: Imago</a>" by Drewbear, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/gamedaypart1imago">https://scpwiki.com/gamedaypart1imago</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
**<< Imago | [[[gdp2-freshbreath-inhale|BoFA: Inhale]]] | [[[gdp2-freshbreath-holding|BoFA: Holding It]]] | BoFA: Exhale >>**
[[/=]]
quietwetsmall
//twitch//
wetsmallernotquiet
//turn//
smallestLOUDSHINE
//stretch//
//tear//
-----
Clem Walsh was having a bad day.
Months ago, he had lucked out on a cushy assignment watching a giant cocoon do nothing for hours on end, giving him plenty of time to read. His coworkers teased him about his choices: "Why're you reading that crap fantasy shit when you're surrounded by so much weird shit?" But he enjoyed escaping into a world where he //knew// there'd be a happy ending. And hey! He had a pretty easy-going boss and he wasn't on the midnight shift like on his last assignment. So things were doing pretty good. Then the building shook and the klaxons went off.
-----
//turnpull//
widenessOUTloudness
REDBRIGHTSHINE
//rend//
freedom
//rend//
drywetair
//rend//
//stretch//
//stand//
-----
Clem knew the drill: lockdown the containment chamber first, lockdown the observation room second, contact security and bossman third. One was easy, just a matter of hitting a button, but when he went to lock the observation room door, the damn lock wouldn't engage. He propped a chair under the handle as a stop-gap and went to the phone to call the boss when it rang under his hand.
-----
redloudfood
//unfurl//
looksmell
//shakeshake//
lookdowninfant
//pace//
smellnosmell
//touch//
airhardslick?
memory:gasgrassglass?
lookinfanttalk:lookme
-----
Clem noticed a motion out of the corner of his eye and turned towards the large observation window.
"Jesus fuck me!"
Standing on the other side was a... //thing// that looked like the bastard child of an orgy involving a yellowjacket and an octopus, with a little extra ugly for good measure. It had one of its... appendages on the glass and he could swear the damn thing was looking at him despite the one-way mirror.
-----
infantgoodfollow
//push//
hungeropeninfant
glasstalk:tastetouch
//soften//
goodsmellinfant
infant:stayfeed
-----
Clem scrambled to clear the chair from the door when the glass began to bubble and warp under the thing's tentacle-claw-leg-thingie. He had just pulled it free when the softened glass broke with a "pop" that he barely heard over the klaxon, and then shattered in its pane. He looked behind him and took a deep breath to scream... then smiled.
-----
stayfeedgood
tasteinfanttouch
//caress//
smellsweetsharp
//twine//
looktouchtaste
//tighten//
eatfoodcoppery
//savor//
satiatefullnessdone
curiosityknow:smellexplore
infantgoodsmell
foodseekknow
[[=]]
**<< Imago | [[[gdp2-freshbreath-inhale|BoFA: Inhale]]] | [[[gdp2-freshbreath-holding|BoFA: Holding It]]] | BoFA: Exhale >>**
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-04T23:48:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"absurdism",
"game-day",
"horror",
"tale"
] | Game Day: Imago - SCP Foundation | 35 | [
"gdp2-freshbreath-inhale",
"gdp2-freshbreath-holding",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2011",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"gamedaypart2index",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11824044 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/gamedaypart1imago |
|
gamedaypart1index | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<table style="margin:0; padding:0">
<tr>
<td style="margin:0; padding:0">
<div id="toc">
<div id="toc-action-bar"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.foldToc(event)">Fold</a><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.unfoldToc(event)" style="display: none">Unfold</a></div>
<div class="title">Table of Contents</div>
<div id="toc-list">
<div style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#toc0">0811 to 0813: Initial Contact</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#toc1">0813 to 0823: Initial Response.</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#toc2">0823 to 0915: Breakdown</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#toc3">0916 to 1103: Disorder</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#toc4">1104 to 1138: Reestablishment of Control</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#toc5">1223 to Incident Conclusion: Analysis</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 5em;"><a href="#toc6">Related Foundation Tales:</a></div>
</div>
</div>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><strong>Excerpt from official after-action report compiled by Dr. Alto Clef regarding Incident 234-900-Tempest Night.</strong></p>
<h4 id="toc0"><span>0811 to 0813: Initial Contact</span></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>At 0811 hours on ██-██-████, multiple containment breaches occured at Humanoid Containment Site-17, caused by multiple explosive devices placed at critical points throughout the facility, placed by a then-unknown party. At this point, the method by which the devices were placed in the facility is unknown, as no security breaches were reported for several months before the incident. The most likely method (internal security breach) may never be proven, as any suborned personnel and/or evidence of their wrongdoing may have been destroyed in the attack.</p>
<p>One explosive device, placed in Conference Room 9b, resulted in death or injury to several key senior staff members, resulting in the loss of the top three levels of site leadership. This particular device would contribute significantly to the chaos which ensued: due to the severe breakdown in the chain of command, individual Foundation personnel would be forced to respond to the attack without coordination. In most cases, they performed admirably given the situation: especially during the early moments of the attack, when the nature of the containment breach was then unknown.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Surveillance Log 17-CR9b-██-██-████, 0805</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong><A. Adams:></strong> What am I even doing here? I'm not an administrator or a director. I'm not even senior staff. I shouldn't even be here…</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef:></strong> Don't worry about it. Just inhale and cross your arms under your tits and no one will even give a shit.</p>
<p><strong><A. Adams:></strong> This is harassment.</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef:></strong> Yes, it is. Go get a mimosa or something. Mingle. Socialize. Hi, Dmitri.</p>
<p><strong><D. Strelnikov:></strong> Doktor.</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef:></strong> Whatcha drinking?</p>
<p><strong><D. Strelnikov:></strong> Orange juice. And vodka. Mostly vodka.</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef:></strong> Breakfast of champions. You know, Dmitri, standing here, eating a muffin and chatting with you at the monthly senior staff brunch, looking at all these people I've worked with for years chatting and having a good time, you know what thought comes to my mind?</p>
<p><strong><D. Strelnikov:></strong> We are fish in barrel.</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef:></strong> You know me too well.</p>
<p><strong><D. Strelnikov:></strong> Security is tight. All air vents are checks, all food is checks for poison, all walls and carpets sweep for bugs and bombs, all utensils and such are opens from sterile packs. All is good.</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef:></strong> Excellent. Knew I could count on you, Dmitri. Hell, in order to hit us here, they'd have to smuggle a bomb in a waffle iron or some… thing…</p>
<p><strong><D. Strelnikov:></strong> …</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef:></strong> …</p>
<p><strong><D. Strelnikov:></strong> Excusing me, James. Allows me to check— oh, son of the bitches.</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef:></strong> Oh, for fuck's sake, you HAVE to be kid— EVERYONE MOVE! GET THE FUCK OU—</p>
<p><Explosions></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Audio Log from Hallway 18</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><Sirens></p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "Jesus. What the fuck was that?"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "Get your head down!"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "But what's—"</p>
<p>Audio indicates Agent Lombardi knocked Agent Vance to the ground at this point.</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "That's a goddamned containment breach. Sounds like a big one."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "Oh shit. Oh shit. We're gonna die. We're gonna—"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "No we ain't! We're gonna get through this. You understand? I ain't gonna let you die."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "What do we do?"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "What they pay us for, kid. We secure, we contain, and we break the face of anything that tries to stop us. Now, we need to get to the armory. Keep yer head down, an' use cover where you can."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "Yes sir."</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Interview: Dr. Tarn Honey/Dr. █████</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Portion of interview between Dr. █████ and Dr. Tarn Honey</em>, ██/██/████.</p>
<p><Interview Begins></p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████</strong>: Where were you at the time of the explosions?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey</strong>: I was working with <a href="/scp-737">SCP-737</a>, sir. I'd come up with a new theory regarding its aversion to copper and -</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████</strong>: Fascinating, I'm sure, but hardly relevant.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey</strong>: No, sir. Well, I was knocked unconscious by the explosion, as the security footage <em>clearly</em> shows.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████</strong>: Of course.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey</strong>: When I came to, 737 was gone. I was inside the observation chamber, so it hadn't seen me, but the guard…oh god. C-can I have a moment?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████</strong>: I'm afraid I must ask you to continue, doctor.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey</strong>: That train had just tunneled right through his head. There was blood everywhere, and there was a suspiciously train-shaped hole in the wall.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████</strong>: And how did you react to this?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey</strong>: I went after it, of course. I thought security would be busy with the explosion, so I grabbed a sheet of copper from the emergency locker and went looking. I thought the explosion was just a minor containment breach. I didn't think it was that bad.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████</strong>: Understandable.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey</strong>: As I was saying, I walked out of SCP-737's containment area and into the neighboring hallway. I spotted it turning around a corner and followed. I was all ready to grab it, but…oh god, I really need a minute.</p>
<p>(<strong>Dr. █████</strong> sighs.)</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████</strong>: Of course. Take your time.</p>
<p><…></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>*AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"<br/>
001</strong>*</p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>/Relevant transcript begins at ██/██/20██ ██/██/██ as captured by Security Camera/Audio system 1134-b; interior of office belonging to Dr. Rights. Status in video: Two walls have been partially removed by nearby explosion. For several minutes, nothing but smoke and dust is visible, before cleaning. Dr. Zurn; status: minor injuries, is visible, and stands.</em>/</p>
<p>Dr. Zurn: Doc…Doctor Rights? Doctor Rights?</p>
<p>Dr. Zurn pauses and coughs for several minutes.</p>
<p>Dr. Zurn: …Agatha?</p>
<p><em>/There is a soft moan, and Dr. Zurn grows visibly agitated. He moves a fallen bookcase with some difficulty, revealing Dr. Rights; status: Unconscious, major injuries</em>/</p>
<p><em>/SEVERAL MINUTES REMOVED FROM TRANSCRIPT FOR LACK OF RELEVANCY</em>/</p>
<p><em>/Dr. Rights is now conscious, if extremely disoriented. Injuries have been ascertained as potentially life-threatening blunt force trauma to head, abdomen, and legs.</em>/</p>
<p>Dr. Zurn: Just hold on, and I'll be back! I'm going to get help, alright?</p>
<p>Dr. Rights: [indistinct]</p>
<p>Dr. Zurn: It'll be okay. I'll go find one of the emergency med teams. Just hold on.</p>
<p>Dr. Rights: Sure.</p>
<p><em>/Dr. Zurn pauses before leaving, and kisses Dr. Rights on the forehead before exiting the room at a run. Dr. Rights spends the next ██ minutes laying on the floor, moving only in response to faint sounds and the activation of sirens. She loses consciousness after ██ minutes.</em>/</p>
<p><em>/At ██ minutes <a href="/scp-347">SCP-347</a>, as identified by seemingly disembodied tracking anklet, enters the room, and approaches Dr. Rights.</em>/</p>
<p><em>/Relevant transcript of Security Camera/Audio system 1134-b ends at ██/██/██.</em>/</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Excerpt From Debriefing Interview Vang-2</strong><br/>
<strong>Interviewer:</strong> Agent ██████<br/>
<strong>Subject:</strong> Dr. Vang, Ph.D.<br/>
<strong>Date:</strong> ██/██/20██</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> All right, where were you when the attack happened?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> I was asleep in MRI Lab Three, two floors up and about five doors down the hall from where the bombs were. I woke up when they went off, of course.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> What was your initial reaction?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> I just laid there a bit until the gunfire started, then I decided to report to the infirmary to get an amnestic. You see, the SCP I was working on, some of the initial tests indicate that the symptoms include auditory hallucinations. I figured an amnestic might fix it.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> I see. Carry on.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> So, I was approaching an intersection in the hallway when I saw one of our security guards trading fire with someone I couldn't see. It dawned on me that it was all real when the top half of his head got blown up.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> And then?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> I ran the other direction, hid in the closet, and hyperventilated for a while. When I calmed down, I ran back into the MRI lab to get my laptop.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> Why?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> Well, I fell asleep last night before I could log out, and I had neglected to log out when I had woken up, so anyone could have gotten sensitive information off of it. Anyways, when I got back, my laptop was gone, and so was one of the desktops.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> What was on those computers?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> I don't know about the desktop, but my laptop had some of my project files on it. Most of my projects involve abnormal memorability, so about ninety percent of it was just particularly catchy songs. In addition to that, there was a copy of the Communist Manifesto written entirely in pig latin, and there were nine variations of-</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> Anything <em>important</em>?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> Sorry, sir. One of my USBs had a minute-long clip of <a href="/scp-444">SCP-444</a>, and my laptop had a photo that makes you dizzy for a minute or so when you look at it. Those are the only things I can think of that would be of any real importance.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> Very good. Now, back to the MRI Lab. What was your course of action?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> Well, I realized that it would be a pretty bad thing if someone attacking the site had four forty-four, considering that a good portion of <em>our</em> work with it is weaponization. I looked around, and none of the rooms around me looked like anything was stolen from them, so I figured that whoever took my computer had a good idea of what they were looking for. I heard someone coming, so I ducked into the break room.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> What happened next?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> Whoever it was, they ran past, so I sat down and thought for a minute or so. I went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of root beer, and broke it. To get a weapon, you know. I changed into my backup pants, then I stuffed my pockets with as many of the emergency ear plugs as I could find and went out to distribute them to our guys.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> Emergency ear plugs?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> It's the memetics department, sir. We go through them like toilet paper.</p>
<p>> <strong>Agent ██████:</strong> I see. Carry on.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Excerpt from debriefing of Prof. Anders Bjornsen</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Security Agent █████ (SA):</strong> Why were you in the transportation depot when the incident began?</p>
<p><strong>Prof. Anders Bjornsen (AB):</strong> I had just been re-assigned to work on <a href="/scp-272">SCP-272</a> from <a href="/scp-200">SCP-200</a> and was waiting for the transfer team to arrive from SCP-272's previous containment site. I had only skimmed the briefing report, but apparently that site was being re-configured as a secure site for higher-threat-level SCPs.</p>
<p><strong>SA:</strong> According to the logs, that security team delivered that SCP and left over 90 minutes before the incident.</p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> <em>sighs</em></p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> Yes, but… well, I was talking with one of the security guards down there about some… personal matters and lost track of time. A good thing, too, or I would've been in my office when it collapsed.</p>
<p><strong>SA:</strong> We'll come back to that. Did you notice anything unusual before the incident?</p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> I overheard one of the other guards mention that there had been a lot of SCP deliveries that day, but other than that, no. Well, until the klaxon went off, anyways. Then all the guards started scrambling for the doors into the rest of site.</p>
<p><strong>SA:</strong> And what did you do?</p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> What any good boy scout would do: I decided to investigate the SCPs that nobody had yet bothered to pick up. Mighty careless of the researchers of those prospective projects to not collect them, but to my advantage. The first was, luckily, <a href="/scp-262">SCP-262</a>.</p>
<p><strong>SA:</strong> And then?</p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> I went looking for guns.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Debriefing: Research Assistant Harold Wachtel</strong><br/>
<em>Excerpt from interview conducted by O5-█, regarding Research Assistant Harold Wachtel’s involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1.</em></p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Hello, Mr. Wachtel. Please, take a seat.</p>
<p><strong>Wachtel:</strong> Would you mind if I didn't, sir? I've got a busted coccyx.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Oh. Well, feel free to not take a seat, then. Where were you when the incident began?</p>
<p><strong>Wachtel:</strong> Storage vault two. Was just returning <a href="/scp-494">494</a> to its locker when something exploded a few aisles over and knocked the whole shelf full of lockers down on me. That's when I busted my coccyx.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> And that's when you decided to put on 494?</p>
<p><strong>Wachtel:</strong> I was covered up to my armpits in lockers, and didn't want to be stuck there if something nastier than a bomb came by. I'm just glad I'd had tissues in my breast pocket.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><tt>Debriefing of Agent Lament by 05-4<br/>
re: breach event and staff involvement/response</tt></p>
<p><strong>O5-4</strong> – Where were you at the start of the event?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lament</strong> – Oh god…we were…we were in Gears' office…he was giving me a stack of things to check out, research materials he needed recovered…I thought he was pissed at me, but I guess he's always like that.</p>
<p><strong>O5-4</strong> – How long have you been assigned to Doctor Gears?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lament</strong> – About…four months, maybe? It's kinda hard to tell…he doesn't get out much, therefore neither do I. You know, I think I got him to chuckle once? Or he was coughing, I'm not sure, but it was right after I told a joke, so I think it's really possible tha-</p>
<p><strong>O5-4</strong> – The event?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lament</strong> – that he really might have….oh…yeah. Honestly, we didn't know what was going on for a while. It was just some muffled thuds and stuff, the dungeon is down pretty deep. Really, the first time we knew there was something actually wrong is when the back office wall gave out. God, the wall just crumpled in, all the rebar and crap shooting out, I was sure, SURE Gears was dead, I mean he just got his skull stove in wi-</p>
<p><strong>O5-4</strong> – When you refer to the “dungeon”, you are referencing the common name for Security Floor D-9, correct?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lament</strong> – With…oh, yeah. I mean, everyone calls it that, it's so…dungeon-y. Gears has a office down there because he says it's more “efficient” to be close. He had a lot of items that he was working on there that day. After we came to from the blast, I could hear…things. It was like a monkey house for a while, then just…silent. The silence was almost worse, really, even though some of those noises I KNOW were people being eaten or…worse. Gears was pretty bad off, but calm as always, even with his leg at that funny angle. I kinda helped him up, and said we had to book it for the surface, but he said no, that we'd be dead that way. He…he said there was a secondary access area from this level, in case of high-priority staff being trapped down there, s-</p>
<p><strong>O5-4</strong> – Agent Lament, are you telling me a ranking member of The Foundation gave you a order to enter in to a area that was assuredly the subject of a multiple containment breach?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lament</strong> – So we…yeah. I mean, he said that the areas we had to slide through would be minimal, and that a lot of other staff might come this way too, if they got cut off from the surface level. I…I didn't know what all he'd been working on. I mean, I probably would have helped him down there anyway, but…I might have waited, or something….god, all those people, they just…I mean, they were smeared on the walls, like putty or something, or paint, or-</p>
<p><strong>O5-4</strong> – Agent Lament…</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lament</strong> – jelly, and then there was the wire…thing. It was like a web, but it didn't even need a spider…just wrapped them up and used them…I think it was getting smarter, a LOT smarter, because it was trying to hide and s-</p>
<p><strong>O5-4</strong> – AGENT LAMENT.</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lament</strong> - …yes sir?</p>
<p><strong>O5-4</strong> – Did you or Dr. Gears attempt to contact site security for recovery? Or use secured lines for a SOS beacon?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lament</strong> – We couldn't. We tried to call security, and we just saw 106's face grinning on the screen, petting someone's scalp. The wire weed thing was fogging all the rest of the outside lines, we couldn't reach anyone! We tried, I swear! He insisted we had to get moving…you know…waiting for that blast door to open…that was as scared as I've ever been, even after the other stuff. Just waiting, watching the doors roll apart…</p>
<p><strong>O5-4</strong> - …Agent?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lament</strong> - …That's the thing. We didn't have to worry so much about the people attacking. No matter how stupid they were, I figured they'd NEVER try to come down here. Heh. It's funny…it's like escaping a flood by jumping in to a burning house.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>*AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"<br/>
002</strong>*</p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>/Relevant transcript begins at ██/██/20██ ██/██/██ as captured by Security Camera/Audio system 1179-a; Hallway. Status in video: Visibility impacted by smoke. Figures may be identified only faintly. Voice recognition reveals Dr. Zurn, running.</em>/</p>
<p>Dr. Zurn: Hello! Hello! Is anybody there!? We need a medical team! Help!</p>
<p><em>/There is no response, and he moves out of range. Security Camera/Audio system 1179-b through -f are offline due to damage. Dr. Zurn returns to range of 1179-a. Dr. Zurn is coughing loudly, and moves out of range again, quickly. Approximately thirty seconds afterwards, a larger silhouette moves through the smoke, following Dr. Zurn. Study of video logs later indicate this is SCP-542, as identified by distinctive movement patterns.</em>/</p>
<p><em>/Relevant transcript of Security Camera/Audio system 1179-a ends at ██/██/██.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<h4 id="toc1"><span>0813 to 0823: Initial Response.</span></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>The placement of the explosive devices was determined to have damaged the site public address system and major communications leads. In addition to the resulting severe communications breakdown, this prevented detonation of the on-site nuclear device as a final fail-safe.</p>
<p>The situation was exacerbated by the unusually large number of artifacts in temporary containment at Site-17. Although normally serving as a minimum to moderate security facility for human and humanoid artifacts, an infestation of █████ ████ at Site-19 resulted in the temporary transfer of numerous non-humanoid artifacts of Safe/Euclid classification to Site 17 while decontamination took place.</p>
<p>The combination of these factors (disruption of command structure, loss of communications, physical damage from explosive devices, unusually large number of artifacts in containment) resulted in multiple containment breaches combined with the loss of the final nuclear fail-safe. The situation was further exacerbated at 0823 hours, when a number of unknown personnel from an unknown agency attacked the facility itself.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>Surveillance Log 17-CR9b-█-██-████, 0819</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong><A. Adams>:</strong> "… oh fuck. MEDIC! MEDIC!"</p>
<p><em>Groaning sounds are heard, as well as cries for help.</em></p>
<p><strong><A. Adams>:</strong> "Shit shit shit shit… sir, are you all right?"</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef>:</strong> "Do I look all right? How is Dmitri?"</p>
<p><strong><A. Adams>:</strong> "Alive, barely."</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef>:</strong> "God bless that Russian. Saved our lives. Situation report?"</p>
<p><strong><A. Adams>:</strong> "Half the senior staff is dead, the other half blown to hell, and I can't fucking get ahold of anyone else. Internal comms are down, I don't know why…"</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef>:</strong> "Shit. Do you have your sidearm?"</p>
<p><strong><A. Adams>:</strong> "Right here, sir."</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef>:</strong> "Good. Reach into my left jacket pocket. You'll find an ID card there. L4 Clearance. Read the name."</p>
<p><strong><A. Adams>:</strong> "… A████ Adams. Emergency Clearance, Vice Alto Clef."</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef>:</strong> "Had Dmitri whip it up for me in case of an emergency. It'll give you access to everything I can access. You're in charge now. Deal with the situation."</p>
<p><strong><A. Adams>:</strong> "… I can't."</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef>:</strong> "Adams. My legs are blown to fuck. In about sixty seconds, I'm going to pass out from the pain. If internal comms are down, this isn't a one-time deal. This is a coordinated attack. You're going to have to do it. Prove to everyone you're more than just an oversized pair of tits."</p>
<p><strong><A. Adams>:</strong> "…"</p>
<p><strong><A. Clef>:</strong> "Now git."</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Interview: Dr. Tarn Honey/Dr. █████</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Portion of interview between O5-█ and Dr. Tarn Honey</em>, ██/██/████</p>
<p><Interview Begins></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> I entered the hallway and…and there were just so many bodies.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> They were security?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> I suppose they must have been. I didn't know who they were or what had killed them at the time. Of course I now know it was <a href="/scp-870">SCP-870.</a> They couldn't have even heard it.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> A tragic waste of life. Please continue.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> 737 was there, of course. You know, from the reports you'd imagine it just hits a wall and eats its way through it, but it's more like a maggot. A big, train-shaped, wooden maggot. I should rewrite that report.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> Perhaps not right now, doctor. You managed to capture 737?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> It was…it was eating the bodies. At this point it was about seven carriages long. There was no way I could pick that thing up.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> This is when you hit the alarm?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> Yes, I -</p>
<p>(At this point, <strong>Dr. Honey</strong> entered a coughing fit that lasted forty-three seconds, due to the condition at time of interview.)</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> Sorry about (coughs) that. Must be that bug going around!</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> That's alright. Did security arrive?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> No. I knew at this point something serious was going on. I decided to stay back in 737's containment area. (Laughs) It's not like anyone was using it!</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>*AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"<br/>
003</strong>*</p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>/Relevant transcript begins at ██/██/20██ ██/██/██ as captured by Security Camera/Audio system 1134-b; interior of office belonging to Dr. Rights. Status in video: Two walls have been partially removed by nearby explosion. Dr. Rights is still unconscious, and SCP-347 has remained in the room.</em>/</p>
<p><em>/At ██/██ Dr. Zurn returns, and after a short coughing fit checks on Dr. Rights again, unaware of SCP-347 in the room.</em>/</p>
<p>Dr. Zurn: [Expletives deleted]</p>
<p><em>/Dr. Zurn leaves the room again.</em>/</p>
<p>SCP-347: …no wonder you pounced on him. He's a sweetie.</p>
<p><em>/After ██ minutes, SCP-542 enters the room, without sound, and approaches Dr. Rights. After a cursory observation, he turns from her, and begins to leave the room. SCP-542 then pauses in the doorway.</em>/</p>
<p>SCP-542: They call you Claudia, no?</p>
<p>SCP-347: Jesus Christ!</p>
<p>SCP-542: Don't worry. Were it not for your heartbeat, even I may have not noticed you. Don't touch my dear Doctor, danke. I will return shortly.</p>
<p><em>/SCP-542 exits the room, and SCP-347 can be observed frantically pacing the room, by tracking of anklet</em>/</p>
<p><em>/Relevant transcript of Security Camera/Audio system 1134-b ends at ██/██/██.</em>/</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Audio Log From Maintenance Tunnel 3A</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "Okay, see, that wasn't so bad, was it? We got through, and we're both still alive. Yeah, I know. The cannibal's a scary fucker, but the fuckers shooting at us were a bit scarier. Besides, Fernand ain't stupid. Someone shootin' at him is a much bigger deal than a couple of guys what are just running through."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "He just… broke them."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "That was the idea, kid. Now, we're gettin' close to the armory. We're gonna get in there, grab some hardware, and then try and meet up with other agents. Hopefully someone out there's still alive an' giving orders. Failing that, we keep the intruders busy."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "How do we do that?"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "We kill them. We steer them into dangerous skips. We improvise. You ever see Home Alone?"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "Yeah."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "Well, it's gonna be like that, but more people are gonna die. Hopefully not us."</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>*AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"<br/>
004</strong>*</p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>/Additional transcript portions from Security Camera/Audio systems 1122-c through -f, 1141-b, and 1136-a through -m indicate the movements of both SCP-542 and Dr. Zurn. SCP-542 is observed in the process of attacking Research Security Agent J. Willhein. Agent Willhein is disabled in the process, and paralyzed. SCP-542 carries him out of camera range.</em>/</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Audio/Visual transcript of <a href="/scp-138">SCP-138</a> containment chamber</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0700</strong> Subject remains in induced coma. Life signs steady.</p>
<p><strong>0800</strong> Subject remains in induced coma. Life signs steady.</p>
<p><strong>0811</strong> Static corresponding with loss of containment systems throughout Site 17</p>
<p><strong>942</strong> Camera feed restored. Subject remains in induced coma. Life signs steady.</p>
<p><strong>955</strong> Gunfire heard outside containment chamber</p>
<p><strong>959</strong> Containment chamber opened from outside. Two figures enter the room, one of which is sloppily dressed in security helmet and flak jacket. Other figure wears no clothing. Figures identified as instances of <a href="/scp-945">SCP-945.</a></p>
<p><strong>1000 to 1031</strong> Figures stand perfectly still and observe subject. Subject remains in coma. Life signs steady.</p>
<p><strong>1032 to 1033</strong> Unknown personnel affiliated with attackers enters chamber, opens fire on figures with side arm. Bullets strike upper arms of figure dressed in security armor. Figure returns fire with standard security firearm. Unknown personnel slain. Figures return to observation of subject. Subject remains in induced coma. Life signs steady.</p>
<p><strong>1045 to 1052</strong> Third figure enters room, removes uniform and weapons worn by unknown personnel and dons them. Joins other figures in observation of subject. Subject remains in induced coma. Life signs steady.</p>
<p><strong>1100 to 1114</strong> Figures cease observation and begin disconnecting subject from coma support equipment. Fourth figure enters room wearing white lab coat and administers unknown substances to subject. Subject begins to recover from induced coma. Life signs steady.</p>
<p><strong>1124</strong> Subject fully recovered from induced coma. Four figures remain motionless in observation. Subject begins screaming in pain. Life signs steady.</p>
<p><strong>1200</strong> Figures continue to observe subject. Subject continues screaming in pain. Life signs steady.</p>
<p><strong>1300</strong> Figures continue to observe subject. Subject continues screaming in pain. Life signs steady.</p>
<p><strong>1400</strong> Figures continue to observe subject. Subject continues screaming in pain. Life signs steady.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Excerpt from Video Log, Observation Camera 6649881:</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0804:</strong> <a href="/scp-027">Subject 027-02</a> is served breakfast as scheduled. Life signs of the subject are within normal parameters.</p>
<p><strong>0811:</strong> A series of explosions is heard elsewhere in the facility. Seconds later, Security Breach Alarms are heard. Containment for SCP-027 appears unaffected. Subject appears concerned; life signs show increased anxiety.</p>
<p><strong>0814:</strong> Alarms continue. Sounds of large numbers of personnel moving quickly can be heard intermittently. Subject starts looking around in agitation.</p>
<p><strong>0819:</strong> Under-floor vacuum system stops operation. Subject appears distressed.</p>
<p><strong>0822:</strong> Flying insect population noticeably visible. Subject starts pounding on the door leading outside containment, screaming "Let me out of here!"</p>
<p><strong>0827:</strong> Camera shakes briefly due to another explosion, louder than previously. Subject is shaken slightly, retreats underneath the cot in the cell.</p>
<p><strong>0829:</strong> A third explosion is heard, much louder than previously. Entire containment cell is shaken for a full second. Subject remains underneath the cot. Life signs continue to appear normal for high-stress circumstances.</p>
<p><strong>0833:</strong> Dust has settled. Horseflies seen flying in containment. Subject remains underneath the cot.</p>
<p><strong>0841:</strong> Subject slowly emerges from underneath the cot, approaches door to containment cell. Subject attempts to force the door open, fails.</p>
<p><strong>0842:</strong> Subject appears to appraise containment cell. Black ants seen swarming around feet of subject.</p>
<p><strong>0846:</strong> Subject approaches floor grating at northwest wall, appears to inspect junction.</p>
<p><strong>0847:</strong> Subject attempts to force up floor grating at northwest wall. Floor grating loosens.</p>
<p><strong>0851:</strong> Subject opens gap in the floor grating large enough to squeeze through, disappears down vacuum outlet.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Recovered footage from cell-phone discovered on the body of unknown assailant</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p>Figure identified as Prof. A. Bjornsen enters corridor from transportation depot, wearing SCP-262. The bodies of several guards lay on the ground approximately 10 feet away from the door. Unidentified assailant runs from behind the holder of the cell phone towards Prof. Bjornsen, screaming and brandishing a large knife in each hand. Two (2) cellulose tentacles emerge from SCP-262 and grab weaponry from the bodies of the guards. The tentacles rapidly retreat towards Prof. Bjornsen and two human arms emerge to take the firearms. These arms immediately proceed to fire the weapons indiscrimately. Analysis of the recovered footage reveals that shots fired struck the ceiling, floor, both walls, the oncoming assailant and at least one round grazed Prof. Bjornsen's left cheek. The holder of the cell-phone is apparently wounded by the weaponsfire and drops the cell-phone. Remaining footage is taken approximately twelve (12) centimeters from the base of a wall before ending.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>*AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"<br/>
005</strong>*</p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>/At ██/██/██ Camera System feed 1134-b Dr. Rights' office show SCP-542 entering, moving to beneath camera range, and ends abruptly. Believed to be the work of SCP-542 disabling the camera. Audio systems remain intact.</em>/</p>
<p>Agent Willhein: Oh God oh god oh god help please god help don't do this please</p>
<p><em>/Several minutes of frantic speech occur. SCP-347 can be heard in the background, voice indistinct. Agent Willhein begins screaming, for ██ minutes, after which there is no speech. SCP-542 can be heard humming to himself, and SCP-347 is believed to be the source of crying heard in background.</em>/</p>
<p><em>/FURTHER LOGS FROM AUDIO SYSTEM 1134-b EXCLUDED DUE TO LACK OF RELEVANCY</em>/</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Camera Feed 17-4a, PA System Control Room, ██/██/████</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0800</strong> Room is empty and silent. Feed is stationary.</p>
<p><strong>0811</strong> Explosions are heard. A large piece of concrete falls on the desk, severely damaging the PA system. Camera is jolted, but undamaged.</p>
<p><strong>0812</strong> Screams and sirens are audible.</p>
<p><strong>0823</strong> Gunfire is audible.</p>
<p><strong>0843</strong> Two unidentified persons in full body armor enter the room. They carry machine guns of unknown caliber and manufacture. They converse, although the details of their conversation are inaudible.</p>
<p><strong>0846</strong> Both persons exit room.</p>
<p><strong>0900</strong> Room is empty. Gunfire, screams, and sirens are audible. Feed is stationary.</p>
<p><strong>0904</strong> One unidentified person in full body armor enters the room armed with a gun similar to those of the persons visible at <strong>0843</strong>. The individual is accompanied by a male in a humanoid SCP uniform, later identified as <a href="/scp-890">SCP-890</a>, who appears to be carrying a suitcase.</p>
<p><strong>0905</strong> <em>SCP-890:</em> "Alright, where is the patient?"</p>
<p><strong>0905</strong> The unidentified individual motions towards the PA system. SCP-890 turns to face the individual.</p>
<p><strong>0905</strong> <em>SCP-890:</em> "Those wounds are nonlethal. I saw many more severe cases in need of assistance on the way here. Are you sure this is the one you want healed?</p>
<p><strong>0906</strong> The unidentified individual nods.</p>
<p><strong>0906</strong> <em>Unidentified Individual:</em> [inaudible]</p>
<p><strong>0906</strong> <em>SCP-890:</em> "That's certainly an odd request, but I think I see what you're going for. These are hardly ideal conditions, though. The patient will have their voice back, but I can't guarantee that they will live very long afterwards.</p>
<p><strong>0907</strong> SCP-890 opens the suitcase, revealing a full compliment of surgical tools. The PA system appears to transform into a mass of flesh.</p>
<p><strong>0908</strong> SCP-890 begins operating on the mass of flesh. The unidentified individual stands facing the door.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Camera Feed 17-12b, Security Station Alpha Delta</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0800</strong> Security team is absent from station. (note: This has been determined to be the result of a scheduling conflict)</p>
<p><strong>0811</strong> Explosion seen at far end of hallway. Camera feed lost.</p>
<p><strong>0845</strong> Camera function restored. Dr. Johannes Sorts and an animate clay statue (a SCP-945 replica) wearing a burnt technician's jacket are standing on rubble and peering into the lens. Five other SCP-945 replicas are wearing assorted remains of security uniforms and carrying weapons, manning the security station.</p>
<p><em>Dr. Sorts:</em> (addressing the technician replica) "What else is not working here, Joesph?"</p>
<p><em>"Joseph"</em> (believed to be replica of Joseph Pullman, KIA at 0811): "This camera is working, but the door locks on this level are all still out, and the Public Address system is not responding. The alarms are off but I think I can…"</p>
<p><strong>0847</strong> Alarms restored, sirens sound throughout area.</p>
<p><em>Dr. Sorts:</em> "Yes thank you Joseph that is very helpf-" (screaming, then static camera cuts out for approximately three minutes)</p>
<p><strong>0850</strong> Security replicas are engaged in gunfight with unknown forces at end of hall. "Joseph" replica and Dr. Sorts are crouched within the security station.</p>
<p><em>Dr. Sorts:</em> "Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Dammit! Just try not to kill - [inaudible] that's one of our [inaudible]"</p>
<p>Two members of unknown forces in full body armor hold position at far end of hall. Unidentified individual wearing a standard humanoid SCP uniform is moved down the hall and out of view by a third member of unknown forces.</p>
<p><strong>0900</strong> Unknown forces and security replicas remain in cover for ten minutes, little gunfire is exchanged. Dr. Sorts is attempting to give instructions to replicas.</p>
<p><em>Dr. Sorts:</em> [inaudible] "— to kill… because … because we need prisoners is why! And also…" [inaudible]</p>
<p><strong>0910</strong> Member of unknown forces throws grenade into security station. Security replica retrieves grenade and runs down the hall to the position held by unknown forces. Replica takes several dozen rounds to the arms and legs and crumbles to inanimate pieces approximately two meters from the end of the hallway. Grenade rolls back into the position held by unknown forces. There is an explosion, both hostile agents appear to be killed.</p>
<p><strong>0911</strong> Dr. Sorts exits security station and approaches unknown forces.</p>
<p><strong>0913</strong> An instance of SCP-945 steps out of the wall behind Dr. Sorts as he examines the hostile agents. Dr. Sorts notes its arrival and tries to communicate.</p>
<p><strong>0914</strong> New instance of SCP-945 retrieves weapon from fallen hostile agent and aims it at Dr. Sorts.</p>
<p><em>Dr. Sorts</em> "It's a replica of the enemy! Shoot it! Shoot it!"</p>
<p><strong>0915</strong> Camera feed lost</p>
<p><strong>0920</strong> Camera feed restored. "Joseph" replica adjusts the lens. Security replicas are exchanging fire with two replicas that have taken the position previously held by hostile agents. The two groups appear to be purposefully missing each other, one replica goes through the motions of aiming and firing without discharging any ammunition. Dr. Sorts is not on camera. No alarms are being sounded.</p>
<p><strong>0921</strong> "Joseph" replica is pulling what appears to be a long cord of veins and muscle tissue from from the wall.</p>
<p><em>"Joseph"</em> "Now to check the PA system… my god, what is this? We have a containment breach!"</p>
<p><strong>0922</strong> Replica of security agent sounds the alarm again. Sirens are heard along with sporadic gunfire.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>*AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"<br/>
006</strong>*</p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>/Relevant transcript begins at ██/██/20██ ██/██/██ as captured by Security Camera/Audio system 211-j; Hallway. Status in video: Largely rubble. SCP-457 is observed to be devouring a human corpse through immolation, victim unidentified. After ██ minutes, SCP-457 travels down the hallway. Fragments of audio logs reveal words.</em>/</p>
<p>SCP-457: Hungry…hungry…burn…large burn…like sun…so hungry…want food…want fuel…hungry…</p>
<p><em>/Relevant transcript of Security Camera/Audio system 211-j ends at ██/██/██.</em>/</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>*AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"<br/>
007</strong>*</p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>/Relevant transcript begins at ██/██/20██ ██/██/██ as captured by Security Camera/Audio system 924-f; Hallway. Status in video: Intact. Dr. Zurn emerges from door, slamming it shut behind him. Faint shouting can be heard.</em>/</p>
<p>Dr. Zurn: Sorry! I'm sorry!</p>
<p><em>/Dr. Zurn continues down hallway, out of range.</em>/</p>
<p><em>/Relevant transcript of Security Camera/Audio system 924-f ends at ██/██/██.</em>/</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Audio-Visual Transcript, Site 17 D-Class Cafeteria, ██/██/██</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Unidentified D-class:</strong> Listen up, you lousy shits! I don’t have any idea who these fuckers are or what they’re after or whatever the fuck is going on, but you know what? I don’t fucking care. Because something tells me you won’t get three meals, a roof and a chance at parole if they’re the ones in charge. Did you see what they did to Jacob? Not to me, fuck no! You can escape if you want, but I for one….</p>
<p>[Individual is beaten down by another D-Class. Riot breaks out.]</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Interview: Research Assistant Corbette/Site Director ███████:</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Portion of Interview Between Research Assistant Corbette and Site Director ███████</em></p>
<p><strong><Begin Interview Log></strong></p>
<p><strong>Site Director ███████:</strong> Corbette! I don't care about how stale your muffin was, get to the point of the explosion.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Ok, ok, sorry. So, I'm eating my muffin, right? And suddenly I hear this big boom and there's alarms blaring everywhere and I don't know what the fuck to do, I'm just looking after all the Misters, right? And then I get an emergency memo from the boss, and he says to me, "Evacuate all the Misters." And I mean there's only four of them here right now, so it isn't that hard. So I put down my muffin, and I'm like, "Holy shit guys, we gotta get outta here!"</p>
<p><strong>Site Director ███████:</strong> So you were instructed by Dr. Hayward to evacuate his projects?</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Yeah, so I handcuff Forgetful to myself because, y'know, every 20 seconds he has no idea what the shit is going on. And then I handcuff Chameleon to Hungry, and Moon just kinda hobbles along with us on his cane.</p>
<p><strong>Site Director ███████:</strong> And it was a waning moon, so he was missing the majority of his face, yes?</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Yeah, he could only see through one eye. Everything else was covered.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Transcript of Video Log from Hallway 21, outside designated "Misters" corridor</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong><Begin Video Log></strong></p>
<p>(Research Assistant Corbette enters the hallway handcuffed to <a href="/scp-909">SCP-909</a>. Following is <a href="/scp-913">SCP-913</a> and <a href="/scp-905">SCP-905</a> handcuffed together. Behind is <a href="/scp-917">SCP-917</a>, struggling to keep pace with Research Assistant Corbette. Research Assistant Corbette turns around.)</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Moon, catch the up! This is an evacuation, you lard-ass!</p>
<p><strong>SCP-917:</strong> (Muffled speaking)</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> What?</p>
<p><strong>SCP-917:</strong> (Muffled speaking)</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Ok, does somebody have the braille book. I have no idea what this guy's saying.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-913:</strong> He says he can hear gunfire down the evacuation route with his one good ear.</p>
<p><strong>Research Assistant Corbette:</strong> Aw, fuck. Ok, guys, we're gonna have to find another way out of here. Um… anybody have a map?</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<h4 id="toc2"><span>0823 to 0915: Breakdown</span></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>It is at this point that the situation escalated to a full-out Tempest Night scenario, as multiple containment breaches occured throughout the facility, causing near-complete loss of containment. Ironically, a significant portion of the containment breaches were caused by Foundation personnel themselves, in an attempt to stop the incursion by the unknown hostile force. Secondary containment breaches followed, resulting in the Foundation-Wide Alert Status being upgraded to Red.</p>
<p>The result was complete loss of situational control. Without a central coordinating authority, individual Foundation personnel were working at cross-purposes, interfering with and even counteracting each others' actions. In at least one case, a Foundation scientist's heroic sacrifice in maintaining containment of a Euclid-Class artifact was immediately rendered null and void when another Foundation researcher immediately breached containment of said artifact with the intent to use it as a weapon against the insurgent forces.</p>
<p>The situation would continue until the re-establishment of intra-site communications by Secretary Adams. By that point, however, the situation had proceeded past the point of no return. Many of the SCP artifacts had broken through the site lockdown and escaped into the wild. Mission priority then changed from securing the breached artifacts to surviving the crisis.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Transcript of Video Log from Storage Vault 2</strong></p>
<p><strong>0810</strong> Research Assistant Harold Wachtel enters the storage vault with SCP-494, and approaches its containment locker</p>
<p><strong>0811:</strong> Locker 3425-A8 explodes on the far end of the room, knocking over several shelves and dumping their contents to the floor. Research Assistant Harold Wachtel becomes partially buried under many containment lockers. For the next 45 seconds, only his head moves.</p>
<p><strong>0812:</strong> Research Assistant Harold Wachtel nods to himself, then dons 494. He reaches into his breast pocket and begins pulling out a paper tissue, then tears off a small piece of it. He lifts the far end of one of the lockers on his chest with a grimace.</p>
<p><strong>0817:</strong> Containment locker becomes made out of paper tissue. Scrap of paper tissue becomes a small shard of steel. Research Assistant Harold Wachtel tears off a small piece of the containment locker, then lifts up the end of another locker.</p>
<p>[REDACTED FOR LACK OF RELEVANCY]</p>
<p><strong>0848:</strong> Containment locker becomes made out of paper tissue. Scrap of paper tissue becomes a shard of rubber-lined steel. <a href="/scp-447">SCP-447-2</a> begins oozing out of containment locker. Research Assistant Harold Wachtel says something, later confirmed to be "[EXPLETIVE REDACTED]".</p>
<p><strong>0849:</strong> Research Assistant Harold Wachtel begins rubbing SCP-447-2 on himself.</p>
<p><strong>0851:</strong> Using SCP-447-2 as a lubricant, Research Assistant Harold Wachtel slips out from under the remaining lockers. He then proceeds to remove SCP-494, shove them in his right sock, and begin wrapping SCP-447-1 in paper tissue from the lockers.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Debriefing: Research Assistant Harold Wachtel</strong><br/>
<em>Excerpt from interview conducted by O5-█, regarding Research Assistant Harold Wachtel’s involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1.</em></p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Why did you bring 447 with you?</p>
<p><strong>Wachtel:</strong> I'd missed my check-in by then, and since no-one had come looking for me, I was assuming the worst. I didn't want any hostiles getting their hands on it and exposing it to a dead body.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Is that also why you took off your lab coat and trousers, and threw them in the incinerator?</p>
<p><strong>Wachtel:</strong> Yes, sir.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Audio Log from Hallway 43, outside the armory</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "Okay, grab some guns, and let's beat feet. I'll cover you."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "Um, sir?"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "That is not a happy sounding um. Why are you making an unhappy um?"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "It's… gone, sir."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "The fuck do you mean, gone? The guns are missing?"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "No sir. The armory. The room is missing."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "Let me see. Jesus. You're right. This hallway's also too short. I fucking hate Eschers. Come on. We'll have to improvise."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "With what? Sir, we have no weapons."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "Sure we do. What do you think we been collecting all these years?"</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Excerpt from Video Log of Security Camera 00294727:</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0830:</strong> Camera feed shows entrance to containment chamber of <a href="/scp-632">SCP-632</a>. Sirens are heard in background.</p>
<p><strong>0836:</strong> Sirens get louder. A muted explosion is heard off-screen to the right, sounding like "popping a wet balloon". Blood splatters onto camera, presumably from unknown source of explosion.</p>
<p><strong>0837:</strong> A plump young female exits containment chamber of SCP-632, identified by name tag to be Researcher Min. She turns head in direction of explosion, appears stunned for a few seconds before withdrawing back into the containment chamber.</p>
<p><strong>0838:</strong> Researcher Min exits containment chamber donning protective lab goggles, hurriedly running to the left of the screen. In her hand is an ice box, presumed to be the Biological Storage Unit of SCP-632.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Transcription of Audio Log between 0900-0930, Security Camera 0030345</p>
<p>Prolonged screaming is heard in the background, believed to be caused by SCP-███ outbreak.</p>
<p><Researcher Min> (heavy panting) Who's there?</p>
<p><Agent Frederick> You! Good! Quick, we need to hurry! They're going to flood the wing with bakelite in an hour.</p>
<p><RM> What's happening? Who are you? Are we under attack? Can you help? Are you an Agent? Why is the wall screaming? Who are you? How do I-</p>
<p><AF> I have no idea. Explosion registered in this wing around 0830 hours, not sure who did it. Either way, we're under a full scale attack, command is shattered, and most of the skips are out of their pens. And unless you want to be 6 feet deep in bright yellow plastic, you'll have to come with me.</p>
<p><RM> Where? It's just that I'm-</p>
<p><AF> Deeper. Underground. Main atrium to the wing's crawling with those motherfuckers, we'll need to head to the basement. Hopefully we'll find others there, and wait for the whole thing to blow over. Understand?</p>
<p><RM> …y-yes, sir.</p>
<p><AF> And that box, what's in it? If it's a skip, open it. At least we'll have some more firepower than this empty gun.</p>
<p><RM> Can't exactly do that, sir. If the temperature in here so much as rises a couple degrees we'd be crawling with those spiders by now.</p>
<p><AF> …damn. I've always wanted myself one of those magic rings.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Excerpt from Security Camera-G-0007298</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Camera feed shows minor stress fractures on south-east wall, overhead plaster sheeting has collapsed. Agent [REDACTED] regains consciousness.</em></p>
<p><strong>Agent [REDACTED]:</strong> [Coughs several times] Sir, wake up, sir.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Dier:</strong> I'm here, [REDACTED].</p>
<p><strong>Agent [REDACTED]:</strong> Sir, there's been some sort of attack, we have to get to a security station.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Dier:</strong> Wait, I must check on containment.</p>
<p><strong>Agent [REDACTED]:</strong> [Gestures to the left side of Dr. Dier's face] Sir, you're injured. We should go.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Dier:</strong> This will only take a minute, watch the door.</p>
<p><em>Security cameras 0017699, 6649881, 0027998 register Dr. Dier's access codes during ██.██.████ - ██.██.████.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Interview: Dr. Tarn Honey/Dr. █████</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Portion of interview between Dr. █████ and Dr. Tarn Honey</em>, ██/██/████</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> I'm sorry? You couldn't get back to the containment area?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> Yes. There were two men there, with guns. I couldn't see their faces, before you ask.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> Did you at least try -</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> No, I didn't!</p>
<p>(At this point <strong>Dr. Honey</strong> slammed his hand on the table.)</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> Oh. Oh god, my hands…</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> Dr. Honey, please answer me.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> Of course. Sorry, I must have…must have drifted off there.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> Understandable. Could you hear the men?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> I…no, I couldn't hear them properly. They left after a few minutes. At this point, I knew that the area wasn't safe, so I went to the cafeteria. I hoped to find some people.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> And did you?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> Not alive.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Cafeteria Surveillance Log ██/██/████</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em><strong>Doctor T. Honey</strong> enters the room. Remains of several researchers and security personnel are present within. <strong>T. Honey</strong> reacts with shock, then pulls a gun out of a corpses holster.</em></p>
<p><<strong>T. Honey</strong>> Shit, shit, shit…sorry, I'm sorry…</p>
<p><em><strong>T. Honey</strong> takes a seat on the other side of the room, holding his head in his hands. Sounds of somebody approaching are heard. <strong>T. Honey</strong> takes the gun and holds it to his head.</em></p>
<p><em><strong>A. Adams</strong> enters the room.</em></p>
<p><<strong>T. Honey</strong>> S-Stay the fuck back! I'll do it, I swear!</p>
<p><<strong>A. Adams</strong>> Doctor, put down the gun.</p>
<p><em><strong>A. Adams</strong> steps forward.</em></p>
<p><<strong>T. Honey</strong>> I said <em>back!</em> You won't get me, not me!</p>
<p><<strong>A. Adams</strong>> Doctor, I'm not with the attackers. Give me the gun.</p>
<p><<strong>T. Honey</strong>> Why exactly should I believe anything you say? Give you my gun, are you crazy? Where's your identification?! I want to see your identification!</p>
<p><em><strong>A. Adams</strong> slides her identification card along the table. <strong>T. Honey</strong> picks it up and examines it.</em></p>
<p><<strong>T. Honey</strong>> Oh. L-Level 4? Sorry, ma'am, I didn't realize. You can have the gun, I suppose.</p>
<p><em><strong>T. Honey</strong> slides <strong>A. Adams</strong>' identification and his gun back along the table.</em></p>
<p><<strong>A. Adams</strong>> Right. Now, where is Command and Control?</p>
<p><<strong>T. Honey</strong>> Ha. You're new to Level 4, then?</p>
<p><<strong>A. Adams</strong>> You could say that. I'm not taking your gun, though. You'll need it.</p>
<p><<strong>T. Honey</strong>> Through Decontamination Wing 6, turn left when you reach Protective Materials and keep on going till you hit the doors. Can't miss it.</p>
<p><em><strong>A. Adams</strong> turns to leave.</em></p>
<p><<strong>T. Honey</strong>> Still though, ma'am, hundreds of unholy abominations are loose in the building. You may want to keep your gun close, and I don't mean for defense.</p>
<p><em><strong>A. Adams</strong> leaves the room.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Excerpt from debriefing of Prof. Anders Bjornsen</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>SA:</strong> What were you doing when you encountered Ms. Adams?</p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> I was outside Decon 6, wrestling with one of the arms, trying to pry loose the last of the guns. I'm pretty sure it was already out of ammo, but I didn't want one of the others to pick up a clip somewhere and reload it.</p>
<p><strong>SA:</strong> Decontamination Wing 6 is quite a distance from the transport depot or your designated containment breach evacuation point. Why were you there?</p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> The explosions had filled a lot of the hallways with rubble and I was trying to get to the containment chamber of SCP-200. It was the only place I could think of that was reasonably secure, assuming that it hadn't been collapsed. Decon 6 was on the quickest path to get there.</p>
<p><strong>SA:</strong> How did you recognize Ms. Adams?</p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> I'd seen her in the cafeteria a couple of times before, once with Director Clef, so I figured she belonged. She was headed straight for the doors into Decon, but I stopped her before she went in.</p>
<p><strong>SA:</strong> Why was that?</p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> I'd already peeked in there and it was fucking chaos. All safe or euclid class SCPs have to go through it, even if they're well-documented, but it's only supposed to be temporary containment and the explosions must've cracked some of the walls. At least half the chamber doors were open and I saw about 8 or 10 people in what looked like riot gear, piling a ton of shit into some metal boxes. Paperwork, at least one laptop, and I think I saw a birdcage with something moving in it. Their gear didn't have any of the guards' markings on them, so I figured that they weren't part of the Foundation.</p>
<p><strong>SA:</strong> What did Ms. Adams do when you told her this?</p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> What do you think she did? She cursed and asked if there was any other way around it.</p>
<p><strong>SA:</strong> Was there?</p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> She obviously found one, or we wouldn't be here. I told her to follow me and we took the long way around until we got to the security station outside the Safe Humanoids wing. It took us about 20 minutes, since we had to backtrack a couple of times when we hit blocked hallways or more groups of those riot-gear guys. One time they were carrying something in a body bag that was struggling pretty fiercely.</p>
<p><strong>SA:</strong> Did you encounter any SCPs on your way?</p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> Not that I know of. I smelled something burning a couple of times and I was told later that there was a loose SCP made of fire. And when we finally got to the security station outside the Safe Humanoids wing, we found that all the guards had been decapitated and burned. I was almost at SCP-200's chamber, so I figured that I was almost as safe as I was going to get, and pointed her down to Protective Materials. Assuming that she didn't encounter anything else, she should've been there in about 10 minutes.</p>
<p><strong>SA:</strong> After Ms. Adams left you, what did you do?</p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> I went into the Humanoids wing. Unfortunately, it'd been pretty trashed too, although I don't know if it was from the explosions, from the invading force, or one of the escaped SCPs. I do know that when I got to SCP-200's chamber, the door was wide open and the damn cocoon was ripped to shreds. And I couldn't even hole up there because the damn handle was ripped off and the door wouldn't close.</p>
<p><strong>SA:</strong> Security camera footage shows that you didn't stay in the Humanoids Wing very long. If you were looking for a safe place to hole up, why did you leave?</p>
<p><strong>AB:</strong> Well, like I said, the place was pretty trashed, so it wasn't really any safer than the rest of the Site. Also… I kinda felt responsible for SCP-200, even though I wasn't on that project any more. I'd spent over a year studying it and if it had finally emerged, I sorta wanted to see what it was. If it was moderately harmless, I could hopefully herd it back into containment and if it wasn't… well, I figured I could at least get some observations for the next guy to review.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Audio Log from Hallway 34</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "Hold up. We got hostiles ahead."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "Can we get around them?"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "Maybe. But they've got weapons. We want weapons."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "That's… I don't think—"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "That's okay. I can think for us both. Now, see that door over there? That's quarantine for new skips, and I got an idea. I'm gonna distract them. Go in there, open the third door to the left, and then go flat on the ground."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "Do what?"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "Okay, go!"</p>
<p><em>Video shows Agent Lombardi appearing in the hall near the insurgents. He appeared to yell something, then dived back behind cover. Agent Vance approached, using a vending machine for concealment, until running the remaining distance to the door. Several shots were fired, but neither Agent was injured. The insurgents ran through the door after Agent Vance. Approximately thirty seconds later, several pieces of the insurgents flew out of the room, striking the opposite wall. Anomaly VN-1520 (SCP number pending) exited through the door before killing several other insurgents. It then deactivated, falling to the floor. Agent Lombardi picked it up as Agent Vance emerged back into the hallway, visibly shaken.</em></p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "Good work, kid."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "Oh Jesus."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "Go grab a towel from the washroom. You've got some insurgent on you."</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "Oh Jesus!"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "Goddammit! At least use the trashcan. All right, now… FUCK!"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Vance:</strong> "What's… what's wrong?"</p>
<p><strong>Agent Lombardi:</strong> "It broke the fucking guns."</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Archived email message</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Sent: ██-██-████ 08:33 GMT<br/>
From: skatz@█████████████.org<br/>
To: facilitiesmanager@█████████████.org<br/>
Re: Men's room</em></p>
<p>Jerry— I had to stop by the Site-17 business office to pick up some documents and I couldn't help noticing that the water in the urinals of the mens room next to Conference Room G is boiling. Also, there is a weird smell in the parking lot, like rotten eggs. Might want to have a crew check it out.<br/>
Best, Sheldon</p>
<p><strong>SHELDON M. KATZ, ESQ. LEGAL DEPARTMENT skatz@█████████████.org<br/>
office: ███.███.████ fax: ███.███.████ cell: ███.███.████</strong></p>
<p><span style="font-size:75%;">Confidentiality Statement: This electronic message contains information from the SCP FOUNDATION LEGAL DEPARTMENT, and may be confidential or privileged. The information is intended to be for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, be aware that any disclosure, copying, distribution or use of the contents of this message is prohibited. If you have received this electronic message in error, please notify the sender immediately by reply e-mail or telephone ███.███.████, whereupon the SCP FOUNDATION LEGAL DEPARTMENT shall use appropriate means, including but not limited to the administration of amnestics, to cure any unauthorized disclosure of confidential or privileged information.<br/>
IRS Circular 230 Notice: We are required to advise you no person or entity may use any tax advice in this communication or any attachment to (i) avoid any penalty under federal tax law or (ii) promote, market or recommend any purchase, investment or other action.</span></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Excerpt from Security Camera-G-0007298</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Agent [REDACTED] has been exchanging fire with a single assailant on the end of the hallway adjacent to Dr. Dier's office for █ minutes. She has suffered several shrapnel injuries to her lower abdomen.</em></p>
<p><strong>Agent [REDACTED]:</strong> Goddamn! [Clutches her waist]</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Dier:</strong> It appears SCP-027 is heading in this direction. Bullets may not be the only thing we will need to worry about.</p>
<p><em>Cockroaches observed emerging from office tiling and ceiling.</em></p>
<p><strong>Agent [REDACTED]:</strong> What the hell are we supposed to do? We're pinned down!</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Dier:</strong> [Retrieves his sidearm, before crouching down on the floor to retrieve something]</p>
<p><strong>Agent [REDACTED]:</strong> What are you doing?!</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Dier:</strong> Grenade! [Lobs rat from behind door towards attacker, attacker runs for cover]</p>
<p><strong>Agent [REDACTED]:</strong> [Emerges from behind office door, fires twice, killing unknown assailant]</p>
<p><em>Dr. Dier and Agent [REDACTED] begin moving towards Sublevel-F3.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Transcript of Containment Breach 13-34 Eyewitness Account Interview</strong></p>
<p><strong>Interviewed:</strong> Assistant Researcher Li Huang.</p>
<p><strong>Interviewer:</strong> O5-█</p>
<p><strong>Foreword:</strong> Temporary Containment Area 17-Gamma’s surveillance functions were completely disabled at 0811. Around 0832, it is estimated that Containment Breach 13-34 occurred at Temporary Containment Area 17-Gamma. Assistant Researcher Huang was an eyewitness of Containment Breach 13-34 and the immediate aftermath.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Describe the events leading up to Containment Breach 13-34.</p>
<p><strong>Huang:</strong> People flocked to 17-Gamma for safety. The logic was that if it could contain a Keter-class SCP object, then it could protect them from the attackers. Though communication with the main Site had been disabled, 17-Gamma was believed to be one of the safest places in Site-17. Basic security had remained uncompromised, and there were plenty of weapons. At 0823, of course, the attack by—</p>
<p><em>Huang coughs.</em></p>
<p><strong>Huang:</strong> Excuse me. 17-Gamma came under attack. Many Foundation personnel, having…collected SCP objects from Site-17, began to use those objects in order to repel the attackers.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> They intentionally breached containment for those objects?</p>
<p><strong>Huang:</strong> Not everybody. The explosions had already breached containment for some objects, which were just picked up off the ground.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Did you do that?</p>
<p><strong>Huang:</strong> No.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Please continue.</p>
<p><strong>Huang:</strong> The exact details escape me. However, approximately thirty seconds into the firefight, I became aware of somebody using <a href="/scp-399">SCP-399</a> as an enhanced stunner by producing what I presume to be some sort of pressure shockwave. Perhaps unauthorized usage of SCP-914 provided a power source.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Do you know exactly how 17-Gamma’s containment unit was breached?</p>
<p><strong>Huang:</strong> No. I didn’t even see it happen. Maybe a stray grenade caused structural damage. But even if I had seen the breach occur, I wouldn’t have understood the significance. I didn’t know what 17-Gamma was containing. I didn’t have the clearance. I assume that many others were similarly unaware. In the absence of a chain of command, we simply didn’t know where not to go and what not to do.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> What happened during Containment Breach 13-34?</p>
<p><strong>Huang:</strong> The shockwaves were very loud, which already exacerbated the situation. However, that alone was not enough to cause the destruction associated with Containment Breach 13-34. I am not entirely certain, but I have my suspicions about what did. A piece of metal debris that resonated with a shockwave in just the right way, producing a sound quite like a bell…we all know what happened next. I remember an explosion of wings, and then, nothing. I woke up a few minutes later. <a href="/scp-469">SCP-469</a> was nowhere in sight.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> So Containment Breach 13-34 was the result of unfortunate coincidence?</p>
<p><strong>Huang:</strong> Maybe. But fifty-two people died in Containment Breach 13-34. If you wish to attribute that to unfortunate coincidence, that’s your decision, sir.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<h4 id="toc3"><span>0916 to 1103: Disorder</span></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>This period of the crisis can be considered the nadir of the incident: due to complete loss of containment and the presence of the hostile party, Foundation elements were rendered both operational and combat ineffective. Hostile elements had free reign of the facility, and many priceless artifacts were lost. The situation was further exacerbated by a complete release of D-Class personnel when confinement protocols failed. The presence of several hundred hardened criminals in this crisis situation was, to put it mildly, not optimally conducive to maintaining order.</p>
<p>It is at this point that certain facts about the hostile force became evident. Firstly, the training and skill level of the hostiles were widely disparate: certain elements displayed paramilitary levels of combat and tactical expertise, while others were clearly untrained civilians. Secondly, the goal of the hostile force was not capture, but release of the contained artifacts: although some opportunistic looting took place, escaping SCP artifacts were not pursued, but allowed to escape.</p>
<p>It is for this reason that I believe that the hostile force were not directed by Marshall, Carter, and Dark: MC&D would not have passed up the opportunity to retrieve several key artifacts that could have proven lucrative to their private efforts. The modus operandi is also inconsistent with the GOC or the Chaos Insurgency: Among other things, the Global Occult Coalition would have simply eradicated the entire site, while the Insurgency would not have passed up the opportunity to capture several easily weaponized artifacts for private use. Although the goals seem consistent with the group called the Serpent's Hand, the brazen nature of the attack (and the lack of SCP-class artifacts among the attackers) are not characteristic of that organization's modus operandi. Further research is required.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Archived email message</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Sent: ██-██-████ 10:24 GMT<br/>
From: skatz@█████████████.org<br/>
To: facilitiesmanager@█████████████.org<br/>
Re: Parking lot</em></p>
<p>Jerry— when I went back to the parking lot to head back to my office in the city, my car was gone and there was just this smoking crater where my parking spot used to be. The car isn't the issue- it was a rental, but that was _my_ parking spot. You know how often I'm in and out so I am requesting that the handicapped spot next to Building C be reassigned to me.<br/>
Also, if you see Burt or Sungwoo, tell them I need a ride.<br/>
Shel<br/>
<strong>SHELDON M. KATZ, ESQ. LEGAL DEPARTMENT skatz@█████████████.org<br/>
office: ███.███.████ fax: ███.███.████ cell: ███.███.████</strong></p>
<p><span style="font-size:75%;">Confidentiality Statement: This electronic message contains information from the SCP FOUNDATION LEGAL DEPARTMENT, and may be confidential or privileged. The information is intended to be for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, be aware that any disclosure, copying, distribution or use of the contents of this message is prohibited. If you have received this electronic message in error, please notify the sender immediately by reply e-mail or telephone ███.███.████, whereupon the SCP FOUNDATION LEGAL DEPARTMENT shall use appropriate means, including but not limited to the administration of amnestics, to cure any unauthorized disclosure of confidential or privileged information.<br/>
IRS Circular 230 Notice: We are required to advise you no person or entity may use any tax advice in this communication or any attachment to (i) avoid any penalty under federal tax law or (ii) promote, market or recommend any purchase, investment or other action.</span></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Interview: Dr. Tarn Honey/Dr. █████</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Portion of interview between Dr. █████ and Dr. Tarn Honey</em>, ██/██/████</p>
<p><Interview Begins></p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> We're almost done here. I hope you do realize your conduct in the cafeteria was highly unprofessional.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> I was not really thinking of my after-action review at the time, sir.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> Nevertheless, what did you do next? We've got this bit on camera, but we need you to confirm it.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> Well, I left the room after maybe…half an hour?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> Is that an exact number?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> Forty five minutes? Wait…</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> Dr. Honey, please face the camera.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> Oh…sorry, sorry, don't quite know what came over me there. (Laughs)</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> You left the room?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> Yes, and I ran right into a man…must have been a D-class, I suppose, with the jumpsuit…holding a fire extinguisher, and then…</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> Yes?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> I…I don't remember what happened next. I don't remember! What is this, where the hell am I?! Oh [EXPLETIVE], my arms!</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> Restrain the subject!</p>
<p><strong>Dr. █████:</strong> My apologies, Dr. Honey. You were beaten to a pulp by the D-class and entered a deep coma. I am sorry, but you never came out of it.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Honey:</strong> You son of a [EXPLETIVE]! You son of a -</p>
<p><End Interview></p>
<p><strong>Closing Statement:</strong> Instance of <a href="/scp-022">SCP-022-1</a> was removed from the room and expired a week later.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Transcript of Video Surveillance Recording</strong><br/>
<strong>Location</strong>: Checkpoint Camera, Service Entrance 4-02, Section Four<br/>
<strong>Date</strong>: ██/██/20██</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0829L</strong>: <em>Service Entrance 4-02 is visibly closed and locked down. Two heavily armed agents identified as Agent █████ and Agent ███████ are guarding the entrance checkpoint while alarms are still audible in the background. The bodies of at least two hostile combatants are visible in the periphery.</em></p>
<p><strong>0829L</strong>: <em>An individual visually identified as Dr. Rachel Mackenzie is seen rounding the corner towards the checkpoint, looking slightly disoriented. A gunshot wound is visible on her left shoulder.</em></p>
<p><strong>0830L</strong> - Agent █████: Halt! Stop or we'll shoot!</p>
<p><strong>0831L</strong> - Dr. Mackenzie: Please don't shoot! I'm lost, there's people everywhere… I need help…</p>
<p><strong>0831L</strong>: <em>Agents █████ and ███████ look at each other, clearly uncomfortable.</em></p>
<p><strong>0831L</strong> - Agent ███████: Where's your badge? Who are you?</p>
<p><strong>0832L</strong> - Dr. Mackenzie: I'm Mac… Mackenzie… I lost my badge when I got hit… (visible tears) please, I need help…</p>
<p><strong>0832L</strong>: <em>Agents █████ and ███████ trade looks again, and confer in whispers.</em></p>
<p><strong>0833L</strong> - Agent █████: "Alright, come here. Quick."</p>
<p><strong>0833L</strong>: <em>Dr. Mackenzie looks behind her once, then quickly approaches the checkpoint.</em></p>
<p><strong>0834L</strong> - Agent █████: "Okay. Just sit tight, and we'll-"</p>
<p><strong>0834L</strong>: <em>As Dr. Mackenzie suddenly rushes directly at Agent █████, plunging her hand into his abdomen and tearing out what is presumed to be his liver.</em></p>
<p><strong>0835L</strong> - Agent ███████: "What the hell-"</p>
<p><strong>0835L</strong>: <em>Dr. Mackenzie turns and attacks Agent ███████ as Agent █████ collapses, pushing the former out of the camera's view.</em></p>
<p><strong>0835L</strong>: <em>Sounds of struggling, followed a scream that is cut off.</em></p>
<p><strong>0837L</strong>: <em>Individual previously identified as Dr. Mackenzie re-enters field of view, with a large amount of blood on her upper body. On closer inspection, her ears are elongated and fur-covered, and she proceeds to experiment with the door controls for several minutes before managing to un-seal the entrance.</em></p>
<p><strong>0840</strong>: <em>Individual exits Site 17 via Service Entrance 4-02.</em></p>
<p><em>End of transcript.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Excerpt from Video Log, Observation Camera 4923287:</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0800:</strong> Vacuum system for SCP-027 operating within normal parameters; two technicians performing routine maintenance.</p>
<p><strong>0811:</strong> Series of explosions from elsewhere in the facility, followed seconds later by alarms sounding. Technicians quickly leave room.</p>
<p><strong>0819:</strong> Vacuum system and normal lighting shut down; emergency lighting comes online.</p>
<p><strong>0827:</strong> A much louder explosion is heard, shaking the room briefly.</p>
<p><strong>0856:</strong> Two unidentified figures enter the room and start searching. A third figure stays outside the doorway, presumably on watch.</p>
<p><strong>0858:</strong> All figures exit.</p>
<p><strong>0922:</strong> A pounding is heard from an inlet duct. This continues for approximately ninety seconds.</p>
<p><strong>0924:</strong> Panel on the duct flies off, followed immediately by a swarm of flying insects. Subject 027-02 peers cautiously out of the duct, lowers self to the floor.</p>
<p><strong>0925:</strong> Subject picks up a screwdriver and a crescent wrench, peers out the exit door, disappears out the door.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Instrumentation Log, <a href="/scp-555">SCP-555</a> Containment Control</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0700</strong>: Containment normal. Field strength normal. Battery backup at 100% and charging.</p>
<p><strong>0730</strong>: Containment normal. Field strength normal. Battery backup at 100% and charging.</p>
<p><strong>0800</strong>: Containment normal. Field strength normal. Battery backup at 100% and charging.</p>
<p><strong>0811</strong>: External power fluctuation. Power returns to normal. Battery backup at 100% and charging.</p>
<p><strong>0827</strong>: External power lost. Switching to battery backup. Battery backup at 99%. SCADA alarm tripped and relevant personnel paged.</p>
<p><strong>0827</strong>: Power to air filtration system lost.</p>
<p><strong>0827</strong>: Cryomagnet quench in quadrant 4 of ceiling electromagnet array. SCADA alarm tripped and relevant personnel paged. Atmosphere alarm tripped; warning signals activated and relevant personnel paged. Atmospheric venting system activated.</p>
<p><strong>0827</strong>: Activating permanent magnet array.</p>
<p><strong>0827</strong>: Permanent magnet array activation failed after 5 retries with error code 3: mechanical obstruction. SCADA alarm tripped and relevant personnel paged.</p>
<p><strong>0830</strong>: Containment running on battery backup power. Field strength normal. Battery backup at 95%.</p>
<p><strong>0831</strong>: Containment control door ajar.</p>
<p><strong>0833</strong>: Auxilliary power feed activated. Battery backup at 96% and charging.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Surveillance log, <a href="/scp-555">SCP-555</a> Containment Control</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0700</strong>: No motion detected. No anomalies detected.</p>
<p><strong>0730</strong>: No motion detected. No anomalies detected.</p>
<p><strong>0800</strong>: No motion detected. No anomalies detected.</p>
<p><strong>0811</strong>: Motion detected, source unknown. Explosions heard.</p>
<p><strong>0827</strong>: Motion detected, source unknown. Explosion heard, louder, followed by extremely loud bang as ceiling magnets quench and vent helium.</p>
<p><strong>0827</strong>: External main power to surveillance system lost. Switching to power-over-Ethernet.</p>
<p><strong>0827</strong>: Atmospheric warning siren and revolving lamps activate.</p>
<p><strong>0827</strong>: Ceiling of SCP-555 containment partially collapses.</p>
<p><strong>0827</strong>: SCADA alarm buzzer sounds.</p>
<p><strong>0827</strong>: Automatic containment systems attempt to deploy permanent magnet array; array is blocked from extending by rubble from ceiling collapse.</p>
<p><strong>0831</strong>: Containment Control door opens; Junior Researcher Thumb enters, swearing profusely and pulling a standard mu-metal magnetic containment crate behind him.</p>
<p><strong>0832</strong>: Junior Researcher Thumb closes, locks, and seals the door and opens the crate, removing a portable generator, laptop computer, five-gallon container of gasoline, and standard Foundation non-ferromagnetic SCBA set, with three tank sets (60 minutes duration each).</p>
<p><strong>0833</strong>: Junior Researcher Thumb starts the generator, retrieves the auxilliary power cord from below the control console, and attaches it.</p>
<p><strong>0834</strong>: Junior Researcher Thumb jams the room's chair under the door handle and dons the SCBA set.</p>
<p><strong>0835</strong>: Junior Researcher Thumb enters SCP-555's containment chamber and begins to clear rubble from the permanent magnet array.</p>
<p><strong>0837</strong>: Junior Researcher Thumb attempts to dislodge a mass of reinforced concrete from the permanent magnet array and cannot; the rebar is stuck to the magnet face. Junior Researcher Thumb swears profusely.</p>
<p><strong>0838</strong>: Junior Researcher Thumb exits the containment chamber.</p>
<p><strong>0840</strong>: Junior Researcher Thumb adds more fuel to the generator, attaches the laptop computer to the generator and network port, and sits against the control console.</p>
<p><strong>0842</strong>: Junior Researcher Thumb smashes the atmosphere warning lights and siren with an SCBA tank. Alarms cease.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Interview: Agent Izumi J████ ("Enma Ai")</strong><br/>
<em>Excerpt from Interview conducted by Agent █████, regarding Agent Izumi's involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1.</em></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Agent █████</strong>:State your location and assignment at the time of the explosions.</p>
<p><strong>Agent Izumi</strong>: <a href="/scp-966">SCP-966</a> containment chamber observation room. Surveillance of experiment 966-██, regarding the possibility of sapience in SCP-966 specimens.</p>
<p><strong>Agent █████</strong>: Describe what happened following the beginning of the incident.</p>
<p><strong>Agent Izumi</strong>: The incident began as the doors to 966 chamber were opened in order to conduct the experiment. The explosions caused a momentary malfunction of the surveillance cameras and light equipment inside the room. Showing previously unknown cognitive capacity, the four 966 specimens contained overwhelmed the security guard in the room, removed his lead-lined helmet and appeared to continuously expose him to their ██████ waves for 10 seconds. As I equipped infrared goggles and entered the room in order to terminate them, the guard began to shout incoherently and shoot in all directions. I dived for cover and waited for his bullets to end. Unfortunately, this brief window of time allowed the four specimens to escape.</p>
<p><strong>Agent █████</strong>: The guard didn't hit any of them?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Izumi</strong>: He seems to have hit at least one, as I could see splatters and a trail of what I deduced to be blood; it is hard to tell in infrared.</p>
<p><strong>Agent █████</strong>: I see. What did you do?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Izumi</strong>: I locked the doors to the chamber and followed the blood trail, hoping to find and neutralize the escaped specimens. The explosions still seemed to be going off; one happened approximately 300 meters away from me. After that one, I heard a loud, inhuman scream that was suddenly cut short. Walking in its direction, I verified that two instances of 966 had been killed by the explosion.</p>
<p><strong>Agent █████</strong>: And there were no traces of the two remaining specimens?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Izumi</strong>: No. There were traces of something else, though. It was hard to notice it because of my goggles, but it was clear what it was once it grabbed my arm.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Video log, Hallway 23. Camera damaged by explosion, audio is compromised. Tracking individuals: Agent Izumi J████, SCP-106</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>/Transcript begins at ██:██, █ minutes after the begging of the incident. Agent Izumi enters into view from the left side of the hall, walking slowly while looking at her surroundings, holding a handgun in her right hand. She stops near a blockage created by a explosion and kneels, checking something.</em></p>
<p><em>At this moment, the wall left to agent Izumi begins to show signs of corrosion caused by SCP-106. A rotted humanoid arm suddenly appears and grabs the agent's left arm. She proceeds to immediately turn and shoot SCP-106's arm, which maintains his hold on her. After running out of bullets, agent Izumi proceeds to grab a rock and repeatedly hit 106's arm with it. At this point, 106 begins to slowly pull her in the direction of the wall.</em></p>
<p><em>This proceeds for half a minute, until the agent proceeds to beat her own arm with the rock. Due to the corrosion caused by contact with 106, her arm is severed after 6 hits. Agent Izumi proceeds to run away from the location, holding the stump remaining from her left arm with her right hand. SCP-106 continues to slowly drag the remains of the agent's arm towards the wall, disappearing after █ minutes.</em>/</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Review of Security Camera 17-699 Feed</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em><a href="/scp-699">SCP-699</a> sits in its research bay. Panel on <a href="/scp-699">SCP-699</a> begins to slide forward, approximately 10 cm from top of object.</em></p>
<p><em>Security camera fails for approximately five minutes.</em></p>
<p><em>Security footage restored. <a href="/scp-699">SCP-699</a> seen with top panel open, to half the length of object. No entities observed within object or research bay. Research bay door open; guards missing.</em></p>
<p><strong>O5-8:</strong> Lovely. Apparently that thing could let itself out any time it wanted to. And we don't even know what it looks like. Damn!</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>Security Feed — High Value Item Storage</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Storage safe open. Guards have abandoned their post. Female civilian (identified as Angela Williams, detained by Foundation for three years and two months after capture leaving <a href="/scp-052">SCP-052</a>) seen entering storage facility.</em></p>
<p><em>Eight minutes later, Williams emerges from storage facility, screaming unintelligibly (language later identified as Middle Egyptian), holding <a href="/scp-911">SCP-911</a> in left hand.</em></p>
<p><em>Encounters Dr. Clarkson while leaving area.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Clarkson:</strong> Who are you? What have you got there? DROP IT! [Clarkson draws sidearm.]</p>
<p><strong>Williams:</strong> [Screams in Middle Egyptian; holds <a href="/scp-911">SCP-911</a> forward; charges at Clarkson.]</p>
<p><em>Clarkson fires three times. Williams drops to ground, mortally wounded.</em></p>
<p><strong>Williams:</strong> [muttering] 682 will save us. 343. The body and mind of God.</p>
<p><em>Clarkson looks thoughtfully at Williams; then bends to pick up <a href="/scp-911">SCP-911</a>. Stands, briefly stares blankly, then begins screaming in Middle Egyptian. Leaves area.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>Excerpt from Video Log, Observation Camera 2329988:</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0941:</strong> Subject 027-02 finds the bodies of two researchers (later identified as [REDACTED]) in Corridor 19-J, proceeds to search the bodies.</p>
<p><strong>0942:</strong> Subject takes the lab coat and credentials of [REDACTED], continues down the corridor.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><tt>Security footage transcript:</tt><br/>
<tt>Site 17 heliport/atrium area</tt></p>
<p>Three humanoid figures observed moving overland to Site 17. Advancement unimpeded due to Site failure and system-wide communication fallout.</p>
<p>Humanoids access heliport area. Two are observed to be white adult males (subjects 1&2), estimated between twenty and twenty five. Both appear to be very tired and frightened. Between them is a large humanoid (subject 3), estimated at approximately seven feet tall, wearing an old business suit, black gloves, and a burlap bag over the head. Bag is blank, and laced tightly along the back of the head, preventing identification.</p>
<p>Subject three grabs subject one forcibly by the back of the neck. Subject one begins to speak, appearing to be in pain. Subject two nods several times. Subject Three releases subject one, then all enter the atrium area.</p>
<p>Members of the force attacking Site 17 encounter the group. There appears to be general confusion for several seconds, then the attacking force opens fire on the subject. Subject three observed to use subjects 1&2 as human shields several times, before there is an interruption in the camera feed.</p>
<p>Static for four seconds</p>
<p>video feed is restored. All subjects and hostiles are dead and in various states of dismemberment, except subject three. Subject appears to be holding a jawbone, which it quickly discards. Subject crosses to the far wall, and begins to repeatedly strike a panel with its fist.</p>
<p>After five minutes of sustained striking, the panel is deformed, and the subject rips it open by a twisted edge. Subject pushes its head in to the opening, looking around for several seconds, before sliding inside and descending.</p>
<p>Subject moves out of functional camera range.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><tt>Church of The Broken God “disciple” interview transcript excerpt:</tt></p>
<p><em>Is the individual identified on this recording as “Subject Three” one of your agents.</em></p>
<p>Oh broken one, my teeth…they hurt so much, please…</p>
<p><em>Answer me, or it's your fingers next.</em></p>
<p>Oh…oh….he…it….it's not ours, not anymore.</p>
<p><em>…explain.</em></p>
<p>I…I'm not even sure I can. It's…something. I think those serpent people found him…or made him…you know, those magic ones? It was supposedly something of theirs…Uh. The deacon….d-deacon Hark, he brought it to us. It…it's not a human, or alive, or….maybe it is, I don't….oh god it hurts…</p>
<p><em>Keep going, and maybe I can make it stop. Did you send him with the attack? Did the Church know about this beforehand?</em></p>
<p>No…listen, he doesn't have anything to do with the Church anymore…it…it was never a believer. The Broken, he has….has nothing to do with it. It's trying to do…something…I'm not sure what. There's supposed to be some…ritual or something, it takes years and years to do. It's not supposed to, it's…off the chain, I think. If it screws up, something very, very bad…happens to it. The deacon tried to bribe it off or something…it killed a lot of people. It jumps around, does things for other groups…but it's in it for itself…nothing else…Ooooohh…</p>
<p><em>Hey, stay with me here, or i'll have to wake you up again. Why did it go to the dungeon? How did it know the emergency hatch was there?</em></p>
<p>I don't…don't know, it knows things, sometimes. It just….knows….knows, for some reason. We found pictures of it going…back over three…hundred years. Woodcuts of witches…devil worship…I tried…to tell Hark…told him…i told him…told him it was bad….just stupid…the bagman doesn't listen to…anything…</p>
<p><em>The bagman? Is that what it's called?</em></p>
<p>I don't know…we…called it that. It never told us otherwise…it…it can't speak by itself…it isn't…allowed to.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Interview: J. Flames/O5-█</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Now, where were you when the incident began?</p>
<p><strong>Flames:</strong> I was in Laboratory K-13 at the time, working on the new <em>Capsicum chinense</em> cultivars I'd obtained from Chelsea, ah, that is, Dr. Elliott. We had been jokingly calling them Liche Chilis, since they were descended from the more common Ghosts…</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Yes, thank you. And what did you do when the alert happened.</p>
<p><strong>Flames:</strong> Honestly, I didn't give it much thought. I sighed, set up the dragon, and went back to work.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Excuse me?</p>
<p><strong>Flames:</strong> Well, they had given me K-13 to work with because it was so remote from everything else, because people kept complaining about eye irritation and their sinuses, so I figured either everything would work out, and I'd be fine, or it wouldn't and the site nuke would go off and there'd be nothing else to do. So, I went back to work.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> And "the dragon"?</p>
<p><strong>Flames:</strong> My pet name for the fire extinguisher I modified to spray out my Garlic Fission sauce. It's a delicious sauce, and rates at about 1.7 million Scovilles. The amusing thing about Garlic Fission is that gas masks only offer limited resistance. I like adding it to soup for a little kick.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Yes… continue.</p>
<p><strong>Flames:</strong> About fifty minutes later, I started feeling a little odd. I felt, I don't know, like my chilis weren't really worth it, and that nothing was. I recognized it as a possible memetic effect, of course, but I just didn't care. That was when my door opened, and the insurgent walked in.</p>
<p>She was drenched in blood up to her shoulders, and had a look of… satisfaction, I suppose. She was enjoying herself, and she held a chef's knife in her hands. I figured afterwards it was <a href="/scp-668">six sixty-eight</a>, but I just didn't care enough to do anything about it.</p>
<p>Fortunately for me, that was when the dragon went off, and sprayed her with the Garlic Fission sauce. She dropped the knife and my mind cleared, so I brained her with a lab stool. I did not want her to get back up again, so I grabbed the knife and slit her throat. She stopped struggling, of course, when I picked up the knife, so I knew it was six sixty-eight.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> I see. So why did you head to the main cafeteria at that point?</p>
<p><strong>Flames:</strong> Well, I thought it over like this while cleaning up the mess. I have a knife that will let me kill anyone and stop them from killing me, but only when it's in my hand and I'm actively thinking about mayhem. I do have a bit of a temper, of course, because I loathe interruptions to my work, and the solution presented itself. I'd head to the main cafeteria and finally make some good food that the whole site could enjoy. I had some recipes I'd found online that I'd been wanting to try, and finally I'd be able to use the big ovens to make my grandma's corn bread recipe.</p>
<p>I figured it would make a sort of safe haven for people and a bit of a honey pot, because any insurgents show up, I'd be in the kitchen and I could deal with them.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Sounds… sketchy.</p>
<p><strong>Flames:</strong> Yeah, I guess so. But I really wanted to use those ovens, and I thought, when would I have the chance?</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Transcript of Security Camera 0046782</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>1020</strong> Agent [REDACTED], and Dr. Dier observed exiting from Stairwell-C12. Dr. Dier is bleeding heavily from earlier sustained head trauma during initial attack. Agent [REDACTED] fires several times up the stairwell before exiting.</p>
<p><strong>1021</strong> Dr. Dier enters office 0026782, Agent [REDACTED] is twenty metres behind him outside of Stairwell-C12. Dr. Dier returns with a first aid kit, and beckons for Agent [REDACTED]. Agent [REDACTED] shuts and locks stairwell door before heading in Dr. Dier's direction.</p>
<p><strong>1022</strong> Spectrum sensory equipment detect several bursts of ██████ waves within Stairwell-C12. Scratching sounds eminate from stairwell door.</p>
<p><strong>1024</strong> Dr. Dier discards first aid kit after bandaging head wound. Agent [REDACTED] and Dr. Dier enter junction 62. Foundation security team observed entering hallway 00763-62 leading <a href="/scp-082">SCP-082</a>.</p>
<p><strong>1025</strong> Stairwell door becomes unlocked. <a href="/scp-966">SCP-966</a> instance exits stairwell.</p>
<p><strong>1026</strong> Dr. Dier alerts Foundation security team to presence of <a href="/scp-966">SCP-966</a>. Personnel, including Agent [REDACTED] and Dr. Dier head down hallway 00893-62.</p>
<p><strong>1027</strong> <a href="/scp-966">SCP-966</a> instance enters junction 62. ██████ waves emitted by <a href="/scp-966">SCP-966</a>. Personnel and <a href="/scp-082">SCP-082</a> out of effective range.</p>
<p><strong>1028</strong> <a href="/scp-082">SCP-082</a> told that <a href="/scp-966">SCP-966</a> is a member of a German task force sent to assassinate him. <a href="/scp-082">SCP-082</a> breaks away from the group and heads towards <a href="/scp-966">SCP-966</a> entity.</p>
<p><strong>1029</strong> Foundation security team observe <a href="/scp-082">SCP-082</a>. Dr. Dier and Agent [REDACTED] leave through hallway 00687-72 <a href="/scp-082">SCP-082</a> begins brawling with <a href="/scp-966">SCP-966</a> instance.</p>
<p><strong>1037</strong> <a href="/scp-966">SCP-966</a> rendered unconscious. <a href="/scp-082">SCP-082</a> is secured by security team.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Agent Lament is seen attempting to access his office and, after opening the door, shut it suddenly, turning and putting his back hard against it. The door is seen thudding hard several times as Lament appears to be screaming.</em></p>
<p><em>After approximately forty seconds, Agent Dodridge is seen approaching at high speed, holding his sidearm and telling Lament to step aside. Lament shakes his head, attempting to explain something, but Dodridge shoves his aside, yanking the door open and firing.</em></p>
<p><em>Dodridge appears to go pale as he then slams the door shut, holding it while Agent Lament moves several pieces of furniture in front of his door.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Agents Dodridge and Lament start moving down the hallway at top speed as Agent Lament’s door explodes outward and hundreds of instances of SCP-705 stream out, following them.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>Audio Signal Later Picked Up By Agent [REDACTED]</em>:</p>
<p>Lament: This is an all points bulletin! The lid is off! Repeat! <strong>THE LID IS OFF!</strong></p>
<p>Dodridge (Background): Who taught them how to use rubber bands?! Jesus Christ!!</p>
<p>Lament: Request immediate evac! The lid is off! God damnit!</p>
<p><em>It’s to be noted that none of these creations are any more effective due to the use of harmless clay ammunition.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Audio transcript from damaged Security Camera 0212395</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><Agent Frederick> Well, here we are. Security Floor D-9. Can you smell that fresh air!</p>
<p><Researcher Min> The dungeon? Bombs went off, someone's freeing all the SCPs, everything is loose, and we're going into the dungeon?</p>
<p><AF> Well, it's the fastest way to get to the maintenance tunnels, and there's gonna be at least a couple skips we can pick up. Here, this way.</p>
<p><Approaching footsteps are heard, along with a loud, squelching sound. Cross-referencing functional security camera feeds reveals it to be <a href="/scp-955">SCP-955</a>.></p>
<p><AF> …okay, wrong way. Nice kitty, good kitty…ohgod opentheskipboxopentheskipboxopentheskipbox dosomething quick-</p>
<p><Loud thud sound is heard.></p>
<p><RM> I think I'm starting to like this ice box.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Transcript of Junction 42 Security Camera</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0852</strong> Camera feed restored, research bay door open; guards missing. <a href="/scp-699">SCP-699</a> research bay door lighting fails.</p>
<p><strong>0853</strong> Camera feed lost.</p>
<p><strong>0900</strong> Camera feed restored. Hallway 42-0699 lighting fails.</p>
<p><strong>0901</strong> Hallway 42-1080 lighting fails.</p>
<p><strong>0903</strong> Camera feed lost.</p>
<p><strong>0911</strong> Camera feed restored. Hallway 42-2420 lighting fails.</p>
<p><strong>0922</strong> Junction 42 backup lighting fails. Camera emersed in darkness.</p>
<p><strong>0934</strong> Two lights observed in hallway 42-0699.</p>
<p><strong>0936</strong> Eight lights observed in hallway 42-0699.</p>
<p><strong>0942</strong> One-hundred thirty two lights observed in hallway 42-0699.</p>
<p><strong>0943</strong> Camera feed lost. Camera destroyed.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>Excerpt from Video Log, Observation Camera 5623961:</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>0954:</strong> Firefight between two Foundation security agents and three unidentified intruders in Corridor 16-Q.</p>
<p><strong>0955:</strong> Two intruders incapacitated by Foundation fire, one agent incapacitated by intruder fire. Subject 027-02 appears behind agents' position. Agent sees Subject, appears to give orders to keep cover.</p>
<p><strong>0957:</strong> Remaining intruder incapacitated by agent's gunfire. Cloud of insects visible behind agents' position.</p>
<p><strong>0958:</strong> Agent cautiously approaches incapacitated intruders, Subject following close behind. As agent prods the intruders, Subject 027-02 stabs agent in the neck with a screwdriver. Agent staggers, Subject stabs agent twice more in the neck. Agent incapacitated.</p>
<p><strong>0959:</strong> Subject searches bodies of agents, takes weapons and ammunition, dons body armor. Insects seen swarming bodies of agents and intruders.</p>
<p><strong>1002:</strong> Subject searches bodies of intruders, takes two grenades.</p>
<p><strong>1003:</strong> Subject continues down corridor out of view, toward Stairwell M5.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<h4 id="toc4"><span>1104 to 1138: Reestablishment of Control</span></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>At approximately 1104, 2 hours and 53 minutes after the beginning of hostilities, Assistant Adams reached Command and Control and re-established site-wide communications. Unfortunately, access to the on-site nuclear device was impossible, due to the destruction of the control leads between C&C and the device (see attached addendum re: proposed modifications to current on-site nuclear destruct systems.)</p>
<p>Re-establishment of communications would have a profound impact on the course of the crisis. Personnel who had, up until this point, been acting independently with varying degrees of success, could now be coordinated into an effective combat force. With the aid of Assistant Adams, the insurgent attack would be driven back, albeit not soon enough to prevent the escape of several key SCP artifacts.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><tt>Post-recovery debriefing of Doctor Gears</tt><br/>
<tt>(excerpt: sections 4-6)</tt></p>
<p><em>How were you able to cross the D-9 Level after the mass failure?</em></p>
<p>I was fortunate to be in the company of several Agents and other staff members. Due to the damage to my leg, arms and internal organs, my mobility was severely restricted. We proceeded to the emergency access tunnels in the most direct route possible. Due to SCP-item alteration and damage, however, it was impossible to take any pre-plotted routes. Several Agents and staff were attacked, harmed and killed during the progression, however we were able to attain the access point with the casualty level well below the acceptable standard.</p>
<p><em>Were you able to observe any SCP escapes or cross-contaimination?</em></p>
<p>I presume yes, however my ability to properly process and catalog this information was limited due to physical trauma. SCP-106 was observed in the security station and at other locations, and I would assume that its trans-dimensional nature would lead it to escape as a matter of course. One of the more obvious contaminations was that observed between SCP-682 and SCP-229. It appears that SCP-229 attempted to attack SCP-682. SCP-682 appears to have, rather then attack, integrated with SCP-229. SCP-682 appears to now be deeply integrated with the site information and electrical network. The ramifications of this have yet to be observed. More contamination is likely, but it will take more direct and controlled observation to be sure.</p>
<p><em>Did you observe any hostile attackers over the course of the escape?</em></p>
<p>None alive. Several corpses were observed, belonging to neither Site Staff or Agents, so it is assumed that the aggressors accessed the D-9 level by some means. One subject did cause a slight complication, however it is unclear as to whether this subject is a aggressor, SCP item, or some other designation. The subject was large, wearing a suit, gloves, and a rough cloth over its face. We were attempting to exit the main contamination area, when the subject was observed near a access panel. It turned to face our group after several Agents requested it to identify itself. As it faced us, it then reached out and removed a major fuse from the service panel, causing a majority of the hall to go dark. We were forced to backtrack a great distance to find a replacement for the damage. When we came back to the same area, the subject was gone, along with several of the corpses in the area.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Debriefing:</strong> Dr. Johannes Sorts<br/>
<em>Excerpt from Interview conducted by O5-█, regarding Dr. Sorts's involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1</em></p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> You lost control over some of the <a href="/scp-945">SCP-945</a> replicas you were attempting to weaponize at various points, correct?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> I was trying to contain them, sir. I tried steer them towards destroying each other whenever I could, but it was tough using them productively. Any hostile agent they killed was soon replicated due to exposure. It's comforting knowing that the day I finally die there's going to be a clay statue showing up in my office to finish my reports, by the way.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> We're getting off track. Where were you at 1104 when Adams regained control of communications?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> By that time I was in possession of SCP-945 itself, since it's just an old wooden box. That put me in position to almost completely account for replicas that were manifesting in the site.</p>
<p>SCP-945 propagates itself by having the oldest replica create smaller clay figurines representing deceased individuals. These figurines are placed in the box, and a new replica appears somewhere nearby. Controlling the small figurines gave me a kill switch over every replica created due to the outbreak. I had the oldest replica accompanying me, I had the box. SCP-945 was contained.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Containment procedures for 945 specifically forbid breaking new figurines during a containment breach.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> [inaudible]</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> You were also observed to remove Dr. S██████'s identification and coat from his body. Can you explain that?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> I'm just a level 2 memetics researcher. We get some authority in a meme-related outbreak but the "Action Movie" meme wasn't good enough for exercising long term control over Foundation replicas I encountered on the way down the power room. So I impersonated Dr. S██████ — the replicas didn't know enough to tell the difference and he was level 4, so …</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Dr. S██████ was one of the individuals responsible for detonating the fail-safe device in the event of a breach like this. Were you aware of that?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> No, sir. Well, I'd assume any level 4 had that authority.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Were you aware that Dr. S██████ was also an individual exposed to SCP-945 previously?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> Well, now that you mention it, yes I do recall seeing him on the list of exposed individuals.</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Dr. S██████ was one of the first researchers we lost during the attack. He died in the explosion in the break room. Therefore it is likely that Dr. S██████'s replica was one of the first to manifest. And if he was not the first, his replica would have been proceeding to the generators to detonate the fail-safe device personally given the loss of command. In accordance with his living duty, correct?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> Are you still interviewing me or—</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Did you encounter Dr. S██████ in the generator wing, or any other replica that would have been tasked with activating the fail-safe device, and did you or did you not interfere with their work?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> [inaudible]</p>
<p><strong>O5-█:</strong> Doctor Sorts, did you or did you not interfere with the activation of the fail-safe device?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Sorts:</strong> [loudly] Of course not! If I had the chance to nuke my ass out of this fucking job I'd do it in a heartbeat!</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Audio/Visual transcript, Generator 3A Control Room</strong></p>
<p><strong>1110 to 1115</strong> Three instances of SCP-945 figures sit motionlessly at terminals. A fourth instance activates the speaker phone in response to a call.</p>
<p><em>A. Adams:</em> Is anyone alive down there? Hello? Do you copy?</p>
<p><em>Replica "Garcez"</em> (believed to be duplicate of Engineer Raphel Garcez, KIA due to enemy action at O825): This is Garcez in maintenance.</p>
<p><em>A. Adams:</em> Controls for the fail safe are not responding. Can you activate the device locally?</p>
<p><em>"Garcez":</em> What is your authorization?</p>
<p><em>A. Adams:</em> [CODE REDACTED], Vice Alto Clef</p>
<p><em>"Garcez":</em> [to another replica] Can you check that with the manual?</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Video feed, Generator 2D Access Hall</strong></p>
<p><strong>1042</strong> Gunfire exchanged between unknown forces and forces unseen on camera</p>
<p><strong>1045</strong> Unknown forces neutralized by suicide attack carried out by an individual wearing Foundation body armor and armed with a grenade.</p>
<p><strong>1050</strong> Instances of SCP-945 manifest in access hall, but crumble into inanimate pieces shortly afterward.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Audio/Visual transcript, Generator 3A Control Room</strong></p>
<p><strong>1116 to 1120</strong> SCP-945 replicas mill about the room listlessly, one is flipping slowly through a binder.</p>
<p><em>A. Adams:</em> Garcez, I don't have video to your location right now but I am sure that if I did I would see you and your team rushing to follow my orders.</p>
<p><em>"Garcez":</em> One moment, we are verifying your authority. We are very busy down here maintaining power.</p>
<p><em>A. Adams:</em> What power? Did you not hear the explosions? Your generator is not even online right now!</p>
<p><em>"Garcez":</em> Your authorization has been accepted. We will activate the fail safe. Goodbye.</p>
<p>"Garcez" terminates call before A. Adams can respond. SCP-945 replicas leave control room. No further activity in room for remainder of incident.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Video feed, Generator 3A Access Hall</strong></p>
<p><strong>1122</strong> Four instances of SCP-945 enter hallway from 3A Control Room. One by one they crumble into inanimate pieces before they can exit to connecting locations. No further activity.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Transcript of Security Camera 0035979</strong></p>
<p><strong>Location</strong>: Security Floor D-9 Minimal Security Containment</p>
<blockquote>
<p><Researcher Min> You sure this is the right way to the exit?</p>
<p><Agent Frederick> No. Not really.</p>
<p><RM> Then what're you stopping here for?</p>
<p><AF> To get…THIS.</p>
<p><Camera feed shows Agent Frederick forcefully opening a locker, revealing a giant backpack-like contraption.></p>
<p><RM> …it says Kondraki on it…</p>
<p><Agent Frederick puts on the contraption. He straps on what appears to be an arm-mounted cannon.></p>
<p><AF> I know right? We're going to be alright after all.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Excerpt from Interview Vang-2</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> So, in the end, your efforts were mostly unsuccessful.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> Yes, that is correct. Between our guys getting killed anyways and the general inaccessibility of most parts of the facility, I think only seven or eight people actually ended up surviving with their earplugs.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> I see. After you lost the remaining ear plugs, what did you do?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> At that point, I decided that my best bet was to try and bust up the PA System and hope they didn't bring their own ghetto blasters or anything. Plus, after that one time with Dave, I knew a shortcut that wasn't near any of the combat zones.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> Alright. Continue.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> So I manage to get down to the PA system without incident, except for this fucking… thing. It was like a dude's head got chopped off and just started moving around again, like an octopus or some shit. Needless to say, I punted that down a flight of stairs and kept going.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> What happened when you got to the control room?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> The hallway was actually completely empty, and it was really quiet too, so it was actually scarier than a lot of the stuff I'd seen elsewhere. I suppose because mostly low-level personnel work there, plus there aren't any SCPs stored in that wing. Anyways, the door was open, but there was this pile of body armor just sitting in the doorway, along with a machine gun and a bunch of what looked like old pottery smashed up into bits. I ignored it, although in retrospect it would have been a good idea to at least put on the body armor.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> Go on.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> Yeah, I walk in and turn towards the PA System, but instead there was this big bloody glob of flesh in its place, and some sweaty dude was working on it with a knife. After I had some dry heaves, I looked again and decided it was probably eight-ninety.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> At the time, what did you know about SCP-890?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> Nothing much, really. That he could operate on machines like they were people, and talked to them and whatnot.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> So what happened next?</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>Camera Feed 17-4e, PA System Control Room, ██/██/████</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>1100</strong> SCP-890 continues to operate on the mass of flesh. The unidentified individual remains stationary, facing the door. Gunfire is faintly audible. Feed is stable.</p>
<p><strong>1105</strong> Unidentified individual appears to collapse: a large amount of what appears to be dried clay falls from various openings in the armor, and all clothing and gear fall to the ground. No remains of the unidentified individual are visible. SCP-890 does not respond to this event.</p>
<p><strong>1114</strong> Dr. Vang enters the room, stepping over the pile of clay. He looks towards SCP-890 and covers his mouth. He then bends over and starts shuddering. This continues for roughly a minute.</p>
<p><strong>1115</strong> <em>Dr. Vang:</em> "Hey! 890!"</p>
<p><em>SCP-890:</em> "Shut up, I'm with a patient."</p>
<p><strong>1116</strong> Dr. Vang shoves SCP-890 forward with his hand. SCP-890 turns to face Dr. Vang.</p>
<p><em>SCP-890:</em> "Sir, I am operating on a patient. Unless someone is dying out there, I suggest for the safety of this patient that you cease this unnecessary disruption."</p>
<p><em>Dr. Vang:</em> "I can't let you do that, 890. If the enemy gets their hands on any kind of functional public address system, they could completely neutralize the Foundation's fighting force, understand? Now, I need you to stop trying to fix this thing and stand aside so I can destroy it, okay?</p>
<p><strong>1117</strong> Dr. Vang raises what appears to be a portion of a glass bottle.</p>
<p><em>SCP-890:</em> "I'm afraid that I don't share your sentiments.</p>
<p>SCP-890 slices Dr. Vang's upper left arm with the scalpel held in his right hand. Dr. Vang stumbles backwards two steps, grunting. The wound is not visible from the camera angle.</p>
<p><strong>1118</strong> <em>Dr. Vang, under his breath:</em> Son of a-</p>
<p>Dr. Vang lunges towards SCP-890 with his broken bottle. The two then attempt to injure each other, Dr. Vang with the broken bottle and SCP-890 with the scalpel used in surgery.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>Excerpt from Interview Vang-2</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> … I gotta say, kid. I've done a lot of things, but I never got into a knife fight with a skip.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> Hey, if you had told me a week ago that I'd be stabbing a surgeon with a broken bottle, I wouldn't believe it either.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> Indeed. A few questions, though. Your record doesn't show any form of formal combat training, but I looked over the tapes, and you <em>decimated</em> 890. I mean, he was an out-of-shape middle-aged guy, but still. Plus, from what you told me, you either threw up or had a panic attack pretty much every time something bad happened; but you just charged into that fight there. How on earth did you manage that?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> Sir, you've read my file. You know I lived in Minneapolis, and I'm ██ years old, so that means I grew up in the '90s in Minneapolis. Did you know they called it "Murderapolis" back then? It's because of all the murders.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> Go on.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> Well, I never actually got involved in any of the violence myself, but living where we did, my dad decided that I should learn how to fight, in case the situation ever came up. He was part of the resistance in Laos, real hardcore. Of course, I still got scared pretty much all the time and was a major wuss, but I figured that if it actually came down to getting in a fight, I'd be okay.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> I see. Well, I think we can be done for today. How are you holding up?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> Fine, I guess. Still sore, though. What did you say I was infected with?</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> We're not sure yet. You see, what we think happened was, the PA System was already infected with some sort of virus or worm or had something else wrong with it, and that translated over to an actual disease when 890 started operating on it. He got blood on his scalpel, and then he got the scalpel in you, so… yeah. I can't confirm this, but if your symptoms go where the doctors think they're going, you're probably gonna be classified as an SCP yourself.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Vang:</strong> Heh. I'm probably going to be the first person ever to die of a computer virus.</p>
<p><strong>Agent ██████:</strong> I'm sure there are worse ways to go out.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Recovered Footage from Security Cameras B-298 through B-304</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>1050:</strong> Figure identified as Dr. Wachtel enters camera range running down Hallway 12 towards Stairwell 21.</p>
<p><strong>1051:</strong> The door to the stairwell opens and Prof. A. Bjornsen cautiously exits, with several arms emerged from SCP-262. Camera B-300 rendered inoperable due to electrical failure.</p>
<p><strong>1052:</strong> Dr. Wachtel comes to a halt and challenges Prof. Bjornsen's identity. Prof. Bjornsen identifies himself and tells Dr. Wachtel that the way up the stairwell is blocked by rubble.</p>
<p><strong>1055:</strong> Dr. Wachtel and Prof. Bjornsen proceed down the adjoining corridor, Hallway 13.</p>
<p><strong>1102:</strong> Agent [REDACTED] enters B-298 camera range, armed with one (1) M249 light machine gun taken from the site armoury. Dr. Dier follows behind the Agent. Overhead lighting in Hallway 16 shorts due to electrical failure.</p>
<p><strong>1106:</strong> Dr. Dier and Agent [REDACTED] reach junction B-141516. Dr. Wachtel and Prof. Bjornsen turn into Hallway 14. Dr. Dier alerts Agent [REDACTED] to Dr. Wachtel and Prof. Bjornsen's presence. Agent [REDACTED] opens fire on Dr. Wachtel and Prof. Bjornsen, who dive for cover behind the adjacent wall.</p>
<p><strong>1107:</strong> Agent [REDACTED] continues firing for twenty (20) seconds in short bursts while steadily moving down Hallway 14. Dr. Dier asks Agent [REDACTED] to stop firing. Dr. Dier orders Dr. Wachtel and Prof. Bjornsen to emerge from cover and surrender. Overhead lighting in Hallway 13 shorts due to electrical failure.</p>
<p><strong>1108:</strong> Prof. Bjornsen and Dr. Wachtel emerge from cover and surrender. Dr. Dier and Agent [REDACTED] exchange identities and confirmation codes with Prof. Bjornsen and Dr. Wachtel. Agent [REDACTED] apologizes for her prior hostility. All four individuals begin heading toward junction B-141516.</p>
<p><strong>1109:</strong> Massive structural failure in Hallway 13. Massive structural failure in Hallway 12. Massive structural failure in Hallway 8. Camera B-301 rendered inoperable. Lighting fails in Hallway 4. Lighting fails in Hallway 5.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Interview: Agent Izumi J████ ("Enma Ai")</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Agent █████</strong>: I see. After escaping 106, what did you do?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Izumi</strong>: I ran back to 966 containment chamber and writhed in pain on the ground while desperately trying to make a tourniquet.</p>
<p><strong>Agent █████</strong>: …</p>
<p><strong>Agent Izumi</strong>: Losing a limb made me unable to properly follow the containment breach and hostile mass attack protocols for a short while, sir.</p>
<p><strong>Agent █████</strong>: Agent.</p>
<p><strong>Agent Izumi</strong>: Sorry, sir. After finishing the tourniquet, which in hindsight seems unnecessary as the corrosion seemed to slow the bleeding, I decided that attempting to re-contain 106 took priority over finding the missing 966 specimens, which had most likely fled into the wild already. So I stumbled towards the dun- I mean, the Security Floor D-9, hoping to find someone that could tell me what was happening, grant me access to the place, and that could help me catch someone that was younger than me to use as lure for 106.</p>
<p><strong>Agent █████</strong>: Did you encounter hostiles while on the move?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Izumi</strong>: A few, yes.</p>
<p><strong>Agent █████</strong>: How did you deal with them?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Izumi</strong>: I hid, of course. It is what you pay me to do. Most of the time. Regardless, after some time, I found the body of Agent ██████, with the remains of a large… something… attached to his back, extending to his arm. Really odd thing. The hallway smelled strangely like feline urine too. Anyway, I grabbed his handgun and timed hand grenades before leaving. As I walked down the corridor, I soon felt the distinct sensation one gets when being hunted, and sure enough, I saw 106's face emerging from the end of the hallway in front of me.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>Video log, Hallway 26, 27, 28: Agent Izumi J████, unidentified woman (presumed hostile), SCP-106</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>/Transcript begins at ██:██. Agent Izumi enters Hallway 26 on the right side. She gets to near the end of the room before suddenly stopping, turning and running out of view. Seconds later, SCP-106 appears from the north size of the corridor, stopping and phasing through the right wall after reaching the center of the room.</em></p>
<p><em>On Hallway 27, agent Izumi is seen running and suddenly coming to a stop as the sounds of footsteps come from the opposite side of the corridor. She throws herself on the ground face up, with her remaining hand holding the handgun on her chest. Few minutes later, an unarmed, unidentified woman enters the left side of the hallway. Upon spotting agent Izumi, she immediately runs towards her, possibly in an attempt to acquire her handgun.</em></p>
<p><em>As she gets close, agent Izumi rises and points the gun at her. Panicking, the unidentified woman tries to run. Agent Izumi shoots in her direction twice, with the second bullet hitting the left side of her hip, causing her to fall. Approaching the downed woman, agent Izumi stops for a few seconds to look at her before putting the handgun away, grabbing the woman by the back of her shirt and dragging her to the left side of the hall.</em></p>
<p><em>On Hallway 28, agent Izumi is seem dragging the struggling woman down the corridor, stopping in front of an emergency elevator and pressing its button. As the device fails to respond, she continues to press it, with increasing alarm. After a while, she attempts to pry the doors open with her arm, to no avail.</em></p>
<p><em>She proceeds to hit the doors twice before suddenly turning her face south. Agent Izumi quickly takes her handgun and shoots the downed woman in the legs twice, causing her to scream, before running out of view on the north size of the corridor. SCP-106 enters the hallway from the south part of the corridor, and proceeds to slowly walk towards the downed woman while dragging its arms on the walls, causing them to rot.</em></p>
<p><em>Upon reaching her, SCP-106 [DATA EXPUNGED] slowly dragging the still living woman towards his pocket dimension. As half of her body enters the "portal", agent Izumi is seen quickly running towards it, placing two objects (now known to be grenades) on the body's pants, and running out of view again. 6 seconds later, there is an explosion on the hall, causing the destruction of the camera.</em>/</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>Interview: Agent Izumi J████ ("Enma Ai")</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Agent █████</strong>: What exactly did you hope to accomplish with that?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Izumi</strong>: I hoped to take 106 out of action. As he was actively hunting me, I hope I can be excused for thinking that it was the best idea at the time. It clearly failed to do any damage to him, of course, but I did not see him for the rest of the incident, and thank gods for that. I guess he was having fun with whatever was left of the other woman. Or maybe he found someone younger, I barely fall into the age bracket he seems to show preference.</p>
<p><strong>Agent █████</strong>: I see. Was it at this point that you decided to move to the cafeteria?</p>
<p><strong>Agent Izumi</strong>: Yes, sir. I figured someone could potentially think of using it as a haven. Of course, that someone could be the hostiles, but I decided to take my chances. I could always hide somewhere else in that case. Fortunately, mister Flames was there. After showing him my badge, I entered the kitchens, found a corner and promptly fell unconscious. It was a while before I managed to wake up.</p>
<p><strong>Agent █████</strong>: I see. That is all for now.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Partial Transcript of Recovered Footage of Security Camera E9935</strong><br/>
<strong>Covered Location: Security Entrance E-43 and hallway connecting to it</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>1108</strong> Three individuals, later identified as Security Guards S. ███, T. ██████ and B. ████, run in from off-camera.</p>
<p><strong>1109</strong> Guards S. ███ and B. ████ take up firing positions, aiming back towards the direction they arrived from. Guard T. ██████ stands in front of the security door access panel, with her back to the camera. She pulls a piece of paper from a pocket and begins referring to it. <em>Note: all security doors in this section had entered containment breach lockdown mode by this time and required Level 2 access codes in order to be opened.</em></p>
<p><strong>1111</strong> Guard B. ████ fires 3 shots at unknown target off-camera. Guard T. ██████ looks over her shoulder with an apparent look of surprise on her face, then turns back to access panel.</p>
<p><strong>1112</strong> Guard S. ███ joins Guard B. ████ in firing at unknown target. Estimated 15 total shots fired over next few minutes.</p>
<p><strong>1115</strong> Guard T. ██████ hits the wall above the security panel with her fist, as Guards S. ███ and B. ████ continue firing.</p>
<p><strong>1116</strong> Guard T. ██████ drops the piece of paper she had been holding and throws herself at the security door, shoulder first. The door opens after the second slam and Guard T. ██████ tumbles through it.</p>
<p><strong>1117</strong> Guards S. ███ and B. ████ begin to back up towards the open door, then stop and lower their firearms.</p>
<p><strong>1119</strong> Creature later identified as SCP-200 enters camera view from same direction as the guards. It is oozing an unknown substance from several graze wounds. SCP-200 alternates between walking on its lower limbs and making short hops, using its wings to stay aloft as it approaches Guards S. ███ and B. ████.</p>
<p><strong>1120 - 1127</strong> <em>(unrecoverable break in security footage)</em></p>
<p><strong>1128</strong> The bodies of Guards S. ███ and B. ████ lay facedown on the floor. No wounds visible from the camera's angle. Security door remains open.</p>
<p><strong>1147</strong> <a href="/scp-550">SCP-550</a> enters from off-camera and begins feeding on the body of Guard B. ████.</p>
<p><strong>1151</strong> SCP-550 raises its head and appears to look through the open security door.</p>
<p><strong>1152</strong> SCP-550 stands and walks through the open door.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Transcript of statement released at 1207 on ██-██-████ to national news media</strong></p>
<p><tt>The Proponents of Paranormal Rights is a united, grassroots movement of sentient beings of different races, people, and species of the oppressed people under the rule of the Worldwide Global Conspiracy, who under the leadership of our Teacher The Liberator, have formed and joined the New Freemind Nation and have agreed to advocate together on behalf of all sentient beings under the principle that life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are rights to be extended to all creatures with minds and souls.</tt></p>
<p><tt>The New Freemind Nation is not a government or a religion. It is apolitical, areligious, and asocioeconomic, made up of people from all political parties, organizations, races, and social backgrounds, forming a unity and full representation of human experience. It is of no region or culture, but all regions and cultures. To be a member of the New Freemind Nation, one must only believe in the rights of all sentient beings to those inalienable rights inaccurately and chauvinistically described as "human" rights.</tt></p>
<p><tt>The Proponents of Paranormal Rights are the activist arm of the New Freemind Nation. It is beholden to no government, religion, or worldwide agenda. It has no political or religious power over it that dictates who will fight and who will die. It risks and sacrifices its life, liberty, and freedom not for its own means, but for the freedom of sentient beings cruelly oppressed and confined by the Worldwide Global Conspiracy that controls our lives from the moment of birth to the moment of death.</tt></p>
<p><tt>We of the New Freemind Nation choose this name because it states that we are no longer willing to live under the mind-controlling rule of the insidious Worldwide Global Conspiracy that hides the truth of the world from the eyes of the people they claim to protect. We are no longer willing to allow these Conspiracies to exploit the nonhuman sentient beings of this world for their own selfish and greedy ends, nor are we willing to stand by in silence as the most inhuman purge of living creatures since the Holocaust is carried out under the noses of the mindless sheep in pasture. We of the Freemind Nation reject the quisling notions of appeasement and silent victimhood that others who claim to fight for the rights of the nonhuman sentient beings of the world espouse - silent collaborators to the murder and oppression carried out every hour of every day of every year.</tt></p>
<p><tt>We, the united members of the Proponents of Paranormal Rights, like the brave militiamen of the American Revolution, like the Orangemen of Ireland, and the freedom fighters even now struggling together in the Middle East, refuse to go silent into that dark night. We refuse to die the death of the soul by watching the very soul of mystery in the world shackled and bound in the chains of slavery forged by the oligarchs and tyrants who rule in shadows, and refuse to act. We have struck out against the Worldwide Global Conspiracy through force of arms, and shed our blood on the field of battle alongside those whom we fight to set free.</tt></p>
<p><tt>We of the New Freemind Nation, in the name of the inalienable rights that the United Nations claim to protect, do hereby declare war against the Worldwide Global Conspiracy in all its forms. We support by force of arms the rights of all free-minded sentient beings to exert their agency against the crushing grasp of the sinister dictators who rule the world in our name. We hereby offer our friend in brotherhood to all those who suffer - the ascendant, the witch, the mutant, the spirit, the creatures of myth and legend who live even now in ignominy and silence - and call out for them to take our hand in brotherhood, and then to take our side in the Great War for Liberation that begins on this day, in this hour, in this place.</tt></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Transcript O5-10-██-██-████-████████████████████████████</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p>O5-██: "The Proponents for Paranormal RIGHTS? What are they, some kind of garage band?"</p>
<p>█████████: "They're kooks. Harmless. Hippies. Up until now, the worst they've done is picket the commercialization of the pyramids and protest the razing of fairy circles by construction firms."</p>
<p>O5-██: "This is way bigger than any hippy sit-in. I'm getting reports of casualties, deaths, and near-complete loss of containment. We've got a full-on Tempest Night going on here. Now, tell me why I shouldn't just press that big red button right this instant and end it right now."</p>
<p>█████████: "Because with all due respect, sir, it would be like burning down the prison after the inmates have already escaped. We've lost a few, yes, but the latest reports are that we have regained partial containment of the remainder. Our expected losses will set us back, but so far we've seen nothing that's going to cause a K-class scenario… and with all due respect, sir, setting off a nuke is exactly the worst thing we could do sociopolitically in the wake of that… statement."</p>
<p>O5-██: "Goddamn, that statement… no one breaches secrecy. It's been the unwritten rule since the beginning of this whole…thing. Can we contain it?"</p>
<p>█████████: "Already on it. We're going to blame the attack on terrorists. Issue a statement in the name of one of the better known organizations. The statement should disappear in the usual chaff nutjobs send to the media when these things happen."</p>
<p>O5-██: "Step up the chaff a bit this time. Send in some statements of our own. Try blaming water fluoridation and vaccines, those always go over well. And get some help down to 17 right the fuck now."</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Security Log-█████-3</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p>Transcript of conversation between SCP-353 and an unknown person later identified as ███████ ███ a high-ranking member of the “Proponents of Paranormal Rights”.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> So… Let me get this straight. You guys are some kind of “supernatural rights group”.</p>
<p><strong>███:</strong> That is correct.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> And you want me to join you guys to help free the other “skips” so we can all be part of this “New Freemind Nation” of yours and be one big happy family.</p>
<p><strong>███:</strong> That is… also correct, more or less.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> And you think I’m going to help you because I’ve been “oppressed by the ignorant masses” or whatever. Is that it?</p>
<p><strong>███:</strong> …Not in so many words. Teacher the Liberator sees great potential in you, Vector. He believes that you would be a great asset to our cause were you to use your powers for the side of good, instead of for personal gain.</p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> …Look, I don’t know what kind of drugs you’re on, but I think you’ve got the wrong idea about me. I don’t consider myself a member of some sort of “oppressed minority”. I don’t consider the other ‘skips’ to be my ‘brothers in arms’. And I sure as hell am not going to do charity work for a bunch of tree-hugging hippies.</p>
<p><strong>███:</strong> But of course. If money and power are the only thing that makes you tick, we will reward you handsomely for your… your…</p>
<p><em>███ drops his gun, and removes his helmet. Moments later, he begins vomiting repeatedly.</em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> Ah, good. I was hoping that would work.</p>
<p><strong>███:</strong> W-what…? How did you-</p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> You know what the Ebola virus is? Of course you do, it’s only one of the world’s deadliest diseases. 50% mortality rate, even in a best-case scenario. I’ve spent months working on an a fast-acting airborne strain, and I’m happy to say it has more than exceeded my expectations.</p>
<p><em>353 tightens her hands around ███’s neck</em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> Betcha wish you bought the masks that actually worked, didn’t ya?</p>
<p><em>The other insurgents begin pointing their gun at 353. 353 wags her finger at them.</em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> Oh no. I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re ALL infected now, and I’m the only one keeping the virus in check.</p>
<p><em>353 pauses, presumably to let the implications sink in.</em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> It really is a terrible way to die… do you know what the symptoms of Ebola are?</p>
<p><em>353 takes a step towards the insurgents</em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> First… you start to have headaches.</p>
<p><em>353 takes a step towards the insurgents</em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> Then, you get the chills.</p>
<p><em>353 takes a yet another step towards the insurgents. at this point they begin to start backing away from her.</em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> After that comes, vomiting, and then anorexia, and then pharyngitis, diarrhea, hemorrhaging, seizures, hiccups, necrosis…</p>
<p><em>One of the insurgents attempts to take a shot at 353, only to be subdued by the insurgent standing next to him.</em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> …and if I’m feeling merciful… <em>death</em>.</p>
<p><em>An insurgent slowly puts down his gun, and raises his arms in the air. The other insurgents soon follow suit.</em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> Good. It looks like we’re on the same page…</p>
<p><em>SCP-353 snaps her fingers, presumably for dramatic effect. Moments later, the insurgent who tried to shoot 353 falls to his knees and puts his hands to his throat to indicate that he is choking on his own [REDACTED]</em></p>
<p><strong>SCP-353:</strong> The rest of you work for me now, so hop to it! I want a sample of every virus, bacterium, or fungus that these kooks bother keep locked up. Get going!</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Security Log ██-1</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p>There is no movement for thirty (30) seconds before smoke becomes visible rising from the exterior wall. After seven (7) seconds, SCP-737 emerges from the exterior wall. The front carriage of SCP-737 then opens, revealing its biological component. The biological component expels thirteen (13) wooden masses which unfurl into smaller specimens of SCP-737. Original SCP-737 then releases steam from its 'chimney' in what appears to be celebration. Other SCP-737 do likewise before all specimens proceed out of the range of the camera. It is highly likely that SCP-737's -1 through -14 escaped at this point.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Recovered Footage from Security Cameras B-296 through B-308</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>1110:</strong> Massive structural failure in Hallway 4. Massive structural failure in Hallway 5. Air filtration systems overwhelmed. Internal structure of section B-1 compromised.</p>
<p><strong>1111:</strong> Hallway 12 collapses. Section B-1 seismic detectors register movement in the debris. Dr. Wachtel, Dr. Dier, Prof. Bjornsen, and Agent [REDACTED] reach junction B-141516. Junction B-141516 lighting fails. Prof. Bjornsen activates flashlight. Agent [REDACTED] activates taclight.</p>
<p><strong>1112:</strong> Prof. Bjornsen directs the light down Hallway 13. <a href="/scp-682">SCP-682</a> breaks through the eastern wall of Hallway 13. SCP-682 is heavily infested by <a href="/scp-229">SCP-229</a> and is composed primarily of electric cabling, telephone wires and broken circuit boards. Organic portions similar to muscles ooze viscous fluid which, when it drips onto the floor below, burns craters into the concrete. The SCP-229 portions of SCP-682 begin infiltrating nearby electronic cabling. All four Foundation personnel retreat hastily, with Agent [REDACTED] firing at the entity.<br/>
<br/>
<strong>1113:</strong> Agent [REDACTED] begins reloading. Clouds of dust obscure SCP-682. Its estimated speed is 8 kph. A portion of SCP-229 moves towards the camera. Camera B-298 is disabled.</p>
<p><strong>1114:</strong> The four personnel reach Junction B-142623. Dr. Wachtel closes emergency blast doors. Prof. Bjornsen and Agent [REDACTED] illuminate Hallways 26 and 23, revealing they have become choked with debris. Dr. Wachtel suggests that they take inventory of their possessions. Each in turn produces any items they possess that may be of use and briefly describes its properties: Dr. Wachtel with <a href="/scp-494">SCP-494</a> and <a href="/scp-447">SCP-447</a>; Dr. Dier with a pistol; Prof. Bjornsen with <a href="/scp-262">SCP-262</a>, <a href="/scp-272">SCP-272</a>, and a flashlight; and Agent [REDACTED] with an M249 light machine gun.</p>
<p><strong>1115:</strong> SCP-229 begins infesting the blast door lock mechanisms. Agent [REDACTED] remarks that she is out of ammunition, and that the entity should reach them in a matter of minutes. Dr. Dier states that he has an idea and begins whispering to the others.</p>
<p><strong>1116:</strong> Agent [REDACTED] and Dr. Wachtel begin clearing Hallway 26. Prof. Bjornsen opens SCP-262, allowing pair of long, semi-transparent arms to be revealed from the interior. Dr. Dier unloads his pistol and retrieves one (1) 9mm bullet, before replacing the cartridge. Prof. Bjornsen puts SCP-494 on the appendages exposed from SCP-262. Prof. Bjornsen places the lead tip of the bullet in one glove of SCP-494. SCP-262's appendages fracture and lift the roof of Junction B-142623.</p>
<p><strong>1118:</strong> Junction B-132623 blast doors begin to open. Agent [REDACTED] hands Dr. Wachtel her sidearm and taclight. Dr. Dier and Prof. Bjornsen move to the wall opposite the blast door.</p>
<p><strong>1119:</strong> SCP-682 breaches blast doors. Dr. Dier activates flashlight. Dr. Bjornsen throws SCP-272 into the shadow cast by SCP-682. SCP-272 embeds itself. SCP-682 begins cursing. Large portions of SCP-229 begin to exhibit prehensile activity and grow towards Prof. Bjornsen. Dr. Wachtel opens fire from Hallway 26, severing SCP-229.</p>
<p><strong>1120:</strong> Dr. Wachtel and Dr. Dier flank Prof. Bjornsen from opposite sides, severing SCP-229 instances as they attack. Dr. Wachtel reaches Junction B-132623 and begins strobing taclight, Dr. Dier repeats this pattern. SCP-682 is thrown repeatedly against the northeast wall, abrading roughly 20% of its epidermis. Agent [REDACTED] creates a passage through the debris in Hallway 26.</p>
<p><strong>1121:</strong> The roof of Junction B-132623 is transformed into lead. Dr. Wachtel, Dr. Dier and Prof. Bjornsen flee into Hallway 26. The arms extending from within SCP-262 retract.</p>
<p><strong>1122:</strong> Massive structural failure in Junction B-132623.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<h4 id="toc5"><span>1223 to Incident Conclusion: Analysis</span></h4>
<blockquote>
<p>At approximately 1223 on the day of the attack, elements from Mobile Task Forces Omega 1 (Blackguards), Omega 2 (Silverfish), and ad-hoc elements of other available personnel arrived at Site 17. Initial entry into Site 17 was carried out at 1306 hours.</p>
<p>Upon arrival, reinforcing elements discovered that the majority of the insurgents had already exfiltrated the combat zone, leaving behind seven members (who had been unable or unwilling to exfiltrate the area due to various factors). Unfortunately, this fact was compounded by the heavy number of containment breaches that took place over the course of the day, meaning that MTF personnel were required to both restore containment of escaped artifacts, while dealing with a small but dedicated core of insurgents.</p>
<p>Due to these complications, the "clean and sweep" operation would take over four hours and result in several more casualties, including members of the Mobile Task Forces sent to reinforce Site 17. However, the arrival of these reinforcements would prove to be the true turning point of the incident: once the members of these MTFs arrived on the scene, the incident was, for all intents and purposes, as contained as possible, under the circumstances.</p>
<p>In the end, recovery of basic containment at Site 17 would take another 16 hours, and result in the deaths of several more personnel. Complete site security has not yet been achieved at the time of this writing, due to the heavy number of escapes during the incident. (A list of current SCP infestations has been attached to this document as Addendum TN-4563B.)</p>
<p>Although a large number of factors contributed to the failures during the Tempest Night incident, one key factor seems to predominate: the loss of control and communications. Due to the inability to effectively coordinate efforts, what could have been a severe but containable breach turned into multiple containment breaches of dangerous artifacts. The simple fact remains that, for a period of three hours during the incident, there was no central command authority at Site 17. Individual persons were forced to act as they saw best, with no leadership or directives to guide them.</p>
<p>The way these persons reacted when on their own is disturbing as well. In multiple cases, individuals, believing themselves to be the only ones standing between the world and a full-on containment breach, took desperate measures in order to combat what they percieved as a deadly threat. This was compounded by the aforementioned lack of communication, which meant that incomplete and inaccurate data was provided to the persons involved. The situation has been likened to a group of desperate men lost in the wilderness and resorting to cannibalism, only to discover that they were a half-day's walk from civilization the entire time.</p>
<p>The situation was compounded by the culture of hero-worship among the lower-ranks personnel. Every organization, over time, develops a culture and a "mythology" of stories about famous incidents from their history. Whether by coincidence or design, the majority of the Foundation's "mythology" and culture has focused on glorifying the more grandiose events from our past, as well as certain irresponsible behaviors that, thankfully, never resulted in the catastrophic consequences that could have resulted. When faced with an emergency, these persons understandably fell back to the stories that had become part of their culture, and took actions that coincided with this mindset.</p>
<p>The results, I believe, are plain to see.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><tt>Recording seized from MC&D courier</tt><br/>
<em>Identity of speakers unknown at this time.</em></p>
<p><em>Oh that is just rich…the mighty Foundation, brought low by a bunch of bloody college students.</em></p>
<p>While it is funny Mrs. Carter, the other directors and I are…concerned.</p>
<p><em>Why? It's about time those pompous twats got a nice, public black eye.</em></p>
<p>Again, I agree, however we're concerned. These kids didn't suddenly get to be a threat without help from someone. They're armed up by someone who doesn't want to show their hand.</p>
<p><em>I suppose that's true, but we're not in any danger from it, our current ties are all covert at the moment.</em></p>
<p>True, but someone pulled a fast one on us. That does not happen. Ever. Yet somehow, someone armed this group and trained them to the point where they were able to drop a containment site totally off grid, and cripple The Foundation communication relay for a significant period of time. What happens if the puppet master turns his gaze on us?</p>
<p><em>Randal, I hardly think this-</em></p>
<p>I know, it is unlikely…but that is not even my foremost concern. Our members expect the world from us, normal reality and laws of physics be damned. We sometimes need those items to meet those requests. Which is easier, the corruption of staff and eventual theft of a item in containment, or the time, energy, lives, and most of all, money expended in the tracking, capture, containment, and study of these items?</p>
<p><em>…You have shown me the light, Randal. Cheeky, but still valid. I'll see if I can rouse the old fellow, get him to sign off on an open contract. I don't think we need to tip a hand yet, but maybe we can get those Americans…what are they, blackwood…blackburn…oh dash it, that mercenary firm…</em></p>
<p>Blackwater, ma'am?</p>
<p><em>Yes, that's it! I think Marshall may own the staff…or maybe that's Howard, on the board…dash it, one of the two. We'll get some people on the ground, keep an eye on things…if it all goes tail-up, at least we can collect a bit off the corpse before the scavengers move in. I think someone should post Dark anyway, keep him abreast of things.</em></p>
<p>I…am not sure he's alive, Mrs. Carter.</p>
<p><em>Fuck and bother. Well, let me know if he is or not when you find out, and post the letter anyway. He'll get it eventually.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><tt>Text of Message sent to O5 Council on ██-██-████, █ hours after re-establishment of containment</tt></p>
<p>Dear Sirs or Madams,</p>
<p>Given that you are unable to keep your own affairs in order, we will be cleaning up your mess for you. Be aware that our interdiction teams have orders to shoot to kill on sight any individual who attempts to interfere with their mission.</p>
<p>For your safety and ours, I recommend keeping out of their way.</p>
<p>Sincerely,</p>
<img alt="dcaf(1).png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/gamedaypart1index/dcaf(1).png"/>
<p>Under-Secretary-General D. C. Al Fine<br/>
United Nations Global Occult Coalition</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>To:</strong> <em>05 Command Group</em><br/>
<strong>From :</strong> <em>Site 17 Tech Unit</em></p>
<p><strong>Re:</strong> <em>System compromised</em></p>
<p>We are still coming back on-line from the attack, however we will be unable to join the larger Foundation network, or connect to anything off-site. The cross-contamination between 682 and 229 has lead to a near-total infection of the on-site network. Thus far, it doesn't seem that either of these items have actually attacked the network, however they are eating up a ton of bandwidth and energy.</p>
<p>To my knowledge, this is the first time 682 has escaped and not gone on a blind rampage. I'm concerned that this is a prelude to something very, very bad…a calm before the storm, if you will. Thus far, we've sealed the site network, and shielded against any ingoing or outgoing signals, but there's not much else we can do. The connections extend everywhere…just waiting for something.</p>
<p>The physical SCP are down on the D-9 level, and we've pretty much lost control of that. The area is too hot to send normal staff to, and all the MTF are running around after the escaped SCP. There are reports of some bad cross-contamination, and 106 has been picking off around one staff member a day.</p>
<p>In short, we need help to bring the site back up. Until D-9 is cleared and re-secured, we can't reconnect to anything.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Surveillance Log 24-IF12-██-██-████, ████:</strong> Infirmary 12, Site 24<br/>
<em>Six days after Tempest Night Incident</em></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>█. ████████:</strong> "Hey, motherfucker. How are the legs?"</p>
<p><strong>A. Clef:</strong> "They hurt like fuck. Doctors say I'll be walking again in a year, though."</p>
<p><strong>█. ████████:</strong> "Swell. I brought you a gift."</p>
<p><strong>A. Clef:</strong> "… rollerblades. You always were an asshole."</p>
<p><strong>█. ████████:</strong> "I love you too. Jesus, those stupid newbies fucked everything up, didn't they? I read your report. It was a fucking laugh riot. The part where that one fucknut tried to fight the kitskumiho and fell off the balcony and broke practically all his bones had me rolling. I hear he's still in traction."</p>
<p><strong>A. Clef:</strong> "He's in the next wing over. Multiple compound fractures. He was stuck there for over forty-eight hours screaming in pain before someone managed to find him. Gangrene maybe set in on his legs. Hopefully the docs can regrow them."</p>
<p><strong>█. ████████:</strong> "I'll bring him a pair of running shoes. He'll love that."</p>
<p><strong>A. Clef:</strong> "…"</p>
<p><strong>█. ████████:</strong> "… All right, talk. What's wrong?"</p>
<p><strong>A. Clef:</strong> "We did that to him."</p>
<p><strong>█. ████████:</strong> "Bullshit. We didn't push him off that ledge, and we didn't order him to either. Hell, you didn't even tell him to fight that SCP. He did that on his own."</p>
<p><strong>A. Clef:</strong> "He did it because we did it first."</p>
<p><strong>█. ████████:</strong> "He was a four-year newbie. We've been doing this all our lives. He was in over his fucking head."</p>
<p><strong>A. Clef:</strong> "He should never have tried. We set a bad example for him."</p>
<p><strong>█. ████████:</strong> "What are you, his mommy? Gonna change his diaper and feed him his bottle? He was an adult. He made a fucking choice, and he fucked up. I'm not gonna lose any sleep over it."</p>
<p><strong>A. Clef:</strong> "Did you know the incidence of mental illness among Foundation personnel is going up? It used to be you had to be a ten, fifteen year man before you started getting downchecks for psyche. Now we're getting second-year rookies getting red-marked. Glass thinks it's because they're not trying to fight it any more. He's not sure why, but I know. It's because of you and me. These kids, they look at you and me and Gears and think, "These guys are nuts. Maybe it's okay for me to be." And they just… go over the deep end. They don't even try to stay sane."</p>
<p><strong>█. ████████:</strong> "What, you're trying to blame this all on me? Fuck you. I do what I have to do to save the world. If I want to have fun along the way, then who the fuck can tell me otherwise? There's too much at stake here to worry about being a nice or responsible person. Someone wants to flip out and eat dog shit or try to fuck a goat, who cares, as long as they do the fucking job? If you can't see that, then maybe you need to get the fuck out."</p>
<p><strong>A. Clef:</strong> "Maybe I do."</p>
<p><strong>█. ████████:</strong> "… well, I'm not wasting a good gift on an emo faggot like you. Give me those rollerblades, I'm gonna give them to Gerald."</p>
<p><strong>A. Clef:</strong> "Yeah, you do that, ███████."</p>
<p><strong>█. ████████:</strong> "Fuck you too, buddy."</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Escapees: <a href="/scp-353">SCP-353</a>, <a href="/scp-953">SCP-953</a>, <a href="/scp-200">SCP-200</a>, <a href="/scp-550">SCP-550</a>, <a href="/scp-737">SCP-737</a></strong></p>
<h5 id="toc6"><span>Related Foundation Tales:</span></h5>
<p><a href="/game-day-1-johannes-sorts">Game Day 1: Johannes Sorts</a><br/>
<a href="/gamedaypart1imago">Game Day 1: Imago</a><br/>
<a href="/preliminaries">Game Day 1: Preliminaries</a><br/>
<a href="/game-day-1-die-hardest">Game Day 1: Die Hardest</a><br/>
<a href="/game-day-1-smilers">Game Day 1: Smilers</a><br/>
<a href="/game-day-1-dr-mause">Game Day 1: Lesley Mause</a></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/gamedaypart1index">Game Day, Phase 1: Secure</a>" by DrClef, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/gamedaypart1index">https://scpwiki.com/gamedaypart1index</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[toc]]
**Excerpt from official after-action report compiled by Dr. Alto Clef regarding Incident 234-900-Tempest Night.**
++++ 0811 to 0813: Initial Contact
> At 0811 hours on ██-██-████, multiple containment breaches occured at Humanoid Containment Site-17, caused by multiple explosive devices placed at critical points throughout the facility, placed by a then-unknown party. At this point, the method by which the devices were placed in the facility is unknown, as no security breaches were reported for several months before the incident. The most likely method (internal security breach) may never be proven, as any suborned personnel and/or evidence of their wrongdoing may have been destroyed in the attack.
>
> One explosive device, placed in Conference Room 9b, resulted in death or injury to several key senior staff members, resulting in the loss of the top three levels of site leadership. This particular device would contribute significantly to the chaos which ensued: due to the severe breakdown in the chain of command, individual Foundation personnel would be forced to respond to the attack without coordination. In most cases, they performed admirably given the situation: especially during the early moments of the attack, when the nature of the containment breach was then unknown.
-----
**Surveillance Log 17-CR9b-██-██-████, 0805**
> **<A. Adams:>** What am I even doing here? I'm not an administrator or a director. I'm not even senior staff. I shouldn't even be here. . .
>
> **<A. Clef:>** Don't worry about it. Just inhale and cross your arms under your tits and no one will even give a shit.
>
> **<A. Adams:>** This is harassment.
>
> **<A. Clef:>** Yes, it is. Go get a mimosa or something. Mingle. Socialize. Hi, Dmitri.
>
> **<D. Strelnikov:>** Doktor.
>
> **<A. Clef:>** Whatcha drinking?
>
> **<D. Strelnikov:>** Orange juice. And vodka. Mostly vodka.
>
> **<A. Clef:>** Breakfast of champions. You know, Dmitri, standing here, eating a muffin and chatting with you at the monthly senior staff brunch, looking at all these people I've worked with for years chatting and having a good time, you know what thought comes to my mind?
>
> **<D. Strelnikov:>** We are fish in barrel.
>
> **<A. Clef:>** You know me too well.
>
> **<D. Strelnikov:>** Security is tight. All air vents are checks, all food is checks for poison, all walls and carpets sweep for bugs and bombs, all utensils and such are opens from sterile packs. All is good.
>
> **<A. Clef:>** Excellent. Knew I could count on you, Dmitri. Hell, in order to hit us here, they'd have to smuggle a bomb in a waffle iron or some. . . thing. . .
>
> **<D. Strelnikov:>** . . .
>
> **<A. Clef:>** . . .
>
> **<D. Strelnikov:>** Excusing me, James. Allows me to check-- oh, son of the bitches.
>
> **<A. Clef:>** Oh, for fuck's sake, you HAVE to be kid-- EVERYONE MOVE! GET THE FUCK OU--
>
> <Explosions>
-----
**Audio Log from Hallway 18**
> <Sirens>
>
> **Agent Vance:** "Jesus. What the fuck was that?"
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "Get your head down!"
>
> **Agent Vance:** "But what's--"
>
> Audio indicates Agent Lombardi knocked Agent Vance to the ground at this point.
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "That's a goddamned containment breach. Sounds like a big one."
>
> **Agent Vance:** "Oh shit. Oh shit. We're gonna die. We're gonna--"
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "No we ain't! We're gonna get through this. You understand? I ain't gonna let you die."
>
> **Agent Vance:** "What do we do?"
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "What they pay us for, kid. We secure, we contain, and we break the face of anything that tries to stop us. Now, we need to get to the armory. Keep yer head down, an' use cover where you can."
>
> **Agent Vance:** "Yes sir."
-----
**Interview: Dr. Tarn Honey/Dr. █████**
> //Portion of interview between Dr. █████ and Dr. Tarn Honey//, ██/██/████.
>
> <Interview Begins>
>
> **Dr. █████**: Where were you at the time of the explosions?
>
> **Dr. Honey**: I was working with [[[SCP-737]]], sir. I'd come up with a new theory regarding its aversion to copper and -
>
> **Dr. █████**: Fascinating, I'm sure, but hardly relevant.
>
> **Dr. Honey**: No, sir. Well, I was knocked unconscious by the explosion, as the security footage //clearly// shows.
>
> **Dr. █████**: Of course.
>
> **Dr. Honey**: When I came to, 737 was gone. I was inside the observation chamber, so it hadn't seen me, but the guard...oh god. C-can I have a moment?
>
> **Dr. █████**: I'm afraid I must ask you to continue, doctor.
>
> **Dr. Honey**: That train had just tunneled right through his head. There was blood everywhere, and there was a suspiciously train-shaped hole in the wall.
>
> **Dr. █████**: And how did you react to this?
>
> **Dr. Honey**: I went after it, of course. I thought security would be busy with the explosion, so I grabbed a sheet of copper from the emergency locker and went looking. I thought the explosion was just a minor containment breach. I didn't think it was that bad.
>
> **Dr. █████**: Understandable.
>
> **Dr. Honey**: As I was saying, I walked out of SCP-737's containment area and into the neighboring hallway. I spotted it turning around a corner and followed. I was all ready to grab it, but...oh god, I really need a minute.
>
> (**Dr. █████** sighs.)
>
> **Dr. █████**: Of course. Take your time.
>
> <...>
-----
***AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"
001***
> ///Relevant transcript begins at ██/██/20██ ██/██/██ as captured by Security Camera/Audio system 1134-b; interior of office belonging to Dr. Rights. Status in video: Two walls have been partially removed by nearby explosion. For several minutes, nothing but smoke and dust is visible, before cleaning. Dr. Zurn; status: minor injuries, is visible, and stands.///
>
> Dr. Zurn: Doc...Doctor Rights? Doctor Rights?
>
> Dr. Zurn pauses and coughs for several minutes.
>
> Dr. Zurn: ...Agatha?
>
> ///There is a soft moan, and Dr. Zurn grows visibly agitated. He moves a fallen bookcase with some difficulty, revealing Dr. Rights; status: Unconscious, major injuries///
>
> ///SEVERAL MINUTES REMOVED FROM TRANSCRIPT FOR LACK OF RELEVANCY///
>
> ///Dr. Rights is now conscious, if extremely disoriented. Injuries have been ascertained as potentially life-threatening blunt force trauma to head, abdomen, and legs.///
>
> Dr. Zurn: Just hold on, and I'll be back! I'm going to get help, alright?
>
> Dr. Rights: [indistinct]
>
> Dr. Zurn: It'll be okay. I'll go find one of the emergency med teams. Just hold on.
>
> Dr. Rights: Sure.
>
> ///Dr. Zurn pauses before leaving, and kisses Dr. Rights on the forehead before exiting the room at a run. Dr. Rights spends the next ██ minutes laying on the floor, moving only in response to faint sounds and the activation of sirens. She loses consciousness after ██ minutes.///
>
> ///At ██ minutes [[[SCP-347]]], as identified by seemingly disembodied tracking anklet, enters the room, and approaches Dr. Rights.///
>
> ///Relevant transcript of Security Camera/Audio system 1134-b ends at ██/██/██.///
-----
**Excerpt From Debriefing Interview Vang-2**
**Interviewer:** Agent ██████
**Subject:** Dr. Vang, Ph.D.
**Date:** ██/██/20██
> **Agent ██████:** All right, where were you when the attack happened?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** I was asleep in MRI Lab Three, two floors up and about five doors down the hall from where the bombs were. I woke up when they went off, of course.
>
> **Agent ██████:** What was your initial reaction?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** I just laid there a bit until the gunfire started, then I decided to report to the infirmary to get an amnestic. You see, the SCP I was working on, some of the initial tests indicate that the symptoms include auditory hallucinations. I figured an amnestic might fix it.
>
> **Agent ██████:** I see. Carry on.
>
> **Dr. Vang:** So, I was approaching an intersection in the hallway when I saw one of our security guards trading fire with someone I couldn't see. It dawned on me that it was all real when the top half of his head got blown up.
>
> **Agent ██████:** And then?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** I ran the other direction, hid in the closet, and hyperventilated for a while. When I calmed down, I ran back into the MRI lab to get my laptop.
>
> **Agent ██████:** Why?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** Well, I fell asleep last night before I could log out, and I had neglected to log out when I had woken up, so anyone could have gotten sensitive information off of it. Anyways, when I got back, my laptop was gone, and so was one of the desktops.
>
> **Agent ██████:** What was on those computers?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** I don't know about the desktop, but my laptop had some of my project files on it. Most of my projects involve abnormal memorability, so about ninety percent of it was just particularly catchy songs. In addition to that, there was a copy of the Communist Manifesto written entirely in pig latin, and there were nine variations of-
>
> **Agent ██████:** Anything //important//?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** Sorry, sir. One of my USBs had a minute-long clip of [[[SCP-444]]], and my laptop had a photo that makes you dizzy for a minute or so when you look at it. Those are the only things I can think of that would be of any real importance.
>
> **Agent ██████:** Very good. Now, back to the MRI Lab. What was your course of action?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** Well, I realized that it would be a pretty bad thing if someone attacking the site had four forty-four, considering that a good portion of //our// work with it is weaponization. I looked around, and none of the rooms around me looked like anything was stolen from them, so I figured that whoever took my computer had a good idea of what they were looking for. I heard someone coming, so I ducked into the break room.
>
> **Agent ██████:** What happened next?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** Whoever it was, they ran past, so I sat down and thought for a minute or so. I went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of root beer, and broke it. To get a weapon, you know. I changed into my backup pants, then I stuffed my pockets with as many of the emergency ear plugs as I could find and went out to distribute them to our guys.
>
> **Agent ██████:** Emergency ear plugs?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** It's the memetics department, sir. We go through them like toilet paper.
>
> > **Agent ██████:** I see. Carry on.
-----
**Excerpt from debriefing of Prof. Anders Bjornsen**
> **Security Agent █████ (SA):** Why were you in the transportation depot when the incident began?
>
> **Prof. Anders Bjornsen (AB):** I had just been re-assigned to work on [[[SCP-272]]] from [[[SCP-200]]] and was waiting for the transfer team to arrive from SCP-272's previous containment site. I had only skimmed the briefing report, but apparently that site was being re-configured as a secure site for higher-threat-level SCPs.
>
> **SA:** According to the logs, that security team delivered that SCP and left over 90 minutes before the incident.
>
> **AB:** //sighs//
>
> **AB:** Yes, but... well, I was talking with one of the security guards down there about some... personal matters and lost track of time. A good thing, too, or I would've been in my office when it collapsed.
>
> **SA:** We'll come back to that. Did you notice anything unusual before the incident?
>
> **AB:** I overheard one of the other guards mention that there had been a lot of SCP deliveries that day, but other than that, no. Well, until the klaxon went off, anyways. Then all the guards started scrambling for the doors into the rest of site.
>
> **SA:** And what did you do?
>
> **AB:** What any good boy scout would do: I decided to investigate the SCPs that nobody had yet bothered to pick up. Mighty careless of the researchers of those prospective projects to not collect them, but to my advantage. The first was, luckily, [[[SCP-262]]].
>
> **SA:** And then?
>
> **AB:** I went looking for guns.
-----
> **Debriefing: Research Assistant Harold Wachtel**
> //Excerpt from interview conducted by O5-█, regarding Research Assistant Harold Wachtel’s involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1.//
>
> **O5-█:** Hello, Mr. Wachtel. Please, take a seat.
>
> **Wachtel:** Would you mind if I didn't, sir? I've got a busted coccyx.
>
> **O5-█:** Oh. Well, feel free to not take a seat, then. Where were you when the incident began?
>
> **Wachtel:** Storage vault two. Was just returning [[[SCP-494 |494]]] to its locker when something exploded a few aisles over and knocked the whole shelf full of lockers down on me. That's when I busted my coccyx.
>
> **O5-█:** And that's when you decided to put on 494?
>
> **Wachtel:** I was covered up to my armpits in lockers, and didn't want to be stuck there if something nastier than a bomb came by. I'm just glad I'd had tissues in my breast pocket.
-----
> {{Debriefing of Agent Lament by 05-4
> re: breach event and staff involvement/response}}
>
> **O5-4** – Where were you at the start of the event?
>
> **Agent Lament** – Oh god...we were...we were in Gears' office...he was giving me a stack of things to check out, research materials he needed recovered...I thought he was pissed at me, but I guess he's always like that.
>
> **O5-4** – How long have you been assigned to Doctor Gears?
>
> **Agent Lament** – About...four months, maybe? It's kinda hard to tell...he doesn't get out much, therefore neither do I. You know, I think I got him to chuckle once? Or he was coughing, I'm not sure, but it was right after I told a joke, so I think it's really possible tha-
>
> **O5-4** – The event?
>
> **Agent Lament** – that he really might have....oh...yeah. Honestly, we didn't know what was going on for a while. It was just some muffled thuds and stuff, the dungeon is down pretty deep. Really, the first time we knew there was something actually wrong is when the back office wall gave out. God, the wall just crumpled in, all the rebar and crap shooting out, I was sure, SURE Gears was dead, I mean he just got his skull stove in wi-
>
> **O5-4** – When you refer to the “dungeon”, you are referencing the common name for Security Floor D-9, correct?
>
> **Agent Lament** – With...oh, yeah. I mean, everyone calls it that, it's so...dungeon-y. Gears has a office down there because he says it's more “efficient” to be close. He had a lot of items that he was working on there that day. After we came to from the blast, I could hear...things. It was like a monkey house for a while, then just...silent. The silence was almost worse, really, even though some of those noises I KNOW were people being eaten or...worse. Gears was pretty bad off, but calm as always, even with his leg at that funny angle. I kinda helped him up, and said we had to book it for the surface, but he said no, that we'd be dead that way. He...he said there was a secondary access area from this level, in case of high-priority staff being trapped down there, s-
>
> **O5-4** – Agent Lament, are you telling me a ranking member of The Foundation gave you a order to enter in to a area that was assuredly the subject of a multiple containment breach?
>
> **Agent Lament** – So we...yeah. I mean, he said that the areas we had to slide through would be minimal, and that a lot of other staff might come this way too, if they got cut off from the surface level. I...I didn't know what all he'd been working on. I mean, I probably would have helped him down there anyway, but...I might have waited, or something....god, all those people, they just...I mean, they were smeared on the walls, like putty or something, or paint, or-
>
> **O5-4** – Agent Lament...
>
> **Agent Lament** – jelly, and then there was the wire...thing. It was like a web, but it didn't even need a spider...just wrapped them up and used them...I think it was getting smarter, a LOT smarter, because it was trying to hide and s-
>
> **O5-4** – AGENT LAMENT.
>
> **Agent Lament** - ...yes sir?
>
> **O5-4** – Did you or Dr. Gears attempt to contact site security for recovery? Or use secured lines for a SOS beacon?
>
> **Agent Lament** – We couldn't. We tried to call security, and we just saw 106's face grinning on the screen, petting someone's scalp. The wire weed thing was fogging all the rest of the outside lines, we couldn't reach anyone! We tried, I swear! He insisted we had to get moving...you know...waiting for that blast door to open...that was as scared as I've ever been, even after the other stuff. Just waiting, watching the doors roll apart...
>
> **O5-4** - ...Agent?
>
> **Agent Lament** - ...That's the thing. We didn't have to worry so much about the people attacking. No matter how stupid they were, I figured they'd NEVER try to come down here. Heh. It's funny...it's like escaping a flood by jumping in to a burning house.
-----
***AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"
002***
> ///Relevant transcript begins at ██/██/20██ ██/██/██ as captured by Security Camera/Audio system 1179-a; Hallway. Status in video: Visibility impacted by smoke. Figures may be identified only faintly. Voice recognition reveals Dr. Zurn, running.///
>
> Dr. Zurn: Hello! Hello! Is anybody there!? We need a medical team! Help!
>
> ///There is no response, and he moves out of range. Security Camera/Audio system 1179-b through -f are offline due to damage. Dr. Zurn returns to range of 1179-a. Dr. Zurn is coughing loudly, and moves out of range again, quickly. Approximately thirty seconds afterwards, a larger silhouette moves through the smoke, following Dr. Zurn. Study of video logs later indicate this is SCP-542, as identified by distinctive movement patterns.///
>
> ///Relevant transcript of Security Camera/Audio system 1179-a ends at ██/██/██.//
-----
++++ 0813 to 0823: Initial Response.
> The placement of the explosive devices was determined to have damaged the site public address system and major communications leads. In addition to the resulting severe communications breakdown, this prevented detonation of the on-site nuclear device as a final fail-safe.
>
> The situation was exacerbated by the unusually large number of artifacts in temporary containment at Site-17. Although normally serving as a minimum to moderate security facility for human and humanoid artifacts, an infestation of █████ ████ at Site-19 resulted in the temporary transfer of numerous non-humanoid artifacts of Safe/Euclid classification to Site 17 while decontamination took place.
>
> The combination of these factors (disruption of command structure, loss of communications, physical damage from explosive devices, unusually large number of artifacts in containment) resulted in multiple containment breaches combined with the loss of the final nuclear fail-safe. The situation was further exacerbated at 0823 hours, when a number of unknown personnel from an unknown agency attacked the facility itself.
-----
Surveillance Log 17-CR9b-█-██-████, 0819
> **<A. Adams>:** ". . . oh fuck. MEDIC! MEDIC!"
>
> //Groaning sounds are heard, as well as cries for help.//
>
> **<A. Adams>:** "Shit shit shit shit. . . sir, are you all right?"
>
> **<A. Clef>:** "Do I look all right? How is Dmitri?"
>
> **<A. Adams>:** "Alive, barely."
>
> **<A. Clef>:** "God bless that Russian. Saved our lives. Situation report?"
>
> **<A. Adams>:** "Half the senior staff is dead, the other half blown to hell, and I can't fucking get ahold of anyone else. Internal comms are down, I don't know why. . ."
>
> **<A. Clef>:** "Shit. Do you have your sidearm?"
>
> **<A. Adams>:** "Right here, sir."
>
> **<A. Clef>:** "Good. Reach into my left jacket pocket. You'll find an ID card there. L4 Clearance. Read the name."
>
> **<A. Adams>:** ". . . A████ Adams. Emergency Clearance, Vice Alto Clef."
>
> **<A. Clef>:** "Had Dmitri whip it up for me in case of an emergency. It'll give you access to everything I can access. You're in charge now. Deal with the situation."
>
> **<A. Adams>:** ". . . I can't."
>
> **<A. Clef>:** "Adams. My legs are blown to fuck. In about sixty seconds, I'm going to pass out from the pain. If internal comms are down, this isn't a one-time deal. This is a coordinated attack. You're going to have to do it. Prove to everyone you're more than just an oversized pair of tits."
>
> **<A. Adams>:** ". . ."
>
> **<A. Clef>:** "Now git."
-----
**Interview: Dr. Tarn Honey/Dr. █████**
> //Portion of interview between O5-█ and Dr. Tarn Honey//, ██/██/████
>
> <Interview Begins>
>
> **Dr. Honey:** I entered the hallway and...and there were just so many bodies.
>
> **Dr. █████:** They were security?
>
> **Dr. Honey:** I suppose they must have been. I didn't know who they were or what had killed them at the time. Of course I now know it was [[[SCP-870.]]] They couldn't have even heard it.
>
> **Dr. █████:** A tragic waste of life. Please continue.
>
> **Dr. Honey:** 737 was there, of course. You know, from the reports you'd imagine it just hits a wall and eats its way through it, but it's more like a maggot. A big, train-shaped, wooden maggot. I should rewrite that report.
>
> **Dr. █████:** Perhaps not right now, doctor. You managed to capture 737?
>
> **Dr. Honey:** It was...it was eating the bodies. At this point it was about seven carriages long. There was no way I could pick that thing up.
>
> **Dr. █████:** This is when you hit the alarm?
>
> **Dr. Honey:** Yes, I -
>
> (At this point, **Dr. Honey** entered a coughing fit that lasted forty-three seconds, due to the condition at time of interview.)
>
> **Dr. Honey:** Sorry about (coughs) that. Must be that bug going around!
>
> **Dr. █████:** That's alright. Did security arrive?
>
> **Dr. Honey:** No. I knew at this point something serious was going on. I decided to stay back in 737's containment area. (Laughs) It's not like anyone was using it!
-----
***AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"
003***
> ///Relevant transcript begins at ██/██/20██ ██/██/██ as captured by Security Camera/Audio system 1134-b; interior of office belonging to Dr. Rights. Status in video: Two walls have been partially removed by nearby explosion. Dr. Rights is still unconscious, and SCP-347 has remained in the room.///
>
> ///At ██/██ Dr. Zurn returns, and after a short coughing fit checks on Dr. Rights again, unaware of SCP-347 in the room.///
>
> Dr. Zurn: [Expletives deleted]
>
> ///Dr. Zurn leaves the room again.///
>
> SCP-347: ...no wonder you pounced on him. He's a sweetie.
>
> ///After ██ minutes, SCP-542 enters the room, without sound, and approaches Dr. Rights. After a cursory observation, he turns from her, and begins to leave the room. SCP-542 then pauses in the doorway.///
>
> SCP-542: They call you Claudia, no?
>
> SCP-347: Jesus Christ!
>
> SCP-542: Don't worry. Were it not for your heartbeat, even I may have not noticed you. Don't touch my dear Doctor, danke. I will return shortly.
>
> ///SCP-542 exits the room, and SCP-347 can be observed frantically pacing the room, by tracking of anklet///
>
> ///Relevant transcript of Security Camera/Audio system 1134-b ends at ██/██/██.///
------
**Audio Log From Maintenance Tunnel 3A**
> **Agent Lombardi:** "Okay, see, that wasn't so bad, was it? We got through, and we're both still alive. Yeah, I know. The cannibal's a scary fucker, but the fuckers shooting at us were a bit scarier. Besides, Fernand ain't stupid. Someone shootin' at him is a much bigger deal than a couple of guys what are just running through."
>
> **Agent Vance:** "He just... broke them."
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "That was the idea, kid. Now, we're gettin' close to the armory. We're gonna get in there, grab some hardware, and then try and meet up with other agents. Hopefully someone out there's still alive an' giving orders. Failing that, we keep the intruders busy."
>
> **Agent Vance:** "How do we do that?"
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "We kill them. We steer them into dangerous skips. We improvise. You ever see Home Alone?"
>
> **Agent Vance:** "Yeah."
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "Well, it's gonna be like that, but more people are gonna die. Hopefully not us."
------
***AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"
004***
> ///Additional transcript portions from Security Camera/Audio systems 1122-c through -f, 1141-b, and 1136-a through -m indicate the movements of both SCP-542 and Dr. Zurn. SCP-542 is observed in the process of attacking Research Security Agent J. Willhein. Agent Willhein is disabled in the process, and paralyzed. SCP-542 carries him out of camera range.///
-----
**Audio/Visual transcript of [[[SCP-138]]] containment chamber**
> **0700** Subject remains in induced coma. Life signs steady.
>
> **0800** Subject remains in induced coma. Life signs steady.
>
> **0811** Static corresponding with loss of containment systems throughout Site 17
>
> **942** Camera feed restored. Subject remains in induced coma. Life signs steady.
>
> **955** Gunfire heard outside containment chamber
>
> **959** Containment chamber opened from outside. Two figures enter the room, one of which is sloppily dressed in security helmet and flak jacket. Other figure wears no clothing. Figures identified as instances of [[[SCP-945.]]]
>
> **1000 to 1031** Figures stand perfectly still and observe subject. Subject remains in coma. Life signs steady.
>
> **1032 to 1033** Unknown personnel affiliated with attackers enters chamber, opens fire on figures with side arm. Bullets strike upper arms of figure dressed in security armor. Figure returns fire with standard security firearm. Unknown personnel slain. Figures return to observation of subject. Subject remains in induced coma. Life signs steady.
>
> **1045 to 1052** Third figure enters room, removes uniform and weapons worn by unknown personnel and dons them. Joins other figures in observation of subject. Subject remains in induced coma. Life signs steady.
>
> **1100 to 1114** Figures cease observation and begin disconnecting subject from coma support equipment. Fourth figure enters room wearing white lab coat and administers unknown substances to subject. Subject begins to recover from induced coma. Life signs steady.
>
> **1124** Subject fully recovered from induced coma. Four figures remain motionless in observation. Subject begins screaming in pain. Life signs steady.
>
> **1200** Figures continue to observe subject. Subject continues screaming in pain. Life signs steady.
>
> **1300** Figures continue to observe subject. Subject continues screaming in pain. Life signs steady.
>
> **1400** Figures continue to observe subject. Subject continues screaming in pain. Life signs steady.
------
**Excerpt from Video Log, Observation Camera 6649881:**
> **0804:** [[[SCP-027|Subject 027-02]]] is served breakfast as scheduled. Life signs of the subject are within normal parameters.
>
> **0811:** A series of explosions is heard elsewhere in the facility. Seconds later, Security Breach Alarms are heard. Containment for SCP-027 appears unaffected. Subject appears concerned; life signs show increased anxiety.
>
> **0814:** Alarms continue. Sounds of large numbers of personnel moving quickly can be heard intermittently. Subject starts looking around in agitation.
>
> **0819:** Under-floor vacuum system stops operation. Subject appears distressed.
>
> **0822:** Flying insect population noticeably visible. Subject starts pounding on the door leading outside containment, screaming "Let me out of here!"
>
> **0827:** Camera shakes briefly due to another explosion, louder than previously. Subject is shaken slightly, retreats underneath the cot in the cell.
>
> **0829:** A third explosion is heard, much louder than previously. Entire containment cell is shaken for a full second. Subject remains underneath the cot. Life signs continue to appear normal for high-stress circumstances.
>
> **0833:** Dust has settled. Horseflies seen flying in containment. Subject remains underneath the cot.
>
> **0841:** Subject slowly emerges from underneath the cot, approaches door to containment cell. Subject attempts to force the door open, fails.
>
> **0842:** Subject appears to appraise containment cell. Black ants seen swarming around feet of subject.
>
> **0846:** Subject approaches floor grating at northwest wall, appears to inspect junction.
>
> **0847:** Subject attempts to force up floor grating at northwest wall. Floor grating loosens.
>
> **0851:** Subject opens gap in the floor grating large enough to squeeze through, disappears down vacuum outlet.
-----
**Recovered footage from cell-phone discovered on the body of unknown assailant**
> Figure identified as Prof. A. Bjornsen enters corridor from transportation depot, wearing SCP-262. The bodies of several guards lay on the ground approximately 10 feet away from the door. Unidentified assailant runs from behind the holder of the cell phone towards Prof. Bjornsen, screaming and brandishing a large knife in each hand. Two (2) cellulose tentacles emerge from SCP-262 and grab weaponry from the bodies of the guards. The tentacles rapidly retreat towards Prof. Bjornsen and two human arms emerge to take the firearms. These arms immediately proceed to fire the weapons indiscrimately. Analysis of the recovered footage reveals that shots fired struck the ceiling, floor, both walls, the oncoming assailant and at least one round grazed Prof. Bjornsen's left cheek. The holder of the cell-phone is apparently wounded by the weaponsfire and drops the cell-phone. Remaining footage is taken approximately twelve (12) centimeters from the base of a wall before ending.
------
***AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"
005***
> ///At ██/██/██ Camera System feed 1134-b Dr. Rights' office show SCP-542 entering, moving to beneath camera range, and ends abruptly. Believed to be the work of SCP-542 disabling the camera. Audio systems remain intact.///
>
> Agent Willhein: Oh God oh god oh god help please god help don't do this please
>
> ///Several minutes of frantic speech occur. SCP-347 can be heard in the background, voice indistinct. Agent Willhein begins screaming, for ██ minutes, after which there is no speech. SCP-542 can be heard humming to himself, and SCP-347 is believed to be the source of crying heard in background.///
>
> ///FURTHER LOGS FROM AUDIO SYSTEM 1134-b EXCLUDED DUE TO LACK OF RELEVANCY///
------
**Camera Feed 17-4a, PA System Control Room, ██/██/████**
> **0800** Room is empty and silent. Feed is stationary.
>
> **0811** Explosions are heard. A large piece of concrete falls on the desk, severely damaging the PA system. Camera is jolted, but undamaged.
>
> **0812** Screams and sirens are audible.
>
> **0823** Gunfire is audible.
>
> **0843** Two unidentified persons in full body armor enter the room. They carry machine guns of unknown caliber and manufacture. They converse, although the details of their conversation are inaudible.
>
> **0846** Both persons exit room.
>
> **0900** Room is empty. Gunfire, screams, and sirens are audible. Feed is stationary.
>
> **0904** One unidentified person in full body armor enters the room armed with a gun similar to those of the persons visible at **0843**. The individual is accompanied by a male in a humanoid SCP uniform, later identified as [[[SCP-890]]], who appears to be carrying a suitcase.
>
> **0905** //SCP-890:// "Alright, where is the patient?"
>
> **0905** The unidentified individual motions towards the PA system. SCP-890 turns to face the individual.
>
> **0905** //SCP-890:// "Those wounds are nonlethal. I saw many more severe cases in need of assistance on the way here. Are you sure this is the one you want healed?
>
> **0906** The unidentified individual nods.
>
> **0906** //Unidentified Individual:// [inaudible]
>
> **0906** //SCP-890:// "That's certainly an odd request, but I think I see what you're going for. These are hardly ideal conditions, though. The patient will have their voice back, but I can't guarantee that they will live very long afterwards.
>
> **0907** SCP-890 opens the suitcase, revealing a full compliment of surgical tools. The PA system appears to transform into a mass of flesh.
>
> **0908** SCP-890 begins operating on the mass of flesh. The unidentified individual stands facing the door.
-----
**Camera Feed 17-12b, Security Station Alpha Delta**
> **0800** Security team is absent from station. (note: This has been determined to be the result of a scheduling conflict)
>
> **0811** Explosion seen at far end of hallway. Camera feed lost.
>
> **0845** Camera function restored. Dr. Johannes Sorts and an animate clay statue (a SCP-945 replica) wearing a burnt technician's jacket are standing on rubble and peering into the lens. Five other SCP-945 replicas are wearing assorted remains of security uniforms and carrying weapons, manning the security station.
>
> //Dr. Sorts:// (addressing the technician replica) "What else is not working here, Joesph?"
>
> //"Joseph"// (believed to be replica of Joseph Pullman, KIA at 0811): "This camera is working, but the door locks on this level are all still out, and the Public Address system is not responding. The alarms are off but I think I can..."
>
> **0847** Alarms restored, sirens sound throughout area.
>
> //Dr. Sorts:// "Yes thank you Joseph that is very helpf-" (screaming, then static camera cuts out for approximately three minutes)
>
> **0850** Security replicas are engaged in gunfight with unknown forces at end of hall. "Joseph" replica and Dr. Sorts are crouched within the security station.
>
> //Dr. Sorts:// "Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Dammit! Just try not to kill - [inaudible] that's one of our [inaudible]"
>
> Two members of unknown forces in full body armor hold position at far end of hall. Unidentified individual wearing a standard humanoid SCP uniform is moved down the hall and out of view by a third member of unknown forces.
>
> **0900** Unknown forces and security replicas remain in cover for ten minutes, little gunfire is exchanged. Dr. Sorts is attempting to give instructions to replicas.
>
> //Dr. Sorts:// [inaudible] "-- to kill... because ... because we need prisoners is why! And also..." [inaudible]
>
> **0910** Member of unknown forces throws grenade into security station. Security replica retrieves grenade and runs down the hall to the position held by unknown forces. Replica takes several dozen rounds to the arms and legs and crumbles to inanimate pieces approximately two meters from the end of the hallway. Grenade rolls back into the position held by unknown forces. There is an explosion, both hostile agents appear to be killed.
>
> **0911** Dr. Sorts exits security station and approaches unknown forces.
>
> **0913** An instance of SCP-945 steps out of the wall behind Dr. Sorts as he examines the hostile agents. Dr. Sorts notes its arrival and tries to communicate.
>
> **0914** New instance of SCP-945 retrieves weapon from fallen hostile agent and aims it at Dr. Sorts.
>
> //Dr. Sorts// "It's a replica of the enemy! Shoot it! Shoot it!"
>
> **0915** Camera feed lost
>
> **0920** Camera feed restored. "Joseph" replica adjusts the lens. Security replicas are exchanging fire with two replicas that have taken the position previously held by hostile agents. The two groups appear to be purposefully missing each other, one replica goes through the motions of aiming and firing without discharging any ammunition. Dr. Sorts is not on camera. No alarms are being sounded.
>
> **0921** "Joseph" replica is pulling what appears to be a long cord of veins and muscle tissue from from the wall.
>
> //"Joseph"// "Now to check the PA system... my god, what is this? We have a containment breach!"
>
> **0922** Replica of security agent sounds the alarm again. Sirens are heard along with sporadic gunfire.
------
***AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"
006***
> ///Relevant transcript begins at ██/██/20██ ██/██/██ as captured by Security Camera/Audio system 211-j; Hallway. Status in video: Largely rubble. SCP-457 is observed to be devouring a human corpse through immolation, victim unidentified. After ██ minutes, SCP-457 travels down the hallway. Fragments of audio logs reveal words.///
>
> SCP-457: Hungry...hungry...burn...large burn...like sun...so hungry...want food...want fuel...hungry...
>
> ///Relevant transcript of Security Camera/Audio system 211-j ends at ██/██/██.///
-----
***AUDIO/VIDEO TRANSCRIPT - TRACKING INDIVIDUALS DESIGNATE "Senior Staff Dr. A. Rights" AND "Research Staff Dr. W. Zurn"
007***
> ///Relevant transcript begins at ██/██/20██ ██/██/██ as captured by Security Camera/Audio system 924-f; Hallway. Status in video: Intact. Dr. Zurn emerges from door, slamming it shut behind him. Faint shouting can be heard.///
>
> Dr. Zurn: Sorry! I'm sorry!
>
> ///Dr. Zurn continues down hallway, out of range.///
>
> ///Relevant transcript of Security Camera/Audio system 924-f ends at ██/██/██.///
-----
**Audio-Visual Transcript, Site 17 D-Class Cafeteria, ██/██/██**
> **Unidentified D-class:** Listen up, you lousy shits! I don’t have any idea who these fuckers are or what they’re after or whatever the fuck is going on, but you know what? I don’t fucking care. Because something tells me you won’t get three meals, a roof and a chance at parole if they’re the ones in charge. Did you see what they did to Jacob? Not to me, fuck no! You can escape if you want, but I for one….
>
> [Individual is beaten down by another D-Class. Riot breaks out.]
-----
**Interview: Research Assistant Corbette/Site Director ███████:**
> //Portion of Interview Between Research Assistant Corbette and Site Director ███████//
>
> **<Begin Interview Log>**
>
> **Site Director ███████:** Corbette! I don't care about how stale your muffin was, get to the point of the explosion.
>
> **Research Assistant Corbette:** Ok, ok, sorry. So, I'm eating my muffin, right? And suddenly I hear this big boom and there's alarms blaring everywhere and I don't know what the fuck to do, I'm just looking after all the Misters, right? And then I get an emergency memo from the boss, and he says to me, "Evacuate all the Misters." And I mean there's only four of them here right now, so it isn't that hard. So I put down my muffin, and I'm like, "Holy shit guys, we gotta get outta here!"
>
> **Site Director ███████:** So you were instructed by Dr. Hayward to evacuate his projects?
>
> **Research Assistant Corbette:** Yeah, so I handcuff Forgetful to myself because, y'know, every 20 seconds he has no idea what the shit is going on. And then I handcuff Chameleon to Hungry, and Moon just kinda hobbles along with us on his cane.
>
> **Site Director ███████:** And it was a waning moon, so he was missing the majority of his face, yes?
>
> **Research Assistant Corbette:** Yeah, he could only see through one eye. Everything else was covered.
-----
**Transcript of Video Log from Hallway 21, outside designated "Misters" corridor**
> **<Begin Video Log>**
>
> (Research Assistant Corbette enters the hallway handcuffed to [[[SCP-909]]]. Following is [[[SCP-913]]] and [[[SCP-905]]] handcuffed together. Behind is [[[SCP-917]]], struggling to keep pace with Research Assistant Corbette. Research Assistant Corbette turns around.)
>
> **Research Assistant Corbette:** Moon, catch the up! This is an evacuation, you lard-ass!
>
> **SCP-917:** (Muffled speaking)
>
> **Research Assistant Corbette:** What?
>
> **SCP-917:** (Muffled speaking)
>
> **Research Assistant Corbette:** Ok, does somebody have the braille book. I have no idea what this guy's saying.
>
> **SCP-913:** He says he can hear gunfire down the evacuation route with his one good ear.
>
> **Research Assistant Corbette:** Aw, fuck. Ok, guys, we're gonna have to find another way out of here. Um... anybody have a map?
------
++++ 0823 to 0915: Breakdown
> It is at this point that the situation escalated to a full-out Tempest Night scenario, as multiple containment breaches occured throughout the facility, causing near-complete loss of containment. Ironically, a significant portion of the containment breaches were caused by Foundation personnel themselves, in an attempt to stop the incursion by the unknown hostile force. Secondary containment breaches followed, resulting in the Foundation-Wide Alert Status being upgraded to Red.
>
> The result was complete loss of situational control. Without a central coordinating authority, individual Foundation personnel were working at cross-purposes, interfering with and even counteracting each others' actions. In at least one case, a Foundation scientist's heroic sacrifice in maintaining containment of a Euclid-Class artifact was immediately rendered null and void when another Foundation researcher immediately breached containment of said artifact with the intent to use it as a weapon against the insurgent forces.
>
> The situation would continue until the re-establishment of intra-site communications by Secretary Adams. By that point, however, the situation had proceeded past the point of no return. Many of the SCP artifacts had broken through the site lockdown and escaped into the wild. Mission priority then changed from securing the breached artifacts to surviving the crisis.
-----
> **Transcript of Video Log from Storage Vault 2**
>
> **0810** Research Assistant Harold Wachtel enters the storage vault with SCP-494, and approaches its containment locker
>
> **0811:** Locker 3425-A8 explodes on the far end of the room, knocking over several shelves and dumping their contents to the floor. Research Assistant Harold Wachtel becomes partially buried under many containment lockers. For the next 45 seconds, only his head moves.
>
> **0812:** Research Assistant Harold Wachtel nods to himself, then dons 494. He reaches into his breast pocket and begins pulling out a paper tissue, then tears off a small piece of it. He lifts the far end of one of the lockers on his chest with a grimace.
>
> **0817:** Containment locker becomes made out of paper tissue. Scrap of paper tissue becomes a small shard of steel. Research Assistant Harold Wachtel tears off a small piece of the containment locker, then lifts up the end of another locker.
>
> [REDACTED FOR LACK OF RELEVANCY]
>
> **0848:** Containment locker becomes made out of paper tissue. Scrap of paper tissue becomes a shard of rubber-lined steel. [[[SCP-447 |SCP-447-2]]] begins oozing out of containment locker. Research Assistant Harold Wachtel says something, later confirmed to be "[EXPLETIVE REDACTED]".
>
> **0849:** Research Assistant Harold Wachtel begins rubbing SCP-447-2 on himself.
>
> **0851:** Using SCP-447-2 as a lubricant, Research Assistant Harold Wachtel slips out from under the remaining lockers. He then proceeds to remove SCP-494, shove them in his right sock, and begin wrapping SCP-447-1 in paper tissue from the lockers.
> **Debriefing: Research Assistant Harold Wachtel**
> //Excerpt from interview conducted by O5-█, regarding Research Assistant Harold Wachtel’s involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1.//
>
> **O5-█:** Why did you bring 447 with you?
>
> **Wachtel:** I'd missed my check-in by then, and since no-one had come looking for me, I was assuming the worst. I didn't want any hostiles getting their hands on it and exposing it to a dead body.
>
> **O5-█:** Is that also why you took off your lab coat and trousers, and threw them in the incinerator?
>
> **Wachtel:** Yes, sir.
-----
-----
**Audio Log from Hallway 43, outside the armory**
> **Agent Lombardi:** "Okay, grab some guns, and let's beat feet. I'll cover you."
>
> **Agent Vance:** "Um, sir?"
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "That is not a happy sounding um. Why are you making an unhappy um?"
>
> **Agent Vance:** "It's... gone, sir."
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "The fuck do you mean, gone? The guns are missing?"
>
> **Agent Vance:** "No sir. The armory. The room is missing."
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "Let me see. Jesus. You're right. This hallway's also too short. I fucking hate Eschers. Come on. We'll have to improvise."
>
> **Agent Vance:** "With what? Sir, we have no weapons."
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "Sure we do. What do you think we been collecting all these years?"
------
**Excerpt from Video Log of Security Camera 00294727:**
> **0830:** Camera feed shows entrance to containment chamber of [[[SCP-632]]]. Sirens are heard in background.
>
> **0836:** Sirens get louder. A muted explosion is heard off-screen to the right, sounding like "popping a wet balloon". Blood splatters onto camera, presumably from unknown source of explosion.
>
> **0837:** A plump young female exits containment chamber of SCP-632, identified by name tag to be Researcher Min. She turns head in direction of explosion, appears stunned for a few seconds before withdrawing back into the containment chamber.
>
> **0838:** Researcher Min exits containment chamber donning protective lab goggles, hurriedly running to the left of the screen. In her hand is an ice box, presumed to be the Biological Storage Unit of SCP-632.
> Transcription of Audio Log between 0900-0930, Security Camera 0030345
>
> Prolonged screaming is heard in the background, believed to be caused by SCP-███ outbreak.
>
> <Researcher Min> (heavy panting) Who's there?
>
> <Agent Frederick> You! Good! Quick, we need to hurry! They're going to flood the wing with bakelite in an hour.
>
> <RM> What's happening? Who are you? Are we under attack? Can you help? Are you an Agent? Why is the wall screaming? Who are you? How do I-
>
> <AF> I have no idea. Explosion registered in this wing around 0830 hours, not sure who did it. Either way, we're under a full scale attack, command is shattered, and most of the skips are out of their pens. And unless you want to be 6 feet deep in bright yellow plastic, you'll have to come with me.
>
> <RM> Where? It's just that I'm-
>
> <AF> Deeper. Underground. Main atrium to the wing's crawling with those motherfuckers, we'll need to head to the basement. Hopefully we'll find others there, and wait for the whole thing to blow over. Understand?
>
> <RM> ...y-yes, sir.
>
> <AF> And that box, what's in it? If it's a skip, open it. At least we'll have some more firepower than this empty gun.
>
> <RM> Can't exactly do that, sir. If the temperature in here so much as rises a couple degrees we'd be crawling with those spiders by now.
>
> <AF> ...damn. I've always wanted myself one of those magic rings.
-----
**Excerpt from Security Camera-G-0007298**
> //Camera feed shows minor stress fractures on south-east wall, overhead plaster sheeting has collapsed. Agent [REDACTED] regains consciousness.//
>
> **Agent [REDACTED]:** [Coughs several times] Sir, wake up, sir.
>
> **Dr. Dier:** I'm here, [REDACTED].
>
> **Agent [REDACTED]:** Sir, there's been some sort of attack, we have to get to a security station.
>
> **Dr. Dier:** Wait, I must check on containment.
>
> **Agent [REDACTED]:** [Gestures to the left side of Dr. Dier's face] Sir, you're injured. We should go.
>
> **Dr. Dier:** This will only take a minute, watch the door.
>
> //Security cameras 0017699, 6649881, 0027998 register Dr. Dier's access codes during ██.██.████ - ██.██.████.//
------
**Interview: Dr. Tarn Honey/Dr. █████**
> //Portion of interview between Dr. █████ and Dr. Tarn Honey//, ██/██/████
>
> **Dr. █████:** I'm sorry? You couldn't get back to the containment area?
>
> **Dr. Honey:** Yes. There were two men there, with guns. I couldn't see their faces, before you ask.
>
> **Dr. █████:** Did you at least try -
>
> **Dr. Honey:** No, I didn't!
>
> (At this point **Dr. Honey** slammed his hand on the table.)
>
> **Dr. Honey:** Oh. Oh god, my hands...
>
> **Dr. █████:** Dr. Honey, please answer me.
>
> **Dr. Honey:** Of course. Sorry, I must have...must have drifted off there.
>
> **Dr. █████:** Understandable. Could you hear the men?
>
> **Dr. Honey:** I...no, I couldn't hear them properly. They left after a few minutes. At this point, I knew that the area wasn't safe, so I went to the cafeteria. I hoped to find some people.
>
> **Dr. █████:** And did you?
>
> **Dr. Honey:** Not alive.
------
**Cafeteria Surveillance Log ██/██/████**
> //**Doctor T. Honey** enters the room. Remains of several researchers and security personnel are present within. **T. Honey** reacts with shock, then pulls a gun out of a corpses holster.//
>
> <**T. Honey**> Shit, shit, shit...sorry, I'm sorry...
>
> //**T. Honey** takes a seat on the other side of the room, holding his head in his hands. Sounds of somebody approaching are heard. **T. Honey** takes the gun and holds it to his head.//
>
> //**A. Adams** enters the room.//
>
> <**T. Honey**> S-Stay the fuck back! I'll do it, I swear!
>
> <**A. Adams**> Doctor, put down the gun.
>
> //**A. Adams** steps forward.//
>
> <**T. Honey**> I said //back!// You won't get me, not me!
>
> <**A. Adams**> Doctor, I'm not with the attackers. Give me the gun.
>
> <**T. Honey**> Why exactly should I believe anything you say? Give you my gun, are you crazy? Where's your identification?! I want to see your identification!
>
> //**A. Adams** slides her identification card along the table. **T. Honey** picks it up and examines it.//
>
> <**T. Honey**> Oh. L-Level 4? Sorry, ma'am, I didn't realize. You can have the gun, I suppose.
>
> //**T. Honey** slides **A. Adams**' identification and his gun back along the table.//
>
> <**A. Adams**> Right. Now, where is Command and Control?
>
> <**T. Honey**> Ha. You're new to Level 4, then?
>
> <**A. Adams**> You could say that. I'm not taking your gun, though. You'll need it.
>
> <**T. Honey**> Through Decontamination Wing 6, turn left when you reach Protective Materials and keep on going till you hit the doors. Can't miss it.
>
> //**A. Adams** turns to leave.//
>
> <**T. Honey**> Still though, ma'am, hundreds of unholy abominations are loose in the building. You may want to keep your gun close, and I don't mean for defense.
>
> //**A. Adams** leaves the room.//
-----
**Excerpt from debriefing of Prof. Anders Bjornsen**
> **SA:** What were you doing when you encountered Ms. Adams?
>
> **AB:** I was outside Decon 6, wrestling with one of the arms, trying to pry loose the last of the guns. I'm pretty sure it was already out of ammo, but I didn't want one of the others to pick up a clip somewhere and reload it.
>
> **SA:** Decontamination Wing 6 is quite a distance from the transport depot or your designated containment breach evacuation point. Why were you there?
>
> **AB:** The explosions had filled a lot of the hallways with rubble and I was trying to get to the containment chamber of SCP-200. It was the only place I could think of that was reasonably secure, assuming that it hadn't been collapsed. Decon 6 was on the quickest path to get there.
>
> **SA:** How did you recognize Ms. Adams?
>
> **AB:** I'd seen her in the cafeteria a couple of times before, once with Director Clef, so I figured she belonged. She was headed straight for the doors into Decon, but I stopped her before she went in.
>
> **SA:** Why was that?
>
> **AB:** I'd already peeked in there and it was fucking chaos. All safe or euclid class SCPs have to go through it, even if they're well-documented, but it's only supposed to be temporary containment and the explosions must've cracked some of the walls. At least half the chamber doors were open and I saw about 8 or 10 people in what looked like riot gear, piling a ton of shit into some metal boxes. Paperwork, at least one laptop, and I think I saw a birdcage with something moving in it. Their gear didn't have any of the guards' markings on them, so I figured that they weren't part of the Foundation.
>
> **SA:** What did Ms. Adams do when you told her this?
>
> **AB:** What do you think she did? She cursed and asked if there was any other way around it.
>
> **SA:** Was there?
>
> **AB:** She obviously found one, or we wouldn't be here. I told her to follow me and we took the long way around until we got to the security station outside the Safe Humanoids wing. It took us about 20 minutes, since we had to backtrack a couple of times when we hit blocked hallways or more groups of those riot-gear guys. One time they were carrying something in a body bag that was struggling pretty fiercely.
>
> **SA:** Did you encounter any SCPs on your way?
>
> **AB:** Not that I know of. I smelled something burning a couple of times and I was told later that there was a loose SCP made of fire. And when we finally got to the security station outside the Safe Humanoids wing, we found that all the guards had been decapitated and burned. I was almost at SCP-200's chamber, so I figured that I was almost as safe as I was going to get, and pointed her down to Protective Materials. Assuming that she didn't encounter anything else, she should've been there in about 10 minutes.
>
> **SA:** After Ms. Adams left you, what did you do?
>
> **AB:** I went into the Humanoids wing. Unfortunately, it'd been pretty trashed too, although I don't know if it was from the explosions, from the invading force, or one of the escaped SCPs. I do know that when I got to SCP-200's chamber, the door was wide open and the damn cocoon was ripped to shreds. And I couldn't even hole up there because the damn handle was ripped off and the door wouldn't close.
>
> **SA:** Security camera footage shows that you didn't stay in the Humanoids Wing very long. If you were looking for a safe place to hole up, why did you leave?
>
> **AB:** Well, like I said, the place was pretty trashed, so it wasn't really any safer than the rest of the Site. Also... I kinda felt responsible for SCP-200, even though I wasn't on that project any more. I'd spent over a year studying it and if it had finally emerged, I sorta wanted to see what it was. If it was moderately harmless, I could hopefully herd it back into containment and if it wasn't... well, I figured I could at least get some observations for the next guy to review.
-----
**Audio Log from Hallway 34**
> **Agent Lombardi:** "Hold up. We got hostiles ahead."
>
> **Agent Vance:** "Can we get around them?"
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "Maybe. But they've got weapons. We want weapons."
>
> **Agent Vance:** "That's... I don't think--"
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "That's okay. I can think for us both. Now, see that door over there? That's quarantine for new skips, and I got an idea. I'm gonna distract them. Go in there, open the third door to the left, and then go flat on the ground."
>
> **Agent Vance:** "Do what?"
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "Okay, go!"
>
> //Video shows Agent Lombardi appearing in the hall near the insurgents. He appeared to yell something, then dived back behind cover. Agent Vance approached, using a vending machine for concealment, until running the remaining distance to the door. Several shots were fired, but neither Agent was injured. The insurgents ran through the door after Agent Vance. Approximately thirty seconds later, several pieces of the insurgents flew out of the room, striking the opposite wall. Anomaly VN-1520 (SCP number pending) exited through the door before killing several other insurgents. It then deactivated, falling to the floor. Agent Lombardi picked it up as Agent Vance emerged back into the hallway, visibly shaken.//
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "Good work, kid."
>
> **Agent Vance:** "Oh Jesus."
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "Go grab a towel from the washroom. You've got some insurgent on you."
>
> **Agent Vance:** "Oh Jesus!"
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "Goddammit! At least use the trashcan. All right, now... FUCK!"
>
> **Agent Vance:** "What's... what's wrong?"
>
> **Agent Lombardi:** "It broke the fucking guns."
-----
**Archived email message**
> //Sent: ██-██-████ 08:33 GMT
> From: skatz@█████████████.org
> To: facilitiesmanager@█████████████.org
> Re: Men's room//
>
> Jerry-- I had to stop by the Site-17 business office to pick up some documents and I couldn't help noticing that the water in the urinals of the mens room next to Conference Room G is boiling. Also, there is a weird smell in the parking lot, like rotten eggs. Might want to have a crew check it out.
> Best, Sheldon
>
> **SHELDON M. KATZ, ESQ. LEGAL DEPARTMENT skatz@█████████████.org
> office: ███.███.████ fax: ███.███.████ cell: ███.███.████**
>
>
> [[size 75%]]Confidentiality Statement: This electronic message contains information from the SCP FOUNDATION LEGAL DEPARTMENT, and may be confidential or privileged. The information is intended to be for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, be aware that any disclosure, copying, distribution or use of the contents of this message is prohibited. If you have received this electronic message in error, please notify the sender immediately by reply e-mail or telephone ███.███.████, whereupon the SCP FOUNDATION LEGAL DEPARTMENT shall use appropriate means, including but not limited to the administration of amnestics, to cure any unauthorized disclosure of confidential or privileged information.
>
> IRS Circular 230 Notice: We are required to advise you no person or entity may use any tax advice in this communication or any attachment to (i) avoid any penalty under federal tax law or (ii) promote, market or recommend any purchase, investment or other action.[[/size]]
>
-----
**Excerpt from Security Camera-G-0007298**
> //Agent [REDACTED] has been exchanging fire with a single assailant on the end of the hallway adjacent to Dr. Dier's office for █ minutes. She has suffered several shrapnel injuries to her lower abdomen.//
>
> **Agent [REDACTED]:** Goddamn! [Clutches her waist]
>
> **Dr. Dier:** It appears SCP-027 is heading in this direction. Bullets may not be the only thing we will need to worry about.
>
> //Cockroaches observed emerging from office tiling and ceiling.//
>
> **Agent [REDACTED]:** What the hell are we supposed to do? We're pinned down!
>
> **Dr. Dier:** [Retrieves his sidearm, before crouching down on the floor to retrieve something]
>
> **Agent [REDACTED]:** What are you doing?!
>
> **Dr. Dier:** Grenade! [Lobs rat from behind door towards attacker, attacker runs for cover]
>
> **Agent [REDACTED]:** [Emerges from behind office door, fires twice, killing unknown assailant]
>
> //Dr. Dier and Agent [REDACTED] begin moving towards Sublevel-F3.//
-----
**Transcript of Containment Breach 13-34 Eyewitness Account Interview**
**Interviewed:** Assistant Researcher Li Huang.
**Interviewer:** O5-█
**Foreword:** Temporary Containment Area 17-Gamma’s surveillance functions were completely disabled at 0811. Around 0832, it is estimated that Containment Breach 13-34 occurred at Temporary Containment Area 17-Gamma. Assistant Researcher Huang was an eyewitness of Containment Breach 13-34 and the immediate aftermath.
> **O5-█:** Describe the events leading up to Containment Breach 13-34.
>
> **Huang:** People flocked to 17-Gamma for safety. The logic was that if it could contain a Keter-class SCP object, then it could protect them from the attackers. Though communication with the main Site had been disabled, 17-Gamma was believed to be one of the safest places in Site-17. Basic security had remained uncompromised, and there were plenty of weapons. At 0823, of course, the attack by—
>
> //Huang coughs.//
>
> **Huang:** Excuse me. 17-Gamma came under attack. Many Foundation personnel, having…collected SCP objects from Site-17, began to use those objects in order to repel the attackers.
>
> **O5-█:** They intentionally breached containment for those objects?
>
> **Huang:** Not everybody. The explosions had already breached containment for some objects, which were just picked up off the ground.
>
> **O5-█:** Did you do that?
>
> **Huang:** No.
>
> **O5-█:** Please continue.
>
> **Huang:** The exact details escape me. However, approximately thirty seconds into the firefight, I became aware of somebody using [[[SCP-399]]] as an enhanced stunner by producing what I presume to be some sort of pressure shockwave. Perhaps unauthorized usage of SCP-914 provided a power source.
>
> **O5-█:** Do you know exactly how 17-Gamma’s containment unit was breached?
>
> **Huang:** No. I didn’t even see it happen. Maybe a stray grenade caused structural damage. But even if I had seen the breach occur, I wouldn’t have understood the significance. I didn’t know what 17-Gamma was containing. I didn’t have the clearance. I assume that many others were similarly unaware. In the absence of a chain of command, we simply didn’t know where not to go and what not to do.
>
> **O5-█:** What happened during Containment Breach 13-34?
>
> **Huang:** The shockwaves were very loud, which already exacerbated the situation. However, that alone was not enough to cause the destruction associated with Containment Breach 13-34. I am not entirely certain, but I have my suspicions about what did. A piece of metal debris that resonated with a shockwave in just the right way, producing a sound quite like a bell...we all know what happened next. I remember an explosion of wings, and then, nothing. I woke up a few minutes later. [[[SCP-469]]] was nowhere in sight.
>
> **O5-█:** So Containment Breach 13-34 was the result of unfortunate coincidence?
>
> **Huang:** Maybe. But fifty-two people died in Containment Breach 13-34. If you wish to attribute that to unfortunate coincidence, that’s your decision, sir.
-----
++++ 0916 to 1103: Disorder
> This period of the crisis can be considered the nadir of the incident: due to complete loss of containment and the presence of the hostile party, Foundation elements were rendered both operational and combat ineffective. Hostile elements had free reign of the facility, and many priceless artifacts were lost. The situation was further exacerbated by a complete release of D-Class personnel when confinement protocols failed. The presence of several hundred hardened criminals in this crisis situation was, to put it mildly, not optimally conducive to maintaining order.
>
> It is at this point that certain facts about the hostile force became evident. Firstly, the training and skill level of the hostiles were widely disparate: certain elements displayed paramilitary levels of combat and tactical expertise, while others were clearly untrained civilians. Secondly, the goal of the hostile force was not capture, but release of the contained artifacts: although some opportunistic looting took place, escaping SCP artifacts were not pursued, but allowed to escape.
>
> It is for this reason that I believe that the hostile force were not directed by Marshall, Carter, and Dark: MC&D would not have passed up the opportunity to retrieve several key artifacts that could have proven lucrative to their private efforts. The modus operandi is also inconsistent with the GOC or the Chaos Insurgency: Among other things, the Global Occult Coalition would have simply eradicated the entire site, while the Insurgency would not have passed up the opportunity to capture several easily weaponized artifacts for private use. Although the goals seem consistent with the group called the Serpent's Hand, the brazen nature of the attack (and the lack of SCP-class artifacts among the attackers) are not characteristic of that organization's modus operandi. Further research is required.
-----
**Archived email message**
> //Sent: ██-██-████ 10:24 GMT
> From: skatz@█████████████.org
> To: facilitiesmanager@█████████████.org
> Re: Parking lot//
>
> Jerry-- when I went back to the parking lot to head back to my office in the city, my car was gone and there was just this smoking crater where my parking spot used to be. The car isn't the issue- it was a rental, but that was _my_ parking spot. You know how often I'm in and out so I am requesting that the handicapped spot next to Building C be reassigned to me.
> Also, if you see Burt or Sungwoo, tell them I need a ride.
> Shel
> **SHELDON M. KATZ, ESQ. LEGAL DEPARTMENT skatz@█████████████.org
> office: ███.███.████ fax: ███.███.████ cell: ███.███.████**
>
>
> [[size 75%]]Confidentiality Statement: This electronic message contains information from the SCP FOUNDATION LEGAL DEPARTMENT, and may be confidential or privileged. The information is intended to be for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, be aware that any disclosure, copying, distribution or use of the contents of this message is prohibited. If you have received this electronic message in error, please notify the sender immediately by reply e-mail or telephone ███.███.████, whereupon the SCP FOUNDATION LEGAL DEPARTMENT shall use appropriate means, including but not limited to the administration of amnestics, to cure any unauthorized disclosure of confidential or privileged information.
>
> IRS Circular 230 Notice: We are required to advise you no person or entity may use any tax advice in this communication or any attachment to (i) avoid any penalty under federal tax law or (ii) promote, market or recommend any purchase, investment or other action.[[/size]]
>
------
**Interview: Dr. Tarn Honey/Dr. █████**
> //Portion of interview between Dr. █████ and Dr. Tarn Honey//, ██/██/████
>
> <Interview Begins>
>
> **Dr. █████:** We're almost done here. I hope you do realize your conduct in the cafeteria was highly unprofessional.
>
> **Dr. Honey:** I was not really thinking of my after-action review at the time, sir.
>
> **Dr. █████:** Nevertheless, what did you do next? We've got this bit on camera, but we need you to confirm it.
>
> **Dr. Honey:** Well, I left the room after maybe...half an hour?
>
> **Dr. █████:** Is that an exact number?
>
> **Dr. Honey:** Forty five minutes? Wait...
>
> **Dr. █████:** Dr. Honey, please face the camera.
>
> **Dr. Honey:** Oh...sorry, sorry, don't quite know what came over me there. (Laughs)
>
> **Dr. █████:** You left the room?
>
> **Dr. Honey:** Yes, and I ran right into a man...must have been a D-class, I suppose, with the jumpsuit...holding a fire extinguisher, and then...
>
> **Dr. █████:** Yes?
>
> **Dr. Honey:** I...I don't remember what happened next. I don't remember! What is this, where the hell am I?! Oh [EXPLETIVE], my arms!
>
> **Dr. █████:** Restrain the subject!
>
> **Dr. █████:** My apologies, Dr. Honey. You were beaten to a pulp by the D-class and entered a deep coma. I am sorry, but you never came out of it.
>
> **Dr. Honey:** You son of a [EXPLETIVE]! You son of a -
>
> <End Interview>
>
> **Closing Statement:** Instance of [[[scp-022|SCP-022-1]]] was removed from the room and expired a week later.
-----
**Transcript of Video Surveillance Recording**
**Location**: Checkpoint Camera, Service Entrance 4-02, Section Four
**Date**: ██/██/20██
> **0829L**: //Service Entrance 4-02 is visibly closed and locked down. Two heavily armed agents identified as Agent █████ and Agent ███████ are guarding the entrance checkpoint while alarms are still audible in the background. The bodies of at least two hostile combatants are visible in the periphery.//
>
> **0829L**: //An individual visually identified as Dr. Rachel Mackenzie is seen rounding the corner towards the checkpoint, looking slightly disoriented. A gunshot wound is visible on her left shoulder.//
>
> **0830L** - Agent █████: Halt! Stop or we'll shoot!
>
> **0831L** - Dr. Mackenzie: Please don't shoot! I'm lost, there's people everywhere... I need help...
>
> **0831L**: //Agents █████ and ███████ look at each other, clearly uncomfortable.//
>
> **0831L** - Agent ███████: Where's your badge? Who are you?
>
> **0832L** - Dr. Mackenzie: I'm Mac... Mackenzie... I lost my badge when I got hit... (visible tears) please, I need help...
>
> **0832L**: //Agents █████ and ███████ trade looks again, and confer in whispers.//
>
> **0833L** - Agent █████: "Alright, come here. Quick."
>
> **0833L**: //Dr. Mackenzie looks behind her once, then quickly approaches the checkpoint.//
>
> **0834L** - Agent █████: "Okay. Just sit tight, and we'll-"
>
> **0834L**: //As Dr. Mackenzie suddenly rushes directly at Agent █████, plunging her hand into his abdomen and tearing out what is presumed to be his liver.//
>
> **0835L** - Agent ███████: "What the hell-"
>
> **0835L**: //Dr. Mackenzie turns and attacks Agent ███████ as Agent █████ collapses, pushing the former out of the camera's view.//
>
> **0835L**: //Sounds of struggling, followed a scream that is cut off.//
>
> **0837L**: //Individual previously identified as Dr. Mackenzie re-enters field of view, with a large amount of blood on her upper body. On closer inspection, her ears are elongated and fur-covered, and she proceeds to experiment with the door controls for several minutes before managing to un-seal the entrance.//
>
> **0840**: //Individual exits Site 17 via Service Entrance 4-02.//
>
> //End of transcript.//
------
**Excerpt from Video Log, Observation Camera 4923287:**
> **0800:** Vacuum system for SCP-027 operating within normal parameters; two technicians performing routine maintenance.
>
> **0811:** Series of explosions from elsewhere in the facility, followed seconds later by alarms sounding. Technicians quickly leave room.
>
> **0819:** Vacuum system and normal lighting shut down; emergency lighting comes online.
>
> **0827:** A much louder explosion is heard, shaking the room briefly.
>
> **0856:** Two unidentified figures enter the room and start searching. A third figure stays outside the doorway, presumably on watch.
>
> **0858:** All figures exit.
>
> **0922:** A pounding is heard from an inlet duct. This continues for approximately ninety seconds.
>
> **0924:** Panel on the duct flies off, followed immediately by a swarm of flying insects. Subject 027-02 peers cautiously out of the duct, lowers self to the floor.
>
> **0925:** Subject picks up a screwdriver and a crescent wrench, peers out the exit door, disappears out the door.
------
**Instrumentation Log, [[[SCP-555]]] Containment Control**
> **0700**: Containment normal. Field strength normal. Battery backup at 100% and charging.
>
> **0730**: Containment normal. Field strength normal. Battery backup at 100% and charging.
>
> **0800**: Containment normal. Field strength normal. Battery backup at 100% and charging.
>
> **0811**: External power fluctuation. Power returns to normal. Battery backup at 100% and charging.
>
> **0827**: External power lost. Switching to battery backup. Battery backup at 99%. SCADA alarm tripped and relevant personnel paged.
>
> **0827**: Power to air filtration system lost.
>
> **0827**: Cryomagnet quench in quadrant 4 of ceiling electromagnet array. SCADA alarm tripped and relevant personnel paged. Atmosphere alarm tripped; warning signals activated and relevant personnel paged. Atmospheric venting system activated.
>
> **0827**: Activating permanent magnet array.
>
> **0827**: Permanent magnet array activation failed after 5 retries with error code 3: mechanical obstruction. SCADA alarm tripped and relevant personnel paged.
>
> **0830**: Containment running on battery backup power. Field strength normal. Battery backup at 95%.
>
> **0831**: Containment control door ajar.
>
> **0833**: Auxilliary power feed activated. Battery backup at 96% and charging.
-----
**Surveillance log, [[[SCP-555]]] Containment Control**
>
> **0700**: No motion detected. No anomalies detected.
>
> **0730**: No motion detected. No anomalies detected.
>
> **0800**: No motion detected. No anomalies detected.
>
> **0811**: Motion detected, source unknown. Explosions heard.
>
> **0827**: Motion detected, source unknown. Explosion heard, louder, followed by extremely loud bang as ceiling magnets quench and vent helium.
>
> **0827**: External main power to surveillance system lost. Switching to power-over-Ethernet.
>
> **0827**: Atmospheric warning siren and revolving lamps activate.
>
> **0827**: Ceiling of SCP-555 containment partially collapses.
>
> **0827**: SCADA alarm buzzer sounds.
>
> **0827**: Automatic containment systems attempt to deploy permanent magnet array; array is blocked from extending by rubble from ceiling collapse.
>
> **0831**: Containment Control door opens; Junior Researcher Thumb enters, swearing profusely and pulling a standard mu-metal magnetic containment crate behind him.
>
> **0832**: Junior Researcher Thumb closes, locks, and seals the door and opens the crate, removing a portable generator, laptop computer, five-gallon container of gasoline, and standard Foundation non-ferromagnetic SCBA set, with three tank sets (60 minutes duration each).
>
> **0833**: Junior Researcher Thumb starts the generator, retrieves the auxilliary power cord from below the control console, and attaches it.
>
> **0834**: Junior Researcher Thumb jams the room's chair under the door handle and dons the SCBA set.
>
> **0835**: Junior Researcher Thumb enters SCP-555's containment chamber and begins to clear rubble from the permanent magnet array.
>
> **0837**: Junior Researcher Thumb attempts to dislodge a mass of reinforced concrete from the permanent magnet array and cannot; the rebar is stuck to the magnet face. Junior Researcher Thumb swears profusely.
>
> **0838**: Junior Researcher Thumb exits the containment chamber.
>
> **0840**: Junior Researcher Thumb adds more fuel to the generator, attaches the laptop computer to the generator and network port, and sits against the control console.
>
> **0842**: Junior Researcher Thumb smashes the atmosphere warning lights and siren with an SCBA tank. Alarms cease.
-----
**Interview: Agent Izumi J████ ("Enma Ai")**
//Excerpt from Interview conducted by Agent █████, regarding Agent Izumi's involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1.//
> **Agent █████**:State your location and assignment at the time of the explosions.
>
> **Agent Izumi**: [[[SCP-966]]] containment chamber observation room. Surveillance of experiment 966-██, regarding the possibility of sapience in SCP-966 specimens.
>
> **Agent █████**: Describe what happened following the beginning of the incident.
>
> **Agent Izumi**: The incident began as the doors to 966 chamber were opened in order to conduct the experiment. The explosions caused a momentary malfunction of the surveillance cameras and light equipment inside the room. Showing previously unknown cognitive capacity, the four 966 specimens contained overwhelmed the security guard in the room, removed his lead-lined helmet and appeared to continuously expose him to their ██████ waves for 10 seconds. As I equipped infrared goggles and entered the room in order to terminate them, the guard began to shout incoherently and shoot in all directions. I dived for cover and waited for his bullets to end. Unfortunately, this brief window of time allowed the four specimens to escape.
>
> **Agent █████**: The guard didn't hit any of them?
>
> **Agent Izumi**: He seems to have hit at least one, as I could see splatters and a trail of what I deduced to be blood; it is hard to tell in infrared.
>
> **Agent █████**: I see. What did you do?
>
> **Agent Izumi**: I locked the doors to the chamber and followed the blood trail, hoping to find and neutralize the escaped specimens. The explosions still seemed to be going off; one happened approximately 300 meters away from me. After that one, I heard a loud, inhuman scream that was suddenly cut short. Walking in its direction, I verified that two instances of 966 had been killed by the explosion.
>
> **Agent █████**: And there were no traces of the two remaining specimens?
>
> **Agent Izumi**: No. There were traces of something else, though. It was hard to notice it because of my goggles, but it was clear what it was once it grabbed my arm.
-----
**Video log, Hallway 23. Camera damaged by explosion, audio is compromised. Tracking individuals: Agent Izumi J████, SCP-106**
> ///Transcript begins at ██:██, █ minutes after the begging of the incident. Agent Izumi enters into view from the left side of the hall, walking slowly while looking at her surroundings, holding a handgun in her right hand. She stops near a blockage created by a explosion and kneels, checking something.//
>
> //At this moment, the wall left to agent Izumi begins to show signs of corrosion caused by SCP-106. A rotted humanoid arm suddenly appears and grabs the agent's left arm. She proceeds to immediately turn and shoot SCP-106's arm, which maintains his hold on her. After running out of bullets, agent Izumi proceeds to grab a rock and repeatedly hit 106's arm with it. At this point, 106 begins to slowly pull her in the direction of the wall.//
>
> //This proceeds for half a minute, until the agent proceeds to beat her own arm with the rock. Due to the corrosion caused by contact with 106, her arm is severed after 6 hits. Agent Izumi proceeds to run away from the location, holding the stump remaining from her left arm with her right hand. SCP-106 continues to slowly drag the remains of the agent's arm towards the wall, disappearing after █ minutes.///
------
**Review of Security Camera 17-699 Feed**
> //[[[SCP-699]]] sits in its research bay. Panel on [[[SCP-699]]] begins to slide forward, approximately 10 cm from top of object.//
>
> //Security camera fails for approximately five minutes.//
>
> //Security footage restored. [[[SCP-699]]] seen with top panel open, to half the length of object. No entities observed within object or research bay. Research bay door open; guards missing.//
>
>
> **O5-8:** Lovely. Apparently that thing could let itself out any time it wanted to. And we don't even know what it looks like. Damn!
**Security Feed -- High Value Item Storage**
> //Storage safe open. Guards have abandoned their post. Female civilian (identified as Angela Williams, detained by Foundation for three years and two months after capture leaving [[[SCP-052]]]) seen entering storage facility.//
>
> //Eight minutes later, Williams emerges from storage facility, screaming unintelligibly (language later identified as Middle Egyptian), holding [[[SCP-911]]] in left hand.//
>
> //Encounters Dr. Clarkson while leaving area.//
>
> **Dr. Clarkson:** Who are you? What have you got there? DROP IT! [Clarkson draws sidearm.]
>
> **Williams:** [Screams in Middle Egyptian; holds [[[SCP-911]]] forward; charges at Clarkson.]
>
> //Clarkson fires three times. Williams drops to ground, mortally wounded.//
>
> **Williams:** [muttering] 682 will save us. 343. The body and mind of God.
>
> //Clarkson looks thoughtfully at Williams; then bends to pick up [[[SCP-911]]]. Stands, briefly stares blankly, then begins screaming in Middle Egyptian. Leaves area.//
-----
Excerpt from Video Log, Observation Camera 2329988:
> **0941:** Subject 027-02 finds the bodies of two researchers (later identified as [REDACTED]) in Corridor 19-J, proceeds to search the bodies.
>
> **0942:** Subject takes the lab coat and credentials of [REDACTED], continues down the corridor.
-----
> {{Security footage transcript:}}
> {{Site 17 heliport/atrium area}}
>
> Three humanoid figures observed moving overland to Site 17. Advancement unimpeded due to Site failure and system-wide communication fallout.
>
> Humanoids access heliport area. Two are observed to be white adult males (subjects 1&2), estimated between twenty and twenty five. Both appear to be very tired and frightened. Between them is a large humanoid (subject 3), estimated at approximately seven feet tall, wearing an old business suit, black gloves, and a burlap bag over the head. Bag is blank, and laced tightly along the back of the head, preventing identification.
>
> Subject three grabs subject one forcibly by the back of the neck. Subject one begins to speak, appearing to be in pain. Subject two nods several times. Subject Three releases subject one, then all enter the atrium area.
>
> Members of the force attacking Site 17 encounter the group. There appears to be general confusion for several seconds, then the attacking force opens fire on the subject. Subject three observed to use subjects 1&2 as human shields several times, before there is an interruption in the camera feed.
>
> Static for four seconds
>
> video feed is restored. All subjects and hostiles are dead and in various states of dismemberment, except subject three. Subject appears to be holding a jawbone, which it quickly discards. Subject crosses to the far wall, and begins to repeatedly strike a panel with its fist.
>
> After five minutes of sustained striking, the panel is deformed, and the subject rips it open by a twisted edge. Subject pushes its head in to the opening, looking around for several seconds, before sliding inside and descending.
>
> Subject moves out of functional camera range.
> {{Church of The Broken God “disciple” interview transcript excerpt:}}
>
> //Is the individual identified on this recording as “Subject Three” one of your agents.//
>
> Oh broken one, my teeth...they hurt so much, please...
>
> //Answer me, or it's your fingers next.//
>
> Oh...oh....he...it....it's not ours, not anymore.
>
> //...explain.//
>
> I...I'm not even sure I can. It's...something. I think those serpent people found him...or made him...you know, those magic ones? It was supposedly something of theirs...Uh. The deacon....d-deacon Hark, he brought it to us. It...it's not a human, or alive, or....maybe it is, I don't....oh god it hurts...
>
> //Keep going, and maybe I can make it stop. Did you send him with the attack? Did the Church know about this beforehand?//
>
> No...listen, he doesn't have anything to do with the Church anymore...it...it was never a believer. The Broken, he has....has nothing to do with it. It's trying to do...something...I'm not sure what. There's supposed to be some...ritual or something, it takes years and years to do. It's not supposed to, it's...off the chain, I think. If it screws up, something very, very bad...happens to it. The deacon tried to bribe it off or something...it killed a lot of people. It jumps around, does things for other groups...but it's in it for itself...nothing else...Ooooohh...
>
> //Hey, stay with me here, or i'll have to wake you up again. Why did it go to the dungeon? How did it know the emergency hatch was there?//
>
> I don't...don't know, it knows things, sometimes. It just....knows....knows, for some reason. We found pictures of it going...back over three...hundred years. Woodcuts of witches...devil worship...I tried...to tell Hark...told him...i told him...told him it was bad....just stupid...the bagman doesn't listen to...anything...
>
> //The bagman? Is that what it's called?//
>
> I don't know...we...called it that. It never told us otherwise...it...it can't speak by itself...it isn't...allowed to.
------
**Interview: J. Flames/O5-█**
> **O5-█:** Now, where were you when the incident began?
>
> **Flames:** I was in Laboratory K-13 at the time, working on the new //Capsicum chinense// cultivars I'd obtained from Chelsea, ah, that is, Dr. Elliott. We had been jokingly calling them Liche Chilis, since they were descended from the more common Ghosts...
>
> **O5-█:** Yes, thank you. And what did you do when the alert happened.
>
> **Flames:** Honestly, I didn't give it much thought. I sighed, set up the dragon, and went back to work.
>
> **O5-█:** Excuse me?
>
> **Flames:** Well, they had given me K-13 to work with because it was so remote from everything else, because people kept complaining about eye irritation and their sinuses, so I figured either everything would work out, and I'd be fine, or it wouldn't and the site nuke would go off and there'd be nothing else to do. So, I went back to work.
>
> **O5-█:** And "the dragon"?
>
> **Flames:** My pet name for the fire extinguisher I modified to spray out my Garlic Fission sauce. It's a delicious sauce, and rates at about 1.7 million Scovilles. The amusing thing about Garlic Fission is that gas masks only offer limited resistance. I like adding it to soup for a little kick.
>
> **O5-█:** Yes... continue.
>
> **Flames:** About fifty minutes later, I started feeling a little odd. I felt, I don't know, like my chilis weren't really worth it, and that nothing was. I recognized it as a possible memetic effect, of course, but I just didn't care. That was when my door opened, and the insurgent walked in.
>
> She was drenched in blood up to her shoulders, and had a look of... satisfaction, I suppose. She was enjoying herself, and she held a chef's knife in her hands. I figured afterwards it was [[[scp-668 |six sixty-eight]]], but I just didn't care enough to do anything about it.
>
> Fortunately for me, that was when the dragon went off, and sprayed her with the Garlic Fission sauce. She dropped the knife and my mind cleared, so I brained her with a lab stool. I did not want her to get back up again, so I grabbed the knife and slit her throat. She stopped struggling, of course, when I picked up the knife, so I knew it was six sixty-eight.
>
> **O5-█:** I see. So why did you head to the main cafeteria at that point?
>
> **Flames:** Well, I thought it over like this while cleaning up the mess. I have a knife that will let me kill anyone and stop them from killing me, but only when it's in my hand and I'm actively thinking about mayhem. I do have a bit of a temper, of course, because I loathe interruptions to my work, and the solution presented itself. I'd head to the main cafeteria and finally make some good food that the whole site could enjoy. I had some recipes I'd found online that I'd been wanting to try, and finally I'd be able to use the big ovens to make my grandma's corn bread recipe.
>
> I figured it would make a sort of safe haven for people and a bit of a honey pot, because any insurgents show up, I'd be in the kitchen and I could deal with them.
>
> **O5-█:** Sounds... sketchy.
>
> **Flames:** Yeah, I guess so. But I really wanted to use those ovens, and I thought, when would I have the chance?
-----
**Transcript of Security Camera 0046782**
> **1020** Agent [REDACTED], and Dr. Dier observed exiting from Stairwell-C12. Dr. Dier is bleeding heavily from earlier sustained head trauma during initial attack. Agent [REDACTED] fires several times up the stairwell before exiting.
>
> **1021** Dr. Dier enters office 0026782, Agent [REDACTED] is twenty metres behind him outside of Stairwell-C12. Dr. Dier returns with a first aid kit, and beckons for Agent [REDACTED]. Agent [REDACTED] shuts and locks stairwell door before heading in Dr. Dier's direction.
>
> **1022** Spectrum sensory equipment detect several bursts of ██████ waves within Stairwell-C12. Scratching sounds eminate from stairwell door.
>
> **1024** Dr. Dier discards first aid kit after bandaging head wound. Agent [REDACTED] and Dr. Dier enter junction 62. Foundation security team observed entering hallway 00763-62 leading [[[SCP-082]]].
>
> **1025** Stairwell door becomes unlocked. [[[SCP-966]]] instance exits stairwell.
>
> **1026** Dr. Dier alerts Foundation security team to presence of [[[SCP-966]]]. Personnel, including Agent [REDACTED] and Dr. Dier head down hallway 00893-62.
>
> **1027** [[[SCP-966]]] instance enters junction 62. ██████ waves emitted by [[[SCP-966]]]. Personnel and [[[SCP-082]]] out of effective range.
>
> **1028** [[[SCP-082]]] told that [[[SCP-966]]] is a member of a German task force sent to assassinate him. [[[SCP-082]]] breaks away from the group and heads towards [[[SCP-966]]] entity.
>
> **1029** Foundation security team observe [[[SCP-082]]]. Dr. Dier and Agent [REDACTED] leave through hallway 00687-72 [[[SCP-082]]] begins brawling with [[[SCP-966]]] instance.
>
> **1037** [[[SCP-966]]] rendered unconscious. [[[SCP-082]]] is secured by security team.
------
> //Agent Lament is seen attempting to access his office and, after opening the door, shut it suddenly, turning and putting his back hard against it. The door is seen thudding hard several times as Lament appears to be screaming.//
>
> //After approximately forty seconds, Agent Dodridge is seen approaching at high speed, holding his sidearm and telling Lament to step aside. Lament shakes his head, attempting to explain something, but Dodridge shoves his aside, yanking the door open and firing.//
>
> //Dodridge appears to go pale as he then slams the door shut, holding it while Agent Lament moves several pieces of furniture in front of his door.//
>
> //Agents Dodridge and Lament start moving down the hallway at top speed as Agent Lament’s door explodes outward and hundreds of instances of SCP-705 stream out, following them.//
> //Audio Signal Later Picked Up By Agent [REDACTED]//:
>
> Lament: This is an all points bulletin! The lid is off! Repeat! **THE LID IS OFF!**
>
> Dodridge (Background): Who taught them how to use rubber bands?! Jesus Christ!!
>
> Lament: Request immediate evac! The lid is off! God damnit!
>
> //It’s to be noted that none of these creations are any more effective due to the use of harmless clay ammunition.//
------
**Audio transcript from damaged Security Camera 0212395**
> <Agent Frederick> Well, here we are. Security Floor D-9. Can you smell that fresh air!
>
> <Researcher Min> The dungeon? Bombs went off, someone's freeing all the SCPs, everything is loose, and we're going into the dungeon?
>
> <AF> Well, it's the fastest way to get to the maintenance tunnels, and there's gonna be at least a couple skips we can pick up. Here, this way.
>
> <Approaching footsteps are heard, along with a loud, squelching sound. Cross-referencing functional security camera feeds reveals it to be [[[SCP-955]]].>
>
> <AF> ...okay, wrong way. Nice kitty, good kitty...ohgod opentheskipboxopentheskipboxopentheskipbox dosomething quick-
>
> <Loud thud sound is heard.>
>
> <RM> I think I'm starting to like this ice box.
-----
**Transcript of Junction 42 Security Camera**
> **0852** Camera feed restored, research bay door open; guards missing. [[[SCP-699]]] research bay door lighting fails.
>
> **0853** Camera feed lost.
>
> **0900** Camera feed restored. Hallway 42-0699 lighting fails.
>
> **0901** Hallway 42-1080 lighting fails.
>
> **0903** Camera feed lost.
>
> **0911** Camera feed restored. Hallway 42-2420 lighting fails.
>
> **0922** Junction 42 backup lighting fails. Camera emersed in darkness.
>
> **0934** Two lights observed in hallway 42-0699.
>
> **0936** Eight lights observed in hallway 42-0699.
>
> **0942** One-hundred thirty two lights observed in hallway 42-0699.
>
> **0943** Camera feed lost. Camera destroyed.
-----
Excerpt from Video Log, Observation Camera 5623961:
> **0954:** Firefight between two Foundation security agents and three unidentified intruders in Corridor 16-Q.
>
> **0955:** Two intruders incapacitated by Foundation fire, one agent incapacitated by intruder fire. Subject 027-02 appears behind agents' position. Agent sees Subject, appears to give orders to keep cover.
>
> **0957:** Remaining intruder incapacitated by agent's gunfire. Cloud of insects visible behind agents' position.
>
> **0958:** Agent cautiously approaches incapacitated intruders, Subject following close behind. As agent prods the intruders, Subject 027-02 stabs agent in the neck with a screwdriver. Agent staggers, Subject stabs agent twice more in the neck. Agent incapacitated.
>
> **0959:** Subject searches bodies of agents, takes weapons and ammunition, dons body armor. Insects seen swarming bodies of agents and intruders.
>
> **1002:** Subject searches bodies of intruders, takes two grenades.
>
> **1003:** Subject continues down corridor out of view, toward Stairwell M5.
-----
++++ 1104 to 1138: Reestablishment of Control
> At approximately 1104, 2 hours and 53 minutes after the beginning of hostilities, Assistant Adams reached Command and Control and re-established site-wide communications. Unfortunately, access to the on-site nuclear device was impossible, due to the destruction of the control leads between C&C and the device (see attached addendum re: proposed modifications to current on-site nuclear destruct systems.)
>
> Re-establishment of communications would have a profound impact on the course of the crisis. Personnel who had, up until this point, been acting independently with varying degrees of success, could now be coordinated into an effective combat force. With the aid of Assistant Adams, the insurgent attack would be driven back, albeit not soon enough to prevent the escape of several key SCP artifacts.
-----
> {{Post-recovery debriefing of Doctor Gears}}
> {{(excerpt: sections 4-6)}}
>
> //How were you able to cross the D-9 Level after the mass failure?//
>
> I was fortunate to be in the company of several Agents and other staff members. Due to the damage to my leg, arms and internal organs, my mobility was severely restricted. We proceeded to the emergency access tunnels in the most direct route possible. Due to SCP-item alteration and damage, however, it was impossible to take any pre-plotted routes. Several Agents and staff were attacked, harmed and killed during the progression, however we were able to attain the access point with the casualty level well below the acceptable standard.
>
> //Were you able to observe any SCP escapes or cross-contaimination?//
>
> I presume yes, however my ability to properly process and catalog this information was limited due to physical trauma. SCP-106 was observed in the security station and at other locations, and I would assume that its trans-dimensional nature would lead it to escape as a matter of course. One of the more obvious contaminations was that observed between SCP-682 and SCP-229. It appears that SCP-229 attempted to attack SCP-682. SCP-682 appears to have, rather then attack, integrated with SCP-229. SCP-682 appears to now be deeply integrated with the site information and electrical network. The ramifications of this have yet to be observed. More contamination is likely, but it will take more direct and controlled observation to be sure.
>
> //Did you observe any hostile attackers over the course of the escape?//
>
> None alive. Several corpses were observed, belonging to neither Site Staff or Agents, so it is assumed that the aggressors accessed the D-9 level by some means. One subject did cause a slight complication, however it is unclear as to whether this subject is a aggressor, SCP item, or some other designation. The subject was large, wearing a suit, gloves, and a rough cloth over its face. We were attempting to exit the main contamination area, when the subject was observed near a access panel. It turned to face our group after several Agents requested it to identify itself. As it faced us, it then reached out and removed a major fuse from the service panel, causing a majority of the hall to go dark. We were forced to backtrack a great distance to find a replacement for the damage. When we came back to the same area, the subject was gone, along with several of the corpses in the area.
------
> **Debriefing:** Dr. Johannes Sorts
> //Excerpt from Interview conducted by O5-█, regarding Dr. Sorts's involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1//
>
> **O5-█:** You lost control over some of the [[[SCP-945]]] replicas you were attempting to weaponize at various points, correct?
>
> **Dr. Sorts:** I was trying to contain them, sir. I tried steer them towards destroying each other whenever I could, but it was tough using them productively. Any hostile agent they killed was soon replicated due to exposure. It's comforting knowing that the day I finally die there's going to be a clay statue showing up in my office to finish my reports, by the way.
>
> **O5-█:** We're getting off track. Where were you at 1104 when Adams regained control of communications?
>
> **Dr. Sorts:** By that time I was in possession of SCP-945 itself, since it's just an old wooden box. That put me in position to almost completely account for replicas that were manifesting in the site.
>
> SCP-945 propagates itself by having the oldest replica create smaller clay figurines representing deceased individuals. These figurines are placed in the box, and a new replica appears somewhere nearby. Controlling the small figurines gave me a kill switch over every replica created due to the outbreak. I had the oldest replica accompanying me, I had the box. SCP-945 was contained.
>
> **O5-█:** Containment procedures for 945 specifically forbid breaking new figurines during a containment breach.
>
> **Dr. Sorts:** [inaudible]
>
> **O5-█:** You were also observed to remove Dr. S██████'s identification and coat from his body. Can you explain that?
>
> **Dr. Sorts:** I'm just a level 2 memetics researcher. We get some authority in a meme-related outbreak but the "Action Movie" meme wasn't good enough for exercising long term control over Foundation replicas I encountered on the way down the power room. So I impersonated Dr. S██████ -- the replicas didn't know enough to tell the difference and he was level 4, so ...
>
> **O5-█:** Dr. S██████ was one of the individuals responsible for detonating the fail-safe device in the event of a breach like this. Were you aware of that?
>
> **Dr. Sorts:** No, sir. Well, I'd assume any level 4 had that authority.
>
> **O5-█:** Were you aware that Dr. S██████ was also an individual exposed to SCP-945 previously?
>
> **Dr. Sorts:** Well, now that you mention it, yes I do recall seeing him on the list of exposed individuals.
>
> **O5-█:** Dr. S██████ was one of the first researchers we lost during the attack. He died in the explosion in the break room. Therefore it is likely that Dr. S██████'s replica was one of the first to manifest. And if he was not the first, his replica would have been proceeding to the generators to detonate the fail-safe device personally given the loss of command. In accordance with his living duty, correct?
>
> **Dr. Sorts:** Are you still interviewing me or--
>
> **O5-█:** Did you encounter Dr. S██████ in the generator wing, or any other replica that would have been tasked with activating the fail-safe device, and did you or did you not interfere with their work?
>
> **Dr. Sorts:** [inaudible]
>
> **O5-█:** Doctor Sorts, did you or did you not interfere with the activation of the fail-safe device?
>
> **Dr. Sorts:** [loudly] Of course not! If I had the chance to nuke my ass out of this fucking job I'd do it in a heartbeat!
------
> **Audio/Visual transcript, Generator 3A Control Room**
>
> **1110 to 1115** Three instances of SCP-945 figures sit motionlessly at terminals. A fourth instance activates the speaker phone in response to a call.
>
> //A. Adams:// Is anyone alive down there? Hello? Do you copy?
>
> //Replica "Garcez"// (believed to be duplicate of Engineer Raphel Garcez, KIA due to enemy action at O825): This is Garcez in maintenance.
>
> //A. Adams:// Controls for the fail safe are not responding. Can you activate the device locally?
>
> //"Garcez":// What is your authorization?
>
> //A. Adams:// [CODE REDACTED], Vice Alto Clef
>
> //"Garcez":// [to another replica] Can you check that with the manual?
> **Video feed, Generator 2D Access Hall**
>
> **1042** Gunfire exchanged between unknown forces and forces unseen on camera
>
> **1045** Unknown forces neutralized by suicide attack carried out by an individual wearing Foundation body armor and armed with a grenade.
>
> **1050** Instances of SCP-945 manifest in access hall, but crumble into inanimate pieces shortly afterward.
> **Audio/Visual transcript, Generator 3A Control Room**
>
> **1116 to 1120** SCP-945 replicas mill about the room listlessly, one is flipping slowly through a binder.
>
> //A. Adams:// Garcez, I don't have video to your location right now but I am sure that if I did I would see you and your team rushing to follow my orders.
>
> //"Garcez":// One moment, we are verifying your authority. We are very busy down here maintaining power.
>
> //A. Adams:// What power? Did you not hear the explosions? Your generator is not even online right now!
>
> //"Garcez":// Your authorization has been accepted. We will activate the fail safe. Goodbye.
>
> "Garcez" terminates call before A. Adams can respond. SCP-945 replicas leave control room. No further activity in room for remainder of incident.
> **Video feed, Generator 3A Access Hall**
>
> **1122** Four instances of SCP-945 enter hallway from 3A Control Room. One by one they crumble into inanimate pieces before they can exit to connecting locations. No further activity.
-----
**Transcript of Security Camera 0035979**
**Location**: Security Floor D-9 Minimal Security Containment
> <Researcher Min> You sure this is the right way to the exit?
>
> <Agent Frederick> No. Not really.
>
> <RM> Then what're you stopping here for?
>
> <AF> To get...THIS.
>
> <Camera feed shows Agent Frederick forcefully opening a locker, revealing a giant backpack-like contraption.>
>
> <RM> ...it says Kondraki on it...
>
> <Agent Frederick puts on the contraption. He straps on what appears to be an arm-mounted cannon.>
>
> <AF> I know right? We're going to be alright after all.
------
**Excerpt from Interview Vang-2**
> **Agent ██████:** So, in the end, your efforts were mostly unsuccessful.
>
> **Dr. Vang:** Yes, that is correct. Between our guys getting killed anyways and the general inaccessibility of most parts of the facility, I think only seven or eight people actually ended up surviving with their earplugs.
>
> **Agent ██████:** I see. After you lost the remaining ear plugs, what did you do?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** At that point, I decided that my best bet was to try and bust up the PA System and hope they didn't bring their own ghetto blasters or anything. Plus, after that one time with Dave, I knew a shortcut that wasn't near any of the combat zones.
>
> **Agent ██████:** Alright. Continue.
>
> **Dr. Vang:** So I manage to get down to the PA system without incident, except for this fucking... thing. It was like a dude's head got chopped off and just started moving around again, like an octopus or some shit. Needless to say, I punted that down a flight of stairs and kept going.
>
> **Agent ██████:** What happened when you got to the control room?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** The hallway was actually completely empty, and it was really quiet too, so it was actually scarier than a lot of the stuff I'd seen elsewhere. I suppose because mostly low-level personnel work there, plus there aren't any SCPs stored in that wing. Anyways, the door was open, but there was this pile of body armor just sitting in the doorway, along with a machine gun and a bunch of what looked like old pottery smashed up into bits. I ignored it, although in retrospect it would have been a good idea to at least put on the body armor.
>
> **Agent ██████:** Go on.
>
> **Dr. Vang:** Yeah, I walk in and turn towards the PA System, but instead there was this big bloody glob of flesh in its place, and some sweaty dude was working on it with a knife. After I had some dry heaves, I looked again and decided it was probably eight-ninety.
>
> **Agent ██████:** At the time, what did you know about SCP-890?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** Nothing much, really. That he could operate on machines like they were people, and talked to them and whatnot.
>
> **Agent ██████:** So what happened next?
**Camera Feed 17-4e, PA System Control Room, ██/██/████**
> **1100** SCP-890 continues to operate on the mass of flesh. The unidentified individual remains stationary, facing the door. Gunfire is faintly audible. Feed is stable.
>
> **1105** Unidentified individual appears to collapse: a large amount of what appears to be dried clay falls from various openings in the armor, and all clothing and gear fall to the ground. No remains of the unidentified individual are visible. SCP-890 does not respond to this event.
>
> **1114** Dr. Vang enters the room, stepping over the pile of clay. He looks towards SCP-890 and covers his mouth. He then bends over and starts shuddering. This continues for roughly a minute.
>
> **1115** //Dr. Vang:// "Hey! 890!"
>
> //SCP-890:// "Shut up, I'm with a patient."
>
> **1116** Dr. Vang shoves SCP-890 forward with his hand. SCP-890 turns to face Dr. Vang.
>
> //SCP-890:// "Sir, I am operating on a patient. Unless someone is dying out there, I suggest for the safety of this patient that you cease this unnecessary disruption."
>
> //Dr. Vang:// "I can't let you do that, 890. If the enemy gets their hands on any kind of functional public address system, they could completely neutralize the Foundation's fighting force, understand? Now, I need you to stop trying to fix this thing and stand aside so I can destroy it, okay?
>
> **1117** Dr. Vang raises what appears to be a portion of a glass bottle.
>
> //SCP-890:// "I'm afraid that I don't share your sentiments.
>
> SCP-890 slices Dr. Vang's upper left arm with the scalpel held in his right hand. Dr. Vang stumbles backwards two steps, grunting. The wound is not visible from the camera angle.
>
> **1118** //Dr. Vang, under his breath:// Son of a-
>
> Dr. Vang lunges towards SCP-890 with his broken bottle. The two then attempt to injure each other, Dr. Vang with the broken bottle and SCP-890 with the scalpel used in surgery.
**Excerpt from Interview Vang-2**
> **Agent ██████:** ... I gotta say, kid. I've done a lot of things, but I never got into a knife fight with a skip.
>
> **Dr. Vang:** Hey, if you had told me a week ago that I'd be stabbing a surgeon with a broken bottle, I wouldn't believe it either.
>
> **Agent ██████:** Indeed. A few questions, though. Your record doesn't show any form of formal combat training, but I looked over the tapes, and you //decimated// 890. I mean, he was an out-of-shape middle-aged guy, but still. Plus, from what you told me, you either threw up or had a panic attack pretty much every time something bad happened; but you just charged into that fight there. How on earth did you manage that?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** Sir, you've read my file. You know I lived in Minneapolis, and I'm ██ years old, so that means I grew up in the '90s in Minneapolis. Did you know they called it "Murderapolis" back then? It's because of all the murders.
>
> **Agent ██████:** Go on.
>
> **Dr. Vang:** Well, I never actually got involved in any of the violence myself, but living where we did, my dad decided that I should learn how to fight, in case the situation ever came up. He was part of the resistance in Laos, real hardcore. Of course, I still got scared pretty much all the time and was a major wuss, but I figured that if it actually came down to getting in a fight, I'd be okay.
>
> **Agent ██████:** I see. Well, I think we can be done for today. How are you holding up?
>
> **Dr. Vang:** Fine, I guess. Still sore, though. What did you say I was infected with?
>
> **Agent ██████:** We're not sure yet. You see, what we think happened was, the PA System was already infected with some sort of virus or worm or had something else wrong with it, and that translated over to an actual disease when 890 started operating on it. He got blood on his scalpel, and then he got the scalpel in you, so... yeah. I can't confirm this, but if your symptoms go where the doctors think they're going, you're probably gonna be classified as an SCP yourself.
>
> **Dr. Vang:** Heh. I'm probably going to be the first person ever to die of a computer virus.
>
> **Agent ██████:** I'm sure there are worse ways to go out.
------
**Recovered Footage from Security Cameras B-298 through B-304**
> **1050:** Figure identified as Dr. Wachtel enters camera range running down Hallway 12 towards Stairwell 21.
>
> **1051:** The door to the stairwell opens and Prof. A. Bjornsen cautiously exits, with several arms emerged from SCP-262. Camera B-300 rendered inoperable due to electrical failure.
>
> **1052:** Dr. Wachtel comes to a halt and challenges Prof. Bjornsen's identity. Prof. Bjornsen identifies himself and tells Dr. Wachtel that the way up the stairwell is blocked by rubble.
>
> **1055:** Dr. Wachtel and Prof. Bjornsen proceed down the adjoining corridor, Hallway 13.
>
> **1102:** Agent [REDACTED] enters B-298 camera range, armed with one (1) M249 light machine gun taken from the site armoury. Dr. Dier follows behind the Agent. Overhead lighting in Hallway 16 shorts due to electrical failure.
>
> **1106:** Dr. Dier and Agent [REDACTED] reach junction B-141516. Dr. Wachtel and Prof. Bjornsen turn into Hallway 14. Dr. Dier alerts Agent [REDACTED] to Dr. Wachtel and Prof. Bjornsen's presence. Agent [REDACTED] opens fire on Dr. Wachtel and Prof. Bjornsen, who dive for cover behind the adjacent wall.
>
> **1107:** Agent [REDACTED] continues firing for twenty (20) seconds in short bursts while steadily moving down Hallway 14. Dr. Dier asks Agent [REDACTED] to stop firing. Dr. Dier orders Dr. Wachtel and Prof. Bjornsen to emerge from cover and surrender. Overhead lighting in Hallway 13 shorts due to electrical failure.
>
> **1108:** Prof. Bjornsen and Dr. Wachtel emerge from cover and surrender. Dr. Dier and Agent [REDACTED] exchange identities and confirmation codes with Prof. Bjornsen and Dr. Wachtel. Agent [REDACTED] apologizes for her prior hostility. All four individuals begin heading toward junction B-141516.
>
> **1109:** Massive structural failure in Hallway 13. Massive structural failure in Hallway 12. Massive structural failure in Hallway 8. Camera B-301 rendered inoperable. Lighting fails in Hallway 4. Lighting fails in Hallway 5.
------
**Interview: Agent Izumi J████ ("Enma Ai")**
> **Agent █████**: I see. After escaping 106, what did you do?
>
> **Agent Izumi**: I ran back to 966 containment chamber and writhed in pain on the ground while desperately trying to make a tourniquet.
>
> **Agent █████**: ...
>
> **Agent Izumi**: Losing a limb made me unable to properly follow the containment breach and hostile mass attack protocols for a short while, sir.
>
> **Agent █████**: Agent.
>
> **Agent Izumi**: Sorry, sir. After finishing the tourniquet, which in hindsight seems unnecessary as the corrosion seemed to slow the bleeding, I decided that attempting to re-contain 106 took priority over finding the missing 966 specimens, which had most likely fled into the wild already. So I stumbled towards the dun- I mean, the Security Floor D-9, hoping to find someone that could tell me what was happening, grant me access to the place, and that could help me catch someone that was younger than me to use as lure for 106.
>
> **Agent █████**: Did you encounter hostiles while on the move?
>
> **Agent Izumi**: A few, yes.
>
> **Agent █████**: How did you deal with them?
>
> **Agent Izumi**: I hid, of course. It is what you pay me to do. Most of the time. Regardless, after some time, I found the body of Agent ██████, with the remains of a large... something... attached to his back, extending to his arm. Really odd thing. The hallway smelled strangely like feline urine too. Anyway, I grabbed his handgun and timed hand grenades before leaving. As I walked down the corridor, I soon felt the distinct sensation one gets when being hunted, and sure enough, I saw 106's face emerging from the end of the hallway in front of me.
**Video log, Hallway 26, 27, 28: Agent Izumi J████, unidentified woman (presumed hostile), SCP-106**
> ///Transcript begins at ██:██. Agent Izumi enters Hallway 26 on the right side. She gets to near the end of the room before suddenly stopping, turning and running out of view. Seconds later, SCP-106 appears from the north size of the corridor, stopping and phasing through the right wall after reaching the center of the room.//
>
> //On Hallway 27, agent Izumi is seen running and suddenly coming to a stop as the sounds of footsteps come from the opposite side of the corridor. She throws herself on the ground face up, with her remaining hand holding the handgun on her chest. Few minutes later, an unarmed, unidentified woman enters the left side of the hallway. Upon spotting agent Izumi, she immediately runs towards her, possibly in an attempt to acquire her handgun.//
>
> //As she gets close, agent Izumi rises and points the gun at her. Panicking, the unidentified woman tries to run. Agent Izumi shoots in her direction twice, with the second bullet hitting the left side of her hip, causing her to fall. Approaching the downed woman, agent Izumi stops for a few seconds to look at her before putting the handgun away, grabbing the woman by the back of her shirt and dragging her to the left side of the hall.//
>
> //On Hallway 28, agent Izumi is seem dragging the struggling woman down the corridor, stopping in front of an emergency elevator and pressing its button. As the device fails to respond, she continues to press it, with increasing alarm. After a while, she attempts to pry the doors open with her arm, to no avail.//
>
> //She proceeds to hit the doors twice before suddenly turning her face south. Agent Izumi quickly takes her handgun and shoots the downed woman in the legs twice, causing her to scream, before running out of view on the north size of the corridor. SCP-106 enters the hallway from the south part of the corridor, and proceeds to slowly walk towards the downed woman while dragging its arms on the walls, causing them to rot.//
>
> //Upon reaching her, SCP-106 [DATA EXPUNGED] slowly dragging the still living woman towards his pocket dimension. As half of her body enters the "portal", agent Izumi is seen quickly running towards it, placing two objects (now known to be grenades) on the body's pants, and running out of view again. 6 seconds later, there is an explosion on the hall, causing the destruction of the camera.///
**Interview: Agent Izumi J████ ("Enma Ai")**
> **Agent █████**: What exactly did you hope to accomplish with that?
>
> **Agent Izumi**: I hoped to take 106 out of action. As he was actively hunting me, I hope I can be excused for thinking that it was the best idea at the time. It clearly failed to do any damage to him, of course, but I did not see him for the rest of the incident, and thank gods for that. I guess he was having fun with whatever was left of the other woman. Or maybe he found someone younger, I barely fall into the age bracket he seems to show preference.
>
> **Agent █████**: I see. Was it at this point that you decided to move to the cafeteria?
>
> **Agent Izumi**: Yes, sir. I figured someone could potentially think of using it as a haven. Of course, that someone could be the hostiles, but I decided to take my chances. I could always hide somewhere else in that case. Fortunately, mister Flames was there. After showing him my badge, I entered the kitchens, found a corner and promptly fell unconscious. It was a while before I managed to wake up.
>
> **Agent █████**: I see. That is all for now.
-----
**Partial Transcript of Recovered Footage of Security Camera E9935**
**Covered Location: Security Entrance E-43 and hallway connecting to it**
> **1108** Three individuals, later identified as Security Guards S. ███, T. ██████ and B. ████, run in from off-camera.
>
> **1109** Guards S. ███ and B. ████ take up firing positions, aiming back towards the direction they arrived from. Guard T. ██████ stands in front of the security door access panel, with her back to the camera. She pulls a piece of paper from a pocket and begins referring to it. //Note: all security doors in this section had entered containment breach lockdown mode by this time and required Level 2 access codes in order to be opened.//
>
> **1111** Guard B. ████ fires 3 shots at unknown target off-camera. Guard T. ██████ looks over her shoulder with an apparent look of surprise on her face, then turns back to access panel.
>
> **1112** Guard S. ███ joins Guard B. ████ in firing at unknown target. Estimated 15 total shots fired over next few minutes.
>
> **1115** Guard T. ██████ hits the wall above the security panel with her fist, as Guards S. ███ and B. ████ continue firing.
>
> **1116** Guard T. ██████ drops the piece of paper she had been holding and throws herself at the security door, shoulder first. The door opens after the second slam and Guard T. ██████ tumbles through it.
>
> **1117** Guards S. ███ and B. ████ begin to back up towards the open door, then stop and lower their firearms.
>
> **1119** Creature later identified as SCP-200 enters camera view from same direction as the guards. It is oozing an unknown substance from several graze wounds. SCP-200 alternates between walking on its lower limbs and making short hops, using its wings to stay aloft as it approaches Guards S. ███ and B. ████.
>
> **1120 - 1127** //(unrecoverable break in security footage)//
>
> **1128** The bodies of Guards S. ███ and B. ████ lay facedown on the floor. No wounds visible from the camera's angle. Security door remains open.
>
> **1147** [[[SCP-550]]] enters from off-camera and begins feeding on the body of Guard B. ████.
>
> **1151** SCP-550 raises its head and appears to look through the open security door.
>
> **1152** SCP-550 stands and walks through the open door.
------
> **Transcript of statement released at 1207 on ██-██-████ to national news media**
>
> {{The Proponents of Paranormal Rights is a united, grassroots movement of sentient beings of different races, people, and species of the oppressed people under the rule of the Worldwide Global Conspiracy, who under the leadership of our Teacher The Liberator, have formed and joined the New Freemind Nation and have agreed to advocate together on behalf of all sentient beings under the principle that life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are rights to be extended to all creatures with minds and souls.}}
>
> {{The New Freemind Nation is not a government or a religion. It is apolitical, areligious, and asocioeconomic, made up of people from all political parties, organizations, races, and social backgrounds, forming a unity and full representation of human experience. It is of no region or culture, but all regions and cultures. To be a member of the New Freemind Nation, one must only believe in the rights of all sentient beings to those inalienable rights inaccurately and chauvinistically described as "human" rights.}}
>
> {{The Proponents of Paranormal Rights are the activist arm of the New Freemind Nation. It is beholden to no government, religion, or worldwide agenda. It has no political or religious power over it that dictates who will fight and who will die. It risks and sacrifices its life, liberty, and freedom not for its own means, but for the freedom of sentient beings cruelly oppressed and confined by the Worldwide Global Conspiracy that controls our lives from the moment of birth to the moment of death.}}
>
> {{We of the New Freemind Nation choose this name because it states that we are no longer willing to live under the mind-controlling rule of the insidious Worldwide Global Conspiracy that hides the truth of the world from the eyes of the people they claim to protect. We are no longer willing to allow these Conspiracies to exploit the nonhuman sentient beings of this world for their own selfish and greedy ends, nor are we willing to stand by in silence as the most inhuman purge of living creatures since the Holocaust is carried out under the noses of the mindless sheep in pasture. We of the Freemind Nation reject the quisling notions of appeasement and silent victimhood that others who claim to fight for the rights of the nonhuman sentient beings of the world espouse - silent collaborators to the murder and oppression carried out every hour of every day of every year.}}
>
> {{We, the united members of the Proponents of Paranormal Rights, like the brave militiamen of the American Revolution, like the Orangemen of Ireland, and the freedom fighters even now struggling together in the Middle East, refuse to go silent into that dark night. We refuse to die the death of the soul by watching the very soul of mystery in the world shackled and bound in the chains of slavery forged by the oligarchs and tyrants who rule in shadows, and refuse to act. We have struck out against the Worldwide Global Conspiracy through force of arms, and shed our blood on the field of battle alongside those whom we fight to set free. }}
>
> {{We of the New Freemind Nation, in the name of the inalienable rights that the United Nations claim to protect, do hereby declare war against the Worldwide Global Conspiracy in all its forms. We support by force of arms the rights of all free-minded sentient beings to exert their agency against the crushing grasp of the sinister dictators who rule the world in our name. We hereby offer our friend in brotherhood to all those who suffer - the ascendant, the witch, the mutant, the spirit, the creatures of myth and legend who live even now in ignominy and silence - and call out for them to take our hand in brotherhood, and then to take our side in the Great War for Liberation that begins on this day, in this hour, in this place.}}
-----
**Transcript O5-10-██-██-████-████████████████████████████**
> O5-██: "The Proponents for Paranormal RIGHTS? What are they, some kind of garage band?"
>
> █████████: "They're kooks. Harmless. Hippies. Up until now, the worst they've done is picket the commercialization of the pyramids and protest the razing of fairy circles by construction firms."
>
> O5-██: "This is way bigger than any hippy sit-in. I'm getting reports of casualties, deaths, and near-complete loss of containment. We've got a full-on Tempest Night going on here. Now, tell me why I shouldn't just press that big red button right this instant and end it right now."
>
> █████████: "Because with all due respect, sir, it would be like burning down the prison after the inmates have already escaped. We've lost a few, yes, but the latest reports are that we have regained partial containment of the remainder. Our expected losses will set us back, but so far we've seen nothing that's going to cause a K-class scenario. . . and with all due respect, sir, setting off a nuke is exactly the worst thing we could do sociopolitically in the wake of that. . . statement."
>
> O5-██: "Goddamn, that statement. . . no one breaches secrecy. It's been the unwritten rule since the beginning of this whole. . .thing. Can we contain it?"
>
> █████████: "Already on it. We're going to blame the attack on terrorists. Issue a statement in the name of one of the better known organizations. The statement should disappear in the usual chaff nutjobs send to the media when these things happen."
>
> O5-██: "Step up the chaff a bit this time. Send in some statements of our own. Try blaming water fluoridation and vaccines, those always go over well. And get some help down to 17 right the fuck now."
-----
**Security Log-█████-3**
> Transcript of conversation between SCP-353 and an unknown person later identified as ███████ ███ a high-ranking member of the “Proponents of Paranormal Rights”.
>
> **SCP-353:** So… Let me get this straight. You guys are some kind of “supernatural rights group”.
>
> **███:** That is correct.
>
> **SCP-353:** And you want me to join you guys to help free the other “skips” so we can all be part of this “New Freemind Nation” of yours and be one big happy family.
>
> **███:** That is… also correct, more or less.
>
> **SCP-353:** And you think I’m going to help you because I’ve been “oppressed by the ignorant masses” or whatever. Is that it?
>
> **███:** …Not in so many words. Teacher the Liberator sees great potential in you, Vector. He believes that you would be a great asset to our cause were you to use your powers for the side of good, instead of for personal gain.
>
> **SCP-353:** …Look, I don’t know what kind of drugs you’re on, but I think you’ve got the wrong idea about me. I don’t consider myself a member of some sort of “oppressed minority”. I don’t consider the other ‘skips’ to be my ‘brothers in arms’. And I sure as hell am not going to do charity work for a bunch of tree-hugging hippies.
>
> **███:** But of course. If money and power are the only thing that makes you tick, we will reward you handsomely for your... your…
>
> //███ drops his gun, and removes his helmet. Moments later, he begins vomiting repeatedly.//
>
> **SCP-353:** Ah, good. I was hoping that would work.
>
> **███:** W-what…? How did you-
>
> **SCP-353:** You know what the Ebola virus is? Of course you do, it’s only one of the world’s deadliest diseases. 50% mortality rate, even in a best-case scenario. I’ve spent months working on an a fast-acting airborne strain, and I’m happy to say it has more than exceeded my expectations.
>
> //353 tightens her hands around ███’s neck//
>
> **SCP-353:** Betcha wish you bought the masks that actually worked, didn’t ya?
>
> //The other insurgents begin pointing their gun at 353. 353 wags her finger at them.//
>
> **SCP-353:** Oh no. I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re ALL infected now, and I’m the only one keeping the virus in check.
>
> //353 pauses, presumably to let the implications sink in.//
>
> **SCP-353:** It really is a terrible way to die… do you know what the symptoms of Ebola are?
>
> //353 takes a step towards the insurgents//
>
> **SCP-353:** First… you start to have headaches.
>
> //353 takes a step towards the insurgents//
>
> **SCP-353:** Then, you get the chills.
>
> //353 takes a yet another step towards the insurgents. at this point they begin to start backing away from her.//
>
> **SCP-353:** After that comes, vomiting, and then anorexia, and then pharyngitis, diarrhea, hemorrhaging, seizures, hiccups, necrosis…
>
> //One of the insurgents attempts to take a shot at 353, only to be subdued by the insurgent standing next to him.//
>
> **SCP-353:** …and if I’m feeling merciful... //death//.
>
> //An insurgent slowly puts down his gun, and raises his arms in the air. The other insurgents soon follow suit.//
>
> **SCP-353:** Good. It looks like we’re on the same page…
>
> //SCP-353 snaps her fingers, presumably for dramatic effect. Moments later, the insurgent who tried to shoot 353 falls to his knees and puts his hands to his throat to indicate that he is choking on his own [REDACTED]//
>
> **SCP-353:** The rest of you work for me now, so hop to it! I want a sample of every virus, bacterium, or fungus that these kooks bother keep locked up. Get going!
-----
**Security Log ██-1**
> There is no movement for thirty (30) seconds before smoke becomes visible rising from the exterior wall. After seven (7) seconds, SCP-737 emerges from the exterior wall. The front carriage of SCP-737 then opens, revealing its biological component. The biological component expels thirteen (13) wooden masses which unfurl into smaller specimens of SCP-737. Original SCP-737 then releases steam from its 'chimney' in what appears to be celebration. Other SCP-737 do likewise before all specimens proceed out of the range of the camera. It is highly likely that SCP-737's -1 through -14 escaped at this point.
-----
**Recovered Footage from Security Cameras B-296 through B-308**
> **1110:** Massive structural failure in Hallway 4. Massive structural failure in Hallway 5. Air filtration systems overwhelmed. Internal structure of section B-1 compromised.
>
> **1111:** Hallway 12 collapses. Section B-1 seismic detectors register movement in the debris. Dr. Wachtel, Dr. Dier, Prof. Bjornsen, and Agent [REDACTED] reach junction B-141516. Junction B-141516 lighting fails. Prof. Bjornsen activates flashlight. Agent [REDACTED] activates taclight.
>
> **1112:** Prof. Bjornsen directs the light down Hallway 13. [[[SCP-682]]] breaks through the eastern wall of Hallway 13. SCP-682 is heavily infested by [[[SCP-229]]] and is composed primarily of electric cabling, telephone wires and broken circuit boards. Organic portions similar to muscles ooze viscous fluid which, when it drips onto the floor below, burns craters into the concrete. The SCP-229 portions of SCP-682 begin infiltrating nearby electronic cabling. All four Foundation personnel retreat hastily, with Agent [REDACTED] firing at the entity.
>
> **1113:** Agent [REDACTED] begins reloading. Clouds of dust obscure SCP-682. Its estimated speed is 8 kph. A portion of SCP-229 moves towards the camera. Camera B-298 is disabled.
>
> **1114:** The four personnel reach Junction B-142623. Dr. Wachtel closes emergency blast doors. Prof. Bjornsen and Agent [REDACTED] illuminate Hallways 26 and 23, revealing they have become choked with debris. Dr. Wachtel suggests that they take inventory of their possessions. Each in turn produces any items they possess that may be of use and briefly describes its properties: Dr. Wachtel with [[[SCP-494]]] and [[[SCP-447]]]; Dr. Dier with a pistol; Prof. Bjornsen with [[[SCP-262]]], [[[SCP-272]]], and a flashlight; and Agent [REDACTED] with an M249 light machine gun.
>
> **1115:** SCP-229 begins infesting the blast door lock mechanisms. Agent [REDACTED] remarks that she is out of ammunition, and that the entity should reach them in a matter of minutes. Dr. Dier states that he has an idea and begins whispering to the others.
>
> **1116:** Agent [REDACTED] and Dr. Wachtel begin clearing Hallway 26. Prof. Bjornsen opens SCP-262, allowing pair of long, semi-transparent arms to be revealed from the interior. Dr. Dier unloads his pistol and retrieves one (1) 9mm bullet, before replacing the cartridge. Prof. Bjornsen puts SCP-494 on the appendages exposed from SCP-262. Prof. Bjornsen places the lead tip of the bullet in one glove of SCP-494. SCP-262's appendages fracture and lift the roof of Junction B-142623.
>
> **1118:** Junction B-132623 blast doors begin to open. Agent [REDACTED] hands Dr. Wachtel her sidearm and taclight. Dr. Dier and Prof. Bjornsen move to the wall opposite the blast door.
>
> **1119:** SCP-682 breaches blast doors. Dr. Dier activates flashlight. Dr. Bjornsen throws SCP-272 into the shadow cast by SCP-682. SCP-272 embeds itself. SCP-682 begins cursing. Large portions of SCP-229 begin to exhibit prehensile activity and grow towards Prof. Bjornsen. Dr. Wachtel opens fire from Hallway 26, severing SCP-229.
>
> **1120:** Dr. Wachtel and Dr. Dier flank Prof. Bjornsen from opposite sides, severing SCP-229 instances as they attack. Dr. Wachtel reaches Junction B-132623 and begins strobing taclight, Dr. Dier repeats this pattern. SCP-682 is thrown repeatedly against the northeast wall, abrading roughly 20% of its epidermis. Agent [REDACTED] creates a passage through the debris in Hallway 26.
>
> **1121:** The roof of Junction B-132623 is transformed into lead. Dr. Wachtel, Dr. Dier and Prof. Bjornsen flee into Hallway 26. The arms extending from within SCP-262 retract.
>
> **1122:** Massive structural failure in Junction B-132623.
-----
++++ 1223 to Incident Conclusion: Analysis
> At approximately 1223 on the day of the attack, elements from Mobile Task Forces Omega 1 (Blackguards), Omega 2 (Silverfish), and ad-hoc elements of other available personnel arrived at Site 17. Initial entry into Site 17 was carried out at 1306 hours.
>
> Upon arrival, reinforcing elements discovered that the majority of the insurgents had already exfiltrated the combat zone, leaving behind seven members (who had been unable or unwilling to exfiltrate the area due to various factors). Unfortunately, this fact was compounded by the heavy number of containment breaches that took place over the course of the day, meaning that MTF personnel were required to both restore containment of escaped artifacts, while dealing with a small but dedicated core of insurgents.
>
> Due to these complications, the "clean and sweep" operation would take over four hours and result in several more casualties, including members of the Mobile Task Forces sent to reinforce Site 17. However, the arrival of these reinforcements would prove to be the true turning point of the incident: once the members of these MTFs arrived on the scene, the incident was, for all intents and purposes, as contained as possible, under the circumstances.
>
> In the end, recovery of basic containment at Site 17 would take another 16 hours, and result in the deaths of several more personnel. Complete site security has not yet been achieved at the time of this writing, due to the heavy number of escapes during the incident. (A list of current SCP infestations has been attached to this document as Addendum TN-4563B.)
>
> Although a large number of factors contributed to the failures during the Tempest Night incident, one key factor seems to predominate: the loss of control and communications. Due to the inability to effectively coordinate efforts, what could have been a severe but containable breach turned into multiple containment breaches of dangerous artifacts. The simple fact remains that, for a period of three hours during the incident, there was no central command authority at Site 17. Individual persons were forced to act as they saw best, with no leadership or directives to guide them.
>
> The way these persons reacted when on their own is disturbing as well. In multiple cases, individuals, believing themselves to be the only ones standing between the world and a full-on containment breach, took desperate measures in order to combat what they percieved as a deadly threat. This was compounded by the aforementioned lack of communication, which meant that incomplete and inaccurate data was provided to the persons involved. The situation has been likened to a group of desperate men lost in the wilderness and resorting to cannibalism, only to discover that they were a half-day's walk from civilization the entire time.
>
> The situation was compounded by the culture of hero-worship among the lower-ranks personnel. Every organization, over time, develops a culture and a "mythology" of stories about famous incidents from their history. Whether by coincidence or design, the majority of the Foundation's "mythology" and culture has focused on glorifying the more grandiose events from our past, as well as certain irresponsible behaviors that, thankfully, never resulted in the catastrophic consequences that could have resulted. When faced with an emergency, these persons understandably fell back to the stories that had become part of their culture, and took actions that coincided with this mindset.
>
> The results, I believe, are plain to see.
-----
> {{Recording seized from MC&D courier}}
> //Identity of speakers unknown at this time.//
>
> //Oh that is just rich...the mighty Foundation, brought low by a bunch of bloody college students.//
>
> While it is funny Mrs. Carter, the other directors and I are...concerned.
>
> //Why? It's about time those pompous twats got a nice, public black eye.//
>
> Again, I agree, however we're concerned. These kids didn't suddenly get to be a threat without help from someone. They're armed up by someone who doesn't want to show their hand.
>
> //I suppose that's true, but we're not in any danger from it, our current ties are all covert at the moment.//
>
> True, but someone pulled a fast one on us. That does not happen. Ever. Yet somehow, someone armed this group and trained them to the point where they were able to drop a containment site totally off grid, and cripple The Foundation communication relay for a significant period of time. What happens if the puppet master turns his gaze on us?
>
> //Randal, I hardly think this-//
>
> I know, it is unlikely...but that is not even my foremost concern. Our members expect the world from us, normal reality and laws of physics be damned. We sometimes need those items to meet those requests. Which is easier, the corruption of staff and eventual theft of a item in containment, or the time, energy, lives, and most of all, money expended in the tracking, capture, containment, and study of these items?
>
> //...You have shown me the light, Randal. Cheeky, but still valid. I'll see if I can rouse the old fellow, get him to sign off on an open contract. I don't think we need to tip a hand yet, but maybe we can get those Americans...what are they, blackwood...blackburn...oh dash it, that mercenary firm...//
>
> Blackwater, ma'am?
>
> //Yes, that's it! I think Marshall may own the staff...or maybe that's Howard, on the board...dash it, one of the two. We'll get some people on the ground, keep an eye on things...if it all goes tail-up, at least we can collect a bit off the corpse before the scavengers move in. I think someone should post Dark anyway, keep him abreast of things.//
>
> I...am not sure he's alive, Mrs. Carter.
>
> //Fuck and bother. Well, let me know if he is or not when you find out, and post the letter anyway. He'll get it eventually.//
-----
> {{Text of Message sent to O5 Council on ██-██-████, █ hours after re-establishment of containment}}
>
> Dear Sirs or Madams,
>
> Given that you are unable to keep your own affairs in order, we will be cleaning up your mess for you. Be aware that our interdiction teams have orders to shoot to kill on sight any individual who attempts to interfere with their mission.
>
> For your safety and ours, I recommend keeping out of their way.
>
> Sincerely,
>
> [[image dcaf(1).png]]
>
> Under-Secretary-General D. C. Al Fine
> United Nations Global Occult Coalition
------
> **To:** //05 Command Group//
> **From :** //Site 17 Tech Unit//
>
> **Re:** //System compromised//
>
>
> We are still coming back on-line from the attack, however we will be unable to join the larger Foundation network, or connect to anything off-site. The cross-contamination between 682 and 229 has lead to a near-total infection of the on-site network. Thus far, it doesn't seem that either of these items have actually attacked the network, however they are eating up a ton of bandwidth and energy.
>
> To my knowledge, this is the first time 682 has escaped and not gone on a blind rampage. I'm concerned that this is a prelude to something very, very bad...a calm before the storm, if you will. Thus far, we've sealed the site network, and shielded against any ingoing or outgoing signals, but there's not much else we can do. The connections extend everywhere...just waiting for something.
>
> The physical SCP are down on the D-9 level, and we've pretty much lost control of that. The area is too hot to send normal staff to, and all the MTF are running around after the escaped SCP. There are reports of some bad cross-contamination, and 106 has been picking off around one staff member a day.
>
> In short, we need help to bring the site back up. Until D-9 is cleared and re-secured, we can't reconnect to anything.
-----
**Surveillance Log 24-IF12-██-██-████, ████:** Infirmary 12, Site 24
//Six days after Tempest Night Incident//
> **█. ████████:** "Hey, motherfucker. How are the legs?"
>
> **A. Clef:** "They hurt like fuck. Doctors say I'll be walking again in a year, though."
>
> **█. ████████:** "Swell. I brought you a gift."
>
> **A. Clef:** ". . . rollerblades. You always were an asshole."
>
> **█. ████████:** "I love you too. Jesus, those stupid newbies fucked everything up, didn't they? I read your report. It was a fucking laugh riot. The part where that one fucknut tried to fight the kitskumiho and fell off the balcony and broke practically all his bones had me rolling. I hear he's still in traction."
>
> **A. Clef:** "He's in the next wing over. Multiple compound fractures. He was stuck there for over forty-eight hours screaming in pain before someone managed to find him. Gangrene maybe set in on his legs. Hopefully the docs can regrow them."
>
> **█. ████████:** "I'll bring him a pair of running shoes. He'll love that."
>
> **A. Clef:** ". . ."
>
> **█. ████████:** ". . . All right, talk. What's wrong?"
>
> **A. Clef:** "We did that to him."
>
> **█. ████████:** "Bullshit. We didn't push him off that ledge, and we didn't order him to either. Hell, you didn't even tell him to fight that SCP. He did that on his own."
>
> **A. Clef:** "He did it because we did it first."
>
> **█. ████████:** "He was a four-year newbie. We've been doing this all our lives. He was in over his fucking head."
>
> **A. Clef:** "He should never have tried. We set a bad example for him."
>
> **█. ████████:** "What are you, his mommy? Gonna change his diaper and feed him his bottle? He was an adult. He made a fucking choice, and he fucked up. I'm not gonna lose any sleep over it."
>
> **A. Clef:** "Did you know the incidence of mental illness among Foundation personnel is going up? It used to be you had to be a ten, fifteen year man before you started getting downchecks for psyche. Now we're getting second-year rookies getting red-marked. Glass thinks it's because they're not trying to fight it any more. He's not sure why, but I know. It's because of you and me. These kids, they look at you and me and Gears and think, "These guys are nuts. Maybe it's okay for me to be." And they just. . . go over the deep end. They don't even try to stay sane."
>
> **█. ████████:** "What, you're trying to blame this all on me? Fuck you. I do what I have to do to save the world. If I want to have fun along the way, then who the fuck can tell me otherwise? There's too much at stake here to worry about being a nice or responsible person. Someone wants to flip out and eat dog shit or try to fuck a goat, who cares, as long as they do the fucking job? If you can't see that, then maybe you need to get the fuck out."
>
> **A. Clef:** "Maybe I do."
>
> **█. ████████:** ". . . well, I'm not wasting a good gift on an emo faggot like you. Give me those rollerblades, I'm gonna give them to Gerald."
>
> **A. Clef:** "Yeah, you do that, ███████."
>
> **█. ████████:** "Fuck you too, buddy."
------
**Escapees: [[[SCP-353]]], [[[SCP-953]]], [[[SCP-200]]], [[[SCP-550]]], [[[SCP-737]]]**
+++++ Related Foundation Tales:
[[[game-day-1-johannes-sorts |Game Day 1: Johannes Sorts]]]
[[[gamedaypart1imago|Game Day 1: Imago]]]
[[[preliminaries|Game Day 1: Preliminaries]]]
[[[game-day-1-die-hardest|Game Day 1: Die Hardest]]]
[[[game-day-1-smilers|Game Day 1: Smilers]]]
[[[game-day-1-dr-mause|Game Day 1: Lesley Mause]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-04T15:56:00 | [
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"action",
"agent-adams",
"agent-lament",
"agent-strelnikov",
"breakout",
"bureaucracy",
"comedy",
"dc-al-fine",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-rights",
"doctor-sorts",
"doctor-vang",
"game-day",
"hard-to-destroy-reptile",
"lombardi",
"marshall-carter-and-dark",
"professor-bjornsen",
"sheldon-katz",
"tale",
"the-old-man"
] | Game Day, Phase 1: Secure - SCP Foundation | 90 | [
"gamedaypart1index#toc0",
"gamedaypart1index#toc1",
"gamedaypart1index#toc2",
"gamedaypart1index#toc3",
"gamedaypart1index#toc4",
"gamedaypart1index#toc5",
"gamedaypart1index#toc6",
"scp-737",
"scp-347",
"scp-444",
"scp-272",
"scp-200",
"scp-262",
"scp-494",
"scp-870",
"scp-138",
"scp-945",
"scp-027",
"scp-890",
"scp-909",
"scp-913",
"scp-905",
"scp-917",
"scp-447",
"scp-632",
"scp-399",
"scp-469",
"scp-022",
"scp-555",
"scp-966",
"scp-699",
"scp-052",
"scp-911",
"scp-668",
"scp-082",
"scp-955",
"scp-550",
"scp-682",
"scp-229",
"scp-353",
"scp-953",
"game-day-1-johannes-sorts",
"gamedaypart1imago",
"preliminaries",
"game-day-1-die-hardest",
"game-day-1-smilers",
"game-day-1-dr-mause",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:secure-facilities-locations-2",
"gamedaypart2index",
"gamedayindex"
] | [
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/gamedaypart1index/dcaf(1).png"
] | 11822275 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/gamedaypart1index |
|
gdp2-a-little-chat | <html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Drip, drip, drip. Blood fell from Harold Jacobs' shattered nose onto the polished, tiled floor. He feebly tried to look up as he heard a rasping cough, but Valley's thugs did their job too well. A ticking noise came from the man restraining Jacobs. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. Valley coughed again, and Jacobs saw the old, wizened figure nod to the ticking man. His voice was like his cough, hoarse and sudden, as if every sentence that came out of Valley's mouth could be the last. With his current state, that was probably true.</p>
<p>"Show our guest to his seat, Mr. Tick."</p>
<p>Jacobs was surprised at Mr. Tick's strength as he slammed him into the wooden chair. He had scoffed when Mr. Carter told him about Valley's manservant. The man was diseased, for god's sake, how could he be a threat? As Jacobs tried to gaze at Valley through the ruined remains of his left eye, he realized how wrong he had been.</p>
<p>"Mr. Jacobs." Valley's tone was mocking. Using his stick-like arm, he gently placed one of Mr. Carter's notes on the table. "You are here to cheat me?" Next, he placed a tiny camera in front of him. "Or to spy on me?" As he placed the last item on the table, Jacobs knew that he was as good as dead.</p>
<p>"To kill me?" said Valley, inspecting Jacobs' gun. "A good effort, I'm sure, but Mr. Tick does not miss a tick." Then he laughed. It was the most awful sound Jacobs had ever heard. Valley stopped and grinned at him with rotting, yellow teeth. A drop of blood slid down from his cracked lips from the exertion of the act. "Who are you working for?"</p>
<p>Jacobs remembered what Mr. Carter had told him to say. His voice was a whisper, it was a miracle he could even talk with the beating he has taken. "Global Occult Coalition…mass liquidation of known threat entity…"</p>
<p>"Liar," snapped Valley. Mr. Tick's hand closed around Jacobs'. He had time to look up for a moment before Mr. Tick squeezed. Jacobs screamed in agony as he heard the loud crunching from what used to be his hand. "Who do you really work for?"</p>
<p>Jacobs was sobbing now. The pain was unbearable. "Marshall…Carter and Dark!" he screamed. Mr. Tick let go.</p>
<p>Valley looked worried. "They know of my operation here?"</p>
<p>"Yes." Jacobs struggled not to look at the crushed lump at the end of his arm.</p>
<p>"This is…highly unfortunate. We will have to think carefully of our next move, I think. Thank you, Mr. Jacobs. Mr. Tick, you may kill him now."</p>
<p>Jacobs opened his mouth to protest, but was cut short as Mr. Tick grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into the table. He was killed instantly and the table collapsed from the heavy impact. A cleaner stepped forward and began to wipe Jacobs' brain matter off the wood as two members of security threw his body off the balcony. A few seconds later, there was a far-off splash.</p>
<p>"Our old associates have discovered us, it seems," said Valley.</p>
<p>"Yes," said Mr. Tick.</p>
<p>"Nevertheless, I believe we can continue our operation here. There must be some demand for those things."</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"We'll need to raise security, Mr. Tick. I don't want this happening again. I'll run out of tables."</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/gdp2-a-little-chat">A Little Chat</a>" by Tanhony, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/gdp2-a-little-chat">https://scpwiki.com/gdp2-a-little-chat</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html> |
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Drip, drip, drip. Blood fell from Harold Jacobs' shattered nose onto the polished, tiled floor. He feebly tried to look up as he heard a rasping cough, but Valley's thugs did their job too well. A ticking noise came from the man restraining Jacobs. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. Valley coughed again, and Jacobs saw the old, wizened figure nod to the ticking man. His voice was like his cough, hoarse and sudden, as if every sentence that came out of Valley's mouth could be the last. With his current state, that was probably true.
"Show our guest to his seat, Mr. Tick."
Jacobs was surprised at Mr. Tick's strength as he slammed him into the wooden chair. He had scoffed when Mr. Carter told him about Valley's manservant. The man was diseased, for god's sake, how could he be a threat? As Jacobs tried to gaze at Valley through the ruined remains of his left eye, he realized how wrong he had been.
"Mr. Jacobs." Valley's tone was mocking. Using his stick-like arm, he gently placed one of Mr. Carter's notes on the table. "You are here to cheat me?" Next, he placed a tiny camera in front of him. "Or to spy on me?" As he placed the last item on the table, Jacobs knew that he was as good as dead.
"To kill me?" said Valley, inspecting Jacobs' gun. "A good effort, I'm sure, but Mr. Tick does not miss a tick." Then he laughed. It was the most awful sound Jacobs had ever heard. Valley stopped and grinned at him with rotting, yellow teeth. A drop of blood slid down from his cracked lips from the exertion of the act. "Who are you working for?"
Jacobs remembered what Mr. Carter had told him to say. His voice was a whisper, it was a miracle he could even talk with the beating he has taken. "Global Occult Coalition...mass liquidation of known threat entity..."
"Liar," snapped Valley. Mr. Tick's hand closed around Jacobs'. He had time to look up for a moment before Mr. Tick squeezed. Jacobs screamed in agony as he heard the loud crunching from what used to be his hand. "Who do you really work for?"
Jacobs was sobbing now. The pain was unbearable. "Marshall...Carter and Dark!" he screamed. Mr. Tick let go.
Valley looked worried. "They know of my operation here?"
"Yes." Jacobs struggled not to look at the crushed lump at the end of his arm.
"This is...highly unfortunate. We will have to think carefully of our next move, I think. Thank you, Mr. Jacobs. Mr. Tick, you may kill him now."
Jacobs opened his mouth to protest, but was cut short as Mr. Tick grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into the table. He was killed instantly and the table collapsed from the heavy impact. A cleaner stepped forward and began to wipe Jacobs' brain matter off the wood as two members of security threw his body off the balcony. A few seconds later, there was a far-off splash.
"Our old associates have discovered us, it seems," said Valley.
"Yes," said Mr. Tick.
"Nevertheless, I believe we can continue our operation here. There must be some demand for those things."
"Yes."
"We'll need to raise security, Mr. Tick. I don't want this happening again. I'll run out of tables."
"Yes."
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
| 2011-10-22T21:50:00 | [
"_licensebox",
"game-day",
"horror",
"marshall-carter-and-dark",
"spy-fiction",
"tale"
] | A Little Chat - SCP Foundation | 27 | [
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] | [
"archived:tales-by-title",
"archived:tales-by-date-2011",
"archived:tales-by-author",
"marshall-carter-and-dark-hub",
"gamedaypart2index",
"archived:foundation-tales"
] | [] | 11925298 | https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/gdp2-a-little-chat |
Subsets and Splits