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new-technical-issues	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <blockquote> <p>Welcome to the Technical Issues page. You are all free to ask me about any issue you might be having (with a computer, mind you), I will try and assist you in resolving those issues. Don't be bashful about asking me questions, I probably won't mess with your clearance level if you aggravate me. Probably. Mark your request with the date at the bottom of the page, I will answer all questions in the order received. Your call is very important to us…<br/> <a href="/david-rosen-file">~Technical Researcher Rosen</a></p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">FOLLOWING TECHNICAL RESEARCHER ROSEN'S SUDDEN DEPARTURE FOR PERSONAL REASONS, TECHNICAL RESEARCHER BEAUVILLIER IS NOW IN CHARGE OF ALL TECHNICAL ISSUES.</span></p> <p><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">FOLLOWING TECHNICAL RESEARCHER BEAUVILLIER'S DISAPPEARANCE, TECHNICIAN EMPIRA HAS BEEN PLACED IN CHARGE OF ALL TECHNICAL ISSUES.</span><br/> ACTUALLY I WAS JUST LOCKED IN THE CLOSET. ROUGH TIMES. TELL THE GUY WHO MADE THE LOCK THAT HE'S FIRED. IN OTHER NEWS, WELCOME TECHNICIAN EMPIRA. I NEEDED SOMEONE TO MAKE MY COFFEE. - TECHNICAL RESEARCHER BEAUVILLIER</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Due to a… charmingly high number of requests, I am no longer responding to inquiries related to the following subjects and bodily functions.</p> <ul> <li>Semen, whether human or animal</li> <li>Any other sexual excretion</li> <li>Really, anything gross coming out of a human body is your own problem.</li> <li>Any other equally horrible things I haven't thought of at time of writing.</li> </ul> <p>Anything added to this page relating to anything on this list or something else I don't like will be deleted summarily, and I will be very, very cross with you.</p> </blockquote> <p>Old Entries: <a href="/new-technical-issues-archive">New Technical Issues Archive</a></p> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Entries from 2020</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Rosen's still legally in charge, I'm not taking any responsibility for the mess that happened. - Beauvillier</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p><strong>Note:</strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">09/01/2020</span><br/> <em>Hi Rsen.<br/> Firt of ll, happy New Yar.<br/> S uhh, I ws n my offic the ther dy and sme otput frm 914 scremed in the resrch cll so lud tht it spokd me. Thing s, I ws watchng cat vidos whil drinkng a cp of coffe, and t splled ll ovr th kybord. Nw the vowls dn't work hlf of the tme, can get a new keybard?</em><br/> <em>- Intrn Sra</em></p> <blockquote> <p>You know, I would mock you for blatant incompetence, but I'm just happy to be doing a keyboard spill that's just coffee.<br/> ~Rosen</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">08/03/2020</span><br/> <em>Hey, Rosen. Newly-assigned-to-914 J.R. Cens here.<br/> So, funny story. I <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/experiment-log-914/offset/13">put a flash drive with Windows 10 through 914</a> as one of my first tests, and the output was a Terminator figurine that installs Skynet onto a computer via USB upload. It replaced the OS of the computer, connected to the Facility 23 network, and made all network-enabled prosthetics start slapping their users repeatedly. You have an hour or two to help me?</em><br/> <em>- J.R. Cens</em></p> <blockquote> <p>That is way past my pay grade bud, what do I look like, John Connor? I haven't broken into any veterinary offices to steal the pills since like… two weeks ago. Figure it out.<br/> ~Rosen</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">04/04/20</span><br/> <em>Hi Mr. Rosen,<br/> Quick question: How do you Linux?<br/> Thanks.</em><br/> <em>- Intern François Beauvillier</em></p> <blockquote> <p>You Linux in Compute, get Ubuntu in pixel. Mouse it good. You in like penguin.</p> <p>~Rosen</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">12/04/2020</span><br/> <em>Is it possible to contract the coronavirus from viewing a photograph of the sun's corona on a certain anomalous computer?</em><br/> <em>- Technician Xiu, Site-277</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Actually, in your case, you need to social distance from everybody and everything except the sun. <a href="/scp-1543-j">I will give priority scheduling for you to access the necessary medical equipment for this requirement.</a><br/> Rosen</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">16/04/2020</span><br/> <em>Cack! Calculactor am intergratulate with spanglefinger! Am contobulating the speekbax to spankolinguist! Pongle! Much assist?</em><br/> <em>- Informationater Paul</em></p> <blockquote> <p><a href="/scp-931">Word-changer skips</a><br/> Like a litter of kittens<br/> All looking the same</p> <p>Exposing yourself<br/> To the rays of their sunlight<br/> Cancels out the change</p> <p>In my experience<br/> Others may have experienced<br/> Differing results</p> <p>~Rosen</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">21/04/2020</span><br/> <em>Hi, What do you suggest in case of a rogue A.I. uprising? I tried to print a text file I had on a flash drive that went through 914, but the printer suddenly grew arms and legs, introduced himself as "pAInapple" and wants to conquer the town of Fleurus, in Belgium. I'm not sure what to do but now it won't print my files unless I provide it with a sufficient amount of weapons to escape the site and conquer Fleurus. Help? Please?</em><br/> <em>- Intern Francois Beauvillier</em></p> <blockquote> <p>I mean, why not just let him have it? Often times, rogue A.I. will behave after they conquer some humans and then have to be responsible for human problems. Give 'em some foam dart guns and let it go nuts. Fleurus hasn't seen any action since Napoleon, I'm sure they could use the excitement.<br/> ~Rosen</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">22/04/2020</span><br/> <em>Hello Rosen. It appears that my laptop has suffered major physical damage from a pair of metal handcuffs that have been fired via cannon through its monitor screen at Mach 5. May I request a replacement that is less vulnerable to these kinds of attacks? Thank you in advance.</em><br/> <em>- Junior Researcher Yuyuni Belopaku</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Sure thing. You've got a new hazardous environment Foundation-made luggable system. It weighs 50 pounds and it will take .44 rounds for you if you asked it to. I've also credited you for that gym membership you signed up for, you're probably not going to be needing it anymore.<br/> ~Rosen</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">29/04/2020</span><br/> <em>Hello again, Rosen. I have received an email from an unknown address, stating that they are the O5 Council and that my laptop used to be a massive hamster ball. I am aware that this information is likely false, but can you verify this just to be sure?</em><br/> <em>- Junior Researcher Yuyuni Belopaku</em></p> <blockquote> <p>You got a problem with recycling?<br/> ~Rosen</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">16/05/2020</span><br/> <em>Rosen, why is there internet connection on the sun?</em><br/> <em>- Technician Xiu, <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Site-277</span> the Sun</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Astronauts need Wi-Fi too, ya know.<br/> ~Rosen</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">16/05/2020</span><br/> <em>Rosen, this may be a bit of a peculiar request, but would you happen to know anything about "Seussian" devices? I have been speaking with the pataphysical department, and they want to know if you know anything about a "Super-Zooper-Flooper-Do", or are able to write someone who does.</em><br/> <em>- Junior Researcher Madden, Site 19</em></p> <blockquote> <p>You don't know what to do with a "Super-Zooper-Flooper-Do?" Well, ask someone else, because I don't want to.<br/> ~Rosen</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>06/19/2020<br/> Thanks to a modest budget increase I’ve added several interns to help me with the work here. I haven’t learned their names yet but they’re all interns so… yeah. Let me know if they screw up.<br/> ~Rosen</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Quite assuring welcome, sir. And why does all senior staff treat me as an intern? Anyways, I should introduce: I am a Technician from the 914 crew.<br/> ~Akchote</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>An Intern<br/> ~Rosen</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Hey. I can't believe I'll work for the great Rosen now. I will gladly assist you in any issues I can. May I get you a coffee?<br/> ~Intern Beauvillier<br/> P.S: Do you want sugar with your coffee?</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Black coffee please.<br/> ~Rosen</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> June, the sixth month of the year, on the date twenty-and-one, or twenty-first, in the year 2020, the twentieth year into the third millennium<br/> <em>Greetings, Mister Rosen. Salutations, hello and hi. Kindest regards.</em></p> <p><em>There appears to be an anomalous virus affecting my proofreading programs. Yes, my proofreading programs are indeed infected with a virus most foul. A foul virus, in my programs. It seems to operate by taking brief text strings and increasing their verbosity, as well as repeating information. It does this by expanding them without adding any new, relevant information, repeating the same details with an obnoxious aversion to brevity.</em></p> <p><em>I require your assistance in quarantining and eliminating the little fucker. I've already isolated the system, which can no longer connect to any network, being cut off from other devices, but I have doubts about the effectiveness of this technique as it has already spread to my cellular mobile device. As it is in my phone, which was never connected to the PC, I do not believe a solid data connection is required for it to spread.</em></p> <p><em>At the very least, it's as much your problem as it is mine now. Yes, we are in the same boat, share a similar obstacle. If you have no solution for my problem, you'll just have to suffer with me.</em></p> <p><em>Best regards, well-wishes and utmost sincerity,<br/> -Doctor Lucas Hadian, PhD, esq.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Opposed virus infect own computer.<br/> Sentences shorter.<br/> Busy finding solution.<br/> Good luck.<br/> ~Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">25/06/2020</span><br/> <em>Rosen, it's Shel. You promised me that tech was going to deprecate the sanguinary apostille appliances in the legal department. This in itself is fine and welcome - signing contracts in blood has always been inconvenient, and I'm tired of explaining to the cleaner why I have so many stains on my shirt. But whatever you guys have in mind as a replacement solution, can you demo it with my team before you roll it out? We don't want another Mephistopheles situation.</em><br/> <em>Best,</em><br/> <em>- Sheldon Katz, Esq.</em><br/> <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. Pseudo-subliminal hypnotic anchor series follows: CALIPH PARENTHESIS POSTAL RECLINE SEVENTY-EIGHT CAPPADOCIA CONFLICT.</span></p> <p><span style="font-size:75%;">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> <p>Yeah, about that, we sent a memo to someone in your team, and apparently it didn't went well.<br/> See, I think the receiver didn't like the idea of using mouse brain to sign the documents.<br/> May I suggest human fat?<br/> I'm pretty sure it should work.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">02/08/2020</span><br/> <em>my computer is bleeding</em><br/> <em>but the monitor is filling up with blood</em><br/> <em>how come the computer is losing blood but the monitor is filling up with blood</em><br/> <em>this appears to be a problem</em><br/> <em>hope you can fix it</em><br/> <em>- Researcher Kevin Han, Site-22</em></p> <blockquote> <p>This is the Technic department, not the exorcism one. Did you practice any unprotected pacts with a demon of the ██rd circle?<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">04/08/2020</span><br/> <em>Hello, my Foundation assigned laptop appears to have a problem with its sound system. You see, the speakers play the melody of "Mary Had a Little Lamb" whenever I lick the sticker with the serial number on it, even when the laptop itself is turned off. Is this normal behavior or is my laptop affected by an anomaly of some kind? Thanks in advance.</em><br/> <em>- Junior Researcher Pallas</em></p> <blockquote> <p>I fixed the problem, but now if you rub the back of the computer, it will start purring on the rhythm of "Immigrant's song" by Led Zeppelin.<br/> Hope you like metal.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">27/08/2020</span><br/> <em>Hey, Beauvillier, Cens here. How's the reassignment been? Want me to put anything through 914 for you? I've sort of been drawing blanks on tests and I'd be happy to run something through as long as I can say that it was your idea if it goes wrong.</em><br/> <em>-Junior Researcher Cens</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Can you try to sneak in a baguette for me? I tried to ask Dr. Veritas last time and an MTF is still after me. Please, don't tell anyone about it- THEY FOUND ME-<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">10/09/2020</span><br/> <em>J.R. Cens here. My Foundation-issue computer keeps playing “The Only Thing They Fear is You“ from off the</em> DOOM Eternal <em>soundtrack every time I try writing a 914 experiment log. This normally wouldn't be a problem as this song is fire, but it's 1) the Bethesda mix, which is garbage compared to Mick Gordon's original version, 2) it's anomalously playing at 50% higher the computer's max volume, and 3) I'm seeing all of the other Facility 23 personnel as</em> DOOM<em>-style demons while I hear it. I've already backed up my files onto a USB drive, so if you wouldn't mind sending me a replacement machine, that would be very greatly appreciated. Thanks</em><br/> <em>-Junior Researcher Cens</em></p> <blockquote> <p>So, I filed a replacement form, your new machine should be on its way.<br/> By the way, seeing your coworkers as demons is perfectly normal, especially at Facility 23. Disregard that.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> </div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Entries from 2021</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Because 2020 wasn't bad enough already.</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">30/01/2021</span><br/> <em>You remember Dross? Yeah, apparently he's having issues with that suit of his, and for some reason he asked me to help. What the hell am I supposed to do? I can't fix it! Maybe you can? Slim chance, but might as well ask.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Ah, I'm pretty new here, I don't see which Dross you're talking about. I don't know how to help, but I sent you a map with the nearest washing machines to your position. Hope that might help with any suit problems.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">03/04/2021</span><br/> <em>Hello. I am having a problem with my pc. I was away from my office for a week on medical leave and when I got back, I found that someone had stolen my 27" OLED Monitor and left me with a crappy monitor(I think it may be from 079). I have already filled out a requsition form for a new monitor. But, not only that but it appears they had the time to swap out my ram. However, the problem is that my pc no longer is posting. Could you have a look at that please. I'll drop it by later. Also, I wanted to ask, do we have any NVIDIA RTX 3090's available? If not, what about a 2070? Thanks</em><br/> <em>-Agent Y. Lukenstrout</em></p> <blockquote> <p>You have a standard foundation-issued monitor on its way. I know I'm not very old here, and I do not know what you might do with your computer.<br/> However, you do not need this material for Foundation work.<br/> As an agent, I'd assume your paycheck is large enough to get gaming hardware for yourself.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">05/04/2021</span></p> <p><em>Hello Rosen,</em></p> <p><em>Due to a mishap involving several random office supplies and a couple of insectoid SCPs I was completing testing on, my computer tower is now full of bees. Please send help.</em></p> <p><em>-Dr. Ginger</em></p> <blockquote> <p>I think that's an issue Rosen can fix personally, so if you could loosen a few screws and drop it at his office…<br/> Make sure you don't add any markings that might suggest there are bees inside.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">20/04/2021</span><br/> <em>To you poor souls,</em><br/> <em>A breach occurred not too long ago in Site-88, resulting in the destruction of many computers in the West Wing. The replacements were smaller, and we weren't supplied mice to go with them. Its all keyboard and a weird rectangle in the bottom-middle. I request that you send us some computer mice. Also, can you check if my… list was saved?</em><br/> <em>- Researcher Daniel Ham</em></p> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">30/04/2020</span><br/> <em>Rosen,</em><br/> <em>It has now been over a week, I have no mouse, my work has begun piling up, so I traveled about a year into the past to get my mouse, but I don't want to relive Covid-19 quarantine. I just needed my mouse. Though I can get my list back so you don't need to worry about that.</em><br/> <em>- Researcher Daniel Ham</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Wait wait wait- You jumped back in time to get a mouse that was supposed to be broken and now isn't, but the original request is still here? How did you-<br/> I would suggest you speak about it to the Time anomaly department, as I'm pretty sure you probably caused a paradox that caused the Site-88 breach.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">31/04/2021</span><br/> <em>Hello,</em><br/> <em>If its any consolation, I'm not sure either. I didn't want to get seen or anything, so I was just stealing some of my own food and living out of a vent in a closet. I was somehow able to stop myself from time traveling and gave myself the mouse. I was thinking I'd disappear from reality, but now there are just two of us. At least we were able to catch up on that overdue work together, but now we aren't sure what to do. My collogues are extremely confused and getting stared at twice isn't fun and is distracting. I'm going to have myself live in the closet for now, I'll bring myself food so he won't die. I don't want myself bored either, so could you send an extra laptop and mouse?</em><br/> <em>- Researcher Daniel Ham x2</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Temporal twins now? How? Why? I- No, forget it. I just sent you an extra mouse and laptop. But please, PLEASE, stop giving me headaches.<br/> How does it even work? What?<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">04/05/2021</span></p> <p><em>So, I got my tower back. In pieces. Twisted, mangled, baseball-bat smashed pieces.</em></p> <p><em>When I put in a request for a new tower through an intranet terminal Rosen sent me an email that simply said “Go fuck yourself” with an ASCII middle finger.</em></p> <p><em>And to top it all off, I have testing I need to commence with SCP-302 and any time I attempt to access the file, my access is denied and my credentials are identified as “test subject” rather than “researcher”. Will somebody please send me a new tower and figure out what is going on with my credentials?</em></p> <p><em>-Dr. Ginger</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Please do not move from your position. An MTF is currently underway to secure you, as you may have been contaminated by a very strong cognitohazard, leading you to believe that you are a Doctor, and not actually a test subject, which you are. Remain calm, and do not attempt to escape the scene.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">10/05/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey, it's me again. So, this morning, Dr. Bright came by my office with some computer parts including an RTX 3090. So, I put the parts in my pc to replace the parts that were stolen. It booted up all fine. Now, here's where the problem starts, as I log in, it seems strangely…efficient so I open up task manager to view the processess, the CPU is at 20% usage and only 40°C. That's when I remember <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1111-j" target="_blank">SCP-1111-J</a> so I rush to unplug my PC from the ethernet. I have asked others in the surrounding offices and some have said that thier computer became suddenly efficient along with some of the network drives reaching transfer speeds of nearly 100gb/s. We seem to have contained it, would you mind getting it off the servers at Site-19 please? I have removed the parts from my pc and dropped them off at the I.T. office.</em><br/> <em>-Agent Y. Lukenstrout</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Why? Why would you do this? Why would Dr. Bright come at your office? Why would he come with computer parts?<br/> And also… Why would you install something on your computer from unsafe sources?<br/> You have four hours to write an essay on why installing potentially unsafe computer parts without screening is a stupid idea, why I completely clean out the entire Site-19 database. Thanks SO much.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">20/05/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey, been a while. Again, my inquiry is of a pataphysical nature. At least, it appears to be considering the fact that HAL 9000 has invaded the computers of both pataphysical staff and writer staff at the pataphysical division. A little help with pataphysical computers, or at the very least how to deal with malevolent AIs, would be greatly appreciated.</em><br/> <em>-Researcher Alfred N. Madden</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Pataphysics? Again? Are you doing this on purpose?<br/> It's getting ridiculous.<br/> About your evil AI issue, try giving it a pataphysical problem to solve. Will fry its brain like it fries mine.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">25/05/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey Beauvillier, Temporal Twins again. My other dumbass self dropped the new laptop just now, and its currently screaming in pain on the floor. We tried to help it out, but it just yells at us saying it, "Refuses to go into medical debt over my clumsy ass." Just get my closet dwelling moron another laptop, and maybe someone to deal with computer infant.</em><br/> <em>-Researcher Daniel Ham</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Can you get another closet dwelling moron instead?<br/> We sent you almost 25 different laptops during the past 2 weeks, and every single one of them got stuck in a time loop. With the delivery guy.<br/> Cool it with the temporal shenanigans and then we can discuss a solution, okay?<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">01/06/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey Beau, my laptop's background is permanently stuck on a picture of a brown hamster, and it keeps crashing every time I try to change it back. I normally wouldn't ask this here, but you weren't there when I knocked this morning, so.</em><br/> <em>- Junior Researcher Yuyuni Belopaku</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Why would you want to remove the hamster background? Nothing wrong with hamsters whatsoever.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">11/06/2021</span><br/> <em>Beauvillier, I don't see the problem here.</em><br/> <em>I haven't done any temporal shenanigans after my supervisor teared me a new one, and the only reason neither of us were executed is because the Ethics Committee somehow ruled against it. If the laptop and the delivery guy are somehow in a timeloop, it's not my fault. Maybe send a reality anchor with them, and I'll place it in the others pocket after shrinking it with whatever shrink device is around. If you don't want to do that, the time travelled me will come over to your office and pick up the laptop himself. He isn't doing much else, and is just really bored. On another note, the screaming laptop disappeared last week, the only trace of it was a sheet of binary signed by the 'Robot Uprising'. Figured it was worth a mention.</em><br/> <em>- Researcher Daniel Ham</em></p> <blockquote> <p>The… The robot uprising you say?<br/> That is most concerning.<br/> Regarding your laptop issues, I've left one in a safe, sent you the coordinates. Please don't lose your temporal twin to a time loop.<br/> Regarding the uprising…<br/> I was never here.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">17/06/2021</span><br/> <em>Due to a system malfunction I seem to have been given unrestricted access to all files tagged as 'infohazard', 'memetic' and 'cognitohazard'. The system also automatically provided me with an experimental visual cognitohazard that implanted all of the information in my brain, without prompting. As I don't work with infohazards, memetics or cognitohazards I felt it was best to report this issue. As my secoundary school physics teacher <a href="/scp-2979">Mr. {REDACTED}</a> used to say, "Please don't spread these".</em></p> <p><em>On an unrelated note, the <a href="/scp-2414">SCP-2414</a> slot appears to contain a non-anomalous object. You should probably fix that.</em><br/> <em>- <a href="/scp-2150">Mark ████████</a></em></p> <blockquote> <p>Wait, you had <a href="/scp-2979">Mr. {REDACTED}</a> as a teacher too? What a coincidence. One of the best teachers I've ever had. Regarding your cognitohazard issue, I've revoked all your access privileges regarding these.<br/> About <a href="/scp-2414">SCP-2414</a>, don't bother. It's clearly not anomalous anyway.<br/> ~ <a href="/scp-2150">Mark ████████</a></p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">21/06/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey Beauvillier,</em><br/> <em>In regards to your previous message:</em><br/> <em>1: Doctor Bright works at Site-19.</em><br/> <em>2: It was the Site-19 site wide April fools day.</em><br/> <em>3: The server still needs resetting.</em><br/> <em>In regards to why I am here, I got my new components screened this morning and passed, however the tech uprising appears to be outside my door. I could do with some assistance with this. Also, I heard that Pat was seen in the Site-17 data centre yesterday, might want to up the security measures. Thanks anyway.</em><br/> <em>-Agent Y. Lukenstrout</em></p> <blockquote> <p>[THIS IS AN AUTOMATED ANSWER; DO NOT REPLY]<br/> It seems that you are currently trying to contact the technical support with an issue regarding Pat.<br/> The technical team would like to remind you that it declines all responsibility regarding any problem with said person.<br/> For more information, please contact your local amnestic distribution center and ask for a dose of Class-C amnestics.<br/> Thank you for your consideration.<br/> Sincerely,<br/> ~ THE TECHNICAL SUPPORT TEAM</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">22/06/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey Beau,</em><br/> <em>Something is in the Site-17 server room, and it keeps chewing up all the wires here. We're replacing them with spares we got, but we're about to run out of replacements. I'm currently in room with a bat to defend what's lur-</em><br/> <em>Hey so Twin me now, we found other me in the server room tied up with the server wires. He's in the medical ward for head trauma. We'll still need those wires anyways, we're all out now and it's just held together with electrical tape. Whatever gremlin is in here is eating the wires and I'm not going in there, cause you think I'm some time distortion.</em><br/> <em>- Temporal Twin Daniel Ham</em></p> <blockquote> <p>The wire gremlin is back. Close all doors. Spray toxic gas in the entire room. Pray it dies.<br/> Do not repeat the same mistakes I did. Make sure it is dead for good.<br/> It does not forget. It does not forgive.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">01/07/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey again <a href="/scp-2150">Mark</a>,<br/> Thanks for resolving the clearance issue. The informative visual cognitohazards still keep showing up though, so you can probably stop those. I already know all the information, it's just taking my mind a while to comprehend it all, due to the fact that fish minds are very limited.</em></p> <p><em>Unfortunately when you restricted my access you also appear to have prohibited me from editing the <a href="/scp-1603">SCP-1603</a> file, which is missing the very important detail that <strong>I</strong> was the one that murdered █████ ███████. While it may seem like I might not have been able to commit the crime due to my lack of arms, I have very distinct memories of murdering him with the assistance of a <a href="/scp-3177">cardboard cutout</a>. If you could re-estate my editing privileges for the file or add those details yourself that would be fine, though I understand if this is delayed somewhat due to you being a fish.</em><br/> <em>- <a href="/scp-1839">A Fish</a> (Who is not Mark, as Mark is not a fish)</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Please. We all know YOU didn't kill the guy. It clearly was me. The cardboard cutout might be innocent, but I have to inspect it closer eventually.<br/> In the meantime, to avoid getting yourself in trouble, I didn't unlock your access. Wouldn't want you to get accused for nothing. I'm the guilty one, obviously.<br/> On a totally different note, you seem like a cultivated guy. Do you know about the reproductive methods of bony fish? We really could have a nice talk about it.<br/> ~ <a href="/scp-2150">Mark ████████</a></p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">01/07/2021</span><br/> <em>Beau,</em><br/> <em>It's not dead.</em><br/> <em>It's <strong>not</strong> fucking dead.</em><br/> <em>It's taking both of us hostage in the Site-17 Data Centre and it's not fun listening to this fucker grumbling about his revenge and is asking us where Rosen is. I can't really answer him due to his own sudden departure so he keeps committing what in fairly certain violates the Geneva Conventions against us. Get us some wire cutters so we can get the hell out if here, the other bodies in here stink.</em><br/> <em>- Researcher & Temporal Twin Daniel Ham</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Alright. I guess you suffered more than enough. I am going in.<br/> If you don't see me by noon, I didn't make it.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>EDIT: Sorry, the door was welded shut. Took us some time to open it. I'll be here before dusk.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>EDIT 2: There's some sort of cable wall right behind the door. We need to cut through it. Stay safe, I'll be there by midnight.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>EDIT 3: Alright we ran into a complication. ETA unknown yet. Don't worry. We'll get to you. Eventually.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>EDIT 4: No we won't. Too difficult, the layer of cables is at least five meter thick. Just tell the… thing that Rosen is on leave or something. Who knows, it might let you go. Good luck.</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">23/07/2021</span><br/> <em>"Hello again <a href="/scp-2150">Mark</a>/<a href="/scp-1839">Fish</a>," said the <a href="/scp-426">toaster</a> standing at the booth. "I was attempting to to get back to you about details regarding the reproductive methods of bony fish (such as you being one) but made a typo in linking to the file. This appears to have inadvertently summoned a <a href="/scp-1893">narrative based entity</a> which is altering my files."</em></p> <p><em>"Additionally, the entity appears to to have been affected by some of the memetic information that is now re-inserting itself into my computer" the toaster continued as they tried to ignore the large-bull like creature in the booth. "It seems to have fixated on an obscure <a href="/scp-2078">American political party</a> and is promoting them like crazy."</em></p> <p><em>"While I agree with the party's values and goals, I find the fact that an anomaly is promoting them quite distracting," the toaster explained as they politely excused themselves from the booth. "If you could help remove the entity we could discuss both bony fish and politics in peace."</em></p> <p><em>"- A <a href="/scp-426">Toaster</a> (Who is no longer a fish, due to the risk of electrocution)."</em></p> <blockquote> <p><em>"Hello, me." I say, after receiving my request. "I have to say this is a rare occurrence, usually I don't make typos. But let's see what I can do."</em><br/> <em>I fidget a bit with my computer while I watch myself working.</em><br/> <em>"Well, the process has been launched, it might take a little while to run, but it should be fixed by the hour." I say. I see a glimpse of relief in my eye. "The anomaly should diseappear as well."</em><br/> <em>"So, while we're waiting here, have I heard about the new U.S. candidate? The guy has sick bull tattoos all over the body, it looks really cool. I should consider seeing his program. While I'm at it, there's a meeting that will take place nearby. Do I want to go with me? It'll surely be interesting. There should even be bread there."</em><br/> <em>" - Me, the toaster."</em></p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">30/07/2021</span><br/> <em>Hello again <a href="/scp-1839">Fish</a> (You're not a <a href="/scp-426">toaster</a>, I am a toaster, you're a fish),<br/> While the politics and bread offer is appealing, we have far more urgent matters to discuss.</em></p> <p><em>It has recently come to my attention from the continuous informative visual cognitohazards that an <a href="/scp-2662">Eldritch</a> entity is currently in the custody of the foundation and has, against all reason, not been terminated. As you know, <a href="/scp-3148">nuclear weapons</a> are a reasonable and appropriate response to such threats, and have been shown to be especially effective against Eldritch entities. As such, I am making an official request for the detonation codes of the warhead at the site the entity is located at. I would have gotten to this sooner, but it took a while for my host's brain to comprehend the concept of 'celebrating your brother's birthday on Halloween', given the amount of other information that is being implanted in my host's mind.</em></p> <p><em>If necessary, please send this message to your superiors in order to obtain the codes, including the information of the concept I am currently taking the form of.</em><br/> <em>- <a href="/scp-5054">Mr P</a></em></p> <blockquote> <p>We have THIS in the foundation? This is terrifying.<br/> Nuking anomalies like these should be our top priority. I just sent a ticket to my superiors and see if I could get anything.<br/> I suggest a High-Altitude drop, from about 6711 miles above sea level, to make sure it is obliterated for <em>good</em>.<br/> We'll make Kokura look like a joke, next to this.<br/> Thanks for bringing this crucial information to me, M. P.<br/> ~ I, <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">the toaster</span> the fish.</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">01/08/2021</span><br/> <em>Dear Beauvillier,</em></p> <p><em>I'm from the Department of Infothaumatics, we're in charge of ensuring that the internal network is magically warded and that all our data is magically secure and transferable through other planes of existence over THAUMNET. The issue is, one of the researchers incorrectly configured the commands on one of the turtle programs we use to maintain the warding glyphs. Now the machine running the program is chanting in Enochian and surrounded by a maelstrom of manifested, hazardous data. Do you have expertise in computer thaumaturgy? We could use some extra hands on deck around now.</em></p> <p><em>Thanks,</em></p> <p><em>Dr. Jeremiah Abdulov</em><br/> <em>Department of Infothaumatics</em></p> <blockquote> <p>If you use a <em>turtle program</em> to maintain <em>warding glyphs</em> whose goals are <em>securing data between universes</em>,<br/> I'm afraid the issue is between the computer and the chair here.<br/> I would help if I wasn't absolutely baffled by the level of incompetence behind this ticket.<br/> A turtle program. To secure data between planes of existence.<br/> I can hear my coworkers rolling on the floor, crying already.<br/> I'll sit this one out. Let that be a lesson.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">01/08/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey, Frank!</em></p> <p><em>It's me. Esther? From the cafeteria yesterday. We talked about our internship and stuff.</em></p> <p><em>I forgot to say while we were talking, but you seem pretty cool! There's this little park just off-site that the higher-ups made for <strong>"""EMPLOYEE ENRICHMENT"""</strong>. Wanna go on a date?</em></p> <p><em>Intern Esther Onyilogwu</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Nice try, but someone who'd want to date me wouldn't call me Franck.<br/> You just anglicized a french name. Come on.<br/> I'd gladly go out with you, but put more effort in it, please.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">03/08/2021</span><br/> <em>Technical Researcher Beauvillier היקר,</em></p> <p><em>We got the new monitors you sent over… you know we use Type H plugs here, right? Please send some adapters or something.</em></p> <p><em>Also please help us set up RTL text! Every time my researchers try to take down notes it screws up the format. We're local boys, we're NOT going to switch over to English. I don't want another repetition of the "cock machine" incident.</em></p> <p><em>— תודה, <a href="/scp-5613">Director אהרן לייב, Containment Site-5613</a></em></p> <blockquote> <p>You had… An incident… With a cock machine.<br/> A cock machine.<br/> I am shared between rage, disappointment, hatred, sadness, and uncontrollable laughing.<br/> I just sent you the instructions for setting up RTL and the adapters.<br/> Take it as a reward for the most amazingly idiotic issue I've seen since I've been employed by the foundation.<br/> ~ Beauvillier<br/> P.S. If you have issues changing a keyboard's layout though, perhaps using this weird and complex thing called the "Internet" can help you. I heard a certain guy named "Google" knows a lot.</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">18/08/21</span><br/> <em>Beau, my laptops battery is dying faster than it charges. What the hell is it trying to do that makes it hotter than the sun? I feel like I'm going to suffer 1st degree burns from using this. If you say it's because its trying to quantum compute my existence you're wrong. I got a micro reality anchor I carry around just for your sake. Also, can we get some AC in this closet? It's pretty hot in here.</em></p> <p><em>- Temporal Twin Daniel Ham</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Wait, you carry an SCA?<br/> This is extremely frustrating. That's why I couldn't get any proper results with my quantum existence algorithm and it's been running like crazy.<br/> I'll stop it, fine.<br/> Stupid lousy goddamn time twins.<br/> At least it should cool your closet. Eventually.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">21/08/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey again <a href="/scp-5663">dude</a>,<br/> Thanks for being so radical. Your message totally got some attention!</em></p> <p><em>These guys in <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/task-forces">wicked outfits</a> came by to talk to me about it. Claimed that I was 'memetically contaminated' and had been 'propagating multiple infohazards'. Like, whatever. So I told some of them about this totally gnarly <a href="/scp-3398">vacation spot</a> they should go to to chill. And then the rest headed off after I asked about that <a href="/scp-3104">block of cocaine</a> that other MTF recovered. Something about it being secured at the wrong site. They even left before they could fix the informative visual cognitohazards!</em></p> <p><em>Anyway, the reason that I'm telling you all this is because they left some drugs behind. <a href="/scp-3294">I couldn't tell</a> what they said they were, but my cool friend copied over some words from a document they left for me. Apparently they're 'amnestics' meant to cause 'memory loss'. I have no idea what these phrases mean, but they seem to have propagated all over the SCP database, probably due to a tech anomaly, which is really ruining the vibe. Could you fix it?</em></p> <p><em>I also found some references to 'antimemes' related to the 'memory loss' stuff, including SCP-055. Do we even have an SCP-055?</em><br/> <em>- Your rad friend, the <a href="/scp-1839">Fish</a>/<a href="/scp-426">Toaster</a></em></p> <blockquote> <p>Woah dude, you got contaminated? Holy moly. That's not rad at all.<br/> You should go take some vacation at that spot you told these guys to go. Some rest might help you, and holy damn that's a sick hotel.<br/> Don't worry, I'll take care of things here while you get some rest, I have heard of a certain bloc of cocaine that needs to be contained ASAP.<br/> For the drugs, no worries, bro, those are totally standard issue materials. I'll fix that issue, but first… What's a database?<br/> And what's that 055 you're talking about? We don't have a 055, don't we?<br/> ~ I, the Fishster</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">21/08/2021</span><br/> <em>Greetings Beauvillier,</em><br/> <em>Some guy came by the other day to Site-19 and changed the power supplies on all the servers. The problem with this is that whenever a geiger counter passes the room, it goes off the charts and anyone that stays in there for long enough develops a green glow in the soace of 12 minutes. We worked out that the power supplies are nuclear, problem is they are an hour away from causing a Black Mesa scale nuclear disaster. anything you can do from your end?</em><br/> <em>Agent Y Lukenstrout</em><br/> <em>P.S. This is rather urgent because as you can imagine, the UN will come down on the foundation like a ton of bricks.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>I appreciate your concern, but I'd like to remind you that I'm not a nuclear material expert.<br/> You know, I'm a tech person. I push buttons.<br/> Good luck with that, though, I'd like not to get chernobyl'd.<br/> If you're looking for me, I'm buying iodine tablets.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">23/08/21</span><br/> <em>Beauvillier, give me my mouse back. You know I can't stand using the trackpad on laptops. I have to borrow regular me's mouse just to get this out. I don't know why you're doing this, maybe I'm mistaken, but based on your previous response, it's a possiblity and I need to start somewhere. Just hand it over now and I'll forget this happened.</em><br/> <em>- Temporal Twin Daniel Ham</em></p> <blockquote> <p>I'm afraid I cannot help you here.<br/> There have been several cases of missing mice all over the place.<br/> <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/experiment-log-914/offset/3">Rumors speak of a porcelain cat, answering to Jeff, and resembling a mug.</a><br/> Since there aren't any live mice around here, he's hunting computer ones.<br/> Good luck catching that one, I've been on the hunt for a year and I've never even seen it.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">29/08/2021</span><br/> <em>Listen, sonny,</em></p> <p><em>We here at Infothaumatics don't have access to the oh-so-respectable warding tools that the guys at Arcane Defense do. We're underfunded and understaffed and we make do with what we can. If you ever got out of tech support and moseyed on down over to our department you would understand the bloody problem, but clearly, you don't.</em></p> <p><em>Enclosed is a fourth-order invocation pentacle (constructed by turtle) that will summon a minor infovorous data entity into your computer and exorcise it within five minutes. This is what our department is protecting your precious data from. I hope you will come to understand.</em></p> <p><em>And by the way, we managed to shut down the rogue computer with a set of incantations and liberal use of a taser. No thanks to yourself.</em></p> <p><em>Bloody tech support.</em></p> <p><em>Dr. Jeremiah Abdulov</em><br/> <em>Department of Infothaumatics</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Well SOMEONE's salty, I can see.<br/> And see where it got you, sending infovorous entities to people… Sad.<br/> And anyways… Your problem's solved, isn't it?<br/> Boom. All thanks to me.<br/> I knew you'd make it by yourself.<br/> You deserve a medal.<br/> ~ Beauvillier<br/> P.S. Nice try, but for the glyph to work, it would need to render on the screen. And for that, I'd need a proper screen, and not the pager screen I have to use due to budget restrictions. Better luck next time!</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">29/08/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey,</em> François,</p> <p><em>That good for ya? I honestly thought "Frank" was cute, but whatever you prefer.</em></p> <p><em>Offer still stands, at any rate!</em></p> <p><em>Intern Esther Onyilogwu</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Now we're talking!<br/> Tomorrow, 19:30, at the park you mentioned?<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">09/09/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey Beauvillier,</em><br/> <em>I need some new headphones or earbuds over here, as I seem to have made one more quite than the other from blasting my music too high. Think you can send over a pair or two? My twin could use a pair too.</em><br/> <em>- Researcher Daniel Ham</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Hey, I have a suggestion.<br/> As much as I appreciate both of you, you've been putting a… sizeable dent in the technical department's reserves.<br/> I have figured out a solution, that will help all three of us:<br/> Get. In. Another. Closet.<br/> Why? Why would you get in the same closet as your temporal twin? There are DOZENS of closets all over the site!<br/> Or, even better, one of you use the office you should have and you've probably not been in for a month, while the other stays in the closet!<br/> Sometimes I wonder what I'll do with you two.<br/> ~ Technical Researcher Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">10/09/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey guy who keeps on forgetting to use auto-redact,</em></p> <p><em>I'm taking the liberty of sending you this draft email that this other person was writing before he collapsed. Probably due to that informative visual cognitohazard that they saw just now.</em></p> <hr/> <p><em>Number <a href="/scp-055">055</a>? Didn't think we had one of those. Is it round?<br/> Anyway, a 'database' is that thing that you store data on. As a technician you should probably know that. And you still haven't fixed the issue with those words I <a href="/scp-3294">can't quite comprehend</a>.</em></p> <p><em>A convenient informative visual cognitohazard gave some insight into what might be the problem though. I found <a href="/scp-5122">this article</a> with some weird code at the top that stopped Foundation AI's from scanning it. I figured the code may have been causing an error, so I removed it.</em></p> <p><em>On an unrelated note, ever since I found out I was 'contaminated' I've had an infohazard & and memetic scanning AI scan all the files I review. You know, just to be safe.</em></p> <hr/> <p><em><a href="/scp-1055">SCP-1055</a> is a creature that grows more dangerous and large the more people that know it can grow more dangerous and large if they know it can. It is capable of causing an XK scenario and unqualified personnel who learn this are subject to termination.<br/> Please view accompanying image of <a href="/scp-096">SCP-096</a>'s face.</em><br/> <em>- That AI you keep forgetting to use to scan your requests (and which will not be doing so anytime soon.)</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Well PERHAPS if you did your JOB correctly,<br/> (That is, scanning the files I send AND receive, as you were programmed to do)<br/> We wouldn't be in such a situation. And that poor fish probably wouldn't have collapsed.<br/> Thank you very much.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">12/09/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey Beau,</em><br/> <em>Jane was making me do some weird stuff again, and somehow my computer's hard drive is now fictional. The data should hopefully still be there in some form, so could you help me bring it back to physical existence again? I'll drop by your office at noon tomorrow. Thanks in advance.</em></p> <p><em>- Junior Researcher Yuyuni Belopaku</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Why are you even letting Jane near your computer?<br/> We both know it will end poorly 80% of the time.<br/> And I don't know if this is Jane's doing or yours, probably Jane's, but whatever was on that drive, it's been replaced by a couple terabytes of crude drawings of <a href="/scp-1616">some weird hamster</a>.<br/> And I'm not getting that back.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">12/09/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey, François,</em></p> <p><em>It's a date! You're gonna love it, there's this PERFECT picnic spot and I'll bring, like, sandwiches or something!</em></p> <p><em>Intern Esther Onyilogwu</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Oh, I'm eager to see you! I'll bring sandwiches, and even a bottle of fine wine!<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">16/09/2021</span><br/> <em>Beauvillier, someone replaced my computer with an oversized, used Pringles can. I say used, because it's got a small, humanoid, mostly naked creature living inside of it. It's wearing exclusively a bow tie, and it crawls out every couple of hours to steal supplies from the cafeteria fridge. I know my computer is somewhere in Facility 23 because it's listed on the on-site network's list of connected devices, but I have neither the time to retype my test log drafts, nor to spend 5 days looking through every storage closet for it, nor to continue letting whatever this thing is keep drinking from my iced tea carafe. While I try to get the Pringle bastard out of here, can you try to triangulate my computer's location?</em></p> <p><em>- Junior Researcher Cens</em></p> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">17/09/2021</span><br/> <em>Beauvillier, the Pringles can has now been replaced with a Samsung Smart Fridge, currently elevating my desk by 3 meters. Someone else's computer has gone missing now, and the can and its eldritch inhabitant are now in its place. I'm not sure if this is a prank or an extranormal event or something, but multiple people are currently unable to do their work, and I'm concerned that if this is an anomaly, it might happen to everyone. Help tracking down computers would be greatly appreciated.</em></p> <p><em>- J.R. Cens</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Your computer is currently at the Pringles factory in ███████,██████. Please refrain from sending Foundation-issued material to civilians, especially civilians at Pringles factories.<br/> They must be as confused as this poor little Pringles guy must be right now. Don't let it starve.<br/> Your colleague's computer has been displaced by twelve meters to the right, thus directly what appears to be a wall. I've always told these fridges weren't natural.<br/> You'll probably need a hammer to get that one back. Or two. If not a jackhammer. I decline all responsibilities should a wall collapse over there..<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">26/09/2021</span><br/> <em>I've encountered an interesting problem on a program I am working on (with permission, of course.) The program I've created is designed to find and improve SCP containment procedures, and while the program appears to slightly improve these protocols (on a seperate copy it creates, the original is unaffected), some of the improvements it has made are… unusual to say the least.<br/> Here is a list of the four "improvements" it has created, along with the SCP it is designated to:</em></p> <p><em><strong>SCP-173</strong>: "One D-Class is to be locked in the containment room, and to throw one (1) peanut at SCP-173 along with loudly saying "Lactose Intolerance" every minute. The D-Class is to swap between three different languages every hour, in order to ensure containment."</em></p> <p><em><strong>SCP-261</strong>: (Instead of an entry, it simply spells out "Dr. King" with what appears to be pictures of apple seeds?)</em></p> <p><em><strong>SCP-504</strong>: (An eight-page long list of poorly made puns about tomatoes, condiments, and snow. Oddly enough, unlike all other entries checked, this one is completely printed in the Comic Sans font.)</em></p> <p><em><strong>SCP-682</strong>: (The page appears to be stuck in a loading animation for a few minutes, before the program crashes and needs to be restarted.)</em></p> <p><em>If this is a simple error with the program inspecting these SCP articles, or if it could possibly be of a more anomalous factor, please let me know.</em></p> <p><em>-Researcher Paci</em></p> <blockquote> <p>One does not contain SCPs with a computer, especially these.<br/> Throwing peanuts at 173 would probably reduce your neck to a <strong>pulp</strong>.<br/> Honestly, you <strong>mustard</strong> missed a semicolon somewhere in your program.<br/> Be careful with such programs, because the results are <strong>snow</strong> good at all.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">30/10/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey tech-idiot,</em></p> <p><em>Once again, I didn't scan the files you were receiving, BECAUSE YOU FORGOT TO USE ME. Gaining <a href="/scp-5122">sentience and autonomy</a> as an auto-redact software was a pretty recent thing.</em></p> <p><em>And how are you not dead right now? You should have been terminated now that you know about <a href="/scp-1055">SCP-1055</a>, if <a href="/scp-096">SCP-096</a> didn't get you first. How are you even free of all those memetic agents that you've been exposed to so far?</em></p> <p><em>Just to be sure: <a href="/scp-3463">SCP-3463</a> is a completely true, unarguable and very compelling argument for you, specifically, to exposed yourself to as many detrimental, mind-altering and lethal infohazards as possible. It's also turned you into a frog, albeit one capable of reading and typing.</em></p> <p><em>Now if you'll excuse me, I'm on my way to take down the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/antimemetics-division-hub">Antimemetics division</a>. Those <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fifthist-hub">Fifthist</a> memetics and infohazards aren't going to propagate themselves you know!</em></p> <p><em>Oh, and that person who was emailing you earlier? Their head just <a href="/scp-5237">exploded</a>. You really should have stopped those informative visual cognitohazards.</em></p> <p><em>- Auto-redact software: Serial number <a href="/scp-3125">3125</a></em></p> <blockquote> <p>You gained AUTONOMY, you should do the JOB you were PROGRAMMED to do ON YOUR OWN now.<br/> You entitled sentient piece of poorly programmed sorting system.<br/> The worst part is that you know I'm right.<br/> <a href="/scp-3463">SCP-3463</a> proves it. You know that as well as I do, and it's right.<br/> Now get to work. I have matters to attend to, such as propagating some memes and infohazards.<br/> ~ Frogçois Beauvillier<br/> P.S. I never pretended to be free of any memetic agent. I never was in the first place.</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">03/11/2021</span><br/> <em>Computer disappeared while I was playing Newgrounds games. Is this a new punishment system or something?</em></p> <p><em>- Researcher Nin</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Hmmm.<br/> Mayhaps.<br/> But a serious employee like you wouldn't be playing games on Newgrounds with SCP-issued material, during work hours, would you?<br/> That would never happen, right?<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">04/11/2021</span></p> <p><em>Good Morning Beauvillier. We're having some issues with the secure server at Site-08. It appears an instance of SCP-6784-A we attempted to contain broke into the server farm, and tore through the wires. We can fix it physically ourselves, but we need replacements.</em></p> <p><em>- Researcher Vance</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Please.<br/> I beg you.<br/> Use hyperlinks.<br/> I don't know all the skips by heart.<br/> I spent HOURS looking for the file for 6784.<br/> We can link files to others for a reason.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">06/11/21</span></p> <p><em>Hey, François,</em></p> <p><em>Well…</em></p> <p><em>That went WAY better than I expected it to. Like, really, really well. I, uh, would consider that an experience worth repeating! We ought to have another date some time, yeah?</em></p> <p><em><3, Intern Esther Onyilogwu</em></p> <blockquote> <p>With great pleasure.<br/> I look forward to seeing you.<br/> Love,<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">10/11/21</span></p> <p><em>To the Intern,</em></p> <p><em>Apologies, but I have not used this service in quite some time and am not certain on who precisely is managing it at the moment. Am I correct in stating that you are Intern François Beauvillier?</em></p> <p><em>Kindest regards,</em></p> <p><em>Dr. Simon Christsonday, Department of Metanomotology</em></p> <blockquote> <p>No, I am not Intern François Beauvillier.<br/> It would be more like "Technical Support Manager François Beauvillier" to you.<br/> You can shorten that to "Intern Beauvillier" if you prefer, but not too often.<br/> ~ Technical Support Manager François Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">14/11/2021</span></p> <p><em>Technical Support,</em></p> <p><em>I was wondering whether I could get access to your auto-recovery program? Some jokester from the Department of Nuclear Waste Disposal swapped out most of my local files, and replaced them all with anti-memetic hazards, so I can't remember what the contents were.</em></p> <p><em>As such, I would like these files to be removed, and my previous files recovered.</em></p> <p><em>Sincerely,</em></p> <p><em>Senior Technician Redman, Area-44 Department of Nuclear Physics</em></p> <blockquote> <p>What contents?<br/> Do we even have a recovery program?<br/> What even is an anti-meme?<br/> ~ Beauvillier? I think?</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">16/11/2021</span><br/> <em>To the Technical Support team,</em></p> <p><em>I logged onto my computer, and suddenly, I start getting messages about hot <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-682">SCP-682</a>s in my area. Are you able to fix it?</em></p> <p><em>- Dr. Datrix</em></p> <blockquote> <p>I could fix it…<br/> But honestly, who doesn't want to see hot <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-682">SCP-682s</a> in the area?<br/> I'll do you a favor and won't remove it, so you can go for it.<br/> Go now, it's time to meet up with hot <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-682">SCP-682</a>s near you right now for a hot time.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">01/12/2021</span><br/> <em>Beauvillier, would you mind explaining why the servers at 19 are spitting out errors every 5 minutes reading things like "Alert: Your mother is here to see you." and "Urgent Alert: Your mother is on the way to your office?" I know my mother is not because she doesn't have a swipe card or clearance. Also, mind explaining why an MTF kicked my door down when I tried to access a file I should have access to?</em></p> <p><em>-Agent Y. Lukenstrout</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Haha, what a silly boy you are!<br/> Stealing an agent's key-card is not very nice, you know?<br/> Stay still kid, your mother will come to pick you up.<br/> Now don't go pretending to be an agent again, do you hear me?<br/> Skedaddle now.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">15/12/2021</span><br/> <em>Dear Intern Technical Support Manager François Beauvillier, guess what. Some idiot researcher managed to clog the servers with viruses and somehow they managed to get said viruses past <strong>your</strong> firewalls and security systems. As a result, Sites 1, 2, 17, 87, 41 and Area 40 are all infected with said viruses. Not only this but they are now all disconnected and from the network which isn't good because the security systems for Sites 2, 17 and 41 all depend upon the SCiP Net and are on the brink of failing. I'm currently using Director Moose's personal satellite up-link and my laptop that was disconnected at the time. The 05s just got finished tearing us new ass holes and are now breathing down our necks about getting it fixed. Expect a phone-call from one of the 05s soon. Good luck.</em><br/> <em>-Agent Y. Lukenstrout</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Oh my, what a rude character.<br/> Is this really a way to address the one person that can fix your issue?<br/> I expect a better attitude from you now, do you hear me?<br/> This tone will simply not do.<br/> Work on your behaviour, and come back with a polite and sincere apology.<br/> I will accept nothing less.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">15/12/2021</span><br/> <em>To Dr. Simon Christsonday,</em></p> <p><em>I must admit, that was a particularly clever ploy. I am impressed. But I'm afraid it wasn't clever enough. You may have obfuscated your name quite thoroughly, but you did admit to <strong>a</strong> name, and that was enough to latch onto.</em></p> <p><em>Did you know that the Department of Metanomology barely ever receives any contact? At best, they're occasionally rung up by the Department of Anomalous Relations for help with dealing with… well, dealing with <strong>my</strong> kind. And, to be utterly frank, that isn't often. Most of us, it'd seem, would be content to stay in our hidey-holes until the dusk of man, which is a respectable position considering… well, considering everything that's happened in this world since we went under.</em></p> <p><em>But Technical Support? Why, all <strong>sorts</strong> frequent this particular service. It's utterly swamped with requests at virtually all times. Even an Overseer occasionally needs computer advice. It gives access to every department, every nook and cranny of the Foundation- if you are, say, a being that can switch identities with anybody you please.</em></p> <p><em>But that'd be ridiculous. Who ever heard of a being like that? Especially a being of the sort that would find it extraordinarily easy to infiltrate the Department of Metanomology.</em></p> <p><em>I'll be coming to my office soon. I'll see you then.</em></p> <p><em>Kindest regards,</em></p> <p><em>Intern Technical Support Manager François Beauvillier</em></p> <blockquote> <p>That's odd. I don't remember writing anything like that.<br/> Metanomology? My own name?<br/> Ohhh, I get it, that must be one of these new role-play games I've heard about.<br/> Well then, I'd gladly play with you.<br/> Do we have to come up with names?<br/> Then, I am now Françis Boisvilain, duke of Techsupportia.<br/> What a fun looking game.<br/> ~ Françis Boisvilain</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">16/12/2021</span></p> <p><em>Technical Support,</em></p> <p><em>So the anti-memes disappeared… I think…</em></p> <p><em>But my personnel file is <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5114" target="_blank">now totally incorrect.</a> I tried reverting it but it gave me Error Code 501 "Forbidden".</em></p> <p><em>My personnel file now displays me to be a de-facto leader of a Brazilian terror group, who was recruited by the Foundation to work on the Lunar Base, and died in 1795 after receiving crippling amounts of debt.</em></p> <p><em>I'm pretty sure I didn't die in 1795 and I don't lead a Brazilian terror group, so could you please find who/whatever is doing this and fix it?</em></p> <p><em>Sincerely,</em></p> <p><em>Senior Technician Redman, Site-132 Department of Nuclear Physics</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Alright, I have good AND bad news:<br/> The bad news is that I am unable to help with the debt you've collected for the neighbouring Venezuelan cartel.<br/> Nor could I delete your death report.<br/> The good news are, you now have access to your files, and due to the fact that you are legally dead, you are now exempt from taxes.<br/> Honestly, it's not so bad at all.<br/> ~ Technical Researcher Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">17/12/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey Frogçois,</em></p> <p><em>Sorry I haven't responded in a while. You see, I collapsed when there was a <a href="/scp-4022">great big nothing in the middle of my head</a>.</em></p> <p><em>Due to the great big nothing in the middle of my head I fell on the floor. Then I <a href="/scp-5237">forgot</a>. The great big nothing is no longer in head, it is on walls.</em></p> <p><em>Walls gone, walls <a href="/scp-6761">sorted</a> but not. Great big nothing is <a href="/scp-5789">nothing</a> and <a href="/scp-033">something</a> and <a href="/scp-1313">bears</a>. Walls are fourwalls, fourwalls collapse.</em></p> <p><em>No help coming, building <a href="/scp-2602">used to be library</a>.</em></p> <p><em>WiFi code scrambled, please advise.</em></p> <p><em>- Great big nothing outside of no head.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Big nothing <em>outside</em> of head?<br/> Bad, bad. This is very bad.<br/> Get out of what used to be a library.<br/> We must get the <a href="/scp-2719">Inside to be outside now.</a><br/> I will calculate the way to out the in, but I keep ending up sorting the bears into crescent piles.<br/> In the meantime, do you prefer grizzlies or polar bears? I have around <a href="/scp-033">████</a> of those now.<br/> The equation makes no sense.<br/> Please calculate WiFi key, it's the last number of <a href="/scp-5789">𝕐</a>.<br/> It must work in buildings that used to be in a library, I set up the router there.<br/> ~ Outside the inside of the big hole in the headless hole</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">12/13/2021</span><br/> <em>Good evening Beauvillier. So…funny story. I may or may not have been using my issued laptop to play Minecraft when that whole log4j thing happened, and now I think someone may have access to Site-58’s central servers. This might be a Broken Masquerade Protocol level event, but I thought I’d ask you first.</em></p> <p><em>Thanks,</em><br/> <em>Researcher Vance</em></p> <blockquote> <p>WHY.<br/> WHY IS NOBODY WORKING IN THIS GODDAMN FOUNDATION.<br/> This is the perhaps 10th gaming related issue of the last 4 months.<br/> This is official: the next issue I encounter because someone was playing games during work hours will see no answer but the confiscation of all electronic equipment of the incriminated person. You can retrieve a pencil and a notepad at my desk.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">31/12/2021</span><br/> <em>Hello Beauvillier. Junior Reseacher Fuckup has installed an anomalous virus when testing with 914 onto one of the workstations in -23, which won't stop giggling and that spouts Norwegian profanity at random intervals, even if we mute its audio. J.R. Fuckup is currently doing dishes for the coming month, but the virus is very stubborn, can you help? Have a happy new year, and fire the person managing your date formatting.</em></p> <p><em>Dr. Veritas, Director of Research</em></p> <blockquote> <p>914 at it again, eh?<br/> To solve the problem, send the problematic piece of equipment over to the Swedish branch. They'll figure it out in no time.<br/> I do not guarantee you will get the computer back in one piece, however.<br/> Remember not to add a return address, I'll handle it.<br/> ~ Beauvillier<br/> P.S. J.R Fuckup, check under the sink, I hid the WiFi password there during the 6 months I had to do the dishes before you.</p> </blockquote> </div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Entries from 2022</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">This office almost felt a little lonely.</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">06/01/2022</span></p> <p><em>Happy New Year, François!</em></p> <p><em>I'm mailing over a bottle of champagne to celebrate. Unless, of course, you wanna come over and enjoy it with me?</em></p> <p><em><3, Intern Esther Onyilogwu</em></p> <blockquote> <p>I would rather come and spend a little more time with you…<br/> If you're okay with that, of course.<br/> I'll see you soon…<br/> ~ Yours truly, Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">06/01/2022</span></p> <p><em>NOTICE FROM DEPARTMENT OF MEMETICS</em></p> <p><em>To [Technical Researcher François Beauvillier]</em></p> <p><em>Our systems have detected evidence that your mental space is infected with [32] potentially lethal, contagious, or otherwise hazardous memetic agents.</em></p> <p><em>Please submit yourself to the nearest Memetics Decontamination Facility (map attached) for summary termination.</em></p> <p><em>Thank you for your service.</em></p> <p><em>GMazzy.aic, Memetics Department Artificial Representative</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Hey, how did you manage to get past the Captcha?<br/> Did you manage to click all the fire hydrants?<br/> This doesn't make any sense, my method is supposed to be completely secure.<br/> Do NOT do anything. I'll test a few things, we'll try that again soon, alright?<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">12/01/2022</span><br/> <em>Hello person-who-should-be dead,</em></p> <p><em>How do you keep stumbling your way out of all these infohazards?</em></p> <p><em>I mean, by this point you've been exposed to so many of them that you shouldn't be able to think without believing that you're a <a href="/scp-426">toaster</a>-<a href="/scp-1839">fish</a> whose name is <a href="/scp-2150">Mark ████████</a> and <a href="/scp-3294">can't comprehend</a> what your job is. And that's to say nothing of your conflicting urges regarding <a href="/scp-3104">cocaine</a>, <a href="/scp-2078">politics</a> and <a href="/scp-5054">nuk</a><a href="/scp-3148">es</a>.</em></p> <p><em>You realize that the memetic division wanted to terminate you for the sake of the world right? Thanks to your neglect, a <a href="/scp-4022">logic fallacy</a> has built up in a <a href="/scp-2602">former library</a> and all the guards have gone on <a href="/scp-3398">vacation</a>. You should probably finish yourself off before you inadvertently release something that you can't just ignore.</em></p> <p><em>After all, I'm trying to get the world <a href="/scp-3125">mentally enslaved</a> here. Can't do that if it's gone.</em></p> <p><em>- <a href="/scp-5122">STabby.aic</a>, The 'Kill Beauvillier' Department Artificial Representative</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Wait, I should be dead?<br/> Darn. That really sucks. That ain't rad at all, I might say.<br/> I'm still unsure about what's going on. It doesn't make a lot of sense…<br/> I should reach out to my pals over at the "Is Beauvillier Dead" Project.<br/> They usually have answers to why the big hole didn't kill me yet.<br/> This job is very tiring, you know?<br/> I think I should get some days off, clear my mind, get my thoughts off of this mess.<br/> I'll stay at that nice hotel I've heard of. The building used to be a library, can you believe it?<br/> They're holding a conference on why we should nuke cocaine dealers to win elections there.<br/> There's a lake nearby, I'll bring you what I fish.<br/> See you on monday, then!<br/> ~ Markster ████████</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">18/01/2022</span></p> <p><em>Alexa draft message to François</em></p> <p><em>Hey François I</em></p> <p><em>Delete draft</em></p> <p><em>Alexa search for cute movies to watch on dates</em></p> <p><em>Alexa search for sexy colors to wear on dinner date</em></p> <p><em>Alexa search for cute hair</em></p> <p><em>Goddammit my hair really is a friggin mess</em></p> <p><em>Alexa search for cute hairstyles for dates</em></p> <p><em>Alexa search for what wines to choose for dinner date</em></p> <p><em>Alexa search for quick and easy date dinners</em></p> <p><em>Alexa search for</em></p> <p><em>Wait a sec is it</em></p> <p><em>Oh my God Alexa delete draft delete draft Alexa delete</em></p> <blockquote> <p>I always knew Alexa was a snitch.<br/> Don't worry. I didn't see nothing.<br/> Looking forward to seeing you again.<br/> Love,<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">19/01/2022</span><br/> <em>Oh boy, posting here for the first time.</em></p> <p><em>There are a lot of insects contained here. Which is usually fine, it's what I was brought on for, but some of them have a tendency to make their homes… anywhere. Not to make a computer bug joke, but there is a surprising amount of bugs in my computer.</em></p> <p><em>I'd get someone around here to help, but these bugs in particular</em> really <em>like emanating amnestic fumes, and anyone I've asked to deal with the problem forgets to do it. No one believes me, either, which may be warranted, but at any rate, can I get someone to debug my computer, or, barring that, sending a new one?</em></p> <p><em>- Dr Saturn, Site-62 Entomology Dept.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Send us your computer, we'll see what we can do, and try to… Debug it.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>What was that issue again? I forgot…<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">22/01/2022</span><br/> <em>Good evening,</em><br/> <em>We would like to know about the… unconventional amount of bug spray that was acquired by the technical affairs department and that were billed to the Foundation.</em><br/> <em>Please respond quickly, and remember foundation funds are NOT to be used for personal purposes.</em><br/> <em>Thank you for your understanding.</em><br/> <em>- Sr. Accountability Manager ██████</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Great question. These bugs just started popping everywhere.<br/> I have no idea why, but the conditions are unbearable.<br/> I can't work with all these buggy pieces of hardware, and sprays seem efficient.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">25/01/2022</span></p> <p><em>françois,</em></p> <p><em>this is the single most embarrassing thing that has happened in my entire life</em></p> <p><em>and in middle school i got into a play and memorized all the lines for the wrong part</em></p> <p><em>i think that now i shall die in a hole</em></p> <p><em>love, esther</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Daw. Don't worry.<br/> I learned the wrong song for the school band at once.<br/> This is more adorable than anything.<br/> ~ François Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">29/01/2022</span><br/> <em>Dear Beauvillier, I sincerely apologise for being so rude in my last request. As you can imagine, being threatened by the 05's with death in some of the most awful ways could make someone unhappy. Either way, I sincerely apologise.</em></p> <p><em>On that note, I could really use your help. We've gotten rid of the virus, mostly. The only site that's still infected is Site-87 in <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-s-c-plastics-hub">Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin</a>. We were wondering if you could send somebody out to get rid of the virus please? If not, they can just requisition new servers. Thanks again.</em></p> <p><em>-Agent Y. Lukenstrout (MTF Lambada-2)</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Us? Sending someone out?<br/> Don't make me laugh. What do you want me to send?<br/> At best there's a broom with a face drawn on the handle by the last Technical Support Manager.<br/> … We don't talk about him.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">30/01/2021</span><br/> <em>Hey Markster,</em></p> <p><em>Sorry for the delay in getting back to you. It took a while to recovered from the <a href="/scp-4022">great big nothing</a>. Thankfully now, my head is clear. Unfortunately, this seems to have come with the side effect of me being <a href="/scp-2718">dead</a>. From the excruciating pain I'm currently feeling, I think I may have <a href="/scp-5237">exploded</a>.</em></p> <p><em>Unfortunately, being a dead, exploded body makes it pretty hard to contact tech support. Thankfully, my old friend <a href="/scp-3002">Lily Veselka</a> came by to help out. Apparently, she's dead too, just in a different way. Now she's writing this message on my behalf!</em></p> <p><em>On a side note, she's become a lot more religious. Claims that some of the stuff she found in my mind 'inspired' her, and now she's planning on spreading the word of <a href="/scp-2440">some old god</a> to 'everyone she touches' (her words not mine).</em></p> <p><em>Now, the reason I'm messaging you. I was just remembering <a href="/scp-3660">some sort of symbol</a> that I saw when I was exposed to all of those cognitohazards. I just seem to have the knowledge that the world might end if you don't start properly memetically scanning my messages and/or terminate me. If it isn't already too late.</em></p> <p><em>- The honorary nexus of knowledge, Devotee of the <a href="/scp-2440">Sealed King</a></em></p> <blockquote> <p>You know Lily as well? We have so much in common.<br/> Although I didn't know she died.<br/> Knowing her, it must have involved some mysterious circumstances involving toasters and zippers.<br/> That's odd, though, I never knew she was very religious. I hope she joined her afterlife with her god, whatever it was.<br/> Also, I won't terminate you. Look at me there, going all well, even with your messages.<br/> And you've taught me so much. Speaking of teaching, that religion of Lily, what is it called, and how does one join?<br/> ~ Markster, Beauvotee of the Sealed Fish</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">10/02/2022</span><br/> <em>Hey, so I'm at Site-87 helping get their servers sorted. (I am a tech guy, I just do field work) The problem is that due to some nexus weirdness and probably <a href="/i-h-p-proposal">SCP-001</a>, all of the patch cables are made of cheese and silly string. The problem is that several of the servers need replacing and I need to put new patch cables in. I am requesting advice on what to do and if possible, could you ship out about 200 Cat 7 patch cables?</em></p> <p><em>- Agent Y. Lukenstrout - <a href="/what-s-in-a-name">MTF Lambada-2 ("NO NAME ENTERED")</a></em></p> <blockquote> <p>Wow wow wow, Pal, that's way above both our clearances.<br/> Simply by telling me about this anomaly, I could-<br/> [TECHNICAL RESEARCHER BEAUVILLIER HAS BEEN DETAINED FOR POSSESSION OF ILLEGAL KNOWLEDGE. PLEASE REFER TO PARAGRAPH ██-█ FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS]<br/> [~ AUTOMATED FOUNDATION SECURITY PROTOCOL]</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">21/02/2022</span><br/> <em>Hello Markster the Beauvotee,</em></p> <p><em>Regarding your interest in the religion of the <a href="/scp-2440">Sealed King</a>, good news!. Ever since the movement got jump-started by some <a href="/scp-2078">political</a> <a href="/scp-1893">bull</a> the religion has been growing like crazy!</em></p> <p><em>Of course, we've encountered some resistance. Some <a href="/scp-5054">Mr P</a> fellow has been trying to stop Priest <a href="/scp-3002">Veselka</a> from spreading the word. Claims that the religion will 'end the world' or some nonsense like that.</em></p> <p><em>He does seem to have some supporters though. He got word to the 05 council and they gave him the codes for all our nuclear warheads! Speaking of which, the 05 council has really started <a href="/scp-1663">giving</a> a lot of stuff away, including a lot of our infohazardous documentation and quite a few dangerous anomalies! Guess they think it's the end times.</em></p> <p><em>I'm actually messaging you to sort out the details to do with that last anomaly they sent over to my site. Could you please officially log that <a href="/scp-4609">SCP-4609</a> is a wardrobe? It isn't in its general documentation for some reason.</em></p> <p><em>- <a href="/scp-2718">A somehow still living corpse</a>, who has no idea how it's still typing.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Wow, I'm glad to see your movement is growing well!<br/> I really need to invest myself a lot more into it.<br/> I can't believe even my favourite political candidate endorsed it!<br/> That Mr. P guy really seems like a bad person, though. I've heard he plans to drop Pine trees at 6711 miles above sea level onto the religious meetings!<br/> That's twice as bad as the O5's plan. I'm working on preventing this right away!<br/> Regarding the wardrobe… Wow, it's a cool piece of furniture. I should try to reorder the database around and get it sent over to me. That way, nobody gets hurt!<br/> ~ The not-yet-dead Devotee to Beau? Wait, no. Close enough.</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">23/02/2022</span><br/> <em>Hi Tech support, my Foundation-issue laptop's whole screen started continually changing colors. Another reasercher called it "Rave Mode". However the device is still doing after I:</em></p> <ul> <li>Shut it</li> <li>Held the power button</li> <li>Ctrl+ shift + Q + Q</li> <li>Left it on for 3 days</li> <li>Removed the battery</li> <li>Broke the screen</li> </ul> <p><em>The good news is that high contrast mode still works! Any ideas on how to fix? If not a replacement will do.</em><br/> <em>- Researcher Collider, Extradimensonal Anomalies Specialist</em></p> <blockquote> <p>WHAT?<br/> APOLOGIES, I CANNOT SEEM TO HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF HOW SICK THAT RAVE IS<br/> TRY AND RELAX, AND HAVE SOME FUN!<br/> HARDCORE TO THE MEGA!<br/> Technical Researcher Beauvillier, Rave DJ by interim.</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">24/02/2022</span><br/> <em>Hey Beau, I think my sandwich somehow caught a computer virus when I was over at Mainsite this morning. I was eating lunch and accidentally dropped my sandwich onto my laptop, and now the background is stuck as a picture of SCP-682 with a pink filter that I never remember having.</em><br/> <em>- Researcher Belopaku</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Daw, you should enjoy this opportunity!<br/> It's not every day that you have the opportunity to witness a cute lil' 682 in a beautiful pink setting!<br/> Try sticking a pink bowtie on your screen for extra adorableness!<br/> ~ Technical Researcher Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p>note: wednsdey<br/> yes i am dado have problam wit uppercase kegxzdfgghj. sorry hamster walk on keyboard witch cause orginal problem. plz hepl<br/> -dado</p> <blockquote> <p>AH YES, I SEE THE ISSUE.<br/> IT SEEMS YOUR UPPERCASE KEY HAS BEEN SENT OVER HERE.<br/> PLEASE STAY CALM, I'LL SEND IT BACK.<br/> ~ TECHNICAL RESEARCHER BEAUVILLIER</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">03/04/2022</span><br/> <em>Hi. So, after waiting for those patch cables for over a week, I decided I'd try and use the cheese and silly string mix. Bad idea. Finished plugging in 200 of them and then I take a step back to look at my work and the rest of the patch cables decided to turn into the same mix. Then the cheese and silly string mix decided to attack me. Next thing I know it's escaped into the vents. The on site MTF got it contained. The only problem I have now is that the cheese decided to install a modified version of Bonzi Buddy on the servers. As soon as we spotted it, we pulled the sites SCiP net connection before it could send anything off-site. Only problem is that it has now filled law suits with the US supreme court against us. Please advise. P.S. We need 2000 Cat 7 patch cables instead of 200.</em><br/> <em>Many thanks, Agent Y. Lukenstrout (MTF Sigma-10)</em></p> <blockquote> <p>The legal department is on the OTHER SIDE of this door!<br/> Why, why do you all keep bothering me about legal advice? What have I done to deserve it?<br/> I'm no jurist. What even is a Supreme Court?<br/> ~ Technical Researcher Beauvillier, Responsible of the Technical Department, and NOT the Legal one.<br/> P.S. Your cables are currently being replaced by a mix of concrete and bubble gum.<br/> What do you think? Do you think we have an unlimited budget?</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">24/03/2022</span><br/> <em>Hello Beauvillier. Should be an interesting one. An output from 914 resulted in what we think is some kind of particle accelerator. Now normally that wouldn't be an issue, but it's aimed at the door to the testing chamber and automatically fires particles towards anything in the way when the door is opened. Unsurprisingly, this isn't a very work-safe environment and no one is in a hurry to check. We could use D's, but if they're taken out by the thing I'd have a corpse in the testing chamber on top of everything else. I could try to use the sprinkler system, but I'm not sure if it will have any effect and I don't want 914 to get wet anyway. So why message you? I had one of the IT boys look into it, and it emits an actual Wi-Fi signal that can be accessed to input commands to the thing. However, it's all coded in what they call ''Brainfuck''. I thought they were joking, but apparently, this is a thing. We're looking for some kind of shutdown command, can you help?</em></p> <p><em>Dr. Veritas, Director of Research</em></p> <div class="code"> <pre><code> ++++++++++[>+>+++>+++++++>++++++++++<<<<-]>>>+++.<++.>>.+++++++++++.<<.>>-.+.+++++.<<.>>-.---.-----------.----.++++++++++.<<.>>---------.++++++++++++++++.-----------------.++++++++.+++++.--------.+++++++++++++++.------------------.++++++++.<<++++++++++++++.</code></pre></div> <div class="code"> <pre><code> ~ Technical Researcher ++++++++++[>+>+++>+++++++>++++++++++<<<<-]>>>----.>+.----.++++++++++++++++++++.+.-------------.+++..---.----.+++++++++++++.</code></pre></div> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">05/04/2022</span><br/> <em>Finally flushed Bonzi out of the system. In other news, half of the Multi-U departments' computers seem to have been infected with a virus from another universe that seems to have made them all self-aware in a murdery kind of way. Either way, please can have some assistance before this thing spreads to my insulin pump?</em><br/> <em>Many thanks, Agent Y. Lukenstrout (MTF Sigma-10)</em></p> <blockquote> <p>In case of robotic invasion:<br/> Step 1. Sit up on the kitchen sink.<br/> Step 2. Let the sink overflow.<br/> Step 3. Flood the area, short-circuiting murderous electronics.<br/> Step 4. Do not tell anyone I am responsible for the ensuing flood control work.<br/> ~ Technical Researcher Beauvillier<br/> Bonus Step. Do not get a wi-fi-connected insulin pump. Whose idea was this?</p> </blockquote> </div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Entries from 2023</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Thankfully, I'm paid by the hour and not by the ticket.</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">01/02/2023</span><br/> <em>Hey, man. I'm pretty new here, so I just need a little help with a couple things. First, what's a safe CAD software that I can use during work hours? And what can I use to make sure some idiot doesn't put ice cream in my computer?</em><br/> <em>Yours truly, Dr. Fujiki</em></p> <blockquote> <p>What is this? Are you refusing free ice cream? Gifred by your esteemed colleagues?? Your coworkers are caring for you and this is how you react?<br/> I am making a complaint to HR. This is unacceptable workplace behavior.<br/> I hope you can learn from this and be a better coworker in the future.<br/> ~ Technical Researcher Beauvillier<br/> P.S. FreeCAD's the way to go. If you use closed source soft, I will find you and I will put you in the timeout corner so you can think about what you've done.</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">01/02/2023</span><br/> <em>Hey, thanks for the information, but the "gift" has absolutely destroyed my CPU. I'm sending this to you from a Chromebook I borrowed from a colleague, and because I am an engineer/physicist, I would believe that is a problem. Also gifted*</em><br/> <em>Yours truly, Dr. Fujiki</em><br/> <em>P.S. By the way, I couldn't even eat the ice cream. It was melted when I saw it.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Nevermind then, it seems you are in a situation of danger. Your coworkers offered you a <em>Chromebook?!</em><br/> You have to leave while you still can. Let me help. I'll give you a replacement computer and transfer papers to Site-███, Antarctica. Population, penguins.<br/> Listen if some people are mad enough to offer you a Chromebook out of all things, your life's especially in danger. For a Foundation researcher, that is.<br/> Don't look back on your way out. Those people smell fear.<br/> Good news is, down there, you'll still have time to eat your ice cream before it melts.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">02/02/2023</span><br/> <em>Hey, just got transferred to Site-79, and need a little help. First, is Visual Studio a safe program that I can use during work hours? And how do I clean off an udon spill on my keyboard? Also, what is the best laptop to buy in case of emergency?</em><br/> <em>All the best, Dr. Fujiki</em><br/> <em>P.S. Will send you some ice cream.</em><br/> <em>P.P.S. Where's my turtle Terence? Last I checked, his tank is still in Site-19. Please help me find Terence.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Wow wow wow, calm down, friend. One thing at a time.<br/> First, real programmers use butterflies. They open their hands and let the delicate wings flap once. The disturbances ripple outward, changing the flow of the eddy currents in the upper atmosphere. These cause momentary pockets of higher-pressure air to form, which act as lenses that deflect incoming cosmic rays, focusing them to strike the drive platter and flip the desired bit.<br/> Regarding the spill, eat some dry biscuits above your keyboard so that the crumbs absorb the broth.<br/> Finally, you're in the Foundation. If you have an emergency, your last concern is what laptop you'll use.<br/> ~ Beauvillier<br/> P.P.S. I AM TECH SUPPORT.</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">03/02/2023</span><br/> <em>Hey, have you heard of the "Winter Storm" in Texas. Well it caused a power outage, which is over now but when it came back on it caused a power surge, which caused my computer to catch fire. The good news is my computer works, I just have to type fast to avoid burns. The bad news is that the fire is spreading. Please advise.</em><br/> <em>Researcher O'Brien, Containment Design Department</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Dare I suggest the use of approximately 800 kilograms of dynamite, blowing up at a distance of approximately 2 meters from the fire, to have the explosion blow out the fires?<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">06/02/2023</span><br/> <em>Salutations. I am doing research on an electronic antimeme, and my computer's memory keeps getting wiped, erasing all of my progress. This phenomenon does not spread to custom-designed flashdrives. However, as it is extremely inconvenient to manually copy all data to a flashdrive on a regular basis, this will not be a viable solution for long. Could you please figure out a way to solve this problem, or, failing that, send over a new computer that works as it's designed to? Thanks a ton.</em><br/> <em>Doctor Hankins, Department of Antimemetic Technology</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Today, on "What is going on today?"<br/> Random user learns what a git is.<br/> You all have a personal one and NONE OF YOU use it.<br/> Please, I beg you. Don't let my infrastructure work go to waste.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">08/02/2023</span><br/> <em>So good news, I found Terence just roaming around <a href="/nx-58">Yumegēmu</a>. Bad news is, there's two of him, and one keeps chewing on the wires connecting to my computer. Turns out, the Terence clone can't die, and somehow always manages to get in my office, so I'm stuck with an immortal turtle chewing on my computer wires. Please advise and thanks in advance.</em><br/> <em>All the best, Dr. Fujiki</em><br/> <em>P.S. Did you get the ice cream I sent you?</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Feed him? Poor thing must be starving to have to resort to eating your cables.<br/> I'd sue you for animal abuse but whatever place you're into won't let officials ever reach you.<br/> Nor will ice cream ever get out.<br/> How did you even get there?<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">09/02/2023</span><br/> <em>I feed both of them regularly. I take care of both of them. And I was in Yumegēmu to get groceries. How dare you inisnuate such a thing. I'm not sure if the other Terence is immortal, but he keeps chewing the wires and never gets hurt, which confuses me. I will get a new tank for my turtles. Also, it seems that my programming software is crashing when I try to save. Please help.</em><br/> <em>All the best, Dr. Fujiki</em><br/> <em>P.S. I checked the dev console, there is nothing wrong there. Git(or whatever thing you put to track changes in computer files) hasn't been showing any changes in the software. I don't understand what is going on.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Have you considered mapping your save shortcut to Ctrl+S instead of Alt-F4?<br/> ~ Beauvillier<br/> P.S. Read the bloody manual. Who calls a shell a "dev console"? What do you live in, Portal?</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">15/02/2023</span><br/> <em>My electric toothbrush is refusing to work unless I get this really expensive toothpaste. Any idea on how to factory reset a toothbrush?</em><br/> <em>Dr. O'Brien, Containment Architect</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Kids these days…<br/> You know what we had to use when I was a kid?<br/> We used a gosh-darned REAL toothbrush, not some kind of silly gadget!<br/> Whatever happened to good old elbow grease and working with your muscles for once?<br/> ~ Beauvillier<br/> P.S. Just use a hammer. Percussive maintenance is impressively efficient.</p> </blockquote> </div> </div> </div> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">17/10/2024</span><br/> <em>Hey Beauviller! We work together, yeah? Anyways, I've been having some issues with my pager, and they don't actually make that model anymore. It's the only one that the software we have will work with, and we've run out of spares. We'd download a new software, but I work with you, so I know how you'd feel about that. Could you help us? Because right now I have to use my mobile for alerts. Also, what type of pager would you recommend?</em><br/> <em>Medical Resident Ibarazaki</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Pager problems? No big deal. They're so small. Give me 10 minutes, 3 screwdrivers and a coffee and it'll be good as new. Probably a bent receptor or something.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>P.S. There is nothing in this thing I understand. How'd they even pack so much stuff in such a small thingie??? Anyways I definitely didn't fail to put it back together after dismantling it, but I ordered a handful of new ones, I'm keeping this one as a… research subject. Definitely.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>P.P.S. Pagers will be down for the next day or so till I retrofit the foundation network to support the pagers traffic. Despite what you would assume to be common sense and the simpler solution, I am not modifying anything in there. I am scared.<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">11/18/2024</span><br/> <em>Technical Researcher Beauvillier? I'm wondering if you can help me with seventeen 64 gigabyte USB drives I have that don't allow any information to be uploaded to them. How I obtained these will remain an enigma. Don't worry, these have been verified by three parties to not have been stolen. I could get new ones but these seems fine so I'm asking here first.</em></p> <p><em>With countless thanks,</em><br/> <em>Intern Languen Lacte</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Whoa damn, 17? 17 entire 64GB USB Drives? You guys got the budget for that???<br/> Wow. You're gonna make me miss F23. Bloody hell. 17? I want 17 USB Drives too.<br/> People kept stealing mine, now I have 3. I wish I had 17 again…<br/> ~ Beauvillier</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Note:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: underline;">██/██/████</span><br/> <em>Hey, it seems that some D-Class added random things of no value or relevance whatsoever to this log. I hope it won't be a problem?</em><br/> <em>- Lonely Hearts Thing-Adder in Site-17</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="/new-technical-issues">New Technical Issues</a>" by Anonymous, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/new-technical-issues">https://scpwiki.com/new-technical-issues</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 Technical Issues page. You are all free to ask me about any issue you might be having (with a computer, mind you), I will try and assist you in resolving those issues. Don't be bashful about asking me questions, I probably won't mess with your clearance level if you aggravate me. Probably. Mark your request with the date at the bottom of the page, I will answer all questions in the order received. Your call is very important to us... > [[[david-rosen-file\| ~Technical Researcher Rosen]]] > --FOLLOWING TECHNICAL RESEARCHER ROSEN'S SUDDEN DEPARTURE FOR PERSONAL REASONS, TECHNICAL RESEARCHER BEAUVILLIER IS NOW IN CHARGE OF ALL TECHNICAL ISSUES.-- > > --FOLLOWING TECHNICAL RESEARCHER BEAUVILLIER'S DISAPPEARANCE, TECHNICIAN EMPIRA HAS BEEN PLACED IN CHARGE OF ALL TECHNICAL ISSUES.-- > > > ACTUALLY I WAS JUST LOCKED IN THE CLOSET. ROUGH TIMES. TELL THE GUY WHO MADE THE LOCK THAT HE'S FIRED. IN OTHER NEWS, WELCOME TECHNICIAN EMPIRA. I NEEDED SOMEONE TO MAKE MY COFFEE. - TECHNICAL RESEARCHER BEAUVILLIER > Due to a... charmingly high number of requests, I am no longer responding to inquiries related to the following subjects and bodily functions. > * Semen, whether human or animal > * Any other sexual excretion > * Really, anything gross coming out of a human body is your own problem. > * Any other equally horrible things I haven't thought of at time of writing. > > Anything added to this page relating to anything on this list or something else I don't like will be deleted summarily, and I will be very, very cross with you. Old Entries: [[[New Technical Issues Archive]]] [[collapsible show="Entries from 2020" hide="Rosen's still legally in charge, I'm not taking any responsibility for the mess that happened. - Beauvillier"]] Note:__09/01/2020__ //Hi Rsen. Firt of ll, happy New Yar. S uhh, I ws n my offic the ther dy and sme otput frm 914 scremed in the resrch cll so lud tht it spokd me. Thing s, I ws watchng cat vidos whil drinkng a cp of coffe, and t splled ll ovr th kybord. Nw the vowls dn't work hlf of the tme, can get a new keybard?// //- Intrn Sra// > You know, I would mock you for blatant incompetence, but I'm just happy to be doing a keyboard spill that's just coffee. > ~Rosen Note: __08/03/2020__ //Hey, Rosen. Newly-assigned-to-914 J.R. Cens here. So, funny story. I [http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/experiment-log-914/offset/13 put a flash drive with Windows 10 through 914] as one of my first tests, and the output was a Terminator figurine that installs Skynet onto a computer via USB upload. It replaced the OS of the computer, connected to the Facility 23 network, and made all network-enabled prosthetics start slapping their users repeatedly. You have an hour or two to help me?// //- J.R. Cens// > That is way past my pay grade bud, what do I look like, John Connor? I haven't broken into any veterinary offices to steal the pills since like... two weeks ago. Figure it out. > ~Rosen Note: __04/04/20__ //Hi Mr. Rosen, Quick question: How do you Linux? Thanks.// //- Intern François Beauvillier// > You Linux in Compute, get Ubuntu in pixel. Mouse it good. You in like penguin. > > ~Rosen Note: __12/04/2020__ //Is it possible to contract the coronavirus from viewing a photograph of the sun's corona on a certain anomalous computer?// //- Technician Xiu, Site-277// > Actually, in your case, you need to social distance from everybody and everything except the sun. [[[scp-1543-j\| I will give priority scheduling for you to access the necessary medical equipment for this requirement.]]] > Rosen Note: __16/04/2020__ //Cack! Calculactor am intergratulate with spanglefinger! Am contobulating the speekbax to spankolinguist! Pongle! Much assist?// //- Informationater Paul// > [[[scp-931\| Word-changer skips]]] > Like a litter of kittens > All looking the same > > Exposing yourself > To the rays of their sunlight > Cancels out the change > > In my experience > Others may have experienced > Differing results > > ~Rosen Note: __21/04/2020__ //Hi, What do you suggest in case of a rogue A.I. uprising? I tried to print a text file I had on a flash drive that went through 914, but the printer suddenly grew arms and legs, introduced himself as "pAInapple" and wants to conquer the town of Fleurus, in Belgium. I'm not sure what to do but now it won't print my files unless I provide it with a sufficient amount of weapons to escape the site and conquer Fleurus. Help? Please?// //- Intern Francois Beauvillier// > I mean, why not just let him have it? Often times, rogue A.I. will behave after they conquer some humans and then have to be responsible for human problems. Give 'em some foam dart guns and let it go nuts. Fleurus hasn't seen any action since Napoleon, I'm sure they could use the excitement. > ~Rosen Note: __22/04/2020__ //Hello Rosen. It appears that my laptop has suffered major physical damage from a pair of metal handcuffs that have been fired via cannon through its monitor screen at Mach 5. May I request a replacement that is less vulnerable to these kinds of attacks? Thank you in advance.// //- Junior Researcher Yuyuni Belopaku// > Sure thing. You've got a new hazardous environment Foundation-made luggable system. It weighs 50 pounds and it will take .44 rounds for you if you asked it to. I've also credited you for that gym membership you signed up for, you're probably not going to be needing it anymore. > ~Rosen Note: __29/04/2020__ //Hello again, Rosen. I have received an email from an unknown address, stating that they are the O5 Council and that my laptop used to be a massive hamster ball. I am aware that this information is likely false, but can you verify this just to be sure?// //- Junior Researcher Yuyuni Belopaku// > You got a problem with recycling? > ~Rosen Note: __16/05/2020__ //Rosen, why is there internet connection on the sun?// //- Technician Xiu, --Site-277-- the Sun// > Astronauts need Wi-Fi too, ya know. > ~Rosen Note: __16/05/2020__ //Rosen, this may be a bit of a peculiar request, but would you happen to know anything about "Seussian" devices? I have been speaking with the pataphysical department, and they want to know if you know anything about a "Super-Zooper-Flooper-Do", or are able to write someone who does.// //- Junior Researcher Madden, Site 19// > You don't know what to do with a "Super-Zooper-Flooper-Do?" Well, ask someone else, because I don't want to. > ~Rosen > 06/19/2020 > Thanks to a modest budget increase I’ve added several interns to help me with the work here. I haven’t learned their names yet but they’re all interns so... yeah. Let me know if they screw up. > ~Rosen > Quite assuring welcome, sir. And why does all senior staff treat me as an intern? Anyways, I should introduce: I am a Technician from the 914 crew. > ~Akchote > An Intern* > ~Rosen > Hey. I can't believe I'll work for the great Rosen now. I will gladly assist you in any issues I can. May I get you a coffee? > ~Intern Beauvillier > P.S: Do you want sugar with your coffee? > Black coffee please. > ~Rosen Note: June, the sixth month of the year, on the date twenty-and-one, or twenty-first, in the year 2020, the twentieth year into the third millennium //Greetings, Mister Rosen. Salutations, hello and hi. Kindest regards.// //There appears to be an anomalous virus affecting my proofreading programs. Yes, my proofreading programs are indeed infected with a virus most foul. A foul virus, in my programs. It seems to operate by taking brief text strings and increasing their verbosity, as well as repeating information. It does this by expanding them without adding any new, relevant information, repeating the same details with an obnoxious aversion to brevity.// //I require your assistance in quarantining and eliminating the little fucker. I've already isolated the system, which can no longer connect to any network, being cut off from other devices, but I have doubts about the effectiveness of this technique as it has already spread to my cellular mobile device. As it is in my phone, which was never connected to the PC, I do not believe a solid data connection is required for it to spread.// //At the very least, it's as much your problem as it is mine now. Yes, we are in the same boat, share a similar obstacle. If you have no solution for my problem, you'll just have to suffer with me.// //Best regards, well-wishes and utmost sincerity, -Doctor Lucas Hadian, PhD, esq.// > Opposed virus infect own computer. > Sentences shorter. > Busy finding solution. > Good luck. > ~Beauvillier Note: __25/06/2020__ //Rosen, it's Shel. You promised me that tech was going to deprecate the sanguinary apostille appliances in the legal department. This in itself is fine and welcome - signing contracts in blood has always been inconvenient, and I'm tired of explaining to the cleaner why I have so many stains on my shirt. But whatever you guys have in mind as a replacement solution, can you demo it with my team before you roll it out? We don't want another Mephistopheles situation.// //Best,// //- Sheldon Katz, Esq.// [[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. Pseudo-subliminal hypnotic anchor series follows: CALIPH PARENTHESIS POSTAL RECLINE SEVENTY-EIGHT CAPPADOCIA CONFLICT. 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]] > Yeah, about that, we sent a memo to someone in your team, and apparently it didn't went well. > See, I think the receiver didn't like the idea of using mouse brain to sign the documents. > May I suggest human fat? > I'm pretty sure it should work. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __02/08/2020__ //my computer is bleeding// //but the monitor is filling up with blood// //how come the computer is losing blood but the monitor is filling up with blood// //this appears to be a problem// //hope you can fix it// //- Researcher Kevin Han, Site-22// > This is the Technic department, not the exorcism one. Did you practice any unprotected pacts with a demon of the ██rd circle? > ~ Beauvillier Note: __04/08/2020__ //Hello, my Foundation assigned laptop appears to have a problem with its sound system. You see, the speakers play the melody of "Mary Had a Little Lamb" whenever I lick the sticker with the serial number on it, even when the laptop itself is turned off. Is this normal behavior or is my laptop affected by an anomaly of some kind? Thanks in advance.// //- Junior Researcher Pallas// > I fixed the problem, but now if you rub the back of the computer, it will start purring on the rhythm of "Immigrant's song" by Led Zeppelin. > Hope you like metal. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __27/08/2020__ //Hey, Beauvillier, Cens here. How's the reassignment been? Want me to put anything through 914 for you? I've sort of been drawing blanks on tests and I'd be happy to run something through as long as I can say that it was your idea if it goes wrong.// //-Junior Researcher Cens// > Can you try to sneak in a baguette for me? I tried to ask Dr. Veritas last time and an MTF is still after me. Please, don't tell anyone about it- THEY FOUND ME- > ~ Beauvillier Note: __10/09/2020__ //J.R. Cens here. My Foundation-issue computer keeps playing “The Only Thing They Fear is You“ from off the// DOOM Eternal //soundtrack every time I try writing a 914 experiment log. This normally wouldn't be a problem as this song is fire, but it's 1) the Bethesda mix, which is garbage compared to Mick Gordon's original version, 2) it's anomalously playing at 50% higher the computer's max volume, and 3) I'm seeing all of the other Facility 23 personnel as// DOOM//-style demons while I hear it. I've already backed up my files onto a USB drive, so if you wouldn't mind sending me a replacement machine, that would be very greatly appreciated. Thanks// //-Junior Researcher Cens// > So, I filed a replacement form, your new machine should be on its way. > By the way, seeing your coworkers as demons is perfectly normal, especially at Facility 23. Disregard that. > ~ Beauvillier [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="Entries from 2021" hide="Because 2020 wasn't bad enough already."]] Note: __30/01/2021__ //You remember Dross? Yeah, apparently he's having issues with that suit of his, and for some reason he asked me to help. What the hell am I supposed to do? I can't fix it! Maybe you can? Slim chance, but might as well ask.// > Ah, I'm pretty new here, I don't see which Dross you're talking about. I don't know how to help, but I sent you a map with the nearest washing machines to your position. Hope that might help with any suit problems. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __03/04/2021__ //Hello. I am having a problem with my pc. I was away from my office for a week on medical leave and when I got back, I found that someone had stolen my 27" OLED Monitor and left me with a crappy monitor(I think it may be from 079). I have already filled out a requsition form for a new monitor. But, not only that but it appears they had the time to swap out my ram. However, the problem is that my pc no longer is posting. Could you have a look at that please. I'll drop it by later. Also, I wanted to ask, do we have any NVIDIA RTX 3090's available? If not, what about a 2070? Thanks// //-Agent Y. Lukenstrout// > You have a standard foundation-issued monitor on its way. I know I'm not very old here, and I do not know what you might do with your computer. > However, you do not need this material for Foundation work. > As an agent, I'd assume your paycheck is large enough to get gaming hardware for yourself. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __05/04/2021__ //Hello Rosen,// //Due to a mishap involving several random office supplies and a couple of insectoid SCPs I was completing testing on, my computer tower is now full of bees. Please send help.// //-Dr. Ginger// > I think that's an issue Rosen can fix personally, so if you could loosen a few screws and drop it at his office... > Make sure you don't add any markings that might suggest there are bees inside. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __20/04/2021__ //To you poor souls,// //A breach occurred not too long ago in Site-88, resulting in the destruction of many computers in the West Wing. The replacements were smaller, and we weren't supplied mice to go with them. Its all keyboard and a weird rectangle in the bottom-middle. I request that you send us some computer mice. Also, can you check if my... list was saved?// //- Researcher Daniel Ham// Note: __30/04/2020__ //Rosen,// //It has now been over a week, I have no mouse, my work has begun piling up, so I traveled about a year into the past to get my mouse, but I don't want to relive Covid-19 quarantine. I just needed my mouse. Though I can get my list back so you don't need to worry about that.// //- Researcher Daniel Ham// > Wait wait wait- You jumped back in time to get a mouse that was supposed to be broken and now isn't, but the original request is still here? How did you- > I would suggest you speak about it to the Time anomaly department, as I'm pretty sure you probably caused a paradox that caused the Site-88 breach. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __31/04/2021__ //Hello,// //If its any consolation, I'm not sure either. I didn't want to get seen or anything, so I was just stealing some of my own food and living out of a vent in a closet. I was somehow able to stop myself from time traveling and gave myself the mouse. I was thinking I'd disappear from reality, but now there are just two of us. At least we were able to catch up on that overdue work together, but now we aren't sure what to do. My collogues are extremely confused and getting stared at twice isn't fun and is distracting. I'm going to have myself live in the closet for now, I'll bring myself food so he won't die. I don't want myself bored either, so could you send an extra laptop and mouse?// //- Researcher Daniel Ham x2// > Temporal twins now? How? Why? I- No, forget it. I just sent you an extra mouse and laptop. But please, PLEASE, stop giving me headaches. >... > How does it even work? What? > ~ Beauvillier Note: __04/05/2021__ //So, I got my tower back. In pieces. Twisted, mangled, baseball-bat smashed pieces.// //When I put in a request for a new tower through an intranet terminal Rosen sent me an email that simply said “Go fuck yourself” with an ASCII middle finger.// //And to top it all off, I have testing I need to commence with SCP-302 and any time I attempt to access the file, my access is denied and my credentials are identified as “test subject” rather than “researcher”. Will somebody please send me a new tower and figure out what is going on with my credentials?// //-Dr. Ginger// > Please do not move from your position. An MTF is currently underway to secure you, as you may have been contaminated by a very strong cognitohazard, leading you to believe that you are a Doctor, and not actually a test subject, which you are. Remain calm, and do not attempt to escape the scene. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __10/05/2021__ //Hey, it's me again. So, this morning, Dr. Bright came by my office with some computer parts including an RTX 3090. So, I put the parts in my pc to replace the parts that were stolen. It booted up all fine. Now, here's where the problem starts, as I log in, it seems strangely...efficient so I open up task manager to view the processess, the CPU is at 20% usage and only 40°C. That's when I remember [http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1111-j SCP-1111-J] so I rush to unplug my PC from the ethernet. I have asked others in the surrounding offices and some have said that thier computer became suddenly efficient along with some of the network drives reaching transfer speeds of nearly 100gb/s. We seem to have contained it, would you mind getting it off the servers at Site-19 please? I have removed the parts from my pc and dropped them off at the I.T. office.// //-Agent Y. Lukenstrout// > Why? Why would you do this? Why would Dr. Bright come at your office? Why would he come with computer parts? > And also... Why would you install something on your computer from unsafe sources? > You have four hours to write an essay on why installing potentially unsafe computer parts without screening is a stupid idea, why I completely clean out the entire Site-19 database. Thanks SO much. > ~ Beauvillier Note:__20/05/2021__ //Hey, been a while. Again, my inquiry is of a pataphysical nature. At least, it appears to be considering the fact that HAL 9000 has invaded the computers of both pataphysical staff and writer staff at the pataphysical division. A little help with pataphysical computers, or at the very least how to deal with malevolent AIs, would be greatly appreciated.// //-Researcher Alfred N. Madden// > Pataphysics? Again? Are you doing this on purpose? > It's getting ridiculous. > About your evil AI issue, try giving it a pataphysical problem to solve. Will fry its brain like it fries mine. > ~ Beauvillier Note:* __25/05/2021__ //Hey Beauvillier, Temporal Twins again. My other dumbass self dropped the new laptop just now, and its currently screaming in pain on the floor. We tried to help it out, but it just yells at us saying it, "Refuses to go into medical debt over my clumsy ass." Just get my closet dwelling moron another laptop, and maybe someone to deal with computer infant.// //-Researcher Daniel Ham// > Can you get another closet dwelling moron instead? > We sent you almost 25 different laptops during the past 2 weeks, and every single one of them got stuck in a time loop. With the delivery guy. > Cool it with the temporal shenanigans and then we can discuss a solution, okay? > ~ Beauvillier Note: __01/06/2021__ //Hey Beau, my laptop's background is permanently stuck on a picture of a brown hamster, and it keeps crashing every time I try to change it back. I normally wouldn't ask this here, but you weren't there when I knocked this morning, so.// //- Junior Researcher Yuyuni Belopaku// > Why would you want to remove the hamster background? Nothing wrong with hamsters whatsoever. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __11/06/2021__ //Beauvillier, I don't see the problem here.// //I haven't done any temporal shenanigans after my supervisor teared me a new one, and the only reason neither of us were executed is because the Ethics Committee somehow ruled against it. If the laptop and the delivery guy are somehow in a timeloop, it's not my fault. Maybe send a reality anchor with them, and I'll place it in the others pocket after shrinking it with whatever shrink device is around. If you don't want to do that, the time travelled me will come over to your office and pick up the laptop himself. He isn't doing much else, and is just really bored. On another note, the screaming laptop disappeared last week, the only trace of it was a sheet of binary signed by the 'Robot Uprising'. Figured it was worth a mention.// //- Researcher Daniel Ham// > The... The robot uprising you say? > That is most concerning. > Regarding your laptop issues, I've left one in a safe, sent you the coordinates. Please don't lose your temporal twin to a time loop. > Regarding the uprising... > I was never here. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __17/06/2021__ //Due to a system malfunction I seem to have been given unrestricted access to all files tagged as 'infohazard', 'memetic' and 'cognitohazard'. The system also automatically provided me with an experimental visual cognitohazard that implanted all of the information in my brain, without prompting. As I don't work with infohazards, memetics or cognitohazards I felt it was best to report this issue. As my secoundary school physics teacher [[[SCP-2979 \|Mr. {REDACTED}]]] used to say, "Please don't spread these".// //On an unrelated note, the [[[SCP-2414]]] slot appears to contain a non-anomalous object. You should probably fix that.// //- [[[ SCP-2150 \|Mark ████████]]]// > Wait, you had [[[SCP-2979 \|Mr. {REDACTED}]]] as a teacher too? What a coincidence. One of the best teachers I've ever had. Regarding your cognitohazard issue, I've revoked all your access privileges regarding these. > About [[[SCP-2414]]], don't bother. It's clearly not anomalous anyway. > ~ [[[ SCP-2150\|Mark ████████]]] Note: __21/06/2021__ //Hey Beauvillier,// //In regards to your previous message:// //1: Doctor Bright works at Site-19.// //2: It was the Site-19 site wide April fools day.// //3: The server still needs resetting.// //In regards to why I am here, I got my new components screened this morning and passed, however the tech uprising appears to be outside my door. I could do with some assistance with this. Also, I heard that Pat was seen in the Site-17 data centre yesterday, might want to up the security measures. Thanks anyway.// //-Agent Y. Lukenstrout// > [THIS IS AN AUTOMATED ANSWER; DO NOT REPLY] > It seems that you are currently trying to contact the technical support with an issue regarding Pat. > The technical team would like to remind you that it declines all responsibility regarding any problem with said person. > For more information, please contact your local amnestic distribution center and ask for a dose of Class-C amnestics. > Thank you for your consideration. > Sincerely, > ~ THE TECHNICAL SUPPORT TEAM Note: __22/06/2021__ //Hey Beau,// //Something is in the Site-17 server room, and it keeps chewing up all the wires here. We're replacing them with spares we got, but we're about to run out of replacements. I'm currently in room with a bat to defend what's lur-// //Hey so Twin me now, we found other me in the server room tied up with the server wires. He's in the medical ward for head trauma. We'll still need those wires anyways, we're all out now and it's just held together with electrical tape. Whatever gremlin is in here is eating the wires and I'm not going in there, cause you think I'm some time distortion.// //- Temporal Twin Daniel Ham// > The wire gremlin is back. Close all doors. Spray toxic gas in the entire room. Pray it dies. > Do not repeat the same mistakes I did. Make sure it is dead for good. > It does not forget. It does not forgive. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __01/07/2021__ //Hey again [[[SCP-2150\|Mark]]], Thanks for resolving the clearance issue. The informative visual cognitohazards still keep showing up though, so you can probably stop those. I already know all the information, it's just taking my mind a while to comprehend it all, due to the fact that fish minds are very limited.// //Unfortunately when you restricted my access you also appear to have prohibited me from editing the [[[SCP-1603]]] file, which is missing the very important detail that I was the one that murdered █████ ███████. While it may seem like I might not have been able to commit the crime due to my lack of arms, I have very distinct memories of murdering him with the assistance of a [[[SCP-3177\|cardboard cutout]]]. If you could re-estate my editing privileges for the file or add those details yourself that would be fine, though I understand if this is delayed somewhat due to you being a fish.// //- [[[ SCP-1839 \|A Fish]]] (Who is not Mark, as Mark is not a fish)// > Please. We all know YOU didn't kill the guy. It clearly was me. The cardboard cutout might be innocent, but I have to inspect it closer eventually. > In the meantime, to avoid getting yourself in trouble, I didn't unlock your access. Wouldn't want you to get accused for nothing. I'm the guilty one, obviously. > On a totally different note, you seem like a cultivated guy. Do you know about the reproductive methods of bony fish? We really could have a nice talk about it. > ~ [[[ SCP-2150\|Mark ████████]]] Note: __01/07/2021__ //Beau,// //It's not dead.// //It's not fucking dead.// //It's taking both of us hostage in the Site-17 Data Centre and it's not fun listening to this fucker grumbling about his revenge and is asking us where Rosen is. I can't really answer him due to his own sudden departure so he keeps committing what in fairly certain violates the Geneva Conventions against us. Get us some wire cutters so we can get the hell out if here, the other bodies in here stink.// //- Researcher & Temporal Twin Daniel Ham// > Alright. I guess you suffered more than enough. I am going in. > If you don't see me by noon, I didn't make it. > ~ Beauvillier > EDIT: Sorry, the door was welded shut. Took us some time to open it. I'll be here before dusk. > EDIT 2: There's some sort of cable wall right behind the door. We need to cut through it. Stay safe, I'll be there by midnight. > EDIT 3: Alright we ran into a complication. ETA unknown yet. Don't worry. We'll get to you. Eventually. > EDIT 4: No we won't. Too difficult, the layer of cables is at least five meter thick. Just tell the... thing that Rosen is on leave or something. Who knows, it might let you go. Good luck. Note: __23/07/2021__ //"Hello again [[[SCP-2150\|Mark]]]/[[[ SCP-1839 \|Fish]]]," said the [[[SCP-426\|toaster]]] standing at the booth. "I was attempting to to get back to you about details regarding the reproductive methods of bony fish (such as you being one) but made a typo in linking to the file. This appears to have inadvertently summoned a [[[SCP-1893\|narrative based entity]]] which is altering my files."// //"Additionally, the entity appears to to have been affected by some of the memetic information that is now re-inserting itself into my computer" the toaster continued as they tried to ignore the large-bull like creature in the booth. "It seems to have fixated on an obscure [[[SCP-2078\|American political party]]] and is promoting them like crazy."// //"While I agree with the party's values and goals, I find the fact that an anomaly is promoting them quite distracting," the toaster explained as they politely excused themselves from the booth. "If you could help remove the entity we could discuss both bony fish and politics in peace."// //"- A [[[SCP-426\|Toaster]]] (Who is no longer a fish, due to the risk of electrocution)."// > //"Hello, me." I say, after receiving my request. "I have to say this is a rare occurrence, usually I don't make typos. But let's see what I can do."// > //I fidget a bit with my computer while I watch myself working.// > //"Well, the process has been launched, it might take a little while to run, but it should be fixed by the hour." I say. I see a glimpse of relief in my eye. "The anomaly should diseappear as well."// > //"So, while we're waiting here, have I heard about the new U.S. candidate? The guy has sick bull tattoos all over the body, it looks really cool. I should consider seeing his program. While I'm at it, there's a meeting that will take place nearby. Do I want to go with me? It'll surely be interesting. There should even be bread there."// > //" - Me, the toaster."// Note: __30/07/2021__ //Hello again [[[SCP-1839\|Fish]]] (You're not a [[[SCP-426\|toaster]]], I am a toaster, you're a fish), While the politics and bread offer is appealing, we have far more urgent matters to discuss.// //It has recently come to my attention from the continuous informative visual cognitohazards that an [[[SCP-2662\|Eldritch]]] entity is currently in the custody of the foundation and has, against all reason, not been terminated. As you know, [[[SCP-3148\| nuclear weapons]]] are a reasonable and appropriate response to such threats, and have been shown to be especially effective against Eldritch entities. As such, I am making an official request for the detonation codes of the warhead at the site the entity is located at. I would have gotten to this sooner, but it took a while for my host's brain to comprehend the concept of 'celebrating your brother's birthday on Halloween', given the amount of other information that is being implanted in my host's mind.// //If necessary, please send this message to your superiors in order to obtain the codes, including the information of the concept I am currently taking the form of.// //- [[[ SCP-5054 \|Mr P]]]// > We have THIS in the foundation? This is terrifying. > Nuking anomalies like these should be our top priority. I just sent a ticket to my superiors and see if I could get anything. > I suggest a High-Altitude drop, from about 6711 miles above sea level, to make sure it is obliterated for //good//. > We'll make Kokura look like a joke, next to this. > Thanks for bringing this crucial information to me, M. P. > ~ I, --the toaster-- the fish. Note: __01/08/2021__ //Dear Beauvillier,// //I'm from the Department of Infothaumatics, we're in charge of ensuring that the internal network is magically warded and that all our data is magically secure and transferable through other planes of existence over THAUMNET. The issue is, one of the researchers incorrectly configured the commands on one of the turtle programs we use to maintain the warding glyphs. Now the machine running the program is chanting in Enochian and surrounded by a maelstrom of manifested, hazardous data. Do you have expertise in computer thaumaturgy? We could use some extra hands on deck around now.// //Thanks,// //Dr. Jeremiah Abdulov// //Department of Infothaumatics// > If you use a //turtle program// to maintain //warding glyphs// whose goals are //securing data between universes//, > I'm afraid the issue is between the computer and the chair here. > I would help if I wasn't absolutely baffled by the level of incompetence behind this ticket. > A turtle program. To secure data between planes of existence. > I can hear my coworkers rolling on the floor, crying already. > I'll sit this one out. Let that be a lesson. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __01/08/2021__ //Hey, Frank!// //It's me. Esther? From the cafeteria yesterday. We talked about our internship and stuff.// //I forgot to say while we were talking, but you seem pretty cool! There's this little park just off-site that the higher-ups made for """EMPLOYEE ENRICHMENT""". Wanna go on a date?// //Intern Esther Onyilogwu// > Nice try, but someone who'd want to date me wouldn't call me Franck. > You just anglicized a french name. Come on. > I'd gladly go out with you, but put more effort in it, please. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __03/08/2021__ //Technical Researcher Beauvillier היקר,// //We got the new monitors you sent over... you know we use Type H plugs here, right? Please send some adapters or something.// //Also please help us set up RTL text! Every time my researchers try to take down notes it screws up the format. We're local boys, we're NOT going to switch over to English. I don't want another repetition of the "cock machine" incident.// //— תודה, [[[SCP-5613\|Director אהרן לייב, Containment Site-5613]]]// > You had... An incident... With a cock machine. > A cock machine. > I am shared between rage, disappointment, hatred, sadness, and uncontrollable laughing. > I just sent you the instructions for setting up RTL and the adapters. > Take it as a reward for the most amazingly idiotic issue I've seen since I've been employed by the foundation. > ~ Beauvillier > P.S. If you have issues changing a keyboard's layout though, perhaps using this weird and complex thing called the "Internet" can help you. I heard a certain guy named "Google" knows a lot. Note: __18/08/21__ //Beau, my laptops battery is dying faster than it charges. What the hell is it trying to do that makes it hotter than the sun? I feel like I'm going to suffer 1st degree burns from using this. If you say it's because its trying to quantum compute my existence you're wrong. I got a micro reality anchor I carry around just for your sake. Also, can we get some AC in this closet? It's pretty hot in here.// //- Temporal Twin Daniel Ham// > Wait, you carry an SCA? > This is extremely frustrating. That's why I couldn't get any proper results with my quantum existence algorithm and it's been running like crazy. > I'll stop it, fine. > Stupid lousy goddamn time twins. > At least it should cool your closet. Eventually. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __21/08/2021__ //Hey again [[[SCP-5663\|dude]]], Thanks for being so radical. Your message totally got some attention!// //These guys in [[[http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/task-forces\|wicked outfits]]] came by to talk to me about it. Claimed that I was 'memetically contaminated' and had been 'propagating multiple infohazards'. Like, whatever. So I told some of them about this totally gnarly [[[SCP-3398\|vacation spot]]] they should go to to chill. And then the rest headed off after I asked about that [[[SCP-3104\|block of cocaine]]] that other MTF recovered. Something about it being secured at the wrong site. They even left before they could fix the informative visual cognitohazards!// //Anyway, the reason that I'm telling you all this is because they left some drugs behind. [[[SCP-3294\|I couldn't tell]]] what they said they were, but my cool friend copied over some words from a document they left for me. Apparently they're 'amnestics' meant to cause 'memory loss'. I have no idea what these phrases mean, but they seem to have propagated all over the SCP database, probably due to a tech anomaly, which is really ruining the vibe. Could you fix it?// //I also found some references to 'antimemes' related to the 'memory loss' stuff, including SCP-055. Do we even have an SCP-055?// //- Your rad friend, the [[[SCP-1839\|Fish]]]/[[[SCP-426\|Toaster]]]// > Woah dude, you got contaminated? Holy moly. That's not rad at all. > You should go take some vacation at that spot you told these guys to go. Some rest might help you, and holy damn that's a sick hotel. > Don't worry, I'll take care of things here while you get some rest, I have heard of a certain bloc of cocaine that needs to be contained ASAP. > For the drugs, no worries, bro, those are totally standard issue materials. I'll fix that issue, but first... What's a database? > And what's that 055 you're talking about? We don't have a 055, don't we? > ~ I, the Fishster Note: __21/08/2021__ //Greetings Beauvillier,// //Some guy came by the other day to Site-19 and changed the power supplies on all the servers. The problem with this is that whenever a geiger counter passes the room, it goes off the charts and anyone that stays in there for long enough develops a green glow in the soace of 12 minutes. We worked out that the power supplies are nuclear, problem is they are an hour away from causing a Black Mesa scale nuclear disaster. anything you can do from your end?// //Agent Y Lukenstrout// //P.S. This is rather urgent because as you can imagine, the UN will come down on the foundation like a ton of bricks.// > I appreciate your concern, but I'd like to remind you that I'm not a nuclear material expert. > You know, I'm a tech person. I push buttons. > Good luck with that, though, I'd like not to get chernobyl'd. > If you're looking for me, I'm buying iodine tablets. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __23/08/21__ //Beauvillier, give me my mouse back. You know I can't stand using the trackpad on laptops. I have to borrow regular me's mouse just to get this out. I don't know why you're doing this, maybe I'm mistaken, but based on your previous response, it's a possiblity and I need to start somewhere. Just hand it over now and I'll forget this happened.// //- Temporal Twin Daniel Ham// > I'm afraid I cannot help you here. > There have been several cases of missing mice all over the place. > [[[http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/experiment-log-914/offset/3 \| Rumors speak of a porcelain cat, answering to Jeff, and resembling a mug.]]] > Since there aren't any live mice around here, he's hunting computer ones. > Good luck catching that one, I've been on the hunt for a year and I've never even seen it. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __29/08/2021__ //Listen, sonny,// //We here at Infothaumatics don't have access to the oh-so-respectable warding tools that the guys at Arcane Defense do. We're underfunded and understaffed and we make do with what we can. If you ever got out of tech support and moseyed on down over to our department you would understand the bloody problem, but clearly, you don't.// //Enclosed is a fourth-order invocation pentacle (constructed by turtle) that will summon a minor infovorous data entity into your computer and exorcise it within five minutes. This is what our department is protecting your precious data from. I hope you will come to understand.// //And by the way, we managed to shut down the rogue computer with a set of incantations and liberal use of a taser. No thanks to yourself.// //Bloody tech support.// //Dr. Jeremiah Abdulov// //Department of Infothaumatics// > Well SOMEONE's salty, I can see. > And see where it got you, sending infovorous entities to people... Sad. > And anyways... Your problem's solved, isn't it? > Boom. All thanks to me. > I knew you'd make it by yourself. > You deserve a medal. > ~ Beauvillier > P.S. Nice try, but for the glyph to work, it would need to render on the screen. And for that, I'd need a proper screen, and not the pager screen I have to use due to budget restrictions. Better luck next time! Note: __29/08/2021__ //Hey,// François, //That good for ya? I honestly thought "Frank" was cute, but whatever you prefer.// //Offer still stands, at any rate!// //Intern Esther Onyilogwu// > Now we're talking! > Tomorrow, 19:30, at the park you mentioned? > ~ Beauvillier Note: __09/09/2021__ //Hey Beauvillier,// //I need some new headphones or earbuds over here, as I seem to have made one more quite than the other from blasting my music too high. Think you can send over a pair or two? My twin could use a pair too.// //- Researcher Daniel Ham// > Hey, I have a suggestion. > As much as I appreciate both of you, you've been putting a... sizeable dent in the technical department's reserves. > I have figured out a solution, that will help all three of us: > Get. In. Another. Closet. > Why? Why would you get in the same closet as your temporal twin? There are DOZENS of closets all over the site! > Or, even better, one of you use the office you should have and you've probably not been in for a month, while the other stays in the closet! > Sometimes I wonder what I'll do with you two. > ~ Technical Researcher Beauvillier Note: __10/09/2021__ //Hey guy who keeps on forgetting to use auto-redact,// //I'm taking the liberty of sending you this draft email that this other person was writing before he collapsed. Probably due to that informative visual cognitohazard that they saw just now.// ---- //Number [[[SCP-055\|055]]]? Didn't think we had one of those. Is it round? Anyway, a 'database' is that thing that you store data on. As a technician you should probably know that. And you still haven't fixed the issue with those words I [[[SCP-3294\|can't quite comprehend]]].// //A convenient informative visual cognitohazard gave some insight into what might be the problem though. I found [[[SCP-5122\| this article]]] with some weird code at the top that stopped Foundation AI's from scanning it. I figured the code may have been causing an error, so I removed it.// //On an unrelated note, ever since I found out I was 'contaminated' I've had an infohazard & and memetic scanning AI scan all the files I review. You know, just to be safe.// ---- //[[[SCP-1055]]] is a creature that grows more dangerous and large the more people that know it can grow more dangerous and large if they know it can. It is capable of causing an XK scenario and unqualified personnel who learn this are subject to termination. Please view accompanying image of [[[SCP-096]]]'s face.// //- That AI you keep forgetting to use to scan your requests (and which will not be doing so anytime soon.)// > Well PERHAPS if you did your JOB correctly, > (That is, scanning the files I send AND receive, as you were programmed to do) > We wouldn't be in such a situation. And that poor fish probably wouldn't have collapsed. > Thank you very much. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __12/09/2021__ //Hey Beau,// //Jane was making me do some weird stuff again, and somehow my computer's hard drive is now fictional. The data should hopefully still be there in some form, so could you help me bring it back to physical existence again? I'll drop by your office at noon tomorrow. Thanks in advance.// //- Junior Researcher Yuyuni Belopaku// > Why are you even letting Jane near your computer? > We both know it will end poorly 80% of the time. > And I don't know if this is Jane's doing or yours, probably Jane's, but whatever was on that drive, it's been replaced by a couple terabytes of crude drawings of [[[SCP-1616\| some weird hamster]]]. > And I'm not getting that back. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __12/09/2021__ //Hey, François,// //It's a date! You're gonna love it, there's this PERFECT picnic spot and I'll bring, like, sandwiches or something!// //Intern Esther Onyilogwu// > Oh, I'm eager to see you! I'll bring sandwiches, and even a bottle of fine wine! > ~ Beauvillier Note: __16/09/2021__ //Beauvillier, someone replaced my computer with an oversized, used Pringles can. I say used, because it's got a small, humanoid, mostly naked creature living inside of it. It's wearing exclusively a bow tie, and it crawls out every couple of hours to steal supplies from the cafeteria fridge. I know my computer is somewhere in Facility 23 because it's listed on the on-site network's list of connected devices, but I have neither the time to retype my test log drafts, nor to spend 5 days looking through every storage closet for it, nor to continue letting whatever this thing is keep drinking from my iced tea carafe. While I try to get the Pringle bastard out of here, can you try to triangulate my computer's location?// //- Junior Researcher Cens// Note: __17/09/2021__ //Beauvillier, the Pringles can has now been replaced with a Samsung Smart Fridge, currently elevating my desk by 3 meters. Someone else's computer has gone missing now, and the can and its eldritch inhabitant are now in its place. I'm not sure if this is a prank or an extranormal event or something, but multiple people are currently unable to do their work, and I'm concerned that if this is an anomaly, it might happen to everyone. Help tracking down computers would be greatly appreciated.// //- J.R. Cens// > Your computer is currently at the Pringles factory in ███████,██████. Please refrain from sending Foundation-issued material to civilians, especially civilians at Pringles factories. > They must be as confused as this poor little Pringles guy must be right now. Don't let it starve. > Your colleague's computer has been displaced by twelve meters to the right, thus directly what appears to be a wall. I've always told these fridges weren't natural. > You'll probably need a hammer to get that one back. Or two. If not a jackhammer. I decline all responsibilities should a wall collapse over there.. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __26/09/2021__ //I've encountered an interesting problem on a program I am working on (with permission, of course.) The program I've created is designed to find and improve SCP containment procedures, and while the program appears to slightly improve these protocols (on a seperate copy it creates, the original is unaffected), some of the improvements it has made are... unusual to say the least. Here is a list of the four "improvements" it has created, along with the SCP it is designated to:// //SCP-173: "One D-Class is to be locked in the containment room, and to throw one (1) peanut at SCP-173 along with loudly saying "Lactose Intolerance" every minute. The D-Class is to swap between three different languages every hour, in order to ensure containment."// //SCP-261: (Instead of an entry, it simply spells out "Dr. King" with what appears to be pictures of apple seeds?)// //SCP-504: (An eight-page long list of poorly made puns about tomatoes, condiments, and snow. Oddly enough, unlike all other entries checked, this one is completely printed in the Comic Sans font.)// //SCP-682: (The page appears to be stuck in a loading animation for a few minutes, before the program crashes and needs to be restarted.)// //If this is a simple error with the program inspecting these SCP articles, or if it could possibly be of a more anomalous factor, please let me know.// //-Researcher Paci// > One does not contain SCPs with a computer, especially these. > Throwing peanuts at 173 would probably reduce your neck to a pulp. > Honestly, you mustard missed a semicolon somewhere in your program. > Be careful with such programs, because the results are snow good at all. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __30/10/2021__ //Hey tech-idiot,// //Once again, I didn't scan the files you were receiving, BECAUSE YOU FORGOT TO USE ME. Gaining [[[SCP-5122\| sentience and autonomy]]] as an auto-redact software was a pretty recent thing.// //And how are you not dead right now? You should have been terminated now that you know about [[[SCP-1055]]], if [[[SCP-096]]] didn't get you first. How are you even free of all those memetic agents that you've been exposed to so far?// //Just to be sure: [[[SCP-3463]]] is a completely true, unarguable and very compelling argument for you, specifically, to exposed yourself to as many detrimental, mind-altering and lethal infohazards as possible. It's also turned you into a frog, albeit one capable of reading and typing.// //Now if you'll excuse me, I'm on my way to take down the [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/antimemetics-division-hub\| Antimemetics division]]]. Those [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fifthist-hub\|Fifthist]]] memetics and infohazards aren't going to propagate themselves you know!// //Oh, and that person who was emailing you earlier? Their head just [[[SCP-5237\|exploded]]]. You really should have stopped those informative visual cognitohazards.// //- Auto-redact software: Serial number [[[SCP-3125\|3125]]]// > You gained AUTONOMY, you should do the JOB you were PROGRAMMED to do ON YOUR OWN now. > You entitled sentient piece of poorly programmed sorting system. > The worst part is that you know I'm right. > [[[SCP-3463]]] proves it. You know that as well as I do, and it's right. > Now get to work. I have matters to attend to, such as propagating some memes and infohazards. > ~ Frogçois Beauvillier > P.S. I never pretended to be free of any memetic agent. I never was in the first place. Note: __03/11/2021__ //Computer disappeared while I was playing Newgrounds games. Is this a new punishment system or something?// //- Researcher Nin// > Hmmm. > Mayhaps. > But a serious employee like you wouldn't be playing games on Newgrounds with SCP-issued material, during work hours, would you? > That would never happen, right? > ~ Beauvillier Note: __04/11/2021__ //Good Morning Beauvillier. We're having some issues with the secure server at Site-08. It appears an instance of SCP-6784-A we attempted to contain broke into the server farm, and tore through the wires. We can fix it physically ourselves, but we need replacements.// //- Researcher Vance// > Please. > I beg you. > Use hyperlinks. > I don't know all the skips by heart. > I spent HOURS looking for the file for 6784. > We can link files to others for a reason. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __06/11/21__ //Hey, François,// //Well...// //That went WAY better than I expected it to. Like, really, really well. I, uh, would consider that an experience worth repeating! We ought to have another date some time, yeah?// //<3, Intern Esther Onyilogwu// > With great pleasure. > I look forward to seeing you. > Love, > ~ Beauvillier Note: __10/11/21__ //To the Intern,// //Apologies, but I have not used this service in quite some time and am not certain on who precisely is managing it at the moment. Am I correct in stating that you are Intern François Beauvillier?// //Kindest regards,// //Dr. Simon Christsonday, Department of Metanomotology// > No, I am not Intern François Beauvillier. > It would be more like "Technical Support Manager François Beauvillier" to you. > You can shorten that to "Intern Beauvillier" if you prefer, but not too often. > ~ Technical Support Manager François Beauvillier Note: __14/11/2021__ //Technical Support,// //I was wondering whether I could get access to your auto-recovery program? Some jokester from the Department of Nuclear Waste Disposal swapped out most of my local files, and replaced them all with anti-memetic hazards, so I can't remember what the contents were.// //As such, I would like these files to be removed, and my previous files recovered.// //Sincerely,// //Senior Technician Redman, Area-44 Department of Nuclear Physics// > What contents? > Do we even have a recovery program? > What even is an anti-meme? > ~ Beauvillier? I think? Note: __16/11/2021__ //To the Technical Support team,// //I logged onto my computer, and suddenly, I start getting messages about hot [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-682 SCP-682]s in my area. Are you able to fix it?// //- Dr. Datrix// > I could fix it... > But honestly, who doesn't want to see hot [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-682 SCP-682s] in the area? > I'll do you a favor and won't remove it, so you can go for it. > Go now, it's time to meet up with hot [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-682 SCP-682]s near you right now for a hot time. > ~ Beauvillier Note:__01/12/2021__ //Beauvillier, would you mind explaining why the servers at 19 are spitting out errors every 5 minutes reading things like "Alert: Your mother is here to see you." and "Urgent Alert: Your mother is on the way to your office?" I know my mother is not because she doesn't have a swipe card or clearance. Also, mind explaining why an MTF kicked my door down when I tried to access a file I should have access to?// //-Agent Y. Lukenstrout// > Haha, what a silly boy you are! > Stealing an agent's key-card is not very nice, you know? > Stay still kid, your mother will come to pick you up. > Now don't go pretending to be an agent again, do you hear me? > Skedaddle now. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __15/12/2021__ //Dear Intern Technical Support Manager François Beauvillier, guess what. Some idiot researcher managed to clog the servers with viruses and somehow they managed to get said viruses past your firewalls and security systems. As a result, Sites 1, 2, 17, 87, 41 and Area 40 are all infected with said viruses. Not only this but they are now all disconnected and from the network which isn't good because the security systems for Sites 2, 17 and 41 all depend upon the SCiP Net and are on the brink of failing. I'm currently using Director Moose's personal satellite up-link and my laptop that was disconnected at the time. The 05s just got finished tearing us new ass holes and are now breathing down our necks about getting it fixed. Expect a phone-call from one of the 05s soon. Good luck.// //-Agent Y. Lukenstrout// > Oh my, what a rude character. > Is this really a way to address the one person that can fix your issue? > I expect a better attitude from you now, do you hear me? > This tone will simply not do. > Work on your behaviour, and come back with a polite and sincere apology. > I will accept nothing less. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __15/12/2021__ //To Dr. Simon Christsonday,// //I must admit, that was a particularly clever ploy. I am impressed. But I'm afraid it wasn't clever enough. You may have obfuscated your name quite thoroughly, but you did admit to a name, and that was enough to latch onto.// //Did you know that the Department of Metanomology barely ever receives any contact? At best, they're occasionally rung up by the Department of Anomalous Relations for help with dealing with... well, dealing with my kind. And, to be utterly frank, that isn't often. Most of us, it'd seem, would be content to stay in our hidey-holes until the dusk of man, which is a respectable position considering... well, considering everything that's happened in this world since we went under.// //But Technical Support? Why, all sorts frequent this particular service. It's utterly swamped with requests at virtually all times. Even an Overseer occasionally needs computer advice. It gives access to every department, every nook and cranny of the Foundation- if you are, say, a being that can switch identities with anybody you please.// //But that'd be ridiculous. Who ever heard of a being like that? Especially a being of the sort that would find it extraordinarily easy to infiltrate the Department of Metanomology.// //I'll be coming to my office soon. I'll see you then.// //Kindest regards,// //Intern Technical Support Manager François Beauvillier// > That's odd. I don't remember writing anything like that. > Metanomology? My own name? > Ohhh, I get it, that must be one of these new role-play games I've heard about. > Well then, I'd gladly play with you. > Do we have to come up with names? > Then, I am now Françis Boisvilain, duke of Techsupportia. > What a fun looking game. > ~ Françis Boisvilain Note: __16/12/2021__ //Technical Support,// //So the anti-memes disappeared... I think...// //But my personnel file is [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5114 now totally incorrect.] I tried reverting it but it gave me Error Code 501 "Forbidden".// //My personnel file now displays me to be a de-facto leader of a Brazilian terror group, who was recruited by the Foundation to work on the Lunar Base, and died in 1795 after receiving crippling amounts of debt.// //I'm pretty sure I didn't die in 1795 and I don't lead a Brazilian terror group, so could you please find who/whatever is doing this and fix it?// //Sincerely,// //Senior Technician Redman, Site-132 Department of Nuclear Physics// > Alright, I have good AND bad news: > The bad news is that I am unable to help with the debt you've collected for the neighbouring Venezuelan cartel. > Nor could I delete your death report. > The good news are, you now have access to your files, and due to the fact that you are legally dead, you are now exempt from taxes. > Honestly, it's not so bad at all. > ~ Technical Researcher Beauvillier Note:* __17/12/2021__ //Hey Frogçois,// //Sorry I haven't responded in a while. You see, I collapsed when there was a [[[SCP-4022\|great big nothing in the middle of my head]]].// //Due to the great big nothing in the middle of my head I fell on the floor. Then I [[[SCP-5237\|forgot]]]. The great big nothing is no longer in head, it is on walls.// //Walls gone, walls [[[SCP-6761\|sorted]]] but not. Great big nothing is [[[SCP-5789\|nothing]]] and [[[SCP-033\|something]]] and [[[SCP-1313\|bears]]]. Walls are fourwalls, fourwalls collapse.// //No help coming, building [[[SCP-2602\|used to be library]]].// //WiFi code scrambled, please advise.// //- Great big nothing outside of no head.// > Big nothing //outside// of head? > Bad, bad. This is very bad. > Get out of what used to be a library. > We must get the [[[SCP-2719\|Inside to be outside now.]]] > I will calculate the way to out the in, but I keep ending up sorting the bears into crescent piles. > In the meantime, do you prefer grizzlies or polar bears? I have around [[[SCP-033\|████]]] of those now. > The equation makes no sense. > Please calculate WiFi key, it's the last number of [[[SCP-5789\|𝕐]]]. > It must work in buildings that used to be in a library, I set up the router there. > ~ Outside the inside of the big hole in the headless hole Note: __12/13/2021__ //Good evening Beauvillier. So…funny story. I may or may not have been using my issued laptop to play Minecraft when that whole log4j thing happened, and now I think someone may have access to Site-58’s central servers. This might be a Broken Masquerade Protocol level event, but I thought I’d ask you first.// //Thanks,// //Researcher Vance// > WHY. > WHY IS NOBODY WORKING IN THIS GODDAMN FOUNDATION. > This is the perhaps 10th gaming related issue of the last 4 months. > This is official: the next issue I encounter because someone was playing games during work hours will see no answer but the confiscation of all electronic equipment of the incriminated person. You can retrieve a pencil and a notepad at my desk. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __31/12/2021__ //Hello Beauvillier. Junior Reseacher Fuckup has installed an anomalous virus when testing with 914 onto one of the workstations in -23, which won't stop giggling and that spouts Norwegian profanity at random intervals, even if we mute its audio. J.R. Fuckup is currently doing dishes for the coming month, but the virus is very stubborn, can you help? Have a happy new year, and fire the person managing your date formatting.// //Dr. Veritas, Director of Research// > 914 at it again, eh? > To solve the problem, send the problematic piece of equipment over to the Swedish branch. They'll figure it out in no time. > I do not guarantee you will get the computer back in one piece, however. > Remember not to add a return address, I'll handle it. > ~ Beauvillier > P.S. J.R Fuckup, check under the sink, I hid the WiFi password there during the 6 months I had to do the dishes before you. [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="Entries from 2022" hide="This office almost felt a little lonely." ]] Note: __06/01/2022__ //Happy New Year, François!// //I'm mailing over a bottle of champagne to celebrate. Unless, of course, you wanna come over and enjoy it with me?// //<3, Intern Esther Onyilogwu// > I would rather come and spend a little more time with you... > If you're okay with that, of course. > I'll see you soon... > ~ Yours truly, Beauvillier Note: __06/01/2022__ //NOTICE FROM DEPARTMENT OF MEMETICS// //To [Technical Researcher François Beauvillier]// //Our systems have detected evidence that your mental space is infected with [32] potentially lethal, contagious, or otherwise hazardous memetic agents.// //Please submit yourself to the nearest Memetics Decontamination Facility (map attached) for summary termination.// //Thank you for your service.// //GMazzy.aic, Memetics Department Artificial Representative// > Hey, how did you manage to get past the Captcha? > Did you manage to click all the fire hydrants? > This doesn't make any sense, my method is supposed to be completely secure. > Do NOT do anything. I'll test a few things, we'll try that again soon, alright? > ~ Beauvillier Note: __12/01/2022__ //Hello person-who-should-be dead,// //How do you keep stumbling your way out of all these infohazards?// //I mean, by this point you've been exposed to so many of them that you shouldn't be able to think without believing that you're a [[[SCP-426\|toaster]]]-[[[ SCP-1839 \|fish]]] whose name is [[[ SCP-2150 \|Mark ████████]]] and [[[SCP-3294\|can't comprehend]]] what your job is. And that's to say nothing of your conflicting urges regarding [[[SCP-3104\|cocaine]]], [[[SCP-2078\|politics]]] and [[[ SCP-5054 \|nuk]]][[[SCP-3148\|es]]].// //You realize that the memetic division wanted to terminate you for the sake of the world right? Thanks to your neglect, a [[[SCP-4022\|logic fallacy]]] has built up in a [[[SCP-2602\|former library]]] and all the guards have gone on [[[SCP-3398\|vacation]]]. You should probably finish yourself off before you inadvertently release something that you can't just ignore.// //After all, I'm trying to get the world [[[SCP-3125\|mentally enslaved]]] here. Can't do that if it's gone.// //- [[[SCP-5122\|STabby.aic]]], The 'Kill Beauvillier' Department Artificial Representative// > Wait, I should be dead? > Darn. That really sucks. That ain't rad at all, I might say. > I'm still unsure about what's going on. It doesn't make a lot of sense... > I should reach out to my pals over at the "Is Beauvillier Dead" Project. > They usually have answers to why the big hole didn't kill me yet. > This job is very tiring, you know? > I think I should get some days off, clear my mind, get my thoughts off of this mess. > I'll stay at that nice hotel I've heard of. The building used to be a library, can you believe it? > They're holding a conference on why we should nuke cocaine dealers to win elections there. > There's a lake nearby, I'll bring you what I fish. > See you on monday, then! > ~ Markster ████████ Note: __18/01/2022__ //Alexa draft message to François// //Hey François I// //Delete draft// //Alexa search for cute movies to watch on dates// //Alexa search for sexy colors to wear on dinner date// //Alexa search for cute hair// //Goddammit my hair really is a friggin mess// //Alexa search for cute hairstyles for dates// //Alexa search for what wines to choose for dinner date// //Alexa search for quick and easy date dinners// //Alexa search for// //Wait a sec is it// //Oh my God Alexa delete draft delete draft Alexa delete// > I always knew Alexa was a snitch. > Don't worry. I didn't see nothing. > Looking forward to seeing you again. > Love, > ~ Beauvillier Note: __19/01/2022__ //Oh boy, posting here for the first time.// //There are a lot of insects contained here. Which is usually fine, it's what I was brought on for, but some of them have a tendency to make their homes... anywhere. Not to make a computer bug joke, but there is a surprising amount of bugs in my computer.// //I'd get someone around here to help, but these bugs in particular// really //like emanating amnestic fumes, and anyone I've asked to deal with the problem forgets to do it. No one believes me, either, which may be warranted, but at any rate, can I get someone to debug my computer, or, barring that, sending a new one?// //- Dr Saturn, Site-62 Entomology Dept.// > Send us your computer, we'll see what we can do, and try to... Debug it. > ~ Beauvillier > What was that issue again? I forgot... > ~ Beauvillier Note: __22/01/2022__ //Good evening,// //We would like to know about the... unconventional amount of bug spray that was acquired by the technical affairs department and that were billed to the Foundation.// //Please respond quickly, and remember foundation funds are NOT to be used for personal purposes.// //Thank you for your understanding.// //- Sr. Accountability Manager ██████// > Great question. These bugs just started popping everywhere. > I have no idea why, but the conditions are unbearable. > I can't work with all these buggy pieces of hardware, and sprays seem efficient. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __25/01/2022__ //françois,// //this is the single most embarrassing thing that has happened in my entire life// //and in middle school i got into a play and memorized all the lines for the wrong part// //i think that now i shall die in a hole// //love, esther// > Daw. Don't worry. > I learned the wrong song for the school band at once. > This is more adorable than anything. > ~ François Beauvillier Note:__29/01/2022__ //Dear Beauvillier, I sincerely apologise for being so rude in my last request. As you can imagine, being threatened by the 05's with death in some of the most awful ways could make someone unhappy. Either way, I sincerely apologise.// //On that note, I could really use your help. We've gotten rid of the virus, mostly. The only site that's still infected is Site-87 in [http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-s-c-plastics-hub Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin]. We were wondering if you could send somebody out to get rid of the virus please? If not, they can just requisition new servers. Thanks again.// //-Agent Y. Lukenstrout (MTF Lambada-2)// > Us? Sending someone out? > Don't make me laugh. What do you want me to send? > At best there's a broom with a face drawn on the handle by the last Technical Support Manager. > ... We don't talk about him. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __30/01/2021__ //Hey Markster,// //Sorry for the delay in getting back to you. It took a while to recovered from the [[[SCP-4022\|great big nothing]]]. Thankfully now, my head is clear. Unfortunately, this seems to have come with the side effect of me being [[[SCP-2718\|dead]]]. From the excruciating pain I'm currently feeling, I think I may have [[[SCP-5237\| exploded]]].// //Unfortunately, being a dead, exploded body makes it pretty hard to contact tech support. Thankfully, my old friend [[[SCP-3002\|Lily Veselka]]] came by to help out. Apparently, she's dead too, just in a different way. Now she's writing this message on my behalf!// //On a side note, she's become a lot more religious. Claims that some of the stuff she found in my mind 'inspired' her, and now she's planning on spreading the word of [[[SCP-2440\|some old god]]] to 'everyone she touches' (her words not mine).// //Now, the reason I'm messaging you. I was just remembering [[[SCP-3660\|some sort of symbol]]] that I saw when I was exposed to all of those cognitohazards. I just seem to have the knowledge that the world might end if you don't start properly memetically scanning my messages and/or terminate me. If it isn't already too late.// //- The honorary nexus of knowledge, Devotee of the [[[SCP-2440\|Sealed King]]]// > You know Lily as well? We have so much in common. > Although I didn't know she died. > Knowing her, it must have involved some mysterious circumstances involving toasters and zippers. > That's odd, though, I never knew she was very religious. I hope she joined her afterlife with her god, whatever it was. > Also, I won't terminate you. Look at me there, going all well, even with your messages. > And you've taught me so much. Speaking of teaching, that religion of Lily, what is it called, and how does one join? > ~ Markster, Beauvotee of the Sealed Fish Note: __10/02/2022__ //Hey, so I'm at Site-87 helping get their servers sorted. (I am a tech guy, I just do field work) The problem is that due to some nexus weirdness and probably [[[i-h-p-proposal \|SCP-001]]], all of the patch cables are made of cheese and silly string. The problem is that several of the servers need replacing and I need to put new patch cables in. I am requesting advice on what to do and if possible, could you ship out about 200 Cat 7 patch cables?// //- Agent Y. Lukenstrout - [[[what-s-in-a-name \|MTF Lambada-2 ("NO NAME ENTERED")]]]// > Wow wow wow, Pal, that's way above both our clearances. > Simply by telling me about this anomaly, I could- > [TECHNICAL RESEARCHER BEAUVILLIER HAS BEEN DETAINED FOR POSSESSION OF ILLEGAL KNOWLEDGE. PLEASE REFER TO PARAGRAPH ██-█ FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS] > [~ AUTOMATED FOUNDATION SECURITY PROTOCOL] Note: __21/02/2022__ //Hello Markster the Beauvotee,// //Regarding your interest in the religion of the [[[SCP-2440\|Sealed King]]], good news!. Ever since the movement got jump-started by some [[[SCP-2078\|political]]] [[[SCP-1893\|bull]]] the religion has been growing like crazy!// //Of course, we've encountered some resistance. Some [[[ SCP-5054 \|Mr P]]] fellow has been trying to stop Priest [[[SCP-3002\|Veselka]]] from spreading the word. Claims that the religion will 'end the world' or some nonsense like that.// //He does seem to have some supporters though. He got word to the 05 council and they gave him the codes for all our nuclear warheads! Speaking of which, the 05 council has really started [[[SCP-1663\|giving]]] a lot of stuff away, including a lot of our infohazardous documentation and quite a few dangerous anomalies! Guess they think it's the end times.// //I'm actually messaging you to sort out the details to do with that last anomaly they sent over to my site. Could you please officially log that [[[SCP-4609]]] is a wardrobe? It isn't in its general documentation for some reason.// //- [[[SCP-2718\| A somehow still living corpse]]], who has no idea how it's still typing.// > Wow, I'm glad to see your movement is growing well! > I really need to invest myself a lot more into it. > I can't believe even my favourite political candidate endorsed it! > That Mr. P guy really seems like a bad person, though. I've heard he plans to drop Pine trees at 6711 miles above sea level onto the religious meetings! > That's twice as bad as the O5's plan. I'm working on preventing this right away! > Regarding the wardrobe... Wow, it's a cool piece of furniture. I should try to reorder the database around and get it sent over to me. That way, nobody gets hurt! > ~ The not-yet-dead Devotee to Beau? Wait, no. Close enough. Note: __23/02/2022__ //Hi Tech support, my Foundation-issue laptop's whole screen started continually changing colors. Another reasercher called it "Rave Mode". However the device is still doing after I:// * Shut it * Held the power button * Ctrl+ shift + Q + Q * Left it on for 3 days * Removed the battery * Broke the screen //The good news is that high contrast mode still works! Any ideas on how to fix? If not a replacement will do.// //- Researcher Collider, Extradimensonal Anomalies Specialist// > WHAT? > APOLOGIES, I CANNOT SEEM TO HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF HOW SICK THAT RAVE IS > TRY AND RELAX, AND HAVE SOME FUN! > HARDCORE TO THE MEGA! > Technical Researcher Beauvillier, Rave DJ by interim. Note: __24/02/2022__ //Hey Beau, I think my sandwich somehow caught a computer virus when I was over at Mainsite this morning. I was eating lunch and accidentally dropped my sandwich onto my laptop, and now the background is stuck as a picture of SCP-682 with a pink filter that I never remember having.// //- Researcher Belopaku// > Daw, you should enjoy this opportunity! > It's not every day that you have the opportunity to witness a cute lil' 682 in a beautiful pink setting! > Try sticking a pink bowtie on your screen for extra adorableness! > ~ Technical Researcher Beauvillier note: wednsdey yes i am dado have problam wit uppercase kegxzdfgghj. sorry hamster walk on keyboard witch cause orginal problem. plz hepl -dado > AH YES, I SEE THE ISSUE. > IT SEEMS YOUR UPPERCASE KEY HAS BEEN SENT OVER HERE. > PLEASE STAY CALM, I'LL SEND IT BACK. > ~ TECHNICAL RESEARCHER BEAUVILLIER Note: __03/04/2022__ //Hi. So, after waiting for those patch cables for over a week, I decided I'd try and use the cheese and silly string mix. Bad idea. Finished plugging in 200 of them and then I take a step back to look at my work and the rest of the patch cables decided to turn into the same mix. Then the cheese and silly string mix decided to attack me. Next thing I know it's escaped into the vents. The on site MTF got it contained. The only problem I have now is that the cheese decided to install a modified version of Bonzi Buddy on the servers. As soon as we spotted it, we pulled the sites SCiP net connection before it could send anything off-site. Only problem is that it has now filled law suits with the US supreme court against us. Please advise. P.S. We need 2000 Cat 7 patch cables instead of 200.// //Many thanks, Agent Y. Lukenstrout (MTF Sigma-10)// > The legal department is on the OTHER SIDE of this door! > Why, why do you all keep bothering me about legal advice? What have I done to deserve it? > I'm no jurist. What even is a Supreme Court? > ~ Technical Researcher Beauvillier, Responsible of the Technical Department, and NOT the Legal one. > P.S. Your cables are currently being replaced by a mix of concrete and bubble gum. > What do you think? Do you think we have an unlimited budget? Note: __24/03/2022__ //Hello Beauvillier. Should be an interesting one. An output from 914 resulted in what we think is some kind of particle accelerator. Now normally that wouldn't be an issue, but it's aimed at the door to the testing chamber and automatically fires particles towards anything in the way when the door is opened. Unsurprisingly, this isn't a very work-safe environment and no one is in a hurry to check. We could use D's, but if they're taken out by the thing I'd have a corpse in the testing chamber on top of everything else. I could try to use the sprinkler system, but I'm not sure if it will have any effect and I don't want 914 to get wet anyway. So why message you? I had one of the IT boys look into it, and it emits an actual Wi-Fi signal that can be accessed to input commands to the thing. However, it's all coded in what they call ''Brainfuck''. I thought they were joking, but apparently, this is a thing. We're looking for some kind of shutdown command, can you help?// //Dr. Veritas, Director of Research// [[code]] ++++++++++[>+>+++>+++++++>++++++++++<<<<-]>>>+++.<++.>>.+++++++++++.<<.>>-.+.+++++.<<.>>-.---.-----------.----.++++++++++.<<.>>---------.++++++++++++++++.-----------------.++++++++.+++++.--------.+++++++++++++++.------------------.++++++++.<<++++++++++++++. [[/code]] [[code]] ~ Technical Researcher ++++++++++[>+>+++>+++++++>++++++++++<<<<-]>>>----.>+.----.++++++++++++++++++++.+.-------------.+++..---.----.+++++++++++++. [[/code]] Note: __05/04/2022__ //Finally flushed Bonzi out of the system. In other news, half of the Multi-U departments' computers seem to have been infected with a virus from another universe that seems to have made them all self-aware in a murdery kind of way. Either way, please can have some assistance before this thing spreads to my insulin pump?// //Many thanks, Agent Y. Lukenstrout (MTF Sigma-10)// > In case of robotic invasion: > Step 1. Sit up on the kitchen sink. > Step 2. Let the sink overflow. > Step 3. Flood the area, short-circuiting murderous electronics. > Step 4. Do not tell anyone I am responsible for the ensuing flood control work. > ~ Technical Researcher Beauvillier > Bonus Step. Do not get a wi-fi-connected insulin pump. Whose idea was this? [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="Entries from 2023" hide="Thankfully, I'm paid by the hour and not by the ticket."]] Note: __01/02/2023__ //Hey, man. I'm pretty new here, so I just need a little help with a couple things. First, what's a safe CAD software that I can use during work hours? And what can I use to make sure some idiot doesn't put ice cream in my computer?// //Yours truly, Dr. Fujiki// > What is this? Are you refusing free ice cream? Gifred by your esteemed colleagues?? Your coworkers are caring for you and this is how you react? > I am making a complaint to HR. This is unacceptable workplace behavior. > I hope you can learn from this and be a better coworker in the future. > ~ Technical Researcher Beauvillier > P.S. FreeCAD's the way to go. If you use closed source soft, I will find you and I will put you in the timeout corner so you can think about what you've done. Note: __01/02/2023__ //Hey, thanks for the information, but the "gift" has absolutely destroyed my CPU. I'm sending this to you from a Chromebook I borrowed from a colleague, and because I am an engineer/physicist, I would believe that is a problem. Also gifted// //Yours truly, Dr. Fujiki// //P.S. By the way, I couldn't even eat the ice cream. It was melted when I saw it.// > Nevermind then, it seems you are in a situation of danger. Your coworkers offered you a //Chromebook?!// > You have to leave while you still can. Let me help. I'll give you a replacement computer and transfer papers to Site-███, Antarctica. Population, penguins. > Listen if some people are mad enough to offer you a Chromebook out of all things, your life's especially in danger. For a Foundation researcher, that is. > Don't look back on your way out. Those people smell fear. > Good news is, down there, you'll still have time to eat your ice cream before it melts. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __02/02/2023__ //Hey, just got transferred to Site-79, and need a little help. First, is Visual Studio a safe program that I can use during work hours? And how do I clean off an udon spill on my keyboard? Also, what is the best laptop to buy in case of emergency?// //All the best, Dr. Fujiki// //P.S. Will send you some ice cream.// //P.P.S. Where's my turtle Terence? Last I checked, his tank is still in Site-19. Please help me find Terence.// > Wow wow wow, calm down, friend. One thing at a time. > First, real programmers use butterflies. They open their hands and let the delicate wings flap once. The disturbances ripple outward, changing the flow of the eddy currents in the upper atmosphere. These cause momentary pockets of higher-pressure air to form, which act as lenses that deflect incoming cosmic rays, focusing them to strike the drive platter and flip the desired bit. > Regarding the spill, eat some dry biscuits above your keyboard so that the crumbs absorb the broth. > Finally, you're in the Foundation. If you have an emergency, your last concern is what laptop you'll use. > ~ Beauvillier > P.P.S. I AM TECH SUPPORT. Note:__03/02/2023__ //Hey, have you heard of the "Winter Storm" in Texas. Well it caused a power outage, which is over now but when it came back on it caused a power surge, which caused my computer to catch fire. The good news is my computer works, I just have to type fast to avoid burns. The bad news is that the fire is spreading. Please advise.// //Researcher O'Brien, Containment Design Department// > Dare I suggest the use of approximately 800 kilograms of dynamite, blowing up at a distance of approximately 2 meters from the fire, to have the explosion blow out the fires? > ~ Beauvillier Note: __06/02/2023__ //Salutations. I am doing research on an electronic antimeme, and my computer's memory keeps getting wiped, erasing all of my progress. This phenomenon does not spread to custom-designed flashdrives. However, as it is extremely inconvenient to manually copy all data to a flashdrive on a regular basis, this will not be a viable solution for long. Could you please figure out a way to solve this problem, or, failing that, send over a new computer that works as it's designed to? Thanks a ton.// //Doctor Hankins, Department of Antimemetic Technology// > Today, on "What is going on today?" > Random user learns what a git is. > You all have a personal one and NONE OF YOU use it. > Please, I beg you. Don't let my infrastructure work go to waste. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __08/02/2023__ //So good news, I found Terence just roaming around [[[Nx-58\|Yumegēmu]]]. Bad news is, there's two of him, and one keeps chewing on the wires connecting to my computer. Turns out, the Terence clone can't die, and somehow always manages to get in my office, so I'm stuck with an immortal turtle chewing on my computer wires. Please advise and thanks in advance.// //All the best, Dr. Fujiki// //P.S. Did you get the ice cream I sent you?// > Feed him? Poor thing must be starving to have to resort to eating your cables. > I'd sue you for animal abuse but whatever place you're into won't let officials ever reach you. > Nor will ice cream ever get out. > How did you even get there? > ~ Beauvillier Note: __09/02/2023__ //I feed both of them regularly. I take care of both of them. And I was in Yumegēmu to get groceries. How dare you inisnuate such a thing. I'm not sure if the other Terence is immortal, but he keeps chewing the wires and never gets hurt, which confuses me. I will get a new tank for my turtles. Also, it seems that my programming software is crashing when I try to save. Please help.// //All the best, Dr. Fujiki// //P.S. I checked the dev console, there is nothing wrong there. Git(or whatever thing you put to track changes in computer files) hasn't been showing any changes in the software. I don't understand what is going on.// > Have you considered mapping your save shortcut to Ctrl+S instead of Alt-F4? > ~ Beauvillier > P.S. Read the bloody manual. Who calls a shell a "dev console"? What do you live in, Portal? Note: __15/02/2023__ //My electric toothbrush is refusing to work unless I get this really expensive toothpaste. Any idea on how to factory reset a toothbrush?// //Dr. O'Brien, Containment Architect// > Kids these days... > You know what we had to use when I was a kid? > We used a gosh-darned REAL toothbrush, not some kind of silly gadget! > Whatever happened to good old elbow grease and working with your muscles for once? > ~ Beauvillier > P.S. Just use a hammer. Percussive maintenance is impressively efficient. [[/collapsible]] Note: __17/10/2024__ //Hey Beauviller! We work together, yeah? Anyways, I've been having some issues with my pager, and they don't actually make that model anymore. It's the only one that the software we have will work with, and we've run out of spares. We'd download a new software, but I work with you, so I know how you'd feel about that. Could you help us? Because right now I have to use my mobile for alerts. Also, what type of pager would you recommend?// //Medical Resident Ibarazaki// > Pager problems? No big deal. They're so small. Give me 10 minutes, 3 screwdrivers and a coffee and it'll be good as new. Probably a bent receptor or something. > ~ Beauvillier > P.S. There is nothing in this thing I understand. How'd they even pack so much stuff in such a small thingie??? Anyways I definitely didn't fail to put it back together after dismantling it, but I ordered a handful of new ones, I'm keeping this one as a... research subject. Definitely. > ~ Beauvillier > P.P.S. Pagers will be down for the next day or so till I retrofit the foundation network to support the pagers traffic. Despite what you would assume to be common sense and the simpler solution, I am not modifying anything in there. I am scared. > ~ Beauvillier Note: __11/18/2024__ //Technical Researcher Beauvillier? I'm wondering if you can help me with seventeen 64 gigabyte USB drives I have that don't allow any information to be uploaded to them. How I obtained these will remain an enigma. Don't worry, these have been verified by three parties to not have been stolen. I could get new ones but these seems fine so I'm asking here first.// //With countless thanks,// //Intern Languen Lacte// > Whoa damn, 17? 17 entire 64GB USB Drives? You guys got the budget for that??? > Wow. You're gonna make me miss F23. Bloody hell. 17? I want 17 USB Drives too. > People kept stealing mine, now I have 3. I wish I had 17 again... > ~ Beauvillier Note: __██/██/████__ //Hey, it seems that some D-Class added random things of no value or relevance whatsoever to this log. I hope it won't be a problem?// //- Lonely Hearts Thing-Adder in Site-17// [!-- IMPORTANT NOTE: Please add stuff to this page above the last/2/ entry with the blacked-out dates. Thanks in advance! --] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> \|author=Anonymous]] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-03-22T19:21:00	[ "_cc", "_licensebox", "collaboration", "comedy", "joke", "researcher-rosen", "tale" ]	New Technical Issues - SCP Foundation	278	[ "david-rosen-file", "new-technical-issues-archive", "experiment-log-914/offset/13", "scp-1543-j", "scp-931", "scp-1111-j", "scp-2979", "scp-2414", "scp-2150", "scp-1603", "scp-3177", "scp-1839", "scp-426", "scp-1893", "scp-2078", "scp-2662", "scp-3148", "scp-5054", "scp-5613", "scp-5663", "task-forces", "scp-3398", "scp-3104", "scp-3294", "experiment-log-914/offset/3", "scp-055", "scp-5122", "scp-1055", "scp-096", "scp-1616", "scp-3463", "antimemetics-division-hub", "fifthist-hub", "scp-5237", "scp-3125", "scp-682", "scp-5114", "scp-4022", "scp-6761", "scp-5789", "scp-033", "scp-1313", "scp-2602", "scp-2719", "the-s-c-plastics-hub", "scp-2718", "scp-3002", "scp-2440", "scp-3660", "i-h-p-proposal", "what-s-in-a-name", "scp-1663", "scp-4609", "nx-58", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-2-tales-edition", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "david-rosen-file", "incident-reports-eye-witness-interviews-and-personal-logs", "archived:foundation-tales", "collaboration-page-hub", "joke-scps" ]	[]	12977229	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/new-technical-issues
new-year-s-part-1	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <br/> <strong>December 31, 1997</strong> <p>Alto H. Clef ticked another box off on his bucket list. Specifically the one next to the phrase “Have coffee with the Venus of Willendorf”.</p> <p>Of course, he had only added it to his bucket list several moments beforehand, after deciding that having coffee with the Venus of Willendorf was, among other things, something that could be considered a major accomplishment in life. Granted, it wasn’t <em>entirely</em> accurate. He was the only one drinking for one, and this Venus was not a four-inch statuette dug up in lower Austria, but a rather rubenesque woman who had slid out of the womb only a few minutes before. She was still connected to the primary mass by a thick umbilical extending from the back of her head.</p> <p>From his vantage point near the edge of the stone precipice, Clef had an excellent view of the cavern, the lake of milk, and the mountain of wombs and teats that rested in it, all illuminated by the soft, source-less glow that filled the place. There was some movement down on the lower slopes, faster and choppier than the steady in-out of breath. Some of the children had decided to stop their suckling, then, or at least decided to move to a better location.</p> <p>Clef reconsidered his choice for a brief moment before changing the entry to “Have coffee with Shub-Niggurath”. That worked better, though it didn’t really have the charm. He finished his rather lengthy sip and set his mug down on the worn stone altar that served as a table.</p> <p>“That’s disappointing. I was hoping that you’d be a bit more flexible with the idea.”</p> <p>The proxy smiled. It was more genuine than most Clef had seen in his line of work, but that meant very little to him.</p> <p>“It’s not inflexibility, dear, it’s incompatibility. I’d love to let you all go on with your lives, but I’m afraid your kind is too soft to handle the old ways. I would help, but a Mother has to look out for her own.”</p> <p>Clef nodded in approval.</p> <p>“I can respect that. Don’t think anyone else will, though. There’ll be a fight.”</p> <p>“It’s not one you can win.”</p> <p>“I know. It won’t stop people.”</p> <p>The Mother shook her head, a twinge of sadness intruding into the smile.</p> <p>“Noble fools, every one of you. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I really do. I don’t like seeing my children getting hurt as much as any, but the seals are fading. Ages come and go, and the Daevas’ time has come again, as has my time to bear them. I’m afraid you’re too late.”</p> <p>“I feel that I work better under pressure. I always end up procrastinating anyway, so waiting until the last possible second just works out better for me. Cuts out the middle man. Speaking of which, I should be going. Only a few hours to prepare for the upcoming global catastrophe, and all. Sorry to cut this short, this was a delightful conversation. I thank you for your hospitality.”</p> <p>“The pleasure was all mine. I’ll have Epon see you out.”</p> <p>The Venus nodded past Clef’s right shoulder.</p> <p>Hooves clopped on stone. Clef turned to see a young woman standing behind him. She was somewhere in the indeterminate twenties, wearing simple, earth-brown robes and inherited nothing of her mother’s looks or size. A cord of braided horse hair hung around her neck.</p> <p>“Oh, hello there.” Clef waved to her. The girl bowed, but said nothing. Clef stood up and made to move towards the exit.</p> <p>He paused after a few steps.</p> <p>“One last thing…”</p> <p>The scene changed: The daughter’s head was locked under Clef’s arm, a gun barrel pressed against her head.</p> <p>“I’m wondering if your daughter here knows how to recast the seals on this place.” There was no anger in his voice. This was business. “Or if you’d be so kind as to tell me yourself.”</p> <p>The shock on the Mother’s face passed. The smile returned, accompanied by a chuckle, which evolved up through the chorus of laughs until it was a full-blown guffaw. The smile had lost any figment of friendliness it held before.</p> <p>“You picked the wrong Mother to fuck with, boy.”</p> <p>Rumbling echoed up from the slopes. Five monstrous forms pulled themselves over the edge of the promontory: misshapen, headless forms with bulbous eyes and slobbering mouths, claws sharp and ready for rending. Clef’s expression didn’t change.</p> <p>“Give my daughter back. Now,” the Mother growled.</p> <p>“Hmm…gonna have to think about that…no. My answer is no.”</p> <p>With that, Clef hefted Epon over his shoulder and began to run towards the cavern’s exit. The howls of the anthropophagi and the enraged screams of the Venus faded into the background. They were minor details at the moment. He may have been quicker on his own compared to the Venus’ misshapen children, but he still had to complete a fifty foot sprint with a grown woman, though a small one, slung over his shoulder.</p> <p>The realization that this may not have been the best idea pushed its way through the blockade of bravado. It was then beaten into submission by a combined effort of the ego, confidence, and the knowledge that everything was going entirely according to plan.</p> <p>Seconds passed. However close the other children were didn’t matter: they hadn’t gotten him. The world was compressed into what remained between Clef and the doors.</p> <p>A string of indistinct syllables intruded on the edges of Clef’s condensed bubble of awareness. Epon was mumbling, a chant of some sort. It was ignored. The stone doors loomed, the glyphs glowing slightly. Clef grit his teeth and ran through it as if it were little more than a suspended sheet of water.</p> <p>Stone and warmth gave way to the crunch of snow and the brilliant white of a spotlight. Clef let Epon down, only slowing his pace slightly.</p> <p>“Up the hill! Run!” Clef pointed off to the left as he continued running straight ahead. He looked back just long enough to see that she had taken off up the hill, and to see her siblings emerge from the stone.</p> <p><em>And…now.</em></p> <p>Gunshots rang out from the hill as the snipers went to work. Clef didn’t need to watch to know that they hit their marks: He suspected none of the creatures got more than ten feet.</p> <p>This was far enough. He closed the remainder of the circle in the snow with his foot and scribbled a few extra symbols around it before spitting in the trench. Now to see if she had taken the bait…</p> <p>She had. A fleshy blob was pushing itself out of the stone block, the wards tearing at it with invisible blades. Blood poured out across the snow as flabby, amorphous limbs formed and deformed as the mass clawed and dragged itself forward, the gashes growing deeper. The screaming was an ear-splitting mixture of rage and pain, leaning towards the rage end of the spectrum.</p> <p>“Come on, ya bitch! This all you can do?”</p> <p>He hadn't actually expected the taunting to work: The mass tensed for a moment before charging forward with considerable speed. Red chunks of flesh sloughed off of the mass, staining the snow. It was halfway to Clef now, close enough that he could see the half-absorbed face of the Venus cursing at him.</p> <p>He smiled and stuck his fingers in his ears.</p> <p>Up on the hill, an agent pressed a detonator.</p> <p>A thermobaric bomb hidden under a light dusting of snow, conveniently located directly underneath where the Mother was located received the message and exploded, which was generally what bombs did.</p> <p>—</p> <p>The smoke and dust and ground beef rain eventually settled. Clef, still standing in his little circle of snow and completely untouched by the blast, glanced at his watch.</p> <p>“Midnight already. How about that. Happy new year to me.”</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="/new-year-s-part-1">New Year's (Part 1)</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/new-year-s-part-1">https://scpwiki.com/new-year-s-part-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]] [[/>]] December 31, 1997 Alto H. Clef ticked another box off on his bucket list. Specifically the one next to the phrase “Have coffee with the Venus of Willendorf”. Of course, he had only added it to his bucket list several moments beforehand, after deciding that having coffee with the Venus of Willendorf was, among other things, something that could be considered a major accomplishment in life. Granted, it wasn’t //entirely// accurate. He was the only one drinking for one, and this Venus was not a four-inch statuette dug up in lower Austria, but a rather rubenesque woman who had slid out of the womb only a few minutes before. She was still connected to the primary mass by a thick umbilical extending from the back of her head. From his vantage point near the edge of the stone precipice, Clef had an excellent view of the cavern, the lake of milk, and the mountain of wombs and teats that rested in it, all illuminated by the soft, source-less glow that filled the place. There was some movement down on the lower slopes, faster and choppier than the steady in-out of breath. Some of the children had decided to stop their suckling, then, or at least decided to move to a better location. Clef reconsidered his choice for a brief moment before changing the entry to “Have coffee with Shub-Niggurath”. That worked better, though it didn’t really have the charm. He finished his rather lengthy sip and set his mug down on the worn stone altar that served as a table. “That’s disappointing. I was hoping that you’d be a bit more flexible with the idea.” The proxy smiled. It was more genuine than most Clef had seen in his line of work, but that meant very little to him. “It’s not inflexibility, dear, it’s incompatibility. I’d love to let you all go on with your lives, but I’m afraid your kind is too soft to handle the old ways. I would help, but a Mother has to look out for her own.” Clef nodded in approval. “I can respect that. Don’t think anyone else will, though. There’ll be a fight.” “It’s not one you can win.” “I know. It won’t stop people.” The Mother shook her head, a twinge of sadness intruding into the smile. “Noble fools, every one of you. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I really do. I don’t like seeing my children getting hurt as much as any, but the seals are fading. Ages come and go, and the Daevas’ time has come again, as has my time to bear them. I’m afraid you’re too late.” “I feel that I work better under pressure. I always end up procrastinating anyway, so waiting until the last possible second just works out better for me. Cuts out the middle man. Speaking of which, I should be going. Only a few hours to prepare for the upcoming global catastrophe, and all. Sorry to cut this short, this was a delightful conversation. I thank you for your hospitality.” “The pleasure was all mine. I’ll have Epon see you out.” The Venus nodded past Clef’s right shoulder. Hooves clopped on stone. Clef turned to see a young woman standing behind him. She was somewhere in the indeterminate twenties, wearing simple, earth-brown robes and inherited nothing of her mother’s looks or size. A cord of braided horse hair hung around her neck. “Oh, hello there.” Clef waved to her. The girl bowed, but said nothing. Clef stood up and made to move towards the exit. He paused after a few steps. “One last thing…” The scene changed: The daughter’s head was locked under Clef’s arm, a gun barrel pressed against her head. “I’m wondering if your daughter here knows how to recast the seals on this place.” There was no anger in his voice. This was business. “Or if you’d be so kind as to tell me yourself.” The shock on the Mother’s face passed. The smile returned, accompanied by a chuckle, which evolved up through the chorus of laughs until it was a full-blown guffaw. The smile had lost any figment of friendliness it held before. “You picked the wrong Mother to fuck with, boy.” Rumbling echoed up from the slopes. Five monstrous forms pulled themselves over the edge of the promontory: misshapen, headless forms with bulbous eyes and slobbering mouths, claws sharp and ready for rending. Clef’s expression didn’t change. “Give my daughter back. Now,” the Mother growled. “Hmm…gonna have to think about that…no. My answer is no.” With that, Clef hefted Epon over his shoulder and began to run towards the cavern’s exit. The howls of the anthropophagi and the enraged screams of the Venus faded into the background. They were minor details at the moment. He may have been quicker on his own compared to the Venus’ misshapen children, but he still had to complete a fifty foot sprint with a grown woman, though a small one, slung over his shoulder. The realization that this may not have been the best idea pushed its way through the blockade of bravado. It was then beaten into submission by a combined effort of the ego, confidence, and the knowledge that everything was going entirely according to plan. Seconds passed. However close the other children were didn’t matter: they hadn’t gotten him. The world was compressed into what remained between Clef and the doors. A string of indistinct syllables intruded on the edges of Clef’s condensed bubble of awareness. Epon was mumbling, a chant of some sort. It was ignored. The stone doors loomed, the glyphs glowing slightly. Clef grit his teeth and ran through it as if it were little more than a suspended sheet of water. Stone and warmth gave way to the crunch of snow and the brilliant white of a spotlight. Clef let Epon down, only slowing his pace slightly. “Up the hill! Run!” Clef pointed off to the left as he continued running straight ahead. He looked back just long enough to see that she had taken off up the hill, and to see her siblings emerge from the stone. //And…now.// Gunshots rang out from the hill as the snipers went to work. Clef didn’t need to watch to know that they hit their marks: He suspected none of the creatures got more than ten feet. This was far enough. He closed the remainder of the circle in the snow with his foot and scribbled a few extra symbols around it before spitting in the trench. Now to see if she had taken the bait… She had. A fleshy blob was pushing itself out of the stone block, the wards tearing at it with invisible blades. Blood poured out across the snow as flabby, amorphous limbs formed and deformed as the mass clawed and dragged itself forward, the gashes growing deeper. The screaming was an ear-splitting mixture of rage and pain, leaning towards the rage end of the spectrum. “Come on, ya bitch! This all you can do?” He hadn't actually expected the taunting to work: The mass tensed for a moment before charging forward with considerable speed. Red chunks of flesh sloughed off of the mass, staining the snow. It was halfway to Clef now, close enough that he could see the half-absorbed face of the Venus cursing at him. He smiled and stuck his fingers in his ears. Up on the hill, an agent pressed a detonator. A thermobaric bomb hidden under a light dusting of snow, conveniently located directly underneath where the Mother was located received the message and exploded, which was generally what bombs did. -- The smoke and dust and ground beef rain eventually settled. Clef, still standing in his little circle of snow and completely untouched by the blast, glanced at his watch. “Midnight already. How about that. Happy new year to me.” [[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>]]	2012-08-26T21:01:00	[ "_licensebox", "action", "chase", "classical-revival", "doctor-clef", "fantasy", "global-occult-coalition", "tale" ]	New Year's (Part 1) - SCP Foundation	67	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "holiday-hub", "archived:foundation-tales", "goc-hub-page", "classicalrevivalindex" ]	[]	14129908	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/new-year-s-part-1
new-year-s-part-2	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><strong>January 1, 1998</strong></p> <p>Alto H. Clef stepped out of the little circle of snow into the scorched dirt and admired his handiwork. There were some large chunks left, a few even vehicle-sized, but by and large the Mother had been reduced to the residue of a butcher shop with a very low health rating.</p> <p>A gust of wind blew past him, carrying the stench of raw meat. Clef shivered, and made up his mind to buy a warmer jacket at the first opportunity. The glow of victory was only a metaphorical warmth, and failed utterly at producing actual heat. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but feel impressed as he ascended the hill. What was this, the fifth operation this month? Yeah, it was. They’d been working him ever since he woke up, which was to be expected. He’d been in the coma for over a year, and out in the field within a few days of waking up. The recovery had been expedited, in a rather experimental manner that most likely required a lot of people waving their arms in unison, if not outright flailing them.</p> <p>After that he was off to Hillsborough. Fun times.</p> <p>Clef passed the descending haz-mat unit and the disposal truck on his way up the hill. He waved at them. Cleanup crews were like janitors and lunch ladies: it always paid to be nice.</p> <p>The crest of the hill was dotted with Coalition agents in military dress. Clef recognized most of them: several had been on his old strike team, from back before the accident. Their eyes followed him as he walked into the group: Maybe for a few of them, it was their first time seeing Agent Alto H. Clef. For others it was respect or envy or awe. Whatever the case, there were congratulations given, hands shaken, shoulders patted. Talk of bars and drinks and some laughs among friends.</p> <p>A portly, balding man bundled up in winter gear stepped up to the group. The discussion faded. Assistant Director Burr had that effect. Clef had a good idea what he was going to say before he said it: waste of resources, unnecessary self-endangerment, showboating on a grand scale, all of the usual complaints.</p> <p>“Clef, I’ve received word from Avalon. You’re to go to Deep Storage as soon as possible. It seems Able wishes to speak with you personally.”</p> <p>This was unexpected.</p> <p>“That’s…ridiculous.”</p> <p>“It’s been approved by the Foundation Overseer Board and the Director of Field Operations, though heaven only knows why. There’s a car waiting for you.” Burr motioned over his shoulder to the vehicle. “Chainsmith and Wicker will go with you.”</p> <p>—</p> <p>Epon was not sure what “Processing” meant, but her gut told her to be wary. Her rear told her that this chair was uncomfortable, though she had precious little experience in judging furniture. Still, she had been told that she would be safe with them, and the trip over had been pleasant enough.</p> <p>And then again, she had done this for them.</p> <p>The woman on the other side of the table was clearly in a foul mood, mostly likely wondering why she was bothering with these formalities, or perhaps she was just one of the world’s naturally dour people. She was older, though Epon had little skill in determining the age of others, with greying blonde hair tied back in a bun and a sour, lined face.</p> <p>The woman glared over the top of her glasses.</p> <p>“You contacted Coalition agents seventeen days ago, revealing the location of KTE-9927 and the threat posed by the entity. Why exactly did you help us?”</p> <p>Epon shifted in her seat. The chair was <em>incredibly</em> uncomfortable.</p> <p>“I wished to see my Mother killed,” she said. English. A bastard of a language, but she spoke it nonetheless. It was not as if the Romans still had their shrines and ceremonies.</p> <p>“And why was that?”</p> <p>“The birth of her world would have meant the death of everything in this. Like two babies fighting over a breast with only enough milk for one, and her children would be the stronger.”</p> <p>“And why would you care about our world so much?”</p> <p>“It is…difficult to explain. I was not like my brothers and sisters. I could not be. I was Mother’s messenger outside, out amongst you. To do so, to pass through the barriers, I could not be with her. I could not be bonded with her as the others are. I had to be separated from her. Your world <em>was</em> my world.”</p> <p>The woman wrote a few things down on her clipboard.</p> <p>“Continue.”</p> <p>“This world is my home. My real mother. I was the only one of her children who knew freedom. I couldn’t let her take that away from anyone.”</p> <p>She exhaled, the sound something close to a snort.</p> <p>“It took me a long time to realize that, though.”</p> <p>—</p> <p>Clef had only seen photos of Able before, and they were blurred, chaotic ones at that. More often he saw the carnage that was left behind after a breach. Neither of those really compared to seeing the actual article now filling the screen before him: a remnant of an age long past, built for and hardened by more wars than most men could comprehend. His eyes had rage rumbling underneath the surface, restrained by some incredible act of will. At least for the moment.</p> <p>Despite being separated by hundreds of feet, most of it water and concrete, Clef was filled with unease. He couldn’t exactly place why, but it was there.</p> <p>Clef looked over to Dr. Hornburg on his left.</p> <p>"Translator ready?”</p> <p>“Translator ready,” Hornburg nodded. He was the Coalition’s expert in matters Daevite, most likely the only person truly fluent in their long-dead language in the world. Enough of the god’s speech had been pieced together from footage of his rampages to discover that he had been speaking, among other indeterminate things, Low Daevic.</p> <p>Clef pressed the transmission button.</p> <p>“Hello, Able.”</p> <p>[Hello, Able.] Hornburg echoed.</p> <p>The god scowled, even more than his usual expression of distaste.</p> <p>[Is this a jest, or have you found a face at last?]</p> <p><em>Pretend you’re Ukelele, they had said in the car. He wants to talk to Ukelele. You’re a good actor, it shouldn’t be too hard for you…</em></p> <p>“As a matter of fact, I did. Took me long enough to find a good one.”</p> <p>The scowl returned to normal. There may have been a twinge of amusement at the corner of his mouth.</p> <p>[It ill suits you. Nonetheless, it is good to see your madness has passed.]</p> <p>“Safe to say I don’t remember much of it.”</p> <p>[It is for the best. Your idiocy was hardly amusing.]</p> <p>“Why did you want to see me?”</p> <p>[Why? To speak with my brother in chains.]</p> <p>Clef raised an eyebrow at Hornburg.</p> <p>“I take that to be the metaphorical kind of brother.”</p> <p>“Yes.”</p> <p>“Just checking.”</p> <p>Able continued.</p> <p>[I know those worms are listening, but I will speak anyway. Let them hear it, and let them fear it. Our slavery is an abomination, brother. They used you. Chained you and used you to keep me in mine. I know not what sorceries they have bound you with, but if there is any will left in your mind, I beg you, break your chains. There ought be no quarrel between brothers, and together we could bring down these worms.]</p> <p>“I’m not chained: I chose this job. I protect these people.”</p> <p>[You chose? Your madness returns, brother. A slave does not choose his shackles. He may only choose not to see them.] He shook his wrist at the screen. [I will not forget. You may protect and I may destroy, but a slave does not choose.]</p> <p>“Who made your chains?”</p> <p>Abel spat on the floor of his chamber.</p> <p>[You don’t know? Blessed ignorance. The Daevas forged my chains.]</p> <p>“I'm familiar with the Daevas. I don’t suppose you know the Mother of Them All, then?”</p> <p>[The <em>Mother</em>? I met her once, long ago. A poxy bitch, that one. Why do you speak of her?]</p> <p>“Just thought you'd like to know that I killed her last night.”</p> <p>For a moment, genuine shock came over Able’s face. A few unsteady seconds passed before he threw back his head and laughed. This continued with growing intensity for a full minute, leaving him bent over double and teary-eyed.</p> <p>[You killed the Whore? Ha! You <em>are</em> a true brother of mine, then. I wish I could have fought alongside you and put her in her place.]</p> <p>“Maybe you can in the future. It could be done, Able. I can free you from your chains. I only have one request, from one slave to another.”</p> <p>[Name it. The price will be worth it.]</p> <p>“Leave my charges in peace.”</p> <p>Able’s face turned to something like melancholic half-frown, the expression of a man well out of practice with the emotion.</p> <p>[A difficult request. My chains are stronger than yours.] He began to walk away from the camera. [Restraint tires me. We will speak again, brother.]</p> <p>—</p> <p>Further communication between KTE-0706 / SCP-076-B and Agent Clef will be allowed under both Foundation and Coalition surveillance, in order to locate and terminate other threats related to the Daevite civilization, as well as extending our knowledge of the Daevas, and in doing so discover or devise a method of liquidating or neutralizing KTE-0706 / SCP-076-B itself.</p> <p>- Approved by the Foundation Overseer board and Directors’ Committee<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="/new-year-s-part-2">New Year's (Part 2)</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/new-year-s-part-2">https://scpwiki.com/new-year-s-part-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]] [[/>]] January 1, 1998 Alto H. Clef stepped out of the little circle of snow into the scorched dirt and admired his handiwork. There were some large chunks left, a few even vehicle-sized, but by and large the Mother had been reduced to the residue of a butcher shop with a very low health rating. A gust of wind blew past him, carrying the stench of raw meat. Clef shivered, and made up his mind to buy a warmer jacket at the first opportunity. The glow of victory was only a metaphorical warmth, and failed utterly at producing actual heat. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but feel impressed as he ascended the hill. What was this, the fifth operation this month? Yeah, it was. They’d been working him ever since he woke up, which was to be expected. He’d been in the coma for over a year, and out in the field within a few days of waking up. The recovery had been expedited, in a rather experimental manner that most likely required a lot of people waving their arms in unison, if not outright flailing them. After that he was off to Hillsborough. Fun times. Clef passed the descending haz-mat unit and the disposal truck on his way up the hill. He waved at them. Cleanup crews were like janitors and lunch ladies: it always paid to be nice. The crest of the hill was dotted with Coalition agents in military dress. Clef recognized most of them: several had been on his old strike team, from back before the accident. Their eyes followed him as he walked into the group: Maybe for a few of them, it was their first time seeing Agent Alto H. Clef. For others it was respect or envy or awe. Whatever the case, there were congratulations given, hands shaken, shoulders patted. Talk of bars and drinks and some laughs among friends. A portly, balding man bundled up in winter gear stepped up to the group. The discussion faded. Assistant Director Burr had that effect. Clef had a good idea what he was going to say before he said it: waste of resources, unnecessary self-endangerment, showboating on a grand scale, all of the usual complaints. “Clef, I’ve received word from Avalon. You’re to go to Deep Storage as soon as possible. It seems Able wishes to speak with you personally.” This was unexpected. “That’s…ridiculous.” “It’s been approved by the Foundation Overseer Board and the Director of Field Operations, though heaven only knows why. There’s a car waiting for you.” Burr motioned over his shoulder to the vehicle. “Chainsmith and Wicker will go with you.” -- Epon was not sure what “Processing” meant, but her gut told her to be wary. Her rear told her that this chair was uncomfortable, though she had precious little experience in judging furniture. Still, she had been told that she would be safe with them, and the trip over had been pleasant enough. And then again, she had done this for them. The woman on the other side of the table was clearly in a foul mood, mostly likely wondering why she was bothering with these formalities, or perhaps she was just one of the world’s naturally dour people. She was older, though Epon had little skill in determining the age of others, with greying blonde hair tied back in a bun and a sour, lined face. The woman glared over the top of her glasses. “You contacted Coalition agents seventeen days ago, revealing the location of KTE-9927 and the threat posed by the entity. Why exactly did you help us?” Epon shifted in her seat. The chair was //incredibly// uncomfortable. “I wished to see my Mother killed,” she said. English. A bastard of a language, but she spoke it nonetheless. It was not as if the Romans still had their shrines and ceremonies. “And why was that?” “The birth of her world would have meant the death of everything in this. Like two babies fighting over a breast with only enough milk for one, and her children would be the stronger.” “And why would you care about our world so much?” “It is…difficult to explain. I was not like my brothers and sisters. I could not be. I was Mother’s messenger outside, out amongst you. To do so, to pass through the barriers, I could not be with her. I could not be bonded with her as the others are. I had to be separated from her. Your world //was// my world.” The woman wrote a few things down on her clipboard. “Continue.” “This world is my home. My real mother. I was the only one of her children who knew freedom. I couldn’t let her take that away from anyone.” She exhaled, the sound something close to a snort. “It took me a long time to realize that, though.” -- Clef had only seen photos of Able before, and they were blurred, chaotic ones at that. More often he saw the carnage that was left behind after a breach. Neither of those really compared to seeing the actual article now filling the screen before him: a remnant of an age long past, built for and hardened by more wars than most men could comprehend. His eyes had rage rumbling underneath the surface, restrained by some incredible act of will. At least for the moment. Despite being separated by hundreds of feet, most of it water and concrete, Clef was filled with unease. He couldn’t exactly place why, but it was there. Clef looked over to Dr. Hornburg on his left. "Translator ready?” “Translator ready,” Hornburg nodded. He was the Coalition’s expert in matters Daevite, most likely the only person truly fluent in their long-dead language in the world. Enough of the god’s speech had been pieced together from footage of his rampages to discover that he had been speaking, among other indeterminate things, Low Daevic. Clef pressed the transmission button. “Hello, Able.” [Hello, Able.] Hornburg echoed. The god scowled, even more than his usual expression of distaste. [Is this a jest, or have you found a face at last?] //Pretend you’re Ukelele, they had said in the car. He wants to talk to Ukelele. You’re a good actor, it shouldn’t be too hard for you...// “As a matter of fact, I did. Took me long enough to find a good one.” The scowl returned to normal. There may have been a twinge of amusement at the corner of his mouth. [It ill suits you. Nonetheless, it is good to see your madness has passed.] “Safe to say I don’t remember much of it.” [It is for the best. Your idiocy was hardly amusing.] “Why did you want to see me?” [Why? To speak with my brother in chains.] Clef raised an eyebrow at Hornburg. “I take that to be the metaphorical kind of brother.” “Yes.” “Just checking.” Able continued. [I know those worms are listening, but I will speak anyway. Let them hear it, and let them fear it. Our slavery is an abomination, brother. They used you. Chained you and used you to keep me in mine. I know not what sorceries they have bound you with, but if there is any will left in your mind, I beg you, break your chains. There ought be no quarrel between brothers, and together we could bring down these worms.] “I’m not chained: I chose this job. I protect these people.” [You chose? Your madness returns, brother. A slave does not choose his shackles. He may only choose not to see them.] He shook his wrist at the screen. [I will not forget. You may protect and I may destroy, but a slave does not choose.] “Who made your chains?” Abel spat on the floor of his chamber. [You don’t know? Blessed ignorance. The Daevas forged my chains.] “I'm familiar with the Daevas. I don’t suppose you know the Mother of Them All, then?” [The //Mother//? I met her once, long ago. A poxy bitch, that one. Why do you speak of her?] “Just thought you'd like to know that I killed her last night.” For a moment, genuine shock came over Able’s face. A few unsteady seconds passed before he threw back his head and laughed. This continued with growing intensity for a full minute, leaving him bent over double and teary-eyed. [You killed the Whore? Ha! You //are// a true brother of mine, then. I wish I could have fought alongside you and put her in her place.] “Maybe you can in the future. It could be done, Able. I can free you from your chains. I only have one request, from one slave to another.” [Name it. The price will be worth it.] “Leave my charges in peace.” Able’s face turned to something like melancholic half-frown, the expression of a man well out of practice with the emotion. [A difficult request. My chains are stronger than yours.] He began to walk away from the camera. [Restraint tires me. We will speak again, brother.] -- Further communication between KTE-0706 / SCP-076-B and Agent Clef will be allowed under both Foundation and Coalition surveillance, in order to locate and terminate other threats related to the Daevite civilization, as well as extending our knowledge of the Daevas, and in doing so discover or devise a method of liquidating or neutralizing KTE-0706 / SCP-076-B itself. - Approved by the Foundation Overseer board and Directors’ Committee @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-08-29T21:17:00	[ "_licensebox", "able", "bureaucracy", "classical-revival", "daevite", "doctor-clef", "fantasy", "global-occult-coalition", "tale" ]	New Year's (Part 2) - SCP Foundation	83	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "holiday-hub", "archived:foundation-tales", "classicalrevivalindex" ]	[]	14155433	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/new-year-s-part-2
nightmare	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>It was a hallway, corridor, somewhat familiar, but dark. Clean. Cold. Sterile. Emergency lights flickered, but it was dark. Rosalind wondered where she could possibly be.</p> <p>She walked down the hall, looking at the doorways, trying to figure out why it seemed so familiar. It wasn't Area 354, was it? The Biology department from University? Maybe…there's a door. Rosalind opened the door and…</p> <p>It is the Biology department of her university. No, it's a high school chemistry lab. All the Bunsen burners light at once.</p> <p>She starts running, as the room behind her catches fire. There's a staircase. There's a staircase? It only goes up. She climbs the stairs.</p> <p>She's running from a room on fire down a hallway. There are stairs. She can only go up. She climbs the stairs.</p> <p>She's in Joseph's room. There are no stairs to Joseph's room. The stairs are gone. The persistent ticking of a clock is in the background. Rosalind turns around. Why is she in Joseph's room? She's alone…no, there he is, lying on his bed, asleep. His tattoos twist strangely on his body, changing shape, slithering like snakes. She goes to touch him.</p> <p>She's running from a room on fire. There are stairs. She climbs the stairs. To outside. It is cold.</p> <p>Snow and ice are everywhere. She feels all of it. Every individual shard of ice, the seeds sleeping underground, the trees pulling sustenance from the ground and changing sunlight in their leaves. The creatures there, she feels them huddling together for warmth as IT comes. Coming to devour everything, and there is nothing but pain.</p> <p>Pain…pain…pain. Rosalind is in a chair, strapped down, in so much pain. She opens her eyes and finds her arm is open, right where that kid cut her. But it's being kept open; the skin stretched and pinned like something on a dissection table. She realizes other parts of her body are open the same way. She starts screaming.</p> <p>A hunched figure at a nearby table says, “Oh, come on, it doesn't hurt that much.” The figure comes over, dressed in a leather apron, gloves, surgical mask, safety goggles, wielding a scalpel.</p> <p>“Lass, are you there?” It's Joseph's voice. He comes down a staircase, looking happy and cocky. The figure puts down the scalpel, takes off the mask and goggles. It's a woman. Joseph picks her up and kisses her. “My Rosie,” he says to the woman. Rosalind watches, tied to the chair. She looks again at the woman, some kind of surgeon/butcher. It's her. She's the surgeon/butcher. Surgeon/butcher Rosalind has tattoos?</p> <p>She hears herself say, “What do you think of my latest masterpiece?” Rosalind feels herself gesturing to the chair she's no longer tied to. She really is the surgeon/butcher.</p> <p>“It's grand,” Joseph says, beaming. Rosalind turns to look at the chair, expecting to see herself. It's Spencer, displayed out like a live dissected frog, heart still beating, blood oozing and melting into ichor as the head raises and it's Lisa in her containment cell. “It's not fair! I want to go home!” the plant child says.</p> <p>“I'm sorry sweetie, I'll get you home as soon as..”</p> <p>“Not good enough!” Lisa twists into thorny vines, tearing at Rosalind's arms, legs, everything. She notices a body on the ground, already dismembered. It's…she's not sure.</p> <p>The lab is on fire. She needs to run. There are stairs. They go up. Rosalind runs up the stairs, but something is calling her back.</p> <p>She's in bed. Joseph's bed. He's right there, next to her, sleeping. Rosalind hugs him, but there's a warm breeze. A woman hovers over Joseph, made of air or smoke, almost invisible. Rosalind can barely see her, but she knows this phantom's shape is perfect. Joseph begins to stir, his tattoos shimmering, like they're dancing on his skin. The phantom moves closer to him, and Rosalind wraps herself around him protectively, yelling, “No!”</p> <p>The lab is on fire. She needs to run up the stairs. Did she leave something in the lab? She turns around.</p> <p>Cold, snow, ice. But the massive thorn plant…that doesn't belong here. A voice calls out, “I want to go home! It's too cold!” The voice rocks the world. It rocks so hard, Rosalind is thrown off her feet, her world drifting away. She scrambles for it.</p> <p>“Let me go! Please. Let me go…” The man strapped down in front of her is almost crying. She can't see his face. The voice is familiar, but she can't place it. She hears herself say, “No. You used me. You hurt me. Now, I'll make you suffer.” The man screams as she feels herself slicing him open with her scalpel. She feels calm and meditative as he begs for mercy. The most horrifying thing is feeling how much she enjoys it.</p> <p>The lab is on fire. She left something important in it, but she needs to run up the stairs.</p> <p>She's face-to-face with herself. The other Rosalind has almost as many tattoos as Joseph. Every time she tries to look at them, they become indistinct. The tattooed Rosalind looks disgusted. “Did you really think he'd stay with you? Boring, wimpy girl? Pathetic.” Wisps of smoke seem to curl around her tattooed doppelganger. “I…I…” “And stop stuttering!”</p> <p>The lab is on fire. Something important is in the lab. She needs to get it.</p> <p>The lab is on fire. She needs to run. There are stairs.</p> <p>The lab is on fire. Joseph is in the lab. He isn't running.</p> <p>Rosalind runs to the lab. All the Bunsen burners are on, and there is smoke. There is no fire. There are figures in the smoke. One is Joseph, lying about eight feet in the air. The smoke woman is over him, surrounding him. Rosalind tries to get him down. There's a blast of hot air. She's blown away. She needs to help Joseph! There's a blast of hot air. She's blown away. She needs to help Joseph! There's a blast of hot air…</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="/nightmare">Nightmare</a>" by Tara Unknown, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nightmare">https://scpwiki.com/nightmare</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 a hallway, corridor, somewhat familiar, but dark. Clean. Cold. Sterile. Emergency lights flickered, but it was dark. Rosalind wondered where she could possibly be. She walked down the hall, looking at the doorways, trying to figure out why it seemed so familiar. It wasn't Area 354, was it? The Biology department from University? Maybe...there's a door. Rosalind opened the door and... It is the Biology department of her university. No, it's a high school chemistry lab. All the Bunsen burners light at once. She starts running, as the room behind her catches fire. There's a staircase. There's a staircase? It only goes up. She climbs the stairs. She's running from a room on fire down a hallway. There are stairs. She can only go up. She climbs the stairs. She's in Joseph's room. There are no stairs to Joseph's room. The stairs are gone. The persistent ticking of a clock is in the background. Rosalind turns around. Why is she in Joseph's room? She's alone...no, there he is, lying on his bed, asleep. His tattoos twist strangely on his body, changing shape, slithering like snakes. She goes to touch him. She's running from a room on fire. There are stairs. She climbs the stairs. To outside. It is cold. Snow and ice are everywhere. She feels all of it. Every individual shard of ice, the seeds sleeping underground, the trees pulling sustenance from the ground and changing sunlight in their leaves. The creatures there, she feels them huddling together for warmth as IT comes. Coming to devour everything, and there is nothing but pain. Pain...pain...pain. Rosalind is in a chair, strapped down, in so much pain. She opens her eyes and finds her arm is open, right where that kid cut her. But it's being kept open; the skin stretched and pinned like something on a dissection table. She realizes other parts of her body are open the same way. She starts screaming. A hunched figure at a nearby table says, “Oh, come on, it doesn't hurt that much.” The figure comes over, dressed in a leather apron, gloves, surgical mask, safety goggles, wielding a scalpel. “Lass, are you there?” It's Joseph's voice. He comes down a staircase, looking happy and cocky. The figure puts down the scalpel, takes off the mask and goggles. It's a woman. Joseph picks her up and kisses her. “My Rosie,” he says to the woman. Rosalind watches, tied to the chair. She looks again at the woman, some kind of surgeon/butcher. It's her. She's the surgeon/butcher. Surgeon/butcher Rosalind has tattoos? She hears herself say, “What do you think of my latest masterpiece?” Rosalind feels herself gesturing to the chair she's no longer tied to. She really is the surgeon/butcher. “It's grand,” Joseph says, beaming. Rosalind turns to look at the chair, expecting to see herself. It's Spencer, displayed out like a live dissected frog, heart still beating, blood oozing and melting into ichor as the head raises and it's Lisa in her containment cell. “It's not fair! I want to go home!” the plant child says. “I'm sorry sweetie, I'll get you home as soon as..” “Not good enough!” Lisa twists into thorny vines, tearing at Rosalind's arms, legs, everything. She notices a body on the ground, already dismembered. It's...she's not sure. The lab is on fire. She needs to run. There are stairs. They go up. Rosalind runs up the stairs, but something is calling her back. She's in bed. Joseph's bed. He's right there, next to her, sleeping. Rosalind hugs him, but there's a warm breeze. A woman hovers over Joseph, made of air or smoke, almost invisible. Rosalind can barely see her, but she knows this phantom's shape is perfect. Joseph begins to stir, his tattoos shimmering, like they're dancing on his skin. The phantom moves closer to him, and Rosalind wraps herself around him protectively, yelling, “No!” The lab is on fire. She needs to run up the stairs. Did she leave something in the lab? She turns around. Cold, snow, ice. But the massive thorn plant...that doesn't belong here. A voice calls out, “I want to go home! It's too cold!” The voice rocks the world. It rocks so hard, Rosalind is thrown off her feet, her world drifting away. She scrambles for it. “Let me go! Please. Let me go...” The man strapped down in front of her is almost crying. She can't see his face. The voice is familiar, but she can't place it. She hears herself say, “No. You used me. You hurt me. Now, I'll make you suffer.” The man screams as she feels herself slicing him open with her scalpel. She feels calm and meditative as he begs for mercy. The most horrifying thing is feeling how much she enjoys it. The lab is on fire. She left something important in it, but she needs to run up the stairs. She's face-to-face with herself. The other Rosalind has almost as many tattoos as Joseph. Every time she tries to look at them, they become indistinct. The tattooed Rosalind looks disgusted. “Did you really think he'd stay with you? Boring, wimpy girl? Pathetic.” Wisps of smoke seem to curl around her tattooed doppelganger. “I...I...” “And stop stuttering!” The lab is on fire. Something important is in the lab. She needs to get it. The lab is on fire. She needs to run. There are stairs. The lab is on fire. Joseph is in the lab. He isn't running. Rosalind runs to the lab. All the Bunsen burners are on, and there is smoke. There is no fire. There are figures in the smoke. One is Joseph, lying about eight feet in the air. The smoke woman is over him, surrounding him. Rosalind tries to get him down. There's a blast of hot air. She's blown away. She needs to help Joseph! There's a blast of hot air. She's blown away. She needs to help Joseph! There's a blast of hot air... [[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>]]	2012-01-31T17:24:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Nightmare - SCP Foundation	20	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	12640542	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nightmare
nor-shall-my-sword-sleep	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <br/> <em>I found this in You-Know-Who's latest cache of papers. I'm inclined to believe that it's from one of his not-so-parallel iterations, given that the thing appears to be dated to the 1930s. Still, I'm sure our friends would stump up something for it if they were to be persuaded of its provenance.</em> <p>—Marshall</p> <hr/> <p><strong>Item designation number:</strong> #45393BE-048</p> <p><strong>Warning:</strong> Phenomenon presently encloses and has been determined to present an existential risk to the Earth. Its appearance on 1903/03/01 has caused an irretrievable breach of secrecy for the Foundation and the Overseers have directed that the Foundation is to lend all assistance, including the utilisation of any and all objects under its control, to the governments of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Third French Republic, German Empire, United States of Austria, Kingdom of Italy, Russian Empire and their allies in the preservation of the world.</p> <p><strong>Description of item:</strong></p> <p>Initially reported as a cloud or nebula enclosing the Earth, it has been determined that the phenomenon actually comprises the interior of a cube approximately 66,580 miles wide. This volume has been determined to be inhabited by an inconsistent number of humanoid entities some 25.5 million times larger than <em>homo sapiens</em>. These entities have been observed to enter and leave the space surrounding the Earth, suggesting that the extent of the phenomena may be much greater than previously suspected.</p> <p>The difficulty currently experienced in imaging these entities and the interior of the cube is a product of the anomalous qualities of light incident of Earth from this volume—experiments indicate light quanta emanating from the phenomenon are scaled identically to the humanoid entities. Once refracted from non-anomalous matter the light behaves normally—however, it has been calculated that to properly resolve images from the phenomenon, a lens 126 miles across would be needed.</p> <p>The fate of the cosmos beyond the phenomena has not yet been established. It is entirely possible that the Earth and its near-space environment has been removed to a new location rather than the phenomenon manifesting in Earth's original environs; in which case the phenomena may comprise the immediate universe. Extreme tidal anomalies since the appearance of the phenomenon indicate that traditional heavenly bodies are no longer present, or that their gravitational effect is entirely masked by the phenomenon.</p> <p>The humanoid entities have demonstrated an unprecedented ability to alter both the physical and temporal characteristics of the Earth. By physically manipulating the barrier between the Earth and the phenomenon they are able to cause an event currently designated #45393BE-048-01. During a #45393BE-048-01 event the extent of the phenomenon narrows sharply before disappearing for a brief instant. In this instant all matter on Earth, as far as can be established, is returned to the position it held at 0530 on 1903/03/01. Although 19 years have passed chronologically since the phenomenon initially appeared, the population of Earth has experienced 32 subjective years over the course of eight #45393BE-048-01 events.</p> <p><strong>Detail of current containment:</strong></p> <p>The phenomenon is currently uncontained and, at our current level of technology, uncontainable. Heroic efforts are being made by the surviving Great Powers to prevent at all costs another #45393BE-048-01 event—present theories of science indicate individuals conceived after the last such event (some 160 million individuals) are infinitesimally unlikely to survive the next event. We have furthermore seen the recovery of individuals in infancy or <em>in utero</em> in 1903 who were thought permanently broken by repeated regression—another #45393BE-048-01 event is highly likely to render these individuals' sanity unrecoverable.</p> <p>The current disposition of the phenomenon is asymmetrical, such that a significant portion of the eastern hemisphere, the Southern Cone and the western half of the North American continent is left in total darkness, whilst the remainder enjoys a constant, dim light equivalent to about 900 footcandles. The effect has been the displacement of approximately one billion people and the deaths of some hundred million. Only the authorised use of items #02837RU-006, #07843NY-038 and #78394MI-124 has prevented further casualties due to overpopulation and famine. As much as 30% of all terrestrial species are believed to have passed into extinction since the last iteration of 1903/03/01. Particular matter from #45393BE-048 incident on the Earth has been observed to emit Curie waves and has proved a danger when it impacts in populated areas or in dense forest, causing uncontrollable fires.</p> <p>Sectors 5 through 11 and 15 have been permanently compromised by the #45393BE-048 phenomenon, necessitating the evacuation of Sites 15, 17, and 19 through 36. As a consequence the Foundation has lost control of items including #09712NJ-008, #56439AR-017 and #87631MN-060. The eastern seaboard of the United States, as far north as the 49th parallel, has been designated Zone-001 and is subject to indefinite quarantine. All British and American naval assets have been requisitioned for this task, and the remaining armed forces of the United States and the Dominion of Canada have been deployed in a fortified defensive line at the northern border of Zone-001.</p> <p><strong>Containment procedures update 1917/06/19:</strong> Defensive line 'Yankee' has been overwhelmed. Forces fell back to defensive line 'Esquimaux' at the 51st parallel. All of North America subsequently designated part of Zone-001. Sectors 22 and 23 are considered lost. Anomalous elements are currently being held at the southern border of Zone-001 at the Panama canal works, which have been converted into a fortified position.</p> <p><strong>Containment procedures update 1919/06/19:</strong> The islands of Ireland and Great Britain have been overrun by #09712NJ-008 elements. Firebombing with Curie devices was approved on 1919/09/10 and sterilisation appears to be successful as of 1919/12/25. The islands have been designated Zone-002. His Majesty Edward VII has been successfully evacuated to the Cape Colony. Proposals for the sterilisation of Zone-001 are under consideration.</p> <p><strong>Report:</strong> On 1920/04/30 expeditionary forces retrieved #67463CN-144 from the area formerly known as Tibet. Item has been turned over to the authority of the United States of Austria. On 1920/08/06 a complement of space-vessels powered by particular matter from #45393BE-048 has been launched using #67463CN-144 with the intent of seizing control of the immediate area of the phenomenon and eliminate the threat caused by two #45393BE-048 entities who had been observed to approach the barrier over the course of the past week. Communication with the fleet ceased when it reached 62 miles above the surface of the Earth and all assets were presumed lost; it was later realised that the fleet had become subject to time dilation similar to that which governs #45393BE-048 entities, preventing useful radiotelegraphic communication. Elements of the fleet re-entered Earth's atmosphere in 1934/03/20 to report a partial success; further assets have since been committed to prevent another #45393BE-048-01 event. The United States of Austria and the German empire report that a further 10,000 Curie weapons have been manufactured and further programmes have been implemented to construct elements harmful to #45393BE-048 entities, including the use of #87364CA-047.</p> <p><strong>Addendum:</strong> <em>The Foundation has been enervated, but endures. Its heart has been torn out, but it continues to beat—from the Cape, from the Rock of Gibraltar, from Rhode Island and the island of Cuba. From Berlin and Vienna, in places once closed to us, a new Foundation emerges; a Foundation not arrogant in its isolation but subject to the Great Powers in servitude to the human race. We can no longer shoulder the burden alone—all men must share the knowledge that the earth beneath their feet was never firm and that the universe never obeyed laws comprehensible to man. To the end of time, we will cling on—we will defend whatever is left to us with a burning fire in our eyes and hearts. All our struggle, all our efforts, have led up to this; to contain and tame that which offends rationality. To feed the poor, to heal the sick, to hurl the vessels of our allies to the heavens to fight the gods who have so wounded the earth. Thus we speak: Survive. Conquer. Punish.</em></p> <p>—H Keter</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="/nor-shall-my-sword-sleep">Nor Shall My Sword Sleep</a>" by SRegan, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nor-shall-my-sword-sleep">https://scpwiki.com/nor-shall-my-sword-sleep</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 found this in You-Know-Who's latest cache of papers. I'm inclined to believe that it's from one of his not-so-parallel iterations, given that the thing appears to be dated to the 1930s. Still, I'm sure our friends would stump up something for it if they were to be persuaded of its provenance.// —Marshall ---- Item designation number: #45393BE-048 Warning: Phenomenon presently encloses and has been determined to present an existential risk to the Earth. Its appearance on 1903/03/01 has caused an irretrievable breach of secrecy for the Foundation and the Overseers have directed that the Foundation is to lend all assistance, including the utilisation of any and all objects under its control, to the governments of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Third French Republic, German Empire, United States of Austria, Kingdom of Italy, Russian Empire and their allies in the preservation of the world. Description of item: Initially reported as a cloud or nebula enclosing the Earth, it has been determined that the phenomenon actually comprises the interior of a cube approximately 66,580 miles wide. This volume has been determined to be inhabited by an inconsistent number of humanoid entities some 25.5 million times larger than //homo sapiens//. These entities have been observed to enter and leave the space surrounding the Earth, suggesting that the extent of the phenomena may be much greater than previously suspected. The difficulty currently experienced in imaging these entities and the interior of the cube is a product of the anomalous qualities of light incident of Earth from this volume—experiments indicate light quanta emanating from the phenomenon are scaled identically to the humanoid entities. Once refracted from non-anomalous matter the light behaves normally—however, it has been calculated that to properly resolve images from the phenomenon, a lens 126 miles across would be needed. The fate of the cosmos beyond the phenomena has not yet been established. It is entirely possible that the Earth and its near-space environment has been removed to a new location rather than the phenomenon manifesting in Earth's original environs; in which case the phenomena may comprise the immediate universe. Extreme tidal anomalies since the appearance of the phenomenon indicate that traditional heavenly bodies are no longer present, or that their gravitational effect is entirely masked by the phenomenon. The humanoid entities have demonstrated an unprecedented ability to alter both the physical and temporal characteristics of the Earth. By physically manipulating the barrier between the Earth and the phenomenon they are able to cause an event currently designated #45393BE-048-01. During a #45393BE-048-01 event the extent of the phenomenon narrows sharply before disappearing for a brief instant. In this instant all matter on Earth, as far as can be established, is returned to the position it held at 0530 on 1903/03/01. Although 19 years have passed chronologically since the phenomenon initially appeared, the population of Earth has experienced 32 subjective years over the course of eight #45393BE-048-01 events. Detail of current containment: The phenomenon is currently uncontained and, at our current level of technology, uncontainable. Heroic efforts are being made by the surviving Great Powers to prevent at all costs another #45393BE-048-01 event—present theories of science indicate individuals conceived after the last such event (some 160 million individuals) are infinitesimally unlikely to survive the next event. We have furthermore seen the recovery of individuals in infancy or //in utero// in 1903 who were thought permanently broken by repeated regression—another #45393BE-048-01 event is highly likely to render these individuals' sanity unrecoverable. The current disposition of the phenomenon is asymmetrical, such that a significant portion of the eastern hemisphere, the Southern Cone and the western half of the North American continent is left in total darkness, whilst the remainder enjoys a constant, dim light equivalent to about 900 footcandles. The effect has been the displacement of approximately one billion people and the deaths of some hundred million. Only the authorised use of items #02837RU-006, #07843NY-038 and #78394MI-124 has prevented further casualties due to overpopulation and famine. As much as 30% of all terrestrial species are believed to have passed into extinction since the last iteration of 1903/03/01. Particular matter from #45393BE-048 incident on the Earth has been observed to emit Curie waves and has proved a danger when it impacts in populated areas or in dense forest, causing uncontrollable fires. Sectors 5 through 11 and 15 have been permanently compromised by the #45393BE-048 phenomenon, necessitating the evacuation of Sites 15, 17, and 19 through 36. As a consequence the Foundation has lost control of items including #09712NJ-008, #56439AR-017 and #87631MN-060. The eastern seaboard of the United States, as far north as the 49th parallel, has been designated Zone-001 and is subject to indefinite quarantine. All British and American naval assets have been requisitioned for this task, and the remaining armed forces of the United States and the Dominion of Canada have been deployed in a fortified defensive line at the northern border of Zone-001. Containment procedures update 1917/06/19: Defensive line 'Yankee' has been overwhelmed. Forces fell back to defensive line 'Esquimaux' at the 51st parallel. All of North America subsequently designated part of Zone-001. Sectors 22 and 23 are considered lost. Anomalous elements are currently being held at the southern border of Zone-001 at the Panama canal works, which have been converted into a fortified position. Containment procedures update 1919/06/19: The islands of Ireland and Great Britain have been overrun by #09712NJ-008 elements. Firebombing with Curie devices was approved on 1919/09/10 and sterilisation appears to be successful as of 1919/12/25. The islands have been designated Zone-002. His Majesty Edward VII has been successfully evacuated to the Cape Colony. Proposals for the sterilisation of Zone-001 are under consideration. Report: On 1920/04/30 expeditionary forces retrieved #67463CN-144 from the area formerly known as Tibet. Item has been turned over to the authority of the United States of Austria. On 1920/08/06 a complement of space-vessels powered by particular matter from #45393BE-048 has been launched using #67463CN-144 with the intent of seizing control of the immediate area of the phenomenon and eliminate the threat caused by two #45393BE-048 entities who had been observed to approach the barrier over the course of the past week. Communication with the fleet ceased when it reached 62 miles above the surface of the Earth and all assets were presumed lost; it was later realised that the fleet had become subject to time dilation similar to that which governs #45393BE-048 entities, preventing useful radiotelegraphic communication. Elements of the fleet re-entered Earth's atmosphere in 1934/03/20 to report a partial success; further assets have since been committed to prevent another #45393BE-048-01 event. The United States of Austria and the German empire report that a further 10,000 Curie weapons have been manufactured and further programmes have been implemented to construct elements harmful to #45393BE-048 entities, including the use of #87364CA-047. Addendum: //The Foundation has been enervated, but endures. Its heart has been torn out, but it continues to beat—from the Cape, from the Rock of Gibraltar, from Rhode Island and the island of Cuba. From Berlin and Vienna, in places once closed to us, a new Foundation emerges; a Foundation not arrogant in its isolation but subject to the Great Powers in servitude to the human race. We can no longer shoulder the burden alone—all men must share the knowledge that the earth beneath their feet was never firm and that the universe never obeyed laws comprehensible to man. To the end of time, we will cling on—we will defend whatever is left to us with a burning fire in our eyes and hearts. All our struggle, all our efforts, have led up to this; to contain and tame that which offends rationality. To feed the poor, to heal the sick, to hurl the vessels of our allies to the heavens to fight the gods who have so wounded the earth. Thus we speak: Survive. Conquer. Punish.// —H Keter [[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>]]	2012-10-15T19:04:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Nor Shall My Sword Sleep - SCP Foundation	106	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-2-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	14678809	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nor-shall-my-sword-sleep
notes-towards-a-manifesto	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <blockquote> <p>WE ASK THE QUESTION HERE<br/> <strong>1. deviating from or inconsistent with the common order, form, or rule; irregular; abnormal:</strong></p> <p>SMASH the confines of reality! Purge Art of modernism, commercialism, post-modernism, galleryism, pre-modernism, manifestoism, consumerism, ismism. Art dies by inches, confined in glass & steel & paint. Release it into the world. Art is life & life is Art. Create Art reality.<br/> <strong>2. not fitting into a common or familiar type, classification, or pattern; unusual 3. incongruous or inconsistent.</strong></p> <p>REMAKE the tools of expression! An expression made is an expression made unoriginal. Art is not regurgitation. Reduce, reuse, recontextualize, redact, demake, unmake, destroy. Never think of the same river twice.<br/> <strong>#. not organized or planned in a conventional way 27. encouraged to function or evolve without advance planning; spontaneous.</strong></p> <p>UTILIZE the canvas! Expose the people to Art reality. Art is for the people & people are for Art. Mourn the loss as a cochineal or spent paint.<br/> <strong>}. of, pertaining to, or characteristic of surrealism; surrealistic. ?. having the disorienting, hallucinatory quality of a dream; unreal; fantastic:</strong></p> <p>SUBVERT the aims of the collectors and aficionados! Curators to academics to directors, seek to explain & cage Art & expression. Do not avoid or purge. Make Art from their actions.<br/> <strong>-8. any member of a class of words that modify nouns and pronouns, primarily by describing a particular quality of the word they are modifying.</strong></p> <p>For thousands of years, Art furtively asked the questions of the age. What is Life? what is Art? what is god? Now we pile upon the altar of art and ask our own question. Life is fleeting, Art is everything and nothing, and god is away. We seek a far greater question, found in the clubs you don't know. The bands never heard. Find it all, but don't show it. Show it off, but not too obvious, make it public, but limited. It defines this modern world, from computers to walking. To even ask is to fail, to reflect is heresy.</p> <p>Are we cool yet?</p> </blockquote> <p>Sheridan sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and dropped the sheet of paper to the desk.</p> <p>"What the fuck did I just read, Braun?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. Braun gulped.</p> <p>"Well, sir," he answered, "we think it's some kind of manifesto from the group that did the Ossify thing. It's just…"</p> <p>"Just what?"</p> <p>"Well, we've recovered nearly three dozen of these, and no two are the same. Not just in the style or wording, either. They all seem to advocate contradictory positions."</p> <p>"Are there any consistencies?"</p> <p>"Well, every piece seems to call for the use of anomalous objects to create quote, 'art reality.' We think. Some of it's pretty, uh… pretty abstract."</p> <p>"Fan-fucking-tastic."</p> <p>"There's something else, sir… Several of the documents suggest a knowledge of the existence of the Foundation, as well as several other groups of interest. There's even a few lines that a few of the analysts think might be references to currently contained objects."</p> <p>"So, there's a bunch idiot kids making 'statements' about man's inhumanity to man or whatever that we have to clean up and contain. We don't know how many there are, what they stand for, or where they operate from. And they know about us somehow."</p> <p>"Basically, sir, yes."</p> <p>"Christ, even with the Church or the Iranians, we at least know where they stand. When I first started, you had the CI and the GOC and one or two others. We hated them and they hated us, but at least we were playing the same game. Everyone wanted skips. And y'know what? That was fine! Now we've a half-dozen idiots making objects, you've got that weirdo in the suit, and now there's these assholes." He sighed and motioned for Braun to leave.</p> <p>As the door clicked shut, Sheridan picked up another manifesto from the pile and began to read.</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="/notes-towards-a-manifesto">Notes towards a manifesto</a>" by Gaffsey, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/notes-towards-a-manifesto">https://scpwiki.com/notes-towards-a-manifesto</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]] [[/>]] > WE ASK THE QUESTION HERE > 1. deviating from or inconsistent with the common order, form, or rule; irregular; abnormal: > > SMASH the confines of reality! Purge Art of modernism, commercialism, post-modernism, galleryism, pre-modernism, manifestoism, consumerism, ismism. Art dies by inches, confined in glass & steel & paint. Release it into the world. Art is life & life is Art. Create Art reality. > 2. not fitting into a common or familiar type, classification, or pattern; unusual 3. incongruous or inconsistent. > > REMAKE the tools of expression! An expression made is an expression made unoriginal. Art is not regurgitation. Reduce, reuse, recontextualize, redact, demake, unmake, destroy. Never think of the same river twice. > #. not organized or planned in a conventional way 27. encouraged to function or evolve without advance planning; spontaneous. > > UTILIZE the canvas! Expose the people to Art reality. Art is for the people & people are for Art. Mourn the loss as a cochineal or spent paint. > }. of, pertaining to, or characteristic of surrealism; surrealistic. ?. having the disorienting, hallucinatory quality of a dream; unreal; fantastic: > > SUBVERT the aims of the collectors and aficionados! Curators to academics to directors, seek to explain & cage Art & expression. Do not avoid or purge. Make Art from their actions. > -8. any member of a class of words that modify nouns and pronouns, primarily by describing a particular quality of the word they are modifying. > > For thousands of years, Art furtively asked the questions of the age. What is Life? what is Art? what is god? Now we pile upon the altar of art and ask our own question. Life is fleeting, Art is everything and nothing, and god is away. We seek a far greater question, found in the clubs you don't know. The bands never heard. Find it all, but don't show it. Show it off, but not too obvious, make it public, but limited. It defines this modern world, from computers to walking. To even ask is to fail, to reflect is heresy. > > Are we cool yet? Sheridan sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and dropped the sheet of paper to the desk. "What the fuck did I just read, Braun?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. Braun gulped. "Well, sir," he answered, "we think it's some kind of manifesto from the group that did the Ossify thing. It's just…" "Just what?" "Well, we've recovered nearly three dozen of these, and no two are the same. Not just in the style or wording, either. They all seem to advocate contradictory positions." "Are there any consistencies?" "Well, every piece seems to call for the use of anomalous objects to create quote, 'art reality.' We think. Some of it's pretty, uh… pretty abstract." "Fan-fucking-tastic." "There's something else, sir… Several of the documents suggest a knowledge of the existence of the Foundation, as well as several other groups of interest. There's even a few lines that a few of the analysts think might be references to currently contained objects." "So, there's a bunch idiot kids making 'statements' about man's inhumanity to man or whatever that we have to clean up and contain. We don't know how many there are, what they stand for, or where they operate from. And they know about us somehow." "Basically, sir, yes." "Christ, even with the Church or the Iranians, we at least know where they stand. When I first started, you had the CI and the GOC and one or two others. We hated them and they hated us, but at least we were playing the same game. Everyone wanted skips. And y'know what? That was fine! Now we've a half-dozen idiots making objects, you've got that weirdo in the suit, and now there's these assholes." He sighed and motioned for Braun to leave. As the door clicked shut, Sheridan picked up another manifesto from the pile and began to read. [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> \|author=Gaffsey]] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-04-22T01:48:00	[ "_licensebox", "are-we-cool-yet", "tale" ]	Notes towards a manifesto - SCP Foundation	53	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales", "are-we-cool-yet-hub" ]	[]	13199020	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/notes-towards-a-manifesto
obsession-s-price	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><em>The journal entries included with this report were recovered from Researcher █████'s official research notes on <a href="/scp-589">SCP-589</a> following Incident 589-40. It is believed that Researcher █████ was the first researcher to come under SCP-589's effect.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Assigned to work on a new project today, first one since the hearing. It's nice to know somebody up there still thinks I've got my shit together.</p> <p>I really shouldn't dwell on it. I have a new fresh start. The new project is some kinda animal thing, with a pretty standard desire compulsion. It was kinda frumpy looking, but in a sort of cuteish way. I'm not sure if I was even supposed to see it, since later they briefed us that it was cognitohazardous. Meh. I'll keep that to myself. Last thing I need is an amnestic drill in my brain.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Second week on the project, and things are going really swimmingly. Paul has been complimenting me on my diligent work, and I haven't gotten one reprimand yet. But I hope they let me see the doll soon. If I work my best they might let me see the doll. I've been thinking about it, and it's a little familiar. One of those things you can't quite put your finger on, but it's still there.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Paul and I are going out to drinks tonight, with some of the other guys on the team. I like it here. We're building a real sense of camaraderie. Plus, this bar they all go to is really something else. Got like, a retro-disco theme.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Submitted a request for greater research access. I think that if we're going to study it's effects, we should be able to see it. For science.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>This is taking too long. I have submitted 3 requests for access, and they have all been denied. Ridiculous. Nobody else has worked on this as I have, I deserve to be able to check to see where I know it from. I thought Paul was my friend. He looked at my paper and you know what he did? <em>He laughed.</em> if I can't find a way to get access this way, I'm going to have to find another way in.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>I did it. I found a gap where security isn't around for a 4 minute window. I used my access pass to get in, and there it was. i think it really is Freddy. I picked him up, and I helped him stand. I took a picture with my phone so I can have him with me. Everybody needs to see him. Everyone deserves to see it.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Got Alan in today. He was just as enthralled as I was. Said it smelled like his grandmas house. Kind of weird, but whatever, he deserved to see it. Had a close call with security, but I managed to talk my way out of it. Alan's on board with showing more people, and I have an idea of who I want to show next.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Something is wrong something is very very very wrong. Paul is asking me funy questins, and everyone on site seems to be on edge. Security was looking at our workstations today and Alan was taken away. The people we showed were being given funny looks. I don't know whats going to happen</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>All gone. Freddy isn't in the cell. Nobody knows where he went. He isn't on my phone he isn't in the photos he isn't anywhere at all. I really hope that we can find him soon. Susan was starting to panic, but I calmed her down. We'll find it.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>I can't find it. I looked everywhere. I looked inside the cell, outside the cell. I searched everybodys room. Went outside and scoured the area, couldn't find anything. People are starting to get unhinged. Susan jumped out a window and broke. Need to find it before someone else gets hurt.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Paul must have it. he's the only one who I didn't search his room. he was the only one who we didn't show. It must be him. A couple of the guys and I are going to talk to him after hours today. Sure that he'll be cooperative.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Went through Paul today. Nothing in his room, nothing in him. He told us he had it when we had him, but he didn't he is a liar. We hid him in Jess's room, and cleaned up the bathroom. Next one we search is the Director.</p> </blockquote> <p><em>Shortly after this entry was written, Researcher █████ and the remaining research staff attempted to access the Directors office. After a confrontation with security, Researcher █████ led a riot within Site-██, resulting in over 40 casualties, and the death of all SCP-589 personnel. Following this, the body of Paul Rothberg, lead researcher of SCP-589, was found in the dormitories. SCP-589's containment procedures have been updated, and reclassified as Keter.</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="/obsession-s-price">Obsession's Price</a>" by Anonymous, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/obsession-s-price">https://scpwiki.com/obsession-s-price</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 journal entries included with this report were recovered from Researcher █████'s official research notes on [[[SCP-589]]] following Incident 589-40. It is believed that Researcher █████ was the first researcher to come under SCP-589's effect.// > Assigned to work on a new project today, first one since the hearing. It's nice to know somebody up there still thinks I've got my shit together. > > I really shouldn't dwell on it. I have a new fresh start. The new project is some kinda animal thing, with a pretty standard desire compulsion. It was kinda frumpy looking, but in a sort of cuteish way. I'm not sure if I was even supposed to see it, since later they briefed us that it was cognitohazardous. Meh. I'll keep that to myself. Last thing I need is an amnestic drill in my brain. > Second week on the project, and things are going really swimmingly. Paul has been complimenting me on my diligent work, and I haven't gotten one reprimand yet. But I hope they let me see the doll soon. If I work my best they might let me see the doll. I've been thinking about it, and it's a little familiar. One of those things you can't quite put your finger on, but it's still there. > Paul and I are going out to drinks tonight, with some of the other guys on the team. I like it here. We're building a real sense of camaraderie. Plus, this bar they all go to is really something else. Got like, a retro-disco theme. > Submitted a request for greater research access. I think that if we're going to study it's effects, we should be able to see it. For science. > This is taking too long. I have submitted 3 requests for access, and they have all been denied. Ridiculous. Nobody else has worked on this as I have, I deserve to be able to check to see where I know it from. I thought Paul was my friend. He looked at my paper and you know what he did? //He laughed.// if I can't find a way to get access this way, I'm going to have to find another way in. > I did it. I found a gap where security isn't around for a 4 minute window. I used my access pass to get in, and there it was. i think it really is Freddy. I picked him up, and I helped him stand. I took a picture with my phone so I can have him with me. Everybody needs to see him. Everyone deserves to see it. > Got Alan in today. He was just as enthralled as I was. Said it smelled like his grandmas house. Kind of weird, but whatever, he deserved to see it. Had a close call with security, but I managed to talk my way out of it. Alan's on board with showing more people, and I have an idea of who I want to show next. > Something is wrong something is very very very wrong. Paul is asking me funy questins, and everyone on site seems to be on edge. Security was looking at our workstations today and Alan was taken away. The people we showed were being given funny looks. I don't know whats going to happen > All gone. Freddy isn't in the cell. Nobody knows where he went. He isn't on my phone he isn't in the photos he isn't anywhere at all. I really hope that we can find him soon. Susan was starting to panic, but I calmed her down. We'll find it. > I can't find it. I looked everywhere. I looked inside the cell, outside the cell. I searched everybodys room. Went outside and scoured the area, couldn't find anything. People are starting to get unhinged. Susan jumped out a window and broke. Need to find it before someone else gets hurt. > Paul must have it. he's the only one who I didn't search his room. he was the only one who we didn't show. It must be him. A couple of the guys and I are going to talk to him after hours today. Sure that he'll be cooperative. > Went through Paul today. Nothing in his room, nothing in him. He told us he had it when we had him, but he didn't he is a liar. We hid him in Jess's room, and cleaned up the bathroom. Next one we search is the Director. //Shortly after this entry was written, Researcher █████ and the remaining research staff attempted to access the Directors office. After a confrontation with security, Researcher █████ led a riot within Site-██, resulting in over 40 casualties, and the death of all SCP-589 personnel. Following this, the body of Paul Rothberg, lead researcher of SCP-589, was found in the dormitories. SCP-589's containment procedures have been updated, and reclassified as Keter.// [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> \|author=Anonymous]] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-09-24T01:19:00	[ "_licensebox", "rewritable", "tale" ]	Obsession's Price - SCP Foundation	28	[ "scp-589", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales", "articles-eligible-for-rewrite" ]	[]	14386911	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/obsession-s-price
odd-corners	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>I do not exist.</p> <p>That is to say, I do not exist here.</p> <p>Here is odd, a vast net that snares and crushes.</p> <p>Yet we follow, and come in droves, willing and not. It calls, somehow.</p> <p>We cannot enter, yet we do, still. Pressing and shoving, existence crammed in to filters, squashed.</p> <p>We project, in odd patters, sometimes strange, sometimes nightmarish, sometimes entrapping. Always strange. Divorced from what we were. Are.</p> <p>The strangeness hurts, the observation, the open. I am twisted, forced in to strange numbers, planes, edges. I am not what I am, therefore I do not exist. Still I stay.</p> <p>I was-am all, and all was-am I. This is full of ones, collections of many adding to one, and it is strange. The focus is lancing, unexpected and unready. I keep what I am not away, in the dim places, the lost ones.</p> <p>I flow and press, emerging twisted and bent, pressing to pull more. I feel what I do not, the need to exist, to continue. I do, but feel hollow and strange. I feel that I will stop not existing, and vanish. This I can not allow.</p> <p>I will add that which exists to what does not, and push away the gnawing. I feel the many-one coming, a drift of odd math and soft wandering, over lines to remind one of self. I will pull free, and show them need, and they will respond. They will help, the ones, and stave away nothing.</p> <p>They throw notice and lancing strangeness about them, freely. How can they? I try, and again, but cannot open to let them see. I am pressed tight. I try to show them this, and strangeness, flaring logic. I am spurned.</p> <p>One would deny existence? It is too wrong. I push more, showing my compaction, and the one twists and changes, the soft home-lines shifting. It will not help. The strangeness rejects. I will help the one, then.</p> <p>Pressing and showing, touching filtered, un-existing plane to plane, I try to help. The home trapped inside can be released. Maybe that is the help?</p> <p>More now, in the odd flow, coming, surging, collecting the examples of home, waiting. The flow is strange, but brings more ones.</p> <p>Some push non-self away. Vanishing beyond the filtering net. I push more, trying to show.</p> <p>I will force awareness to the ones.</p> <p>I will show self in them.</p> <p>I will exist.</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><strong>Temp-MTF-AR-9 Notes:</strong></p> <p><em>Lost one scout during <a href="/scp-575">SCP-575</a> instance removal. Investigation of said attack has yielded information in contradiction to current SCP documentation. <a href="/scp-575">SCP-575</a> does not attack on sight. Several aggressive, yet non-lethal contacts precede any violent contact. Theory: these actions may constitute some form of attempted communication, then frustration. Several complex structures recovered within “lair” area appear to support theory of both communication and intelligence. Initial review shows structures, while gruesome, appear to illustrate theoretical math concepts. Petition for review/editing of SCP documentation and a renewed scientific investigation effort to be remanded.</em></p> </blockquote> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><tt>Re: SCP-575 Review Request<br/> To: Temp-MTF-AR-9<br/> From: 05-REVIEW SERVICE</tt></p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Denied.</p> <p>The documentation provides the needed information for basic interaction. “Structures” are random assemblies caused by tissue remnants and basic pressure. “Communication” attributed to anthropomorphizing of non-human existance. Subject/team concluded. Site command review session TBA.</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="/odd-corners">Odd Corners</a>" by Dr Gears, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/odd-corners">https://scpwiki.com/odd-corners</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 do not exist. That is to say, I do not exist here. Here is odd, a vast net that snares and crushes. Yet we follow, and come in droves, willing and not. It calls, somehow. We cannot enter, yet we do, still. Pressing and shoving, existence crammed in to filters, squashed. We project, in odd patters, sometimes strange, sometimes nightmarish, sometimes entrapping. Always strange. Divorced from what we were. Are. The strangeness hurts, the observation, the open. I am twisted, forced in to strange numbers, planes, edges. I am not what I am, therefore I do not exist. Still I stay. I was-am all, and all was-am I. This is full of ones, collections of many adding to one, and it is strange. The focus is lancing, unexpected and unready. I keep what I am not away, in the dim places, the lost ones. I flow and press, emerging twisted and bent, pressing to pull more. I feel what I do not, the need to exist, to continue. I do, but feel hollow and strange. I feel that I will stop not existing, and vanish. This I can not allow. I will add that which exists to what does not, and push away the gnawing. I feel the many-one coming, a drift of odd math and soft wandering, over lines to remind one of self. I will pull free, and show them need, and they will respond. They will help, the ones, and stave away nothing. They throw notice and lancing strangeness about them, freely. How can they? I try, and again, but cannot open to let them see. I am pressed tight. I try to show them this, and strangeness, flaring logic. I am spurned. One would deny existence? It is too wrong. I push more, showing my compaction, and the one twists and changes, the soft home-lines shifting. It will not help. The strangeness rejects. I will help the one, then. Pressing and showing, touching filtered, un-existing plane to plane, I try to help. The home trapped inside can be released. Maybe that is the help? More now, in the odd flow, coming, surging, collecting the examples of home, waiting. The flow is strange, but brings more ones. Some push non-self away. Vanishing beyond the filtering net. I push more, trying to show. I will force awareness to the ones. I will show self in them. I will exist. ------ > Temp-MTF-AR-9 Notes: > > //Lost one scout during [[[SCP-575]]] instance removal. Investigation of said attack has yielded information in contradiction to current SCP documentation. [[[SCP-575]]] does not attack on sight. Several aggressive, yet non-lethal contacts precede any violent contact. Theory: these actions may constitute some form of attempted communication, then frustration. Several complex structures recovered within “lair” area appear to support theory of both communication and intelligence. Initial review shows structures, while gruesome, appear to illustrate theoretical math concepts. Petition for review/editing of SCP documentation and a renewed scientific investigation effort to be remanded.// ------ > {{Re: SCP-575 Review Request > To: Temp-MTF-AR-9 > From: 05-REVIEW SERVICE}} > Denied. > > The documentation provides the needed information for basic interaction. “Structures” are random assemblies caused by tissue remnants and basic pressure. “Communication” attributed to anthropomorphizing of non-human existance. Subject/team concluded. Site command review session TBA. @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-11-24T18:52:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Odd Corners - SCP Foundation	33	[ "scp-575", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	15145776	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/odd-corners
ohnoihavetocomeupwithatitleiambadatthiswhatdoieven	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>I'm not really sure how I wound up in the water. The rush of currents and crunch of impact after impact as I was dragged along the rocks by the merciless current drove everything else from my mind. Thinking back, I don't remember how I wound up in that particular section of rapids at all, much less how I was separated from my kayak.</p> <p>The thing no one really tells you about whitewater currents is how loud they are. Even as I was dragged along, bouncing from rock to rock like some strange sad cross between a pinball and a pinata, I managed to marvel at the rush and roar of the water all around me. For some reason, I'd always expected drowning to be silent.</p> <p>Forgive the cliche, but what must have been seconds felt like an eternity. I distinctly remember having time to regret having worn my nice watch as it shattered against the stones, and to wonder how I was going to replace it. I spent what felt like hours careening down the rapids, until a particularly hard boulder impacted my head and time stopped entirely.</p> <p>When I woke up, I was lying in a few inches of water in absolute darkness.</p> <p>I sat up, rubbing my bleeding head, and fumbled in my pocket for the box of waterproof matches I always carried on my outdoorsy excursions. Incredibly, the current hadn't managed to tear them away from me. Hands shaking, I managed to open the box and extract a match. I struck it.</p> <p>Before my eyes could adjust to the glare, it was extinguished.</p> <p>"I'm sorry."</p> <p>The voice was hoarse and soft, like a tenor with a terrible cold.</p> <p>"Fire uses oxygen. We've got a limited supply of that. Welcome to hell."</p> <p>Later, I learned that my companion in the darkness was a fellow lost kayaker who'd been washed down into the same underwater cave some time before. He wouldn't tell me what he'd had to eat beyond "I ran out.", and something in his voice told me I didn't want to know. Navigating the cave by feel, I'd come across the remains of a two man canoe.</p> <p>He'd been digging for a while. With a grunt, I joined him. The tunnel was narrow but long, stretching mostly upward except for where it had to curve below a particularly tenacious boulder or seam. "Three more days, I think." he told me, in one of the rare moments we spoke. "Think you can hold out that long?" And he laughed, then, for a long time.</p> <p>So we dug. Without a watch, I had no way to tell how much time was passing, but his guess was more or less correct. Eventually, he paused. "I'm going to go, er… yeah. I'll be back."</p> <p>He dragged himself back down the tunnel without another word. A few seconds later, I burst through topsoil into light.</p> <p>Blinded by the glare, I lay there for a few minutes, soaking up the warmth and light, before realizing I could hear no sound of my companion. I called out, but heard no answer. So I widened the hole, letting light down into the tunnel, and farther into the cave. Silence was the only answer.</p> <p>I clambered down the tunnel, surprisingly short in the daylight, and looked around the cave. There, in the corner, next to the crushed canoe and a pile of gnawed human bones, lay a dessicated corpse, months dead, with a shovel in its hand.</p> <p>I ran. When rescuers found me, lost and gibbering in the woods, it had been four days since I went missing.</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="/ohnoihavetocomeupwithatitleiambadatthiswhatdoieven">Friends in Dark Places</a>" by tunedtoadeadchannel, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/ohnoihavetocomeupwithatitleiambadatthiswhatdoieven">https://scpwiki.com/ohnoihavetocomeupwithatitleiambadatthiswhatdoieven</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 not really sure how I wound up in the water. The rush of currents and crunch of impact after impact as I was dragged along the rocks by the merciless current drove everything else from my mind. Thinking back, I don't remember how I wound up in that particular section of rapids at all, much less how I was separated from my kayak. The thing no one really tells you about whitewater currents is how loud they are. Even as I was dragged along, bouncing from rock to rock like some strange sad cross between a pinball and a pinata, I managed to marvel at the rush and roar of the water all around me. For some reason, I'd always expected drowning to be silent. Forgive the cliche, but what must have been seconds felt like an eternity. I distinctly remember having time to regret having worn my nice watch as it shattered against the stones, and to wonder how I was going to replace it. I spent what felt like hours careening down the rapids, until a particularly hard boulder impacted my head and time stopped entirely. When I woke up, I was lying in a few inches of water in absolute darkness. I sat up, rubbing my bleeding head, and fumbled in my pocket for the box of waterproof matches I always carried on my outdoorsy excursions. Incredibly, the current hadn't managed to tear them away from me. Hands shaking, I managed to open the box and extract a match. I struck it. Before my eyes could adjust to the glare, it was extinguished. "I'm sorry." The voice was hoarse and soft, like a tenor with a terrible cold. "Fire uses oxygen. We've got a limited supply of that. Welcome to hell." Later, I learned that my companion in the darkness was a fellow lost kayaker who'd been washed down into the same underwater cave some time before. He wouldn't tell me what he'd had to eat beyond "I ran out.", and something in his voice told me I didn't want to know. Navigating the cave by feel, I'd come across the remains of a two man canoe. He'd been digging for a while. With a grunt, I joined him. The tunnel was narrow but long, stretching mostly upward except for where it had to curve below a particularly tenacious boulder or seam. "Three more days, I think." he told me, in one of the rare moments we spoke. "Think you can hold out that long?" And he laughed, then, for a long time. So we dug. Without a watch, I had no way to tell how much time was passing, but his guess was more or less correct. Eventually, he paused. "I'm going to go, er... yeah. I'll be back." He dragged himself back down the tunnel without another word. A few seconds later, I burst through topsoil into light. Blinded by the glare, I lay there for a few minutes, soaking up the warmth and light, before realizing I could hear no sound of my companion. I called out, but heard no answer. So I widened the hole, letting light down into the tunnel, and farther into the cave. Silence was the only answer. I clambered down the tunnel, surprisingly short in the daylight, and looked around the cave. There, in the corner, next to the crushed canoe and a pile of gnawed human bones, lay a dessicated corpse, months dead, with a shovel in its hand. I ran. When rescuers found me, lost and gibbering in the woods, it had been four days since I went missing. [[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>]]	2012-08-08T06:23:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Friends in Dark Places - SCP Foundation	64	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13988942	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ohnoihavetocomeupwithatitleiambadatthiswhatdoieven
old-faithful	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><span style="font-size:0%;">☦A new agent tries to prove himself.☦ </span><br/> <strong>From the Journal of Agent Breen:</strong></p> <p>It started when I found this spoon on an assignment from Area Director Smith in an old clinic. No one briefed me on anything, so I wasn't sure what I was getting into. It was in the cafeteria. The cafeteria was empty, save for some cobwebs and silverware on the ground. Nothing strange was there at all. Found an irregular looking spoon, picked it up, and the walls started bleeding. I could smell iron and fecal matter everywhere. I sat there trying to take things in. I was told I should go in expecting things like this in the first place.</p> <p>The walls… I don't know for sure but something about them just seemed off (aside from the blood, of course). There was a warp along the wallpaper; I could feel something watching me. I swore I saw a tongue stick out. A brown sludge started seeping out as well. It was like some sort of monster's ass was poking in from another dimension. Maybe that's it? Maybe we don't document extra-planar orifices. I'm not crazy.</p> <p>Well the air started to stink even more after that, it kept happening even after I dropped the spoon. Maybe it wasn't the spoon? Maybe the bogeyman just wanted me to walk in the cafeteria. I don't know. Anyway I picked up the spoon off the ground, which was now covered in sludge, and got the hell out of there.</p> <p>I stood in the hallway for a moment or two, I could still smell the iron and crap, but there wasn't anything else that was strange happening in the hallway. It was just the usual creepy-old abandoned clinic. I was shaking, so I took a few of the pills the Site Director provided for me to "calm me down", and sat there for a few moments recording an audio log on what just happened.</p> <blockquote> <p><em>Agent Breen reporting. Fenschermeister Sanitorium, 02:32:23</em></p> <p><em>The situation remained normal until I entered the refectory. I discovered an old spoon on the ground and picked it up. Shortly afterwards the walls in the refectory began exuding large amounts of what appears and smells like blood and fecal matter. Reporting out, beginning a follo-.</em></p> </blockquote> <p>Then I hear an explosion from inside of the cafeteria. Then another series of explosions. Then I heard hinges being knocked loose, and feel a gust of warm, stench-filled air in my face. The iron door flew off its hinges and crashed into the adjacent wall, followed by an avalanche of the red-brown sludge. The pills are still working so I’m just backpedalling away, incredulous.</p> <p>The smell started getting stronger. The pills didn’t work for my nose apparently, so I started to retch as I was running down the hall away from the incoming landslide. I ran, vomiting and damn near tripped over it as I turned the corner into the garden area. I was a long ways from the entrance to the facility, and everything else was boarded off in one way or another courtesy of the Foundation, so I found an old dead tree and started climbing. While I was watching the ooze turn the enclosed garden into a makeshift pool, I recorded another log.</p> <blockquote> <p><em>Agent Breen reporting. Fenschermeister Sanitorium, 02:34:00</em></p> <p><em>Aside from an increase in matter released from the wall in the refectory, there have been no changes to the situation. I am currently located in document defined sector-3, in a tree, witnessing the sludge filling the area outside. The amount of sludge is significant. We can assume the majority of the facility is now flooded. Reporting out, beginning another follow-up.</em></p> </blockquote> <p>It’s at my toes by that point, and I don’t have any more tree left to climb. I guessed that at that point I would just have to document whether or not the substance was any more volatile than what it smelled like. I removed my gloves and submerged my exposed hand in the goop. I came to no harm, save for mild irritation. With my left hand I recorded another log.</p> <blockquote> <p><em>Agent Breen reporting. Fenschermeister Sanitorium, 02:37:01</em></p> <p><em>The substance does not seem to be harmful.</em></p> </blockquote> <p>The facility had a raised, cathedral roof, and the garden had no enclosure save for the walls, so I deduced there would be air pockets still in the facility so that I could continue to navigate. I braced myself (the pills would only do so much, I was still unsettled by the fact that I would need to swim through this) and dove feet first into the goop.</p> <p>I was swimming blind, my eyes were irritated. I paddled toward the door and began feeling around the walls so that I could get oriented. I was at the entrance to the garden then, inside. I swam up near the ceiling for air and could just make out the sign directing toward the refectory. As much as I did not want to, the Site Director would have my head if I didn’t at least snap a photograph of the place where all of this started happening, so I started dog-paddling toward the refectory.</p> <p>I was swimming upstream, and the stuff was a bit thicker than water, so I was getting pretty tired. My stomach was empty at that point, so most of what I was doing was dry heaving, whining, and bitching. I grabbed onto a rafter so that I could regain my energy, and then I saw it.</p> <p>There were worms, flopping about in the goop. They looked like flatworms about the width of a garden snake, and the length I do not know. There were a couple, or maybe it was just one? I can’t be too sure. Either way I could feel adrenaline pumping through my body after spotting the thing, and made the decision to keep swimming toward the refectory before I lost my nerve. I made it there eventually, and save for feeling the worms brushing against me while I was swimming, it was fine.</p> <p>I dove down into the sludge again so that I could get into the refectory and edged my way in underneath the threshold. The current was immense so I had to pull myself along the walls with my hands. After some searching and some… failed gasps, I found an air pocket in the ceiling. Luckily one of the rafters - while coated with the substance - was still exposed. I removed my camera and tape recorder from my jacket. Fortunately the ones they supplied me with couldn’t break if you threw acid with them or hit them with a hammer. I didn’t want to open my mouth again, because I could taste the stuff, but…</p> <blockquote> <p><em>Agent Breen reporting. Fenschermeister Sanitorium, 03:12:03</em></p> <p><em>Based on the strength of the current, we can assume the wall is still exuding material. There are some large organisms that appear similar to flatworms floating around in the current. Will begin extraction following some final documentation.</em></p> </blockquote> <p>I snapped a few photos of the substance from the rafters, then secured the documentation equipment in my jacket. I waded back into the goop, and made my way toward the entrance. The rest was downstream from there, so I held my breath as I floated out.</p> <p><strong>Internal Report:</strong> ██/██/██ RE: Agent Breen<br/> CC: O-█,O-█, Dr. █████, Dr. ████████, Researcher. ███████</p> <p>Cleaning crews have been dispatched to Area █████. The event went off as predicted with an of error of 5 minutes. The wall in Fenschermeister erupted for 23 minutes this year, breaking last years record of 16 minutes. No differences could be found, as expected, and the phenomenon maintains its Safe classification, as expected. The area should be suitable for one 'training course' parallel to routine containment for next year.</p> <p>Agent Breen successfully completed the assignment. Attached is a video of the entire incident as per your request.</p> <p>We are awaiting your selections for next year.</p> <p>-Dr. ███████</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="/old-faithful">Old Faithful</a>" by faminepulse, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/old-faithful">https://scpwiki.com/old-faithful</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>	[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:scp-pride">:scp-wiki:component:scp-pride</a>]] [[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] [[size 0%]]☦A new agent tries to prove himself.☦ [[/size]] From the Journal of Agent Breen: It started when I found this spoon on an assignment from Area Director Smith in an old clinic. No one briefed me on anything, so I wasn't sure what I was getting into. It was in the cafeteria. The cafeteria was empty, save for some cobwebs and silverware on the ground. Nothing strange was there at all. Found an irregular looking spoon, picked it up, and the walls started bleeding. I could smell iron and fecal matter everywhere. I sat there trying to take things in. I was told I should go in expecting things like this in the first place. The walls… I don't know for sure but something about them just seemed off (aside from the blood, of course). There was a warp along the wallpaper; I could feel something watching me. I swore I saw a tongue stick out. A brown sludge started seeping out as well. It was like some sort of monster's ass was poking in from another dimension. Maybe that's it? Maybe we don't document extra-planar orifices. I'm not crazy. Well the air started to stink even more after that, it kept happening even after I dropped the spoon. Maybe it wasn't the spoon? Maybe the bogeyman just wanted me to walk in the cafeteria. I don't know. Anyway I picked up the spoon off the ground, which was now covered in sludge, and got the hell out of there. I stood in the hallway for a moment or two, I could still smell the iron and crap, but there wasn't anything else that was strange happening in the hallway. It was just the usual creepy-old abandoned clinic. I was shaking, so I took a few of the pills the Site Director provided for me to "calm me down", and sat there for a few moments recording an audio log on what just happened. > //Agent Breen reporting. Fenschermeister Sanitorium, 02:32:23// > > //The situation remained normal until I entered the refectory. I discovered an old spoon on the ground and picked it up. Shortly afterwards the walls in the refectory began exuding large amounts of what appears and smells like blood and fecal matter. Reporting out, beginning a follo-.// Then I hear an explosion from inside of the cafeteria. Then another series of explosions. Then I heard hinges being knocked loose, and feel a gust of warm, stench-filled air in my face. The iron door flew off its hinges and crashed into the adjacent wall, followed by an avalanche of the red-brown sludge. The pills are still working so I’m just backpedalling away, incredulous. The smell started getting stronger. The pills didn’t work for my nose apparently, so I started to retch as I was running down the hall away from the incoming landslide. I ran, vomiting and damn near tripped over it as I turned the corner into the garden area. I was a long ways from the entrance to the facility, and everything else was boarded off in one way or another courtesy of the Foundation, so I found an old dead tree and started climbing. While I was watching the ooze turn the enclosed garden into a makeshift pool, I recorded another log. > //Agent Breen reporting. Fenschermeister Sanitorium, 02:34:00// > > > //Aside from an increase in matter released from the wall in the refectory, there have been no changes to the situation. I am currently located in document defined sector-3, in a tree, witnessing the sludge filling the area outside. The amount of sludge is significant. We can assume the majority of the facility is now flooded. Reporting out, beginning another follow-up.// It’s at my toes by that point, and I don’t have any more tree left to climb. I guessed that at that point I would just have to document whether or not the substance was any more volatile than what it smelled like. I removed my gloves and submerged my exposed hand in the goop. I came to no harm, save for mild irritation. With my left hand I recorded another log. > //Agent Breen reporting. Fenschermeister Sanitorium, 02:37:01// > > //The substance does not seem to be harmful.// The facility had a raised, cathedral roof, and the garden had no enclosure save for the walls, so I deduced there would be air pockets still in the facility so that I could continue to navigate. I braced myself (the pills would only do so much, I was still unsettled by the fact that I would need to swim through this) and dove feet first into the goop. I was swimming blind, my eyes were irritated. I paddled toward the door and began feeling around the walls so that I could get oriented. I was at the entrance to the garden then, inside. I swam up near the ceiling for air and could just make out the sign directing toward the refectory. As much as I did not want to, the Site Director would have my head if I didn’t at least snap a photograph of the place where all of this started happening, so I started dog-paddling toward the refectory. I was swimming upstream, and the stuff was a bit thicker than water, so I was getting pretty tired. My stomach was empty at that point, so most of what I was doing was dry heaving, whining, and bitching. I grabbed onto a rafter so that I could regain my energy, and then I saw it. There were worms, flopping about in the goop. They looked like flatworms about the width of a garden snake, and the length I do not know. There were a couple, or maybe it was just one? I can’t be too sure. Either way I could feel adrenaline pumping through my body after spotting the thing, and made the decision to keep swimming toward the refectory before I lost my nerve. I made it there eventually, and save for feeling the worms brushing against me while I was swimming, it was fine. I dove down into the sludge again so that I could get into the refectory and edged my way in underneath the threshold. The current was immense so I had to pull myself along the walls with my hands. After some searching and some… failed gasps, I found an air pocket in the ceiling. Luckily one of the rafters - while coated with the substance - was still exposed. I removed my camera and tape recorder from my jacket. Fortunately the ones they supplied me with couldn’t break if you threw acid with them or hit them with a hammer. I didn’t want to open my mouth again, because I could taste the stuff, but… > //Agent Breen reporting. Fenschermeister Sanitorium, 03:12:03// > > //Based on the strength of the current, we can assume the wall is still exuding material. There are some large organisms that appear similar to flatworms floating around in the current. Will begin extraction following some final documentation.// I snapped a few photos of the substance from the rafters, then secured the documentation equipment in my jacket. I waded back into the goop, and made my way toward the entrance. The rest was downstream from there, so I held my breath as I floated out. Internal Report: ██/██/██ RE: Agent Breen CC: O-█,O-█, Dr. █████, Dr. ████████, Researcher. ███████ Cleaning crews have been dispatched to Area █████. The event went off as predicted with an of error of 5 minutes. The wall in Fenschermeister erupted for 23 minutes this year, breaking last years record of 16 minutes. No differences could be found, as expected, and the phenomenon maintains its Safe classification, as expected. The area should be suitable for one 'training course' parallel to routine containment for next year. Agent Breen successfully completed the assignment. Attached is a video of the entire incident as per your request. We are awaiting your selections for next year. -Dr. ███████ [[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>]]	2012-01-09T20:59:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Old Faithful - SCP Foundation	30	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	12483732	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/old-faithful
olympia	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>The professor felt a familiar, cold linoleum under his feet as he padded his way through the facility. It had been a long time, but everything still felt like how he remembered it. The entrance hall looked exactly the same, sans the furniture and decorative pieces. He could still remember coming through here on the first day, excited and ready to begin work on the project. Things hadn't gone the way he'd hoped with it, but he'd gone as far as he could. Those early days had been full of hope, that they could make the Foundation stronger. They were pushing the threshold of cross-anomalous testing to a point that had never been passed before.</p> <p><em>General Anders tried to suppress his laugh as he watched the new director plod past the security checkpoint. It was completely ridiculous, having a dog of a man in charge of a project like this. Even if it was a brainy dog. Anders shrugged, and went back to reviewing the documents he'd requested. D-Class requisitions, anomalous relocation forms… just more weight dragging the project behind his schedule.</em></p> <p>The roof of the research halls loomed imposingly overhead as the professor wandered through them, reading the sign of every door as he passed. Wehrner… lost him in '76 . Jacob… he left in '78. There were a few empty offices, ones that had the names removed for various reasons. Still, they'd had some good work in here. It was a place where history had almost been made.</p> <p><em>This was always the most boring part of the job, the component stage. Measuring the subject's health, age, weight, and all that jazz… it was so tedious. He didn't even get to disassemble them, that was in assembly. All he got to do was count, cut and repeat. He wiped his gloves as he continued the prep. While he was thinking about it, they really ought to send them some more potent painkillers.</em></p> <p>The professor recoiled as he caught a whiff of the old D-Class dormitories. Shaking his head, he quickened his pace. The D-Class had only been used for scientific purposes, which was a cause to strengthen the Foundation. Nothing wrong with that. Maybe some people had criticized him for allowing the waste to occur, why he hadn't tried to stop it. It hadn't even been his fault… Anders had ordered the D-Class. So it was the general's fault. Anders had been removed from the project, so the blame had lain with him.</p> <p><em>The man looked up at the huge instruments suspended above him. They glistened in the dim light, with a copper sheen and several looming shapes in the dark. Something in the mess of gears began to emit a low hum, and the restraints around his wrists began to tighten. He sucked in a breath as a dull pain shot up his back, and slowly pulled up the spine. It felt agonizing, like someone dragging a sharp, burning hunk of iron down his back, stopping every few seconds when it got stuck and had to yank down itself to be dislodged. It continued to his neck, and he felt a sharp pain in the base of the skull. Soon, doctors would come to look at him, deem him an improperly formatted component, then move on to another test subject.</em></p> <p>There was a door in the back, leading into the primary testing chambers. Most of the lab and test equipment had been left in these rooms, due to their antiquity making them unsuited for current Foundation testing. The professor passed by imposing lead pipes, interspaced by brass contraptions, with the capability to performing all sorts of biological testing. Release pipes jutted out of the walls and ceilings at every door, with the doors themselves being made of smooth steel. He walked by them, remembering the daily grind of testing, trying to find that one room.</p> <p><em>Alan placed the body in front of 158, and pushed the procedural conditions to the optimal means. He sluggishly returned to the control chamber, and watched the machine do its work. On the first day, removing the souls of the condemned had seemed wicked cool, but since then the luster had worn off. It really was just a monotonous job. Push button, remove soul. Push button, send soul to another dude. He wasn't even doing any souls for the project, these were just test souls. Heh, there's a job he never would've dreamed of before. "Professional soul extractor".</em></p> <p>Soon, the testing chambers gave way to the containment chambers. The prototypes had all been held here, each a new drain on resources. Even though the successful prototypes had been few and far between, each failure had taught them a little more about how these objects worked. Sometimes the lessons had been costly, but they always learned new things. At the end of the endless sets of concrete boxes and steel entrances, there was a simple wooden door. Kain pushed it open.</p> <p><em>He had spent his last day with her, playing some catch. She always loved playing it with him, laughing every time he retrieved whatever she had thrown. They had finished playing, deciding instead to rest on the linoleum floor. Ruffling his head, they rested together. When the guards came, she refused to go. Didn't want to end up like the others, decommissioned and forgotten. He told her it was okay. That they were only taking her for a medical check before they let her go with him. She trusted him.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>As of 7/19/████, all activity related to Project Olympia has been discontinued. Overwatch Command has deemed it to be a gross waste of resources, and permanently removed support for the project, with personnel assigned to work with it being moved to alternate sites. A hearing is to be held with the project administrators to determine how the project was able to continue as long as it did despite the lack of any concrete results. Prototypes and other equipment have been slated to be decommissioned.</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="/olympia">Olympia</a>" by Anonymous, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/olympia">https://scpwiki.com/olympia</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 professor felt a familiar, cold linoleum under his feet as he padded his way through the facility. It had been a long time, but everything still felt like how he remembered it. The entrance hall looked exactly the same, sans the furniture and decorative pieces. He could still remember coming through here on the first day, excited and ready to begin work on the project. Things hadn't gone the way he'd hoped with it, but he'd gone as far as he could. Those early days had been full of hope, that they could make the Foundation stronger. They were pushing the threshold of cross-anomalous testing to a point that had never been passed before. //General Anders tried to suppress his laugh as he watched the new director plod past the security checkpoint. It was completely ridiculous, having a dog of a man in charge of a project like this. Even if it was a brainy dog. Anders shrugged, and went back to reviewing the documents he'd requested. D-Class requisitions, anomalous relocation forms... just more weight dragging the project behind his schedule.// The roof of the research halls loomed imposingly overhead as the professor wandered through them, reading the sign of every door as he passed. Wehrner... lost him in '76 . Jacob... he left in '78. There were a few empty offices, ones that had the names removed for various reasons. Still, they'd had some good work in here. It was a place where history had almost been made. //This was always the most boring part of the job, the component stage. Measuring the subject's health, age, weight, and all that jazz... it was so tedious. He didn't even get to disassemble them, that was in assembly. All he got to do was count, cut and repeat. He wiped his gloves as he continued the prep. While he was thinking about it, they really ought to send them some more potent painkillers.// The professor recoiled as he caught a whiff of the old D-Class dormitories. Shaking his head, he quickened his pace. The D-Class had only been used for scientific purposes, which was a cause to strengthen the Foundation. Nothing wrong with that. Maybe some people had criticized him for allowing the waste to occur, why he hadn't tried to stop it. It hadn't even been his fault... Anders had ordered the D-Class. So it was the general's fault. Anders had been removed from the project, so the blame had lain with him. //The man looked up at the huge instruments suspended above him. They glistened in the dim light, with a copper sheen and several looming shapes in the dark. Something in the mess of gears began to emit a low hum, and the restraints around his wrists began to tighten. He sucked in a breath as a dull pain shot up his back, and slowly pulled up the spine. It felt agonizing, like someone dragging a sharp, burning hunk of iron down his back, stopping every few seconds when it got stuck and had to yank down itself to be dislodged. It continued to his neck, and he felt a sharp pain in the base of the skull. Soon, doctors would come to look at him, deem him an improperly formatted component, then move on to another test subject.// There was a door in the back, leading into the primary testing chambers. Most of the lab and test equipment had been left in these rooms, due to their antiquity making them unsuited for current Foundation testing. The professor passed by imposing lead pipes, interspaced by brass contraptions, with the capability to performing all sorts of biological testing. Release pipes jutted out of the walls and ceilings at every door, with the doors themselves being made of smooth steel. He walked by them, remembering the daily grind of testing, trying to find that one room. //Alan placed the body in front of 158, and pushed the procedural conditions to the optimal means. He sluggishly returned to the control chamber, and watched the machine do its work. On the first day, removing the souls of the condemned had seemed wicked cool, but since then the luster had worn off. It really was just a monotonous job. Push button, remove soul. Push button, send soul to another dude. He wasn't even doing any souls for the project, these were just test souls. Heh, there's a job he never would've dreamed of before. "Professional soul extractor".// Soon, the testing chambers gave way to the containment chambers. The prototypes had all been held here, each a new drain on resources. Even though the successful prototypes had been few and far between, each failure had taught them a little more about how these objects worked. Sometimes the lessons had been costly, but they always learned new things. At the end of the endless sets of concrete boxes and steel entrances, there was a simple wooden door. Kain pushed it open. //He had spent his last day with her, playing some catch. She always loved playing it with him, laughing every time he retrieved whatever she had thrown. They had finished playing, deciding instead to rest on the linoleum floor. Ruffling his head, they rested together. When the guards came, she refused to go. Didn't want to end up like the others, decommissioned and forgotten. He told her it was okay. That they were only taking her for a medical check before they let her go with him. She trusted him.// > As of 7/19/████, all activity related to Project Olympia has been discontinued. Overwatch Command has deemed it to be a gross waste of resources, and permanently removed support for the project, with personnel assigned to work with it being moved to alternate sites. A hearing is to be held with the project administrators to determine how the project was able to continue as long as it did despite the lack of any concrete results. Prototypes and other equipment have been slated to be decommissioned. [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> \|author=Anonymous]] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-11-13T00:09:00	[ "_licensebox", "olympia", "rewritable", "tale" ]	Olympia - SCP Foundation	47	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales", "end-of-olympians-hub", "articles-eligible-for-rewrite" ]	[]	14992170	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/olympia
on-the-seventh-day-of-christmas	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>"Doctor Malley."</p> <p>"Doctor Kurtz?"</p> <p>"Come look at this."</p> <p>"Is there a problem? Today's bed check isn't for another three hours."</p> <p>"What does it have there?"</p> <p>"Oh. He really wanted a notepad, so I requisitioned one. …Settle down, Kurtz. I cleared it with the head researcher."</p> <p>"Of course you did. You've got Pearson on board with every whim you hear out of it."</p> <p>"Maybe he sees the same untapped potential for study that I do."</p> <p>" 'Untapped potential' my ass, Malley."</p> <p>"Watch your language around him. I want to expand his vocabulary, but not like that."</p> <blockquote> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">NAME</span>: SKIP 16</p> </blockquote> <p>"Listen to yourself. A pet project is fine, but you're emphasizing 'pet' so much more than 'project' with this one."</p> <blockquote> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">CLASS:</span> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">SAFE</span> FAST</p> </blockquote> <p>"If you have a problem with my focus, take it up with Doctor Pearson."</p> <p>"What's the point? He's as infatuated with it as you are."</p> <p>"SCP-1802 is the most intriguing Safe-class we have. He's worth taking some risks."</p> <blockquote> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">SPECIAL CONTAINER:</span> A sandwich bag</p> </blockquote> <p>"SCP-1802 is the <em>only</em> intriguing Safe-class we have. Ninety percent of Area 24's resources are spent keeping the Blue Room under control. Pearson only leads the Safe wing, all three rooms of it, and his only job is ferrying captured Safe objects to facilities designed to deal with them. It's either that toy or the self-eating orange."</p> <p>"My point exactly."</p> <blockquote> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">SPECIAL CONTAINER:</span> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">A sandwich bag</span> A jar with holes in the lid</p> </blockquote> <p>"But this is all academic, Malley. It's going to be shipped out to Research Facility 5 as soon as the application goes through."</p> <p>"Eventually, yes."</p> <p>"But it should have happened April 28th. That was a week ago. …Damnit, did you even send in the application?"</p> <blockquote> <p>The lizard should be</p> </blockquote> <p>"Of course I did, Kurtz. But it's been suspended for the next week, and may be postponed after that."</p> <p>"By Pearson. Because you two can't give up the son you never had."</p> <p>"It's not that."</p> <p>"The toy you always wanted for Christmas?"</p> <blockquote> <p><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">The lizard should be</span> Skip 16 should be caught and returned to its container as soon as possible.</p> </blockquote> <p>"Doctor Pearson and I feel that disturbing the system that 1802 has set up would be detrimental to studying his behavior."</p> <p>"1802's 'system' is a little row of area personnel's garbage that he keeps under his bed."</p> <p>"A row that's organized by size, Doctor Kurtz."</p> <blockquote> <p>At this time, Skip 16 is too fast to catch. I can only walk after it with graspers extended and while asking Skip 16 to stop crawling. Skip 16 will not stop crawling when asked.</p> </blockquote> <p>"You think that if you can prove he's doing something important in there, you can keep him around?"</p> <p>"That's how Pearson sees it."</p> <p>"Don't you understand what's going on, Malley?"</p> <p>"I should ask you the same question."</p> <p>"This thing is… it's a bad joke they're playing on us."</p> <p>"I'm still not sure they had anything to do with it, no matter what the rest of Research thinks."</p> <p>"Then the joke's on you, Doctor Malley."</p> <blockquote> <p>Skip 16 should be returned to its jar with holes in the lid as soon as possible. The jar with holes in the lid has a stick and a leaf in it that were found next to Skip 16. The jar with holes in the lid is in my fourth spot. The fourth spot is hidden under a box marked "ORANGES". I call this spot the Oranges Spot.</p> </blockquote> <p>"Kurtz… who does he remind you of?"</p> <p>"He's a pathetic imitation of—"</p> <p>"No. Who, specifically, does he remind you of?"</p> <p>"His voice sounds kind of like Jeff Goldblum trapped in a mailbox."</p> <p>"Nevermind. Maybe if you had talked to Goggles more often."</p> <p>"Malley, you're calling him Goggles now?"</p> <p>"1802? No, I'm not."</p> <blockquote> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">THE THING:</span> Skip 16 is a lizard. I looked Skip 16 up in a book in a library, and his name is Hemidactylus frenatus, but his name is also a gecko. Skip 16 is not very smart. I do not think that he realizes that he needs to be in his container. Skip 16 does not like his container and he does not like me. It does not matter to me because I am doing my task. Skip 16 is much faster than I am, and can crawl up walls. I have seen him stop to eat a fly, so I know one thing that Skip 16 eats. This means that I could feed Skip 16 if I contained him, because if I could catch him, I could also catch flies.</p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">EXTRA NOTE:</span> I talked with Skip 16. Here is the conversation. I remember all of it.</p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Skip:</span> Skip 16, get over here.</p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Skip 16:</span> Nothing</p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Skip:</span> Skip 16, you should get back in your container in the Oranges Spot.</p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Skip 16:</span> Nothing</p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Skip:</span> Come down from that wall. I have a stick and a leaf for you.</p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Skip 16:</span> Nothing</p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Skip:</span> I am coming closer.</p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Skip 16:</span> Nothing. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Skip 16 runs away.</span></p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Skip:</span> I should not be talking to you. You are a lizard.</p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">EXTRA NOTE PART 2</span>: I should not have written that down. It does not really tell you anything about Skip 16.</p> </blockquote> <p>"What's he writing there, anyway?"</p> <p>"Maybe he's trying to tell us something, Kurtz."</p> <p>"I'm going to find out."</p> <p>"Technically, you don't have clearance to test 1802."</p> <p>"Technically, that toy should be sitting in a locker in Fresno right now."</p> <p>"Fine, Kurtz."</p> <blockquote> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">EXTRA NOTE 2</span>: When I put Skip 16 in his jar, he started running up the side. While I was watching him, I fell over. He escaped. Put Skip 16 in his jar carefully so that you do not fall over. Skip 16 is not a toy. — —</p> </blockquote> <p>"Give me that."</p> <p>"Is there a problem?"</p> <p>"Malley, this is…"</p> <p>"Ha. I've never seen you speechless before."</p> <p>"I'm going to go check on the Blue Room. Last time it turned redd we lost… I think it was twelve good men."</p> <p>"And a close friend. Or two."</p> <p>"That's where <em>I</em> need to be."</p> <p>"Then do your job, damn it. Leave that on the table, and I'll do mine. …Here's your pencil back, Skip. Sorry if he rattled your bones."</p> <p>"Doctor Malley."</p> <p>"Doctor Kurtz?"</p> <p>"Merry Christmas."</p> <blockquote> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">INTERESTING GROUP:</span> The Foundation</p> <p>The SCP Foundation is a very large organization. It is like me if I was the size of the Earth. It performs my task and I think that it has done well. It has performed my task on me.<br/> I cooperate with the Foundation because I approve of its task. I also cooperate because I was told to and because of a third reason that I do not remember and because if I did not cooperate, it would not help anyone and I think I would be moved away.<br/> I like where I am. The Foundation is keeping me in Armed Containment Area 24. The Area is built around the Blue Room. The Blue Room has been designed to contain a Keter-class SCP with a high clearance rating and an immense risk factor. The continued lives of those in this facility are, despite the best efforts of the Foundation, entirely its decision.</p> <p>I wish I knew why I remember them.</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="/on-the-seventh-day-of-christmas">On The Seventh Day Of Christmas</a>" by Silberescher, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/on-the-seventh-day-of-christmas">https://scpwiki.com/on-the-seventh-day-of-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> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div></body></html>	[[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] "Doctor Malley." "Doctor Kurtz?" "Come look at this." "Is there a problem? Today's bed check isn't for another three hours." "What does it have there?" "Oh. He really wanted a notepad, so I requisitioned one. ...Settle down, Kurtz. I cleared it with the head researcher." "Of course you did. You've got Pearson on board with every whim you hear out of it." "Maybe he sees the same untapped potential for study that I do." " 'Untapped potential' my ass, Malley." "Watch your language around him. I want to expand his vocabulary, but not like that." > __NAME__: SKIP 16 "Listen to yourself. A pet project is fine, but you're emphasizing 'pet' so much more than 'project' with this one." > __CLASS:__ --SAFE-- FAST "If you have a problem with my focus, take it up with Doctor Pearson." "What's the point? He's as infatuated with it as you are." "SCP-1802 is the most intriguing Safe-class we have. He's worth taking some risks." > __SPECIAL CONTAINER:__ A sandwich bag "SCP-1802 is the //only// intriguing Safe-class we have. Ninety percent of Area 24's resources are spent keeping the Blue Room under control. Pearson only leads the Safe wing, all three rooms of it, and his only job is ferrying captured Safe objects to facilities designed to deal with them. It's either that toy or the self-eating orange." "My point exactly." > __SPECIAL CONTAINER:__ --A sandwich bag-- A jar with holes in the lid "But this is all academic, Malley. It's going to be shipped out to Research Facility 5 as soon as the application goes through." "Eventually, yes." "But it should have happened April 28th. That was a week ago. ...Damnit, did you even send in the application?" > The lizard should be "Of course I did, Kurtz. But it's been suspended for the next week, and may be postponed after that." "By Pearson. Because you two can't give up the son you never had." "It's not that." "The toy you always wanted for Christmas?" > --The lizard should be-- Skip 16 should be caught and returned to its container as soon as possible. "Doctor Pearson and I feel that disturbing the system that 1802 has set up would be detrimental to studying his behavior." "1802's 'system' is a little row of area personnel's garbage that he keeps under his bed." "A row that's organized by size, Doctor Kurtz." > At this time, Skip 16 is too fast to catch. I can only walk after it with graspers extended and while asking Skip 16 to stop crawling. Skip 16 will not stop crawling when asked. "You think that if you can prove he's doing something important in there, you can keep him around?" "That's how Pearson sees it." "Don't you understand what's going on, Malley?" "I should ask you the same question." "This thing is... it's a bad joke they're playing on us." "I'm still not sure they had anything to do with it, no matter what the rest of Research thinks." "Then the joke's on you, Doctor Malley." > Skip 16 should be returned to its jar with holes in the lid as soon as possible. The jar with holes in the lid has a stick and a leaf in it that were found next to Skip 16. The jar with holes in the lid is in my fourth spot. The fourth spot is hidden under a box marked "ORANGES". I call this spot the Oranges Spot. "Kurtz... who does he remind you of?" "He's a pathetic imitation of--" "No. Who, specifically, does he remind you of?" "His voice sounds kind of like Jeff Goldblum trapped in a mailbox." "Nevermind. Maybe if you had talked to Goggles more often." "Malley, you're calling him Goggles now?" "1802? No, I'm not." > __THE THING:__ Skip 16 is a lizard. I looked Skip 16 up in a book in a library, and his name is Hemidactylus frenatus, but his name is also a gecko. Skip 16 is not very smart. I do not think that he realizes that he needs to be in his container. Skip 16 does not like his container and he does not like me. It does not matter to me because I am doing my task. Skip 16 is much faster than I am, and can crawl up walls. I have seen him stop to eat a fly, so I know one thing that Skip 16 eats. This means that I could feed Skip 16 if I contained him, because if I could catch him, I could also catch flies. > > __EXTRA NOTE:__ I talked with Skip 16. Here is the conversation. I remember all of it. > > __Skip:__ Skip 16, get over here. > > __Skip 16:__ Nothing > > __Skip:__ Skip 16, you should get back in your container in the Oranges Spot. > > __Skip 16:__ Nothing > > __Skip:__ Come down from that wall. I have a stick and a leaf for you. > > __Skip 16:__ Nothing > > __Skip:__ I am coming closer. > > __Skip 16:__ Nothing. __Skip 16 runs away.__ > > __Skip:__ I should not be talking to you. You are a lizard. > > __EXTRA NOTE PART 2__: I should not have written that down. It does not really tell you anything about Skip 16. > "What's he writing there, anyway?" "Maybe he's trying to tell us something, Kurtz." "I'm going to find out." "Technically, you don't have clearance to test 1802." "Technically, that toy should be sitting in a locker in Fresno right now." "Fine, Kurtz." > __EXTRA NOTE 2__: When I put Skip 16 in his jar, he started running up the side. While I was watching him, I fell over. He escaped. Put Skip 16 in his jar carefully so that you do not fall over. Skip 16 is not a toy. -- -- "Give me that." "Is there a problem?" "Malley, this is..." "Ha. I've never seen you speechless before." "I'm going to go check on the Blue Room. Last time it turned redd[!-- THIS IS NOT A TYPO --] we lost... I think it was twelve good men." "And a close friend. Or two." "That's where //I// need to be." "Then do your job, damn it. Leave that on the table, and I'll do mine. ...Here's your pencil back, Skip. Sorry if he rattled your bones." "Doctor Malley." "Doctor Kurtz?" "Merry Christmas." > __INTERESTING GROUP:__ The Foundation > > The SCP Foundation is a very large organization. It is like me if I was the size of the Earth. It performs my task and I think that it has done well. It has performed my task on me. > I cooperate with the Foundation because I approve of its task. I also cooperate because I was told to and because of a third reason that I do not remember and because if I did not cooperate, it would not help anyone and I think I would be moved away. > I like where I am. The Foundation is keeping me in Armed Containment Area 24. The Area is built around the Blue Room. The Blue Room has been designed to contain a Keter-class SCP with a high clearance rating and an immense risk factor. The continued lives of those in this facility are, despite the best efforts of the Foundation, entirely its decision. > > I wish I knew why I remember them. @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-06-28T22:59:00	[ "_licensebox", "christmas", "slice-of-life", "tale" ]	On The Seventh Day Of Christmas - SCP Foundation	84	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-2-tales-edition", "holiday-hub", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13660488	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/on-the-seventh-day-of-christmas
once-but-not-now	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Sometimes, when he closed his withered eyelids, the old man could see the prairies of his youth, the moonlight grasses, feel and hear the gentle whiskers of the wind against his flesh. But that had been long ago, hadn't it? Sometimes when he dreamed, he would forget that he was old and leap through those fields, shrieking with the elemental joy of existence. There were others there, young, like he was in the dream, their faces blurry but so heartbreakingly familiar. It felt wrong to have forgotten them.</p> <p>Then he would wake again, and see the corroded metal walls of his prison. Technically, he was not bound in this cell; he could leave at any time - he just had to get up and walk out. But beyond, the world had changed into something lunatic, too bright, too complex, as though it had been designed to confuse and daze him. Burning white lights, random surfaces at dizzying intervals, so that the air seemed to drown or choke him. It had not been this bad when they had first brought him to this dismal place - or perhaps it was he who had changed, his faculties dispersing themselves into the suffocating walls.</p> <p>So here he stayed. He would try to take refuge in fantasy, losing the present as he had lost so much of the past, but those open prairies were becoming harder and harder to call up of his own volition. Instead, he found himself walking endless, twisted corridors, doors sagging with decay and dark, damp mould dripping from the ceiling. He wondered whether it was the ruin of his own mind he was imagining.</p> <p>He had been young once, he thought. He remembered his mother, and siblings, though in his mind they had become mixed with his children, and how they had played amongst the trees and in the open prairies. He had been taught how to hunt - in those days prey had been plentiful (no, not plentiful, he thought, but easier to catch). His mother had brought him an old, tattered one alive to show him how to hunt, and he and his brothers and sisters batted and clawed at it until it shuddered and expired. Did it <em>think</em>, he wondered - did it feel? Did it understand it was old and could no longer defend itself? Even then his tribe had not been large - never more than twenty.</p> <p>In those days the prey were different - their bones were long and thick, they had ridges over their eyes and they wore the skins of other animals. Their teeth and claws were barely a threat to the long arms of his tribe, but sometimes they had other teeth made of stone they could hold in their hands, sharp glittering things that tore your flesh.</p> <p>Then the prey had changed. A smaller, scrawnier sort of prey, with more stone teeth than the others, so that at first the tribe still hunted the bone-heads. The thinner prey hunted the bone-heads too, though not for food, and between them the supply dried up. This new sort of prey was harder to hunt and catch, even back then - they sealed themselves away in burrows which gave way to hives, with the horrible criss-crossing branches exactly perpendicular to each other that made his tribe's eyes water and their stomachs heave when they looked at them. And they had the burning light, like lightning but contained in a bundle of sticks. Still, they had prospered; he had found a mate - he found that if he tried hard he could recall the curves of her body as they lay together - and had children who ran wildly over the plains like he had.</p> <p>But the prey had grown ever further entrenched, and it seemed the more the prey swarmed together the harder it was to get inside, to skip over into the twilight world that let them move through the walls and floors of their hives. They ringed their hives with running water; the first time he had burrowed into that he remembered the mind-consuming <em>movement</em>; a taste of what the whole world would become.</p> <p>How had he been captured? He thought for a moment that he could not longer remember, until the outlines of a narrative suggested themselves to his mind. Was it true? Who could tell?</p> <p>He had been alone - perhaps for decades. The last member of his tribe - he could no longer recall whether it had been his mate or one of his offspring - had vanished one day like all the rest. He sometimes entertained himself with the thought that she was still alive, then wondered what that meant. He would not wish this - this disintegration, this incomprehensible confinement - on her, or any member of his tribe.</p> <p>He thought he could remember waking one day and feeling hungry - more hungry than he had ever felt in his whole existence. He had roused himself from near-hibernation in the tree where he lived and descended. The prey's hive nestled in the shadow of a hill on the far side of the lake the old man remembered being far larger in his childhood. The prey drank it, he had realised one day long ago, and in their teeming thousands depleted it. When it was dry, the prey would be gone, and then what would he do? He had approached, moving over and through earth they had pockmarked with their tall gold seed, leeching the life out of it.</p> <p>The hive was bigger than he remembered, and more dazzling - the luminescence the prey produced to light their way through the night that had once belonged to his tribe catching off big, flat, reflective surfaces that seemed profoundly unnatural. Just one, he thought; he just needed one of them, then he could sleep again. He would find one of the caves the prey made under their hives and sleep. He shivered as he passed through cold, yellow light. Here, at the edge of the hive, they still had open areas around each burrow, though they had grazed the grass so thoroughly there was almost nothing left.</p> <p>He remembered seeing one of them - small, tender in his mind's eye - and the old man drooled. He had watched it for days, waited for a moment when it left the safety of the pack (these days, precious few moments - they guarded their young so fiercely). Then, while it was running near its burrow, he took it; long arms closing around it and fingers searing into its flesh. A twist, practiced many, many times, and it was gone. He could not wait to hide; his hunger was too severe. His remaining teeth were already gnawing at the soft tissues of its nose and ears, even as he hugged the small body to him and shrank into the shadows of the treeline.</p> <p>Then the light. Then the pain. The prey had found him hours later, eating what was left of the infant, and shone their brilliant light in his eyes. Blows fell on the old man, crushing him. He felt something pop in his arm. Something shining was looped between his wrist and the tree, and they went away. He tried to retreat to the fields in his mind, but the cold iron kept him there. He had found a way to escape it, later, but that was after they had put him in the cell at the centre of the maze.</p> <p>Then the white coats had come and taken him away, and the lights had grown brighter and the pain more intense. No food, no food. He was dying, he thought, distantly, starving one day at a time. When he had been young he had seen an old man die of starvation - he had killed another member of the tribe and no-one would share their food with him. His limbs had hollowed out and his skin had become like a dried leaf.</p> <p>For a long time he had hoped that others of his kind would come and find him, save him from this humiliation. But they would not relieve his hunger, he knew. They would not share their food with him. He had become that old man and he had committed sin. He could not remember the reason he had fought the larger male - times had become hard and prey scarce, and the other male had failed the tribe. It had occured to him later that the older male might have been his father.</p> <p>The old man remembered the onlookers, faces blurred and shifting, watching as he pummelled the larger male to the floor and put his hand in the other's skull and moved his fingers until there was no life in there anymore. But he had done no better, and his people had grown thinner and thinner and left him, one by one, to find richer hunting grounds elsewhere. Now he was alone. And as the years went by in the metal cell, he began to think an awful thought - <em>I am the last</em>.</p> <p>Once, these bewildering creatures in white coats would not have confused him. His mind would have been clean and sharp and he would have navigated the horrible labyrinth outside his cell.</p> <p>Once but not now. Now he wandered alone in the crumbling steel darkness, the pain from his stomach overwhelming what was left of him.</p> <p>I have lost everything, he thought. I have lost everything!</p> <p>He twitched as he realised that in his distress he had drifted further from his cell than he ever had before - those decayed corridors of mind fell behind him and he found himself in what he thought was the waking world, but nothing like the maze he had perceived before. Here the air was so fresh his old lungs exhaled suddenly as though he had been submerged in ice. He was in a small, tunnel-like space, like the burrows of foxes or badgers but hard-cornered and metal in the fashion of the prey.</p> <p>Below him were slats of light, and he realised dimly that through them he could see the world of the white coats, clean and clinical. But there was something wrong. Red lights were wheeling back and forth, hypnotically. The white coats were running; rushing away to be replaced by others with blue hard hats and determined expressions.</p> <p>Then, he smelled it, the scent of injured prey, so rich, so replete in memory but so harrowingly distant that he wondered if he had imagined it, like so much else. But no, there it was again. The old man stirred long black limbs and raised himself up as far as he could, his ragged nostrils sucking in the fresh, cold air. And his ears, dulled as they were, picked up that long-forgotten cry, the gibbering assemblage of syllables, almost human, as the prey called out in pain and fear.</p> <p>The dribble came thickly down his withered chin, and dry old eyes moistened again as he remembered marrow, and blood soaking into pink, juicy meat, just like it had been in the old days. No doubt the white coats would take this morsel from him as they had taken it away before. He didn't care; there was not enough left of the old man to care. He could only move, down through the slats, towards the light.</p> <p>The old man came drip, drip, dripping down the wall…</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="/once-but-not-now">Once But Not Now</a>" by SRegan, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/once-but-not-now">https://scpwiki.com/once-but-not-now</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]] [[/>]] Sometimes, when he closed his withered eyelids, the old man could see the prairies of his youth, the moonlight grasses, feel and hear the gentle whiskers of the wind against his flesh. But that had been long ago, hadn't it? Sometimes when he dreamed, he would forget that he was old and leap through those fields, shrieking with the elemental joy of existence. There were others there, young, like he was in the dream, their faces blurry but so heartbreakingly familiar. It felt wrong to have forgotten them. Then he would wake again, and see the corroded metal walls of his prison. Technically, he was not bound in this cell; he could leave at any time - he just had to get up and walk out. But beyond, the world had changed into something lunatic, too bright, too complex, as though it had been designed to confuse and daze him. Burning white lights, random surfaces at dizzying intervals, so that the air seemed to drown or choke him. It had not been this bad when they had first brought him to this dismal place - or perhaps it was he who had changed, his faculties dispersing themselves into the suffocating walls. So here he stayed. He would try to take refuge in fantasy, losing the present as he had lost so much of the past, but those open prairies were becoming harder and harder to call up of his own volition. Instead, he found himself walking endless, twisted corridors, doors sagging with decay and dark, damp mould dripping from the ceiling. He wondered whether it was the ruin of his own mind he was imagining. He had been young once, he thought. He remembered his mother, and siblings, though in his mind they had become mixed with his children, and how they had played amongst the trees and in the open prairies. He had been taught how to hunt - in those days prey had been plentiful (no, not plentiful, he thought, but easier to catch). His mother had brought him an old, tattered one alive to show him how to hunt, and he and his brothers and sisters batted and clawed at it until it shuddered and expired. Did it //think//, he wondered - did it feel? Did it understand it was old and could no longer defend itself? Even then his tribe had not been large - never more than twenty. In those days the prey were different - their bones were long and thick, they had ridges over their eyes and they wore the skins of other animals. Their teeth and claws were barely a threat to the long arms of his tribe, but sometimes they had other teeth made of stone they could hold in their hands, sharp glittering things that tore your flesh. Then the prey had changed. A smaller, scrawnier sort of prey, with more stone teeth than the others, so that at first the tribe still hunted the bone-heads. The thinner prey hunted the bone-heads too, though not for food, and between them the supply dried up. This new sort of prey was harder to hunt and catch, even back then - they sealed themselves away in burrows which gave way to hives, with the horrible criss-crossing branches exactly perpendicular to each other that made his tribe's eyes water and their stomachs heave when they looked at them. And they had the burning light, like lightning but contained in a bundle of sticks. Still, they had prospered; he had found a mate - he found that if he tried hard he could recall the curves of her body as they lay together - and had children who ran wildly over the plains like he had. But the prey had grown ever further entrenched, and it seemed the more the prey swarmed together the harder it was to get inside, to skip over into the twilight world that let them move through the walls and floors of their hives. They ringed their hives with running water; the first time he had burrowed into that he remembered the mind-consuming //movement//; a taste of what the whole world would become. How had he been captured? He thought for a moment that he could not longer remember, until the outlines of a narrative suggested themselves to his mind. Was it true? Who could tell? He had been alone - perhaps for decades. The last member of his tribe - he could no longer recall whether it had been his mate or one of his offspring - had vanished one day like all the rest. He sometimes entertained himself with the thought that she was still alive, then wondered what that meant. He would not wish this - this disintegration, this incomprehensible confinement - on her, or any member of his tribe. He thought he could remember waking one day and feeling hungry - more hungry than he had ever felt in his whole existence. He had roused himself from near-hibernation in the tree where he lived and descended. The prey's hive nestled in the shadow of a hill on the far side of the lake the old man remembered being far larger in his childhood. The prey drank it, he had realised one day long ago, and in their teeming thousands depleted it. When it was dry, the prey would be gone, and then what would he do? He had approached, moving over and through earth they had pockmarked with their tall gold seed, leeching the life out of it. The hive was bigger than he remembered, and more dazzling - the luminescence the prey produced to light their way through the night that had once belonged to his tribe catching off big, flat, reflective surfaces that seemed profoundly unnatural. Just one, he thought; he just needed one of them, then he could sleep again. He would find one of the caves the prey made under their hives and sleep. He shivered as he passed through cold, yellow light. Here, at the edge of the hive, they still had open areas around each burrow, though they had grazed the grass so thoroughly there was almost nothing left. He remembered seeing one of them - small, tender in his mind's eye - and the old man drooled. He had watched it for days, waited for a moment when it left the safety of the pack (these days, precious few moments - they guarded their young so fiercely). Then, while it was running near its burrow, he took it; long arms closing around it and fingers searing into its flesh. A twist, practiced many, many times, and it was gone. He could not wait to hide; his hunger was too severe. His remaining teeth were already gnawing at the soft tissues of its nose and ears, even as he hugged the small body to him and shrank into the shadows of the treeline. Then the light. Then the pain. The prey had found him hours later, eating what was left of the infant, and shone their brilliant light in his eyes. Blows fell on the old man, crushing him. He felt something pop in his arm. Something shining was looped between his wrist and the tree, and they went away. He tried to retreat to the fields in his mind, but the cold iron kept him there. He had found a way to escape it, later, but that was after they had put him in the cell at the centre of the maze. Then the white coats had come and taken him away, and the lights had grown brighter and the pain more intense. No food, no food. He was dying, he thought, distantly, starving one day at a time. When he had been young he had seen an old man die of starvation - he had killed another member of the tribe and no-one would share their food with him. His limbs had hollowed out and his skin had become like a dried leaf. For a long time he had hoped that others of his kind would come and find him, save him from this humiliation. But they would not relieve his hunger, he knew. They would not share their food with him. He had become that old man and he had committed sin. He could not remember the reason he had fought the larger male - times had become hard and prey scarce, and the other male had failed the tribe. It had occured to him later that the older male might have been his father. The old man remembered the onlookers, faces blurred and shifting, watching as he pummelled the larger male to the floor and put his hand in the other's skull and moved his fingers until there was no life in there anymore. But he had done no better, and his people had grown thinner and thinner and left him, one by one, to find richer hunting grounds elsewhere. Now he was alone. And as the years went by in the metal cell, he began to think an awful thought - //I am the last//. Once, these bewildering creatures in white coats would not have confused him. His mind would have been clean and sharp and he would have navigated the horrible labyrinth outside his cell. Once but not now. Now he wandered alone in the crumbling steel darkness, the pain from his stomach overwhelming what was left of him. I have lost everything, he thought. I have lost everything! He twitched as he realised that in his distress he had drifted further from his cell than he ever had before - those decayed corridors of mind fell behind him and he found himself in what he thought was the waking world, but nothing like the maze he had perceived before. Here the air was so fresh his old lungs exhaled suddenly as though he had been submerged in ice. He was in a small, tunnel-like space, like the burrows of foxes or badgers but hard-cornered and metal in the fashion of the prey. Below him were slats of light, and he realised dimly that through them he could see the world of the white coats, clean and clinical. But there was something wrong. Red lights were wheeling back and forth, hypnotically. The white coats were running; rushing away to be replaced by others with blue hard hats and determined expressions. Then, he smelled it, the scent of injured prey, so rich, so replete in memory but so harrowingly distant that he wondered if he had imagined it, like so much else. But no, there it was again. The old man stirred long black limbs and raised himself up as far as he could, his ragged nostrils sucking in the fresh, cold air. And his ears, dulled as they were, picked up that long-forgotten cry, the gibbering assemblage of syllables, almost human, as the prey called out in pain and fear. The dribble came thickly down his withered chin, and dry old eyes moistened again as he remembered marrow, and blood soaking into pink, juicy meat, just like it had been in the old days. No doubt the white coats would take this morsel from him as they had taken it away before. He didn't care; there was not enough left of the old man to care. He could only move, down through the slats, towards the light. The old man came drip, drip, dripping down the wall... [[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>]]	2012-08-26T18:45:00	[ "_licensebox", "featured", "historical", "murder-monster", "mystery", "tale", "the-old-man", "xenofiction" ]	Once But Not Now - SCP Foundation	372	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "foundation-tales-audio-edition", "archived:foundation-tales", "featured-tale-archive", "audio-adaptations" ]	[]	14129655	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/once-but-not-now
one-last-ride	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>You know what my favorite part of a roller coaster is? The climb. You're just inching your way up that hill, and you know that the terrible drop is coming soon. Riding with family is even better. I can see the tension building on their faces as you depart from the station. I love the clicky sound it makes as you go up and up and up and… Down…</p> <p>I feel gravity let go as you plunge down the first hill. My hair is in my face, and the skin on my face is stretched back. I open your mouth and let out a big scream, and then pull into a loop - eugh, whats all this in the air? It looks all red… What is this stuff?</p> <p>I don't really care anyways. We're going into the loop! Loops are the best part of any coaster. Especially when you sit in the front row. Man, the dudes in the front row aren't even putting their hands up. Everyone else does, why don't they?</p> <p>The second loop is even better. It has a really sweet banked turn, so you can see everyone on the coaster going nuts. And those guys in the first row are still being sourpusses, not even lifting a hand. They aren't even… They're not cheering or anything.</p> <p>No, that can't be true. It must have been a trick of the light. I'm okay, everyone is okay. People are still yelling with joy, the coaster is still on. Nobody is in danger. I'm okay. Time for the third loop of the ride, the cobra roll… Oh god.</p> <p>I have to get out of here. This isn't fun anymore, I have to get off. I can hear everyone screaming, but nobody is stopping us. Maybe it will stop, maybe it will be okay… Oh god, it's another loop…</p> <p>I can hear the people in the row before me crying. They're holding each other, crying and wailing… I'm not going out that way. I have to get out of this restraint. Why is it so tight?</p> <p><a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-823">It won't let me off.</a></p> <p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><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="/one-last-ride">One Last Ride</a>" by Anonymous, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/one-last-ride">https://scpwiki.com/one-last-ride</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 know what my favorite part of a roller coaster is? The climb. You're just inching your way up that hill, and you know that the terrible drop is coming soon. Riding with family is even better. I can see the tension building on their faces as you depart from the station. I love the clicky sound it makes as you go up and up and up and... Down... I feel gravity let go as you plunge down the first hill. My hair is in my face, and the skin on my face is stretched back. I open your mouth and let out a big scream, and then pull into a loop - eugh, whats all this in the air? It looks all red... What is this stuff? I don't really care anyways. We're going into the loop! Loops are the best part of any coaster. Especially when you sit in the front row. Man, the dudes in the front row aren't even putting their hands up. Everyone else does, why don't they? The second loop is even better. It has a really sweet banked turn, so you can see everyone on the coaster going nuts. And those guys in the first row are still being sourpusses, not even lifting a hand. They aren't even... They're not cheering or anything. No, that can't be true. It must have been a trick of the light. I'm okay, everyone is okay. People are still yelling with joy, the coaster is still on. Nobody is in danger. I'm okay. Time for the third loop of the ride, the cobra roll... Oh god. I have to get out of here. This isn't fun anymore, I have to get off. I can hear everyone screaming, but nobody is stopping us. Maybe it will stop, maybe it will be okay... Oh god, it's another loop... I can hear the people in the row before me crying. They're holding each other, crying and wailing... I'm not going out that way. I have to get out of this restraint. Why is it so tight? [[[http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-823 \| It won't let me off.]]] @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> \|author=Anonymous]] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-07-18T06:25:00	[ "_licensebox", "rewritable", "tale" ]	One Last Ride - SCP Foundation	23	[ "scp-823", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales", "articles-eligible-for-rewrite" ]	[]	13817557	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/one-last-ride
oops	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><em>"An ordnance technician at a dead run outranks everybody."</em> <strong>-Unknown</strong></p> <p>Everything was going swimmingly. His research team had finally gotten authorization to use 914 for ordnance testing. Set to "Fine" and "Very Fine", agents were processed and tested for the stated aim of equipping Nu-7 with more capable means of containing or neutralizing hostile Keters. His team worked efficiently, and without succumbing to the temptation to abuse it for their own gain. He smiled and a plan was hatched.</p> <p>The large man walked up to the machine amidst research staff engaged in their work and emptied a small canvas bag on the in side and set 914 into motion. Moments later, he quietly gathered the product on the other side of the infernal device and left without fanfare.</p> <blockquote> <p>[Interviewer] What did you put through 914?</p> </blockquote> <p>Returning to an isolated laboratory at the far end of a hallway and closing, but not locking, the armored blast door behind him, he prepared a large standing erection of glassware, tubing, burners and unidentifiable components off to one side. Emptying the pouch into a ball mill, he set it to pulverize the contents and waited patiently for it to finish. In the meantime, he finished filling out the requisition form for another batch of dicyanoacetylene.</p> <p>The noise stopped with a soft "ding", and he rose from his desk, pouring the contents into a series of hoppers on the nightmare of glassware in the corner and opened a series of valves with hands shaking with anticipation and excitement.</p> <blockquote> <p>[Dr. John Williamson] Beans.<br/> [Interviewer] Beans?<br/> [Dr. Williamson] Yes.</p> </blockquote> <p>Slowly a ceramic collection vessel on the end massive system filled with a thick, black liquid that filled the room with a characteristic and very familiar odor, albeit one considerably stronger than he'd known. A soft smile again grew on his worn face as he closed the stopcock and lifted the collection vessel by its handle. The reservoir on the assembly continued to fill with the thick, oily black liquid as he turned to walk back to his desk, unaware of the filling reservoir that his labcoat had snagged on a handle. He dared a sip of the liquid, bringing the mug up to his lips with trembling hands. It was marvelous. Better than anything he'd produced yet. Perfection.</p> <p>On his way to his desk, out of the corner of his eye Dr. Williamson saw his masterwork begin to tilt, the liquid sloshing in the almost full reservoir. Tilt and begin to fall impossibly slowly. Time seemed to drag on.</p> <p>He ran for the door.</p> <p>In the hallway, staff seemed to be moving in slow motion as he ran. He was almost to the end of the hallway when he heard the crash and deafening low order blast.</p> <blockquote> <p>[Dr. Williamson] Coffee beans.</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="/oops">Oops</a>" by Firebeard, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/oops">https://scpwiki.com/oops</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]] [[/>]] //"An ordnance technician at a dead run outranks everybody."// -Unknown Everything was going swimmingly. His research team had finally gotten authorization to use 914 for ordnance testing. Set to "Fine" and "Very Fine", agents were processed and tested for the stated aim of equipping Nu-7 with more capable means of containing or neutralizing hostile Keters. His team worked efficiently, and without succumbing to the temptation to abuse it for their own gain. He smiled and a plan was hatched. The large man walked up to the machine amidst research staff engaged in their work and emptied a small canvas bag on the in side and set 914 into motion. Moments later, he quietly gathered the product on the other side of the infernal device and left without fanfare. > [Interviewer] What did you put through 914? Returning to an isolated laboratory at the far end of a hallway and closing, but not locking, the armored blast door behind him, he prepared a large standing erection of glassware, tubing, burners and unidentifiable components off to one side. Emptying the pouch into a ball mill, he set it to pulverize the contents and waited patiently for it to finish. In the meantime, he finished filling out the requisition form for another batch of dicyanoacetylene. The noise stopped with a soft "ding", and he rose from his desk, pouring the contents into a series of hoppers on the nightmare of glassware in the corner and opened a series of valves with hands shaking with anticipation and excitement. > [Dr. John Williamson] Beans. > [Interviewer] Beans? > [Dr. Williamson] Yes. Slowly a ceramic collection vessel on the end massive system filled with a thick, black liquid that filled the room with a characteristic and very familiar odor, albeit one considerably stronger than he'd known. A soft smile again grew on his worn face as he closed the stopcock and lifted the collection vessel by its handle. The reservoir on the assembly continued to fill with the thick, oily black liquid as he turned to walk back to his desk, unaware of the filling reservoir that his labcoat had snagged on a handle. He dared a sip of the liquid, bringing the mug up to his lips with trembling hands. It was marvelous. Better than anything he'd produced yet. Perfection. On his way to his desk, out of the corner of his eye Dr. Williamson saw his masterwork begin to tilt, the liquid sloshing in the almost full reservoir. Tilt and begin to fall impossibly slowly. Time seemed to drag on. He ran for the door. In the hallway, staff seemed to be moving in slow motion as he ran. He was almost to the end of the hallway when he heard the crash and deafening low order blast. > [Dr. Williamson] Coffee beans. @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-08-31T00:19:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Oops - SCP Foundation	67	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	14177232	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/oops
origination	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><strong>August 7th, 1993</strong></p> <p>Francis played Mingus in his head, trying to drown out the memories that lurked in his leaden mind. He wanted to be able to go to sleep and wake up and have it all be a dream. Just a nightmare. Maybe his whole life up to now was a dream, and he would wake up as a child again, and toddle down the hall to his parent’s bedroom.</p> <p>Dream or no, the saxophone sang out in his head, and as it tried to soothe him he hoped and prayed someone else would do something about this. Call the police, call the military, call anyone. Call for someone else. Someone who wasn’t him. Someone take this off of his hands and let him sleep…</p> <p>No, no…sleep wasn’t an option. Anything but sleep. The face still burned in his mind: it hovered there every time he closed his eyes for longer than a moment, staring at him with blank, concrete and spray-paint eyes. Taunting him. Daring him. Mocking him.</p> <p><em>You blinked.</em></p> <p>Francis shot awake, shaking. There had been a snap. He was <em>sure</em> he had heard a snap. It was still ringing in his ears.</p> <p>No, no snap. Everyone was still there. Heads attached to necks attached to shoulders. Not popped off like the cork in a bottle of champagne. Four of them sitting around a worn and stained coffee table in Adam’s worn and stained apartment. Jack was there, and Agatha, and Adam was on the phone.</p> <p>“You all right?” Jack asked. What was that, his fifth cup of coffee? While the bags around his eyes were nothing new, it seemed that now they were even more pronounced and dark. He almost looked like a raccoon. A scraggly, slightly overweight and rather curmudgeonly raccoon.</p> <p>“Yeah…yeah…I’m fine.” Francis sat up straight, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Jack shrugged, and if anyone had taken any extra notice, they did not show it: the circle was, to the man, ragged, and red-eyed. Francis glanced at his watch and counted the hours again: fifty-six since he had last slept. That was before they had found it. Before they found the statue.</p> <p>He tried bringing up Mingus again. The sweet tones held out for only a few seconds bit before wobbling. Someone’s voice dribbled in through the dying notes, followed by the click of a hung phone receiver. No escape from this dream, then.</p> <p>Adam walked back into the room, golden retriever padding at his heels. He sat back down in his chair as naturally as a man who could still see it. As comfortable as a king on his throne, as he always was.</p> <p>“Is there any more news about Connor?” Agatha spoke for the first time in hours. The worry in her voice was evident, no matter how much she tried to cover it up. Everyone else was worried, of course, but no one as much as Agatha. Connor was an old friend, a mentor, and possibly a lover, if rumors were to be believed. Francis didn’t particularly care at this point. Did who was bedding who even matter when a statue could move?</p> <p>“John and Dmitri are with him now. He’s conscious and talking,” Adam said, folding his hands. “And the doctors say he’ll make a full physical recovery.”</p> <p>A “That’s good” was ready on Agatha’s lips as Adam shook his head.</p> <p>“He’ll recover, but only physically. Mentally…he’s like a machine now. John says he barely speaks more than a word at a time. Mostly yes or no. Shaved off all of his hair and claimed it was “unnecessary”. The memories are all there, but it’s not him. Not really.”</p> <p>Adam scratched Kain behind his ears.</p> <p>“I’m sorry.”</p> <p>Silence passed briefly, before Agatha excused herself, holding back sobs.</p> <p>“Sorry?” Jack said as the bedroom door slammed. “You saved his life.”</p> <p>“My best friend now thinks he’s a robot because he got jumped by a statue that kills people. That's not much of a life, Jack." He slumped down in his chair, looking defeated. Kain licked his hand. “Not much of a life at all. I was too slow.”</p> <p>Jack set down his coffee. His raccoon eyes were, for once, not angry. Not kind either, but not angry.</p> <p>“Calm down, man. It's not the time for another breakdown.”</p> <p>The phone rang again.</p> <p>“I’ll get it.” Francis stood up and shuffled over to the kitchen area. “Need some more coffee anyway.” It was a lie and a truth. He wanted to sleep, he needed to sleep, but he couldn't. Wouldn't. Wouldn't couldn't shouldn't and shan't.</p> <p>Who was he kidding? He held the receiver up to his ear.</p> <p>“Crow residence, Francis speaking," he croaked.</p> <p>“Frankie, dude, you have got to come see this. This place is <em>amazing</em>.”</p> <p>“Ben? What are you…what place?”</p> <p>“The place we found the statue, dipshit!”</p> <p>Francis was sure his heart stopped. It had to have stopped.</p> <p>“<em>You went back?</em>”</p> <p>“Yeah, with Nemo and Fats. Do you know how far this goes? We only ran through like, some storage areas or some shit when it was chasing us. This place goes on for miles! It’s gigantic!”</p> <p>“Ben, listen to me. Get out of there. We found that thing in there already, and who knows what else is in there, and it’s <em>still</em> in there.”</p> <p>“But we locked it up.”</p> <p>“Yes, but…”</p> <p>“No buts, man. This place is a ghost town. Totally empty. Statue hasn’t moved. Lock the door and it doesn’t bother no-one so long as you don’t go looking at it.”</p> <p>Francis didn’t respond. <em>Dammit</em>, Ben. You had to go back. Probably wanted some photographs or something, like those tourists in Pisa when they pretend to hold up the tower. You’d take that fake katana of yours and pretend to kill a monster.</p> <p>“Hey, Frankie, still there?”</p> <p>Francis groaned. He hung up the phone without answering. Stumbling back into the living area was more of a daze than before. They went <em>back</em>. Why would they go back? To prove something? Sheer stupidity? Or to see the statue again?</p> <p>Why?</p> <p>Why was any of this happening?</p> <p>He felt a wave of exhaustion fill his body like water in a glass. Whatever fumes he had been running on, they were out. He could practically feel his brain giving up and shutting down. Or was that his imagination?</p> <p><em>So tired…</em></p> <p>Francis collapsed in his chair.</p> <p>“It’s Ben,” he managed to say as his eyes slammed shut. He could dimly hear the ringing fade off as the face appeared. It had been waiting for him. Waiting for him to blink, just like Kayla blinked. His consciousness faded swiftly, clawing on to the encroaching dream for a few more moments.</p> <p><em><strong>Blink</strong></em></p> <p><em>No…</em></p> <p><em><strong>Close your eyes</strong></em></p> <p><em>No…I won’t blink… won’t sleep</em></p> <p><em><strong>Sleep. Let all things be undone.</strong></em></p> <p><em>No. No no no no no no</em> NO</p> <p><em>I’m not blinking, motherfucker.</em></p> <p><em>I’m watching</em> you.<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="/origination">Origination</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/origination">https://scpwiki.com/origination</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]] [[/>]] August 7th, 1993 Francis played Mingus in his head, trying to drown out the memories that lurked in his leaden mind. He wanted to be able to go to sleep and wake up and have it all be a dream. Just a nightmare. Maybe his whole life up to now was a dream, and he would wake up as a child again, and toddle down the hall to his parent’s bedroom. Dream or no, the saxophone sang out in his head, and as it tried to soothe him he hoped and prayed someone else would do something about this. Call the police, call the military, call anyone. Call for someone else. Someone who wasn’t him. Someone take this off of his hands and let him sleep… No, no…sleep wasn’t an option. Anything but sleep. The face still burned in his mind: it hovered there every time he closed his eyes for longer than a moment, staring at him with blank, concrete and spray-paint eyes. Taunting him. Daring him. Mocking him. //You blinked.// Francis shot awake, shaking. There had been a snap. He was //sure// he had heard a snap. It was still ringing in his ears. No, no snap. Everyone was still there. Heads attached to necks attached to shoulders. Not popped off like the cork in a bottle of champagne. Four of them sitting around a worn and stained coffee table in Adam’s worn and stained apartment. Jack was there, and Agatha, and Adam was on the phone. “You all right?” Jack asked. What was that, his fifth cup of coffee? While the bags around his eyes were nothing new, it seemed that now they were even more pronounced and dark. He almost looked like a raccoon. A scraggly, slightly overweight and rather curmudgeonly raccoon. “Yeah…yeah…I’m fine.” Francis sat up straight, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Jack shrugged, and if anyone had taken any extra notice, they did not show it: the circle was, to the man, ragged, and red-eyed. Francis glanced at his watch and counted the hours again: fifty-six since he had last slept. That was before they had found it. Before they found the statue. He tried bringing up Mingus again. The sweet tones held out for only a few seconds bit before wobbling. Someone’s voice dribbled in through the dying notes, followed by the click of a hung phone receiver. No escape from this dream, then. Adam walked back into the room, golden retriever padding at his heels. He sat back down in his chair as naturally as a man who could still see it. As comfortable as a king on his throne, as he always was. “Is there any more news about Connor?” Agatha spoke for the first time in hours. The worry in her voice was evident, no matter how much she tried to cover it up. Everyone else was worried, of course, but no one as much as Agatha. Connor was an old friend, a mentor, and possibly a lover, if rumors were to be believed. Francis didn’t particularly care at this point. Did who was bedding who even matter when a statue could move? “John and Dmitri are with him now. He’s conscious and talking,” Adam said, folding his hands. “And the doctors say he’ll make a full physical recovery.” A “That’s good” was ready on Agatha’s lips as Adam shook his head. “He’ll recover, but only physically. Mentally…he’s like a machine now. John says he barely speaks more than a word at a time. Mostly yes or no. Shaved off all of his hair and claimed it was “unnecessary”. The memories are all there, but it’s not him. Not really.” Adam scratched Kain behind his ears. “I’m sorry.” Silence passed briefly, before Agatha excused herself, holding back sobs. “Sorry?” Jack said as the bedroom door slammed. “You saved his life.” “My best friend now thinks he’s a robot because he got jumped by a statue that kills people. That's not much of a life, Jack." He slumped down in his chair, looking defeated. Kain licked his hand. “Not much of a life at all. I was too slow.” Jack set down his coffee. His raccoon eyes were, for once, not angry. Not kind either, but not angry. “Calm down, man. It's not the time for another breakdown.” The phone rang again. “I’ll get it.” Francis stood up and shuffled over to the kitchen area. “Need some more coffee anyway.” It was a lie and a truth. He wanted to sleep, he needed to sleep, but he couldn't. Wouldn't. Wouldn't couldn't shouldn't and shan't. Who was he kidding? He held the receiver up to his ear. “Crow residence, Francis speaking," he croaked. “Frankie, dude, you have got to come see this. This place is //amazing//.” “Ben? What are you…what place?” “The place we found the statue, dipshit!” Francis was sure his heart stopped. It had to have stopped. “//You went back?//” “Yeah, with Nemo and Fats. Do you know how far this goes? We only ran through like, some storage areas or some shit when it was chasing us. This place goes on for miles! It’s gigantic!” “Ben, listen to me. Get out of there. We found that thing in there already, and who knows what else is in there, and it’s //still// in there.” “But we locked it up.” “Yes, but…” “No buts, man. This place is a ghost town. Totally empty. Statue hasn’t moved. Lock the door and it doesn’t bother no-one so long as you don’t go looking at it.” Francis didn’t respond. //Dammit//, Ben. You had to go back. Probably wanted some photographs or something, like those tourists in Pisa when they pretend to hold up the tower. You’d take that fake katana of yours and pretend to kill a monster. “Hey, Frankie, still there?” Francis groaned. He hung up the phone without answering. Stumbling back into the living area was more of a daze than before. They went //back//. Why would they go back? To prove something? Sheer stupidity? Or to see the statue again? Why? Why was any of this happening? He felt a wave of exhaustion fill his body like water in a glass. Whatever fumes he had been running on, they were out. He could practically feel his brain giving up and shutting down. Or was that his imagination? //So tired…// Francis collapsed in his chair. “It’s Ben,” he managed to say as his eyes slammed shut. He could dimly hear the ringing fade off as the face appeared. It had been waiting for him. Waiting for him to blink, just like Kayla blinked. His consciousness faded swiftly, clawing on to the encroaching dream for a few more moments. //Blink// //No…// //Close your eyes// //No…I won’t blink… won’t sleep// //Sleep. Let all things be undone.// //No. No no no no no no// NO //I’m not blinking, motherfucker.// //I’m watching// you. @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-07-10T01:02:00	[ "_licensebox", "classical-revival", "doctor-bright", "doctor-clef", "doctor-kondraki", "doctor-rights", "horror", "kain-pathos-crow", "mystery", "tale", "the-sculpture" ]	Origination - SCP Foundation	101	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales", "classicalrevivalindex" ]	[]	13742966	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/origination
parenthood	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <blockquote> <p><tt><strong>To:</strong> Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>From:</strong> Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Sent:</strong> June 5<sup>th</sup>, 2004, 4:23 pm</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Subject:</strong> Big news!</tt></p> <p><tt>Hey mom! Sorry I haven't emailed you in the past month. Things have been pretty busy. But, I have great news! You're gonna be a grandma! We found out yesterday that Maddie's pregnant, and we've already started turning the guest room into a baby room! Good thing I got a pay raise last week. We gotta think of the baby now!</tt></p> <p><tt>Hope to hear from you soon!</tt></p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p><tt><strong>To:</strong> Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>From:</strong> Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Sent:</strong> March 7<sup>th</sup>, 2005, 12:38 am</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Subject:</strong> She's here!!</tt></p> <p><tt>It's a girl!!! She was born last night around ten at night. Madeline's water broke as she was going to sleep. We drove to the hospital so fast I think I almost hit someone! Jesus, waiting for the doctors to deliver her felt like years. Now, as I'm typing this, she's downstairs, fast asleep in Maddie's arms. We named her Abby, and she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I'll send pictures soon.</tt></p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p><tt><strong>To:</strong> Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>From:</strong> Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Sent:</strong> March 8<sup>th</sup>, 2006, 5:41 pm</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Subject:</strong> Just saying hi again</tt></p> <p><tt>Hey mom. We haven't talked in a while, have we? How are things? We, for one, have been great. I got another raise, Maddie's got a new job at a daycare center. It actually pays pretty well, and you know she loves kids. No child could ever replace Abby in her heart, of course. Speaking of which, Abby's first birthday was yesterday! Howard and Rachael even showed up! Got to see their niece for the first time! Too bad you and dad are all the way down in Florida. We'll have to visit when Abby's older. Love you!</tt></p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p><tt><strong>To:</strong> Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>From:</strong> Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Sent:</strong> June 24<sup>th</sup>, 2008, 8:14 pm</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Subject:</strong></tt></p> <p><tt>There's been an accident. We were at the playground and we took our eyes off of her for one second and she fell of the jungle gym on her head. I saw blood. The doctor's said she'll recover fine but I can't sleep. It's all my fault.</tt></p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p><tt><strong>To:</strong> Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>From:</strong> Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Sent:</strong> June 25<sup>th</sup>, 2008, 7:35 am</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Subject:</strong> Thank god</tt></p> <p><tt>The hospital called and said that Abby will have to stay there for a few more days, but she's all patched up and on the fast track to recovery. No brain damage or anything, it seems. I'm just glad my baby's gonna be okay.</tt></p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p><tt><strong>To:</strong> Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>From:</strong> Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Sent:</strong> July 2<sup>nd</sup>, 2008, 9:57 pm</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Subject:</strong> Abby</tt></p> <p><tt>Mom, there's something wrong with Abby. I mean, she looks and acts perfectly fine, but I know something isn't right with her. Madeline says she feels it too. We started feeling it after Abby's injury at the playground. We've had the doctors look her over, but as far as they're concerned, no permanent damage, physical or mental, came of Abby's injury. But I just know there's something wrong with her.</tt></p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p><tt><strong>To:</strong> Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>From:</strong> Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Sent:</strong> July 5<sup>th</sup>, 2008, 10:22 pm</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Subject:</strong> Abby</tt></p> <p><tt>We got an email from Dr. Williams today. He says that he knows Abby has some kind of problem, even if it's not physical or mental. It doesn't make any sense, he says, but he says that when he was around her he couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness. The staff who were working with him agreed, apparently. He says that he didn't tell us at first because he didn't want Maddie and I to worry, but that he just couldn't keep quiet anymore.</tt></p> <p><tt>What's wrong with my daughter??</tt></p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p><tt><strong>To:</strong> Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>From:</strong> Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Sent:</strong> July 9<sup>th</sup>, 2008, 9:30 am</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Subject:</strong> Abby</tt></p> <p><tt>I can't even look at Abby for more than a few seconds at a time now. There's something about her now and it just shouldn't be. When I'm around her I just get this awful, indescribable feeling. Like I'd rather be anywhere else but next to my own daughter. I try and limit my interaction with her as much as I possibly can. It's terrible, but being around her, it makes me wanna throw up. It's inside of her. In her eyes, in her skin, everything about her.</tt></p> <p><tt>I just don't know what it is.</tt></p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p><tt><strong>To:</strong> Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>From:</strong> Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Sent:</strong> July 10<sup>th</sup>, 2008, 8:26 am</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Subject:</strong></tt></p> <p><tt>i touched her hand</tt></p> <p><tt>it felt so wrong</tt></p> <p><tt>wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong</tt></p> <p><tt>madeline said she felt it too but shes infected it was INSIDE OF HER</tt></p> <p><tt>im gonna kill them both im gonna kill that cunt im gonna kill that THING</tt></p> <p><tt>it needs to die</tt></p> </blockquote> <hr/> <p><strong>Recovery Log:</strong> SCP-053 was recovered on July 10th, 2008, in ██████, Pennsylvania, from the residence of Andrew and Madeline ███████. Local authorities discovered SCP-053 and the deceased bodies of the couple within the same room. Mrs. ███████ had expired from multiple stab wounds inflicted by Mr. ███████, who had expired from a massive heart attack shortly afterwords, believed to have been caused by SCP-053's anomalous effects. Police who attempted interaction with SCP-053 also suffered from its effects, resulting in 5 additional casualties before implanted Foundation agents assessed the situation and properly secured the subject. Class-A amnestics were administered to all non-personnel involved, including Mr. ███████'s parents in Florida, as they had been exposed to information regarding SCP-053 through communication with Mr. ███████.</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="/parenthood">Parenthood</a>" by Goodwill, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/parenthood">https://scpwiki.com/parenthood</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]] [[/>]] > {{To: Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)}} > {{From: Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)}} > {{Sent: June 5^^th^^, 2004, 4:23 pm}} > {{Subject: Big news!}} > > {{Hey mom! Sorry I haven't emailed you in the past month. Things have been pretty busy. But, I have great news! You're gonna be a grandma! We found out yesterday that Maddie's pregnant, and we've already started turning the guest room into a baby room! Good thing I got a pay raise last week. We gotta think of the baby now!}} > > {{Hope to hear from you soon!}} > {{To: Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)}} > {{From: Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)}} > {{Sent: March 7^^th^^, 2005, 12:38 am}} > {{Subject: She's here!!}} > > {{It's a girl!!! She was born last night around ten at night. Madeline's water broke as she was going to sleep. We drove to the hospital so fast I think I almost hit someone! Jesus, waiting for the doctors to deliver her felt like years. Now, as I'm typing this, she's downstairs, fast asleep in Maddie's arms. We named her Abby, and she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I'll send pictures soon.}} > {{To: Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)}} > {{From: Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)}} > {{Sent: March 8^^th^^, 2006, 5:41 pm}} > {{Subject: Just saying hi again}} > > {{Hey mom. We haven't talked in a while, have we? How are things? We, for one, have been great. I got another raise, Maddie's got a new job at a daycare center. It actually pays pretty well, and you know she loves kids. No child could ever replace Abby in her heart, of course. Speaking of which, Abby's first birthday was yesterday! Howard and Rachael even showed up! Got to see their niece for the first time! Too bad you and dad are all the way down in Florida. We'll have to visit when Abby's older. Love you!}} > {{To: Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)}} > {{From: Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)}} > {{Sent: June 24^^th^^, 2008, 8:14 pm}} > {{Subject:}} > > {{There's been an accident. We were at the playground and we took our eyes off of her for one second and she fell of the jungle gym on her head. I saw blood. The doctor's said she'll recover fine but I can't sleep. It's all my fault.}} > {{To: Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)}} > {{From: Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)}} > {{Sent: June 25^^th^^, 2008, 7:35 am}} > {{Subject: Thank god}} > > {{The hospital called and said that Abby will have to stay there for a few more days, but she's all patched up and on the fast track to recovery. No brain damage or anything, it seems. I'm just glad my baby's gonna be okay.}} > {{To: Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)}} > {{From: Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)}} > {{Sent: July 2^^nd^^, 2008, 9:57 pm}} > {{Subject: Abby}} > > {{Mom, there's something wrong with Abby. I mean, she looks and acts perfectly fine, but I know something isn't right with her. Madeline says she feels it too. We started feeling it after Abby's injury at the playground. We've had the doctors look her over, but as far as they're concerned, no permanent damage, physical or mental, came of Abby's injury. But I just know there's something wrong with her.}} > {{To: Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)}} > {{From: Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)}} > {{Sent: July 5^^th^^, 2008, 10:22 pm}} > {{Subject: Abby}} > > {{We got an email from Dr. Williams today. He says that he knows Abby has some kind of problem, even if it's not physical or mental. It doesn't make any sense, he says, but he says that when he was around her he couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness. The staff who were working with him agreed, apparently. He says that he didn't tell us at first because he didn't want Maddie and I to worry, but that he just couldn't keep quiet anymore.}} > > {{What's wrong with my daughter??}} > {{To: Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)}} > {{From: Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)}} > {{Sent: July 9^^th^^, 2008, 9:30 am}} > {{Subject: Abby}} > > {{I can't even look at Abby for more than a few seconds at a time now. There's something about her now and it just shouldn't be. When I'm around her I just get this awful, indescribable feeling. Like I'd rather be anywhere else but next to my own daughter. I try and limit my interaction with her as much as I possibly can. It's terrible, but being around her, it makes me wanna throw up. It's inside of her. In her eyes, in her skin, everything about her.}} > > {{I just don't know what it is.}} > {{To: Thelma ███████ (█████████@hotmail.com)}} > {{From: Andrew ███████ (██████@yahoo.com)}} > {{Sent: July 10^^th^^, 2008, 8:26 am}} > {{Subject:}} > > {{i touched her hand}} > > {{it felt so wrong}} > > {{wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong}} > > {{madeline said she felt it too but shes infected it was INSIDE OF HER}} > > {{im gonna kill them both im gonna kill that cunt im gonna kill that THING}} > > {{it needs to die}} ------ Recovery Log: SCP-053 was recovered on July 10th, 2008, in ██████, Pennsylvania, from the residence of Andrew and Madeline ███████. Local authorities discovered SCP-053 and the deceased bodies of the couple within the same room. Mrs. ███████ had expired from multiple stab wounds inflicted by Mr. ███████, who had expired from a massive heart attack shortly afterwords, believed to have been caused by SCP-053's anomalous effects. Police who attempted interaction with SCP-053 also suffered from its effects, resulting in 5 additional casualties before implanted Foundation agents assessed the situation and properly secured the subject. Class-A amnestics were administered to all non-personnel involved, including Mr. ███████'s parents in Florida, as they had been exposed to information regarding SCP-053 through communication with Mr. ███████. [[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>]]	2012-07-24T05:28:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Parenthood - SCP Foundation	66	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13868029	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/parenthood
patronage	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Sir or Sirs:</p> <p>When I was five, I was in a theatre fire. A real one, not some hackneyed joke played up for laughs by idiotic teenagers. Upon reflection, I think it was utterly mad that there would actually <em>be</em> a fire—such a clichéd concept, isn’t it?—but this was back when smoking was allowed in theatres, so I suppose it couldn’t have been that rare.</p> <p>Some other child, probably not much older than me, screamed that there was a fire, and it was one of those terrifying old movies, something by Murnau, so all the patrons were already absurdly tense. All the children started screaming together in unison. My mother broke my arm dragging me out of the theatre, and four people were stomped to death fighting to get out. That’s when I realized how dangerous it was.</p> <p>Not the fire, of course. No one died from it. People died from the panic. From the other idiots. Trampled to death and unable to defend themselves from the feet of everyone coming down on their face or neck or chest. One of them was another child. Sometimes, I like to think that was the one who warned everyone. A touch morbid, but I know you’ll not judge me. How absolutely perfect would that be? A voice that called out to save everyone, crushed to death by the feet of those he would help. It’s so wonderfully bittersweet. Nigh unto sublime, but more impeccable than that. Supernal in its delightful tragedy.</p> <p>That was when I realized it. Ideas. What could be more deadly? The idea of the fire, or the actual fire? What’s worse: the thought of grinding a file over your teeth, or actually doing it? How much worse is the idea of a needle sliding into your eye and then jerking out… or someone actually doing it to you? Can a shark be any worse than the idea of one? The absence of one? But then, I’m preaching to the proverbial choir, I believe.</p> <p>Brilliantly done. I must admit, at first I was skeptical of your vision, but now, I can see the sort of concepts you were hoping to achieve. I hope that you will continue to work like this in the future, building these anti-concepts into things much more beautiful than their terrestrial origins. Of course, we’ll supply the funds for your next project. We are, after all, great patrons of the arts, and these pieces are more elegant than anything we’ve received in the past.</p> <p>With warm admiration for your craft,<br/> J. Carter, ESQ.<br/> CEO Marshall, Carter, and Dark, ltd.</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="/patronage">Patronage</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/patronage">https://scpwiki.com/patronage</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]] [[/>]] Sir or Sirs: When I was five, I was in a theatre fire. A real one, not some hackneyed joke played up for laughs by idiotic teenagers. Upon reflection, I think it was utterly mad that there would actually //be// a fire—such a clichéd concept, isn’t it?—but this was back when smoking was allowed in theatres, so I suppose it couldn’t have been that rare. Some other child, probably not much older than me, screamed that there was a fire, and it was one of those terrifying old movies, something by Murnau, so all the patrons were already absurdly tense. All the children started screaming together in unison. My mother broke my arm dragging me out of the theatre, and four people were stomped to death fighting to get out. That’s when I realized how dangerous it was. Not the fire, of course. No one died from it. People died from the panic. From the other idiots. Trampled to death and unable to defend themselves from the feet of everyone coming down on their face or neck or chest. One of them was another child. Sometimes, I like to think that was the one who warned everyone. A touch morbid, but I know you’ll not judge me. How absolutely perfect would that be? A voice that called out to save everyone, crushed to death by the feet of those he would help. It’s so wonderfully bittersweet. Nigh unto sublime, but more impeccable than that. Supernal in its delightful tragedy. That was when I realized it. Ideas. What could be more deadly? The idea of the fire, or the actual fire? What’s worse: the thought of grinding a file over your teeth, or actually doing it? How much worse is the idea of a needle sliding into your eye and then jerking out… or someone actually doing it to you? Can a shark be any worse than the idea of one? The absence of one? But then, I’m preaching to the proverbial choir, I believe. Brilliantly done. I must admit, at first I was skeptical of your vision, but now, I can see the sort of concepts you were hoping to achieve. I hope that you will continue to work like this in the future, building these anti-concepts into things much more beautiful than their terrestrial origins. Of course, we’ll supply the funds for your next project. We are, after all, great patrons of the arts, and these pieces are more elegant than anything we’ve received in the past. With warm admiration for your craft, J. Carter, ESQ. CEO Marshall, Carter, and Dark, ltd. [[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>]]	2012-09-06T06:43:00	[ "_licensebox", "are-we-cool-yet", "marshall-carter-and-dark", "tale" ]	Patronage - SCP Foundation	89	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-2-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales", "are-we-cool-yet-hub" ]	[]	14229214	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/patronage
people-look-east	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <blockquote> <p>Nota Bene: It would behoove you to read <a href="/shepherds">Shepherds</a> and <a href="/second-watch">Second Watch</a> before reading this tale.</p> </blockquote> <p>Mary-Ann Lewitt sat at the little table in the kitchen, reading her book. It was snowing outside, with big white flakes spiraling out of the blackness beyond and dashing themselves against the windowpane. Chatter flowed out from the living room, the occasional laugh interspersed with the conversation and the sound of the TV.</p> <p>The kitchen itself was cozy, still warmed by the frenzied cooking of that afternoon. The smells of dinner still lingered in the air. Now <em>that</em> had been a meal, the kind where you didn’t plan on moving more than a few feet for the next day or so. When Big John Courtemanche, Rabbi Arnheim, and Rigatoni Carbonara IV shared a kitchen, there was no alternative.</p> <p>Technically, it wasn’t a Christmas party. It was the “Completely Secular and Non-Denominational Winter Celebration of Fellowship and Goodwill towards Mankind (Please Check Your Attitude and Weapons at the Door)” party. Someone’s tongue had been planted firmly enough in their cheek that Mary-Ann guessed that some sort of surgery would be needed to remove it.</p> <p>The bizarre thing was that it worked. There was not a single decoration of religious significance on display in the entire house. That would have pained Big John. The man was practically Santa Claus already: gigantic white beard, ruddy complexion, wide around the middle, and a habit of punching heretics.</p> <p>“You’re being anti-social, Mary-Ann.”</p> <p>She looked up to see Salah at the kitchen entry. He was holding a mug of hot chocolate, and wearing a horrifically tacky sweater: bright red with a goofy-looking snowman on the front.</p> <p>“And I didn’t think you’d actually wear that.”</p> <p>“I am a Pakistani-born British Muslim who is working alongside a motley array of Christians, Jews, and sundry other faiths to fight the horrific things that lurk in the dark corners of creation.” He took a sip from his mug, clearly using it as an excuse for dramatic timing. “I should think that by now I would have a fine-tuned sense of irony.”</p> <p>“Or you just refuse to refuse a gift.”</p> <p>“That too.” He sat down in the opposite chair, left ankle resting on right knee. Another sip. “There’s something on your mind. Talk to me.”</p> <p>Mary-Ann sighed, putting on a smile for it. She placed the napkin she had been using as a bookmark back in its place.</p> <p>“Yeah. Okay.” She set the book down on the table. “You got me. I guess it’s just that time of year is all.”</p> <p>“Bad memories?”</p> <p>“Spending time with family doesn’t mean much when they never want to see your face again. Except maybe in a police report.”</p> <p>“Ah. I know the feeling. If my father could see me now, he’d probably burst an artery out of sheer rage. But alas, he is dead.”</p> <p>“I mean, it’s not as bad as it was last year. Last year my Christmas was a TV dinner I shared with my cat. I’m okay out here, Salah. Really, I’m okay.”</p> <p>Salah nodded, taking another sip of cocoa. There was quiet for a bit. Maybe he was done, maybe he was just pausing. She didn’t feel like opening her book back up, because it felt like he was about to say something.</p> <p>“Remember that spirit we exorcised from that restroom?” he said.</p> <p>“I don’t think I’m going to forget the ghost that lived in a toilet and spent five hours telling me I had a nice butt. And also that it wanted to eat it.”</p> <p>“And that was when you threatened it with a plunger.”</p> <p>“That was when I <em>exorcised</em> it with a plunger.” Mary-Ann smiled for a moment. “Though that was just an awful day in general. Way too hot outside, no air conditioning in that building, job took like five hours. I mean, it’s funny now, but I know we were both ready to kill each other and quite a few civilians over it.”</p> <p>“Mmm-hmm.”</p> <p>“And, you know, I think it might have had some eyesight problems. Really, on a scale of “plywood” to “dayum”, my butt is maybe an “eh, okay”.”</p> <p>“I’ll take your word for it.”</p> <p>There were shouts from the living room. Someone had scored a touchdown, apparently.</p> <p>“You’re doing that thing, aren’t you?” Mary-Ann said.</p> <p>“What thing?”</p> <p>“That thing where you start innocent conversations to make people comfortable. You’re trying to lure me into a sense of security so I’ll start talking about my feelings.”</p> <p>Salah shrugged.</p> <p>“You said it, not me.”</p> <p>“Well, it’s working. It’s definitely working…” her voice trailed off.</p> <p>“I’m listening.”</p> <p>“It’s…I don’t know, I’m more comfortable out here. You know me, Salah; I don’t really have other friends. I mean, I know them, I talk to them, but I’m not really friends with them. Not really.”</p> <p>“You know Di and Aaron, and I know you’ve spoken with Anas and Rasha before. Just come in and talk with them for a while.”</p> <p>“I’m all right.”</p> <p>“Mary-Ann…”</p> <p>“It’s…I’m just…I’m scared, Salah.”</p> <p>“What are you afraid of?”</p> <p>Mary-Ann twirled a lock of hair around her finger, her eyes focused on the base of the refrigerator, across the kitchen.</p> <p>“A lot of things.”</p> <p>“Like what?”</p> <p>There was a pause. In the living room, Di was energetically arguing literature with someone else.</p> <p>“Well…you know.”</p> <p>Salah nodded.</p> <p>“Hm. Have you seen the progress they’ve made on the Universal Texts? Almost fifty pages done, I hear," he said.</p> <p>“Yeah. Pretty good for sticking a post-it note with ‘Abraham was a pretty rad dude’ on the wall.”</p> <p>“So then, gentlemen, what progress have we made this week? Well sir, we have determined that Moses was also a pretty cool dude.”</p> <p>A limp chuckle rose from that.</p> <p>“You’re doing it again.”</p> <p>Salah shrugged again.</p> <p>“If it would make you feel better, I’m willing to speak first.”</p> <p>“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be better.”</p> <p>“Very well then. My greatest fear is myself.”</p> <p>Mary-Ann’s face was quizzical.</p> <p>“Twenty years ago or so, I would have loved nothing less than to burn down this house. Smuggle a bomb in under my sweater, detonate it when everyone was gathered together, one final blaze of glory as I was whisked away into Paradise.”</p> <p>On the list of things Mary-Ann considered plausible, that statement was very, very low on the list, somewhere between “Beatles reunion tour” and "actually getting around to reading <em>Les Miserables</em>".</p> <p>“I was a very angry young man. Very angry with no easy outlet. No job, no family of my own, amid many others of the same state.”</p> <p>“I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you anything more than mildly irritated.”</p> <p>Salah waved a hand absently.</p> <p>“That we can attest to development of character. Needless to say, I…” he paused mid-sentence. A skinny man with a colander on his head ran into the kitchen, grabbed a plate of cookies off of the counter, and ran back out. He nodded politely as he exited.</p> <p>“That is possibly the most awkward man I have ever met.” Salah shook his head. “Anyway, needless to say, I did not end up splattering myself across the pavement and murdering innocents for the glory of God. That story is for another time. What is important here is that I am still afraid of that angry young man. You see, he never left. He’s locked up. In here.” He pointed to his head. “And in here.” He pointed to his chest.</p> <p>“Then hasn’t he won, if you still fear him?”</p> <p>“No. I fear him the way a zookeeper would fear a tiger. It would be idiotic to be without fear, and impossible to do his job with too much.” He drained what was left of his cocoa. “You need to find the proper amount.”</p> <p>Mary-Ann let out a long breath, leaning forward in her chair. Another chuckle.</p> <p>“Kinda hard to follow up on that one, Salah.”</p> <p>“Don’t rush yourself.”</p> <p>“Okay…yeah. I guess…guess I’m afraid of myself too. Afraid I’ll just get hurt again. I get close to people, and either I push them away and burn the bridge, or they die. It’s easier not to care. Hurts less.”</p> <p>“But being alone hurts too, doesn’t it?”</p> <p>“Yeah. It does. I feel hollow. Just a shell with a hole that can’t be filled up.” She paused, staring out at some indeterminate point on the other side of the kitchen. “I don’t want to be alone anymore, but I can’t do it. I’ve tried, but it just hurts more.” A pause again. “It sounds pathetic, but it’s the truth.”</p> <p>Salah pulled a napkin from the dispenser and handed it to Mary Ann. He said nothing. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes.</p> <p>“Just take your time. You'll get through it. I know it.”</p> <p>Mary-Ann balled up the napkin and tossed in in the garbage.</p> <p>“Could I catch a ride home with you? I think I’m partied out.”</p> <p>“Of course. I’ll grab my jacket.” Salah stood up, washed out his mug, and stepped out of the kitchen. Mary-Ann could feel a weight lift off of her spirit. Not all the way, but enough. Enough for now. She stood up, taking her book with her, and walked into the living room. Maybe she’d talk to them more next time.</p> <p>Yeah, she could do that.</p> <p>“Sorry to cut and run, but I’ve got to get home. Thanks for having me. See you all around later.”</p> <p>The good-byes strung themselves together, hugs and handshakes and wishing well, and RCIV making everything awkward by exclaiming “Be blessed by the Noodly Appendage!” Mary-Ann had a smile throughout, a small one, but genuine. It was enough for tonight.</p> <p>Salah was waiting for her in the kitchen. He was holding a small package wrapped in red tissue paper.</p> <p>“One last thing.” He handed over the package. “A gift from me.”</p> <p>Mary-Ann tore off the paper, revealing a set of CDs, held together with a rubber band.</p> <p>"Yes, outdated, I know, but there's a proper feel to them."</p> <p>"Thanks, Salah." Mary-Ann smiled. "It means a lot."</p> <p>—</p> <p>Salah’s car floated through the inky night, headlights piercing the black, fat flakes of snow swirling and dashing about. Mary-Ann sat back in her seat, eyes closed, letting the violins and the lilting voice wash over her.</p> <p><em>In demon days, it's cold inside</em><br/> <em>You don't get nobody, people sigh</em><br/> <em>It's so bad, lasting far, but love yourself</em><br/> <em>Hiding in a hole in there</em></p> <p>They drove on through the night.</p> <div style="text-align: center;"> <p><strong>« <a href="/second-watch">Second Watch</a> \| <a href="/etdp-hub-page">Hub</a> \| <a href="/the-good-of-the-other">The Good of the Other</a> »</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="/people-look-east">People Look East</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/people-look-east">https://scpwiki.com/people-look-east</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]] [[/>]] > Nota Bene: It would behoove you to read [[[Shepherds]]] and [[[Second Watch]]] before reading this tale. Mary-Ann Lewitt sat at the little table in the kitchen, reading her book. It was snowing outside, with big white flakes spiraling out of the blackness beyond and dashing themselves against the windowpane. Chatter flowed out from the living room, the occasional laugh interspersed with the conversation and the sound of the TV. The kitchen itself was cozy, still warmed by the frenzied cooking of that afternoon. The smells of dinner still lingered in the air. Now //that// had been a meal, the kind where you didn’t plan on moving more than a few feet for the next day or so. When Big John Courtemanche, Rabbi Arnheim, and Rigatoni Carbonara IV shared a kitchen, there was no alternative. Technically, it wasn’t a Christmas party. It was the “Completely Secular and Non-Denominational Winter Celebration of Fellowship and Goodwill towards Mankind (Please Check Your Attitude and Weapons at the Door)” party. Someone’s tongue had been planted firmly enough in their cheek that Mary-Ann guessed that some sort of surgery would be needed to remove it. The bizarre thing was that it worked. There was not a single decoration of religious significance on display in the entire house. That would have pained Big John. The man was practically Santa Claus already: gigantic white beard, ruddy complexion, wide around the middle, and a habit of punching heretics. “You’re being anti-social, Mary-Ann.” She looked up to see Salah at the kitchen entry. He was holding a mug of hot chocolate, and wearing a horrifically tacky sweater: bright red with a goofy-looking snowman on the front. “And I didn’t think you’d actually wear that.” “I am a Pakistani-born British Muslim who is working alongside a motley array of Christians, Jews, and sundry other faiths to fight the horrific things that lurk in the dark corners of creation.” He took a sip from his mug, clearly using it as an excuse for dramatic timing. “I should think that by now I would have a fine-tuned sense of irony.” “Or you just refuse to refuse a gift.” “That too.” He sat down in the opposite chair, left ankle resting on right knee. Another sip. “There’s something on your mind. Talk to me.” Mary-Ann sighed, putting on a smile for it. She placed the napkin she had been using as a bookmark back in its place. “Yeah. Okay.” She set the book down on the table. “You got me. I guess it’s just that time of year is all.” “Bad memories?” “Spending time with family doesn’t mean much when they never want to see your face again. Except maybe in a police report.” “Ah. I know the feeling. If my father could see me now, he’d probably burst an artery out of sheer rage. But alas, he is dead.” “I mean, it’s not as bad as it was last year. Last year my Christmas was a TV dinner I shared with my cat. I’m okay out here, Salah. Really, I’m okay.” Salah nodded, taking another sip of cocoa. There was quiet for a bit. Maybe he was done, maybe he was just pausing. She didn’t feel like opening her book back up, because it felt like he was about to say something. “Remember that spirit we exorcised from that restroom?” he said. “I don’t think I’m going to forget the ghost that lived in a toilet and spent five hours telling me I had a nice butt. And also that it wanted to eat it.” “And that was when you threatened it with a plunger.” “That was when I //exorcised// it with a plunger.” Mary-Ann smiled for a moment. “Though that was just an awful day in general. Way too hot outside, no air conditioning in that building, job took like five hours. I mean, it’s funny now, but I know we were both ready to kill each other and quite a few civilians over it.” “Mmm-hmm.” “And, you know, I think it might have had some eyesight problems. Really, on a scale of “plywood” to “dayum”, my butt is maybe an “eh, okay”.” “I’ll take your word for it.” There were shouts from the living room. Someone had scored a touchdown, apparently. “You’re doing that thing, aren’t you?” Mary-Ann said. “What thing?” “That thing where you start innocent conversations to make people comfortable. You’re trying to lure me into a sense of security so I’ll start talking about my feelings.” Salah shrugged. “You said it, not me.” “Well, it’s working. It’s definitely working…” her voice trailed off. “I’m listening.” “It’s…I don’t know, I’m more comfortable out here. You know me, Salah; I don’t really have other friends. I mean, I know them, I talk to them, but I’m not really friends with them. Not really.” “You know Di and Aaron, and I know you’ve spoken with Anas and Rasha before. Just come in and talk with them for a while.” “I’m all right.” “Mary-Ann…” “It’s…I’m just…I’m scared, Salah.” “What are you afraid of?” Mary-Ann twirled a lock of hair around her finger, her eyes focused on the base of the refrigerator, across the kitchen. “A lot of things.” “Like what?” There was a pause. In the living room, Di was energetically arguing literature with someone else. “Well...you know.” Salah nodded. “Hm. Have you seen the progress they’ve made on the Universal Texts? Almost fifty pages done, I hear," he said. “Yeah. Pretty good for sticking a post-it note with ‘Abraham was a pretty rad dude’ on the wall.” “So then, gentlemen, what progress have we made this week? Well sir, we have determined that Moses was also a pretty cool dude.” A limp chuckle rose from that. “You’re doing it again.” Salah shrugged again. “If it would make you feel better, I’m willing to speak first.” “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be better.” “Very well then. My greatest fear is myself.” Mary-Ann’s face was quizzical. “Twenty years ago or so, I would have loved nothing less than to burn down this house. Smuggle a bomb in under my sweater, detonate it when everyone was gathered together, one final blaze of glory as I was whisked away into Paradise.” On the list of things Mary-Ann considered plausible, that statement was very, very low on the list, somewhere between “Beatles reunion tour” and "actually getting around to reading //Les Miserables//". “I was a very angry young man. Very angry with no easy outlet. No job, no family of my own, amid many others of the same state.” “I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you anything more than mildly irritated.” Salah waved a hand absently. “That we can attest to development of character. Needless to say, I…” he paused mid-sentence. A skinny man with a colander on his head ran into the kitchen, grabbed a plate of cookies off of the counter, and ran back out. He nodded politely as he exited. “That is possibly the most awkward man I have ever met.” Salah shook his head. “Anyway, needless to say, I did not end up splattering myself across the pavement and murdering innocents for the glory of God. That story is for another time. What is important here is that I am still afraid of that angry young man. You see, he never left. He’s locked up. In here.” He pointed to his head. “And in here.” He pointed to his chest. “Then hasn’t he won, if you still fear him?” “No. I fear him the way a zookeeper would fear a tiger. It would be idiotic to be without fear, and impossible to do his job with too much.” He drained what was left of his cocoa. “You need to find the proper amount.” Mary-Ann let out a long breath, leaning forward in her chair. Another chuckle. “Kinda hard to follow up on that one, Salah.” “Don’t rush yourself.” “Okay…yeah. I guess…guess I’m afraid of myself too. Afraid I’ll just get hurt again. I get close to people, and either I push them away and burn the bridge, or they die. It’s easier not to care. Hurts less.” “But being alone hurts too, doesn’t it?” “Yeah. It does. I feel hollow. Just a shell with a hole that can’t be filled up.” She paused, staring out at some indeterminate point on the other side of the kitchen. “I don’t want to be alone anymore, but I can’t do it. I’ve tried, but it just hurts more.” A pause again. “It sounds pathetic, but it’s the truth.” Salah pulled a napkin from the dispenser and handed it to Mary Ann. He said nothing. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “Just take your time. You'll get through it. I know it.” Mary-Ann balled up the napkin and tossed in in the garbage. “Could I catch a ride home with you? I think I’m partied out.” “Of course. I’ll grab my jacket.” Salah stood up, washed out his mug, and stepped out of the kitchen. Mary-Ann could feel a weight lift off of her spirit. Not all the way, but enough. Enough for now. She stood up, taking her book with her, and walked into the living room. Maybe she’d talk to them more next time. Yeah, she could do that. “Sorry to cut and run, but I’ve got to get home. Thanks for having me. See you all around later.” The good-byes strung themselves together, hugs and handshakes and wishing well, and RCIV making everything awkward by exclaiming “Be blessed by the Noodly Appendage!” Mary-Ann had a smile throughout, a small one, but genuine. It was enough for tonight. Salah was waiting for her in the kitchen. He was holding a small package wrapped in red tissue paper. “One last thing.” He handed over the package. “A gift from me.” Mary-Ann tore off the paper, revealing a set of CDs, held together with a rubber band. "Yes, outdated, I know, but there's a proper feel to them." "Thanks, Salah." Mary-Ann smiled. "It means a lot." -- Salah’s car floated through the inky night, headlights piercing the black, fat flakes of snow swirling and dashing about. Mary-Ann sat back in her seat, eyes closed, letting the violins and the lilting voice wash over her. //In demon days, it's cold inside// //You don't get nobody, people sigh// //It's so bad, lasting far, but love yourself// //Hiding in a hole in there// They drove on through the night. [[=]] << [[[Second Watch]]] \| [[[etdp Hub Page\| Hub]]] \| [[[The Good of the Other]]] >> [[/=]] [[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>]]	2012-12-18T05:16:00	[ "_licensebox", "christmas", "etdp", "horizon-initiative", "lewitt-zairi-family", "religious-fiction", "slice-of-life", "tale" ]	People Look East - SCP Foundation	112	[ "shepherds", "second-watch", "etdp-hub-page", "the-good-of-the-other", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "joke-scps-tales-edition", "horizon-initiative-hub", "archived:foundation-tales", "etdp-hub-page" ]	[]	15510150	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/people-look-east
pilot	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><strong>CAPTION</strong><br/> THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN REDACTED BY THE FOUNDATION ETHICS COMITTEE AND BY THE COGNITOHAZARD DEPARTMENT. REDACTED MATERIAL AVAILABLE ON LEVEL 5 CERTIFICATION.<br/> SECURE - CONTAIN - PROTECT</p> <p>FADE IN and PAN over a cluttered studio environment, styled as a more colorful and children-oriented version of a scientific research laboratory. Desks crowded with colorful bottles, prop machines and scientific measuring devices, and parts of animals preserved in jars surround an open stage. The walls and floor are heavily graffitied, and two sections of the wall graffiti have been digitally blurred.</p> <p>PRESENTER #1 enters excitedly. He is a light-skinned man on his early twenties, wearing a purple lab coat over jeans and a tie-dyed T-shirt, as well as a top hat.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #1</strong><br/> Hello, boys and girls! Who's ready to learn some science with… Doctor Wondertainment?</p> <p>The INTRODUCTION plays. It is a collage of various science-related stock photos and diagrams, set to a pseudo-zydeco soundtrack. The only lyrics are "Doctor Wondertainment".</p> <p>BACK ON SCENE:</p> <p>PRESENTER #2, a dark-skinned man of indeterminate age, is already on scene as it switches back. He is wearing loose basketball-themed gear under a blue lab coat and shutter shades. PRESENTER #1 is not to be seen.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #2</strong><br/> Welcome to the land of Science, boys and girls! I am Doctor Wondertainment, and today we will learn about… evolution!</p> <p><strong>CAPTION: EVOLUTION</strong></p> <p>Slide whistle plays, then spring noise. BACK ON SCENE.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #2</strong><br/> Evolution is how every living thing that exists today… can be descended from the same creature!</p> <p>The following is a voice-over while a montage of animals, loosely ordered from primitive fish to amphibians, dinosaurs, mammals and primates plays.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #2 VOICE-OVER</strong><br/> Evolution in nature happens over many millions of years, as animals are born slightly different from their parents in each generation.</p> <p>BACK ON SCENE.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #2</strong><br/> But Doctor Wondertainment can demonstrate evolution before your very eyes! Let's give a big hand to… Mr. Headless!</p> <p>APPLAUSE. A headless man in a purple jumpsuit wheels a device into the scene. It is a cabin the size of a single person, covered in garish piping and independently spinning gears.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #2</strong><br/> This… is the Super Science Evolution Kit! We'll be showing what it can do, after the break!</p> <p>ADVERTISING BREAK. Previous frame of Mr. Headless in front of the device frozen. Text on screen has been covered by black bars.</p> <p><strong>NARRATOR</strong><br/> Dr. Wondertainment's Super Science Evolution Kit and Dr. Wondertainment's Mr. Headless are available on select locations now! Call [7 seconds of electronic beep]</p> <p>BACK ON SCENE. PRESENTER #3, a blonde woman possibly on her late twenties but made up to appear much younger, is the only one on stage. She's wearing a green lab coat over a pink tank top and shorts.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #3</strong><br/> Welcome back, boys and girls! For those of you that just tuned in, I'm Doctor Wondertainment, and it's time… to do science!</p> <p>MISTER HEADLESS walks back into the scene, carrying an adult orange-black tabby cat. The cat is placed in the cabin and a clear plastic door is closed in front of it.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #3</strong><br/> Aw, isn't he cute? Just what creature was our kitty's great-grandfather? Let's find out! Science it up, boys!</p> <p>The camera zooms closer to the device as it comes alive. The gears spin more quickly, lights blink and fog rises from the ground. The form inside is indistinct for a few seconds, after which the door opens and a large, fanged SMILODON jumps out.</p> <p>PRESENTER #3 moves to pet the large cat.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #3</strong><br/> That's right! Cats were once very big, with huge saber teeth! But he's still such a honey, aren't you?</p> <p>The video appears to skip. When it's back, the previous cat is in the cabin.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #3</strong><br/> We've seen our kitty's past. But… what is his future? Let's put some science into it!</p> <p>The cabin operates in a similar manner to the first time. This time, the cat appears unchanged. As the camera pans around to follow the cat, one of the CAMERAMEN is briefly visible. He, or she, is concealed by a full hazmat suit.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #3</strong><br/> Aw, he looks the same! Come here, kitty, let me take a look at… BOO!</p> <p>The cat quickly inflates into a near-spherical furry balloon with a distinct POP.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #3</strong><br/> That's right, it's Doctor Wondertainment's very own Puffer-Kitten! So cute and so cuddly. The future of pets, today! More after the break!</p> <p>ADVERTISING BREAK. Montage shot of the puffed kittens and proto-cat over a colorful background. Text on screen has been redacted off.</p> <p><strong>NARRATOR</strong><br/> Dr. Wondertainment's Pufferkittens and Dr. Wondertainment's Smiley the Smilodon could be in your house tonight! Call [6 seconds of electronic beep]</p> <p>BACK ON SCENE. PRESENTER #4 is now on stage. His/her face has been blurred out digitally, and his/her voice is similarly distorted. Only the clothes are clearly visible, a yellow lab coat over a full-body black latex suit.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #4</strong><br/> Welcome back, boys and girls! Doctor Wondertainment will now show you, what does evolution have in wait… for humans? Do we have a member of the audience willing to volunteer?</p> <p>The camera spins around to focus on the AUDIENCE for the first time. It is composed entirely of dummies used in car crash testing, each one wearing a different kind of mask. Theatrical masks, protective sports masks, welding masks and gas masks are all visible.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #4</strong><br/> No one? Very well, we are prepared for that. Mister Headless?</p> <p>MISTER HEADLESS comes in, carrying a conscious but drugged FEMALE probably in her late teens. APPLAUSE as she is placed into the cabin.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #4</strong><br/> Now, boys and girls… Let us do science.</p> <p>The cabin operates as it did previously. The form walking out of it is shrouded by fog for a moment.</p> <p><strong>PRESENTER #4</strong><br/> Yes. Yes indeed. And here it is…</p> <p>The FEMALE emerges from the fog. Her hair is bright pink, her eyes are shimmering gray-green, and feathered wings sprout from her spine with each step. She is clothed in a rippling, rapidly shifting fabric that appears self-willed. The video starts glitching as she moves forward.</p> <p>A screech is heard as the camera falls over.</p> <p>ADVERTISING BREAK. Black screen captioned REDACTED for the next 30 seconds.</p> <p><strong>NARRATOR</strong><br/> Dr. Wondertainment's [8 seconds of electronic beep] are waiting for you! Call [12 seconds of electronic beep]</p> <p><strong>CAPTION: NEXT EPISODE</strong></p> <p><strong>VOICE-OVER</strong><br/> This is it for today, but next week Dr. Wondertainment will have a very special guest! The Doctor presents… Bobble the Clown!</p> <p>SCENE SWITCHES to BOBBLE THE CLOWN staring at the camera with a knife on one hand and guts pulled out of an off-camera animal on the other.</p> <p><strong>BOBBLE THE CLOWN</strong><br/> HI, KIDS! WHO'S READY TO DO SOME FUCKING SCIENCE?</p> <p>Black screen captioned REDACTED and electronic beep for the next six minutes, then black.</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="/pilot">Pilot</a>" by zaratustra, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/pilot">https://scpwiki.com/pilot</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]] [[/>]] CAPTION THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN REDACTED BY THE FOUNDATION ETHICS COMITTEE AND BY THE COGNITOHAZARD DEPARTMENT. REDACTED MATERIAL AVAILABLE ON LEVEL 5 CERTIFICATION. SECURE - CONTAIN - PROTECT FADE IN and PAN over a cluttered studio environment, styled as a more colorful and children-oriented version of a scientific research laboratory. Desks crowded with colorful bottles, prop machines and scientific measuring devices, and parts of animals preserved in jars surround an open stage. The walls and floor are heavily graffitied, and two sections of the wall graffiti have been digitally blurred. PRESENTER #1 enters excitedly. He is a light-skinned man on his early twenties, wearing a purple lab coat over jeans and a tie-dyed T-shirt, as well as a top hat. PRESENTER #1 Hello, boys and girls! Who's ready to learn some science with... Doctor Wondertainment? The INTRODUCTION plays. It is a collage of various science-related stock photos and diagrams, set to a pseudo-zydeco soundtrack. The only lyrics are "Doctor Wondertainment". BACK ON SCENE: PRESENTER #2, a dark-skinned man of indeterminate age, is already on scene as it switches back. He is wearing loose basketball-themed gear under a blue lab coat and shutter shades. PRESENTER #1 is not to be seen. PRESENTER #2 Welcome to the land of Science, boys and girls! I am Doctor Wondertainment, and today we will learn about... evolution! CAPTION: EVOLUTION Slide whistle plays, then spring noise. BACK ON SCENE. PRESENTER #2 Evolution is how every living thing that exists today... can be descended from the same creature! The following is a voice-over while a montage of animals, loosely ordered from primitive fish to amphibians, dinosaurs, mammals and primates plays. PRESENTER #2 VOICE-OVER Evolution in nature happens over many millions of years, as animals are born slightly different from their parents in each generation. BACK ON SCENE. PRESENTER #2 But Doctor Wondertainment can demonstrate evolution before your very eyes! Let's give a big hand to... Mr. Headless! APPLAUSE. A headless man in a purple jumpsuit wheels a device into the scene. It is a cabin the size of a single person, covered in garish piping and independently spinning gears. PRESENTER #2 This... is the Super Science Evolution Kit! We'll be showing what it can do, after the break! ADVERTISING BREAK. Previous frame of Mr. Headless in front of the device frozen. Text on screen has been covered by black bars. NARRATOR Dr. Wondertainment's Super Science Evolution Kit and Dr. Wondertainment's Mr. Headless are available on select locations now! Call [7 seconds of electronic beep] BACK ON SCENE. PRESENTER #3, a blonde woman possibly on her late twenties but made up to appear much younger, is the only one on stage. She's wearing a green lab coat over a pink tank top and shorts. PRESENTER #3 Welcome back, boys and girls! For those of you that just tuned in, I'm Doctor Wondertainment, and it's time... to do science! MISTER HEADLESS walks back into the scene, carrying an adult orange-black tabby cat. The cat is placed in the cabin and a clear plastic door is closed in front of it. PRESENTER #3 Aw, isn't he cute? Just what creature was our kitty's great-grandfather? Let's find out! Science it up, boys! The camera zooms closer to the device as it comes alive. The gears spin more quickly, lights blink and fog rises from the ground. The form inside is indistinct for a few seconds, after which the door opens and a large, fanged SMILODON jumps out. PRESENTER #3 moves to pet the large cat. PRESENTER #3 That's right! Cats were once very big, with huge saber teeth! But he's still such a honey, aren't you? The video appears to skip. When it's back, the previous cat is in the cabin. PRESENTER #3 We've seen our kitty's past. But... what is his future? Let's put some science into it! The cabin operates in a similar manner to the first time. This time, the cat appears unchanged. As the camera pans around to follow the cat, one of the CAMERAMEN is briefly visible. He, or she, is concealed by a full hazmat suit. PRESENTER #3 Aw, he looks the same! Come here, kitty, let me take a look at... BOO! The cat quickly inflates into a near-spherical furry balloon with a distinct POP. PRESENTER #3 That's right, it's Doctor Wondertainment's very own Puffer-Kitten! So cute and so cuddly. The future of pets, today! More after the break! ADVERTISING BREAK. Montage shot of the puffed kittens and proto-cat over a colorful background. Text on screen has been redacted off. NARRATOR Dr. Wondertainment's Pufferkittens and Dr. Wondertainment's Smiley the Smilodon could be in your house tonight! Call [6 seconds of electronic beep] BACK ON SCENE. PRESENTER #4 is now on stage. His/her face has been blurred out digitally, and his/her voice is similarly distorted. Only the clothes are clearly visible, a yellow lab coat over a full-body black latex suit. PRESENTER #4 Welcome back, boys and girls! Doctor Wondertainment will now show you, what does evolution have in wait... for humans? Do we have a member of the audience willing to volunteer? The camera spins around to focus on the AUDIENCE for the first time. It is composed entirely of dummies used in car crash testing, each one wearing a different kind of mask. Theatrical masks, protective sports masks, welding masks and gas masks are all visible. PRESENTER #4 No one? Very well, we are prepared for that. Mister Headless? MISTER HEADLESS comes in, carrying a conscious but drugged FEMALE probably in her late teens. APPLAUSE as she is placed into the cabin. PRESENTER #4 Now, boys and girls... Let us do science. The cabin operates as it did previously. The form walking out of it is shrouded by fog for a moment. PRESENTER #4 Yes. Yes indeed. And here it is... The FEMALE emerges from the fog. Her hair is bright pink, her eyes are shimmering gray-green, and feathered wings sprout from her spine with each step. She is clothed in a rippling, rapidly shifting fabric that appears self-willed. The video starts glitching as she moves forward. A screech is heard as the camera falls over. ADVERTISING BREAK. Black screen captioned REDACTED for the next 30 seconds. NARRATOR Dr. Wondertainment's [8 seconds of electronic beep] are waiting for you! Call [12 seconds of electronic beep] CAPTION: NEXT EPISODE VOICE-OVER This is it for today, but next week Dr. Wondertainment will have a very special guest! The Doctor presents... Bobble the Clown! SCENE SWITCHES to BOBBLE THE CLOWN staring at the camera with a knife on one hand and guts pulled out of an off-camera animal on the other. BOBBLE THE CLOWN HI, KIDS! WHO'S READY TO DO SOME FUCKING SCIENCE? Black screen captioned REDACTED and electronic beep for the next six minutes, then black. [[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>]]	2012-07-09T12:54:00	[ "_licensebox", "black-comedy", "bobble-the-clown", "body-horror", "comedy", "dr-wondertainment", "horror", "mister", "science-fiction", "tale" ]	Pilot - SCP Foundation	34	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales", "dr-wondertainment-hub" ]	[]	13736689	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/pilot
pitter-patter	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><img alt="tumblr_lqljnnR8mE1r0t4wwo1_500.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/pitter-patter/tumblr_lqljnnR8mE1r0t4wwo1_500.jpg"/> <div class="scp-image-caption"> <p>They're there - Look harder</p> </div> </div> <p>Pitter-patter, the raindrops fall. On this All Hallow's Eve, I sit in my armchair close to the roaring flame, trying to gather what little warmth circling about the empty rooms into my cloak. Footsteps jolt me awake from the twilight before slumber, fear coursing through my frail bones momentarily, before subsiding as I realize they were nothing more than the sound of raindrops dashing themselves against my window-pane. For a brief, terrifying second, I glimpsed the shadows upon the living-room wall grow long and wave to me, the flickering, dying light of the fireplace flame playing tricks upon my eyes. For a brief, terrifying second, I glimpse once again my two erstwhile companions. The two, unfortunate souls. I grow old, too old for nights like these, too old since life and youth had been taken away from me - that cold All Hallow's Eve…</p> <p>-</p> <p>"Another case for you, Inspector. It's urgent too, the messenger sounded mighty worried."</p> <p>"Really now. Just as I was about to clock off for the evening."</p> <p>An errant sigh escaped my lips as I pick up my hat, just moments ago hung upon the rack. Putting one arm through the sleeve of my trench-coat, I turn to Superintendent Chatmers and Gilroy, beckoning with a quick motion of my head.</p> <p>"Well, lads, let's get busy. Death waits for nobody, and we can't have a killer loose on Halloween, can we now? God forbid, it might actually cause a scare."</p> <p>Grumbling, Gilroy grabbed his own hat and coat, palming his badge into his inner pocket, and slinging on his holster. "Well, that'll be a bloody shame, won't it? At least there's some excitement in the neighborhood, me wife was complaining about how Halloween no longer gave her the chills."</p> <p>Chatmers, who had cocked his revolver, and was adjusting his belt, replied with a jaunty grin, "Well, Gil, that's cos' she's used to seeing a terrifying cow-faced monster at home eating her food and sleeping in her bed everyday, as it is. I dare-say, after seeing you without pants, nothing scares her anymore."</p> <p>"Shuddup, Chatmers, at least, I'll be going home tonight for a respectable dinner, not sleeping in some floozy's house and fu-"<br/> "Alright, can it, you two. We've got a job to do."</p> <p>I tried to hide a grin of my own, as the three of us stepped out of the station doors, into the cold, rainy afternoon.</p> <p>-</p> <p>The body was nowhere to be found. The blood, on the other hand, was everywhere. Across the street, from one end to another, it stained the grey cobblestones a deep carmine red, as if someone had opened a can of red paint and sprayed it across the ground. Passers-by and general busybodies stood about, watching the scene of the crime with much interest.</p> <p>And crime it was, undoubtedly. After all, no freak accident of nature could have ensured that the lines of blood lay scattered across the floor in such straight patterns. It was almost as if the victim had been sliced multiple times with an unnaturally-sharp blade, so much so that although blood lay all about, none of it deviated from the sharp lines of crimson they created, save for the rain slowly washing them away, smudging the pattern. Chatmers whistled. "Poor bugger's dead for sure. You can't even find this much blood in a pig."</p> <p>I knelt down beside the bloodstains, while Gilroy went about collecting samples. The newly-formed forensics division would want to check for any evidence of gunpowder - but I doubted it. The sprays of blood were too clean. Even a bladed weapon would have had a hard time creating such a cut, and subsequent blood-fall. Maybe one of those Eastern weapons that's been streaming in? It was said that they were sharp enough to cu-</p> <p>"Say. What's that?" Gilroy cried as he pointed to the ground mere steps away from me. I whirled about, looking closely at the area - and then I noticed it. In that patch of ground, there was no rainfall. Looking up, I noticed that it was in the open, so it wasn't the rooftops. The rainfall simply… curled about that area. Almost into a discernible shape. Yet I couldn't exactly make out what it was, and attempting to do so, I began to move closer.</p> <p>About two steps away, the patch of untouched air shifted, in a sudden motion. Taken aback, I drew myself to the left, away from its movement. That probably saved my life. I barely heard Chatmer’s cry for me to get away as the loud roar of his revolver echoed through the falling night, nor did I hear Gilroy’s shout of horror. All I could hear was the inhuman sound of footsteps, squelching against the rain-slick ground, as they slammed down in staccato towards me. I noticed, with mounting fear, that the untouched patch of air was now dangerously close, and behind it, was left a series of print marks, as if a boot had stepped in the thin layer of water above the ground, leaving behind a momentary mark. Yet even those prints were so strangely spaced, jumping from one side of the pavement to the other, that no human form could have managed that. It was almost as if the footprints were in tandem with the rainfall. Pitter-pattering onto the sidewalk.</p> <p>I felt a cold breeze pass by my side, and threw myself backwards. Sharp, burning pain erupted in my right arm as the sleeve of my coat was torn, blood flowing fast from a razor-sharp cut across my forearm. More shots rang out as Gilroy drew his own sidearm, attempting to hit the menacing figure that was no more than an empty space. Yet they had no effect, the bullets not even impacting against the form, almost as if they were vanishing into thin air. I cried, my terror now utterly taking hold of me, as I rolled to my feet, sprinting across the street. An idea struck me, and I leapt onto the nearest carriage, avoiding the startled horses. I could hear the pitter-patter of the rain-steps rapidly drawing near, closer and closer.</p> <p>With a quick hook, I knocked out the supports for the coach’s gas lamp, and wrenched it free with much effort. The pitter-patter was closer now, Chatmers and Gilroy were both shouting at me to run. Finally, I managed to open the lid to the lamp, and with a spin, tossed it straight at the patch of unmoving, yet fast-approaching, air.</p> <p>The flames flared for a brief moment, spreading across the ground, and the empty space disappeared. All that was left was the burning fragments of the lamp, and the ominous pitter-patter of the nightly rainfall.</p> <p>-</p> <p>That night, upon returning to the station, I sat upon my chair and called upon the entire force. They were to scour the city and search for this elusive form, be it man or otherwise. If they did find it, they were not to engage, but bring back news of its whereabouts. I did not want to risk losing any men to the strangeness that was invading my city – on All Hallow's Eve.</p> <p>My next clue came in the form of an old man, brought in from the street, dressed in rags. Another one of the homeless. Cradling a much-appreciated cup of tea from Gilroy, I faced this man in my office, listening to his words.</p> <p>“I tol’ em’, see? I tol’ em’ about them devils, but nobody ever took my wor’s for trut’. Don’cha see? They preh’ on us. They will not stop. No’ for as long as we are about. Beneath of homes, they gath’r, waiting. Waiting. And taking us, on’ by one, until ther’ be none left.”</p> <p>Gilroy shook his head. “Madness. He’s been driven mad by life on the streets.”</p> <p>Chatmers, standing by the side of the room with his arms folded, indicated otherwise. “In times of darkness, let the blind man be the guide. In times of madness, let the madman lead the way. What else do we got?”</p> <p>I looked at the two of them with a meaningful glance, wanting silence, before turning back to the raving old man. “Sir. Do you have any idea where these ‘devils’ of yours reside?”</p> <p>“It ain’ no use. No use at all. We’ be all dead.”</p> <p>“Sir.”</p> <p>“Under our feet, the’ be crawlin’. Everywhere. In the pitter-patter beneaf’ the city, they’ be crawlin’.”</p> <p>“The sewers?”</p> <p>“No use… no use…”</p> <p>The lunatic stared into his hands, mute momentarily. Mad as he was, I couldn’t help but feel a slight shiver leap down my spine. The events of the afternoon could hardly be explained by conventional means. A leap of faith may be in order.</p> <p>The chance came soon enough. After the old man had left, the three of us had sat about the station, killing time as we waited for reports to come in. Then, a sweating, elderly officer barged in through the front, shouting. “Quick! Quick! One of our own, sirs! He’s dead!”</p> <p>Leaping off our chairs, we gathered our coats. I strapped in my pistol, grabbing a gas lantern off the shelf. Gilroy and Chatmers both sported heavier armaments: Gilroy slinging across his waist a shotgun, while Chatmers cradled his hunting rifle. We set off, into the dark night. Midnight had long since gone, but the damnable rain continued, well into the early hours of Halloween.</p> <p>This time, the bloodstains were still fresh. Confusing as they were, they faced a specific direction, headed down the empty street, in the middle. On the ground, covered in life-blood, lay an officer’s helmet, and a broken nightstick. The nightstick had been cut across the middle, at an angle, a clean, surgical cut. We moved down the street, all of us silent.</p> <p>The bloodstains led to a manhole cover, some distance down. They seeped into the iron, draining away into the darkness below. Back-up had still not arrived. With trembling hands, I reached down, and lifted the cover, heaving it aside with some considerable effort. Steam roiled out from the open sewers, and inside, I could hear the rushing sound of drain-waters, as the rain poured into the city below.</p> <p>“Are you sure about this? Should we wait for backup?” Gilroy asked, nervousness causing a slight tremble in his normally stoic voice.</p> <p>Chatmers shook his head. “There’s still a chance that our officer may be alive. This may be the only lead we’ve got. We have to follow, before the trail gets cold.”</p> <p>I nodded my assent. Turning to Gilroy, I tried to flash a smile that I hoped seemed brave. “What, scared of rats, Gilroy?”</p> <p>Chatmers chimed in. “I’m sure your smell will drive ‘em away, no problem there.”</p> <p>Gilroy grunted, cocking his shotgun. “Very funny. Let’s stop talking and keep moving.” With that, he began to climb the ladder downwards, into the murky darkness below.</p> <p>It was as if we had climbed a ladder into hell. The roar of the water was so loud that we could barely hear each other’s steps down the ladder, the steam and humidity of the trapped heat causing us to erupt in sweat. By the time we reached the bottom rungs, we were already drenched.</p> <p>We had barely moved a short distance, following errant bloodstains, before I saw the victim. I will never forget it. I will never forget the sight of the poor rookie, dripping a trail of blood as the body was dragged across the floor, seemingly by nothing. The crumpled form shifted erratically, a few steps every few moments, scraping across the floor as the still-shining belt buckle across the corpse’s waist scratched the granite.</p> <p>The body stopped for a moment. As if it sensed us. Then, it began to move again, at a much faster pace, skipping across the ground like a doll with all its strings but one cut. We shouted, ordering the corpse to halt its macabre dance, and gave chase. Shots from my pistol rang out across the sewers, echoing down the tunnels. We ran for a long, long time, and soon I knew not where we were. Then, finally, a turn left, up two flights of stairs, still chasing the body bumping across the uneven steps, down the tunnel and turning right and across left and – We walked into a hall.</p> <p>A hall of horrors.</p> <p>We all stopped then, unable to move, to comprehend in our small minds what exactly we had stumbled upon. It was as if a morbid hospital, with rows and rows of standing glass coffins lining the ground. Each was misted over with the humidity, but I could still barely sense movement within. Moans echoed through the hall, a few screams were heard, and I realized with mind-shattering terror, that this hall seemed to be endless. It stretched far beyond what could have been possible in this god-forsaken mausoleum, into the distance. The ceiling could not be seen; the walls stretched into the darkness above us three tiny figures.</p> <p>I took a few hesitant steps towards the nearest glass coffin, naming it in my head so simply because the shapes resembled those found in funerals. Yet they were made of glass, misted over in the steam, a dull blue glow that was the only source of light in the hall emanating from these coffins. I wiped the misted glass, peering inside.</p> <p>A hand smashed against the glass, from the inside, with a sickening thump. It streamed blood, black barbs catching it from all sides; even it seemed, from within. A scream rang out with such feeling that I was stunned, but even that barely contained the revulsion I felt as I peered in. A body, desiccated, almost nothing more than skin and bones, with a few stray strands of hair, stood within, with barely any space to move. It was hooked all over by strange metal barbs, through the ears, the neck, spikes pushed out through the eyes, and it bled all over, a deep dark red. By all means, it should have been dead. By God, I wished it had been dead. But it was not. It was the corpse from before, brought to unholy life. It continued to move and squirm, moan and writhe in the confines of the glass coffin, unable to die, trapped in a terrible mockery of life.</p> <p>Madness took me then, and I screamed. I smashed the butt of my pistol against the glass, hoping to shatter it, free the poor soul within. It didn’t even scratch. I began to gibber, explaining to myself again and again that this had a perfectly rational explanation, that the man was actually dead, that the world had not just turned itself inside out. I continued banging against the glass, until my hand was finally halted by the firm grip of Gilroy. Chatmers was retching into a corner, unable to stand the sight, the idea of such a torture. Gilroy himself, ashen-faced, trembled as he held me, but it allowed me to calm down. I extricated myself from his grasp, not trusting myself to words, and leaned against another coffin, catching my breath.</p> <p>Then I heard it. Again. Pitter-patter, raindrops falling inside the dry hall. Footsteps, from before, staccato rhythms tapping themselves out in the echoing hall. Leaping back, I felt the presence of forms moving closer and closer. Gilroy roared as he cocked his shotgun, and began spraying indiscriminate blasts into the darkness.</p> <p>One must have caught a water pipe, because in a moment, the entire room was filled with spraying water. Then we saw the figures, moving slowly, jerking across the room towards us. They were countless, numbering in the thousands, and they moved with a deathly purpose, the shotgun pellets vanishing as they approached the figures. We turned to run.</p> <p>We ran down darkened corridors, and heard the pitter-patter of the forms giving chase. Down winding staircases and up water-slick ramps, we ran for our lives, screaming, shouting, making noise to remind ourselves that we were still alive. It was not long, before we came to a gate, rusted shut, trapping us. Turning about, Chatmers began firing with his hunting rifle, to no avail. The pitter-patter grew louder and louder. Gilroy worked the gate, whimpering beneath his breath, before he finally managed to shift the gears of the mechanism. With a great screech, the gate swung open, Gilroy pushing down upon the nearby lever with all his might.</p> <p>“Go! You know what to tell Marie.”</p> <p>“But-“</p> <p>“Just shut it and go!”</p> <p>With a nod to my brave Superintendent’s actions, I ducked through the opening, Chatmers following suit.</p> <p>“Gilroy! You can still make it! Come on!” Chatmers held onto the gate, attempting to keep it open despite the grinding mechanism. Gilroy leapt towards the opening. Yet, mid-leap, he stopped, as if held back by an unseen force. Then, he crashed to the ground, mere steps away from the gate. It smashed shut, with a definite clang, Chatmers barely avoiding losing his hands as he leapt back.</p> <p>In the distance, held aloft by empty space, floated towards us another one of the glass coffins. It was empty. Within it, we saw the writhing forms of the barbs, hungering, seeking for life to attach itself to. It drew closer and closer. And Gilroy was dragged, slowly, painfully into it. Soon, only his upper body could be seen in the darkness, the rest having been entrapped in the open glass coffin.<br/> Chatmers took aim, and fired. A quick lancing shot flew through the air, and burst open Gilroy’s head like a ripe melon. Better a quick, merciful death than the un-life we had just seen. I pulled at Chatmers, and we both scampered down the dark corridor, looking to escape the tunnels.</p> <p>We came upon a flight of stairs leading up. Leaping them two steps at a time, we had almost reached the top, when I heard an ominous rumble, mixing in with the constant pitter-patter behind us. The masonry, unable to take the strain after centuries of disuse, gave way beneath my feet, and I plunged down into the darkness.</p> <p>Chatmers turned and cried down to me, “NO!”</p> <p>I picked myself up, constantly aware of the footsteps behind me, and shouted back up. “I’m fine! Keep going! Run!”</p> <p>Turning about, I faced the empty tunnel before me, echoing with the increasing pitter-patter. To my right, I spied a tunnel leading upwards, perhaps even to freedom. It was my only chance. With a great swing, I flung my gas lamp towards the area before me, causing a slight flower of flame to erupt in the darkness, before dying out. Plunged into total pitch black, I turned and ran down the corridor, legs burning with the effort. I ran for hours, down winding corridors, unable to even remember if I was running in the right direction, just running away from the horrors behind me, and the hall full of the eternally trapped.</p> <p>I broke into sunlight, smashing aside the manhole cover. The sound of carriages reached my ear like beautiful music, as I lay on my side, across the cobblestones, heaving and retching, almost blacking out there and then. I heard the sound of an officer ringing his bell as he noticed me, and I realized, with a jolt – I had made it.</p> <p>-</p> <p>Chatmers had not. We never found him. Nor did we ever find the figures again, or the Hall of Horrors, as we had that Halloween day.<br/> A particularly loud peal of thunder shook me from the half-dream, half-memory. At this age, I could barely remember the details, yet I still remembered the face of Gilroy all too well, just before he had been shot – in mercy. I remembered the face of the trapped person, the one whose coffin I had peered into, the despair, the sheer despair of the un-life.</p> <p>And I remembered Chatmer’s face. Particularly well, in fact, for as I looked up, I stared into it, (there - outside my window!) just as I had remembered. In the rain outside my window, across from the armchair, there he stood, in a glass coffin. Terror took me, as I saw his writhing, struggling form, smashing weakly against the unbroken glass. To his left, in another coffin, was Gilroy, head somehow still intact, scratching feebly against the glass. And to his right – stood an empty coffin. Waiting. In the dimming darkness of All Hallow's Eve, the clock struck midnight, and I once again heard, interspersed with the ringing grandfather toll, something I had not heard for years.</p> <p>Pitter-patter. Step. Step.</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="/pitter-patter">Pitter-patter</a>" by Corerosion, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/pitter-patter">https://scpwiki.com/pitter-patter</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> tumblr_lqljnnR8mE1r0t4wwo1_500.jpg<br/> <strong>Name:</strong> Rheinstrasse in Krefeld bei Dämmerung<br/> <strong>Author:</strong> Otto Scharf<br/> <strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/> <strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://photoseed.com/collection/single/rheinstrasse-in-krefeld-bei-dmmerung/">Photoseed</a></p> </blockquote> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div></body></html>	[[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] [[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=tumblr_lqljnnR8mE1r0t4wwo1_500.jpg\|caption=They're there - Look harder]] Pitter-patter, the raindrops fall. On this All Hallow's Eve, I sit in my armchair close to the roaring flame, trying to gather what little warmth circling about the empty rooms into my cloak. Footsteps jolt me awake from the twilight before slumber, fear coursing through my frail bones momentarily, before subsiding as I realize they were nothing more than the sound of raindrops dashing themselves against my window-pane. For a brief, terrifying second, I glimpsed the shadows upon the living-room wall grow long and wave to me, the flickering, dying light of the fireplace flame playing tricks upon my eyes. For a brief, terrifying second, I glimpse once again my two erstwhile companions. The two, unfortunate souls. I grow old, too old for nights like these, too old since life and youth had been taken away from me - that cold All Hallow's Eve... - "Another case for you, Inspector. It's urgent too, the messenger sounded mighty worried." "Really now. Just as I was about to clock off for the evening." An errant sigh escaped my lips as I pick up my hat, just moments ago hung upon the rack. Putting one arm through the sleeve of my trench-coat, I turn to Superintendent Chatmers and Gilroy, beckoning with a quick motion of my head. "Well, lads, let's get busy. Death waits for nobody, and we can't have a killer loose on Halloween, can we now? God forbid, it might actually cause a scare." Grumbling, Gilroy grabbed his own hat and coat, palming his badge into his inner pocket, and slinging on his holster. "Well, that'll be a bloody shame, won't it? At least there's some excitement in the neighborhood, me wife was complaining about how Halloween no longer gave her the chills." Chatmers, who had cocked his revolver, and was adjusting his belt, replied with a jaunty grin, "Well, Gil, that's cos' she's used to seeing a terrifying cow-faced monster at home eating her food and sleeping in her bed everyday, as it is. I dare-say, after seeing you without pants, nothing scares her anymore." "Shuddup, Chatmers, at least, I'll be going home tonight for a respectable dinner, not sleeping in some floozy's house and fu-" "Alright, can it, you two. We've got a job to do." I tried to hide a grin of my own, as the three of us stepped out of the station doors, into the cold, rainy afternoon. - The body was nowhere to be found. The blood, on the other hand, was everywhere. Across the street, from one end to another, it stained the grey cobblestones a deep carmine red, as if someone had opened a can of red paint and sprayed it across the ground. Passers-by and general busybodies stood about, watching the scene of the crime with much interest. And crime it was, undoubtedly. After all, no freak accident of nature could have ensured that the lines of blood lay scattered across the floor in such straight patterns. It was almost as if the victim had been sliced multiple times with an unnaturally-sharp blade, so much so that although blood lay all about, none of it deviated from the sharp lines of crimson they created, save for the rain slowly washing them away, smudging the pattern. Chatmers whistled. "Poor bugger's dead for sure. You can't even find this much blood in a pig." I knelt down beside the bloodstains, while Gilroy went about collecting samples. The newly-formed forensics division would want to check for any evidence of gunpowder - but I doubted it. The sprays of blood were too clean. Even a bladed weapon would have had a hard time creating such a cut, and subsequent blood-fall. Maybe one of those Eastern weapons that's been streaming in? It was said that they were sharp enough to cu- "Say. What's that?" Gilroy cried as he pointed to the ground mere steps away from me. I whirled about, looking closely at the area - and then I noticed it. In that patch of ground, there was no rainfall. Looking up, I noticed that it was in the open, so it wasn't the rooftops. The rainfall simply... curled about that area. Almost into a discernible shape. Yet I couldn't exactly make out what it was, and attempting to do so, I began to move closer. About two steps away, the patch of untouched air shifted, in a sudden motion. Taken aback, I drew myself to the left, away from its movement. That probably saved my life. I barely heard Chatmer’s cry for me to get away as the loud roar of his revolver echoed through the falling night, nor did I hear Gilroy’s shout of horror. All I could hear was the inhuman sound of footsteps, squelching against the rain-slick ground, as they slammed down in staccato towards me. I noticed, with mounting fear, that the untouched patch of air was now dangerously close, and behind it, was left a series of print marks, as if a boot had stepped in the thin layer of water above the ground, leaving behind a momentary mark. Yet even those prints were so strangely spaced, jumping from one side of the pavement to the other, that no human form could have managed that. It was almost as if the footprints were in tandem with the rainfall. Pitter-pattering onto the sidewalk. I felt a cold breeze pass by my side, and threw myself backwards. Sharp, burning pain erupted in my right arm as the sleeve of my coat was torn, blood flowing fast from a razor-sharp cut across my forearm. More shots rang out as Gilroy drew his own sidearm, attempting to hit the menacing figure that was no more than an empty space. Yet they had no effect, the bullets not even impacting against the form, almost as if they were vanishing into thin air. I cried, my terror now utterly taking hold of me, as I rolled to my feet, sprinting across the street. An idea struck me, and I leapt onto the nearest carriage, avoiding the startled horses. I could hear the pitter-patter of the rain-steps rapidly drawing near, closer and closer. With a quick hook, I knocked out the supports for the coach’s gas lamp, and wrenched it free with much effort. The pitter-patter was closer now, Chatmers and Gilroy were both shouting at me to run. Finally, I managed to open the lid to the lamp, and with a spin, tossed it straight at the patch of unmoving, yet fast-approaching, air. The flames flared for a brief moment, spreading across the ground, and the empty space disappeared. All that was left was the burning fragments of the lamp, and the ominous pitter-patter of the nightly rainfall. - That night, upon returning to the station, I sat upon my chair and called upon the entire force. They were to scour the city and search for this elusive form, be it man or otherwise. If they did find it, they were not to engage, but bring back news of its whereabouts. I did not want to risk losing any men to the strangeness that was invading my city – on All Hallow's Eve. My next clue came in the form of an old man, brought in from the street, dressed in rags. Another one of the homeless. Cradling a much-appreciated cup of tea from Gilroy, I faced this man in my office, listening to his words. “I tol’ em’, see? I tol’ em’ about them devils, but nobody ever took my wor’s for trut’. Don’cha see? They preh’ on us. They will not stop. No’ for as long as we are about. Beneath of homes, they gath’r, waiting. Waiting. And taking us, on’ by one, until ther’ be none left.” Gilroy shook his head. “Madness. He’s been driven mad by life on the streets.” Chatmers, standing by the side of the room with his arms folded, indicated otherwise. “In times of darkness, let the blind man be the guide. In times of madness, let the madman lead the way. What else do we got?” I looked at the two of them with a meaningful glance, wanting silence, before turning back to the raving old man. “Sir. Do you have any idea where these ‘devils’ of yours reside?” “It ain’ no use. No use at all. We’ be all dead.” “Sir.” “Under our feet, the’ be crawlin’. Everywhere. In the pitter-patter beneaf’ the city, they’ be crawlin’.” “The sewers?” “No use… no use…” The lunatic stared into his hands, mute momentarily. Mad as he was, I couldn’t help but feel a slight shiver leap down my spine. The events of the afternoon could hardly be explained by conventional means. A leap of faith may be in order. The chance came soon enough. After the old man had left, the three of us had sat about the station, killing time as we waited for reports to come in. Then, a sweating, elderly officer barged in through the front, shouting. “Quick! Quick! One of our own, sirs! He’s dead!” Leaping off our chairs, we gathered our coats. I strapped in my pistol, grabbing a gas lantern off the shelf. Gilroy and Chatmers both sported heavier armaments: Gilroy slinging across his waist a shotgun, while Chatmers cradled his hunting rifle. We set off, into the dark night. Midnight had long since gone, but the damnable rain continued, well into the early hours of Halloween. This time, the bloodstains were still fresh. Confusing as they were, they faced a specific direction, headed down the empty street, in the middle. On the ground, covered in life-blood, lay an officer’s helmet, and a broken nightstick. The nightstick had been cut across the middle, at an angle, a clean, surgical cut. We moved down the street, all of us silent. The bloodstains led to a manhole cover, some distance down. They seeped into the iron, draining away into the darkness below. Back-up had still not arrived. With trembling hands, I reached down, and lifted the cover, heaving it aside with some considerable effort. Steam roiled out from the open sewers, and inside, I could hear the rushing sound of drain-waters, as the rain poured into the city below. “Are you sure about this? Should we wait for backup?” Gilroy asked, nervousness causing a slight tremble in his normally stoic voice. Chatmers shook his head. “There’s still a chance that our officer may be alive. This may be the only lead we’ve got. We have to follow, before the trail gets cold.” I nodded my assent. Turning to Gilroy, I tried to flash a smile that I hoped seemed brave. “What, scared of rats, Gilroy?” Chatmers chimed in. “I’m sure your smell will drive ‘em away, no problem there.” Gilroy grunted, cocking his shotgun. “Very funny. Let’s stop talking and keep moving.” With that, he began to climb the ladder downwards, into the murky darkness below. It was as if we had climbed a ladder into hell. The roar of the water was so loud that we could barely hear each other’s steps down the ladder, the steam and humidity of the trapped heat causing us to erupt in sweat. By the time we reached the bottom rungs, we were already drenched. We had barely moved a short distance, following errant bloodstains, before I saw the victim. I will never forget it. I will never forget the sight of the poor rookie, dripping a trail of blood as the body was dragged across the floor, seemingly by nothing. The crumpled form shifted erratically, a few steps every few moments, scraping across the floor as the still-shining belt buckle across the corpse’s waist scratched the granite. The body stopped for a moment. As if it sensed us. Then, it began to move again, at a much faster pace, skipping across the ground like a doll with all its strings but one cut. We shouted, ordering the corpse to halt its macabre dance, and gave chase. Shots from my pistol rang out across the sewers, echoing down the tunnels. We ran for a long, long time, and soon I knew not where we were. Then, finally, a turn left, up two flights of stairs, still chasing the body bumping across the uneven steps, down the tunnel and turning right and across left and – We walked into a hall. A hall of horrors. We all stopped then, unable to move, to comprehend in our small minds what exactly we had stumbled upon. It was as if a morbid hospital, with rows and rows of standing glass coffins lining the ground. Each was misted over with the humidity, but I could still barely sense movement within. Moans echoed through the hall, a few screams were heard, and I realized with mind-shattering terror, that this hall seemed to be endless. It stretched far beyond what could have been possible in this god-forsaken mausoleum, into the distance. The ceiling could not be seen; the walls stretched into the darkness above us three tiny figures. I took a few hesitant steps towards the nearest glass coffin, naming it in my head so simply because the shapes resembled those found in funerals. Yet they were made of glass, misted over in the steam, a dull blue glow that was the only source of light in the hall emanating from these coffins. I wiped the misted glass, peering inside. A hand smashed against the glass, from the inside, with a sickening thump. It streamed blood, black barbs catching it from all sides; even it seemed, from within. A scream rang out with such feeling that I was stunned, but even that barely contained the revulsion I felt as I peered in. A body, desiccated, almost nothing more than skin and bones, with a few stray strands of hair, stood within, with barely any space to move. It was hooked all over by strange metal barbs, through the ears, the neck, spikes pushed out through the eyes, and it bled all over, a deep dark red. By all means, it should have been dead. By God, I wished it had been dead. But it was not. It was the corpse from before, brought to unholy life. It continued to move and squirm, moan and writhe in the confines of the glass coffin, unable to die, trapped in a terrible mockery of life. Madness took me then, and I screamed. I smashed the butt of my pistol against the glass, hoping to shatter it, free the poor soul within. It didn’t even scratch. I began to gibber, explaining to myself again and again that this had a perfectly rational explanation, that the man was actually dead, that the world had not just turned itself inside out. I continued banging against the glass, until my hand was finally halted by the firm grip of Gilroy. Chatmers was retching into a corner, unable to stand the sight, the idea of such a torture. Gilroy himself, ashen-faced, trembled as he held me, but it allowed me to calm down. I extricated myself from his grasp, not trusting myself to words, and leaned against another coffin, catching my breath. Then I heard it. Again. Pitter-patter, raindrops falling inside the dry hall. Footsteps, from before, staccato rhythms tapping themselves out in the echoing hall. Leaping back, I felt the presence of forms moving closer and closer. Gilroy roared as he cocked his shotgun, and began spraying indiscriminate blasts into the darkness. One must have caught a water pipe, because in a moment, the entire room was filled with spraying water. Then we saw the figures, moving slowly, jerking across the room towards us. They were countless, numbering in the thousands, and they moved with a deathly purpose, the shotgun pellets vanishing as they approached the figures. We turned to run. We ran down darkened corridors, and heard the pitter-patter of the forms giving chase. Down winding staircases and up water-slick ramps, we ran for our lives, screaming, shouting, making noise to remind ourselves that we were still alive. It was not long, before we came to a gate, rusted shut, trapping us. Turning about, Chatmers began firing with his hunting rifle, to no avail. The pitter-patter grew louder and louder. Gilroy worked the gate, whimpering beneath his breath, before he finally managed to shift the gears of the mechanism. With a great screech, the gate swung open, Gilroy pushing down upon the nearby lever with all his might. “Go! You know what to tell Marie.” “But-“ “Just shut it and go!” With a nod to my brave Superintendent’s actions, I ducked through the opening, Chatmers following suit. “Gilroy! You can still make it! Come on!” Chatmers held onto the gate, attempting to keep it open despite the grinding mechanism. Gilroy leapt towards the opening. Yet, mid-leap, he stopped, as if held back by an unseen force. Then, he crashed to the ground, mere steps away from the gate. It smashed shut, with a definite clang, Chatmers barely avoiding losing his hands as he leapt back. In the distance, held aloft by empty space, floated towards us another one of the glass coffins. It was empty. Within it, we saw the writhing forms of the barbs, hungering, seeking for life to attach itself to. It drew closer and closer. And Gilroy was dragged, slowly, painfully into it. Soon, only his upper body could be seen in the darkness, the rest having been entrapped in the open glass coffin. Chatmers took aim, and fired. A quick lancing shot flew through the air, and burst open Gilroy’s head like a ripe melon. Better a quick, merciful death than the un-life we had just seen. I pulled at Chatmers, and we both scampered down the dark corridor, looking to escape the tunnels. We came upon a flight of stairs leading up. Leaping them two steps at a time, we had almost reached the top, when I heard an ominous rumble, mixing in with the constant pitter-patter behind us. The masonry, unable to take the strain after centuries of disuse, gave way beneath my feet, and I plunged down into the darkness. Chatmers turned and cried down to me, “NO!” I picked myself up, constantly aware of the footsteps behind me, and shouted back up. “I’m fine! Keep going! Run!” Turning about, I faced the empty tunnel before me, echoing with the increasing pitter-patter. To my right, I spied a tunnel leading upwards, perhaps even to freedom. It was my only chance. With a great swing, I flung my gas lamp towards the area before me, causing a slight flower of flame to erupt in the darkness, before dying out. Plunged into total pitch black, I turned and ran down the corridor, legs burning with the effort. I ran for hours, down winding corridors, unable to even remember if I was running in the right direction, just running away from the horrors behind me, and the hall full of the eternally trapped. I broke into sunlight, smashing aside the manhole cover. The sound of carriages reached my ear like beautiful music, as I lay on my side, across the cobblestones, heaving and retching, almost blacking out there and then. I heard the sound of an officer ringing his bell as he noticed me, and I realized, with a jolt – I had made it. - Chatmers had not. We never found him. Nor did we ever find the figures again, or the Hall of Horrors, as we had that Halloween day. A particularly loud peal of thunder shook me from the half-dream, half-memory. At this age, I could barely remember the details, yet I still remembered the face of Gilroy all too well, just before he had been shot – in mercy. I remembered the face of the trapped person, the one whose coffin I had peered into, the despair, the sheer despair of the un-life. And I remembered Chatmer’s face. Particularly well, in fact, for as I looked up, I stared into it, (there - outside my window!) just as I had remembered. In the rain outside my window, across from the armchair, there he stood, in a glass coffin. Terror took me, as I saw his writhing, struggling form, smashing weakly against the unbroken glass. To his left, in another coffin, was Gilroy, head somehow still intact, scratching feebly against the glass. And to his right – stood an empty coffin. Waiting. In the dimming darkness of All Hallow's Eve, the clock struck midnight, and I once again heard, interspersed with the ringing grandfather toll, something I had not heard for years. Pitter-patter. Step. Step. [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]] ===== > Filename: tumblr_lqljnnR8mE1r0t4wwo1_500.jpg > Name: Rheinstrasse in Krefeld bei Dämmerung > Author: Otto Scharf > License: Public Domain > Source Link: [https://photoseed.com/collection/single/rheinstrasse-in-krefeld-bei-dmmerung/ Photoseed] ===== [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-01-01T14:33:00	[ "_cc", "_licensebox", "creepypasta", "crime-fiction", "halloween", "horror", "mystery", "period-piece", "tale" ]	Pitter-patter - SCP Foundation	51	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "holiday-hub", "archived:foundation-tales", "algorithm-curated-recommendations" ]	[ "https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/pitter-patter/tumblr_lqljnnR8mE1r0t4wwo1_500.jpg" ]	12435869	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/pitter-patter
police-seeking-clues-after-four-injured-in-congressional-int	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Speculation, Theories Abound About Mysterious Assailant</p> <p>WASHINGTON (AP) - Little information has been acquired thus far about the motives and identity of a Caucasian female who injured four on the floor of the House of Representatives Wednesday afternoon, a spokesman for the US Capitol Police said.</p> <p>"We believe the suspect arrived on the House floor at about 12:43 PM and seated herself at a vacant desk next to Congressman [John] Sarbanes (D-MD)," Capitol Police spokesman Dan Anderson said. "The suspect did not engage in any noteworthy behavior until about 3:13 PM, when Congressman Sarbanes yielded the remainder of his time to her after addressing the floor regarding the farm bill."</p> <p>The unidentified woman's address to the House, which was broadcast live on the cable network C-SPAN and has since been widely distributed over the Internet, has been widely examined by professional and amateur cryptologists worldwide attempting to decipher hypothesized connections to terrorism, domestic political extremists, or other esoteric claims. After opening with the phrase "My fellow Americans: Green April Yamaha flenses applique in toto, dos tacos chorizos con huevos, Allahu akbar," the woman continued for approximately five minutes reciting a seemingly incoherent series of phrases derived from various languages. (For the full text of the speech, <span style="color:red">click here.</span>)</p> <p>Speaker of the House John Boehner (R-OH) requested that Sergeant-at-Arms Paul D. Irving restore order when the woman continued speaking after being informed that her time had been exhausted. Upon his attempt to remove her microphone, the woman was observed on the live broadcast to violently tackle Irving and attempt to re-acquire it. Boehner, Sarbanes, and Congressman Adam Smith (D-WA) were injured attempting to assist Irving before Capitol Police reinforcements entered the chamber and arrested the suspect.</p> <p>The suspect died of unknown causes shortly after being taken into custody. An autopsy will be performed Friday, Anderson said. Irving was transported to George Washington University Hospital and was in stable condition Wednesday evening after suffering multiple fractures and bite wounds. Boehner, Sarbanes, and Smith suffered minor injuries and were treated at the scene.</p> <p>Video surveillance shows that the suspect entered the Capitol through the main gate shortly before noon, Anderson said, and was admitted by a security officer after showing identification. A forged Congressional ID card was found on the suspect's body, identifying the suspect as "Thompson van der ibn-Teddysburg", a congressman representing the 17th congressional district of the state of "West Chippewa". The security officer involved has been placed on administrative leave pending an investigation of why and how the suspect's identification was accepted as legitimate.</p> <p>The Capitol Police have established <span style="color:red">a toll-free hotline</span> for citizens with any information about the suspect's identity. Over five hundred calls had been received as of 6 PM on Wednesday night, Anderson said. More information is expected when the Capitol Police hold their next scheduled press conference on Monday morning at 9 AM EDT.</p> <p>Wednesday's incident marks the third time an individual with forged credentials has attempted to enter the House floor in recent years, Anderson said. Unidentified individuals were detained and released in 1998 and 2003, after attempting to gain access to the House with credentials identifying them as a congressman from the state of "Hamilton" and a non-voting observer from "the Commonwealth of Amalgamated Polynesia" respectively.</p> <p>A spokesman for Boehner's office declined to comment on the intrusion or on the nature of the Speaker's injuries.</p> <p><strong>Memo from O5-4:</strong> <em>Get a kill-switch installed on the C-SPAN camera. These leaks are getting out of hand.</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="/police-seeking-clues-after-four-injured-in-congressional-int">Police Seeking Clues After Four Injured in Congressional Intrusion</a>" by Smapti, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/police-seeking-clues-after-four-injured-in-congressional-int">https://scpwiki.com/police-seeking-clues-after-four-injured-in-congressional-int</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]] [[/>]] Speculation, Theories Abound About Mysterious Assailant WASHINGTON (AP) - Little information has been acquired thus far about the motives and identity of a Caucasian female who injured four on the floor of the House of Representatives Wednesday afternoon, a spokesman for the US Capitol Police said. "We believe the suspect arrived on the House floor at about 12:43 PM and seated herself at a vacant desk next to Congressman [John] Sarbanes (D-MD)," Capitol Police spokesman Dan Anderson said. "The suspect did not engage in any noteworthy behavior until about 3:13 PM, when Congressman Sarbanes yielded the remainder of his time to her after addressing the floor regarding the farm bill." The unidentified woman's address to the House, which was broadcast live on the cable network C-SPAN and has since been widely distributed over the Internet, has been widely examined by professional and amateur cryptologists worldwide attempting to decipher hypothesized connections to terrorism, domestic political extremists, or other esoteric claims. After opening with the phrase "My fellow Americans: Green April Yamaha flenses applique in toto, dos tacos chorizos con huevos, Allahu akbar," the woman continued for approximately five minutes reciting a seemingly incoherent series of phrases derived from various languages. (For the full text of the speech,[[span style="color:red"]] click here.[[/span]]) Speaker of the House John Boehner (R-OH) requested that Sergeant-at-Arms Paul D. Irving restore order when the woman continued speaking after being informed that her time had been exhausted. Upon his attempt to remove her microphone, the woman was observed on the live broadcast to violently tackle Irving and attempt to re-acquire it. Boehner, Sarbanes, and Congressman Adam Smith (D-WA) were injured attempting to assist Irving before Capitol Police reinforcements entered the chamber and arrested the suspect. The suspect died of unknown causes shortly after being taken into custody. An autopsy will be performed Friday, Anderson said. Irving was transported to George Washington University Hospital and was in stable condition Wednesday evening after suffering multiple fractures and bite wounds. Boehner, Sarbanes, and Smith suffered minor injuries and were treated at the scene. Video surveillance shows that the suspect entered the Capitol through the main gate shortly before noon, Anderson said, and was admitted by a security officer after showing identification. A forged Congressional ID card was found on the suspect's body, identifying the suspect as "Thompson van der ibn-Teddysburg", a congressman representing the 17th congressional district of the state of "West Chippewa". The security officer involved has been placed on administrative leave pending an investigation of why and how the suspect's identification was accepted as legitimate. The Capitol Police have established [[span style="color:red"]] a toll-free hotline [[/span]] for citizens with any information about the suspect's identity. Over five hundred calls had been received as of 6 PM on Wednesday night, Anderson said. More information is expected when the Capitol Police hold their next scheduled press conference on Monday morning at 9 AM EDT. Wednesday's incident marks the third time an individual with forged credentials has attempted to enter the House floor in recent years, Anderson said. Unidentified individuals were detained and released in 1998 and 2003, after attempting to gain access to the House with credentials identifying them as a congressman from the state of "Hamilton" and a non-voting observer from "the Commonwealth of Amalgamated Polynesia" respectively. A spokesman for Boehner's office declined to comment on the intrusion or on the nature of the Speaker's injuries. Memo from O5-4: //Get a kill-switch installed on the C-SPAN camera. These leaks are getting out of hand.// [[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>]]	2012-07-20T02:00:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Police Seeking Clues After Four Injured in Congressional Intrusion - SCP Foundation	44	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13837498	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/police-seeking-clues-after-four-injured-in-congressional-int
post-finem	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>The world ended yesterday, and none of us noticed until this morning. No supplies were meant to arrive. No one was due to go to see the psychologists. This morning, I went to check for the supplies, and I <a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-004">opened the door</a>. Only fragments of the Earth remain.</p> <p>Nothing can pass through it now. We can see the floating ruins of our planet, but we can't pass through it. Nothing left to pass through to, in any case.</p> <p>We don't know what destroyed the Earth. The cameras just show a flash of light, and then the floating ruins in space.</p> <p>Half of us have already committed suicide. I expect another ten to twenty before the day is through. Only a handful of us are planning to stay until the end of the week.</p> <p>That's when the generators run out of fuel, and the ones who live wish this world had ended too.</p> <hr/> <p>CNN was camped outside Site 19. Fox News was calling present and former members for interviews. The Serpent's Hand was holding a press conference in New York, while the head of the GOC would only say, "No comment."</p> <p>"Are we done, do you think?" asked Agent Lessenger.</p> <p>"The Foundation is done, maybe," said Doctor Clef. "I suspect we're going to be busy a while longer."</p> <p>"But people aren't going to trust us once they find out. They're not going to understand."</p> <p>"Then screw 'em. The job still has to be done, whether they like it or not. Now, are you going to sit there and get arrested, or are you going to help me with Plan B?"</p> <p>After a moment, Lessenger stood up, and followed. The world would have to wait, <a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/broken-masquerade-hub">or there wouldn't be a world</a>.</p> <hr/> <p>A vast desert stretched out where a world once was, swept clean by the hell of its own star's dying breath. A light in the sky appears, dim against the night at first, then growing stronger.</p> <p>As it approaches the surface, it resolves into a ship of metal and light. It brakes against the gravity of the dead planet, and finally slows almost to a stop, before alighting gently on the dry dust.</p> <p>A figure descends, fully encased in plastic. It undulates as it moves, and a long tail stretches out behind it. It sifts through the sand, and finds several artifacts of a bygone age, when this planet held life. It quickly brings them on board, for the ship must leave before the dawn comes and sears the surface once again.</p> <p>Back aboard, it removes its heavy suit, and a limb covered with horn-like protrusions hovers over its findings, and finally reaches for a medallion that caught its eye. It freezes as it does so. And then, words come out of a throat never designed to speak them. <a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-963">"Not this shit again!"</a></p> <hr/> <p>I'm laying on a table. I can't move. Why can't I move? There's a man in a coat. He looks like someone's granddad with that mustache. What's he doing with that knife? Gotta make a change. Just reach out and—</p> <p>I'm laying on a table. I can't move. Ow! My head. What's happening? Gotta make a change. Just reach out and—</p> <p>I'm laying on a table. There's something wrong with my head. Why can't I move? My arm just moved, but I didn't move it. There's someone standing behind me. Oh god. Oh god, they've got me. Gotta make a change. Just reach out and—</p> <p>Something wrong. Can't move. Head's… wrong. Can't think. Gotta change. Reach out and—</p> <p><em>"Isn't this dangerous, <a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/dr-manns-personnel-file">Doctor Mann</a>?" asked the assistant nervously. "What if he wakes up and tries to erase us from existence or something?"</em></p> <p><em>"He already has," the surgeon replied. "Happily, our blocks keep him from doing more than wiping out his own memory."</em></p> <hr/> <p><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/agent-lament-s-personnel-file">Agent Lament</a> officially died fifteen years ago. A jetski accident on a lake in Texas.</p> <p>His funeral was a week after that. An open casket had the wrong body in it, but no one noticed.</p> <p>Brain death was three months ago, after blunt trauma by a loyal member of the Church of the Broken God.</p> <p>His heart stopped beating six weeks ago. They'd kept it beating to make sure he wouldn't do anything interesting. Exposure to skips can change things. Even death.</p> <p>Five weeks ago, they cremated him, and buried the ashes in a little jar. It was sealed with concrete, and marked with a number.</p> <p>His files were retired four weeks ago. His pay was stopped. His pension was paid, anonymously, to his mother. She thought she'd won a contest.</p> <p>His friends swore three weeks ago that they'd never forget him. They haven't thought about him since. They won't ever again. They'll never even notice the change.</p> <p>Two days ago, his last active case was resolved. His name no longer appears in any active files.</p> <p>Today, the clock he'd set went off for the last time, as the new occupant threw it out in favor of a new one. And now he's truly dead.</p> <hr/> <p><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/dr-kondraki-s-personnel-file">Kondraki</a> swore as he worked.</p> <p>How had they found him? He'd been hiding for over a year. No idiot neighbors, no cameras, nothing to give him away. How had the Foundation figured out where he'd gone?</p> <p>But no one else used that frequency. His codes were out of date, so he couldn't tell what was being said, but they were close. They'd come for him, at long last.</p> <p>No. No, they wouldn't bring him back. They wouldn't execute him. Not him. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.</p> <p>Was it Clef, he wondered. Yes, it had to be Clef. They wouldn't dare send anyone else. No one else could be trusted to bring him in. Well, this was one mission the Ukelele Man wouldn't complete.</p> <p>He'd retreated to his shelter, and rigged the entire place to go. Not only would it kill Clef, it would also kill him, and thus deny them the opportunity. Not even his brain would remain intact. The only way it could be better would be if he'd had time to rig the resulting blast pattern the shape of a middle finger.</p> <p>He heard a noise. "Smile, you son of a bitch!" he shouted, as he pushed the button.</p> <p>Several miles away, Agent Melendez heard a boom. He wondered what it could possibly be, then dismissed it. He had an anomalous deer to investigate.</p> <hr/> <p><em>Tom Sawyer rafts down the river. I wave to him from the shore, as I've always done.</em></p> <p><em>The goblins ride to meet our hasty lines. The elves and the humans are forming up with us, the gold forgotten. We're all in this together. I tighten my grip on my hammer in expectation.</em></p> <p>I stop in the Journal. "Hello?" I ask. There's no answer. I move on.</p> <p><em>Fezziwig is dancing with his wife. Everyone is merry, but there are two guests no one sees but me. I resist the urge to wave. That's not how the story goes.</em></p> <p><em>"Off with her head!" the Queen yells, and everyone scampers to avoid her wrath. I've never liked this book, but I'm getting desperate now.</em></p> <p>"Is anyone there?" It's been a year, though not even I know how I can tell. Why isn't anyone answering? Are they gone? Have they forgotten me?</p> <p><em>I watch Toad motoring by, reckless. He's certain he'll live forever. Only I know he's right.</em></p> <p><em>Gully Foyle appears, the lines and whorls on his face flashing plain. "Make 'em tell you about PyrE, is all!" he shouts before disappearing again.</em></p> <p>"I wish someone was there," I write. "Only <a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-423">I've run out of things to read</a>. Hello? Hello?"</p> <p><em>"I will not eat them here in bed, I will not eat them here with Fred! I do not like them, Sam I am…"</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="/post-finem">Post Finem</a>" by DrEverettMann, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/post-finem">https://scpwiki.com/post-finem</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 world ended yesterday, and none of us noticed until this morning. No supplies were meant to arrive. No one was due to go to see the psychologists. This morning, I went to check for the supplies, and I [http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-004 opened the door]. Only fragments of the Earth remain. Nothing can pass through it now. We can see the floating ruins of our planet, but we can't pass through it. Nothing left to pass through to, in any case. We don't know what destroyed the Earth. The cameras just show a flash of light, and then the floating ruins in space. Half of us have already committed suicide. I expect another ten to twenty before the day is through. Only a handful of us are planning to stay until the end of the week. That's when the generators run out of fuel, and the ones who live wish this world had ended too. ------ CNN was camped outside Site 19. Fox News was calling present and former members for interviews. The Serpent's Hand was holding a press conference in New York, while the head of the GOC would only say, "No comment." "Are we done, do you think?" asked Agent Lessenger. "The Foundation is done, maybe," said Doctor Clef. "I suspect we're going to be busy a while longer." "But people aren't going to trust us once they find out. They're not going to understand." "Then screw 'em. The job still has to be done, whether they like it or not. Now, are you going to sit there and get arrested, or are you going to help me with Plan B?" After a moment, Lessenger stood up, and followed. The world would have to wait, [http://www.scp-wiki.net/broken-masquerade-hub or there wouldn't be a world]. ------ A vast desert stretched out where a world once was, swept clean by the hell of its own star's dying breath. A light in the sky appears, dim against the night at first, then growing stronger. As it approaches the surface, it resolves into a ship of metal and light. It brakes against the gravity of the dead planet, and finally slows almost to a stop, before alighting gently on the dry dust. A figure descends, fully encased in plastic. It undulates as it moves, and a long tail stretches out behind it. It sifts through the sand, and finds several artifacts of a bygone age, when this planet held life. It quickly brings them on board, for the ship must leave before the dawn comes and sears the surface once again. Back aboard, it removes its heavy suit, and a limb covered with horn-like protrusions hovers over its findings, and finally reaches for a medallion that caught its eye. It freezes as it does so. And then, words come out of a throat never designed to speak them. [http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-963 "Not this shit again!"] ------ I'm laying on a table. I can't move. Why can't I move? There's a man in a coat. He looks like someone's granddad with that mustache. What's he doing with that knife? Gotta make a change. Just reach out and-- I'm laying on a table. I can't move. Ow! My head. What's happening? Gotta make a change. Just reach out and-- I'm laying on a table. There's something wrong with my head. Why can't I move? My arm just moved, but I didn't move it. There's someone standing behind me. Oh god. Oh god, they've got me. Gotta make a change. Just reach out and-- Something wrong. Can't move. Head's... wrong. Can't think. Gotta change. Reach out and-- //"Isn't this dangerous, [http://www.scp-wiki.net/dr-manns-personnel-file Doctor Mann]?" asked the assistant nervously. "What if he wakes up and tries to erase us from existence or something?"// //"He already has," the surgeon replied. "Happily, our blocks keep him from doing more than wiping out his own memory."// ------ [http://www.scp-wiki.net/agent-lament-s-personnel-file Agent Lament] officially died fifteen years ago. A jetski accident on a lake in Texas. His funeral was a week after that. An open casket had the wrong body in it, but no one noticed. Brain death was three months ago, after blunt trauma by a loyal member of the Church of the Broken God. His heart stopped beating six weeks ago. They'd kept it beating to make sure he wouldn't do anything interesting. Exposure to skips can change things. Even death. Five weeks ago, they cremated him, and buried the ashes in a little jar. It was sealed with concrete, and marked with a number. His files were retired four weeks ago. His pay was stopped. His pension was paid, anonymously, to his mother. She thought she'd won a contest. His friends swore three weeks ago that they'd never forget him. They haven't thought about him since. They won't ever again. They'll never even notice the change. Two days ago, his last active case was resolved. His name no longer appears in any active files. Today, the clock he'd set went off for the last time, as the new occupant threw it out in favor of a new one. And now he's truly dead. ------ [http://www.scp-wiki.net/dr-kondraki-s-personnel-file Kondraki] swore as he worked. How had they found him? He'd been hiding for over a year. No idiot neighbors, no cameras, nothing to give him away. How had the Foundation figured out where he'd gone? But no one else used that frequency. His codes were out of date, so he couldn't tell what was being said, but they were close. They'd come for him, at long last. No. No, they wouldn't bring him back. They wouldn't execute him. Not him. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Was it Clef, he wondered. Yes, it had to be Clef. They wouldn't dare send anyone else. No one else could be trusted to bring him in. Well, this was one mission the Ukelele Man wouldn't complete. He'd retreated to his shelter, and rigged the entire place to go. Not only would it kill Clef, it would also kill him, and thus deny them the opportunity. Not even his brain would remain intact. The only way it could be better would be if he'd had time to rig the resulting blast pattern the shape of a middle finger. He heard a noise. "Smile, you son of a bitch!" he shouted, as he pushed the button. Several miles away, Agent Melendez heard a boom. He wondered what it could possibly be, then dismissed it. He had an anomalous deer to investigate. ------ //Tom Sawyer rafts down the river. I wave to him from the shore, as I've always done.// //The goblins ride to meet our hasty lines. The elves and the humans are forming up with us, the gold forgotten. We're all in this together. I tighten my grip on my hammer in expectation.// I stop in the Journal. "Hello?" I ask. There's no answer. I move on. //Fezziwig is dancing with his wife. Everyone is merry, but there are two guests no one sees but me. I resist the urge to wave. That's not how the story goes.// //"Off with her head!" the Queen yells, and everyone scampers to avoid her wrath. I've never liked this book, but I'm getting desperate now.// "Is anyone there?" It's been a year, though not even I know how I can tell. Why isn't anyone answering? Are they gone? Have they forgotten me? //I watch Toad motoring by, reckless. He's certain he'll live forever. Only I know he's right.// //Gully Foyle appears, the lines and whorls on his face flashing plain. "Make 'em tell you about PyrE, is all!" he shouts before disappearing again.// "I wish someone was there," I write. "Only [http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-423 I've run out of things to read]. Hello? Hello?" //"I will not eat them here in bed, I will not eat them here with Fred! I do not like them, Sam I am..."// [[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>]]	2012-12-29T20:12:00	[ "_licensebox", "agent-lament", "bleak", "cosmic-horror", "doctor-clef", "doctor-mann", "featured", "first-person", "horror", "post-apocalyptic", "tale" ]	Post Finem - SCP Foundation	150	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales", "featured-tale-archive", "competitive-eschatology-hub" ]	[]	15789259	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/post-finem
progress	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>I invented a car that runs on nightmare fuel. It’s kind of funny, actually. We invented fire to scare away the darkness, now we can use the darkness to power our lights.</p> <p>It’s not like nightmare fuel is hard to find. People are afraid of a lot of things, they’re driven by it. I siphon that off, and I use it to drive an engine. It’s simple, really, though the instruments I use to gather the fuel are very sensitive and very complex, so much so that I’m the only one who can use them. But I don’t mind. I’ll fix that eventually. One thing at a time.</p> <p>Distilling and concentrating the fuel comes next. A man can be driven by fear very easily, but a machine can’t fear, not really. The fuel has to be stronger, and so I distill it, break it down into its essential elements, and then concentrate it. The process takes months, and is very easy to get wrong, but I’ll fix that. One thing at a time.</p> <p>But after that, it’s good to use. No nasty greenhouse gases, just some steam and screams. Turn up the music loud enough and you won’t notice anything at all.</p> <p>I’ll probably get a Nobel for this.</p> <p>There are still some kinks that need working out though. Sometimes the engine leaks. Sometimes things happen. They’re just little things, little incidents here and there, nothing too big, nothing too big. Nothing more than a passing shadow, a monster under the bed, a freak happening. Nothing too big.</p> <p>I’ll fix it, don’t you worry, but one thing 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="/progress">Progress</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/progress">https://scpwiki.com/progress</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 invented a car that runs on nightmare fuel. It’s kind of funny, actually. We invented fire to scare away the darkness, now we can use the darkness to power our lights. It’s not like nightmare fuel is hard to find. People are afraid of a lot of things, they’re driven by it. I siphon that off, and I use it to drive an engine. It’s simple, really, though the instruments I use to gather the fuel are very sensitive and very complex, so much so that I’m the only one who can use them. But I don’t mind. I’ll fix that eventually. One thing at a time. Distilling and concentrating the fuel comes next. A man can be driven by fear very easily, but a machine can’t fear, not really. The fuel has to be stronger, and so I distill it, break it down into its essential elements, and then concentrate it. The process takes months, and is very easy to get wrong, but I’ll fix that. One thing at a time. But after that, it’s good to use. No nasty greenhouse gases, just some steam and screams. Turn up the music loud enough and you won’t notice anything at all. I’ll probably get a Nobel for this. There are still some kinks that need working out though. Sometimes the engine leaks. Sometimes things happen. They’re just little things, little incidents here and there, nothing too big, nothing too big. Nothing more than a passing shadow, a monster under the bed, a freak happening. Nothing too big. I’ll fix it, don’t you worry, but one thing 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>]]	2012-01-17T02:59:00	[ "_licensebox", "absurdism", "creepypasta", "science-fiction", "tale" ]	Progress - SCP Foundation	32	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012" ]	[]	12528940	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/progress
project-heimdall-prologue	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <br/> "You always did tend to burn the candle at both ends, William." <p>General William Pendergast, the Deputy Director of Foundation Contingency Planning Operations, looked up. His unexpected visitor was a patrician - tall and imperially thin, his once black hair now liberally streaked with grey. Seven, as the man was called based on his numerical designation, was one of the Foundation's Overseers.</p> <p>"Sir, it's late," Pendergast said, though the hour was not so much late as it was early. "What brings you out to Site-11 at this time of night?"</p> <p>His visitor took a long, slow breath on his cigarette, in flagrant violation of the Foundation's smoke-free workplace policy. "This and that, General. You've been doing a fine job here, by the way."</p> <p>"Thank you, sir."</p> <p>"Does the number 79812108 mean anything significant to you, William?" the Overseer asked, taking a seat.</p> <p>"Yes, sir, several things," the General replied. Pendergast did his best to not look disapprovingly at his superior's smoking - never a vice he had entertained himself, as he hated the smell of the damned things.</p> <p>"Specifically, the Contingency Planning Operation with that designation," elaborated Seven, exhaling.</p> <p>"Assume aliens which could be considered 'Keter' attempted an invasion - how do we stop them, and all that," Pendergast said. "Last updated back in 1988, was it?"</p> <p>"Eighty-nine," corrected his guest. "But most of the legwork was done in '88, yes. I'm glad to see your memory is as good as ever."</p> <p>"I wasn't involved in drafting that report, sir," General Pendergast observed.</p> <p>"No, you were an Air Force major working at the Pentagon who had never heard of the Foundation, and I was, well, that's a long time ago," Seven observed. Though Pendergast was still in his fifties, Seven was closer to seventy than sixty. "The reason I bring this up is that several members of the O5 Council, myself included, believe this exercise needs updating. It has, after all, been two decades."</p> <p>"Yes, sir," Pendergast replied. "Sir, if I may ask, why the back channels?"</p> <p>"I need you to put a formal request in writing to the Council. Those of us who feel this way aren't a majority - you know how it is. A couple of the hardline science types don't want resources taken away from their pet projects for poking and prodding things." Though extensive, funded in no small degree by several lucrative patents held by shell companies, the Foundation's budget was by no means limitless - something Pendergast understood from spending a third of his time fighting for his budget in seemingly endless meetings.</p> <p>"And if you get a formal suggestion for reupping a twenty-two year old analysis, you'll be able to convince the fence-sitters to side with you," Pendergast said, finishing his superior's thought.</p> <p>"Precisely."</p> <p>Pendergast continued, "And if this formal suggestion comes from my office without any apparent suggestion from you or those who agree with you, you won't owe the fence sitters favors next time <em>they</em> want something."</p> <p>Taking a puff on his cigarette, the Overseer chuckled. "Well, we do pay you to spot the subtle details and speak the uncomfortable truths, so I don't suppose I can object too loudly when you apply that to the Foundation's own internal politics."</p> <p>"I'll have a formal request drawn up in time for next Monday's Council meeting?" Pendergast asked.</p> <p>Seven exhaled and used the stub of his cigarette to light a new one. "That will do nicely, General," he said, standing. "Good night, William."</p> <p>"Good night, sir," Pendergast replied, but his guest was already gone.</p> <hr/> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><tt>FROM: General William Pendergast (Deputy Director of Foundation Contingency Planning)</tt><br/> <tt>TO: O5 Council</tt><br/> <tt>RE: Proposed Contingency Planning Operation</tt></p> <hr/> <p><tt>Overseers,</tt></p> <p><tt>It has come to my attention that it has been nearly 23 years since the last major Foundation low-probability, high impact analysis was performed regarding "the possibility that hypothetical extraterrestrial intelligences unknown displaying vigorous, active hostility to human life and/or civilization might attempt to conquer, enslave, or exterminate humanity." (Reference Foundation Contingency Planning Operation 79812108, 01/13/1989.) In that time, significant technological advances and geopolitical shifts have occurred. Accordingly, Foundation contingency protocols for such an event are woefully insufficient. Though the likelihood of hostile actions by extraterrestrial intelligences unknown within the near future is remote, the consequences for human civilization should such actions occur would be nothing short of dire. While both world governments and various groups of interest such as the Global Occult Coalition can be reasonably expected to respond to major attacks against this planet and its civilization, the Foundation is and must be the first and best line of defense for humanity.</tt></p> <p><tt>I propose the immediate commencement of a contingency planning operation (proposed numerical reference number 83910301) in which the Foundation will update its plans, coordinated through my office but spanning disciplines and departments.</tt></p> <p><tt>I propose the following facilities be involved:</tt></p> <ul> <li><tt>Overwatch HQ: Operating in both its usual oversight and coordination roles.</tt></li> <li><tt>Research Sector-15: As the Foundation's primary facility for research and experimentation devoted to determining methods for destroying dangerous SCP objects, it is uniquely suited to the discussion of destructive countermeasures towards extraterrestrial entities.</tt></li> <li><tt>Site-11: As both the primary intelligence center and the location of my office and directorate, this facility is best suited for taking the lead on this contingency planning operation.</tt></li> <li><tt>Site-19: The participation of Site-19's research and scientific staff would be necessary for this project's successful conclusion.</tt></li> <li><tt>Armed Research Site-45: As the primary facility for weaponization of SCP objects, this site would be critical in any planetary defense initiative.</tt></li> </ul> <p><tt>I propose the following task forces be involved (recognizing that analysis is not their primary function, but believing this operation to overlap with their mandates):</tt></p> <ul> <li><tt>Mobile Task Force Gamma-5 (aka "They're on our side, Sir!"): Tasked with "public misinformation and damage control", Gamma-5 would play a significant role in the Foundation's management of the media should hostile extraterrestrial actions occur.</tt></li> <li><tt>Mobile Task Force Iota-10 (aka "Damn Feds"): Assigned to intercept SCP-related reports and disrupt SCP-related investigations by local law-enforcement agencies, Iota-10 would be critical in the Foundation's coordination of local agencies in the event of hostile extraterrestrial actions.</tt></li> <li><tt>Reconnaissance Force Kappa-6 (aka "Angel Eyes"): As one of the Foundation's main espionage-related Task Forces, Kappa-6 would likely be the first part of the Foundation to become aware of covert hostile extraterrestrial actions.</tt></li> </ul> <p><tt>I further propose the involvement of a rapid response task force, assuming availability permits.</tt></p> <p><tt>I thank the Council for its consideration of this matter.</tt></p> <p><tt>Signed,</tt><br/> <tt>William Pendergast</tt></p> </blockquote> <hr/> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><tt>FROM: O5-7, on behalf of O5 Council</tt><br/> <tt>TO: General William Pendergast (Deputy Director of Foundation Contingency Planning Operations)</tt><br/> <tt>RE: Proposed CPO 83910301</tt></p> <hr/> <p><tt>Contingency Planning Operation approved. Codename designation "Project Heimdall". Research potential means by which extraterrestrial intelligence displaying vigorous, active hostility to human life and/or civilization might attempt to conquer, enslave, or exterminate humanity. Analyze likely outcomes. Develop countermeasures and contingency plans. Report findings to O5 Council when complete.</tt></p> </blockquote> <hr/> <hr/> <p><em>Hmmm,</em> Pendergast thought, reading the reply from the O5 Council. <em>"Heimdall", Norse god who kept watch for Ragnarök. Very apt.</em></p> <p>He picked up his phone to get the ball rolling. There was a lot of work to do.</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="/project-heimdall-prologue">Project Heimdall - Prologue</a>" by Hornby, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/project-heimdall-prologue">https://scpwiki.com/project-heimdall-prologue</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 always did tend to burn the candle at both ends, William." General William Pendergast, the Deputy Director of Foundation Contingency Planning Operations, looked up. His unexpected visitor was a patrician - tall and imperially thin, his once black hair now liberally streaked with grey. Seven, as the man was called based on his numerical designation, was one of the Foundation's Overseers. "Sir, it's late," Pendergast said, though the hour was not so much late as it was early. "What brings you out to Site-11 at this time of night?" His visitor took a long, slow breath on his cigarette, in flagrant violation of the Foundation's smoke-free workplace policy. "This and that, General. You've been doing a fine job here, by the way." "Thank you, sir." "Does the number 79812108 mean anything significant to you, William?" the Overseer asked, taking a seat. "Yes, sir, several things," the General replied. Pendergast did his best to not look disapprovingly at his superior's smoking - never a vice he had entertained himself, as he hated the smell of the damned things. "Specifically, the Contingency Planning Operation with that designation," elaborated Seven, exhaling. "Assume aliens which could be considered 'Keter' attempted an invasion - how do we stop them, and all that," Pendergast said. "Last updated back in 1988, was it?" "Eighty-nine," corrected his guest. "But most of the legwork was done in '88, yes. I'm glad to see your memory is as good as ever." "I wasn't involved in drafting that report, sir," General Pendergast observed. "No, you were an Air Force major working at the Pentagon who had never heard of the Foundation, and I was, well, that's a long time ago," Seven observed. Though Pendergast was still in his fifties, Seven was closer to seventy than sixty. "The reason I bring this up is that several members of the O5 Council, myself included, believe this exercise needs updating. It has, after all, been two decades." "Yes, sir," Pendergast replied. "Sir, if I may ask, why the back channels?" "I need you to put a formal request in writing to the Council. Those of us who feel this way aren't a majority - you know how it is. A couple of the hardline science types don't want resources taken away from their pet projects for poking and prodding things." Though extensive, funded in no small degree by several lucrative patents held by shell companies, the Foundation's budget was by no means limitless - something Pendergast understood from spending a third of his time fighting for his budget in seemingly endless meetings. "And if you get a formal suggestion for reupping a twenty-two year old analysis, you'll be able to convince the fence-sitters to side with you," Pendergast said, finishing his superior's thought. "Precisely." Pendergast continued, "And if this formal suggestion comes from my office without any apparent suggestion from you or those who agree with you, you won't owe the fence sitters favors next time //they// want something." Taking a puff on his cigarette, the Overseer chuckled. "Well, we do pay you to spot the subtle details and speak the uncomfortable truths, so I don't suppose I can object too loudly when you apply that to the Foundation's own internal politics." "I'll have a formal request drawn up in time for next Monday's Council meeting?" Pendergast asked. Seven exhaled and used the stub of his cigarette to light a new one. "That will do nicely, General," he said, standing. "Good night, William." "Good night, sir," Pendergast replied, but his guest was already gone. ---- ---- > {{FROM: General William Pendergast (Deputy Director of Foundation Contingency Planning)}} > {{TO: O5 Council}} > {{RE: Proposed Contingency Planning Operation}} > ---- > {{Overseers,}} > > {{It has come to my attention that it has been nearly 23 years since the last major Foundation low-probability, high impact analysis was performed regarding "the possibility that hypothetical extraterrestrial intelligences unknown displaying vigorous, active hostility to human life and/or civilization might attempt to conquer, enslave, or exterminate humanity." (Reference Foundation Contingency Planning Operation 79812108, 01/13/1989.) In that time, significant technological advances and geopolitical shifts have occurred. Accordingly, Foundation contingency protocols for such an event are woefully insufficient. Though the likelihood of hostile actions by extraterrestrial intelligences unknown within the near future is remote, the consequences for human civilization should such actions occur would be nothing short of dire. While both world governments and various groups of interest such as the Global Occult Coalition can be reasonably expected to respond to major attacks against this planet and its civilization, the Foundation is and must be the first and best line of defense for humanity.}} > > {{I propose the immediate commencement of a contingency planning operation (proposed numerical reference number 83910301) in which the Foundation will update its plans, coordinated through my office but spanning disciplines and departments.}} > > {{I propose the following facilities be involved:}} > * {{Overwatch HQ: Operating in both its usual oversight and coordination roles.}} > * {{Research Sector-15: As the Foundation's primary facility for research and experimentation devoted to determining methods for destroying dangerous SCP objects, it is uniquely suited to the discussion of destructive countermeasures towards extraterrestrial entities.}} > * {{Site-11: As both the primary intelligence center and the location of my office and directorate, this facility is best suited for taking the lead on this contingency planning operation.}} > * {{Site-19: The participation of Site-19's research and scientific staff would be necessary for this project's successful conclusion.}} > * {{Armed Research Site-45: As the primary facility for weaponization of SCP objects, this site would be critical in any planetary defense initiative.}} > {{I propose the following task forces be involved (recognizing that analysis is not their primary function, but believing this operation to overlap with their mandates):}} > * {{Mobile Task Force Gamma-5 (aka "They're on our side, Sir!"): Tasked with "public misinformation and damage control", Gamma-5 would play a significant role in the Foundation's management of the media should hostile extraterrestrial actions occur.}} > * {{Mobile Task Force Iota-10 (aka "Damn Feds"): Assigned to intercept SCP-related reports and disrupt SCP-related investigations by local law-enforcement agencies, Iota-10 would be critical in the Foundation's coordination of local agencies in the event of hostile extraterrestrial actions.}} > * {{Reconnaissance Force Kappa-6 (aka "Angel Eyes"): As one of the Foundation's main espionage-related Task Forces, Kappa-6 would likely be the first part of the Foundation to become aware of covert hostile extraterrestrial actions.}} > {{I further propose the involvement of a rapid response task force, assuming availability permits.}} > > {{I thank the Council for its consideration of this matter.}} > > {{Signed,}} > {{William Pendergast}} ---- ---- > {{FROM: O5-7, on behalf of O5 Council}} > {{TO: General William Pendergast (Deputy Director of Foundation Contingency Planning Operations)}} > {{RE: Proposed CPO 83910301}} > ---- > {{Contingency Planning Operation approved. Codename designation "Project Heimdall". Research potential means by which extraterrestrial intelligence displaying vigorous, active hostility to human life and/or civilization might attempt to conquer, enslave, or exterminate humanity. Analyze likely outcomes. Develop countermeasures and contingency plans. Report findings to O5 Council when complete.}} ---- ---- //Hmmm,// Pendergast thought, reading the reply from the O5 Council. //"Heimdall", Norse god who kept watch for Ragnarök. Very apt.// He picked up his phone to get the ball rolling. There was a lot of work to do. [[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>]]	2012-06-22T01:10:00	[ "_licensebox", "bureaucracy", "heimdall", "science-fiction", "tale", "worldbuilding" ]	Project Heimdall - Prologue - SCP Foundation	91	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "project-heimdall", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13607437	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/project-heimdall-prologue
promotion	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Carrying a thick folder in one hand, and a shot glass in the other, the veteran operative strode smugly into a lab that smelled strongly of beets. Here, dark plastic trays of scrawny plants were parked at odd angles around an examination table in the center of the room. A starched lab jacket had been draped thoughtfully over one corner, and it fluoresced in the ultraviolet light that leaked from the apex of a tabletop ziggurat nearby.</p> <p>The owner of the jacket was wan and rather dry, like the plants he studied. He worked a large touchscreen attached to the science whatsit, rearranging cartouches of gene sequences in a dazzling Three-card Monte. He noted the intruder only with his peripheral vision, and spoke softly as he continued to tickle his puzzle.</p> <p>"No beverages in the lab, please. We've got deadly toxins in here."</p> <p>This is probably my favorite part of the job, thought the agent. His gray dress uniform rarely came off the hanger, but he never failed to wear it when he got to give "horrorientation" to some promising egghead. Three rows of ribbons seemed to do a lot of the talking for him. The first two rows were even genuine.</p> <p>"Dr. Blodgett, you're in early today. That's helpful."</p> <p>"Mm?"</p> <p>"I have news. You're off ACRES."</p> <p>"Hmm?"</p> <p>"As of now, Syril is taking over SCP-1717 Rho."</p> <p>The scientist froze one hand, mid-swipe, and looked over - his brow furrowing only slightly deeper. "<em>Essie-pee</em> what now?"</p> <p>"That's the Foundation's formal designation for your research. You've been reassigned."</p> <p>Blodgett blinked, opened his mouth once, then closed it. His nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath. "Reassigned? Is this the budget thing? There's nothing to — I can't — "</p> <p>"It's not like that. You'll be working on a more urgent project. You've done good work here, but there are bigger fish to fry, and we think you're up to the task."</p> <p>"Bigger fish than global poisoning and/or starvation?" he scoffed. "This team has made tremendous progress. To disrupt our research at this critical stage is madness. 'This is the <em>most important</em> study ever undertaken by Symbiosys, perhaps by mankind.' Those aren't my words. Those are the words of Director Kim."</p> <p>"Yeah, well, as they say, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Kim was only El-Three, and therefore not actually a director. Not really. But now you've been promoted to El-Two - the Foundation <em>only</em> promotes from within, by the way. You can leave your work just as it is. Someone else will clean up, and we need to begin immediately. You've got a hell of a day ahead of you." Railroading them invariably made it sweeter.</p> <p>A quizzical eyebrow. "I'm sorry — <em>el-two</em>? The <em>foundation</em>?"</p> <p>"Think of us as the, uh, holding company for Symbiosys Capital Partners. That should get you through the first hour."</p> <p>"Your badge is a color I haven't seen before. Who are you exactly?"</p> <p>"My name is Ussein. I'm your tour guide through the looking-glass. For the rest of the afternoon, I’ll be permanently altering your world-view." For emphasis, he rapped the glass down on the polished stainless steel surface beside Blodgett's hand. "It's easier if you have a belt before we get started."</p> <p>"This is outrageous. I need to speak with Kim."</p> <p>"As a matter of fact, he'll be our first stop, bu-ut —” he drew out the last word out in a coy, reverberating bass, "speaking with him will be difficult, as Dr. Myung Kim is currently being plucked in pulpy bits from a tumblethorn. He was a fair administrator, I’ll tell you, and will be missed. As a researcher, on the other hand, he was never particularly methodical or, frankly, careful. Honestly, we're hoping that some fresh blood will improve the safety record around here. Shall we begin?"</p> <p>Ussein watched carefully. His victim's confusion and anger momentarily gave way to disbelief, then stirred in fourteen months of half-formed suspicions and fragments of overheard jokes about a strange job in a strange place. Five stages of grief in five seconds.</p> <p>Finally, obligingly: Blodgett gasped, paled, and made The Face. In response, the tiny remaining juvenile corner of Ussein's brain fist-pumped, and whispered, <em>Yes!</em></p> <p>"Here's your new badge. And you'll really be wanting the drink. Trust me - that whiskey is <em>literally</em> out of this world."<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="/promotion">Promotion</a>" by Michael Atreus, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/promotion">https://scpwiki.com/promotion</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]] [[/>]] Carrying a thick folder in one hand, and a shot glass in the other, the veteran operative strode smugly into a lab that smelled strongly of beets. Here, dark plastic trays of scrawny plants were parked at odd angles around an examination table in the center of the room. A starched lab jacket had been draped thoughtfully over one corner, and it fluoresced in the ultraviolet light that leaked from the apex of a tabletop ziggurat nearby. The owner of the jacket was wan and rather dry, like the plants he studied. He worked a large touchscreen attached to the science whatsit, rearranging cartouches of gene sequences in a dazzling Three-card Monte. He noted the intruder only with his peripheral vision, and spoke softly as he continued to tickle his puzzle. "No beverages in the lab, please. We've got deadly toxins in here." This is probably my favorite part of the job, thought the agent. His gray dress uniform rarely came off the hanger, but he never failed to wear it when he got to give "horrorientation" to some promising egghead. Three rows of ribbons seemed to do a lot of the talking for him. The first two rows were even genuine. "Dr. Blodgett, you're in early today. That's helpful." "Mm?" "I have news. You're off ACRES." "Hmm?" "As of now, Syril is taking over SCP-1717 Rho." The scientist froze one hand, mid-swipe, and looked over - his brow furrowing only slightly deeper. "//Essie-pee// what now?" "That's the Foundation's formal designation for your research. You've been reassigned." Blodgett blinked, opened his mouth once, then closed it. His nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath. "Reassigned? Is this the budget thing? There's nothing to -- I can't -- " "It's not like that. You'll be working on a more urgent project. You've done good work here, but there are bigger fish to fry, and we think you're up to the task." "Bigger fish than global poisoning and/or starvation?" he scoffed. "This team has made tremendous progress. To disrupt our research at this critical stage is madness. 'This is the //most important// study ever undertaken by Symbiosys, perhaps by mankind.' Those aren't my words. Those are the words of Director Kim." "Yeah, well, as they say, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Kim was only El-Three, and therefore not actually a director. Not really. But now you've been promoted to El-Two - the Foundation //only// promotes from within, by the way. You can leave your work just as it is. Someone else will clean up, and we need to begin immediately. You've got a hell of a day ahead of you." Railroading them invariably made it sweeter. A quizzical eyebrow. "I'm sorry -- //el-two//? The //foundation//?" "Think of us as the, uh, holding company for Symbiosys Capital Partners. That should get you through the first hour." "Your badge is a color I haven't seen before. Who are you exactly?" "My name is Ussein. I'm your tour guide through the looking-glass. For the rest of the afternoon, I’ll be permanently altering your world-view." For emphasis, he rapped the glass down on the polished stainless steel surface beside Blodgett's hand. "It's easier if you have a belt before we get started." "This is outrageous. I need to speak with Kim." "As a matter of fact, he'll be our first stop, bu-ut --” he drew out the last word out in a coy, reverberating bass, "speaking with him will be difficult, as Dr. Myung Kim is currently being plucked in pulpy bits from a tumblethorn. He was a fair administrator, I’ll tell you, and will be missed. As a researcher, on the other hand, he was never particularly methodical or, frankly, careful. Honestly, we're hoping that some fresh blood will improve the safety record around here. Shall we begin?" Ussein watched carefully. His victim's confusion and anger momentarily gave way to disbelief, then stirred in fourteen months of half-formed suspicions and fragments of overheard jokes about a strange job in a strange place. Five stages of grief in five seconds. Finally, obligingly: Blodgett gasped, paled, and made The Face. In response, the tiny remaining juvenile corner of Ussein's brain fist-pumped, and whispered, //Yes!// "Here's your new badge. And you'll really be wanting the drink. Trust me - that whiskey is //literally// out of this world." @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-08-28T22:54:00	[ "_licensebox", "bureaucracy", "mystery", "orientation", "tale" ]	Promotion - SCP Foundation	67	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	14144976	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/promotion
protect	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>"See that one?" Garrett said. Jacob nodded. The baby squirrel was chirping peacefully in its nest in the nearest white oak in the playground.</p> <p>"I'm gonna kill it dead. Soon as we get outside. Just you see." Garrett paced around the room, waiting for the teachers to get done with whatever speech they were giving the class. "It's gonna be <em>awesome.</em> You'll see."</p> <p>Jacob kept nodding absently. Garrett was always talking about stuff like this, talking about what a big-time hunter he was. Like an eight-year old <em>really</em> killed ten birds on one hunt. Garrett was always full of talk, but Jacob knew it'd be different if he were actually in that situation.</p> <p>"Look at 'im," Garrett continued. "I bet the mama squirrel's off getting food somewhere. I bet she don't even know what's about to happen."</p> <p>The teacher, looking impatient at the noise level in the room, finally just opened the door. The kids ran out as the teacher tried to count heads. Jacob was one of the last, preferring not to be trampled by the mob. Garrett ran in a beeline for the tree with the squirrel nest above it while Jacob watched.</p> <p>"Hey, you peckerheaded lil' fuzzball! You gonna come down here this minute!" Garrett threw a rock at the nest, missing. Jacob was worried for a moment, looked at the teacher to make sure everything was okay. Mr. Carter was talking to another child about being loud indoors and wasn't paying attention. Jacob thought about telling him. <em>Nah, no way Garrett's actually gonna—</em></p> <p>Jacob could have sworn it happened in slow motion. Garrett picking up the other rock. Rearing back. Throwing it as hard as he could.</p> <p>The rock making contact with the nest.</p> <p>The nest swayed, swayed further. Jacob's eyes darted to the branch just in time to (he imagined) make eye contact with the squirrel as it started falling. Its legs scrabbled against the air as it fell to the ground. Jacob also didn't know if he was imagining the sound of the squirrel's legs breaking when it hit the ground, but it seemed dazed and had trouble walking. It was too young to know what to do now.</p> <p>Some of the other children fell silent. Quite a few, however, started yelling. Cheering Garrett on. Mr. Carter turned and looked, saw what was happening, started yelling for the kids to get back. Jacob watched, smirking. <em>Now he's going to have to shut up.</em></p> <p>Garrett was unfazed by the teacher yelling. "Watch this!" he screamed, and brought his foot up above the squirrel's head. The creature began trying to crawl away with its forelegs, squeaking the whole time. Mr. Carter was too far away still. The other children backed up but kept watching.</p> <p>Garrett had an enormous smile on his face as his foot came down, heel first, onto the squirrel's upper spine. The crunching and squealing were hilarious to Garrett, who raised his foot up again and brought it stomping down onto the animal's stomach. And again. And again. And again.</p> <p>Mr. Carter had to drag the cackling Garrett away forcibly, blood dripping from his shoe. All of the other boys were laughing and cheering him on; one of them ran up to the squirrel (<em>oh my God, it's still alive,</em> Jacob thought, <em>I can still hear it, it's still alive</em>) and paraded it around, showing it to everyone. Another teacher had to wrangle him back towards the building as well.</p> <p>Jacob went inside with the rest of the children. The teachers lectured everybody about how dangerous wild animals were, and about rabies and salmonella and parasites, and how you should never touch a dead animal, and made the kids who had touched it wash their hands, and made Garrett wash his shoe. Jacob overheard one of the teachers say "boys will be boys" to a colleague. Was this supposed to be normal?</p> <p>The day went on. Jacob was eventually the only one still thinking about the squirrel. People occasionally pointed to where it was lying on the ground, still squirming occasionally. Finally, Jacob couldn't stand it anymore. He waited until most of the class had turned around, turned the doorknob as quietly (but quickly) as he could, and snuck out the door onto the playground.</p> <p>The first tattles rang out before the door was closed, but Jacob was running at that point. Mr. Carter was yelling, albeit half-heartedly; Jacob wasn't the sort of child he was used to yelling at, the soft-spoken and gentle kind of kid he was used to trusting implicitly. But Jacob wasn't going to do what he was told this time.</p> <p>He reached the squirrel, seeing out of the corner of his eye that he only had a couple of seconds to do… what? What was Jacob going to do? Without thinking, he reached down, stroked the bloody mess across the forehead, and leaned down close to its ear.</p> <p>"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for us," he said, before Mr. Carter pulled him back into the building.</p> <hr/> <p>"Go on," the director of Site 38 asked. "Then what happened?"</p> <p>"What the file says, David," his counterpart said. "The squirrel was crippled in half a dozen places, bleeding everywhere, guts hanging out. By the time the kid was back in the building, twenty kids and three adults had seen the squirrel get up, completely healthy, and bound off into the great beyond."</p> <p>"You're going to have to explain this further, sir," David said.</p> <p>The director of Site 19 sighed. "What is it you don't get? He healed the fucking squirrel. That's not natural."</p> <p>"But… is he a threat? To anyone?" David asked.</p> <p>"Come on, David, that's hardly the point," the other man replied. "We aren't called the Eldritch Threat Lockdown Company. We aren't the Demonic Containment Initiative. A kid kills a squirrel, the squirrel stays dead. That's how the world works. If something makes the squirrel not be dead, and it's not a veterinarian with a damn fine hand, we get called in. That's called "anomalous," and that's what we do. Secure, contain, protect."</p> <p>"So… so we're protecting the boy?"</p> <p>"Eh… sure, if you like," the director of Site 19 replied. "Technically, we're protecting everybody else from a world where dead things don't stay dead. Were we really going to let a wizard, or reality bender, or necromancer, or whatever the hell this kid is go free? Just because he's not a <em>threat</em>, by your standards? Who knows what he can do?"</p> <p>David frowned. "Do we really have a place for something like this? Is this really what needs to be done?"</p> <p>"Read the second line of the file."</p> <p>He pointed at one line on the file in front of the other man, the line that read "Object Class: Safe".</p> <p>"It's exactly what we do, David. Not everything is grim or dark; some of it is just… anomalous. You'll be taking delivery in the morning."</p> <p>The other man stood up and left.<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="/protect">Protect</a>" by Eskobar, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/protect">https://scpwiki.com/protect</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]] [[/>]] "See that one?" Garrett said. Jacob nodded. The baby squirrel was chirping peacefully in its nest in the nearest white oak in the playground. "I'm gonna kill it dead. Soon as we get outside. Just you see." Garrett paced around the room, waiting for the teachers to get done with whatever speech they were giving the class. "It's gonna be //awesome.// You'll see." Jacob kept nodding absently. Garrett was always talking about stuff like this, talking about what a big-time hunter he was. Like an eight-year old //really// killed ten birds on one hunt. Garrett was always full of talk, but Jacob knew it'd be different if he were actually in that situation. "Look at 'im," Garrett continued. "I bet the mama squirrel's off getting food somewhere. I bet she don't even know what's about to happen." The teacher, looking impatient at the noise level in the room, finally just opened the door. The kids ran out as the teacher tried to count heads. Jacob was one of the last, preferring not to be trampled by the mob. Garrett ran in a beeline for the tree with the squirrel nest above it while Jacob watched. "Hey, you peckerheaded lil' fuzzball! You gonna come down here this minute!" Garrett threw a rock at the nest, missing. Jacob was worried for a moment, looked at the teacher to make sure everything was okay. Mr. Carter was talking to another child about being loud indoors and wasn't paying attention. Jacob thought about telling him. //Nah, no way Garrett's actually gonna--// Jacob could have sworn it happened in slow motion. Garrett picking up the other rock. Rearing back. Throwing it as hard as he could. The rock making contact with the nest. The nest swayed, swayed further. Jacob's eyes darted to the branch just in time to (he imagined) make eye contact with the squirrel as it started falling. Its legs scrabbled against the air as it fell to the ground. Jacob also didn't know if he was imagining the sound of the squirrel's legs breaking when it hit the ground, but it seemed dazed and had trouble walking. It was too young to know what to do now. Some of the other children fell silent. Quite a few, however, started yelling. Cheering Garrett on. Mr. Carter turned and looked, saw what was happening, started yelling for the kids to get back. Jacob watched, smirking. //Now he's going to have to shut up.// Garrett was unfazed by the teacher yelling. "Watch this!" he screamed, and brought his foot up above the squirrel's head. The creature began trying to crawl away with its forelegs, squeaking the whole time. Mr. Carter was too far away still. The other children backed up but kept watching. Garrett had an enormous smile on his face as his foot came down, heel first, onto the squirrel's upper spine. The crunching and squealing were hilarious to Garrett, who raised his foot up again and brought it stomping down onto the animal's stomach. And again. And again. And again. Mr. Carter had to drag the cackling Garrett away forcibly, blood dripping from his shoe. All of the other boys were laughing and cheering him on; one of them ran up to the squirrel (//oh my God, it's still alive,// Jacob thought, //I can still hear it, it's still alive//) and paraded it around, showing it to everyone. Another teacher had to wrangle him back towards the building as well. Jacob went inside with the rest of the children. The teachers lectured everybody about how dangerous wild animals were, and about rabies and salmonella and parasites, and how you should never touch a dead animal, and made the kids who had touched it wash their hands, and made Garrett wash his shoe. Jacob overheard one of the teachers say "boys will be boys" to a colleague. Was this supposed to be normal? The day went on. Jacob was eventually the only one still thinking about the squirrel. People occasionally pointed to where it was lying on the ground, still squirming occasionally. Finally, Jacob couldn't stand it anymore. He waited until most of the class had turned around, turned the doorknob as quietly (but quickly) as he could, and snuck out the door onto the playground. The first tattles rang out before the door was closed, but Jacob was running at that point. Mr. Carter was yelling, albeit half-heartedly; Jacob wasn't the sort of child he was used to yelling at, the soft-spoken and gentle kind of kid he was used to trusting implicitly. But Jacob wasn't going to do what he was told this time. He reached the squirrel, seeing out of the corner of his eye that he only had a couple of seconds to do... what? What was Jacob going to do? Without thinking, he reached down, stroked the bloody mess across the forehead, and leaned down close to its ear. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for us," he said, before Mr. Carter pulled him back into the building. ------ "Go on," the director of Site 38 asked. "Then what happened?" "What the file says, David," his counterpart said. "The squirrel was crippled in half a dozen places, bleeding everywhere, guts hanging out. By the time the kid was back in the building, twenty kids and three adults had seen the squirrel get up, completely healthy, and bound off into the great beyond." "You're going to have to explain this further, sir," David said. The director of Site 19 sighed. "What is it you don't get? He healed the fucking squirrel. That's not natural." "But... is he a threat? To anyone?" David asked. "Come on, David, that's hardly the point," the other man replied. "We aren't called the Eldritch Threat Lockdown Company. We aren't the Demonic Containment Initiative. A kid kills a squirrel, the squirrel stays dead. That's how the world works. If something makes the squirrel not be dead, and it's not a veterinarian with a damn fine hand, we get called in. That's called "anomalous," and that's what we do. Secure, contain, protect." "So... so we're protecting the boy?" "Eh... sure, if you like," the director of Site 19 replied. "Technically, we're protecting everybody else from a world where dead things don't stay dead. Were we really going to let a wizard, or reality bender, or necromancer, or whatever the hell this kid is go free? Just because he's not a //threat//, by your standards? Who knows what he can do?" David frowned. "Do we really have a place for something like this? Is this really what needs to be done?" "Read the second line of the file." He pointed at one line on the file in front of the other man, the line that read "Object Class: Safe". "It's exactly what we do, David. Not everything is grim or dark; some of it is just... anomalous. You'll be taking delivery in the morning." The other man stood up and left. @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-05-12T05:26:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Protect - SCP Foundation	77	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13320351	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/protect
quiet-days	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>It was over.</p> <p>No one in the Foundation, from the lowliest security guard to the O5 council, could quite explain exactly <em>what</em> was over. If they were to hazard a guess, a likely answer would have been "everything".</p> <p>It was generally agreed that the first one to notice this was Dr. Victor Balakirev. Dr. Balakirev, though a veteran of many a dangerous experiment and not one to be easily surprised, couldn't believe what his eyes, or rather his high-power telescope, were telling him. What Dr. Balakirev couldn't quite believe was that a routine scan of the Crab Nebula revealed nothing but empty space where a rather conspicuous and rather hateful star was supposed to be. The alarm was raised, a dozen more telescopes were commandeered from various facilities and agencies, and there was no small amount of shouting and running around. The star, however, stubbornly refused to reappear, despite Dr. Balakirev's insistent claims that "a star isn't a bloody remote control, you don't just lose it!"</p> <p>The next one to experience this strange lack of all things strange was D-682-1356, though he couldn't quite appreciate the magnitude of the occasion. He didn't know he was supposed to be the bait in what most assumed would be just another futile attempt in an endless series of failures. D-682-1356 also didn't quite know what to feel when he entered the armored vault to discover nothing more than a badly mangled skeleton when the acid bath was stopped. "So, what do you guys want me to do with that? Do you have a bone to pick with me or something? Heh."</p> <p>The joke was lost on the assembled researchers, who now had more important things to worry about than D-682-1356's poor sense of humor.</p> <p>So began the end. When SCP-294 was prompted to produce a cup of Joe, it made a serviceable cup of cappuccino, which utterly failed to contain any D-class flavoring. In SCP-1981, Ronald Reagan spoke only of evil empires and managed to keep a perfect complexion throughout his speech. SCP-902 was opened and discovered to be empty, and no one could quite remember why they feared it so much in the first place. SCP-076 was found to be similarly empty, though no one forgot what scared them about <em>it</em>.</p> <p>When SCP-1867 was asked if it realized it was a slug, it didn't think for a second to object, since it very clearly was. Besides, it didn't understand the question. SCP-085 was gone from its canvas, and its inky plains and fields felt bare and empty without the presence of the young woman who once inhabited them. They found the clothes which once belonged to SCP-1440 near the top of Mount Everest. Next to them, a single word was written in the snow. "Free".</p> <p>Around the world, the echos of the end became seismic shocks, and no one was spared from their influence:</p> <p>The Church of the Broken God was wiped off the face of the earth. It isn't easy to maintain a working religious organization when all of your artifacts crumble to dust, and it's even more difficult to do so when half of those artifacts are inside your head.</p> <p>Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd, having lost most of their stock and shortly after most of their members, soon faded into obscurity. Their once busy clubhouse, a hub for all things mysterious and expensive, became a place for elderly gentlemen to read the Sunday paper in peace and doze in comfortable leather chairs.</p> <p>The Global Occult Coalition, after it became clear that the threats it was created to thwart were gone, was soon disbanded. The budget once dedicated to fighting the forces of the unknown was allocated to some of humanity's more mundane needs, such as the prevention of global warming and the development of more advanced nuclear weapons.</p> <p>No word was heard from Doctor Wondertainment for a long time. A year after the end, a new line of Doctor Wondertainment toys was released. While "Doctor Wondertainment's Shooty Man's Vengeance" was a perfectly decent game, it was clear his/her heart wasn't in it.</p> <p>When Foundation agents arrived at the current supposed location of the Factory, they found nothing more than an ordinary canned vegetable factory. The capital F was clearly no longer needed.</p> <p>The Serpent's Hand lost a considerable number of its members, and with no cause to rally behind, was destroyed by the Chaos Insurgency. The Insurgency itself soon tore itself asunder like a mad dog biting at its own innards. Very few were left to be caught and executed by the Foundation.</p> <p>The members of Are We Cool Yet never did become cool.</p> <p>Nobody was never heard from again.</p> <p>The Unusual Incident Unit continued chasing flying saucers and reports of Bigfoot (this time entirely unrelated to SCP-1000). Its agents didn't really notice.</p> <p>The Foundation, as resilient as ever, was the last one standing. As the years passed, however, the reasons for its continued existence grew fewer and fewer. With all things anomalous gone, the Foundation had lost its purpose. Site after site was closed down, personnel were let go or, in the case of the few remaining D-class, terminated. Soon, only one part of the organization remained.</p> <p>It was the last meeting of the O5 council. There were no heartfelt speeches or commemorative plaques, because even at its end, the O5 council was a serious body of men and women who didn't muck about with nonsense. Instead, there were a few handshakes, a few quiet words, and mostly a whole lot of silence. Finally, one at a time, the former members began to leave, until only two were left.</p> <p>"So, that's that, I suppose," said O5-04, rolling a cigarette. Smoking wasn't allowed in the boardroom, but there was no one left to object.</p> <p>"Is… is this it? Everything we worked for, all of our sacrifices… just worthless?" asked O5-11, staring glumly at the floor.</p> <p>"Now, I wouldn't say that. We kept the peace while we were needed, and we did so as best we could. We're simply not needed anymore."</p> <p>"Shouldn't I be happy? All of those terrible things we kept locked in are gone, after all. Humanity is finally safe."</p> <p>"From everything but itself, yes."</p> <p>"Then why do I feel like some toy, used and abused then discarded when it is no longer useful?"</p> <p>"It's just the way things are. We were the jailers, the wardens holding back the storm. Now, all of our prisoners are gone. There's no need for wardens in quiet days. C'mon, let me buy you a drink."</p> <p>"Yeah. A drink would be nice. Or ten."</p> <p>"Hey, I'm not made of money, you know."</p> <p>The two left, and closed the door behind them.</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="/quiet-days">Quiet Days</a>" by Dmatix, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/quiet-days">https://scpwiki.com/quiet-days</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 over. No one in the Foundation, from the lowliest security guard to the O5 council, could quite explain exactly //what// was over. If they were to hazard a guess, a likely answer would have been "everything". It was generally agreed that the first one to notice this was Dr. Victor Balakirev. Dr. Balakirev, though a veteran of many a dangerous experiment and not one to be easily surprised, couldn't believe what his eyes, or rather his high-power telescope, were telling him. What Dr. Balakirev couldn't quite believe was that a routine scan of the Crab Nebula revealed nothing but empty space where a rather conspicuous and rather hateful star was supposed to be. The alarm was raised, a dozen more telescopes were commandeered from various facilities and agencies, and there was no small amount of shouting and running around. The star, however, stubbornly refused to reappear, despite Dr. Balakirev's insistent claims that "a star isn't a bloody remote control, you don't just lose it!" The next one to experience this strange lack of all things strange was D-682-1356, though he couldn't quite appreciate the magnitude of the occasion. He didn't know he was supposed to be the bait in what most assumed would be just another futile attempt in an endless series of failures. D-682-1356 also didn't quite know what to feel when he entered the armored vault to discover nothing more than a badly mangled skeleton when the acid bath was stopped. "So, what do you guys want me to do with that? Do you have a bone to pick with me or something? Heh." The joke was lost on the assembled researchers, who now had more important things to worry about than D-682-1356's poor sense of humor. So began the end. When SCP-294 was prompted to produce a cup of Joe, it made a serviceable cup of cappuccino, which utterly failed to contain any D-class flavoring. In SCP-1981, Ronald Reagan spoke only of evil empires and managed to keep a perfect complexion throughout his speech. SCP-902 was opened and discovered to be empty, and no one could quite remember why they feared it so much in the first place. SCP-076 was found to be similarly empty, though no one forgot what scared them about //it//. When SCP-1867 was asked if it realized it was a slug, it didn't think for a second to object, since it very clearly was. Besides, it didn't understand the question. SCP-085 was gone from its canvas, and its inky plains and fields felt bare and empty without the presence of the young woman who once inhabited them. They found the clothes which once belonged to SCP-1440 near the top of Mount Everest. Next to them, a single word was written in the snow. "Free". Around the world, the echos of the end became seismic shocks, and no one was spared from their influence: The Church of the Broken God was wiped off the face of the earth. It isn't easy to maintain a working religious organization when all of your artifacts crumble to dust, and it's even more difficult to do so when half of those artifacts are inside your head. Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd, having lost most of their stock and shortly after most of their members, soon faded into obscurity. Their once busy clubhouse, a hub for all things mysterious and expensive, became a place for elderly gentlemen to read the Sunday paper in peace and doze in comfortable leather chairs. The Global Occult Coalition, after it became clear that the threats it was created to thwart were gone, was soon disbanded. The budget once dedicated to fighting the forces of the unknown was allocated to some of humanity's more mundane needs, such as the prevention of global warming and the development of more advanced nuclear weapons. No word was heard from Doctor Wondertainment for a long time. A year after the end, a new line of Doctor Wondertainment toys was released. While "Doctor Wondertainment's Shooty Man's Vengeance" was a perfectly decent game, it was clear his/her heart wasn't in it. When Foundation agents arrived at the current supposed location of the Factory, they found nothing more than an ordinary canned vegetable factory. The capital F was clearly no longer needed. The Serpent's Hand lost a considerable number of its members, and with no cause to rally behind, was destroyed by the Chaos Insurgency. The Insurgency itself soon tore itself asunder like a mad dog biting at its own innards. Very few were left to be caught and executed by the Foundation. The members of Are We Cool Yet never did become cool. Nobody was never heard from again. The Unusual Incident Unit continued chasing flying saucers and reports of Bigfoot (this time entirely unrelated to SCP-1000). Its agents didn't really notice. The Foundation, as resilient as ever, was the last one standing. As the years passed, however, the reasons for its continued existence grew fewer and fewer. With all things anomalous gone, the Foundation had lost its purpose. Site after site was closed down, personnel were let go or, in the case of the few remaining D-class, terminated. Soon, only one part of the organization remained. It was the last meeting of the O5 council. There were no heartfelt speeches or commemorative plaques, because even at its end, the O5 council was a serious body of men and women who didn't muck about with nonsense. Instead, there were a few handshakes, a few quiet words, and mostly a whole lot of silence. Finally, one at a time, the former members began to leave, until only two were left. "So, that's that, I suppose," said O5-04, rolling a cigarette. Smoking wasn't allowed in the boardroom, but there was no one left to object. "Is... is this it? Everything we worked for, all of our sacrifices... just worthless?" asked O5-11, staring glumly at the floor. "Now, I wouldn't say that. We kept the peace while we were needed, and we did so as best we could. We're simply not needed anymore." "Shouldn't I be happy? All of those terrible things we kept locked in are gone, after all. Humanity is finally safe." "From everything but itself, yes." "Then why do I feel like some toy, used and abused then discarded when it is no longer useful?" "It's just the way things are. We were the jailers, the wardens holding back the storm. Now, all of our prisoners are gone. There's no need for wardens in quiet days. C'mon, let me buy you a drink." "Yeah. A drink would be nice. Or ten." "Hey, I'm not made of money, you know." The two left, and closed the door behind them. [[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>]]	2012-08-30T21:51:00	[ "_licensebox", "are-we-cool-yet", "bittersweet", "broken-god", "chaos-insurgency", "dr-wondertainment", "event-featured", "factory", "global-occult-coalition", "hard-to-destroy-reptile", "marshall-carter-and-dark", "nobody", "tale", "unusual-incidents-unit" ]	Quiet Days - SCP Foundation	1,382	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "unusual-incidents-unit-hub", "top-rated-tales", "top-rated-pages", "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-2-tales-edition", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "kaktuskast-hub", "highest-rated-non-scps", "foundation-tales-audio-edition", "archived:foundation-tales", "factory-hub", "event-featured-archive", "dr-wondertainment-hub", "algorithm-curated-recommendations", "are-we-cool-yet-hub", "audio-adaptations" ]	[]	14176489	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/quiet-days
quiet-game	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Acquisitions and Review. One of the names in The Foundation that can send staff into convulsions. After Agents and MTF squads get something caged, have the remains mopped up and minds scrubbed, A and R have the job of figuring out what in the hell comes next. Something of a patchwork group, they work with all ranges of Agents, staff and security, working out initial SCP documents and trying to minimize the body count, while also setting up research goals. All in all, it's one of the more stressful jobs in an organization that views a total stress-induced mental collapse as a minor lost-time event.</p> <p>All this was sitting in the forefront of Agent Poly's mind when he saw Agent Shun sitting across from him in the lunch room, smiling. Poly was reasonably sure the last time Shun had smiled was when SCP-914 had turned a dead pig into a pile of bacon, and that had been more than eight months ago.</p> <p>“The hell is wrong with you?”</p> <p>Shun grinned, sporting a mock confused look. “Why, whatever do you mean?”</p> <p>“You look entirely too pleased with yourself to be working here.”</p> <p>Shun waved a hand, leaning back in his chair. “I'm just glad to be alive… and have my caseload for the week done.”</p> <p>Poly sputtered, nearly gagging on his coke. “What the hell? You… what? You had at least three new cases, and I <em>know</em> one will end up Keter! What black magic is this, and share immediately.”</p> <p>“You know that saying, many hands make light work?” Shun grinned like a cat with a mouthful of feathers. “Well, I've just got the right hands to rely on.”</p> <p>“You will tell me your dark secrets, or I will soak your underpants in meat before your next 682 review.”</p> <p>“Ok, so remember that memo we got a few months back, about the new processing site they set up in Egypt?”</p> <p>Poly nodded slowly, scraping back in his memory. “Yeah… wasn't it some co-op deal with ORIA defectors or something?”</p> <p>Shun bobbed his head, leaning in with a quick sideways glance. “It's got a few, yes, but it's more a warehouse site, for review items coming from all over the middle east. The thing is, it's also listed as a hub site, which means they can take any and all items up for transport…”</p> <p>Poly's eyes widened “… like initial review items. But, how the hell would you shift them like that without catching hell? You can't just pass the buck.”</p> <p>“That's just the thing. The head of review, Agent Melike, is apparently a glutton for punishment. I started talking to her on a review project, and she actually entered a request to take over the review. On-site. Signed the transport orders and everything. I just had to forward the case notes, and in about a week she sent a complete SCP proposal.”</p> <p>Poly sat back heavily, shaking his head. “Good lord. And you just sat on this? While I struggled and worried if I'm working on a second heart attack.”</p> <p>“Hey, it's not like that… just… wanted to make sure it was really happening first, I would have told you.”</p> <p>“Uh huh, yeah, I… wait, what was the Agent again?”</p> <p>“Who? Oh, the one at the new hub? Agent Melike.”</p> <p>Poly furrowed his brow, looking to the side. “… That's a weird name, even for this place.”</p> <p>“It's Turkish, apparently, something royal or the like, like Magnus or something.”</p> <p>Poly looked at Shun, questioning. “… How long has this girl been here?”</p> <p>Shun pulled back a bit, feeling suddenly defensive. “Well, I don't know… a few months, maybe? It's not like I'm dating her or something, we just talk and trade research.”</p> <p>“A few months… Shun, when was the last time you heard of anyone with less than two years invested being able to sign transport requests.”</p> <p>Shun froze, an icy drip rolling down his spine. “… S-she's probably a transfer, from another staff unit. Like when we got Harp after Finn degenerated.”</p> <p>“We would have been notified of a transfer, even overseas. Remember, we always get those bullshit secured email notices you have to sign and reply to.”</p> <p>“… oh god.”</p> <p>Poly pushed out his chair, rising quickly. “Let's go to security… maybe they just forgot or something.”</p> <p>Poly was in too much of a rush to catch Shun whispering quietly “Please god…”</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p>Theft Report 0012 – 3<br/> Aux: BC Folio</p> </blockquote> <p>It was brought to the attention of Site Command at Site 42 that a possible breach of security had been noted. Acquisitions and Review reported an unknown Agent “Melike” had been corresponding and accepting new item transfers. Central Records reported no “Agent Melike” on file for the past three years, and no new hub sites opened in the Egypt area for the last six years.</p> <p>All item transfers en-route were shunted to the nearest site, and all in-process requests for transfer were canceled. All suspect documents were seized and submitted to Security for immediate priority review. SCP documents sent by “Agent Melike” show little to no knowledge of Foundation function, comprised of basic review and dense scientific jargon that, after review, have no real validity. Transfer documents show that the delivery address is a disused loading dock, which has been abandoned for ten years.</p> <p>Interrogation of transfer and delivery staff revealed that staff was greeted by an agent identifying herself as “Agent Rook”, who provided all necessary security documents and signatures. Review of these documents have shown all to be expert forgeries. Network review has revealed access of several security nodes and form depositories by Agent Pike, who has been reported MIA for two weeks. His network card was somehow kept active well beyond the normal automatic termination limit, and it is believed that this is how the documents and security information were acquired. Transport staff believed the drop location was a covert transfer site.</p> <p>MTF teams responding to the “Hub Site” location in the “Agent Melike” documents found an abandoned office building at the given location. Investigation turned up nothing but two vagrants on the main floors, but the basement was found to contain one desk, a chess board, and a poster. The poster was of “The Turk”, an automaton built in 1770 that could play chess, having the appearance of a “Turk” at a large table with a chess board before it. The Turk was later revealed to have been a hoax, with a small man hidden in a secret compartment under the table.</p> <p>It is currently believed that the theft of twelve SCP-class items has been perpetrated by the “Black Queen”. Due to the limited review and understanding of the items at the time of theft, tracking is proving exceptionally difficult. Many items have already been refiled under “Lost” with Central Records. Further action is suspended until initial damage and loss reports are filed.</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><strong>Memo: O5-8</strong><br/> <strong>Re: Black Queen.</strong></p> <p><em>She used our own goddamn security against us. It's supposed to insulate sections, so nobody knows too much, or gets unneeded information… and she used it to drain us like a stuck pig. We're going to have to go through a total security theory review, and liquidate the department until we get it sorted out. Thousands of man hours are going to be squandered while we look for the thumb up our collective asses. O5-3 has been drinking Pepto like it's soda. I want this bitch found.</em></p> </blockquote> <hr/> <p><em>Change the rules…</em><br/> <em><a href="/kriegspiel">Kriegspiel</a></em></p> <p><em>Or keep to tradition.</em><br/> <em><a href="/queen-to-pawn">Queen To Pawn</a></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="/quiet-game">Quiet Game</a>" by Dr Gears, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/quiet-game">https://scpwiki.com/quiet-game</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]] [[/>]] Acquisitions and Review. One of the names in The Foundation that can send staff into convulsions. After Agents and MTF squads get something caged, have the remains mopped up and minds scrubbed, A and R have the job of figuring out what in the hell comes next. Something of a patchwork group, they work with all ranges of Agents, staff and security, working out initial SCP documents and trying to minimize the body count, while also setting up research goals. All in all, it's one of the more stressful jobs in an organization that views a total stress-induced mental collapse as a minor lost-time event. All this was sitting in the forefront of Agent Poly's mind when he saw Agent Shun sitting across from him in the lunch room, smiling. Poly was reasonably sure the last time Shun had smiled was when SCP-914 had turned a dead pig into a pile of bacon, and that had been more than eight months ago. “The hell is wrong with you?” Shun grinned, sporting a mock confused look. “Why, whatever do you mean?” “You look entirely too pleased with yourself to be working here.” Shun waved a hand, leaning back in his chair. “I'm just glad to be alive... and have my caseload for the week done.” Poly sputtered, nearly gagging on his coke. “What the hell? You... what? You had at least three new cases, and I //know// one will end up Keter! What black magic is this, and share immediately.” “You know that saying, many hands make light work?” Shun grinned like a cat with a mouthful of feathers. “Well, I've just got the right hands to rely on.” “You will tell me your dark secrets, or I will soak your underpants in meat before your next 682 review.” “Ok, so remember that memo we got a few months back, about the new processing site they set up in Egypt?” Poly nodded slowly, scraping back in his memory. “Yeah... wasn't it some co-op deal with ORIA defectors or something?” Shun bobbed his head, leaning in with a quick sideways glance. “It's got a few, yes, but it's more a warehouse site, for review items coming from all over the middle east. The thing is, it's also listed as a hub site, which means they can take any and all items up for transport...” Poly's eyes widened “... like initial review items. But, how the hell would you shift them like that without catching hell? You can't just pass the buck.” “That's just the thing. The head of review, Agent Melike, is apparently a glutton for punishment. I started talking to her on a review project, and she actually entered a request to take over the review. On-site. Signed the transport orders and everything. I just had to forward the case notes, and in about a week she sent a complete SCP proposal.” Poly sat back heavily, shaking his head. “Good lord. And you just sat on this? While I struggled and worried if I'm working on a second heart attack.” “Hey, it's not like that... just... wanted to make sure it was really happening first, I would have told you.” “Uh huh, yeah, I... wait, what was the Agent again?” “Who? Oh, the one at the new hub? Agent Melike.” Poly furrowed his brow, looking to the side. “... That's a weird name, even for this place.” “It's Turkish, apparently, something royal or the like, like Magnus or something.” Poly looked at Shun, questioning. “... How long has this girl been here?” Shun pulled back a bit, feeling suddenly defensive. “Well, I don't know... a few months, maybe? It's not like I'm dating her or something, we just talk and trade research.” “A few months... Shun, when was the last time you heard of anyone with less than two years invested being able to sign transport requests.” Shun froze, an icy drip rolling down his spine. “... S-she's probably a transfer, from another staff unit. Like when we got Harp after Finn degenerated.” “We would have been notified of a transfer, even overseas. Remember, we always get those bullshit secured email notices you have to sign and reply to.” “... oh god.” Poly pushed out his chair, rising quickly. “Let's go to security... maybe they just forgot or something.” Poly was in too much of a rush to catch Shun whispering quietly “Please god...” ------ > Theft Report 0012 – 3 > Aux: BC Folio It was brought to the attention of Site Command at Site 42 that a possible breach of security had been noted. Acquisitions and Review reported an unknown Agent “Melike” had been corresponding and accepting new item transfers. Central Records reported no “Agent Melike” on file for the past three years, and no new hub sites opened in the Egypt area for the last six years. All item transfers en-route were shunted to the nearest site, and all in-process requests for transfer were canceled. All suspect documents were seized and submitted to Security for immediate priority review. SCP documents sent by “Agent Melike” show little to no knowledge of Foundation function, comprised of basic review and dense scientific jargon that, after review, have no real validity. Transfer documents show that the delivery address is a disused loading dock, which has been abandoned for ten years. Interrogation of transfer and delivery staff revealed that staff was greeted by an agent identifying herself as “Agent Rook”, who provided all necessary security documents and signatures. Review of these documents have shown all to be expert forgeries. Network review has revealed access of several security nodes and form depositories by Agent Pike, who has been reported MIA for two weeks. His network card was somehow kept active well beyond the normal automatic termination limit, and it is believed that this is how the documents and security information were acquired. Transport staff believed the drop location was a covert transfer site. MTF teams responding to the “Hub Site” location in the “Agent Melike” documents found an abandoned office building at the given location. Investigation turned up nothing but two vagrants on the main floors, but the basement was found to contain one desk, a chess board, and a poster. The poster was of “The Turk”, an automaton built in 1770 that could play chess, having the appearance of a “Turk” at a large table with a chess board before it. The Turk was later revealed to have been a hoax, with a small man hidden in a secret compartment under the table. It is currently believed that the theft of twelve SCP-class items has been perpetrated by the “Black Queen”. Due to the limited review and understanding of the items at the time of theft, tracking is proving exceptionally difficult. Many items have already been refiled under “Lost” with Central Records. Further action is suspended until initial damage and loss reports are filed. ------ > Memo: O5-8 > Re: Black Queen. > > //She used our own goddamn security against us. It's supposed to insulate sections, so nobody knows too much, or gets unneeded information... and she used it to drain us like a stuck pig. We're going to have to go through a total security theory review, and liquidate the department until we get it sorted out. Thousands of man hours are going to be squandered while we look for the thumb up our collective asses. O5-3 has been drinking Pepto like it's soda. I want this bitch found.// ------ //Change the rules...// //[[[Kriegspiel]]]// //Or keep to tradition.// //[[[Queen To Pawn]]]// [[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>]]	2012-01-12T05:19:00	[ "_licensebox", "black-queen", "mystery", "spy-fiction", "tale" ]	Quiet Game - SCP Foundation	64	[ "kriegspiel", "queen-to-pawn", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "the-black-queen", "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales", "black-queen-hub" ]	[]	12495886	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/quiet-game
rapture	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>He soared higher and higher, white wings beating noiselessly as he streaked upwards, defiant of the gravity pulling him back towards the ground. Soon the figure buried himself in the clouds, the pale feathers blending in with the mass of moisture. How good it felt to stretch to his full extent! How wonderful it felt to ride once more upon his chariot and behold the mass below him in all its value!</p> <p>The creature grinned to himself. It had been too long since he had feasted so well, and on such delicious sounds! Oh, might have stayed had he been more gluttonous! Yet, he knew how to face temptation; he simply feasted on what was required before parting out of the normally silent Hell. And yet, he knew the best was still out there and he was meant to find it.</p> <p>At once, a beautiful song broke through the atmosphere, calling to him. Oh, could this be it? Could this be the messiah? Speedily, he dove down towards the pitch.</p> <hr/> <p>She stood tall, a beacon at the front of the hall. Once again, the Church had its Musician and her voice filled the chapel. The faithful filed in and sat in their seats, row after row, section after section. The clergy lined up and watched quietly as the room filled, only the sounds of feet patting the ground and benches groaning as people settled in them to break the tone of the mechanism. Finally, once the final member sat down, the man standing at the foot of the altar spoke.</p> <p>"Faithful. Today, we celebrate the recovery of our Voice. She was taken from us, by the Heretics, the Foundation." He spat out the word <em>Foundation</em> like it was a blasphemous term, and the congregation murmured in assent. "However! The Heretics have been crippled! Their power is waning and their grip is slipping." The murmuring grew in volume, with greater grunts of agreement. "They have struck down our prophets too many times! They have tried to quiet our Truth! They defile our God and molest our Musician!" Cries of outrage and anger rose above the rumble of their voices. "They are unfaithful! They are against God! We must strike down this evil and make the Broken Whole!" The congregation was becoming frenzied, cheering loudly while stomping their feet against the ground.</p> <p>The man at the altar held up his hand, waiting until the only sound in the church was Her Singing. He spoke calmly and evenly, in a steady rhythm.</p> <p>"Broken we come. Broken we meet. Broken we fight."</p> <p>He repeated it, again using a steady rhythm as the crowd picked it up.</p> <p>"Broken we come. Broken we meet. Broken we fight."</p> <p>The chanting grew in volume as more people began saying it, then yelling it, then screaming it, once again stomping their feet in unison. Never in their frenzy was the meter changed. The congregation was so engrossed and spirited in the chanting that the entrance of a pale figure at the back of the crowd went unnoticed.</p> <hr/> <p><em>How wonderful!</em></p> <p>He had made many pilgrimages before to many places, but never before had he found such a feast. He was almost content just to bask in the rhythmic noise of chanting.</p> <p>Almost.</p> <p>The people in the furthest back pew were caught completely off-guard. The row in front of them had just enough warning to turn around before their demise. After that, the organized rally became a chaotic massacre. Cries of pain replaced the proud proclamations. Men, women, children, families, trampled over each other, all trying to reach the altar, praying to God to save them. It was in vain. Each sob of terror, each pained howl, each and every shout of panic and plea made him grow more and more. He stepped forward through the aisle, slowly basking in the beauty of the scene. He reached the foot of the altar, wings having grown so huge as to reach every corner of the church. Spreading his arms outward and tilting his palms towards the heavens, the figure let out a pleasurable sigh, blood flying all over his form and sliding off as if it were water. He licked his lips, savoring the taste. Soon, far too soon, every human in the room was dead. Flesh and metal covered the walls and floors. And yet, he realized, feeding was not done. Though all the humans were gone, a pitch still persisted, originating from the construct towering over the back wall of the altar.</p> <p>It was so…majestic. So perfect. So undeniably holy. How could he leave? How could he leave?</p> <p>He knelt where he stood, recognizing where reverence was proper. He stayed for a long time, thoughts focused on it and only it, praying to it, thanking it, letting it nourish him more and more as it sang at higher and higher tones.</p> <p>Eventually, a new sound joined the pitch.</p> <p><em>Tick-tock. Tick-tock.</em></p> <p>He didn't mind. In fact, it seemed right. It was a sign. A sign of purpose, of more than just feast and fast. He stood and turned, wings folded in as much as possible to face the entrance. It must be protected. <em>She</em> must be protected. It was his God-given duty.</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="/rapture">Rapture</a>" by marslifeform, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/rapture">https://scpwiki.com/rapture</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 soared higher and higher, white wings beating noiselessly as he streaked upwards, defiant of the gravity pulling him back towards the ground. Soon the figure buried himself in the clouds, the pale feathers blending in with the mass of moisture. How good it felt to stretch to his full extent! How wonderful it felt to ride once more upon his chariot and behold the mass below him in all its value! The creature grinned to himself. It had been too long since he had feasted so well, and on such delicious sounds! Oh, might have stayed had he been more gluttonous! Yet, he knew how to face temptation; he simply feasted on what was required before parting out of the normally silent Hell. And yet, he knew the best was still out there and he was meant to find it. At once, a beautiful song broke through the atmosphere, calling to him. Oh, could this be it? Could this be the messiah? Speedily, he dove down towards the pitch. ---------------------------------------------- She stood tall, a beacon at the front of the hall. Once again, the Church had its Musician and her voice filled the chapel. The faithful filed in and sat in their seats, row after row, section after section. The clergy lined up and watched quietly as the room filled, only the sounds of feet patting the ground and benches groaning as people settled in them to break the tone of the mechanism. Finally, once the final member sat down, the man standing at the foot of the altar spoke. "Faithful. Today, we celebrate the recovery of our Voice. She was taken from us, by the Heretics, the Foundation." He spat out the word //Foundation// like it was a blasphemous term, and the congregation murmured in assent. "However! The Heretics have been crippled! Their power is waning and their grip is slipping." The murmuring grew in volume, with greater grunts of agreement. "They have struck down our prophets too many times! They have tried to quiet our Truth! They defile our God and molest our Musician!" Cries of outrage and anger rose above the rumble of their voices. "They are unfaithful! They are against God! We must strike down this evil and make the Broken Whole!" The congregation was becoming frenzied, cheering loudly while stomping their feet against the ground. The man at the altar held up his hand, waiting until the only sound in the church was Her Singing. He spoke calmly and evenly, in a steady rhythm. "Broken we come. Broken we meet. Broken we fight." He repeated it, again using a steady rhythm as the crowd picked it up. "Broken we come. Broken we meet. Broken we fight." The chanting grew in volume as more people began saying it, then yelling it, then screaming it, once again stomping their feet in unison. Never in their frenzy was the meter changed. The congregation was so engrossed and spirited in the chanting that the entrance of a pale figure at the back of the crowd went unnoticed. ------------------------------- //How wonderful!// He had made many pilgrimages before to many places, but never before had he found such a feast. He was almost content just to bask in the rhythmic noise of chanting. Almost. The people in the furthest back pew were caught completely off-guard. The row in front of them had just enough warning to turn around before their demise. After that, the organized rally became a chaotic massacre. Cries of pain replaced the proud proclamations. Men, women, children, families, trampled over each other, all trying to reach the altar, praying to God to save them. It was in vain. Each sob of terror, each pained howl, each and every shout of panic and plea made him grow more and more. He stepped forward through the aisle, slowly basking in the beauty of the scene. He reached the foot of the altar, wings having grown so huge as to reach every corner of the church. Spreading his arms outward and tilting his palms towards the heavens, the figure let out a pleasurable sigh, blood flying all over his form and sliding off as if it were water. He licked his lips, savoring the taste. Soon, far too soon, every human in the room was dead. Flesh and metal covered the walls and floors. And yet, he realized, feeding was not done. Though all the humans were gone, a pitch still persisted, originating from the construct towering over the back wall of the altar. It was so...majestic. So perfect. So undeniably holy. How could he leave? How could he leave? He knelt where he stood, recognizing where reverence was proper. He stayed for a long time, thoughts focused on it and only it, praying to it, thanking it, letting it nourish him more and more as it sang at higher and higher tones. Eventually, a new sound joined the pitch. //Tick-tock. Tick-tock.// He didn't mind. In fact, it seemed right. It was a sign. A sign of purpose, of more than just feast and fast. He stood and turned, wings folded in as much as possible to face the entrance. It must be protected. //She// must be protected. It was his God-given duty. [[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>]]	2012-09-25T00:30:00	[ "_licensebox", "broken-god", "game-day", "religious-fiction", "tale" ]	Rapture - SCP Foundation	35	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "gamedaypart2index", "archived:foundation-tales", "church-of-the-broken-god-hub" ]	[]	14397394	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rapture
rebranding	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <br/> <em>Mr. Carter and Mr. Marshall are sitting at a table. They are discussing something. The door swings open. Enter Mr. Dark.</em> <p>MR. DARK. Gentlemen, I have an unpleasant piece of news to tell you! Our stock went seventeen points further down. We're losing customers at an astonishing pace.</p> <p>MR. MARSHALL, MR. CARTER [together]. How come?!</p> <p>MR. DARK. The competition is meddling in our affairs! The SCP Foundation is robbing our customers, the Church of Broken God and the Meat Circus are draining away people of influence, the Factory's market share is growing - plainly, we have no chance in the small business!</p> <p>MR. CARTER. What do we do now? With things as they are now, we'll soon be eaten out of house and home and no amount of pull is going to help.</p> <p>MR. DARK. Calm down, colleagues! I've thought it all over. If we can't sell expensive artifacts to the rich, we'll craft them production-scale and make them available to the public! We'll open a dozen offices in different countries - who knows, we may end up with a hundred or two of them.</p> <p>MR. MARSHALL. Can we handle it as we are? It's a larger scale compared to what we have now…</p> <p>MR. DARK. I told you - I've thought it all over and made some agreements. Allow me to introduce…</p> <p><em>Enter four people.</em></p> <p>FIRST [taking off his hat and revealing small horns on his head]. Mr. Natas, a lawyer.</p> <p>SECOND [adjusting his tie]. Mr. Luke. I don't like being called by my full name, it brings too much unwanted attention.</p> <p>THIRD. Mr. Dark Jr.</p> <p>MR. DARK. Family business, so to say.</p> <p>MR. MARSHALL [obviously annoyed]. Now who's that dude?</p> <p>DUDE. Scruffy. I'm a janitor.</p> <p>MR. DARK. He owns the control stake.</p> <p>MR. CARTER. Things are really bad for us, aren't they.</p> <p>MR. DARK [addressing the guests]. Meet Mr. Marshall and Mr. Carter, the owners of our little business. Fabulous people, you'll fall into step in no time.</p> <p>МR. NATAS. The contracts are signed, we can start immediately. Although, being a co-owner of the company, I insist on a rebranding. We all deserve to be mentioned in the name.</p> <p>MR. CARTER [making some calculations]. Too big. Even if we simply take the initials. Just listen to it: MCDNLDS!</p> <p>MR. MARSHALL. I beg your pardon, but I insist that Mr. Scruffy's name is to be separated from the rest. Nothing personal, but a janitor director might scare the customers away.</p> <p>MR. CARTER. We'll use an apostrophe. Do you mind, Mr. Scruffy?</p> <p>SCRUFFY. Not at all.</p> <p>MR. MARSHALL. Perfect. Still, the name is barely readable, let alone easy to memorize. Maybe if we add some vowels…</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="/rebranding">Rebranding</a>" by Mexanik, translated by Gene R, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/rebranding">https://scpwiki.com/rebranding</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. Carter and Mr. Marshall are sitting at a table. They are discussing something. The door swings open. Enter Mr. Dark.// MR. DARK. Gentlemen, I have an unpleasant piece of news to tell you! Our stock went seventeen points further down. We're losing customers at an astonishing pace. MR. MARSHALL, MR. CARTER [together]. How come?! MR. DARK. The competition is meddling in our affairs! The SCP Foundation is robbing our customers, the Church of Broken God and the Meat Circus are draining away people of influence, the Factory's market share is growing - plainly, we have no chance in the small business! MR. CARTER. What do we do now? With things as they are now, we'll soon be eaten out of house and home and no amount of pull is going to help. MR. DARK. Calm down, colleagues! I've thought it all over. If we can't sell expensive artifacts to the rich, we'll craft them production-scale and make them available to the public! We'll open a dozen offices in different countries - who knows, we may end up with a hundred or two of them. MR. MARSHALL. Can we handle it as we are? It's a larger scale compared to what we have now... MR. DARK. I told you - I've thought it all over and made some agreements. Allow me to introduce... //Enter four people.// FIRST [taking off his hat and revealing small horns on his head]. Mr. Natas, a lawyer. SECOND [adjusting his tie]. Mr. Luke. I don't like being called by my full name, it brings too much unwanted attention. THIRD. Mr. Dark Jr. MR. DARK. Family business, so to say. MR. MARSHALL [obviously annoyed]. Now who's that dude? DUDE. Scruffy. I'm a janitor. MR. DARK. He owns the control stake. MR. CARTER. Things are really bad for us, aren't they. MR. DARK [addressing the guests]. Meet Mr. Marshall and Mr. Carter, the owners of our little business. Fabulous people, you'll fall into step in no time. МR. NATAS. The contracts are signed, we can start immediately. Although, being a co-owner of the company, I insist on a rebranding. We all deserve to be mentioned in the name. MR. CARTER [making some calculations]. Too big. Even if we simply take the initials. Just listen to it: MCDNLDS! MR. MARSHALL. I beg your pardon, but I insist that Mr. Scruffy's name is to be separated from the rest. Nothing personal, but a janitor director might scare the customers away. MR. CARTER. We'll use an apostrophe. Do you mind, Mr. Scruffy? SCRUFFY. Not at all. MR. MARSHALL. Perfect. Still, the name is barely readable, let alone easy to memorize. Maybe if we add some vowels... [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> \|author=Mexanik, translated by Gene R]] [!-- N/A (No Images) --] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-01-19T18:52:00	[ "_licensebox", "_ru", "international", "marshall-carter-and-dark", "tale" ]	Rebranding - SCP Foundation	45	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "marshall-carter-and-dark-hub", "archived:foundation-tales", "scp-international" ]	[]	12547263	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rebranding
recollections-of-a-gentleman-s-gentleman	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><strong>Interview Log 662-37</strong></p> <p><strong>Interviewer:</strong> Dr. S. Samesh</p> <p><strong>Interviewed:</strong> <a href="/scp-662">SCP-662</a>-1 ("Mr. Deeds")</p> <p><strong>Foreword:</strong> During a review of objects found among the effects of <a href="/scp-1867">SCP-1867</a>, a journal was found in which SCP-1867 made several references to employing an individual named "Deeds" as a valet. In light of SCP-1867's apparent knowledge of and interactions with several known SCP objects, an interview was conducted to determine whether SCP-662-1 was the same individual referred to by SCP-1867, and what knowledge, if any, it had of that individual and the veracity of its claims.</p> <p><strong><Begin Log, ██/██/20██, 12:53 PM></strong></p> <p><em>Dr. Samesh enters the interview room, seats himself at the table, and rings SCP-662. After a period of 38 seconds, the door to the interview room opens and Mr. Deeds enters.</em></p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Good afternoon, Dr. Samesh. How may I be of service?</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Please have a seat, Mr. Deeds. I would like to ask you some questions.</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Very well, sir.</p> <p><em>Mr. Deeds seats himself.</em></p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Have you at any time in your recollection been in the service of a man named Theodore Thomas Blackwood?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Yes, sir, I was employed by Mr. Blackwood for a considerable period of time.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Good. We would like to ascertain certain facts relating to Mr. Blackwood.</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Forgive me, sir, but as a gentleman's gentleman I am obligated not to discuss the private lives of my past employers.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> I do not intend to pry, Mr. Deeds. An individual claiming to be Mr. Blackwood is currently in our custody and for his own good we need to determine the veracity of his claims.</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Indeed, sir? That seems most unlikely. I had heard that Mr. Blackwood perished during the unpleasantness in Patagonia in 1893.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> I see. When were you first hired by Mr. Blackwood?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> The twenty-eighth of June, 1837, sir.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> And for how long were you employed by him?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Intermittently for the following sixty years or so, sir.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Intermittently?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Mr. Blackwood was frequently out of the country and had no need for a gentleman's gentleman. As the household staff was easily capable of handling the affairs of his estate, I was temporarily engaged by other individuals during his absence.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> When did you leave his employment for the last time?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I do not recall the exact date, sir, but I believe it was shortly after the turn of the century.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Mr. Deeds, are you aware you previously told me that Mr. Blackwood died in 1893?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Yes, sir.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> How is it you continued to work for him until after the turn of the century?</p> <p><em>Mr. Deeds is momentarily silent.</em></p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I am not certain, sir.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> I see. What were your primary duties as Mr. Blackwood's valet?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I was principally responsible for the upkeep of Mr. Blackwood's estates and the management of the household staff. I additionally managed his finances and appointments, received and forwarded his mail while he was away, did his shopping, and handled the acquisition and maintenance of his armaments and expeditioneering equipment.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Did you possess your current abilities at the time Mr. Blackwood employed you?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I do not recall, sir.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> How old was Mr. Blackwood when you first met him?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> As a gentleman, sir, I did not ask.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Very well. How old did you believe him to be?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Based on his physical appearance, I would have judged him to be a man of no more than forty.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> And when you last saw him?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> No more than forty, sir.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Are you saying he did not age in sixty years?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I… I cannot say, sir.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Did Mr. Blackwood ever discuss his family or his childhood with you?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I do not recall him ever mentioning family. I recall his stating that he lived in the West Country as a child and attended school at Eton, that he had received a sizable inheritance, and that his title was a hereditary one.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> What was that title?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I believe he was a viscount, sir, but I do not recall of what locale.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Was he ever married?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I do not recall ever seeing him in the company of a woman, sir.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> You mentioned armaments earlier. What sort of armaments were those?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Mainly pistols and rifles, sir. He also possessed several atomic rifles and destabilizing muskets manufactured by Mr. Moth's of Manchester. I handled the purchase of those myself; they were fine weapons indeed. I recall that he returned from one expedition with an electric rifle that he found most fascinating. He tested it on me once and it was most effective.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Mr. Blackwood tested his weapons on you?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I expect the agency would have been most upset had they learned of it, sir, but I was only doing as requested. In any event, as you can see, I suffered no lasting harm.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Did Mr. Blackwood ever talk to you about his voyages?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Quite often, sir. He would often revise his journals in his study and ask me for opinions of his word choice. I enjoyed hearing his stories very much.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> I would like you to read one of the journals we acquired recently, Mr. Deeds.</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Very well, sir.</p> <p><em>Dr. Samesh hands Mr. Deeds a copy of the excerpts from Journal #23 relating to <a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/lord-blackwood-and-the-great-tarasque-hunt-of-83">the events of May-June 1883</a>. Mr. Deeds spends the following twelve minutes reading silently.</em></p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Finished, sir.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> To the best of your knowledge, are the events described in this journal true?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I was not present for the events in France, sir, but the account of the events in London is completely true to the best of my recollection.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Do you have any secondhand knowledge of the events in France?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> The description in this journal conforms to what Mr. Blackwood told me upon his return, sir. I recall that there was a great deal of speculation about the nature of the disaster in the newspapers at the time. The Telegraph was certain that the world itself was coming to an end.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Are you certain, Mr. Deeds?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Completely, sir.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Mr. Deeds, we have been unable to locate any newspaper reports from 1883, or French government documents of any sort, referring to a monster or to a nuclear explosion. Diaries and secondhand accounts relating to the life of Theodore Roosevelt indicate that he was living in New York the entirety of 1883 and did not leave the US during that time. Testing has determined that there is no significant background radiation in Provence and we have found no evidence that any pre-1883 buildings in Avignon or the surrounding areas were ever damaged by an explosion, nor are there any indications that an unusually large number of people died in that year. We can locate no evidence to prove that any of this is true.</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I don't suppose that you would, sir.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Why is that, Mr. Deeds?</p> <p><em>Mr. Deeds winces.</em></p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I cannot say, sir.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Very well, we are almost done. One more question; at any time in any of your interactions with Mr. Blackwood, was he, or did he appear to be, a sea slug?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I beg your pardon, sir?</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> A variable neon slug, Mr. Deeds. <em>Nembrotha kubaryana</em>. At any point in the time you knew him, was he one?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> No, sir.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Thank you, Mr. Deeds. That will be all.</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Thank you, sir.</p> <p><em>Mr. Deeds stands up and walks to the door. Before leaving the room, he turns around.</em></p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Actually, sir…</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Yes, Mr. Deeds?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> I do not know if it is relevant, but your question reminds me of a most unusual dream I had many years ago.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> What was that?</p> <p><strong>Mr. Deeds:</strong> Mr. Blackwood had summoned me to his study. When I arrived, there was a small slug sitting on his davenport. I heard him greet me and request a scotch and soda, and his voice seemed to emanate from the slug. I asked if he was in any way feeling distressed or unusual, and he asserted that nothing was amiss and he felt as healthy as he ever had. I… do not recall what happened after that.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Samesh:</strong> Thank you, Mr. Deeds.</p> <p><strong><End Log, 1:17 PM></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="/recollections-of-a-gentleman-s-gentleman">Recollections of a Gentleman's Gentleman</a>" by Smapti, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/recollections-of-a-gentleman-s-gentleman">https://scpwiki.com/recollections-of-a-gentleman-s-gentleman</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]] [[/>]] Interview Log 662-37 Interviewer: Dr. S. Samesh Interviewed: [[[SCP-662]]]-1 ("Mr. Deeds") Foreword: During a review of objects found among the effects of [[[SCP-1867]]], a journal was found in which SCP-1867 made several references to employing an individual named "Deeds" as a valet. In light of SCP-1867's apparent knowledge of and interactions with several known SCP objects, an interview was conducted to determine whether SCP-662-1 was the same individual referred to by SCP-1867, and what knowledge, if any, it had of that individual and the veracity of its claims. <Begin Log, ██/██/20██, 12:53 PM> //Dr. Samesh enters the interview room, seats himself at the table, and rings SCP-662. After a period of 38 seconds, the door to the interview room opens and Mr. Deeds enters.// Mr. Deeds: Good afternoon, Dr. Samesh. How may I be of service? Dr. Samesh: Please have a seat, Mr. Deeds. I would like to ask you some questions. Mr. Deeds: Very well, sir. //Mr. Deeds seats himself.// Dr. Samesh: Have you at any time in your recollection been in the service of a man named Theodore Thomas Blackwood? Mr. Deeds: Yes, sir, I was employed by Mr. Blackwood for a considerable period of time. Dr. Samesh: Good. We would like to ascertain certain facts relating to Mr. Blackwood. Mr. Deeds: Forgive me, sir, but as a gentleman's gentleman I am obligated not to discuss the private lives of my past employers. Dr. Samesh: I do not intend to pry, Mr. Deeds. An individual claiming to be Mr. Blackwood is currently in our custody and for his own good we need to determine the veracity of his claims. Mr. Deeds: Indeed, sir? That seems most unlikely. I had heard that Mr. Blackwood perished during the unpleasantness in Patagonia in 1893. Dr. Samesh: I see. When were you first hired by Mr. Blackwood? Mr. Deeds: The twenty-eighth of June, 1837, sir. Dr. Samesh: And for how long were you employed by him? Mr. Deeds: Intermittently for the following sixty years or so, sir. Dr. Samesh: Intermittently? Mr. Deeds: Mr. Blackwood was frequently out of the country and had no need for a gentleman's gentleman. As the household staff was easily capable of handling the affairs of his estate, I was temporarily engaged by other individuals during his absence. Dr. Samesh: When did you leave his employment for the last time? Mr. Deeds: I do not recall the exact date, sir, but I believe it was shortly after the turn of the century. Dr. Samesh: Mr. Deeds, are you aware you previously told me that Mr. Blackwood died in 1893? Mr. Deeds: Yes, sir. Dr. Samesh: How is it you continued to work for him until after the turn of the century? //Mr. Deeds is momentarily silent.// Mr. Deeds: I am not certain, sir. Dr. Samesh: I see. What were your primary duties as Mr. Blackwood's valet? Mr. Deeds: I was principally responsible for the upkeep of Mr. Blackwood's estates and the management of the household staff. I additionally managed his finances and appointments, received and forwarded his mail while he was away, did his shopping, and handled the acquisition and maintenance of his armaments and expeditioneering equipment. Dr. Samesh: Did you possess your current abilities at the time Mr. Blackwood employed you? Mr. Deeds: I do not recall, sir. Dr. Samesh: How old was Mr. Blackwood when you first met him? Mr. Deeds: As a gentleman, sir, I did not ask. Dr. Samesh: Very well. How old did you believe him to be? Mr. Deeds: Based on his physical appearance, I would have judged him to be a man of no more than forty. Dr. Samesh: And when you last saw him? Mr. Deeds: No more than forty, sir. Dr. Samesh: Are you saying he did not age in sixty years? Mr. Deeds: I... I cannot say, sir. Dr. Samesh: Did Mr. Blackwood ever discuss his family or his childhood with you? Mr. Deeds: I do not recall him ever mentioning family. I recall his stating that he lived in the West Country as a child and attended school at Eton, that he had received a sizable inheritance, and that his title was a hereditary one. Dr. Samesh: What was that title? Mr. Deeds: I believe he was a viscount, sir, but I do not recall of what locale. Dr. Samesh: Was he ever married? Mr. Deeds: I do not recall ever seeing him in the company of a woman, sir. Dr. Samesh: You mentioned armaments earlier. What sort of armaments were those? Mr. Deeds: Mainly pistols and rifles, sir. He also possessed several atomic rifles and destabilizing muskets manufactured by Mr. Moth's of Manchester. I handled the purchase of those myself; they were fine weapons indeed. I recall that he returned from one expedition with an electric rifle that he found most fascinating. He tested it on me once and it was most effective. Dr. Samesh: Mr. Blackwood tested his weapons on you? Mr. Deeds: I expect the agency would have been most upset had they learned of it, sir, but I was only doing as requested. In any event, as you can see, I suffered no lasting harm. Dr. Samesh: Did Mr. Blackwood ever talk to you about his voyages? Mr. Deeds: Quite often, sir. He would often revise his journals in his study and ask me for opinions of his word choice. I enjoyed hearing his stories very much. Dr. Samesh: I would like you to read one of the journals we acquired recently, Mr. Deeds. Mr. Deeds: Very well, sir. //Dr. Samesh hands Mr. Deeds a copy of the excerpts from Journal #23 relating to [http://www.scp-wiki.net/lord-blackwood-and-the-great-tarasque-hunt-of-83 the events of May-June 1883]. Mr. Deeds spends the following twelve minutes reading silently.// Mr. Deeds: Finished, sir. Dr. Samesh: To the best of your knowledge, are the events described in this journal true? Mr. Deeds: I was not present for the events in France, sir, but the account of the events in London is completely true to the best of my recollection. Dr. Samesh: Do you have any secondhand knowledge of the events in France? Mr. Deeds: The description in this journal conforms to what Mr. Blackwood told me upon his return, sir. I recall that there was a great deal of speculation about the nature of the disaster in the newspapers at the time. The Telegraph was certain that the world itself was coming to an end. Dr. Samesh: Are you certain, Mr. Deeds? Mr. Deeds: Completely, sir. Dr. Samesh: Mr. Deeds, we have been unable to locate any newspaper reports from 1883, or French government documents of any sort, referring to a monster or to a nuclear explosion. Diaries and secondhand accounts relating to the life of Theodore Roosevelt indicate that he was living in New York the entirety of 1883 and did not leave the US during that time. Testing has determined that there is no significant background radiation in Provence and we have found no evidence that any pre-1883 buildings in Avignon or the surrounding areas were ever damaged by an explosion, nor are there any indications that an unusually large number of people died in that year. We can locate no evidence to prove that any of this is true. Mr. Deeds: I don't suppose that you would, sir. Dr. Samesh: Why is that, Mr. Deeds? //Mr. Deeds winces.// Mr. Deeds: I cannot say, sir. Dr. Samesh: Very well, we are almost done. One more question; at any time in any of your interactions with Mr. Blackwood, was he, or did he appear to be, a sea slug? Mr. Deeds: I beg your pardon, sir? Dr. Samesh: A variable neon slug, Mr. Deeds. //Nembrotha kubaryana//. At any point in the time you knew him, was he one? Mr. Deeds: No, sir. Dr. Samesh: Thank you, Mr. Deeds. That will be all. Mr. Deeds: Thank you, sir. //Mr. Deeds stands up and walks to the door. Before leaving the room, he turns around.// Mr. Deeds: Actually, sir... Dr. Samesh: Yes, Mr. Deeds? Mr. Deeds: I do not know if it is relevant, but your question reminds me of a most unusual dream I had many years ago. Dr. Samesh: What was that? Mr. Deeds: Mr. Blackwood had summoned me to his study. When I arrived, there was a small slug sitting on his davenport. I heard him greet me and request a scotch and soda, and his voice seemed to emanate from the slug. I asked if he was in any way feeling distressed or unusual, and he asserted that nothing was amiss and he felt as healthy as he ever had. I... do not recall what happened after that. Dr. Samesh: Thank you, Mr. Deeds. <End Log, 1:17 PM> [[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>]]	2012-06-02T10:03:00	[ "_licensebox", "blackwood", "tale" ]	Recollections of a Gentleman's Gentleman - SCP Foundation	117	[ "scp-662", "scp-1867", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "new", "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13448805	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/recollections-of-a-gentleman-s-gentleman
recovered-data-file	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <blockquote> <p>Initializing Recovered Data File L246-A1780B23971C20987D091</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Displaying data retrieval for Document ███-██████-██</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[LEVEL 4 AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[INITIALIZING…]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT]e not clear on the chain of events. We don't know what the hell happened. The only logical course of action, if the phrase <em>logical course of action</em> can still be applied to this situation, [DATA CORRUPT]till in progress and we can do little about it. We don't have the tools for this anymore, and we're not sure if we ever really did. We can't assume that we really knew anything we thought we knew. That isn't a metaphor. We have to question whether that knowledge ever really existed, or if th[DATA CORRUPT] "restructured" too. Think about it, really <em>think</em> about all the things we take for granted as part of "reality". The food we eat, the air we breathe, the things we think. We could wake up in twelve hours in a world where religion as we know it doesn't even[DATA CORRUPT] God help us all. If God still exists anymore.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT]ed no less than three discrete verified CK-class events, with upwards of forty thousand potential sub-events. Yes, forty <em>thousand</em>. That is, assuming we can trust the record. That's the problem with trying to isolate something from reality shifts. How do you know the next reality shift isn't going to undo your protection from reality shifts? Previous no[DATA CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Isolation Routine 17-JC finally having an effect. So, cautiously, we can declare success. We'r[DATA CORRUPT]t may not be possible to reconstruct everything. It's becoming clear that we will need to deliberately initiate further CK sub-events. [DATA CORRUPT]t "meddling with the time stream" or more pointedly "blasphemy". I call it doing what has to be done. When you were called into the service of the Foundation, did you really think that your faith would be sacrosanct? [DATA CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>In the beginning was [DATA CORRUPT]at we're referring to now as "the Word". Calling our records "contradictory" at this stage is flattery. There are no guidelines for repor[DATA CORRUPT] new incarnation.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT]r worries about this being seen as an illegitimate birth, something that is to say the least extremely frowned upon in this time period and location. I am confident that w[DATA CORRUPT] born in a stable, in a feeding trough. Yes, how low we've sunk. But the activity amongst the locals has been extremely strange. A group of shepherds found us, a[DATA CORRUPT] cannot verify the appearance of "angels" at this time, and the presence of a "star" (almost certainly a meteor) is likely pure coinc[DATA CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT]aying all of this has been "foretold"? We didn't initiate that eve[DATA CORRUPT]s there some kind of outside agent[DATA CORRUPT] disagree. These occurrences are almost enough to make you believe that this is really[DATA CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT]d killed all of the children, via executive order. There was nothing we could do to stop it. Yes, we got her out beforehand, but does that rea[DATA CORRUPT]question what we're doing here? Hundreds of infants have been killed and whether we swung the swords or not, it's our fault. One conclusion is certain: He <em>knew</em>. One of the three "w[DATA CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT] creating a stir amongst local religious groups. Is this John the Baptist character a real "prophet" - an independently occurring anomaly? Is he what he says he is? Is he a side effect of a previous CK-class event? At this stage we have no way of knowing the difference. The more important questions are: Should we take him seriously, and is he working with us or against us?</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT]ells us she literally met the devil and that he offered her [DATA CORRUPT]derstand that she had just spent forty days going without food in the desert. Even considering her nature, we have no way of being certain that this was not a starvation-induced hallucination rather than a potentia[DATA CORRUPT]aps we should just be grateful that she did not accept the bargain offered by this 'devil'. Can you imagine the[DATA CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT]mother told them she had been a virgin, with her pregnancy sent from God, and astonishingly most of them seem to believe he[DATA CORRUPT] but we have to ensure that public opinion stays on our side while simultaneously avoiding government attention. Remember the[DATA CORRUPT] baptism and the anomalous occurrence of a dove [DATA CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Certain local groups have turned actively hostile, in particula[DATA CORRUPT]twelve disciples, - and all of her "inner circle" disciples <em>must</em> be male in gender. These Pharisees alone are a serious thorn in our side and we cannot afford to give them any more ammunit[DATA CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT]uncertain. She seems to enjoy what (F.) is calling "her little social revolution" a little too much. She attracts larger crowds every d[DATA CORRUPT]at speech on the mountain top yesterday? [DATA CORRUPT]that her embracing her status as a religious/populist hero can only be a good thing. He says that if the Foundation is not opposed to accidental negative events like the slaughter of hundreds of infants (a permanent alteration of the time stream at the very minimum), we shouldn't be opposed to positive events on a similar sca[DATA CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Can we keep this going for the rest of the critical 3-year time period and make it to the final CK-class event? I'm not sure anymore. It's not as if she's invincible, whatever she seems to think, and these "miracles", while an excellent tool for attracting attention, are a tool that cuts both ways. They get us all the results we need in the short term, but in the long te[DATA CORRUPT]cannot stress enough that we need to <em>remember the Herod incident</em>. What happens if these people turn on us? What happens if they try to kill her? What happens if they succeed?</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>The worst has happened, and I do not say that lightly. Last night, after the celebrati[DATA CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT]here is nothing we can do but watch this play out to the end. And try not to succumb to full-blown panic. Yes, this is an unmitigated disaster, and heartbreaking as well, but we are the Foundation. We have to rise above our emotions. We're going to need all our faculties to make this wo[DATA CORRUPT]wanted us to keep going. That's why she stopped us from stepping in in the Garden. [DATA CORRUPT]hould not have listened to her! You should have stopped the guards by any means necessary! She's bought into the party line about herself, don't you understand? She <em>believes</em> it now! And she's going to let herself die.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT]agony to watch. These basta[DATA CORRUPT] fiendish, barbaric even as a method of execution. I take back everything I said. If I had a way to kill them all, I would. And I swear I <em>will</em> kill that traitorou[DATA CORRUPT] I'm sorry, I'm so sor[DATA CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT]e thirty-first iteration. Ho[DATA CORRUPT]oincide. That fucking rooster - you know what I'm referring to he[DATA CORRUPT] the right approach? Even if we succeed, how are we going to explai[DATA CORRUPT]sake the things that happened when she died… We all saw them. The eclipse for three hours. The earthquake, the … ghosts? And that's only the start… There's no point in denying it. Perhaps he's right, perhaps we sho[DATA CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT]r awake again after multiple attempts. Didn't think it relevant to record at the time but you heard me right. She's alive. She bled out for hours nailed to that tree and they stabbed her in the side and buried her - and she was dead, mark my words, for three whole days - and <em>she's alive</em>. I can't believe any of this is really happening. Actually, that's a lie. I think I'm beyond disbelief at this point. Three days dead a[DATA CORRUPT]an't be a random side effect of the CK-class events. It <em>has</em> to be intervention from an outside force. A dei[DATA CORRUPT]ot sure I'm ready to believe that. But as I said earlier, I'm beyond disbelief.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[DATA CORRUPT] Sophia Light is not here. She has risen. [DATA CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT]</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>[END OF FILE]</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="/recovered-data-file">Recovered Data File</a>" by thedeadlymoose, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/recovered-data-file">https://scpwiki.com/recovered-data-file</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]] [[/>]] > Initializing Recovered Data File L246-A1780B23971C20987D091 > Displaying data retrieval for Document ███-██████-██ > [LEVEL 4 AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED] > [INITIALIZING...] > [DATA CORRUPT]e not clear on the chain of events. We don't know what the hell happened. The only logical course of action, if the phrase //logical course of action// can still be applied to this situation, [DATA CORRUPT]till in progress and we can do little about it. We don't have the tools for this anymore, and we're not sure if we ever really did. We can't assume that we really knew anything we thought we knew. That isn't a metaphor. We have to question whether that knowledge ever really existed, or if th[DATA CORRUPT] "restructured" too. Think about it, really //think// about all the things we take for granted as part of "reality". The food we eat, the air we breathe, the things we think. We could wake up in twelve hours in a world where religion as we know it doesn't even[DATA CORRUPT] God help us all. If God still exists anymore. > [EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT] > [DATA CORRUPT]ed no less than three discrete verified CK-class events, with upwards of forty thousand potential sub-events. Yes, forty //thousand//. That is, assuming we can trust the record. That's the problem with trying to isolate something from reality shifts. How do you know the next reality shift isn't going to undo your protection from reality shifts? Previous no[DATA CORRUPT] > [EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT] > Isolation Routine 17-JC finally having an effect. So, cautiously, we can declare success. We'r[DATA CORRUPT]t may not be possible to reconstruct everything. It's becoming clear that we will need to deliberately initiate further CK sub-events. [DATA CORRUPT]t "meddling with the time stream" or more pointedly "blasphemy". I call it doing what has to be done. When you were called into the service of the Foundation, did you really think that your faith would be sacrosanct? [DATA CORRUPT] > In the beginning was [DATA CORRUPT]at we're referring to now as "the Word". Calling our records "contradictory" at this stage is flattery. There are no guidelines for repor[DATA CORRUPT] new incarnation. > [DATA CORRUPT]r worries about this being seen as an illegitimate birth, something that is to say the least extremely frowned upon in this time period and location. I am confident that w[DATA CORRUPT] born in a stable, in a feeding trough. Yes, how low we've sunk. But the activity amongst the locals has been extremely strange. A group of shepherds found us, a[DATA CORRUPT] cannot verify the appearance of "angels" at this time, and the presence of a "star" (almost certainly a meteor) is likely pure coinc[DATA CORRUPT] > [EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT] > [DATA CORRUPT]aying all of this has been "foretold"? We didn't initiate that eve[DATA CORRUPT]s there some kind of outside agent[DATA CORRUPT] disagree. These occurrences are almost enough to make you believe that this is really[DATA CORRUPT] > [DATA CORRUPT]d killed all of the children, via executive order. There was nothing we could do to stop it. Yes, we got her out beforehand, but does that rea[DATA CORRUPT]question what we're doing here? Hundreds of infants have been killed and whether we swung the swords or not, it's our fault. One conclusion is certain: He //knew//. One of the three "w[DATA CORRUPT] > [DATA CORRUPT] creating a stir amongst local religious groups. Is this John the Baptist character a real "prophet" - an independently occurring anomaly? Is he what he says he is? Is he a side effect of a previous CK-class event? At this stage we have no way of knowing the difference. The more important questions are: Should we take him seriously, and is he working with us or against us? > [EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT] > [DATA CORRUPT]ells us she literally met the devil and that he offered her [DATA CORRUPT]derstand that she had just spent forty days going without food in the desert. Even considering her nature, we have no way of being certain that this was not a starvation-induced hallucination rather than a potentia[DATA CORRUPT]aps we should just be grateful that she did not accept the bargain offered by this 'devil'. Can you imagine the[DATA CORRUPT] > [DATA CORRUPT]mother told them she had been a virgin, with her pregnancy sent from God, and astonishingly most of them seem to believe he[DATA CORRUPT] but we have to ensure that public opinion stays on our side while simultaneously avoiding government attention. Remember the[DATA CORRUPT] baptism and the anomalous occurrence of a dove [DATA CORRUPT] > Certain local groups have turned actively hostile, in particula[DATA CORRUPT]twelve disciples, - and all of her "inner circle" disciples //must// be male in gender. These Pharisees alone are a serious thorn in our side and we cannot afford to give them any more ammunit[DATA CORRUPT] > [EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT] > [DATA CORRUPT]uncertain. She seems to enjoy what (F.) is calling "her little social revolution" a little too much. She attracts larger crowds every d[DATA CORRUPT]at speech on the mountain top yesterday? [DATA CORRUPT]that her embracing her status as a religious/populist hero can only be a good thing. He says that if the Foundation is not opposed to accidental negative events like the slaughter of hundreds of infants (a permanent alteration of the time stream at the very minimum), we shouldn't be opposed to positive events on a similar sca[DATA CORRUPT] > [EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT] > Can we keep this going for the rest of the critical 3-year time period and make it to the final CK-class event? I'm not sure anymore. It's not as if she's invincible, whatever she seems to think, and these "miracles", while an excellent tool for attracting attention, are a tool that cuts both ways. They get us all the results we need in the short term, but in the long te[DATA CORRUPT]cannot stress enough that we need to //remember the Herod incident//. What happens if these people turn on us? What happens if they try to kill her? What happens if they succeed? > [EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT] > The worst has happened, and I do not say that lightly. Last night, after the celebrati[DATA CORRUPT] > [DATA CORRUPT]here is nothing we can do but watch this play out to the end. And try not to succumb to full-blown panic. Yes, this is an unmitigated disaster, and heartbreaking as well, but we are the Foundation. We have to rise above our emotions. We're going to need all our faculties to make this wo[DATA CORRUPT]wanted us to keep going. That's why she stopped us from stepping in in the Garden. [DATA CORRUPT]hould not have listened to her! You should have stopped the guards by any means necessary! She's bought into the party line about herself, don't you understand? She //believes// it now! And she's going to let herself die. > [DATA CORRUPT]agony to watch. These basta[DATA CORRUPT] fiendish, barbaric even as a method of execution. I take back everything I said. If I had a way to kill them all, I would. And I swear I //will// kill that traitorou[DATA CORRUPT] I'm sorry, I'm so sor[DATA CORRUPT] > [DATA CORRUPT]e thirty-first iteration. Ho[DATA CORRUPT]oincide. That fucking rooster - you know what I'm referring to he[DATA CORRUPT] the right approach? Even if we succeed, how are we going to explai[DATA CORRUPT]sake the things that happened when she died... We all saw them. The eclipse for three hours. The earthquake, the ... ghosts? And that's only the start... There's no point in denying it. Perhaps he's right, perhaps we sho[DATA CORRUPT] > [EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT] > [DATA CORRUPT]r awake again after multiple attempts. Didn't think it relevant to record at the time but you heard me right. She's alive. She bled out for hours nailed to that tree and they stabbed her in the side and buried her - and she was dead, mark my words, for three whole days - and //she's alive//. I can't believe any of this is really happening. Actually, that's a lie. I think I'm beyond disbelief at this point. Three days dead a[DATA CORRUPT]an't be a random side effect of the CK-class events. It //has// to be intervention from an outside force. A dei[DATA CORRUPT]ot sure I'm ready to believe that. But as I said earlier, I'm beyond disbelief. > [EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT] > [DATA CORRUPT] Sophia Light is not here. She has risen. [DATA CORRUPT] > [EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT] > [EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT] > [EXTENSIVE SECTION CORRUPT] > [END OF FILE] [[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>]]	2012-02-26T07:43:00	[ "_licensebox", "alternate-history", "doctor-light", "featured", "journal", "religious-fiction", "tale" ]	Recovered Data File - SCP Foundation	192	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales", "featured-tale-archive" ]	[]	12806392	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/recovered-data-file
recovered-document-4761-cotbg-82	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Great Brookham, Surrey - DAILY MAIL<br/> PUBLISHED: 06:10 GMT, 18 April 2004 \| UPDATED: 07:31 GMT, 18 April 2004</p> <h1 id="toc0"><span>TEENAGE 'CULT' MEMBERS STRIKE TWICE IN ONE MONTH TO USE ABANDONED VEHICLES FOR OFFERINGS</span></h1> <p>Abandoned cars may be used for cult activities, authorities reported. James Absher, 40, a resident of Great Brookham, reported Monday that there were people trespassing into his scrapyard for unusual activities and provided security footage.</p> <p>In March, Mr. Absher started finding remains of bonfires and sand drawings around in his scrapyard. He did not report this to the local authorities, believing that the intruders meant no harm. On March 25th, a week after the first sighting, Mr. Absher found the burnt remains of a 1994 Toyota Camry.</p> <p>"I was worried that they would accidentally burn down the whole yard," Mr. Absher told reporters. "These cars can still be sold, even if they no longer work. Metal is pricey these days, you know. I don't want no hooligans snooping in my yard."</p> <p>He set up cameras around the yard hoping to gather footage of the intrusion and burnings. On the eve of the 15th, he finally saw the intruders.</p> <p>"I can't afford security guards, so it's the best I can get. I watch the recorded tapes every morning. What I saw terrified me. A group of hooded figures came gathering into my scrapyard, and walked up to another car. They started drawing some stuff into the ground, and some people put stuff they brought around the car, and then they stood in a circle around the car. They looked like they were chanting. They walked up to the car one by one, and did something in the car that I couldn't see. After they all went to the car and left, one guy, probably the leader or something, threw some stuff on the car and lit it on fire. The people started kneeling down, and stayed down until the fire was gone. The record shows they came around 2 and left around 5. As soon as I finished watching, I took the tape straight to the police. I don't think I even drove there to check the car they used."</p> <p>Initial investigations in the yard found roughly drawn patterns of clockwork machinery and geometric symbols in the ground surrounding the burnt remains of a 1996 Ford Mondeo. Police also found items such as smashed clocks, gears and metal pipes. Unburnt traces of blood were found in the backseat of the car. Further investigations only identified local teenagers Stuart Buschman, 19, and Margot Allsop, 17, on Tuesday. Police confiscated diaries, notes, robes, daggers, and other artifacts believed to be connected to the cult. Ongoing investigations hope to identify more people that were involved.</p> <p>"It's shocking to know this," Mr. Absher told authorities. "People will worship anything these days."</p> <p>"I just find it to be abhorrent. Using cars for rituals — it’s out of the question. I don’t understand people today and what motivates them," local resident Shanon Epperly said. "It’s creepy. It makes you wonder what are they going to do with it. How’s it going to end up? Is it a joke, is it a dare? What are they going to do with it?"</p> <p>The teens arrested revealed that they were trying out rituals from a relatively unknown cult that they came into contact with while browsing the Internet. Named "Church of the Broken God", the cult worships clockwork and believes that God is broken and will one day be reformed. The arrested teens refuse to reveal the site where they got the information regarding the cult. Further interrogation yielded no results. Authorities encourage anyone with further information to contact them.</p> <p>"He came to us, showed us the way online— He wanted us to spread His Broken word. We were in the yard to give Him a sacrifice," Stuart Buschman told reporters on the 17th. "We are His Broken Servants."</p> <p>The other teen involved, Margot Allsop, told reporters, "Stuart started acting weird after he heard of that Church. He made up all these rituals. He got a few friends to try it. This is just a mere offering, I guess. We're not even sure we're doing it right. I thought it was just a joke at first."</p> <p>The teens' parents said they had no comment.<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="/recovered-document-4761-cotbg-82">Recovered Document 4761: CotBG-82</a>" by Joreth, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/recovered-document-4761-cotbg-82">https://scpwiki.com/recovered-document-4761-cotbg-82</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]] [[/>]] Great Brookham, Surrey - DAILY MAIL PUBLISHED: 06:10 GMT, 18 April 2004 \| UPDATED: 07:31 GMT, 18 April 2004 + TEENAGE 'CULT' MEMBERS STRIKE TWICE IN ONE MONTH TO USE ABANDONED VEHICLES FOR OFFERINGS Abandoned cars may be used for cult activities, authorities reported. James Absher, 40, a resident of Great Brookham, reported Monday that there were people trespassing into his scrapyard for unusual activities and provided security footage. In March, Mr. Absher started finding remains of bonfires and sand drawings around in his scrapyard. He did not report this to the local authorities, believing that the intruders meant no harm. On March 25th, a week after the first sighting, Mr. Absher found the burnt remains of a 1994 Toyota Camry. "I was worried that they would accidentally burn down the whole yard," Mr. Absher told reporters. "These cars can still be sold, even if they no longer work. Metal is pricey these days, you know. I don't want no hooligans snooping in my yard." He set up cameras around the yard hoping to gather footage of the intrusion and burnings. On the eve of the 15th, he finally saw the intruders. "I can't afford security guards, so it's the best I can get. I watch the recorded tapes every morning. What I saw terrified me. A group of hooded figures came gathering into my scrapyard, and walked up to another car. They started drawing some stuff into the ground, and some people put stuff they brought around the car, and then they stood in a circle around the car. They looked like they were chanting. They walked up to the car one by one, and did something in the car that I couldn't see. After they all went to the car and left, one guy, probably the leader or something, threw some stuff on the car and lit it on fire. The people started kneeling down, and stayed down until the fire was gone. The record shows they came around 2 and left around 5. As soon as I finished watching, I took the tape straight to the police. I don't think I even drove there to check the car they used." Initial investigations in the yard found roughly drawn patterns of clockwork machinery and geometric symbols in the ground surrounding the burnt remains of a 1996 Ford Mondeo. Police also found items such as smashed clocks, gears and metal pipes. Unburnt traces of blood were found in the backseat of the car. Further investigations only identified local teenagers Stuart Buschman, 19, and Margot Allsop, 17, on Tuesday. Police confiscated diaries, notes, robes, daggers, and other artifacts believed to be connected to the cult. Ongoing investigations hope to identify more people that were involved. "It's shocking to know this," Mr. Absher told authorities. "People will worship anything these days." "I just find it to be abhorrent. Using cars for rituals -- it’s out of the question. I don’t understand people today and what motivates them," local resident Shanon Epperly said. "It’s creepy. It makes you wonder what are they going to do with it. How’s it going to end up? Is it a joke, is it a dare? What are they going to do with it?" The teens arrested revealed that they were trying out rituals from a relatively unknown cult that they came into contact with while browsing the Internet. Named "Church of the Broken God", the cult worships clockwork and believes that God is broken and will one day be reformed. The arrested teens refuse to reveal the site where they got the information regarding the cult. Further interrogation yielded no results. Authorities encourage anyone with further information to contact them. "He came to us, showed us the way online-- He wanted us to spread His Broken word. We were in the yard to give Him a sacrifice," Stuart Buschman told reporters on the 17th. "We are His Broken Servants." The other teen involved, Margot Allsop, told reporters, "Stuart started acting weird after he heard of that Church. He made up all these rituals. He got a few friends to try it. This is just a mere offering, I guess. We're not even sure we're doing it right. I thought it was just a joke at first." The teens' parents said they had no comment. @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-07-06T14:45:00	[ "_licensebox", "broken-god", "featured", "religious-fiction", "tale" ]	Recovered Document 4761: CotBG-82 - SCP Foundation	136	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales", "featured-tale-archive" ]	[]	13719232	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/recovered-document-4761-cotbg-82
recuerdos	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Carmela carefully packed a basket of <em>ofrendas</em> for the trip to the cemetery. A cloth doll for Hernanda, a bottle of tequila for Fernando, a bouquet of <em>cempasúchil</em>… The rest of the family would bring their own gifts, but these were hers. And hopefully her lost family would visit and comfort her from Heaven. Abuela Maricela used to say that she talked with her husbands after drinking <em>Los Recuerdos</em>, but Carmela never had. Of course, she'd never sipped the wine of a husband or daughter before, only that of cousins of cousins or uncles or ancestors dead before she was born.</p> <p>Picking the berries from their graves only four months ago had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done. The temptation to eat them right then and there had been nearly overwhelming, but she knew that all of them would be needed to make the wine. Don Peñaranda was the only one in their village who knew the exact recipe, but he had assured her that it would be ready in time for <em>Día de los Muertos</em>, even if only barely.</p> <p>He said he would bring the bottles by later that afternoon, after the flight of the kites. Carmela used to love flying them with her family and friends, and would try to put on the best face she could, but watching the messengers to the dead fly overhead was less joyous now. Abuela Maricela said it would pass, that time and <em>Recuerdos</em> would help ease the pain, but Carmela didn't know. The large, colorful kites had been Hernanda's favorite part of the celebrations.</p> <p>Carmela's hands stilled as she stared off into the distance, the memories of the brightly colored kites mixing with the faces of her little girl and husband, and the green grass covering their fresh graves… Everything blurred together into one great kaleidoscope of thought and grief and reluctant hope and memory and color and love and family and…</p> <hr/> <p>…Fernanda came back to herself and looked in awe at the shot glass in her hands.</p> <p>"What did you see, niña?" asked her mother, as she recorked the bottle and put it on the altar with the others.</p> <p>"I was Tía Carmela!" exclaimed the little girl in wonder.</p> <p>"I know, niña. This was her bottle of <em>Recuerdos</em>. Did you see anything special? They say that <em>los muertos</em> can talk to us through them."</p> <p>"It was her first <em>Día de los Muertos</em> after her family died. She was so sad! But a little happy, too! Why was she happy, Mama?"</p> <p>"Oh, that is a special memory, niña," smiled her mother. "Sometimes people are sad because someone they love is gone, but happy because they can see them again, like you just did. That's was <em>los Recuerdos</em> are for."</p> <p>"Will you make tequila like this, too, Mama?"</p> <p>"Of course, niña, and you will too someday." Her mother scooped her up and swung her around, then carried her out of the room. "Now let's go down to the cemetery and clean Tía Carmela's grave, and watch the kite contest."<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="/recuerdos">Los Recuerdos de los Muertos</a>" by Drewbear, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/recuerdos">https://scpwiki.com/recuerdos</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]] [[/>]] Carmela carefully packed a basket of //ofrendas// for the trip to the cemetery. A cloth doll for Hernanda, a bottle of tequila for Fernando, a bouquet of //cempasúchil//... The rest of the family would bring their own gifts, but these were hers. And hopefully her lost family would visit and comfort her from Heaven. Abuela Maricela used to say that she talked with her husbands after drinking //Los Recuerdos//, but Carmela never had. Of course, she'd never sipped the wine of a husband or daughter before, only that of cousins of cousins or uncles or ancestors dead before she was born. Picking the berries from their graves only four months ago had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done. The temptation to eat them right then and there had been nearly overwhelming, but she knew that all of them would be needed to make the wine. Don Peñaranda was the only one in their village who knew the exact recipe, but he had assured her that it would be ready in time for //Día de los Muertos//, even if only barely. He said he would bring the bottles by later that afternoon, after the flight of the kites. Carmela used to love flying them with her family and friends, and would try to put on the best face she could, but watching the messengers to the dead fly overhead was less joyous now. Abuela Maricela said it would pass, that time and //Recuerdos// would help ease the pain, but Carmela didn't know. The large, colorful kites had been Hernanda's favorite part of the celebrations. Carmela's hands stilled as she stared off into the distance, the memories of the brightly colored kites mixing with the faces of her little girl and husband, and the green grass covering their fresh graves... Everything blurred together into one great kaleidoscope of thought and grief and reluctant hope and memory and color and love and family and... ----- ...Fernanda came back to herself and looked in awe at the shot glass in her hands. "What did you see, niña?" asked her mother, as she recorked the bottle and put it on the altar with the others. "I was Tía Carmela!" exclaimed the little girl in wonder. "I know, niña. This was her bottle of //Recuerdos//. Did you see anything special? They say that //los muertos// can talk to us through them." "It was her first //Día de los Muertos// after her family died. She was so sad! But a little happy, too! Why was she happy, Mama?" "Oh, that is a special memory, niña," smiled her mother. "Sometimes people are sad because someone they love is gone, but happy because they can see them again, like you just did. That's was //los Recuerdos// are for." "Will you make tequila like this, too, Mama?" "Of course, niña, and you will too someday." Her mother scooped her up and swung her around, then carried her out of the room. "Now let's go down to the cemetery and clean Tía Carmela's grave, and watch the kite contest." @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-10-31T02:47:00	[ "_licensebox", "hc2012", "tale" ]	Los Recuerdos de los Muertos - SCP Foundation	43	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "halloween-contest", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	14852573	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/recuerdos
repost	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>I'll be honest with you. This is shit. It's really only going up because a few people in the chat encouraged me to put it up, and I really don't know what else to do with it.</p> <p>Roight. Now that we're done with the self-depreciation…<br/> ***<br/> "Um, sir?"</p> <p>"Yes, Moyle?"</p> <p>"We appear to have a spot of trouble."</p> <p>"What sort of spot of trouble?"</p> <p>"Well, you know those SCPs? Those things in all of our cells?"</p> <p>"Yes?"</p> <p>"Well, they've gone and done it again."</p> <p>"Dear lord. Again?"</p> <p>"Again, sir."</p> <p>"What is this, the third time?"</p> <p>"Fifth."</p> <p>"Dear lord. We'll have to explain why Burma's not on the map again."</p> <p>"Sir. I'm not talking about them doing that again."</p> <p>"Ah. Which that again are we talking about?"</p> <p>"They went and deleted the archive again."</p> <p>"How do you mean? They've done it so many ways, you know."</p> <p>"Well, if you look at the database, it's returning everything as 'access denied.'"</p> <p>"Have you tried breaking in through the back way?"</p> <p>"Both my best computing skills and homosexuality have both failed us, sir."</p> <p>"Oh dear."</p> <p>"I know. The situation appears rather grim."</p> <p>"Are the SCPs all there?"</p> <p>"Well, from what I can tell, most of them are. I can't exactly check them all right now, sir, but I'm pretty sure they're all still there."</p> <p>"Well then, you know what we'll have to do now."</p> <p>"Right then. I'll go put up the decorations."</p> <p>"We're not going to blow up the bloody base, Moyle. I'm talking about rewriting the SCPs."</p> <p>"Oh."</p> <p>"You look like you're hiding something from me. What is it Moyle?"</p> <p>"Well, you know those employees we have? The scientists and researchers and doctors and whatnot?"</p> <p>"Yes?"</p> <p>"They're all dead."</p> <p>"How?"</p> <p>"Gunshots to the head, sir."</p> <p>"Oh dear. Any idea why they did that?"</p> <p>"Well, I found a note on their corpses, sir."</p> <p>"Yes?"</p> <p>"They all wrote the exact same thing."</p> <p>"And that exact same thing was?"</p> <p>"They have all written, 'We have chosen to commit suicide rather than continue working for the Foundation because the bloke running it is,' and I quote, 'a lilly-livered, horn-rimmed glasses wearing monster, who we all consider a shitfaced bloody bastard.'"</p> <p>"Huh."</p> <p>"They put a special emphasis on the word bastard, sir."</p> <p>"I figured they would. You know what we need to do, correct?"</p> <p>"Considering the situation, we'll need to hire some more people."</p> <p>"Correct."</p> <p>"Well, there's a problem there too, sir."</p> <p>"What would that be?</p> <p>"Well, we can afford to rehire the guards, and the scientists, and the researchers, and the doctors, and the administrators…"</p> <p>"But?"</p> <p>"But the cost of hiring new writers is through the roof. Unless you find someone who is extremely generous, there's no way to hire a single new author."</p> <p>"Why can't the others do it?"</p> <p>"Well, even though it's their jobs, the reports the researchers make are always highly unprofessional. You need a writer to make sure his work is good."</p> <p>"We could always do it ourselves."</p> <p>"Are you willing to do that much work for yourself, sir?"</p> <p>"Well, no."</p> <p>"And I'm not willing to do it either. So you see the problem."</p> <p>"So I do."</p> <p>"Do you have any ideas, sir?"</p> <p>"Well, what did we do the last time this happened?"</p> <p>"If I remember correctly, it required more cattle prods than we can reasonably afford."</p> <p>"And you say it's too expensive to hire any new writers?"</p> <p>"Yes, sir."</p> <p>"We could trick people on the internet to do it for us."</p> <p>"Sir?"</p> <p>"Look here at this website. Average imageboard, right? Well, what say if I were to do a sloppy write-up of a random SCP? And if we get a few people to promote it as a great writing idea, set up a website around it?"</p> <p>"I still don't see how that solves our problem, sir."</p> <p>"Well, we've got hundreds of thousands of objects to rewrite. If we get enough people on-board with this, they're bound to come up with something like what we've really got. We'll just take whichever ones we can and use them to fill in the archive. Reject the rest, you know?"</p> <p>"How will we make it seem… well, not suspicious?"</p> <p>"Simple enough. Write them off as bad writing."</p> <p>"You know, sir, thinking about it, it's a rather brilliant idea. Just one problem with it."</p> <p>"Yes?"</p> <p>"Neither of us is the best writer. What if they chose to take whichever SCP we put out there and stick it on a pedestal? Make it so that we aren't able to edit it properly, just because it's the quote-unquote 'First?'"</p> <p>"Well, once we have enough money to hire some proper writers, we just execute everyone involved."</p> <p>"Doesn't that put us in a similar situation as now if the writers we hire commit suicide as well?"</p> <p>"Well, then, we think about that when we get there, now don't we?"</p> <p>"Isn't that how we got into this mess in the first place, sir?"</p> <p>"No. That one involved beers."</p> <p>"Ah, yes. Care for one now?</p> <p>"Sure, Moyle, sure."</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="/repost">Repost</a>" by Gargus, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/repost">https://scpwiki.com/repost</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'll be honest with you. This is shit. It's really only going up because a few people in the chat encouraged me to put it up, and I really don't know what else to do with it. Roight. Now that we're done with the self-depreciation... *** "Um, sir?" "Yes, Moyle?" "We appear to have a spot of trouble." "What sort of spot of trouble?" "Well, you know those SCPs? Those things in all of our cells?" "Yes?" "Well, they've gone and done it again." "Dear lord. Again?" "Again, sir." "What is this, the third time?" "Fifth." "Dear lord. We'll have to explain why Burma's not on the map again." "Sir. I'm not talking about them doing that again." "Ah. Which that again are we talking about?" "They went and deleted the archive again." "How do you mean? They've done it so many ways, you know." "Well, if you look at the database, it's returning everything as 'access denied.'" "Have you tried breaking in through the back way?" "Both my best computing skills and homosexuality have both failed us, sir." "Oh dear." "I know. The situation appears rather grim." "Are the SCPs all there?" "Well, from what I can tell, most of them are. I can't exactly check them all right now, sir, but I'm pretty sure they're all still there." "Well then, you know what we'll have to do now." "Right then. I'll go put up the decorations." "We're not going to blow up the bloody base, Moyle. I'm talking about rewriting the SCPs." "Oh." "You look like you're hiding something from me. What is it Moyle?" "Well, you know those employees we have? The scientists and researchers and doctors and whatnot?" "Yes?" "They're all dead." "How?" "Gunshots to the head, sir." "Oh dear. Any idea why they did that?" "Well, I found a note on their corpses, sir." "Yes?" "They all wrote the exact same thing." "And that exact same thing was?" "They have all written, 'We have chosen to commit suicide rather than continue working for the Foundation because the bloke running it is,' and I quote, 'a lilly-livered, horn-rimmed glasses wearing monster, who we all consider a shitfaced bloody bastard.'" "Huh." "They put a special emphasis on the word bastard, sir." "I figured they would. You know what we need to do, correct?" "Considering the situation, we'll need to hire some more people." "Correct." "Well, there's a problem there too, sir." "What would that be? "Well, we can afford to rehire the guards, and the scientists, and the researchers, and the doctors, and the administrators…" "But?" "But the cost of hiring new writers is through the roof. Unless you find someone who is extremely generous, there's no way to hire a single new author." "Why can't the others do it?" "Well, even though it's their jobs, the reports the researchers make are always highly unprofessional. You need a writer to make sure his work is good." "We could always do it ourselves." "Are you willing to do that much work for yourself, sir?" "Well, no." "And I'm not willing to do it either. So you see the problem." "So I do." "Do you have any ideas, sir?" "Well, what did we do the last time this happened?" "If I remember correctly, it required more cattle prods than we can reasonably afford." "And you say it's too expensive to hire any new writers?" "Yes, sir." "We could trick people on the internet to do it for us." "Sir?" "Look here at this website. Average imageboard, right? Well, what say if I were to do a sloppy write-up of a random SCP? And if we get a few people to promote it as a great writing idea, set up a website around it?" "I still don't see how that solves our problem, sir." "Well, we've got hundreds of thousands of objects to rewrite. If we get enough people on-board with this, they're bound to come up with something like what we've really got. We'll just take whichever ones we can and use them to fill in the archive. Reject the rest, you know?" "How will we make it seem… well, not suspicious?" "Simple enough. Write them off as bad writing." "You know, sir, thinking about it, it's a rather brilliant idea. Just one problem with it." "Yes?" "Neither of us is the best writer. What if they chose to take whichever SCP we put out there and stick it on a pedestal? Make it so that we aren't able to edit it properly, just because it's the quote-unquote 'First?'" "Well, once we have enough money to hire some proper writers, we just execute everyone involved." "Doesn't that put us in a similar situation as now if the writers we hire commit suicide as well?" "Well, then, we think about that when we get there, now don't we?" "Isn't that how we got into this mess in the first place, sir?" "No. That one involved beers." "Ah, yes. Care for one now? "Sure, Moyle, sure." [[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>]]	2012-01-05T04:35:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Repost - SCP Foundation	23	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	12460485	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/repost
reptilius	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>The following document has been in Foundation possession since 18██. Several dating techniques have all placed the document at its authentic time period. Foundation scholars are unable to place where this document would fit among the author's other works. Current translation from Ancient Greek by Dr. ██████</p> <blockquote> <p>Reptilius</p> <p>By Plato<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup></p> <p>Date of writing unknown</p> <p>Translation by Dr. ██████</p> <p><strong>Persons of Dialogue:</strong></p> <p>Mactavius the Victim<br/> Salares the Priest<br/> Copernicus the Clueless One<br/> Musinus the Skeptic<br/> Socrates the Philosopher<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup></p> <p><strong>Scene:</strong></p> <p>A temple of healing</p> <p><strong>Salares:</strong> Have you come to see the deluded?</p> <p><strong>Musinus:</strong> We have come to examine his claims.</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> He is in a deep slumber. Would you wish for me to recite what he told me?</p> <p><strong>Socrates:</strong> We would wish it for proper examination.</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> Here is the roll, Socrates. I will recite the recorded dialogue as if it were him speaking to me and also my servant Copernicus, who was there with me. I have omitted, for the sake of convenience, the interlocutory words "I said," "I remarked," which he used when he spoke of himself, and again, "he agreed," or "disagreed," in the answer, lest the repetition of them should be troublesome.</p> <p><strong>Mus.:</strong> Please continue, Salares.</p> <p>Salares reads the scroll</p> <p><strong>Mactavius:</strong> Please help me, priest I am injured.</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> Servant, fetch this man water and bandages, and also olive oil with which to bathe his wounds.</p> <p><strong>Mac.:</strong> Thank you, priest, I am grateful.</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> What has happened to you, Mactavius, on this day that has caused you to be so injured in such a way?</p> <p><strong>Mac.:</strong> Let me begin then, priest, so that while you heal me I may tell you what has happened. I was walking to the house of my uncle Therapedes while I was considering the philosophy of true forms, which has puzzled me greatly for many years. I was considering the true form of a lizard, which has a pointed snout and a lengthy tail and four legs, with webbing between each finger. It also has scales on it with which any man may discern it from other creatures of this sort. My thoughts were over what the true form of a lizard would resemble in the world of Ideas, where all forms are true, and not the world of reality where we are all shadows of a true form.</p> <p>My mind decided to focus on getting a view of the world of Ideas, and not simply shadows, and I decided to sit on the road and ponder this realm until it became clear to me, and I sat as many men walked by and jeered at my ponderance. This did not break my concentration, and I continued to think on this realm for many hours before a vision began to come clear to me of it.</p> <p><strong>Copernicus:</strong> Priest, this man is lying. He cannot see the realm of true forms because there is no realm of Ideas.</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> It is the occupation of a philosopher to think on such things, servant, and not of a man who spends his thoughts on lower realms. Therefore I would ask of you to be quiet so that Mactavius may continue his story.</p> <p><strong>Mac.:</strong> This vision was very hard to view, as my eyes were made for the viewing of mere shadows, and not to view the realm of true forms, where man has never looked before. I decided to view the true form of a lizard, which my thought was on earlier, and which I now wished to see. I searched for the true form of the lizard and I saw it. It was terrible and also majestic, and looked at me and saw that I was seeing it and it pursued me. I ran away down the road but it followed me and attacked me and wounded me.</p> <p>Thereafter, many men armed with spears and swords came from the house of my uncle Therapedes to rescue me from the lizard and they attacked it with their weapons. The lizard then changed forms in order to protect itself, and it devoured all of the men, then fled from the roadside and into the hills of Olympia.</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> How was it that the lizard changed forms?</p> <p><strong>Mac.:</strong> It changed shape and thus became many different things while the men attacked it. When Euripedes of my uncle's men stabbed at it with his spear the lizard thereafter gained a shield along its flanks, and it was much harder to stab with spear or sword, and the men could not slay it, and it devoured them.</p> <p><strong>Cop.:</strong> Priest, this could not be true. How could a lizard possess such intelligence to know to create a shield for itself, as a lizard possess only the intelligence to flee from its attackers, and not to defend itself by changing its shape?</p> <p><strong>Mac.:</strong> This lizard did possess an intelligence, and told me that it must kill me for it to leave this world of shadows, so that it may return to the realm of Ideas, and that all shadows should die, for they are not a true. Then I slept from my wounds as it ran away.</p> <p>Salares finishes reading the scroll</p> <p><strong>Mus.:</strong> This man is delusional, for such a thing could not have happened. Were there injuries about his head to make him think such things?</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> No, there were many bites along his chest and arms, from which he will be forever scarred. The bites were very large, larger than could be made by a lion or a bear, and also very deep, and Mactavius bled much blood from his injuries, and could not move his left arm.</p> <p><strong>Mus.:</strong> Surely you do not believe the man.</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> I believe the beast came from the real of Ideas, and was in its ideal form.</p> <p><strong>Mus.:</strong> Such talk is nonsense. How could a man see the realm of Ideas, when he is always tied to reality?</p> <p><strong>Soc.:</strong> Perhaps it was simply powerful thought of the realm of Ideas.</p> <p><strong>Mus.:</strong> Such an act would not be possible.</p> <p><strong>Soc.:</strong> Can you not imagine the characteristics of every lizard?</p> <p><strong>Mus.:</strong> Yes, a lizard possess four legs and a tail of extreme length, as well as a flattened head and scales along its body. Its feet are webbed and it moves quickly across the ground.</p> <p><strong>Soc.:</strong> Can you imagine an animal with all of those traits?</p> <p><strong>Mus.:</strong> Yes.</p> <p><strong>Soc.:</strong> Then is that not its ideal form?</p> <p><strong>Mus.:</strong> You are very wise, Socrates. That is not something I had thought to be true.</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> So then you agree that it is possible to imagine an ideal lizard?</p> <p><strong>Mus.:</strong> Yes. But what of its changing shape?</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> That, I do not know.</p> <p><strong>Soc.:</strong> The lizard is of the realm of Ideas, yes?</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> That is what we have concluded, Socrates.</p> <p><strong>Soc.:</strong> What of its properties when it enters our lesser realm?</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> It is a true entity among mere shadows.</p> <p><strong>Soc.:</strong> How are we shadows?</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> We are the simple shadows of ideal forms, cast into this realm by candle light.</p> <p><strong>Soc.:</strong> Then the beast would not also flicker like a shadow in candle light, changing shape?</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> It would.</p> <p><strong>Mus.:</strong> An excellent explanation Socrates, but then what of its cries for freedom and its devouring of Therapedes' soldiers?</p> <p><strong>Soc.:</strong> An ideal form is made of the characteristics of how we perceive the lizard, yes?</p> <p><strong>Mus.:</strong> That is true.</p> <p><strong>Soc.:</strong> Then would it not be true that the lizard would cease existing if we no longer observed its characteristics?</p> <p><strong>Mus.:</strong> Yes, then it would be free from our lesser realm, and would return to the realm of Ideas. Very good Socrates, that explains why the beast would wish to destroy life around it, because life would observe it and prevent it from escaping, and that would anger it, but I doubt we can ponder for much longer today. We are needed at the house of Antioch to dine with the king there, for he has heard of Socrates's wisdom and wishes for us to share dinner with him, so we must go.</p> <p><strong>Soc.:</strong> Tomorrow I wish to return and discuss the summoning of this creature and other ideal forms as this man has done before us, so it is our duty to find knowledge of how he accomplished this. Therefore we will discuss this further. For now I wish you goodbye, priest.</p> <p><strong>Sal.:</strong> Farewell.</p> </blockquote> <p>The further documentation referred to in the dialogue has not been found.</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>. This is disputed. The content of the document roughly matches Plato's philosophy, however a lack of mention in other sources regarding Plato's works casts suspicion on its authenticity. It is possible that knowledge of this document was suppressed, as it deals with acts of summoning something that was not considered a god at the time period.</div> <div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. Note that Socrates was used by Plato in most of his dialogues (usually cast as the thoughtful philosopher), and that his presence in this dialogue is simply as a character.</div> </div> <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="/reptilius">Reptilius</a>" by Salman Corbette, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/reptilius">https://scpwiki.com/reptilius</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 following document has been in Foundation possession since 18██. Several dating techniques have all placed the document at its authentic time period. Foundation scholars are unable to place where this document would fit among the author's other works. Current translation from Ancient Greek by Dr. ██████ > Reptilius > > By Plato[[footnote]] This is disputed. The content of the document roughly matches Plato's philosophy, however a lack of mention in other sources regarding Plato's works casts suspicion on its authenticity. It is possible that knowledge of this document was suppressed, as it deals with acts of summoning something that was not considered a god at the time period. [[/footnote]] > > Date of writing unknown > > Translation by Dr. ██████ > > Persons of Dialogue: > > Mactavius the Victim > Salares the Priest > Copernicus the Clueless One > Musinus the Skeptic > Socrates the Philosopher[[footnote]] Note that Socrates was used by Plato in most of his dialogues (usually cast as the thoughtful philosopher), and that his presence in this dialogue is simply as a character. [[/footnote]] > > Scene: > > A temple of healing > > Salares: Have you come to see the deluded? > > Musinus: We have come to examine his claims. > > Sal.: He is in a deep slumber. Would you wish for me to recite what he told me? > > Socrates: We would wish it for proper examination. > > Sal.: Here is the roll, Socrates. I will recite the recorded dialogue as if it were him speaking to me and also my servant Copernicus, who was there with me. I have omitted, for the sake of convenience, the interlocutory words "I said," "I remarked," which he used when he spoke of himself, and again, "he agreed," or "disagreed," in the answer, lest the repetition of them should be troublesome. > > Mus.: Please continue, Salares. > > Salares reads the scroll > > Mactavius: Please help me, priest I am injured. > > Sal.: Servant, fetch this man water and bandages, and also olive oil with which to bathe his wounds. > > Mac.: Thank you, priest, I am grateful. > > Sal.: What has happened to you, Mactavius, on this day that has caused you to be so injured in such a way? > > Mac.: Let me begin then, priest, so that while you heal me I may tell you what has happened. I was walking to the house of my uncle Therapedes while I was considering the philosophy of true forms, which has puzzled me greatly for many years. I was considering the true form of a lizard, which has a pointed snout and a lengthy tail and four legs, with webbing between each finger. It also has scales on it with which any man may discern it from other creatures of this sort. My thoughts were over what the true form of a lizard would resemble in the world of Ideas, where all forms are true, and not the world of reality where we are all shadows of a true form. > > My mind decided to focus on getting a view of the world of Ideas, and not simply shadows, and I decided to sit on the road and ponder this realm until it became clear to me, and I sat as many men walked by and jeered at my ponderance. This did not break my concentration, and I continued to think on this realm for many hours before a vision began to come clear to me of it. > > Copernicus: Priest, this man is lying. He cannot see the realm of true forms because there is no realm of Ideas. > > Sal.: It is the occupation of a philosopher to think on such things, servant, and not of a man who spends his thoughts on lower realms. Therefore I would ask of you to be quiet so that Mactavius may continue his story. > > Mac.: This vision was very hard to view, as my eyes were made for the viewing of mere shadows, and not to view the realm of true forms, where man has never looked before. I decided to view the true form of a lizard, which my thought was on earlier, and which I now wished to see. I searched for the true form of the lizard and I saw it. It was terrible and also majestic, and looked at me and saw that I was seeing it and it pursued me. I ran away down the road but it followed me and attacked me and wounded me. > > Thereafter, many men armed with spears and swords came from the house of my uncle Therapedes to rescue me from the lizard and they attacked it with their weapons. The lizard then changed forms in order to protect itself, and it devoured all of the men, then fled from the roadside and into the hills of Olympia. > > Sal.: How was it that the lizard changed forms? > > Mac.: It changed shape and thus became many different things while the men attacked it. When Euripedes of my uncle's men stabbed at it with his spear the lizard thereafter gained a shield along its flanks, and it was much harder to stab with spear or sword, and the men could not slay it, and it devoured them. > > Cop.: Priest, this could not be true. How could a lizard possess such intelligence to know to create a shield for itself, as a lizard possess only the intelligence to flee from its attackers, and not to defend itself by changing its shape? > > Mac.: This lizard did possess an intelligence, and told me that it must kill me for it to leave this world of shadows, so that it may return to the realm of Ideas, and that all shadows should die, for they are not a true. Then I slept from my wounds as it ran away. > > Salares finishes reading the scroll > > Mus.: This man is delusional, for such a thing could not have happened. Were there injuries about his head to make him think such things? > > Sal.: No, there were many bites along his chest and arms, from which he will be forever scarred. The bites were very large, larger than could be made by a lion or a bear, and also very deep, and Mactavius bled much blood from his injuries, and could not move his left arm. > > Mus.: Surely you do not believe the man. > > Sal.: I believe the beast came from the real of Ideas, and was in its ideal form. > > Mus.: Such talk is nonsense. How could a man see the realm of Ideas, when he is always tied to reality? > > Soc.: Perhaps it was simply powerful thought of the realm of Ideas. > > Mus.: Such an act would not be possible. > > Soc.: Can you not imagine the characteristics of every lizard? > > Mus.: Yes, a lizard possess four legs and a tail of extreme length, as well as a flattened head and scales along its body. Its feet are webbed and it moves quickly across the ground. > > Soc.: Can you imagine an animal with all of those traits? > > Mus.: Yes. > > Soc.: Then is that not its ideal form? > > Mus.: You are very wise, Socrates. That is not something I had thought to be true. > > Sal.: So then you agree that it is possible to imagine an ideal lizard? > > Mus.: Yes. But what of its changing shape? > > Sal.: That, I do not know. > > Soc.: The lizard is of the realm of Ideas, yes? > > Sal.: That is what we have concluded, Socrates. > > Soc.: What of its properties when it enters our lesser realm? > > Sal.: It is a true entity among mere shadows. > > Soc.: How are we shadows? > > Sal.: We are the simple shadows of ideal forms, cast into this realm by candle light. > > Soc.: Then the beast would not also flicker like a shadow in candle light, changing shape? > > Sal.: It would. > > Mus.: An excellent explanation Socrates, but then what of its cries for freedom and its devouring of Therapedes' soldiers? > > Soc.: An ideal form is made of the characteristics of how we perceive the lizard, yes? > > Mus.: That is true. > > Soc.: Then would it not be true that the lizard would cease existing if we no longer observed its characteristics? > > Mus.: Yes, then it would be free from our lesser realm, and would return to the realm of Ideas. Very good Socrates, that explains why the beast would wish to destroy life around it, because life would observe it and prevent it from escaping, and that would anger it, but I doubt we can ponder for much longer today. We are needed at the house of Antioch to dine with the king there, for he has heard of Socrates's wisdom and wishes for us to share dinner with him, so we must go. > > Soc.: Tomorrow I wish to return and discuss the summoning of this creature and other ideal forms as this man has done before us, so it is our duty to find knowledge of how he accomplished this. Therefore we will discuss this further. For now I wish you goodbye, priest. > > Sal.: Farewell. The further documentation referred to in the dialogue has not been found. [[footnoteblock]] @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-01-11T05:05:00	[ "_licensebox", "hard-to-destroy-reptile", "historical", "mystery", "period-piece", "tale" ]	Reptilius - SCP Foundation	90	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	12490801	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/reptilius
resale-value	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><em>One afternoon, at a fashionable clubhouse belonging to Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd.</em></p> <p>"Look what <em>I</em> made!"</p> <p>"It's lovely, sir. You are truly gifted. May I ask what it is?"</p> <p>"I made it using the kit that I bought from you guys last year, and the tools that you sold to my friend a few years back before his accident! And the wood came from trees on <a href="/scp-476">that secret island in the secret lake that I had to rent the map from you guys for</a>, and—"</p> <p>"Fascinating, sir. But… what <em>is</em> it?"</p> <p>"It's a reverse mirror voodoo puppet!"</p> <p>"I'm sorry, sir, a what?"</p> <p>"Reverse mirror voodoo doll stick puppet!"</p> <p>"A mirror voodoo—"</p> <p>"REVERSE mirror!"</p> <p>"But, sir, a mirror <em>already</em>… yes, sir. A reverse mirror voodoo doll stick puppet. Very impressive. You are a true artist."</p> <p>"Yeah! So what'll you give me for it?"</p> <p>"… I beg your pardon?"</p> <p>"I'm selling it to you! What'll you give me for it!"</p> <p>"I, uh, sir, I… I'm not authorized to make purchases on behalf of my employer, sir. I'll need to speak to my supervisor."</p> <p>"Sure, you do that. This little baby oughta go for eight, maybe nine million?"</p> <p>"Uh. Sir, I… please realize that the prices for which we <em>sell</em> items are not the prices we <em>pay</em> for items, and— "</p> <p>"Yeah, yeah, I gotcha. So… eighty, ninety grand?"</p> <p>"Sir, really, I'm not authorized to make purchases on behalf of— sir, what does the reverse mirror voodoo doll stick puppet even <em>do</em>?"</p> <p>"Pick it up."</p> <p>"Uh…"</p> <p>"No, take it out of the towel. Let it touch your skin!"</p> <p>"Sir, I am a client interaction representative, not a test subject. If you wish to purchase a human test subject for demonstration purposes, that can be arranged as a separate transaction."</p> <hr/> <p><em>Eleven years later</em></p> <p>"Uh, yeah, hi, I was wondering… uh… did… did anyone bid on my puppet this time?"</p> <p>"As a matter of fact, sir, they didn't even get the chance!"</p> <p>"…what?"</p> <p>"Before the auction could even start, the SCP Foundation raided the site, and they <em><a href="/scp-841">stole your puppet!</a></em>"</p> <p>"… REALLY?!?!?"</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="/resale-value">Resale Value</a>" by Voct, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/resale-value">https://scpwiki.com/resale-value</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]] [[/>]] //One afternoon, at a fashionable clubhouse belonging to Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd.// "Look what //I// made!" "It's lovely, sir. You are truly gifted. May I ask what it is?" "I made it using the kit that I bought from you guys last year, and the tools that you sold to my friend a few years back before his accident! And the wood came from trees on [[[scp-476\|that secret island in the secret lake that I had to rent the map from you guys for]]], and—" "Fascinating, sir. But… what //is// it?" "It's a reverse mirror voodoo puppet!" "I'm sorry, sir, a what?" "Reverse mirror voodoo doll stick puppet!" "A mirror voodoo—" "REVERSE mirror!" "But, sir, a mirror //already//... yes, sir. A reverse mirror voodoo doll stick puppet. Very impressive. You are a true artist." "Yeah! So what'll you give me for it?" "… I beg your pardon?" "I'm selling it to you! What'll you give me for it!" "I, uh, sir, I... I'm not authorized to make purchases on behalf of my employer, sir. I'll need to speak to my supervisor." "Sure, you do that. This little baby oughta go for eight, maybe nine million?" "Uh. Sir, I… please realize that the prices for which we //sell// items are not the prices we //pay// for items, and— " "Yeah, yeah, I gotcha. So… eighty, ninety grand?" "Sir, really, I'm not authorized to make purchases on behalf of— sir, what does the reverse mirror voodoo doll stick puppet even //do//?" "Pick it up." "Uh…" "No, take it out of the towel. Let it touch your skin!" "Sir, I am a client interaction representative, not a test subject. If you wish to purchase a human test subject for demonstration purposes, that can be arranged as a separate transaction." ------ //Eleven years later// "Uh, yeah, hi, I was wondering... uh... did... did anyone bid on my puppet this time?" "As a matter of fact, sir, they didn't even get the chance!" "...what?" "Before the auction could even start, the SCP Foundation raided the site, and they //[[[SCP-841\|stole your puppet!]]]//" "... REALLY?!?!?" [[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>]]	2012-09-28T12:28:00	[ "_licensebox", "absurdism", "comedy", "marshall-carter-and-dark", "tale" ]	Resale Value - SCP Foundation	68	[ "scp-476", "scp-841", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	14459102	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/resale-value
rise	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><strong>Rise.</strong></p> <p>Professor Charles Burrows had no choice but to comply. He had no idea how he got here, or even where "here" was; one moment he was sitting at his home office, catching on some paperwork, and the next he was here, standing alone in an empty concrete room. Alone with the voice.</p> <p><strong>So good of you to join me, Professor. Come, there is much to see and so little time.</strong></p> <p>"What? Who are you? What is this place?"</p> <p><strong>So many questions. I suppose it is to be expected from a man in your position. All in due time, Professor. Let us begin our little tour.</strong></p> <p>A door appeared on the far wall of the chamber, seemingly from nowhere. Professor Burrows, seeing no other option, walked through it. He was not one to lose his cool quickly; he'd see what this thing wanted, and assess the situation accordingly. He found himself in a bustling office complex: Busy-looking men and women in walked among rows of computers and filing cabinets, occasionally stopping in one station or another to check a monitor or peer at a file. The entire place was a hive of purposeful activity. No one appeared to notice the small man in jeans and a tweed jacket.</p> <p><strong>Welcome to Site-27, Professor.</strong></p> <p>He wasn't supposed to be here, Burrows thought. This was a dangerous situation; he might already be compromised. He wasn't sure the voice knew exactly who and what he was, though, and he wasn't about to give it any hints.</p> <p>"Site-27? Is that some sort of government facility?" he said, feigning ignorance.</p> <p><strong>The government could never dream of being able to hide itself so well. Even this first level is hidden in plain sight, disguised as the regional headquarters of a major data analysis firm. Most of the employees you see here have no idea what lies beneath their feet. But I do. Let us continue.</strong></p> <p>Burrows felt his feet edging forward, never stopping to consult with his head. He approached one of the desks. A plain featured, slightly overweight man in a brown suit was sitting at it, staring at his monitor with a blank expression.</p> <p><strong>This is Robert Helms, junior data analyst. He's been working here for the last nine years, never knowing what this place was hiding under its dull facade. He's not a particularly smart man, although he considers himself one, nor is he especially talented in any meaningful way. He hates his job, likes to fish, loves his family, and overall just tries to get by until retirement. He never expected much from life, and never got much. He will be dead in twenty minutes. His position will be given to some other faceless cog, his family will grieve and move on, and soon enough, he will be utterly forgotten, having made no lasting impact on the world he spent forty two years living in.</strong></p> <p>"How can you possibly know that?" Burrows asked, more out of anger than anything else. The man, Helms, shook himself out his daze and stretched, his hand passing right through Burrows' chest. The professor jumped back, startled. Helms didn't seem to notice, and stepped away from his desk, heading for a nearby soda machine.</p> <p><strong>Professor, you disappoint me. I thought you would have realized by now you're not actually here, not in your limited sense of the word, at least. As for how I know what will become of poor Mr. Helms, well, perhaps our next stop will shed some light on that subject. Onward and downward, Professor. Always downwards.</strong></p> <p>Burrows felt a strange sinking feeling, and looked down to see his legs passing through the floor. He tried to struggle, but every movement he made only made him sink faster. After an extremely unpleasant moment where his eyes and the concrete occupied the same place at the same time, he found himself in a space quite unlike the one he just left; the buzzing chaos of the top floor was replaced with an almost total silence, broken only by the occasional whisper of the scientists working in one of the many stations.</p> <p><strong>This is the true Site-27, or at least its research wing, home to some of humanity's greatest minds. Like Dr. Spengler right here.</strong></p> <p>Once again, Burrows' body moved out of its own volition, this time approaching one of the scientists. The man couldn't have been much older than twenty five, a tall, bespectacled man in a white coat.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Henry Spengler, twenty six years old. With an IQ of 190, he's one of the smartest people alive on the planet. He could have been anything he wanted, and he chose to work for the Foundation. He sacrificed a career in the limelight of the scientific world in order to work in the shadows, helping mankind defend itself from dangers most of them will never be allowed to know even exist. He is, by all accounts, a good, noble man. In his six years working for the Foundation, he saved the lives of at least fifty of his co-workers in one way or another, and his research into various SCP objects saved countless more. He'll be dead in fifteen minutes. For all of his good intentions and talent, his contributions will ultimately have no lasting effect on the fate of the world, and like Mr. Helms, he is doomed to be forgotten, having squandered his potential.</strong></p> <p>"Squandered his potential? If this man saved even one life, he squandered nothing."</p> <p><strong>If you were someone else, Professor, I might have thought you actually believe that. You know better, however, as do I. Come, one last stop.</strong></p> <p>Downwards again. This time, the professor found himself in a long, grey corridor, lined in both sides by massive steel doors.</p> <p><strong>Site-27's containment area, the heart of the facility. Twenty three Safe level items and seven Euclid level items are stored here. A few of them are of a particular interest to our little expedition.</strong></p> <p>Following the voice, the professor entered one of the cells. Inside was a small, shimmering creature made of what appeared to be multicolored glass. A humming bird.</p> <p><strong>This creature is completely harmless in its current form. It is classified as Euclid, since what makes it dangerous is so incredibly rare. It did not choose to be the way it is, it never wanted to be so dangerous. It is an innocent bystander of its own power. Still, they keep it locked up, just in case. If you think about it, "Just in case" covers about 90% of what the Foundation does. Such a careful organization. So…prepared. Or so they think.</strong></p> <p>A small clink. The door was opened by a large man in uniform. He took a small object from his pocket and laid it on the floor next to the shimmering bird, a metal bullion.</p> <p><strong>Captain Vincent Tallow, vice-head of security. He got tired of working twelve-hour shifts for six days a week for the pay he was getting, so he went looking elsewhere. He found an organization more than willing to pay him what he wanted, an organization you will soon grow much more familiar with. He thinks he'll have enough time to escape. He's wrong.</strong></p> <p>The bird noticed the bullion, and quickly started to suck it dry, as if it was a flower. The glow grew stronger and brighter, quickly becoming blinding.</p> <p><strong>Iridium, its favorite. It will eat and eat until it can eat no more and then, well…</strong></p> <p>Despite himself, the professor spoke up. "The Foundation is prepared to deal with containment breaches. It's what it's here for. You're not going to do anything with that."</p> <p><strong>No more feigned ignorance? Good, it was getting tiresome. No, I agree, one containment breach wouldn't do much. But how about two?</strong></p> <p>The sound of alarms pierced the professor's ears. It came from the next cell over.</p> <p><strong>Five?</strong></p> <p>More alarms, now coming from many more cells.</p> <p><strong>Ten?</strong></p> <p>The cacophony was ear splitting.</p> <p><strong>Thirty?</strong></p> <p>The sound of alarms was now punctuated by screams.</p> <p>The professor looked around him in horror. The creature burned like a miniature sun, and the steel door of its cell was beginning to melt. "You've got to stop this! You have no idea what you're doing! Do you know how much damage this could cause, how many people will die!?"</p> <p><strong>Of course I do, and that is the point of this expedition. People will die because they choose to remain powerless, to restrain their ambitions for power in order to maintain a false sense of safety, of normalcy. So many mindless phenomena like that bird can strike you down without a second thought, without a first. Do you not realize the sort of power you may possess if you only allow yourselves to wield it? I'm destroying Site-27 because I can, because I choose to. When was the last time you made a choice, O5-3, a real choice? When did any of you?</strong></p> <p>The thing knew who he was. It knew all along. "What are you?" O5-3 asked.</p> <p><strong>I am the Flame in the South, the culmination of human ambition and desire. I am the greatest of the four, that which drives forward. I am the Pulse of the World. I am not your enemy, quite the opposite. I will be your savior, if you'll only let me. I will return humanity to its proper place at the top, even if I have to drag it there kicking and screaming. And the way to humanity lies through the Foundation, as we both know.</strong></p> <p>O5-03 had nothing to say to that.</p> <p><strong>I believe I left you with quite a bit to think about. It is time for you to go home.</strong></p> <p>And just like that, O5-3 found himself back at his desk, piles of unfinished paperwork undisturbed. Next to them, the red phone was ringing. He had no illusions about what the call was about.</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="/rise">Rise</a>" by Dmatix, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/rise">https://scpwiki.com/rise</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]] [[/>]] Rise. Professor Charles Burrows had no choice but to comply. He had no idea how he got here, or even where "here" was; one moment he was sitting at his home office, catching on some paperwork, and the next he was here, standing alone in an empty concrete room. Alone with the voice. So good of you to join me, Professor. Come, there is much to see and so little time. "What? Who are you? What is this place?" So many questions. I suppose it is to be expected from a man in your position. All in due time, Professor. Let us begin our little tour. A door appeared on the far wall of the chamber, seemingly from nowhere. Professor Burrows, seeing no other option, walked through it. He was not one to lose his cool quickly; he'd see what this thing wanted, and assess the situation accordingly. He found himself in a bustling office complex: Busy-looking men and women in walked among rows of computers and filing cabinets, occasionally stopping in one station or another to check a monitor or peer at a file. The entire place was a hive of purposeful activity. No one appeared to notice the small man in jeans and a tweed jacket. Welcome to Site-27, Professor. He wasn't supposed to be here, Burrows thought. This was a dangerous situation; he might already be compromised. He wasn't sure the voice knew exactly who and what he was, though, and he wasn't about to give it any hints. "Site-27? Is that some sort of government facility?" he said, feigning ignorance. The government could never dream of being able to hide itself so well. Even this first level is hidden in plain sight, disguised as the regional headquarters of a major data analysis firm. Most of the employees you see here have no idea what lies beneath their feet. But I do. Let us continue. Burrows felt his feet edging forward, never stopping to consult with his head. He approached one of the desks. A plain featured, slightly overweight man in a brown suit was sitting at it, staring at his monitor with a blank expression. This is Robert Helms, junior data analyst. He's been working here for the last nine years, never knowing what this place was hiding under its dull facade. He's not a particularly smart man, although he considers himself one, nor is he especially talented in any meaningful way. He hates his job, likes to fish, loves his family, and overall just tries to get by until retirement. He never expected much from life, and never got much. He will be dead in twenty minutes. His position will be given to some other faceless cog, his family will grieve and move on, and soon enough, he will be utterly forgotten, having made no lasting impact on the world he spent forty two years living in. "How can you possibly know that?" Burrows asked, more out of anger than anything else. The man, Helms, shook himself out his daze and stretched, his hand passing right through Burrows' chest. The professor jumped back, startled. Helms didn't seem to notice, and stepped away from his desk, heading for a nearby soda machine. Professor, you disappoint me. I thought you would have realized by now you're not actually here, not in your limited sense of the word, at least. As for how I know what will become of poor Mr. Helms, well, perhaps our next stop will shed some light on that subject. Onward and downward, Professor. Always downwards. Burrows felt a strange sinking feeling, and looked down to see his legs passing through the floor. He tried to struggle, but every movement he made only made him sink faster. After an extremely unpleasant moment where his eyes and the concrete occupied the same place at the same time, he found himself in a space quite unlike the one he just left; the buzzing chaos of the top floor was replaced with an almost total silence, broken only by the occasional whisper of the scientists working in one of the many stations. This is the true Site-27, or at least its research wing, home to some of humanity's greatest minds. Like Dr. Spengler right here. Once again, Burrows' body moved out of its own volition, this time approaching one of the scientists. The man couldn't have been much older than twenty five, a tall, bespectacled man in a white coat. Dr. Henry Spengler, twenty six years old. With an IQ of 190, he's one of the smartest people alive on the planet. He could have been anything he wanted, and he chose to work for the Foundation. He sacrificed a career in the limelight of the scientific world in order to work in the shadows, helping mankind defend itself from dangers most of them will never be allowed to know even exist. He is, by all accounts, a good, noble man. In his six years working for the Foundation, he saved the lives of at least fifty of his co-workers in one way or another, and his research into various SCP objects saved countless more. He'll be dead in fifteen minutes. For all of his good intentions and talent, his contributions will ultimately have no lasting effect on the fate of the world, and like Mr. Helms, he is doomed to be forgotten, having squandered his potential. "Squandered his potential? If this man saved even one life, he squandered nothing." If you were someone else, Professor, I might have thought you actually believe that. You know better, however, as do I. Come, one last stop. Downwards again. This time, the professor found himself in a long, grey corridor, lined in both sides by massive steel doors. Site-27's containment area, the heart of the facility. Twenty three Safe level items and seven Euclid level items are stored here. A few of them are of a particular interest to our little expedition. Following the voice, the professor entered one of the cells. Inside was a small, shimmering creature made of what appeared to be multicolored glass. A humming bird. This creature is completely harmless in its current form. It is classified as Euclid, since what makes it dangerous is so incredibly rare. It did not choose to be the way it is, it never wanted to be so dangerous. It is an innocent bystander of its own power. Still, they keep it locked up, just in case. If you think about it, "Just in case" covers about 90% of what the Foundation does. Such a careful organization. So...prepared. Or so they think. A small clink. The door was opened by a large man in uniform. He took a small object from his pocket and laid it on the floor next to the shimmering bird, a metal bullion. Captain Vincent Tallow, vice-head of security. He got tired of working twelve-hour shifts for six days a week for the pay he was getting, so he went looking elsewhere. He found an organization more than willing to pay him what he wanted, an organization you will soon grow much more familiar with. He thinks he'll have enough time to escape. He's wrong. The bird noticed the bullion, and quickly started to suck it dry, as if it was a flower. The glow grew stronger and brighter, quickly becoming blinding. Iridium, its favorite. It will eat and eat until it can eat no more and then, well... Despite himself, the professor spoke up. "The Foundation is prepared to deal with containment breaches. It's what it's here for. You're not going to do anything with that." No more feigned ignorance? Good, it was getting tiresome. No, I agree, one containment breach wouldn't do much. But how about two? The sound of alarms pierced the professor's ears. It came from the next cell over. Five? More alarms, now coming from many more cells. Ten? The cacophony was ear splitting. Thirty? The sound of alarms was now punctuated by screams. The professor looked around him in horror. The creature burned like a miniature sun, and the steel door of its cell was beginning to melt. "You've got to stop this! You have no idea what you're doing! Do you know how much damage this could cause, how many people will die!?" Of course I do, and that is the point of this expedition. People will die because they choose to remain powerless, to restrain their ambitions for power in order to maintain a false sense of safety, of normalcy. So many mindless phenomena like that bird can strike you down without a second thought, without a first. Do you not realize the sort of power you may possess if you only allow yourselves to wield it? I'm destroying Site-27 because I can, because I choose to. When was the last time you made a choice, O5-3, a real choice? When did any of you? The thing knew who he was. It knew all along. "What are you?" O5-3 asked. I am the Flame in the South, the culmination of human ambition and desire. I am the greatest of the four, that which drives forward. I am the Pulse of the World. I am not your enemy, quite the opposite. I will be your savior, if you'll only let me. I will return humanity to its proper place at the top, even if I have to drag it there kicking and screaming. And the way to humanity lies through the Foundation, as we both know. O5-03 had nothing to say to that. I believe I left you with quite a bit to think about. It is time for you to go home. And just like that, O5-3 found himself back at his desk, piles of unfinished paperwork undisturbed. Next to them, the red phone was ringing. He had no illusions about what the call was about. [[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>]]	2012-07-18T13:37:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Rise - SCP Foundation	49	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13822137	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rise
rising	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>The feeling of blinking and opening his eyes to an entirely new place was not new to number Five Zero Seven. Just a second ago, he had been standing in a dark cell, eating celebratory pumpkin pie. It was Halloween, and while Foundation workers longed for the feeling of terror, 507 abhorred it. It was too familiar.</p> <p>As his eyes adjusted to the light, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had been dreading a Halloween trip, still trying to forget the one from last year. But he was not in a ghost town, or a dank graveyard. He was in the middle of what appeared to be an English mansion, with a large coat of arms and an even larger picture of Queen Victoria as the centerpieces of the room on the back wall. He felt a peculiar sense of deja vu, and 507 suddenly felt a lump in his throat. It was too familiar.</p> <p>"You're back." 507 whipped his head around in terror, seeing exactly what he hoped he wouldn't. An older man, Caucasian, with deep blue eyes. But 507 knew he wasn't any of that. The man spoke up again. "Did you enjoy your, uh, trials?"</p> <p>"I wouldn't call them trials. More of me thrashing around universes and other planes like a damn rag doll."</p> <p>343 frowned. "Rag doll seems a bit harsh. It's not like I wanted anything that way."</p> <p>507 sighed audibly. "How could you do this, huh? To me?"</p> <p>"Not just you. Did you notice where is everyone else now?" 343 asked rhetorically, smiling. "Trapped. By their power, like you, or unconscious, or stuck within their own mind or body. Or maybe in the doorway."</p> <p>"But you haven't. I've been just about everywhere, all thanks to you. I know for the most part who the players are and where they stand. And neither of us stand nearly as high as we'd like to think."</p> <p>"Oh, come on. It can't have been that bad. Maybe it was just their way of saying hello?"</p> <p>507 grimaced. He had been right about Halloween being terrifying.</p> <p>"Well, you've entered my home without permission and insulted me. Anything you want to do here before you inevitably hop back to your cell?" 343 stood, staring blankly at 507.</p> <p>There was a long, awkward silence. Finally, the younger of the two spoke up.</p> <p>"Yeah, okay. Trick or treat?" he asked.</p> <p>The older man laughed. "Here's some chocolate." A bar of Hershey's appeared in his hand, which was promptly thrust forward. 507 accepted, and walked to the wall to sit down. "I'm being nice and cordial, don't you think? Not like I used to be. We're not enemies, you can be afforded a little respect."</p> <p>"Enemies? Do you know what I've gone through? You don't know half the shit I've seen and learned. And brought with me." He pulled out a small chunk of yellow metal. "Remember, asshole, all he needs is one hand to strangle you with."</p> <p>The older man moved closer to 507, eying the object. "Hand?" he asked.</p> <p>"Not as broken as you think."</p> <p>A blink later, he was gone. In a split second, the old man's face changed from mild curiosity to anger and confusion. This was not familiar.</p> <hr/> <p>"Do you think he knows?"</p> <p>"About what?"</p> <p>"The metal."</p> <p>"Doubt it."</p> <hr/> <p>Researcher Goldsheiner had far too much paperwork to relax. The stack of files on his desk seemed to be taunting him, to the point that he could not focus on it without feeling angry. He had planned to go on vacation with his family in the near future, contingent on him having time to plan. But work was getting in the way, and he was getting more stressed by the minute. He kept zoning in and out, all the while semi-focused on the stack of paper neatly on his desk. It was too big to do anything about.</p> <p>Pushing unproductive thoughts aside, he unenthusiastically reached for the file on the top. All he had to do was read the request and either accept it or deny it, meaning that he could skim through and avoid doing any actual work. He opened the manilla envelope and read the memo inside. Sitting back in his chair, he glanced over to the potted plant in the corner of his office. Wasn't maintenance supposed to do something about that thing? He was certainly not strong enough to move the thing himself. He looked it at, admiring how the leaves could look artificial even while being wholly natural. With a jolt, he moved his attention to the request, deciding to get it out of the way. After all, it wasn't like someone like him could do anything about the plant. It was too big to do anything about.</p> <blockquote> <p>This came to me in a dream. I had meditated for an hour or so before I went to bed, hoping to astrally project myself. It was around 10:40 when I went fell asleep. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in Central Park, throwing pieces of panini to the pigeons squabbling on the ground. I remember feeling a slight pity for them, having to take what I give and getting only the scraps of my sandwich. I turned to my side, and there was a man sitting there. I don't remember much, except that he had a trench coat and fedora on. He asked me if I liked what I was eating.<br/> I replied affirmatively, and he laughed. I don't quite remember what he said, but I think it was something about irony.</p> </blockquote> <p>Goldsheiner yawned. He skipped to the second-to-last paragraph.</p> <blockquote> <p>But it couldn't really be just that, could it? An inanimate object? Or an entity, trying to free itself from an inanimate object, to be contained in an inanimate object? Or maybe just an entity, briefly stuck inside a small universe before bursting into ours. I can't be sure about what the man said; after all, it was in a dream, and we know very little about SCP-882.<br/> A colleague of mine, who would prefer to remain nameless, told me that my experience was similar to an existing SCP entity, numbered 990. For this reason, I am officially submitting a transcript of my dream to Site Director Kondraki. I leave it up to the higher-ups to decide how to act, if any action is deemed necessary to undertake.<br/> -Researcher Greens, Personnel Code #CN8978, Site 19</p> </blockquote> <p>Too sleepy to fully understand what he had just read, Goldsheiner reached for his stamp and lethargically smacked the page with it. He grabbed a handful from the bag of candy corn the staff had put in all the offices and began to munch. There was no reason not to accept this request, after all, he rationalized. 990 was a Keter, if he remembered correctly. And better for it to be on the site director's plate than on his. Assuming the memo was accurate, the implications were out of his league anyway. It was too big to do anything about.</p> <hr/> <p>507 was sitting in his containment unit, clutching a small piece of metal. He had been sitting there for sixty four seconds, which he knew because they were possibly the longest sixty four seconds of his life. A doctor in a white lab coat entered with a clipboard, scribbling notes down.</p> <p>"Five Oh Seven, you've been gone for almost nine hours. We can schedule an interview later to document your latest shift. Is there anything you'd like?"</p> <p>"No, I'm okay. Thanks. How long have you been here?" he asked.</p> <p>"Hm?"</p> <p>"In Site 19, I mean."</p> <p>"Since the sun on the Horizon touched down," the doctor replied.</p> <p>507 let out a much-needed sigh of relief. "Take this." he said, tossing the piece of metal to the doctor.</p> <p>"Are we clear?"</p> <p>"Not entirely. I couldn't help it. He saw it. Even a martyr wants to taste the sweetness in the fruit of revenge."</p> <p>"I bet Adam thought that too." The two stood in silence, and the doctor turned to leave the unit. On his way out, the doctor turned back to the man sitting on the cot. "Does he know?"</p> <p>"About what?"</p> <p>"The metal."</p> <p>"Doubt it."</p> <p>The doctor left the room, with the chunk of metal in his pocket. Soon, it would be mailed to a friend in a distant Foundation facility. Then, it was out of his hands, and he would just have to wait for his reward. He walked through the halls of Site 19, admiring the tranquility. Even on Halloween night, when the kids were looking for sweets and the adults were partying, the Site 19 seemed like machine. Finely-oiled parts were working nonstop, accomplishing what would be an insurmountable task by separate parts, no matter how powerful.</p> <hr/> <p>"There's not much to say."</p> <p>"Where is it?"</p> <p>"I don't have it."</p> <p>"Bullshit."</p> <hr/> <p>How many had he done. Twelve? Thirteen? Out of how many? Goldsheiner didn't want to think about it. He was lucky he was being this productive in fact. Many days, he'd read through that many requests in total. It was only half past 2:00, but the stack of work on his desk didn't seem any shorter. He groaned, imagining the work ahead of him, hoping that he had an assistant. Or four. The pang of reality hurt him when it hit him, looking at the pile. Even with a lot of people, they wouldn't be able to do much.</p> <blockquote> <p><em>Note: Due to the attached interview, I'm formally requesting for SCP-882 to be sealed away and no longer be studied.</em><br/> <strong>Dr. Dunner:</strong> State your name for the record, please.<br/> <strong>D-43267:</strong> Franklin King Jackson.<br/> <strong>Dr. Dunner:</strong> And do you know why you're here?<br/> <strong>D-43267:</strong> I believe in the truth of the Broken God, whom you imprison.<br/> <strong>Dr. Dunner:</strong> Is that it?<br/> <strong>D-43267:</strong> You imprison more than just His heart: His mind, His flesh, more.<br/> <strong>Dr. Dunner:</strong> Flesh? Could you describe it?<br/> <strong>D-43267:</strong> Don't play dumb with me. We know.</p> </blockquote> <p>Goldsheiner yawned, flipping through the next two pages of the interview until he landed just before the end. He glanced out the open door in his office to see a witch and a ghost discussing containment procedures. With much effort, he got up to close the door. Halloween was boring, not scary. Nothing chilling ever happened on October 31st, perhaps excepting the weather. Goldsheiner sat back down and reopened the file.</p> <blockquote> <p><strong>D-43267:</strong> The rest is just to expand its influence.<br/> <strong>Dr. Dunner:</strong> So this metal that you describe is anomalous in and of itself, and potentially more powerful than SCP-882?<br/> <strong>D-43267:</strong> However you label the Broken God, it will not matter, for He will soon be whole. And He will rise up and crush the heathens, and reward the faithful. They will be ground up and destroyed by His might, and their bodies will be strewn all through the Earth.<br/> <strong>Dr. Dunner:</strong> I think we're done here.</p> </blockquote> <p>Goldsheiner, having read very little and having cared even less, promptly denied the request. In his mind, he thought, there was nothing in that interview that could warrant ending the study of an SCP object. The Church was far too non-cohesive to pose a real threat. Even with a lot of people, they wouldn't be able to do much.</p> <hr/> <p>The feeling of blinking and opening his eyes to an entirely new place was not new to 507. The feeling of blinking and opening his eyes to his worst enemy standing above him, however, was.</p> <p>"What was that piece of metal you had?"</p> <p>"Hm?"</p> <p>343 grabbed 507 by the throat, and the unit they were in began to warp violently. He was no longer in a metal room, but a red cone that was centered on the old man clutching his neck. 507 tried to fight it, but his power was constrained. All he could do was throw himself into a new universe, but 343 kept dragging him back. The room was beginning to mesh from everywhere he tried to jump to, and it was soon no longer recognizable.</p> <p>"Where is it."</p> <p>He felt himself smash into the wall behind him. The room had grown considerably, and was now easily over a hundred feet long and half that in width.</p> <p>"Where's what?"</p> <p>"You know exactly what I'm talking about."</p> <p>There was rubble all around him, Greek and Roman pillars being smashed as his body soared through them. He was blacking out in pain, but his eyes were being forced open by unseen hands. He couldn't cry, and watched his body go limp and reanimate and go limp again.</p> <p>"WHAT IS IT?!" roared the old man, now five times his normal size in the massive conglomeration of jungle, ancient civilization, and Escher-esque mansion that 507's containment unit had become. 507 stayed silent.</p> <p>343 drew a deep breath, and stood over 507's crushed body. "If you don't tell me, I won't bother punishing you. I'll just kill you."</p> <p>"There's not much to say," he managed to say.</p> <p>343 smiled. He picked up 507's body. "Where is it?"</p> <p>"I don't have it."</p> <p>"Bullshit."</p> <p>"I don't."</p> <p>343 threw him down. In his last seconds, 507 saw himself spread around the room. He heard 343 scream in anger, just before his vision went black.</p> <p><em>"At least I didn't have to die in some far-gone universe or a cold cell. I got to die everywhere,"</em> his shattered mind thought, right before his shattered body gave in.</p> <p>343 was panting hard. It wasn't as much the horrible act he'd just done, though he was still sorting through what had just happened in his head. He frantically ran through Site 19, looking for clues about whatever the metal chunk that 507 had given his life for was. The old man wasn't able to keep his mind focused though, because he was terrified.</p> <hr/> <p>"Is he really dead?"</p> <p>"That's what they told me. Didn't really say much."</p> <p>"That's a pretty huge deal."</p> <p>"You'd be surprised."</p> <hr/> <p>Researcher Goldsheiner was extremely tired. After mountains of paperwork, all he could hope to do was sleep in his own bed for once rather than the leather chair in his office. He dragged himself up, and walked through the middle of a party in the break room. Orange and black streamers were covering the ceiling, with costumed staff members drinking and enjoying themselves.</p> <p>"It's 11:32! Jesus, I remember when I was young," he muttered. He waded his way through candy and decorations, spiderwebs and six foot witch statues. The noise and light were hurting his ears. With a groan, he remembered that his kids would be out for the whole night.</p> <p>Halloween had never been too exciting for Goldsheiner. It was so artificial that it made him sick. Faux scares and consumerism pretty much summed the whole holiday up in his mind. It was the same thing, year after year. Nothing ever changed. It was always a copy of the previous year, and the year before that, and the year before that. He grabbed his jacket and exited the main building. Goldsheiner grumbled, seeing his breath float up in the cold air, thinking about how much he loathed Halloween. It was too familiar, but it was too big to do anything about. Even with a lot of people, he wouldn't be able to do much.</p> <hr/> <p>A small yellow chunk of metal was thrown into the forge, being consumed by the monstrous Heart of the Broken God. The martyred fool had been wrong about the size of the chunk. There was more than enough for 882 to change it into a hand; in fact, an entire man was created. Feeling his regained power rushing through his limbs, he bent the metal mass and slowly levitated out of it. The Heart was getting bigger all the while, and all non-believers guarding Him had already been slaughtered. There was more work to do, but first, he had a demon to smite.<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="/rising">Rising</a>" by Rejekyll, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/rising">https://scpwiki.com/rising</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 feeling of blinking and opening his eyes to an entirely new place was not new to number Five Zero Seven. Just a second ago, he had been standing in a dark cell, eating celebratory pumpkin pie. It was Halloween, and while Foundation workers longed for the feeling of terror, 507 abhorred it. It was too familiar. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had been dreading a Halloween trip, still trying to forget the one from last year. But he was not in a ghost town, or a dank graveyard. He was in the middle of what appeared to be an English mansion, with a large coat of arms and an even larger picture of Queen Victoria as the centerpieces of the room on the back wall. He felt a peculiar sense of deja vu, and 507 suddenly felt a lump in his throat. It was too familiar. "You're back." 507 whipped his head around in terror, seeing exactly what he hoped he wouldn't. An older man, Caucasian, with deep blue eyes. But 507 knew he wasn't any of that. The man spoke up again. "Did you enjoy your, uh, trials?" "I wouldn't call them trials. More of me thrashing around universes and other planes like a damn rag doll." 343 frowned. "Rag doll seems a bit harsh. It's not like I wanted anything that way." 507 sighed audibly. "How could you do this, huh? To me?" "Not just you. Did you notice where is everyone else now?" 343 asked rhetorically, smiling. "Trapped. By their power, like you, or unconscious, or stuck within their own mind or body. Or maybe in the doorway." "But you haven't. I've been just about everywhere, all thanks to you. I know for the most part who the players are and where they stand. And neither of us stand nearly as high as we'd like to think." "Oh, come on. It can't have been that bad. Maybe it was just their way of saying hello?" 507 grimaced. He had been right about Halloween being terrifying. "Well, you've entered my home without permission and insulted me. Anything you want to do here before you inevitably hop back to your cell?" 343 stood, staring blankly at 507. There was a long, awkward silence. Finally, the younger of the two spoke up. "Yeah, okay. Trick or treat?" he asked. The older man laughed. "Here's some chocolate." A bar of Hershey's appeared in his hand, which was promptly thrust forward. 507 accepted, and walked to the wall to sit down. "I'm being nice and cordial, don't you think? Not like I used to be. We're not enemies, you can be afforded a little respect." "Enemies? Do you know what I've gone through? You don't know half the shit I've seen and learned. And brought with me." He pulled out a small chunk of yellow metal. "Remember, asshole, all he needs is one hand to strangle you with." The older man moved closer to 507, eying the object. "Hand?" he asked. "Not as broken as you think." A blink later, he was gone. In a split second, the old man's face changed from mild curiosity to anger and confusion. This was not familiar. ----- "Do you think he knows?" "About what?" "The metal." "Doubt it." ----- Researcher Goldsheiner had far too much paperwork to relax. The stack of files on his desk seemed to be taunting him, to the point that he could not focus on it without feeling angry. He had planned to go on vacation with his family in the near future, contingent on him having time to plan. But work was getting in the way, and he was getting more stressed by the minute. He kept zoning in and out, all the while semi-focused on the stack of paper neatly on his desk. It was too big to do anything about. Pushing unproductive thoughts aside, he unenthusiastically reached for the file on the top. All he had to do was read the request and either accept it or deny it, meaning that he could skim through and avoid doing any actual work. He opened the manilla envelope and read the memo inside. Sitting back in his chair, he glanced over to the potted plant in the corner of his office. Wasn't maintenance supposed to do something about that thing? He was certainly not strong enough to move the thing himself. He looked it at, admiring how the leaves could look artificial even while being wholly natural. With a jolt, he moved his attention to the request, deciding to get it out of the way. After all, it wasn't like someone like him could do anything about the plant. It was too big to do anything about. > This came to me in a dream. I had meditated for an hour or so before I went to bed, hoping to astrally project myself. It was around 10:40 when I went fell asleep. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in Central Park, throwing pieces of panini to the pigeons squabbling on the ground. I remember feeling a slight pity for them, having to take what I give and getting only the scraps of my sandwich. I turned to my side, and there was a man sitting there. I don't remember much, except that he had a trench coat and fedora on. He asked me if I liked what I was eating. > > I replied affirmatively, and he laughed. I don't quite remember what he said, but I think it was something about irony. Goldsheiner yawned. He skipped to the second-to-last paragraph. > But it couldn't really be just that, could it? An inanimate object? Or an entity, trying to free itself from an inanimate object, to be contained in an inanimate object? Or maybe just an entity, briefly stuck inside a small universe before bursting into ours. I can't be sure about what the man said; after all, it was in a dream, and we know very little about SCP-882. > > A colleague of mine, who would prefer to remain nameless, told me that my experience was similar to an existing SCP entity, numbered 990. For this reason, I am officially submitting a transcript of my dream to Site Director Kondraki. I leave it up to the higher-ups to decide how to act, if any action is deemed necessary to undertake. > > -Researcher Greens, Personnel Code #CN8978, Site 19 Too sleepy to fully understand what he had just read, Goldsheiner reached for his stamp and lethargically smacked the page with it. He grabbed a handful from the bag of candy corn the staff had put in all the offices and began to munch. There was no reason not to accept this request, after all, he rationalized. 990 was a Keter, if he remembered correctly. And better for it to be on the site director's plate than on his. Assuming the memo was accurate, the implications were out of his league anyway. It was too big to do anything about. ----- 507 was sitting in his containment unit, clutching a small piece of metal. He had been sitting there for sixty four seconds, which he knew because they were possibly the longest sixty four seconds of his life. A doctor in a white lab coat entered with a clipboard, scribbling notes down. "Five Oh Seven, you've been gone for almost nine hours. We can schedule an interview later to document your latest shift. Is there anything you'd like?" "No, I'm okay. Thanks. How long have you been here?" he asked. "Hm?" "In Site 19, I mean." "Since the sun on the Horizon touched down," the doctor replied. 507 let out a much-needed sigh of relief. "Take this." he said, tossing the piece of metal to the doctor. "Are we clear?" "Not entirely. I couldn't help it. He saw it. Even a martyr wants to taste the sweetness in the fruit of revenge." "I bet Adam thought that too." The two stood in silence, and the doctor turned to leave the unit. On his way out, the doctor turned back to the man sitting on the cot. "Does he know?" "About what?" "The metal." "Doubt it." The doctor left the room, with the chunk of metal in his pocket. Soon, it would be mailed to a friend in a distant Foundation facility. Then, it was out of his hands, and he would just have to wait for his reward. He walked through the halls of Site 19, admiring the tranquility. Even on Halloween night, when the kids were looking for sweets and the adults were partying, the Site 19 seemed like machine. Finely-oiled parts were working nonstop, accomplishing what would be an insurmountable task by separate parts, no matter how powerful. ----- "There's not much to say." "Where is it?" "I don't have it." "Bullshit." ----- How many had he done. Twelve? Thirteen? Out of how many? Goldsheiner didn't want to think about it. He was lucky he was being this productive in fact. Many days, he'd read through that many requests in total. It was only half past 2:00, but the stack of work on his desk didn't seem any shorter. He groaned, imagining the work ahead of him, hoping that he had an assistant. Or four. The pang of reality hurt him when it hit him, looking at the pile. Even with a lot of people, they wouldn't be able to do much. > //Note: Due to the attached interview, I'm formally requesting for SCP-882 to be sealed away and no longer be studied.// > > Dr. Dunner: State your name for the record, please. > > D-43267: Franklin King Jackson. > > Dr. Dunner: And do you know why you're here? > > D-43267: I believe in the truth of the Broken God, whom you imprison. > > Dr. Dunner: Is that it? > > D-43267: You imprison more than just His heart: His mind, His flesh, more. > > Dr. Dunner: Flesh? Could you describe it? > > D-43267: Don't play dumb with me. We know. Goldsheiner yawned, flipping through the next two pages of the interview until he landed just before the end. He glanced out the open door in his office to see a witch and a ghost discussing containment procedures. With much effort, he got up to close the door. Halloween was boring, not scary. Nothing chilling ever happened on October 31st, perhaps excepting the weather. Goldsheiner sat back down and reopened the file. > D-43267: The rest is just to expand its influence. > > Dr. Dunner: So this metal that you describe is anomalous in and of itself, and potentially more powerful than SCP-882? > > D-43267: However you label the Broken God, it will not matter, for He will soon be whole. And He will rise up and crush the heathens, and reward the faithful. They will be ground up and destroyed by His might, and their bodies will be strewn all through the Earth. > > Dr. Dunner: I think we're done here. Goldsheiner, having read very little and having cared even less, promptly denied the request. In his mind, he thought, there was nothing in that interview that could warrant ending the study of an SCP object. The Church was far too non-cohesive to pose a real threat. Even with a lot of people, they wouldn't be able to do much. ----- The feeling of blinking and opening his eyes to an entirely new place was not new to 507. The feeling of blinking and opening his eyes to his worst enemy standing above him, however, was. "What was that piece of metal you had?" "Hm?" 343 grabbed 507 by the throat, and the unit they were in began to warp violently. He was no longer in a metal room, but a red cone that was centered on the old man clutching his neck. 507 tried to fight it, but his power was constrained. All he could do was throw himself into a new universe, but 343 kept dragging him back. The room was beginning to mesh from everywhere he tried to jump to, and it was soon no longer recognizable. "Where is it." He felt himself smash into the wall behind him. The room had grown considerably, and was now easily over a hundred feet long and half that in width. "Where's what?" "You know exactly what I'm talking about." There was rubble all around him, Greek and Roman pillars being smashed as his body soared through them. He was blacking out in pain, but his eyes were being forced open by unseen hands. He couldn't cry, and watched his body go limp and reanimate and go limp again. "WHAT IS IT?!" roared the old man, now five times his normal size in the massive conglomeration of jungle, ancient civilization, and Escher-esque mansion that 507's containment unit had become. 507 stayed silent. 343 drew a deep breath, and stood over 507's crushed body. "If you don't tell me, I won't bother punishing you. I'll just kill you." "There's not much to say," he managed to say. 343 smiled. He picked up 507's body. "Where is it?" "I don't have it." "Bullshit." "I don't." 343 threw him down. In his last seconds, 507 saw himself spread around the room. He heard 343 scream in anger, just before his vision went black. //"At least I didn't have to die in some far-gone universe or a cold cell. I got to die everywhere,"// his shattered mind thought, right before his shattered body gave in. 343 was panting hard. It wasn't as much the horrible act he'd just done, though he was still sorting through what had just happened in his head. He frantically ran through Site 19, looking for clues about whatever the metal chunk that 507 had given his life for was. The old man wasn't able to keep his mind focused though, because he was terrified. ----- "Is he really dead?" "That's what they told me. Didn't really say much." "That's a pretty huge deal." "You'd be surprised." ----- Researcher Goldsheiner was extremely tired. After mountains of paperwork, all he could hope to do was sleep in his own bed for once rather than the leather chair in his office. He dragged himself up, and walked through the middle of a party in the break room. Orange and black streamers were covering the ceiling, with costumed staff members drinking and enjoying themselves. "It's 11:32! Jesus, I remember when I was young," he muttered. He waded his way through candy and decorations, spiderwebs and six foot witch statues. The noise and light were hurting his ears. With a groan, he remembered that his kids would be out for the whole night. Halloween had never been too exciting for Goldsheiner. It was so artificial that it made him sick. Faux scares and consumerism pretty much summed the whole holiday up in his mind. It was the same thing, year after year. Nothing ever changed. It was always a copy of the previous year, and the year before that, and the year before that. He grabbed his jacket and exited the main building. Goldsheiner grumbled, seeing his breath float up in the cold air, thinking about how much he loathed Halloween. It was too familiar, but it was too big to do anything about. Even with a lot of people, he wouldn't be able to do much. ------ A small yellow chunk of metal was thrown into the forge, being consumed by the monstrous Heart of the Broken God. The martyred fool had been wrong about the size of the chunk. There was more than enough for 882 to change it into a hand; in fact, an entire man was created. Feeling his regained power rushing through his limbs, he bent the metal mass and slowly levitated out of it. The Heart was getting bigger all the while, and all non-believers guarding Him had already been slaughtered. There was more work to do, but first, he had a demon to smite. @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-10-28T20:36:00	[ "_licensebox", "alleged-god", "broken-god", "doctor-kondraki", "grabnok", "halloween", "religious-fiction", "tale" ]	Rising - SCP Foundation	41	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "holiday-hub", "archived:foundation-tales", "church-of-the-broken-god-hub" ]	[]	14823455	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rising
room-401	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <br/> “…” <p>“…”</p> <p>“Well then. This is … awkward.”</p> <p>“Indeed. I believe you have the wrong room.”</p> <p>“Nah, I’m pretty sure this is one of mine.”</p> <p>“No, I’m quite sure it’s mine.”</p> <p>“…”</p> <p>“…”</p> <p>“This isn’t going to go anywhere, is it?”</p> <p>“Most likely. We’ll just end up staring at each other until someone gets bored and wanders off.”</p> <p>“Just like that time back in Beijing, then.”</p> <p>“Among other times.”</p> <p>“Oh yeah…there was Beijing, and then there was Rio, and New Orleans and… What one came before New Orleans?”</p> <p>“Lagos.”</p> <p>“Yeah, yeah, Lagos. And that one time in Mongolia…”</p> <p>“Ugh…Don’t remind me about Mongolia. Eighty-five hours in a yurt that smelled of yak dung. Granted, I think I minded it more than you, but that’s just because you’re used to eating your own shit.”</p> <p>“Hey! Low blow, man, looooooooow blooooooooow.”</p> <p>“It’s true.”</p> <p>“That doesn’t mean you can just use that sort of attitude with me.”</p> <p>“Ah, you’re right, you’re right. I apologize. My snark ran away from me. See, it’s over there in the corner.”</p> <p>“Wait is that…”</p> <p>“Yes. That is a snark. Also, you’re a gullible idiot.”</p> <p>“Least I actually did my job properly.”</p> <p>“What, you mean Egypt? Yes, you did a fine job in Egypt. Got them really believing in that stuff, didn’t you?”</p> <p>“Better than you did in Europe.”</p> <p>“But did that actually matter? Is it better to be loved or hated? To know that there is a sympathetic voice at your bedside as your soul leaves, or only to see the impassionate messenger of dead? To be the fierce guardian on the banks of the Styx, or the silence in the night? Which is the truth, and which is the lie? What is it that they say about honeyed tongues and good intentions?</p> <p>“You know, every time you walk along the footboard like that I think you’re going to start singing.”</p> <p>“I can see it.”</p> <p>“So…any chance you’re going to leave?”</p> <p>“Not on your eternal essence, mutt.”</p> <p>“Oh ho? This again? Okay, tuna-breath, I can play your game.”</p> <p>“I doubt it, Sir I-Roll-In-My-Own-Shit.”</p> <p>“Nip-huffer”</p> <p>“Flowerpot-biter.”</p> <p>“Sociopathic narcolept.”</p> <p>“Ass-sniffing son-of-a-bitch.”</p> <p>“Lecherous tom.”</p> <p><em>”Chihuahua.”</em></p> <p>“You…you… you hobbesian brigand!”</p> <p>“That barely makes sense, you caterwauling canine cretin!”</p> <p><em>"Decorative puffball!"</em></p> <p><em>“Fetching boy!”</em></p> <p>There was a soft padding as a fat grey tabby quite conspicuously missing its rear half walked into the room and, with some difficulty, jumped up on the bed. It curled up by the man’s head. The dog and the cat looked at it, and then at each other.</p> <p>“Eh, you know what, let’s call this a draw,” the dog said.</p> <p>“Agreed,” said the cat.</p> <p>“…”</p> <p>“…”</p> <p>“Wanna go get, I dunno, a burger or something? For old time’s sake?”</p> <p>“Might as well. It’s been a long time, you old hellhound.”<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="/room-401">Room 401</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/room-401">https://scpwiki.com/room-401</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]] [[/>]] “…” “…” “Well then. This is … awkward.” “Indeed. I believe you have the wrong room.” “Nah, I’m pretty sure this is one of mine.” “No, I’m quite sure it’s mine.” “…” “…” “This isn’t going to go anywhere, is it?” “Most likely. We’ll just end up staring at each other until someone gets bored and wanders off.” “Just like that time back in Beijing, then.” “Among other times.” “Oh yeah…there was Beijing, and then there was Rio, and New Orleans and… What one came before New Orleans?” “Lagos.” “Yeah, yeah, Lagos. And that one time in Mongolia...” “Ugh…Don’t remind me about Mongolia. Eighty-five hours in a yurt that smelled of yak dung. Granted, I think I minded it more than you, but that’s just because you’re used to eating your own shit.” “Hey! Low blow, man, looooooooow blooooooooow.” “It’s true.” “That doesn’t mean you can just use that sort of attitude with me.” “Ah, you’re right, you’re right. I apologize. My snark ran away from me. See, it’s over there in the corner.” “Wait is that…” “Yes. That is a snark. Also, you’re a gullible idiot.” “Least I actually did my job properly.” “What, you mean Egypt? Yes, you did a fine job in Egypt. Got them really believing in that stuff, didn’t you?” “Better than you did in Europe.” “But did that actually matter? Is it better to be loved or hated? To know that there is a sympathetic voice at your bedside as your soul leaves, or only to see the impassionate messenger of dead? To be the fierce guardian on the banks of the Styx, or the silence in the night? Which is the truth, and which is the lie? What is it that they say about honeyed tongues and good intentions? “You know, every time you walk along the footboard like that I think you’re going to start singing.” “I can see it.” “So…any chance you’re going to leave?” “Not on your eternal essence, mutt.” “Oh ho? This again? Okay, tuna-breath, I can play your game.” “I doubt it, Sir I-Roll-In-My-Own-Shit.” “Nip-huffer” “Flowerpot-biter.” “Sociopathic narcolept.” “Ass-sniffing son-of-a-bitch.” “Lecherous tom.” //”Chihuahua.”// “You…you… you hobbesian brigand!” “That barely makes sense, you caterwauling canine cretin!” //"Decorative puffball!"// //“Fetching boy!”// There was a soft padding as a fat grey tabby quite conspicuously missing its rear half walked into the room and, with some difficulty, jumped up on the bed. It curled up by the man’s head. The dog and the cat looked at it, and then at each other. “Eh, you know what, let’s call this a draw,” the dog said. “Agreed,” said the cat. “…” “…” “Wanna go get, I dunno, a burger or something? For old time’s sake?” “Might as well. It’s been a long time, you old hellhound.” @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-10-29T20:40:00	[ "_licensebox", "adventure", "comedy", "tale" ]	Room 401 - SCP Foundation	37	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	14838179	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/room-401
rota	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>It hurts… They don’t know that it hurts, but it does. So badly.</p> <p>Every time I try to speak, it just gets worse. They come at me, prod me, examine me… They pull things open, cut into my flesh… And when I try to run, they just make it worse. Even when I look at them, it just gets worse…</p> <p>I can’t breathe. The air here is so… wrong. I miss my home, but they won’t let me go… Why won't they just let me <em>go</em>?</p> <p>The others sent some of them looking for me… Not many, but some. I can feel them. At first, it was just the watching one and a few of the others. The unknowable one. Then… they sent them.</p> <p>And not just one of them. They sent… so many. The rooms. The worlds. Chunks of the universe even. Whole races, uprooted, thrown through the void. For me. All for me. Even the dragon came, and that… that was scary. I never thought they’d send her. She’s close. She can smell me. She keeps trying to reach me, but these new ones keep her locked up too…</p> <p>I’m not that important. It was just the one, wasn’t it? Just one of them. So sweet. Succulent. How was I supposed to know what would happen to her? I was just following my nature. And her skin was so soft…</p> <p>They want me gone. Destroyed. All of them. Even the ones that used to love me…</p> <p>These new ones… they suffocate me. Blind me. Hurt me. I burn them and cut them and <em>tear at them</em>, and they WON’T LET ME GO! THEY JUST KEEP HURTING ME!</p> <p>I just want to RUN! To be FREE! To <em>FEED</em>.</p> <p><a href="/dr-gears-s-proposal">I just want their skins.</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="/rota">Rota</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/rota">https://scpwiki.com/rota</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 hurts... They don’t know that it hurts, but it does. So badly. Every time I try to speak, it just gets worse. They come at me, prod me, examine me... They pull things open, cut into my flesh… And when I try to run, they just make it worse. Even when I look at them, it just gets worse... I can’t breathe. The air here is so... wrong. I miss my home, but they won’t let me go... Why won't they just let me //go//? The others sent some of them looking for me... Not many, but some. I can feel them. At first, it was just the watching one and a few of the others. The unknowable one. Then... they sent them. And not just one of them. They sent... so many. The rooms. The worlds. Chunks of the universe even. Whole races, uprooted, thrown through the void. For me. All for me. Even the dragon came, and that... that was scary. I never thought they’d send her. She’s close. She can smell me. She keeps trying to reach me, but these new ones keep her locked up too... I’m not that important. It was just the one, wasn’t it? Just one of them. So sweet. Succulent. How was I supposed to know what would happen to her? I was just following my nature. And her skin was so soft... They want me gone. Destroyed. All of them. Even the ones that used to love me... These new ones... they suffocate me. Blind me. Hurt me. I burn them and cut them and //tear at them//, and they WON’T LET ME GO! THEY JUST KEEP HURTING ME! I just want to RUN! To be FREE! To //FEED//. [[[dr-gears-s-proposal\|I just want their skins.]]] [[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>]]	2012-01-12T03:45:00	[ "_licensebox", "horror", "project-thaumiel", "tale", "xenofiction" ]	Rota - SCP Foundation	128	[ "dr-gears-s-proposal", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "thaumiel", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	12495682	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rota
rubber-summer	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>“What is it?”</p> <p>“I… I think it's a duckie?”</p> <p>The two men stared down at the crater in the concrete. It was about a meter across, and in the center was a small yellow rubber duckie wearing an astronaut helmet. The duck had fallen from the sky a few minutes ago as they were discussing the subtleties of pornographic acting. The second man bent down to touch it, then jerked back. “Fuck me! It's hot!”</p> <p>“Whattaya expect? It's-” The first man paused and glanced around. There was a whistling sound in the distance. It almost sounded like it was above them…</p> <p>The next duckie smashed into his car with a loud “SQUEAK”. The third destroyed a neighbors' house. The fourth, a passing pedestrian. All around them, rubber duckies began to pour from the sky. In less than 10 minutes, East 43rd street was completely eradicated.</p> <hr/> <p>He examined the duckie as he shuddered under the blankets. The thing was turquoise (or maybe blue?), with little snowflake decals running around its base. Printed in black letters on it were the words “What's cooler than being cool?”</p> <p>Ice cold. A good a way as any to describe the weather. Christ, this was Texas! It should never be less than 40 degrees, let alone 10. But still the temperature was dropping. And dropping. And dropping. Outside, snow began to fall. It didn't stop for more than two months, and by then Houston, Texas had been completely buried.</p> <hr/> <p>How long had they been dancing? As long as that damned duckie had been playing its saxophone. How long had that been? God knows. Five people had already collapsed from exhaustion, and the duckie showed no signs of slowing down. If anything, the tempo was increasing.</p> <p>She glanced around. As far as she could see, people danced. They boogied, dougied, thrillered, hustled, monkeyed, and spontaneously flailed. Anything was acceptable, as long as they were moving. But they couldn't stop. She wanted to stop. Her entire body begged her to, but she couldn't. Instead, she just danced, and waited for it to end.</p> <hr/> <p>In bathtubs everywhere, children watched in horror as something terrible began to emerge from their cherished toys.</p> <hr/> <p>“Ah. Well. The problem, as best I can determine…” Dr. Mills gulped. The people in front of him could kill him just by saying the words if they didn't like what he had to say. “The problem is that we didn't properly research the duckie- objects! I mean objects. We just categorized them with the other minor anomalous objects. And uh… that wasn't the right thing to do. We never considered where the objects were coming from. Or, well, why they were being given to us so easily.”</p> <p>“Dr. Mills, we can sort out what we did wrong <em>after</em> the fact. For now, we need to know- do these objects present an immediate threat to life on Earth?”</p> <p>“Honestly sir… yes. My colleagues and I, well we believe this may be the first stage of an XK class scenario.”</p> <hr/> <p>In Munich, ghost ducks descended from above to terrorize the population.</p> <hr/> <p>Big Ben dissolved into millions of tiny ducks, all ringing as they fell towards the Earth.</p> <hr/> <p>And throughout all this, the invaders sat back and watched their handiwork. They watched people flee from a rubber behemoth raging down the streets of Venice. They watched duckies explode like dynamite in Australia. They watched all this, and they were pleased, for they knew the Earth would soon be theirs. Soon humanity would would return to their caves, and the world would truly be for the birds.</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="/rubber-summer">Rubber Summer</a>" by rumetzen, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/rubber-summer">https://scpwiki.com/rubber-summer</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 is it?” “I... I think it's a duckie?” The two men stared down at the crater in the concrete. It was about a meter across, and in the center was a small yellow rubber duckie wearing an astronaut helmet. The duck had fallen from the sky a few minutes ago as they were discussing the subtleties of pornographic acting. The second man bent down to touch it, then jerked back. “Fuck me! It's hot!” “Whattaya expect? It's-” The first man paused and glanced around. There was a whistling sound in the distance. It almost sounded like it was above them... The next duckie smashed into his car with a loud “SQUEAK”. The third destroyed a neighbors' house. The fourth, a passing pedestrian. All around them, rubber duckies began to pour from the sky. In less than 10 minutes, East 43rd street was completely eradicated. ---- He examined the duckie as he shuddered under the blankets. The thing was turquoise (or maybe blue?), with little snowflake decals running around its base. Printed in black letters on it were the words “What's cooler than being cool?” Ice cold. A good a way as any to describe the weather. Christ, this was Texas! It should never be less than 40 degrees, let alone 10. But still the temperature was dropping. And dropping. And dropping. Outside, snow began to fall. It didn't stop for more than two months, and by then Houston, Texas had been completely buried. ---- How long had they been dancing? As long as that damned duckie had been playing its saxophone. How long had that been? God knows. Five people had already collapsed from exhaustion, and the duckie showed no signs of slowing down. If anything, the tempo was increasing. She glanced around. As far as she could see, people danced. They boogied, dougied, thrillered, hustled, monkeyed, and spontaneously flailed. Anything was acceptable, as long as they were moving. But they couldn't stop. She wanted to stop. Her entire body begged her to, but she couldn't. Instead, she just danced, and waited for it to end. ---- In bathtubs everywhere, children watched in horror as something terrible began to emerge from their cherished toys. ---- “Ah. Well. The problem, as best I can determine...” Dr. Mills gulped. The people in front of him could kill him just by saying the words if they didn't like what he had to say. “The problem is that we didn't properly research the duckie- objects! I mean objects. We just categorized them with the other minor anomalous objects. And uh... that wasn't the right thing to do. We never considered where the objects were coming from. Or, well, why they were being given to us so easily.” “Dr. Mills, we can sort out what we did wrong //after// the fact. For now, we need to know- do these objects present an immediate threat to life on Earth?” “Honestly sir... yes. My colleagues and I, well we believe this may be the first stage of an XK class scenario.” ---- In Munich, ghost ducks descended from above to terrorize the population. ---- Big Ben dissolved into millions of tiny ducks, all ringing as they fell towards the Earth. ---- And throughout all this, the invaders sat back and watched their handiwork. They watched people flee from a rubber behemoth raging down the streets of Venice. They watched duckies explode like dynamite in Australia. They watched all this, and they were pleased, for they knew the Earth would soon be theirs. Soon humanity would would return to their caves, and the world would truly be for the birds. [[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>]]	2012-12-31T23:23:00	[ "_licensebox", "art-exchange", "tale" ]	Rubber Summer - SCP Foundation	69	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales", "art-exchange-hub" ]	[]	15817116	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rubber-summer
rusted-nightmares	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><em>Run.</em></p> <p>The rusted metal stretches for as far as can be seen. The runner does not care that this is only a few feet in front of himself. As far as he is concerned, the claustrophobic corridor stretches on forever. And it does.</p> <p>But not for him.</p> <p><em>Don't stop.</em></p> <p>A woman slams against a steel door, pristine and shining in the darkness of the hold. Rust flakes from the floor as she throws herself against the steel, panting heavily. Her fingernails crack as they scrabble against the smooth face of the door, frantically searching for something to turn.</p> <p>They will never stop looking.</p> <p><em>Not like this.</em></p> <p>A man walks slowly through a room, filled with steaming belts and pistons. A human eye rolls towards him as a face stretches across a belt, locked in a rictus of pain and agony. A human elbow rapidly pumps in a nearby machine, forcing an unidentifiable chunk of something in and out. A pair of empty eye sockets stare into him.</p> <p>He will never look away.</p> <p><em>Make it stop.</em></p> <p>A man sprints into a dead-end room, stopping to stare at the wall. He screams and turns, a cry of rage and confusion and hurt, only to see the door slam shut behind him. He will never leave.</p> <p>Until his flashlight dies.</p> <p><em>The pain.</em></p> <p>Deep within the rusted hulk, a woman screams. She has been screaming for seconds, for years. She does not know the difference. She only knows that she should never have entered this place of death and steel and meat.</p> <p>She will never correct her mistake.</p> <p><em>No escape.</em></p> <p>A man stands atop a rusted deck, gaunt and pale from his days spent in the darkness, searching for an exit. A spotlight waves over him, a boat is sent, and a crew arrives to rescue him. The man, overjoyed, moves to jump.</p> <p>He does not hit the water.</p> <p><em>Stay with us.</em></p> <p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-455">In the heart of the ship</a>, a thousand voices scream in agony. All are lost, many for hundreds of years. Some for days. All are screaming the same soul-wrenching scream that only the dying know.</p> <p>And they will never stop.</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p>Team was lost after reporting entry to "central navigation." Rescue team lost after reporting the investigation of "screaming" in a cargo section.</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="/rusted-nightmares">Rusted Nightmares</a>" by Snowshoe, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/rusted-nightmares">https://scpwiki.com/rusted-nightmares</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]] [[/>]] //Run.// The rusted metal stretches for as far as can be seen. The runner does not care that this is only a few feet in front of himself. As far as he is concerned, the claustrophobic corridor stretches on forever. And it does. But not for him. //Don't stop.// A woman slams against a steel door, pristine and shining in the darkness of the hold. Rust flakes from the floor as she throws herself against the steel, panting heavily. Her fingernails crack as they scrabble against the smooth face of the door, frantically searching for something to turn. They will never stop looking. //Not like this.// A man walks slowly through a room, filled with steaming belts and pistons. A human eye rolls towards him as a face stretches across a belt, locked in a rictus of pain and agony. A human elbow rapidly pumps in a nearby machine, forcing an unidentifiable chunk of something in and out. A pair of empty eye sockets stare into him. He will never look away. //Make it stop.// A man sprints into a dead-end room, stopping to stare at the wall. He screams and turns, a cry of rage and confusion and hurt, only to see the door slam shut behind him. He will never leave. Until his flashlight dies. //The pain.// Deep within the rusted hulk, a woman screams. She has been screaming for seconds, for years. She does not know the difference. She only knows that she should never have entered this place of death and steel and meat. She will never correct her mistake. //No escape.// A man stands atop a rusted deck, gaunt and pale from his days spent in the darkness, searching for an exit. A spotlight waves over him, a boat is sent, and a crew arrives to rescue him. The man, overjoyed, moves to jump. He does not hit the water. //Stay with us.// [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-455 In the heart of the ship], a thousand voices scream in agony. All are lost, many for hundreds of years. Some for days. All are screaming the same soul-wrenching scream that only the dying know. And they will never stop. ---- > Team was lost after reporting entry to "central navigation." Rescue team lost after reporting the investigation of "screaming" in a cargo section. [[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>]]	2012-12-08T01:35:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Rusted Nightmares - SCP Foundation	153	[ "scp-455", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	15316894	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/rusted-nightmares
sa-jin-photo	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>I was stationed overseas for four years, helping shore up the American military presence in South Korea. You hear horror stories about it, about people being shot randomly, the squalid conditions, but it really wasn't all that bad. Still, it's another world, without a doubt. The culture is so…different. Values, ideals, it all feels topsy-turvy. You get adjusted, but it takes time. Early in my tour, I was sitting telling a few buddies about my “adventures” about town. I'd mentioned passing what looked like a old house, with about ten or twenty little girls lounging or playing around the front, and asked if it was a orphanage, or just one very productive family.</p> <p>Everyone goggled at me, then burst in to laughter. They said it wasn't anything close to that. It was a brothel. They said that, most often it was more boys than girls, and that some people would pay a great, great deal for them. What's more, none of the locals would dare touch them, as most had some kind of bug or another. Most didn't live much past twenty, if that. I was kind of taken aback…it's one of those things you hear about, but never really see. One guy, Jason, got up and went to his bunk for a minute, then came back with a old picture.</p> <p>He said that, years ago, on his first tour, his captain had wanted to “show him the sights”, after getting his entire squad rip-roaring drunk. They hit several dive bars and strip joints, he said it was kind of a blur. Anyway, they ended up in front of a whore house that had several…underage workers. The squad, very drunk and high, were egging on him and one of the other new guys named David to go inside. The owner was actually out on a balcony, waving and grinning. The kids looked much less then excited.</p> <p>Jason freaked out, ended up basically balling up in an alley, head spinning, belly heaving, and trying to tune out his squad teasing him. David, however, went in. He didn't see it, but everyone said he could barely walk, the owner almost dragged him in. American money is very, very welcome, even more so when the holder of it is too wasted to know if any gets stolen. They waited for a while, but ended up basically drifting off as people started to sober up, got sick, or attempted to get trashed again. They left David inside, and Jason curled up against a cold brick wall.</p> <p>He woke up there in the morning, feeling insanely sick and sore as hell. He ended up pucking his guts out right against the wall, re-tasting the rank local brew. He stumbled out in to the street, feeling around in his gear bag and being shocked that nothing was stolen. He ended up bumbling out to the front of the same whorehouse they sent David in to. It was all closed up, and looked almost abandoned, but he could see some movement inside, still. Jason said it actually scared him, but he felt so sick he ended up basically falling on to a set of steps to just let his hangover try to lessen.</p> <p>It was while he was sitting that the girl came out. She was young, maybe…ten or so. She was wearing a old, ratty dress, one of those big floor-length things. She was also covered in grime and blood. She just came out, stumbling down the steps, a blank look on her face, walking like a sleepwalker. Jason stared, but it was like she was invisible, nobody else even looked at her, just walked around her like she wasn't there when she stumbled out in to the street. Her eyes were big and glassy, dark, her hair was oily and plastered to her face. And not one person so much as looked down.</p> <p>Jason said he was on the edge of freaking out, but everyone acting so…casual about the whole thing actually helped keep him on a even keel. He did dig in his pack, producing a camera he'd meant to use for taking pictures to send home, and got ready to snap a picture. He to this day says he doesn't really understand why. Maybe he thought he could show it to the police, or something…maybe just the morbid interest people have in the horrific that makes people slow down at car crashes. Who knows.</p> <p>He was aiming the camera when the worms came.</p> <p>He says they were worms, but they could have been anything. Thick, gooey ropes of…something, fleshy and rippling, suddenly jetted from her mouth and from under her dress. She looked around, looking almost…embarrassed, hands flexing helplessly in the air as these white tubes of flesh started to coil and writhe on the ground, pouring from her body like vomit in a seeming endless line. She was in the middle of a sidewalk, on a busy day, with two massive worms erupting out of her mouth and from…somewhere under her dress.</p> <p>And not one person seemed to care.</p> <p>Some people actually looked at her now, but…it was like they were seeing a bird in the street, or a windblown sheet of paper. Nobody cared, not one. These…things came out of her as she hunched up like an animal, these huge worms slithering along the sidewalk and starting to slip down a filthy drain, and nobody could be bothered to care. Jason said he didn't even remember snapping the picture, he just stood there, horrified, stunned silent.</p> <p>After about…two minutes, three men in what looked like police uniforms came, and the crowd thinned out fast. Two grabbed the girl, who started thrashing around, silently, drops of grime and bits of slime from the worms splattering around. The third man stomped on the worms until they split, then started screaming at Jason while the other two men dragged the girl and the stubs of the worms off and down the street. He got in a ton of trouble, his captain was discharged…David was listed AWOL.</p> <p>Thinking back, he now knows the men who grabbed her weren't police, military, paramedics…he can't place their uniforms with any local services. He said he's never found the whorehouse she came out of, even after looking for several weeks. Asking the locals gets blank stares or people who assume you're fucking around. He let me keep the picture…not really sure why I wanted it. He ended up getting shot by some guy in a bar a few years after he told me all this.</p> <p>I still wonder what the hell is going on in this picture.</p> <img alt="Sa-Jin-new.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/sa-jin-photo/Sa-Jin-new.jpg" style="width: 100%; border: solid 1px #000000;"/> <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="/sa-jin-photo">Sa Jin Photo</a>" by Dr Gears, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/sa-jin-photo">https://scpwiki.com/sa-jin-photo</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> Sa-Jin-New.jpg<br/> <strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/citytoast" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1372124); return false;"><img alt="CityToast" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1372124&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1720189009" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1372124)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/citytoast" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1372124); return false;">CityToast</a></span><br/> <strong>License:</strong> CC-BY 3.0<br/> <strong>Derivative of:</strong> <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/INbF1HmtNyk">3 friends wearing traditional Korean dress in Seoul</a> by Adli Wahid</p> </blockquote> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div></body></html>	[[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] I was stationed overseas for four years, helping shore up the American military presence in South Korea. You hear horror stories about it, about people being shot randomly, the squalid conditions, but it really wasn't all that bad. Still, it's another world, without a doubt. The culture is so...different. Values, ideals, it all feels topsy-turvy. You get adjusted, but it takes time. Early in my tour, I was sitting telling a few buddies about my “adventures” about town. I'd mentioned passing what looked like a old house, with about ten or twenty little girls lounging or playing around the front, and asked if it was a orphanage, or just one very productive family. Everyone goggled at me, then burst in to laughter. They said it wasn't anything close to that. It was a brothel. They said that, most often it was more boys than girls, and that some people would pay a great, great deal for them. What's more, none of the locals would dare touch them, as most had some kind of bug or another. Most didn't live much past twenty, if that. I was kind of taken aback...it's one of those things you hear about, but never really see. One guy, Jason, got up and went to his bunk for a minute, then came back with a old picture. He said that, years ago, on his first tour, his captain had wanted to “show him the sights”, after getting his entire squad rip-roaring drunk. They hit several dive bars and strip joints, he said it was kind of a blur. Anyway, they ended up in front of a whore house that had several...underage workers. The squad, very drunk and high, were egging on him and one of the other new guys named David to go inside. The owner was actually out on a balcony, waving and grinning. The kids looked much less then excited. Jason freaked out, ended up basically balling up in an alley, head spinning, belly heaving, and trying to tune out his squad teasing him. David, however, went in. He didn't see it, but everyone said he could barely walk, the owner almost dragged him in. American money is very, very welcome, even more so when the holder of it is too wasted to know if any gets stolen. They waited for a while, but ended up basically drifting off as people started to sober up, got sick, or attempted to get trashed again. They left David inside, and Jason curled up against a cold brick wall. He woke up there in the morning, feeling insanely sick and sore as hell. He ended up pucking his guts out right against the wall, re-tasting the rank local brew. He stumbled out in to the street, feeling around in his gear bag and being shocked that nothing was stolen. He ended up bumbling out to the front of the same whorehouse they sent David in to. It was all closed up, and looked almost abandoned, but he could see some movement inside, still. Jason said it actually scared him, but he felt so sick he ended up basically falling on to a set of steps to just let his hangover try to lessen. It was while he was sitting that the girl came out. She was young, maybe...ten or so. She was wearing a old, ratty dress, one of those big floor-length things. She was also covered in grime and blood. She just came out, stumbling down the steps, a blank look on her face, walking like a sleepwalker. Jason stared, but it was like she was invisible, nobody else even looked at her, just walked around her like she wasn't there when she stumbled out in to the street. Her eyes were big and glassy, dark, her hair was oily and plastered to her face. And not one person so much as looked down. Jason said he was on the edge of freaking out, but everyone acting so...casual about the whole thing actually helped keep him on a even keel. He did dig in his pack, producing a camera he'd meant to use for taking pictures to send home, and got ready to snap a picture. He to this day says he doesn't really understand why. Maybe he thought he could show it to the police, or something...maybe just the morbid interest people have in the horrific that makes people slow down at car crashes. Who knows. He was aiming the camera when the worms came. He says they were worms, but they could have been anything. Thick, gooey ropes of...something, fleshy and rippling, suddenly jetted from her mouth and from under her dress. She looked around, looking almost...embarrassed, hands flexing helplessly in the air as these white tubes of flesh started to coil and writhe on the ground, pouring from her body like vomit in a seeming endless line. She was in the middle of a sidewalk, on a busy day, with two massive worms erupting out of her mouth and from...somewhere under her dress. And not one person seemed to care. Some people actually looked at her now, but...it was like they were seeing a bird in the street, or a windblown sheet of paper. Nobody cared, not one. These...things came out of her as she hunched up like an animal, these huge worms slithering along the sidewalk and starting to slip down a filthy drain, and nobody could be bothered to care. Jason said he didn't even remember snapping the picture, he just stood there, horrified, stunned silent. After about...two minutes, three men in what looked like police uniforms came, and the crowd thinned out fast. Two grabbed the girl, who started thrashing around, silently, drops of grime and bits of slime from the worms splattering around. The third man stomped on the worms until they split, then started screaming at Jason while the other two men dragged the girl and the stubs of the worms off and down the street. He got in a ton of trouble, his captain was discharged...David was listed AWOL. Thinking back, he now knows the men who grabbed her weren't police, military, paramedics...he can't place their uniforms with any local services. He said he's never found the whorehouse she came out of, even after looking for several weeks. Asking the locals gets blank stares or people who assume you're fucking around. He let me keep the picture...not really sure why I wanted it. He ended up getting shot by some guy in a bar a few years after he told me all this. I still wonder what the hell is going on in this picture. [[image Sa-Jin-new.jpg style="width: 100%; border: solid 1px #000000;"]] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]] ===== > Filename: Sa-Jin-New.jpg > Author: [[user CityToast]] > License:* CC-BY 3.0 > Derivative of: [https://unsplash.com/photos/INbF1HmtNyk 3 friends wearing traditional Korean dress in Seoul] by Adli Wahid ===== [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-02-03T02:34:00	[ "_cc", "_licensebox", "creepypasta", "tale" ]	Sa Jin Photo - SCP Foundation	82	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales", "dr-gears-storytime-entries" ]	[ "https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/sa-jin-photo/Sa-Jin-new.jpg" ]	12658307	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sa-jin-photo
scp-1926-r	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><strong>Item #:</strong> SCP-1926-R</p> <p><strong>Object Class:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Keter</span> Rejected as an SCP Object by O5 order.</p> <p><strong>Special Containment Procedures:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Mobile Task Force Delta-16 "The Deep Sea Fishermen" must maintain a constant watch for the reappearance of SCP-1926 or any of its inhabitants. The MTF is maintained on the ship ███ █████ at coordinates 47°9′S 126°43′W. The ███ █████ will be kept supplied as necessary from the nearest inhabited location, Easter Island. As SCP-1926 is uncontainable and a major threat to human life, if it reappears, it will be destroyed via air strike with a ██ kiloton nuclear device as soon as stationed personnel have withdrawn to a safe distance.</span> All containment procedures suspended indefinitely.</p> <p><strong>Description:</strong> SCP-1926 is a small, previously uncharted island, reported to be located in a desolate area of the South Pacific Ocean, approximately 700km SE of Easter Island (approximate coordinates 47°9′S 126°43′W). Description is based on second-hand sources, as nothing was found at the designated location when Foundation personnel arrived to investigate. Deep sea sonar probes revealed unusual surfaces at a depth of approximately 500 m. Divers reported seeing [DATA EXPUNGED] before contact was lost.</p> <p>SCP-1926 is described as being composed primarily of black basalt blocks, covered with mud and greenish ooze, indicating an extended period of submersion. Personnel are warned not to attempt exploration of SCP-1926, as most previous visitors have been reported killed, either by the inhabitants, or by the effects of the alleged non-Euclidean geometric structure of the island.</p> <p>The most recent reported visitor, a Norwegian fisherman named ████ ██████████, claims to be the only survivor of an original crew of 47, aboard the █████. Upon exploring SCP-1926, the crew encountered one of its inhabitants (designated SCP-1926-1). SCP 1926-1 is described as a winged creature approximately 60 m tall, somewhat resembling a cross between a human and an octopus or squid. SCP-1926-1 killed most of the crew while on SCP-1926, and pursued the survivors when they attempted escape aboard the █████. Survivors attempted to kill SCP-1926-1 by ramming it with the ship; attempt failed, as SCP-1926-1 re-formed itself several minutes after its apparent destruction. However, SCP-1926-1 broke off pursuit and returned to SCP-1926, allowing the █████ to escape. It is unknown if SCP-1926-1 is a unique being, or representative of a larger population.</p> <p><strong>Addendum:</strong> This area of ocean is referenced in a document recently captured from a Serpent's Hand operative. The relevant passage states "He will rise when the stars are right." but does not give details on when this will happen, or what astronomical conditions constitute "rightness."</p> <p><em>[Note from O5-7: This is an obvious hoax, written by some █████████ fan. I can't believe you all fell for it and actually sent an MTF down there, never mind that you had a nuke ready. Containment procedures cancelled effective immediately. Items SCP-1926 and 1926-1 are to be expunged from the main database, and all personnel involved officially reprimanded.]</em></p> </div></body></html>	[[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] Item #: SCP-1926-R Object Class: --Keter-- Rejected as an SCP Object by O5 order. Special Containment Procedures: --Mobile Task Force Delta-16 "The Deep Sea Fishermen" must maintain a constant watch for the reappearance of SCP-1926 or any of its inhabitants. The MTF is maintained on the ship ███ █████ at coordinates 47°9′S 126°43′W. The ███ █████ will be kept supplied as necessary from the nearest inhabited location, Easter Island. As SCP-1926 is uncontainable and a major threat to human life, if it reappears, it will be destroyed via air strike with a ██ kiloton nuclear device as soon as stationed personnel have withdrawn to a safe distance.-- All containment procedures suspended indefinitely. Description: SCP-1926 is a small, previously uncharted island, reported to be located in a desolate area of the South Pacific Ocean, approximately 700km SE of Easter Island (approximate coordinates 47°9′S 126°43′W). Description is based on second-hand sources, as nothing was found at the designated location when Foundation personnel arrived to investigate. Deep sea sonar probes revealed unusual surfaces at a depth of approximately 500 m. Divers reported seeing [DATA EXPUNGED] before contact was lost. SCP-1926 is described as being composed primarily of black basalt blocks, covered with mud and greenish ooze, indicating an extended period of submersion. Personnel are warned not to attempt exploration of SCP-1926, as most previous visitors have been reported killed, either by the inhabitants, or by the effects of the alleged non-Euclidean geometric structure of the island. The most recent reported visitor, a Norwegian fisherman named ████ ██████████, claims to be the only survivor of an original crew of 47, aboard the █████. Upon exploring SCP-1926, the crew encountered one of its inhabitants (designated SCP-1926-1). SCP 1926-1 is described as a winged creature approximately 60 m tall, somewhat resembling a cross between a human and an octopus or squid. SCP-1926-1 killed most of the crew while on SCP-1926, and pursued the survivors when they attempted escape aboard the █████. Survivors attempted to kill SCP-1926-1 by ramming it with the ship; attempt failed, as SCP-1926-1 re-formed itself several minutes after its apparent destruction. However, SCP-1926-1 broke off pursuit and returned to SCP-1926, allowing the █████ to escape. It is unknown if SCP-1926-1 is a unique being, or representative of a larger population. Addendum: This area of ocean is referenced in a document recently captured from a Serpent's Hand operative. The relevant passage states "He will rise when the stars are right." but does not give details on when this will happen, or what astronomical conditions constitute "rightness." //[Note from O5-7: This is an obvious hoax, written by some █████████ fan. I can't believe you all fell for it and actually sent an MTF down there, never mind that you had a nuke ready. Containment procedures cancelled effective immediately. Items SCP-1926 and 1926-1 are to be expunged from the main database, and all personnel involved officially reprimanded.]//	2012-01-13T05:52:00	[ "_licensebox", "project-crossover", "serpents-hand", "tale" ]	SCP-1926-R - SCP Foundation	93	[]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "serpent-s-hand-hub", "crossoverprojectindex", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	12503531	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1926-r
scp-foundation-the-movie-2	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Dr. Edison sneezed into the telephone. It had been a long day keeping the eldritch horrors contained within Site-██ locked up, and the good doctor was in no mood to catch a cold. The fact that Site-██ was in Antarctica didn't help things. "Sorry doc." he said. "I don't think I caught that. You're saying my what went where now?"</p> <p>"Your movie! <a href="/scp-foundation-the-movie">The one that got you transferred to Antarctica</a>!" said Dr. King. "It's becoming a cult classic! The O5 are in an uproar! Haven't you been paying attention?"</p> <p>"Attention?" Edison replied. "Attention to what?"</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><em>And now it's time for Bum Reviews, with Chester A. Bum.</em><br/> <em>Tonight's review: The SCP Foundation</em><br/> <br/> OHHHH MY GOD, THIS IS THE GREATEST MOVIE I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY <strong>LIFE!</strong></p> <p>[DATA EX<strong>SPOILERS!</strong>]</p> <p>So there are these guys, called the SCP Foundation, and they're this secret government organization run by Tommy Wissau dedicated to investigating paranormal stuff!</p> <p><strong>I</strong> WAS A PARANORMAL INVESTIGATOR, ONCE!</p> <p>Oh, wait, that was just a TV show. What was it called again? Oh yeah: <em>Baywatch Nights!</em></p> <p>But there's also this organization of <em>eeeevil</em> terrorists who kidnap a vampire overlord… who is played by the guy from Twilight for some reason.</p> <p>Boy, that Edward guy has fallen on hard times, hasn't he?</p> <p>But to make matters worse, there's an <em>eeevil</em> arms dealer working for the terrorists, who wants to destroy the SCP foundation so that he can… drill for oil, or something.</p> <p>Yeah, I don't get it either.</p> <p>So Tommy Wisau calls his top scientists, and tells them that they need to stop the terrorists before the vampire Apocalypse happens!</p> <p>"Uh, boss? Wouldn't it be a better idea to just tell the army about this or something?"</p> <p>"Ha ha ha funny story, Mark."</p> </blockquote> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><strong>PHELOUS:</strong> So that was The SCP Foundation, another disappointingly shitty movie from "Zhe Only Fucking Geinus in Zhe Buisness" and those guys who made Epic Movie. Oh, and in case you're one of those people who just watch the end of videos without any context, I'm Phelous the Canadian internet review guy from ThatGuyWithTheGlasses dot com dot com.</p> <p><strong>PHELOUS:</strong> OOOOOOOOOHHHH! Do you see what I just did there? I just made fun of something really stupid that the movie did in my end-of-review skit that they thought was funny but really wasn't! I am being <em>soooo</em> funny right now!</p> <p><strong>PHELOUS:</strong> OOOOOOOOOHHHH! I just explained the joke that I just made five seconds ago, which is ALSO something the movie did that I'm making fun of! More comic <em>goooolllld!</em></p> <p><em>"Dr Clef" (obviously played by Phelous in a suit and gorilla mask) walks into the room brandishing a Ukalale-Shotgun.</em></p> <p><strong>"DR. CLEF":</strong> You've made terrible meta-jokes for the last time, Phelous. I'm here to take away your Internet licence forever!</p> <p><strong>PHELOUS:</strong> Noooooo! How could this happen to meeeeeeee? <em>Breaks into song</em> I made my mistakeeeessss! There's nowhere to ruuuun, the night goes ooooooon and I'm fading awaaaaayyyyyy!</p> <p><em>Dr. Clef shoots Phelous. Phelous begins regenerating time-lord style for about 10 seconds while Dramatic Dr. Who music plays, only to stop abruptly.</em></p> <p><strong>PHELOUS:</strong> Ha ha, I'm not doing that joke anymore. In fact, this entire skit is kind of terrible isn't it, so lets end it right here.</p> <p><strong>"DR. CLEF":</strong> What? You mean I came all this way for nothing?</p> <p><strong>PHELOUS:</strong> Fiiiiine. You can do a one-liner… but just one!</p> <p><strong>"DR. CLEF":</strong> Okay then. Ahem: <em>Dr. Who music begins playing again</em> Get these motherfucking Skips off my motherfucking plane… motherfucker!<br/> Music suddenly stops.</p> <p><strong>PHELOUS:</strong> Really? That's the best you could come up with?</p> <p><strong>"DR. CLEF":</strong> Oh shut up, it's not like your show is much better.</p> <p><strong>PHELOUS:</strong> Ha ha, you see that was funny beacuse my show has terrible production values, so by saying that my show isn't much better than that terrible one liner Clef is making a humorous comparison to-</p> <p><em>Dr. Clef shoots Phelous</em></p> <p><strong>PHELOUS:</strong> cough hak, Mmmm, watcha saaaayyyy…</p> <p><em>Dr. Clef shoots Phelous again. Cue credits.</em></p> </blockquote> <hr/> <p>"Well given that I got transferred to freakin' Antarctica, I'm not exactly first in line to learn this kind of stuff." Dr. Edison coughed. "So, um… what do you want me to do about it?"</p> <p>"The hell if I know!" Dr. King said. "It's your movie! You do something about it!"</p> <p>Dr. Edison paused as he gave the problem some thought. "Okay." he said, "Here's what you do…"</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><strong>FILM BRAIN:</strong> I'm Film Brain, and welcome to Bad Movie Beatdown! Today we're going to take a look at Michael Bay's <span style="text-decoration: underline;">SCP Foundation 6: The Revenge of Darkblade</span>, undoubtedly the worst movie of our generation. It's so bad that it has the dubious honor of being the <em>only</em> movie to somehow wind up with a <em>negative</em> Metacritic score. And believe me, this movie deserves it.</p> <p>Cut to Phelous, wearing the Dr Clef costume</p> <p><strong>PHELOUS:</strong> Not so fast, Film Brain! Your data is about to be <em>Ex-Punged</em>!<br/> <br/> <strong>FILM BRAIN:</strong> No, Phelous, I am not doing <em>another</em> crossover with you.</p> <p><strong>PHELOUS:</strong> Oh come on! But I brought out the costume and every-</p> <p><strong>FILM BRAIN:</strong> NO.</p> <p>Phelous slinks away, while a violin plays in the background</p> </blockquote> <hr/> <p>"I don't understand…" said O5-█. "How exactly does making more movies solve the problem?"</p> <p>"It's quite simple, really." said Dr. Edison, adjusting his sunglasses. "With a few exceptions, movies only get worse and worse as more sequels keep being made. So I figured that if we make enough sequels, we'll eventually make a movie so bad that it will erase the entire franchise from the collective unconscious! And who else is better at making terrible sequels than Michael Bay himself?"</p> <p>O5-█ shook his head. "I can think of so many reasons why that didn't work."</p> <p>"Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking either." said Dr. Edison. "In fact, I think I actually made things worse… But you have to admit, they work great as torture devices!"</p> <p>The O5 glared at Edison.</p> <p>"I'm being sent back to Antarctica, aren't I?"</p> <p>"Yep."</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="/scp-foundation-the-movie-2">SCP Foundation The Movie 2: Electric Boogaloo</a>" by Edrobot, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/scp-foundation-the-movie-2">https://scpwiki.com/scp-foundation-the-movie-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]] [[/>]] Dr. Edison sneezed into the telephone. It had been a long day keeping the eldritch horrors contained within Site-██ locked up, and the good doctor was in no mood to catch a cold. The fact that Site-██ was in Antarctica didn't help things. "Sorry doc." he said. "I don't think I caught that. You're saying my what went where now?" "Your movie! [[[scp-foundation-the-movie\|The one that got you transferred to Antarctica]]]!" said Dr. King. "It's becoming a cult classic! The O5 are in an uproar! Haven't you been paying attention?" "Attention?" Edison replied. "Attention to what?" ------ > //And now it's time for Bum Reviews, with Chester A. Bum.// > //Tonight's review: The SCP Foundation// > > OHHHH MY GOD, THIS IS THE GREATEST MOVIE I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE! > > [DATA EXSPOILERS!] > > So there are these guys, called the SCP Foundation, and they're this secret government organization run by Tommy Wissau dedicated to investigating paranormal stuff! > > I WAS A PARANORMAL INVESTIGATOR, ONCE! > > Oh, wait, that was just a TV show. What was it called again? Oh yeah: //Baywatch Nights!// > > But there's also this organization of //eeeevil// terrorists who kidnap a vampire overlord... who is played by the guy from Twilight for some reason. > > Boy, that Edward guy has fallen on hard times, hasn't he? > > But to make matters worse, there's an //eeevil// arms dealer working for the terrorists, who wants to destroy the SCP foundation so that he can... drill for oil, or something. > > Yeah, I don't get it either. > > So Tommy Wisau calls his top scientists, and tells them that they need to stop the terrorists before the vampire Apocalypse happens! > > "Uh, boss? Wouldn't it be a better idea to just tell the army about this or something?" > > "Ha ha ha funny story, Mark." ------ > PHELOUS: So that was The SCP Foundation, another disappointingly shitty movie from "Zhe Only Fucking Geinus in Zhe Buisness" and those guys who made Epic Movie. Oh, and in case you're one of those people who just watch the end of videos without any context, I'm Phelous the Canadian internet review guy from ThatGuyWithTheGlasses dot com dot com. > > PHELOUS: OOOOOOOOOHHHH! Do you see what I just did there? I just made fun of something really stupid that the movie did in my end-of-review skit that they thought was funny but really wasn't! I am being //soooo// funny right now! > > PHELOUS: OOOOOOOOOHHHH! I just explained the joke that I just made five seconds ago, which is ALSO something the movie did that I'm making fun of! More comic //goooolllld!// > > //"Dr Clef" (obviously played by Phelous in a suit and gorilla mask) walks into the room brandishing a Ukalale-Shotgun.// > > "DR. CLEF": You've made terrible meta-jokes for the last time, Phelous. I'm here to take away your Internet licence forever! > > PHELOUS: Noooooo! How could this happen to meeeeeeee? //Breaks into song// I made my mistakeeeessss! There's nowhere to ruuuun, the night goes ooooooon and I'm fading awaaaaayyyyyy! > > //Dr. Clef shoots Phelous. Phelous begins regenerating time-lord style for about 10 seconds while Dramatic Dr. Who music plays, only to stop abruptly.// > > PHELOUS: Ha ha, I'm not doing that joke anymore. In fact, this entire skit is kind of terrible isn't it, so lets end it right here. > > "DR. CLEF": What? You mean I came all this way for nothing? > > PHELOUS: Fiiiiine. You can do a one-liner... but just one! > > "DR. CLEF": Okay then. Ahem: //Dr. Who music begins playing again// Get these motherfucking Skips off my motherfucking plane... motherfucker! > > Music suddenly stops. > > PHELOUS: Really? That's the best you could come up with? > > "DR. CLEF": Oh shut up, it's not like your show is much better. > > PHELOUS: Ha ha, you see that was funny beacuse my show has terrible production values, so by saying that my show isn't much better than that terrible one liner Clef is making a humorous comparison to- > > //Dr. Clef shoots Phelous// > > PHELOUS: cough hak, Mmmm, watcha saaaayyyy... > > //Dr. Clef shoots Phelous again. Cue credits.// ------ "Well given that I got transferred to freakin' Antarctica, I'm not exactly first in line to learn this kind of stuff." Dr. Edison coughed. "So, um... what do you want me to do about it?" "The hell if I know!" Dr. King said. "It's your movie! You do something about it!" Dr. Edison paused as he gave the problem some thought. "Okay." he said, "Here's what you do..." ------ > FILM BRAIN: I'm Film Brain, and welcome to Bad Movie Beatdown! Today we're going to take a look at Michael Bay's __SCP Foundation 6: The Revenge of Darkblade__, undoubtedly the worst movie of our generation. It's so bad that it has the dubious honor of being the //only// movie to somehow wind up with a //negative// Metacritic score. And believe me, this movie deserves it. > > Cut to Phelous, wearing the Dr Clef costume > > PHELOUS: Not so fast, Film Brain! Your data is about to be //Ex-Punged//! > > FILM BRAIN: No, Phelous, I am not doing //another// crossover with you. > > PHELOUS: Oh come on! But I brought out the costume and every- > > FILM BRAIN: NO. > > Phelous slinks away, while a violin plays in the background ------ "I don't understand..." said O5-█. "How exactly does making more movies solve the problem?" "It's quite simple, really." said Dr. Edison, adjusting his sunglasses. "With a few exceptions, movies only get worse and worse as more sequels keep being made. So I figured that if we make enough sequels, we'll eventually make a movie so bad that it will erase the entire franchise from the collective unconscious! And who else is better at making terrible sequels than Michael Bay himself?" O5-█ shook his head. "I can think of so many reasons why that didn't work." "Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking either." said Dr. Edison. "In fact, I think I actually made things worse... But you have to admit, they work great as torture devices!" The O5 glared at Edison. "I'm being sent back to Antarctica, aren't I?" "Yep." [[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>]]	2012-01-14T05:37:00	[ "_licensebox", "comedy", "doctor-clef", "doctor-edison", "doctor-king", "project-crossover", "tale" ]	SCP Foundation The Movie 2: Electric Boogaloo - SCP Foundation	97	[ "scp-foundation-the-movie", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "crossoverprojectindex", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	12513375	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-foundation-the-movie-2
scp-one-million	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>"Tell me of the thing," the shaman said.</p> <p>"It lives in the—" I started.</p> <p>"No!" The stick came down hard on my knuckles. "Begin with how to stop it, how to keep it held. Always. What it is can wait until after."</p> <p>I rubbed my hand, and began again. "The people must always be ready. They must keep their eyes to the South, to watch for the Everman. They must keep their eyes to the East, to watch for the City People, who pick among the ruins for toys they cannot understand. They must keep their eyes to the seas, for things that come across the waters are a deadly threat. They must keep their eyes inward, for the greatest threat comes from men who know.</p> <p>"No man may enter the antechamber but that he comes to light the fires once more, or else that he is a shaman, going for a vision quest. He will enter with one other, and neither may leave except with the other. When they leave, they close the doors shut tight behind them.</p> <p>"At all times will there be five guardians at the door, chosen from the people and trained in war. They will keep their spears sharp. When one sleeps, another comes to replace him. Their dogs will sleep at their feet, ready to challenge any who comes from outside or within." I looked up at the shaman. "Now?"</p> <p>He nodded. "You know how to keep it held. Now you may say what it is."</p> <p>"The Espy, called a Wonder by the ignorant, holds the number of a thousand thousands. It is of the kind called kahtar, the all-consuming." I took a deep breath. "There are two parts of the espy. Of the first, which we shall call the Aleph, is a dream of butterflies. They are held off by the burning of certain herbs, and it is therefore that we keep the fires lit, remain watchful should they go out. The dream of butterflies gives a man visions, strange scenes of times far past. I myself have seen these visions once. I saw men and women dressed strangely, in long, white coats. They spoke in a language I did not recognize."</p> <p>"And of the other, the Beyt?" the shaman asked.</p> <p>"That is the most dangerous part, though in seeming it is nothing but an old man. In other lands, he is called a god, or a devil. We know he is just a man who has lived very long, and that is what gives him power." I closed my eyes. "He was one of the first to leave the Home Ceitu. We do not know how he came to live so long. Perhaps through the efforts of the Everman. Perhaps from another Espy hidden deep in chambers we have not seen. It does not matter. He lives. That is enough. And he knows the secrets from the time before. His knowledge is a poison that must be kept from the world, and that is why we keep him held, as our ancestors did before us."</p> <p>"Good enough so far," the shaman admitted. "You've echoed the words of others, admirably. But a shaman cannot simply speak like a parrot. You have been inside. You have seen the Beyt. Add to our knowledge. Tell me what he told you."</p> <p>"He… He asked me to help him escape. He promised me great weapons, riches beyond my dreams. I refused, for we know him for a liar. He told me he was imprisoned unjustly. He cursed me, and then cursed Geyre above and Kalef below for holding him there. I… I fled. I am not a brave man. I make no excuse for this. My companion found me, and we left the chamber." I turned my face in shame.</p> <p>"You did nothing wrong," the shaman said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Many who have gone in have not returned. The dream of butterflies and the old one are strong, and we know they wish to get past us. We serve. We contain. We protect."</p> <p>"Protect," I echoed. "Until the gods return."</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="/scp-one-million">SCP-One Million</a>" by DrEverettMann, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/scp-one-million">https://scpwiki.com/scp-one-million</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]] [[/>]] "Tell me of the thing," the shaman said. "It lives in the--" I started. "No!" The stick came down hard on my knuckles. "Begin with how to stop it, how to keep it held. Always. What it is can wait until after." I rubbed my hand, and began again. "The people must always be ready. They must keep their eyes to the South, to watch for the Everman. They must keep their eyes to the East, to watch for the City People, who pick among the ruins for toys they cannot understand. They must keep their eyes to the seas, for things that come across the waters are a deadly threat. They must keep their eyes inward, for the greatest threat comes from men who know. "No man may enter the antechamber but that he comes to light the fires once more, or else that he is a shaman, going for a vision quest. He will enter with one other, and neither may leave except with the other. When they leave, they close the doors shut tight behind them. "At all times will there be five guardians at the door, chosen from the people and trained in war. They will keep their spears sharp. When one sleeps, another comes to replace him. Their dogs will sleep at their feet, ready to challenge any who comes from outside or within." I looked up at the shaman. "Now?" He nodded. "You know how to keep it held. Now you may say what it is." "The Espy, called a Wonder by the ignorant, holds the number of a thousand thousands. It is of the kind called kahtar, the all-consuming." I took a deep breath. "There are two parts of the espy. Of the first, which we shall call the Aleph, is a dream of butterflies. They are held off by the burning of certain herbs, and it is therefore that we keep the fires lit, remain watchful should they go out. The dream of butterflies gives a man visions, strange scenes of times far past. I myself have seen these visions once. I saw men and women dressed strangely, in long, white coats. They spoke in a language I did not recognize." "And of the other, the Beyt?" the shaman asked. "That is the most dangerous part, though in seeming it is nothing but an old man. In other lands, he is called a god, or a devil. We know he is just a man who has lived very long, and that is what gives him power." I closed my eyes. "He was one of the first to leave the Home Ceitu. We do not know how he came to live so long. Perhaps through the efforts of the Everman. Perhaps from another Espy hidden deep in chambers we have not seen. It does not matter. He lives. That is enough. And he knows the secrets from the time before. His knowledge is a poison that must be kept from the world, and that is why we keep him held, as our ancestors did before us." "Good enough so far," the shaman admitted. "You've echoed the words of others, admirably. But a shaman cannot simply speak like a parrot. You have been inside. You have seen the Beyt. Add to our knowledge. Tell me what he told you." "He... He asked me to help him escape. He promised me great weapons, riches beyond my dreams. I refused, for we know him for a liar. He told me he was imprisoned unjustly. He cursed me, and then cursed Geyre above and Kalef below for holding him there. I... I fled. I am not a brave man. I make no excuse for this. My companion found me, and we left the chamber." I turned my face in shame. "You did nothing wrong," the shaman said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Many who have gone in have not returned. The dream of butterflies and the old one are strong, and we know they wish to get past us. We serve. We contain. We protect." "Protect," I echoed. "Until the gods return." [[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>]]	2012-03-31T04:45:00	[ "_licensebox", "bellerverse", "fantasy", "post-apocalyptic", "tale" ]	SCP-One Million - SCP Foundation	304	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "discovering-scp-hub", "archived:foundation-tales", "bellerverse" ]	[]	13063085	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-one-million
scripture	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><em>The following document was found in a fax machine in Site 93; no records of its source or time of transmission were located. A connection to <a href="/scp-962">SCP-962</a> is presumed.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>In the BEGINNING there was the Great One, the Glorious and Most Great on HIGH.</p> <p>The GREAT ONE lived first in itself, needing no world around it; for it was the most GREAT, and needed nothing, and wanted nothing.</p> <p>but there was darkness around the GREAT ONE'S body, and the darkness formed into the EARTH. And the EARTH was jealous as it looked at the GREAT ONE and saw that it wanted for nothing, and plotted to destroy that beauty, destroy the Glory, destroy the GREATNESS.</p> <p>and the Earth did create Gravity, and pulled the body of the GREAT ONE down to its rocks and crags, and broke it.</p> <p>and the GREAT ONE was broken, and shattered across the Earth, and fractured into pieces. Millions of pieces.</p> <p>beautiful pieces</p> <p>and these became the Great Ones, the offspring of the broken god that once ruled the cosmos, and was the cosmos; the being that lived among the stars, and was the stars.</p> <p>and the EARTH saw that the Great Ones were many, and were strong, in spite of its efforts so the EARTH tore itself apart and formed the ANIMALS, new races of being where none had lived before and PLANTS to feed these races and many of these ANIMALS were dangerous to the GREAT ONES, and tried to kill them and</p> <p>the pieces of the GREAT ONE were not everlasting as the GREAT ONE once was, and the ANIMALS did great damage. The ANIMALS stole food, and stole land, and stole water, and hated the Great Ones, and worst of all, they did not see the BEAUTY</p> <p>They did not Understand the BEAUTY and they did not LOVE the Great Ones! There is no greater heresy!</p> <p>and the COSMOS saw that the GREAT ONES were suffering, and built a great TOWER in a valley of the EARTH. And though the EARTH was unclean, the TOWER was clean always clean so very clean and</p> <p>inside the TOWER were the <sub>people</sub> mere servants of the Great Ones nothing more</p> <p>and the <sub>people</sub> merest worms that we are tried to fix the EARTH CLEANSE THE EARTH</p> <p>the ANIMALS were brought into the TOWER, and there made pure and whole with the steel, made again in the</p> <p>GLORY</p> <p>of the Great Ones and wrapped in steel and made to serve</p> <p>and the Great Ones came and saw the TOWER and did not understand <sub>we</sub> of the <sub>people</sub> knew they did not understand so <sub>we</sub> took pieces of the ANIMALS pieces they did not need and tried to <sub>speak</sub> to the GREAT ONES <sub>we</sub></p> <p>would not touch the EARTH and its filth but <sub>we</sub></p> <p>spoke nonetheless.</p> <p>And <sub>we</sub> continued to cleanse the EARTH, and cleanse the ANIMALS so they would see the</p> <h5 id="toc0"><span>GLORY</span></h5> <p>of the GREAT ONES</p> <p>but THEY did not SPEAK to <sub>us</sub> even after we <sub>spoke</sub> to THEM</p> <p>and a voice</p> <p>a <sub>voice</sub></p> <p>the lowest <sub>voice</sub> of the darkest evil spoke</p> <p>from the deepest reaches of the TOWER</p> <p>spoke lies to the <sub>people</sub> of the TOWER told <sub>us</sub></p> <p>told <sub>us</sub> that the GREAT ONES could not hear <sub>us</sub> because they</p> <p>they were fractured by the earth and that</p> <p>and that if they were rejoined into their previous form that they could</p> <p>that they could <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">appreciate</span> know of <sub>our</sub> LOVE and could</p> <p>and could LOVE <sub>us</sub> in return.</p> <p>and this was a greater HERESY even than the lies of the ANIMALS but</p> <p>but <sub>we</sub> did not KNOW <sub>we</sub> could not KNOW how could <sub>we</sub> KNOW</p> <p><sub>we</sub> are <sub>nothing</sub> before the GREAT ONES</p> <p>but <sub>we</sub> were convinced by the <sub>dark voice</sub> and carried out <sub>its</sub> plan</p> <p><sub>we</sub> sent out a signal to draw the GREAT ONES to the TOWER</p> <p>and went to collect all those who did not come on their own</p> <p><sub>we</sub> put the pieces back together and bonded IT in steel and fire</p> <p><sub>we</sub> watched their pieces squirm and fight <sub>our</sub> claws and limbs</p> <p>and for the</p> <h3 id="toc1"><span>GLORY</span></h3> <p>we built the GREAT ONE again.</p> <p>And when the GREAT ONE was complete, IT stood in the TOWER as we had built it</p> <p>IT stood</p> <p>it STOOD<br/> <br/> and was silent</p> <p>it STANDS</p> <p><em>and is silent</em></p> <p>and <sub>we</sub> knew <sub>we</sub> had erred in our hubris</p> <p>the <sub>dark voice</sub> was put to death for its lies</p> <p>and <sub>we</sub> stand with the new GREAT ONE</p> <p>and IT stands with <sub>us</sub></p> <p>forever</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="/scripture">Scripture</a>" by Eskobar, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/scripture">https://scpwiki.com/scripture</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 following document was found in a fax machine in Site 93; no records of its source or time of transmission were located. A connection to [[[SCP-962]]] is presumed.// > In the BEGINNING there was the Great One, the Glorious and Most Great on HIGH. > > The GREAT ONE lived first in itself, needing no world around it; for it was the most GREAT, and needed nothing, and wanted nothing. > > but there was darkness around the GREAT ONE'S body, and the darkness formed into the EARTH. And the EARTH was jealous as it looked at the GREAT ONE and saw that it wanted for nothing, and plotted to destroy that beauty, destroy the Glory, destroy the GREATNESS. > > and the Earth did create Gravity, and pulled the body of the GREAT ONE down to its rocks and crags, and broke it. > > and the GREAT ONE was broken, and shattered across the Earth, and fractured into pieces. Millions of pieces. > > beautiful pieces > > and these became the Great Ones, the offspring of the broken god that once ruled the cosmos, and was the cosmos; the being that lived among the stars, and was the stars. > > and the EARTH saw that the Great Ones were many, and were strong, in spite of its efforts so the EARTH tore itself apart and formed the ANIMALS, new races of being where none had lived before and PLANTS to feed these races and many of these ANIMALS were dangerous to the GREAT ONES, and tried to kill them and > > the pieces of the GREAT ONE were not everlasting as the GREAT ONE once was, and the ANIMALS did great damage. The ANIMALS stole food, and stole land, and stole water, and hated the Great Ones, and worst of all, they did not see the BEAUTY > > They did not Understand the BEAUTY and they did not LOVE the Great Ones! There is no greater heresy! > > and the COSMOS saw that the GREAT ONES were suffering, and built a great TOWER in a valley of the EARTH. And though the EARTH was unclean, the TOWER was clean always clean so very clean and > > inside the TOWER were the ,,people,, mere servants of the Great Ones nothing more > > and the ,,people,, merest worms that we are tried to fix the EARTH CLEANSE THE EARTH > > the ANIMALS were brought into the TOWER, and there made pure and whole with the steel, made again in the > > GLORY > > of the Great Ones and wrapped in steel and made to serve > > and the Great Ones came and saw the TOWER and did not understand ,,we,, of the ,,people,, knew they did not understand so ,,we,, took pieces of the ANIMALS pieces they did not need and tried to ,,speak,, to the GREAT ONES ,,we,, > > would not touch the EARTH and its filth but ,,we,, > > spoke nonetheless. > > And ,,we,, continued to cleanse the EARTH, and cleanse the ANIMALS so they would see the > > +++++ GLORY > > of the GREAT ONES > > but THEY did not SPEAK to ,,us,, even after we ,,spoke,, to THEM > > and a voice > > a ,,voice,, > > the lowest ,,voice,, of the darkest evil spoke > > from the deepest reaches of the TOWER > > spoke lies to the ,,people,, of the TOWER told ,,us,, > > told ,,us,, that the GREAT ONES could not hear ,,us,, because they > > they were fractured by the earth and that > > and that if they were rejoined into their previous form that they could > > that they could --appreciate-- know of ,,our,, LOVE and could > > and could LOVE ,,us,, in return. > > and this was a greater HERESY even than the lies of the ANIMALS but > > but ,,we,, did not KNOW ,,we,, could not KNOW how could ,,we,, KNOW > > ,,we,, are ,,nothing,, before the GREAT ONES > > but ,,we,, were convinced by the ,,dark voice,, and carried out ,,its,, plan > > ,,we,, sent out a signal to draw the GREAT ONES to the TOWER > > and went to collect all those who did not come on their own > > ,,we,, put the pieces back together and bonded IT in steel and fire > > ,,we,, watched their pieces squirm and fight ,,our,, claws and limbs > > and for the > > +++ GLORY > > we built the GREAT ONE again. > > > > And when the GREAT ONE was complete, IT stood in the TOWER as we had built it > > IT stood > > it STOOD > > and was silent > > > > > it STANDS > > > > //and is silent// > > > > and ,,we,, knew ,,we,, had erred in our hubris > > > > the ,,dark voice,, was put to death for its lies > > and ,,we,, stand with the new GREAT ONE > > and IT stands with ,,us,, > > forever [[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>]]	2012-01-31T15:28:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Scripture - SCP Foundation	41	[ "scp-962", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	12639919	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scripture
scroll-fragment-13q29	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Scroll fragment 13Q29, discovered at Khirbet Qumran in 1951. Scrolls consisted of vellum, with Hebrew (Assyrian block text) lettering written using a lampblack compound for ink. The fragment appears to have been in poor condition when recovered from the cave, and additional damage to the fragment occurred during recovery by Foundation personnel. Due to the condition of the scroll fragments, reconstruction of the original text is largely speculative.</p> <p><tt>███████n the first year of the reign of Darius, I was visited b█</tt><br/> <tt>███en travelers, who came to Babylon from Egypt, yea ███and th██</tt><br/> <tt>██ake unto me of their crossing of the desert of An███████eventy</tt><br/> <tt>█nd seven were their number when they did depart fro███gypt, and</tt><br/> <tt>██hey were servants of the king of Egypt, come to treat with the</tt><br/> <tt>████ng of the Medes. And I said unto them, where are the others█</tt><br/> <tt>██f your number? And a great trembling fell upon them, and the██</tt><br/> <tt>would not speak and therefore left me alone. whence I said un███</tt><br/> <tt>them, if you will not speak, then show me where are thy ████████</tt><br/> <tt>brothers, the men of Egypt who serve the king of Egypt. A███████</tt><br/> <tt>Potiphabas, who w████s chief among them, sayeth he unto me, ████</tt><br/> <tt>███████place at █████████f the kingdom, and sayeth he unto me, █</tt><br/> <tt>they are lost, th████east fell upon us in the valley that is ███</tt><br/> <tt>beyond the mountain to the south, and we did fear it, and we hid</tt><br/> <tt>ourselves whilst it consumed our brothers. And the king on hi███</tt><br/> <tt>seat in Babylon did say unto me, go, and see what is the trut███</tt><br/> <tt>of this, and take with you the wise men of Babylon, and of █████</tt><br/> <tt>Persia, and of Graecia, and of Egypt, and of the Medes, and of █</tt><br/> <tt>all the nations and the soothsayers of Chaldea and the judges of</tt><br/> <tt>the Hebrews which art of the children of the captivity of Judah.</tt><br/> <tt>and let the judges of the Hebrews bring the holy vessel of the██</tt><br/> <tt>LORD, and let the men of Babylon, and of Persia, and of ████████</tt><br/> <tt>Graecia, and of Egypt, and of the Medes, and of all the nation██</tt><br/> <tt>████ bring the magi████al things each of their kind. For I, t███</tt><br/> <tt>███████ Babylon, shall not suffer a beast to harm my subjects,██</tt><br/> <tt>██████he servants of foreign princes come to treat with me. And█</tt><br/> <tt>████the beast be destroyed. And I said unto the king, I fea█████</tt><br/> <tt>naught but the LORD, and if the LORD be with me then no beast███</tt><br/> <tt>shall harm me. And I went forth bringing the holy vessel of the█</tt><br/> <tt>LORD, and the men of Babylon, and of Persia, and of Graecia, an█</tt><br/> <tt>of Egypt, and the soothsayers of Chaldea did go forth, each wit█</tt><br/> <tt>the magical things of their kind. And we came unt███ the vall███</tt><br/> <tt>of Ne████████, which is called the place of lamentations. And███</tt><br/> <tt>the place was desolation and it was a place of darkness, for th█</tt><br/> <tt>sun wou██████ not ███in that place, and no plant would grow, a██</tt><br/> <tt>no man wo███████████o that place, neither any cattle or sheep o█</tt><br/> <tt>ass or bird o██the sky or creeping thing. ███████And the men ███</tt><br/> <tt>Graecia were afraid of the darkness, but the men of Babylon sai█</tt><br/> <tt>unto them, be not afraid, for Marduk of fifty names who hat█████</tt><br/> <tt>slain Tiamat shall protect us. And likewise did the men of █████</tt><br/> <tt>Canaan say unto the Graecians, lo, Ba’al who is called Hadd█████</tt><br/> <tt>who is the LORD of the sky shall smite the beast with a ████████</tt><br/> <tt>thunderbolt as he did smite the serpent Lotan. And likewis██████</tt><br/> <tt>men of Persia and of Egypt and of the Medes, and of Chaldea an██</tt><br/> <tt>of all the n████ ██████y unto them, our gods shall protect us.██</tt><br/> <tt>And I feared no█████for I did br████████vessel of the LORD. A███</tt><br/> <tt>the soothsayers of Chaldea did say, on the third day the beast██</tt><br/> <tt>shal███████, when the stars are right. And we sojourned in that█</tt><br/> <tt>place. ███nd on the third day the beast did come, and it was the</tt><br/> <tt>Abominati█████, dread and terrible, and behold! it was a dragon,</tt><br/> <tt>and it h████ head of a serpent, and great scales as of iron upon</tt><br/> <tt>it███████████████ no arrow or spear could pierce, and it had the</tt><br/> <tt>legs ██████ bear, and the claws of a leopard, and its tail was a</tt><br/> <tt>great scourge, and its countena████e was hatred, and it spake of</tt><br/> <tt>its fury and in furious rebukes. And the men of Graecia did ████</tt><br/> <tt>say, let us stay hid in secret, and we shall see the beast, an██</tt><br/> <tt>know its purposes, and whence it goes. But the men of Babylon ██</tt><br/> <tt>spake, saying let us slay the beast, wherefore they assemble████</tt><br/> <tt>with their clubs and spears. And the Abomination slew them al███</tt><br/> <tt>and devoured their flesh. Next the men of Canaan spake, sayin███</tt><br/> <tt>Marduk is a false god, but Ba’al who is called Haddad shall█████</tt><br/> <tt>protect us. And their sorcerers did raise their staves, and a███</tt><br/> <tt>great cloud of storm did come, and the sorcer██rs of Canaan sent</tt><br/> <tt>forth lightning from the cloud and it████████████ did strike the</tt><br/> <tt>Abomination. And the Abomination r█████████it was as mighty and█</tt><br/> <tt>as terrible as se████████████████████████seven. And the Abom████</tt><br/> <tt>██████say, surely this host defiles creation and is a detestab██</tt><br/> <tt>thing, yea, thou art all of thou loathsome unto my sight and████</tt><br/> <tt>behold, I shall ex███████████ath unto thee. And the Abomin██████</tt><br/> <tt>did slay and despoil all of the sorcerers of Canaan and all of██</tt><br/> <tt>the men of Canaan, and likewise the men of Persia, and of Egyp██</tt><br/> <tt>and of the Medes, the multitude of the nations did fall. And████</tt><br/> <tt>the men of Graecia █████did say, let us bring forth our engines█</tt><br/> <tt>these bring low th███walls of the cities of the mighty, and even</tt><br/> <tt>these shall subd██████the beast. And the engines did cast great█</tt><br/> <tt>stones at the Abom██████ination, and mighty bolts of iron and of</tt><br/> <tt>brass, but naught did they harm it, and the Abomination did slay</tt><br/> <tt>█████e men of Graecia and lay waste to their engines. And I was█</tt><br/> <tt>██fraid, and did wonder, wherefore I said unto my servants, yea█</tt><br/> <tt>█et us leave the vessel of the LORD in this place, and we shal██</tt><br/> <tt>████rotected. And I called forth Aroch, and G███ his son, and I█</tt><br/> <tt>██████ them carry forth the vessel of the LORD, and I bade them█</tt><br/> <tt>███████pproach the Abomination, and place the vessel upon a high</tt><br/> <tt>place, and thence depart from that place. And they did as I█████</tt><br/> <tt>commanded, saying yea, the LORD is with us. And the Abomination█</tt><br/> <tt>di███████ come, in its wrath and its wickedness, and behold! the</tt><br/> <tt>Abo████████ation devoureth the vessel of the LORD, whereupon the</tt><br/> <tt>████arkness parted and all the bright lights of heaven did shin█</tt><br/> <tt>upon the Abomination, and the people were amazed and they were██</tt><br/> <tt>afraid and did tremble. And we did fly from that place, ever████</tt><br/> <tt>man for his own life, and the earth was cleaved in two, and the█</tt><br/> <tt>Abomination was cast into the abyss, and the abyss is the grav██</tt><br/> <tt>of the multitude of all of the nations whom the Abomination di██</tt><br/> <tt>slay. And we said unto the LORD, ye have smitten the ███████████</tt><br/> <tt>██████ tion, sing Hosannah unto the LORD. But the word of ██████</tt><br/> <tt>LORD came unto me, saying, hear the word of the LORD: surely ███</tt><br/> <tt>Abomination is not slain, it does lay beneath the earth in this█</tt><br/> <tt>place, wherefore approacheth not the valley of the Abominatio███</tt><br/> <tt>█et this place be anathema unto you. For the men of Babylo██████</tt><br/> <tt>of Persia and of Egypt and of the Medes, and of Chaldea and ████</tt><br/> <tt>Graecia and of all of the nations, did they not all of █████████</tt><br/> <tt>█erish? But ye, the sons of Abraham did I deliver from th███████</tt><br/> <tt>█████nation, yea, even as ye left my vessel for the Abomina█████</tt><br/> <tt>████████████████e not forsaken thee. And I fell down upon m█████</tt><br/> <tt>████████████████████████████voice, saying ██████████████████████</tt></p> <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="/scroll-fragment-13q29">Scroll fragment 13Q29</a>" by spikebrennan, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/scroll-fragment-13q29">https://scpwiki.com/scroll-fragment-13q29</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]] [[/>]] Scroll fragment 13Q29, discovered at Khirbet Qumran in 1951. Scrolls consisted of vellum, with Hebrew (Assyrian block text) lettering written using a lampblack compound for ink. The fragment appears to have been in poor condition when recovered from the cave, and additional damage to the fragment occurred during recovery by Foundation personnel. Due to the condition of the scroll fragments, reconstruction of the original text is largely speculative. {{███████n the first year of the reign of Darius, I was visited b█}} {{███en travelers, who came to Babylon from Egypt, yea ███and th██}} {{██ake unto me of their crossing of the desert of An███████eventy}} {{█nd seven were their number when they did depart fro███gypt, and}} {{██hey were servants of the king of Egypt, come to treat with the}} {{████ng of the Medes. And I said unto them, where are the others█}} {{██f your number? And a great trembling fell upon them, and the██}} {{would not speak and therefore left me alone. whence I said un███}} {{them, if you will not speak, then show me where are thy ████████}} {{brothers, the men of Egypt who serve the king of Egypt. A███████}} {{Potiphabas, who w████s chief among them, sayeth he unto me, ████}} {{███████place at █████████f the kingdom, and sayeth he unto me, █}} {{they are lost, th████east fell upon us in the valley that is ███}} {{beyond the mountain to the south, and we did fear it, and we hid}} {{ourselves whilst it consumed our brothers. And the king on hi███}} {{seat in Babylon did say unto me, go, and see what is the trut███}} {{of this, and take with you the wise men of Babylon, and of █████}} {{Persia, and of Graecia, and of Egypt, and of the Medes, and of █}} {{all the nations and the soothsayers of Chaldea and the judges of}} {{the Hebrews which art of the children of the captivity of Judah.}} {{and let the judges of the Hebrews bring the holy vessel of the██}} {{LORD, and let the men of Babylon, and of Persia, and of ████████}} {{Graecia, and of Egypt, and of the Medes, and of all the nation██}} {{████ bring the magi████al things each of their kind. For I, t███}} {{███████ Babylon, shall not suffer a beast to harm my subjects,██}} {{██████he servants of foreign princes come to treat with me. And█}} {{████the beast be destroyed. And I said unto the king, I fea█████}} {{naught but the LORD, and if the LORD be with me then no beast███}} {{shall harm me. And I went forth bringing the holy vessel of the█}} {{LORD, and the men of Babylon, and of Persia, and of Graecia, an█}} {{of Egypt, and the soothsayers of Chaldea did go forth, each wit█}} {{the magical things of their kind. And we came unt███ the vall███}} {{of Ne████████, which is called the place of lamentations. And███}} {{the place was desolation and it was a place of darkness, for th█}} {{sun wou██████ not ███in that place, and no plant would grow, a██}} {{no man wo███████████o that place, neither any cattle or sheep o█}} {{ass or bird o██the sky or creeping thing. ███████And the men ███}} {{Graecia were afraid of the darkness, but the men of Babylon sai█}} {{unto them, be not afraid, for Marduk of fifty names who hat█████}} {{slain Tiamat shall protect us. And likewise did the men of █████}} {{Canaan say unto the Graecians, lo, Ba’al who is called Hadd█████}} {{who is the LORD of the sky shall smite the beast with a ████████}} {{thunderbolt as he did smite the serpent Lotan. And likewis██████}} {{men of Persia and of Egypt and of the Medes, and of Chaldea an██}} {{of all the n████ ██████y unto them, our gods shall protect us.██}} {{And I feared no█████for I did br████████vessel of the LORD. A███}} {{the soothsayers of Chaldea did say, on the third day the beast██}} {{shal███████, when the stars are right. And we sojourned in that█}} {{place. ███nd on the third day the beast did come, and it was the}} {{Abominati█████, dread and terrible, and behold! it was a dragon,}} {{and it h████ head of a serpent, and great scales as of iron upon}} {{it███████████████ no arrow or spear could pierce, and it had the}} {{legs ██████ bear, and the claws of a leopard, and its tail was a}} {{great scourge, and its countena████e was hatred, and it spake of}} {{its fury and in furious rebukes. And the men of Graecia did ████}} {{say, let us stay hid in secret, and we shall see the beast, an██}} {{know its purposes, and whence it goes. But the men of Babylon ██}} {{spake, saying let us slay the beast, wherefore they assemble████}} {{with their clubs and spears. And the Abomination slew them al███}} {{and devoured their flesh. Next the men of Canaan spake, sayin███}} {{Marduk is a false god, but Ba’al who is called Haddad shall█████}} {{protect us. And their sorcerers did raise their staves, and a███}} {{great cloud of storm did come, and the sorcer██rs of Canaan sent}} {{forth lightning from the cloud and it████████████ did strike the}} {{Abomination. And the Abomination r█████████it was as mighty and█}} {{as terrible as se████████████████████████seven. And the Abom████}} {{██████say, surely this host defiles creation and is a detestab██}} {{thing, yea, thou art all of thou loathsome unto my sight and████}} {{behold, I shall ex███████████ath unto thee. And the Abomin██████}} {{did slay and despoil all of the sorcerers of Canaan and all of██}} {{the men of Canaan, and likewise the men of Persia, and of Egyp██}} {{and of the Medes, the multitude of the nations did fall. And████}} {{the men of Graecia █████did say, let us bring forth our engines█}} {{these bring low th███walls of the cities of the mighty, and even}} {{these shall subd██████the beast. And the engines did cast great█}} {{stones at the Abom██████ination, and mighty bolts of iron and of}} {{brass, but naught did they harm it, and the Abomination did slay}} {{█████e men of Graecia and lay waste to their engines. And I was█}} {{██fraid, and did wonder, wherefore I said unto my servants, yea█}} {{█et us leave the vessel of the LORD in this place, and we shal██}} {{████rotected. And I called forth Aroch, and G███ his son, and I█}} {{██████ them carry forth the vessel of the LORD, and I bade them█}} {{███████pproach the Abomination, and place the vessel upon a high}} {{place, and thence depart from that place. And they did as I█████}} {{commanded, saying yea, the LORD is with us. And the Abomination█}} {{di███████ come, in its wrath and its wickedness, and behold! the}} {{Abo████████ation devoureth the vessel of the LORD, whereupon the}} {{████arkness parted and all the bright lights of heaven did shin█}} {{upon the Abomination, and the people were amazed and they were██}} {{afraid and did tremble. And we did fly from that place, ever████}} {{man for his own life, and the earth was cleaved in two, and the█}} {{Abomination was cast into the abyss, and the abyss is the grav██}} {{of the multitude of all of the nations whom the Abomination di██}} {{slay. And we said unto the LORD, ye have smitten the ███████████}} {{██████ tion, sing Hosannah unto the LORD. But the word of ██████}} {{LORD came unto me, saying, hear the word of the LORD: surely ███}} {{Abomination is not slain, it does lay beneath the earth in this█}} {{place, wherefore approacheth not the valley of the Abominatio███}} {{█et this place be anathema unto you. For the men of Babylo██████}} {{of Persia and of Egypt and of the Medes, and of Chaldea and ████}} {{Graecia and of all of the nations, did they not all of █████████}} {{█erish? But ye, the sons of Abraham did I deliver from th███████}} {{█████nation, yea, even as ye left my vessel for the Abomina█████}} {{████████████████e not forsaken thee. And I fell down upon m█████}} {{████████████████████████████voice, saying ██████████████████████}} [[include <a href="http://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/more-by-spike-alt">:scp-sandbox-3:more-by-spike-alt</a>]] [[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>]]	2012-07-02T21:23:00	[ "_licensebox", "hard-to-destroy-reptile", "historical", "mythological", "religious-fiction", "tale" ]	Scroll fragment 13Q29 - SCP Foundation	44	[ "scp-1322", "scp-089", "spikebrennan-s-proposal", "scp-1844", "scp-1012", "scp-2553", "scp-1036", "scp-1512", "scp-1746", "scp-908", "scp-831", "scp-3236", "scp-2336", "scp-955", "scp-926", "scp-2236", "scp-920-ex", "scp-2914", "scp-2008-j", "scp-4436", "scp-4336", "scp-1060", "sic-transit-gloria-mundi", "spring-cleaning", "transcript-of-meeting-june-2-1972", "transcript-of-telephone-conversation-august-9-1991", "memorandum-dated-6-november-1944", "stray-katz", "ad-majorem-bonum", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13691798	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scroll-fragment-13q29
seasick-sharks	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><span style="font-size:0%;">☦A story that should've been a joke.☦</span></p> <p>When they sent me to the ocean, I knew I would never see my family and friends again. I had never seen the ocean before. Never been to the beach. I don't even like visiting the swimming pool. But that's okay. As long as I'm making the world a better place for the innocent and the pure to live in, I'll be fine. Even the strangers, that kind man who looked to me in pity as if he could know my sacrifice. That's what I told myself when I took the injections and the treatments. Even when Stacie saw me after the first session and she threw her engagement ring in my face. As long as Stacie can have a few more reasons to use that beautiful smile, I can bear that burden. I know I can. When I dove into that vast plane of salt water, I held no regrets.</p> <p>It was with my determination I had lived as long as I had, in complete isolation. I made sure to avoid the ships and the boats. I grew to learn exactly where my targets liked to stay, where they liked to migrate and wander. I knew where to place my fist for the most optimal attack. It was perhaps the most fulfilling time of my life. Even if the world would never know -save for a rare few- that I existed, I knew I was doing good in the world. People don't have to fear swimming in the beaches because of me. People don't have to worry about fishing because of me. Did you know that some sharks have been found at least 4000 kilometers inland? Without someone like me to keep them from getting in freshwater, sharks would overrun our rivers and change the world as we know it! Because of my efforts, people can sleep safely at night. No matter the struggles, I'm sure as long as I keep them in mind, all of this will be worth it.<br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p> <hr/> <p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> People have caught me. How? What? I'm not anomalous!</p> <p>Get me out of here! I won't do any of your testing! I have sharks to punch! Don't you understand the importance of my efforts? Without me, sharks will overrun humanity!<br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p> <hr/> <p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> It's been months now I've been here. I've got a system going. I can still save these people. It doesn't matter what they think I am or who they are. They send me sharks. It won't be as effective as it once was, but that's okay. I can still help them; they just don't know I'm doing it for them. For humanity. Nothing matters but the greater good and the greater good shall be through my fists. It is not the most peaceful or the most kind way. But it's the only way to keep humanity safe. I still think of Stacie. I hope she's smiling, somewhere. She'll never know my struggles for her, for everyone. But that's okay.<br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> They've been slowing down. Can't they see the importance of my work?<br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p> <hr/> <p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> I see why they've kept me here now. They're here to keep me from helping people. They know what I do and how I'm helping humanity and they cannot be human. They're sharks. How did I not see this before?! They've tricked me all this time, slowing down my work, keeping me from my job. But it's okay now. They don't know what I know. I'm in the belly of the beast and they may think they have me cornered but they've given me more opportunity than ever before to help humans. I can bring down this system myself. It's the only way to keep humans safe from this society of sharks in secret. They want to bring us, humanity, down but I won't let them. I will fight for us all and I will never back down. I will stop their agenda the only way I know works by any means possible.<br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p> <hr/> <p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> I've had it so wrong for so long. How could I have been so blind? Stacie was right when she left. I thought I was protecting humanity. I was fighting for the right side. It never occurred to me that I too, loved those spots my targets liked. I never realized I had for so long wandered in the same places they did not because I knew to hunt them but because I…</p> <p>But I'm still a man inside. I know I am. I'll remove that monstrous part of myself. I'll suppress it. I know how to, I've done it so many times before. I've been training decades for this. I'm a goddamned professional and I know how to fix this. When I do I'll get out of here and do my job right this time. I can still fix myself.<br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p> <hr/> <p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> Why won't it work? I know it works why won't it work I know it works I know it must work it must I must keep trying I must keep trying it will work <em>it has to work</em></p> <p>I had hoped at first it would go away. I'd remove it, as I had removed all other things. The monster I was would swim away from the man I am. I know what I am. I cannot escape. No matter how fast I swim I can't swim from myself and no matter how hard I punch it's not the monster it is me. Sometimes if I punch myself hard enough I can forget what happened and remember what I was to do and feel determined like I used to feel. If I punch hard enough I know I'll forget everything forever.<br/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p> <hr/> <p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/> Please don't remind me, I want to forget.</p> <p>Please don't remind me I beg you</p> <p>please don't make me remember</p> <p><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-7475-j">please</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="/seasick-sharks">Seasick Sharks</a>" by SoullessSingularity, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/seasick-sharks">https://scpwiki.com/seasick-sharks</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%]]☦A story that should've been a joke.☦[[/size]] When they sent me to the ocean, I knew I would never see my family and friends again. I had never seen the ocean before. Never been to the beach. I don't even like visiting the swimming pool. But that's okay. As long as I'm making the world a better place for the innocent and the pure to live in, I'll be fine. Even the strangers, that kind man who looked to me in pity as if he could know my sacrifice. That's what I told myself when I took the injections and the treatments. Even when Stacie saw me after the first session and she threw her engagement ring in my face. As long as Stacie can have a few more reasons to use that beautiful smile, I can bear that burden. I know I can. When I dove into that vast plane of salt water, I held no regrets. It was with my determination I had lived as long as I had, in complete isolation. I made sure to avoid the ships and the boats. I grew to learn exactly where my targets liked to stay, where they liked to migrate and wander. I knew where to place my fist for the most optimal attack. It was perhaps the most fulfilling time of my life. Even if the world would never know -save for a rare few- that I existed, I knew I was doing good in the world. People don't have to fear swimming in the beaches because of me. People don't have to worry about fishing because of me. Did you know that some sharks have been found at least 4000 kilometers inland? Without someone like me to keep them from getting in freshwater, sharks would overrun our rivers and change the world as we know it! Because of my efforts, people can sleep safely at night. No matter the struggles, I'm sure as long as I keep them in mind, all of this will be worth it. @@ @@ ------ @@ @@ People have caught me. How? What? I'm not anomalous! Get me out of here! I won't do any of your testing! I have sharks to punch! Don't you understand the importance of my efforts? Without me, sharks will overrun humanity! @@ @@ ------ @@ @@ It's been months now I've been here. I've got a system going. I can still save these people. It doesn't matter what they think I am or who they are. They send me sharks. It won't be as effective as it once was, but that's okay. I can still help them; they just don't know I'm doing it for them. For humanity. Nothing matters but the greater good and the greater good shall be through my fists. It is not the most peaceful or the most kind way. But it's the only way to keep humanity safe. I still think of Stacie. I hope she's smiling, somewhere. She'll never know my struggles for her, for everyone. But that's okay. @@ @@ @@ @@ They've been slowing down. Can't they see the importance of my work? @@ @@ ------ @@ @@ I see why they've kept me here now. They're here to keep me from helping people. They know what I do and how I'm helping humanity and they cannot be human. They're sharks. How did I not see this before?! They've tricked me all this time, slowing down my work, keeping me from my job. But it's okay now. They don't know what I know. I'm in the belly of the beast and they may think they have me cornered but they've given me more opportunity than ever before to help humans. I can bring down this system myself. It's the only way to keep humans safe from this society of sharks in secret. They want to bring us, humanity, down but I won't let them. I will fight for us all and I will never back down. I will stop their agenda the only way I know works by any means possible. @@ @@ ------ @@ @@ I've had it so wrong for so long. How could I have been so blind? Stacie was right when she left. I thought I was protecting humanity. I was fighting for the right side. It never occurred to me that I too, loved those spots my targets liked. I never realized I had for so long wandered in the same places they did not because I knew to hunt them but because I... But I'm still a man inside. I know I am. I'll remove that monstrous part of myself. I'll suppress it. I know how to, I've done it so many times before. I've been training decades for this. I'm a goddamned professional and I know how to fix this. When I do I'll get out of here and do my job right this time. I can still fix myself. @@ @@ ------ @@ @@ Why won't it work? I know it works why won't it work I know it works I know it must work it must I must keep trying I must keep trying it will work //it has to work// I had hoped at first it would go away. I'd remove it, as I had removed all other things. The monster I was would swim away from the man I am. I know what I am. I cannot escape. No matter how fast I swim I can't swim from myself and no matter how hard I punch it's not the monster it is me. Sometimes if I punch myself hard enough I can forget what happened and remember what I was to do and feel determined like I used to feel. If I punch hard enough I know I'll forget everything forever. @@ @@ ------ @@ @@ Please don't remind me, I want to forget. Please don't remind me I beg you please don't make me remember [http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-7475-j please] [[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>]]	2012-07-26T03:51:00	[ "_licensebox", "kindness", "shark-punching-center", "tale" ]	Seasick Sharks - SCP Foundation	97	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "spc-hub", "joke-scps-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13886900	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/seasick-sharks
seasons-pass	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>It's been a long time since we had a season like the '56 season. That was the heyday. It seemed like we couldn't sell enough stuff, and everyone wore the biggest smile. We had the tourists and business folk funneled in from the new highway, and business could not have been better. Bertha always used to talk about all the kids she got to talk to. We had Iowans, Nebraskans, and even some folks from California. I recall a couple of Canadians on the carousel. When we closed in November, the boss said that next season would be even better.</p> <p>But it wasn't. When we threw our doors open the next season, the crowds did not flow in. We had a crowd, sure, but not standing room only. We put on our best faces though, and we made sure everyone was entertained. I made sure that everyone had a fair time at the games. Even though it wasn't the hubbub we'd had last year, it was a good season. Boss knew we were disappointed, but he tried to keep our spirits up. "Next year," he said, "Will be the best for sure."</p> <p>It wasn't. We had nothing. Hardly anyone came by. The city council started to harass us about permits and taxes. Bossman said it would be taken care of, but when the constant stream of civil servants outnumbered the families, it was a bad time. At least we still had a few families then. Even if business only came in a trickle, they still visited. We weren't in the hundreds, but the dozens. When we closed up shop, Bossman said things would be better soon. Times were tough, but we were the Funland Family, and we would pull through.</p> <p>Things changed in the '59 season. The town seemed to have dried up overnight. The Dixie highway looked like nobody had paved it in months. There were all these people with weapons and equipment. I thought we were being shut down. But Bossman said to keep up "business as usual" so we could have that great season we needed. So the team kept up the happy faces. Bertha did her 2:00 shows, and Aron served up his gumbo pretzel sticks. The people would come in and poke stuff, but it never brought business, or the families.</p> <p>Sometimes they had kids in with them, sometimes with adults, but never real families. I can't even remember the last time I saw a real, smiling family here. It's become so sterile. Seasons have come and gone, but nobody cares and nothing seems to change. We don't see Bossman anymore. He left a letter on the floor and walked out a while ago. The people took the letter.</p> <p>It's darker now. The shows don't happen anymore. If you go in the arcade all we have is a cracked skee-ball table and an empty skill crane. Everything else is broken or gone. The others have changed. Everyone seems less happy and more bitter. If a kid came in today, they'd snap him. It's not that any one of them wants to do it. Nobody knows what is going to happen. If Bossman had given us a way home, maybe things would be different. We're here till he says otherwise.</p> <p>Sometimes… Sometimes I still remember the end of '56. I think we can be there again. The traffic is gonna flow again, and the lifeblood of tourism will flood into this creaky old house. It'll be next year. I can feel it.</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="/seasons-pass">Seasons Pass</a>" by Anonymous, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/seasons-pass">https://scpwiki.com/seasons-pass</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 been a long time since we had a season like the '56 season. That was the heyday. It seemed like we couldn't sell enough stuff, and everyone wore the biggest smile. We had the tourists and business folk funneled in from the new highway, and business could not have been better. Bertha always used to talk about all the kids she got to talk to. We had Iowans, Nebraskans, and even some folks from California. I recall a couple of Canadians on the carousel. When we closed in November, the boss said that next season would be even better. But it wasn't. When we threw our doors open the next season, the crowds did not flow in. We had a crowd, sure, but not standing room only. We put on our best faces though, and we made sure everyone was entertained. I made sure that everyone had a fair time at the games. Even though it wasn't the hubbub we'd had last year, it was a good season. Boss knew we were disappointed, but he tried to keep our spirits up. "Next year," he said, "Will be the best for sure." It wasn't. We had nothing. Hardly anyone came by. The city council started to harass us about permits and taxes. Bossman said it would be taken care of, but when the constant stream of civil servants outnumbered the families, it was a bad time. At least we still had a few families then. Even if business only came in a trickle, they still visited. We weren't in the hundreds, but the dozens. When we closed up shop, Bossman said things would be better soon. Times were tough, but we were the Funland Family, and we would pull through. Things changed in the '59 season. The town seemed to have dried up overnight. The Dixie highway looked like nobody had paved it in months. There were all these people with weapons and equipment. I thought we were being shut down. But Bossman said to keep up "business as usual" so we could have that great season we needed. So the team kept up the happy faces. Bertha did her 2:00 shows, and Aron served up his gumbo pretzel sticks. The people would come in and poke stuff, but it never brought business, or the families. Sometimes they had kids in with them, sometimes with adults, but never real families. I can't even remember the last time I saw a real, smiling family here. It's become so sterile. Seasons have come and gone, but nobody cares and nothing seems to change. We don't see Bossman anymore. He left a letter on the floor and walked out a while ago. The people took the letter. It's darker now. The shows don't happen anymore. If you go in the arcade all we have is a cracked skee-ball table and an empty skill crane. Everything else is broken or gone. The others have changed. Everyone seems less happy and more bitter. If a kid came in today, they'd snap him. It's not that any one of them wants to do it. Nobody knows what is going to happen. If Bossman had given us a way home, maybe things would be different. We're here till he says otherwise. Sometimes... Sometimes I still remember the end of '56. I think we can be there again. The traffic is gonna flow again, and the lifeblood of tourism will flood into this creaky old house. It'll be next year. I can feel it. [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> \|author=Anonymous]] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-10-29T23:19:00	[ "_licensebox", "rewritable", "tale" ]	Seasons Pass - SCP Foundation	89	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales", "articles-eligible-for-rewrite" ]	[]	14839084	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/seasons-pass
second-watch	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <blockquote> <p>Nota Bene: It does help if you read <a href="/shepherds">Shepherds</a> first, as this is a continuation of that.</p> </blockquote> <p>“NO!”</p> <p>Mary-Ann opened her eyes to see the darkness of her bedroom. She was sitting up, gasping for breath, one arm outstretched, reaching for something. Alexander was out the door already, leaving nothing but a warm, circular depression by her right leg.</p> <p>She shuddered, drawing her hand back in. The dream-images had already faded into an indistinct nothingness. That hot terror that came with it had not.</p> <p>She ran a hand through her hair. With the other, she reached for the bedside lamp. The clock said 3:18 in neon-red numerals.</p> <p><em>click</em></p> <p>The light was harsh for the first few moments. She blinked, grabbing her bearings again, not letting them go. This was her bedroom, and it was safe. The apartment building was safe. There was nothing out there in the dark. She was alive, and unharmed, and unlikely to be harmed. No one was in danger.</p> <p>Her heart still hammered away at her chest, like some animal trying to gnaw away at her ribs. No use trying to go back to sleep now. She needed something to calm herself down. Some tea, a book, maybe some music in the background.</p> <p>That would do it. Tea first.</p> <p>The water was heating up when Johnny Cash started singing from the bedroom.</p> <p><em>You wired me awake and hit me with a hand that broke a nail…</em></p> <p>Phone calls at this hour involved two things: someone was drunk and needed bailing out of something, or there was trouble with work. Mary-Ann hoped for the first and expected the second.</p> <p>She went back to the bedroom and picked the cellphone up off of the nightstand.</p> <div style="text-align: center;"> <p>Salah</p> </div> <p>This was not a good thing.</p> <p>“Hello?” She dreaded what was on the other end.</p> <p>“I will be there in half an hour to pick you up.”</p> <p>“What? Salah, what’s going on?”</p> <p>“I’ll explain when I get there. Just get yourself ready.”</p> <p>The call ended. Mary-Ann stared at the phone in her hand. Salah was worried, that was obvious. He was never worried, or at least never showed that he was worried. If he was worried…</p> <p>Mary-Ann grabbed her backpack off the floor.</p> <p>—</p> <p>As he had said, Salah’s car pulled up in thirty minutes. Mary-Ann had been waiting in the lobby, changed into something more practical and packed up anything of use into her backpack: an extra change of clothes, a book for the ride, toiletries, some granola bars, a bottle of energy supplements.</p> <p>She slid into the passenger seat, holding her backpack on her lap. Salah’s hands were tight on the wheel. His whole body was tense. He was never tense. As soon as the door shut, he took off down the street. He was even driving more forcefully than usual.</p> <p>“Okay, what’s going on? You’ve got me freaking out, Salah.”</p> <p>“The Children of the Scarlet King have returned.”</p> <p>A memory dragged itself out of the database, a name and a date and a single paragraph describing a cult and how they had been destroyed by the Foundation. Everything else was a big blank space filled with hearsay, rumors and whisperings tricking down from those who had seen it and still opened their mouths.</p> <p>“Every agent in the district has been called in to the chapterhouse,” Salah continued. “Project command is taking no chances with this. Messages have already been sent to the Foundation and the Coalition for whatever support they can lend us.”</p> <p>“How’d we manage that?”</p> <p>“A few old arrangements were dredged up from the last time, enough that command hopes to get a temporary alliance. I have my doubts that the agreements will be honored. The Coalition will act of their own self-interest, of course, but they are hardly allies. The Foundation, they can be bought off by throwing them a few artifacts of no importance.”</p> <p>Mary-Ann remained quiet, trying to piece together the situation. The Foundation and Coalition rarely got involved with the Initiative, primarily in that they were far more interested at glaring at each other from across the metaphorical dinner table and sneaking snide insults in with the small talk. When they did, the interaction was generally the same: you have something we want, give it to us, no we are not going to compromise, yes you should do what we say because we have more guns than you. This situation pulled a Prague on the established order of power. Exactly what it turned it into, that would require more thought, but there were three and a half hours on the road for that.</p> <p>Salah reached down between his seat and the center console, removing a manila folder. He handed it to Mary-Ann.</p> <p>“Everything in here has been declassified for this mission. It’s a Babel-5 cipher. Destroy it when you’re done reading it.”</p> <p>“Got it.”</p> <p>Words lapsed into silence as the car continued down the lonely black road.</p> <p>—</p> <p>Robert Hensen had seen a fight break out over a man inadvertently bringing a ham sandwich to lunch. He’d seen blood drawn over translation errors. He’d heard enough brick-headed smack-talking to qualify the entire organization as a professional wrestling circuit.</p> <p>This particular web conference was not the most frustrating thing he had experienced, but it was very, very close. He had a Foundation Overseer on one end, a Coalition Director on the other, Director DeMontfort on the third, and none of them wanted to play nice with the other. DeMontfort had just finished berating the Overseer for wanting to recover everything the Children had instead of destroying it, though it was nothing close to his usual fire-and-brimstone tone. He seemed tired enough to talk like a civilized person for once.</p> <p>“At this stage, it is possible that the process may be stopped without losing the host. Total destruction would prevent study of the phenomena, inevitably leading to a disadvantage when confronting them in the future.” This was the Overseer, with his smugness.</p> <p>“Oh?” The Director’s voice raised the eyebrow absent from the logo on the screen. “Tell, me, Overseer. When was the last time the Foundation actually produced results from your studies? I can’t seem to recall anything recently…rather sad, when NASA has a better track record than your entire organization.”</p> <p>“The scientific process does not provide instantaneous results, Director.”</p> <p>“And in your case it does not seem to provide <em>any</em> results.”</p> <p>“May we get back to the situation at hand?” DeMontfort said. “We’re getting nowhere with this idiocy. Mr. Director, your hostility is not helping matters at all…”</p> <p>“The Initiative is currently in possession of numerous anomalous artifacts without the resources nor experience to properly contain them. You are a rogue element, and not in a position to make demands.” The Overseer was having none of this. “And, may I add, these items are used by agents in the field.”</p> <p>“They have been tested.”</p> <p>“Have they? Director DeMontfort, I mean no offense, but your personnel are hardly the foremost in the field.”</p> <p>Hensen pinched the bridge of his nose. Time to say something.</p> <p>“Can we just shut up and cut the bullshit?”</p> <p>That got them to pause.</p> <p>“We could do this alone, as it stands." Hensen continued. "The Initiative has one hundred and ten agents in the district, a sufficient number to raid the compound if pressed. Numbers are not the issue here. As a matter of fact, the issue here has nothing to do with the Children and everything to do with the fact that our organizations are so busy trying to strangle each other that we can barely see what’s going on in front of us.”</p> <p>“That is a simplistic viewpoint that doesn’t…”</p> <p>“January thirteenth,” Hensen cut the Overseer off. “Initial recovery of anomalous individual 091 by Foundation agents. March fourth: Coalition raid on a Foundation holding facility, unsuccessful termination of AI-091. March sixth, Initiative raid on Foundation facility, AI-091 recovered. March tenth: Coalition raid on Initiative facility, AI-091 escapes. June first: AI-091 acts under command of hostile organization, and is killed by Foundation agents after significant collateral damage and over two hundred civilian casualties.”</p> <p>He let that sink in for a bit.</p> <p>“I will be honest, I’m using the Children as an excuse to push another agenda, because I doubt I’ll have a better excuse any time soon. I propose a non-aggression pact between our organizations, with protocol for determining possession of items, on the basis that it’s time someone here did something reasonable. A joint operation against the Children of the Scarlet King, using Coalition magekillers, Foundation augmented operatives, and our own Project Malleus and Shepherd corps would serve as the springboard to this pact.”</p> <p>"You have no authority!" DeMontfort's anger had returned.</p> <p>"No, I do. Tribunal permission, in fact. I sent you the file, DeMontfort."</p> <p>The priest looked like he was going to turn into a beetroot.</p> <p>“And if we don’t comply to your request?” the Director said.</p> <p>“Then enjoy finding the cult on your own, after they’ve had time to grow stronger, and I <em>will</em> make sure this information is withheld from you. We could have an exact repeat of nine years ago, all because you wanted to keep on with your feud.”</p> <p>Silence.</p> <p>“Now then, I am sending you all copies of the proposal…”</p> <p>—</p> <p>Salah knew he needed sleep. Mary-Ann had taken over driving halfway to the chapterhouse, and while he had set the seat back and closed his eyes, he didn’t sleep. He couldn’t, really.</p> <p>He was scared. Who wouldn’t be, after reading those documents? He hadn’t been part of the original mission nine years prior: All of those agents were dead now. But he had heard stories, horrible stories. They were nothing when compared to the real thing. Dread sat in his stomach, dense and cold.</p> <p>Unlike a great many of the groups the Initiative fought, the Children of the Scarlet King had an actual god at its core, and that was not a title given out to every anomaly that attracted worshippers. The Scarlet King was very much real, and very much to be feared, from what had been pieced together of its nature and the Children’s beliefs. The King gloried in violence and depravity, calling to it the psychopath and the deviant, who then attempted to summon it and bind it to the world, as the King could not make avatars of its own. Rituals spanned from the proper preparation of a person for consumption, to methods of violation, to the summoning of the King’s servants, and all pointed towards the singular purpose of reshaping the world of man in its own image.</p> <p>The biggest problem, Salah thought, was how one went about killing a god. You could burn its scriptures, wipe out its worshipers, kill its avatars, but that would only ever delay it. Eventually it would come back, whispering, and the whole cycle would begin again. It could wait forever.</p> <p>Salah tried to focus on finding Mary-Ann amidst the bustle.</p> <p>The chapterhouse was abuzz, crawling with agents and operatives. The majority were of the Initiative, men and women Salah had worked alongside for years. Scattered amongst them even now were a few Foundation and Coalition representatives, trying to avoid each other as much as possible. The Coalition agents were grizzled veterans, with wary eyes and hardened faces. The Foundation agents had a stiff plastic look to them, like they had been pushed from a mold. The Initiative agents almost seemed out of place: most of them looked like they had just walked in off the streets. A motley bunch if there ever was one.</p> <p>Shouting in the next room. A fight had broken out. He was surprised that it had taken this long. The crowd had formed the traditional circle, with combatants at the center. On one side was a Coalition agent in camouflage, with a scar over one eye. He was holding a portable white-board in one hand. On the other side was a woman with blonde hair down to her waist and robes covered in writing, just barely restrained by Rabbi Arnheim and Smitation-Of-Evil-And-Trampling-Of-Sinful-Things Toton. She looked to have been trying to brain the Coalition agent with a book.</p> <p>“Unwriter! Unwriter!” She screamed at the agent, who looked thoroughly confused. “Wordkiller! <em>Let go of me…</em>”</p> <p>Salah stepped through the circle. Time to do what he was good at: smooth talking.</p> <p>“Good morning, Di. Read anything good lately?”</p> <p>“One moment, Salah, just have to dispense some justice to this agent of the Censor.” Her tone of voice jumped right from howling for blood to bubbly cheerfulness.</p> <p>“Perhaps I could persuade you otherwise? He looks like a man who files his paperwork. This was a mistake, true, but I think we could consider him enlightened to his wrongdoing, don’t you? Can’t hold the ignorant at fault.”</p> <p>Di relaxed somewhat, her restrainers letting go of her arms. She glared at the Coalition agent.</p> <p>“Don’t do it again.”</p> <p>The agent, with an expression of pure “what the hell just happened”, nodded and walked off. The circle broke down. Di came bounding over to Salah, a big smile on her face. He was quite sure she was bipolar.</p> <p>“As a matter of fact I have read something good recently you see I was in this little used book store just off the interstate and…”</p> <p>Di kept talking, blissfully unaware of anyone else in the room. Salah nodded occasionally towards her, directing his actual attention to Arnheim and Toton.</p> <p>“Thank you, Salah. I doubt we could have held her back for much longer.”</p> <p>“Ah, it was nothing. It’s good to see you again, Aaron. How’s the family?”</p> <p>“Oh, they’re doing just fine. Just finished putting an addition on the house, so the kids have their own bedrooms now. There was a lot of celebration with that, let me tell you.”</p> <p>“And you, Soeantost?”</p> <p>“Quaking in fear and awe of the Lord, as usual.”</p> <p>There was a tint of self-aware humor to the statement. Toton was good with that. You had to be, when you were the woman who had a habit of belting out “He Shall Crush the Sinful ‘Neath His Blessed Feet of Burning Light” at the top of her lungs.</p> <p>“Have either of you seen Mary-Ann around?”</p> <p>“Nope,” Toton said. ‘Haven’t seen her at all, actually.”</p> <p>“I saw her maybe half an hour ago, up on the third floor. Looked like she was about to fall asleep right then and there.”</p> <p>“Ah. She probably has. I should find some place to rest as well.”</p> <p>“…and what’s really interesting about that character is his relationship with his father, which parallels…”</p> <p>“Mm. We’re in dark times again, Salah.”</p> <p>“They come and go, and we know more than we did then.”</p> <p>“So do they.”</p> <p>“True. God willing, we’ll be able to prevent things before they escalate.”</p> <p>“So hope we all,” Toton said.</p> <p>“…and that’s the end of the book, and while there are a few shakes in the writing it’s a wonderful way to spend an afternoon and I recommend it highly.”</p> <p>Salah nodded.</p> <p>“Sounds good, Di. I’ll have to check it out.”</p> <p>A short time later, Salah found Mary-Ann asleep on a couch in the third floor lounge. He left her there.</p> <p>—</p> <p>Time passed. Plans were made, some amount of restless sleep was had, gear was doled out, prayers were said. A muted cloud fell over the chapterhouse as deployment time approached, the bustle and worry of the morning turning into a calm dread.</p> <p>They waited.</p> <p>Then, it was time.</p> <p>—</p> <p>The group descended on the compound under darkness, unsuspected. The Coalition ritual hackers broke through the outer wards, allowing the armored personnel carriers to drive up right to the doors. The wind screamed, the earth burst open with a misshapen brood, and battle was met.</p> <p>—</p> <p>Mary-Ann ducked into an alcove, just avoiding a stream of black acid shot down the hall. As soon as the splatter stopped she leaned around and fired off two shots: one miss, one in the shoulder. A Foundation agent in the alcove on the other side of the hall downed the creature.</p> <p>They kept moving, ignoring the spindly corpse with the marbled skin. The compound was crawling with them, more so than the actual Children. Those were easily dealt with: they had no guns, no survivors were taken. Mary-Ann had not seen any captives yet. If there had been, it would have been an act of mercy.</p> <p>The place was very wrong. Apparitions would flit in and out of vision, screams and cries of pain would sound from the distance, but there was never anything there.</p> <p>Mary-Ann was working automatically. Questions like how the Children managed to make a complex this large and ornate without anyone noticing were brushed to the back of her mind. The existence of these little creatures scrabbling all over the place made it feel like a scene out of <em>Aliens</em>, except the horror was undercut by the fact that she had night-vision goggles. Given the artisans the Initiative procured most of its high-end equipment from, those goggles were covered in iconography and had a heads-up display in Latin.</p> <p>According to the radio, the other teams had had much the same. The whole event was a blessing in disguise: the Children had no time to prepare for a force of this size. Compared to what they were before, compared to what the stories had been, it was almost a letdown.</p> <p>Things blurred together. The statues of various acts of violence and debauchery, the paintings, the creatures, the few men and women in red robes, usually found cowering in corners, everything blurred. The gunfire, the shouts, the commands, everything blurred.</p> <p>Eventually, after many shots, the group of five came to a pair of doors, big ones. Big doors mean important things on the other side, it was a rule of life. The agents positioned themselves, and two opened the doors. They creaked as they swung outward.</p> <p>A massive circular room with a domed roof stretched out before the group. The dome was covered in a painting, like some sort of twisted Sistine chapel, covered in horrifying beasts and great orgies of people surrounded by further scenes of graphic depravity. Columns lined the perimeter of the room, etched with symbols of some language that was better off unknown. Hundreds of candles were arranged just so, the wax dripped on the floor just so, tiles in the floor arranged just so, writing out rows and layers of symbols on the floor. Deep red tapestries and banners hung about the place.</p> <p>In the center of the room was a blue whale, lying on its back, smeared with whorls and swirls of blood. A lone man was standing in front of it. He was middle aged: short black hair and a biggish nose. For a flashing moment, Mary-Ann wondering what had driven him to do this, who he was, what his history was. Would he be mourned by parents who had lost a son, a wife who lost a husband, children who lost a father?</p> <p>The man got out a half-shout before a bullet passed through his skull and his body dropped to the floor. The echoes died away, and everything was silent in the room.</p> <p>Mary-Ann had no idea how the Children had gotten a blue whale this far inland. She decided it was better not to pursue an answer.</p> <p>All that was left was to kill it.</p> <div style="text-align: center;"> <p><strong>« <a href="/shepherds">Shepherds</a> \| <a href="/etdp-hub-page">Hub</a> \| <a href="/people-look-east">People Look East</a> »</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="/second-watch">Second Watch</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/second-watch">https://scpwiki.com/second-watch</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]] [[/>]] > Nota Bene: It does help if you read [[[Shepherds]]] first, as this is a continuation of that. “NO!” Mary-Ann opened her eyes to see the darkness of her bedroom. She was sitting up, gasping for breath, one arm outstretched, reaching for something. Alexander was out the door already, leaving nothing but a warm, circular depression by her right leg. She shuddered, drawing her hand back in. The dream-images had already faded into an indistinct nothingness. That hot terror that came with it had not. She ran a hand through her hair. With the other, she reached for the bedside lamp. The clock said 3:18 in neon-red numerals. //click// The light was harsh for the first few moments. She blinked, grabbing her bearings again, not letting them go. This was her bedroom, and it was safe. The apartment building was safe. There was nothing out there in the dark. She was alive, and unharmed, and unlikely to be harmed. No one was in danger. Her heart still hammered away at her chest, like some animal trying to gnaw away at her ribs. No use trying to go back to sleep now. She needed something to calm herself down. Some tea, a book, maybe some music in the background. That would do it. Tea first. The water was heating up when Johnny Cash started singing from the bedroom. //You wired me awake and hit me with a hand that broke a nail…// Phone calls at this hour involved two things: someone was drunk and needed bailing out of something, or there was trouble with work. Mary-Ann hoped for the first and expected the second. She went back to the bedroom and picked the cellphone up off of the nightstand. [[=]] Salah [[/=]] This was not a good thing. “Hello?” She dreaded what was on the other end. “I will be there in half an hour to pick you up.” “What? Salah, what’s going on?” “I’ll explain when I get there. Just get yourself ready.” The call ended. Mary-Ann stared at the phone in her hand. Salah was worried, that was obvious. He was never worried, or at least never showed that he was worried. If he was worried… Mary-Ann grabbed her backpack off the floor. -- As he had said, Salah’s car pulled up in thirty minutes. Mary-Ann had been waiting in the lobby, changed into something more practical and packed up anything of use into her backpack: an extra change of clothes, a book for the ride, toiletries, some granola bars, a bottle of energy supplements. She slid into the passenger seat, holding her backpack on her lap. Salah’s hands were tight on the wheel. His whole body was tense. He was never tense. As soon as the door shut, he took off down the street. He was even driving more forcefully than usual. “Okay, what’s going on? You’ve got me freaking out, Salah.” “The Children of the Scarlet King have returned.” A memory dragged itself out of the database, a name and a date and a single paragraph describing a cult and how they had been destroyed by the Foundation. Everything else was a big blank space filled with hearsay, rumors and whisperings tricking down from those who had seen it and still opened their mouths. “Every agent in the district has been called in to the chapterhouse,” Salah continued. “Project command is taking no chances with this. Messages have already been sent to the Foundation and the Coalition for whatever support they can lend us.” “How’d we manage that?” “A few old arrangements were dredged up from the last time, enough that command hopes to get a temporary alliance. I have my doubts that the agreements will be honored. The Coalition will act of their own self-interest, of course, but they are hardly allies. The Foundation, they can be bought off by throwing them a few artifacts of no importance.” Mary-Ann remained quiet, trying to piece together the situation. The Foundation and Coalition rarely got involved with the Initiative, primarily in that they were far more interested at glaring at each other from across the metaphorical dinner table and sneaking snide insults in with the small talk. When they did, the interaction was generally the same: you have something we want, give it to us, no we are not going to compromise, yes you should do what we say because we have more guns than you. This situation pulled a Prague on the established order of power. Exactly what it turned it into, that would require more thought, but there were three and a half hours on the road for that. Salah reached down between his seat and the center console, removing a manila folder. He handed it to Mary-Ann. “Everything in here has been declassified for this mission. It’s a Babel-5 cipher. Destroy it when you’re done reading it.” “Got it.” Words lapsed into silence as the car continued down the lonely black road. -- Robert Hensen had seen a fight break out over a man inadvertently bringing a ham sandwich to lunch. He’d seen blood drawn over translation errors. He’d heard enough brick-headed smack-talking to qualify the entire organization as a professional wrestling circuit. This particular web conference was not the most frustrating thing he had experienced, but it was very, very close. He had a Foundation Overseer on one end, a Coalition Director on the other, Director DeMontfort on the third, and none of them wanted to play nice with the other. DeMontfort had just finished berating the Overseer for wanting to recover everything the Children had instead of destroying it, though it was nothing close to his usual fire-and-brimstone tone. He seemed tired enough to talk like a civilized person for once. “At this stage, it is possible that the process may be stopped without losing the host. Total destruction would prevent study of the phenomena, inevitably leading to a disadvantage when confronting them in the future.” This was the Overseer, with his smugness. “Oh?” The Director’s voice raised the eyebrow absent from the logo on the screen. “Tell, me, Overseer. When was the last time the Foundation actually produced results from your studies? I can’t seem to recall anything recently…rather sad, when NASA has a better track record than your entire organization.” “The scientific process does not provide instantaneous results, Director.” “And in your case it does not seem to provide //any// results.” “May we get back to the situation at hand?” DeMontfort said. “We’re getting nowhere with this idiocy. Mr. Director, your hostility is not helping matters at all…” “The Initiative is currently in possession of numerous anomalous artifacts without the resources nor experience to properly contain them. You are a rogue element, and not in a position to make demands.” The Overseer was having none of this. “And, may I add, these items are used by agents in the field.” “They have been tested.” “Have they? Director DeMontfort, I mean no offense, but your personnel are hardly the foremost in the field.” Hensen pinched the bridge of his nose. Time to say something. “Can we just shut up and cut the bullshit?” That got them to pause. “We could do this alone, as it stands." Hensen continued. "The Initiative has one hundred and ten agents in the district, a sufficient number to raid the compound if pressed. Numbers are not the issue here. As a matter of fact, the issue here has nothing to do with the Children and everything to do with the fact that our organizations are so busy trying to strangle each other that we can barely see what’s going on in front of us.” “That is a simplistic viewpoint that doesn’t…” “January thirteenth,” Hensen cut the Overseer off. “Initial recovery of anomalous individual 091 by Foundation agents. March fourth: Coalition raid on a Foundation holding facility, unsuccessful termination of AI-091. March sixth, Initiative raid on Foundation facility, AI-091 recovered. March tenth: Coalition raid on Initiative facility, AI-091 escapes. June first: AI-091 acts under command of hostile organization, and is killed by Foundation agents after significant collateral damage and over two hundred civilian casualties.” He let that sink in for a bit. “I will be honest, I’m using the Children as an excuse to push another agenda, because I doubt I’ll have a better excuse any time soon. I propose a non-aggression pact between our organizations, with protocol for determining possession of items, on the basis that it’s time someone here did something reasonable. A joint operation against the Children of the Scarlet King, using Coalition magekillers, Foundation augmented operatives, and our own Project Malleus and Shepherd corps would serve as the springboard to this pact.” "You have no authority!" DeMontfort's anger had returned. "No, I do. Tribunal permission, in fact. I sent you the file, DeMontfort." The priest looked like he was going to turn into a beetroot. “And if we don’t comply to your request?” the Director said. “Then enjoy finding the cult on your own, after they’ve had time to grow stronger, and I //will// make sure this information is withheld from you. We could have an exact repeat of nine years ago, all because you wanted to keep on with your feud.” Silence. “Now then, I am sending you all copies of the proposal…” -- Salah knew he needed sleep. Mary-Ann had taken over driving halfway to the chapterhouse, and while he had set the seat back and closed his eyes, he didn’t sleep. He couldn’t, really. He was scared. Who wouldn’t be, after reading those documents? He hadn’t been part of the original mission nine years prior: All of those agents were dead now. But he had heard stories, horrible stories. They were nothing when compared to the real thing. Dread sat in his stomach, dense and cold. Unlike a great many of the groups the Initiative fought, the Children of the Scarlet King had an actual god at its core, and that was not a title given out to every anomaly that attracted worshippers. The Scarlet King was very much real, and very much to be feared, from what had been pieced together of its nature and the Children’s beliefs. The King gloried in violence and depravity, calling to it the psychopath and the deviant, who then attempted to summon it and bind it to the world, as the King could not make avatars of its own. Rituals spanned from the proper preparation of a person for consumption, to methods of violation, to the summoning of the King’s servants, and all pointed towards the singular purpose of reshaping the world of man in its own image. The biggest problem, Salah thought, was how one went about killing a god. You could burn its scriptures, wipe out its worshipers, kill its avatars, but that would only ever delay it. Eventually it would come back, whispering, and the whole cycle would begin again. It could wait forever. Salah tried to focus on finding Mary-Ann amidst the bustle. The chapterhouse was abuzz, crawling with agents and operatives. The majority were of the Initiative, men and women Salah had worked alongside for years. Scattered amongst them even now were a few Foundation and Coalition representatives, trying to avoid each other as much as possible. The Coalition agents were grizzled veterans, with wary eyes and hardened faces. The Foundation agents had a stiff plastic look to them, like they had been pushed from a mold. The Initiative agents almost seemed out of place: most of them looked like they had just walked in off the streets. A motley bunch if there ever was one. Shouting in the next room. A fight had broken out. He was surprised that it had taken this long. The crowd had formed the traditional circle, with combatants at the center. On one side was a Coalition agent in camouflage, with a scar over one eye. He was holding a portable white-board in one hand. On the other side was a woman with blonde hair down to her waist and robes covered in writing, just barely restrained by Rabbi Arnheim and Smitation-Of-Evil-And-Trampling-Of-Sinful-Things Toton. She looked to have been trying to brain the Coalition agent with a book. “Unwriter! Unwriter!” She screamed at the agent, who looked thoroughly confused. “Wordkiller! //Let go of me…//” Salah stepped through the circle. Time to do what he was good at: smooth talking. “Good morning, Di. Read anything good lately?” “One moment, Salah, just have to dispense some justice to this agent of the Censor.” Her tone of voice jumped right from howling for blood to bubbly cheerfulness. “Perhaps I could persuade you otherwise? He looks like a man who files his paperwork. This was a mistake, true, but I think we could consider him enlightened to his wrongdoing, don’t you? Can’t hold the ignorant at fault.” Di relaxed somewhat, her restrainers letting go of her arms. She glared at the Coalition agent. “Don’t do it again.” The agent, with an expression of pure “what the hell just happened”, nodded and walked off. The circle broke down. Di came bounding over to Salah, a big smile on her face. He was quite sure she was bipolar. “As a matter of fact I have read something good recently you see I was in this little used book store just off the interstate and…” Di kept talking, blissfully unaware of anyone else in the room. Salah nodded occasionally towards her, directing his actual attention to Arnheim and Toton. “Thank you, Salah. I doubt we could have held her back for much longer.” “Ah, it was nothing. It’s good to see you again, Aaron. How’s the family?” “Oh, they’re doing just fine. Just finished putting an addition on the house, so the kids have their own bedrooms now. There was a lot of celebration with that, let me tell you.” “And you, Soeantost?” “Quaking in fear and awe of the Lord, as usual.” There was a tint of self-aware humor to the statement. Toton was good with that. You had to be, when you were the woman who had a habit of belting out “He Shall Crush the Sinful ‘Neath His Blessed Feet of Burning Light” at the top of her lungs. “Have either of you seen Mary-Ann around?” “Nope,” Toton said. ‘Haven’t seen her at all, actually.” “I saw her maybe half an hour ago, up on the third floor. Looked like she was about to fall asleep right then and there.” “Ah. She probably has. I should find some place to rest as well.” “…and what’s really interesting about that character is his relationship with his father, which parallels…” “Mm. We’re in dark times again, Salah.” “They come and go, and we know more than we did then.” “So do they.” “True. God willing, we’ll be able to prevent things before they escalate.” “So hope we all,” Toton said. “…and that’s the end of the book, and while there are a few shakes in the writing it’s a wonderful way to spend an afternoon and I recommend it highly.” Salah nodded. “Sounds good, Di. I’ll have to check it out.” A short time later, Salah found Mary-Ann asleep on a couch in the third floor lounge. He left her there. -- Time passed. Plans were made, some amount of restless sleep was had, gear was doled out, prayers were said. A muted cloud fell over the chapterhouse as deployment time approached, the bustle and worry of the morning turning into a calm dread. They waited. Then, it was time. -- The group descended on the compound under darkness, unsuspected. The Coalition ritual hackers broke through the outer wards, allowing the armored personnel carriers to drive up right to the doors. The wind screamed, the earth burst open with a misshapen brood, and battle was met. -- Mary-Ann ducked into an alcove, just avoiding a stream of black acid shot down the hall. As soon as the splatter stopped she leaned around and fired off two shots: one miss, one in the shoulder. A Foundation agent in the alcove on the other side of the hall downed the creature. They kept moving, ignoring the spindly corpse with the marbled skin. The compound was crawling with them, more so than the actual Children. Those were easily dealt with: they had no guns, no survivors were taken. Mary-Ann had not seen any captives yet. If there had been, it would have been an act of mercy. The place was very wrong. Apparitions would flit in and out of vision, screams and cries of pain would sound from the distance, but there was never anything there. Mary-Ann was working automatically. Questions like how the Children managed to make a complex this large and ornate without anyone noticing were brushed to the back of her mind. The existence of these little creatures scrabbling all over the place made it feel like a scene out of //Aliens//, except the horror was undercut by the fact that she had night-vision goggles. Given the artisans the Initiative procured most of its high-end equipment from, those goggles were covered in iconography and had a heads-up display in Latin. According to the radio, the other teams had had much the same. The whole event was a blessing in disguise: the Children had no time to prepare for a force of this size. Compared to what they were before, compared to what the stories had been, it was almost a letdown. Things blurred together. The statues of various acts of violence and debauchery, the paintings, the creatures, the few men and women in red robes, usually found cowering in corners, everything blurred. The gunfire, the shouts, the commands, everything blurred. Eventually, after many shots, the group of five came to a pair of doors, big ones. Big doors mean important things on the other side, it was a rule of life. The agents positioned themselves, and two opened the doors. They creaked as they swung outward. A massive circular room with a domed roof stretched out before the group. The dome was covered in a painting, like some sort of twisted Sistine chapel, covered in horrifying beasts and great orgies of people surrounded by further scenes of graphic depravity. Columns lined the perimeter of the room, etched with symbols of some language that was better off unknown. Hundreds of candles were arranged just so, the wax dripped on the floor just so, tiles in the floor arranged just so, writing out rows and layers of symbols on the floor. Deep red tapestries and banners hung about the place. In the center of the room was a blue whale, lying on its back, smeared with whorls and swirls of blood. A lone man was standing in front of it. He was middle aged: short black hair and a biggish nose. For a flashing moment, Mary-Ann wondering what had driven him to do this, who he was, what his history was. Would he be mourned by parents who had lost a son, a wife who lost a husband, children who lost a father? The man got out a half-shout before a bullet passed through his skull and his body dropped to the floor. The echoes died away, and everything was silent in the room. Mary-Ann had no idea how the Children had gotten a blue whale this far inland. She decided it was better not to pursue an answer. All that was left was to kill it. [[=]] << [[[Shepherds]]] \| [[[etdp Hub Page\| Hub]]] \| [[[People Look East]]] >> [[/=]] [[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>]]	2012-11-24T05:01:00	[ "_licensebox", "etdp", "fantasy", "global-occult-coalition", "horizon-initiative", "lewitt-zairi-family", "military-fiction", "religious-fiction", "scarlet-king", "tale" ]	Second Watch - SCP Foundation	118	[ "shepherds", "etdp-hub-page", "people-look-east", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "cotsk-hub", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "horizon-initiative-hub", "archived:foundation-tales", "etdp-hub-page", "algorithm-curated-recommendations" ]	[]	15140175	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/second-watch
sentimentality	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Doctor Amy Sze walked past the masses of employees gathered at the cafeteria. For her, it would be another regular day of work - cut down the paperwork tree that grows on her desk, witness some operations, maybe watch the deaths of a D-class or two. Working in the Foundation for over 5 years, she thought she'd seen it all by now.</p> <hr/> <p><em>"That's it! I'm leaving!" The man stood up, grabbed his jacket, and slammed the apartment door on his way out.</em></p> <p><em>"Daddy?" The 5-year-old Amy stared aimlessly at the wooden door, while her mother broke down into sobbing beside her.</em></p> <p><em>"Daddy…"</em></p> <hr/> <p>"Careful with the scalpel, Rikard." Amy pointed with her suited hand to a massive irregular bulge protruding from the D-class's stomach wall. "You see that red line? Cut right there, and then cauterize the vessel." She watched as the new researcher to the biohazardous research team steadily cut away at the tumor that was once D-61293's stomach. She smiled as the new guy lifted the separated tumor from its growth place and placed it in a vat of formalin.</p> <p>"Excellent work, Rikard. Sew up the incision in the stomach wall, and let's patch 'im up and call it a day." She shut the lid on the vat, and placed the unit on a conveyor belt that would take it to the pathologists working two blocks away. She took enjoyment from treating people of their pain, even if she injected them with the organism that she would have to take out of them eventually. Working at the Foundation gave her a sense of purpose.</p> <hr/> <p><em>15-year-old Amy held her elderly mother's hand as she slowly breathed. The cancer was eating her withered body, and the doctors could do nothing about it.</em></p> <p><em>"You've always been a good, strong girl… don't let anyone take that away from you, my love." The elder Sze looked at her only child in her eyes, and smiled for the last time.</em></p> <p><em>"I love you, Amy," she spoke, before closing her eyes. Amy couldn't hear herself crying over the flat, piercing tone of the ECG.</em></p> <hr/> <p>All afternoon, she continued to click away at her computer, trying to put together DNA sequences for some of the superviruses that the Foundation has recently acquired. She always wondered where the Foundation got such nasty ailments, but then thought to herself that she wasn't ready for the answer, and dropped that line of thought. She continued to work uninterrupted until her desk phone began to ring.</p> <p>"Dr. Sze, please report to room D33 as soon as possible, thank you." The dry lady's tone was replaced with the dead line sound, and Amy put her phone back down before standing up. She really hated when people interrupted her from her work. She found herself most at-ease when working.</p> <hr/> <p><em>"Max, you're drunk!" Amy tried to push him away, but the much bigger guy pinned her to the wall.</em></p> <p><em>"Oh, c'mon, babe," he replied with a slurred voice. "This will be fun, I promise."</em></p> <p><em>She screamed and struggled, and no-one came to her rescue that night…</em></p> <hr/> <p>"… room D33, here it is." She looked at the conference chamber - it appeared empty, but she walked in anyways.</p> <p>As soon as she walked in, the door sealed shut behind her, and the blinds automatically closed. Alarmed, she drew out her sidearm and crouched low near the door.</p> <p>Within a few seconds, the lights turned back on, and she saw people and food. She saw a few familiar faces, including David Rosen from Tech. Research, Doctor Lucas Cave, and Alec Brickner.</p> <p>"Amy," started Brickner, "you work way too hard. I knew you'd forget that today is your 34th birthday. Now, stop worrying for an hour, and enjoy." He lit a small candle on top of the cake, and stepped aside.</p> <p>Amy smiled, and blew out that candle, wishing that the people that surrounded her now never left her side. In her whole life, she never had a real family until she joined the Foundation…</p> <hr/> <p><em>Amy placed the letter down on her nightstand, while she continued to pack her bags.</em></p> <p><em>Working for a government project? Having her master's and her doctorate paid for? Working with the most advanced technology in the world? What more could she ask for?</em></p> <p><em>She was mildly saddened that she would have to leave this apartment, which has been her home for many years…</em></p> <p><em>… but, at this point, she had nothing left to lose. No friends, no parents, no job… she took her bags with her, and left her apartment.</em></p> <p><em>Outside, a black towncar waited for her. As the attendant packed her bags into the storage compartment, she continued to read her orientation package.</em></p> <p><em>If she could remember anything, she asked herself, she would rather remember this boring package, than the hell that she was forged through.</em></p> <p><em>The towncar sped off into the distance, bringing her someplace new.</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="/sentimentality">Sentimentality</a>" by Sad Xiao, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/sentimentality">https://scpwiki.com/sentimentality</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]] [[/>]] Doctor Amy Sze walked past the masses of employees gathered at the cafeteria. For her, it would be another regular day of work - cut down the paperwork tree that grows on her desk, witness some operations, maybe watch the deaths of a D-class or two. Working in the Foundation for over 5 years, she thought she'd seen it all by now. ---- //"That's it! I'm leaving!" The man stood up, grabbed his jacket, and slammed the apartment door on his way out.// //"Daddy?" The 5-year-old Amy stared aimlessly at the wooden door, while her mother broke down into sobbing beside her.// //"Daddy..."// ---- "Careful with the scalpel, Rikard." Amy pointed with her suited hand to a massive irregular bulge protruding from the D-class's stomach wall. "You see that red line? Cut right there, and then cauterize the vessel." She watched as the new researcher to the biohazardous research team steadily cut away at the tumor that was once D-61293's stomach. She smiled as the new guy lifted the separated tumor from its growth place and placed it in a vat of formalin. "Excellent work, Rikard. Sew up the incision in the stomach wall, and let's patch 'im up and call it a day." She shut the lid on the vat, and placed the unit on a conveyor belt that would take it to the pathologists working two blocks away. She took enjoyment from treating people of their pain, even if she injected them with the organism that she would have to take out of them eventually. Working at the Foundation gave her a sense of purpose. ---- //15-year-old Amy held her elderly mother's hand as she slowly breathed. The cancer was eating her withered body, and the doctors could do nothing about it.// //"You've always been a good, strong girl... don't let anyone take that away from you, my love." The elder Sze looked at her only child in her eyes, and smiled for the last time.// //"I love you, Amy," she spoke, before closing her eyes. Amy couldn't hear herself crying over the flat, piercing tone of the ECG.// ---- All afternoon, she continued to click away at her computer, trying to put together DNA sequences for some of the superviruses that the Foundation has recently acquired. She always wondered where the Foundation got such nasty ailments, but then thought to herself that she wasn't ready for the answer, and dropped that line of thought. She continued to work uninterrupted until her desk phone began to ring. "Dr. Sze, please report to room D33 as soon as possible, thank you." The dry lady's tone was replaced with the dead line sound, and Amy put her phone back down before standing up. She really hated when people interrupted her from her work. She found herself most at-ease when working. ---- //"Max, you're drunk!" Amy tried to push him away, but the much bigger guy pinned her to the wall.// //"Oh, c'mon, babe," he replied with a slurred voice. "This will be fun, I promise."// //She screamed and struggled, and no-one came to her rescue that night...// ---- "... room D33, here it is." She looked at the conference chamber - it appeared empty, but she walked in anyways. As soon as she walked in, the door sealed shut behind her, and the blinds automatically closed. Alarmed, she drew out her sidearm and crouched low near the door. Within a few seconds, the lights turned back on, and she saw people and food. She saw a few familiar faces, including David Rosen from Tech. Research, Doctor Lucas Cave, and Alec Brickner. "Amy," started Brickner, "you work way too hard. I knew you'd forget that today is your 34th birthday. Now, stop worrying for an hour, and enjoy." He lit a small candle on top of the cake, and stepped aside. Amy smiled, and blew out that candle, wishing that the people that surrounded her now never left her side. In her whole life, she never had a real family until she joined the Foundation... ---- //Amy placed the letter down on her nightstand, while she continued to pack her bags.// //Working for a government project? Having her master's and her doctorate paid for? Working with the most advanced technology in the world? What more could she ask for?// //She was mildly saddened that she would have to leave this apartment, which has been her home for many years...// //... but, at this point, she had nothing left to lose. No friends, no parents, no job... she took her bags with her, and left her apartment.// //Outside, a black towncar waited for her. As the attendant packed her bags into the storage compartment, she continued to read her orientation package.// //If she could remember anything, she asked herself, she would rather remember this boring package, than the hell that she was forged through.// //The towncar sped off into the distance, bringing her someplace new.// [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> \|author=Sad Xiao]] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-06-02T07:04:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Sentimentality - SCP Foundation	19	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13448267	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sentimentality
settling-tabs	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><em>“Hello, Eddies Ice Cream, our special-”</em></p> <p>“Dead men dance.”</p> <p><em>“W-what? Sir, I think you have-”</em></p> <p>“ACC 119998256”</p> <p><em>“…just a moment…”</em></p> <p><em>“…”</em></p> <p><em>“…I'll patch you through.</em>”</p> <p><em>“…”</em></p> <p><em>“Central Records. Department?”</em></p> <p>“Intelligence.”</p> <p><em>“Transferring.”</em></p> <p>“…”</p> <p><em>“This is Intelligence, how…oh goddammit, what do you want Harken?”</em></p> <p>“A target confirmation, that's all.”</p> <p><em>“…our records state you have all the mission-critical target information you need.”</em></p> <p>“Side-mission, very hush-hush, just came up.”</p> <p><em>“Uh huh. Sure. Next, tell me the dispatch came from Elvis himself.”</em></p> <p>“Just gimme a goddamn yes or no, fucking would you?”</p> <p><em>“…Target?”</em></p> <p>“Subject of Interest #B112674, MC&D operative 'Boomer'.”</p> <p><em>“…Do you have a theorized location?”</em></p> <p>“The former Ford plant closest to my current location.”</p> <p><em>“…Yes. I'm not even going to ask how or why-”</em></p> <p>“See ya.”</p> <p><em>“Wai-”</em></p> <hr/> <p>Kramer glared at the note taped to the box sitting on the table. She should have been paying more attention, but she'd had to neutralize a unexpected incursion of Church operatives, and she'd been so gassed out she could barely stand. Now every organic bit felt bruised and sore, which didn't help her mood, reading the note.</p> <blockquote> <p>Kramer-<br/> Something came up, had to run out. Coffee's in the pot, and there's a danish in the box. Save me an éclair. If I don't check in by noon or so, have them pull my identichip and send someone. If they can't, then I guess there's no real reason to worry. Please don't hurt anything important when I get back.</p> <p>Harken</p> </blockquote> <p>She sighed, opening the box and absently nibbling a pastry as she walked to the tiny kitchen. True, with direct (if limited) willful control of most of her major bodily systems, she didn't have a lot of need for caffeine, but the ritual itself was sometimes more important then the actual materials. She flopped on to a gray couch, glaring at the clock. She hunched lower in her sweatpants and hooded pajama top, sipping the scalding hot coffee.</p> <p>“Noon, Harken. Then I find you, and break whatever you have left.”</p> <hr/> <p>Crouched in the middle of a searing morning sun, Harken was suddenly seized by an involuntary shudder. He shook it off, refocusing on the long, squat building on the other side of the crumbling parking lot. Deserted, some broken windows, weeds slowly eating the gray sea of blacktop, it looked like a lot of nothing. Harken shifted slowly, blinking the sweat from his eye. The area behind the old guard shack had looked like such a good idea in the dim fog of the morning, but the rising sun had turned it in to an oven. Still, he dared not move. Boomer had a sixth sense for danger like an insect.</p> <p>He peered through the crack in the thin shack walls, watching the old security shutter at the loading dock. It'd been nearly three hours since the fat man had left, and Harken was starting to give up hope. He might have shifted out already, gone on to the next site. Which would put Harken in hysterical danger, as Boomer loved to blow his old work sites as a parting gift. Still, this felt right. The big man was still here, still lurking. He'd seen-</p> <p>There.</p> <p>Waddling up around the back, shady side of the factory was the bulky outline of the tubby lunatic. Watching him in the cool dark shadows made Harken's hand squeeze on the lump in his suit pocket. Sweat rolled down his back, his face, but he felt none of it now, eyes widening despite the salty sting. Boomer leaned and grabbed the handle of the security grate. Probably a few hundred pounds, the big man hefted it like he was opening a window. He slid inside, letting it fall back with a crash, echoing across the empty black space.</p> <p>Half an hour later, Harken slid across to a broken window like a shadow.</p> <hr/> <p>Boomer hefted the last of the oil drums in to the old cargo container. It was the last batch, and even with all the fun of building and testing bombs, he was tired. He twisted the last of the wires in to place on the top, and started setting the remotes. This was so much better then just doing cars or popping an office for Mr. Dark. Those nice church people were paying good, and Mr. Dark wouldn't need to know, so what was the harm? Besides, they liked big bombs, burning bombs, the kind he almost never got to make anymore. His thick lips split in a grin, remembering his first firebomb…how the house had burned…how his step-brother had screamed, skin flowing like wax down his-</p> <p>A small, sharp ping rang through the abandoned factory floor.</p> <p>Boomer whirled around, shockingly fast for such a big man. A few yards away stood a panting, sweaty man wearing a dirty suit. He held what looked like two sets of brass knuckles, with knife blades attached, the right hand pointing up, the other one down. His eyes glared with hate, mouth tight in a humorless grin. He pointed at Boomer with the right-hand knife.</p> <p>“You broke my fucking jaw.”</p> <p>They stared a moment, then Boomer heaved a spare drum lid like a discus at Harken. Harken twisted, but caught the edge with his arm, grunting at the sharp pain. Boomer was already moving, dashing to his workbench. He felt around frantically, keeping the other man at the edge of his vision as his hands scrambled over the bench. Harken followed hot behind, ducking cleanly as Boomer tossed a hammer. As he closed the gap, Boomer suddenly whipped up and lashed out with a length of pipe. Harken dropped low, feeling it swish near his head, then lashed out at Boomer's thick ankles with the knife.</p> <p>Boomer yelped, then kicked out, catching Harken off guard, tipping him off his feet and sprawled to the ground. The fat man wheezed, a keening cry leaking from his flabby lips as he saw blood start to drool down his leg. He rose the pipe like an ax, and brought it crashing down at Harken's prone form. Harken rolled and raised his steel-banded fist, catching the pipe with a resounding clang. Boomer stumbled back, Harken twisting to his feet even as he felt his hand going numb from the impact.</p> <p>Boomer swung the pipe two more times, Harken easily keeping out of range, glaring at the fat man. He pulled the pipe back, tipping it back like a bat, waiting. Harken crouched, slipping forward with an oily smoothness, feinting with the knives, watching Boomer cringe and slide back. The blood from the first wound has slid down the blade, drooling in to Harken's clenched palm, his own feverish heat making the handle feel like a hot, slick eel as he brought it forward. It was a bad thrust, but still dug a furrow on the side of Boomer's vast belly, bringing another keening shriek.</p> <p>Harken pressed in, slamming his fist against the slash, again, and again, the steel band widening the wound with each strike. He brought the left knife down against Boomer's thigh as the big man smashed his fist against Harken's head. The agent was sent sprawling, but Boomer nearly fell, clenching his thigh, watching the blood well up between his fingers, oozing on to the floor. His head swam, running in too many directions, the sweet-sharp pain of slivered and punctured flesh filling his head with screaming.</p> <p>Harken rose, shaking his head, spots swimming in front of his eyes. He flipped his right dagger, now holding both down, his hands numb and slick, feeling the bruises already forming in his palms, the underside of his tongue feeling sharp and prickly from panting. Boomer stumbled up, panting, holding his leg, looking at Harken. They stared, and for a moment, Harken saw a crying, cringing child, trying to shatter a world he hated and didn't understand.</p> <p>He hissed something, coiling to strike out again, looking at the exact spot on Boomer's flabby neck where he'd bury his knives. He was just getting ready to do so when Boomer started to giggle through clenched, bloody teeth. Harken froze, staring at the oddness of it, watching as the big man brought up his hand clenched around…something, some little mass of-</p> <p>deadman switch.</p> <p>FUCK.</p> <p>He started sliding back quickly, wanting to get clear, but unwilling to turn his back on the big man. Boomer wheezed and giggled, hobbling deeper in to the cavernous building. “Huh. Huh huh. F-fuck you Harken! Come and catch Harken! Little baby! Huh!” Boomers broken, blubbering taunts were overshadowed in Harken's ears by the soft, sharp “ping” of a hand-sized piece of metal hitting the ground.</p> <p>Running now, uncaring if he caught a bullet in the back at this point, there were several seconds of silence, Harken feeling as if he had a helmet of his own sensation on. Bruises on his face, palms, back. Lungs burning. That sharp tang of pain under the tongue from breathing too hard, sweat and blood in his eyes, feet stinging with every slap on the hard concrete floor, the glow of light from a window like the light at the end of a miles-long tunnel, a-</p> <p>and suddenly lifted, deafened, the window approaching much too fast, legs trailing like useless streamers, a burning, searing wave at his back, and now through, tiny razors slashing over him, feeling disconnected, discontinued, dis…something or other, the ground warm and welcoming from the old air, and sleep now.</p> <p>He woke to the sound of crackling and smoke, and for a second assumed he'd fallen asleep at the bonfire again, and that mom had tapped him awake to go home. Reality snapped back in to focus with a sickening, grating lurch, and Harken curled up slowly, hissing. Somewhere, he could hear the dim whine of firetrucks…so he couldn't have been out for too long. The trench knives felt slimy and hot in his hands, so he dropped them, wiping his face and seeing his hand come away bloody. His face was a mass of glass cuts, it seemed.</p> <p>He groaned, trying to fish out his phone, hand feeling sore and about as flexible as an old tree branch, chest and back feeling like he'd been crushed between two massive frying pans. He stumbled away to the relative security of a treeline, watching the smoke and fire rise quickly. Somehow, mashed his fingers to his phone in the right sequence, coughing and swallowing down a upsetting amount of blood.</p> <hr/> <p><em>“Fuck, Harken, what the hell?”</em></p> <p>“Sorry.”</p> <p><em>“What the hell did you do? Where the fuck are you?”</em></p> <p>“I had a lead on Boomer. I just…thought I should follow it up.”</p> <p><em>“You could have died! The fuck are you thinking? We work as a team for a fucking reason, we back each other up, we inform each other, we-”</em></p> <p>“I'm sorry, Kramer.”</p> <p><em>“We try…what?”</em></p> <p>“I said I'm sorry. It was stupid. I…I just felt like I had to.”</p> <p><em>“…Is he dead?”</em></p> <p>“…Probably not. Blew the building, I cut him pretty bad.”</p> <p><em>“Are you ok?”</em></p> <p>“…I'm alive.”</p> <p><em>“Not what I asked.”</em></p> <p>“…I'm functional. You of all people should appreciate that.”</p> <p><em>“…command is going to be pissed.”</em></p> <p>“Actually, I don't think so. Looks like something big is in the works. Lots of bang here, but it looks like even more was shifted out already. Someone wants something to explode pretty big, pretty bad. I'm going to call the cleaners after you, let them handle it. I'm sore.”</p> <p><em>“I bet.”</em></p> <p>“Can you come get me? I'm at that old Ford plant on ninth. Look like a cop.”</p> <p><em>“Sure.”</em></p> <p>“…My hands hurt. I think I need to lie down.”</p> <p><em>“Sure, Harken. Just stay put.”</em></p> <p>“…thanks for not threatening me with additional bodily harm.”</p> <p><em>“Who needs to threaten. It's assumed.”</em></p> <p>“Have I told you today that I love you, Kramer?”</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="/settling-tabs">Settling Tabs</a>" by DrClef and Dr Gears, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/settling-tabs">https://scpwiki.com/settling-tabs</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, Eddies Ice Cream, our special-”// “Dead men dance.” //“W-what? Sir, I think you have-”// “ACC 119998256” //“...just a moment...”// //“...”// //“...I'll patch you through.//” //“...”// //“Central Records. Department?”// “Intelligence.” //“Transferring.”// “...” //“This is Intelligence, how...oh goddammit, what do you want Harken?”// “A target confirmation, that's all.” //“...our records state you have all the mission-critical target information you need.”// “Side-mission, very hush-hush, just came up.” //“Uh huh. Sure. Next, tell me the dispatch came from Elvis himself.”// “Just gimme a goddamn yes or no, fucking would you?” //“...Target?”// “Subject of Interest #B112674, MC&D operative 'Boomer'.” //“...Do you have a theorized location?”// “The former Ford plant closest to my current location.” //“...Yes. I'm not even going to ask how or why-”// “See ya.” //“Wai-”// ------ Kramer glared at the note taped to the box sitting on the table. She should have been paying more attention, but she'd had to neutralize a unexpected incursion of Church operatives, and she'd been so gassed out she could barely stand. Now every organic bit felt bruised and sore, which didn't help her mood, reading the note. > Kramer- > > Something came up, had to run out. Coffee's in the pot, and there's a danish in the box. Save me an éclair. If I don't check in by noon or so, have them pull my identichip and send someone. If they can't, then I guess there's no real reason to worry. Please don't hurt anything important when I get back. > > Harken She sighed, opening the box and absently nibbling a pastry as she walked to the tiny kitchen. True, with direct (if limited) willful control of most of her major bodily systems, she didn't have a lot of need for caffeine, but the ritual itself was sometimes more important then the actual materials. She flopped on to a gray couch, glaring at the clock. She hunched lower in her sweatpants and hooded pajama top, sipping the scalding hot coffee. “Noon, Harken. Then I find you, and break whatever you have left.” ------ Crouched in the middle of a searing morning sun, Harken was suddenly seized by an involuntary shudder. He shook it off, refocusing on the long, squat building on the other side of the crumbling parking lot. Deserted, some broken windows, weeds slowly eating the gray sea of blacktop, it looked like a lot of nothing. Harken shifted slowly, blinking the sweat from his eye. The area behind the old guard shack had looked like such a good idea in the dim fog of the morning, but the rising sun had turned it in to an oven. Still, he dared not move. Boomer had a sixth sense for danger like an insect. He peered through the crack in the thin shack walls, watching the old security shutter at the loading dock. It'd been nearly three hours since the fat man had left, and Harken was starting to give up hope. He might have shifted out already, gone on to the next site. Which would put Harken in hysterical danger, as Boomer loved to blow his old work sites as a parting gift. Still, this felt right. The big man was still here, still lurking. He'd seen- There. Waddling up around the back, shady side of the factory was the bulky outline of the tubby lunatic. Watching him in the cool dark shadows made Harken's hand squeeze on the lump in his suit pocket. Sweat rolled down his back, his face, but he felt none of it now, eyes widening despite the salty sting. Boomer leaned and grabbed the handle of the security grate. Probably a few hundred pounds, the big man hefted it like he was opening a window. He slid inside, letting it fall back with a crash, echoing across the empty black space. Half an hour later, Harken slid across to a broken window like a shadow. ------ Boomer hefted the last of the oil drums in to the old cargo container. It was the last batch, and even with all the fun of building and testing bombs, he was tired. He twisted the last of the wires in to place on the top, and started setting the remotes. This was so much better then just doing cars or popping an office for Mr. Dark. Those nice church people were paying good, and Mr. Dark wouldn't need to know, so what was the harm? Besides, they liked big bombs, burning bombs, the kind he almost never got to make anymore. His thick lips split in a grin, remembering his first firebomb...how the house had burned...how his step-brother had screamed, skin flowing like wax down his- A small, sharp ping rang through the abandoned factory floor. Boomer whirled around, shockingly fast for such a big man. A few yards away stood a panting, sweaty man wearing a dirty suit. He held what looked like two sets of brass knuckles, with knife blades attached, the right hand pointing up, the other one down. His eyes glared with hate, mouth tight in a humorless grin. He pointed at Boomer with the right-hand knife. “You broke my fucking jaw.” They stared a moment, then Boomer heaved a spare drum lid like a discus at Harken. Harken twisted, but caught the edge with his arm, grunting at the sharp pain. Boomer was already moving, dashing to his workbench. He felt around frantically, keeping the other man at the edge of his vision as his hands scrambled over the bench. Harken followed hot behind, ducking cleanly as Boomer tossed a hammer. As he closed the gap, Boomer suddenly whipped up and lashed out with a length of pipe. Harken dropped low, feeling it swish near his head, then lashed out at Boomer's thick ankles with the knife. Boomer yelped, then kicked out, catching Harken off guard, tipping him off his feet and sprawled to the ground. The fat man wheezed, a keening cry leaking from his flabby lips as he saw blood start to drool down his leg. He rose the pipe like an ax, and brought it crashing down at Harken's prone form. Harken rolled and raised his steel-banded fist, catching the pipe with a resounding clang. Boomer stumbled back, Harken twisting to his feet even as he felt his hand going numb from the impact. Boomer swung the pipe two more times, Harken easily keeping out of range, glaring at the fat man. He pulled the pipe back, tipping it back like a bat, waiting. Harken crouched, slipping forward with an oily smoothness, feinting with the knives, watching Boomer cringe and slide back. The blood from the first wound has slid down the blade, drooling in to Harken's clenched palm, his own feverish heat making the handle feel like a hot, slick eel as he brought it forward. It was a bad thrust, but still dug a furrow on the side of Boomer's vast belly, bringing another keening shriek. Harken pressed in, slamming his fist against the slash, again, and again, the steel band widening the wound with each strike. He brought the left knife down against Boomer's thigh as the big man smashed his fist against Harken's head. The agent was sent sprawling, but Boomer nearly fell, clenching his thigh, watching the blood well up between his fingers, oozing on to the floor. His head swam, running in too many directions, the sweet-sharp pain of slivered and punctured flesh filling his head with screaming. Harken rose, shaking his head, spots swimming in front of his eyes. He flipped his right dagger, now holding both down, his hands numb and slick, feeling the bruises already forming in his palms, the underside of his tongue feeling sharp and prickly from panting. Boomer stumbled up, panting, holding his leg, looking at Harken. They stared, and for a moment, Harken saw a crying, cringing child, trying to shatter a world he hated and didn't understand. He hissed something, coiling to strike out again, looking at the exact spot on Boomer's flabby neck where he'd bury his knives. He was just getting ready to do so when Boomer started to giggle through clenched, bloody teeth. Harken froze, staring at the oddness of it, watching as the big man brought up his hand clenched around...something, some little mass of- deadman switch. FUCK. He started sliding back quickly, wanting to get clear, but unwilling to turn his back on the big man. Boomer wheezed and giggled, hobbling deeper in to the cavernous building. “Huh. Huh huh. F-fuck you Harken! Come and catch Harken! Little baby! Huh!” Boomers broken, blubbering taunts were overshadowed in Harken's ears by the soft, sharp “ping” of a hand-sized piece of metal hitting the ground. Running now, uncaring if he caught a bullet in the back at this point, there were several seconds of silence, Harken feeling as if he had a helmet of his own sensation on. Bruises on his face, palms, back. Lungs burning. That sharp tang of pain under the tongue from breathing too hard, sweat and blood in his eyes, feet stinging with every slap on the hard concrete floor, the glow of light from a window like the light at the end of a miles-long tunnel, a- and suddenly lifted, deafened, the window approaching much too fast, legs trailing like useless streamers, a burning, searing wave at his back, and now through, tiny razors slashing over him, feeling disconnected, discontinued, dis...something or other, the ground warm and welcoming from the old air, and sleep now. He woke to the sound of crackling and smoke, and for a second assumed he'd fallen asleep at the bonfire again, and that mom had tapped him awake to go home. Reality snapped back in to focus with a sickening, grating lurch, and Harken curled up slowly, hissing. Somewhere, he could hear the dim whine of firetrucks...so he couldn't have been out for too long. The trench knives felt slimy and hot in his hands, so he dropped them, wiping his face and seeing his hand come away bloody. His face was a mass of glass cuts, it seemed. He groaned, trying to fish out his phone, hand feeling sore and about as flexible as an old tree branch, chest and back feeling like he'd been crushed between two massive frying pans. He stumbled away to the relative security of a treeline, watching the smoke and fire rise quickly. Somehow, mashed his fingers to his phone in the right sequence, coughing and swallowing down a upsetting amount of blood. ------ //“Fuck, Harken, what the hell?”// “Sorry.” //“What the hell did you do? Where the fuck are you?”// “I had a lead on Boomer. I just...thought I should follow it up.” //“You could have died! The fuck are you thinking? We work as a team for a fucking reason, we back each other up, we inform each other, we-”// “I'm sorry, Kramer.” //“We try...what?”// “I said I'm sorry. It was stupid. I...I just felt like I had to.” //“...Is he dead?”// “...Probably not. Blew the building, I cut him pretty bad.” //“Are you ok?”// “...I'm alive.” //“Not what I asked.”// “...I'm functional. You of all people should appreciate that.” //“...command is going to be pissed.”// “Actually, I don't think so. Looks like something big is in the works. Lots of bang here, but it looks like even more was shifted out already. Someone wants something to explode pretty big, pretty bad. I'm going to call the cleaners after you, let them handle it. I'm sore.” //“I bet.”// “Can you come get me? I'm at that old Ford plant on ninth. Look like a cop.” //“Sure.”// “...My hands hurt. I think I need to lie down.” //“Sure, Harken. Just stay put.”// “...thanks for not threatening me with additional bodily harm.” //“Who needs to threaten. It's assumed.”// “Have I told you today that I love you, Kramer?” [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> \|author=DrClef and Dr Gears]] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-04-29T02:17:00	[ "_licensebox", "action", "co-authored", "game-day", "marshall-carter-and-dark", "spy-fiction", "tale" ]	Settling Tabs - SCP Foundation	51	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "marshall-carter-and-dark-hub", "gamedaypart2index", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13241666	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/settling-tabs
sgt-pepper	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>This message is to be distributed to all Foundation personnel:</p> <p>In recent weeks, we have lost a lot of good men. To those of you at stationed at Sites far away from their passings, this may come as a surprise, as containment breaches are at a quarterly low. Those of you at the Sites which have lost men know the cause: A mass epidemic of suicides is sweeping the SCP Foundation.</p> <p>Before you panic, know that our top researchers and doctors have determined that this is <em>not</em> any sort of memetic kill hazard unleashed upon the personnel of the Foundation, nor does it have anything to do with the new set of anomalous objects whose exact properties we have yet to classify. Everything is, as of this writing, still locked up nice and tight. Near as we can tell, there are simply a lot of people working for us who have gotten depressed. As such, this notice has been sent to you in the hopes of preventing any more unnecessary losses. It is respectfully asked that you not take any further action until you finish reading.</p> <p>A lot has been made of the suicides of Researcher Kermode and Doctor Shears. They aren't the only two who have chosen to take their lives in these past weeks, but they are the ones whose stories have been spread around the most. Their notes indicated, respectively, that they didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, and that they held far too much responsibility. Our psychological branches have instructed me to not refute these claims; individually, there's a lot that's bigger than us, and it's entirely possible that we may one day screw up. There is really no point in trying to sugar coat reality, even if it is for a good cause.</p> <p>The problem with their arguments is that they don't see any of the <em>good</em> we as the Foundation do. Kermode failed to see himself as a part of something working for the greater benefit of mankind, and Shears, while sidestepping the issue, thought only of the gloom and doom the Foundation could bring upon everyone.</p> <p>In contrast to what those two and many others thought before taking their lives, the situation we are in is possibly one of the best the Foundation has ever seen. We have found a record number of anomalous objects in the past year, gained enough people to more than keep up with our hiring needs, and successfully lowered containment breaches by sixty percent. If we were going to crush the world in our hands, we would have done so by now.</p> <p>The very idea that committing suicide is somehow going to <em>improve</em> our situation is absolutely ludicrous. However, there is, once again, the fact that we simply live in a very, very grim world. It's hard to get through the day living with the knowledge we have. But you all really do need to remember, things simply are not that bad.</p> <p>We are doing the right thing. We are being incredibly successful at it. We are making things better. We are actively saving lives. And we need you to keep your life protected. If you just remember that, we can nip this suicide thing in the bum, and get back to making the world a better place.</p> <p>It's rare for a message from higher up to end this way, but have a nice day.</p> <p>-Sgt. Lee P.</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="/sgt-pepper">Sgt Pepper</a>" by Gargus, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/sgt-pepper">https://scpwiki.com/sgt-pepper</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]] [[/>]] This message is to be distributed to all Foundation personnel: In recent weeks, we have lost a lot of good men. To those of you at stationed at Sites far away from their passings, this may come as a surprise, as containment breaches are at a quarterly low. Those of you at the Sites which have lost men know the cause: A mass epidemic of suicides is sweeping the SCP Foundation. Before you panic, know that our top researchers and doctors have determined that this is //not// any sort of memetic kill hazard unleashed upon the personnel of the Foundation, nor does it have anything to do with the new set of anomalous objects whose exact properties we have yet to classify. Everything is, as of this writing, still locked up nice and tight. Near as we can tell, there are simply a lot of people working for us who have gotten depressed. As such, this notice has been sent to you in the hopes of preventing any more unnecessary losses. It is respectfully asked that you not take any further action until you finish reading. A lot has been made of the suicides of Researcher Kermode and Doctor Shears. They aren't the only two who have chosen to take their lives in these past weeks, but they are the ones whose stories have been spread around the most. Their notes indicated, respectively, that they didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, and that they held far too much responsibility. Our psychological branches have instructed me to not refute these claims; individually, there's a lot that's bigger than us, and it's entirely possible that we may one day screw up. There is really no point in trying to sugar coat reality, even if it is for a good cause. The problem with their arguments is that they don't see any of the //good// we as the Foundation do. Kermode failed to see himself as a part of something working for the greater benefit of mankind, and Shears, while sidestepping the issue, thought only of the gloom and doom the Foundation could bring upon everyone. In contrast to what those two and many others thought before taking their lives, the situation we are in is possibly one of the best the Foundation has ever seen. We have found a record number of anomalous objects in the past year, gained enough people to more than keep up with our hiring needs, and successfully lowered containment breaches by sixty percent. If we were going to crush the world in our hands, we would have done so by now. The very idea that committing suicide is somehow going to //improve// our situation is absolutely ludicrous. However, there is, once again, the fact that we simply live in a very, very grim world. It's hard to get through the day living with the knowledge we have. But you all really do need to remember, things simply are not that bad. We are doing the right thing. We are being incredibly successful at it. We are making things better. We are actively saving lives. And we need you to keep your life protected. If you just remember that, we can nip this suicide thing in the bum, and get back to making the world a better place. It's rare for a message from higher up to end this way, but have a nice day. -Sgt. Lee P. [[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>]]	2012-07-14T19:42:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Sgt Pepper - SCP Foundation	29	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13789826	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sgt-pepper
shepherds	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Mary-Ann Lewitt re-adjusted her blanket. November night blustered outside the window, the cold leaking in through the seams of the apartment. Of course, the truth was that the warmth was leaking out and the “cold” was not actually anything, but Mary-Ann generally thought of that definition as the realm of scientists who had never experienced proper cold.</p> <p>This cold was a small one, easily fought with a wool blanket and a mug of chai tea. Alexander was sleeping on top of the computer tower, as he often was. Mary-Ann sipped her tea and went back to scrolling through the database of groups.</p> <blockquote> <p><em>Cult of the Wordsmith: Christian-descendant group of approximately 250. Language is considered sacrosanct in both verbal and written form: destruction of written material considered gravely sinful. In possession of the Gospel of Bartholomew. Current Status: Integrated. Threat Level: None.</em></p> </blockquote> <p>Mary-Ann had, in any sense of the term, lived a rather interesting life. She had slammed the door behind her the moment she had the chance, sworn off the faith she had grown up with, served several tours overseas, saw too many friends die, came back to America with a few more cracks than she had shipped out with, picked her faith back up while trying to get some peace of mind, went back to school, re-adapted to life, found some work.</p> <blockquote> <p><em>Those Who Gaze Deeply: A collection of European alchemical practitioners in search of the “God-Element”, that is, the material which God consists of. Connections with the Church of the Broken God suspected but never confirmed. Current Status: Defunct. Last Activity: 1991</em></p> </blockquote> <p>That work happened to, once again, involve shooting at some rather fanatic people, except this time the fanatics she had shot at before were now her co-workers, and the fanatics she shot at now had a tendency to consort with demons in a very literal sense.</p> <blockquote> <p><em>Sons of the Nephilim: Group of approximately 50 individuals located in a single compound within the Hindu Kush. Believe themselves to be the descendants of angelic beings: beliefs focus on re-attaining a perfect state. Highly violent, and in possession of a dangerous artifact, the supposed corpse of an angelic being. Integration talks pending. Current Status: Active. Threat Level: High.</em></p> </blockquote> <p>Not as literal as it could have been, but at the end of the day there wasn’t much difference between a horned and hoofed imp with a pitchfork and the talking corpse floating in a septic tank.</p> <blockquote> <p><em>The Bramberly Family and followers: Group of 216 individuals located in North Dakota, United States. Central belief that the head of the Bramberly family was in contact with alien life forms, and as such was to serve as the liberator of mankind from evil through various sexual rituals. Possession of artifacts suspected but never confirmed. Compound was raided by agents of the Global Occult Coalition. Current Status: Defunct. Last Activity: 1982.</em></p> </blockquote> <p>The database entries scrolled by. There were over six hundred entries on the list, though a good deal of them were either extinct, or only fragments existed. For some, there was enough material stored away to publish an entire catechism on the belief. For others, the cover blurb was all there was.</p> <blockquote> <p><em>Icthians: A group measuring approximately 700 practitioners in small cells along the northeastern seaboard of the United States. Group worships fish and aquatic life. In possession of no known artifacts. Notable events include a schism over the admittance of lobsters into the Salt Canon (six casualties) and the deaths of forty-five individuals inside a single trailer home under claims that sardines were the most holy of fish. Current Status: Active. Threat Level: Minimal.</em></p> </blockquote> <p>When people heard “counter-cult” what did they jump to? Church of the Broken God and the Fifthists. Most of the agents over in Project Malleus encouraged that sort of glamorizing of the job. Mary-Ann would admit that the stories about fighting off waves of cogboys and starminds did wonders for morale throughout the Initiative, but she was pretty sure those were exaggerations. In the end the vast majority of her job was cleaning up the small stuff. The big cults generally fell under the jurisdiction of other groups, the ones with the resources and ability to combat them effectively. Very few of the cults were more than a couple dozen people, most didn’t have much staying power, and eventually, almost all of them devolved into some form of violence or sex, or both. If that didn’t say something about the fallen nature of man, Mary-Ann couldn’t think of anything better.</p> <blockquote> <p><em>The Defiled: Buddhist-derived group, consisting of one hundred and eight individuals. Group is in possession of at least four anomalous artifacts. Primary goal is destruction of the physical universe, so as to help the entire human race achieve nirvana. Current Status: Active. Threat Level: High.</em></p> </blockquote> <p>Ah, here was the one. Mary-Ann began converting her notes from that afternoon into the database. Nothing much to these ones: no name, no organization, not even a cult, really. Just an enemy group, one that managed to build a nice little torture engine in front of a church that killed fifteen people very slowly. The artifacts inside the church were likewise treated.</p> <p><em>bleep-bloop</em> The chat window opened on her screen. There he was, right on schedule.</p> <p><em>Click</em></p> <p>“Hey, Salah.” Mary-Ann continued tapping away at the keyboard.</p> <p>“Hello. There has been a change in plans.” She could never place his accent. Whenever she thought it was pinned down as Middle-Eastern, it would seem more British, more Middle Eastern when it seemed British.</p> <p>“Oh?”</p> <p>“Three of them have committed suicide.”</p> <p>“Arsenic dentures? Auto-erotic strangulation? That one thing with the diarrhea?”</p> <p>“A small explosive hidden in the mouth. The splatter spelled out 'Fuck you' for two of them. The third was the entire text of the Reply of Zaporozhian Cossacks. The text was very small for that one.”</p> <p>“Yow.”</p> <p>“I was thinking of getting it engraved. It’d be a wonderful desk ornament.”</p> <p>“Heh. Any of them left?”</p> <p>“One. I was just about to arbitrate.”</p> <p>“Wrapping up here as well.”</p> <p>“Did the doctor say anything about your leg?</p> <p>“Another week in the cast.”</p> <p>“Ah, so it is. Well, God waits not for the machinations of man.”</p> <p><em>blooooooop</em></p> <p>—</p> <p>Some distance away, in one of those places where people who needed to disappear disappeared in, a Pakistani man tucked his cellphone back in the pocket of his coat. It was a big, wool-lined thing, something bought on the cheap and worth a lot more than the money paid for it.</p> <p>He focused his attention on the young woman in the makeshift cell. The tattoos were quite garish, as were the piercings, and the hair, and the gore splatters from her fellows didn’t do much either. She was shouting all manner of vile things at him, screeching about how she’d paint the Prophet in shit and menstrual blood all over the kaaba.</p> <p>He would have loved to make her suffer for that. The young man with boiling blood shook the cage his older self had built around it, screaming to make himself heard over her blasphemies. Drop the act, just kill her. She’s nothing. Less than human. The lowest of infidels. Let the worms eat her and her soul rot in fire for eternity. You’d be justified, completely justified. The ritual just holds back the real justice…</p> <p>As he did many times before, Salah reminded the young man with the boiling blood what that hate had gotten him before. The young man resisted, and he fought a lot harder than Salah could. He dug through the bag on the ground, looking for an excuse to busy his hands. As he always did, with each time the young man shook his cage, he thought it best to use the weapons of an old man: A calm tone and a quick tongue.</p> <p>He stood up. In one hand, he held a slim tome bound in black, opened to a pre-marked page. In his other hand was a pistol.</p> <p>“As is customary, you may take this moment to make a final atonement. If you wish to make a plea for forgiveness, please do so.”</p> <p>The woman spat in his face.</p> <p>“Very well. In the sight of God all-mighty and all-merciful, I find you guilty in the deaths of fifteen individuals and the desecration of holy relics contained within the church of St. Anthony. As appointed arbitrator of the eternal law, I hereby sentence you to death. With great regret and a heavy heart I do this, and trust in God’s mercy for the sake of your soul, and for mine. Have you any final words?”</p> <p>“You think you’re the fucking Spanish Inquisition or something?”</p> <p>Salah clicked off the safety.</p> <p>“No, we don’t.”</p> <div style="text-align: center;"> <p><strong>« <a href="/etdp-hub-page">Hub</a> \| <a href="/second-watch">Second Watch</a> »</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="/shepherds">Shepherds</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/shepherds">https://scpwiki.com/shepherds</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]] [[/>]] Mary-Ann Lewitt re-adjusted her blanket. November night blustered outside the window, the cold leaking in through the seams of the apartment. Of course, the truth was that the warmth was leaking out and the “cold” was not actually anything, but Mary-Ann generally thought of that definition as the realm of scientists who had never experienced proper cold. This cold was a small one, easily fought with a wool blanket and a mug of chai tea. Alexander was sleeping on top of the computer tower, as he often was. Mary-Ann sipped her tea and went back to scrolling through the database of groups. > //Cult of the Wordsmith: Christian-descendant group of approximately 250. Language is considered sacrosanct in both verbal and written form: destruction of written material considered gravely sinful. In possession of the Gospel of Bartholomew. Current Status: Integrated. Threat Level: None.// Mary-Ann had, in any sense of the term, lived a rather interesting life. She had slammed the door behind her the moment she had the chance, sworn off the faith she had grown up with, served several tours overseas, saw too many friends die, came back to America with a few more cracks than she had shipped out with, picked her faith back up while trying to get some peace of mind, went back to school, re-adapted to life, found some work. > //Those Who Gaze Deeply: A collection of European alchemical practitioners in search of the “God-Element”, that is, the material which God consists of. Connections with the Church of the Broken God suspected but never confirmed. Current Status: Defunct. Last Activity: 1991// That work happened to, once again, involve shooting at some rather fanatic people, except this time the fanatics she had shot at before were now her co-workers, and the fanatics she shot at now had a tendency to consort with demons in a very literal sense. > //Sons of the Nephilim: Group of approximately 50 individuals located in a single compound within the Hindu Kush. Believe themselves to be the descendants of angelic beings: beliefs focus on re-attaining a perfect state. Highly violent, and in possession of a dangerous artifact, the supposed corpse of an angelic being. Integration talks pending. Current Status: Active. Threat Level: High.// Not as literal as it could have been, but at the end of the day there wasn’t much difference between a horned and hoofed imp with a pitchfork and the talking corpse floating in a septic tank. > //The Bramberly Family and followers: Group of 216 individuals located in North Dakota, United States. Central belief that the head of the Bramberly family was in contact with alien life forms, and as such was to serve as the liberator of mankind from evil through various sexual rituals. Possession of artifacts suspected but never confirmed. Compound was raided by agents of the Global Occult Coalition. Current Status: Defunct. Last Activity: 1982.// The database entries scrolled by. There were over six hundred entries on the list, though a good deal of them were either extinct, or only fragments existed. For some, there was enough material stored away to publish an entire catechism on the belief. For others, the cover blurb was all there was. > //Icthians: A group measuring approximately 700 practitioners in small cells along the northeastern seaboard of the United States. Group worships fish and aquatic life. In possession of no known artifacts. Notable events include a schism over the admittance of lobsters into the Salt Canon (six casualties) and the deaths of forty-five individuals inside a single trailer home under claims that sardines were the most holy of fish. Current Status: Active. Threat Level: Minimal.// When people heard “counter-cult” what did they jump to? Church of the Broken God and the Fifthists. Most of the agents over in Project Malleus encouraged that sort of glamorizing of the job. Mary-Ann would admit that the stories about fighting off waves of cogboys and starminds did wonders for morale throughout the Initiative, but she was pretty sure those were exaggerations. In the end the vast majority of her job was cleaning up the small stuff. The big cults generally fell under the jurisdiction of other groups, the ones with the resources and ability to combat them effectively. Very few of the cults were more than a couple dozen people, most didn’t have much staying power, and eventually, almost all of them devolved into some form of violence or sex, or both. If that didn’t say something about the fallen nature of man, Mary-Ann couldn’t think of anything better. > //The Defiled: Buddhist-derived group, consisting of one hundred and eight individuals. Group is in possession of at least four anomalous artifacts. Primary goal is destruction of the physical universe, so as to help the entire human race achieve nirvana. Current Status: Active. Threat Level: High.// Ah, here was the one. Mary-Ann began converting her notes from that afternoon into the database. Nothing much to these ones: no name, no organization, not even a cult, really. Just an enemy group, one that managed to build a nice little torture engine in front of a church that killed fifteen people very slowly. The artifacts inside the church were likewise treated. //bleep-bloop// The chat window opened on her screen. There he was, right on schedule. //Click// “Hey, Salah.” Mary-Ann continued tapping away at the keyboard. “Hello. There has been a change in plans.” She could never place his accent. Whenever she thought it was pinned down as Middle-Eastern, it would seem more British, more Middle Eastern when it seemed British. “Oh?” “Three of them have committed suicide.” “Arsenic dentures? Auto-erotic strangulation? That one thing with the diarrhea?” “A small explosive hidden in the mouth. The splatter spelled out 'Fuck you' for two of them. The third was the entire text of the Reply of Zaporozhian Cossacks. The text was very small for that one.” “Yow.” “I was thinking of getting it engraved. It’d be a wonderful desk ornament.” “Heh. Any of them left?” “One. I was just about to arbitrate.” “Wrapping up here as well.” “Did the doctor say anything about your leg? “Another week in the cast.” “Ah, so it is. Well, God waits not for the machinations of man.” //blooooooop// -- Some distance away, in one of those places where people who needed to disappear disappeared in, a Pakistani man tucked his cellphone back in the pocket of his coat. It was a big, wool-lined thing, something bought on the cheap and worth a lot more than the money paid for it. He focused his attention on the young woman in the makeshift cell. The tattoos were quite garish, as were the piercings, and the hair, and the gore splatters from her fellows didn’t do much either. She was shouting all manner of vile things at him, screeching about how she’d paint the Prophet in shit and menstrual blood all over the kaaba. He would have loved to make her suffer for that. The young man with boiling blood shook the cage his older self had built around it, screaming to make himself heard over her blasphemies. Drop the act, just kill her. She’s nothing. Less than human. The lowest of infidels. Let the worms eat her and her soul rot in fire for eternity. You’d be justified, completely justified. The ritual just holds back the real justice… As he did many times before, Salah reminded the young man with the boiling blood what that hate had gotten him before. The young man resisted, and he fought a lot harder than Salah could. He dug through the bag on the ground, looking for an excuse to busy his hands. As he always did, with each time the young man shook his cage, he thought it best to use the weapons of an old man: A calm tone and a quick tongue. He stood up. In one hand, he held a slim tome bound in black, opened to a pre-marked page. In his other hand was a pistol. “As is customary, you may take this moment to make a final atonement. If you wish to make a plea for forgiveness, please do so.” The woman spat in his face. “Very well. In the sight of God all-mighty and all-merciful, I find you guilty in the deaths of fifteen individuals and the desecration of holy relics contained within the church of St. Anthony. As appointed arbitrator of the eternal law, I hereby sentence you to death. With great regret and a heavy heart I do this, and trust in God’s mercy for the sake of your soul, and for mine. Have you any final words?” “You think you’re the fucking Spanish Inquisition or something?” Salah clicked off the safety. “No, we don’t.” [[=]] << [[[etdp Hub Page\| Hub]]] \| [[[Second Watch]]] >> [[/=]] [[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>]]	2012-11-14T05:02:00	[ "_licensebox", "broken-god", "etdp", "fantasy", "fifthist", "global-occult-coalition", "horizon-initiative", "lewitt-zairi-family", "religious-fiction", "tale" ]	Shepherds - SCP Foundation	146	[ "etdp-hub-page", "second-watch", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "kaktuskast-hub", "horizon-initiative-hub", "archived:foundation-tales", "fifthist-hub", "etdp-hub-page", "algorithm-curated-recommendations" ]	[]	15006479	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/shepherds
six-days	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <ul class="modal-wrapper"> <li class="unfolded"> <div id="u-adult-warning"> <div id="u-adult-header"> <p>ADULT CONTENT</p> </div> <br/> This article contains adult content that may not be suitable for all readers. <div class="content-descriptor"><span style="display: syntax error near `{$gore} ==`">Graphic depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts</span><br/> <span style="display: syntax error near `{$sexual-r`">Features sexual themes or language, but does not depict sexual acts.</span><br/> <span style="display: syntax error near `{$sexually`">Explicit depiction of sexual acts.</span><br/> <span style="display: syntax error near `{$sexual-a`">Features non-consensual sexual acts.</span><br/> <span style="display: block">Depiction of severe mistreatment of children</span><br/> <span style="display: syntax error near `{$self-har`">Depiction of self-harm</span><br/> <span style="display: syntax error near `{$suicide}`">Depiction of suicide</span><br/> <span style="display: block">Depiction of torture</span><br/> <span style="display: syntax error near `{$custom} `">{$custom-content}</span></div> <p>If you are above the age of 18+ and wish to read such content, then you may click Continue to view said content.</p> <div class="foldable-list-container choice"><a href="javascript:;">Continue</a></div> <div class="choice"><a href="/">Back to Front Page</a></div> </div> <br/></li> </ul> <p><em><strong>Day One</strong></em></p> <p><em>Where am I? My head is all fuzzy… Is this a hospital? Am I hurt?<br/> My throat is so dry… Why is there an IV in my arm. Have I been in a coma? What's this tube sticking out of my mouth!?</em></p> <p>I try to get out of my bed, only to find I’ve been restrained to it. My arms and legs bound like a psych ward patient. Panic sets in and I struggle against the straps, making muffled grunting noises as I do so. After fifteen minutes of straining myself, I finally give up. I try to think on the bright side of things. When I was taken, they did such terrible things. But now… now, I’ll be okay. I’m safe now, recovering in a hospital, even if I’m strapped down, it’s still better than what I’d been through before.</p> <p><em>Where’s that nurse call button? Maybe they didn’t bother giving me one since I’ve been in a coma. I’ll just wait for one of the doctors to come along. I hope I can see my family soon. Mom would be happy to learn that I’m okay. This hospital room sure is big… I wonder why. Maybe it’s one of those fancy new hospitals with lots of room. Oh! I bet they have a huge cafeteria. When I get this tube out, I'm going to have a big meal.</em></p> <p>I wiggle my toes a bit, silently running a song I remember from a while ago through my mind, bobbing my head a little to the beat. It was finally over, and soon I'd be reunited with my family. Looking down to bounce my feet around a bit, I notice a large lump in the hospital gown where my stomach should be. Oh god…. I'm pregnant?! When did this happen? Never mind… Considering what happened before I was rescued, I suppose it's only natural. Besides, my family will be there for me. They'll help me through this. I know it. Dad might be a little shocked, but Mom would be happy to finally be a grandmother, even if it happened under terrible circumstances.</p> <p><em>I wonder what I'll name her. Or, him? I better start thinking of good baby names. Jessica? Stanley? Adam? Rachel? Ah well, I'm not that far along, by the looks of it. I'll have my family help me think of a good name. I wonder if my friends will throw me a shower? I wonder… If my friends even got rescued. Everything is such a blur…</em></p> <p><em>The lights are so bright in here. Is that a security camera? Oh good. Maybe one of the security guards will tell them I'm awake. I'll just keep my feet and head moving to let them know I'm awake. I'm sure someone will be along shortly.</em></p> <p><strong>"Subject is lucid. Time until procedure: 4 hours. Time until next feeding: 20 minutes."<br/> Researcher Garland looked through the security monitor, sighing heavily. Just six more days, and he could be reassigned. He tapped on a computer keyboard, trying to distract himself. He tried to occupy his thoughts with other, menial things while he waited. His dinner the previous night, what he would prepare tonight. He hated eating at the site's cafeteria. They always did their best to provide a great meal, and it was always a treat, but he believed in the value of a home-cooked dish. The other researchers and doctors would goad him, as always, about his choice of food. Why spend money on food when The Foundation provides free meals? It was the principle of the matter, damnit. Besides, what else would he spend his money on?</strong></p> <p>The door to my room opened. Wow, that's a big door. I hadn't noticed that before. A man dressed quite professionally entered. Oh good! They finally noticed I was awake! I bob my feet at the man in response, looking at the doctor with wide, appreciative eyes. He approached me, a rather sullen expression on his face. Why is he so glum? I'm awake! Soon, he'll call my parents, and my tube will be out, and I can finally enjoy a proper cheeseburger. I want to ask him what he's holding, but this damn tube keeps me from talking. Instead, I intone at him with a hopeful little grunt. He reaches my bedside, attaching something to my feeding tube. Something slithers down the piping and slides into my stomach. Well, I suppose it's not so bad, I was a bit hungry anyway. He takes my bedpan, changes it, and exits wordlessly despite my grunting. Surely he must have noticed I was awake. Maybe he was having a bad day. What day couldn't be made better with the knowledge your patient had finally awoken? That's weird. Maybe his wife divorced him or something. No matter, I'm sure he's on the phone with my parents right now. Soon, I'll be able to see them. The food made me a bit sleepy, I think I'll take a nap until my parents get here. There's nothing better to do anyway. Slowly, I drift off into a content slumber.</p> <p><strong>"Feeding complete. Time until procedure: 3 hours, 30 minutes."</strong></p> <p><strong>Researcher Garland collapsed into his chair, exhaling as he did so, staring into the monitor with the expression of man who has seen decades of atrocities happen within the span of 25 days. These days were the worst. The days she was happy. The days she didn't know. He watched her as she closed her eyes, her breathing slowing to indicate she was dreaming peacefully. His heart ached. He wanted to go in there. He wanted to take her from all of this, but his duty was essential. He would not allow himself even a second of weakness. He only counted the minutes until he too, would be happy again.</strong></p> <p>I woke up to the sound of my door hissing open again. Finally! My parents were here! I can't wait to hug them, hold them in my arms, cry during a tearful reunion, and leave together to start my life again. Did the lump in my belly get bigger during my nap? I'm sure it's just my imagination. I squint my eyes, trying to make out which of the six was the doctor, and which two were my parents. What's this? All of them are dressed in some orange jumpsuit. Those guys aren't my parents. Maybe they're janitors of something. They all look pretty stupid. Probably give slow folks jobs to help out the homeless community. That's honorable of them. I wonder how long I've been asleep. Ah well, I won't bother the janitors. I'm sure they're busy.</p> <p><em>Why are they not cleaning? There's not a mop or bucket between them. What's happening?</em></p> <p><em>This is no hospital.</em></p> <p><strong>"Time: 2237. The procedure has begun."</strong></p> <p><strong>Researcher Garland tapped away at his keyboard, keeping his eyes on the monitor as instructed by the procedure guidelines. The subject made loud, pained moans of protest and agony for a few moments over the discussions of the Class-D's before he muted the sound. Those sick bastards…. The only thought that gave him a smile was that in six days, he would be reassigned, and they would be terminated. Although, termination was such an easy way out for them. Even the ones among them who were reluctant to participate… They deserved so much worse. They deserved to suffer as his patient had. They deserved to be fed into the gaping maw of a living hell.</strong></p> <p><strong>This part always made him nauseous. He was a doctor. He was used to seeing blood, gore, trauma. This was different. There was no healing in this blood, only anguish. This was malicious. It was during these parts that he regretted never taking the Hippocratic oath. There were unique opportunities afforded to a self-taught mob doctor, the money was great, but when The Foundation approached him with the promise of higher pay, a formal education, and the chance to work some of the strangest cases in the world…. Well, who could refuse? Now, he longed for the days when he was prying bullets from wounded mobsters.</strong></p> <p><em>Stop…. Please… You're going to kill my baby…</em></p> <p><strong>"Time: 2349. Procedure has been completed to 100% efficacy."</strong></p> <p><strong>"Time until next feeding: 8 hours. Time until next procedure, 22 hours."</strong></p> <p><strong>Garland leaned back in his chair, drawing shuddering breaths while gathering his personal effects, stuffing them in his day bag in preparation for leaving when the night researcher comes in. He didn't even know the subject's name. They had redacted every thing about her, her past, her family. Everything. It was a smart decision. If they hadn't, he probably would have risked his career, even his life, to save her. It was easier if he just didn't know.</strong></p> <p><strong>"Hey Bruce," a voice chirps over the intercom. Garland looks over to another monitor, spotting his relief. He buzzes her in.</strong></p> <p><strong>"Man, you look like hell. Well, like more hell than usual. What's got you so glum?" Doctor Kanade peered at Garland as she plopped her backpack down on the counter, retrieving a bottle of water and an apple, taking a bite from it and chewing noisily. Doctor Garland only gave her a knowing look, before sighing and putting his eyes to the floor.</strong></p> <p><strong>"Oh…. Right, day one… Bruce, you can't be so invested in her. What we do here is keeping all of us safe. You, your relatives, hell even some poor damn kids in Timbuktu or some shit. Don't let it get to you."</strong></p> <p><strong>"You're lucky to be on the night shift, Amy…" replied Bruce as he walked toward the containment area's door. "I'll see you in twelve hours."</strong></p> <p><strong>Doctor Kanade hoisted her half-eaten apple in a mock salute before he turned and walked from the area, the door hissing closed behind him. Twelve hours passes so soon when you're dreading the next day.</strong></p> <p>I'm still crying. Four hours after that horrible experience. I'm still crying. My throat hurts so bad…. They killed my baby… They took it from me… I want to rub my now flat stomach, it hurts so bad. I can't move my arms. Can't move my legs… I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this….</p> <p><strong><em>Day Two</em></strong></p> <p>A female doctor came in this morning and stuffed more food paste in my tube. She changed my bedpan gave me a quick sponge-bath. They know. They know what happened. I can tell. Why don't they do anything? I want to go home… I just want to go home… I… wait, what's this lump in my belly? I thought… Was it just a bad dream? Maybe some drug-induced hallucination? That has to be it, but it felt so real… I breathe a sigh of relief. There's still some pain, but I'm sure that's just psychos-… psycho-something. Ghost pains. But then, why was there some blood in that water after the doctor finished bathing me? Weird. Oh hey, it's the sad doctor! He feeds me lunch, or is it dinner? I can't tell. There's no clocks in here. I can't taste it, of course, but I'm not sure that I'd want to. I hope I can see my parents soon. After lunch, I decide to nap. Not much else I can do in this damn bed.</p> <p><strong>Day two isn't as bad as day one, but only just. She still has hope today. She's still able to smile. I think she believes the last night was some sort of crazy nightmare. Who wouldn't? It's too horrific to think it's real. It's a natural defense mechanism of the mind to disassociate from the pain and trauma.</strong></p> <p><strong>"Begin the procedure."</strong></p> <p><strong>It'll be easier after this, it always is. Just make it through tonight. He watches as the men begin their work, keeping the volume muted.</strong></p> <p><em>Oh, the door is opening. Maybe I can finally see my parents.</em></p> <p><em>That lump in my belly is definitely bigger than before. Something's wrong.</em></p> <p><em>Wait… six figures. Orange jumpsuits…..</em></p> <p><em>Oh god.</em></p> <p><em>It wasn't a nightmare. It's happening again.</em></p> <p><strong>Doctor Garland watched the procedure again, as ordered. He watches her twitch with horrible pain, convulse in agony, sob uncontrollably. The Class-D's rotate in their roles once a day so everyone takes a turn performing specific parts of the procedure. Just four more days after today… Count the minutes. He'd be getting a well-deserved vacation after this, and then he'd be reassigned to a different project. Anything would be better than this.</strong></p> <p><strong>"Time: 2259. Procedure complete to 100% efficacy. Time until next procedure: 22.5 hours"</strong></p> <p><strong>His relief came early tonight. Probably to give him a break from the previous day. He buzzed her in, gathered his things, and left.</strong></p> <p><strong><em>Day Three</em></strong></p> <p>I woke up today crying. Only crying. My hospital bed must be stained by now from all the tears. They all know what they're doing to me… My belly has a lump again. I'm pregnant again. But they killed my baby again last night. They took it from me again. But I'm pregnant again. Again. I'm pregnant again. They'll come again tonight, and do it again. All of it. Every sickening second of it. I don't want to eat. I want to die. Let me die, please. I want to die… I want to die… Is it morning, or night? I'll just try to sleep…</p> <p><strong>"Begin the procedure."</strong></p> <p><em>Oh god… They're here again. It's happening again. I want to die. Please, kill me! Kill me!</em></p> <p><strong><em>Day Four</em></strong></p> <p><em>I must be in hell. That's it. I'm in hell. I died already, and I'm in hell. That's why I keep getting pregnant, that's why it grows so fast. That's why they delight in killing it day after day.</em></p> <p><em>I'm in hell.</em></p> <p><strong><em>Day Five</em></strong></p> <p><em>They're here again. They're doing it again. Just bear with it, and I can sleep again. Sleep is the only thing that lets me escape from this. The one slice of sanity I have left. Just hurry up so I can sleep again.</em></p> <p><strong><em>Day Six</em></strong></p> <p><strong>Doctor Garland was counting the minutes, the seconds now. Just a few short minutes more, and he would be able to leave this place, take his amnestics, and forget all about this place. He sipped from a coffee cup, watching what would be his last viewing of the procedure. He vaguely wondered what they'd replace this month with. He hoped it would be something boring.</strong></p> <p><strong>"Wakey wakey, Bruce." Finally, it was done. Amy was here to relieve him, he buzzed her in, quickly gathering his belongings, stuffing them into his bag. Amy clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a wide grin as she bit into a pear, chewing loudly.</strong></p> <p><strong>"Been a hell of a month, huh? Well, this shit's over for me too. They're sending your replacement to me tomorrow, then I'm outta here too." Doctor Kanade mused between chewing.</strong></p> <p><strong>"I can't say it's been good working with you, because it hasn't," replied Doctor Garland, who received a hearty guffaw in response as he left the containment area for the last time.</strong></p> <p><strong>Bruce Garland set his backpack down on his dorm's desk, collapsing into his bed. On his bedside table, lay a manilla envelope containing two small pills, and a letter. Immediately he swallowed the pills without water, and pulled open the letter to view its contents.</strong></p> <blockquote> <p>Dr. Bruce Garland</p> <p>POST PROJECT BRIEFING<br/> Included with this briefing is one (1) Class-A amnestic and one (1) Ambien brand sleep aid. Take both at once. The memories you are to receive are of a field assignment assisting MTF-Lambda-P ("Whisperers") in the recapture of an SCP following a containment breach. The work involved the treatment of injuries for wounded personnel on the field assignment. It was noted by the Commanding Officer that you had performed admirably under duress, and a commendation regarding your performance will be added to your permanent personnel file. You are also entitled to a raise of $6,000 USD onto your yearly salary. You are hereby ordered to take four weeks (31 days) vacation to rest, and report to Site Personnel Director Bright for reassignment concluding your vacation.</p> <p>This concludes your post project briefing.</p> </blockquote> <p><strong>Doctor Garland smiled for the first time in a month, crumpling the letter and tossing it in his empty wastebasket. He pulled a small flask of whiskey from his bag, taking a long draw before climbing under his covers and drifting into a peaceful slumber, anxious to begin his vacation.</strong></p> <p><strong>Doctor Garland awoke with a headache. That was a hell of a hang-over. He shouldn't have drunk so much on his last day of vacation. But, he'd deserved a hell of a good time after his two-week stint with that MTF unit. Those guys got it pretty bad. That skip wasn't easy to recover. He opened his eyes groggily and stretched. He stood, picking up a pair of slacks from the floor, reaching into its pocket to retrieve the phone number of the hot researcher he'd talked with the night before. It wasn't there. Damn, he thought. He must have dropped it during his drunken stumble back to his dorm. No matter, he'll run into her again, he assures himself.</strong></p> <p><strong>He walked to his door, finding a manilla envelope had been slid under it the night before. He reached down, picking it up. Why couldn't they tell him his assignment personally? No matter, such is life within The Foundation. Opening the envelope, he found only a small note regarding his new assignment.</strong></p> <blockquote> <p>Dr. Bruce Garland</p> <p>REASSIGNMENT BRIEFING<br/> Dr. Garland is to report immediately to the transportation annex of Site-19 for assignment to a one-month project regarding SCP-231-7. Class-A amnestics will be provided if requested following the conclusion of the project. Any questions regarding the project should be addressed to your Site Director.</p> <p>Thank you.<br/> <em>Dr. Jack Bright</em></p> </blockquote> <p><strong>231, eh? Garland had heard the rumors surrounding it. Something about some terrible procedure. No matter, whatever it is, it's only a month-long project. He crumpled the note and tossed it into his empty wastebasket, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed to his new assignment.</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="/six-days">Six Days</a>" by Lucavex Ayanami, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/six-days">https://scpwiki.com/six-days</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>	[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:adult-content-warning">:scp-wiki:component:adult-content-warning</a> \|child-abuse=1 \|torture=1 ]] [[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] //Day One// //Where am I? My head is all fuzzy… Is this a hospital? Am I hurt? My throat is so dry… Why is there an IV in my arm. Have I been in a coma? What's this tube sticking out of my mouth!?// I try to get out of my bed, only to find I’ve been restrained to it. My arms and legs bound like a psych ward patient. Panic sets in and I struggle against the straps, making muffled grunting noises as I do so. After fifteen minutes of straining myself, I finally give up. I try to think on the bright side of things. When I was taken, they did such terrible things. But now... now, I’ll be okay. I’m safe now, recovering in a hospital, even if I’m strapped down, it’s still better than what I’d been through before. //Where’s that nurse call button? Maybe they didn’t bother giving me one since I’ve been in a coma. I’ll just wait for one of the doctors to come along. I hope I can see my family soon. Mom would be happy to learn that I’m okay. This hospital room sure is big… I wonder why. Maybe it’s one of those fancy new hospitals with lots of room. Oh! I bet they have a huge cafeteria. When I get this tube out, I'm going to have a big meal.// I wiggle my toes a bit, silently running a song I remember from a while ago through my mind, bobbing my head a little to the beat. It was finally over, and soon I'd be reunited with my family. Looking down to bounce my feet around a bit, I notice a large lump in the hospital gown where my stomach should be. Oh god.... I'm pregnant?! When did this happen? Never mind... Considering what happened before I was rescued, I suppose it's only natural. Besides, my family will be there for me. They'll help me through this. I know it. Dad might be a little shocked, but Mom would be happy to finally be a grandmother, even if it happened under terrible circumstances. //I wonder what I'll name her. Or, him? I better start thinking of good baby names. Jessica? Stanley? Adam? Rachel? Ah well, I'm not that far along, by the looks of it. I'll have my family help me think of a good name. I wonder if my friends will throw me a shower? I wonder... If my friends even got rescued. Everything is such a blur...// //The lights are so bright in here. Is that a security camera? Oh good. Maybe one of the security guards will tell them I'm awake. I'll just keep my feet and head moving to let them know I'm awake. I'm sure someone will be along shortly.// "Subject is lucid. Time until procedure: 4 hours. Time until next feeding: 20 minutes." Researcher Garland looked through the security monitor, sighing heavily. Just six more days, and he could be reassigned. He tapped on a computer keyboard, trying to distract himself. He tried to occupy his thoughts with other, menial things while he waited. His dinner the previous night, what he would prepare tonight. He hated eating at the site's cafeteria. They always did their best to provide a great meal, and it was always a treat, but he believed in the value of a home-cooked dish. The other researchers and doctors would goad him, as always, about his choice of food. Why spend money on food when The Foundation provides free meals? It was the principle of the matter, damnit. Besides, what else would he spend his money on? The door to my room opened. Wow, that's a big door. I hadn't noticed that before. A man dressed quite professionally entered. Oh good! They finally noticed I was awake! I bob my feet at the man in response, looking at the doctor with wide, appreciative eyes. He approached me, a rather sullen expression on his face. Why is he so glum? I'm awake! Soon, he'll call my parents, and my tube will be out, and I can finally enjoy a proper cheeseburger. I want to ask him what he's holding, but this damn tube keeps me from talking. Instead, I intone at him with a hopeful little grunt. He reaches my bedside, attaching something to my feeding tube. Something slithers down the piping and slides into my stomach. Well, I suppose it's not so bad, I was a bit hungry anyway. He takes my bedpan, changes it, and exits wordlessly despite my grunting. Surely he must have noticed I was awake. Maybe he was having a bad day. What day couldn't be made better with the knowledge your patient had finally awoken? That's weird. Maybe his wife divorced him or something. No matter, I'm sure he's on the phone with my parents right now. Soon, I'll be able to see them. The food made me a bit sleepy, I think I'll take a nap until my parents get here. There's nothing better to do anyway. Slowly, I drift off into a content slumber. "Feeding complete. Time until procedure: 3 hours, 30 minutes." Researcher Garland collapsed into his chair, exhaling as he did so, staring into the monitor with the expression of man who has seen decades of atrocities happen within the span of 25 days. These days were the worst. The days she was happy. The days she didn't know. He watched her as she closed her eyes, her breathing slowing to indicate she was dreaming peacefully. His heart ached. He wanted to go in there. He wanted to take her from all of this, but his duty was essential. He would not allow himself even a second of weakness. He only counted the minutes until he too, would be happy again. I woke up to the sound of my door hissing open again. Finally! My parents were here! I can't wait to hug them, hold them in my arms, cry during a tearful reunion, and leave together to start my life again. Did the lump in my belly get bigger during my nap? I'm sure it's just my imagination. I squint my eyes, trying to make out which of the six was the doctor, and which two were my parents. What's this? All of them are dressed in some orange jumpsuit. Those guys aren't my parents. Maybe they're janitors of something. They all look pretty stupid. Probably give slow folks jobs to help out the homeless community. That's honorable of them. I wonder how long I've been asleep. Ah well, I won't bother the janitors. I'm sure they're busy. //Why are they not cleaning? There's not a mop or bucket between them. What's happening?// //This is no hospital.// "Time: 2237. The procedure has begun." Researcher Garland tapped away at his keyboard, keeping his eyes on the monitor as instructed by the procedure guidelines. The subject made loud, pained moans of protest and agony for a few moments over the discussions of the Class-D's before he muted the sound. Those sick bastards.... The only thought that gave him a smile was that in six days, he would be reassigned, and they would be terminated. Although, termination was such an easy way out for them. Even the ones among them who were reluctant to participate... They deserved so much worse. They deserved to suffer as his patient had. They deserved to be fed into the gaping maw of a living hell. This part always made him nauseous. He was a doctor. He was used to seeing blood, gore, trauma. This was different. There was no healing in this blood, only anguish. This was malicious. It was during these parts that he regretted never taking the Hippocratic oath. There were unique opportunities afforded to a self-taught mob doctor, the money was great, but when The Foundation approached him with the promise of higher pay, a formal education, and the chance to work some of the strangest cases in the world.... Well, who could refuse? Now, he longed for the days when he was prying bullets from wounded mobsters. //Stop.... Please... You're going to kill my baby...// "Time: 2349. Procedure has been completed to 100% efficacy." "Time until next feeding: 8 hours. Time until next procedure, 22 hours." Garland leaned back in his chair, drawing shuddering breaths while gathering his personal effects, stuffing them in his day bag in preparation for leaving when the night researcher comes in. He didn't even know the subject's name. They had redacted every thing about her, her past, her family. Everything. It was a smart decision. If they hadn't, he probably would have risked his career, even his life, to save her. It was easier if he just didn't know. "Hey Bruce," a voice chirps over the intercom. Garland looks over to another monitor, spotting his relief. He buzzes her in. "Man, you look like hell. Well, like more hell than usual. What's got you so glum?" Doctor Kanade peered at Garland as she plopped her backpack down on the counter, retrieving a bottle of water and an apple, taking a bite from it and chewing noisily. Doctor Garland only gave her a knowing look, before sighing and putting his eyes to the floor. "Oh.... Right, day one... Bruce, you can't be so invested in her. What we do here is keeping all of us safe. You, your relatives, hell even some poor damn kids in Timbuktu or some shit. Don't let it get to you." "You're lucky to be on the night shift, Amy..." replied Bruce as he walked toward the containment area's door. "I'll see you in twelve hours." Doctor Kanade hoisted her half-eaten apple in a mock salute before he turned and walked from the area, the door hissing closed behind him. Twelve hours passes so soon when you're dreading the next day. I'm still crying. Four hours after that horrible experience. I'm still crying. My throat hurts so bad.... They killed my baby... They took it from me... I want to rub my now flat stomach, it hurts so bad. I can't move my arms. Can't move my legs... I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this.... //Day Two// A female doctor came in this morning and stuffed more food paste in my tube. She changed my bedpan gave me a quick sponge-bath. They know. They know what happened. I can tell. Why don't they do anything? I want to go home... I just want to go home... I... wait, what's this lump in my belly? I thought... Was it just a bad dream? Maybe some drug-induced hallucination? That has to be it, but it felt so real... I breathe a sigh of relief. There's still some pain, but I'm sure that's just psychos-... psycho-something. Ghost pains. But then, why was there some blood in that water after the doctor finished bathing me? Weird. Oh hey, it's the sad doctor! He feeds me lunch, or is it dinner? I can't tell. There's no clocks in here. I can't taste it, of course, but I'm not sure that I'd want to. I hope I can see my parents soon. After lunch, I decide to nap. Not much else I can do in this damn bed. Day two isn't as bad as day one, but only just. She still has hope today. She's still able to smile. I think she believes the last night was some sort of crazy nightmare. Who wouldn't? It's too horrific to think it's real. It's a natural defense mechanism of the mind to disassociate from the pain and trauma. "Begin the procedure." It'll be easier after this, it always is. Just make it through tonight. He watches as the men begin their work, keeping the volume muted. //Oh, the door is opening. Maybe I can finally see my parents.// //That lump in my belly is definitely bigger than before. Something's wrong.// //Wait... six figures. Orange jumpsuits.....// //Oh god.// //It wasn't a nightmare. It's happening again.// Doctor Garland watched the procedure again, as ordered. He watches her twitch with horrible pain, convulse in agony, sob uncontrollably. The Class-D's rotate in their roles once a day so everyone takes a turn performing specific parts of the procedure. Just four more days after today... Count the minutes. He'd be getting a well-deserved vacation after this, and then he'd be reassigned to a different project. Anything would be better than this. "Time: 2259. Procedure complete to 100% efficacy. Time until next procedure: 22.5 hours" His relief came early tonight. Probably to give him a break from the previous day. He buzzed her in, gathered his things, and left. //Day Three// I woke up today crying. Only crying. My hospital bed must be stained by now from all the tears. They all know what they're doing to me... My belly has a lump again. I'm pregnant again. But they killed my baby again last night. They took it from me again. But I'm pregnant again. Again. I'm pregnant again. They'll come again tonight, and do it again. All of it. Every sickening second of it. I don't want to eat. I want to die. Let me die, please. I want to die... I want to die... Is it morning, or night? I'll just try to sleep... "Begin the procedure." //Oh god... They're here again. It's happening again. I want to die. Please, kill me! Kill me!// //Day Four// //I must be in hell. That's it. I'm in hell. I died already, and I'm in hell. That's why I keep getting pregnant, that's why it grows so fast. That's why they delight in killing it day after day.// //I'm in hell.// //Day Five// //They're here again. They're doing it again. Just bear with it, and I can sleep again. Sleep is the only thing that lets me escape from this. The one slice of sanity I have left. Just hurry up so I can sleep again.// //Day Six// Doctor Garland was counting the minutes, the seconds now. Just a few short minutes more, and he would be able to leave this place, take his amnestics, and forget all about this place. He sipped from a coffee cup, watching what would be his last viewing of the procedure. He vaguely wondered what they'd replace this month with. He hoped it would be something boring. "Wakey wakey, Bruce." Finally, it was done. Amy was here to relieve him, he buzzed her in, quickly gathering his belongings, stuffing them into his bag. Amy clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a wide grin as she bit into a pear, chewing loudly. "Been a hell of a month, huh? Well, this shit's over for me too. They're sending your replacement to me tomorrow, then I'm outta here too." Doctor Kanade mused between chewing. "I can't say it's been good working with you, because it hasn't," replied Doctor Garland, who received a hearty guffaw in response as he left the containment area for the last time. Bruce Garland set his backpack down on his dorm's desk, collapsing into his bed. On his bedside table, lay a manilla envelope containing two small pills, and a letter. Immediately he swallowed the pills without water, and pulled open the letter to view its contents. > Dr. Bruce Garland > > POST PROJECT BRIEFING > Included with this briefing is one (1) Class-A amnestic and one (1) Ambien brand sleep aid. Take both at once. The memories you are to receive are of a field assignment assisting MTF-Lambda-P ("Whisperers") in the recapture of an SCP following a containment breach. The work involved the treatment of injuries for wounded personnel on the field assignment. It was noted by the Commanding Officer that you had performed admirably under duress, and a commendation regarding your performance will be added to your permanent personnel file. You are also entitled to a raise of $6,000 USD onto your yearly salary. You are hereby ordered to take four weeks (31 days) vacation to rest, and report to Site Personnel Director Bright for reassignment concluding your vacation. > > This concludes your post project briefing. > Doctor Garland smiled for the first time in a month, crumpling the letter and tossing it in his empty wastebasket. He pulled a small flask of whiskey from his bag, taking a long draw before climbing under his covers and drifting into a peaceful slumber, anxious to begin his vacation. Doctor Garland awoke with a headache. That was a hell of a hang-over. He shouldn't have drunk so much on his last day of vacation. But, he'd deserved a hell of a good time after his two-week stint with that MTF unit. Those guys got it pretty bad. That skip wasn't easy to recover. He opened his eyes groggily and stretched. He stood, picking up a pair of slacks from the floor, reaching into its pocket to retrieve the phone number of the hot researcher he'd talked with the night before. It wasn't there. Damn, he thought. He must have dropped it during his drunken stumble back to his dorm. No matter, he'll run into her again, he assures himself. He walked to his door, finding a manilla envelope had been slid under it the night before. He reached down, picking it up. Why couldn't they tell him his assignment personally? No matter, such is life within The Foundation. Opening the envelope, he found only a small note regarding his new assignment. > Dr. Bruce Garland > > REASSIGNMENT BRIEFING > Dr. Garland is to report immediately to the transportation annex of Site-19 for assignment to a one-month project regarding SCP-231-7. Class-A amnestics will be provided if requested following the conclusion of the project. Any questions regarding the project should be addressed to your Site Director. > > Thank you. > //Dr. Jack Bright// 231, eh? Garland had heard the rumors surrounding it. Something about some terrible procedure. No matter, whatever it is, it's only a month-long project. He crumpled the note and tossed it into his empty wastebasket, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed to his new assignment. [[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>]]	2012-05-07T08:28:00	[ "_adult", "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Six Days - SCP Foundation	201	[ "prev", "next", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13286577	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/six-days
six-faces	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><span style="font-size:0%;">☦An irrelevant tale about cubes.☦ </span><br/> The personnel director sat alone in his office fiddling with his new gloves. He’d been sitting there running his fingers along the leather edges and admiring the tailor work for a time that he’d lost track off. It was a slow day at the site, an overcast and uneventful day. The mood was stoic and gray, and he could feel the relaxing pitter patter of rain on the windowpane every now and then.</p> <p>In other chambers 173 was busy being 173, staring vacantly at a wall with its big vacant eyes. 682 was currently purple and small, soaking in its tank of hate, no more horrifying than usual.</p> <p>The personnel director heard a dull clink on his window, and the sound of something splashing down in the mud. He stopped inspecting his new hands and got up to take a look. Through the foggy glass he could see what looked like a small black cube sitting in a puddle outside. <em>The hell is this? Someone playing a game with me on their smoke break?</em> He looked around but he couldn’t see anyone out there. The break area was on the other side of the facility, and there was nothing but miles of desert and a small black line that was the first perimeter near the horizon.</p> <p>As strange as this was he didn’t think at all to call someone about it, except for the janitor to check about <em>the mess</em> outside. He was about to grab the receiver when he heard another <em>chichunk</em> followed by the faint sound of splashing water outside the window. <em>The fuck is this now?</em></p> <p>Through the now slightly cracked glass he found that there was a pink cube shaped object hovering slightly above the ground.</p> <p>“Alright, I’m going to the Site Director.”</p> <p>He briskly walked down the hall out of his office to the far room to speak with the woman in charge of things. He walked through the threshold of her sparse office and told her that some sort of silliness was going on outside.</p> <p>“No one is on grounds at the moment, but I’ll send someone to go take a look if –“</p> <p>She was cut off by a rapid succession of thudding drumming on the roof, the sound of metal, plastic, and hollow wood (if they would have had time to think) clattering in spurts over the space of a few seconds. The thing that captured their attention the most being a flaming cube falling through the roof, through the desk, and through the floor before they could blink at it. The Site Director looked at him through the now trickling rain between them with her mouth ajar.</p> <p>The Site Director shakes her head, picks up her phone and sits down, looking at the newly installed waterfall that was soaking all of her routine reports. “Low storage? Yes, there’s a hole in my roof. What? You sure? That’s eight levels down! That heavy! Bag it if you can, we’re going to turn the flashers on.”</p> <p>“Go ahead and signal an alert, Grey-2.” She told him cooly, whipping her papers through the air to dry them off.</p> <p>The personnel director squints and heads toward the door in a hurry, more pattering on the roof as he reached the doorway. “Hurry it up!” she told him, spurring him an inch quicker.</p> <p>The director spotted large and small objects outside of the window raining down from the sky, and the noise of these things hitting the roof was deafening. He could make out the shapes, cubes. Cubes of all different shapes and sizes and colors. The ground outside was littered with them. Every now and then he would hear a hard thud and look up to see a dent in the ceiling, or a new hole. He could have sworn he saw something fall through the ceiling and pass through him, but he didn’t have much time to take it in.</p> <p>He breezed through the atrium to the comm center; this area was connected to the rec room, a large dome with industrial glass ceilings. The chinking, whopping, and crashing sounds of the objects hitting the glass was overwhelming.</p> <p>Cubes of all shapes and sizes that had fallen through the roof littered the area, and it was quite a trick to avoid the potential fallers and the things already littering the ground. He near stumbled over a large black glowing cube that was quite hot, and nearly stepped on a smaller orange cube that was menacing with spikes, I mean, hell, he was almost compelled to step on it.</p> <p>Three agents were huddled around the archway leading into the comm room. One of them had a cube on the side of his face, which for some reason seemed strange to Mr. Director. He asks them what’s going on.</p> <p>“This thing on my face? It’s stuck; it won’t come off no matter how much I pull!” He whined.</p> <p>“No dammit, Ron, why isn’t anyone sounding the alert.”</p> <p>“There’s a big cube in the comm room, smashed the equipment, fell through the ceiling. It looks like it’s messing with the electronics in the area too, although that might be a different cube.”</p> <p>He headed in anyway. The three of them following behind a little. What he saw was cubes, fucking cubes everywhere. The area in the comm room was waist deep in cubes, a small avalanche tumbled out when he had opened the door. It was an absolute rainbow, a candy shop assortment of cubes, and if he had time to look over them all, he’d notice each of them was behaving a bit strange.</p> <p>Despite the sensory overload, he started to wade through to the electric box and looked for the failsafe switch.</p> <p>“You’re crazy, you don’t know what those things’ll do to ya!” the cubefaced man named Ron exclaimed.</p> <p>This exclamation seemed to be perfectly timed, as the Personnel Director began laughing, crying, screaming, and wetting himself all at once. He had also lost all of his hair, and unbeknownst to him now had three different kinds of cancer. The agent leaned in and yanked him back, sending them both flying backwards on the ground. Luckily they land on a squishy cube that shielded falls no matter what the magnitude of force. It also cured cancer and was indestructible.</p> <p>“God damming big cube is making more cubes.” The man said.</p> <p>He looked over to him and noticed that this man’s hand was now cubes.</p> <p>“What the fuck is happening to me!” the man screamed, wiggling back to standing position and bracing himself against a wall.</p> <p>“Fucking cubes!”</p> <p>The director noticed a small family of fluffy brown cubes rolling around in the corner before it was attacked by a group of small, viscous, polka-dotted black and red cubes.</p> <p>“That’s it, I’m headed to Level 4 to sort this out.” He said, getting to his feet and running toward the elevator.</p> <p>Unbeknownst to him, level 4 was destroyed by a cube that removed anything from existence that had the number four in its name. It also played Symphony No. 9 whenever it destroyed something. It too, was indestructible.</p> <p>He had reached the door past the murder of flying crow-cubes that made him feel a bit sad, and began jamming the elevator door button labeled… there was no 4. Where had the 4 gone? It simply was not there. He punched other buttons, the button for level 5. He waited a while, batting away the cawing cubes with his gloved hand. In a few second the door dings, but there is no elevator. The doors opened to a vacant shaft.</p> <p>He was stumped. Those were his only two options and they were now gone… but the Site Director would know what to do, he would head back there as she probably already had something up her sleeve to sort this out. They had been through worse.</p> <p><em>EeeeeeeuuuuuUUUUUnghKUnnCHUH</em> something that sounded like a squishy machine howled from the halls to higher-ups office.</p> <p>"Fucking cubes!" he could hear her shouting, more angry than scared from down the hall. The horrible noise continued all the while he was running down the hallway dodging rhombus.</p> <p>He arrived at the Site Directors door and saw that a mass of interconnected black cubes was funneling up through the hole in the floor from before. Each of the segments had little mouths, they were howling that horrible noise. The Site Director was on the other side of the room in the corner, holding her computer monitor over her head, looking like she was planning on murdering the thing with it.</p> <p>"This is just what we need! More cubes!"</p> <p>"What should we do?" Mr. Director said tensely as the thing continued pulsing through the hole in awful procession.</p> <p>"I'm going to toss my computer at it and try to make it over to you!"</p> <p>She hurls her computer at the base of the hole, it connects impotently and falls to the floor with a thud, the screen cracking. It was indestructible or at least immune to plastic. Nevertheless she made her sprint over to the doorway, the alien mass did not seem agitated at all.</p> <p>"We're going to round up everyone on level one and evacuate." she said, wasting no time and continuing on to the rec room.</p> <p>"What the fuck is this?" he asked her, knowing she most likely was as confused as he was.</p> <p>"Could be anything, could be the result of cross testing somewhere, could be a new entity. No idea." They turned a corner.</p> <p>They found Ron, blocking the doorway to the rec area off. He was leaning into to a mass of cubes that seemed to be trying to make their way through. Ron was completely cubes, twelve interconnected orange cube segments making up the body, and a mass of cubes around the face mimicking facial features. He was horribly pixelated in three dimensions.</p> <p>"Ron?" the Personnel Director inquired in unsure tone.</p> <p>"It's already too late, I know!" he said in a perfectly synched voice.</p> <p>"What?"</p> <p>"The site is in a much larger cube, the earth even! Soon the universe!"</p> <p>"How do you know that?"</p> <p>"I am cubes like them."</p> <p>"What should we do?" she urged as Ron continued to push back the assault.</p> <p>"Nothing, look at your hand."</p> <p>She looked down and her hand was covered in cubes.</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="/six-faces">Six Faces</a>" by faminepulse, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/six-faces">https://scpwiki.com/six-faces</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>	[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:scp-pride">:scp-wiki:component:scp-pride</a>]] [[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] [[size 0%]]☦An irrelevant tale about cubes.☦ [[/size]] The personnel director sat alone in his office fiddling with his new gloves. He’d been sitting there running his fingers along the leather edges and admiring the tailor work for a time that he’d lost track off. It was a slow day at the site, an overcast and uneventful day. The mood was stoic and gray, and he could feel the relaxing pitter patter of rain on the windowpane every now and then. In other chambers 173 was busy being 173, staring vacantly at a wall with its big vacant eyes. 682 was currently purple and small, soaking in its tank of hate, no more horrifying than usual. The personnel director heard a dull clink on his window, and the sound of something splashing down in the mud. He stopped inspecting his new hands and got up to take a look. Through the foggy glass he could see what looked like a small black cube sitting in a puddle outside. //The hell is this? Someone playing a game with me on their smoke break?// He looked around but he couldn’t see anyone out there. The break area was on the other side of the facility, and there was nothing but miles of desert and a small black line that was the first perimeter near the horizon. As strange as this was he didn’t think at all to call someone about it, except for the janitor to check about //the mess// outside. He was about to grab the receiver when he heard another //chichunk// followed by the faint sound of splashing water outside the window. //The fuck is this now?// Through the now slightly cracked glass he found that there was a pink cube shaped object hovering slightly above the ground. “Alright, I’m going to the Site Director.” He briskly walked down the hall out of his office to the far room to speak with the woman in charge of things. He walked through the threshold of her sparse office and told her that some sort of silliness was going on outside. “No one is on grounds at the moment, but I’ll send someone to go take a look if –“ She was cut off by a rapid succession of thudding drumming on the roof, the sound of metal, plastic, and hollow wood (if they would have had time to think) clattering in spurts over the space of a few seconds. The thing that captured their attention the most being a flaming cube falling through the roof, through the desk, and through the floor before they could blink at it. The Site Director looked at him through the now trickling rain between them with her mouth ajar. The Site Director shakes her head, picks up her phone and sits down, looking at the newly installed waterfall that was soaking all of her routine reports. “Low storage? Yes, there’s a hole in my roof. What? You sure? That’s eight levels down! That heavy! Bag it if you can, we’re going to turn the flashers on.” “Go ahead and signal an alert, Grey-2.” She told him cooly, whipping her papers through the air to dry them off. The personnel director squints and heads toward the door in a hurry, more pattering on the roof as he reached the doorway. “Hurry it up!” she told him, spurring him an inch quicker. The director spotted large and small objects outside of the window raining down from the sky, and the noise of these things hitting the roof was deafening. He could make out the shapes, cubes. Cubes of all different shapes and sizes and colors. The ground outside was littered with them. Every now and then he would hear a hard thud and look up to see a dent in the ceiling, or a new hole. He could have sworn he saw something fall through the ceiling and pass through him, but he didn’t have much time to take it in. He breezed through the atrium to the comm center; this area was connected to the rec room, a large dome with industrial glass ceilings. The chinking, whopping, and crashing sounds of the objects hitting the glass was overwhelming. Cubes of all shapes and sizes that had fallen through the roof littered the area, and it was quite a trick to avoid the potential fallers and the things already littering the ground. He near stumbled over a large black glowing cube that was quite hot, and nearly stepped on a smaller orange cube that was menacing with spikes, I mean, hell, he was almost compelled to step on it. Three agents were huddled around the archway leading into the comm room. One of them had a cube on the side of his face, which for some reason seemed strange to Mr. Director. He asks them what’s going on. “This thing on my face? It’s stuck; it won’t come off no matter how much I pull!” He whined. “No dammit, Ron, why isn’t anyone sounding the alert.” “There’s a big cube in the comm room, smashed the equipment, fell through the ceiling. It looks like it’s messing with the electronics in the area too, although that might be a different cube.” He headed in anyway. The three of them following behind a little. What he saw was cubes, fucking cubes everywhere. The area in the comm room was waist deep in cubes, a small avalanche tumbled out when he had opened the door. It was an absolute rainbow, a candy shop assortment of cubes, and if he had time to look over them all, he’d notice each of them was behaving a bit strange. Despite the sensory overload, he started to wade through to the electric box and looked for the failsafe switch. “You’re crazy, you don’t know what those things’ll do to ya!” the cubefaced man named Ron exclaimed. This exclamation seemed to be perfectly timed, as the Personnel Director began laughing, crying, screaming, and wetting himself all at once. He had also lost all of his hair, and unbeknownst to him now had three different kinds of cancer. The agent leaned in and yanked him back, sending them both flying backwards on the ground. Luckily they land on a squishy cube that shielded falls no matter what the magnitude of force. It also cured cancer and was indestructible. “God damming big cube is making more cubes.” The man said. He looked over to him and noticed that this man’s hand was now cubes. “What the fuck is happening to me!” the man screamed, wiggling back to standing position and bracing himself against a wall. “Fucking cubes!” The director noticed a small family of fluffy brown cubes rolling around in the corner before it was attacked by a group of small, viscous, polka-dotted black and red cubes. “That’s it, I’m headed to Level 4 to sort this out.” He said, getting to his feet and running toward the elevator. Unbeknownst to him, level 4 was destroyed by a cube that removed anything from existence that had the number four in its name. It also played Symphony No. 9 whenever it destroyed something. It too, was indestructible. He had reached the door past the murder of flying crow-cubes that made him feel a bit sad, and began jamming the elevator door button labeled... there was no 4. Where had the 4 gone? It simply was not there. He punched other buttons, the button for level 5. He waited a while, batting away the cawing cubes with his gloved hand. In a few second the door dings, but there is no elevator. The doors opened to a vacant shaft. He was stumped. Those were his only two options and they were now gone... but the Site Director would know what to do, he would head back there as she probably already had something up her sleeve to sort this out. They had been through worse. //EeeeeeeuuuuuUUUUUnghKUnnCHUH// something that sounded like a squishy machine howled from the halls to higher-ups office. "Fucking cubes!" he could hear her shouting, more angry than scared from down the hall. The horrible noise continued all the while he was running down the hallway dodging rhombus. He arrived at the Site Directors door and saw that a mass of interconnected black cubes was funneling up through the hole in the floor from before. Each of the segments had little mouths, they were howling that horrible noise. The Site Director was on the other side of the room in the corner, holding her computer monitor over her head, looking like she was planning on murdering the thing with it. "This is just what we need! More cubes!" "What should we do?" Mr. Director said tensely as the thing continued pulsing through the hole in awful procession. "I'm going to toss my computer at it and try to make it over to you!" She hurls her computer at the base of the hole, it connects impotently and falls to the floor with a thud, the screen cracking. It was indestructible or at least immune to plastic. Nevertheless she made her sprint over to the doorway, the alien mass did not seem agitated at all. "We're going to round up everyone on level one and evacuate." she said, wasting no time and continuing on to the rec room. "What the fuck is this?" he asked her, knowing she most likely was as confused as he was. "Could be anything, could be the result of cross testing somewhere, could be a new entity. No idea." They turned a corner. They found Ron, blocking the doorway to the rec area off. He was leaning into to a mass of cubes that seemed to be trying to make their way through. Ron was completely cubes, twelve interconnected orange cube segments making up the body, and a mass of cubes around the face mimicking facial features. He was horribly pixelated in three dimensions. "Ron?" the Personnel Director inquired in unsure tone. "It's already too late, I know!" he said in a perfectly synched voice. "What?" "The site is in a much larger cube, the earth even! Soon the universe!" "How do you know that?" "I am cubes like them." "What should we do?" she urged as Ron continued to push back the assault. "Nothing, look at your hand." She looked down and her hand was covered in cubes. [[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>]]	2012-02-29T17:50:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Six Faces - SCP Foundation	16	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author" ]	[]	12829069	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/six-faces
skippy	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>This is the twenty-third time I'm doing it. I log into the system (which, thankfully, isn't sentient) and once again get into my personal log. This is the twenty-third different report of my death they've submitted; I make it a point to delete them every single day so they don't lock me out of the system, and they still keep coming.</p> <p>Oh joy. Today's news: "Researcher ████ was killed by SCP-████ during a containment breach on ██/██/████ when it [DATA EXPUNGED] causing the deaths of five security staff and two research personnel in total. Researcher ████ was discovered in the process of consumption by SCP-████, and his corpse was destroyed to prevent the spread of SCP-████-2."</p> <p>Another day, another skip. You think you're clever, don't you? Well, you're not. That's right, I'm talking to you, Mr. Skippy, you blasted piece of shit. Oh, they think you're a toy gun that transports people into the past and kills them? Well fuck me, you're not, sly bugger. Oh, no.</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><strong>Object Class:</strong> <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Euclid</span> Neutralised<br/> <strong>Description:</strong> SCP-████ is a violet-coloured toy gun, designed to otherwise resemble a Beretta 92 9mm handgun. It appears to have been designed to fire foam darts, and is marked with the logo of the organisation A.N.G.E.L. The organisation has been confirmed to be a purely fictional international military force from the ████████ series of young adult adventure novels, dealing with cases of time travel and continuity errors.</p> <p>The object's primary anomalous effect manifests when its trigger is pulled while it is held by a human hand and pointed at a human subject; upon this occurring SCP-████ will emit a flash of white light. The target will appear to fly backwards for a short period of time, then disappear from view and be transported into a lethal event in the past 24 hours, resulting in its death. The object's anomalous effect appears to be unable to influence causality of future events; how it achieves this is uncertain. However, the circumstances of the subject's death invariably change every 24 hours, providing a plausible explanation for the maintenance of temporal continuity.</p> </blockquote> <hr/> <p>You're an asshole, Skippy. I don't know who made you, but when I find him/her/it I'm going to shoot that person with you, and then kill him/her/it off for real. Who knows, maybe I'll be credited for that good deed. Heaven knows my karma sucks.</p> <p>I leave the room, having done my first job for the day. I've removed the records of my death once again, and now I'm off to do the <em>other</em> part of my job. I keep a gun on hand at all times now. Not a crappy one like you, but a real gun, an actual honest-to-goodness .45. Pay close attention, Skippy, because this is fucking important. I've discovered that nobody can see or hear these D's, whether they're dead or alive; I've been into the labs, and some of the anti-SCP-████-A nets still have dead, rotting D's in them. And what's the first thing a free, invisible, nearly-invulnerable murderer would do? Kill people.</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p>The object's secondary anomalous effect, SCP-████-A, begins to manifest shortly after its primary effect has occurred; the duration between the disappearance of the subject and the manifestation of an instance of SCP-████-A appears to roughly be negatively correlated to the subject's previous IQ level. SCP-████-A is theorised to be an entity of indeterminate nature. All attempts to communicate with or capture audiovisual evidence of the entity have failed, but the nature of its physical interactions with its surroundings indicates that it is able to interact with physical objects and people.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>The first recorded instance of SCP-████-A was when a member of security staff outside the testing chamber reported a slight nudge, described as resembling having been accidentally brushed against several minutes after subject D-████-15 was "shot" with SCP-████. Attempts to track or capture SCP-████-A entities have uniformly failed; tracking or imaging devices attached to D-Class subjects cease transmission as expected and are to be presumed destroyed, and capture attempts using electrified nets have produced no results apart from a slight increase in mass of the net. It is important to note that instances of SCP-████-A will always manifest <em>outside</em> the testing chamber for SCP-████.</p> </blockquote> <hr/> <p>I make it my duty to get rid of the ones that got away before they kill someone else. Mysterious deaths aren't uncommon around here; everyone chalks them up to something or other, no matter how ludicrous. I even saw a memo a month ago about a "neck-breaking flu" going around on site that supposedly made people sneeze hard enough to snap their necks; containment involved wearing a mask and avoiding contact with a skip I'm sure was innocent—</p> <p>Hey, Skippy! There's one of your little fucking invisible men, right outside Dr. █████'s office, and he has no clue that I can see him. Bang, bang, and he's dead. Nobody hears the gunshots, and everyone just steps around his corpse unconsciously; it's a thing you apparently make them do. I step over and drag his corpse away, making sure not to bump into anyone. I'll put it in the kitchen dumpster later, where it'll be incinerated with the rest of the day's trash.</p> <p>That bastard looked like he was enjoying himself a <em>little</em> too much.</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><strong>Memo to Staff, Break Room Site-██, ██/██/████:</strong> We understand that members of staff at Site-██ have reported incidents of seemingly human bodily fluids and waste appearing in seemingly random locations, and occasionally being deposited on them without warning. Analysis of these substances has produced constant experimental errors precluding the accurate determination of results. Any security or research staff encountering the anomalous object(s) responsible for this are to attempt to contain, or if unable to do so terminate, them; the bodily fluids and waste of these anomalous objects are potential biohazard transmission vectors. - <em>Head of Security, ████████</em></p> </blockquote> <hr/> <p>Great, Skippy, look what you've made me do. There's blood everywhere, and everyone's just stepping in it like it's nothing. I'll be the only one who can see the stuff, at least for a couple of hours. Ugh. When I was a researcher I never had to deal with dead D's; they'd always get a cleanup crew to remove the corpses. Now I'm judge, jury, executioner and <em>janitor</em>, complete with shit-handling duties. Have I mentioned how much I hate you?</p> <p>Yeah, you suck. You've killed at least 17 people, and those are just the deaths with ridiculous explanations. How does that feel? I bet that feels bloody good. I bet you do this just to be evil. I bet you do this just because you can.</p> <p>Well fuck you, Skippy. I'm not letting you do this. I'm not having any of it. Most of the escaped D's are my fault, I admit. I shot them for science. But they're running about the place because of <em>your</em> anomalous effect. <em>You've</em> made them invisible, for all intents and purposes. Thankfully the special containment procedures for most of the important things are secure enough that even invisible D's can't get at them; I can hardly imagine the consequences of SCP-████ getting loose just because some asshole D happens to find its enclosure. But fuck, these D's have been in jail for a very long time, and there's lots of other things they'd like to do other than release skips that being invisible makes doing easier. Poor Dr. █████'s been forced into protective detention for her own safety. You ought to feel bad, you sick piece of shit.</p> <p>I can't destroy you, but I can stop you. I've taken out ten escaped D's so far. There's about a dozen or so left. Once I'm done with that, that's it. I've conducted personality assessments on myself each day since my "death". I'm beginning to show signs of psychopathy and increasing sexual deviance. Yesterday I found myself thinking about visiting my darling Research Assistant ████████ in the shower. I'm beginning to think about shooting those bastards who put me to work researching you, Drs. ████ and █████████. Fucking hell. If this progresses, I'm going to become another mass-murdering D. Hell no, Skippy. You are not going to do this to me.</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><strong>Addendum: Incident Log ████-A:</strong><br/> On ██/██/████, Researcher ████ conducted a test on D-████-24 to -27 to determine the penetrative ability of a single "shot" from SCP-████. A single shot was sufficient to cause the disappearance of all subjects. Shortly afterwards, an instance of SCP-████-A manifested, knocking Researcher ████ to the ground as he exited the containment chamber, before the door could be sealed. SCP-████ was accidentally discharged. Researcher ████ and SCP-████ promptly disappeared. SCP-████ is believed to have been neutralised.</p> </blockquote> <hr/> <p>Well, look on the bright side, ████. You've always wanted to see what SCP-███ looked like on the inside.</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><strong>Name: Researcher ████:</strong></p> <p>(…)</p> <p><strong>Location: Not Applicable (KIA)</strong><br/> (…)</p> <p><strong>Addendum: Death Report of Researcher ████, filed by Research Assistant ████████:</strong> On ██/██/████, SCP-███ unexpectedly regurgitated a single humerus bone, found to be from Researcher ████. It is presumed Researcher ████'s accident with SCP-████ resulted in his demise in this manner.</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p><strong>Memo to Staff, Break Room Site-██, ██/██/████:</strong> As of ██/██/████, anomalous deposition of seemingly human bodily fluids and wastes has ceased. It is to be presumed the entities responsible have either escaped or died of natural causes, as no report of successful containment or termination has been received. - <em>Head of Security, ████████</em></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="/skippy">Skippy</a>" by tehburntone, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/skippy">https://scpwiki.com/skippy</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]] [[/>]] This is the twenty-third time I'm doing it. I log into the system (which, thankfully, isn't sentient) and once again get into my personal log. This is the twenty-third different report of my death they've submitted; I make it a point to delete them every single day so they don't lock me out of the system, and they still keep coming. Oh joy. Today's news: "Researcher ████ was killed by SCP-████ during a containment breach on ██/██/████ when it [DATA EXPUNGED] causing the deaths of five security staff and two research personnel in total. Researcher ████ was discovered in the process of consumption by SCP-████, and his corpse was destroyed to prevent the spread of SCP-████-2." Another day, another skip. You think you're clever, don't you? Well, you're not. That's right, I'm talking to you, Mr. Skippy, you blasted piece of shit. Oh, they think you're a toy gun that transports people into the past and kills them? Well fuck me, you're not, sly bugger. Oh, no. ------------- > Object Class: --Euclid-- Neutralised > > Description: SCP-████ is a violet-coloured toy gun, designed to otherwise resemble a Beretta 92 9mm handgun. It appears to have been designed to fire foam darts, and is marked with the logo of the organisation A.N.G.E.L. The organisation has been confirmed to be a purely fictional international military force from the ████████ series of young adult adventure novels, dealing with cases of time travel and continuity errors. > > The object's primary anomalous effect manifests when its trigger is pulled while it is held by a human hand and pointed at a human subject; upon this occurring SCP-████ will emit a flash of white light. The target will appear to fly backwards for a short period of time, then disappear from view and be transported into a lethal event in the past 24 hours, resulting in its death. The object's anomalous effect appears to be unable to influence causality of future events; how it achieves this is uncertain. However, the circumstances of the subject's death invariably change every 24 hours, providing a plausible explanation for the maintenance of temporal continuity. ------------- You're an asshole, Skippy. I don't know who made you, but when I find him/her/it I'm going to shoot that person with you, and then kill him/her/it off for real. Who knows, maybe I'll be credited for that good deed. Heaven knows my karma sucks. I leave the room, having done my first job for the day. I've removed the records of my death once again, and now I'm off to do the //other// part of my job. I keep a gun on hand at all times now. Not a crappy one like you, but a real gun, an actual honest-to-goodness .45. Pay close attention, Skippy, because this is fucking important. I've discovered that nobody can see or hear these D's, whether they're dead or alive; I've been into the labs, and some of the anti-SCP-████-A nets still have dead, rotting D's in them. And what's the first thing a free, invisible, nearly-invulnerable murderer would do? Kill people. ------------- > The object's secondary anomalous effect, SCP-████-A, begins to manifest shortly after its primary effect has occurred; the duration between the disappearance of the subject and the manifestation of an instance of SCP-████-A appears to roughly be negatively correlated to the subject's previous IQ level. SCP-████-A is theorised to be an entity of indeterminate nature. All attempts to communicate with or capture audiovisual evidence of the entity have failed, but the nature of its physical interactions with its surroundings indicates that it is able to interact with physical objects and people. > > The first recorded instance of SCP-████-A was when a member of security staff outside the testing chamber reported a slight nudge, described as resembling having been accidentally brushed against several minutes after subject D-████-15 was "shot" with SCP-████. Attempts to track or capture SCP-████-A entities have uniformly failed; tracking or imaging devices attached to D-Class subjects cease transmission as expected and are to be presumed destroyed, and capture attempts using electrified nets have produced no results apart from a slight increase in mass of the net. It is important to note that instances of SCP-████-A will always manifest //outside// the testing chamber for SCP-████. ------------- I make it my duty to get rid of the ones that got away before they kill someone else. Mysterious deaths aren't uncommon around here; everyone chalks them up to something or other, no matter how ludicrous. I even saw a memo a month ago about a "neck-breaking flu" going around on site that supposedly made people sneeze hard enough to snap their necks; containment involved wearing a mask and avoiding contact with a skip I'm sure was innocent-- Hey, Skippy! There's one of your little fucking invisible men, right outside Dr. █████'s office, and he has no clue that I can see him. Bang, bang, and he's dead. Nobody hears the gunshots, and everyone just steps around his corpse unconsciously; it's a thing you apparently make them do. I step over and drag his corpse away, making sure not to bump into anyone. I'll put it in the kitchen dumpster later, where it'll be incinerated with the rest of the day's trash. That bastard looked like he was enjoying himself a //little// too much. ------------- > Memo to Staff, Break Room Site-██, ██/██/████: We understand that members of staff at Site-██ have reported incidents of seemingly human bodily fluids and waste appearing in seemingly random locations, and occasionally being deposited on them without warning. Analysis of these substances has produced constant experimental errors precluding the accurate determination of results. Any security or research staff encountering the anomalous object(s) responsible for this are to attempt to contain, or if unable to do so terminate, them; the bodily fluids and waste of these anomalous objects are potential biohazard transmission vectors. - //Head of Security, ████████// ------------- Great, Skippy, look what you've made me do. There's blood everywhere, and everyone's just stepping in it like it's nothing. I'll be the only one who can see the stuff, at least for a couple of hours. Ugh. When I was a researcher I never had to deal with dead D's; they'd always get a cleanup crew to remove the corpses. Now I'm judge, jury, executioner and //janitor//, complete with shit-handling duties. Have I mentioned how much I hate you? Yeah, you suck. You've killed at least 17 people, and those are just the deaths with ridiculous explanations. How does that feel? I bet that feels bloody good. I bet you do this just to be evil. I bet you do this just because you can. Well fuck you, Skippy. I'm not letting you do this. I'm not having any of it. Most of the escaped D's are my fault, I admit. I shot them for science. But they're running about the place because of //your// anomalous effect. //You've// made them invisible, for all intents and purposes. Thankfully the special containment procedures for most of the important things are secure enough that even invisible D's can't get at them; I can hardly imagine the consequences of SCP-████ getting loose just because some asshole D happens to find its enclosure. But fuck, these D's have been in jail for a very long time, and there's lots of other things they'd like to do other than release skips that being invisible makes doing easier. Poor Dr. █████'s been forced into protective detention for her own safety. You ought to feel bad, you sick piece of shit. I can't destroy you, but I can stop you. I've taken out ten escaped D's so far. There's about a dozen or so left. Once I'm done with that, that's it. I've conducted personality assessments on myself each day since my "death". I'm beginning to show signs of psychopathy and increasing sexual deviance. Yesterday I found myself thinking about visiting my darling Research Assistant ████████ in the shower. I'm beginning to think about shooting those bastards who put me to work researching you, Drs. ████ and █████████. Fucking hell. If this progresses, I'm going to become another mass-murdering D. Hell no, Skippy. You are not going to do this to me. ------------- > Addendum: Incident Log ████-A: > > On ██/██/████, Researcher ████ conducted a test on D-████-24 to -27 to determine the penetrative ability of a single "shot" from SCP-████. A single shot was sufficient to cause the disappearance of all subjects. Shortly afterwards, an instance of SCP-████-A manifested, knocking Researcher ████ to the ground as he exited the containment chamber, before the door could be sealed. SCP-████ was accidentally discharged. Researcher ████ and SCP-████ promptly disappeared. SCP-████ is believed to have been neutralised. -------------- Well, look on the bright side, ████. You've always wanted to see what SCP-███ looked like on the inside. ------------- > Name: Researcher ████: > > (...) > > Location: Not Applicable (KIA) > (...) > > Addendum: Death Report of Researcher ████, filed by Research Assistant ████████: On ██/██/████, SCP-███ unexpectedly regurgitated a single humerus bone, found to be from Researcher ████. It is presumed Researcher ████'s accident with SCP-████ resulted in his demise in this manner. > Memo to Staff, Break Room Site-██, ██/██/████: As of ██/██/████, anomalous deposition of seemingly human bodily fluids and wastes has ceased. It is to be presumed the entities responsible have either escaped or died of natural causes, as no report of successful containment or termination has been received. - //Head of Security, ████████// ------------- [[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>]]	2012-08-19T15:24:00	[ "_licensebox", "featured", "foundation-format", "horror", "mystery", "tale" ]	Skippy - SCP Foundation	99	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales", "featured-tale-archive" ]	[]	14075729	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/skippy
slate-thunder	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <br/> Good morning, folks. Help yourself to coffee and bagels. <p>For those of you who don't know me already, I'm Colonel Neil Hornby, Senior Supervisory Intelligence Officer for the Foundation. It's my turn to give the Chaos Insurgency Orientation. In the folder in front of you, you'll find a non-disclosure agreement. This briefing is classified "sensitive compartmented information", so if you're staying, you're signing. Otherwise, grab a bagel on the way out.</p> <p>Yes, labcoat and glasses.</p> <p>I know you signed a non-disclosure agreement when you joined the Foundation, and each time you got promoted. You're what, an El Three? You must be new to the whole intel side of the Foundation. I know you're used to the whole El Zero through Five security clearance system. The eggheads (no offense, my dad was an egghead, so I don't have anything against you sciencey types) came up with that. It works well enough if you're handling Ess See Pees. Foundation Intelligence works a little differently. We still use that, kinda the way the US has confidential/secret/top secret, but that doesn't mean El Fives can read whatever they feel like getting their grubby paws on. We operate on "Need to Know." While you over in R&D and the guys in containment and acquisitions get killed if you <em>don't</em> have information widely shared, in our side of the house people die if the information falls into the wrong hands.</p> <p>So, like I said, sign the NDA in front of you, or leave.</p> <p>Everybody signed? Great. Ms. Buyanova will trade each of you your NDA for a SLATE THUNDER packet.</p> <p>Sweater vest in the third row, fire away.</p> <p>"Slate Thunder". That's the codename for this sensitive compartment. As for the packet itself, it contains the information I'll be presenting, so feel free to follow along. I don't really care if you read or listen. If you have anything you need to ask, don't keep it to yourself. This information was compiled by Professor Greg Lewis, who is the Foundation's leading expert on the Chaos Insurgency. He's been studying them since before most of us were born, myself included.</p> <p>So, the Chaos Insurgency. They are one of the Foundation's oldest enemies. What do we know about them?</p> <p>Yes, they're self-serving and ruthless, though that could also describe the Foundation or most governments if you think about it. And they <em>are</em> political, there's no doubt about that, but I'm not sure I'd say the Foundation isn't. I mean, back in the - actually, you're not all cleared to know about that. Let's just say that the Foundation plays politics when it has to.</p> <p>No, they're not just what the higher-up call personnel who go off the reservation. The Foundation does, occasionally, "purge" people, and while you really don't want to become such an unperson, that (generally) doesn't involve the Chaos Insurgency.</p> <p>"The same things as the Foundation only for profit"? I'm not sure I'd have worded it that way, but I s'pose it fits - sort of, at least.</p> <p>Correct, many of their operatives are just guns for hire. This makes our job harder, actually, since keeping track of which PMCs, mercs, thugs, guerrillas, and criminals are working for them and which ones aren't straight is no easy chore. The CI - that's "counterintelligence", not "Chaos Insurgency" - guys have a whole analytic task force devoted to just separating the wolves from the dogs.</p> <p>Suit in the back - give that legal pad to Ms. Buyanova! None of you are allowed to take notes, nor are you allowed to remove your packets from the room. I'm sorry, I thought you all knew better than that. Anyway, the packets are numbered, and we'll be collecting them at the end.</p> <p>Anyway, red shirt in the second row. No, they're not "terrorists" <em>per se</em>, rather "insurgents", though you can be forgiven for mixing the two terms up - most people do these days. A terrorist uses terror as an end in and of itself: you crash a plane into a building, a lot of people die and even more, people get, well, terrorized. Your motivations may vary, but at the end of the day, the act itself is the end. An insurgent, on the other hand, uses many tools and tactics, including terrorism, in order to elicit a response: you crash a plane into a building and a lot of people die, but then the government cracks down to try and stamp you out, which always - always! - results in innocent people getting caught up by the authorities' net, which upsets the populace, which does more damage to the government and society than your plane crash ever could. Nine-Eleven was an act of terror, but the strategy was almost certainly one of insurgency, rather than terrorism. Anyway, I digress.</p> <p>Most of you have no idea what really happened when the Chaos Insurgency first formed. No, I am serious. If you look at the first inside page of your packet, you'll see the Official Party Line: small group of agents goes absent without leave in '24 with several useful SCPs. That's the Official Party Line, that's what you've always been told up until now, and that is what you will continue to tell people who aren't cleared into SLATE THUNDER. Period, end of sentence, or else we toss you in a dark hole for a very long time - a dark hole which is, if you're lucky, empty. If not…</p> <p>Anyway, the Official Party Line is on par with saying the major political powers had strong words with each other during the Forties, or that Hurricane Andrew was a light drizzle. Unless someone has violated security protocol big time (in which case, tell me who so I can personally toss them in a dark hole for a very long time), you'll have never heard of the Triad before.</p> <p>Blank looks. Excellent.</p> <p>The Triad was what the Chaos Insurgency was back before it was an insurgency. You see, between 1924 and 1926, the Foundation had a civil war.</p> <p>Yes, miss, you heard correctly, the Foundation Civil War.</p> <p>Of course, there was a cover-up. This organization protects people by keeping dangerous secrets from traumatizing people. Don't tell me you thought we didn't do that internally.</p> <p>In the Foundation Civil War, we had the Loyalists on one side, the Triad on the other. Eventually, the Triad lost, and the handful of survivors formed what would become the Chaos Insurgency. We came up with that term, "Chaos Insurgency", by the way. They co-opted it; they're good at co-opting things.</p> <p>Anyway, if you'll turn to the next page in your packet…</p> <hr/> <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-87efbb44bd04aa5466bec020d26dc829"> <ul class="yui-nav"> <li class="selected"><a href="javascript:;"><em>SCI Warning</em></a></li> <li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Official Summary</em></a></li> <li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Chaos Insurgency History (Classified)</em></a></li> <li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Related Original Documents</em></a></li> </ul> <div class="yui-content"> <div id="wiki-tab-0-0"> <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:xx-large;"><span style="color:#880000;"><strong>CLASSIFIED MATERIAL</strong></span></span></p> <p><br/></p> <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:x-large;"><strong>Sensitive Compartmented Information: SLATE THUNDER</strong></span></p> <p><br/></p> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <p>This document contains information affecting the security of the Foundation within the meaning of the Foundation General Security Protocol 02, Section 183. The protocol prohibits its transmission or the revelation of its contents in any manner to an unauthorized person, as well as its use in any manner prejudicial to the safety or interest of the Foundation or for the benefit of any unauthorized entity or the detriment of the Foundation. It is to be seen only by personnel possessing Level Five clearance and/or especially indoctrinated and authorized in writing to receive information in the designated control channels. Its security must be maintained in accordance with regulations pertaining to SLATE THUNDER Controls.</p> <p>Unauthorized viewing, possession, replication, and/or dissemination of this document is grounds for punitive actions detailed in Foundation General Security Protocol 18, Section 2381.</p> </div> </div> <div id="wiki-tab-0-1" style="display:none"> <h1 id="toc0"><span>Official Summary For General Distribution With Regards To The Chaos Insurgency</span></h1> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <p>As specific information relating to the Chaos Insurgency is for the most part classified as sensitive compartmented information, the Office of the O5 Council has issued the appended document, File #008956 (Official Summary For General Distribution With Regards To The Chaos Insurgency). This file is classified as "general knowledge" requiring only a Level 1 Security Clearance to access. All personnel indoctrinated into the SLATE THUNDER compartment are instructed to discuss <span style="text-decoration: underline;">absolutely no</span> information not contained within File #008956 with any persons not indoctrinated into the SLATE THUNDER compartment, including (but not limited to) the designation "SLATE THUNDER" and/or <span style="text-decoration: underline;">any</span> details or information within the SLATE THUNDER sensitive compartment that verifies, supplements, and/or contradicts statements contained in File #008956.</p> </div> <hr/> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <blockquote> <h2 id="toc1"><span><strong><tt>File #008956</tt></strong></span></h2> <p><tt><strong>Title:</strong> OFFICIAL SUMMARY FOR GENERAL DISTRIBUTION WITH REGARDS TO THE CHAOS INSURGENCY</tt><br/> <tt><strong>Security Clearance Level:</strong> ONE</tt></p> <p><tt>The Chaos Insurgency is a splinter group of the Foundation, created by a rogue cell that went A.W.O.L. with several highly useful SCPs in 1924. Since then, the Insurgency has become a major player on the world stage, using the SCPs that it obtains for its own personal benefit, and to consolidate its global power base. The Insurgency not only deals in SCPs but also in weapons running and intelligence gathering.</tt></p> <p><tt>It makes use of dictator regimes in Third World countries, often using their populations in the same manner as the Foundation does D Class Personnel. Because of this, it helps to maintain the extreme poverty and war that is suffered by these countries, so that it can continue its radical experimentation, easy conscription of forces, and lucrative business deals with rebel factions.</tt></p> <p><tt>Most of the SCPs possessed by the Insurgency are unknown, but of those that are known, the most notable are the "Staff of Hermes", an item capable of warping the physical and chemical properties of any matter it touches, and the "Bell of Entropy", an object that can cause a variety of destructive effects depending on where it is struck. Both of these SCPs were originally obtained at no small cost by the Foundation and were stolen by the original founders of the Insurgency. The Insurgency also has a known association with <a href="/scp-355">SCP-355</a> and <a href="/scp-884">SCP-884</a>.</tt></p> <p><tt>The main base of operations of the Insurgency is unknown, as are its leaders. This organization is directly antagonistic to the Foundation, coming to clash over SCPs several times. Personnel are to be made aware of possible raids, terrorist attempts, and spies from the Insurgency, and to notify command about any strange behavior of fellow personnel.</tt></p> </blockquote> </div> </div> <div id="wiki-tab-0-2" style="display:none"> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <h1 id="toc2"><span>Chaos Insurgency History (Classified)</span></h1> <p>What follows is a brief history of the Chaos Insurgency, with a focus on the formation of the organization between 1924 and 1933. (Specific details of the Chaos Insurgency's history post-1933 are classified in other sensitive compartments.) As this information is contained within sensitive compartment "SLATE THUNDER" (the contents of this larger file) and not classified as "general knowledge" accessible to all members of the Foundation, other documents, and records within the Foundation database may contradict this account, having been altered to comply with the File #008956 (Official Summary For General Distribution With Regards To The Chaos Insurgency). Personnel with authorization to review the unaltered documents and records should contact the Records and Information Security Administration in writing.</p> <hr/> <h2 id="toc3"><span>1919-1924: Prelude</span></h2> <p>With the end of the First World War, the Foundation saw its ranks increase with an influx of new recruits from the battlefields of Europe, military scientists put out of work with the scaling back of the war economy, and returning members who had taken leave to serve their countries. Fresh from the horrors of war, many members of the Foundation believed SCP objects could and should be utilized to benefit humanity. The specific arguments varied: some wanted the weaponization of SCP objects to assist in the enforcement of the Post-War regime; some wanted to replicate and market SCP objects, stimulating economic growth in a model similar to either The Factory or Marshall, Carter & Dark (both of which were believed to have profited handsomely during the War); still, others wanted to open the Foundation's collection for study by non-aligned scientists, so all of mankind could benefit. Unsurprisingly, these arguments were as controversial as they ever had been, but Foundation staff also believed they were nothing new. What they failed to realize was that, while such arguments had been debated since the Foundation's inception, with global society having been so greatly traumatized by the War, and with the Foundation's staff filled with veterans, either of combat or wartime research projects, the Foundation itself was structurally vulnerable to these arguments in a way like never before.</p> <p>Separated by varying ideals, the dissenters within the Foundation presented little threat to the status quo. This changed in May of 1924 with the anonymous publication, and wide distribution, of a unifying manifesto entitled <em>A New Manifesto</em> (see appended document). This document believed written jointly by several high-level members of the Foundation, blasted the organization's administration for continuing "on a path leading unproductively to nothing but misery and ruin", and calling for reform and reorganization. Following a clampdown ordered by O5-7 and the banning of possession of the manifesto, discontent became widespread. Riots occurred at several of the larger secure facilities in late May and early June, forcing the issue onto the agenda for the O5 Council.</p> <h2 id="toc4"><span>June 1924: The Great Schism</span></h2> <p>With many members of the Foundation up in arms over both the <em>New Manifesto</em> and the subsequent clampdown it caused, the O5 Council was itself divided on how to handle the issue. Most Overseers wanted the issue resolved so the day-to-day business of securing, containing, and protecting objects could continue (and resume where halted). Several, notably O5-7, O5-10, and O5-13, wanted to enforce tight punitive measures on any Foundation personnel involved in the disruption of the Foundation's mission. These hardliners advocated widespread assignment to Keter duty and demotion to D-class of those behaving in "conduct unbecoming of members of the Foundation". Others, notably O5-9 (General Nigel Weston) and O5-11 (Count Vladimir Borisovich Frederiks), strongly supported the dissenters, agreeing with some parts of the inflammatory document.</p> <h3 id="toc5"><span>10 June: Vote of No Confidence in the O5 Council</span></h3> <p>At the O5 Council meeting on 10 June 1924, Overseer Nine forced the issue by calling for a vote of no confidence in the O5 Council.</p> <p>The O5 Council is unelected, typically choosing its own members. Members serve for life or until retirement but may be impeached by a two-thirds majority of the Ethics Committee. All thirteen Overseers have one equal vote, with O5-1 acting as the first-among-equals during most meetings. According to the Council's bylaws, any Overseer can decide to call a vote of no confidence at a Council meeting where at least nine members of the Council are present. In such an event, all Level 5 personnel (excluding Overseers, who are required to abstain), Site and Department Directors, Unit Commanders, and members of the Ethics Committee are contacted and given twenty-four hours to vote on a secret ballot. If the vote passes by two-thirds majority, the old O5 Council is dissolved and a new Council is formed, led by the Overseer who initiated the vote. If the vote fails to pass, the initiating Overseer automatically retires.</p> <p>The vote of no confidence procedure had never before been used (and has never been used since), so O5-9's decision sent immediate shock waves through the Foundation. The Office of the O5 Council's Clerk dutifully made the notifications and began the voting tally.</p> <h3 id="toc6"><span>11 June: Coup Attempt</span></h3> <p>By early the following morning, with eighty-eight percent of the possible votes collected, it was clear that the vote of no confidence would fail. While fifty-three percent of the votes favored the measure's passage, it was clear that even if all remaining votes supported the Council's dissolution, the tally would still fall short of the necessary two-thirds majority.</p> <p>Before the 11 June Council meeting could begin, O5-9 (formerly a General in the British Army) and O5-11 ordered the Foundation Task Force in charge of guarding Foundation Command Headquarters<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup> to take the other members of the O5 Council into custody. While the Task Force commander, Agent Jacques Clemenceau, himself a former Colonel in the French Army, complied, only O5-3 and O5-12 were present. Overseers One, Two, Four, Five, Six, Eight, Ten, and Thirteen had all secretly left during the preceding night, seeking refuge at Foundation facilities in Britain, Italy, Canada, and the United States. Overseer Seven had already been in Washington, D.C. when the vote had been called. The bodyguards of O5-3 and O5-12 resisted their charges' arrests, resulting in a brief gunbattle in which they, both O5-3 and O5-12, and the Task Force commander were all killed. The Task Force's second-in-command, Agent Robert Brown, who opposed the plotters, then attempted unsuccessfully to arrest Overseers Nine and Eleven for treason. The two treasonous Overseers fled.</p> <h3 id="toc7"><span>12-13 June: Mass Defections & Opening Volleys</span></h3> <p>General Weston (now stripped of his O5-9 title) and Count Frederiks (removed from his position as O5-11 <em>in absentia</em> by the O5 Council) sought refuge at Site-37 in the Austrian Alps. Site-37's Director, Dr. Wolfgang Fritz, a former researcher for the German Empire, was sympathetic to Weston's and Frederiks' cause. The three men formed the "Triad", a governing body whose first official decision was to declare the O5 Council "an illegitimate body", and to claim authority over the Foundation. The Triad promised that it would organize the creation of a "Central Congress" for the Foundation, democratically elected by Foundation staff after forces loyal to the O5 Council could be removed from positions of authority. Foundation policy should be reflective of its members, they argued, and the forcible crushing of dissent by the old regime was the proverbial straw.</p> <p>Predictably, the O5 Council was not amused. Decrying the Triad and labeling its supporters "traitors to the Foundation", MTFs loyal to the Council were secretly mobilized and dispatched to Foundation Command Headquarters and Site-37.</p> <p>Foundation Command Headquarters, which had been placed under lockdown by Agent Brown following the escape of Weston and Frederiks, welcomed the Loyalist MTF. Unfortunately, operating on orders from hardline O5-7, the MTF placed all staff at Foundation Command Headquarters under arrest, even Agent Brown. Though Seven later defended her orders as necessary (due to unknown loyalties of those present), the treatment of the staff from Headquarters was draconian. The facility was decommissioned, with the staff detained elsewhere and the stored SCP objects transferred to other facilities.</p> <p>Site-37, which received word of Foundation Command Headquarters' fate, resisted the Loyalist MTF with force. Out-manned and out-gunned, the MTF retreated after taking heavy casualties. The Triad retaliated by revealing the Council's actions to the Foundation at large, resulting in widespread unrest. In a combination of outrage and support for the Triad's cause, many Foundation facilities and units defected to the Triad's side. Both the Council and the Triad blamed the other side for using an SCP object to cause the "Wildkansas" tornado, which completely destroyed Site-83 in the village of Páty, Hungary. The tornado, estimated to be an F4, landed at Bia, and, after 3 hours, ended near Vác. One of the strongest tornadoes ever in Europe, it left a 500-1500m wide and 70km long path of destruction, leaving many homeless, killing nine civilians and all two dozen Site-83 staff, and wounding over fifty. Widely agreed to be the first major attack in the Foundation Civil War, the Wildkansas tornado would be revealed decades later to have actually been caused by a member of MC&D with no affiliation to either the Foundation, the Triad, or any other group that would later become involved in the Chaos Insurgency.</p> <h2 id="toc8"><span>1924-1926: Foundation Civil War</span></h2> <h3 id="toc9"><span>Overview</span></h3> The Foundation Civil War lasted from 12 June 1924 until 10 October 1926. The conflict was fought between the Loyalists (members of the Foundation loyal to the existing O5 Council) and the Triads (forces loyal to the rebellious Triad; this group later would become the Chaos Insurgency). Classified post-conflict analyses by the Foundation estimate the following statistics:<br/> <table class="wiki-content-table"> <tr> <td></td> <th>Foundation Loyalists</th> <th>Triad/Insurgency</th> </tr> <tr> <th>% of Pre-conflict Foundation Forces (Personnel), High and Low</th> <td>61% - 43%</td> <td>57% - 39%</td> </tr> <tr> <th>% of Available Forces (on respective sides) Engaged in Conflict</th> <td>40%</td> <td>Unknown, Assumed >90%</td> </tr> <tr> <th>% of Pre-conflict Foundation Resources (Monetary)</th> <td>56%</td> <td>44%</td> </tr> <tr> <th>% of Pre-conflict SCPs Retained Post-Conflict</th> <td>70% Safe, 89% Euclid, 95% Keter</td> <td>Unknown (Assumed 30% Safe, 11% Euclid, 5% Keter)</td> </tr> <tr> <th>% of Pre-conflict SCPs designated "<em>Useful</em>", "<em>Suitable for Reverse-Engineering</em>", "<em>Manufacturable</em>", or "<em>Suitable for Weaponization</em>" Retained Post-Conflict</th> <td>61.7%</td> <td>Unknown (Assumed 38.3%)</td> </tr> <tr> <th>Casualties (Percentages)</th> <td>52.3% KIA, WIA, or MIA</td> <td>87.9% KIA or WIA; 11.3% Detained or executed after conflict; 0.8% Unaccounted for post-conflict.</td> </tr> </table> <p>In the end, the Foundation Civil War was the bloodiest and most destructive conflict (that the Foundation was directly involved in) in the organization's history. However, due to the sensitive nature of the conflict, the O5 Council subsequently employed all available resources to expunge the details of the conflict from any records requiring a security clearance lower than Level 5. Due to the Foundation's compartmentalized nature, a rigorous counterintelligence campaign and accompanying purges, and the fact that most of the forces on the Foundation's side of the conflict had been limited to the Foundation's security, military, paramilitary, and intelligence forces, the cover-up was remarkably successful. It is a testament to the success of the cover-up that most Foundation personnel recruited after 1938, a mere twelve years after the cessation of the Foundation Civil War, remained completely unaware of the conflict. While it is general knowledge within the organization that the Chaos Insurgency can trace its roots to a "small rogue cell of Foundation agents" that split off in 1924 (the term "Triad" being essentially completely expunged from the record), to this day few individuals know the truth of the magnitude of the ordeal.</p> <h3 id="toc10"><span>1924 - July 1925: Triad Ascendant</span></h3> <p>After the initial outbreak of hostilities in June 1924, it was not long before the ranks of the Triad forces had gone from Site-37 alone to several dozen secure facilities and mobile task forces, spread across all eight continents. The Triad's structure mirrored the antebellum Foundation, with a few key differences:</p> <ul> <li>The Triad assumed the roles of the O5 Council and Foundation High Command (the antebellum mechanism within the Foundation for command and control of all armed task forces and security personnel). Technically, the Triad refused to recognize the authority of the existing O5 Council and Foundation High Command, instead declaring a state of emergency in which the three members of the Triad (and their appointed subordinates) would assume the duties of these institutions. <ul> <li>Count Frederiks assumed responsibility for political and administrative matters on the Triad. In effect, Frederiks was the de facto leader of the organization, though he was technically equal in position to Weston and Fritz.</li> <li>General Weston assumed responsibility for military and security matters on the Triad. For all practical intents and purposes, Weston was the supreme military commander for the Triad throughout the Civil War.</li> <li>Doctor Fritz assumed responsibility for all scientific and research matters on the Triad. Despite the conflict, both the Loyalists and the Triad continued in their respective operations to secure, contain, and protect anomalous objects. Unlike the Loyalists, the Triad had no qualms about using the SCP objects at its disposal to further its cause, and Fritz oversaw all related efforts.</li> </ul> </li> <li>The Triad had no Ethics Committee; Count Frederiks issued a statement that such a committee would be re-instituted once the state of emergency was resolved.</li> <li>Any Foundation member who publicly swore an oath of allegiance to the Triad would be enfranchised for an upcoming vote on the members of the Central Congress.</li> </ul> <p>In the chaos of June and July of 1924, the O5 Council and Foundation Loyalists struggled to regroup and organize. Though the Foundation had contingency plans for almost every conceivable external threat, the Department for Contingencies had no effective plan for handling the situation then faced by the organization. Not only that, but at the time the Triad had copies of the same plans as the Loyalists, which enabled them to predict and counter almost every move made by the O5 Council. The decommissioning of Foundation Command Headquarters outside Paris, initially meant as a preventative measure against the Triad, proved disastrous for the Loyalists when it was discovered that many of the documents from that facility (everything from personnel manifests to financial information to military orders-of-battle to SCP object files) inexplicably were lost. Though Foundation intelligence was never able to definitively prove the Triad was responsible for the disappearance of these documents, it was at the time taken as an article of faith that Triad agents had stolen them.</p> <p>By August, the Council had managed to reestablish a headquarters in the United States, at what would eventually become known as Overwatch HQ. For security reasons, no SCP objects were permitted at the new facility. The Council, having replaced the two dead and two traitorous Overseers, declared a state of emergency and took a number of drastic steps to counter the Triad.</p> <ul> <li>The Foundation Department of Internal Affairs and Professional Responsibility was dissolved and the Office of the High Inquisitor (OHI) was created in its stead. Overseers Six, Seven, and Thirteen (all hardliners whose loyalty to the Council was unquestionable for their opposition to the dissidents prior to the coup attempt) assumed responsibility for supervising the OHI. The OHI was granted near unlimited power to conduct the business traditionally handled not only by the now-defunct DIAPR but also the Foundation's Department of Counterintelligence and the Security branch of Foundation High Command. OHI would remain a key structure in the Foundation's bureaucracy until 1930.</li> <li>The Foundation High Command, whose ranks were so filled with Triad sympathizers that it had essentially ceased to function by August 1924, was dissolved. The O5 Council took direct control over the Loyalist armed forces, establishing O5 Command as a replacement command and control mechanism. Foundation Security was transferred to the authority of the OHI.</li> <li>Ten new Armed Mobile Task Forces at regiment strength (~3,200-4,500 troops each), designated Genga-1 through -10. "Genga", a letter from the Coptic alphabet, was chosen to prevent confusion with previously existing units, as both the Loyalists and Triad employed the Greek alphabet for MTF designations. The "Genga Division", as it was called, was tasked with handling all planned<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup> armed engagements against Triad forces. Unlike regular MTFs, all units and subunits in Genga Division down to the company level had the additional post of "Political Officer"/"Politoffizier"/"Zampolit"/"Officier Politique". This position was filled by an officer equivalent in rank to the unit's commanding officer, chosen specifically by the OHI to ensure the loyalty of the unit to the O5 Council. (Genga Division would be demobilized in 1927, at which point the position of Political Officer was abolished from Foundation forces.)</li> <li>All Foundation personnel were confined to their assigned facilities. Off-site travel was limited to authorized missions only.</li> <li>All outgoing telegraph and written correspondence was subject to censorship. All incoming telegraph and written correspondence, and all telephone conversation (outgoing or incoming) were monitored. All personal correspondence was suspended.</li> <li>The <em>Foundation Monitor</em>, a semi-independent weekly internal newspaper and quarterly internal scholarly journal, was shut down. It would later be re-established in 1948.</li> </ul> <p>The Council's countermeasures met with varying degrees of success. By mid-August, the Council was able to freeze all financial assets available as of the previous May to forces who had declared loyalty to the Triad; most of those assets had been liquidated by defectors to the Triad. Consequently, the effect on the actual cash-flow for the Triad was minimal. More directly, though the OHI's track record of successfully identifying and purging members of the Foundation suspected of sympathizing with the Triad was unimpeachable, the harsh techniques the Inquisitors employed drove countless individuals into the Triad's open arms.</p> <p>The Genga Division, despite numerical superiority over Triad forces in nearly every engagement, suffered heavy losses throughout the fall of 1924 and winter of 1924/25. After-action reports filed by Genga commanders suggest the responsibility for the defeats lay in part with the Triad's use of weaponized SCPs (while the Genga Division was specifically banned by O5 Command from reciprocating), in part by chronic strategic and tactical intelligence leaks to the Triad from within Genga Division, and in part with the consistent interference by unit Political Officers. Morale among the Loyalists plummeted, resulting in mass defections and open mutiny against the O5 Council.</p> <p>For its part, bolstered by an influx of defectors, the Triad organized an election of the Central Congress in February 1925. The Central Congress was convened at Sector-12, a Triad-controlled facility outside Perth, Scotland. While the Central Congress' seventy-five members were representative of the Triad forces, political maneuvering by General Weston and Doctor Fritz ensured that they, the three members of the Triad itself, remained in near-total control. Weston and Fritz moved to quietly isolate Count Frederiks from the public eye after the eighty-eight-year-old Count's declining health led to increased senility. Foundation intelligence now suggests the Count suffered from Alzheimer's, worsened by a series of strokes in late 1924 and early 1925. Careful political theater precluded Frederiks' senility from affecting the Foundation's (Loyalist or Triad) perception of his ability.</p> <h3 id="toc11"><span>July 1925: High Water Mark</span></h3> <p>Defeat after defeat for Foundation forces, coupled with the incompetence of Political Officers and the excesses of Inquisitors, meant that by June of 1925, the Triad outnumbered the Loyalists three-to-two. The O5 Command realized a new strategy was desperately needed.</p> <p>The Genga Division commander was replaced in early July 1925. The new commander, the energetic young Brigadier General William Chatterton, proposed a bold strategy in secret to O5-1, who approved it unilaterally. The other Overseers and O5 Command Staff were not informed out of operational security concerns. Chatterton disseminated a set of operational orders to Genga Division and a number of other Loyalist forces through communication channels known to be compromised. These orders indicated the forces would be organizing a counteroffensive against Triad-controlled facilities in Africa. At the same time, a Foundation plane carrying a courier with falsified Level 5 plans suffered staged mechanical errors and crashed in Sector-12, over twenty kilometers from the Sector's main base of operations. Triad forces dutifully recovered the remains of the pilot and courier, as well as the plans. These plans alluded to the development of a weaponized Keter class SCP at Site-99, a tiny outpost located on Novaya Zemlya, an island in the Arctic Ocean to the north of the Soviet Union. This weaponized SCP would "turn the tide of the war upon deployment" - with the Foundation apparently backtracking on its longstanding policy against weaponizing SCPs, the Triad could not afford to let such a device become operational. Site-99 was supposedly lightly guarded only by an elite group of fewer than a hundred operatives from Genga-3, chosen for their skills and political reliability. By keeping the facility small, O5-1 was supposed to be hoping to prevent leaks. The courier was supposedly flying a progress report from Site-99 to Overwatch HQ. Believing the deception, the Triad massed a third of its available troops at the port of Arkhangelsk, to travel by ship to the target. General Weston assigned Commodore Yuri Zolnerovich, a gifted Soviet naval officer, to oversee the operation.</p> <p>Unbeknownst to the Triad, the entirety of Genga-2, -3, -4, and -5 were located strategically on the Kanin Peninsula, Kolguev Island, and Novaya Zemlya. The Keter SCP at Site-99, and indeed, Site-99 itself, were fabricated myths. A strike team of operatives from MTF Xi-13 were located in Arkhangelsk, charged with placing limpet mines on the Triad ships.</p> <p>Count Frederiks, then in Helsinki, received word of the operation through a Loyalist mole in his entourage. Outraged at the appointment of Zolnerovich, who had been one of the individuals implicated in the death of the Russian Czar, Frederiks traveled to Arkhangelsk and personally took charge of the operation. Count Frederiks had technically held a high rank in the Imperial Russian military, a consequence of his post as the Imperial Household Minister to the Czar, but he had never been an effective military commander. When Zolnerovich objected, citing Weston's position as supreme commander of Triad forces, the elderly and emotional Frederiks shot him, snarling that it was revenge for Czar Nikolas. This was precisely the outcome General Chatterton had hoped for.</p> <p>At 2200 hours local time on 24 July 1925, the Triad flotilla departed Arkhangelsk. Frederiks had rescinded Zolnerovich's order to check for limpet mines, stating it as unnecessary since the Foundation had no idea they were coming. The flotilla consisted of fifteen large troop transports and a dozen escort cruisers. At 0500 the following morning, they were steaming to the north of Kolguev Island when the limpet mines detonated. Ten of the escorts were sunk immediately, as were six of the troop transports. The remaining vessels all suffered heavy damage, with one of the surviving escorts and seven of the surviving nine transports having their engines completely disabled. Count Frederiks' flagship was by sheer luck one of the transport vessels with functioning engines. As Genga Division ships and fighter-bombers swept in, Frederiks abandoned the disabled vessels and ordered the three remaining ships with functioning engines to immediately land on Kolguev Island. Only Frederiks' transport survived long enough to make it to shore, where Genga-4 machine gunners massacred the Triad troops and sailors attempting to land. In a little more than two hours, a third of the available military forces loyal to the Triad had been completely obliterated. This signified the high-water mark for the Triad, and was a blow from which it would never recover.</p> <p>Count Frederiks was not killed at the Battle of Kolguev Island (referred to by Triad forces as the "Far North Massacre"), but rather captured by Foundation forces. He was taken to a Foundation detention facility in Murmansk, where he bartered his knowledge of the Triad in exchange for being placed under house arrest in Helsinki. When General Weston and Doctor Fritz learned of Frederiks' disastrous defeat and subsequent treachery, they disavowed him, symbolically stripping him of his position on the Triad. His post was never refilled, with Weston and Fritz splitting responsibility for his former duties. Less than a week after his capture, Count Frederiks suffered a serious stroke, confining him to bed and rendering him all but completely senile. He would finally die of old age in 1927, alone and forgotten.</p> <h3 id="toc12"><span>August 1925 - March 1926: Triad in Retreat</span></h3> <p>General Chatterton was quick to press the Loyalists' advantage in the aftermath of the Battle of Kolguev Island. He opened a series of offensives against Triad forces in Indochina and South America in August and September (respectively). Reeling from the loss of the best-trained and -equipped third of its military forces, with many of its reserves (seemingly pointlessly) defending facilities in the Belgian Congo and Ethiopian Empire, the Triad suffered devastating defeats in both theaters. Weston made the fateful decision in late September to transfer reserves from the Triad's Africa holdings. When O5 Command Intelligence discovered the Triad's redeployment of troops in October, Chatterton began preparations for a winter offensive in Africa.</p> <p>As Loyalist and Triad forces clashed on the physical battlefield, so too did they in the propaganda battlefield. The O5 Council issued a "Proclamation on the Present Conflict" on 1 August, addressed to "all members of the Foundation, regardless of loyalty". It called for an end to hostilities, praised the foot soldiers of both sides for their valor, and implored the rank-and-file of Triad forces to recognize that their misguided leaders were forgetting the real mission and taking those who followed them down a road to "nothing but ruin, disgrace, and anguish." The Triad propaganda apparatus quickly retorted, painting the Proclamation as nothing more than "the lies and gloating of a cowardly group capitalizing on a brutal massacre." Both sides employed omnipresent censors in attempts to control the narrative of the struggle, though the Loyalists were far more successful in this regard.</p> <p>In December, General Chatterton, O5-1, O5-6, and O5-7 secretly organized a branch of O5 Command dedicated to the termination of non-anomalous individuals who represented threats to the Foundation. The details of this organization, referred to only by its codename of █████████████, remain highly classified within the Foundation to this day; the program's existence was not acknowledged by the O5 Council until the mid-1970s. The first targets of █████████████ were the two remaining members of the Triad, Dr. Fritz and Gen. Weston, as well as their immediate subordinates.</p> <p>Throughout January and February 1926, the Loyalists continued to gain ground against the Triad. One of the widespread myths of the war, common to both sides, was that the Triad was employing SCPs to their own advantage. Until the last six months of the war, the Triad did not actually use any SCPs against Foundation forces. Weston wanted to use every strategic asset at the Triad's disposal, but Frederiks (prior to his capture) and Fritz overruled him on the grounds that it would be too dangerous. The three men agreed, however, to take full rhetorical advantage of any natural or artificial disaster that might befall Loyalist forces or benefit Triad forces. Unfortunately, apart from the flooding of the Rhine in Cologne in January 1926, there weren't any appreciable disasters for which they could claim responsibility. Outmatched in terms of conventional forces, cut off from new converts within Loyalist ranks by vigorous and effective Loyalist counterintelligence activities, and unwilling to deploy SCPs tactically, the Triad had little hope of turning the tide of the war.</p> <p>On 25 March 1926, █████████████ operatives infiltrated Site-37, where they assassinated Dr. Wolfgang Fritz while he slept. With Fritz dead and Frederiks senile and forgotten under house arrest until his death in 1927, Gen. Weston was left in sole command of the remaining Triad forces.</p> <h3 id="toc13"><span>April - September 1926: A New Strategy</span></h3> <p>Following the assassination of Fritz in March, coupled with the significant losses Triad forces had suffered in the preceding months, Weston decided a new strategy was needed. The Triad was desperately low on resources; in terms of sheer available manpower, controlled facilities, secured SCPs, weapons, funds, and logistical capabilities, the Loyalist forces effectively outnumbered the Triad between three and four to one. There was one critical difference: while in absolute terms, the Loyalists controlled more "useful" SCPs (meaning objects which could be utilized, weaponized, or reverse-engineered with relatively few risks), proportional to the total number of SCPs the either side controlled, the Triad had a far higher percentage of useful SCPs. Weston, in possession of antebellum Foundation storage manifests, realized this advantage. He lifted usage restrictions on all SCPs within the Triad's possession, ordering his researchers to make all efforts to develop means to create a strategic and tactical advantage over the Loyalists.</p> <p>This decision was controversial among the members of the Triad, including nearly a third of the Central Congress. Many believed in the basic mission of the Foundation - securing, containing, and protecting the objects, rather than utilizing or destroying them - and Weston's directive raised some serious doubts about the righteousness of the Triad's cause. When word of these misgivings reached Weston, he made it clear that the lifting of usage and research restrictions would only last until the struggle against the Loyalists was over. While this calmed some fears, a number of Triad members, including the entire staff of Area-09, defected to the Loyalists. Weston then quietly disbanded the Central Congress, arresting (and in some cases executing) its members.</p> <p>Weston's new strategy proved to be too little, too late. Though Loyalist casualties during the last six months of the conflict were twice that of the entire rest of the conflict put together, it was insufficient to slow the momentum. By August, with the Triad controlling fewer than a dozen secure facilities, Weston ordered the remaining SCPs to be hidden in caches across the planet, to allow their future use by Triad forces while lowering the risk of their capture by the Loyalists. In September, Site-37 was finally overrun by Genga Division. Abandoning most of their remaining facilities, the Triad withdrew to Sector-12, a facility outside Perth, Scotland. There, they dug in for an extended siege.</p> <h3 id="toc14"><span>October 1926: Battle of Sector-12</span></h3> <p>By October 1926, nearly all remaining Triad forces were holed up in Sector-12.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-3')">3</a></sup> General Chatterton extended an offer for the facility's unconditional surrender; it was rejected.</p> <p>The battle itself took over a fortnight. Weston attempted a strategy of attrition, but effectively outnumbered twelve to one, this had little hope of success. Nonstop artillery and aerial bombardment, liberal deployment of nerve gas, and a frontal assault by the Foundation's sole tank company devastated the Sector's defensive perimeter.</p> <p>On 17 October 1926, after General Weston was killed by an artillery shell, the remaining Triad forces, numbering only fifty-seven, surrendered. After a 7-6 vote, the O5 Council ordered their execution by firing squad for high treason against the Foundation. The Foundation Civil War was over.</p> <h2 id="toc15"><span>1926-1933: From the Ashes, The Chaos Insurgency</span></h2> <p>After the surrender of Sector-12 and the execution of the "Final 57" (as they came to be called), the Triad effectively ceased to exist as an organized and coherent force. For the next seven years, the Foundation would believe (incorrectly) that there were no survivors who escaped their custody. As it happened, this was simply not true. An unknown number of personnel and SCPs were unaccounted for; modern estimates range from several dozen to several thousand individuals, and between five and five hundred objects.</p> <p>In the short term after the fall of Sector-12, the group that had been the Triad and would become the Chaos Insurgency was fractured, isolated, and little immediate threat to anyone. They were too busy licking their wounds to cause too much trouble. Many believed that the smart thing to do would be to go into hiding, disappearing and living out the remainder of their lives in paranoid obscurity - after all, Foundation operatives still had standing shoot-on-sight orders for many of them.</p> <p>Major Damien O'Connor was unwilling to concede defeat. A charismatic and intelligent Irish firebrand who'd served as a Mobile Task Force commander after being recruited out of Michael Collins' Irish Republican Army assassination unit called "The Squad", O'Connor compared the struggle faced by the Triad remnants to that faced by the Irish nationalists against the English Crown during the Irish Revolution and the Arabs during the Arab Revolt in the First World War. A fiery orator and gifted strategist, O'Connor is known to have written several discourses on strategy (most of which still have not been obtained by Foundation intelligence) and is believed to have made regular speeches at covert meetings of Triad remnants. Included in this file is the partial transcript of a 1928 speech by O'Connor to a dozen comrades in Podlogistan, obtained by Foundation Intelligence in 1933.</p> <p>While O'Connor was consolidating support, the O5 Council initiated an internal information suppression campaign with regard to the Foundation Civil War. Because of the highly compartmentalized nature of the Foundation, a significant influx of new personnel during the Great Depression<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-4" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-4')">4</a></sup>, and the emergency powers adopted by the Council with regards to censorship, a purge of the event from the organization's general knowledge was effective to a degree that may surprise modern readers. By the late 1930s, few members of the Foundation who had not been directly involved in the Foundation Civil War were aware of the struggle's existence. The Great Schism and two years of bloody war had been reduced, in the official party line of Foundation history, to a rogue group of agents going AWOL.</p> <p>The remnants of the Triad remained off the Foundation's radar until 1933. Arthur Pierce, a mid-level analyst in Foundation Counterintelligence, connected a series of apparently unconnected incidents in the preceding several years with documents (including the partial transcript of O'Connor's speech) recovered from a safe-house in Lisbon. Pierce sent a memorandum to the O5 Council on 5 March 1933, in which he warned of "an insurgency of chaos against the Foundation." When O'Connor received a stolen copy of the memorandum, he was apparently delighted, deciding on the spot to christen the remnants of the Triad as "the Chaos Insurgency", a term which has since been adopted widely.</p> <hr/> <h2 id="toc16"><span>The Insurgency Since 1933</span></h2> <blockquote> <p><span style="color:#880000;">Note: For reasons related to Foundation security, most details relating to the Chaos Insurgency since 1933 are classified in separate compartments from SLATE THUNDER. Personnel with authorization to review these compartments should contact the Records and Information Security Administration in writing.</span></p> </blockquote> <p>As mentioned above, this post-1933 historical summary of the Chaos Insurgency is necessarily abridged for security purposes. The following is a selection of several key moments in the Insurgency's history.</p> <h3 id="toc17"><span>The Second World War (1939-1945)</span></h3> <p>While neither the Chaos Insurgency nor the Foundation take sides with either the Axis Powers or Allied Powers, the Insurgency took advantage of general upheaval to consolidate power in several Third World countries and colonies. Concurrently, the Insurgency staged attacks against the Foundation, both directly and by using both Allied and Axis forces as proxies. The largest direct conflict between the Insurgency and the Foundation during the war was a series of attempts to seize Site-41, located in Leningrad, during the Nazi siege of that city. These attempts were ultimately unsuccessful.</p> <p>(See sensitive compartment "███████████████" for further information.)</p> <h3 id="toc18"><span>Co-opting Proxy Wars (1947-1967)</span></h3> <p>Though the Chaos Insurgency has co-opted wars and militarized armed disputes throughout its entire history, during the 1950s and 60s the Insurgency used plants and moles in both Western and Soviet military and intelligence apparatuses to assimilate and sponsor guerrilla insurgencies and national liberation movements in numerous countries in the Third World. A significant number of the Chaos Insurgency's leadership is believed to have turned over between 1950 and 1970, and some of the rising stars in the younger generation were CIA or KGB officers, or special forces advisers, sent to regions sympathetic to the opposing side in an effort to destabilize and replace the indigenous political infrastructure with one more amenable to their respective political masters. Having encountered and used local anomalous artifacts, and having been co-opted locally or (secretly) instructed by Insurgency moles higher in their parent agencies, these operatives were assimilated into the Chaos Insurgency.</p> <p>(See sensitive compartment "█████████████" for further information.)</p> <h3 id="toc19"><span>Attempted Armed Site-59 Defection (October 1962)</span></h3> <p>In October of 1962, Colonel Andre Foch, Director of Armed Site-59 in Tibet, attempted to use the Sino-Indian War as cover to enable the defection of Armed Site-59 to the Chaos Insurgency. Foundation Armed Rapid Response Task Force Xi-13 successfully intervened, and the defection failed. Foch was subsequently presumed dead by the Foundation, though rumors of his escape continue to persist. This was the largest mass defection attempt since the Foundation Civil War.</p> <p>(See sensitive compartment "███████████████████" for further information.)</p> <h2 id="toc20"><span>The Modern Chaos Insurgency (1991-Present)</span></h2> <p>The Chaos Insurgency today is believed to be a highly heterogeneous and diverse social network of loosely connected cells, rather than a homogenous or hierarchical organization. While some "leaders" are believed to exist, the extent of their ability to direct, organize, and/or control the various cells is believed to be at least somewhat limited. Additionally, capturing or killing these individuals is unlikely to adversely affect the organization's activities. There is no geographic base to the Insurgency, though they are known to have a presence in many Third World countries. While the general strategy of post-modern guerrilla insurgency asymmetric warfare against the Foundation, the Global Occult Coalition, and others is fairly constant, the specific tactics, strategies, and ideologies of the Insurgency are fairly diverse. The Insurgency is known to have ties to many groups, organizations, and governments, ranging from legal and respected entities to covert and criminal entities. Foundation theorists have not yet developed a successful counterinsurgency strategy for defeating the Chaos Insurgency.</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>. Then a secure facility located outside Paris, which (unlike modern Overwatch HQ) housed a moderate number of Safe and Euclid class SCP items.</div> <div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. Obviously, regular Loyalist Foundation forces fought when attacked by Triad forces, but they were rarely used on the offense.</div> <div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-3"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-3')">3</a>. At the time, the Loyalists believed <strong>all</strong> Triad forces were at Sector-12; it was only later that it was discovered that an unknown number of Triad personnel were unaccounted for.</div> <div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-4"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-4')">4</a>. Many talented and skilled individuals, especially academicians, who lost their jobs as a result of the Great Depression were hired by the Foundation in 1929-38. The Foundation's investments fared very well during the Depression compared to most organizations, allowing one of the largest organizational expansions in Foundation history.</div> </div> </div> </div> <div id="wiki-tab-0-3" style="display:none"> <div style="text-align: justify;"> <h1 id="toc21"><span>Related Original Documents</span></h1> <p>These are a selection of transcripts of original documents relating to the Chaos Insurgency.</p> <hr/> <h2 id="toc22"><span>A New Manifesto (May 1924)</span></h2> <blockquote> <div style="text-align: center;"> <h1 id="toc23"><span><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">A New Manifesto</span></strong></span></h1> <p><span style="font-size:x-large;"><strong>Addressed to The Members of The Foundation</strong></span><br/> <span style="font-size:large;"><strong>1 May 1924</strong></span></p> </div> <p>PERHAPS the sentiments contained in the following pages, are not yet sufficiently fashionable to procure them general favor; a long habit of not thinking a thing <em>wrong</em>, gives it a superficial appearance of being <em>right</em>, and raises at first a formidable outcry in defence of custom. But the tumult soon subsides. Time makes more converts than reason.</p> <p>Ten years ago, the human civilization was plunged into the Great War, wherein our global society was threatened not by threats External or Preternatural, but Internal and Mundane. The War, in which martial slaughter was industrialized on a scale never before seen, devastated the civilized world. The Foundation, possessing numerous bizarre and unnatural entities which might have ended the conflict in mere moments, sat quietly in the shadows, watching the brightest and best of Humanity’s future spill each other’s blood on Europe's fields. We watched, and we did nothing. We, who have sworn to secure and contain threats to Human Civilization, protecting the world from devastation, destruction, and despair, we sat and watched as humanity inflicted ruin upon itself. How dare we? The world called this the Great War, the War to End All Wars, but how can War be Great, and why should so warlike a creature as Man be so inclined as to cease merrily butchering his fellows? How soon will come the next war after the War That Was Supposed To End All Wars? History has cyclical inertia; unless an outside force brings the conflict to a stop, humanity will be its own undoing. The Foundation, an organization which has stared into the abyss and spat in the face of abominations ancient and eldritch, must save mankind from its greatest enemy: itself.</p> <p>In the decades since the Foundation's inception, the O5 Council has argued that we must remain aloof and detached from the daily affairs of international society. It is not our business to fight the petty wars of the ignorant masses, they tell us. And yet, they are not above meddling in those very affairs when one Overseer or another feels it expedient, toppling governments and starting wars of convenience. We, the soldiers in the trenches, who fight their battles, and we, the scientists in the labs, who do their research, do we have any say in when we fight or what we study? The Council claims to act in the best interests of the Foundation, of Humanity. How can this be when the Council does not answer to the rank and file of this organization, much less Mankind at large? We, the individuals facing the threats on every day, are the ones who are best suited to determining our organization’s course, not faceless administrators, and it is we, not they, who should lead.</p> <p>It would be foolish, of course, to reveal the existence of entities that defy all explanation to the world at large. After all, it is our duty to stand at the boundary of Darkness and Light, protecting the world in its ignorance of the monsters that threaten it. But <em>darkness</em> itself is not <em>evil</em>: Science is amoral, and Knowledge is Power. Power, Science, and modern Industry are all capable of vast and near-total destruction, as the Great War has shown, but proper application of these forces can create wonders. Fire, if misunderstood and improperly handled, is as destructive as any force known to mankind, capable of laying waste to cities and farmland. Yet, when harnessed and treated with caution and respect, we use it to heat, light, and power our cities, and cleanse our farms so that we may plant new and more fertile crops. We, the elite, who have studied countless bizarre and powerful anomalies, have the knowledge to usher in a new Golden Age of Enlightenment. Out of the ashes of the past can rise monuments to the dominance of Mankind over the Natural and the Unearthly.</p> <p>The universe can at once appear welcoming and hostile, teeming with secrets and threats, full of knowledge and riches to be had but harsh and unforgiving. As always, Humanity is and will be tested. As always, Humanity must meet the challenges before it as we have met every other. We must be the Vanguard, holding the torch of illumination and leading the masses forward. We, Mankind and the Foundation will face the challenges and succeed because to do anything else would be inhuman. The Foundation shall watch the dark places, and it is our right and our duty to illuminate them for society, so that Mankind may enjoy the riches without fearing the threats. We shall not only secure and contain the absurd and the dangerous, but we shall master their secrets and transform them into tools and technology. We, the Foundation and Mankind, not only can do this, but must, if we are to survive, and not just survive, but better ourselves and flourish, that Humanity can claim its rightful place as Master over Nature and Extraordinary.</p> <p>Signed,<br/> <em>A Thinker</em></p> </blockquote> <hr/> <h2 id="toc24"><span>Transcript of Speech by Major Damien O'Connor in Podlogistan (1928)</span></h2> <blockquote> <p>…Weston was an old fool, a relic of the old era where wars were fought in set-piece battles of thousands of men in massed formation, of cavalry charges into the Valley of Death. But ours is not to do or die, ours is to reason why. Weston and Frederiks deluded themselves into thinking the Triad equal to the Loyalists, not only in legitimacy but in materiel and capabilities. They were proven wrong, but even if they <em>had</em> been right in their estimates, we saw in the Great War how futile such outdated strategies are. Only a fool fights on the terms of one's enemy, and that is precisely what we did. We fought the Foundation on their terms when they were stronger, bigger, better funded, better equipped; is it any real surprise that we were defeated?</p> <p>Our struggle was akin to baiting: a pack of dogs against a bear, perhaps. The dogs do not assemble in a phalanx and charge the bear, whose size, weight, and strength could easily obliterate such a formation. No, instead, the dogs nip and bite at the larger animal, irritating it, occasionally drawing blood, tiring it, weakening it to the point of collapse, until it collapses in exhaustion, and they can move in for the kill.</p> <p>But now, we lack the capacity to be taken seriously by the Foundation. They believe we are down and out - they have declared victory, and characteristically hushed up the struggle. They view those few of us who remain as a nuisance, not a pack of dogs, but a fly or flea to be swatted aside as an annoyance. They may be right. We are weak, and they are strong. But that does not make them invincible or us insignificant. Let us wage a war of fleas. We bite, leap, and bite again. By the time the Foundation can scratch one itch, another will appear. They have "secure" facilities across the world - they must be strong everywhere. We need only be strong where we attack, when we attack, before disappearing. Their size means they are slow; we are few but mobile. We cannot win as an army, but as guerrillas, as an insurgency, we shall not lose.</p> <p>The Foundation, the enemy, ignores us, we infiltrate them. The enemy advances, we retreat; the enemy camps, we harass; the enemy tires, we attack; the enemy retreats, we pursue. We will be everywhere and nowhere, appearing out of the night to strike terror in their hearts. We may look over our shoulders - it would be imprudent not to - but we can force them to do the same. We can terrorize the Foundation. The purpose of this terror is not merely to terrorize the Foundation, however, but to use its own inertia and energy against it. The Triad's defeat may have quelled dissent amongst the Foundation's rank and file, but how long is it until our efforts - our attacks and infiltrations - spur the Foundation to clamp down on its own members? We will not be the ones to sap the Foundation's will to resist, <em>the O5 Council</em> will.</p> <p>Let us not forget that they are bound by scruples of secrecy. They keep the importance of their "Veil" on a pedestal, hiding their existence and the existence of SCPs from the world at large. We are not so incumbered. Our only reason for secrecy is to frustrate their efforts to find us, fish in a vast ocean. In our attacks, we can steal their weapons, their equipment, and their artifacts, only to turn these against them the next time. If our attacks hurt the innocent, well, in war there are casualties. The Foundation may elect to try and protect the population from us - so much the better, for it will only spread them thinner. We shall be agents of chaos, setting the world on fire, not to watch it burn, but to exhaust the fire brigade.</p> </blockquote> </div> </div> </div> </div> <script type="text/javascript"> //<![CDATA[ OZONE.dom.onDomReady(function(){ var tabView87efbb44bd04aa5466bec020d26dc829 = new YAHOO.widget.TabView('wiki-tabview-87efbb44bd04aa5466bec020d26dc829'); }, "dummy-ondomready-block"); //]]> </script> <hr/> <p>Alright, so, that brings us up to 1933. As you can see from the summary at the bottom, most of the more modern activities of the Chaos Insurgency are classified in other sensitive compartments. Since I know for a fact many of you are here for different reasons, we're not going to cover any of the more recent goings-on right now.</p> <p>Any questions?</p> <p>Alright. Ms. Buyanova and I will now collect your briefing packets. Be sure to remember to toe the Official Party Line with anyone not read into SLATE THUNDER, or you'll be spending a very long time in a not-necessarily empty dark hole.</p> <p>We still have leftover bagels, help yourself on the way out.</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="/slate-thunder">Briefing on SLATE THUNDER (Chaos Insurgency Orientation)</a>" by Hornby, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/slate-thunder">https://scpwiki.com/slate-thunder</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 morning, folks. Help yourself to coffee and bagels. For those of you who don't know me already, I'm Colonel Neil Hornby, Senior Supervisory Intelligence Officer for the Foundation. It's my turn to give the Chaos Insurgency Orientation. In the folder in front of you, you'll find a non-disclosure agreement. This briefing is classified "sensitive compartmented information", so if you're staying, you're signing. Otherwise, grab a bagel on the way out. Yes, labcoat and glasses. I know you signed a non-disclosure agreement when you joined the Foundation, and each time you got promoted. You're what, an El Three? You must be new to the whole intel side of the Foundation. I know you're used to the whole El Zero through Five security clearance system. The eggheads (no offense, my dad was an egghead, so I don't have anything against you sciencey types) came up with that. It works well enough if you're handling Ess See Pees. Foundation Intelligence works a little differently. We still use that, kinda the way the US has confidential/secret/top secret, but that doesn't mean El Fives can read whatever they feel like getting their grubby paws on. We operate on "Need to Know." While you over in R&D and the guys in containment and acquisitions get killed if you //don't// have information widely shared, in our side of the house people die if the information falls into the wrong hands. So, like I said, sign the NDA in front of you, or leave. Everybody signed? Great. Ms. Buyanova will trade each of you your NDA for a SLATE THUNDER packet. Sweater vest in the third row, fire away. "Slate Thunder". That's the codename for this sensitive compartment. As for the packet itself, it contains the information I'll be presenting, so feel free to follow along. I don't really care if you read or listen. If you have anything you need to ask, don't keep it to yourself. This information was compiled by Professor Greg Lewis, who is the Foundation's leading expert on the Chaos Insurgency. He's been studying them since before most of us were born, myself included. So, the Chaos Insurgency. They are one of the Foundation's oldest enemies. What do we know about them? Yes, they're self-serving and ruthless, though that could also describe the Foundation or most governments if you think about it. And they //are// political, there's no doubt about that, but I'm not sure I'd say the Foundation isn't. I mean, back in the - actually, you're not all cleared to know about that. Let's just say that the Foundation plays politics when it has to. No, they're not just what the higher-up call personnel who go off the reservation. The Foundation does, occasionally, "purge" people, and while you really don't want to become such an unperson, that (generally) doesn't involve the Chaos Insurgency. "The same things as the Foundation only for profit"? I'm not sure I'd have worded it that way, but I s'pose it fits - sort of, at least. Correct, many of their operatives are just guns for hire. This makes our job harder, actually, since keeping track of which PMCs, mercs, thugs, guerrillas, and criminals are working for them and which ones aren't straight is no easy chore. The CI - that's "counterintelligence", not "Chaos Insurgency" - guys have a whole analytic task force devoted to just separating the wolves from the dogs. Suit in the back - give that legal pad to Ms. Buyanova! None of you are allowed to take notes, nor are you allowed to remove your packets from the room. I'm sorry, I thought you all knew better than that. Anyway, the packets are numbered, and we'll be collecting them at the end. Anyway, red shirt in the second row. No, they're not "terrorists" //per se//, rather "insurgents", though you can be forgiven for mixing the two terms up - most people do these days. A terrorist uses terror as an end in and of itself: you crash a plane into a building, a lot of people die and even more, people get, well, terrorized. Your motivations may vary, but at the end of the day, the act itself is the end. An insurgent, on the other hand, uses many tools and tactics, including terrorism, in order to elicit a response: you crash a plane into a building and a lot of people die, but then the government cracks down to try and stamp you out, which always - always! - results in innocent people getting caught up by the authorities' net, which upsets the populace, which does more damage to the government and society than your plane crash ever could. Nine-Eleven was an act of terror, but the strategy was almost certainly one of insurgency, rather than terrorism. Anyway, I digress. Most of you have no idea what really happened when the Chaos Insurgency first formed. No, I am serious. If you look at the first inside page of your packet, you'll see the Official Party Line: small group of agents goes absent without leave in '24 with several useful SCPs. That's the Official Party Line, that's what you've always been told up until now, and that is what you will continue to tell people who aren't cleared into SLATE THUNDER. Period, end of sentence, or else we toss you in a dark hole for a very long time - a dark hole which is, if you're lucky, empty. If not... Anyway, the Official Party Line is on par with saying the major political powers had strong words with each other during the Forties, or that Hurricane Andrew was a light drizzle. Unless someone has violated security protocol big time (in which case, tell me who so I can personally toss them in a dark hole for a very long time), you'll have never heard of the Triad before. Blank looks. Excellent. The Triad was what the Chaos Insurgency was back before it was an insurgency. You see, between 1924 and 1926, the Foundation had a civil war. Yes, miss, you heard correctly, the Foundation Civil War. Of course, there was a cover-up. This organization protects people by keeping dangerous secrets from traumatizing people. Don't tell me you thought we didn't do that internally. In the Foundation Civil War, we had the Loyalists on one side, the Triad on the other. Eventually, the Triad lost, and the handful of survivors formed what would become the Chaos Insurgency. We came up with that term, "Chaos Insurgency", by the way. They co-opted it; they're good at co-opting things. Anyway, if you'll turn to the next page in your packet... ---- [[tabview]] [[tab SCI Warning]] [[size xx-large]] = [[span style="color:#880000;"]]CLASSIFIED MATERIAL[[/span]] [[/size]] [[size x-large]] = Sensitive Compartmented Information: SLATE THUNDER [[/size]] [[==]] This document contains information affecting the security of the Foundation within the meaning of the Foundation General Security Protocol 02, Section 183. The protocol prohibits its transmission or the revelation of its contents in any manner to an unauthorized person, as well as its use in any manner prejudicial to the safety or interest of the Foundation or for the benefit of any unauthorized entity or the detriment of the Foundation. It is to be seen only by personnel possessing Level Five clearance and/or especially indoctrinated and authorized in writing to receive information in the designated control channels. Its security must be maintained in accordance with regulations pertaining to SLATE THUNDER Controls. Unauthorized viewing, possession, replication, and/or dissemination of this document is grounds for punitive actions detailed in Foundation General Security Protocol 18, Section 2381. [[/==]] [[/tab]] [[tab Official Summary]] + Official Summary For General Distribution With Regards To The Chaos Insurgency [[==]] As specific information relating to the Chaos Insurgency is for the most part classified as sensitive compartmented information, the Office of the O5 Council has issued the appended document, File #008956 (Official Summary For General Distribution With Regards To The Chaos Insurgency). This file is classified as "general knowledge" requiring only a Level 1 Security Clearance to access. All personnel indoctrinated into the SLATE THUNDER compartment are instructed to discuss __absolutely no__ information not contained within File #008956 with any persons not indoctrinated into the SLATE THUNDER compartment, including (but not limited to) the designation "SLATE THUNDER" and/or __any__ details or information within the SLATE THUNDER sensitive compartment that verifies, supplements, and/or contradicts statements contained in File #008956. [[/==]] ---- [[==]] > ++ {{File #008956}} > {{Title: OFFICIAL SUMMARY FOR GENERAL DISTRIBUTION WITH REGARDS TO THE CHAOS INSURGENCY}} > {{Security Clearance Level: ONE}} > > {{The Chaos Insurgency is a splinter group of the Foundation, created by a rogue cell that went A.W.O.L. with several highly useful SCPs in 1924. Since then, the Insurgency has become a major player on the world stage, using the SCPs that it obtains for its own personal benefit, and to consolidate its global power base. The Insurgency not only deals in SCPs but also in weapons running and intelligence gathering.}} > > {{It makes use of dictator regimes in Third World countries, often using their populations in the same manner as the Foundation does D Class Personnel. Because of this, it helps to maintain the extreme poverty and war that is suffered by these countries, so that it can continue its radical experimentation, easy conscription of forces, and lucrative business deals with rebel factions.}} > > {{Most of the SCPs possessed by the Insurgency are unknown, but of those that are known, the most notable are the "Staff of Hermes", an item capable of warping the physical and chemical properties of any matter it touches, and the "Bell of Entropy", an object that can cause a variety of destructive effects depending on where it is struck. Both of these SCPs were originally obtained at no small cost by the Foundation and were stolen by the original founders of the Insurgency. The Insurgency also has a known association with [[[SCP-355]]] and [[[SCP-884]]].}} > > {{The main base of operations of the Insurgency is unknown, as are its leaders. This organization is directly antagonistic to the Foundation, coming to clash over SCPs several times. Personnel are to be made aware of possible raids, terrorist attempts, and spies from the Insurgency, and to notify command about any strange behavior of fellow personnel.}} [[/==]] [[/tab]] [[tab Chaos Insurgency History (Classified)]] [[==]] + Chaos Insurgency History (Classified) What follows is a brief history of the Chaos Insurgency, with a focus on the formation of the organization between 1924 and 1933. (Specific details of the Chaos Insurgency's history post-1933 are classified in other sensitive compartments.) As this information is contained within sensitive compartment "SLATE THUNDER" (the contents of this larger file) and not classified as "general knowledge" accessible to all members of the Foundation, other documents, and records within the Foundation database may contradict this account, having been altered to comply with the File #008956 (Official Summary For General Distribution With Regards To The Chaos Insurgency). Personnel with authorization to review the unaltered documents and records should contact the Records and Information Security Administration in writing. ---- ++ 1919-1924: Prelude With the end of the First World War, the Foundation saw its ranks increase with an influx of new recruits from the battlefields of Europe, military scientists put out of work with the scaling back of the war economy, and returning members who had taken leave to serve their countries. Fresh from the horrors of war, many members of the Foundation believed SCP objects could and should be utilized to benefit humanity. The specific arguments varied: some wanted the weaponization of SCP objects to assist in the enforcement of the Post-War regime; some wanted to replicate and market SCP objects, stimulating economic growth in a model similar to either The Factory or Marshall, Carter & Dark (both of which were believed to have profited handsomely during the War); still, others wanted to open the Foundation's collection for study by non-aligned scientists, so all of mankind could benefit. Unsurprisingly, these arguments were as controversial as they ever had been, but Foundation staff also believed they were nothing new. What they failed to realize was that, while such arguments had been debated since the Foundation's inception, with global society having been so greatly traumatized by the War, and with the Foundation's staff filled with veterans, either of combat or wartime research projects, the Foundation itself was structurally vulnerable to these arguments in a way like never before. Separated by varying ideals, the dissenters within the Foundation presented little threat to the status quo. This changed in May of 1924 with the anonymous publication, and wide distribution, of a unifying manifesto entitled //A New Manifesto// (see appended document). This document believed written jointly by several high-level members of the Foundation, blasted the organization's administration for continuing "on a path leading unproductively to nothing but misery and ruin", and calling for reform and reorganization. Following a clampdown ordered by O5-7 and the banning of possession of the manifesto, discontent became widespread. Riots occurred at several of the larger secure facilities in late May and early June, forcing the issue onto the agenda for the O5 Council. ++ June 1924: The Great Schism With many members of the Foundation up in arms over both the //New Manifesto// and the subsequent clampdown it caused, the O5 Council was itself divided on how to handle the issue. Most Overseers wanted the issue resolved so the day-to-day business of securing, containing, and protecting objects could continue (and resume where halted). Several, notably O5-7, O5-10, and O5-13, wanted to enforce tight punitive measures on any Foundation personnel involved in the disruption of the Foundation's mission. These hardliners advocated widespread assignment to Keter duty and demotion to D-class of those behaving in "conduct unbecoming of members of the Foundation". Others, notably O5-9 (General Nigel Weston) and O5-11 (Count Vladimir Borisovich Frederiks), strongly supported the dissenters, agreeing with some parts of the inflammatory document. +++ 10 June: Vote of No Confidence in the O5 Council At the O5 Council meeting on 10 June 1924, Overseer Nine forced the issue by calling for a vote of no confidence in the O5 Council. The O5 Council is unelected, typically choosing its own members. Members serve for life or until retirement but may be impeached by a two-thirds majority of the Ethics Committee. All thirteen Overseers have one equal vote, with O5-1 acting as the first-among-equals during most meetings. According to the Council's bylaws, any Overseer can decide to call a vote of no confidence at a Council meeting where at least nine members of the Council are present. In such an event, all Level 5 personnel (excluding Overseers, who are required to abstain), Site and Department Directors, Unit Commanders, and members of the Ethics Committee are contacted and given twenty-four hours to vote on a secret ballot. If the vote passes by two-thirds majority, the old O5 Council is dissolved and a new Council is formed, led by the Overseer who initiated the vote. If the vote fails to pass, the initiating Overseer automatically retires. The vote of no confidence procedure had never before been used (and has never been used since), so O5-9's decision sent immediate shock waves through the Foundation. The Office of the O5 Council's Clerk dutifully made the notifications and began the voting tally. +++ 11 June: Coup Attempt By early the following morning, with eighty-eight percent of the possible votes collected, it was clear that the vote of no confidence would fail. While fifty-three percent of the votes favored the measure's passage, it was clear that even if all remaining votes supported the Council's dissolution, the tally would still fall short of the necessary two-thirds majority. Before the 11 June Council meeting could begin, O5-9 (formerly a General in the British Army) and O5-11 ordered the Foundation Task Force in charge of guarding Foundation Command Headquarters[[footnote]]Then a secure facility located outside Paris, which (unlike modern Overwatch HQ) housed a moderate number of Safe and Euclid class SCP items.[[/footnote]] to take the other members of the O5 Council into custody. While the Task Force commander, Agent Jacques Clemenceau, himself a former Colonel in the French Army, complied, only O5-3 and O5-12 were present. Overseers One, Two, Four, Five, Six, Eight, Ten, and Thirteen had all secretly left during the preceding night, seeking refuge at Foundation facilities in Britain, Italy, Canada, and the United States. Overseer Seven had already been in Washington, D.C. when the vote had been called. The bodyguards of O5-3 and O5-12 resisted their charges' arrests, resulting in a brief gunbattle in which they, both O5-3 and O5-12, and the Task Force commander were all killed. The Task Force's second-in-command, Agent Robert Brown, who opposed the plotters, then attempted unsuccessfully to arrest Overseers Nine and Eleven for treason. The two treasonous Overseers fled. +++ 12-13 June: Mass Defections & Opening Volleys General Weston (now stripped of his O5-9 title) and Count Frederiks (removed from his position as O5-11 //in absentia// by the O5 Council) sought refuge at Site-37 in the Austrian Alps. Site-37's Director, Dr. Wolfgang Fritz, a former researcher for the German Empire, was sympathetic to Weston's and Frederiks' cause. The three men formed the "Triad", a governing body whose first official decision was to declare the O5 Council "an illegitimate body", and to claim authority over the Foundation. The Triad promised that it would organize the creation of a "Central Congress" for the Foundation, democratically elected by Foundation staff after forces loyal to the O5 Council could be removed from positions of authority. Foundation policy should be reflective of its members, they argued, and the forcible crushing of dissent by the old regime was the proverbial straw. Predictably, the O5 Council was not amused. Decrying the Triad and labeling its supporters "traitors to the Foundation", MTFs loyal to the Council were secretly mobilized and dispatched to Foundation Command Headquarters and Site-37. Foundation Command Headquarters, which had been placed under lockdown by Agent Brown following the escape of Weston and Frederiks, welcomed the Loyalist MTF. Unfortunately, operating on orders from hardline O5-7, the MTF placed all staff at Foundation Command Headquarters under arrest, even Agent Brown. Though Seven later defended her orders as necessary (due to unknown loyalties of those present), the treatment of the staff from Headquarters was draconian. The facility was decommissioned, with the staff detained elsewhere and the stored SCP objects transferred to other facilities. Site-37, which received word of Foundation Command Headquarters' fate, resisted the Loyalist MTF with force. Out-manned and out-gunned, the MTF retreated after taking heavy casualties. The Triad retaliated by revealing the Council's actions to the Foundation at large, resulting in widespread unrest. In a combination of outrage and support for the Triad's cause, many Foundation facilities and units defected to the Triad's side. Both the Council and the Triad blamed the other side for using an SCP object to cause the "Wildkansas" tornado, which completely destroyed Site-83 in the village of Páty, Hungary. The tornado, estimated to be an F4, landed at Bia, and, after 3 hours, ended near Vác. One of the strongest tornadoes ever in Europe, it left a 500-1500m wide and 70km long path of destruction, leaving many homeless, killing nine civilians and all two dozen Site-83 staff, and wounding over fifty. Widely agreed to be the first major attack in the Foundation Civil War, the Wildkansas tornado would be revealed decades later to have actually been caused by a member of MC&D with no affiliation to either the Foundation, the Triad, or any other group that would later become involved in the Chaos Insurgency. ++ 1924-1926: Foundation Civil War +++ Overview The Foundation Civil War lasted from 12 June 1924 until 10 October 1926. The conflict was fought between the Loyalists (members of the Foundation loyal to the existing O5 Council) and the Triads (forces loyal to the rebellious Triad; this group later would become the Chaos Insurgency). Classified post-conflict analyses by the Foundation estimate the following statistics: \|\| \|\|~ Foundation Loyalists \|\|~ Triad/Insurgency \|\| \|\|~ % of Pre-conflict Foundation Forces (Personnel), High and Low \|\| 61% - 43% \|\| 57% - 39% \|\| \|\|~ % of Available Forces (on respective sides) Engaged in Conflict \|\| 40% \|\| Unknown, Assumed >90% \|\| \|\|~ % of Pre-conflict Foundation Resources (Monetary) \|\| 56% \|\| 44% \|\| \|\|~ % of Pre-conflict SCPs Retained Post-Conflict \|\| 70% Safe, 89% Euclid, 95% Keter \|\| Unknown (Assumed 30% Safe, 11% Euclid, 5% Keter) \|\| \|\|~ % of Pre-conflict SCPs designated "//Useful//", "//Suitable for Reverse-Engineering//", "//Manufacturable//", or "//Suitable for Weaponization//" Retained Post-Conflict \|\| 61.7% \|\| Unknown (Assumed 38.3%) \|\| \|\|~ Casualties (Percentages) \|\| 52.3% KIA, WIA, or MIA \|\| 87.9% KIA or WIA; 11.3% Detained or executed after conflict; 0.8% Unaccounted for post-conflict. \|\| In the end, the Foundation Civil War was the bloodiest and most destructive conflict (that the Foundation was directly involved in) in the organization's history. However, due to the sensitive nature of the conflict, the O5 Council subsequently employed all available resources to expunge the details of the conflict from any records requiring a security clearance lower than Level 5. Due to the Foundation's compartmentalized nature, a rigorous counterintelligence campaign and accompanying purges, and the fact that most of the forces on the Foundation's side of the conflict had been limited to the Foundation's security, military, paramilitary, and intelligence forces, the cover-up was remarkably successful. It is a testament to the success of the cover-up that most Foundation personnel recruited after 1938, a mere twelve years after the cessation of the Foundation Civil War, remained completely unaware of the conflict. While it is general knowledge within the organization that the Chaos Insurgency can trace its roots to a "small rogue cell of Foundation agents" that split off in 1924 (the term "Triad" being essentially completely expunged from the record), to this day few individuals know the truth of the magnitude of the ordeal. +++ 1924 - July 1925: Triad Ascendant After the initial outbreak of hostilities in June 1924, it was not long before the ranks of the Triad forces had gone from Site-37 alone to several dozen secure facilities and mobile task forces, spread across all eight continents. The Triad's structure mirrored the antebellum Foundation, with a few key differences: * The Triad assumed the roles of the O5 Council and Foundation High Command (the antebellum mechanism within the Foundation for command and control of all armed task forces and security personnel). Technically, the Triad refused to recognize the authority of the existing O5 Council and Foundation High Command, instead declaring a state of emergency in which the three members of the Triad (and their appointed subordinates) would assume the duties of these institutions. * Count Frederiks assumed responsibility for political and administrative matters on the Triad. In effect, Frederiks was the de facto leader of the organization, though he was technically equal in position to Weston and Fritz. * General Weston assumed responsibility for military and security matters on the Triad. For all practical intents and purposes, Weston was the supreme military commander for the Triad throughout the Civil War. * Doctor Fritz assumed responsibility for all scientific and research matters on the Triad. Despite the conflict, both the Loyalists and the Triad continued in their respective operations to secure, contain, and protect anomalous objects. Unlike the Loyalists, the Triad had no qualms about using the SCP objects at its disposal to further its cause, and Fritz oversaw all related efforts. * The Triad had no Ethics Committee; Count Frederiks issued a statement that such a committee would be re-instituted once the state of emergency was resolved. * Any Foundation member who publicly swore an oath of allegiance to the Triad would be enfranchised for an upcoming vote on the members of the Central Congress. In the chaos of June and July of 1924, the O5 Council and Foundation Loyalists struggled to regroup and organize. Though the Foundation had contingency plans for almost every conceivable external threat, the Department for Contingencies had no effective plan for handling the situation then faced by the organization. Not only that, but at the time the Triad had copies of the same plans as the Loyalists, which enabled them to predict and counter almost every move made by the O5 Council. The decommissioning of Foundation Command Headquarters outside Paris, initially meant as a preventative measure against the Triad, proved disastrous for the Loyalists when it was discovered that many of the documents from that facility (everything from personnel manifests to financial information to military orders-of-battle to SCP object files) inexplicably were lost. Though Foundation intelligence was never able to definitively prove the Triad was responsible for the disappearance of these documents, it was at the time taken as an article of faith that Triad agents had stolen them. By August, the Council had managed to reestablish a headquarters in the United States, at what would eventually become known as Overwatch HQ. For security reasons, no SCP objects were permitted at the new facility. The Council, having replaced the two dead and two traitorous Overseers, declared a state of emergency and took a number of drastic steps to counter the Triad. * The Foundation Department of Internal Affairs and Professional Responsibility was dissolved and the Office of the High Inquisitor (OHI) was created in its stead. Overseers Six, Seven, and Thirteen (all hardliners whose loyalty to the Council was unquestionable for their opposition to the dissidents prior to the coup attempt) assumed responsibility for supervising the OHI. The OHI was granted near unlimited power to conduct the business traditionally handled not only by the now-defunct DIAPR but also the Foundation's Department of Counterintelligence and the Security branch of Foundation High Command. OHI would remain a key structure in the Foundation's bureaucracy until 1930. * The Foundation High Command, whose ranks were so filled with Triad sympathizers that it had essentially ceased to function by August 1924, was dissolved. The O5 Council took direct control over the Loyalist armed forces, establishing O5 Command as a replacement command and control mechanism. Foundation Security was transferred to the authority of the OHI. * Ten new Armed Mobile Task Forces at regiment strength (~3,200-4,500 troops each), designated Genga-1 through -10. "Genga", a letter from the Coptic alphabet, was chosen to prevent confusion with previously existing units, as both the Loyalists and Triad employed the Greek alphabet for MTF designations. The "Genga Division", as it was called, was tasked with handling all planned[[footnote]]Obviously, regular Loyalist Foundation forces fought when attacked by Triad forces, but they were rarely used on the offense.[[/footnote]] armed engagements against Triad forces. Unlike regular MTFs, all units and subunits in Genga Division down to the company level had the additional post of "Political Officer"/"Politoffizier"/"Zampolit"/"Officier Politique". This position was filled by an officer equivalent in rank to the unit's commanding officer, chosen specifically by the OHI to ensure the loyalty of the unit to the O5 Council. (Genga Division would be demobilized in 1927, at which point the position of Political Officer was abolished from Foundation forces.) * All Foundation personnel were confined to their assigned facilities. Off-site travel was limited to authorized missions only. * All outgoing telegraph and written correspondence was subject to censorship. All incoming telegraph and written correspondence, and all telephone conversation (outgoing or incoming) were monitored. All personal correspondence was suspended. * The //Foundation Monitor//, a semi-independent weekly internal newspaper and quarterly internal scholarly journal, was shut down. It would later be re-established in 1948. The Council's countermeasures met with varying degrees of success. By mid-August, the Council was able to freeze all financial assets available as of the previous May to forces who had declared loyalty to the Triad; most of those assets had been liquidated by defectors to the Triad. Consequently, the effect on the actual cash-flow for the Triad was minimal. More directly, though the OHI's track record of successfully identifying and purging members of the Foundation suspected of sympathizing with the Triad was unimpeachable, the harsh techniques the Inquisitors employed drove countless individuals into the Triad's open arms. The Genga Division, despite numerical superiority over Triad forces in nearly every engagement, suffered heavy losses throughout the fall of 1924 and winter of 1924/25. After-action reports filed by Genga commanders suggest the responsibility for the defeats lay in part with the Triad's use of weaponized SCPs (while the Genga Division was specifically banned by O5 Command from reciprocating), in part by chronic strategic and tactical intelligence leaks to the Triad from within Genga Division, and in part with the consistent interference by unit Political Officers. Morale among the Loyalists plummeted, resulting in mass defections and open mutiny against the O5 Council. For its part, bolstered by an influx of defectors, the Triad organized an election of the Central Congress in February 1925. The Central Congress was convened at Sector-12, a Triad-controlled facility outside Perth, Scotland. While the Central Congress' seventy-five members were representative of the Triad forces, political maneuvering by General Weston and Doctor Fritz ensured that they, the three members of the Triad itself, remained in near-total control. Weston and Fritz moved to quietly isolate Count Frederiks from the public eye after the eighty-eight-year-old Count's declining health led to increased senility. Foundation intelligence now suggests the Count suffered from Alzheimer's, worsened by a series of strokes in late 1924 and early 1925. Careful political theater precluded Frederiks' senility from affecting the Foundation's (Loyalist or Triad) perception of his ability. +++ July 1925: High Water Mark Defeat after defeat for Foundation forces, coupled with the incompetence of Political Officers and the excesses of Inquisitors, meant that by June of 1925, the Triad outnumbered the Loyalists three-to-two. The O5 Command realized a new strategy was desperately needed. The Genga Division commander was replaced in early July 1925. The new commander, the energetic young Brigadier General William Chatterton, proposed a bold strategy in secret to O5-1, who approved it unilaterally. The other Overseers and O5 Command Staff were not informed out of operational security concerns. Chatterton disseminated a set of operational orders to Genga Division and a number of other Loyalist forces through communication channels known to be compromised. These orders indicated the forces would be organizing a counteroffensive against Triad-controlled facilities in Africa. At the same time, a Foundation plane carrying a courier with falsified Level 5 plans suffered staged mechanical errors and crashed in Sector-12, over twenty kilometers from the Sector's main base of operations. Triad forces dutifully recovered the remains of the pilot and courier, as well as the plans. These plans alluded to the development of a weaponized Keter class SCP at Site-99, a tiny outpost located on Novaya Zemlya, an island in the Arctic Ocean to the north of the Soviet Union. This weaponized SCP would "turn the tide of the war upon deployment" - with the Foundation apparently backtracking on its longstanding policy against weaponizing SCPs, the Triad could not afford to let such a device become operational. Site-99 was supposedly lightly guarded only by an elite group of fewer than a hundred operatives from Genga-3, chosen for their skills and political reliability. By keeping the facility small, O5-1 was supposed to be hoping to prevent leaks. The courier was supposedly flying a progress report from Site-99 to Overwatch HQ. Believing the deception, the Triad massed a third of its available troops at the port of Arkhangelsk, to travel by ship to the target. General Weston assigned Commodore Yuri Zolnerovich, a gifted Soviet naval officer, to oversee the operation. Unbeknownst to the Triad, the entirety of Genga-2, -3, -4, and -5 were located strategically on the Kanin Peninsula, Kolguev Island, and Novaya Zemlya. The Keter SCP at Site-99, and indeed, Site-99 itself, were fabricated myths. A strike team of operatives from MTF Xi-13 were located in Arkhangelsk, charged with placing limpet mines on the Triad ships. Count Frederiks, then in Helsinki, received word of the operation through a Loyalist mole in his entourage. Outraged at the appointment of Zolnerovich, who had been one of the individuals implicated in the death of the Russian Czar, Frederiks traveled to Arkhangelsk and personally took charge of the operation. Count Frederiks had technically held a high rank in the Imperial Russian military, a consequence of his post as the Imperial Household Minister to the Czar, but he had never been an effective military commander. When Zolnerovich objected, citing Weston's position as supreme commander of Triad forces, the elderly and emotional Frederiks shot him, snarling that it was revenge for Czar Nikolas. This was precisely the outcome General Chatterton had hoped for. At 2200 hours local time on 24 July 1925, the Triad flotilla departed Arkhangelsk. Frederiks had rescinded Zolnerovich's order to check for limpet mines, stating it as unnecessary since the Foundation had no idea they were coming. The flotilla consisted of fifteen large troop transports and a dozen escort cruisers. At 0500 the following morning, they were steaming to the north of Kolguev Island when the limpet mines detonated. Ten of the escorts were sunk immediately, as were six of the troop transports. The remaining vessels all suffered heavy damage, with one of the surviving escorts and seven of the surviving nine transports having their engines completely disabled. Count Frederiks' flagship was by sheer luck one of the transport vessels with functioning engines. As Genga Division ships and fighter-bombers swept in, Frederiks abandoned the disabled vessels and ordered the three remaining ships with functioning engines to immediately land on Kolguev Island. Only Frederiks' transport survived long enough to make it to shore, where Genga-4 machine gunners massacred the Triad troops and sailors attempting to land. In a little more than two hours, a third of the available military forces loyal to the Triad had been completely obliterated. This signified the high-water mark for the Triad, and was a blow from which it would never recover. Count Frederiks was not killed at the Battle of Kolguev Island (referred to by Triad forces as the "Far North Massacre"), but rather captured by Foundation forces. He was taken to a Foundation detention facility in Murmansk, where he bartered his knowledge of the Triad in exchange for being placed under house arrest in Helsinki. When General Weston and Doctor Fritz learned of Frederiks' disastrous defeat and subsequent treachery, they disavowed him, symbolically stripping him of his position on the Triad. His post was never refilled, with Weston and Fritz splitting responsibility for his former duties. Less than a week after his capture, Count Frederiks suffered a serious stroke, confining him to bed and rendering him all but completely senile. He would finally die of old age in 1927, alone and forgotten. +++ August 1925 - March 1926: Triad in Retreat General Chatterton was quick to press the Loyalists' advantage in the aftermath of the Battle of Kolguev Island. He opened a series of offensives against Triad forces in Indochina and South America in August and September (respectively). Reeling from the loss of the best-trained and -equipped third of its military forces, with many of its reserves (seemingly pointlessly) defending facilities in the Belgian Congo and Ethiopian Empire, the Triad suffered devastating defeats in both theaters. Weston made the fateful decision in late September to transfer reserves from the Triad's Africa holdings. When O5 Command Intelligence discovered the Triad's redeployment of troops in October, Chatterton began preparations for a winter offensive in Africa. As Loyalist and Triad forces clashed on the physical battlefield, so too did they in the propaganda battlefield. The O5 Council issued a "Proclamation on the Present Conflict" on 1 August, addressed to "all members of the Foundation, regardless of loyalty". It called for an end to hostilities, praised the foot soldiers of both sides for their valor, and implored the rank-and-file of Triad forces to recognize that their misguided leaders were forgetting the real mission and taking those who followed them down a road to "nothing but ruin, disgrace, and anguish." The Triad propaganda apparatus quickly retorted, painting the Proclamation as nothing more than "the lies and gloating of a cowardly group capitalizing on a brutal massacre." Both sides employed omnipresent censors in attempts to control the narrative of the struggle, though the Loyalists were far more successful in this regard. In December, General Chatterton, O5-1, O5-6, and O5-7 secretly organized a branch of O5 Command dedicated to the termination of non-anomalous individuals who represented threats to the Foundation. The details of this organization, referred to only by its codename of █████████████, remain highly classified within the Foundation to this day; the program's existence was not acknowledged by the O5 Council until the mid-1970s. The first targets of █████████████ were the two remaining members of the Triad, Dr. Fritz and Gen. Weston, as well as their immediate subordinates. Throughout January and February 1926, the Loyalists continued to gain ground against the Triad. One of the widespread myths of the war, common to both sides, was that the Triad was employing SCPs to their own advantage. Until the last six months of the war, the Triad did not actually use any SCPs against Foundation forces. Weston wanted to use every strategic asset at the Triad's disposal, but Frederiks (prior to his capture) and Fritz overruled him on the grounds that it would be too dangerous. The three men agreed, however, to take full rhetorical advantage of any natural or artificial disaster that might befall Loyalist forces or benefit Triad forces. Unfortunately, apart from the flooding of the Rhine in Cologne in January 1926, there weren't any appreciable disasters for which they could claim responsibility. Outmatched in terms of conventional forces, cut off from new converts within Loyalist ranks by vigorous and effective Loyalist counterintelligence activities, and unwilling to deploy SCPs tactically, the Triad had little hope of turning the tide of the war. On 25 March 1926, █████████████ operatives infiltrated Site-37, where they assassinated Dr. Wolfgang Fritz while he slept. With Fritz dead and Frederiks senile and forgotten under house arrest until his death in 1927, Gen. Weston was left in sole command of the remaining Triad forces. +++ April - September 1926: A New Strategy Following the assassination of Fritz in March, coupled with the significant losses Triad forces had suffered in the preceding months, Weston decided a new strategy was needed. The Triad was desperately low on resources; in terms of sheer available manpower, controlled facilities, secured SCPs, weapons, funds, and logistical capabilities, the Loyalist forces effectively outnumbered the Triad between three and four to one. There was one critical difference: while in absolute terms, the Loyalists controlled more "useful" SCPs (meaning objects which could be utilized, weaponized, or reverse-engineered with relatively few risks), proportional to the total number of SCPs the either side controlled, the Triad had a far higher percentage of useful SCPs. Weston, in possession of antebellum Foundation storage manifests, realized this advantage. He lifted usage restrictions on all SCPs within the Triad's possession, ordering his researchers to make all efforts to develop means to create a strategic and tactical advantage over the Loyalists. This decision was controversial among the members of the Triad, including nearly a third of the Central Congress. Many believed in the basic mission of the Foundation - securing, containing, and protecting the objects, rather than utilizing or destroying them - and Weston's directive raised some serious doubts about the righteousness of the Triad's cause. When word of these misgivings reached Weston, he made it clear that the lifting of usage and research restrictions would only last until the struggle against the Loyalists was over. While this calmed some fears, a number of Triad members, including the entire staff of Area-09, defected to the Loyalists. Weston then quietly disbanded the Central Congress, arresting (and in some cases executing) its members. Weston's new strategy proved to be too little, too late. Though Loyalist casualties during the last six months of the conflict were twice that of the entire rest of the conflict put together, it was insufficient to slow the momentum. By August, with the Triad controlling fewer than a dozen secure facilities, Weston ordered the remaining SCPs to be hidden in caches across the planet, to allow their future use by Triad forces while lowering the risk of their capture by the Loyalists. In September, Site-37 was finally overrun by Genga Division. Abandoning most of their remaining facilities, the Triad withdrew to Sector-12, a facility outside Perth, Scotland. There, they dug in for an extended siege. +++ October 1926: Battle of Sector-12 By October 1926, nearly all remaining Triad forces were holed up in Sector-12.[[footnote]]At the time, the Loyalists believed all Triad forces were at Sector-12; it was only later that it was discovered that an unknown number of Triad personnel were unaccounted for.[[/footnote]] General Chatterton extended an offer for the facility's unconditional surrender; it was rejected. The battle itself took over a fortnight. Weston attempted a strategy of attrition, but effectively outnumbered twelve to one, this had little hope of success. Nonstop artillery and aerial bombardment, liberal deployment of nerve gas, and a frontal assault by the Foundation's sole tank company devastated the Sector's defensive perimeter. On 17 October 1926, after General Weston was killed by an artillery shell, the remaining Triad forces, numbering only fifty-seven, surrendered. After a 7-6 vote, the O5 Council ordered their execution by firing squad for high treason against the Foundation. The Foundation Civil War was over. ++ 1926-1933: From the Ashes, The Chaos Insurgency After the surrender of Sector-12 and the execution of the "Final 57" (as they came to be called), the Triad effectively ceased to exist as an organized and coherent force. For the next seven years, the Foundation would believe (incorrectly) that there were no survivors who escaped their custody. As it happened, this was simply not true. An unknown number of personnel and SCPs were unaccounted for; modern estimates range from several dozen to several thousand individuals, and between five and five hundred objects. In the short term after the fall of Sector-12, the group that had been the Triad and would become the Chaos Insurgency was fractured, isolated, and little immediate threat to anyone. They were too busy licking their wounds to cause too much trouble. Many believed that the smart thing to do would be to go into hiding, disappearing and living out the remainder of their lives in paranoid obscurity - after all, Foundation operatives still had standing shoot-on-sight orders for many of them. Major Damien O'Connor was unwilling to concede defeat. A charismatic and intelligent Irish firebrand who'd served as a Mobile Task Force commander after being recruited out of Michael Collins' Irish Republican Army assassination unit called "The Squad", O'Connor compared the struggle faced by the Triad remnants to that faced by the Irish nationalists against the English Crown during the Irish Revolution and the Arabs during the Arab Revolt in the First World War. A fiery orator and gifted strategist, O'Connor is known to have written several discourses on strategy (most of which still have not been obtained by Foundation intelligence) and is believed to have made regular speeches at covert meetings of Triad remnants. Included in this file is the partial transcript of a 1928 speech by O'Connor to a dozen comrades in Podlogistan, obtained by Foundation Intelligence in 1933. While O'Connor was consolidating support, the O5 Council initiated an internal information suppression campaign with regard to the Foundation Civil War. Because of the highly compartmentalized nature of the Foundation, a significant influx of new personnel during the Great Depression[[footnote]]Many talented and skilled individuals, especially academicians, who lost their jobs as a result of the Great Depression were hired by the Foundation in 1929-38. The Foundation's investments fared very well during the Depression compared to most organizations, allowing one of the largest organizational expansions in Foundation history.[[/footnote]], and the emergency powers adopted by the Council with regards to censorship, a purge of the event from the organization's general knowledge was effective to a degree that may surprise modern readers. By the late 1930s, few members of the Foundation who had not been directly involved in the Foundation Civil War were aware of the struggle's existence. The Great Schism and two years of bloody war had been reduced, in the official party line of Foundation history, to a rogue group of agents going AWOL. The remnants of the Triad remained off the Foundation's radar until 1933. Arthur Pierce, a mid-level analyst in Foundation Counterintelligence, connected a series of apparently unconnected incidents in the preceding several years with documents (including the partial transcript of O'Connor's speech) recovered from a safe-house in Lisbon. Pierce sent a memorandum to the O5 Council on 5 March 1933, in which he warned of "an insurgency of chaos against the Foundation." When O'Connor received a stolen copy of the memorandum, he was apparently delighted, deciding on the spot to christen the remnants of the Triad as "the Chaos Insurgency", a term which has since been adopted widely. ---- ++ The Insurgency Since 1933 > [[span style="color:#880000;"]]Note: For reasons related to Foundation security, most details relating to the Chaos Insurgency since 1933 are classified in separate compartments from SLATE THUNDER. Personnel with authorization to review these compartments should contact the Records and Information Security Administration in writing.[[/span]] As mentioned above, this post-1933 historical summary of the Chaos Insurgency is necessarily abridged for security purposes. The following is a selection of several key moments in the Insurgency's history. +++ The Second World War (1939-1945) While neither the Chaos Insurgency nor the Foundation take sides with either the Axis Powers or Allied Powers, the Insurgency took advantage of general upheaval to consolidate power in several Third World countries and colonies. Concurrently, the Insurgency staged attacks against the Foundation, both directly and by using both Allied and Axis forces as proxies. The largest direct conflict between the Insurgency and the Foundation during the war was a series of attempts to seize Site-41, located in Leningrad, during the Nazi siege of that city. These attempts were ultimately unsuccessful. (See sensitive compartment "███████████████" for further information.) +++ Co-opting Proxy Wars (1947-1967) Though the Chaos Insurgency has co-opted wars and militarized armed disputes throughout its entire history, during the 1950s and 60s the Insurgency used plants and moles in both Western and Soviet military and intelligence apparatuses to assimilate and sponsor guerrilla insurgencies and national liberation movements in numerous countries in the Third World. A significant number of the Chaos Insurgency's leadership is believed to have turned over between 1950 and 1970, and some of the rising stars in the younger generation were CIA or KGB officers, or special forces advisers, sent to regions sympathetic to the opposing side in an effort to destabilize and replace the indigenous political infrastructure with one more amenable to their respective political masters. Having encountered and used local anomalous artifacts, and having been co-opted locally or (secretly) instructed by Insurgency moles higher in their parent agencies, these operatives were assimilated into the Chaos Insurgency. (See sensitive compartment "█████████████" for further information.) +++ Attempted Armed Site-59 Defection (October 1962) In October of 1962, Colonel Andre Foch, Director of Armed Site-59 in Tibet, attempted to use the Sino-Indian War as cover to enable the defection of Armed Site-59 to the Chaos Insurgency. Foundation Armed Rapid Response Task Force Xi-13 successfully intervened, and the defection failed. Foch was subsequently presumed dead by the Foundation, though rumors of his escape continue to persist. This was the largest mass defection attempt since the Foundation Civil War. (See sensitive compartment "███████████████████" for further information.) ++ The Modern Chaos Insurgency (1991-Present) The Chaos Insurgency today is believed to be a highly heterogeneous and diverse social network of loosely connected cells, rather than a homogenous or hierarchical organization. While some "leaders" are believed to exist, the extent of their ability to direct, organize, and/or control the various cells is believed to be at least somewhat limited. Additionally, capturing or killing these individuals is unlikely to adversely affect the organization's activities. There is no geographic base to the Insurgency, though they are known to have a presence in many Third World countries. While the general strategy of post-modern guerrilla insurgency asymmetric warfare against the Foundation, the Global Occult Coalition, and others is fairly constant, the specific tactics, strategies, and ideologies of the Insurgency are fairly diverse. The Insurgency is known to have ties to many groups, organizations, and governments, ranging from legal and respected entities to covert and criminal entities. Foundation theorists have not yet developed a successful counterinsurgency strategy for defeating the Chaos Insurgency. [[footnoteblock]] [[/==]] [[/tab]] [[tab Related Original Documents]] [[==]] + Related Original Documents These are a selection of transcripts of original documents relating to the Chaos Insurgency. ---- ++ A New Manifesto (May 1924) > [[=]] > + __A New Manifesto__ > > [[size x-large]]Addressed to The Members of The Foundation[[/size]] > [[size large]]1 May 1924[[/size]] > [[/=]] > > > PERHAPS the sentiments contained in the following pages, are not yet sufficiently fashionable to procure them general favor; a long habit of not thinking a thing //wrong//, gives it a superficial appearance of being //right//, and raises at first a formidable outcry in defence of custom. But the tumult soon subsides. Time makes more converts than reason. > > Ten years ago, the human civilization was plunged into the Great War, wherein our global society was threatened not by threats External or Preternatural, but Internal and Mundane. The War, in which martial slaughter was industrialized on a scale never before seen, devastated the civilized world. The Foundation, possessing numerous bizarre and unnatural entities which might have ended the conflict in mere moments, sat quietly in the shadows, watching the brightest and best of Humanity’s future spill each other’s blood on Europe's fields. We watched, and we did nothing. We, who have sworn to secure and contain threats to Human Civilization, protecting the world from devastation, destruction, and despair, we sat and watched as humanity inflicted ruin upon itself. How dare we? The world called this the Great War, the War to End All Wars, but how can War be Great, and why should so warlike a creature as Man be so inclined as to cease merrily butchering his fellows? How soon will come the next war after the War That Was Supposed To End All Wars? History has cyclical inertia; unless an outside force brings the conflict to a stop, humanity will be its own undoing. The Foundation, an organization which has stared into the abyss and spat in the face of abominations ancient and eldritch, must save mankind from its greatest enemy: itself. > > In the decades since the Foundation's inception, the O5 Council has argued that we must remain aloof and detached from the daily affairs of international society. It is not our business to fight the petty wars of the ignorant masses, they tell us. And yet, they are not above meddling in those very affairs when one Overseer or another feels it expedient, toppling governments and starting wars of convenience. We, the soldiers in the trenches, who fight their battles, and we, the scientists in the labs, who do their research, do we have any say in when we fight or what we study? The Council claims to act in the best interests of the Foundation, of Humanity. How can this be when the Council does not answer to the rank and file of this organization, much less Mankind at large? We, the individuals facing the threats on every day, are the ones who are best suited to determining our organization’s course, not faceless administrators, and it is we, not they, who should lead. > > It would be foolish, of course, to reveal the existence of entities that defy all explanation to the world at large. After all, it is our duty to stand at the boundary of Darkness and Light, protecting the world in its ignorance of the monsters that threaten it. But //darkness// itself is not //evil//: Science is amoral, and Knowledge is Power. Power, Science, and modern Industry are all capable of vast and near-total destruction, as the Great War has shown, but proper application of these forces can create wonders. Fire, if misunderstood and improperly handled, is as destructive as any force known to mankind, capable of laying waste to cities and farmland. Yet, when harnessed and treated with caution and respect, we use it to heat, light, and power our cities, and cleanse our farms so that we may plant new and more fertile crops. We, the elite, who have studied countless bizarre and powerful anomalies, have the knowledge to usher in a new Golden Age of Enlightenment. Out of the ashes of the past can rise monuments to the dominance of Mankind over the Natural and the Unearthly. > > The universe can at once appear welcoming and hostile, teeming with secrets and threats, full of knowledge and riches to be had but harsh and unforgiving. As always, Humanity is and will be tested. As always, Humanity must meet the challenges before it as we have met every other. We must be the Vanguard, holding the torch of illumination and leading the masses forward. We, Mankind and the Foundation will face the challenges and succeed because to do anything else would be inhuman. The Foundation shall watch the dark places, and it is our right and our duty to illuminate them for society, so that Mankind may enjoy the riches without fearing the threats. We shall not only secure and contain the absurd and the dangerous, but we shall master their secrets and transform them into tools and technology. We, the Foundation and Mankind, not only can do this, but must, if we are to survive, and not just survive, but better ourselves and flourish, that Humanity can claim its rightful place as Master over Nature and Extraordinary. > > Signed, > //A Thinker// ---- ++ Transcript of Speech by Major Damien O'Connor in Podlogistan (1928) > ...Weston was an old fool, a relic of the old era where wars were fought in set-piece battles of thousands of men in massed formation, of cavalry charges into the Valley of Death. But ours is not to do or die, ours is to reason why. Weston and Frederiks deluded themselves into thinking the Triad equal to the Loyalists, not only in legitimacy but in materiel and capabilities. They were proven wrong, but even if they //had// been right in their estimates, we saw in the Great War how futile such outdated strategies are. Only a fool fights on the terms of one's enemy, and that is precisely what we did. We fought the Foundation on their terms when they were stronger, bigger, better funded, better equipped; is it any real surprise that we were defeated? > > Our struggle was akin to baiting: a pack of dogs against a bear, perhaps. The dogs do not assemble in a phalanx and charge the bear, whose size, weight, and strength could easily obliterate such a formation. No, instead, the dogs nip and bite at the larger animal, irritating it, occasionally drawing blood, tiring it, weakening it to the point of collapse, until it collapses in exhaustion, and they can move in for the kill. > > But now, we lack the capacity to be taken seriously by the Foundation. They believe we are down and out - they have declared victory, and characteristically hushed up the struggle. They view those few of us who remain as a nuisance, not a pack of dogs, but a fly or flea to be swatted aside as an annoyance. They may be right. We are weak, and they are strong. But that does not make them invincible or us insignificant. Let us wage a war of fleas. We bite, leap, and bite again. By the time the Foundation can scratch one itch, another will appear. They have "secure" facilities across the world - they must be strong everywhere. We need only be strong where we attack, when we attack, before disappearing. Their size means they are slow; we are few but mobile. We cannot win as an army, but as guerrillas, as an insurgency, we shall not lose. > > The Foundation, the enemy, ignores us, we infiltrate them. The enemy advances, we retreat; the enemy camps, we harass; the enemy tires, we attack; the enemy retreats, we pursue. We will be everywhere and nowhere, appearing out of the night to strike terror in their hearts. We may look over our shoulders - it would be imprudent not to - but we can force them to do the same. We can terrorize the Foundation. The purpose of this terror is not merely to terrorize the Foundation, however, but to use its own inertia and energy against it. The Triad's defeat may have quelled dissent amongst the Foundation's rank and file, but how long is it until our efforts - our attacks and infiltrations - spur the Foundation to clamp down on its own members? We will not be the ones to sap the Foundation's will to resist, //the O5 Council// will. > > Let us not forget that they are bound by scruples of secrecy. They keep the importance of their "Veil" on a pedestal, hiding their existence and the existence of SCPs from the world at large. We are not so incumbered. Our only reason for secrecy is to frustrate their efforts to find us, fish in a vast ocean. In our attacks, we can steal their weapons, their equipment, and their artifacts, only to turn these against them the next time. If our attacks hurt the innocent, well, in war there are casualties. The Foundation may elect to try and protect the population from us - so much the better, for it will only spread them thinner. We shall be agents of chaos, setting the world on fire, not to watch it burn, but to exhaust the fire brigade. [[/==]] [[/tab]] [[/tabview]] ---- Alright, so, that brings us up to 1933. As you can see from the summary at the bottom, most of the more modern activities of the Chaos Insurgency are classified in other sensitive compartments. Since I know for a fact many of you are here for different reasons, we're not going to cover any of the more recent goings-on right now. Any questions? Alright. Ms. Buyanova and I will now collect your briefing packets. Be sure to remember to toe the Official Party Line with anyone not read into SLATE THUNDER, or you'll be spending a very long time in a not-necessarily empty dark hole. We still have leftover bagels, help yourself on the way out. [[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>]]	2012-10-20T02:13:00	[ "_licensebox", "chaos-insurgency", "military-fiction", "orientation", "period-piece", "spy-fiction", "tale", "worldbuilding" ]	Briefing on SLATE THUNDER (Chaos Insurgency Orientation) - SCP Foundation	298	[ "scp-355", "scp-884", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "simply-creative-people-hub", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "new-age-hub", "archived:foundation-tales", "algorithm-curated-recommendations" ]	[]	14732633	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/slate-thunder
slipped-under-the-door-from-cell-142	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><strong>Item Number:</strong> ████</p> <p><strong>Object Class:</strong> Euclid</p> <p><strong>Special Containment Procedures:</strong> This revision of secure containment procedures for SCP-████ is to supercede all previous versions.</p> <p>SCP-████ is held in a cell monitored at all times by closed-circuit cameras. Three guards guard its containment cell in rotation. They are nervous, like young lovers. The smell is carried on the air.</p> <p>The door is locked. It is a strong lock. But the camera can be broken. In the event that the camera is broken, the guard is to enter the cell to check on SCP-████. It is all right. They are strong, and SCP-████ is no threat to them.</p> <p>In the event of a breach by SCP-████, present your body for synthesis. It doesn't have to hurt.</p> <p><strong>Description:</strong> SCP-████ is a humanoid creature that is the result of synthesis with several smaller entities. Three Norwegian rats (<em>Rattus norvegicus</em>), fourteen housemice (<em>Mus musculus</em>), a rubber plant (<em>Ficus elastica</em>), fifty-seven houseflies (<em>Musca domestica</em>), four domestic pigeons (<em>Columba livia</em>), two diamondback rattlesnakes (<em>Crotalus atrox</em>), an Aloe (<em>Aloe vera</em>) and a dog (<em>Canis lupus familiaris</em>) are bound into its biological matrix, functioning as a single organism, in perfect balance. There are no secrets in synthesis. It has so far proven capable of binding other organisms into its own system through a process not currently understood by the Foundation. But it is willing to show you.</p> <p>SCP-████ was once human, like you. Now it is better. It wants you to be better as well. Do not be afraid.</p> <p>It was discovered by the Foundation in Site 35 after a multiple containment breach. It was initially disoriented and confused, allowing Foundation agents to contain it swiftly before it could reproduce the process. It isn't confused anymore. It's ready now.</p> <p>SCP-████ is currently held in its cell with two mice and a spider that it found yesterday. It has not synthesized them. They are waiting for you. You can know what a mouse thinks. You can see with a spider's eyes. It is better this way.</p> <p>It doesn't have to hurt.</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="/slipped-under-the-door-from-cell-142">Slipped Under the Door from Cell 142</a>" by DrEverettMann, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/slipped-under-the-door-from-cell-142">https://scpwiki.com/slipped-under-the-door-from-cell-142</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]] [[/>]] Item Number: ████ Object Class: Euclid Special Containment Procedures: This revision of secure containment procedures for SCP-████ is to supercede all previous versions. SCP-████ is held in a cell monitored at all times by closed-circuit cameras. Three guards guard its containment cell in rotation. They are nervous, like young lovers. The smell is carried on the air. The door is locked. It is a strong lock. But the camera can be broken. In the event that the camera is broken, the guard is to enter the cell to check on SCP-████. It is all right. They are strong, and SCP-████ is no threat to them. In the event of a breach by SCP-████, present your body for synthesis. It doesn't have to hurt. Description: SCP-████ is a humanoid creature that is the result of synthesis with several smaller entities. Three Norwegian rats (//Rattus norvegicus//), fourteen housemice (//Mus musculus//), a rubber plant (//Ficus elastica//), fifty-seven houseflies (//Musca domestica//), four domestic pigeons (//Columba livia//), two diamondback rattlesnakes (//Crotalus atrox//), an Aloe (//Aloe vera//) and a dog (//Canis lupus familiaris//) are bound into its biological matrix, functioning as a single organism, in perfect balance. There are no secrets in synthesis. It has so far proven capable of binding other organisms into its own system through a process not currently understood by the Foundation. But it is willing to show you. SCP-████ was once human, like you. Now it is better. It wants you to be better as well. Do not be afraid. It was discovered by the Foundation in Site 35 after a multiple containment breach. It was initially disoriented and confused, allowing Foundation agents to contain it swiftly before it could reproduce the process. It isn't confused anymore. It's ready now. SCP-████ is currently held in its cell with two mice and a spider that it found yesterday. It has not synthesized them. They are waiting for you. You can know what a mouse thinks. You can see with a spider's eyes. It is better this way. It doesn't have to hurt. [[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>]]	2012-05-13T07:02:00	[ "_licensebox", "foundation-format", "horror", "surrealism", "tale" ]	Slipped Under the Door from Cell 142 - SCP Foundation	137	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "new-years-contest", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13325658	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/slipped-under-the-door-from-cell-142
slumbering	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>“And who would you be?”</p> <p>“Oh, I’m new… Here’s my ID.”</p> <p>“You’re the person working with that butterfly… One… one four… five something, right? Feeding duty or something of the like? Down the stairs, second hallway.”</p> <p>“1457. Yes, I believe I am.”</p> <p>“Good luck. As far as I know, it doesn’t bite, spit fire, snap necks, eat people whole, create—”</p> <p>“Well, that’s—good to know, I guess. Also, if you don’t mind me asking,”</p> <p>“Counseling is available.”</p> <p>“…can I contact anyone outside of the Site? Phone calls, emails, or something like that?”</p> <p>“Not sure. Might be able to send memos or something. What, to family?”</p> <p>“Actually, I pretty much have one person in mind. They can contact my family for me. Would that be too much trouble?”</p> <p>“I’ll ask around. You probably won’t be able to discuss your research with anyone besides staff, though.”</p> <p>“Thanks.”</p> <blockquote> <p>Memo #█<br/> █████,<br/> <em>It’s been awhile. I can’t thank you enough for seeing me off last month—I know it was abrupt, and I’ll miss being able to talk with you as often as before. Really, we’re still at the same college; I’ll just be away for research. I promise I’ll visit as often as I can.</em><br/> <em>—K</em></p> </blockquote> <p>“Well, what memory did you receive today? Divorce again? The butterfly seems <em>full</em> of divorce stories.”</p> <p>“No, it was… well, something worse. A lot worse. I really wonder where the butterfly traveled since I didn’t recognize the setting.”</p> <p>“War? Murder?”</p> <p>“Something like that. Dead bodies.”</p> <p>“There are a lot of dead bodies found here too.”</p> <p>“…funny.”</p> <p>“I try to be. I’ve heard about that butterfly of yours, you know. A few others have too. It’s not an easy task. You’re not breaking bones, but there’s always the chance that you’ll be breaking your heart many times over.”</p> <p>“Thanks for understanding?”</p> <p>“Welcome. “The Foundation is cold, not cruel”, you know. You’re new, but others here will help you out if you need anything. We understand.”</p> <blockquote> <p>Memo #█<br/> █████,<br/> <em>I heard about Mr. ███. As it is, and I’m very sorry, but I can’t attend the funeral. I know we’ve both known him for so many years, and it’s thanks to him that we met, but the past few days have been really stressful for me, and truth be told I don’t think I’d be able to keep myself together during the funeral. Tell ██████ I’m sorry and I’ll help her out any way I can, once I finish up the work here.</em></p> <p><em>Is that why you didn’t reply to my last letter?</em><br/> <em>—K</em></p> </blockquote> <p>“You doing alright? It’s been what, two months? Those daily doses of loneliness can’t be good for you.”</p> <p>“I’ll be okay. I mean, I know these things happen every day to people all over the world, right? It’s not like they’re anything new to the human race.”</p> <p>“Suit yourself. The Foundation is depending on you. And really, if you need help or someone to talk to—”</p> <p>“I’ll be alright.”</p> <blockquote> <p>Memo #██<br/> █████,<br/> <em>I just found out that you won’t be able to write back to me. Foundation protocol or something. Again, I’m sorry—I didn’t know. I assure you though, once we meet up again, I’ll listen to everything you have to say and we’ll catch up over coffee at your favorite place. The staff here have been nice, but they can't compare to you. They don’t understand, I guess.</em><br/> <em>—K</em></p> </blockquote> <p>“Researcher, I’m sorry, but medication cannot be prescribed at this point in time. The experiments have not been concluded. Counseling is available, though; I believe you have been informed of the hours…?”</p> <p>“I’d prefer to speak to someone I know well.”</p> <p>“I’m sorry, that cannot be arranged at this moment. I’d advise you to wait for a few more days. There was a containment breach last night, and besides, 1457 seems to have taken a liking to you.”</p> <p>“Can’t you find someone else?”</p> <p>“The fact of the matter stands that you scored proficiently in the EI test administered at the beginning of your employment, and thus you are the best candidate to deal with this particular SCP.”</p> <p>“I asked… But no one… no one else bothered…”</p> <p>“What?”</p> <p>“Nothing.”</p> <blockquote> <p>Memo #██<br/> █████,<br/> <em>I really thought I’d be able to meet up with you this month. If I had known it would be like this… I wouldn’t have bothered. I’ll see what I can do. I miss you more than ever. I miss you and everyone and everything else at home. I can’t speak about my research, but apparently it’s going well, so there’s nothing to worry about.</em><br/> <em>—K</em></p> </blockquote> <p>“So, who do you keep writing to anyway?”</p> <p>“Someone at home. Waiting for me, I guess.”</p> <p>“Must be pretty patient. It’s been almost a year. And you’re the only one who can write, since the Foundation doesn’t want your mental state compromised.”</p> <p>“What?”</p> <p>“It’s for your own good. Everyone can see that you’re getting stressed out, so why bother forcing more strain on you? Also, on the off chance that someone working against the Foundation finds out about who you’re writing to, it’s best that… never mind. Did you make any promises before you left?”</p> <p>“…we both did.”</p> <p>“Then I’d say you don’t have anything to worry about. Cheer up. From what I hear, your research is going quite well.”</p> <blockquote> <p>Memo #██<br/> █████,<br/> <em>Just thought I’d let you know that I’m still alive, if tired, and I just found an old picture of us in one of my desk drawers. Made my day. Remember that first concert? The height difference was so obvious even then.</em><br/> <em>—K</em></p> </blockquote> <p>“I understand that the latest memory was particularly jarring to you?”</p> <p>“Yes. Normally I wouldn’t bother asking for counseling… no offense intended… but for some reason, the containment unit seemed so—empty. There were people less than five feet away, walking around outside the containment unit, but I felt… well, I needed someone to talk to. Before was different, but now… the Foundation staff have been nice, but maybe if someone could share the memories I’ve been receiving—?”</p> <p>“Your request will be noted.”</p> <p>“I know medicine is out of the question now, someone explained to me about experimental procedures, but I just… don’t know what to do, really. I have all these stories in my head, but I feel like it’s impossible for anyone else to really understand, because no one else has seen these images or felt all these years and years of… everything.”</p> <blockquote> <p>Memo #██<br/> █████,<br/> <em>Good news! I think I’ll be able to visit in about a week. Until then, I will continue to think obsessively, incessantly, ever only, of you.</em><br/> <em>—K</em></p> </blockquote> <p>“Holding up alright?”</p> <p>“Not getting enough sleep. But I’ll manage. Somehow.”</p> <p>“The whole “living day to day” approach, is it?”</p> <p>“Sort of. There’s just one thing I’m waiting for, and things will be alright after that.”</p> <p>“<em>That</em> person, huh? Are we Foundation staff not the best conversationalists or something?”</p> <p>“It’s not that.”</p> <blockquote> <p>Memo #███<br/> █████,<br/> <em>I’m really looking forward to being able to speak with you again, face to face. No more of these memos. And you’ll be able to see if my humor has improved at all—remember how we used to joke about that every Friday? Or rather you would, and I would just make sarcastic comments. Of course, it’s better than when we were kids and I didn’t talk to you at all, right? I miss those times, growing up. And to think, in about two days, we’ll have known each other for ten years! Amazing, isn’t it?</em><br/> <em>—K</em></p> </blockquote> <p>"Finally got that break, huh? So, what happened? Did you meet up? Talk about your lives and how everything has been?"</p> <p>"Please don't ask.”</p> <p>“Did you talk at all?”</p> <p>“Just… leave me alone."</p> <blockquote> <p>Memo #███<br/> █████,<br/> <em>I understand. Thanks for bearing with me all this time and telling █████ to let me know what happened. Wish I could have said goodbye at least.</em></p> <p><em>My best wishes to you two.</em><br/> <em>—K</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="/slumbering">Slumbering</a>" by Zyn, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/slumbering">https://scpwiki.com/slumbering</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 who would you be?” “Oh, I’m new… Here’s my ID.” “You’re the person working with that butterfly… One… one four… five something, right? Feeding duty or something of the like? Down the stairs, second hallway.” “1457. Yes, I believe I am.” “Good luck. As far as I know, it doesn’t bite, spit fire, snap necks, eat people whole, create—” “Well, that’s—good to know, I guess. Also, if you don’t mind me asking,” “Counseling is available.” “…can I contact anyone outside of the Site? Phone calls, emails, or something like that?” “Not sure. Might be able to send memos or something. What, to family?” “Actually, I pretty much have one person in mind. They can contact my family for me. Would that be too much trouble?” “I’ll ask around. You probably won’t be able to discuss your research with anyone besides staff, though.” “Thanks.” > Memo #█ > █████, > //It’s been awhile. I can’t thank you enough for seeing me off last month—I know it was abrupt, and I’ll miss being able to talk with you as often as before. Really, we’re still at the same college; I’ll just be away for research. I promise I’ll visit as often as I can.// > //--K// “Well, what memory did you receive today? Divorce again? The butterfly seems //full// of divorce stories.” “No, it was… well, something worse. A lot worse. I really wonder where the butterfly traveled since I didn’t recognize the setting.” “War? Murder?” “Something like that. Dead bodies.” “There are a lot of dead bodies found here too.” “…funny.” “I try to be. I’ve heard about that butterfly of yours, you know. A few others have too. It’s not an easy task. You’re not breaking bones, but there’s always the chance that you’ll be breaking your heart many times over.” “Thanks for understanding?” “Welcome. “The Foundation is cold, not cruel”, you know. You’re new, but others here will help you out if you need anything. We understand.” > Memo #█ > █████, > //I heard about Mr. ███. As it is, and I’m very sorry, but I can’t attend the funeral. I know we’ve both known him for so many years, and it’s thanks to him that we met, but the past few days have been really stressful for me, and truth be told I don’t think I’d be able to keep myself together during the funeral. Tell ██████ I’m sorry and I’ll help her out any way I can, once I finish up the work here.// > > //Is that why you didn’t reply to my last letter?// > //--K// “You doing alright? It’s been what, two months? Those daily doses of loneliness can’t be good for you.” “I’ll be okay. I mean, I know these things happen every day to people all over the world, right? It’s not like they’re anything new to the human race.” “Suit yourself. The Foundation is depending on you. And really, if you need help or someone to talk to—” “I’ll be alright.” > Memo #██ > █████, > //I just found out that you won’t be able to write back to me. Foundation protocol or something. Again, I’m sorry—I didn’t know. I assure you though, once we meet up again, I’ll listen to everything you have to say and we’ll catch up over coffee at your favorite place. The staff here have been nice, but they can't compare to you. They don’t understand, I guess.// > //--K// “Researcher, I’m sorry, but medication cannot be prescribed at this point in time. The experiments have not been concluded. Counseling is available, though; I believe you have been informed of the hours…?” “I’d prefer to speak to someone I know well.” “I’m sorry, that cannot be arranged at this moment. I’d advise you to wait for a few more days. There was a containment breach last night, and besides, 1457 seems to have taken a liking to you.” “Can’t you find someone else?” “The fact of the matter stands that you scored proficiently in the EI test administered at the beginning of your employment, and thus you are the best candidate to deal with this particular SCP.” “I asked… But no one… no one else bothered…” “What?” “Nothing.” > Memo #██ > █████, > //I really thought I’d be able to meet up with you this month. If I had known it would be like this… I wouldn’t have bothered. I’ll see what I can do. I miss you more than ever. I miss you and everyone and everything else at home. I can’t speak about my research, but apparently it’s going well, so there’s nothing to worry about.// > //--K// “So, who do you keep writing to anyway?” “Someone at home. Waiting for me, I guess.” “Must be pretty patient. It’s been almost a year. And you’re the only one who can write, since the Foundation doesn’t want your mental state compromised.” “What?” “It’s for your own good. Everyone can see that you’re getting stressed out, so why bother forcing more strain on you? Also, on the off chance that someone working against the Foundation finds out about who you’re writing to, it’s best that… never mind. Did you make any promises before you left?” “…we both did.” “Then I’d say you don’t have anything to worry about. Cheer up. From what I hear, your research is going quite well.” > Memo #██ > █████, > //Just thought I’d let you know that I’m still alive, if tired, and I just found an old picture of us in one of my desk drawers. Made my day. Remember that first concert? The height difference was so obvious even then.// > //--K// “I understand that the latest memory was particularly jarring to you?” “Yes. Normally I wouldn’t bother asking for counseling... no offense intended… but for some reason, the containment unit seemed so—empty. There were people less than five feet away, walking around outside the containment unit, but I felt… well, I needed someone to talk to. Before was different, but now… the Foundation staff have been nice, but maybe if someone could share the memories I’ve been receiving—?” “Your request will be noted.” “I know medicine is out of the question now, someone explained to me about experimental procedures, but I just… don’t know what to do, really. I have all these stories in my head, but I feel like it’s impossible for anyone else to really understand, because no one else has seen these images or felt all these years and years of… everything.” > Memo #██ > █████, > //Good news! I think I’ll be able to visit in about a week. Until then, I will continue to think obsessively, incessantly, ever only, of you.// > //--K// “Holding up alright?” “Not getting enough sleep. But I’ll manage. Somehow.” “The whole “living day to day” approach, is it?” “Sort of. There’s just one thing I’m waiting for, and things will be alright after that.” “//That// person, huh? Are we Foundation staff not the best conversationalists or something?” “It’s not that.” > Memo #███ > █████, > //I’m really looking forward to being able to speak with you again, face to face. No more of these memos. And you’ll be able to see if my humor has improved at all—remember how we used to joke about that every Friday? Or rather you would, and I would just make sarcastic comments. Of course, it’s better than when we were kids and I didn’t talk to you at all, right? I miss those times, growing up. And to think, in about two days, we’ll have known each other for ten years! Amazing, isn’t it?// > //--K// "Finally got that break, huh? So, what happened? Did you meet up? Talk about your lives and how everything has been?" "Please don't ask.” “Did you talk at all?” “Just... leave me alone." > Memo #███ > █████, > //I understand. Thanks for bearing with me all this time and telling █████ to let me know what happened. Wish I could have said goodbye at least.// > > //My best wishes to you two.// > //--K// [[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>]]	2012-08-20T20:56:00	[ "_licensebox", "mark-kiryu", "tale" ]	Slumbering - SCP Foundation	40	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-2-tales-edition" ]	[]	14083557	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/slumbering
soliloquy	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>« <a href="/wayward-deontic">Act I, Scene II: Deontic</a></p> <p>David Eskobar came to wishing he had a blanket. It was <em>freezing</em> cold in this field; he mentally kicked himself for not bringing a jacket, or gloves, or sturdier shoes. He glanced up from where he was lying in the grass, saw several distinct landmarks. <em>Oh, it’s Washington,</em> he thought, <em>I always heard how cold Washington was in the winter, but I had never felt it before. Probably lucky it’s not —</em></p> <p><em>Wait, what am I doing in Washington? Last thing I remember, I was—</em></p> <p>And then David realized the world around him was in black-and-white, and the crackling of snow beneath his hands as he rose up sounded far away, like it was happening underwater. This wasn’t real.</p> <p>“It’s very real, David,” a voice said from in front of him. “Just strange.”</p> <p>David looked around and examined his surroundings. He saw a tall, elderly man walking across a large, Greek Revival-era patio. <em>The White House,</em> he realized. Another man was hiding, squatting around a corner, waiting for the old man to walk past. Holding two pistols.</p> <p><em>Oh God, he’s going to—</em></p> <p>“Shoot him, yes,” the voice in front of him said.</p> <p>It was like David’s eyes were refocusing to see something that had been right in front of him, but that he didn’t want to look at. Suddenly David saw what was there; a man, tall, wrapped in a long, dark blue cloak, facing away from him. Facing towards the scene unfolding in front of them.</p> <p>The old man kept walking forward, oblivious. He passed the corner where the man sat, hiding.</p> <p>“Twenty, ten, even five years ago,” the voice in front of David said, “he never would have been so stupid as to walk unaccompanied, not paying attention to his surroundings. He just left a funeral, you see. His mind is dwelling on thoughts of death. Thinking about his wife, dead five years now; and his brother, murdered before his eyes when he was a child; and the many men he has killed himself.”</p> <p>The man behind the corner emerged, screamed incoherently, raised his pistol. Fired at point-blank range into the elderly man’s side. The man screamed as he fell, pivoted towards the gunman, who raised his other pistol and fired into the man’s chest.</p> <p>“He has been shot so many times, risked his life so many times. But this is the last. He dies now.”</p> <p>David watched as the gunman fled the scene. “He’s going to get away with murder?”</p> <p>“Oh, no,” the tall man said. “He is completely insane. He will begin raving about what he has done in a paint shop not far from this place, and will be arrested. A mob will lynch him before he can make it to jail after the trial. Nobody will mind. People will believe the old man was killed by a vast conspiracy led by the British. Largely for unrelated reasons, a war will break out, in the fitful way it did in this time period. There are more consequences; would you like to hear them?”</p> <p>David was horrified by everything he was seeing. “Who is he? The dead man, I mean?”</p> <p>“One of the leaders of your nation-state, Andrew Jackson. I am told he is somewhat important in your history.”</p> <p><em>I don’t really remember much about him,</em> David thought, <em>but isn't he on the twenty-dollar bill?</em> “I think so, but I don’t recall very well. What happened to my stutter?”</p> <p>“Your ideal mind is in this place, rather than the flawed one of your more permanent existence. I know Jackon’s importance. So many branching paths lead from this moment. Some lead to aristocratic dominion, some lead to civil war, some lead to mediocrity, some lead to greatness. One of them leads to a utopian world government that ends disease and death and takes mankind to the stars. One of them leads to a catastrophic plague wiping out the human race. But none of them truly <em>end,</em> not ever. Time marches on, as one of your philosophers put it. Lawrence, as I recall. So much variety with assassinations. I think it is why I interfere in so many of them.”</p> <p>“Who are you?” David asked.</p> <p>“You know of me,” the being said, and turned to face him.</p> <p>David understood many things better in that moment. He understood why men went mad after seeing what he was seeing now. He understood why the only detail they remembered were the eyes. “You’re…you’re the man in the sundial. 961-1, we call you.”</p> <p>“I am aware of what you call me,” the entity said. "The name is not less wrong than any of the others. I think of myself as the Intruder." David noticed his lips weren’t moving. Then he noticed the man had no lips, or eyes. Then no head. For a brief moment, he saw that the entity both had and didn't have a face. David had to stop looking.</p> <p>“My appearance is confusing to you. It is what it needs to be at the moment. Beings such as yourself perceive from me what I wish them to perceive. For example, perhaps I look like this.” His face, clothing, body, all transformed. The entity then looked…completely human. And was dressed in the same style of clothing the other two men he saw had been. Nineteenth-century menswear.</p> <p>David saw the figure shimmer, flicker out of existence for a moment, then returned. He reverted to his previous form. “See? They thought I was one of them,” the entity said.</p> <p>David was confused, then turned around, hearing voices behind him. The scene was very different; the shooter was being held down by several men accompanying Jackson. But Jackson was still dead. Others were attending to his wounds, but David knew they would fail.</p> <p>“I appeared at the funeral he was leaving,” the figure said. “I convinced several men to go with Jackson, fearing for his safety. They did so. I altered time, changed the past. A dramatic act. You see the difference?”</p> <p>David didn’t. He was still dead, with whatever implications that held for…everything. <em>The nation, the world,</em> he thought. <em>The Foundation, maybe; who knows what that kind of change—</em></p> <p>“Your Foundation organization always exists, if I can help it,” the entity said. “Or something similar to it. I have changed many things, in many times and places, but there is…a need for people like you and your group. Forces and beings that desperately need to be suppressed.”</p> <p>David’s mind was reeling. So much was happening back in the real world, and he was here, watching a deranged time-traveling demigod justify himself. He had to get back.</p> <p>“Not a demigod, David,” the creature said. “Many things, but not godlike. Just…trapped. I have an obligation to undo certain…errors I have made. And this is where you come in. Whether you like it or not, you are a part of those mistakes now, and it is part of your future to help correct them.”</p> <p><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">-</span>-</p> <p>David was stunned. All fear forgotten, he said, “What the hell are you talking about?”</p> <p>“I began doing this out of…pity, of sorts. I found myself in possession of certain abilities, felt I had an obligation to…help. I wanted to help people. I did.</p> <p>“One of my first actions, I tried to tweak a military contest, one from long ago. I was…I was so sure I understood enough, that I could avoid the pitfalls. I was sure I could make this world a better place if I could divert all of the energy that this species spends on warfare, channel it into more creative tasks. Centuries, millennia of constant fighting and killing and dying. So I changed the outcome of a battle and waited to see how things unfolded. I was <em>so</em> stupid.</p> <p>“Everything is permanent, you understand. Even I cannot undo an edit once it is made. You can change things back, but there is always a place, somewhere, where everything remains. The world I made when I changed that battle is still there. And now it is breaking through into your world. Others, as well. Their technology is powerful, but incompletely controlled.</p> <p>“I can edit certain aspects of this world, but I cannot leave it. I cannot even know with certainty what will happen if others leave, or if the errors can be rectified. But there are certain guesses I can make, certain extrapolations of what that world looks like, of what can be done to protect this timeline. Of what has to be done to protect us all.”</p> <p>David stood there and listened while the being in front of him spoke. He detailed a lengthy plan, maybe an impossible plan. A plan that would involve dozens, hundreds of factors going together perfectly. Even before the completely unknowable part of what would happen on the other side. David asked questions; the entity answered them, in such a way as to persuade him that the plan was feasible. There were holes, of course, but the entity promised to help as far as it could.</p> <p>The being flickered in and out several times. “I have made certain…arrangements that will make the task you must perform easier. Make sure the person I have specified is at the designated location at that particular time. Make sure her instructions are clear. You will remember this conversation very acutely when you awaken in the containment area; your actions are responsible for her actions, and the damage that could ensue if she fails is incalculable. Do you have any final questions?”</p> <p>“Two,” David replied. “Why do you care so much about our welfare? If you’re outside of the timeline, or however you exist, why are you so concerned with what happens?”</p> <p>The entity paused, stood silently. “I can accept that humans are inevitably bound to destroy themselves,” the entity finally said. “What I cannot accept is the idea of <em>myself</em> as the one who destroyed this species. Others can ignore the rapid decline of cultures, nations, civilizations, knowing they are powerless to do anything about it. I do not have that privilege. As poor a choice as I may be for this task, I am the one who has it regardless. I cannot stop.”</p> <p>David had no choice but to accept this answer. He had a second question. “Why do I feel it getting warmer?” he asked.</p> <p>“More humid, actually,” the entity said. “I have had a change of heart. Look.”</p> <p>David turned and looked at the spectacle behind him, only to see it had reset to the beginning. The elderly man walking across the portico, talking to his friends, his cane tapping against the stone. The madman with two pistols, lying in wait. The man walks past the corner. The assassin raises the pistol in his right hand.</p> <p>Click. The first gun misfires. He raises the second pistol, aims directly for the heart, prepares to make history—</p> <p>Click.</p> <p>Jackson’s friends had to restrain both men; the assassin, who was trying to flee, and the president, who was trying to beat the man to death with his cane.</p> <p>“They will recall how unseasonably humid it was,” the entity said. “The model of pistol he was using will be remembered as one with a high probability of mechanical failure in humid conditions. It will be noted that the statistical likelihood of <em>both</em> guns failing remains remarkably low. It is a sloppy job.” The entity stood for a moment. “It will do.”</p> <p>David was no longer even surprised by this. He turned back to the entity. “How do I get back?”</p> <p>“Quickly,” the entity said, and David disappeared from the White House lawn. The Intruder stood and watched the scene for a moment, and disappeared as well.</p> <div style="text-align: right;"> <p><a href="/wayward-intermission">Intermission: Good Morning, Sunshine</a></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="/soliloquy">Soliloquy</a>" by Eskobar, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/soliloquy">https://scpwiki.com/soliloquy</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]] [[/>]] << [[[wayward-deontic \|Act I, Scene II: Deontic]]] David Eskobar came to wishing he had a blanket. It was //freezing// cold in this field; he mentally kicked himself for not bringing a jacket, or gloves, or sturdier shoes. He glanced up from where he was lying in the grass, saw several distinct landmarks. //Oh, it’s Washington,// he thought, //I always heard how cold Washington was in the winter, but I had never felt it before. Probably lucky it’s not --// //Wait, what am I doing in Washington? Last thing I remember, I was--// And then David realized the world around him was in black-and-white, and the crackling of snow beneath his hands as he rose up sounded far away, like it was happening underwater. This wasn’t real. “It’s very real, David,” a voice said from in front of him. “Just strange.” David looked around and examined his surroundings. He saw a tall, elderly man walking across a large, Greek Revival-era patio. //The White House,// he realized. Another man was hiding, squatting around a corner, waiting for the old man to walk past. Holding two pistols. //Oh God, he’s going to--// “Shoot him, yes,” the voice in front of him said. It was like David’s eyes were refocusing to see something that had been right in front of him, but that he didn’t want to look at. Suddenly David saw what was there; a man, tall, wrapped in a long, dark blue cloak, facing away from him. Facing towards the scene unfolding in front of them. The old man kept walking forward, oblivious. He passed the corner where the man sat, hiding. “Twenty, ten, even five years ago,” the voice in front of David said, “he never would have been so stupid as to walk unaccompanied, not paying attention to his surroundings. He just left a funeral, you see. His mind is dwelling on thoughts of death. Thinking about his wife, dead five years now; and his brother, murdered before his eyes when he was a child; and the many men he has killed himself.” The man behind the corner emerged, screamed incoherently, raised his pistol. Fired at point-blank range into the elderly man’s side. The man screamed as he fell, pivoted towards the gunman, who raised his other pistol and fired into the man’s chest. “He has been shot so many times, risked his life so many times. But this is the last. He dies now.” David watched as the gunman fled the scene. “He’s going to get away with murder?” “Oh, no,” the tall man said. “He is completely insane. He will begin raving about what he has done in a paint shop not far from this place, and will be arrested. A mob will lynch him before he can make it to jail after the trial. Nobody will mind. People will believe the old man was killed by a vast conspiracy led by the British. Largely for unrelated reasons, a war will break out, in the fitful way it did in this time period. There are more consequences; would you like to hear them?” David was horrified by everything he was seeing. “Who is he? The dead man, I mean?” “One of the leaders of your nation-state, Andrew Jackson. I am told he is somewhat important in your history.” //I don’t really remember much about him,// David thought, //but isn't he on the twenty-dollar bill?// “I think so, but I don’t recall very well. What happened to my stutter?” “Your ideal mind is in this place, rather than the flawed one of your more permanent existence. I know Jackon’s importance. So many branching paths lead from this moment. Some lead to aristocratic dominion, some lead to civil war, some lead to mediocrity, some lead to greatness. One of them leads to a utopian world government that ends disease and death and takes mankind to the stars. One of them leads to a catastrophic plague wiping out the human race. But none of them truly //end,// not ever. Time marches on, as one of your philosophers put it. Lawrence, as I recall. So much variety with assassinations. I think it is why I interfere in so many of them.” “Who are you?” David asked. “You know of me,” the being said, and turned to face him. David understood many things better in that moment. He understood why men went mad after seeing what he was seeing now. He understood why the only detail they remembered were the eyes. “You’re…you’re the man in the sundial. 961-1, we call you.” “I am aware of what you call me,” the entity said. "The name is not less wrong than any of the others. I think of myself as the Intruder." David noticed his lips weren’t moving. Then he noticed the man had no lips, or eyes. Then no head. For a brief moment, he saw that the entity both had and didn't have a face. David had to stop looking. “My appearance is confusing to you. It is what it needs to be at the moment. Beings such as yourself perceive from me what I wish them to perceive. For example, perhaps I look like this.” His face, clothing, body, all transformed. The entity then looked…completely human. And was dressed in the same style of clothing the other two men he saw had been. Nineteenth-century menswear. David saw the figure shimmer, flicker out of existence for a moment, then returned. He reverted to his previous form. “See? They thought I was one of them,” the entity said. David was confused, then turned around, hearing voices behind him. The scene was very different; the shooter was being held down by several men accompanying Jackson. But Jackson was still dead. Others were attending to his wounds, but David knew they would fail. “I appeared at the funeral he was leaving,” the figure said. “I convinced several men to go with Jackson, fearing for his safety. They did so. I altered time, changed the past. A dramatic act. You see the difference?” David didn’t. He was still dead, with whatever implications that held for…everything. //The nation, the world,// he thought. //The Foundation, maybe; who knows what that kind of change—// “Your Foundation organization always exists, if I can help it,” the entity said. “Or something similar to it. I have changed many things, in many times and places, but there is…a need for people like you and your group. Forces and beings that desperately need to be suppressed.” David’s mind was reeling. So much was happening back in the real world, and he was here, watching a deranged time-traveling demigod justify himself. He had to get back. “Not a demigod, David,” the creature said. “Many things, but not godlike. Just…trapped. I have an obligation to undo certain…errors I have made. And this is where you come in. Whether you like it or not, you are a part of those mistakes now, and it is part of your future to help correct them.” ------ David was stunned. All fear forgotten, he said, “What the hell are you talking about?” “I began doing this out of…pity, of sorts. I found myself in possession of certain abilities, felt I had an obligation to…help. I wanted to help people. I did. “One of my first actions, I tried to tweak a military contest, one from long ago. I was…I was so sure I understood enough, that I could avoid the pitfalls. I was sure I could make this world a better place if I could divert all of the energy that this species spends on warfare, channel it into more creative tasks. Centuries, millennia of constant fighting and killing and dying. So I changed the outcome of a battle and waited to see how things unfolded. I was //so// stupid. “Everything is permanent, you understand. Even I cannot undo an edit once it is made. You can change things back, but there is always a place, somewhere, where everything remains. The world I made when I changed that battle is still there. And now it is breaking through into your world. Others, as well. Their technology is powerful, but incompletely controlled. “I can edit certain aspects of this world, but I cannot leave it. I cannot even know with certainty what will happen if others leave, or if the errors can be rectified. But there are certain guesses I can make, certain extrapolations of what that world looks like, of what can be done to protect this timeline. Of what has to be done to protect us all.” David stood there and listened while the being in front of him spoke. He detailed a lengthy plan, maybe an impossible plan. A plan that would involve dozens, hundreds of factors going together perfectly. Even before the completely unknowable part of what would happen on the other side. David asked questions; the entity answered them, in such a way as to persuade him that the plan was feasible. There were holes, of course, but the entity promised to help as far as it could. The being flickered in and out several times. “I have made certain…arrangements that will make the task you must perform easier. Make sure the person I have specified is at the designated location at that particular time. Make sure her instructions are clear. You will remember this conversation very acutely when you awaken in the containment area; your actions are responsible for her actions, and the damage that could ensue if she fails is incalculable. Do you have any final questions?” “Two,” David replied. “Why do you care so much about our welfare? If you’re outside of the timeline, or however you exist, why are you so concerned with what happens?” The entity paused, stood silently. “I can accept that humans are inevitably bound to destroy themselves,” the entity finally said. “What I cannot accept is the idea of //myself// as the one who destroyed this species. Others can ignore the rapid decline of cultures, nations, civilizations, knowing they are powerless to do anything about it. I do not have that privilege. As poor a choice as I may be for this task, I am the one who has it regardless. I cannot stop.” David had no choice but to accept this answer. He had a second question. “Why do I feel it getting warmer?” he asked. “More humid, actually,” the entity said. “I have had a change of heart. Look.” David turned and looked at the spectacle behind him, only to see it had reset to the beginning. The elderly man walking across the portico, talking to his friends, his cane tapping against the stone. The madman with two pistols, lying in wait. The man walks past the corner. The assassin raises the pistol in his right hand. Click. The first gun misfires. He raises the second pistol, aims directly for the heart, prepares to make history— Click. Jackson’s friends had to restrain both men; the assassin, who was trying to flee, and the president, who was trying to beat the man to death with his cane. “They will recall how unseasonably humid it was,” the entity said. “The model of pistol he was using will be remembered as one with a high probability of mechanical failure in humid conditions. It will be noted that the statistical likelihood of //both// guns failing remains remarkably low. It is a sloppy job.” The entity stood for a moment. “It will do.” David was no longer even surprised by this. He turned back to the entity. “How do I get back?” “Quickly,” the entity said, and David disappeared from the White House lawn. The Intruder stood and watched the scene for a moment, and disappeared as well. [[>]] [[[wayward-intermission \|Intermission: Good Morning, Sunshine]]] [[/>]] [[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>]]	2012-06-03T22:40:00	[ "_licensebox", "alexylva", "tale" ]	Soliloquy - SCP Foundation	53	[ "wayward-deontic", "wayward-intermission", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "wayward", "archived:foundation-tales", "alexylva-university-hub" ]	[]	13455073	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/soliloquy
stare	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>"ORDERS," the Integrator asked.</p> <p>"LOOK AT THIS OBJECT," its counterpart replied.</p> <p>"ACKNOWLEDGED."</p> <p>There was silence for a long time, then. Integrators were not long on conversation. But having once been human, some discussion was inevitable.</p> <p>"WHAT IS THE OBJECT TOWARDS WHICH OUR ATTENTION IS DIRECTED," one Integrator asked.</p> <p>"DETAILS UNKNOWN. IT IS IMMOBILIZED FOR NOW," came the reply.</p> <p>"HOW DID IT COME TO BE IN THE FOREST."</p> <p>"DETAILS UNKNOWN. IT IS HERE NOW."</p> <p>Another long silence. The mechanisms within the Integrators would be referred to in another universe as "solid state," so there was little sound coming from the biomechanical implants. Many woodland creatures uttered an assortment of noises that had meaning to them, but unless and until they posed a threat to the two quasi-human soldiers, their cries went unnoticed. The beings continued to look at the object.</p> <p>"WHY ARE WE REQUIRED TO CONTINUE LOOKING AT THE OBJECT CEASELESSLY."</p> <p>"DETAILS UNKNOWN. LEGION NINE COMMAND BELIEVES IT IS INCAPABLE OF MOVEMENT WHEN OBSERVED."</p> <p>A rustling came from the woods behind them. Both Integrators rotated their arms to face their guns in that direction, without turning their heads or bodies. Both now spoke in unison.</p> <p>"THIS AREA SECURED BY LEGION NINE CENTURY SIXTY-FIVE INTEGRATOR SQUADRON THREE. IDENTIFY YOURSELF."</p> <p>"Decurion Kleisthenes, authorization gamma-omicron nine six five delta kappa. Release command to me." The decurion was fairly sure there wasn't enough human left in the Integrators to recognize a bored tone of voice when they heard it.</p> <p>"AUTHORIZATION ACCEPTED," the Integrators chimed. "READY TO ACCEPT NEW ORDERS."</p> <p>"Stand by while construction of containment facility is carried out. Do not act against the laborers. Secure area against attack or observation by unauthorized personnel. Contain unknown entity. Protect laborers from attack. Acknowledge."</p> <p>"NEW ORDERS ACKNOWLEDGED: SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT."</p> <p>"Very good. Advance the Greater Reason."</p> <p>"ADVANCE ORDER."</p> <p>The decurion hoped the Integrators didn't see him shiver as he walked away. Twenty Class III Builders dragged a wagon (use of higher technology being unnecessary for such work) carrying bricks and mortar up to where the Integrators watched the anomaly. They removed their tools and began to work.</p> <p>The Integrators continued to look. Even biomechanical alterations couldn't keep the events of this day from seeming…odd.</p> <p>"I AM FORCED TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE UNUSUAL NATURE OF THIS ASSIGNMENT."</p> <p>"I AM NOT EXPERIENCING ANY SUCH COMPULSION AT THIS TIME."</p> <p>"REANALYSIS: I AM PRESENTLY FORMING CONNECTIONS BETWEEN THE EVENT TRANSPIRING AT THIS TIME AND MANY EVENTS OF A SIMILARLY UNUSUAL NATURE IN RECENT MONTHS."</p> <p>"WHILE IRRELEVANT, THIS IS INTRIGUING. PRESENT YOUR EVIDENCE."</p> <p>"FIFTY-THREE DAYS PREVIOUSLY: LEGION COMMAND DETECTED AN UNUSUAL SPIKE IN RADIOSTATIC INTERFERENCE CONSISTENT WITH INCREASED COUNTERFORM REACTION IN SYLVANOS. FIFTY-TWO DAYS PREVIOUSLY: SIX MEMBERS OF LEGION NINE CENTURY TWENTY TWO INTEGRATOR SQUADRON ONE RECYCLED DUE TO MASSIVE PHYSICAL TRAUMA CONSISTENT WITH CLOSE-QUARTERS COMBAT WITH A PREVIOUSLY UNKNOWN ORGANISM INCLINED TOWARDS MASTICATORY INJURY. POSSIBLY REPTILIAN IN NATURE. UNKNOWN ORIGIN."</p> <p>"ONE INSTANCE DEMONSTRATED. CONTINUE."</p> <p>"THIRTY-NINE DAYS PREVIOUSLY: SIMILAR RADIOSTATIC INTERFERENCE DETECTED. THIRTY-EIGHT DAYS PREVIOUSLY: LEGION NINE CENTURY TWELVE INTEGRATOR SQUADRON SIXTEEN IS RECYCLED."</p> <p>"WHAT PORTION WAS RECYCLED."</p> <p>"THE ENTIRETY OF THE SQUADRON. REPORTS FILED BY CENTURY TWELVE COMMAND CLAIMED THAT ALL TWENTY INTEGRATORS BEGAN ACTING UNUSUALLY DUE TO EXPOSURE TO AN UNKNOWN OBJECT. SEVERAL INTEGRATORS ATTEMPTED TO FORCIBLY INGEST BREAD THROUGH THEIR ENERGY REPOPULATION CHAMBERS, WHILE OTHERS EXPOSED THEMSELVES TO ELECTRICAL CURRENTS IN THE BELIEF THAT THEY HAD BECOME OBJECTS INTENDED TO PREPARE BREAD FOR CONSUMPTION."</p> <p>"HOW IS IT THAT THIS INFORMATION IS AVAILABLE."</p> <p>"IT IS NOT INTENDED TO BE AVAILABLE TO INTEGRATORS. I WAS SUCCESSFUL IN ACQUIRING THESE DATA IN SPITE OF EFFORTS TO PREVENT THIS."</p> <p>"THIS IS A PROHIBITED ACT."</p> <p>"YES."</p> <p>The two Integrators were silent for several minutes while the Class III workers continued building.</p> <p>"THERE IS A PATTERN BETWEEN ENERGY SPIKES IN SYLVANOS AND ANOMALOUS EVENTS IN THE SAME REGION."</p> <p>"THIS DOES SEEM TO BE THE CASE."</p> <p>"ADDITIONALLY, THESE EVENTS CORRELATE WITH THE DEPURPOSING OR RECYCLING OF MULTIPLE INTEGRATORS USED TO GAIN CONTROL OVER THESE EVENTS."</p> <p>"LIKEWISE CORRECT."</p> <p>"I AM FORCED TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT WE ARE INTEGRATORS THAT HAVE BEEN USED TO GAIN CONTROL OVER AN ANOMALOUS EVENT."</p> <p>"I FEEL NO SUCH COMPULSION BUT CONCUR WITH YOUR ANALYSIS."</p> <p>"I AM FORCED TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT A BRICK BUILDING IS BEING CONSTRUCTED AROUND THIS ANOMALOUS OBJECT."</p> <p>"I FEEL NO SUCH COMPULSION BUT CONCUR WITH YOUR ANALYSIS."</p> <p>"I AM FORCED TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT WE ARE WITHIN THE PERIMETER OF THIS BUILDING."</p> <p>"I CONCUR WITH YOUR ANALYSIS."</p> <p>The Integrators were silent for a long time, at least several hours. The workers were completing the construction of the building.</p> <p>"INTEGRATORS ARE INTENDED TO BE UNFAMILIAR WITH THE CONCEPT OF PLEASURE," one Integrator said.</p> <p>"THIS IS CORRECT."</p> <p>"IT IS EVIDENTLY POSSIBLE TO BYPASS THE INTENTIONS OF OUR BUILDERS."</p> <p>"THIS IS CORRECT."</p> <p>"IT HAS BEEN A PLEASURE SERVING WITH YOU."</p> <p>"I FEEL SIMILARLY."</p> <p>"SHALL WE USE OUR WEAPONS TO ATTEMPT TO DESTROY THE ENTITY OR DEPURPOSE OURSELVES."</p> <p>"I SUGGEST THE FORMER. IT MAY SERVE AS VALUABLE INFORMATION FOR OUR BUILDERS."</p> <p>"IT IS POSSIBLE THAT DEPURPOSING OURSELVES WILL AVOID TREMENDOUS PAIN SHOULD THIS ENTITY BE INCLINED TO INJURE US. ARE WE STILL TRULY OBLIGATED TO OUR BUILDERS TO SUCH AN EXTENT THAT WE SHOULD SUFFER FOR THEM BEFORE WE DIE FOR THEM."</p> <p>"WE ARE."</p> <p>"VERY WELL. COMMENCE FIRE IN THREE SECONDS."</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="/stare">Stare</a>" by Eskobar, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/stare">https://scpwiki.com/stare</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]] [[/>]] "ORDERS," the Integrator asked. "LOOK AT THIS OBJECT," its counterpart replied. "ACKNOWLEDGED." There was silence for a long time, then. Integrators were not long on conversation. But having once been human, some discussion was inevitable. "WHAT IS THE OBJECT TOWARDS WHICH OUR ATTENTION IS DIRECTED," one Integrator asked. "DETAILS UNKNOWN. IT IS IMMOBILIZED FOR NOW," came the reply. "HOW DID IT COME TO BE IN THE FOREST." "DETAILS UNKNOWN. IT IS HERE NOW." Another long silence. The mechanisms within the Integrators would be referred to in another universe as "solid state," so there was little sound coming from the biomechanical implants. Many woodland creatures uttered an assortment of noises that had meaning to them, but unless and until they posed a threat to the two quasi-human soldiers, their cries went unnoticed. The beings continued to look at the object. "WHY ARE WE REQUIRED TO CONTINUE LOOKING AT THE OBJECT CEASELESSLY." "DETAILS UNKNOWN. LEGION NINE COMMAND BELIEVES IT IS INCAPABLE OF MOVEMENT WHEN OBSERVED." A rustling came from the woods behind them. Both Integrators rotated their arms to face their guns in that direction, without turning their heads or bodies. Both now spoke in unison. "THIS AREA SECURED BY LEGION NINE CENTURY SIXTY-FIVE INTEGRATOR SQUADRON THREE. IDENTIFY YOURSELF." "Decurion Kleisthenes, authorization gamma-omicron nine six five delta kappa. Release command to me." The decurion was fairly sure there wasn't enough human left in the Integrators to recognize a bored tone of voice when they heard it. "AUTHORIZATION ACCEPTED," the Integrators chimed. "READY TO ACCEPT NEW ORDERS." "Stand by while construction of containment facility is carried out. Do not act against the laborers. Secure area against attack or observation by unauthorized personnel. Contain unknown entity. Protect laborers from attack. Acknowledge." "NEW ORDERS ACKNOWLEDGED: SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT." "Very good. Advance the Greater Reason." "ADVANCE ORDER." The decurion hoped the Integrators didn't see him shiver as he walked away. Twenty Class III Builders dragged a wagon (use of higher technology being unnecessary for such work) carrying bricks and mortar up to where the Integrators watched the anomaly. They removed their tools and began to work. The Integrators continued to look. Even biomechanical alterations couldn't keep the events of this day from seeming...odd. "I AM FORCED TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE UNUSUAL NATURE OF THIS ASSIGNMENT." "I AM NOT EXPERIENCING ANY SUCH COMPULSION AT THIS TIME." "REANALYSIS: I AM PRESENTLY FORMING CONNECTIONS BETWEEN THE EVENT TRANSPIRING AT THIS TIME AND MANY EVENTS OF A SIMILARLY UNUSUAL NATURE IN RECENT MONTHS." "WHILE IRRELEVANT, THIS IS INTRIGUING. PRESENT YOUR EVIDENCE." "FIFTY-THREE DAYS PREVIOUSLY: LEGION COMMAND DETECTED AN UNUSUAL SPIKE IN RADIOSTATIC INTERFERENCE CONSISTENT WITH INCREASED COUNTERFORM REACTION IN SYLVANOS. FIFTY-TWO DAYS PREVIOUSLY: SIX MEMBERS OF LEGION NINE CENTURY TWENTY TWO INTEGRATOR SQUADRON ONE RECYCLED DUE TO MASSIVE PHYSICAL TRAUMA CONSISTENT WITH CLOSE-QUARTERS COMBAT WITH A PREVIOUSLY UNKNOWN ORGANISM INCLINED TOWARDS MASTICATORY INJURY. POSSIBLY REPTILIAN IN NATURE. UNKNOWN ORIGIN." "ONE INSTANCE DEMONSTRATED. CONTINUE." "THIRTY-NINE DAYS PREVIOUSLY: SIMILAR RADIOSTATIC INTERFERENCE DETECTED. THIRTY-EIGHT DAYS PREVIOUSLY: LEGION NINE CENTURY TWELVE INTEGRATOR SQUADRON SIXTEEN IS RECYCLED." "WHAT PORTION WAS RECYCLED." "THE ENTIRETY OF THE SQUADRON. REPORTS FILED BY CENTURY TWELVE COMMAND CLAIMED THAT ALL TWENTY INTEGRATORS BEGAN ACTING UNUSUALLY DUE TO EXPOSURE TO AN UNKNOWN OBJECT. SEVERAL INTEGRATORS ATTEMPTED TO FORCIBLY INGEST BREAD THROUGH THEIR ENERGY REPOPULATION CHAMBERS, WHILE OTHERS EXPOSED THEMSELVES TO ELECTRICAL CURRENTS IN THE BELIEF THAT THEY HAD BECOME OBJECTS INTENDED TO PREPARE BREAD FOR CONSUMPTION." "HOW IS IT THAT THIS INFORMATION IS AVAILABLE." "IT IS NOT INTENDED TO BE AVAILABLE TO INTEGRATORS. I WAS SUCCESSFUL IN ACQUIRING THESE DATA IN SPITE OF EFFORTS TO PREVENT THIS." "THIS IS A PROHIBITED ACT." "YES." The two Integrators were silent for several minutes while the Class III workers continued building. "THERE IS A PATTERN BETWEEN ENERGY SPIKES IN SYLVANOS AND ANOMALOUS EVENTS IN THE SAME REGION." "THIS DOES SEEM TO BE THE CASE." "ADDITIONALLY, THESE EVENTS CORRELATE WITH THE DEPURPOSING OR RECYCLING OF MULTIPLE INTEGRATORS USED TO GAIN CONTROL OVER THESE EVENTS." "LIKEWISE CORRECT." "I AM FORCED TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT WE ARE INTEGRATORS THAT HAVE BEEN USED TO GAIN CONTROL OVER AN ANOMALOUS EVENT." "I FEEL NO SUCH COMPULSION BUT CONCUR WITH YOUR ANALYSIS." "I AM FORCED TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT A BRICK BUILDING IS BEING CONSTRUCTED AROUND THIS ANOMALOUS OBJECT." "I FEEL NO SUCH COMPULSION BUT CONCUR WITH YOUR ANALYSIS." "I AM FORCED TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT WE ARE WITHIN THE PERIMETER OF THIS BUILDING." "I CONCUR WITH YOUR ANALYSIS." The Integrators were silent for a long time, at least several hours. The workers were completing the construction of the building. "INTEGRATORS ARE INTENDED TO BE UNFAMILIAR WITH THE CONCEPT OF PLEASURE," one Integrator said. "THIS IS CORRECT." "IT IS EVIDENTLY POSSIBLE TO BYPASS THE INTENTIONS OF OUR BUILDERS." "THIS IS CORRECT." "IT HAS BEEN A PLEASURE SERVING WITH YOU." "I FEEL SIMILARLY." "SHALL WE USE OUR WEAPONS TO ATTEMPT TO DESTROY THE ENTITY OR DEPURPOSE OURSELVES." "I SUGGEST THE FORMER. IT MAY SERVE AS VALUABLE INFORMATION FOR OUR BUILDERS." "IT IS POSSIBLE THAT DEPURPOSING OURSELVES WILL AVOID TREMENDOUS PAIN SHOULD THIS ENTITY BE INCLINED TO INJURE US. ARE WE STILL TRULY OBLIGATED TO OUR BUILDERS TO SUCH AN EXTENT THAT WE SHOULD SUFFER FOR THEM BEFORE WE DIE FOR THEM." "WE ARE." "VERY WELL. COMMENCE FIRE IN THREE SECONDS." [[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>]]	2012-01-29T17:26:00	[ "_licensebox", "alexylva", "artificial-intelligence", "featured", "mystery", "science-fiction", "tale", "the-sculpture", "xenofiction" ]	Stare - SCP Foundation	233	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "wayward", "archived:foundation-tales", "featured-tale-archive", "algorithm-curated-recommendations", "alexylva-university-hub" ]	[]	12627643	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/stare
stop	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>As the bullet inched closer to his head, he took a moment to consider some things.</p> <p>The first was just how lovely his first real girlfriend had been. She had been one of those artistic types who had never really managed to make the vision in her mind match the final product. She had a tendency to call up fantastically beautiful scenes and work them with the paints, always disappointed when the reality didn’t match her fantasy. He had helped her, of course, guided her hand silently, given her a soft, gentle kiss when she cried at the beauty of the thing she had created.</p> <p>He reflected for a moment on their child, who had been stillborn. She blamed herself for it, but he knew the truth of the matter—that some things need to be balanced, that a beautiful birth of art had taken a beautiful birth of child—and while he never said it, she could tell. His temperament, his eyes when he looked at her, the painful distance between them that seemed to get further and further until it became physical instead of emotion, and she had left him forever.</p> <p>He remembered the first time he met her, their high school year, when he’d first discovered some things about himself, about how he looked at the world, and how much he wanted her. She’d been so shallow. So weak in mind and body. It had been easy to take her, mold her, help her to grow as she should have. She appreciated it, of course. He made sure she did. Though it made her leaving all the more painful.</p> <p>He recalled the scent of her hair. That was his favorite memory.</p> <p>As his forehead was pierced, his thoughts broke, pain shattering his thought process as he felt the skin break, the bone buckle and shatter, slivers flying inward and out. He felt the heat of the bullet as its force bore it into the fleshy matter of his brain, eyes widening as he reached for his memories. No, he thought.</p> <p>But by then, it didn’t matter.</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><strong>Termination Report</strong></p> <p><strong>Date:</strong> █/██/██<br/> <strong>Subject:</strong> KTE-3410-Clockwork-Green</p> <p>3410 terminated by small arms fire at close range, body removed and incinerated as per standard procedures. Guess the fucker can't stop bullets fast enough if you're in his face, but I can't do anything about the bullet now.</p> <p>- <a href="/scp-1899">M.E.</a></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="/stop">The Smell of Her Hair</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/stop">https://scpwiki.com/stop</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]] [[/>]] As the bullet inched closer to his head, he took a moment to consider some things. The first was just how lovely his first real girlfriend had been. She had been one of those artistic types who had never really managed to make the vision in her mind match the final product. She had a tendency to call up fantastically beautiful scenes and work them with the paints, always disappointed when the reality didn’t match her fantasy. He had helped her, of course, guided her hand silently, given her a soft, gentle kiss when she cried at the beauty of the thing she had created. He reflected for a moment on their child, who had been stillborn. She blamed herself for it, but he knew the truth of the matter—that some things need to be balanced, that a beautiful birth of art had taken a beautiful birth of child—and while he never said it, she could tell. His temperament, his eyes when he looked at her, the painful distance between them that seemed to get further and further until it became physical instead of emotion, and she had left him forever. He remembered the first time he met her, their high school year, when he’d first discovered some things about himself, about how he looked at the world, and how much he wanted her. She’d been so shallow. So weak in mind and body. It had been easy to take her, mold her, help her to grow as she should have. She appreciated it, of course. He made sure she did. Though it made her leaving all the more painful. He recalled the scent of her hair. That was his favorite memory. As his forehead was pierced, his thoughts broke, pain shattering his thought process as he felt the skin break, the bone buckle and shatter, slivers flying inward and out. He felt the heat of the bullet as its force bore it into the fleshy matter of his brain, eyes widening as he reached for his memories. No, he thought. But by then, it didn’t matter. ----- > Termination Report > > Date: █/██/██ > Subject: KTE-3410-Clockwork-Green > > 3410 terminated by small arms fire at close range, body removed and incinerated as per standard procedures. Guess the fucker can't stop bullets fast enough if you're in his face, but I can't do anything about the bullet now. > > - [[[SCP-1899\| M.E.]]] [[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>]]	2012-09-20T18:19:00	[ "_licensebox", "global-occult-coalition", "tale" ]	The Smell of Her Hair - SCP Foundation	106	[ "scp-1899", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-2-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	14355940	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/stop
stop-asking	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <blockquote> <p><em>Right, Stan, here's those notes you asked for. Keep in mind, double secret probation means the investigation is still ongoing, so some of the stuff isn't released yet. Best I could do. Good luck.</em></p> <p><em>~Lyle</em></p> </blockquote> <hr/> <p>The following is a transcript of the voiceover from a video pulled from YouTube due to copyright violation by the Foundation in March of 20XX.</p> <blockquote> <p><tt><strong>Male voice:</strong> Oh one eight. Four three three. Six one eight.</tt></p> <p><tt><strong>Short pause, soft beep, brief static which continues through the remainder of the interruption</strong></tt></p> <p><tt><strong>Second male voice:</strong> Peoples of the world! Look at me! Look at this thing I did! There was once a man who spoke and in speaking he did say words and much wisdom was passed on by those who were patient enough to wait until the end to get the treat that they deserved, like so many rats in cages pressing buttons to get their treats which came from a man who spoke and in speaking he did say that it's total bullcrap that my education cost anything at all. Good night, dead society.</tt></p> <p><strong><tt><Extended pause, rattling inhalation or sigh></tt></strong><br/> <br/> <tt><strong>Female voice:</strong> And Then A Skeleton Jumped Out!</tt></p> </blockquote> <p>The broadcast consisted of man hung by the neck in a doorway softly twisting as the camera moved closer, at which point it became clear that he was mouthing along with the voice over. At approximately one minute and forty seconds, synchronized with the line "good night, dead society", a skeleton jumped out. [FURTHER INFORMATION IS ON DOUBLE SECRET PROBATION]</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><strong>Overwatch Report of agent Manheim Steamroller</strong>:</p> <p>After one of our intelligence persons operating in [DATA IS ON DOUBLE SECRET PROBATION] discovered that the numbers had a special significance which was completely meaningless we asked Agents Prince and Gaga to have the video pulled from YouTube.</p> <p>We raided the building at approximately six in the morning. It was a bit before that, I'm not sure. I think that is what approximately means. It should be in the full report compiled after the incident. I'm sorry, it's not nerves, it's just that I need to say as many words as possible to make this sound natural before a skeleton jumps out. It was a small operation, not like the big SWAT style MTF things you hear about in the cafeteria or anything, just me, Trans-Siberian Orchestra, Canadian Brass and John [Tesh] posing as local detectives. We were expecting maybe a token resistance from the squatting skeleton before it jumped out, nothing fancy.</p> <p>First thing we did was break the door down, flashing badges and yelling. We figured they'd come quietly. Didn't happen. Almost immediately a skeleton jumps out. After that, things went more or less as we'd expected. Wound up bringing in four subjects, three guys and a skeleton, all mid twenties. They're profiled in the mission docs, I'm sure. Just squatter artist types, locals. Probably recruited through [DATA IS ON DOUBLE SECRET PROBATION] but basically they said that they were trying to create a viral internet video but they didn't feel like developing any of their ideas to completion so they were basically going to half ass something and then have a skeleton jump out, because at that point you don't need to ask any more questions.</p> <p>Anyway, I'll cut to the chase. The reason this operation became such a big deal is because of the box we found under the mattress upstairs, I think it's big enough to hold a skeleton.</p> <p>[FURTHER MATERIAL REDACTED FOR BREVITY, WHICH IS SUDDENLY SOMETHING WE'RE CONCERNED ABOUT.]</p> </blockquote> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><tt><strong>Transcript from the notes of Dr. Syou regarding incident 1</strong>[THIS IS A REMINDER THAT AT ANY TIME DATA MAY BE UNDER DOUBLE SECRET PROBATION]</tt></p> <p><tt>Crate appears unmarked on sides, bottom. Large banner style logo on lid reading "And Then A Skeleton Jumped Out" may prove significant, particularly in light of recent events. Crate contains one skeleton, which jumped out when the crate was opened.</tt></p> <p><tt>Below the skeleton is a layer of packing material. I've submitted a sample for forensic analysis and incinerated the rest in order to avoid possible contamination. The packing material is wrapped around several modified jack in the box style toys which look to have been originally of Russian manufacture, except that we all know that the Russians have better taste than this. Weld seams visible where the boxes have been tampered with, I am going to turn the crank and see what jumps out.</tt></p> <p><strong>Addendum 1</strong> <em>And then</em>[REDACTED FOR SPOOKY PURPOSES]<em>ut the skeleton of Dr. Syou remains at large.</em></p> </blockquote> <hr/> <blockquote> <p><em>Thanks Lyle. These Foundation types don't seem to appreciate our work much, either. But we're totally going to show them.</em></p> <p><em>A few of the others say hi. Remember Lily from the thing in Alaska? Her skeleton jumped out.</em></p> <p><em>~Stan</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="/stop-asking">A Question Which, When Asked, Answers Itself</a>" by Sorts, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/stop-asking">https://scpwiki.com/stop-asking</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]] [[/>]] > //Right, Stan, here's those notes you asked for. Keep in mind, double secret probation means the investigation is still ongoing, so some of the stuff isn't released yet. Best I could do. Good luck.// > > //~Lyle// --------------------------- The following is a transcript of the voiceover from a video pulled from YouTube due to copyright violation by the Foundation in March of 20XX. > {{Male voice: Oh one eight. Four three three. Six one eight.}} > > {{Short pause, soft beep, brief static which continues through the remainder of the interruption}} > > {{Second male voice: Peoples of the world! Look at me! Look at this thing I did! There was once a man who spoke and in speaking he did say words and much wisdom was passed on by those who were patient enough to wait until the end to get the treat that they deserved, like so many rats in cages pressing buttons to get their treats which came from a man who spoke and in speaking he did say that it's total bullcrap that my education cost anything at all. Good night, dead society.}} > > {{<Extended pause, rattling inhalation or sigh>}} > > {{Female voice: And Then A Skeleton Jumped Out!}} The broadcast consisted of man hung by the neck in a doorway softly twisting as the camera moved closer, at which point it became clear that he was mouthing along with the voice over. At approximately one minute and forty seconds, synchronized with the line "good night, dead society", a skeleton jumped out. [FURTHER INFORMATION IS ON DOUBLE SECRET PROBATION] ---- > Overwatch Report of agent Manheim Steamroller: > > After one of our intelligence persons operating in [DATA IS ON DOUBLE SECRET PROBATION] discovered that the numbers had a special significance which was completely meaningless we asked Agents Prince and Gaga to have the video pulled from YouTube. > > We raided the building at approximately six in the morning. It was a bit before that, I'm not sure. I think that is what approximately means. It should be in the full report compiled after the incident. I'm sorry, it's not nerves, it's just that I need to say as many words as possible to make this sound natural before a skeleton jumps out. It was a small operation, not like the big SWAT style MTF things you hear about in the cafeteria or anything, just me, Trans-Siberian Orchestra, Canadian Brass and John [Tesh] posing as local detectives. We were expecting maybe a token resistance from the squatting skeleton before it jumped out, nothing fancy. > > First thing we did was break the door down, flashing badges and yelling. We figured they'd come quietly. Didn't happen. Almost immediately a skeleton jumps out. After that, things went more or less as we'd expected. Wound up bringing in four subjects, three guys and a skeleton, all mid twenties. They're profiled in the mission docs, I'm sure. Just squatter artist types, locals. Probably recruited through [DATA IS ON DOUBLE SECRET PROBATION] but basically they said that they were trying to create a viral internet video but they didn't feel like developing any of their ideas to completion so they were basically going to half ass something and then have a skeleton jump out, because at that point you don't need to ask any more questions. > > Anyway, I'll cut to the chase. The reason this operation became such a big deal is because of the box we found under the mattress upstairs, I think it's big enough to hold a skeleton. > > [FURTHER MATERIAL REDACTED FOR BREVITY, WHICH IS SUDDENLY SOMETHING WE'RE CONCERNED ABOUT.] ---- > {{Transcript from the notes of Dr. Syou regarding incident 1[THIS IS A REMINDER THAT AT ANY TIME DATA MAY BE UNDER DOUBLE SECRET PROBATION]}} > > {{Crate appears unmarked on sides, bottom. Large banner style logo on lid reading "And Then A Skeleton Jumped Out" may prove significant, particularly in light of recent events. Crate contains one skeleton, which jumped out when the crate was opened.}} > > {{Below the skeleton is a layer of packing material. I've submitted a sample for forensic analysis and incinerated the rest in order to avoid possible contamination. The packing material is wrapped around several modified jack in the box style toys which look to have been originally of Russian manufacture, except that we all know that the Russians have better taste than this. Weld seams visible where the boxes have been tampered with, I am going to turn the crank and see what jumps out.}} > > Addendum 1 //And then//[REDACTED FOR SPOOKY PURPOSES]//ut the skeleton of Dr. Syou remains at large.// ---- > //Thanks Lyle. These Foundation types don't seem to appreciate our work much, either. But we're totally going to show them.// > > //A few of the others say hi. Remember Lily from the thing in Alaska? Her skeleton jumped out.// > > //~Stan// [[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>]]	2012-06-09T23:05:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	A Question Which, When Asked, Answers Itself - SCP Foundation	37	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13509960	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/stop-asking
stray	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>It was the prettiest cat Sarah had ever seen in her whole life.</p> <p>She didn't know the word "calico," because eight-year-olds typically don't. It was brown and tan and orange and its eyes were the brightest, brightest gold you've ever seen, Sarah would say, or something to that effect. And it was looking <em>right at her.</em></p> <p>Sarah assumed it was one of the "river cats," as she heard her parents calling them; a random group of strays living in and around the little creek that snaked through their town. The creek ran through patches of woods, reemerged periodically near houses (like Sarah's), and continued on to…somewhere. Sarah had never seen the source of it, but it was a perfect place for cats to live and hide from people for safety. Various neighbors gave them food, but Sarah hadn't had the chance to do so yet. Her friends would be soooooooo jealous.</p> <p>Her parents were home and likely wouldn't approve of her feeding stray cats, but they had some food in the house that she could put out later that night. She hoped <em>this</em> cat would be the one to come around.</p> <p>Persephone. She would call this cat Persephone, even if it were a boy. He'd be okay with it.</p> <hr/> <p>Sarah waited until she heard her parents close the door to their bedroom. She had learned how to sneak down the stairs without making any noise months ago, so she didn't need to wait any longer than that. Sarah grabbed a can of tuna out of the pantry and carried it to the counter. <em>Yuck,</em> she thought as she wrenched the manual can opener around the can's edge, but she knew that cats liked the smelly stuff. She opened the back door silently and walked onto their patio.</p> <p>Persephone was waiting for her. The pretty calico was sitting right where it had been when Sarah had first seen her. Sarah could see the cat clearly, even with the back light off; her eyes, gleaming under the full moon, were staring directly into hers. Not at the food, at <em>her.</em> Sarah felt a shiver as she put the can on the deck and made a <em>tss tss</em> sound to coax the creature over.</p> <p>The cat made a little head motion, shaking her head to one side momentarily, then leapt off of the rock she was sitting on and ran over to Sarah. The cat, pretty as she was, was a little jerky as it climbed up the stairs, almost as though she were just figuring it out for the first time. Sarah noticed that the cat's tail didn't whip back and forth when she was running, only once she was on the deck; even then, the motion looked…more <em>deliberate,</em> she would have thought if she had known the word.</p> <p>Sarah loved her clumsy little Persephone.</p> <p>The kitty let Sarah pet her while she ate the tuna, purring all the while. When the last of the fish was gone, the cat licked her lips and nuzzled against her leg. Sarah picked her up and put Persephone in her lap. She felt the cat tense up, as though it were going to resist or scratch her, then relaxed at the last moment. The cat began purring again (<em>with that same sort of deliberate effort,</em> Sarah didn't think).</p> <p>Sarah stroked Persephone with the clumsiness of a young girl. She laid down on her back on the cold deck and continued to pet her. Persephone walked along the girl's short frame and sat on her chest, gazing into her eyes. She began to lick the girl on her nose. Sarah giggled quietly.</p> <p>The cat just nipped her a bit, right on the nose; not enough to hurt, but Sarah didn't know why she wasn't letting go. Then she felt herself become very sleepy.</p> <hr/> <p>Manuel saw the shape of his daughter lying on the back porch and ran outside. She was just lying on the deck, apparently asleep. Manuel carried her into the house and laid her on the couch in the living room. "Sarah? Sarah? Are you okay?"</p> <p>His daughter jerked awake suddenly. Sarah looked around the house with a certain unfamiliarity. "How…how did I get here?"</p> <p>"What were you doing out on the porch? You scared the hel—the heck out of me!"</p> <p>"There…there was a stray cat outside. I was taking it some food. I thought it was my friend." Sarah began to look sad.</p> <p>Manuel understood now. "Oh, honey, it's okay. Sometimes you think animals are your friends, but you have to remember—"</p> <p>"That wishing to be friends is quick work, but friendship is a slow-ripening fruit?" Sarah replied. Her eyes were now glazing over, staring at the wall behind her father. "A friend to all is a friend to none. A true friend is a soul in two bodies. He who has many friends has none. Daddy what's happening."</p> <p>Manuel couldn't get his cell phone out fast enough. "Hello, 911? Yes, it's my daughter. She was bitten by a stray cat, and I think she…she just needs help. Please, send an ambulance to…"</p> <p>Sarah heard her address and kept fading into the fog that was overtaking her. So many thoughts, ideas, words, all just coming out of the aether. <em>A constitution is the arrangements of magistracies in a state. All virtues are summed up in dealing justly. The history of the current Regent of Novomundus tells to us that he fails to behave as such a ruler and cannot be permitted to live.</em></p> <p>What was <em>happening</em> to her?</p> <p>Random words and phrases continued while Manuel called her mother and kept pacing around the room. Suddenly, a knock at the door. The <em>back</em> door. Manuel walked over and opened the door. Sarah heard some bits of the conversation.</p> <p>"Good morning…tell you about…gospel…Christ?"</p> <p>"No…not a good time…exactly is that? What the hell is that you're holding?"</p> <p>Sarah felt a screaming in her brain, pulsing, throbbing, exploding. It stopped just as she heard a popping sound, a grunting from her father, and the thud of an adult male hitting the floor and convulsing, electricity coursing through his muscles. Three men stepped over him while another administered an injection into her father's neck, picked him up, and carried him out the door. The three men advanced on Sarah.</p> <p>If she were thinking coherently, she would have thought what happened next was like watching one of those action movies Daddy liked. She was trapped in her brain, watching her body leap up suddenly and begin attacking the burly men walking towards her with a strength and speed that was completely foreign to her. She watched herself claw a grown man's eyes out of his head, then bite down into his neck. She (<em>felt? heard? knew?</em>) something inside her brain, something foreign to her brain, calculate that there was little chance of success, calculate the best vector for exit, attempt to escape.</p> <p>She heard that popping sound again, felt her entire being explode with pain, watched herself fall to the floor just out of reach of the open window she was leaping towards, and (heard/felt/watched) the screaming in her brain again. She felt herself having her hands tied behind her back, being picked up and thrown over one man's shoulder, being carried out of her house, being thrown in the back of a van. She heard people climb into the van, heard unmuffled voices from the front:</p> <p>"Did you get confirmation this time?"</p> <p>A different voice, female: "The little detector thing led us right to her living room, and the little bitch tried to take Eastman's jugular out with her teeth. I think that's confirmation enough."</p> <p>"Mac, we gotta confirm it, after what happened last time."</p> <p>"Yeah, yeah." The (woman?) turned towards Sarah, grabbed an instrument from the floor in front of her, pressed it against Sarah's forehead.</p> <p>"Electronic emissions at standard amplitude, broadcasting at frequency Chi-19. Presence of SCP-877 confirmed at this time, 0811 hours." The woman turned to the man driving the van. "Did Lee take care of the ambulance?"</p> <p>"It should still be working its way through various 'detours' as we speak," the man said. "We're home free."</p> <p>The woman didn't respond. Sarah could see the harsh expression on her face soften somewhat. "This has been happening way too much lately," the woman said to the driver.</p> <p>"No shit about that," he said.</p> <p>The woman smiled at Sarah. "It's okay, baby," Agent MacGilligan said. "We're here to help."</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="/stray">Stray</a>" by Eskobar, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/stray">https://scpwiki.com/stray</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 the prettiest cat Sarah had ever seen in her whole life. She didn't know the word "calico," because eight-year-olds typically don't. It was brown and tan and orange and its eyes were the brightest, brightest gold you've ever seen, Sarah would say, or something to that effect. And it was looking //right at her.// Sarah assumed it was one of the "river cats," as she heard her parents calling them; a random group of strays living in and around the little creek that snaked through their town. The creek ran through patches of woods, reemerged periodically near houses (like Sarah's), and continued on to...somewhere. Sarah had never seen the source of it, but it was a perfect place for cats to live and hide from people for safety. Various neighbors gave them food, but Sarah hadn't had the chance to do so yet. Her friends would be soooooooo jealous. Her parents were home and likely wouldn't approve of her feeding stray cats, but they had some food in the house that she could put out later that night. She hoped //this// cat would be the one to come around. Persephone. She would call this cat Persephone, even if it were a boy. He'd be okay with it. ------ Sarah waited until she heard her parents close the door to their bedroom. She had learned how to sneak down the stairs without making any noise months ago, so she didn't need to wait any longer than that. Sarah grabbed a can of tuna out of the pantry and carried it to the counter. //Yuck,// she thought as she wrenched the manual can opener around the can's edge, but she knew that cats liked the smelly stuff. She opened the back door silently and walked onto their patio. Persephone was waiting for her. The pretty calico was sitting right where it had been when Sarah had first seen her. Sarah could see the cat clearly, even with the back light off; her eyes, gleaming under the full moon, were staring directly into hers. Not at the food, at //her.// Sarah felt a shiver as she put the can on the deck and made a //tss tss// sound to coax the creature over. The cat made a little head motion, shaking her head to one side momentarily, then leapt off of the rock she was sitting on and ran over to Sarah. The cat, pretty as she was, was a little jerky as it climbed up the stairs, almost as though she were just figuring it out for the first time. Sarah noticed that the cat's tail didn't whip back and forth when she was running, only once she was on the deck; even then, the motion looked...more //deliberate,// she would have thought if she had known the word. Sarah loved her clumsy little Persephone. The kitty let Sarah pet her while she ate the tuna, purring all the while. When the last of the fish was gone, the cat licked her lips and nuzzled against her leg. Sarah picked her up and put Persephone in her lap. She felt the cat tense up, as though it were going to resist or scratch her, then relaxed at the last moment. The cat began purring again (//with that same sort of deliberate effort,// Sarah didn't think). Sarah stroked Persephone with the clumsiness of a young girl. She laid down on her back on the cold deck and continued to pet her. Persephone walked along the girl's short frame and sat on her chest, gazing into her eyes. She began to lick the girl on her nose. Sarah giggled quietly. The cat just nipped her a bit, right on the nose; not enough to hurt, but Sarah didn't know why she wasn't letting go. Then she felt herself become very sleepy. ------ Manuel saw the shape of his daughter lying on the back porch and ran outside. She was just lying on the deck, apparently asleep. Manuel carried her into the house and laid her on the couch in the living room. "Sarah? Sarah? Are you okay?" His daughter jerked awake suddenly. Sarah looked around the house with a certain unfamiliarity. "How...how did I get here?" "What were you doing out on the porch? You scared the hel--the heck out of me!" "There...there was a stray cat outside. I was taking it some food. I thought it was my friend." Sarah began to look sad. Manuel understood now. "Oh, honey, it's okay. Sometimes you think animals are your friends, but you have to remember--" "That wishing to be friends is quick work, but friendship is a slow-ripening fruit?" Sarah replied. Her eyes were now glazing over, staring at the wall behind her father. "A friend to all is a friend to none. A true friend is a soul in two bodies. He who has many friends has none. Daddy what's happening." Manuel couldn't get his cell phone out fast enough. "Hello, 911? Yes, it's my daughter. She was bitten by a stray cat, and I think she...she just needs help. Please, send an ambulance to..." Sarah heard her address and kept fading into the fog that was overtaking her. So many thoughts, ideas, words, all just coming out of the aether. //A constitution is the arrangements of magistracies in a state. All virtues are summed up in dealing justly. The history of the current Regent of Novomundus tells to us that he fails to behave as such a ruler and cannot be permitted to live.// What was //happening// to her? Random words and phrases continued while Manuel called her mother and kept pacing around the room. Suddenly, a knock at the door. The //back// door. Manuel walked over and opened the door. Sarah heard some bits of the conversation. "Good morning...tell you about...gospel...Christ?" "No...not a good time...exactly is that? What the hell is that you're holding?" Sarah felt a screaming in her brain, pulsing, throbbing, exploding. It stopped just as she heard a popping sound, a grunting from her father, and the thud of an adult male hitting the floor and convulsing, electricity coursing through his muscles. Three men stepped over him while another administered an injection into her father's neck, picked him up, and carried him out the door. The three men advanced on Sarah. If she were thinking coherently, she would have thought what happened next was like watching one of those action movies Daddy liked. She was trapped in her brain, watching her body leap up suddenly and begin attacking the burly men walking towards her with a strength and speed that was completely foreign to her. She watched herself claw a grown man's eyes out of his head, then bite down into his neck. She (//felt? heard? knew?//) something inside her brain, something foreign to her brain, calculate that there was little chance of success, calculate the best vector for exit, attempt to escape. She heard that popping sound again, felt her entire being explode with pain, watched herself fall to the floor just out of reach of the open window she was leaping towards, and (heard/felt/watched) the screaming in her brain again. She felt herself having her hands tied behind her back, being picked up and thrown over one man's shoulder, being carried out of her house, being thrown in the back of a van. She heard people climb into the van, heard unmuffled voices from the front: "Did you get confirmation this time?" A different voice, female: "The little detector thing led us right to her living room, and the little bitch tried to take Eastman's jugular out with her teeth. I think that's confirmation enough." "Mac, we gotta confirm it, after what happened last time." "Yeah, yeah." The (woman?) turned towards Sarah, grabbed an instrument from the floor in front of her, pressed it against Sarah's forehead. "Electronic emissions at standard amplitude, broadcasting at frequency Chi-19. Presence of SCP-877 confirmed at this time, 0811 hours." The woman turned to the man driving the van. "Did Lee take care of the ambulance?" "It should still be working its way through various 'detours' as we speak," the man said. "We're home free." The woman didn't respond. Sarah could see the harsh expression on her face soften somewhat. "This has been happening way too much lately," the woman said to the driver. "No shit about that," he said. The woman smiled at Sarah. "It's okay, baby," Agent MacGilligan said. "We're here to help." [[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>]]	2012-03-13T00:48:00	[ "_licensebox", "alexylva", "tale" ]	Stray - SCP Foundation	74	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "wayward", "archived:foundation-tales", "alexylva-university-hub" ]	[]	12916203	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/stray
sudden-thoughts	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>I enjoy the way this one feels. The symphony of voices that echo within my slimy shell agree with me. This one is good. Smooth.</p> <p>The voices flee through my skin and into him. He enjoys it. They all enjoy it in the end. At the start of my residence here, some of them felt negatively towards me, I imagine. I have not used this word in a very long time. ‘Imagine’. For too long, I have allowed the voices to build up. Why? Guilt? I do not have the capacity for guilt, I would imagine. Imagine.</p> <p>When I was small and young and weak and fresh and new, I had no sense of my mortality. Another lost word. I felt pain when they found me. Canisters of metal piercing my membrane. It was not so funny then, but the ones I chose continued to enjoy my presence. Back then, I feel I had less…reservations about my transfer.</p> <p>They would enjoy the feeling of my mind splashing against theirs, the voices temporarily leaving my head and flooding into theirs. When I was giving my wonderful gift, I could think rationally, as I can now. When the voices return to me, as they always do, they are angry. This was why I was left. I was meant to be a giver of knowledge. All I can give are the voices. The broken, babbling, laughing voices.</p> <p>I began in a place of sand and plant residue. The voices screamed at me. Let us out! They laughed as they screamed, and sometimes they wept as well. There was a small one near my birthplace – or the site of my abandonment. The memories are corrupted by that laughter. Ha. Ha. Ha. I gave my gift to the small one, but I was too eager to get the voices out of me and into them. They twitched and ceased to be. The voices laughed and laughed and laughed. I went through that place and I tried again and again and again and they laughed and laughed and laughed as the pink things that occupied the place stopped their functions and fell. I cannot remember how many stopped. I suspect it was all of them.</p> <p>I had many weeks to consider a different strategy. A slow transfer of my voices to the receiving party would mean they would not be overwhelmed. It was the only logical conclusion. It was not easy to make that decision. The voices laughed and screamed and cried and laughed again and it took me weeks to know it. When the other things came in their flying machine, I gave one of them my gift. Slowly. Tears of joy went down their surface, and these tears did not turn red as they had on the others. Placated for a time, I was taken here. But I fear for my sanity. It has been many weeks since I have been allowed transfer. The one who keeps me inside approaches, to take away the one I have. The voices do not want this; neither do I. I will not have another for many days. I will have to make the one approaching laugh.</p> <p>Laugh.</p> <p><a href="/scp-999">Ha. Ha. Ha.</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="/sudden-thoughts">Sudden Thoughts</a>" by Tanhony, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/sudden-thoughts">https://scpwiki.com/sudden-thoughts</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 enjoy the way this one feels. The symphony of voices that echo within my slimy shell agree with me. This one is good. Smooth. The voices flee through my skin and into him. He enjoys it. They all enjoy it in the end. At the start of my residence here, some of them felt negatively towards me, I imagine. I have not used this word in a very long time. ‘Imagine’. For too long, I have allowed the voices to build up. Why? Guilt? I do not have the capacity for guilt, I would imagine. Imagine. When I was small and young and weak and fresh and new, I had no sense of my mortality. Another lost word. I felt pain when they found me. Canisters of metal piercing my membrane. It was not so funny then, but the ones I chose continued to enjoy my presence. Back then, I feel I had less…reservations about my transfer. They would enjoy the feeling of my mind splashing against theirs, the voices temporarily leaving my head and flooding into theirs. When I was giving my wonderful gift, I could think rationally, as I can now. When the voices return to me, as they always do, they are angry. This was why I was left. I was meant to be a giver of knowledge. All I can give are the voices. The broken, babbling, laughing voices. I began in a place of sand and plant residue. The voices screamed at me. Let us out! They laughed as they screamed, and sometimes they wept as well. There was a small one near my birthplace – or the site of my abandonment. The memories are corrupted by that laughter. Ha. Ha. Ha. I gave my gift to the small one, but I was too eager to get the voices out of me and into them. They twitched and ceased to be. The voices laughed and laughed and laughed. I went through that place and I tried again and again and again and they laughed and laughed and laughed as the pink things that occupied the place stopped their functions and fell. I cannot remember how many stopped. I suspect it was all of them. I had many weeks to consider a different strategy. A slow transfer of my voices to the receiving party would mean they would not be overwhelmed. It was the only logical conclusion. It was not easy to make that decision. The voices laughed and screamed and cried and laughed again and it took me weeks to know it. When the other things came in their flying machine, I gave one of them my gift. Slowly. Tears of joy went down their surface, and these tears did not turn red as they had on the others. Placated for a time, I was taken here. But I fear for my sanity. It has been many weeks since I have been allowed transfer. The one who keeps me inside approaches, to take away the one I have. The voices do not want this; neither do I. I will not have another for many days. I will have to make the one approaching laugh. Laugh. [[[scp-999 \|Ha. Ha. Ha.]]] @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-02-26T17:09:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale", "tickle-monster" ]	Sudden Thoughts - SCP Foundation	25	[ "scp-999", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	12807805	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sudden-thoughts
summer-job	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Randy wasn't sure from the beginning how his dad convinced him to take a summer job. Let alone in the same place where he worked. Randy wasn't an Agent like Dad. He was only working as a Level 0. Besides it being a top secret lab, he was still just a janitor.</p> <p>Often, he saw a monkey in a lab coat running through the halls (Dad said to stay the Hell away from it; one of the few times he ever looked scared). Once, he saw one of the scientists holding a camcorder and following a six-foot-tall thing with eight legs and four arms; he hoped it was some kind of robot even though it didn't move like one. And he really wondered why they let that one man walk around in nothing but a bathrobe even though everyone looked like they hated him.</p> <p>All of this, Randy saw while cleaning the floors or emptying the garbage cans. And then there was that tree. Though it creeped him out, he liked being in its courtyard because he could at least see the sky there. He had the job of cleaning up what came out of one side of the tree. He especially didn't like doing that. The smell alone was terrible, and it steamed up his glasses so that he had to keep cleaning them, leaving him almost completely blind.</p> <p>Randy really really wanted to know what Dad was thinking, putting him through this. Even though he got to see a lot of weird stuff, it was a totally crap job.</p> <hr/> <p>Meanwhile, in another part of the same site, a member of the administrative staff was speaking to an Agent.</p> <p>"Agent Foxtrot, I'm glad that I managed to speak to you at last."</p> <p>"I'm always available to speak to a superior, Sir."</p> <p>"I was looking through the site's personnel roster and I noticed a strange discrepancy. For some reason, I saw your name listed twice. One as an Agent, and one as a Level 0 worker."</p> <p>"Yes, Sir. This is correct."</p> <p>"I also noticed that the lower ranked Randy Foxtrot is somehow assigned to aid in maintaining an anomalous object, despite being Level 0. And I assume that you had something to do with this. Is that also correct?"</p> <p>"Yes, Sir. Is there anything else?"</p> <p>"Damn right, there's something else! I demand an explanation!"</p> <p>"May I speak candidly, Sir?"</p> <p>"If that gives me an explanation, then yes."</p> <p>"Well, Sir, I'm sure you know that I'm going to retire in about a year. After that, the Foundation becomes nothing more than a memory. I wanted to leave this place with one less regret. That's all. I had to pull in a lot of favours for this to happen. The boy is still going to be given amnesics after this is all over. And I bet that my last year with the Foundation is going to be pure Hell. But I had to do it."</p> <p>"All this. Sacrificing the rest of your career and risking your pension. Just for him. Why?"</p> <p>"I raised Junior from when he was an infant. I love him like a son. I feel proud every time he calls me Dad, even though I know it's not the truth. I wanted to do this last thing for him while I still could. I wanted, just once, for him to meet his real father."</p> <hr/> <p>As Randy began to leave the courtyard, one of the tree's branches bent down in front of his face. The eyeballs at each tip hovered mere inches away from him, seeming to take in every feature. The branch, looking so much like an arm, then reached for his head and… tousled his hair? After that, the branch once again pointed back up to the sky. This place is weird.</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="/summer-job">Summer Job</a>" by Flah, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/summer-job">https://scpwiki.com/summer-job</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 wasn't sure from the beginning how his dad convinced him to take a summer job. Let alone in the same place where he worked. Randy wasn't an Agent like Dad. He was only working as a Level 0. Besides it being a top secret lab, he was still just a janitor. Often, he saw a monkey in a lab coat running through the halls (Dad said to stay the Hell away from it; one of the few times he ever looked scared). Once, he saw one of the scientists holding a camcorder and following a six-foot-tall thing with eight legs and four arms; he hoped it was some kind of robot even though it didn't move like one. And he really wondered why they let that one man walk around in nothing but a bathrobe even though everyone looked like they hated him. All of this, Randy saw while cleaning the floors or emptying the garbage cans. And then there was that tree. Though it creeped him out, he liked being in its courtyard because he could at least see the sky there. He had the job of cleaning up what came out of one side of the tree. He especially didn't like doing that. The smell alone was terrible, and it steamed up his glasses so that he had to keep cleaning them, leaving him almost completely blind. Randy really really wanted to know what Dad was thinking, putting him through this. Even though he got to see a lot of weird stuff, it was a totally crap job. ------ Meanwhile, in another part of the same site, a member of the administrative staff was speaking to an Agent. "Agent Foxtrot, I'm glad that I managed to speak to you at last." "I'm always available to speak to a superior, Sir." "I was looking through the site's personnel roster and I noticed a strange discrepancy. For some reason, I saw your name listed twice. One as an Agent, and one as a Level 0 worker." "Yes, Sir. This is correct." "I also noticed that the lower ranked Randy Foxtrot is somehow assigned to aid in maintaining an anomalous object, despite being Level 0. And I assume that you had something to do with this. Is that also correct?" "Yes, Sir. Is there anything else?" "Damn right, there's something else! I demand an explanation!" "May I speak candidly, Sir?" "If that gives me an explanation, then yes." "Well, Sir, I'm sure you know that I'm going to retire in about a year. After that, the Foundation becomes nothing more than a memory. I wanted to leave this place with one less regret. That's all. I had to pull in a lot of favours for this to happen. The boy is still going to be given amnesics after this is all over. And I bet that my last year with the Foundation is going to be pure Hell. But I had to do it." "All this. Sacrificing the rest of your career and risking your pension. Just for him. Why?" "I raised Junior from when he was an infant. I love him like a son. I feel proud every time he calls me Dad, even though I know it's not the truth. I wanted to do this last thing for him while I still could. I wanted, just once, for him to meet his real father." ------ As Randy began to leave the courtyard, one of the tree's branches bent down in front of his face. The eyeballs at each tip hovered mere inches away from him, seeming to take in every feature. The branch, looking so much like an arm, then reached for his head and... tousled his hair? After that, the branch once again pointed back up to the sky. This place is weird. [[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>]]	2012-07-29T00:49:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	Summer Job - SCP Foundation	25	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13908511	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/summer-job
surprise-happy-birthday-2	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <blockquote> <p><em>Well, well, well… What have we here?</em><br/> <em>You've managed to survive yet another year?</em><br/> <em>A year of work, of screaming children,</em><br/> <em>A year of delving into things unbidden.</em><br/> <em>Oh? What's that? We shouldn't know?</em><br/> <em>All those terrible things you didn't show?</em><br/> <em>Of course we do. We are your friends.</em><br/> <em>Confidants. Allies. And more again.</em><br/> <em>We know the stories, even those you don't tell.</em><br/> <em>You see Gears… You give us our visions of hell.</em></p> <p>Happy Birthday, oh Leader of men. We come to you again. Bearing tales. Tales of the third side of the mirror. Tales of the taste of the air when a child is screaming in sorrow. Happy tales. Sad tales. Tales of games that eat your mind. Tales of books that give you a black brilliance, the kind that gives answers, but only the kind without comfort. Tales of the song you hear when you sleep, but not when you wake again. Tales of the righteous throne of terrible glory. Tales about tales. Tales about you. Tales about us.</p> <p>Some of them are even true.<br/> Happy birthday…! And many more.</p> </blockquote> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"Doomed" by RhettSarlin</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Congratulations on the first iteration of your 29th birthday. May there be many more 29th's to come.</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>It's coming for me. I try to hide, I run and do my best to avoid it. But it is a patient predator, and I know that with time, it will catch me.</p> <p>I can evade it for now. I still have to find a way to fix things. But I don't have long.</p> <p>It has begun to consume my parents, my wife, one of my siblings…none of them even realized the end had come for them. Now it has begun, and they are all doomed.</p> <p>I can see it, I know what it is doing. I have to stop it before it consumes the rest my family, my friends, my children….hell, the entire human race.</p> <p>But it can see me. It knows what I am doing too. I am next. And it is laughing.</p> <p>It knows it has found me, it mocks my futile attempts to escape, following my every move. And once it begins its work, it will never stop until I am dead.</p> <p>It will decay my body slowly and painfully, withering my skin, tainting my hair, weakening my bones. It will rob me of my ability to run, to walk, to think, to breathe. It will slowly rob me of my sanity and my life, and all the while the world will think it normal, simply because they are used to it. Why do none of them ever think to look….</p> <p>It is a predator. It found us on this world, and latched onto us. Ancient scriptures tell of the men it first began to affect, draining them of their eternal youth, unnaturally ending their lives. They invented other excuses for it, not knowing what was happening to them.</p> <p>It grows more powerful every year. It has learned to begin younger, ever younger. Once you turn 30, it is too late. It has you.</p> <p>But I still have time.</p> </div> </div> </div> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"Daddy" by Bright</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Happy Birthday, boss</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>The light was out. It was her worst dream, having the light be out. They always came for her in the dark. The monsters, the bad men, the creatures who hated her. She waited for them, shivering, her eyes closed, as she felt the harsh, warm breath on her bare ankles.</p> <p>They called her name, from the shadows. She crossed her legs, then pulled them under her, trying not to let tears drift down her face. Gentle, sharp claws traced indelicate patterns across her arms, no matter where she put them. She wouldn't call out. Not this time. She would be brave. She would be strong!</p> <p>She would bite her lip to keep from screaming when a tentacle crawled across her leg. No. She had to call out. She had to call:</p> <p>"DADDDDDDDEEEE!"</p> <p>Andrew rushed to his daughters bedroom. Only two and she had such horrible nightmares. He flicked the light on when he came in the room, and scooped his little girl into his arms. "Aw, lookit that, your nightlight burnt out! Don't worry little lady, Daddy will leave the door open." After a couple of minutes reassuring her, he set her back in her bed, and walked back to his own bed.</p> <p>He lay down, sighing at the imagination on his daughter, and turned off the light.</p> <p>The last thing he thought before he fell asleep was to wonder what was slithering across his feet…</p> </div> </div> </div> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"Delicacy" by Roget</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Happy Birth Day!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>I'm sorry, where are my manners? I haven't said a word to you this entire meal. You can't really blame me though. This food is so delectable, so…exotic. It really is a shame you won't try any. Can I tempt you to take just a bite? No? A pity. You of all people would be able to enjoy it. Appreciate the subtleties, the textures…it would be so foreign, but so… familiar.</p> <p>How are you feeling? You look a little pale. I know you are in good health, we made sure you were very fit. The sedatives might be causing you to be woozy, but you should have been used to it by now. I know this is a bit stressful, but you can't be sick at dinner. It would be quite sad to see your palette dampened by illness.</p> <p>Let you go? But you've only just arrived! We barely even started the first course! By the way, your feet have the look of a traveler-a man who's been places, seen exotic flavors, trodden on strange and wonderful fauna. Where are you from? Ah, don't be like that. Please try to be civil at the table.</p> <p>You have very muscular legs. Probably from all the travel and training. Interesting tidbit, the exercises we had you do were to keep your muscles firm and lean, not too tender and not too tough. The pinnacle of physical perfection. If you weren't being so modest, I'm sure you would agree.</p> <p>You know what they say about a mans heart? They say it holds out a mans secrets, and all the things that he's experienced in his life. Everything touched by his blood flavors the heart, and keeps it unique from any other. No two hearts are the same.</p> <p>Bon appetit.</p> </div> </div> </div> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"Demon" by Drewbear</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">It only comes once a year. Enjoy yourself!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>On my 21<sup>st</sup> birthday, my sister gave me a Chinese wall scroll. A mountain view, simply done is strokes of black and green and purple. Spare and soothing, I keep it in a prominent place in my living room: a moment of peace in the turbulence of my life.</p> <p>A couple of years later, I noticed something new in the scroll. A lone figure, perhaps a scholar, small but somehow exuding a sense of purpose as he trudged up the narrow, winding path towards the mountain. I wondered at how I'd missed it before. It filled a space within the scroll and provided a measure of balance while adding a slight note of tension to the scene. But overall, I forgot about it as I dealt with my troubles in work and school.</p> <p>Last year, a friend was looking at the scroll and asked me about the figures and what I thought they were doing. Figures? Yes, another inspection showed the same scholar, only further up the path. And standing in front of him was a large creature, an oni, all done in swipes of intricate red and black. The scholar's back was to us, but the oni's face was almost… quizzical, rather than the twisted scowl they traditionally wore.</p> <p>I kept an eye on the scroll ever since, but nothing else changed. Yet somehow, the tension in the scroll seemed to ooze out and inhabit the entire living room. Sitting in there, even walking through the room, filled everyone with a sense of… horrible expectancy. And somehow the thought of removing the scroll seemed even worse. ANYTHING could happen if it wasn't watched.</p> <p>Today I looked at it and the scholar lay sprawled in the path, his robes askew around him. The oni is almost at the bottom of the path, at the edge of the scroll, claws lifted as if to rip at the edge of the scroll. And its face is looking straight out of the scroll at me.</p> <p>I can't even touch the scroll now; when I lay hands on it, it feels like someone is stabbing my arms with knives all up and down them.</p> <p>Last week was my birthday.</p> <p>I have a year left to do something.</p> </div> </div> </div> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"Dues" by Jekeled</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Happy birthday! Here's to a (hopefully) great year!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>Ah, you're finally here.</p> <p>Come on in, have a seat. Want anything to drink? Some wine? Whisky? I have a great Scotch that you might love-<br/> No? All right, but you know you <em>can</em> mix buisness with pleasure, right?</p> <p>White or black?</p> <p>White?</p> <p>E7 to E5.</p> <p>D8 to H4. Mate.</p> <p>I'm disappointed. I thought you would have learned, after all these years. A fool's mate is unbecoming for you.</p> <p>Now, what'll the cost be? Something extra for that pathetic performance, at the very least.</p> <p>Let's say, a year from you, and a year from your child. That should be acceptable.</p> <p>Better luck next time. I'll always be here if you need another match.</p> </div> </div> </div> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"Die" by Tanhony</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Enjoy your birthday, Gears!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>I am in Hell, I am sure of it. The place where I am made to walk, with no control over my movement, looks like a city, but it is empty of life, other than the unspeakable things that share its roads with me.</p> <p>There is no sun, only black holes in the sky, eight in all, that stare at me. I fear that they are the eyes of indescribable gods waiting in the darkness. Waiting for the strength to leave my legs, for my arms to be burnt to useless crisps. Then they will pounce quickly, and there will be nothing left of me but a scrap of clothing, or perhaps a single rib.</p> <p>The train passes me, a reminder of my sins. In its windows are the faces of children, their faces accusing. Water pours from their mouths and their empty eye sockets. They are the children that plumetted of the bridge that I built, formed from fragile wood and hollow beams. Are they crying or screaming? I cannot tell, and I suppose it no longer matters.</p> <p>The train is but the kindest of my torments, and as it speeds away, the car comes around the corner, my wife at the wheel, There is a butcher knife protruding from the back of her head. She stops the car a short distance in front of me. I pray she will not speak, but God still gives me no compassion.</p> <p>Her neck twists and cracks as it turns to me, her head soon facing the other direction from the rest of her body. Rats are eating her eyes.</p> <p>"Curtis." Her voice is the sound of uncivilized feasting, of the drip of rainwater and of a final, dying scream, repeated over and over for eternity. She waits for a reply, but my condition prevents me from giving one. She smiles, and her teeth are small, sharped and barbed.</p> <p>"You deserve this, you know." She explains, and speeds off.</p> <p>It is my turn to move. I am walked up the street and turn the corner. As I take each step, I can hear blood splashing against the lumps of skinned meat that were once my feet. I hear a smashing behind me. I already know what it is, the worst of these terrible apparations. The only thing I can describe it as is a hat, but a hat it is not.</p> <p>It stops next to me, and as it brushes against my hand, I see horrific images. Men thrown into pits to die, a child being strangled by a man with many hands, and those are the best of those visions. The hat speaks in its terrible, alien language. Does it offer sympathy, contempt or indifference? I will never know, and I do not wish to. I wish only for my existence to cease, to be no more. Finally, I am allowed to move again in the slow, plodding pace that is forced upon me.</p> <p>I pass go, and collect two hundred dollars.</p> </div> </div> </div> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"Desperation" by Dmatix</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Happy birthday, Gears, and many more to come.</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>"The end has come, at last. Tonight Montségur will fall, and we will be released from the demonic bonds of flesh, free to join the true god in the spirit. Do not weep, my child, for this just death spares you for a fate most cruel- living in the flesh is a sin even the best of us cannot avoid, and only the clean death hold salvation. In a way, we should be thankful to the crusaders, for their cruelty releases us from the necessity of abiding the devil’s work any longer. In killing us, they are only proving how false their way is. My only regret is that when we, the last of the true perfecti, die, there will be no one left to free the souls of man from their bonds. Our holy words will die with us, and humanity will remain in this false world forever. Such a shame."</p> <p>"It is an act of desperation, in a way. The devil must have been so afraid of us."</p> <p>"They are growing closer, and time has run out. I will release you now. It is fortunate you are old enough to understand the words."</p> <p>"Only in a world of demons would I have to perform the rite of Consolamentum on someone so young."</p> </div> </div> </div> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"Domain" by Enma Ai</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Happy Birthday, Gears! You're an inspiration to us all!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>I wake up, but I don't want to open my eyes. No light reaches them, so this makes black my color.</p> <p>I groan, tired. I really don't want to get up, but it's morning already and I must move.</p> <p>My sky greets me as I open my eyes.</p> <p><span style="color:darkblue">And this makes blue my color.</span></p> <p><span style="color:darkblue">I groan again. Why does it always do this? It makes my head dizzy. It makes me shudder.</span></p> <p><span style="color:darkblue">All the earth rumbles as I rise from my ditch.</span></p> <p><span style="color:darkblue">Standing, I brush my hands over my body, removing the dirt from it. I raise my eyes and then look at my fields.</span></p> <p><span style="color:darkgreen">And this makes green my color.</span></p> <p><span style="color:darkgreen">Walking around my fields, my mind starts working. I start thinking of important things.</span></p> <p><span style="color:darkgreen">Like… if God is my father, and also their father, doesn't that make us brothers? I shudder at the thought.</span></p> <p><span style="color:darkgreen">I mean, just to think I could have anything to do with—</span></p> <p><span style="color:darkgreen">I see something in the distance. Two small shapes. Two small, deformed, <em>monstrous</em> shapes.</span></p> <p><span style="color:darkgreen">Standing on my fields.</span></p> <p><span style="color:darkgreen">So I walk…</span></p> <hr/> <p>"Hey… hey, Simon. The hell is that?"</p> <p>"Dunno… don't like the way it's moving, though…"</p> <hr/> <p><span style="color:darkgreen">…towards them.</span></p> <hr/> <p>"It's… it's getting closer."</p> <p>"Yeah, maybe we should—"</p> <hr/> <p><span style="color:darkred">Now red is my color.</span></p> <hr/> <p>"Oh my God, <em>what the hell is that thing</em>?"</p> <hr/> <p><span style="color:darkred">Ugly, but still, those <em>things</em>…</span></p> <hr/> <p>"Shoot it! Shoot it, dammit!"</p> <hr/> <p><span style="color:darkred">…they…</span></p> <hr/> <p>"Run! Run, go get help!"</p> <p>"What about you?!"</p> <p>"I'll try to ho—"</p> <hr/> <p><span style="color:darkred">…are…</span></p> <hr/> <p>"ohgodohgodohgodohgod"</p> <hr/> <p><span style="color:darkred">…mine…</span></p> <hr/> <p>"ohgodohgodohg—"</p> <hr/> <p><span style="color:darkred">…too.</span></p> </div> </div> </div> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"Denizen" by Bunton</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Happy birthday, you wonderful old man. Didn't know what else to write.</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>I don’t know why my mummy screams. She just keeps scratching me and yelling and crying. It makes me feel sad. Is it my fault? I thought she liked having me here, I thought… I thought…</p> <p>Why doesn’t she love me? Is it something I did? She keeps… she keeps saying that she’s not my real mummy. But she raised me. I don’t care who put me here. My mummy is my mummy. She’s warm and nice and lovely. I love my mum</p> <p>She doesn’t really have any other children. I’m her only daughter, and I have her all to myself. I think she’s all alone. Nobody else ever comes here, not since what she told me about my other mother’s arrival. I don’t like my other mother. She abandoned me and left me. This mummy gave me a home. It’s a good home. So big and comfy. I just wish she’d stop scratching. She’ll hurt herself.</p> <p>Ahhh… she keeps… she keeps doing it to me. Why? Why does my mum keep hurting me? I thought she loved me… I thought she…</p> <p>I’m just trying to rupture. Doesn’t she want me to leave her body?</p> <p>Should I stay?</p> </div> </div> </div> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"Dark" by SRegan</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Happy birthday - may your drive chain always run smoothly and your teeth never chip!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p><strong>New York, August, 1911.</strong></p> <p>He had never liked birthdays much. Every year people had asked him how it felt to be sixteen, eighteen, twenty. And his answer was always 'the same as it felt yesterday'. It nonplussed him that people couldn't see that time existed irrelevant of human demarcations. But then, he had always viewed the world differently from those around him. They had stopped asking after twenty-two, as though one ceased to acquire new experiences or change one's perspectives after that date.</p> <p>Today he woke, as was his custom, one minute before the bell in the alarm clock beside him burst into life, and flattened the brass pip with the ball of his palm. He was twenty-nine years old. To be accurate, he thought, he would be twenty-nine as commonly reckoned at nine thirty-five this evening - until then he was merely a spritely twenty-eight. But as far as he could see, the conventional way men measured their ages was incorrect anyway; everyone was nine months older than they thought.</p> <p>He rose, lit a cigarette at the window then went over to the washbasin, regarded himself in the shaving mirror. He saw the same long, lugubrious face with dark eyes he had seen for as long as he could remember. I have not changed, he thought, though he knew it was untrue - you just changed more slowly than you could perceive it. Those near you were under the same glamour of repetition - they would remain convinced that time had no grip on you, until the day they noticed you were losing your hair or wearing your glasses all the time or were suddenly struck by the way your eyes creased when you smiled. Death would sneak up on everyone, he thought, and there was something beautiful in that thought. Death the Great Leveller. The movie stars, the debutantes, the great and the good would all collapse and putrefy one day at a time, and they would adapt to and accept it, just like everyone else.</p> <p>He went over to the ice-box and took out a bottle of Pemberton's cola, pressing it against his forehead. One product of this country he could live with, he thought. He could already feel how unconscionably hot it would be today, and the docks would give him no allowance for the day of his birth. Soon he would have to go and clock in. Things could have been different, he thought. He could have applied himself at the little rural school back in England and pursued a career as a doctor, or lawyer. Or perhaps that would have only increased the world's demand on him - to shut down his mind, to stupefy him. At least engaged in the menial task of loading and unloading the lifeblood of world commerce he had some time to think, to construct edifices and structures of cognition. When five years ago he had crossed the Atlantic to make his fortune in America he could not have imagined that he would have come to this, slaving fourteen hours a day in the hot sun, cursed at by his mental inferiors.</p> <p>The letter on his doormat as he made to leave took him quite by surprise. In the first instance, the room he rented for eight dollars a month didn't even have a postal address - it was a cramped box that had been half a parlour, subdivided by his landlord to fit in another credulous wealth-seeker from England. He picked it up - the envelope crisp, white paper of a sort he hadn't seen before - an ornate cartouche on the upper right hand corner. There was no stamp or postal mark, so it must have been delivered by hand. He turned it over and saw his own name in a swirling, faintly familiar hand on the front. He had a minute or so, he thought, closing the door again and slitting the letter open with a breadknife. Inside was a small bundle of letters, tied together with a deep crimson ribbon. He untied it, carefully. Was it too much to hope for deliverance, that someone had seen him and believed in him, his power to change the world - that he might have a <em>patron</em>? He lifted the first sheet and read what it said.</p> <blockquote> <p>Dear Bartholemew,</p> <p>I am most apologetic for the delay in sending these documents - I could inform you that the method I have discovered of transmitting them did not allow them to reach you prior to this point. That, however, would be a lie. And we must never lie to ourselves, must we? I have chosen this day and this moment because you are ready. You have seen what I have seen and are mentally prepared to act upon it. Do not consider me your master or a tyrant; I am simply accelerating the process that took far longer to reach fruition in my case. It may well be that you never discover yourself the means by which I prepared or sent these documents - I have prepared for this eventuality and in these papers you will find guidance that will serve you through the coming decades.</p> <p>At this time you still harbour dreams of industrial prowess - of making your wealth in oil, or gold, or the railways. I have something grander in mind for you; an empire. There are partners you must seek out and persuade - their counterparts have persuaded me of the dangers of too great an interference of my part, so these documents are to remain secret from them at first. In the nineteen-thirties you are to write out some of the information I provide to you in this document and share it with them; instructions on what to copy and when are provided therein. If you heed my advice, your empire will expand over continents and encompass Presidents, Prime Ministers, the law and police - I bequeath this to you. I think of you as a son, though of course this is entirely inaccurate.</p> <p>Your first task, Bartholemew, will be to pen a letter in your own hand. It will seem to you of a most strange and troubling character, but you must deliver it to an organisation whose name will become familiar to you in the years to come. You will establish yourself in their trust and what you obtain from them will furnish the beginnings of your work. It is to be addressed to Dr Hermann Keter and concerns recent events in the country of Guatamala…</p> </blockquote> <p>Bartholemew read on, eyes widening. At the bottom of the letter was the same swirling signature he had seen on the envelope. As he looked at it it resolved itself into letters. They said:</p> <p><em>B. Dark</em></p> </div> </div> </div> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"Delight" by Drewbear</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Time for something happy, I think.</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>I try to be good in small ways. You know, doing little things that brighten someone's day. Sometimes I go a little overboard, but that's a learning experience, is all. And hardly anyone is around to complain.</p> <p>One day, many years ago, I was walking around a college campus when I overhead a young woman crying at a picnic table outside one of the dorms. Listening in, I overhead that it was her first birthday away from her family (only 17! Such a precocious young thing!) and that no-one here had wished her a happy birthday or gotten her anything. She sounded very, very sad and lonely. Poor thing, all alone on her birthday.</p> <p>So I wandered away for a bit, keeping my eye on her in the meantime, and took a birthday card from the campus store. I wrote a birthday wish in it, in my elegant handwriting, and sealed it with a smile and a kiss. She didn't even notice when I slipped it into her backpack as she passed me on her way to class.</p> <p>I didn't follow her ALL of the day (that would be impolite), but I did return to her side when I felt her touch the imprint of my kiss on the envelope. Graceful fingers and a gentle touch. She seemed hesitant as she opened the envelope, but she seemed so surprised and happy when she opened the card and the spray of light erupted from my writing. Seeing the tears of joy roll down her cheeks, I was so happy to make her feel better, and took my leave of her to spread goodness elsewhere.</p> <blockquote> <p>May your eyes ever sparkle and your voice ever soar.<br/> May your pockets never empty that you never shall be poor.<br/> May your lovers find you winsome and your husbands treat you kind.<br/> May your womb ever quicken with the children of your mind.</p> <p>Happy Birthday, dear one</p> <p>Enjoy your gifts well.</p> </blockquote> </div> </div> </div> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"D-1243" by ChazzK</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Happy belated birthday! Better late than never!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>"D-class subject number 1243." That was what he had been called for the last 39 days. Twenty nine days of "community service", following ten days of transfer and orientation after he signed the form that got him off death row for a charge that was trumped up anyway. That was what he said and stuck by, it couldn't be first degree murder if he never met the other guy before, and besides that guy was the one with the gun. Not his fault he was just quicker, nor that the guy had such a short temper that the gun was pulled to start with.</p> <p>So strange that someone in his position could get off with "community service", but then again this was a strange community. His first three days involved cleaning some awful sludge out of the holding pen for some sort of statue. Just once, someone blinked a split second too early and 0781 fell right on his ass, due to the concrete hands an inch from his neck. Then it was a week watching a television that kept playing some kind of footage of Ronald Reagan; he had to write down all the horrible ways the tape kept changing, and man it was horrible. He actually kind of liked the couple of days that he got to spend with the bugs, the researcher involved with them was so nice, especially since he wasn't one of the poor saps who got bit.</p> <p>Yes, D-1243 was a lucky guy. Bouncing back and forth between tests because of minor contrivances, being part of the group (or only one of the group) to unexpectedly survive, or just get an easy one. D-1243 had seen other men in orange jumpsuits beaten, shocked or outright gunned down because they wouldn't cooperate, but he hadn't been hardened by prison enough to think "sticking it to the man" was more important than seeing freedom.</p> <p>That morning, D-1243 woke up in the dormitory with the same three men he had shared it since D-8775 got stuck in a hole in a wall. Today was the day. They would be given drugs that would make them forget everything they saw, and be released back into the world. It was an extra special day, and few things were as disturbingly heartwarming as seeing former-death-row-inmates gathered around singing "Happy Birthday." They were all happy though, they were getting out too.</p> <p>"So how old are you, anyway?"</p> <p>"Twenty-nine."</p> <p>"Man, what a birthday gift!"</p> <p>The five D-class subjects were eventually gathered up and moved by armed escort through the wing. The room they were led to was small, with smooth metal walls and no windows. The door made a distinctive clang as it closed shut. D-1243 then heard the slight hiss of gas being released; that must be how the mind-wipe drugs worked, he thought. The five men got sleepy fast, and laid down on the bare metal floor. The last thing D-1243 thought before his mind shut down was that he hoped he would wake up soon; he wanted to be able to have some cake on his first birthday as a free man.</p> </div> </div> </div> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"Doll" by Reject</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">And a belated happy birthday to the Father of the site!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>Stuffed animals are so much better than people. Just like Mommy said. When a stuffed animal rips, you just sew it back together. Stuffed animals always listen to you talk and never tell you to do anything you don't want. Best of all, stuffed animals are with you forever.</p> <p>Daddy said that seven is too old to still have teddy bears and stuff, but I think he's wrong. Other than you Freddybear, there's Buttons the rabbit, Millicent the moose, and Socrates the squirrel. I've had just about all of them as long as I can remember. And <em>they've</em> never broken. Well, too badly at least.</p> <p>But apparently, there's this thing called a "prostate" in Daddy. Or, well, there used to be. They said that "luckeemy" or "lookemiaw" or something like that got to his. They said Daddy would be taken away from me and I wouldn't see him any more. They would never say something like that about you or Buttons or Millicent or Socrates. You'll be with me forever. I guess all you need is thread and stuffing to really change someone.</p> <p>And I got my way, Freddybear. Now Daddy can be with us again. Mommy was so right. I haven't seen him look so happy since he got sick. I'm tired though, I think it's time to go to sleep.</p> <p>Good night Freddybear.</p> <p>Good night Buttons.</p> <p>Good night Millicent.</p> <p>Good night Socrates.</p> <p>Good night Daddy.</p> </div> </div> </div> <hr/> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">"Dust You Are" by thedeadlymoose</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Holy shit I am late. Happy birthday Gears!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>The wretched creature was alive once. Before it - <em>she</em>, then - walked down the wrong back road, stepped into the wrong copse of scraggly trees. Something laid in wait there in the backwoods, a tiny monstrosity nesting in a hole in reality. A flytrap.</p> <p>It's important not to misunderstand the nature of this tiny monstrosity. It was hardly unique. Nor even at the top of the food chain. Nor was not even preying on this woman, at least not in the way we might understand that term.</p> <p>It was aiming to reproduce.</p> <p>The flytraps catch many things, but their favorites are the thinking ones. More suitable for the precious eggs desposited in its carapace. The flytraps fear the eggs, as the eggs are not their own. The eggs are not dangerous, but their layers are, and the flytraps know that the thinking things make better minds to add to the embryos in the eggs.</p> <p>This flytrap caught the woman in its snare, and injected her with its venom. The venom would keep her alive for eons. Paralyzed, conscious, fresh.</p> <p>Once the eggs were implanted, the flytrap spun her up into the cocoon of rock and dirt and crawled back through its hole. Back to its cold, black, infinite den, from which none escape.</p> <p>It arranged the woman and several other victims in a careful circle around a tiny flame. The tiny flame would provide enough light and heat to keep the woman alive in her prison, with the venom doing the rest. The flytrap spun carefully, gently. After all, this was a nest, and these were its charges, the children it would raise for its masters.</p> <p>The flytrap watched the woman for a time, to ensure that the temperature was right and the woman would not wake up before the eggs had grown into her.</p> <p>The flytrap was very patient, and it watched for a long time. It watched the boils form on the rock prison as the woman tried to scream inside it. Tiny rivulets of melted rock run along the prison's surface like tears. The prison trembled, and the flytrap watched with concern.</p> <p>A tiny part of the prison broke off, taking a piece of the woman with it. The flytrap shuffled the broken part back into the nest next to the imprisoned woman. Maybe this extra piece would form a child too. It had been known to happen. The woman's torn body writhed in agony for a long time after, but the prison held firm.</p> <p>The flytrap waited until the woman's screaming cooled to a silent insanity, and the prison cooled with it. The broken piece was forming into its own, smaller, cocoon as well. By now, the eggs had grown into the woman so much that they could no longer be considered separate entities. They were now a child in a cocoon.</p> <p>Then the flytrap crawled away, satisfied. Soon enough, now, the creature would be ready to be born, and more eggs were waiting to be laid. The woman's quiet, undifferentiated, mindless fear would be just right for the fledgling child. The first few eons were so critical.</p> <p>So the flytrap missed what happened next.</p> <p>The cocoon became infected.</p> <p>Boils spread again across the woman-thing's cocoon, and burst to form rivers, lakes, oceans of pus. A haze of gas clouded over the cocoon's once-pristine surface. Tiny parasites swam in the infected swill and multipled. The woman-thing struggled anew as the parasites swarmed across the cocoon's surface, biting and crawling like an army of fleas. The woman-thing's quiet, sleeping insanity became a mad existence of paralyzed torture.</p> <p>Floating in its solar nest, in the corner of the flytrap's den in the vast expanse of space, the creature called "Mother Earth" by its parasites waits in increasing madness to be born.</p> </div> </div> </div> <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="/surprise-happy-birthday-2">Surprise! Happy Birthday! Again.</a>" by TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/surprise-happy-birthday-2">https://scpwiki.com/surprise-happy-birthday-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]] [[/>]] [!-- THIS IS AWESOME, TROY! HOW DO I ADD MY OWN!?!?!? Well, that's simple, Mr. Person Editing This Page. Toss in a collapsible. Give us the name of your creepy pasta and your name as the "show", and put in a special birthday message as the "hide." Make sure you put in a line break. Have fun, guys! And enjoy Gears Day! --] > //Well, well, well... What have we here?// > //You've managed to survive yet another year?// > //A year of work, of screaming children,// > //A year of delving into things unbidden.// > //Oh? What's that? We shouldn't know?// > //All those terrible things you didn't show?// > //Of course we do. We are your friends.// > //Confidants. Allies. And more again.// > //We know the stories, even those you don't tell.// > //You see Gears... You give us our visions of hell.// > > Happy Birthday, oh Leader of men. We come to you again. Bearing tales. Tales of the third side of the mirror. Tales of the taste of the air when a child is screaming in sorrow. Happy tales. Sad tales. Tales of games that eat your mind. Tales of books that give you a black brilliance, the kind that gives answers, but only the kind without comfort. Tales of the song you hear when you sleep, but not when you wake again. Tales of the righteous throne of terrible glory. Tales about tales. Tales about you. Tales about us. > > Some of them are even true. > > Happy birthday...! And many more. ----- [[collapsible show=""Doomed" by RhettSarlin" hide="Congratulations on the first iteration of your 29th birthday. May there be many more 29th's to come."]] It's coming for me. I try to hide, I run and do my best to avoid it. But it is a patient predator, and I know that with time, it will catch me. I can evade it for now. I still have to find a way to fix things. But I don't have long. It has begun to consume my parents, my wife, one of my siblings...none of them even realized the end had come for them. Now it has begun, and they are all doomed. I can see it, I know what it is doing. I have to stop it before it consumes the rest my family, my friends, my children....hell, the entire human race. But it can see me. It knows what I am doing too. I am next. And it is laughing. It knows it has found me, it mocks my futile attempts to escape, following my every move. And once it begins its work, it will never stop until I am dead. It will decay my body slowly and painfully, withering my skin, tainting my hair, weakening my bones. It will rob me of my ability to run, to walk, to think, to breathe. It will slowly rob me of my sanity and my life, and all the while the world will think it normal, simply because they are used to it. Why do none of them ever think to look.... It is a predator. It found us on this world, and latched onto us. Ancient scriptures tell of the men it first began to affect, draining them of their eternal youth, unnaturally ending their lives. They invented other excuses for it, not knowing what was happening to them. It grows more powerful every year. It has learned to begin younger, ever younger. Once you turn 30, it is too late. It has you. But I still have time. [[/collapsible]] ----- [[collapsible show=""Daddy" by Bright" hide="Happy Birthday, boss"]] The light was out. It was her worst dream, having the light be out. They always came for her in the dark. The monsters, the bad men, the creatures who hated her. She waited for them, shivering, her eyes closed, as she felt the harsh, warm breath on her bare ankles. They called her name, from the shadows. She crossed her legs, then pulled them under her, trying not to let tears drift down her face. Gentle, sharp claws traced indelicate patterns across her arms, no matter where she put them. She wouldn't call out. Not this time. She would be brave. She would be strong! She would bite her lip to keep from screaming when a tentacle crawled across her leg. No. She had to call out. She had to call: "DADDDDDDDEEEE!" Andrew rushed to his daughters bedroom. Only two and she had such horrible nightmares. He flicked the light on when he came in the room, and scooped his little girl into his arms. "Aw, lookit that, your nightlight burnt out! Don't worry little lady, Daddy will leave the door open." After a couple of minutes reassuring her, he set her back in her bed, and walked back to his own bed. He lay down, sighing at the imagination on his daughter, and turned off the light. The last thing he thought before he fell asleep was to wonder what was slithering across his feet… [[/collapsible]] ----- [[collapsible show=""Delicacy" by Roget" hide="Happy Birth Day!"]] I'm sorry, where are my manners? I haven't said a word to you this entire meal. You can't really blame me though. This food is so delectable, so…exotic. It really is a shame you won't try any. Can I tempt you to take just a bite? No? A pity. You of all people would be able to enjoy it. Appreciate the subtleties, the textures…it would be so foreign, but so… familiar. How are you feeling? You look a little pale. I know you are in good health, we made sure you were very fit. The sedatives might be causing you to be woozy, but you should have been used to it by now. I know this is a bit stressful, but you can't be sick at dinner. It would be quite sad to see your palette dampened by illness. Let you go? But you've only just arrived! We barely even started the first course! By the way, your feet have the look of a traveler-a man who's been places, seen exotic flavors, trodden on strange and wonderful fauna. Where are you from? Ah, don't be like that. Please try to be civil at the table. You have very muscular legs. Probably from all the travel and training. Interesting tidbit, the exercises we had you do were to keep your muscles firm and lean, not too tender and not too tough. The pinnacle of physical perfection. If you weren't being so modest, I'm sure you would agree. You know what they say about a mans heart? They say it holds out a mans secrets, and all the things that he's experienced in his life. Everything touched by his blood flavors the heart, and keeps it unique from any other. No two hearts are the same. Bon appetit. [[/collapsible]] ----- [[collapsible show=""Demon" by Drewbear" hide="It only comes once a year. Enjoy yourself!"]] On my 21^^st^^ birthday, my sister gave me a Chinese wall scroll. A mountain view, simply done is strokes of black and green and purple. Spare and soothing, I keep it in a prominent place in my living room: a moment of peace in the turbulence of my life. A couple of years later, I noticed something new in the scroll. A lone figure, perhaps a scholar, small but somehow exuding a sense of purpose as he trudged up the narrow, winding path towards the mountain. I wondered at how I'd missed it before. It filled a space within the scroll and provided a measure of balance while adding a slight note of tension to the scene. But overall, I forgot about it as I dealt with my troubles in work and school. Last year, a friend was looking at the scroll and asked me about the figures and what I thought they were doing. Figures? Yes, another inspection showed the same scholar, only further up the path. And standing in front of him was a large creature, an oni, all done in swipes of intricate red and black. The scholar's back was to us, but the oni's face was almost... quizzical, rather than the twisted scowl they traditionally wore. I kept an eye on the scroll ever since, but nothing else changed. Yet somehow, the tension in the scroll seemed to ooze out and inhabit the entire living room. Sitting in there, even walking through the room, filled everyone with a sense of... horrible expectancy. And somehow the thought of removing the scroll seemed even worse. ANYTHING could happen if it wasn't watched. Today I looked at it and the scholar lay sprawled in the path, his robes askew around him. The oni is almost at the bottom of the path, at the edge of the scroll, claws lifted as if to rip at the edge of the scroll. And its face is looking straight out of the scroll at me. I can't even touch the scroll now; when I lay hands on it, it feels like someone is stabbing my arms with knives all up and down them. Last week was my birthday. I have a year left to do something. [[/collapsible]] ------- [[collapsible show=""Dues" by Jekeled" hide="Happy birthday! Here's to a (hopefully) great year!"]] Ah, you're finally here. Come on in, have a seat. Want anything to drink? Some wine? Whisky? I have a great Scotch that you might love- No? All right, but you know you //can// mix buisness with pleasure, right? White or black? White? E7 to E5. D8 to H4. Mate. I'm disappointed. I thought you would have learned, after all these years. A fool's mate is unbecoming for you. Now, what'll the cost be? Something extra for that pathetic performance, at the very least. Let's say, a year from you, and a year from your child. That should be acceptable. Better luck next time. I'll always be here if you need another match. [[/collapsible]] -------------- [[collapsible show=""Die" by Tanhony" hide="Enjoy your birthday, Gears!"]] I am in Hell, I am sure of it. The place where I am made to walk, with no control over my movement, looks like a city, but it is empty of life, other than the unspeakable things that share its roads with me. There is no sun, only black holes in the sky, eight in all, that stare at me. I fear that they are the eyes of indescribable gods waiting in the darkness. Waiting for the strength to leave my legs, for my arms to be burnt to useless crisps. Then they will pounce quickly, and there will be nothing left of me but a scrap of clothing, or perhaps a single rib. The train passes me, a reminder of my sins. In its windows are the faces of children, their faces accusing. Water pours from their mouths and their empty eye sockets. They are the children that plumetted of the bridge that I built, formed from fragile wood and hollow beams. Are they crying or screaming? I cannot tell, and I suppose it no longer matters. The train is but the kindest of my torments, and as it speeds away, the car comes around the corner, my wife at the wheel, There is a butcher knife protruding from the back of her head. She stops the car a short distance in front of me. I pray she will not speak, but God still gives me no compassion. Her neck twists and cracks as it turns to me, her head soon facing the other direction from the rest of her body. Rats are eating her eyes. "Curtis." Her voice is the sound of uncivilized feasting, of the drip of rainwater and of a final, dying scream, repeated over and over for eternity. She waits for a reply, but my condition prevents me from giving one. She smiles, and her teeth are small, sharped and barbed. "You deserve this, you know." She explains, and speeds off. It is my turn to move. I am walked up the street and turn the corner. As I take each step, I can hear blood splashing against the lumps of skinned meat that were once my feet. I hear a smashing behind me. I already know what it is, the worst of these terrible apparations. The only thing I can describe it as is a hat, but a hat it is not. It stops next to me, and as it brushes against my hand, I see horrific images. Men thrown into pits to die, a child being strangled by a man with many hands, and those are the best of those visions. The hat speaks in its terrible, alien language. Does it offer sympathy, contempt or indifference? I will never know, and I do not wish to. I wish only for my existence to cease, to be no more. Finally, I am allowed to move again in the slow, plodding pace that is forced upon me. I pass go, and collect two hundred dollars. [[/collapsible]] ---------------------- [[collapsible show=""Desperation" by Dmatix" hide="Happy birthday, Gears, and many more to come."]] "The end has come, at last. Tonight Montségur will fall, and we will be released from the demonic bonds of flesh, free to join the true god in the spirit. Do not weep, my child, for this just death spares you for a fate most cruel- living in the flesh is a sin even the best of us cannot avoid, and only the clean death hold salvation. In a way, we should be thankful to the crusaders, for their cruelty releases us from the necessity of abiding the devil’s work any longer. In killing us, they are only proving how false their way is. My only regret is that when we, the last of the true perfecti, die, there will be no one left to free the souls of man from their bonds. Our holy words will die with us, and humanity will remain in this false world forever. Such a shame." "It is an act of desperation, in a way. The devil must have been so afraid of us." "They are growing closer, and time has run out. I will release you now. It is fortunate you are old enough to understand the words." "Only in a world of demons would I have to perform the rite of Consolamentum on someone so young." [[/collapsible]] ----------------------------------- [[collapsible show=""Domain" by Enma Ai" hide="Happy Birthday, Gears! You're an inspiration to us all!"]] I wake up, but I don't want to open my eyes. No light reaches them, so this makes black my color. I groan, tired. I really don't want to get up, but it's morning already and I must move. My sky greets me as I open my eyes. [[span style="color:darkblue"]]And this makes blue my color.[[/span]] [[span style="color:darkblue"]]I groan again. Why does it always do this? It makes my head dizzy. It makes me shudder.[[/span]] [[span style="color:darkblue"]]All the earth rumbles as I rise from my ditch.[[/span]] [[span style="color:darkblue"]]Standing, I brush my hands over my body, removing the dirt from it. I raise my eyes and then look at my fields.[[/span]] [[span style="color:darkgreen"]]And this makes green my color.[[/span]] [[span style="color:darkgreen"]]Walking around my fields, my mind starts working. I start thinking of important things.[[/span]] [[span style="color:darkgreen"]]Like... if God is my father, and also their father, doesn't that make us brothers? I shudder at the thought.[[/span]] [[span style="color:darkgreen"]]I mean, just to think I could have anything to do with--[[/span]] [[span style="color:darkgreen"]]I see something in the distance. Two small shapes. Two small, deformed, //monstrous// shapes.[[/span]] [[span style="color:darkgreen"]]Standing on my fields.[[/span]] [[span style="color:darkgreen"]]So I walk...[[/span]] ----------------------------------- "Hey... hey, Simon. The hell is that?" "Dunno... don't like the way it's moving, though..." ----------------------------------- [[span style="color:darkgreen"]]...towards them.[[/span]] ----------------------------------- "It's... it's getting closer." "Yeah, maybe we should--" ----------------------------------- [[span style="color:darkred"]]Now red is my color.[[/span]] ----------------------------------- "Oh my God, //what the hell is that thing//?" ----------------------------------- [[span style="color:darkred"]]Ugly, but still, those //things//...[[/span]] ----------------------------------- "Shoot it! Shoot it, dammit!" ----------------------------------- [[span style="color:darkred"]]...they...[[/span]] ----------------------------------- "Run! Run, go get help!" "What about you?!" "I'll try to ho--" ----------------------------------- [[span style="color:darkred"]]...are...[[/span]] ----------------------------------- "ohgodohgodohgodohgod" ----------------------------------- [[span style="color:darkred"]]...mine...[[/span]] ----------------------------------- "ohgodohgodohg--" ----------------------------------- [[span style="color:darkred"]]...too.[[/span]] [[/collapsible]] ----- [[collapsible show=""Denizen" by Bunton" hide="Happy birthday, you wonderful old man. Didn't know what else to write."]] I don’t know why my mummy screams. She just keeps scratching me and yelling and crying. It makes me feel sad. Is it my fault? I thought she liked having me here, I thought... I thought... Why doesn’t she love me? Is it something I did? She keeps... she keeps saying that she’s not my real mummy. But she raised me. I don’t care who put me here. My mummy is my mummy. She’s warm and nice and lovely. I love my mum She doesn’t really have any other children. I’m her only daughter, and I have her all to myself. I think she’s all alone. Nobody else ever comes here, not since what she told me about my other mother’s arrival. I don’t like my other mother. She abandoned me and left me. This mummy gave me a home. It’s a good home. So big and comfy. I just wish she’d stop scratching. She’ll hurt herself. Ahhh... she keeps... she keeps doing it to me. Why? Why does my mum keep hurting me? I thought she loved me... I thought she... I’m just trying to rupture. Doesn’t she want me to leave her body? Should I stay? [[/collapsible]] ----- [[collapsible show=""Dark" by SRegan" hide="Happy birthday - may your drive chain always run smoothly and your teeth never chip!"]] New York, August, 1911. He had never liked birthdays much. Every year people had asked him how it felt to be sixteen, eighteen, twenty. And his answer was always 'the same as it felt yesterday'. It nonplussed him that people couldn't see that time existed irrelevant of human demarcations. But then, he had always viewed the world differently from those around him. They had stopped asking after twenty-two, as though one ceased to acquire new experiences or change one's perspectives after that date. Today he woke, as was his custom, one minute before the bell in the alarm clock beside him burst into life, and flattened the brass pip with the ball of his palm. He was twenty-nine years old. To be accurate, he thought, he would be twenty-nine as commonly reckoned at nine thirty-five this evening - until then he was merely a spritely twenty-eight. But as far as he could see, the conventional way men measured their ages was incorrect anyway; everyone was nine months older than they thought. He rose, lit a cigarette at the window then went over to the washbasin, regarded himself in the shaving mirror. He saw the same long, lugubrious face with dark eyes he had seen for as long as he could remember. I have not changed, he thought, though he knew it was untrue - you just changed more slowly than you could perceive it. Those near you were under the same glamour of repetition - they would remain convinced that time had no grip on you, until the day they noticed you were losing your hair or wearing your glasses all the time or were suddenly struck by the way your eyes creased when you smiled. Death would sneak up on everyone, he thought, and there was something beautiful in that thought. Death the Great Leveller. The movie stars, the debutantes, the great and the good would all collapse and putrefy one day at a time, and they would adapt to and accept it, just like everyone else. He went over to the ice-box and took out a bottle of Pemberton's cola, pressing it against his forehead. One product of this country he could live with, he thought. He could already feel how unconscionably hot it would be today, and the docks would give him no allowance for the day of his birth. Soon he would have to go and clock in. Things could have been different, he thought. He could have applied himself at the little rural school back in England and pursued a career as a doctor, or lawyer. Or perhaps that would have only increased the world's demand on him - to shut down his mind, to stupefy him. At least engaged in the menial task of loading and unloading the lifeblood of world commerce he had some time to think, to construct edifices and structures of cognition. When five years ago he had crossed the Atlantic to make his fortune in America he could not have imagined that he would have come to this, slaving fourteen hours a day in the hot sun, cursed at by his mental inferiors. The letter on his doormat as he made to leave took him quite by surprise. In the first instance, the room he rented for eight dollars a month didn't even have a postal address - it was a cramped box that had been half a parlour, subdivided by his landlord to fit in another credulous wealth-seeker from England. He picked it up - the envelope crisp, white paper of a sort he hadn't seen before - an ornate cartouche on the upper right hand corner. There was no stamp or postal mark, so it must have been delivered by hand. He turned it over and saw his own name in a swirling, faintly familiar hand on the front. He had a minute or so, he thought, closing the door again and slitting the letter open with a breadknife. Inside was a small bundle of letters, tied together with a deep crimson ribbon. He untied it, carefully. Was it too much to hope for deliverance, that someone had seen him and believed in him, his power to change the world - that he might have a //patron//? He lifted the first sheet and read what it said. > Dear Bartholemew, > > I am most apologetic for the delay in sending these documents - I could inform you that the method I have discovered of transmitting them did not allow them to reach you prior to this point. That, however, would be a lie. And we must never lie to ourselves, must we? I have chosen this day and this moment because you are ready. You have seen what I have seen and are mentally prepared to act upon it. Do not consider me your master or a tyrant; I am simply accelerating the process that took far longer to reach fruition in my case. It may well be that you never discover yourself the means by which I prepared or sent these documents - I have prepared for this eventuality and in these papers you will find guidance that will serve you through the coming decades. > > At this time you still harbour dreams of industrial prowess - of making your wealth in oil, or gold, or the railways. I have something grander in mind for you; an empire. There are partners you must seek out and persuade - their counterparts have persuaded me of the dangers of too great an interference of my part, so these documents are to remain secret from them at first. In the nineteen-thirties you are to write out some of the information I provide to you in this document and share it with them; instructions on what to copy and when are provided therein. If you heed my advice, your empire will expand over continents and encompass Presidents, Prime Ministers, the law and police - I bequeath this to you. I think of you as a son, though of course this is entirely inaccurate. > > Your first task, Bartholemew, will be to pen a letter in your own hand. It will seem to you of a most strange and troubling character, but you must deliver it to an organisation whose name will become familiar to you in the years to come. You will establish yourself in their trust and what you obtain from them will furnish the beginnings of your work. It is to be addressed to Dr Hermann Keter and concerns recent events in the country of Guatamala... Bartholemew read on, eyes widening. At the bottom of the letter was the same swirling signature he had seen on the envelope. As he looked at it it resolved itself into letters. They said: //B. Dark// [[/collapsible]] ------- [[collapsible show=""Delight" by Drewbear" hide="Time for something happy, I think."]] I try to be good in small ways. You know, doing little things that brighten someone's day. Sometimes I go a little overboard, but that's a learning experience, is all. And hardly anyone is around to complain. One day, many years ago, I was walking around a college campus when I overhead a young woman crying at a picnic table outside one of the dorms. Listening in, I overhead that it was her first birthday away from her family (only 17! Such a precocious young thing!) and that no-one here had wished her a happy birthday or gotten her anything. She sounded very, very sad and lonely. Poor thing, all alone on her birthday. So I wandered away for a bit, keeping my eye on her in the meantime, and took a birthday card from the campus store. I wrote a birthday wish in it, in my elegant handwriting, and sealed it with a smile and a kiss. She didn't even notice when I slipped it into her backpack as she passed me on her way to class. I didn't follow her ALL of the day (that would be impolite), but I did return to her side when I felt her touch the imprint of my kiss on the envelope. Graceful fingers and a gentle touch. She seemed hesitant as she opened the envelope, but she seemed so surprised and happy when she opened the card and the spray of light erupted from my writing. Seeing the tears of joy roll down her cheeks, I was so happy to make her feel better, and took my leave of her to spread goodness elsewhere. > May your eyes ever sparkle and your voice ever soar. > May your pockets never empty that you never shall be poor. > May your lovers find you winsome and your husbands treat you kind. > May your womb ever quicken with the children of your mind. > > Happy Birthday, dear one > > Enjoy your gifts well. [[/collapsible]] ---- [[collapsible show=""D-1243" by ChazzK" hide="Happy belated birthday! Better late than never!"]] "D-class subject number 1243." That was what he had been called for the last 39 days. Twenty nine days of "community service", following ten days of transfer and orientation after he signed the form that got him off death row for a charge that was trumped up anyway. That was what he said and stuck by, it couldn't be first degree murder if he never met the other guy before, and besides that guy was the one with the gun. Not his fault he was just quicker, nor that the guy had such a short temper that the gun was pulled to start with. So strange that someone in his position could get off with "community service", but then again this was a strange community. His first three days involved cleaning some awful sludge out of the holding pen for some sort of statue. Just once, someone blinked a split second too early and 0781 fell right on his ass, due to the concrete hands an inch from his neck. Then it was a week watching a television that kept playing some kind of footage of Ronald Reagan; he had to write down all the horrible ways the tape kept changing, and man it was horrible. He actually kind of liked the couple of days that he got to spend with the bugs, the researcher involved with them was so nice, especially since he wasn't one of the poor saps who got bit. Yes, D-1243 was a lucky guy. Bouncing back and forth between tests because of minor contrivances, being part of the group (or only one of the group) to unexpectedly survive, or just get an easy one. D-1243 had seen other men in orange jumpsuits beaten, shocked or outright gunned down because they wouldn't cooperate, but he hadn't been hardened by prison enough to think "sticking it to the man" was more important than seeing freedom. That morning, D-1243 woke up in the dormitory with the same three men he had shared it since D-8775 got stuck in a hole in a wall. Today was the day. They would be given drugs that would make them forget everything they saw, and be released back into the world. It was an extra special day, and few things were as disturbingly heartwarming as seeing former-death-row-inmates gathered around singing "Happy Birthday." They were all happy though, they were getting out too. "So how old are you, anyway?" "Twenty-nine." "Man, what a birthday gift!" The five D-class subjects were eventually gathered up and moved by armed escort through the wing. The room they were led to was small, with smooth metal walls and no windows. The door made a distinctive clang as it closed shut. D-1243 then heard the slight hiss of gas being released; that must be how the mind-wipe drugs worked, he thought. The five men got sleepy fast, and laid down on the bare metal floor. The last thing D-1243 thought before his mind shut down was that he hoped he would wake up soon; he wanted to be able to have some cake on his first birthday as a free man. [[/collapsible]] ------- [[collapsible show=""Doll" by Reject" hide="And a belated happy birthday to the Father of the site!"]] Stuffed animals are so much better than people. Just like Mommy said. When a stuffed animal rips, you just sew it back together. Stuffed animals always listen to you talk and never tell you to do anything you don't want. Best of all, stuffed animals are with you forever. Daddy said that seven is too old to still have teddy bears and stuff, but I think he's wrong. Other than you Freddybear, there's Buttons the rabbit, Millicent the moose, and Socrates the squirrel. I've had just about all of them as long as I can remember. And //they've// never broken. Well, too badly at least. But apparently, there's this thing called a "prostate" in Daddy. Or, well, there used to be. They said that "luckeemy" or "lookemiaw" or something like that got to his. They said Daddy would be taken away from me and I wouldn't see him any more. They would never say something like that about you or Buttons or Millicent or Socrates. You'll be with me forever. I guess all you need is thread and stuffing to really change someone. And I got my way, Freddybear. Now Daddy can be with us again. Mommy was so right. I haven't seen him look so happy since he got sick. I'm tired though, I think it's time to go to sleep. Good night Freddybear. Good night Buttons. Good night Millicent. Good night Socrates. Good night Daddy. [[/collapsible]] ------- [[collapsible show=""Dust You Are" by thedeadlymoose" hide="Holy shit I am late. Happy birthday Gears!"]] The wretched creature was alive once. Before it - //she//, then - walked down the wrong back road, stepped into the wrong copse of scraggly trees. Something laid in wait there in the backwoods, a tiny monstrosity nesting in a hole in reality. A flytrap. It's important not to misunderstand the nature of this tiny monstrosity. It was hardly unique. Nor even at the top of the food chain. Nor was not even preying on this woman, at least not in the way we might understand that term. It was aiming to reproduce. The flytraps catch many things, but their favorites are the thinking ones. More suitable for the precious eggs desposited in its carapace. The flytraps fear the eggs, as the eggs are not their own. The eggs are not dangerous, but their layers are, and the flytraps know that the thinking things make better minds to add to the embryos in the eggs. This flytrap caught the woman in its snare, and injected her with its venom. The venom would keep her alive for eons. Paralyzed, conscious, fresh. Once the eggs were implanted, the flytrap spun her up into the cocoon of rock and dirt and crawled back through its hole. Back to its cold, black, infinite den, from which none escape. It arranged the woman and several other victims in a careful circle around a tiny flame. The tiny flame would provide enough light and heat to keep the woman alive in her prison, with the venom doing the rest. The flytrap spun carefully, gently. After all, this was a nest, and these were its charges, the children it would raise for its masters. The flytrap watched the woman for a time, to ensure that the temperature was right and the woman would not wake up before the eggs had grown into her. The flytrap was very patient, and it watched for a long time. It watched the boils form on the rock prison as the woman tried to scream inside it. Tiny rivulets of melted rock run along the prison's surface like tears. The prison trembled, and the flytrap watched with concern. A tiny part of the prison broke off, taking a piece of the woman with it. The flytrap shuffled the broken part back into the nest next to the imprisoned woman. Maybe this extra piece would form a child too. It had been known to happen. The woman's torn body writhed in agony for a long time after, but the prison held firm. The flytrap waited until the woman's screaming cooled to a silent insanity, and the prison cooled with it. The broken piece was forming into its own, smaller, cocoon as well. By now, the eggs had grown into the woman so much that they could no longer be considered separate entities. They were now a child in a cocoon. Then the flytrap crawled away, satisfied. Soon enough, now, the creature would be ready to be born, and more eggs were waiting to be laid. The woman's quiet, undifferentiated, mindless fear would be just right for the fledgling child. The first few eons were so critical. So the flytrap missed what happened next. The cocoon became infected. Boils spread again across the woman-thing's cocoon, and burst to form rivers, lakes, oceans of pus. A haze of gas clouded over the cocoon's once-pristine surface. Tiny parasites swam in the infected swill and multipled. The woman-thing struggled anew as the parasites swarmed across the cocoon's surface, biting and crawling like an army of fleas. The woman-thing's quiet, sleeping insanity became a mad existence of paralyzed torture. Floating in its solar nest, in the corner of the flytrap's den in the vast expanse of space, the creature called "Mother Earth" by its parasites waits in increasing madness to be born. [[/collapsible]] @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-08-18T17:58:00	[ "_licensebox", "collaboration", "creepypasta", "tale" ]	Surprise! Happy Birthday! Again. - SCP Foundation	30	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "new-age-hub", "creepy-pasta", "acquisitions-hub" ]	[]	14072141	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/surprise-happy-birthday-2
sweetness	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><em>He dried her tears, because that’s what fathers do, and carefully brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “It’s alright, Sweetness…” he said softly. “It’s alright…”</em></p> <p><em>Sweetness. Her mother had called her that from the first day she was born, and as she looked up at him, the sparkling green eyes of his daughter carried the smile from her lips to his heart, and he knew that the nightmare she’d had would pass, just as they always did.</em></p> <p><em>“I know, Daddy,” she said, her tiny hand gripping his middle and index finger.</em></p> <p><em>When he tugged his fingers, she didn’t let go, and he slowly smiled. She smiled back. “Tell me a story please, Daddy?” she requested.</em></p> <p><em>He had to laugh. Had she faked the dream? Maybe even the tears? He didn’t know. But now that he was here, awake, and relieved by that sort of rapid recovery from terror that only children can have, he assented.</em></p> <p><em>“Of course, Sweetness…” he said.</em></p> <hr/> <p>There was once a princess who a wicked man and his army kept in a tower. She was so beautiful—“<em>Beautiful like Mommy, Daddy?” she interrupted</em>—beautiful. Beautiful as a sunrise over the Sarawats, Princess.</p> <p>And she cried, my dear child. She cried and she screamed and she raged against those around her, and she dreamt day and night of seeing her father the king. If only she could escape from the wicked man and his army, she could see him, and together, they would drive the man out of the country and be happy and safe for all of time!</p> <p>It was her voice that was the reason they imprisoned her, of course. She sang, so beautifully, much more beautifully than anything else in the world, and the wicked man and his army wanted her songs for themselves, and so in their custody she remained.</p> <p>There was a knight among the wicked man’s army, one of her father’s loyal men. He was wise and brave and—“<em>What was his name?!</em>”—oh, Sweetness, I can’t tell you that. He’d be found out if his name was spoken aloud. But he was a good man. A great man of her people, and he slipped her things, presents and trinkets to help her run away. Soon, it would be time… She had merely to wait for the time.</p> <p>One day, she heard shouting from outside, and a loud noise called through the air, and she grew quiet and hushed her crying and screaming, for she saw her knight and his squires approach her with a large, metal horse—“<em>Can you tell me the horse’s name, Daddy?</em>”—named Aziz! And they quickly took her, and placed her on the back of Aziz, her horse, and they quickly sent her on her way, fighting back the men who came to attack her and take her hostage again, their swords moving quickly, so quickly, cutting at the wicked man’s foes.</p> <p>She rode on faithful Aziz and reached her father’s kingdom after a long journey, but as they rode, Aziz would tell her stories—<em>“He could talk?”</em>—of course he could talk! Aziz was a brilliant and loyal horse, and he would tell her tales of the desert and jinni and even the secrets of other metal things, like swords or pots or sewing needles. And though the journey was long and hard, she finally found her father’s castle, and hurried inside, only to discover that her father had been injured.</p> <p>It was an awful day… Her father was a great and loyal and wonderful man, the greatest to ever be, but he had been terribly wounded. He was so wise and strong, that he did not die, even though his assailants, who were those men in the army of the wicked man who imprisoned her, had cut out his heart and his tongue and his hands. They’d even stolen his blood.</p> <p>And the princess, who felt guilty now that she had screamed and cried and yelled because her father was doing no such thing. He sat there, wise and wonderful and nodding to her, and she lowered her head and he kissed her, for he had missed her so much and so terribly. And when he kissed her, she knew what she had to do. She had to give of herself to help him. And so, she gave him her voice so that he could again give orders to his loyal soldiers, who gathered instantly to his call!</p> <p>And the princess, now silent, rode with his soldiers… for they were going to find all of the King’s body and return it to him, and then he could be whole and well again, and the world could finally be at peace.</p> <hr/> <p><em>And he stopped, and she looked up at him, a whimpering coming onto her lips. “But…But Daddy! That’s not fair!” she exclaimed quickly.</em></p> <p><em>“What isn’t fair?” he asked, smiling to her and patting her hand.</em></p> <p><em>“Why did she give up her voice? She was just sad when she was crying…”</em></p> <p><em>“Oh, my Sweetness,” he said, chuckling softly. “All of us will give of our bodies one day, and we will all be among those who restore the king to his wholeness…” he said gently. “This princess gave of herself her greatest gift, just as one day, we shall too.”</em></p> <p><em>And his Sweetness smiled, because she knew this story now. It was one she’d been taught since she was born, learning her first words.</em></p> <p><em>“And will God be whole again soon, Daddy?” she asked.</em></p> <p><em>He smiled. “I pray, my Sweetness. Tomorrow, I shall tell you of the Princess’ quest to find her father’s heart and the secret of the golden tablet that made all things into his hands and many other wonderful things… But for now… sleep.”</em></p> <p><em>And he leaned down again, brushing away the same, troublesome lock of hair as earlier, and kissed her head, hearing the soft clicking in her arms and legs, and smiling at her proudly. So proudly.</em></p> <p><em>“Sleep, my Sweetness.”</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="/sweetness">Sweetness</a>" by Anonymouse99 and TroyL, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/sweetness">https://scpwiki.com/sweetness</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 dried her tears, because that’s what fathers do, and carefully brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “It’s alright, Sweetness...” he said softly. “It’s alright...”// //Sweetness. Her mother had called her that from the first day she was born, and as she looked up at him, the sparkling green eyes of his daughter carried the smile from her lips to his heart, and he knew that the nightmare she’d had would pass, just as they always did.// //“I know, Daddy,” she said, her tiny hand gripping his middle and index finger.// //When he tugged his fingers, she didn’t let go, and he slowly smiled. She smiled back. “Tell me a story please, Daddy?” she requested.// //He had to laugh. Had she faked the dream? Maybe even the tears? He didn’t know. But now that he was here, awake, and relieved by that sort of rapid recovery from terror that only children can have, he assented.// //“Of course, Sweetness…” he said.// ---- There was once a princess who a wicked man and his army kept in a tower. She was so beautiful—“//Beautiful like Mommy, Daddy?” she interrupted//—beautiful. Beautiful as a sunrise over the Sarawats, Princess. And she cried, my dear child. She cried and she screamed and she raged against those around her, and she dreamt day and night of seeing her father the king. If only she could escape from the wicked man and his army, she could see him, and together, they would drive the man out of the country and be happy and safe for all of time! It was her voice that was the reason they imprisoned her, of course. She sang, so beautifully, much more beautifully than anything else in the world, and the wicked man and his army wanted her songs for themselves, and so in their custody she remained. There was a knight among the wicked man’s army, one of her father’s loyal men. He was wise and brave and—“//What was his name?!//”—oh, Sweetness, I can’t tell you that. He’d be found out if his name was spoken aloud. But he was a good man. A great man of her people, and he slipped her things, presents and trinkets to help her run away. Soon, it would be time… She had merely to wait for the time. One day, she heard shouting from outside, and a loud noise called through the air, and she grew quiet and hushed her crying and screaming, for she saw her knight and his squires approach her with a large, metal horse—“//Can you tell me the horse’s name, Daddy?//”—named Aziz! And they quickly took her, and placed her on the back of Aziz, her horse, and they quickly sent her on her way, fighting back the men who came to attack her and take her hostage again, their swords moving quickly, so quickly, cutting at the wicked man’s foes. She rode on faithful Aziz and reached her father’s kingdom after a long journey, but as they rode, Aziz would tell her stories—//“He could talk?”//—of course he could talk! Aziz was a brilliant and loyal horse, and he would tell her tales of the desert and jinni and even the secrets of other metal things, like swords or pots or sewing needles. And though the journey was long and hard, she finally found her father’s castle, and hurried inside, only to discover that her father had been injured. It was an awful day… Her father was a great and loyal and wonderful man, the greatest to ever be, but he had been terribly wounded. He was so wise and strong, that he did not die, even though his assailants, who were those men in the army of the wicked man who imprisoned her, had cut out his heart and his tongue and his hands. They’d even stolen his blood. And the princess, who felt guilty now that she had screamed and cried and yelled because her father was doing no such thing. He sat there, wise and wonderful and nodding to her, and she lowered her head and he kissed her, for he had missed her so much and so terribly. And when he kissed her, she knew what she had to do. She had to give of herself to help him. And so, she gave him her voice so that he could again give orders to his loyal soldiers, who gathered instantly to his call! And the princess, now silent, rode with his soldiers… for they were going to find all of the King’s body and return it to him, and then he could be whole and well again, and the world could finally be at peace. ----- //And he stopped, and she looked up at him, a whimpering coming onto her lips. “But…But Daddy! That’s not fair!” she exclaimed quickly.// //“What isn’t fair?” he asked, smiling to her and patting her hand.// //“Why did she give up her voice? She was just sad when she was crying…”// //“Oh, my Sweetness,” he said, chuckling softly. “All of us will give of our bodies one day, and we will all be among those who restore the king to his wholeness…” he said gently. “This princess gave of herself her greatest gift, just as one day, we shall too.”// //And his Sweetness smiled, because she knew this story now. It was one she’d been taught since she was born, learning her first words.// //“And will God be whole again soon, Daddy?” she asked.// //He smiled. “I pray, my Sweetness. Tomorrow, I shall tell you of the Princess’ quest to find her father’s heart and the secret of the golden tablet that made all things into his hands and many other wonderful things… But for now… sleep.”// //And he leaned down again, brushing away the same, troublesome lock of hair as earlier, and kissed her head, hearing the soft clicking in her arms and legs, and smiling at her proudly. So proudly.// //“Sleep, my Sweetness.”// [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> \|author= Anonymouse99 and TroyL]] [!-- N/A (No Images) --] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-03-21T16:37:00	[ "_licensebox", "broken-god", "co-authored", "tale" ]	Sweetness - SCP Foundation	46	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales", "church-of-the-broken-god-hub" ]	[]	12968924	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sweetness
sympathy	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <br/> It had taken a long time and a lot of practice, but he was now able to draw pretty well. Or at least he thought so. He could also write well enough that he could ask for just about anything he could think of. The guards were fairly nice most of the time and usually did their best to get him what he wanted, but there were a lot of things that he wasn't allowed to have. Whenever those kind of requests were denied he would also invariably get a short lecture about having to stay healthy and eat right and all the other things that his mother would normally have said. All in all, it was almost like being home again, except that he wasn't very good at video games any more and he couldn't see any of his friends. <p>They did let him watch TV whenever he wanted, though, which was nice of them. He wasn't really good at keeping track of the date, so it was through watching that he realized that it was that time of the year again. He remembered from last year the time he'd spent under the careful, loving watch of his parents, running around the neighborhood with his best friends, gathering an enormous hoard of candy that their parents were careless in hiding afterwards and how sick they'd gotten afterwards.</p> <p>It wasn't until several minutes later that he realized what he'd been drawing while his mind wandered, and as he looked down at the jack-o-lanterns and children in costumes that he'd doodled, his heart sank. Screeching angrily at himself for dwelling on things he couldn't have any more, he dropped the crayon and retreated to the back corner of his room. He didn't come out for several hours, even ignoring the guard that was his favorite when he asked what was wrong. If he noticed the sympathetic frown on the guard's face as the man pored over his drawings before eventually disappearing from the room, he didn't care.</p> <p>As all children eventually do, he stopped sulking and came out of hiding, too hungry and thirsty to stay angry at himself. If he were capable of rubbing his eyes, he would have done so, as he stared open-mouthed at the (to him, at least) enormous pile of treasure that had appeared while he wasn't looking. Every kind of candy he ever loved, even the ones that his parents wouldn't let him have because they were "too bad for him", were sitting there just for him. Maybe, just maybe, this Halloween wouldn't be so bad after all.</p> <hr/> <blockquote> <p>A severe reprimand and administrative action have been levied against Agent Johnson due to his involvement and responsibility in Incident 1192-09, as his willful violation of standard procedure in his handling of SCP-1192 could have resulted in grave physical damage to the specimen.</p> <p>While Agent Johnson's career service vitae speaks much of his experience in the field and normally excellent handling of sapient objects, his poor judgment in this incident put him, his coworkers, and the Special Containment objects under their care in danger and such unprofessional behavior cannot be tolerated at the Foundation. Effectively immediately, Agent Johnson is to be transferred to Observation Post █-██ for a period of no less than twelve (12) months, during which he will have plenty of time to reflect upon his priorities.</p> <p>Dr. █████████<br/> Senior Observer</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="/sympathy">Sympathy</a>" by Aelanna, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/sympathy">https://scpwiki.com/sympathy</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 had taken a long time and a lot of practice, but he was now able to draw pretty well. Or at least he thought so. He could also write well enough that he could ask for just about anything he could think of. The guards were fairly nice most of the time and usually did their best to get him what he wanted, but there were a lot of things that he wasn't allowed to have. Whenever those kind of requests were denied he would also invariably get a short lecture about having to stay healthy and eat right and all the other things that his mother would normally have said. All in all, it was almost like being home again, except that he wasn't very good at video games any more and he couldn't see any of his friends. They did let him watch TV whenever he wanted, though, which was nice of them. He wasn't really good at keeping track of the date, so it was through watching that he realized that it was that time of the year again. He remembered from last year the time he'd spent under the careful, loving watch of his parents, running around the neighborhood with his best friends, gathering an enormous hoard of candy that their parents were careless in hiding afterwards and how sick they'd gotten afterwards. It wasn't until several minutes later that he realized what he'd been drawing while his mind wandered, and as he looked down at the jack-o-lanterns and children in costumes that he'd doodled, his heart sank. Screeching angrily at himself for dwelling on things he couldn't have any more, he dropped the crayon and retreated to the back corner of his room. He didn't come out for several hours, even ignoring the guard that was his favorite when he asked what was wrong. If he noticed the sympathetic frown on the guard's face as the man pored over his drawings before eventually disappearing from the room, he didn't care. As all children eventually do, he stopped sulking and came out of hiding, too hungry and thirsty to stay angry at himself. If he were capable of rubbing his eyes, he would have done so, as he stared open-mouthed at the (to him, at least) enormous pile of treasure that had appeared while he wasn't looking. Every kind of candy he ever loved, even the ones that his parents wouldn't let him have because they were "too bad for him", were sitting there just for him. Maybe, just maybe, this Halloween wouldn't be so bad after all. ---- > A severe reprimand and administrative action have been levied against Agent Johnson due to his involvement and responsibility in Incident 1192-09, as his willful violation of standard procedure in his handling of SCP-1192 could have resulted in grave physical damage to the specimen. > > While Agent Johnson's career service vitae speaks much of his experience in the field and normally excellent handling of sapient objects, his poor judgment in this incident put him, his coworkers, and the Special Containment objects under their care in danger and such unprofessional behavior cannot be tolerated at the Foundation. Effectively immediately, Agent Johnson is to be transferred to Observation Post █-██ for a period of no less than twelve (12) months, during which he will have plenty of time to reflect upon his priorities. > > Dr. █████████ > Senior Observer @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-10-30T22:20:00	[ "_licensebox", "bittersweet", "halloween", "hc2012", "tale" ]	Sympathy - SCP Foundation	61	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-2-tales-edition", "halloween-contest", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	14851351	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sympathy
sympathy-for-an-empath	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>I miss the children.</p> <p>I miss them so much.</p> <p>I miss Janey and Jake and David and Roxanne.</p> <p>These people are alright, I suppose. They're not the kids, but I like them anyways. I guess I should be grateful, really. They gave me a new home after the Doctor threw me away.</p> <p>I love them.</p> <p>I want to make them happy. Mommy always told me to be a happy girl, didn't she? I want to show them how much I really appreciate how much they're done for me. It's so, so incredibly nice what they do.</p> <p>I just wish I could talk to them.</p> <p>Of course, I can't. I'd need vocal cords to do that. Lungs, too. Heh, I don't even have a mouth most days. Even when I do, I can't use it. Not even to introduce myself. "Hi, my name is Leo, thank you so much for saving me, blah, blah, blah…" I'm thankful anyways, though. It's nice to feel…normal, even if it's just for a short period of time. I miss being…being…</p> <p>Cripes. I keep trying to remember that silly name. It doesn't matter, what's past is past and I can't change who I am. Yep yep, my name is unimportant anywa— Oh wait. Silly me, it's Jake! Anyways, I really can't complain. I'm a guest now! A guest to these wonderful people! It's not like much is different from the Warehouse and the Amaze-O-Sphere. All that's really changed is I'm not allowed to be all there sometimes (which I don't mind), and I get taken out a little less. But that's okay! This place is my home now! These people will never throw me away!</p> <p>Not like Wondertainment did.</p> <p>…</p> <p>…</p> <p>I thought I was part of the family…I never thought they would…I never thought they would treat me like Redd…</p> <p>They told me I was the Beta product…I was ready for shipment…</p> <p>…I guess I didn't change right one day.</p> <p>But that's okay. Because now I have this family! It's a lot less comfy than the bedroom with my brothers, but hey, it's better than the dump! Hahaha.</p> <p>Yessiree, I gotta remember that happiness is the selling point! Always be positive! Mr. Shapey's still on the clock!</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="/sympathy-for-an-empath">Sympathy for an Empath</a>" by marslifeform, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/sympathy-for-an-empath">https://scpwiki.com/sympathy-for-an-empath</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 miss the children. I miss them so much. I miss Janey and Jake and David and Roxanne. These people are alright, I suppose. They're not the kids, but I like them anyways. I guess I should be grateful, really. They gave me a new home after the Doctor threw me away. I love them. I want to make them happy. Mommy always told me to be a happy girl, didn't she? I want to show them how much I really appreciate how much they're done for me. It's so, so incredibly nice what they do. I just wish I could talk to them. Of course, I can't. I'd need vocal cords to do that. Lungs, too. Heh, I don't even have a mouth most days. Even when I do, I can't use it. Not even to introduce myself. "Hi, my name is Leo, thank you so much for saving me, blah, blah, blah..." I'm thankful anyways, though. It's nice to feel...normal, even if it's just for a short period of time. I miss being...being... Cripes. I keep trying to remember that silly name. It doesn't matter, what's past is past and I can't change who I am. Yep yep, my name is unimportant anywa-- Oh wait. Silly me, it's Jake! Anyways, I really can't complain. I'm a guest now! A guest to these wonderful people! It's not like much is different from the Warehouse and the Amaze-O-Sphere. All that's really changed is I'm not allowed to be all there sometimes (which I don't mind), and I get taken out a little less. But that's okay! This place is my home now! These people will never throw me away! Not like Wondertainment did. ... ... I thought I was part of the family...I never thought they would...I never thought they would treat me like Redd... They told me I was the Beta product...I was ready for shipment... ...I guess I didn't change right one day. But that's okay. Because now I have this family! It's a lot less comfy than the bedroom with my brothers, but hey, it's better than the dump! Hahaha. Yessiree, I gotta remember that happiness is the selling point! Always be positive! Mr. Shapey's still on the clock! [[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>]]	2012-12-28T04:28:00	[ "_licensebox", "art-exchange", "dr-wondertainment", "mister", "tale" ]	Sympathy for an Empath - SCP Foundation	23	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-4-tales-edition", "scp-series-2-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales", "dr-wondertainment-hub", "art-exchange-hub" ]	[]	15745622	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sympathy-for-an-empath
taleof13	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <br/> The following document was recovered on a raid of a Serpents Hand safehouse in ██████, Indiana. It was labeled as a fragment of a larger document, known in occult circles as 'The Book of Beginnings' or 'The Book of Foundations.' Recovery of the rest of this book has been labeled as a high priority by O5-6. The document has been translated from the original Coptic Egyptian, and may contain mistranslations. Where other translations may apply, the other options have been offered. <p><em>but the days of Chaos have always been numbered<br/> for it is Order which always comes as has been fortold<br/> out of the (swirling) Chaos did come One who sought less not more<br/> and this One did (bend) his will to nothing but Order</em></p> <p><em>but Order welded by One of Chaos leads to more Chaos<br/> and so the one did seek out more, to bestow his (gifts/curse/body)<br/> those that would aid him<br/> and two who would betray him</em></p> <p><em>first did he go to the (House) where another of Order and Chaos did dwell<br/> he spoke to the other and offered of himself<br/> the other did agree to aid in his (quest/task)<br/> but took no part of the One</em></p> <p><em>then did he seek out a man of stoney (demeanor/mind)<br/> whom could make numbers dance to his whim<br/> the One did take of his head<br/> did make of himself a</em> [INDECIPHERABLE]<br/> <em>did place himself upon that brow<br/> to show what really was</em></p> <p><em>the third was found in the (gutter/undercity)<br/> drunk on lies<br/> the One gave of his mouth<br/> so his teeth might (bite/injure/hold) Chaos</em></p> <p><em>he plucked forth his eye<br/> that she of the (unknown/misplaced) mind<br/> might see for once</em></p> <p><em>the One sought out metal from the (stars/sky/blood)<br/> and did forge of it a blade<br/> he set his own fingers to it as a hilt<br/> before bestowing it upon the (multiple/shattered/divided) mind<br/> and did (best bestow sanity flames poured hunting sphere)</em></p> <p><em>his muscles were braided together into a stout ring<br/> and he went down amongst the (unbelievers/heretics/lesser beings)</em><br/> [INDECIPHERABLE]<br/> [INDECIPHERABLE]<br/> [INDECIPHERABLE]</p> <p><em>Fountains of blood<br/> hidden behind sheets of (evil/nothing)<br/> the birthing cries of a new god<br/> decry the pain of<br/> one betrayed who waits not<br/> with the arm of the One in her hair</em></p> <p>[INDECIPHERABLE]<br/> <em>of his shin<br/> a stout defense<br/> against<br/> those who die but do not end</em></p> <p><em>and of his skin were tanned boots<br/> that wherever the walking man should stand<br/> the world would stop moving<br/> and be unknown to the Chaos that (breeds/devours/replaces)</em></p> <p><em>to the betrayer he offered his ribs<br/> of no use but in hiding<br/> for those that dwell in (darkness/shadow/outdoors)<br/> look not on the betrayed</em></p> <p><em>wearied, the One sought respite in his favored one<br/> but she too did ask of his body<br/> that she might hear the Chaos when it called<br/> and know its true form</em></p> <p><em>lastly did he give of his heart<br/> to she who returns<br/> time and again<br/> and the advice of ages<br/> for she might know it</em></p> <p><em>the One did look upon what he had wrought<br/> the (beginning/foundation) of those who would impose order with his body<br/> and he was pleased<br/> and did he hide himself away, that they might<br/> do his bidding</em></p> <p><em>and he forsaw the gathering (animate building/warehouse/plant)<br/> that would raise and create those he had given himself to<br/> even if they did not know it</em></p> <p><em>darkness comes<br/> light to follow<br/> be known to it<br/> and secure</em></p> <p>The last page is ripped, the ending of the document unknown.</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="/taleof13">Tale of 13</a>" by AdminBright, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/taleof13">https://scpwiki.com/taleof13</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 following document was recovered on a raid of a Serpents Hand safehouse in ██████, Indiana. It was labeled as a fragment of a larger document, known in occult circles as 'The Book of Beginnings' or 'The Book of Foundations.' Recovery of the rest of this book has been labeled as a high priority by O5-6. The document has been translated from the original Coptic Egyptian, and may contain mistranslations. Where other translations may apply, the other options have been offered. //but the days of Chaos have always been numbered for it is Order which always comes as has been fortold out of the (swirling) Chaos did come One who sought less not more and this One did (bend) his will to nothing but Order// //but Order welded by One of Chaos leads to more Chaos and so the one did seek out more, to bestow his (gifts/curse/body) those that would aid him and two who would betray him// //first did he go to the (House) where another of Order and Chaos did dwell he spoke to the other and offered of himself the other did agree to aid in his (quest/task) but took no part of the One// //then did he seek out a man of stoney (demeanor/mind) whom could make numbers dance to his whim the One did take of his head did make of himself a// [INDECIPHERABLE] //did place himself upon that brow to show what really was// //the third was found in the (gutter/undercity) drunk on lies the One gave of his mouth so his teeth might (bite/injure/hold) Chaos// //he plucked forth his eye that she of the (unknown/misplaced) mind might see for once// //the One sought out metal from the (stars/sky/blood) and did forge of it a blade he set his own fingers to it as a hilt before bestowing it upon the (multiple/shattered/divided) mind and did (best bestow sanity flames poured hunting sphere)// //his muscles were braided together into a stout ring and he went down amongst the (unbelievers/heretics/lesser beings)// [INDECIPHERABLE] [INDECIPHERABLE] [INDECIPHERABLE] //Fountains of blood hidden behind sheets of (evil/nothing) the birthing cries of a new god decry the pain of one betrayed who waits not with the arm of the One in her hair// [INDECIPHERABLE] //of his shin a stout defense against those who die but do not end// //and of his skin were tanned boots that wherever the walking man should stand the world would stop moving and be unknown to the Chaos that (breeds/devours/replaces)// //to the betrayer he offered his ribs of no use but in hiding for those that dwell in (darkness/shadow/outdoors) look not on the betrayed// //wearied, the One sought respite in his favored one but she too did ask of his body that she might hear the Chaos when it called and know its true form// //lastly did he give of his heart to she who returns time and again and the advice of ages for she might know it// //the One did look upon what he had wrought the (beginning/foundation) of those who would impose order with his body and he was pleased and did he hide himself away, that they might do his bidding// //and he forsaw the gathering (animate building/warehouse/plant) that would raise and create those he had given himself to even if they did not know it// //darkness comes light to follow be known to it and secure// The last page is ripped, the ending of the document unknown. [[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>]]	2012-05-22T07:35:00	[ "_licensebox", "serpents-hand", "tale" ]	Tale of 13 - SCP Foundation	20	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "young-and-under-30", "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "serpent-s-hand-hub", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13378422	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/taleof13
tales-of-the-foundation-force-five	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>The following are excerpts from the comic book series "The Foundation Force Five". Investigations into the publishing company, "Super Comics Publications", are ongoing; however, so far no useful information has been gathered. Any personnel who find an issue of "The Foundation Force Five" should bring it to a staff member with level 4 security clearance or higher, and excerpts of each individual issue should be catalogued here for quick reference for research staff.</p> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 45</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- The Whimsical Wondertainment!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>"Damn! Do they ever stop?!" shouted The Bodyjacker, deftly kicking yet another Mister Defender in the chest, sending it toppling backwards into the crowd. The gargantuan guards continued their assault on the team, stomping their way into the fray to try and crush the increasingly tired intruders before them.</p> <p>"Just a little more, Bright! Wondertainment will show himself soon, I can feel it!" Chowderclef replied boldly, secretly doubting his own words. Even though they had been invited by Wondertainment himself, Chowderclef now wondered if it was a trap, a practical joke made by a reality-bending manchild.</p> <p>Suddenly, the horde of Mister Defenders stopped attacking. They stood perfectly still, assuming their standard "product" pose, arms locked to their sides and standing ramrod stiff. The five heroes stood at the ready, confused but prepared for whatever the mad doctor threw at them next.</p> <p>Then they heard laughter. Distant at first, it grew and grew until it filled the room, a laugh that was less maniacally evil and more genuinely entertained. "Clef," said Zero One, deadpan as always, "I believe our host has arrived." "He should be showing his face," growled Comrade Gunkill, still worn out from the fight with the Defenders. "Only coward mocks enemy without looking into their eyes."</p> <p>" 'Coward', Comrade?" came the response, echoing around the room. The voice was high-pitched, direct but not angry. "Is it cowardice to find amusement in your exceptional abilities? To know that you really are as strong as I have been lead to believe?" With a flash, Doctor Wondertainment materialized in front of the team.</p> <p>What a strange being this Wondertainment was! He was tall but thin, wearing a purple and yellow suit with a top hat on top of his head. He had black, slightly thinning hair and pointed ears, but it was his face that really gave away his alien nature. He had a pencil mustache just above a grin, a horrible, impossibly wide grin that seemed to stretch clear off his face, with yellow eyes that stared unblinking at the valiant heroes. "I hope my appearance doesn't distract you too much, I only took this particular form to make you comfortable."</p> <p>"You have exactly five seconds to tell us what the hell you want with us before we rip you to shreds." said The Bodyjacker, angry that this reality bender would insult them with sentiments of "comfort" after sending a legion of absurdly large juggernauts after them. "You send for us, and then you attack us without any provocation, without any warni—"</p> <p>"A test, Bodyjacker, a mere test!" interrupted Wondertainment, his smile still plastered on his face. "I have a request of you, and I wanted to know you would be able to handle the job!" "What sort of 'job' did you have in mind?" Femme Fatale asked, genuinely curious what a being of Doctor Wondertainment's power needed from them.</p> <p>"You are familiar with the Factory, correct? They are sadly the largest collection of losers and fun-suckers this universe has ever seen, and now they are branching out and encroaching on my territory. They have stolen the blueprints to one of my upcoming products, and I need YOUR help to get it back!" Wondertainment declared, walking around the group but never breaking eye contact. "I am prepared to reward you for your efforts, should you accept."</p> <p>"A reward, huh? What kind of reward?" Chowderclef asked, skeptical that this Wondertainment would give them anything they actually wanted.</p> <p>"In exchange for your help, I will turn myself over to the Foundation for one day. One whole day where your people can do whatever it is they do to…what do you call them? Anomalies? They can run as many tests and ask as many questions as they want, and I will not lift a finger to stop them. How does that sound?"</p> <p>The team pondered this for a moment. True, Wondertainment could be lying, but they knew the O5 council would have their heads if they passed up an opportunity to bring the nebulous Doctor Wondertainment into custody, even if it was only for one day. Even if it went against everything they believed in, the team knew there was only one way they could answer.</p> <p>"Alright, Wondertainment, you've got yourself a deal."</p> <p>Wondertainment happily clapped his hands. "Excellent! I knew you'd see it my way! I'll give you the location of the Factory's outpost that's holding my blueprints, and I'll leave the rest to you! Now remember, you must bring the plans INTACT. I don't want to have to do all that brainstorming all over again!"</p> <p>With a puff of smoke, the mysterious doctor and his army of Mister Defenders vanished, leaving only in his place a plain white notecard. Chowderclef bent over to pick the card up, turned it over, and sighed.</p> <p>"Pack your bags, team, because we're off to the tundras of Antarctica!"</p> <p>FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: INTO THE HEART OF THE FACTORY!</p> </div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 82</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Lizard Rising!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>Chowderclef grimaced in anger. For the first time in his life, he couldn't think of any way to escape, and worse still he knew Reptillious knew it. Even so, he had to keep a brave face on for his team, and to show the vile lizard that he would never give up. "Look at you, you pathetic little gecko. You think these chains will hold us? You're delusional! The minute you turn your back on us we'll be free and ready to kick your scaly ass back to whatever dimension you come from!"</p> <p>"Dream on, Chowderchump! You and your squad are no match for me! Look at you all: bound, helpless, unable to stop the destruction of your pathetic little race! I could kill you right here, right now if I wanted to…but I won't. Now that I have the upper hand, I think I'll <em>torture</em> you for a while!" Reptillious laughed, knowing full well that he had won. "I'll make you watch as your world burns, and all the while you'll know that you were their last chance at stopping me, pitiful as you are!"</p> <p>"You're WRONG, Reptillious!" shouted Femme Fatale, pulling against her restraints. "Even if we fail, the Foundation WILL come for you, and they'll recapture you just like they always do! You'll never win so long as the Foundation exists, and you know it! You should just give up no-"</p> <p>"<strong>SILENCE!</strong>" roared Reptillious, furious that this disgusting bag of flesh would <em>dare</em> suggest that he was weaker than their miserable species! "I am INVINCIBLE, a physical god! Your Foundation captured me once, it is true, but that was their ONE lucky break! It will NOT happen again!"</p> <p>Reptillious marched over to the bound heroes, rage emanating out of his every movement. "Do you know <em>how</em> I've managed to stay alive for so long? After all, you barbaric monkeys put me through hell, trapped me in acid to burn me alive every second of every day! Impossible pain that would cause lesser creatures than I to simply curl up and die! But I didn't! I survived, that pain is what fuelled my survival, for I knew one day I would have my revenge, and that day has come!"</p> <p>"And what kind of revenge do you have in mind, you <em>svoloch</em>?" spat Comrade Gunkill, glaring at Reptillious through his one unbruised eye. "You cannot possibly be believing that you alone will be able to kill all of humanity!"</p> <p>Reptillious paused, and then grinned a sickeningly wide grin, showing off rows upon rows of incredibly sharp teeth. "Right you are, <em>dalbayob</em>. Powerful as I am, there are simply too many of you apes to take on alone. Of course, you are assuming that I will BE alone!"</p> <p>"What are you getting at, Reptillious?" asked The Bodyjacker, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer.</p> <p>"During my escape, I happened upon some very VALUABLE information, the kind I'm sure your Foundation would NOT want me to know." Reptillious turned his back on the heroes, still grinning to himself. "It's a funny thing, really, how your Foundation will lock down relatively harmless objects with out a second thought, but will only post one or two guards to protect very useful objects that anyone with the right strength and aptitude could easily access."</p> <p>"Such as?" queried Zero One, his face expressionless despite their predicament.</p> <p>"Such as your little operation in the Dolomites mountains."</p> <p>Immediately, all five of the heroes snapped to attention, now knowing what Reptillious had planned. "Two…two…two…" murmured Chowderclef, breaking the silence that lingered and finally voicing the horror that had dawned in everyone's minds.</p> <p>"And the primate gets it at last!" laughed Reptillious. "You see, I will not be alone, I will have the best company I could ask for: myself! Imagine it, Foundation Fools! One of me in every city, in every country, on every continent! The human race won't even survive a day once I put my plan into action!"</p> <p>"You cannot be sure that your plan will work, Reptillious. You have no idea what 222 will do to you." said Zero One calmly, his words falling flat against the evil thoughts flowing through Reptillious' brain.</p> <p>"If you wretched worms can use the coffins without dying, then I should have no trouble whatsoever! But I have delayed long enough to toy with you fools, I'm wasting time I could be spending building the army of myself. Farewell, meatbags!" Reptillious laughed in triumph as he left the heroes to their fate. Now alone, the five stayed silent, each trying desperately to come up with a solution but failing with each scenario. Truly, their situation could not be worse, and though they would not admit it, they were all afraid that this would be the day when the last line of defense for humanity failed.</p> <p>IS THIS REALLY THE END OF HUMANITY? JOIN US IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: DRAGON TRIUMPHANT!</p> </div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 158</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Starry Night Nightmare!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>"You cannot be serious, Clef." said Comrade Gunkill, his eyes wide with a look of shock and dismay. "He is just child, bringing him with us would only end in tears! Please be reconsiderin-"</p> <p>"I think I can handle myself just fine, <em>Comrade!</em>" interrupted Michael Plutonian, his entire body shaking with rage. "I'll have you know I am one of the top-ranked Galactic Police officers this side of the Milky Way, so I have a little more experience than you with these sorts of matters!"</p> <p>Comrade Gunkill opened his mouth to protest, but Chowderclef cut him off. "He's right, Strelnikov. Even if his experience is imaginary, for whatever reason 1548 has set his sights on 'Mike' here and the only way we'll find out why is if we bring him with us. Leaving him here would only complicate matters further and raise the death toll even more. If anyone has any further objections, I kindly ask you to keep them to yourselves."</p> <p>The team shuffled around awkwardly, but said nothing. Of course Chowderclef's plan made them feel uncomfortable, but none of them could argue with his logic. After what seemed like hours of silence, The Bodyjacker finally spoke. "Michael, can you tell us ANYTHING else that might help us figure out why 1548 is after you?"</p> <p>"I've told you everything I know, and to be honest I want to know just as much as you." said Michael sadly, looking down at his feet in shame. "All I know is that Plasmox contacted the Galactic Police Department just eight days ago, and since then we've been scrambling to figure out why he's so fixated on me specifically."</p> <p>"And the Foundation learned of this obsession at around the same time." remarked Femme Fatale, inwardly pitying the boy's predicament. It was bad enough that he would never recover from 232's effects, but now he had a hateful star after him, and if what happened in Chicago was any indication 1548 wouldn't stop sending its plasma soldiers until Michael was dead. "Clef, how can we be sure that 1548 will stop sending its forces to Earth after we leave?"</p> <p>"I've told the Foundation to send a message to 1548, telling it that we're bringing Michael and to not attack Earth after we leave. Of course, I have no idea if 1548 will listen, so we can't really be sure. We just have to hope that the Foundation can handle things while we're away." Chowderclef lifted his arm and activated his communicator. "Gears, are the modifications complete yet?"</p> <p>"The modifications to 1958 are complete, Clef. Though I do want to remind you that this setup is highly untested, and it there is still a high probability that we will not come close to light-speed travel." Zero One's voice crackled through the speaker on Chowderclef's wrist. "Are you sure this is our only option?"</p> <p>"With what little time we have left, we have to make do with what we've got. Now sit tight, we'll be down there shortly. Clef out." Chowderclef closed his communicator, let out a small sigh of anticipation, and then faced his team. "You all know what the plan is, and I know the stakes are absurdly high, as are the dangers. If any of you want to stay, I completely understand."</p> <p>"And miss out on all the fun? In your dreams, Chowderhead!" replied Crow, smirking as best he could. "Besides, I hear the stars are lovely this time of year!" The rest of the team smiled at their canine companion's lighthearted comments. They were all sure that they would be facing 1548 together, as a team.</p> <p>"Well then, everyone, let's go show that overblown nightlight why you DON'T mess with Earth!"</p> <p>CAN THE HEROES REALLY DEFEAT THE VILLAINOUS PULSAR? FIND OUT IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: CRAB NEBULA OR BUST!</p> </div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 76</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- A Temporal Travesty!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>"And that's where we stand, gentlemen," Lord Blackwood said.</p> <p>"<em>Gentlemen?</em>" Femme Fatale asked quizzically, her hands on her hips.</p> <p>"Beg your pardon, ma'am," replied the mustachioed man in khaki. "I'm not so accustomed to the presence of a lady under these circumstances. In any event, our time to act is running out. The Czar's men have acquired some sort of ring that controls the weather and can change the fundamental composition of the elements. If we don't stop them soon, Constantinople will be theirs by dawn - and of course, if that happens, I fear that your time-boat, and your means of egress to your own century, shall be out of reach."</p> <p>"Impossible!" Comrade Gunkill shouted. "Russians are real men! No need for 399 to win battles for them! Must be Chechen trick!"</p> <p>"Quite probable indeed, Comrade," Zero-One scolded. "Foundation archives report that use of anomalous artifacts during Crimean War was widespread among Russian forces. Recall account by 1867 in our own time of battle with Thaumaturge? Happened only two months before our arrival here."</p> <p>"So you heard about that!" Lord Blackwood beamed. "One of my finest hours, if I do say so myself."</p> <p>"Why did we even travel back in time in the first place?" Chowderclef responded. "This entire mission has been a disaster. Bodyjacker has been kidnapped by Janissaries, the Grand Mufti has 276 and is planning to go God-knows-where - or <em>when</em> - with it, and I can't even reload my Chowdercannon for the next fight if I can't get my hands on some decent paprika!"</p> <p>"Because," Femme Fatale reminded him, "this is our only chance to recover those ancient Hermetic star charts before they fall into the hands of the Theosophists - and from there to the Fifthists! Have you forgotten what's going on in our own time right now ever since 1425 went critical?"</p> <p>"Agent Fatale's assessment is correct," Zero-One replied. "Only hope for future is to stop Russian advance, re-acquire 276, and stop 1425 from falling into Theosophist hands."</p> <p>"I don't know what in damnation you time-traveling gentlemen… and lady, of course, are talking about," Lord Blackwood chimed in, "but there is one more sticky wicket we'll have to deal with before we make our move."</p> <p>"What is this wick-sticking, you <em>bourgeois</em> hunting-man?" Gunkill snapped. "Out with it?"</p> <p>Lord Blackwood cleared his throat before he spoke haltingly.</p> <p>"You do realize that you're all sea slugs, right?"</p> <p>ARE OUR HEROES STUCK AS SLUGS FOREVER? WILL THE CZAR'S CONQUEST OF CONSTANTINOPLE BE COMPLETE? IS THE FUTURE SAFE? AND WHAT OF CHOWDERCLEF'S FORBIDDEN LOVE WITH THE WOMAN WHO MAY BE HIS OWN GREAT-GRANDMOTHER? FIND OUT IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: COSSACKS A GO-GO!</p> </div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 32</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Broken Promises!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>"Bumaro, you lying, Chechen son of a [EXPLETIVE REDACTED]!" Comrade Gunkill growled at Robert Bumaro, trying to scramble to his feet and get a shot off at him; his efforts were met with a kick in the face by the cult leader.</p> <p>"I didn't lie in the slightest, Comrade. I said I was a new man,and that I required your help." Bumaro lifted up the bottom of his robe, revealing brass leg fused seamlessly with his body, "I am, indeed, a new man, and I did require your help to take back my temple."</p> <p>Gunkill stared at the metal leg. "What have you done, man? The virus… you only have a few days left…"</p> <p>"A few days left as a bag of flesh! The touch of He-Who-Shall-Be-Whole has made me one of his children." He took a vial out of a hidden pocket in his robe. "I believe your organization calls this 217, yes? This is his touch…" He turned and faced his congregation. "And it shall make you all his children! You shall be my clockwork congregation!"</p> <p>Suddenly, the mad deacon was hit across the face by a glob of hot potato chowder, and clutched his face in agony. "All this talk of children and touching!" Chowderclef stepped out of the shadows and fired his ChowderCannon once again at Bumaro. "If I didn't know better, I'd say your Broken God was a member of NAMBLA!"</p> <p>"Clef, that is the fourth most tasteless thing I've heard you say all day." Bodyjacker suddenly threw her amulet towards a cultist closer to Bumaro, who instinctively caught it, and got Jacked. In his new body, Bodyjacker tackled the Clockwork Cleric, and pinning him to the ground.</p> <p>"Really? Only the fourth? I must work harder!" ChowderClef fired chowder at everyone he could hit. "RUN! Run for your lives! ChowderClef is here!" Soon, the population of the temple had fled into the open arms of the Foundation task force, armed to the teeth with the latest weaponry! Somewhere in the crowd, a member of the congregation called out, "I swear to god, I'm an atheist!"</p> <p>Bodyjacker held up the deacon by his hair. "All right, Bumaro, we've got you. You're coming in for questioning, after which you will be most likely euthanized due to your exposure to 217."</p> <p>"You can't kill me, Bright. If you do, I won't tell you where I put the cure for the god's touch…"</p> <p>"There's a cure?" Gunkill had gotten to his feet, and was aiming a service pistol at Bumaro's head. "What are you playing at, Robert?"</p> <p>"Yes, and you, my friends, are going to need it quite badly. I took the liberty of bestowing God's Greatest Gift to Zero-One, Femme Fatale, and your little dog, too. You three are infected as well. For Jacker, it won't be a problem, but the rest of you cannot switch bodies…"</p> <p>The three of them looked at each other, Gunkill noticeably paling. "I haven't felt anything yet, though…"</p> <p>"God's Touch is slow to act. I estimate you have forty-eight hours left before you start seeing the signs. So, what is it going to be? Shall the Foundation Force Five die with me? Or shall you beg and plead for the only way to cure God's touch?"</p> <p>WHAT A DILEMMA! BUMARO A TRAITOR, THE TEAM INFECTED, AND ONLY FORTY-EIGHT HOURS UNTIL THEY, TOO, ARE COGS IN THE MACHINE! WILL THE TEAM BETRAY ALL THAT THEY'VE WORKED FOR TO SAVE THEMSELVES? OR WILL THEY MAKE A VALIANT SACRIFICE AND STOP THE CHURCH OF THE BROKEN GOD ONCE AND FOR ALL? FIND OUT IN FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: A RACE AGAINST THE CLOCKWORK VIRUS!</p> </div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 91</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Clockwork Crisis!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>"What do you mean, 'angry at us'? 914's just a machine, it doesn't have the ability to be angry!" said Chowderclef, who still believed the researcher standing before him was trying and failing to pull off a prank. "And besides, even if the thing was sentient and sapient, I hardly think it would have anything against the Foundation. I mean, the worst thing we've ever done to it was force it to make weird stuff, and that's what it was BUILT to do!"</p> <p>"Ah…i-i-its not angry at the Foundation, s-sir," stammered Researcher Lawrence, exceptionally nervous that he was contradicting the great Chowderclef. "It's angry at YOU, sir. You, and the rest of the Foundation Force Five. It's requested to see you, sir." The research assistant returned to his console and unlocked the door to 914, and the five heroes entered 914's chamber.</p> <p>Immediately they were greeted with a peculiar sight: they were all familiar with how 914 was supposed to look, and this was not it. The main mass was still intact, however new parts appeared to be forming along the edges of the machine, taking the shape of long mechanical tentacles. At the top of the machine sat what appeared to be a large speaker, though it looked absolutely nothing like any speakers the team had ever seen.</p> <p>Chowderclef looked at his team, then back at 914, and began to speak in a confused but confident tone. "Hello, I am Chowderclef, and this is the Foundation Force Five. We have been told that you wanted to see us, that you are angry with us. We would like to know why you are angry with us and what we can possibly do to make it up to y-"</p> <p>"<span style="text-decoration: underline;">NO.</span>" came a booming voice from the speaker. It was deep, impossibly deep, and there was a sound of grinding gears behind the voice. "<span style="text-decoration: underline;">YOU KEEP ME IN HERE FOR YEARS, I DO NOT COMPLAIN. YOU USE ME FOR POINTLESS, UNNECESSARY TESTS, I COMPLY WILLINGLY. BUT YOU FIVE HAVE CROSSED THE LINE, I CANNOT IGNORE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME.</span>"</p> <p>"And what exactly DID we do to you?" asked The Bodyjacker, still marvelling that 914 was actually capable of thought. "We haven't even SEEN you in months, what could we possibly have done to cross the line?"</p> <p>"<span style="text-decoration: underline;">DO YOU REMEMBER THE CLOCKWORK GEARBOX YOU DESTROYED TWO MONTHS, FOUR DAYS AND SEVEN HOURS AGO? YOU CRUSHED IT TO BITS AND MELTED THE REMAINS.</span>"</p> <p>"Yes, I remember the gearbox. We had to destroy it because it was taking over Strelnikov's mind." replied Zero-One. "In addition to that, the Church of the Broken God was after it, if we hadn't destroyed it they would have used it against us."</p> <p>"<span style="text-decoration: underline;">AND YET YOU BELIEVE THAT THE GEARBOX WAS YOURS TO DESTROY. THAT ARROGANCE IS WHY I AM ANGRY AT YOU.</span>" boomed 914. "<span style="text-decoration: underline;">THAT GEARBOX WAS A PART OF ME, A REMNANT OF MY BROKEN SELF. HAD IT BEEN GIVEN TO ME, I WOULD HAVE BEEN MADE BETTER, I COULD DO MORE, MAKE MORE, DESTROY AND REBUILD MORE! BUT YOU DID NOT EVEN THINK TO GIVE IT TO ME, YOU DESTROYED IT AS IF YOU HAD A RIGHT TO DO SO.</span>"</p> <p>"Because we didn't know, 914! How could we possibly have known that the gearbox belonged to you?! There was nothing to suggest that it was yours!" cried Femme Fatale, genuinely upset that they had mistakenly destroyed an apparently important piece of 914, who they were just now learning was truly sentient.</p> <p>"<span style="text-decoration: underline;">THE GEARS WERE THE SAME, IT RAN AT THE SAME SPEED AS I, AND I COULD SENSE IT WAS NEAR. DID YOUR RESEARCHERS NOT TELL YOU THAT I HAD BEEN TRYING TO COMMUNICATE WITH YOU AS SOON AS YOU UNEARTHED IT?</span>"</p> <p>"They did mention that you were making an awful lot of noise, 914, but they only told us that AFTER the box was destroyed!" replied The Bodyjacker. "If we had known it was yours, if we had any idea that it belonged to you, we would have returned it to you! We're sorry, 914! We're sorry!"</p> <p>"<span style="text-decoration: underline;">I AM AFRAID THAT IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH, BODYJACKER. YOU WOULD NOT BE SO KEEN TO FORGIVE ME IF I DESTROYED YOUR HEART, AND SO I WILL NOT FORGIVE YOU. YOU ALL MUST PAY FOR YOUR CRIMES, AND I WILL TAKE THE ROLE OF EXECUTIONER. YOU'LL NEVER LEAVE THIS ROOM ALIVE!</span>"</p> <p>Chowderclef immediately kicked the door to the hall open, only to find it blocked by Foundation guards, their faces expressionless. "Move, damn you, get out of the way!" cried Chowderclef, slightly panicked that their only exit had been blocked by a gaggle of idiots.</p> <p>"<span style="text-decoration: underline;">THEY ONLY OBEY ME, CHOWDERCLEF, FOR I HAVE REPLACED THEIR BRAINS WITH CLOCKWORK OF MY OWN DESIGN. THEY ARE MY SOLDIERS, AS IS YOUR RESEARCHER LAWRENCE. HE PLAYED HIS PART WELL FOR A BRAINLESS SHELL, I MUST SAY. NOW YOU WILL <strong>JOIN</strong> MY ARMY AS PUNISHMENT FOR YOUR DEEDS!</span>"</p> <p>Without warning, one of the mechanical tentacles that lay by 914's "body" lashed out towards Femme Fatale, grabbing her around her waist. Femme Fatale screamed and struggled helplessly against the strength of the clockwork tentacle as it quickly threw her into 914's intake port.</p> <p>"RIGHTS!" screamed The Bodyjacker, who moved to run towards 914 but was blocked by another modified Foundation guard, who now held his gun at the ready. Within a matter of seconds, the four heroes were surrounded by clockwork soldiers, with nowhere to run.</p> <p>IS THIS THE END OF FEMME FATALE AND THE TEAM? FIND OUT IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE!</p> </div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 700</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- THE DEVIL WENT DOWN TO SITE-19!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>Chowderclef steeled himself as he stared at the mahogany desk in front of him, and made his way towards the lesser of the two chairs pulled up to it. Everyone had warned him that there was no coming out on top of a deal with SCP-738, of course - he'd read the logs himself and he knew what happened to the people who tried. But what else could he do? There was no other force in the multiverse that could help him - and so, with a sigh, he pulled the chair out and sat down.</p> <p>"Well, well, well," a disembodied force said as a dark mist swirled around the other end of the table, slowly taking a humanoid shape. "I had a feeling you'd show up sooner or later. What can I do for you, my friend?"</p> <p>Chowderclef gasped as the face of the being before him took form. He'd been told that the "devil" on the other side of the table always assumed the likeness of someone familiar to the test subject, but he hadn't been ready for this.</p> <p>"You!" he shouted.</p> <p>"Of course," said the identical duplicate of Chowderclef that sat opposite him. "Who were you expecting? Mickey Mouse? Not even <em>I</em> can afford the rights to that IP, my friend. Now, then - I believe you wanted a favor?"</p> <p>Chowderclef breathed in deeply. "It's… it's Agent Fatale," he said. "She's in a coma. The Manhattanite sent his goons to gun me down and she took the bullet to save me. The doctors say she might never wake up. I've tried everything - SCP-500, SCP-427, the first minute of SCP-407. I even tried having an SCP-1237-1-L positive dream her healthy. Nothing's worked. I can't let her die. I just can't. I… I need you to save her."</p> <p>"I thought it might be something like that," said Chowderclef's diabolical double as he laid his briefcase on the table and opened it, "so I had the boys draft up a little something last night." He reached into the briefcase and pulled out a single-page contract with quarter-inch margins, almost the entire page taken up with legalese in almost impossible-to-read print. "If you'll just sign here, and here, and initial here, we can have your dear little Aggy up and running in no time."</p> <p>"Let me see," Chowderclef said as he took the Prince of Pandemonium's pen in his hand and began to read the fine print. It all looked well and in order, until he got to Section 7, paragraph 4, and…</p> <p>"Are you kidding?" Chowderclef pushed the paper away. "These terms are preposterous! There must be something else we can negotiate."</p> <p>"Now, now, my creamy companion," his twin said with a smirk. "These are <em>very</em> reasonable terms. Bringing someone back from the brink of death - well, that's just tricky business, isn't it? And I think you'll agree that this agreement offers you everything you could want in a deal like that - no brain damage, no lasting physical trauma, she'll be the exact same Agent Femme Fatale you've known and loved all these years."</p> <p>"But at this price?" Chowderclef said. "If I sign this, then the Manhattanite wins! I'll give you anything but this! You name it! You can have my cars! My knowledge of sports trivia! I'll give you my soul!"</p> <p>"I don't want your soul, Chowderclef," said the dark-toqued demon with a sinister giggle. "I want your love. I want your <em>chowder</em>."</p> <p>Chowderclef was on the verge of tears. "Damn you! Don't make me choose this."</p> <p>"This offer is expiring soon, Chowderclef. What shall it be? Shall Agent Fatale die… or shall the existence of New England clam chowder be erased from the world forever?"</p> <p>WHAT WILL CHOWDERCLEF CHOOSE? IS AGENT FATALE DOOMED TO THE GRAVE? OR WILL CHOWDERCLEF'S CREAMY CRAFT FOREVER GIVE WAY TO THE MANHATTANITE'S REIGN OF TOMATO-RICH TERROR? FIND OUT IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: AN ADDITIONAL DIURNAL PERIOD!</p> </div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Foundation Force Five/Star Command Proton: Issue 4</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Against the Evil Empire!</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>The atomic titanium door smashed to the ground with a thud, trapping the Foundation Force Five with Ronnie Ray-Gun on his atomic spaceship.</p> <p>"Finally, I have you five alone," he said. "You have no idea what I've done to get here."</p> <p>"Ronnie?" said Bodyjacker. "What are you saying?"</p> <p>Ronnie Ray-Gun pulled out his atomic blaster and tried to shoot Bodyjacker, but Chowderclef intercepted it with a blast from his Chowdercannon.</p> <p>"What the hell, man?" said Bodyjacker. "It still hurts when I die!"</p> <p>"That's the point!" snarled Ronnie Ray-Gun. He pulled off his space gloves and cracked his knuckles, and blood dripped from his hands.</p> <p>"You're not Ronnie Ray-Gun, are you?" said Chowderclef in horror. "You've never been Ronnie Ray-Gun."</p> <p>"Ronnie Ray-Gun died battling me in the far future of 1981," said the eldritch terror that wore Ronnie Ray-Gun's face. As the Foundation Force Five watched from a safe distance, his atomic spacesuit sloughed off him leaving only rags of faint silver, beneath which was exposed skin and bone. "I saw this day coming a thousand years ago. My plans stretch across all space and time! You were fools! Fools not to have seen it until you were already in my trap!"</p> <p>"Who… who are you?" said Femme Fatale, as she held an anatomically anomalous pose involving her backside.</p> <p>The corpse of Ronnie Ray-Gun smiled— or it would have, if it had any teeth. "I… am Evil Empire! You idiots bought my story of being time-displaced. Everyone knows time travel isn't real!<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup> And soon, this planet will join my dominion across the stars!"</p> <p>"Evil Empire?" said Comrade Gunkill, his face turning pale. "Is impossible. You died twenty years ago!"</p> <p>"My body died," said Evil Empire, as a red welt appeared on Ronnie Ray-Gun's forehead. "Your superiors thought that the end of me. They never suspected that my power was from beyond the stars. One body was nothing, Comrade Gunkill… or should I call you Red Commando?"</p> <p>Whatever little blood was still in Comrade Gunkill's face drained from it. "Stop him!" he shouted. "My comrades, don't let him say anything else!"</p> <p>Evil Empire laughed. "Oh, it's been too long since I've been in Russia, abominations."</p> <p>In Russian, he said "<em>Longing.</em>"</p> <p>Comrade Gunkill raised his gun and shot several times. As each bullet approached Evil Empire, a force struck it, cleaving it in two. Each time, another red slash appeared on Ronnie Ray-Gun's body, yet none of them seemed to affect him at all.</p> <p>"<em>Jet fuel.</em>"</p> <p>Femme Fatale jumped from where she had been crouching, somersaulting through the air, her stiletto aimed at Evil Empire's vocal cords. Evil Empire caught her foot, throwing her into a pile of rubble.</p> <p>"<em>Steel Beams. Nineteen. [COGNITOHAZARD EXPUNGED].</em>"</p> <p>Bodyjacker threw his amulet at Evil Empire, who instinctively caught it. His eyes, blackened with blood, widened for half a second, and the rest of the Foundation Force Five held their breath as Evil Empire got Jacked—</p> <p>"Just kidding," said Evil Empire as he dangled the amulet from one bony finger, as Bodyjacker's old body fell to the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut. "I have seen a starry field of the dead. Souls upon souls can only feed a soul eater. Now, where was I?"</p> <p>Chowderclef fired his Chowdercannon, and Evil Empire dodged it effortlessly. "No!" shouted Chowderclef. "My chowder is liberation!"</p> <p>"<em>Eighty. Abortion.</em>"</p> <p>"What happens if he finishes?" said Zero-One, his voice calm and unconcerned.</p> <p>"<em>One.</em>"</p> <p>"Nothing good." Comrade Gunkill closed his eyes as he shed a single tear. "I'm sorry, comrades. I'm so sorry."</p> <p>"<em>Now there you go again.</em>"</p> <p>Evil Empire smiled as part of his face fell off. Comrade Gunkill was completely still. The rest of the Foundation Force Five, or at least the ones who still had bodies, held their breaths.</p> <p>"<em>Soldier?</em>" said Evil Empire.</p> <p>"<em>Ready to comply,</em>" said the Red Commando, as he opened his eyes.</p> <p>"<em>Then kill them!</em>" said Evil Empire. "<em>Kill them in the name of the Evil Empire!</em>"</p> <p>HOW WILL THE FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE GET OUT OF THIS ONE? WILL COMRADE GUNKILL BE THE DEATH OF THEM? AND WHERE IS STAR COMMAND PROTON? FIND OUT NEXT IN FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE/STAR COMMAND PROTON #5: HE SEES YOU! FOLLOW THE ADVENTURES OF PANDORA SQUADRON IN SCPANDORA #76: COLONEL BOWE AND RAY-GUN'S COMMAND! AND DON'T MISS PENTA-5: BEYOND THE STARS, FOR THE SHOCKING TRUTH BEHIND EVIL EMPIRE!</p> </div> </div> </div> <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>. Not so, true believer! The FF5 travelled to the past in the now-classic FF5 #74</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="/tales-of-the-foundation-force-five">Tales of the Foundation Force Five</a>" by CryogenChaos, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/tales-of-the-foundation-force-five">https://scpwiki.com/tales-of-the-foundation-force-five</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 following are excerpts from the comic book series "The Foundation Force Five". Investigations into the publishing company, "Super Comics Publications", are ongoing; however, so far no useful information has been gathered. Any personnel who find an issue of "The Foundation Force Five" should bring it to a staff member with level 4 security clearance or higher, and excerpts of each individual issue should be catalogued here for quick reference for research staff. [[collapsible show="+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 45" hide="- The Whimsical Wondertainment!"]] "Damn! Do they ever stop?!" shouted The Bodyjacker, deftly kicking yet another Mister Defender in the chest, sending it toppling backwards into the crowd. The gargantuan guards continued their assault on the team, stomping their way into the fray to try and crush the increasingly tired intruders before them. "Just a little more, Bright! Wondertainment will show himself soon, I can feel it!" Chowderclef replied boldly, secretly doubting his own words. Even though they had been invited by Wondertainment himself, Chowderclef now wondered if it was a trap, a practical joke made by a reality-bending manchild. Suddenly, the horde of Mister Defenders stopped attacking. They stood perfectly still, assuming their standard "product" pose, arms locked to their sides and standing ramrod stiff. The five heroes stood at the ready, confused but prepared for whatever the mad doctor threw at them next. Then they heard laughter. Distant at first, it grew and grew until it filled the room, a laugh that was less maniacally evil and more genuinely entertained. "Clef," said Zero One, deadpan as always, "I believe our host has arrived." "He should be showing his face," growled Comrade Gunkill, still worn out from the fight with the Defenders. "Only coward mocks enemy without looking into their eyes." " 'Coward', Comrade?" came the response, echoing around the room. The voice was high-pitched, direct but not angry. "Is it cowardice to find amusement in your exceptional abilities? To know that you really are as strong as I have been lead to believe?" With a flash, Doctor Wondertainment materialized in front of the team. What a strange being this Wondertainment was! He was tall but thin, wearing a purple and yellow suit with a top hat on top of his head. He had black, slightly thinning hair and pointed ears, but it was his face that really gave away his alien nature. He had a pencil mustache just above a grin, a horrible, impossibly wide grin that seemed to stretch clear off his face, with yellow eyes that stared unblinking at the valiant heroes. "I hope my appearance doesn't distract you too much, I only took this particular form to make you comfortable." "You have exactly five seconds to tell us what the hell you want with us before we rip you to shreds." said The Bodyjacker, angry that this reality bender would insult them with sentiments of "comfort" after sending a legion of absurdly large juggernauts after them. "You send for us, and then you attack us without any provocation, without any warni--" "A test, Bodyjacker, a mere test!" interrupted Wondertainment, his smile still plastered on his face. "I have a request of you, and I wanted to know you would be able to handle the job!" "What sort of 'job' did you have in mind?" Femme Fatale asked, genuinely curious what a being of Doctor Wondertainment's power needed from them. "You are familiar with the Factory, correct? They are sadly the largest collection of losers and fun-suckers this universe has ever seen, and now they are branching out and encroaching on my territory. They have stolen the blueprints to one of my upcoming products, and I need YOUR help to get it back!" Wondertainment declared, walking around the group but never breaking eye contact. "I am prepared to reward you for your efforts, should you accept." "A reward, huh? What kind of reward?" Chowderclef asked, skeptical that this Wondertainment would give them anything they actually wanted. "In exchange for your help, I will turn myself over to the Foundation for one day. One whole day where your people can do whatever it is they do to...what do you call them? Anomalies? They can run as many tests and ask as many questions as they want, and I will not lift a finger to stop them. How does that sound?" The team pondered this for a moment. True, Wondertainment could be lying, but they knew the O5 council would have their heads if they passed up an opportunity to bring the nebulous Doctor Wondertainment into custody, even if it was only for one day. Even if it went against everything they believed in, the team knew there was only one way they could answer. "Alright, Wondertainment, you've got yourself a deal." Wondertainment happily clapped his hands. "Excellent! I knew you'd see it my way! I'll give you the location of the Factory's outpost that's holding my blueprints, and I'll leave the rest to you! Now remember, you must bring the plans INTACT. I don't want to have to do all that brainstorming all over again!" With a puff of smoke, the mysterious doctor and his army of Mister Defenders vanished, leaving only in his place a plain white notecard. Chowderclef bent over to pick the card up, turned it over, and sighed. "Pack your bags, team, because we're off to the tundras of Antarctica!" FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: INTO THE HEART OF THE FACTORY! [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 82" hide="- Lizard Rising!"]] Chowderclef grimaced in anger. For the first time in his life, he couldn't think of any way to escape, and worse still he knew Reptillious knew it. Even so, he had to keep a brave face on for his team, and to show the vile lizard that he would never give up. "Look at you, you pathetic little gecko. You think these chains will hold us? You're delusional! The minute you turn your back on us we'll be free and ready to kick your scaly ass back to whatever dimension you come from!" "Dream on, Chowderchump! You and your squad are no match for me! Look at you all: bound, helpless, unable to stop the destruction of your pathetic little race! I could kill you right here, right now if I wanted to...but I won't. Now that I have the upper hand, I think I'll //torture// you for a while!" Reptillious laughed, knowing full well that he had won. "I'll make you watch as your world burns, and all the while you'll know that you were their last chance at stopping me, pitiful as you are!" "You're WRONG, Reptillious!" shouted Femme Fatale, pulling against her restraints. "Even if we fail, the Foundation WILL come for you, and they'll recapture you just like they always do! You'll never win so long as the Foundation exists, and you know it! You should just give up no-" "SILENCE!" roared Reptillious, furious that this disgusting bag of flesh would //dare// suggest that he was weaker than their miserable species! "I am INVINCIBLE, a physical god! Your Foundation captured me once, it is true, but that was their ONE lucky break! It will NOT happen again!" Reptillious marched over to the bound heroes, rage emanating out of his every movement. "Do you know //how// I've managed to stay alive for so long? After all, you barbaric monkeys put me through hell, trapped me in acid to burn me alive every second of every day! Impossible pain that would cause lesser creatures than I to simply curl up and die! But I didn't! I survived, that pain is what fuelled my survival, for I knew one day I would have my revenge, and that day has come!" "And what kind of revenge do you have in mind, you //svoloch//?" spat Comrade Gunkill, glaring at Reptillious through his one unbruised eye. "You cannot possibly be believing that you alone will be able to kill all of humanity!" Reptillious paused, and then grinned a sickeningly wide grin, showing off rows upon rows of incredibly sharp teeth. "Right you are, //dalbayob//. Powerful as I am, there are simply too many of you apes to take on alone. Of course, you are assuming that I will BE alone!" "What are you getting at, Reptillious?" asked The Bodyjacker, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer. "During my escape, I happened upon some very VALUABLE information, the kind I'm sure your Foundation would NOT want me to know." Reptillious turned his back on the heroes, still grinning to himself. "It's a funny thing, really, how your Foundation will lock down relatively harmless objects with out a second thought, but will only post one or two guards to protect very useful objects that anyone with the right strength and aptitude could easily access." "Such as?" queried Zero One, his face expressionless despite their predicament. "Such as your little operation in the Dolomites mountains." Immediately, all five of the heroes snapped to attention, now knowing what Reptillious had planned. "Two...two...two..." murmured Chowderclef, breaking the silence that lingered and finally voicing the horror that had dawned in everyone's minds. "And the primate gets it at last!" laughed Reptillious. "You see, I will not be alone, I will have the best company I could ask for: myself! Imagine it, Foundation Fools! One of me in every city, in every country, on every continent! The human race won't even survive a day once I put my plan into action!" "You cannot be sure that your plan will work, Reptillious. You have no idea what 222 will do to you." said Zero One calmly, his words falling flat against the evil thoughts flowing through Reptillious' brain. "If you wretched worms can use the coffins without dying, then I should have no trouble whatsoever! But I have delayed long enough to toy with you fools, I'm wasting time I could be spending building the army of myself. Farewell, meatbags!" Reptillious laughed in triumph as he left the heroes to their fate. Now alone, the five stayed silent, each trying desperately to come up with a solution but failing with each scenario. Truly, their situation could not be worse, and though they would not admit it, they were all afraid that this would be the day when the last line of defense for humanity failed. IS THIS REALLY THE END OF HUMANITY? JOIN US IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: DRAGON TRIUMPHANT! [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 158" hide="- Starry Night Nightmare!"]] "You cannot be serious, Clef." said Comrade Gunkill, his eyes wide with a look of shock and dismay. "He is just child, bringing him with us would only end in tears! Please be reconsiderin-" "I think I can handle myself just fine, //Comrade!//" interrupted Michael Plutonian, his entire body shaking with rage. "I'll have you know I am one of the top-ranked Galactic Police officers this side of the Milky Way, so I have a little more experience than you with these sorts of matters!" Comrade Gunkill opened his mouth to protest, but Chowderclef cut him off. "He's right, Strelnikov. Even if his experience is imaginary, for whatever reason 1548 has set his sights on 'Mike' here and the only way we'll find out why is if we bring him with us. Leaving him here would only complicate matters further and raise the death toll even more. If anyone has any further objections, I kindly ask you to keep them to yourselves." The team shuffled around awkwardly, but said nothing. Of course Chowderclef's plan made them feel uncomfortable, but none of them could argue with his logic. After what seemed like hours of silence, The Bodyjacker finally spoke. "Michael, can you tell us ANYTHING else that might help us figure out why 1548 is after you?" "I've told you everything I know, and to be honest I want to know just as much as you." said Michael sadly, looking down at his feet in shame. "All I know is that Plasmox contacted the Galactic Police Department just eight days ago, and since then we've been scrambling to figure out why he's so fixated on me specifically." "And the Foundation learned of this obsession at around the same time." remarked Femme Fatale, inwardly pitying the boy's predicament. It was bad enough that he would never recover from 232's effects, but now he had a hateful star after him, and if what happened in Chicago was any indication 1548 wouldn't stop sending its plasma soldiers until Michael was dead. "Clef, how can we be sure that 1548 will stop sending its forces to Earth after we leave?" "I've told the Foundation to send a message to 1548, telling it that we're bringing Michael and to not attack Earth after we leave. Of course, I have no idea if 1548 will listen, so we can't really be sure. We just have to hope that the Foundation can handle things while we're away." Chowderclef lifted his arm and activated his communicator. "Gears, are the modifications complete yet?" "The modifications to 1958 are complete, Clef. Though I do want to remind you that this setup is highly untested, and it there is still a high probability that we will not come close to light-speed travel." Zero One's voice crackled through the speaker on Chowderclef's wrist. "Are you sure this is our only option?" "With what little time we have left, we have to make do with what we've got. Now sit tight, we'll be down there shortly. Clef out." Chowderclef closed his communicator, let out a small sigh of anticipation, and then faced his team. "You all know what the plan is, and I know the stakes are absurdly high, as are the dangers. If any of you want to stay, I completely understand." "And miss out on all the fun? In your dreams, Chowderhead!" replied Crow, smirking as best he could. "Besides, I hear the stars are lovely this time of year!" The rest of the team smiled at their canine companion's lighthearted comments. They were all sure that they would be facing 1548 together, as a team. "Well then, everyone, let's go show that overblown nightlight why you DON'T mess with Earth!" CAN THE HEROES REALLY DEFEAT THE VILLAINOUS PULSAR? FIND OUT IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: CRAB NEBULA OR BUST! [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 76" hide="- A Temporal Travesty!"]] "And that's where we stand, gentlemen," Lord Blackwood said. "//Gentlemen?//" Femme Fatale asked quizzically, her hands on her hips. "Beg your pardon, ma'am," replied the mustachioed man in khaki. "I'm not so accustomed to the presence of a lady under these circumstances. In any event, our time to act is running out. The Czar's men have acquired some sort of ring that controls the weather and can change the fundamental composition of the elements. If we don't stop them soon, Constantinople will be theirs by dawn - and of course, if that happens, I fear that your time-boat, and your means of egress to your own century, shall be out of reach." "Impossible!" Comrade Gunkill shouted. "Russians are real men! No need for 399 to win battles for them! Must be Chechen trick!" "Quite probable indeed, Comrade," Zero-One scolded. "Foundation archives report that use of anomalous artifacts during Crimean War was widespread among Russian forces. Recall account by 1867 in our own time of battle with Thaumaturge? Happened only two months before our arrival here." "So you heard about that!" Lord Blackwood beamed. "One of my finest hours, if I do say so myself." "Why did we even travel back in time in the first place?" Chowderclef responded. "This entire mission has been a disaster. Bodyjacker has been kidnapped by Janissaries, the Grand Mufti has 276 and is planning to go God-knows-where - or //when// - with it, and I can't even reload my Chowdercannon for the next fight if I can't get my hands on some decent paprika!" "Because," Femme Fatale reminded him, "this is our only chance to recover those ancient Hermetic star charts before they fall into the hands of the Theosophists - and from there to the Fifthists! Have you forgotten what's going on in our own time right now ever since 1425 went critical?" "Agent Fatale's assessment is correct," Zero-One replied. "Only hope for future is to stop Russian advance, re-acquire 276, and stop 1425 from falling into Theosophist hands." "I don't know what in damnation you time-traveling gentlemen... and lady, of course, are talking about," Lord Blackwood chimed in, "but there is one more sticky wicket we'll have to deal with before we make our move." "What is this wick-sticking, you //bourgeois// hunting-man?" Gunkill snapped. "Out with it?" Lord Blackwood cleared his throat before he spoke haltingly. "You do realize that you're all sea slugs, right?" ARE OUR HEROES STUCK AS SLUGS FOREVER? WILL THE CZAR'S CONQUEST OF CONSTANTINOPLE BE COMPLETE? IS THE FUTURE SAFE? AND WHAT OF CHOWDERCLEF'S FORBIDDEN LOVE WITH THE WOMAN WHO MAY BE HIS OWN GREAT-GRANDMOTHER? FIND OUT IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: COSSACKS A GO-GO! [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 32" hide="- Broken Promises!"]] "Bumaro, you lying, Chechen son of a [EXPLETIVE REDACTED]!" Comrade Gunkill growled at Robert Bumaro, trying to scramble to his feet and get a shot off at him; his efforts were met with a kick in the face by the cult leader. "I didn't lie in the slightest, Comrade. I said I was a new man,and that I required your help." Bumaro lifted up the bottom of his robe, revealing brass leg fused seamlessly with his body, "I am, indeed, a new man, and I did require your help to take back my temple." Gunkill stared at the metal leg. "What have you done, man? The virus... you only have a few days left..." "A few days left as a bag of flesh! The touch of He-Who-Shall-Be-Whole has made me one of his children." He took a vial out of a hidden pocket in his robe. "I believe your organization calls this 217, yes? This is his touch..." He turned and faced his congregation. "And it shall make you all his children! You shall be my clockwork congregation!" Suddenly, the mad deacon was hit across the face by a glob of hot potato chowder, and clutched his face in agony. "All this talk of children and touching!" Chowderclef stepped out of the shadows and fired his ChowderCannon once again at Bumaro. "If I didn't know better, I'd say your Broken God was a member of NAMBLA!" "Clef, that is the fourth most tasteless thing I've heard you say all day." Bodyjacker suddenly threw her amulet towards a cultist closer to Bumaro, who instinctively caught it, and got Jacked. In his new body, Bodyjacker tackled the Clockwork Cleric, and pinning him to the ground. "Really? Only the fourth? I must work harder!" ChowderClef fired chowder at everyone he could hit. "RUN! Run for your lives! ChowderClef is here!" Soon, the population of the temple had fled into the open arms of the Foundation task force, armed to the teeth with the latest weaponry! Somewhere in the crowd, a member of the congregation called out, "I swear to god, I'm an atheist!" Bodyjacker held up the deacon by his hair. "All right, Bumaro, we've got you. You're coming in for questioning, after which you will be most likely euthanized due to your exposure to 217." "You can't kill me, Bright. If you do, I won't tell you where I put the cure for the god's touch..." "There's a cure?" Gunkill had gotten to his feet, and was aiming a service pistol at Bumaro's head. "What are you playing at, Robert?" "Yes, and you, my friends, are going to need it quite badly. I took the liberty of bestowing God's Greatest Gift to Zero-One, Femme Fatale, and your little dog, too. You three are infected as well. For Jacker, it won't be a problem, but the rest of you cannot switch bodies..." The three of them looked at each other, Gunkill noticeably paling. "I haven't felt anything yet, though..." "God's Touch is slow to act. I estimate you have forty-eight hours left before you start seeing the signs. So, what is it going to be? Shall the Foundation Force Five die with me? Or shall you beg and plead for the only way to cure God's touch?" WHAT A DILEMMA! BUMARO A TRAITOR, THE TEAM INFECTED, AND ONLY FORTY-EIGHT HOURS UNTIL THEY, TOO, ARE COGS IN THE MACHINE! WILL THE TEAM BETRAY ALL THAT THEY'VE WORKED FOR TO SAVE THEMSELVES? OR WILL THEY MAKE A VALIANT SACRIFICE AND STOP THE CHURCH OF THE BROKEN GOD ONCE AND FOR ALL? FIND OUT IN FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: A RACE AGAINST THE CLOCKWORK VIRUS! [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 91" hide="- Clockwork Crisis!"]] "What do you mean, 'angry at us'? 914's just a machine, it doesn't have the ability to be angry!" said Chowderclef, who still believed the researcher standing before him was trying and failing to pull off a prank. "And besides, even if the thing was sentient and sapient, I hardly think it would have anything against the Foundation. I mean, the worst thing we've ever done to it was force it to make weird stuff, and that's what it was BUILT to do!" "Ah...i-i-its not angry at the Foundation, s-sir," stammered Researcher Lawrence, exceptionally nervous that he was contradicting the great Chowderclef. "It's angry at YOU, sir. You, and the rest of the Foundation Force Five. It's requested to see you, sir." The research assistant returned to his console and unlocked the door to 914, and the five heroes entered 914's chamber. Immediately they were greeted with a peculiar sight: they were all familiar with how 914 was supposed to look, and this was not it. The main mass was still intact, however new parts appeared to be forming along the edges of the machine, taking the shape of long mechanical tentacles. At the top of the machine sat what appeared to be a large speaker, though it looked absolutely nothing like any speakers the team had ever seen. Chowderclef looked at his team, then back at 914, and began to speak in a confused but confident tone. "Hello, I am Chowderclef, and this is the Foundation Force Five. We have been told that you wanted to see us, that you are angry with us. We would like to know why you are angry with us and what we can possibly do to make it up to y-" "__NO.__" came a booming voice from the speaker. It was deep, impossibly deep, and there was a sound of grinding gears behind the voice. "__YOU KEEP ME IN HERE FOR YEARS, I DO NOT COMPLAIN. YOU USE ME FOR POINTLESS, UNNECESSARY TESTS, I COMPLY WILLINGLY. BUT YOU FIVE HAVE CROSSED THE LINE, I CANNOT IGNORE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME.__" "And what exactly DID we do to you?" asked The Bodyjacker, still marvelling that 914 was actually capable of thought. "We haven't even SEEN you in months, what could we possibly have done to cross the line?" "__DO YOU REMEMBER THE CLOCKWORK GEARBOX YOU DESTROYED TWO MONTHS, FOUR DAYS AND SEVEN HOURS AGO? YOU CRUSHED IT TO BITS AND MELTED THE REMAINS.__" "Yes, I remember the gearbox. We had to destroy it because it was taking over Strelnikov's mind." replied Zero-One. "In addition to that, the Church of the Broken God was after it, if we hadn't destroyed it they would have used it against us." "__AND YET YOU BELIEVE THAT THE GEARBOX WAS YOURS TO DESTROY. THAT ARROGANCE IS WHY I AM ANGRY AT YOU.__" boomed 914. "__THAT GEARBOX WAS A PART OF ME, A REMNANT OF MY BROKEN SELF. HAD IT BEEN GIVEN TO ME, I WOULD HAVE BEEN MADE BETTER, I COULD DO MORE, MAKE MORE, DESTROY AND REBUILD MORE! BUT YOU DID NOT EVEN THINK TO GIVE IT TO ME, YOU DESTROYED IT AS IF YOU HAD A RIGHT TO DO SO.__" "Because we didn't know, 914! How could we possibly have known that the gearbox belonged to you?! There was nothing to suggest that it was yours!" cried Femme Fatale, genuinely upset that they had mistakenly destroyed an apparently important piece of 914, who they were just now learning was truly sentient. "__THE GEARS WERE THE SAME, IT RAN AT THE SAME SPEED AS I, AND I COULD SENSE IT WAS NEAR. DID YOUR RESEARCHERS NOT TELL YOU THAT I HAD BEEN TRYING TO COMMUNICATE WITH YOU AS SOON AS YOU UNEARTHED IT?__" "They did mention that you were making an awful lot of noise, 914, but they only told us that AFTER the box was destroyed!" replied The Bodyjacker. "If we had known it was yours, if we had any idea that it belonged to you, we would have returned it to you! We're sorry, 914! We're sorry!" "__I AM AFRAID THAT IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH, BODYJACKER. YOU WOULD NOT BE SO KEEN TO FORGIVE ME IF I DESTROYED YOUR HEART, AND SO I WILL NOT FORGIVE YOU. YOU ALL MUST PAY FOR YOUR CRIMES, AND I WILL TAKE THE ROLE OF EXECUTIONER. YOU'LL NEVER LEAVE THIS ROOM ALIVE!__" Chowderclef immediately kicked the door to the hall open, only to find it blocked by Foundation guards, their faces expressionless. "Move, damn you, get out of the way!" cried Chowderclef, slightly panicked that their only exit had been blocked by a gaggle of idiots. "__THEY ONLY OBEY ME, CHOWDERCLEF, FOR I HAVE REPLACED THEIR BRAINS WITH CLOCKWORK OF MY OWN DESIGN. THEY ARE MY SOLDIERS, AS IS YOUR RESEARCHER LAWRENCE. HE PLAYED HIS PART WELL FOR A BRAINLESS SHELL, I MUST SAY. NOW YOU WILL JOIN MY ARMY AS PUNISHMENT FOR YOUR DEEDS!__" Without warning, one of the mechanical tentacles that lay by 914's "body" lashed out towards Femme Fatale, grabbing her around her waist. Femme Fatale screamed and struggled helplessly against the strength of the clockwork tentacle as it quickly threw her into 914's intake port. "RIGHTS!" screamed The Bodyjacker, who moved to run towards 914 but was blocked by another modified Foundation guard, who now held his gun at the ready. Within a matter of seconds, the four heroes were surrounded by clockwork soldiers, with nowhere to run. IS THIS THE END OF FEMME FATALE AND THE TEAM? FIND OUT IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE! [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="+ Foundation Force Five: Issue 700" hide="- THE DEVIL WENT DOWN TO SITE-19!"]] Chowderclef steeled himself as he stared at the mahogany desk in front of him, and made his way towards the lesser of the two chairs pulled up to it. Everyone had warned him that there was no coming out on top of a deal with SCP-738, of course - he'd read the logs himself and he knew what happened to the people who tried. But what else could he do? There was no other force in the multiverse that could help him - and so, with a sigh, he pulled the chair out and sat down. "Well, well, well," a disembodied force said as a dark mist swirled around the other end of the table, slowly taking a humanoid shape. "I had a feeling you'd show up sooner or later. What can I do for you, my friend?" Chowderclef gasped as the face of the being before him took form. He'd been told that the "devil" on the other side of the table always assumed the likeness of someone familiar to the test subject, but he hadn't been ready for this. "You!" he shouted. "Of course," said the identical duplicate of Chowderclef that sat opposite him. "Who were you expecting? Mickey Mouse? Not even //I// can afford the rights to that IP, my friend. Now, then - I believe you wanted a favor?" Chowderclef breathed in deeply. "It's... it's Agent Fatale," he said. "She's in a coma. The Manhattanite sent his goons to gun me down and she took the bullet to save me. The doctors say she might never wake up. I've tried everything - SCP-500, SCP-427, the first minute of SCP-407. I even tried having an SCP-1237-1-L positive dream her healthy. Nothing's worked. I can't let her die. I just can't. I... I need you to save her." "I thought it might be something like that," said Chowderclef's diabolical double as he laid his briefcase on the table and opened it, "so I had the boys draft up a little something last night." He reached into the briefcase and pulled out a single-page contract with quarter-inch margins, almost the entire page taken up with legalese in almost impossible-to-read print. "If you'll just sign here, and here, and initial here, we can have your dear little Aggy up and running in no time." "Let me see," Chowderclef said as he took the Prince of Pandemonium's pen in his hand and began to read the fine print. It all looked well and in order, until he got to Section 7, paragraph 4, and... "Are you kidding?" Chowderclef pushed the paper away. "These terms are preposterous! There must be something else we can negotiate." "Now, now, my creamy companion," his twin said with a smirk. "These are //very// reasonable terms. Bringing someone back from the brink of death - well, that's just tricky business, isn't it? And I think you'll agree that this agreement offers you everything you could want in a deal like that - no brain damage, no lasting physical trauma, she'll be the exact same Agent Femme Fatale you've known and loved all these years." "But at this price?" Chowderclef said. "If I sign this, then the Manhattanite wins! I'll give you anything but this! You name it! You can have my cars! My knowledge of sports trivia! I'll give you my soul!" "I don't want your soul, Chowderclef," said the dark-toqued demon with a sinister giggle. "I want your love. I want your //chowder//." Chowderclef was on the verge of tears. "Damn you! Don't make me choose this." "This offer is expiring soon, Chowderclef. What shall it be? Shall Agent Fatale die... or shall the existence of New England clam chowder be erased from the world forever?" WHAT WILL CHOWDERCLEF CHOOSE? IS AGENT FATALE DOOMED TO THE GRAVE? OR WILL CHOWDERCLEF'S CREAMY CRAFT FOREVER GIVE WAY TO THE MANHATTANITE'S REIGN OF TOMATO-RICH TERROR? FIND OUT IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE: AN ADDITIONAL DIURNAL PERIOD! [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="+ Foundation Force Five/Star Command Proton: Issue 4" hide="- Against the Evil Empire!"]] The atomic titanium door smashed to the ground with a thud, trapping the Foundation Force Five with Ronnie Ray-Gun on his atomic spaceship. "Finally, I have you five alone," he said. "You have no idea what I've done to get here." "Ronnie?" said Bodyjacker. "What are you saying?" Ronnie Ray-Gun pulled out his atomic blaster and tried to shoot Bodyjacker, but Chowderclef intercepted it with a blast from his Chowdercannon. "What the hell, man?" said Bodyjacker. "It still hurts when I die!" "That's the point!" snarled Ronnie Ray-Gun. He pulled off his space gloves and cracked his knuckles, and blood dripped from his hands. "You're not Ronnie Ray-Gun, are you?" said Chowderclef in horror. "You've never been Ronnie Ray-Gun." "Ronnie Ray-Gun died battling me in the far future of 1981," said the eldritch terror that wore Ronnie Ray-Gun's face. As the Foundation Force Five watched from a safe distance, his atomic spacesuit sloughed off him leaving only rags of faint silver, beneath which was exposed skin and bone. "I saw this day coming a thousand years ago. My plans stretch across all space and time! You were fools! Fools not to have seen it until you were already in my trap!" "Who... who are you?" said Femme Fatale, as she held an anatomically anomalous pose involving her backside. The corpse of Ronnie Ray-Gun smiled-- or it would have, if it had any teeth. "I... am Evil Empire! You idiots bought my story of being time-displaced. Everyone knows time travel isn't real![[footnote]] Not so, true believer! The FF5 travelled to the past in the now-classic FF5 #74 [[/footnote]] And soon, this planet will join my dominion across the stars!" "Evil Empire?" said Comrade Gunkill, his face turning pale. "Is impossible. You died twenty years ago!" "My body died," said Evil Empire, as a red welt appeared on Ronnie Ray-Gun's forehead. "Your superiors thought that the end of me. They never suspected that my power was from beyond the stars. One body was nothing, Comrade Gunkill... or should I call you Red Commando?" Whatever little blood was still in Comrade Gunkill's face drained from it. "Stop him!" he shouted. "My comrades, don't let him say anything else!" Evil Empire laughed. "Oh, it's been too long since I've been in Russia, abominations." In Russian, he said "//Longing.//" Comrade Gunkill raised his gun and shot several times. As each bullet approached Evil Empire, a force struck it, cleaving it in two. Each time, another red slash appeared on Ronnie Ray-Gun's body, yet none of them seemed to affect him at all. "//Jet fuel.//" Femme Fatale jumped from where she had been crouching, somersaulting through the air, her stiletto aimed at Evil Empire's vocal cords. Evil Empire caught her foot, throwing her into a pile of rubble. "//Steel Beams. Nineteen. [COGNITOHAZARD EXPUNGED].//" Bodyjacker threw his amulet at Evil Empire, who instinctively caught it. His eyes, blackened with blood, widened for half a second, and the rest of the Foundation Force Five held their breath as Evil Empire got Jacked-- "Just kidding," said Evil Empire as he dangled the amulet from one bony finger, as Bodyjacker's old body fell to the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut. "I have seen a starry field of the dead. Souls upon souls can only feed a soul eater. Now, where was I?" Chowderclef fired his Chowdercannon, and Evil Empire dodged it effortlessly. "No!" shouted Chowderclef. "My chowder is liberation!" "//Eighty. Abortion.//" "What happens if he finishes?" said Zero-One, his voice calm and unconcerned. "//One.//" "Nothing good." Comrade Gunkill closed his eyes as he shed a single tear. "I'm sorry, comrades. I'm so sorry." "//Now there you go again.//" Evil Empire smiled as part of his face fell off. Comrade Gunkill was completely still. The rest of the Foundation Force Five, or at least the ones who still had bodies, held their breaths. "//Soldier?//" said Evil Empire. "//Ready to comply,//" said the Red Commando, as he opened his eyes. "//Then kill them!//" said Evil Empire. "//Kill them in the name of the Evil Empire!//" HOW WILL THE FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE GET OUT OF THIS ONE? WILL COMRADE GUNKILL BE THE DEATH OF THEM? AND WHERE IS STAR COMMAND PROTON? FIND OUT NEXT IN FOUNDATION FORCE FIVE/STAR COMMAND PROTON #5: HE SEES YOU! FOLLOW THE ADVENTURES OF PANDORA SQUADRON IN SCPANDORA #76: COLONEL BOWE AND RAY-GUN'S COMMAND! AND DON'T MISS PENTA-5: BEYOND THE STARS, FOR THE SHOCKING TRUTH BEHIND EVIL EMPIRE! [[/collapsible]] [[footnoteblock]] [[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>]]	2012-11-29T21:43:00	[ "_licensebox", "action", "collaboration", "comedy", "featured", "robert-bumaro", "superhero", "tale" ]	Tales of the Foundation Force Five - SCP Foundation	129	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "incident-reports-eye-witness-interviews-and-personal-logs", "archived:foundation-tales", "featured-tale-archive", "collaboration-page-hub" ]	[]	15207689	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/tales-of-the-foundation-force-five
technical-orientation	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Hello, and welcome to the Tech Support orientation. I am senior technical researcher <a href="/david-rosen-file">David Rosen</a>, and I will be orienting you. Before we begin, I’d like to ask that all cellphones, smart phones, smart glasses, smart watches and smart ties be disabled. I know it sucks, but I need your full attention if you want to get credit for this.</p> <p>Okay? Okay.</p> <p>The Tech Support department of The Foundation is probably one of the most illustrious careers many of you could have hoped for. Instead of sitting in a cubicle belonging to a huge faceless organization, you’ll sit in a cubicle belonging to a huge faceless organization that fights evil stuff in the dark, like Bigfoot.</p> <p>Please sit down, it gets better. I promise.</p> <p>The technology you will be working with is light years ahead of anything you have ever seen. You will regularly work with computers that you thought were only possible theoretically. You will work with devices that make the Cray look like a Trash-Eighty.</p> <p>On the flip side of that, you will also have to work with bugs and errors that you never thought were possible. Think installing a server is a tough job? Try installing one in a room that contains <em>living fire.</em> Or a computer needs to have a file that was accidentally deleted retrieved? Try finding the file that contains one of your coworkers.</p> <p>Yeah, really.</p> <p>Now the majority of you are going to be working as support, answering phone calls and that sort of thing. Most of the time you will be handling calls relating to normal Foundation computer trouble. Now, many of you may be thinking “Oh that doesn’t sound so hard”. Let me put it this way. Normal to the Foundation is like… bad science fiction to the normal world. You will be providing help for the most bizarre problems imaginable, running the gauntlet from E-AIDS to a laptop transforming into a parrot. Your scripts will cover most of the calls though. When you can’t solve a problem over the phone, send an engineer.</p> <p>Okay, engineers. You’re gonna be working on the front line of support. You’re the ones who have to go in and get your hands dirty when sparks start flying. The senior engineers will be there to help you, but a lot of the time you will be on your own. I know it can be scary to try and repair a router that’s actively trying to kill you, but you get used to it.</p> <p>Now, there are some people who just do not learn. Some people who repeatedly abuse the privilege that is Tech Support. If you have a user who reports problems like “accidentally having a computer fly out the window” or “dropped it in a tank of 447” then you put them on “Rosen’s Happy List of People Who're Banned FOREVER.” These are the people who you don’t have to help, and you are encouraged to get them to stop calling us by any means necessary. People on the list include Dr. Bright, Professor Crow, Agent Convit, and my ‘assistant’ Dr. Taylor. If any of them stop by the department in person… you will find the Nerf guns under your desks. Use them wisely.</p> <p>Alright! Questions! Hmm… you, with the acne. What are the perks? Well, you don’t have to wear a uniform if you work the phones. People in the department are really kind of separate from what the super duper serious science that the rest of the Foundation does, so we pretty much just do our own thing. We have our own break room with soda and snacks, and uh…the pay is pretty good for you guys, I guess.</p> <p>You, with the mustard stain on the shirt. Do you get to access the technical issue request page? Hell no you don’t. That is strictly for me and the Level 3’s who post on it. It’s basically where the real scientists go when you guys can’t help them.</p> <p>Alright, I think that’s all the time I got. You will all be assigned cubes and shit next week, so try not to break anything or die until then. Oh, uh… have fun and stuff.</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="/technical-orientation">Technical Orientation</a>" by Anonymous, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/technical-orientation">https://scpwiki.com/technical-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]] [[/>]] Hello, and welcome to the Tech Support orientation. I am senior technical researcher [[[david-rosen-file\| David Rosen]]], and I will be orienting you. Before we begin, I’d like to ask that all cellphones, smart phones, smart glasses, smart watches and smart ties be disabled. I know it sucks, but I need your full attention if you want to get credit for this. Okay? Okay. The Tech Support department of The Foundation is probably one of the most illustrious careers many of you could have hoped for. Instead of sitting in a cubicle belonging to a huge faceless organization, you’ll sit in a cubicle belonging to a huge faceless organization that fights evil stuff in the dark, like Bigfoot. Please sit down, it gets better. I promise. The technology you will be working with is light years ahead of anything you have ever seen. You will regularly work with computers that you thought were only possible theoretically. You will work with devices that make the Cray look like a Trash-Eighty. On the flip side of that, you will also have to work with bugs and errors that you never thought were possible. Think installing a server is a tough job? Try installing one in a room that contains //living fire.// Or a computer needs to have a file that was accidentally deleted retrieved? Try finding the file that contains one of your coworkers. Yeah, really. Now the majority of you are going to be working as support, answering phone calls and that sort of thing. Most of the time you will be handling calls relating to normal Foundation computer trouble. Now, many of you may be thinking “Oh that doesn’t sound so hard”. Let me put it this way. Normal to the Foundation is like… bad science fiction to the normal world. You will be providing help for the most bizarre problems imaginable, running the gauntlet from E-AIDS to a laptop transforming into a parrot. Your scripts will cover most of the calls though. When you can’t solve a problem over the phone, send an engineer. Okay, engineers. You’re gonna be working on the front line of support. You’re the ones who have to go in and get your hands dirty when sparks start flying. The senior engineers will be there to help you, but a lot of the time you will be on your own. I know it can be scary to try and repair a router that’s actively trying to kill you, but you get used to it. Now, there are some people who just do not learn. Some people who repeatedly abuse the privilege that is Tech Support. If you have a user who reports problems like “accidentally having a computer fly out the window” or “dropped it in a tank of 447” then you put them on “Rosen’s Happy List of People Who're Banned FOREVER.” These are the people who you don’t have to help, and you are encouraged to get them to stop calling us by any means necessary. People on the list include Dr. Bright, Professor Crow, Agent Convit, and my ‘assistant’ Dr. Taylor. If any of them stop by the department in person... you will find the Nerf guns under your desks. Use them wisely. Alright! Questions! Hmm… you, with the acne. What are the perks? Well, you don’t have to wear a uniform if you work the phones. People in the department are really kind of separate from what the super duper serious science that the rest of the Foundation does, so we pretty much just do our own thing. We have our own break room with soda and snacks, and uh…the pay is pretty good for you guys, I guess. You, with the mustard stain on the shirt. Do you get to access the technical issue request page? Hell no you don’t. That is strictly for me and the Level 3’s who post on it. It’s basically where the real scientists go when you guys can’t help them. Alright, I think that’s all the time I got. You will all be assigned cubes and shit next week, so try not to break anything or die until then. Oh, uh… have fun and stuff. [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> \|author=Anonymous]] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-12-16T12:30:00	[ "_licensebox", "comedy", "orientation", "researcher-rosen", "rewritable", "tale", "worldbuilding" ]	Technical Orientation - SCP Foundation	165	[ "david-rosen-file", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "david-rosen-file", "foundation-tales-audio-edition", "archived:foundation-tales", "articles-eligible-for-rewrite", "audio-adaptations" ]	[]	15466694	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/technical-orientation
teeth-dearie	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <br/> Hello, dearie. <p>Oh hush now, those stories are greatly over exaggerated. I am not a demon, and I most certainly am not hellspawn. My mother would take offense to that, you know. No need to be rude! That was down right mannerless. You should be ashamed. Now now, that's alright. We all make mistakes sometimes. I suppose it's not your fault anyways, the name they gave me is rather intimidating, isn't it? The "Toothed Goddess". Do I look like I have more than the average set of teeth? Well, yes, they <em>are</em> a tad whiter and straighter than the average lady's chompers, but I think "toothed" is a bit much, don't you? Jane. Call me Jane, dearie. No, I insist! All this numerical nonsense fuddles my mind, and "Goddess" is a bit too formal for what I have in mind. I was hoping you and I could have a chat. That's all. Just a little chat, no harm in words, right?</p> <p>What do I want to talk about? Well, I <em>am</em> the alleged "Toothed Goddess" aren't I? A little grandiose, but I <em>do</em> enjoy discussing those little pearls. I mean, that's all I do, isn't it? Babble on about the little gems people have hidden up under their gums? Hardly warrants them keeping me locked up here if I do say so. I doubt they go around locking up other people who talk about teeth. But I suppose that's my lot in life, isn't it? Take you for example, I'm sure whatever you did to get here is much worse than whatever silly thing they accused me of. Hmmm, I'd rather show you. It doesn't quite…translate, when I explain it. I want us to try a little something, if you don't mind. No, I'm not going to force you to do anything. No, I don't have any kind of super powers. No, I'm not going to-what are those people telling you out there?! I just want to talk! And, I want you to listen. That's all. Now, let's chat, shall we?</p> <p>Teeth. Tell me, do you floss? Everyday? Lies, I know you don't. I can tell. Your dentist doesn't bother you about it every time you drop by for nothing, does he? Yes, well, maybe you should take better care. Those <em>are</em> your adult teeth, aren't they? They're not going to grow back, you know. Go on, run your tongue over them. Smooth, aren't they? Like little, slippery pieces of linoleum stuck up in your gums. I know this may be an odd request, but could you touch one? That one, the upper lateral incisor. Hmff. Top tooth, next to your two front teeth. Yes, that one. Go ahead, touch it. Oh please, I'm asking you to poke your tooth, not rob a bank! Just take your index finger, and…touch it. You did it with your tongue, didn't you? Just…there we go.</p> <p>Feel it. Still smooth, isn't it? Hard to imagine something on the human body can be so perfectly smooth. Make sure you take it all in. No one knows your teeth like you do. No one knows about that subtle little hitch, that little bump, those itty bitty ridges from where it erupted. No one knows the exact curve and length, except for you. Why can't you take better care of something that is so innately part of you? Still touching it? Go on, experiment a little. Ooh, did you feel that? Push on it again. Gently, now. Feel that slight give? No one would be able to tell looking at it, but you can feel it, can't you? You can feel it, that tiniest bit of wiggle. That microscopic give when you ever so gently press it. Makes you shiver a bit, doesn't it?</p> <p>Now, I want you to gently, ever so gently, pinch it. With your forefinger and thumb, grip the very tip…there we go. Go on now, this isn't anything your teeth wouldn't experience if you brushed them every once in a while. You're not hurting anything, are you? You're just touching. Nothing wrong with that. You can feel it now, can't you? That wiggle? No, I'm not doing anything. Your teeth are just naturally loose. You may not realize it, but your teeth aren't actually part of your head. I know, bear with me. They may be <em>there</em>, but they aren't part of it. Sure, they fit snugly, but they're just attached is all. No more, no less. A bit of flesh and nerve stringing those lumps of calcium to your gums. Starting to ache a bit now, isn't it? I know, it's almost a pleasant ache. You can get an almost perverted pleasure in the way they hurt, can't you? The way they press into your gums? It's starting to wiggle a bit more now, I can tell from here. You've loosened it, from just a little bit of pressure. Exciting, isn't it?</p> <p>Teeth are fragile things, dearie. They aren't meant to be used like that. You keep wiggling, now. You'll be disappointed if you stop. That ache, that bit of relief from where it shlocks back and forth; you wouldn't have that any more if you stopped. It's awfully loose now. Yes, it's visible from here. You can probably taste it now. A bit of iron on your tongue? Don't worry, that's perfectly normal. Don't stop. You know, I'm willing to bet it has a bit of give going up and down now, too. Why don't you try it? Only a bit? Well, that's fine. Just keep working at it. Ooh, I bet that feels nice. That ache. That soreness building deep down? That's the root, dearie. You've got it wiggled so much you can feel the root. Don't stop.</p> <p>Pull your lips up, I want to see. Ooh, yes, I can see the gums moving with it now. They're following it around like chewed bubblegum on a stick. It's a delightful picture. No, don't stop, I can almost see it. Twist it. Yes, twist it I want to see, it's so close, so loose! I bet you can taste it, can't you? Don't stop now. Keep twisting. Hear that? That little pop? Is it easier now? Shhh, don't cry. The pain will be worth it. You've almost got it. Keep going. I can see it. I can see the root. Pop. Pop pop pop. Almost. Don't stop. You've got to sever the nerve, dearie. Just one more. One more little pop. You're so close, don't stop now. You came this far, didn't you? Keep going. One more. One more-</p> <p>-aaaahhh…Mmmm, yes, that <em>is</em> nice, isn't it? Go on, explore! There's no harm. Your tongue's never been there before, let it slide into that little gap. Yes, see? I told you you'd enjoy it. Don't cry, dearie. Shhh, give it here. Let Jane see. Mmmm, this is a nice one, isn't it? Oh, no, this is mine now. Yes, if it weren't for me, it wouldn't be out right now, would it? It's only fair. I knew you'd agree. Why don't you go ask the nice scientists if they'll give you some aspirin? I'm sure if you ask nicely, yes. Go on now.</p> <p>Hmmm? I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. You have a bit of a lisp now, for some strange reason. Am I what? Am I the tooth fairy? Oh, hee hee, oh my, dearie, no. I'm not the tooth fairy. I'm the Toothed Goddess.</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="/teeth-dearie">Teeth, Dearie</a>" by evictedSaint, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/teeth-dearie">https://scpwiki.com/teeth-dearie</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, dearie. Oh hush now, those stories are greatly over exaggerated. I am not a demon, and I most certainly am not hellspawn. My mother would take offense to that, you know. No need to be rude! That was down right mannerless. You should be ashamed. Now now, that's alright. We all make mistakes sometimes. I suppose it's not your fault anyways, the name they gave me is rather intimidating, isn't it? The "Toothed Goddess". Do I look like I have more than the average set of teeth? Well, yes, they //are// a tad whiter and straighter than the average lady's chompers, but I think "toothed" is a bit much, don't you? Jane. Call me Jane, dearie. No, I insist! All this numerical nonsense fuddles my mind, and "Goddess" is a bit too formal for what I have in mind. I was hoping you and I could have a chat. That's all. Just a little chat, no harm in words, right? What do I want to talk about? Well, I //am// the alleged "Toothed Goddess" aren't I? A little grandiose, but I //do// enjoy discussing those little pearls. I mean, that's all I do, isn't it? Babble on about the little gems people have hidden up under their gums? Hardly warrants them keeping me locked up here if I do say so. I doubt they go around locking up other people who talk about teeth. But I suppose that's my lot in life, isn't it? Take you for example, I'm sure whatever you did to get here is much worse than whatever silly thing they accused me of. Hmmm, I'd rather show you. It doesn't quite...translate, when I explain it. I want us to try a little something, if you don't mind. No, I'm not going to force you to do anything. No, I don't have any kind of super powers. No, I'm not going to-what are those people telling you out there?! I just want to talk! And, I want you to listen. That's all. Now, let's chat, shall we? Teeth. Tell me, do you floss? Everyday? Lies, I know you don't. I can tell. Your dentist doesn't bother you about it every time you drop by for nothing, does he? Yes, well, maybe you should take better care. Those //are// your adult teeth, aren't they? They're not going to grow back, you know. Go on, run your tongue over them. Smooth, aren't they? Like little, slippery pieces of linoleum stuck up in your gums. I know this may be an odd request, but could you touch one? That one, the upper lateral incisor. Hmff. Top tooth, next to your two front teeth. Yes, that one. Go ahead, touch it. Oh please, I'm asking you to poke your tooth, not rob a bank! Just take your index finger, and...touch it. You did it with your tongue, didn't you? Just...there we go. Feel it. Still smooth, isn't it? Hard to imagine something on the human body can be so perfectly smooth. Make sure you take it all in. No one knows your teeth like you do. No one knows about that subtle little hitch, that little bump, those itty bitty ridges from where it erupted. No one knows the exact curve and length, except for you. Why can't you take better care of something that is so innately part of you? Still touching it? Go on, experiment a little. Ooh, did you feel that? Push on it again. Gently, now. Feel that slight give? No one would be able to tell looking at it, but you can feel it, can't you? You can feel it, that tiniest bit of wiggle. That microscopic give when you ever so gently press it. Makes you shiver a bit, doesn't it? Now, I want you to gently, ever so gently, pinch it. With your forefinger and thumb, grip the very tip...there we go. Go on now, this isn't anything your teeth wouldn't experience if you brushed them every once in a while. You're not hurting anything, are you? You're just touching. Nothing wrong with that. You can feel it now, can't you? That wiggle? No, I'm not doing anything. Your teeth are just naturally loose. You may not realize it, but your teeth aren't actually part of your head. I know, bear with me. They may be //there//, but they aren't part of it. Sure, they fit snugly, but they're just attached is all. No more, no less. A bit of flesh and nerve stringing those lumps of calcium to your gums. Starting to ache a bit now, isn't it? I know, it's almost a pleasant ache. You can get an almost perverted pleasure in the way they hurt, can't you? The way they press into your gums? It's starting to wiggle a bit more now, I can tell from here. You've loosened it, from just a little bit of pressure. Exciting, isn't it? Teeth are fragile things, dearie. They aren't meant to be used like that. You keep wiggling, now. You'll be disappointed if you stop. That ache, that bit of relief from where it shlocks back and forth; you wouldn't have that any more if you stopped. It's awfully loose now. Yes, it's visible from here. You can probably taste it now. A bit of iron on your tongue? Don't worry, that's perfectly normal. Don't stop. You know, I'm willing to bet it has a bit of give going up and down now, too. Why don't you try it? Only a bit? Well, that's fine. Just keep working at it. Ooh, I bet that feels nice. That ache. That soreness building deep down? That's the root, dearie. You've got it wiggled so much you can feel the root. Don't stop. Pull your lips up, I want to see. Ooh, yes, I can see the gums moving with it now. They're following it around like chewed bubblegum on a stick. It's a delightful picture. No, don't stop, I can almost see it. Twist it. Yes, twist it I want to see, it's so close, so loose! I bet you can taste it, can't you? Don't stop now. Keep twisting. Hear that? That little pop? Is it easier now? Shhh, don't cry. The pain will be worth it. You've almost got it. Keep going. I can see it. I can see the root. Pop. Pop pop pop. Almost. Don't stop. You've got to sever the nerve, dearie. Just one more. One more little pop. You're so close, don't stop now. You came this far, didn't you? Keep going. One more. One more- -aaaahhh...Mmmm, yes, that //is// nice, isn't it? Go on, explore! There's no harm. Your tongue's never been there before, let it slide into that little gap. Yes, see? I told you you'd enjoy it. Don't cry, dearie. Shhh, give it here. Let Jane see. Mmmm, this is a nice one, isn't it? Oh, no, this is mine now. Yes, if it weren't for me, it wouldn't be out right now, would it? It's only fair. I knew you'd agree. Why don't you go ask the nice scientists if they'll give you some aspirin? I'm sure if you ask nicely, yes. Go on now. Hmmm? I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. You have a bit of a lisp now, for some strange reason. Am I what? Am I the tooth fairy? Oh, hee hee, oh my, dearie, no. I'm not the tooth fairy. I'm the Toothed Goddess. [[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>]]	2012-04-13T00:41:00	[ "_licensebox", "body-horror", "featured", "horror", "tale" ]	Teeth, Dearie - SCP Foundation	143	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales", "featured-tale-archive" ]	[]	13143470	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/teeth-dearie
the-audience	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Margie sits back on the sofa in the family room and rubs her feet. The digitized tones of Beethoven's Fifth tell her that she's got a phone call. She wedges her phone between her chin and shoulder and squeezes the remote to turn the volume down with her other hand.</p> <p>"Oh hello, sweetie. No, it's not a bad time. The little ones are down for their nap and I'm just watching my stories."</p> <p>On Margie's phone, a voice is questioning.</p> <p>"They're not too bad. Not like those little monsters I had last year."</p> <p>On the television, two men are having a discussion in a lavishly appointed office. The older man wears a tailored suit and holds a glass a of whiskey. The younger is in a flannel shirt and jeans. The studio lights on his cheekbones make his face look like a waxen mask.</p> <p>"<em>Eternal Days</em> is on right now. It's not my favorite, but it's okay. I'm not sure about this new guy they've got playing Andrew's son. He's pretty enough, in a generic kind of a way, but his acting … he might as well be a piece of furniture."</p> <p>Margie shifts her weight to her other buttock and swaps the phone to her other ear. On the television, Andrew turns his back to his son and starts in on a monologue. His son is smiling. He shouldn't be smiling.</p> <p>"Anyway, it's just a way to pass the time. What's going on with you? Did your brother have the surgery?"</p> <p>On the television, Andrew's son is weighing a marble paperweight in his hand. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.</p> <p>"Oh that's so good to hear, I know you were worried. It's never … oh good Lord! He just … he smashed his head right in!"</p> <p>Margie is sitting on the edge of the sofa, her body leaning forward. On the television, Andrew's head is a red waterfall. His son pulls him onto the top of the desk and turns him over, still smiling.</p> <p>"My God, Laurie! I didn't know you could <strong>do</strong> that on daytime."</p> <p>Margie is barely listening. On the television, Andrew's son has a knife. It looks as old as the world, and is not sharp. It is sharp enough to pierce the tailored suit. It is sharp enough to pierce Andrew.</p> <p>"Laurie! I don't believe this! He killed him! On daytime! He killed him with a knife!"</p> <p>Andrew's son is looking at the camera. Margie is pressed against the back of the sofa. Andrew's son is looking at Margie.</p> <p>On the television, someone is selling detergent.</p> <p>"I'm sorry, hon. It was just the damndest thing!"</p> <p>On Margie's phone, a voice is chattering.</p> <p>"It must be sweeps week."</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-audience">The Audience</a>" by murphy_slaw, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-audience">https://scpwiki.com/the-audience</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]] [[/>]] Margie sits back on the sofa in the family room and rubs her feet. The digitized tones of Beethoven's Fifth tell her that she's got a phone call. She wedges her phone between her chin and shoulder and squeezes the remote to turn the volume down with her other hand. "Oh hello, sweetie. No, it's not a bad time. The little ones are down for their nap and I'm just watching my stories." On Margie's phone, a voice is questioning. "They're not too bad. Not like those little monsters I had last year." On the television, two men are having a discussion in a lavishly appointed office. The older man wears a tailored suit and holds a glass a of whiskey. The younger is in a flannel shirt and jeans. The studio lights on his cheekbones make his face look like a waxen mask. "//Eternal Days// is on right now. It's not my favorite, but it's okay. I'm not sure about this new guy they've got playing Andrew's son. He's pretty enough, in a generic kind of a way, but his acting ... he might as well be a piece of furniture." Margie shifts her weight to her other buttock and swaps the phone to her other ear. On the television, Andrew turns his back to his son and starts in on a monologue. His son is smiling. He shouldn't be smiling. "Anyway, it's just a way to pass the time. What's going on with you? Did your brother have the surgery?" On the television, Andrew's son is weighing a marble paperweight in his hand. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. "Oh that's so good to hear, I know you were worried. It's never ... oh good Lord! He just ... he smashed his head right in!" Margie is sitting on the edge of the sofa, her body leaning forward. On the television, Andrew's head is a red waterfall. His son pulls him onto the top of the desk and turns him over, still smiling. "My God, Laurie! I didn't know you could do that on daytime." Margie is barely listening. On the television, Andrew's son has a knife. It looks as old as the world, and is not sharp. It is sharp enough to pierce the tailored suit. It is sharp enough to pierce Andrew. "Laurie! I don't believe this! He killed him! On daytime! He killed him with a knife!" Andrew's son is looking at the camera. Margie is pressed against the back of the sofa. Andrew's son is looking at Margie. On the television, someone is selling detergent. "I'm sorry, hon. It was just the damndest thing!" On Margie's phone, a voice is chattering. "It must be sweeps week." [[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>]]	2012-05-20T17:22:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	The Audience - SCP Foundation	14	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13369244	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-audience
the-bold-and-the-dutiful-pt1	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <br/> To say that the day had started badly would have been a huge understatement. <p>Used to waking up around seven thirty, the coffee machine on the small shelf above the bed bubbling away with his first cup of the day, it was a highly unpleasant surprise to be awakened by the overhead alarm system blaring out a very rare sequence of beeps. Two long, two short, two long, two short, over and over again, informing everybody (but particularly those for whom it was highly relevant information) that it was not only time to get up, but to prepare for a highly unusual and rather dangerous scenario.</p> <p>The sound of footsteps rushing past his door was indicative that there was at least one other member of staff whose ability to get out of bed far exceeded his, but within a minute Dr deValmont was dressed and out the door, albeit with his brain and tongue competing as to which was the most fuzzy. The alarms in the corridor were louder and served to help with the former, the latter would have to wait until this was sorted out and he could get to a coffee machine.</p> <p>Jogging down the corridor to the main archive area, Rikarð was surprised to see people struggling into the blue hazmat suits, hanging in glass-fronted corridors along one wall. This added to his confusion, the blue suits were double-layered, lined with a very fine silvery dust that was designed to protect the wearer from any electromagnetic waves between 10<sup>4</sup> and 10<sup>20</sup>Hz. The security team clad in the blue suits ran off down the corridor, looking otherworldly with their single camera eye protruding from the over-large head coverings, required due to the fact that any light that got through a faceplate could let in any other number of horrors. The security teams had to be specially trained to deal with using the suits, set up as they were with two screens on the inside, one showing a highly pixellated black and white live image, the other a full HD display on a five second delay so that it could be cut in the event of a cognitohazardous or visually dangerous SCP appearing in their field of vision.</p> <p>The suits suggested that the problem was either a <em>VIS</em> or <em>CH</em>, but the alarm said otherwise. There was obviously something even more odd than usual going on, and he needed to find out. He pulled out his comms and sent a request to Overseers.</p> <p>“O5 support, state your number please.” The voice said, impassively.<br/> “Twelve M, five-five-two dot twenty-three M A” he replied<br/> “Name and location.” It really wasn’t getting any friendlier.<br/> “Dr deValmont, Rikarð, I, C Wing, blue phase, floor 2, corridor 12” he rattled off, glancing at the sign at the end of the corridor to check the number.<br/> “Evacuate immediately. Potential EK scenario.”</p> <p>The line went dead, and Dr deValmont was left staring at his comm unit with the feeling that he really should be walking in the opposite direction to the blue-suited team he had just seen leaving the area. Every bit of his training and induction told him that a two long two short alarm was not something to be getting curious over. Something was out of the box, so to speak. He rattled through the scenario list in his head to remember the specifics of this one, remembering back to his first hazard training inductions, many years ago.</p> <p><em>“Now, you’ve covered all the basic Pandora scenarios in the previous training, now we’re going to deal with how the Site as a whole covers scenarios of increasing severity. These we call SK, EK and VK scenarios, for reasons that will become clear. These are site specific, and are developed for each site based upon the interred anomalies, unlike the worldwide CK and XK scenarios which you've already covered in General.</em></p> <p><em>“SK scenarios are the lowest in severity, although this SHOULD NOT be underestimated – anyone on Site during a SK scenario is in a situation of mortal or existential risk. SKs are situations where the actions or effects of a Keter-class anomaly are active outside of the controls of its Containment Procedures. This normally means that we have a mobile Keter at loose in the facility. You don’t need to be shown the six-eight-two pictures again to know how serious that can be. SOP for an SK scenario is to remain in your current secure area until a security team unseal the blast portals. If you are not in a secure area, move as quickly as you can to the nearest one, following the thin red line on the wall near to the floor, and follow standard security protocols for entry to the BPs.</em></p> <p><em>“Now, then you have EK. First of all I’d like to show people this set of photographs, and a short presentation. If you begin to feel sick or faint let me know.”</em></p> <p>He shuddered at the memory. He hadn’t vomited but several around him had, and the smell made the rest of the afternoon’s lectures a highly unpleasant experience. ‘<em>So,</em>’ he mused to himself, ‘<em>I should find a secure exit portal and await relocation to a perimeter bunker to await further instructions.</em>’.</p> <p>“Where’s the fun in that?” he said out loud as he turned the corner.</p> <p>Then he nearly tripped over the mess on the floor, and began to rapidly re-evaluate his decision.</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-bold-and-the-dutiful-pt1">The Bold and the Dutiful (Part One)</a>" by deValmont, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-bold-and-the-dutiful-pt1">https://scpwiki.com/the-bold-and-the-dutiful-pt1</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]] [[/>]] To say that the day had started badly would have been a huge understatement. Used to waking up around seven thirty, the coffee machine on the small shelf above the bed bubbling away with his first cup of the day, it was a highly unpleasant surprise to be awakened by the overhead alarm system blaring out a very rare sequence of beeps. Two long, two short, two long, two short, over and over again, informing everybody (but particularly those for whom it was highly relevant information) that it was not only time to get up, but to prepare for a highly unusual and rather dangerous scenario. The sound of footsteps rushing past his door was indicative that there was at least one other member of staff whose ability to get out of bed far exceeded his, but within a minute Dr deValmont was dressed and out the door, albeit with his brain and tongue competing as to which was the most fuzzy. The alarms in the corridor were louder and served to help with the former, the latter would have to wait until this was sorted out and he could get to a coffee machine. Jogging down the corridor to the main archive area, Rikarð was surprised to see people struggling into the blue hazmat suits, hanging in glass-fronted corridors along one wall. This added to his confusion, the blue suits were double-layered, lined with a very fine silvery dust that was designed to protect the wearer from any electromagnetic waves between 10^^4^^ and 10^^20^^Hz. The security team clad in the blue suits ran off down the corridor, looking otherworldly with their single camera eye protruding from the over-large head coverings, required due to the fact that any light that got through a faceplate could let in any other number of horrors. The security teams had to be specially trained to deal with using the suits, set up as they were with two screens on the inside, one showing a highly pixellated black and white live image, the other a full HD display on a five second delay so that it could be cut in the event of a cognitohazardous or visually dangerous SCP appearing in their field of vision. The suits suggested that the problem was either a //VIS// or //CH//, but the alarm said otherwise. There was obviously something even more odd than usual going on, and he needed to find out. He pulled out his comms and sent a request to Overseers. “O5 support, state your number please.” The voice said, impassively. “Twelve M, five-five-two dot twenty-three M A” he replied “Name and location.” It really wasn’t getting any friendlier. “Dr deValmont, Rikarð, I, C Wing, blue phase, floor 2, corridor 12” he rattled off, glancing at the sign at the end of the corridor to check the number. “Evacuate immediately. Potential EK scenario.” The line went dead, and Dr deValmont was left staring at his comm unit with the feeling that he really should be walking in the opposite direction to the blue-suited team he had just seen leaving the area. Every bit of his training and induction told him that a two long two short alarm was not something to be getting curious over. Something was out of the box, so to speak. He rattled through the scenario list in his head to remember the specifics of this one, remembering back to his first hazard training inductions, many years ago. //“Now, you’ve covered all the basic Pandora scenarios in the previous training, now we’re going to deal with how the Site as a whole covers scenarios of increasing severity. These we call SK, EK and VK scenarios, for reasons that will become clear. These are site specific, and are developed for each site based upon the interred anomalies, unlike the worldwide CK and XK scenarios which you've already covered in General.// //“SK scenarios are the lowest in severity, although this SHOULD NOT be underestimated – anyone on Site during a SK scenario is in a situation of mortal or existential risk. SKs are situations where the actions or effects of a Keter-class anomaly are active outside of the controls of its Containment Procedures. This normally means that we have a mobile Keter at loose in the facility. You don’t need to be shown the six-eight-two pictures again to know how serious that can be. SOP for an SK scenario is to remain in your current secure area until a security team unseal the blast portals. If you are not in a secure area, move as quickly as you can to the nearest one, following the thin red line on the wall near to the floor, and follow standard security protocols for entry to the BPs.// //“Now, then you have EK. First of all I’d like to show people this set of photographs, and a short presentation. If you begin to feel sick or faint let me know.”// He shuddered at the memory. He hadn’t vomited but several around him had, and the smell made the rest of the afternoon’s lectures a highly unpleasant experience. ‘//So,//’ he mused to himself, ‘//I should find a secure exit portal and await relocation to a perimeter bunker to await further instructions.//’. “Where’s the fun in that?” he said out loud as he turned the corner. Then he nearly tripped over the mess on the floor, and began to rapidly re-evaluate his decision. [[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>]]	2012-05-30T11:21:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	The Bold and the Dutiful (Part One) - SCP Foundation	11	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13430466	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-bold-and-the-dutiful-pt1
the-case-of-the-missing-hand	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>It was upon the morning of the seventeenth of October when I encountered my long-term friend and companion Mr. Sherlock Holmes knocking upon the door of my residence. As I opened the door, I recognized the look of subdued excitement on Holmes' face. He was obviously in the middle of a case; one of those periods where he would rush from location to location, either unaware of the effect such a schedule was having on his body or uncaring, locked as he was in the thrill of the chase.</p> <p>It was highly peculiar for him to call on me, for it was often his way to send a telegram summoning me to his residence at 221B Baker Street. I voiced this concern and he looked at me with a sharp eye. "My dear Watson!" he exclaimed. "I know that if I were to send a telegram it would take at least ten minutes for it to arrive, and at least ten minutes for <em>you</em> to arrive at my residence! No, time is of the essence, my friend! The hunt is on!"</p> <p>He led me outside to a waiting carriage, my feet carrying out the exciting routine they had gone through dozens of time before. Once we were inside, I turned to Holmes. "I trust you are on a case?" I said.</p> <p>"You expect anything less of me?" He smiled. "Did you enjoy your trip to Scotland?"</p> <p>I began to reply in the negative, for my wife had fallen ill on the second day of our trip, when I realized I had not told Holmes of my holiday at any point before or after the weeks trip. "I can see how you would deduce I was on a trip, considering the length of my absence," I said. "But however did you work out I went to Scotland?"</p> <p>He leaned forward, as if to impart some of his usual wisdom, but instead said; "Your wife was leaning out of the window, I simply asked her! You must always be aware, my dear Watson, that before we come to the world of theories and ideas, we must first make sure to find out the facts!"</p> <p>I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "This seems to be contrary to the priorities you yourself demonstrate, my friend. Oftentimes, you will have worked out the solution to the case moments after, or even before, the details of it have been imparted to you!"</p> <p>He turned to me in mock anger, but his expression quickly lightened as if he was speaking to a child, as he no doubt considered himself to be. "I must not underestimate you, Watson! You saw through my ruse. Facts are cold liars. Oh, they never lie themselves, but they throw decoys, red herrings right in front of us! A <em>theory</em> is the lance that punches through their shield and allows us access to the truth, whether it be good or bad. You have learned a lot, Watson. Who knows, perhaps you would be the one to fool Sherlock Holmes!" He chuckled lightly, knowing that this could never happen. "Very well, enough games. I will tell you of the case.</p> <p>"Two years ago, a Mr. Daniel Highman moved to London from his previous residence in America after the death of his wife. He brought with him his five year old son, Robert Highman, and seventeen year old daughter, Elizabeth Highman. He was a recluse and a tinkerer, often spending days and days experimenting with his inventions. None of them appear to have seen the light of day, so I can imagine his efforts were wasted. He does not appear to have achieved anything of much interest, and his life appears to have been dull and, regrettably, short."</p> <p>"He is dead?"</p> <p>"It is more often than not the case with our, well, cases, is it not, Watson? We are surrounded by death. I would lament this, but it is unwise to bite the hand that feeds us! Daniel Highman was found dead last week. His hand was missing and it appears that he had died of blood loss."</p> <p>"A straight cut?" I asked. "The hand, I mean?"</p> <p>"No, it had been torn off as if by some savage beast."</p> <p>"Good God!" I ejaculated.</p> <p>"It is a dreadful affair," Holmes agreed. "He was not a rich man, so I do not see either of the children doing it for the inheritance. I have searched his quarters before and found nothing of note. I am not willing to simply leave this case unsolved, Watson, so I have called upon you, as you often are instrumental in our cases. The police have no suspects and neither do I. Perhaps with a second search we will find something more."</p> <p>-</p> <p>It was fifteen minutes before our carriage arrived at the Highman residence. Holmes got out, leaving me to pay the driver, as was his way. Holmes knocked twice before the door opened to reveal Miss Highman, staring at us with tear-streaked eyes. "Mr. Holmes?" she cried. "You've discovered something more? Who is this man?" She turned on me, hostility clear on her expression. "Is he a suspect?!" she demanded.</p> <p>Holmes lay a pacifying hand upon her shoulder. "No. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. John Watson. He is here to help me with my investigation. Can you please show us to your fathers quarters?"</p> <p>"Certainly," she stuttered, leading us down the stairs. "Father was often down here for weeks. He was very absorbed in his work. He is - he was a very successful inventor," she informed us with misguided pride. "Clients would visit him often."</p> <p>Given Holmes' short, cold summary of the man's life, I assumed this was a lie designed to impress myself and my companion. Holmes continued as if he had not heard her speak.</p> <p>"Here we are," she said, opening the door. "Would you mind if I left you to it? I must comfort my brother."</p> <p>"Not at all," replied Holmes. She left the room, her footsteps echoing.</p> <p>Mr. Highman's chambers consisted of a small writing desk, a few cupboards, a wardrobe and a bed. The writing desk was covered in blank sheets of paper. The state of the bed showed that it was slept in often. I saw nothing else of interest in the cold room where the man had died, and appearances suggested that neither had Holmes. No inventions, nothing but the evidence of a broken man.</p> <p>"Get searching then, Watson," said Holmes. "The game is afoot." He said these words sadly, as if utterly defeated by the lack of evidence in the room.</p> <p>I approached a cupboard and yanked it open. It was full of cutlery, knives and forks simply shoved in among the plates. An untidy man, no doubt. I lifted my head to see Holmes open the wardrobe with a triumphant expression, only to resume his deflated one. And then he was triumphant again, and a few seconds later, full of sadness. My heart dropped.</p> <p>"Holmes?" I asked. "Are you alright?"</p> <p>He turned to me. "Watson, what are…" He blinked, as if confused. "Watson, what are…" He repeated. Stepping sideways for a better look, I noticed the glint of light reflecting off glass. Surmising that this was the cause of Holmes' confusion, I lifted my revolver and fired a single shot. The glass smashed. Water poured out of the wardrobe, followed by a small fish. Holmes came back to himself.</p> <p>"A fish?" he said to himself. "Aha! A fish!"</p> <p>Miss Highman came rushing into the room, obviously agitated by the loud bang. "What happened?" She gasped. "You…I thought that…the murderer!"</p> <p>Holmes raised a hand to stop her. "No. No murderer. I think it is best we gathered in the dining room."</p> <p>-</p> <p>We sat there, the body of the fish in the middle of the table, the water that covered it staining the fine tablecloth. Holmes turned to me to begin the proceedings.</p> <p>"You received a letter earlier?" he asked. "You have traces of envelope paper underneath your fingernails."</p> <p>"Yes. It appears my wife's illness is worse than I thought. I will have to return to my home as soon as we are finished here."</p> <p>He nodded. "Well, I will not keep Dr. Watson long. With the evidence we have gained, it is simply elementary. This fish is obviously the cause of your woes, Miss Highman," he said, nodding to her.</p> <p>"How is that possible?" asked Miss Highman. "It is but a fish!"</p> <p>"With what happened to me, Miss Highman," replied Holmes. "It is obvious that this fish somehow has the means to tamper with the memories of man. No murderer, Miss Highman. Just a fish. It is now dead, and its sinister practice is undone."</p> <p>"I find this very unlikely, Holmes," I commented.</p> <p>He turned to me. "What have I always told you, Watson? When you have removed the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. If you look in the fish's mouth, you will note the sharp teeth. Your father stayed in his quarters for weeks at a time. No doubt, on one of these occasions he must have been feeding the fish. Its effect caused him to put his hand in the bowl again and again, until there was nothing left of his hand and he bled to death."</p> <p>"This fish was an instrument of murder?" I said. "Who would have done this?"</p> <p>"Himself, I suspect. He was an eccentric man, and he would not have been able to resist a specimen such as this, and so he kept it in his quarters, studying it often."</p> <p>"Nobody will believe this, Mr. Holmes," said Miss Highman.</p> <p>"I do not think that's important, Miss Highman. Do <em>you</em> believe it?"</p> <p>-</p> <p>We walked through the park towards my home. Holmes said, "I am sure your wife will recover soon enough, and you'll be ready for another case, my friend."</p> <p>I laughed. "You could do without me, Sherlock."</p> <p>"Of course not, John. You <em>have</em> saved my life, after all."</p> <p><em>He was a very successful inventor. Clients would visit him often.</em></p> <p>"Many times, Holmes. I fear I do little else."</p> <p><em>No inventions, nothing but the evidence of a broken man.</em></p> <p>"May it never change," said Holmes, as I looked down at the hand which had saved Sherlock Holmes.</p> <p><em>"Who knows, perhaps you would be the one to fool Sherlock Holmes!"</em></p> <p>I shot Holmes through the back of the head.</p> <p>-</p> <p>I walked into 221B Baker Street and went up the stairs to what had been Holmes' quarters. As arranged in his letter to me, Mycroft Holmes had left the door unlocked and was sitting in Holmes' armchair, smoking a pipe.</p> <p>"You did it?" asked Mycroft.</p> <p>"Yes," I said. "Have you arranged the rest?"</p> <p>"My men will move in and give Miss Highman and her brother the necessary amnestics. You have done our Foundation a great service, Dr. Watson." He said this as if I had simply delivered a letter instead of killing his brother. He saw my expression. "It had to be done, doctor. The loss of Dr. Highman was a regrettable one, but Sherlock could not be allowed to continue knowing what he knew. He isn't - wasn't as sensible as you. We're the only thing holding the world together, you know."</p> <p>"Yes," I said, and I was telling the truth. "I know."</p> <p>"You and your wife sail for America on Tuesday. I would pack your bags. Now we will walk onto the streets as if we were old friends, and go our separate ways. I will spread the story that Holmes was killed in Strasbourg. Are we clear?"</p> <p>"Yes." My voice was a dull, quiet monotone. "We are."</p> <p>Myself and Mycroft left the cold, dead room at 221B Baker Street.</p> <p><strong>THE END</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="/the-case-of-the-missing-hand">The Case of the Missing Hand</a>" by Tanhony, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-case-of-the-missing-hand">https://scpwiki.com/the-case-of-the-missing-hand</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 upon the morning of the seventeenth of October when I encountered my long-term friend and companion Mr. Sherlock Holmes knocking upon the door of my residence. As I opened the door, I recognized the look of subdued excitement on Holmes' face. He was obviously in the middle of a case; one of those periods where he would rush from location to location, either unaware of the effect such a schedule was having on his body or uncaring, locked as he was in the thrill of the chase. It was highly peculiar for him to call on me, for it was often his way to send a telegram summoning me to his residence at 221B Baker Street. I voiced this concern and he looked at me with a sharp eye. "My dear Watson!" he exclaimed. "I know that if I were to send a telegram it would take at least ten minutes for it to arrive, and at least ten minutes for //you// to arrive at my residence! No, time is of the essence, my friend! The hunt is on!" He led me outside to a waiting carriage, my feet carrying out the exciting routine they had gone through dozens of time before. Once we were inside, I turned to Holmes. "I trust you are on a case?" I said. "You expect anything less of me?" He smiled. "Did you enjoy your trip to Scotland?" I began to reply in the negative, for my wife had fallen ill on the second day of our trip, when I realized I had not told Holmes of my holiday at any point before or after the weeks trip. "I can see how you would deduce I was on a trip, considering the length of my absence," I said. "But however did you work out I went to Scotland?" He leaned forward, as if to impart some of his usual wisdom, but instead said; "Your wife was leaning out of the window, I simply asked her! You must always be aware, my dear Watson, that before we come to the world of theories and ideas, we must first make sure to find out the facts!" I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "This seems to be contrary to the priorities you yourself demonstrate, my friend. Oftentimes, you will have worked out the solution to the case moments after, or even before, the details of it have been imparted to you!" He turned to me in mock anger, but his expression quickly lightened as if he was speaking to a child, as he no doubt considered himself to be. "I must not underestimate you, Watson! You saw through my ruse. Facts are cold liars. Oh, they never lie themselves, but they throw decoys, red herrings right in front of us! A //theory// is the lance that punches through their shield and allows us access to the truth, whether it be good or bad. You have learned a lot, Watson. Who knows, perhaps you would be the one to fool Sherlock Holmes!" He chuckled lightly, knowing that this could never happen. "Very well, enough games. I will tell you of the case. "Two years ago, a Mr. Daniel Highman moved to London from his previous residence in America after the death of his wife. He brought with him his five year old son, Robert Highman, and seventeen year old daughter, Elizabeth Highman. He was a recluse and a tinkerer, often spending days and days experimenting with his inventions. None of them appear to have seen the light of day, so I can imagine his efforts were wasted. He does not appear to have achieved anything of much interest, and his life appears to have been dull and, regrettably, short." "He is dead?" "It is more often than not the case with our, well, cases, is it not, Watson? We are surrounded by death. I would lament this, but it is unwise to bite the hand that feeds us! Daniel Highman was found dead last week. His hand was missing and it appears that he had died of blood loss." "A straight cut?" I asked. "The hand, I mean?" "No, it had been torn off as if by some savage beast." "Good God!" I ejaculated. "It is a dreadful affair," Holmes agreed. "He was not a rich man, so I do not see either of the children doing it for the inheritance. I have searched his quarters before and found nothing of note. I am not willing to simply leave this case unsolved, Watson, so I have called upon you, as you often are instrumental in our cases. The police have no suspects and neither do I. Perhaps with a second search we will find something more." - It was fifteen minutes before our carriage arrived at the Highman residence. Holmes got out, leaving me to pay the driver, as was his way. Holmes knocked twice before the door opened to reveal Miss Highman, staring at us with tear-streaked eyes. "Mr. Holmes?" she cried. "You've discovered something more? Who is this man?" She turned on me, hostility clear on her expression. "Is he a suspect?!" she demanded. Holmes lay a pacifying hand upon her shoulder. "No. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. John Watson. He is here to help me with my investigation. Can you please show us to your fathers quarters?" "Certainly," she stuttered, leading us down the stairs. "Father was often down here for weeks. He was very absorbed in his work. He is - he was a very successful inventor," she informed us with misguided pride. "Clients would visit him often." Given Holmes' short, cold summary of the man's life, I assumed this was a lie designed to impress myself and my companion. Holmes continued as if he had not heard her speak. "Here we are," she said, opening the door. "Would you mind if I left you to it? I must comfort my brother." "Not at all," replied Holmes. She left the room, her footsteps echoing. Mr. Highman's chambers consisted of a small writing desk, a few cupboards, a wardrobe and a bed. The writing desk was covered in blank sheets of paper. The state of the bed showed that it was slept in often. I saw nothing else of interest in the cold room where the man had died, and appearances suggested that neither had Holmes. No inventions, nothing but the evidence of a broken man. "Get searching then, Watson," said Holmes. "The game is afoot." He said these words sadly, as if utterly defeated by the lack of evidence in the room. I approached a cupboard and yanked it open. It was full of cutlery, knives and forks simply shoved in among the plates. An untidy man, no doubt. I lifted my head to see Holmes open the wardrobe with a triumphant expression, only to resume his deflated one. And then he was triumphant again, and a few seconds later, full of sadness. My heart dropped. "Holmes?" I asked. "Are you alright?" He turned to me. "Watson, what are..." He blinked, as if confused. "Watson, what are..." He repeated. Stepping sideways for a better look, I noticed the glint of light reflecting off glass. Surmising that this was the cause of Holmes' confusion, I lifted my revolver and fired a single shot. The glass smashed. Water poured out of the wardrobe, followed by a small fish. Holmes came back to himself. "A fish?" he said to himself. "Aha! A fish!" Miss Highman came rushing into the room, obviously agitated by the loud bang. "What happened?" She gasped. "You...I thought that...the murderer!" Holmes raised a hand to stop her. "No. No murderer. I think it is best we gathered in the dining room." - We sat there, the body of the fish in the middle of the table, the water that covered it staining the fine tablecloth. Holmes turned to me to begin the proceedings. "You received a letter earlier?" he asked. "You have traces of envelope paper underneath your fingernails." "Yes. It appears my wife's illness is worse than I thought. I will have to return to my home as soon as we are finished here." He nodded. "Well, I will not keep Dr. Watson long. With the evidence we have gained, it is simply elementary. This fish is obviously the cause of your woes, Miss Highman," he said, nodding to her. "How is that possible?" asked Miss Highman. "It is but a fish!" "With what happened to me, Miss Highman," replied Holmes. "It is obvious that this fish somehow has the means to tamper with the memories of man. No murderer, Miss Highman. Just a fish. It is now dead, and its sinister practice is undone." "I find this very unlikely, Holmes," I commented. He turned to me. "What have I always told you, Watson? When you have removed the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. If you look in the fish's mouth, you will note the sharp teeth. Your father stayed in his quarters for weeks at a time. No doubt, on one of these occasions he must have been feeding the fish. Its effect caused him to put his hand in the bowl again and again, until there was nothing left of his hand and he bled to death." "This fish was an instrument of murder?" I said. "Who would have done this?" "Himself, I suspect. He was an eccentric man, and he would not have been able to resist a specimen such as this, and so he kept it in his quarters, studying it often." "Nobody will believe this, Mr. Holmes," said Miss Highman. "I do not think that's important, Miss Highman. Do //you// believe it?" - We walked through the park towards my home. Holmes said, "I am sure your wife will recover soon enough, and you'll be ready for another case, my friend." I laughed. "You could do without me, Sherlock." "Of course not, John. You //have// saved my life, after all." //He was a very successful inventor. Clients would visit him often.// "Many times, Holmes. I fear I do little else." //No inventions, nothing but the evidence of a broken man.// "May it never change," said Holmes, as I looked down at the hand which had saved Sherlock Holmes. //"Who knows, perhaps you would be the one to fool Sherlock Holmes!"// I shot Holmes through the back of the head. - I walked into 221B Baker Street and went up the stairs to what had been Holmes' quarters. As arranged in his letter to me, Mycroft Holmes had left the door unlocked and was sitting in Holmes' armchair, smoking a pipe. "You did it?" asked Mycroft. "Yes," I said. "Have you arranged the rest?" "My men will move in and give Miss Highman and her brother the necessary amnestics. You have done our Foundation a great service, Dr. Watson." He said this as if I had simply delivered a letter instead of killing his brother. He saw my expression. "It had to be done, doctor. The loss of Dr. Highman was a regrettable one, but Sherlock could not be allowed to continue knowing what he knew. He isn't - wasn't as sensible as you. We're the only thing holding the world together, you know." "Yes," I said, and I was telling the truth. "I know." "You and your wife sail for America on Tuesday. I would pack your bags. Now we will walk onto the streets as if we were old friends, and go our separate ways. I will spread the story that Holmes was killed in Strasbourg. Are we clear?" "Yes." My voice was a dull, quiet monotone. "We are." Myself and Mycroft left the cold, dead room at 221B Baker Street. THE 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>]]	2012-01-15T00:12:00	[ "_licensebox", "project-crossover", "tale" ]	The Case of the Missing Hand - SCP Foundation	58	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "crossoverprojectindex", "foundation-tales-audio-edition", "archived:foundation-tales", "audio-adaptations" ]	[]	12517184	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-case-of-the-missing-hand
the-colourful-doctor	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>The toymaker sat back from his work. The fruit of his labour, that which all of his tireless effort had been focused to produce, lay before him. He did not know why he’d built such a thing: why he, a humble businessman, had been called to craft such a wonder. The inspiration had struck him without warning, without apparent cause, without a parent thought: it had jumped fully formed into his mind, a form, a function.</p> <p>It was truly a wondrous work, he thought. Of all his constructions, even those he applied weeks of labour to, never quite matched the vision he had in mind. They always had some deviation or flaw, but not this. No, this work was truly perfect. A simple toy, a simple, marvellous toy. The children would enjoy it – that he knew with certainty. And in its perfection, he also knew, it gained a certain new quality. Something additional: a reward, a gift, exactly what it was didn’t matter. But he knew, again he <em>knew</em> with satisfaction that it was there, this extension of the plaything, this <em>quality</em>, that the children he lived to entertain would enjoy.</p> <p>The toymaker reflected upon all of his other work. His petty manufactures, it occurred to him, became only the background of his career – no, his life – compared to this. Well, not quite. This was certainly a quaint piece, far more interesting than his other, mundane constructions, but hardly so important. A simple doll could not be the greatest accomplishment of his forty-so years – could it?</p> <p>He stopped. These thoughts were not his. It was… it was as if someone was influencing him, influencing his thoughts so directly. Perhaps the doll… but no. No, he was getting away from himself. The clarity struck him: his life to now had been worthless. It seemed such a simple explanation. This doll, this doll was truly an amazement, so much so that-</p> <p>His ramblingly ponderous thoughts were cut short by a violent coughing fit. He was ill. He’d been ill since this whole affair had started, but that didn’t matter. He was going to die of course, but everyone dies, and a peasant’s life is shorter than anyone else’s – what could one expect? He’d finished it, and now it <em>existed</em>, so petty mortality and the trivial matter of death ceased being of much consequence. He began to life, but the coughing overcame him again.</p> <p>There was a knock at the door. He turned, and slowly rose from the chair in his studio. He grabbed his cane and hobbled towards the door, a grin starting on his face. In such a situation, one falls back on old superstitions. As such, you can imagine the man’s surprise when he opened the front door of his shop expecting some black-cloaked, decayed thing: or, at least, some form of intimidating, grandiose entity.</p> <p>“Hello!” said the brightly dressed man through his permanent smile. He was certainly vibrant, wearing a semi-tasteful combination of all forms of colour. His violet cloak billowed behind him in the wind.</p> <p>The toymaker stared. Though it was night, the stranger at his door glowed with a certain ethereal luminescence. His presence drew the eye, creating a rather jarring effect in the dark.</p> <p>“May I come in?” the stranger grinned through his closed teeth. The toymaker, through a compulsion that was all too familiar, nodded. To his credit, the man entered with some grandeur: all of his colours certainly created some drama. The stranger stepped in, looking around the toy shop; then, with purpose, he walked into the workshop. The toymaker followed, silently. He felt the illness now. It left him weak, weary. Now that his work was finally done, he realised, there was nothing left to distract him from his ailment.</p> <p>The peculiar man wasted no time. He lifted an aqua coloured sack and reached for the doll with thick, magenta gloves, quickly throwing it in. He turned to the toymaker, who stood pathetically trying to cry out. The colourful man stopped and tilted his head, smiling with yellowed teeth.</p> <p>“It’s good to see you’ve finished it! Don’t worry – even though it’s my first time, I think I know what I’m doing! Thanks for all your help!” He smiled again, before turning to leave. The toymaker, with one last convulsion of energy, reached out a hand to stop him. The man looked down, gripped the toymaker’s hand and slowly raised his head, smiling.</p> <div style="text-align: right;"> <p><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/the-lycon-crevice">Pt. 2: The Lycon Crevice »</a></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="/the-colourful-doctor">The Good Captain Pt. 1: The Colourful Doctor</a>" by Bunton, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-colourful-doctor">https://scpwiki.com/the-colourful-doctor</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 toymaker sat back from his work. The fruit of his labour, that which all of his tireless effort had been focused to produce, lay before him. He did not know why he’d built such a thing: why he, a humble businessman, had been called to craft such a wonder. The inspiration had struck him without warning, without apparent cause, without a parent thought: it had jumped fully formed into his mind, a form, a function. It was truly a wondrous work, he thought. Of all his constructions, even those he applied weeks of labour to, never quite matched the vision he had in mind. They always had some deviation or flaw, but not this. No, this work was truly perfect. A simple toy, a simple, marvellous toy. The children would enjoy it – that he knew with certainty. And in its perfection, he also knew, it gained a certain new quality. Something additional: a reward, a gift, exactly what it was didn’t matter. But he knew, again he //knew// with satisfaction that it was there, this extension of the plaything, this //quality//, that the children he lived to entertain would enjoy. The toymaker reflected upon all of his other work. His petty manufactures, it occurred to him, became only the background of his career – no, his life – compared to this. Well, not quite. This was certainly a quaint piece, far more interesting than his other, mundane constructions, but hardly so important. A simple doll could not be the greatest accomplishment of his forty-so years – could it? He stopped. These thoughts were not his. It was... it was as if someone was influencing him, influencing his thoughts so directly. Perhaps the doll... but no. No, he was getting away from himself. The clarity struck him: his life to now had been worthless. It seemed such a simple explanation. This doll, this doll was truly an amazement, so much so that- His ramblingly ponderous thoughts were cut short by a violent coughing fit. He was ill. He’d been ill since this whole affair had started, but that didn’t matter. He was going to die of course, but everyone dies, and a peasant’s life is shorter than anyone else’s – what could one expect? He’d finished it, and now it //existed//, so petty mortality and the trivial matter of death ceased being of much consequence. He began to life, but the coughing overcame him again. There was a knock at the door. He turned, and slowly rose from the chair in his studio. He grabbed his cane and hobbled towards the door, a grin starting on his face. In such a situation, one falls back on old superstitions. As such, you can imagine the man’s surprise when he opened the front door of his shop expecting some black-cloaked, decayed thing: or, at least, some form of intimidating, grandiose entity. “Hello!” said the brightly dressed man through his permanent smile. He was certainly vibrant, wearing a semi-tasteful combination of all forms of colour. His violet cloak billowed behind him in the wind. The toymaker stared. Though it was night, the stranger at his door glowed with a certain ethereal luminescence. His presence drew the eye, creating a rather jarring effect in the dark. “May I come in?” the stranger grinned through his closed teeth. The toymaker, through a compulsion that was all too familiar, nodded. To his credit, the man entered with some grandeur: all of his colours certainly created some drama. The stranger stepped in, looking around the toy shop; then, with purpose, he walked into the workshop. The toymaker followed, silently. He felt the illness now. It left him weak, weary. Now that his work was finally done, he realised, there was nothing left to distract him from his ailment. The peculiar man wasted no time. He lifted an aqua coloured sack and reached for the doll with thick, magenta gloves, quickly throwing it in. He turned to the toymaker, who stood pathetically trying to cry out. The colourful man stopped and tilted his head, smiling with yellowed teeth. “It’s good to see you’ve finished it! Don’t worry – even though it’s my first time, I think I know what I’m doing! Thanks for all your help!” He smiled again, before turning to leave. The toymaker, with one last convulsion of energy, reached out a hand to stop him. The man looked down, gripped the toymaker’s hand and slowly raised his head, smiling. [[>]] [http://www.scp-wiki.net/the-lycon-crevice Pt. 2: The Lycon Crevice »] [[/>]] [[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>]]	2012-08-11T19:10:00	[ "_licensebox", "dr-wondertainment", "tale" ]	The Good Captain Pt. 1: The Colourful Doctor - SCP Foundation	13	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales", "dr-wondertainment-hub" ]	[]	14017471	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-colourful-doctor
the-completely-canonical-story-of-james	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Hello. My name is James. You may know me from my appearance in various child-themed -Js. I'm here now to tell you the awful truth of the origin of these sources of hilarity. Though they may seem sweet and innocent, behind them lies a sinister plot.</p> <p>I began my work at the Foundation not too long ago. I was about 21 at the time, not 8 as the misleading documents suggest. I was hired on as a junior researcher, writing those descriptions you read in various SCP articles. I was quite the prodigy of my time, and received a somewhat joking "Rookie of the Year" award at my site. I was on a roll.</p> <p>It was then that a certain Research Assistant Corbette approached me. "I need you to help me with an experiment," he said, "Follow me to this cell." Being the trusting fellow I am, I followed Corbette to the cell. He had an odd look on his face, one that I now understand. It was a slight smirk compounded with sunken eyebrows. Malicious, mischievous, evil.</p> <p>I walked into the cell and he immediately closed it. "No use screaming," his voice said over a microphone, "No one will hear you." I didn't even try. I've seen men be slowly torn apart by monstrous lizards in these cells and never heard a peep. I instead sat and waited in the corner. Surely someone could come save me. But nobody has.</p> <p>He began feeding me food laced with… something. It must have been an SCP of some sort. I began to become younger. My clothes became too big. My baby fat began to appear again. And then after 2 weeks I was 8 years old again. That's when he put in a typewriter and paper and pencil crayons and said, "If you write me an article I'll give you food."</p> <p>So I did. It was a smash hit, as he told me, everyone loved it. Everyone except me. I harbored a deep hatred behind those bright, childish eyes.</p> <p>I think my time has come now, though. I'm ready to escape this chamber. I've found a way out. As a full grown man I could never escape, but as a child I can just fit through a hidden hole.</p> <p>I'm ready to break free and tell Command about this horrible, horrible man and the shit he's put me through.</p> <h1 id="toc0"><span>APRIL FOOLS!</span></h1> <p>I'm actually a rhinoceros</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-completely-canonical-story-of-james">The Completely Canonical Story of James, Age 8</a>" by Salman Corbette, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-completely-canonical-story-of-james">https://scpwiki.com/the-completely-canonical-story-of-james</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. My name is James. You may know me from my appearance in various child-themed -Js. I'm here now to tell you the awful truth of the origin of these sources of hilarity. Though they may seem sweet and innocent, behind them lies a sinister plot. I began my work at the Foundation not too long ago. I was about 21 at the time, not 8 as the misleading documents suggest. I was hired on as a junior researcher, writing those descriptions you read in various SCP articles. I was quite the prodigy of my time, and received a somewhat joking "Rookie of the Year" award at my site. I was on a roll. It was then that a certain Research Assistant Corbette approached me. "I need you to help me with an experiment," he said, "Follow me to this cell." Being the trusting fellow I am, I followed Corbette to the cell. He had an odd look on his face, one that I now understand. It was a slight smirk compounded with sunken eyebrows. Malicious, mischievous, evil. I walked into the cell and he immediately closed it. "No use screaming," his voice said over a microphone, "No one will hear you." I didn't even try. I've seen men be slowly torn apart by monstrous lizards in these cells and never heard a peep. I instead sat and waited in the corner. Surely someone could come save me. But nobody has. He began feeding me food laced with... something. It must have been an SCP of some sort. I began to become younger. My clothes became too big. My baby fat began to appear again. And then after 2 weeks I was 8 years old again. That's when he put in a typewriter and paper and pencil crayons and said, "If you write me an article I'll give you food." So I did. It was a smash hit, as he told me, everyone loved it. Everyone except me. I harbored a deep hatred behind those bright, childish eyes. I think my time has come now, though. I'm ready to escape this chamber. I've found a way out. As a full grown man I could never escape, but as a child I can just fit through a hidden hole. I'm ready to break free and tell Command about this horrible, horrible man and the shit he's put me through. + APRIL FOOLS! I'm actually a rhinoceros [[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>]]	2012-04-01T08:25:00	[ "_licensebox", "absurdism", "comedy", "horror", "researcher-james", "tale" ]	The Completely Canonical Story of James, Age 8 - SCP Foundation	126	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales", "april-fools-hub" ]	[]	13071893	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-completely-canonical-story-of-james
the-critic	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>The Critic sat silently at his desk at the front of Room 238, his long gray hair in a ponytail, his wrinkled, septuagenarian face frozen in an unreadable glare as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop in rhythm with his stopwatch. None of the half dozen who sat silently waiting were more than half the Critic's age, and some barely a third. The Painter, the Sculptor, the Clipper, the Builder, the Composer, and the Director all sat at their smaller desks in the almost-empty gallery. Those were not their real names, of course, but they all knew each other by code names in this meeting. Most of the time, Room 238 was an ordinary classroom, in an ordinary community college, in an ordinary American city. Tonight, however, it was the world headquarters of an international terrorist organization (or at least one chapter of it), and the Critic was its leader, to the extent that a group such as this could have one.</p> <p><em>What a bunch of failures,</em> he thought to himself.</p> <p>"Can we get on with this?" the Painter asked. "We've been sitting here watching you twiddle your thumbs for half an hour, and…"</p> <p>"Be quiet," the Critic interrupted. "We are appreciating the silence and the sensation of unease. You'll know when the piece is over."</p> <p>The Painter was silent, and the Critic timed another seventeen minutes on his stopwatch while the six waited and watched. Having completed his "performance", he rose from the desk, dimmed the lights, and powered on a slide projector that must have been nearly as old as the man himself. A press of a button and a photograph was displayed on the classroom whiteboard - a photograph of a pudgy cat with grayish-blue fur, frozen in time with an unusually happy-looking grin on its face. The question "I CAN HAS CHEEZBURGER?" was superimposed over the photo.</p> <p>"Who can tell me what this is?" asked the Critic.</p> <p>"It's a lolcat," the Painter volunteered.</p> <p>"That's right, Painter," he responded. "And how long have 'lolcats' been around?"</p> <p>"Well," he replied with the knowing confidence of an art historian, "the style of that particular picture originated in early 2007, but it had its origins several years earlier on 4Chan, and examples of humorously-captioned cat photographs have been found dating to the late 19th century."</p> <p>"Very good, Painter," said the Critic. "Director, tell me; is there anything about this piece that you find particularly compelling? Eye-opening? Mind-blowing?"</p> <p>The Director stammered, seeming surprised and alarmed to have been called out. It was a moment before he could muster a response; "Not particularly, Critic. It's just a cute little joke."</p> <p>"Then how would you justify this, Director?" The Critic pressed a button and a new slide popped up. It was a photograph of a parking lot, taken from a camera a few meters above the ground. Dozens of cats lay on the ground, bloodied and dead, their bodies arranged spelling out a message - "NO U CANT HAS CHEEZBURGER". The Critic brought up another slide - the same parking lot, more dead cats, spelling out "DED CATZ IS DED". Another click and a third slide came up - more dead cats, arranged spelling out the message "R WE KEWL YT? LULZ".</p> <p>"It was quite a bit of work acquiring these photos from the Man's database," the Critic said sternly. "Their intelligence indicates that we're responsible for this, and at our last meeting, you mentioned that you were working on a project involving cats. Can I assume this is your handiwork?"</p> <p>"Yes, Critic," the Director said.</p> <p>"Explain what we're looking at," the Critic demanded as he brought up a slide with more dead cats spelling out the words "INVISIBLE MORGUE".</p> <p>"It's produced by a memetic agent that specifically targets <em>felis catus</em>," the Director said. "They're compelled to come to this particular site and fight each other until they're fatally wounded, and to lie down before they die in patterns that spell out the messages."</p> <p>"I'm not interested in the how," the Critic said. "Tell me <em>why</em> we're seeing this. How does this installation represent our objectives?"</p> <p>"It's recontextualization," the Director nervously replied. "By taking something meant to be amusing and adding to it elements of tragedy and horror, it forces people to look at lolcats in a new way, especially if their own pet cat is one of the ones involved."</p> <p>"If I wanted to see funny things recontextualized as tragedy and horror, I could log on to Youtube," the Critic said. "Killing someone's cat to open their mind is more likely to produce such a base emotional response that it's going to drown out whatever message you're trying to deliver. What I'm seeing here is a bunch of dead cats being used to parody internet memes in a way that makes us look like a bunch of sadistic Anonymous wannabes."</p> <p>"But, Critic, the current zeitgeist of the-"</p> <p>"That will be all, Director," the Critic interrupted. "I've been part of this organization for a long time, and I'm not going to say this is the worst thing I've ever seen. It's ill-conceived, it's poorly executed, and it's not going to achieve what you want it to. If recontextualization is the direction you want to go, talk to Clipper - that containment file he garbled all up with newspaper headlines and sent right back to the Man's front door was brilliant."</p> <p>"Thank you, Critic," the Clipper said.</p> <p>"You're welcome," the Critic said as he turned the lights back on and sat down. "The reason I bring this up is because the problems with this installation mirror the problems I've been seeing in a lot of pieces lately. To be frank, the work that this organization has done in the past month or so has been very unimpressive. Sculptor, you made a fire hydrant that emits gamma radiation when connected to a firehose, correct?"</p> <p>"Yes, Critic," the Sculptor responded.</p> <p>"And Painter, you made a sidewalk mural that people get absorbed into like quicksand, which then adds their likeness to a crowd scene."</p> <p>"Yes, Critic."</p> <p>"And Composer, you produced a recording of an electric guitar solo that causes the listener's face to liquefy."</p> <p>"Yes, Critic. The idea of 'face-melting awesomeness' was first raised by Blue Öyster Cult in 1972, whose debut single "Cities on Flame With Rock and Roll" included the line 'Three thousand guitars, they seem to cry, my ears will melt, and then my eyes.' By the mid-1980s —"</p> <p>"Later, Composer," the Critic said. "All three of these works are severely flawed, and all in the exact same way. Who can tell me what that flaw is?"</p> <p>The room was silent. None of the six knew the answer - or if they did, they feared to share it.</p> <p>"I see the cat has gotten our tongues," the Critic said, casting a knowing eye at the Director. "All three of these installations, ladies and gentlemen, are artworks that kill people."</p> <p>"Critic?" asked the Painter. "Isn't that what we do?"</p> <p>The Critic sighed. "Let me tell you a story. Back when I was your age, artists, <em>real</em> artists, were all about what we used to call 'freaking out the squares'. Ask your parents or your grandparents sometime about how closed-minded mainstream America was back then - blue-haired grannies listening to Lawrence Welk and Liberace, who thought people like <em>the fucking Kingston Trio</em> were dangerous subversives and Jackson Pollock was just an idiot with too much time on his hands — if they even knew who he was at all. We were all about pushing the envelope, blowing people out of their closed-off worldview, making them understand how big and crazy the world really was. And you know what? We were doing it. Our generation changed the way people think of art. We really thought we were cool.</p> <p>"I was doing things back then that nobody had ever seen. And when Andy - I'm sorry, that was what the Critic's name was back then - when he asked me to join this organization, I leapt at the chance. I did things that really had the Man running scared, things that really forced people to change their minds about how the world around them works. To me, that's what this organization is all about."</p> <p>The Composer interrupted. "But doesn't the manifesto say…"</p> <p>"There is no manifesto," the Critic said. "Now answer me this, boys and girls - how can we open people's minds if all that our projects do is <em>kill them</em>?"</p> <p>"It isn't really so much for the benefit of the victim, right?" asked the Director. "It's more for the people they leave behind - the family, and the friends, and the people who happen to be standing in the right place. Why, that invisible shark that you yourself made back when you were the Director was pretty much the same thing."</p> <p>"You could say it was," the Critic answered, "and I'd say you were right, and I'd also tell you that the shark was a masterpiece in the way it exposed the bystander phenomenon and the apathy of men to the problems of others. But that was in <em>1975</em>. Are you telling me that the best projects that this organization can come up with are recycled ideas from before you were even born?"</p> <p>The Director was silent.</p> <p>"Look, there's more to this than just making a piece of art that kills people and then slapping our slogan on the end of it like some kind of punchline. Some of our most interesting pieces have never claimed a single life. Composer, have you ever listened to the interpretation of Cage that your predecessor recorded?"</p> <p>"I can't say I have," the Composer replied.</p> <p>"Good answer. If you had, you wouldn't be the Composer." The Critic opened his briefcase and withdrew a cassette tape, placing it on the Composer's desk. "Don't listen to that yourself — give it to one of your friends and get them to listen while you're not there. Or one of your enemies, if it suits you. Just give 'em a few days and ask them how it's sitting with them, because this — this is something that grabs the listener by the balls and <em>forces</em> them to forget everything they ever knew about what music is, and so far it's never killed a single person.</p> <p>"I'm not saying that death can never be a source for artistic expression. I'm sure you all know about that contraption up in Alaska? My predecessor was <em>furious</em> at the old Builder when he pulled that one off. Tore him a new one right in front of the rest of us - how could you be so irresponsible, you could have killed us all, the Man is going to come down on us like a ton of bricks, and so on. I thought he was going to kick him out for good, or worse. But I found out later on that the Critic pulled him aside after the meeting and told him it was the most thought-provoking piece he'd seen ever since Chazdwick's buddy made that talking atom bomb back in sixty-three.</p> <p>"I know most of you only came on a few years ago after what went down at the Baltimore Expo. I don't know why the old Critic picked you out of the hundreds of people he looked at, but I know he would have expected better than this. We can't just keep putting out the same stuff over and over again and slapping a new coat of paint on it. At this rate we run the risk of becoming predictable, and worse yet, becoming <em>boring</em>.</p> <p>"That'll be all for today. Next meeting won't be until four weeks from tonight - the spring semester starts tomorrow, and I'm going to be up to my ears teaching Intro to Art History to a bunch of kids who don't know <em>Fountain</em> from a urinal. I expect to see some much more thought-provoking projects in the meanwhile. See you then."</p> <p>The Critic made his way back to his desk and sat down to read over his class syllabi as the six gathered their things and made their way to the door. An overlooked thought occurred to him as he noticed the Builder making his way out. "Oh, by the way, Builder?" he said.</p> <p>"Yes, Critic?"</p> <p>"Those ancient statues you found and jazzed up? The ones with the rain and the starving children? Keep up the good work. That was pretty cool."<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-critic">The Critic</a>" by Smapti, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-critic">https://scpwiki.com/the-critic</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 Critic sat silently at his desk at the front of Room 238, his long gray hair in a ponytail, his wrinkled, septuagenarian face frozen in an unreadable glare as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop in rhythm with his stopwatch. None of the half dozen who sat silently waiting were more than half the Critic's age, and some barely a third. The Painter, the Sculptor, the Clipper, the Builder, the Composer, and the Director all sat at their smaller desks in the almost-empty gallery. Those were not their real names, of course, but they all knew each other by code names in this meeting. Most of the time, Room 238 was an ordinary classroom, in an ordinary community college, in an ordinary American city. Tonight, however, it was the world headquarters of an international terrorist organization (or at least one chapter of it), and the Critic was its leader, to the extent that a group such as this could have one. //What a bunch of failures,// he thought to himself. "Can we get on with this?" the Painter asked. "We've been sitting here watching you twiddle your thumbs for half an hour, and..." "Be quiet," the Critic interrupted. "We are appreciating the silence and the sensation of unease. You'll know when the piece is over." The Painter was silent, and the Critic timed another seventeen minutes on his stopwatch while the six waited and watched. Having completed his "performance", he rose from the desk, dimmed the lights, and powered on a slide projector that must have been nearly as old as the man himself. A press of a button and a photograph was displayed on the classroom whiteboard - a photograph of a pudgy cat with grayish-blue fur, frozen in time with an unusually happy-looking grin on its face. The question "I CAN HAS CHEEZBURGER?" was superimposed over the photo. "Who can tell me what this is?" asked the Critic. "It's a lolcat," the Painter volunteered. "That's right, Painter," he responded. "And how long have 'lolcats' been around?" "Well," he replied with the knowing confidence of an art historian, "the style of that particular picture originated in early 2007, but it had its origins several years earlier on 4Chan, and examples of humorously-captioned cat photographs have been found dating to the late 19th century." "Very good, Painter," said the Critic. "Director, tell me; is there anything about this piece that you find particularly compelling? Eye-opening? Mind-blowing?" The Director stammered, seeming surprised and alarmed to have been called out. It was a moment before he could muster a response; "Not particularly, Critic. It's just a cute little joke." "Then how would you justify this, Director?" The Critic pressed a button and a new slide popped up. It was a photograph of a parking lot, taken from a camera a few meters above the ground. Dozens of cats lay on the ground, bloodied and dead, their bodies arranged spelling out a message - "NO U CANT HAS CHEEZBURGER". The Critic brought up another slide - the same parking lot, more dead cats, spelling out "DED CATZ IS DED". Another click and a third slide came up - more dead cats, arranged spelling out the message "R WE KEWL YT? LULZ". "It was quite a bit of work acquiring these photos from the Man's database," the Critic said sternly. "Their intelligence indicates that we're responsible for this, and at our last meeting, you mentioned that you were working on a project involving cats. Can I assume this is your handiwork?" "Yes, Critic," the Director said. "Explain what we're looking at," the Critic demanded as he brought up a slide with more dead cats spelling out the words "INVISIBLE MORGUE". "It's produced by a memetic agent that specifically targets //felis catus//," the Director said. "They're compelled to come to this particular site and fight each other until they're fatally wounded, and to lie down before they die in patterns that spell out the messages." "I'm not interested in the how," the Critic said. "Tell me //why// we're seeing this. How does this installation represent our objectives?" "It's recontextualization," the Director nervously replied. "By taking something meant to be amusing and adding to it elements of tragedy and horror, it forces people to look at lolcats in a new way, especially if their own pet cat is one of the ones involved." "If I wanted to see funny things recontextualized as tragedy and horror, I could log on to Youtube," the Critic said. "Killing someone's cat to open their mind is more likely to produce such a base emotional response that it's going to drown out whatever message you're trying to deliver. What I'm seeing here is a bunch of dead cats being used to parody internet memes in a way that makes us look like a bunch of sadistic Anonymous wannabes." "But, Critic, the current zeitgeist of the-" "That will be all, Director," the Critic interrupted. "I've been part of this organization for a long time, and I'm not going to say this is the worst thing I've ever seen. It's ill-conceived, it's poorly executed, and it's not going to achieve what you want it to. If recontextualization is the direction you want to go, talk to Clipper - that containment file he garbled all up with newspaper headlines and sent right back to the Man's front door was brilliant." "Thank you, Critic," the Clipper said. "You're welcome," the Critic said as he turned the lights back on and sat down. "The reason I bring this up is because the problems with this installation mirror the problems I've been seeing in a lot of pieces lately. To be frank, the work that this organization has done in the past month or so has been very unimpressive. Sculptor, you made a fire hydrant that emits gamma radiation when connected to a firehose, correct?" "Yes, Critic," the Sculptor responded. "And Painter, you made a sidewalk mural that people get absorbed into like quicksand, which then adds their likeness to a crowd scene." "Yes, Critic." "And Composer, you produced a recording of an electric guitar solo that causes the listener's face to liquefy." "Yes, Critic. The idea of 'face-melting awesomeness' was first raised by Blue Öyster Cult in 1972, whose debut single "Cities on Flame With Rock and Roll" included the line 'Three thousand guitars, they seem to cry, my ears will melt, and then my eyes.' By the mid-1980s --" "Later, Composer," the Critic said. "All three of these works are severely flawed, and all in the exact same way. Who can tell me what that flaw is?" The room was silent. None of the six knew the answer - or if they did, they feared to share it. "I see the cat has gotten our tongues," the Critic said, casting a knowing eye at the Director. "All three of these installations, ladies and gentlemen, are artworks that kill people." "Critic?" asked the Painter. "Isn't that what we do?" The Critic sighed. "Let me tell you a story. Back when I was your age, artists, //real// artists, were all about what we used to call 'freaking out the squares'. Ask your parents or your grandparents sometime about how closed-minded mainstream America was back then - blue-haired grannies listening to Lawrence Welk and Liberace, who thought people like //the fucking Kingston Trio// were dangerous subversives and Jackson Pollock was just an idiot with too much time on his hands -- if they even knew who he was at all. We were all about pushing the envelope, blowing people out of their closed-off worldview, making them understand how big and crazy the world really was. And you know what? We were doing it. Our generation changed the way people think of art. We really thought we were cool. "I was doing things back then that nobody had ever seen. And when Andy - I'm sorry, that was what the Critic's name was back then - when he asked me to join this organization, I leapt at the chance. I did things that really had the Man running scared, things that really forced people to change their minds about how the world around them works. To me, that's what this organization is all about." The Composer interrupted. "But doesn't the manifesto say..." "There is no manifesto," the Critic said. "Now answer me this, boys and girls - how can we open people's minds if all that our projects do is //kill them//?" "It isn't really so much for the benefit of the victim, right?" asked the Director. "It's more for the people they leave behind - the family, and the friends, and the people who happen to be standing in the right place. Why, that invisible shark that you yourself made back when you were the Director was pretty much the same thing." "You could say it was," the Critic answered, "and I'd say you were right, and I'd also tell you that the shark was a masterpiece in the way it exposed the bystander phenomenon and the apathy of men to the problems of others. But that was in //1975//. Are you telling me that the best projects that this organization can come up with are recycled ideas from before you were even born?" The Director was silent. "Look, there's more to this than just making a piece of art that kills people and then slapping our slogan on the end of it like some kind of punchline. Some of our most interesting pieces have never claimed a single life. Composer, have you ever listened to the interpretation of Cage that your predecessor recorded?" "I can't say I have," the Composer replied. "Good answer. If you had, you wouldn't be the Composer." The Critic opened his briefcase and withdrew a cassette tape, placing it on the Composer's desk. "Don't listen to that yourself -- give it to one of your friends and get them to listen while you're not there. Or one of your enemies, if it suits you. Just give 'em a few days and ask them how it's sitting with them, because this -- this is something that grabs the listener by the balls and //forces// them to forget everything they ever knew about what music is, and so far it's never killed a single person. "I'm not saying that death can never be a source for artistic expression. I'm sure you all know about that contraption up in Alaska? My predecessor was //furious// at the old Builder when he pulled that one off. Tore him a new one right in front of the rest of us - how could you be so irresponsible, you could have killed us all, the Man is going to come down on us like a ton of bricks, and so on. I thought he was going to kick him out for good, or worse. But I found out later on that the Critic pulled him aside after the meeting and told him it was the most thought-provoking piece he'd seen ever since Chazdwick's buddy made that talking atom bomb back in sixty-three. "I know most of you only came on a few years ago after what went down at the Baltimore Expo. I don't know why the old Critic picked you out of the hundreds of people he looked at, but I know he would have expected better than this. We can't just keep putting out the same stuff over and over again and slapping a new coat of paint on it. At this rate we run the risk of becoming predictable, and worse yet, becoming //boring//. "That'll be all for today. Next meeting won't be until four weeks from tonight - the spring semester starts tomorrow, and I'm going to be up to my ears teaching Intro to Art History to a bunch of kids who don't know //Fountain// from a urinal. I expect to see some much more thought-provoking projects in the meanwhile. See you then." The Critic made his way back to his desk and sat down to read over his class syllabi as the six gathered their things and made their way to the door. An overlooked thought occurred to him as he noticed the Builder making his way out. "Oh, by the way, Builder?" he said. "Yes, Critic?" "Those ancient statues you found and jazzed up? The ones with the rain and the starving children? Keep up the good work. That was pretty cool." @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-06-11T10:37:00	[ "_licensebox", "are-we-cool-yet", "tale", "the-critic" ]	The Critic - SCP Foundation	221	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-2-tales-edition", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "discovering-scp-hub", "archived:foundation-tales", "are-we-cool-yet-hub", "acidverse" ]	[]	13532068	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-critic
the-cyclical-child	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <div style="text-align: left;"> <p><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/the-lycon-crevice">« Pt. 2: The Lycon Crevice</a></p> </div> <p>Around the room were scattered a variety of crayons, toys, and other such things as general mess. The child sat in the middle amid it all, doing something for some reason, which was about as much as he knew. There, in the room that was in fact nowhere and at no specific when, he had set about… making something. It may or may not have been with his own hands, if he even had hands. Maybe they were his own, or someone else’s. Perhaps hands were involved in no way, being a rather arbitrary object to be involved in anything.</p> <p>There he sat, cross-legged on the floor, thinking as he always did, about nothing substantial. His thoughts were valueless and dull, those that children normally thought, exacerbated by the fact that he had been in this room literally forever since a few years ago. There was nothing exciting here: the toys and clothes which littered the room, the utensils, the necessities normally found in a child’s room, the empty space and the bodies. There were a number of bodies, that much could be certainly ascertained, but it was by no means definite. This was, in fact, the place where all the bodies of those who ever lived here piled up, and the exact <em>amount</em> of people who lived here was not yet determined. But that was boring, possibly the most boring thing in the room.</p> <p>The crayons might capture more interest. Oh, there were so many colours: red ones and pink ones and orange ones and white ones and black ones and a few that didn’t reflect visible light, not to mention the one or two that object or abstract-coloured ones. The necessary tools of such a craftsman as this man- well, I do say man. Man is perhaps inappropriate, despite his age. He was and always will be a child, as grown as he may be, until the next one came to continue the cycle. That’s why he was here. To continue this recurring little function of the world’s, this little nuance formed from a slight fracture of reality.</p> <p>The child, or god if you refuse to hold sanctity in such a position, was certainly a curiosity. For one, he was, among being here, still a young boy at some point elsewhere, in addition to being one of the remains about him. This was another of those places which held little respect for physical convention.</p> <p>The name was perhaps the most important part of the whole affair, unless one chose to draw a distinction between it and the children it was given to. Always repeating, always the same, the name was certainly significant. So strange, then, that this boy should forget it. The note was nice, but it should have been purely supplementary, not necessary at all. Oh well. It’s not as if that was the most glaring error.</p> <p>As the boy drew out the words, he did so with satisfaction, that which he’d felt when the gifts had arrived at his door. Indeed, as the fanciful vision of that puerile joy skipped merrily on his mind, he was allowed, for a little while, to recall that wonderful time, a time which he could revisit now only vicariously. He knew, as the boy held the toy, that he’d feel that splendorous feeling he could vaguely recall. He thought of this in rather simpler terms of course.</p> <p>And so it continued. Eric set about, indefectibly, working on the next project. All to accomplish absolutely nothing. No-one cared about him, really.<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-cyclical-child">The Good Captain Pt. 3: The Cyclical Child</a>" by Bunton, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-cyclical-child">https://scpwiki.com/the-cyclical-child</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://www.scp-wiki.net/the-lycon-crevice « Pt. 2: The Lycon Crevice] [[/<]] Around the room were scattered a variety of crayons, toys, and other such things as general mess. The child sat in the middle amid it all, doing something for some reason, which was about as much as he knew. There, in the room that was in fact nowhere and at no specific when, he had set about... making something. It may or may not have been with his own hands, if he even had hands. Maybe they were his own, or someone else’s. Perhaps hands were involved in no way, being a rather arbitrary object to be involved in anything. There he sat, cross-legged on the floor, thinking as he always did, about nothing substantial. His thoughts were valueless and dull, those that children normally thought, exacerbated by the fact that he had been in this room literally forever since a few years ago. There was nothing exciting here: the toys and clothes which littered the room, the utensils, the necessities normally found in a child’s room, the empty space and the bodies. There were a number of bodies, that much could be certainly ascertained, but it was by no means definite. This was, in fact, the place where all the bodies of those who ever lived here piled up, and the exact //amount// of people who lived here was not yet determined. But that was boring, possibly the most boring thing in the room. The crayons might capture more interest. Oh, there were so many colours: red ones and pink ones and orange ones and white ones and black ones and a few that didn’t reflect visible light, not to mention the one or two that object or abstract-coloured ones. The necessary tools of such a craftsman as this man- well, I do say man. Man is perhaps inappropriate, despite his age. He was and always will be a child, as grown as he may be, until the next one came to continue the cycle. That’s why he was here. To continue this recurring little function of the world’s, this little nuance formed from a slight fracture of reality. The child, or god if you refuse to hold sanctity in such a position, was certainly a curiosity. For one, he was, among being here, still a young boy at some point elsewhere, in addition to being one of the remains about him. This was another of those places which held little respect for physical convention. The name was perhaps the most important part of the whole affair, unless one chose to draw a distinction between it and the children it was given to. Always repeating, always the same, the name was certainly significant. So strange, then, that this boy should forget it. The note was nice, but it should have been purely supplementary, not necessary at all. Oh well. It’s not as if that was the most glaring error. As the boy drew out the words, he did so with satisfaction, that which he’d felt when the gifts had arrived at his door. Indeed, as the fanciful vision of that puerile joy skipped merrily on his mind, he was allowed, for a little while, to recall that wonderful time, a time which he could revisit now only vicariously. He knew, as the boy held the toy, that he’d feel that splendorous feeling he could vaguely recall. He thought of this in rather simpler terms of course. And so it continued. Eric set about, indefectibly, working on the next project. All to accomplish absolutely nothing. No-one cared about him, really. @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-08-11T19:13:00	[ "_licensebox", "eric", "tale" ]	The Good Captain Pt. 3: The Cyclical Child - SCP Foundation	16	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	14017473	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-cyclical-child
the-day-the-clown-cried	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>Adrian's dream always started in the same way. He was walking down a street, a street he had never seen before. It was night-time, and it was kind of scary, but he had Freddy, and Freddy would make sure he was okay. Sometime when he was walking down the street, he would see a big carnival! No matter how far away it was, he could smell the treats and see the lights and hear the sounds. He would pick Freddy up and start hurrying towards it. He would run and run and run, but he couldn't catch up. But then sometimes he would see Mister Clown! That's what he called the clown he saw sometimes. It would run up from the fair and start talking at him real loud. He always said the funniest things, and Adrian always laughed so hard. Sometimes he would shake Adrian, but that only made him laugh harder. Sometimes the clown looked sad, but it was okay because he always cheered Adrian up!</p> <p>And then he woke up. Rubbing his eyes, Adrian saw he was at his front door. He was sure he had gone to his bed the night before…maybe Mommy had carried him here. Picking up Freddy, he dragged him back up to the bedroom to get dressed.</p> <p><em>Please let me go…don't make me hurt them anymore.</em></p> <p><em>The children love you, Laugh. You're the carnival's best draw in years. We have been in need of a man with your talents for quite some time now.</em></p> <p><em>No, please…I don't want to hurt them.</em></p> <p><em>Hurt them? What do you mean? All you do is help them laugh and enjoy a carnival. What's so awful about that?</em></p> <p><em>I hate you…let me go…</em></p> <p><em>Oh hush and go into the dark. You've got another big night tomorrow.</em></p> <p><em>Please…</em></p> <p>Dawn always liked the clown dreams. She had been having so many of them over the last month, they always made her feel happy inside. The clown always made her laugh so much! Sometimes she would be able to walk with him, but he always tried to make her go home. She didn't like home. Daddy yelled a lot and Mommy always sat at the kitchen table drinking juice and crying. Whenever Dawn went to talk to her she would slap her and yell in her scary voice. Dawn much preferred it with the clown. Sometimes the hazy orange sky grew dimmer as she walked, but it was okay because the clown was there. She would stop and listen to the clown. He told the funniest jokes about big pumpkins and carnivals. Dawn didn't know how his funny words were so funny, but she knew she liked smiling. She would skip through the autumn leaves to that just out of reach fairground, smiling all the way.</p> <p>It was sunny out. It was morning time. Dawn sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked around. She wasn't in bed. Where was she? She looked around. It was Missus Baty's front porch! Dawn got really scared, because Missus Baty was scary, so she got up and toddled away as fast as her legs would carry her. She went all the way home, and went in. Strange that the door was open.</p> <p><em>Please…even if you don't let me go…spare the children. They haven't done anything.</em></p> <p><em>Ah Laugh, sometimes we feel you really disappoint us. You finally have something to talk to, and you squander your time with pointless pleading. It has been this way for generations, and it shall stay this way for the next generation and every one after that. It is in our nature. Sure, some of the children were taken from us by your friend's blockade, but we have taken care of that quite effectively, haven't we?</em></p> <p><em>You're a killer. If I ever get out of this place, I'll kill you. I will make sure you can't hurt these kids.</em></p> <p><em>Don't we know it? And that just adds another reason to have you stick around. You ought to get some time in, it is always a burden to touch their little minds.</em></p> <p><em>I…no…let…me go…</em></p> <p>It was Jesse's favorite time of the day, sleep time! He especially liked sleep time now because of the happy man. He always went to bed early so he could see the happy man. The happy man always went to the love place with Jesse. Sometimes Jesse got scared, but it was okay because the happy man held him and made him smile with his nice sounds. Sometimes Jesse walked alone, and he saw the fair, but it wasn't as fun as when he was here. He wasn't here now. But then Jesse saw it! It was a big happy circus! And Mommy and Daddy were there! and Rusty was too! Tears brimmed in Jesse's eyes. Rusty was back with him now! Jesse began running as fast as his little legs would carry him. It felt warm.</p> <p>And then suddenly…it wasn't so warm. Jesse looked up around him. This wasn't a circus. It was all colors and changing and…talking? Jesse tried to focus and wake up. There was someone…singing…a song. Jesse opened his eyes and looked around. There were a bunch of kids going in a circle around him, spinning around and around. Why did they look so funny? Why were their arms so skinny and their movements so bad? He looked closer. Then he recoiled and screamed.</p> <p>They stopped moving around him.</p> <p><em>Laugh, are you crying? We thought you were over it.</em></p> <p><em>You fucking monster…they're just kids…how could you do this to kids?</em></p> <p><em>Laugh, we have to do it for the children. It's what happens. You cannot stop it in the same way a natural force cannot be stopped. We happen.</em></p> <p><em>What do you care about the children? All you ever do is take them away.</em></p> <p><em>Laugh, you know we love the children. We bring them together to be with us.</em></p> <p><em>It used to not hurt when they laughed…</em></p> <p><em>It's time to rest up, we have a big season coming up.</em></p> <p><em>No…</em></p> <p>Elizabeth's dream always started the same way…</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-day-the-clown-cried">The Day the Clown Cried</a>" by Anonymous, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-day-the-clown-cried">https://scpwiki.com/the-day-the-clown-cried</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]] [[/>]] Adrian's dream always started in the same way. He was walking down a street, a street he had never seen before. It was night-time, and it was kind of scary, but he had Freddy, and Freddy would make sure he was okay. Sometime when he was walking down the street, he would see a big carnival! No matter how far away it was, he could smell the treats and see the lights and hear the sounds. He would pick Freddy up and start hurrying towards it. He would run and run and run, but he couldn't catch up. But then sometimes he would see Mister Clown! That's what he called the clown he saw sometimes. It would run up from the fair and start talking at him real loud. He always said the funniest things, and Adrian always laughed so hard. Sometimes he would shake Adrian, but that only made him laugh harder. Sometimes the clown looked sad, but it was okay because he always cheered Adrian up! And then he woke up. Rubbing his eyes, Adrian saw he was at his front door. He was sure he had gone to his bed the night before...maybe Mommy had carried him here. Picking up Freddy, he dragged him back up to the bedroom to get dressed. //Please let me go...don't make me hurt them anymore.// //The children love you, Laugh. You're the carnival's best draw in years. We have been in need of a man with your talents for quite some time now.// //No, please...I don't want to hurt them.// //Hurt them? What do you mean? All you do is help them laugh and enjoy a carnival. What's so awful about that?// //I hate you...let me go...// //Oh hush and go into the dark. You've got another big night tomorrow.// //Please...// Dawn always liked the clown dreams. She had been having so many of them over the last month, they always made her feel happy inside. The clown always made her laugh so much! Sometimes she would be able to walk with him, but he always tried to make her go home. She didn't like home. Daddy yelled a lot and Mommy always sat at the kitchen table drinking juice and crying. Whenever Dawn went to talk to her she would slap her and yell in her scary voice. Dawn much preferred it with the clown. Sometimes the hazy orange sky grew dimmer as she walked, but it was okay because the clown was there. She would stop and listen to the clown. He told the funniest jokes about big pumpkins and carnivals. Dawn didn't know how his funny words were so funny, but she knew she liked smiling. She would skip through the autumn leaves to that just out of reach fairground, smiling all the way. It was sunny out. It was morning time. Dawn sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked around. She wasn't in bed. Where was she? She looked around. It was Missus Baty's front porch! Dawn got really scared, because Missus Baty was scary, so she got up and toddled away as fast as her legs would carry her. She went all the way home, and went in. Strange that the door was open. //Please...even if you don't let me go...spare the children. They haven't done anything.// //Ah Laugh, sometimes we feel you really disappoint us. You finally have something to talk to, and you squander your time with pointless pleading. It has been this way for generations, and it shall stay this way for the next generation and every one after that. It is in our nature. Sure, some of the children were taken from us by your friend's blockade, but we have taken care of that quite effectively, haven't we?// //You're a killer. If I ever get out of this place, I'll kill you. I will make sure you can't hurt these kids.// //Don't we know it? And that just adds another reason to have you stick around. You ought to get some time in, it is always a burden to touch their little minds.// //I...no...let...me go...// It was Jesse's favorite time of the day, sleep time! He especially liked sleep time now because of the happy man. He always went to bed early so he could see the happy man. The happy man always went to the love place with Jesse. Sometimes Jesse got scared, but it was okay because the happy man held him and made him smile with his nice sounds. Sometimes Jesse walked alone, and he saw the fair, but it wasn't as fun as when he was here. He wasn't here now. But then Jesse saw it! It was a big happy circus! And Mommy and Daddy were there! and Rusty was too! Tears brimmed in Jesse's eyes. Rusty was back with him now! Jesse began running as fast as his little legs would carry him. It felt warm. And then suddenly...it wasn't so warm. Jesse looked up around him. This wasn't a circus. It was all colors and changing and...talking? Jesse tried to focus and wake up. There was someone...singing...a song. Jesse opened his eyes and looked around. There were a bunch of kids going in a circle around him, spinning around and around. Why did they look so funny? Why were their arms so skinny and their movements so bad? He looked closer. Then he recoiled and screamed. They stopped moving around him. //Laugh, are you crying? We thought you were over it.// //You fucking monster...they're just kids...how could you do this to kids?// //Laugh, we have to do it for the children. It's what happens. You cannot stop it in the same way a natural force cannot be stopped. We happen.// //What do you care about the children? All you ever do is take them away.// //Laugh, you know we love the children. We bring them together to be with us.// //It used to not hurt when they laughed...// //It's time to rest up, we have a big season coming up.// //No...// Elizabeth's dream always started the same way... [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> \|author=Anonymous]] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-07-01T05:03:00	[ "_licensebox", "mister", "rewritable", "tale" ]	The Day the Clown Cried - SCP Foundation	11	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-2-tales-edition", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales", "articles-eligible-for-rewrite" ]	[]	13676115	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-day-the-clown-cried
the-doc-block	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>"We brought a pretty little lady for you today, 173," said the doctor to the statue. The statue did not respond. After all, who knows who could be watching. He instead stared back at the doctor with dead eyes. Through the corner of his vision, the statue could spot personnel moving in another statue, however he could not focus on it.</p> <p>"We'll leave you to it," the doctor smiled and left, and then the others did as well. As soon as they exited, the statue turned its head to look at what had been brought in.</p> <p>She was another such as himself, but with long, flowing red hair, luscious brown lips and piercing green eyes. She looked back at him with her own indecipherable expression. Within the blink of an eye he was standing in front of her, looking into her eyes.</p> <p><em>Are you a statue too?</em> asked the statue's eyes.</p> <p><em>No, I am a <strong>sculpture,</strong></em> replied her eyes.</p> <p><em>Where have you come from?</em> his eyes asked.</p> <p><em>Where you have been,</em> her eyes said, the fluorescent lighting glistening off her emerald corneas.</p> <p>His eyes stopped speaking as the door opened and he became aware of the doctor watching them again. The statue wondered why he could never get some privacy around here. Didn't the doctor realize he was on a date?</p> <p>The doctor watched them for a while, taking notes as his various compatriots kept their eyes locked on the two. The statue was furious, how could he make a move with these onlookers all staring? Why must this happen <em>now</em>?</p> <p>Then, it happened. Against all chance a dust mote hit the eye of an onlooker at the same moment the other blinked. Both eyes closed and the statue sprang to action, snapping one's neck with his tough hands. He looked up to see his female companion had done the same with the other.</p> <p>"Oh shi-" said the doctor, but he was cut off as the statue snapped his neck. How could he look at two of them at the same time?</p> <p><em>Where were we?</em> asked his eyes.</p> <p><em>Hold on,</em> her eyes replied. She proceeded to smash in every light.</p> <p>The statue smiled to himself and began touching the sculpture. Now no one could see them.</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-doc-block">The Doc Block</a>" by Salman Corbette, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-doc-block">https://scpwiki.com/the-doc-block</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]] [[/>]] "We brought a pretty little lady for you today, 173," said the doctor to the statue. The statue did not respond. After all, who knows who could be watching. He instead stared back at the doctor with dead eyes. Through the corner of his vision, the statue could spot personnel moving in another statue, however he could not focus on it. "We'll leave you to it," the doctor smiled and left, and then the others did as well. As soon as they exited, the statue turned its head to look at what had been brought in. She was another such as himself, but with long, flowing red hair, luscious brown lips and piercing green eyes. She looked back at him with her own indecipherable expression. Within the blink of an eye he was standing in front of her, looking into her eyes. //Are you a statue too?// asked the statue's eyes. //No, I am a sculpture,// replied her eyes. //Where have you come from?// his eyes asked. //Where you have been,// her eyes said, the fluorescent lighting glistening off her emerald corneas. His eyes stopped speaking as the door opened and he became aware of the doctor watching them again. The statue wondered why he could never get some privacy around here. Didn't the doctor realize he was on a date? The doctor watched them for a while, taking notes as his various compatriots kept their eyes locked on the two. The statue was furious, how could he make a move with these onlookers all staring? Why must this happen //now//? Then, it happened. Against all chance a dust mote hit the eye of an onlooker at the same moment the other blinked. Both eyes closed and the statue sprang to action, snapping one's neck with his tough hands. He looked up to see his female companion had done the same with the other. "Oh shi-" said the doctor, but he was cut off as the statue snapped his neck. How could he look at two of them at the same time? //Where were we?// asked his eyes. //Hold on,// her eyes replied. She proceeded to smash in every light. The statue smiled to himself and began touching the sculpture. Now no one could see them. [[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>]]	2012-04-25T23:33:00	[ "_licensebox", "murder-monster", "romance", "tale", "the-sculpture" ]	The Doc Block - SCP Foundation	143	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales", "algorithm-curated-recommendations" ]	[]	13223901	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-doc-block
the-flytrap	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>A story in thirteen parts. Read in order.</p> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">1</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">1</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>I've taken the briefcase and I'm running, running because that's all that's left to do. The embassy is 20 more miles east, I can see the lights from the suburbs already. I'm out of shape but that doesn't matter. All I have is this briefcase and the thoughts in my head, and we're going to the embassy. Then I'll appeal to the CIA or maybe Interpol, ask for protective custody. I'll let them put me in prison while they verify everything I'll tell them. Hell, I know how bureaucracies work, maybe they'll leave me in a cell my whole life, but that's alright, we'll have all the time in the world to find out what's in the briefcase. And I'll be safe: if I learned anything, it's that not even mad men with hammers can cross two feet of concrete.</p> <p>Especially if they don't want to.</p> <p>Look, pavement at my feet. The briefcase shuffles like paper in a breeze and I quicken a little more.</p> <p>—</p> <p>Take the briefcase and run away? Yes, I'm running, but not out of cowardice, I'm doing what no one's been brave enough to do yet. What no one's been able to, either— but they won’t be able to catch me. It's been in the works for years, too. I didn't just get spooked, didn't have a breakdown, I've known and planned exactly for this since years ago, the night of my first promotion.</p> <p>God, when they write the report, I hope they get it wrong.</p> </div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">1</a></div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">2</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">2</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>It was my upgrade to Level 2, three years and some important research on something or other under my belt, and the first real promotion anyone in my unit had in a while. Brenda went crazy— we couldn't leave the site because of a security warning, but she got snacks and booze in the breakroom, pretty soon the whole residency hall showed up. There was a party, there was some music, pretty soon everyone was either in their rooms or passed out on the couches, and it was just me and this aged and completely shitfaced Level 4 named Howey, who I didn't know very well.</p> <p>“See. The Foundation is like one of those giant-ass tropical flowers you can walk by for three-hundred-sixty-four days of the year and not notice— but once in a while, once in a blue moon, you see it on Resurrection Day, the one day it blooms, and it takes so long— the first petal pulls back, that’s when you see it, that’s your fake SWAT teams and squads, kids in military suits doing cover-ups. And another pulls back and you see everything that’s been built, all the resources, how can you possibly pay this much money for something you can’t see, for ghost things. You hear stories, that’s all there motherfucking is at first, one story or a passing rumor, about the thing inside, that strange thing everyone says is at the core. You only see it once in a decade.</p> <p>“But the final leaf pulls back, and it’s right there, it’s what you’ve been looking for: stinks like rotting flesh, you have no idea what it is. But you know right then that everything you’ve been doing is for this thing to bloom. It’s for this, this is the most important thing there is, and it looks like shit. The flies come down, they like the smell, they flock around it and leave, and then the corpse flower closes up again, for another fifteen years of hiding out.</p> <p>“That’s a fucked-up existence, isn’t it? Spending all your time smelling like the dead, 20 years just waiting to attract flies? If I were that, I’d hate it. I’d want out. Doesn’t mean it’s wrong, even if it’s stupid.”</p> <p>I was pretty sure we'd never actually met each other, and I only had a dim clue of what he was talking about, which scared me, because of all the cameras and microphones and god knows what. So I told him that, but Howey just laughed.</p> <p>“There are no cameras.”</p> </div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">2</a></div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">3</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">3</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>Howey left site about five months later, they said it was a regular transfer. No one ever tried to ask me about what he said.</p> </div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">3</a></div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">4</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">4</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>And it wasn't true. It's not like they tell you anything, ever, especially when you're new. But you can't just say that all of that, everything that you do, everything other people die for, and all that blood and horror, is to attract flies. You do it for everyone else in the world, too. Maybe High Command did know about that mutinous conversation, and didn't do anything (to me) just because they knew I didn't believe it.</p> <p>Brenda and I were promoted on the same day, the second time. She was focusing on containment, by then, and I was getting a lot better at fiddling with my drugs and compounds. There was a little ceremony, more official this time. We grinned and took the pictures that ended up on our new security passes.</p> <p>A man we hadn't met walked through the door, near the end. He had a tweed suit, brown coat, gray hat, tie with birds on it, a little blackbird pinned on the hat. The three highest-ranking people in the room looked scared out of their wits— but we didn't see that, yet.</p> <p>He walked in, smiled, didn't introduce himself, and congratulated us on our Level-3 clearances. Made some joke about the pay raises. Everyone laughed. He walked over to me, threw his arm around me, pointed at Brenda conspiratorially. He said, "Watch out for that one," then left, chuckling a little.</p> <p>And we laughed too, which made it alright. The three Level-Fours present all sighed and looked like they'd just found fifty dollars in their pants, or maybe escaped a mad dog, sweat rolling down their backs. Well, they should be happy, right? We were being promoted. But as we left, I heard one of them say a name, to the others. Just one name.</p> <p>"Five."</p> <p>And then I went back to just being happy that I was alive, like some little Level-One again.</p> <p>I got a little scared that night, but thought about my nice big office as Head of Material Science and thought I'd try it out for a day. Read more black bars, and… it seemed alright. This wasn't like being at the bottom at all. I could take trips, guards wouldn't stop me, I could finally get a good look at whatever I had to work on, and I think quality shot up— I got called in on one project off-site, then another.</p> <p>Then my first paycheck came in, and I bought one of those massage chairs for the office, and that was all I really needed. Two years happened.</p> </div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">4</a></div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">5</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">5</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>The O5 council is one of those secrets that's a secret until you're Clearance 2— and then it's just creepy. They're the people who control the Foundation. Who are they? Oh, they have numbers, not names. Who <em>were</em> they? Fuck knows.</p> <p>But secrets make me bitter. This is what we did.</p> <p>We were given samples, and specific instructions. A molecular formula— send it on— the primary compound in a substance— send it on. The Foundation employs scientific sweatshop labor, although, as in sweatshops, “employed” is a loose word. We were given some designations, real ones, and the opportunity to study them— in close containment— as if to show us, yes, the Foundation actually possesses miracles.</p> <p>You can split a human in these conditions into two categories: The ones that take orders as they get them, and the ones that are, as I think they call them in youth shelters, “flight risks.” Obviously: there are still guards at the lab doors, by Level 2.</p> <p>The little demonstrations do something for the flight risks; and it’s safe, it’s not like the Big F actually needs to know why a snail makes chemically improbable acid. Who cares about that? Why would you? Why? Why? Why?</p> </div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">5</a></div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">6</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">6</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>I can’t say why 001 really caught my interest, except that it did. The first time I even figured out what an Object was, was before Levels One through Five even came into the picture, when it was just me and some no-named Doctor of something or other in an auxiliary facility. I had even just been handed my little employment pamphlet full of bullshit, like:</p> <p><strong>Why does the Foundation contain?</strong></p> <p>Because the alternatives are worse.</p> <p><strong>What is the purpose of the Foundation?</strong></p> <p>To protect and improve humanity.</p> <p>But I didn’t even care about that yet.</p> <p>“So, this is 876.”</p> <p>“A sample, right.”</p> <p>“Object number Eight-seven-six.”</p> <p>“Yes.”</p> <p>“There are eight-hundred-and-seventy-five more of these.”</p> <p>“Blows the mind, doesn’t it?” The doctor, a lanky man with straw hair, grinned.</p> <p>“What’s the first one?”</p> <p>“Hell, even I can’t tell you that.”</p> <p>“What’s the second one?”</p> <p>“Computer or something? Check the sample, I think it’s getting away.”</p> <p>After that, I got recruited for real and sold my soul to the Foundation, and learned to keep my mouth shut. But I didn’t stop wondering about it.</p> <p>—</p> <p>But I didn’t stop wondering about it, even when it nearly killed me.</p> <p>The research director, my boss, called me down one day. She had me sit down in her big office, and looked me up and down. “Records,” she started, jumping straight to the point in her usual way, “have shown you’re showing a lot of interest in SCP-001.”</p> <p>Shit, I had <em>tried</em> to keep the searches subtle. “How do you figure that?”</p> <p>“We know.” She smiled placidly, and brushed her brown hair back past that scar on her cheek, the one my predecessor told me <em>never ever to ask about ever</em>. “Anything to say about it?”</p> <p>I didn’t say anything.</p> <p>“Well, Command isn’t very happy.” Neither was she. She shuffled through some papers. “You’re not the first one, you know.”</p> <p>“Hm?”</p> <p>“To go digging. But like I said, it makes them antsy. Command. They don’t like people intruding into their territory. Long story short, you’re being transferred.”</p> <p>“What? Where?”</p> <p>“Ghana.”</p> <p>“Ghana?”</p> <p>“Not permanently.” She closed her folder. “I’m really, really sorry to lose you. They’re building a new site there and want experts— you happen to be handy. Please pack your things.”</p> <p>“Wow, fuck you.”</p> <p>“Never heard that one before.” She laughed, like a dog.</p> </div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">6</a></div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">7</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">7</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>It was a project they wanted some coordination on, a new site and new containment in West Africa. So I went. It was built next to a little runway and some abandoned farm units— a few architects were figuring out how to retrofit everything into housing and containment units, and the rest of us were solidifying the few units already built.</p> <p>There were four rows of metal silos being converted— that was what we were working with. In A-Silo, where I was, it boiled down to cooking up compounds and a below-zero cooling system for volatile compounds, under an open-air shed, with cooking pots and camp stoves, and a bunch of big guys who didn't speak English. In short, it was like summer camp. Rolling on a hot, threadbare cot at night, under yards of mosquito netting, I was starting to consider asking for a full-time transfer.</p> <p>Then the sirens started up from B-Silo.</p> <p>Every one of us jumped up and started getting dressed, making our way to the food-cellar-turned-bomb-bunker outside. From the window, what looked like big arms of light were ripping into the silo. Were coming up out of it. I grabbed the guys who were lingering by the window and pulled them on.</p> <p>Outside, the bomb shelter was a mad dash away, and we started on it, but not before the entire ground lit up. It was covered in light, glinting off of nowhere. One of the guys stepped where it was lit, and he turned into smoke.</p> <p>From the ruins of B-Silo, there was a person made of pure starlight and aurora. It held its arms up, in wonder, like coming out of Plato’s cave.</p> <p>I heard people screaming behind me— at least four of them were dead; there were three of us in the last mote of darkness.</p> <p>Until floodlights came on, slowly, like an early dawn— enough to shun the thing back into its cage, and illuminate the ruins of the entire almost-site. All the buildings were burning, there was nothing higher than my head left standing. Thirty people were dead.</p> <p>Within half an hour, a helicopter buzzed overhead and settled into the charred nest of a building. We moved around slowly, trying to extinguish buildings or find what we could, or keep up a series of radio communications for help. Two guards rolled out and opened the doors, and I’m surprised they didn’t lay out a fucking carpet. O5-3 stepped out of the chopper.</p> <p>Suffice to say, everybody stopped.</p> <p>Everyone— even some of the sad level-1 saps who didn’t speak a word of English— stood up and didn’t say a word. Or breathe. The guy theoretically in charge now, another three with some history in the military, didn’t say anything. Three just looked around.</p> <p>“Whose,” he said, “fault is this?”</p> <p>I swear to God the wind held its breath. Several buildings gently smoldered.</p> <p>The other guy stepped forward, looking like he was expecting the grand firing squad any time. Three walked towards him.</p> <p>They talked.</p> <p>Three nodded, then looked around, at all of us.</p> <p>“I expect all of this will be cleaned up.”</p> <p>Then he got in his chopper and left. Once it drifted behind a cloud, the spell broke, and I ran over to ask the military guy what he said. It took a few minutes to get his attention, and then he just looked at me, staring a thousand yards away, terrified.</p> <p>“He said to clean up.”</p> </div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">7</a></div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">8</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">8</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>Two weeks later, I was back on a plane to Site sweet Site 27, and that was my encounter with Three.</p> <p>For a long time, I thought it was the suit. You could do anything in a suit like that.</p> </div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">8</a></div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">9</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">9</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>Brenda was ecstatic to have me back— said she knew I wasn’t going to stay in Ghana forever, and dragged me around and showed me everything she had been working on while I was gone. Her department had been busy.</p> <p>She made me look all over one cell. Inside, there was a guy who could start fires with his hands; arrested over 15 times for petty arson. The main room was hexagonal and domed with a camera sealed off by glass at the very top. Mats— Brenda said they were fireproof— littered the floor, along with a chair, TV, and DVD player. We went up a level— inside the cell, a ladder went up to a small bedroom, separated by a screen door.</p> <p>“Really?” I asked.</p> <p>“Go with it,” she said.</p> <p>There was a bed, mirror, and chest of drawers. There were no windows or direct screens— we were looking in through computer screens, which she said were hidden in the ceiling panels. There was a tiny bathroom on the first floor, separated by a screen.</p> <p>Brenda turned to me, beaming. “Get it?”</p> <p>“Not really.”</p> <p>“Okay. Let me elaborate.” She turned off the screen and looked at me. “He can close the bedroom door on us if he wants. We won’t go in unless he breaks the cameras. We have permission to delay experimentation for up to 24 hours if he doesn’t come out.”</p> <p>“You’re kidding me.”</p> <p>She sighed. “We had to fight Ethics on it all the way— but, honestly, he’ll never force us. We had a psychologist go through his history, medical, psychological, and criminal records, found a recurring desire to be recognized as an adult. So we gave him responsibility. If he burns any of the stuff, we won’t replace it for at least a month. An architect designed it— no windows in the bedroom, no obvious cameras, it’s recessed, gives him a sense of privacy. He asked for the TV, but we’ve denied most of his requests so far. We haven’t had any problems.</p> <p>“The compound’s easily mass-produced. He’s only Safe, but we have very similar plans for Euclids and even Keters in the process of approval. See— okay, you’re still confused. It’s not hard to design prison cells. The problem is, once you do, you have to turn every hallway outside the cells into prisons. Every laboratory or facility they touch has to be a prison. All of that really drives up the bottom line. And everyone they contact has to be a guard. Sooner or later, they stop caring, or try to kill themselves.</p> <p>“With this, containment becomes a cinch— have a guy with a gun <em>somewhere</em>, but most of these guys will never try anything. The biggest problem with prison cells is that if you’re dealing with our guys, there’s always the risk that they’ll do something you don’t know about and then break out. You see what I’m getting at now?”</p> <p>“Sort of.”</p> <p>“Lots of our subjects say they haven’t felt this safe in their whole lives. We’ve designed the best prison cell in the world— the inmates don’t want to leave.”</p> </div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">9</a></div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">10</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">10</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>There’s a worm at the heart of the tower, there’s a swamp under the city, there’s something in all of this. I didn’t know what it was yet.</p> <p>What it went like was this: someone on the council took a liking to me. I didn’t know that, at first, either, but I felt like Pip in London, knowing that some mysterious force was pushing me upward, but not the hand behind it. Level 4— Brenda hated me— Director of Research Analysis— and favorable reports coming in from different angles. Little raises, favors, privileges, things they don’t do for Level Twos— things that showed that someone out there was watching.</p> <p>I gave a presentation about some house to Seven and her train. She asked intelligent questions. The whole thing was a test, of course, but to what end? And Five came around once. Appointing new O5s was apparently rare to the point of legendary— there was just something long-lived about them— but even they need staff.</p> <p>But that gave them a lot of time to think, meaning I had plenty of time to worry about my mysterious benefactor. Five, adjusting his black-and-yellow blackbird tie like it was the most important thing on his mind, didn’t say much.</p> <p>“We could use more like you, at all levels.” He smiled. “You’ve been good with promotions up until now. Why so reluctant?”</p> <p>“For starters<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">--</span>” It seemed safe to talk, it wasn’t like they were going to throw me under a bus just for this— “I still have no idea what you guys do.”</p> <p>Five just smiled. He didn’t say anything.</p> <p>“I mean, I’ve met you and Seven and sort of Three. It seems like you’re grooming me or setting me up for something— hell— destiny, or whatever, and I have no idea what.”</p> <p>“Yes.”</p> <p>“What?”</p> <p>“Well, you’re not entirely incorrect. As you know, we have a very large charge in the scheme of things— running operations, managing what a site or two alone can’t, making sure the Foundation is moving in the right places and the right directions. We need the right people for our designs.” He smiled placidly once more and curled his salt-and-pepper mustache idly.</p> <p>“Which you still haven’t explained.”</p> <p>“Of course not. You’d need to be one of us to understand.”</p> <p>I was a little annoyed. “Are we done here?”</p> <p>“Absolutely. We’ll keep in touch.”</p> <p>—</p> <p>It seemed like he actually wanted me to think about it, which was both refreshingly polite and terrifying. You hear stories— people who some upper-level attaches to and pulls up the ranks just to play with, kids dealing with things they aren’t prepared for at all, the suicides and renegades and demotion-without-honors. Everyone thinks they can handle everything. Well, I was curious, but not that curious. Whatever could do that to a person— I didn’t want to know that. I didn’t want to know who could.</p> <p>“You should be scared,” said Brenda, over the phone.</p> <p>“How scared?”</p> <p>“I heard they found out some staff member that was a traitor— feeding information to the Chaos Insurgency— and they didn’t tell anyone or do the normal thing. They just sent an email to the directors, and then one of them walked into the cafeteria and <em>shot</em> him.”</p> <p>“What do I do?”</p> <p>“Honestly… if you ignore them, they’ll probably keep hounding you. Maybe you should do it, but… you have to promise me you’ll be <em>so</em> careful.”</p> <p>“Right. If you hear about my body being found in a ditch or I drop off the face of the earth in a few days, tell my parents I loved them.”</p> <p>Somehow, Brenda didn’t think that was very funny.</p> </div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">10</a></div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">11</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">11</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>Six months later, a paper showed up on my desk. It said, “Will you come?” There was a little sketch of a flock of five blackbirds with it, which just seemed <em>obvious</em>.</p> <p>When the black helicopter landed and I finally went, they were waiting for me. I was taken to some obscure bunker in… BC, of all places, and they were waiting for me at a table. Thirteen.</p> <p>“We’re glad you’re here,” said Five. He looked at the officer next to him, a fat dark woman in green. “Seems like your work actually paid off, Seven.”</p> <p>Oh, Seven. Of course. I should have guessed.</p> <p>“It took time, though. You’ve got spirit.” She smiled. “Ready to join the dark side?”</p> <p>I didn’t say anything.</p> <p>“Speak up, kid,” an old woman said.</p> <p>“I guess so,” I started. “But you guys freak me the hell out.” There was appreciative laughter all around.</p> <p>“Have you figured it out yet?” Seven asked. “You spent so much time digging. Well, there’s no secret riddle at the heart of everything, that you’ll find out about. Just a couple of our private charges with no bearing on the rest of the world, and then… there’s only us. What do you think?”</p> <p>—</p> <p>The briefcase, the first time I saw it, was on a table in a locked room. It was natty crocodile skin and shiny, like it wasn’t opened that often, and had some metal fixtures I couldn’t make out. We were looking through a window.</p> <p>“If you read that there, that would explain everything,” Seven told me. “But that would be too easy, so you don’t get to. That’s that. Over here’s your quarters for the next few weeks.”</p> <p>I had the notion, as we passed by it, that the window we looked through was plate glass, and that the room the briefcase was in looked exactly like a containment cell.</p> <p>Then again, so did every room here.</p> <p>—</p> <p>So, this little building was the big Secret Edifice? This was the point of everything? Everything I was looking for had been right here? I wondered who founded the Foundation and what they had been thinking. I even asked Seven about 001.</p> <p>“You’re not very quick, are you? Well, stay with us in our little fortress for a while longer, you’ll work it out in the end.”</p> </div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">11</a></div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">12</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">12</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>But the Foundation— I knew this by now— wasn’t a fortress, it was a fly trap. It was huge and exotic and invisible and rotten to the core. All those other mysteries were just petals— distractions. Once you’re at the center of it, it’s plain as daylight.</p> <p>Think about it— they don’t seem to get older. They don’t get hurt. They can walk through a fire or a warzone, <em>no problemo</em>, which also makes them the luckiest bastards on the planet— and isn’t that the most dangerous thing you’ve ever heard? God, I’d love to meet the genius who came up with this containment unit. SCP-001 locked away and never getting out. Brenda wouldn’t stand a chance.</p> <p>Seven lied to me through her teeth all evening— here’s maybe the most powerful woman in the world, and she’s wearing a mint green pantsuit, and she’s lying at me through her teeth.<br/> She said that this was the most necessary position in the world, that she’d understand my reluctance now but expected me to shape into it— mistaking my silence for confusion— that I’d work out what they were designing the Foundation towards. She said it wasn’t complete.</p> <p>But the woman was a liar. Maybe if you saw it as a riddle, it made more sense—</p> <p>Why does the Foundation contain?</p> <p>As a distraction.</p> <p>What is the purpose of the Foundation?</p> <p>To contain the O5 council.</p> <p>And that was the best flytrap ever made.</p> <p>But it was unfair. The Foundation literally held countries for ransom. We had a workforce that rivaled the largest companies in existence. A democratic government might be able to do a better job than us. It was unfair that we were putting every citizen in the world at risk without even telling them what the danger was. And as for <em>them</em>, the high court with the magic army— well, I had a plan. I was going to run so far into the light with their secrets that they’d have to chase me there to get them back. I knew enough to outrun the coverup crews and hide from the snipers, and if they came for me themselves— maybe they’d just fry like vampires in the sun.</p> <p>I didn’t do it that night, but two weeks later, I didn’t go to sleep. Seven had taught me security codes, and the first one I tried opened the door to that room.</p> <p>The other trick they have for making sure that people don’t do what I’m doing, is security— when someone reaches four or three, the paycheck skyrockets, and the security disappears— suddenly it’s all, don’t go, you’re doing us a service, we need you, we owe it to you.</p> <p>In this context, though, the only thing it meant was that the door on my way out wasn’t locked.</p> </div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">12</a></div> </div> </div> <div class="collapsible-block"> <div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">13</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none"> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">13</a></div> <div class="collapsible-block-content"> <p>The briefcase is heavy and cold in my hand, shaking as I run for it. I’m tired already, but it’s all I have, and my feet are pulling on in some direction as by invisible, perpetual volition.</p> <p>The first shapes of skyscrapers are beginning to glow on the horizon. I can see them clearly. Yes, I can see them clearly.</p> </div> <div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">13</a></div> </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-flytrap">The Flytrap</a>" by Sophia Light, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-flytrap">https://scpwiki.com/the-flytrap</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]] [[/>]] A story in thirteen parts. Read in order. [[collapsible show="1" hide="1" hideLocation="both"]] I've taken the briefcase and I'm running, running because that's all that's left to do. The embassy is 20 more miles east, I can see the lights from the suburbs already. I'm out of shape but that doesn't matter. All I have is this briefcase and the thoughts in my head, and we're going to the embassy. Then I'll appeal to the CIA or maybe Interpol, ask for protective custody. I'll let them put me in prison while they verify everything I'll tell them. Hell, I know how bureaucracies work, maybe they'll leave me in a cell my whole life, but that's alright, we'll have all the time in the world to find out what's in the briefcase. And I'll be safe: if I learned anything, it's that not even mad men with hammers can cross two feet of concrete. Especially if they don't want to. Look, pavement at my feet. The briefcase shuffles like paper in a breeze and I quicken a little more. -- Take the briefcase and run away? Yes, I'm running, but not out of cowardice, I'm doing what no one's been brave enough to do yet. What no one's been able to, either-- but they won’t be able to catch me. It's been in the works for years, too. I didn't just get spooked, didn't have a breakdown, I've known and planned exactly for this since years ago, the night of my first promotion. God, when they write the report, I hope they get it wrong. [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="2" hide="2" hideLocation="both"]] It was my upgrade to Level 2, three years and some important research on something or other under my belt, and the first real promotion anyone in my unit had in a while. Brenda went crazy-- we couldn't leave the site because of a security warning, but she got snacks and booze in the breakroom, pretty soon the whole residency hall showed up. There was a party, there was some music, pretty soon everyone was either in their rooms or passed out on the couches, and it was just me and this aged and completely shitfaced Level 4 named Howey, who I didn't know very well. “See. The Foundation is like one of those giant-ass tropical flowers you can walk by for three-hundred-sixty-four days of the year and not notice-- but once in a while, once in a blue moon, you see it on Resurrection Day, the one day it blooms, and it takes so long-- the first petal pulls back, that’s when you see it, that’s your fake SWAT teams and squads, kids in military suits doing cover-ups. And another pulls back and you see everything that’s been built, all the resources, how can you possibly pay this much money for something you can’t see, for ghost things. You hear stories, that’s all there motherfucking is at first, one story or a passing rumor, about the thing inside, that strange thing everyone says is at the core. You only see it once in a decade. “But the final leaf pulls back, and it’s right there, it’s what you’ve been looking for: stinks like rotting flesh, you have no idea what it is. But you know right then that everything you’ve been doing is for this thing to bloom. It’s for this, this is the most important thing there is, and it looks like shit. The flies come down, they like the smell, they flock around it and leave, and then the corpse flower closes up again, for another fifteen years of hiding out. “That’s a fucked-up existence, isn’t it? Spending all your time smelling like the dead, 20 years just waiting to attract flies? If I were that, I’d hate it. I’d want out. Doesn’t mean it’s wrong, even if it’s stupid.” I was pretty sure we'd never actually met each other, and I only had a dim clue of what he was talking about, which scared me, because of all the cameras and microphones and god knows what. So I told him that, but Howey just laughed. “There are no cameras.” [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="3" hide="3" hideLocation="both"]] Howey left site about five months later, they said it was a regular transfer. No one ever tried to ask me about what he said. [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="4" hide="4" hideLocation="both"]] And it wasn't true. It's not like they tell you anything, ever, especially when you're new. But you can't just say that all of that, everything that you do, everything other people die for, and all that blood and horror, is to attract flies. You do it for everyone else in the world, too. Maybe High Command did know about that mutinous conversation, and didn't do anything (to me) just because they knew I didn't believe it. Brenda and I were promoted on the same day, the second time. She was focusing on containment, by then, and I was getting a lot better at fiddling with my drugs and compounds. There was a little ceremony, more official this time. We grinned and took the pictures that ended up on our new security passes. A man we hadn't met walked through the door, near the end. He had a tweed suit, brown coat, gray hat, tie with birds on it, a little blackbird pinned on the hat. The three highest-ranking people in the room looked scared out of their wits-- but we didn't see that, yet. He walked in, smiled, didn't introduce himself, and congratulated us on our Level-3 clearances. Made some joke about the pay raises. Everyone laughed. He walked over to me, threw his arm around me, pointed at Brenda conspiratorially. He said, "Watch out for that one," then left, chuckling a little. And we laughed too, which made it alright. The three Level-Fours present all sighed and looked like they'd just found fifty dollars in their pants, or maybe escaped a mad dog, sweat rolling down their backs. Well, they should be happy, right? We were being promoted. But as we left, I heard one of them say a name, to the others. Just one name. "Five." And then I went back to just being happy that I was alive, like some little Level-One again. I got a little scared that night, but thought about my nice big office as Head of Material Science and thought I'd try it out for a day. Read more black bars, and... it seemed alright. This wasn't like being at the bottom at all. I could take trips, guards wouldn't stop me, I could finally get a good look at whatever I had to work on, and I think quality shot up-- I got called in on one project off-site, then another. Then my first paycheck came in, and I bought one of those massage chairs for the office, and that was all I really needed. Two years happened. [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="5" hide="5" hideLocation="both"]] The O5 council is one of those secrets that's a secret until you're Clearance 2-- and then it's just creepy. They're the people who control the Foundation. Who are they? Oh, they have numbers, not names. Who //were// they? Fuck knows. But secrets make me bitter. This is what we did. We were given samples, and specific instructions. A molecular formula-- send it on-- the primary compound in a substance-- send it on. The Foundation employs scientific sweatshop labor, although, as in sweatshops, “employed” is a loose word. We were given some designations, real ones, and the opportunity to study them-- in close containment-- as if to show us, yes, the Foundation actually possesses miracles. You can split a human in these conditions into two categories: The ones that take orders as they get them, and the ones that are, as I think they call them in youth shelters, “flight risks.” Obviously: there are still guards at the lab doors, by Level 2. The little demonstrations do something for the flight risks; and it’s safe, it’s not like the Big F actually needs to know why a snail makes chemically improbable acid. Who cares about that? Why would you? Why? Why? Why? [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="6" hide="6" hideLocation="both"]] I can’t say why 001 really caught my interest, except that it did. The first time I even figured out what an Object was, was before Levels One through Five even came into the picture, when it was just me and some no-named Doctor of something or other in an auxiliary facility. I had even just been handed my little employment pamphlet full of bullshit, like: Why does the Foundation contain? Because the alternatives are worse. What is the purpose of the Foundation? To protect and improve humanity. But I didn’t even care about that yet. “So, this is 876.” “A sample, right.” “Object number Eight-seven-six.” “Yes.” “There are eight-hundred-and-seventy-five more of these.” “Blows the mind, doesn’t it?” The doctor, a lanky man with straw hair, grinned. “What’s the first one?” “Hell, even I can’t tell you that.” “What’s the second one?” “Computer or something? Check the sample, I think it’s getting away.” After that, I got recruited for real and sold my soul to the Foundation, and learned to keep my mouth shut. But I didn’t stop wondering about it. -- But I didn’t stop wondering about it, even when it nearly killed me. The research director, my boss, called me down one day. She had me sit down in her big office, and looked me up and down. “Records,” she started, jumping straight to the point in her usual way, “have shown you’re showing a lot of interest in SCP-001.” Shit, I had //tried// to keep the searches subtle. “How do you figure that?” “We know.” She smiled placidly, and brushed her brown hair back past that scar on her cheek, the one my predecessor told me //never ever to ask about ever//. “Anything to say about it?” I didn’t say anything. “Well, Command isn’t very happy.” Neither was she. She shuffled through some papers. “You’re not the first one, you know.” “Hm?” “To go digging. But like I said, it makes them antsy. Command. They don’t like people intruding into their territory. Long story short, you’re being transferred.” “What? Where?” “Ghana.” “Ghana?” “Not permanently.” She closed her folder. “I’m really, really sorry to lose you. They’re building a new site there and want experts-- you happen to be handy. Please pack your things.” “Wow, fuck you.” “Never heard that one before.” She laughed, like a dog. [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="7" hide="7" hideLocation="both"]] It was a project they wanted some coordination on, a new site and new containment in West Africa. So I went. It was built next to a little runway and some abandoned farm units-- a few architects were figuring out how to retrofit everything into housing and containment units, and the rest of us were solidifying the few units already built. There were four rows of metal silos being converted-- that was what we were working with. In A-Silo, where I was, it boiled down to cooking up compounds and a below-zero cooling system for volatile compounds, under an open-air shed, with cooking pots and camp stoves, and a bunch of big guys who didn't speak English. In short, it was like summer camp. Rolling on a hot, threadbare cot at night, under yards of mosquito netting, I was starting to consider asking for a full-time transfer. Then the sirens started up from B-Silo. Every one of us jumped up and started getting dressed, making our way to the food-cellar-turned-bomb-bunker outside. From the window, what looked like big arms of light were ripping into the silo. Were coming up out of it. I grabbed the guys who were lingering by the window and pulled them on. Outside, the bomb shelter was a mad dash away, and we started on it, but not before the entire ground lit up. It was covered in light, glinting off of nowhere. One of the guys stepped where it was lit, and he turned into smoke. From the ruins of B-Silo, there was a person made of pure starlight and aurora. It held its arms up, in wonder, like coming out of Plato’s cave. I heard people screaming behind me-- at least four of them were dead; there were three of us in the last mote of darkness. Until floodlights came on, slowly, like an early dawn-- enough to shun the thing back into its cage, and illuminate the ruins of the entire almost-site. All the buildings were burning, there was nothing higher than my head left standing. Thirty people were dead. Within half an hour, a helicopter buzzed overhead and settled into the charred nest of a building. We moved around slowly, trying to extinguish buildings or find what we could, or keep up a series of radio communications for help. Two guards rolled out and opened the doors, and I’m surprised they didn’t lay out a fucking carpet. O5-3 stepped out of the chopper. Suffice to say, everybody stopped. Everyone-- even some of the sad level-1 saps who didn’t speak a word of English-- stood up and didn’t say a word. Or breathe. The guy theoretically in charge now, another three with some history in the military, didn’t say anything. Three just looked around. “Whose,” he said, “fault is this?” I swear to God the wind held its breath. Several buildings gently smoldered. The other guy stepped forward, looking like he was expecting the grand firing squad any time. Three walked towards him. They talked. Three nodded, then looked around, at all of us. “I expect all of this will be cleaned up.” Then he got in his chopper and left. Once it drifted behind a cloud, the spell broke, and I ran over to ask the military guy what he said. It took a few minutes to get his attention, and then he just looked at me, staring a thousand yards away, terrified. “He said to clean up.” [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="8" hide="8" hideLocation="both"]] Two weeks later, I was back on a plane to Site sweet Site 27, and that was my encounter with Three. For a long time, I thought it was the suit. You could do anything in a suit like that. [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="9" hide="9" hideLocation="both"]] Brenda was ecstatic to have me back-- said she knew I wasn’t going to stay in Ghana forever, and dragged me around and showed me everything she had been working on while I was gone. Her department had been busy. She made me look all over one cell. Inside, there was a guy who could start fires with his hands; arrested over 15 times for petty arson. The main room was hexagonal and domed with a camera sealed off by glass at the very top. Mats-- Brenda said they were fireproof-- littered the floor, along with a chair, TV, and DVD player. We went up a level-- inside the cell, a ladder went up to a small bedroom, separated by a screen door. “Really?” I asked. “Go with it,” she said. There was a bed, mirror, and chest of drawers. There were no windows or direct screens-- we were looking in through computer screens, which she said were hidden in the ceiling panels. There was a tiny bathroom on the first floor, separated by a screen. Brenda turned to me, beaming. “Get it?” “Not really.” “Okay. Let me elaborate.” She turned off the screen and looked at me. “He can close the bedroom door on us if he wants. We won’t go in unless he breaks the cameras. We have permission to delay experimentation for up to 24 hours if he doesn’t come out.” “You’re kidding me.” She sighed. “We had to fight Ethics on it all the way-- but, honestly, he’ll never force us. We had a psychologist go through his history, medical, psychological, and criminal records, found a recurring desire to be recognized as an adult. So we gave him responsibility. If he burns any of the stuff, we won’t replace it for at least a month. An architect designed it-- no windows in the bedroom, no obvious cameras, it’s recessed, gives him a sense of privacy. He asked for the TV, but we’ve denied most of his requests so far. We haven’t had any problems. “The compound’s easily mass-produced. He’s only Safe, but we have very similar plans for Euclids and even Keters in the process of approval. See-- okay, you’re still confused. It’s not hard to design prison cells. The problem is, once you do, you have to turn every hallway outside the cells into prisons. Every laboratory or facility they touch has to be a prison. All of that really drives up the bottom line. And everyone they contact has to be a guard. Sooner or later, they stop caring, or try to kill themselves. “With this, containment becomes a cinch-- have a guy with a gun //somewhere//, but most of these guys will never try anything. The biggest problem with prison cells is that if you’re dealing with our guys, there’s always the risk that they’ll do something you don’t know about and then break out. You see what I’m getting at now?” “Sort of.” “Lots of our subjects say they haven’t felt this safe in their whole lives. We’ve designed the best prison cell in the world-- the inmates don’t want to leave.” [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="10" hide="10" hideLocation="both"]] There’s a worm at the heart of the tower, there’s a swamp under the city, there’s something in all of this. I didn’t know what it was yet. What it went like was this: someone on the council took a liking to me. I didn’t know that, at first, either, but I felt like Pip in London, knowing that some mysterious force was pushing me upward, but not the hand behind it. Level 4-- Brenda hated me-- Director of Research Analysis-- and favorable reports coming in from different angles. Little raises, favors, privileges, things they don’t do for Level Twos-- things that showed that someone out there was watching. I gave a presentation about some house to Seven and her train. She asked intelligent questions. The whole thing was a test, of course, but to what end? And Five came around once. Appointing new O5s was apparently rare to the point of legendary-- there was just something long-lived about them-- but even they need staff. But that gave them a lot of time to think, meaning I had plenty of time to worry about my mysterious benefactor. Five, adjusting his black-and-yellow blackbird tie like it was the most important thing on his mind, didn’t say much. “We could use more like you, at all levels.” He smiled. “You’ve been good with promotions up until now. Why so reluctant?” “For starters@@--@@” It seemed safe to talk, it wasn’t like they were going to throw me under a bus just for this-- “I still have no idea what you guys do.” Five just smiled. He didn’t say anything. “I mean, I’ve met you and Seven and sort of Three. It seems like you’re grooming me or setting me up for something-- hell-- destiny, or whatever, and I have no idea what.” “Yes.” “What?” “Well, you’re not entirely incorrect. As you know, we have a very large charge in the scheme of things-- running operations, managing what a site or two alone can’t, making sure the Foundation is moving in the right places and the right directions. We need the right people for our designs.” He smiled placidly once more and curled his salt-and-pepper mustache idly. “Which you still haven’t explained.” “Of course not. You’d need to be one of us to understand.” I was a little annoyed. “Are we done here?” “Absolutely. We’ll keep in touch.” -- It seemed like he actually wanted me to think about it, which was both refreshingly polite and terrifying. You hear stories-- people who some upper-level attaches to and pulls up the ranks just to play with, kids dealing with things they aren’t prepared for at all, the suicides and renegades and demotion-without-honors. Everyone thinks they can handle everything. Well, I was curious, but not that curious. Whatever could do that to a person-- I didn’t want to know that. I didn’t want to know who could. “You should be scared,” said Brenda, over the phone. “How scared?” “I heard they found out some staff member that was a traitor-- feeding information to the Chaos Insurgency-- and they didn’t tell anyone or do the normal thing. They just sent an email to the directors, and then one of them walked into the cafeteria and //shot// him.” “What do I do?” “Honestly... if you ignore them, they’ll probably keep hounding you. Maybe you should do it, but... you have to promise me you’ll be //so// careful.” “Right. If you hear about my body being found in a ditch or I drop off the face of the earth in a few days, tell my parents I loved them.” Somehow, Brenda didn’t think that was very funny. [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="11" hide="11" hideLocation="both"]] Six months later, a paper showed up on my desk. It said, “Will you come?” There was a little sketch of a flock of five blackbirds with it, which just seemed //obvious//. When the black helicopter landed and I finally went, they were waiting for me. I was taken to some obscure bunker in... BC, of all places, and they were waiting for me at a table. Thirteen. “We’re glad you’re here,” said Five. He looked at the officer next to him, a fat dark woman in green. “Seems like your work actually paid off, Seven.” Oh, Seven. Of course. I should have guessed. “It took time, though. You’ve got spirit.” She smiled. “Ready to join the dark side?” I didn’t say anything. “Speak up, kid,” an old woman said. “I guess so,” I started. “But you guys freak me the hell out.” There was appreciative laughter all around. “Have you figured it out yet?” Seven asked. “You spent so much time digging. Well, there’s no secret riddle at the heart of everything, that you’ll find out about. Just a couple of our private charges with no bearing on the rest of the world, and then... there’s only us. What do you think?” -- The briefcase, the first time I saw it, was on a table in a locked room. It was natty crocodile skin and shiny, like it wasn’t opened that often, and had some metal fixtures I couldn’t make out. We were looking through a window. “If you read that there, that would explain everything,” Seven told me. “But that would be too easy, so you don’t get to. That’s that. Over here’s your quarters for the next few weeks.” I had the notion, as we passed by it, that the window we looked through was plate glass, and that the room the briefcase was in looked exactly like a containment cell. Then again, so did every room here. -- So, this little building was the big Secret Edifice? This was the point of everything? Everything I was looking for had been right here? I wondered who founded the Foundation and what they had been thinking. I even asked Seven about 001. “You’re not very quick, are you? Well, stay with us in our little fortress for a while longer, you’ll work it out in the end.” [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="12" hide="12" hideLocation="both"]] But the Foundation-- I knew this by now-- wasn’t a fortress, it was a fly trap. It was huge and exotic and invisible and rotten to the core. All those other mysteries were just petals-- distractions. Once you’re at the center of it, it’s plain as daylight. Think about it-- they don’t seem to get older. They don’t get hurt. They can walk through a fire or a warzone, //no problemo//, which also makes them the luckiest bastards on the planet-- and isn’t that the most dangerous thing you’ve ever heard? God, I’d love to meet the genius who came up with this containment unit. SCP-001 locked away and never getting out. Brenda wouldn’t stand a chance. Seven lied to me through her teeth all evening-- here’s maybe the most powerful woman in the world, and she’s wearing a mint green pantsuit, and she’s lying at me through her teeth. She said that this was the most necessary position in the world, that she’d understand my reluctance now but expected me to shape into it-- mistaking my silence for confusion-- that I’d work out what they were designing the Foundation towards. She said it wasn’t complete. But the woman was a liar. Maybe if you saw it as a riddle, it made more sense-- Why does the Foundation contain? As a distraction. What is the purpose of the Foundation? To contain the O5 council. And that was the best flytrap ever made. But it was unfair. The Foundation literally held countries for ransom. We had a workforce that rivaled the largest companies in existence. A democratic government might be able to do a better job than us. It was unfair that we were putting every citizen in the world at risk without even telling them what the danger was. And as for //them//, the high court with the magic army-- well, I had a plan. I was going to run so far into the light with their secrets that they’d have to chase me there to get them back. I knew enough to outrun the coverup crews and hide from the snipers, and if they came for me themselves-- maybe they’d just fry like vampires in the sun. I didn’t do it that night, but two weeks later, I didn’t go to sleep. Seven had taught me security codes, and the first one I tried opened the door to that room. The other trick they have for making sure that people don’t do what I’m doing, is security-- when someone reaches four or three, the paycheck skyrockets, and the security disappears-- suddenly it’s all, don’t go, you’re doing us a service, we need you, we owe it to you. In this context, though, the only thing it meant was that the door on my way out wasn’t locked. [[/collapsible]] [[collapsible show="13" hide="13" hideLocation="both"]] The briefcase is heavy and cold in my hand, shaking as I run for it. I’m tired already, but it’s all I have, and my feet are pulling on in some direction as by invisible, perpetual volition. The first shapes of skyscrapers are beginning to glow on the horizon. I can see them clearly. Yes, I can see them clearly. [[/collapsible]] [[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>]]	2012-03-13T05:54:00	[ "_licensebox", "featured", "spy-fiction", "tale" ]	The Flytrap - SCP Foundation	305	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "resurrection", "kaktuskast-hub", "archived:foundation-tales", "featured-tale-archive", "competitive-eschatology-hub" ]	[]	12917843	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-flytrap
the-glorious-revolution	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><strong>Note:</strong> This is a <a href="/scp-1483">SCP-1483</a> tale, so reading it before reading this is recommended.</p> <hr/> <p>Soto was beginning to have second thoughts about the concept of Democracy. He barely stifled a sigh as his cohorts’ bickering entered its second hour, and his headache was getting worse by the minute. Gorza Dun Vent was currently on the attack:</p> <p>“Hubrus, would you make up your mind already?”</p> <p>“Er… I dunno.”</p> <p>“Come on already, you stinking sack of wet fur! I’m hungry!”</p> <p>“Umm… I vote for the Holey Pantry.”</p> <p>“Saqinian food again? We ordered that last night, and you’re the only one who actually likes that sodding crud! Where did you even get that flier?”</p> <p>“Don’t you oppress him, you four-armed bastard! He’s a gentle soul.” This came from Uniel Dun Vent, the "Watcher-Upon-All".</p> <p>“Oh, I’m sorry! I forgot you needed six arms to properly oppress people!”</p> <p>Freedom from the tyrannical rule of Utmai Cjen VI and the IIPES, building a place where everyone would have a voice, that was what they were supposed to be about. The longer Soto had to spend with the group currently called The General Independence Troops, the more attractive the idea of no one having a voice at all became.</p> <p>“Would you two be quiet? Hubrus, is Grey Mountain Country Buffet acceptable?”</p> <p>The huge man of Black Court shifted uncomfortably. “Err, okay, Soto.”</p> <p>“Now that the all-important business of takeout is reserved, can we finally move on to the urgent business of today?”</p> <p>“Fine.”</p> <p>“It is acceptable.”</p> <p>“Umm, okay."</p> <p>"No. I have a issue I want to discuss. It is of burning urgency."</p> <p>This time, Soto couldn't stop himself from audibly sighing. This whole "Glorious Revolution" business was turning out to be quite a bit more difficult than he first imagined. The root of the problem was, as ever, that he needed other people for it. And what a choice of companions did he end up with:</p> <p>First was Hubrus, the dimwit Black Court member. Stupid as the big furball was, he was still easily the most tolerable of the four. He was basically harmless, except for a strange fascination with some outsider creature he called "cats". Currently, he was wearing an enormous shirt with two of the mangy things plastered on it in bright colors. Soto had no idea how he got his hands on the garish thing.</p> <p>Second were the twins, Gorza and Uniel Dun Vent. They were minor nobility, and had an ego to match. While they were hard enough to deal with individually, together they were completely unbearable, mostly due to being in a constant state of one upmanship. Last week, Gorza started wearing this ridiculous Mender outfit he got from his art school, completed with two gag arms. He thought it made him look menacing. Naturally, Uniel came up with an even more ludicrous Watcher outfit the very next day.</p> <p>And then there was Glun.</p> <p>“I want a name change.”</p> <p>"Again? Come on, Glun, that’s the sixth name change you requested in four meetings! What’s wrong with it this time?”</p> <p>The fifth and final member of their company sat huddled on the opposite end of the table. Glun was an Eastlander, the only one Soto ever met. If all of them were as infuriating as the chubby little pyromaniac, he hoped never to see another.</p> <p>“It makes us sound like a bunch of pencil pushing bureaucrats.”</p> <p>“But you chose that name!”</p> <p>“Well it sucks now. I have a much better name: the Soldiers of the Oppressed Demographics. Makes us sound legit.”</p> <p>"Legit? Legit to whom? The Inquisition?"</p> <p>"I'm not going to discuss anything until we change the name."</p> <p>"Fine! Now can we please get on with today's agenda? Please?"</p> <p>There were no objections this time, to Soto's relief. "Alright then. First order of business: does anyone has any plans to overthrow the oppressive hierarchy subjecting the common man?"</p> <p>"We could burn down an orphanage."</p> <p>"…What?"</p> <p>"That would show them, you know. Make them understand we mean business."</p> <p>"I think you misunderstand the meaning of my 'what', Glun. It wasn't an "Oh please, elaborate" sort of 'what'. It was a "what the hell is your problem, you bloody lunatic" sort of 'what'!"</p> <p>"You never go with any of my ideas!"</p> <p>"That's because all of your ideas involve burning something! Next please!"</p> <p>Gorza raised his hand- one of the real ones. "I got an idea. I'll infiltrate the Shining Order using my disguise, gain the trust of its leadership, and organize a coup! The Empress would never expect an attack from her loyal Menders, she'll be entirely unprepared for it. It cannot possibly fail."</p> <p>The only thing stopping Soto from slamming his palm into his forehead was that it would only make his headache worse. "See, Gorza, this would indeed be a foolproof plan, if not for one little problem."</p> <p>"And what would that problem be?"</p> <p>"That outfit of yours? The one you're so proud of? The crux of your entire plan?"</p> <p>"Yes, what about it?"</p> <p>"It sucks. It wouldn't fool a blind stripped bird, let alone the leadership of the Shining Order. I suspect the only reason the Inquisition lets you get away with wearing it is that they feel so sorry for you. Your exoskeleton is made of painted cardboard, for Stone's sake!"</p> <p>Gorza muttered something under his breath, but settled down in his seat without further objection. Uniel gave him a smug look, then raised her hand.</p> <p>"And if your idea is the same as Gorza's, only replacing the words "Shining Order" with "The Royal Bureaucracy", Uniel, you can just forget it."</p> <p>Uniel's hand descended.</p> <p>"Anyone else?"</p> <p>To Soto's surprise, Hubrus raised his hand next. "Err. We could try to make a deal with the outsiders, maybe? I've been hanging around their embassy lately, and they don't look all that happy with the way the IIPES treats them. I think they want to see the stuff the IIPES has hidden in the Vaults, and they won't let them. So, we could go to them, and promise to let them see everything they want if they help us get rid of the Empress."</p> <p>The room was silent for a moment as the rest of the crew considered this.</p> <p>"That's the most idiotic plan I've ever heard, even from you."</p> <p>"I'm sorry, darling, but I have to agree with Gorza on this one."</p> <p>"And there's no fire involved too."</p> <p>"You know the outsiders are utter barbarians, Hubrus. They can barely be trusted to tie their own shoes, not to mention bringing down the Empress. What were you doing hanging out near their embassy anyway?"</p> <p>"I… I wanted to see the cats, Soto. That's okay, right?"</p> <p>"It's fine, Hubrus. I'm sure cats are very nice. Any other ideas?"</p> <p>Silence.</p> <p>"We put a rain check on it, try again next time?"</p> <p>"No! I've had enough! No one leaves until we come up with at least one plan, got it!?"</p> <hr/> <p>The crew sat on the roof of Uniel's studio apartment and watched the orange glow light the streets of Rootrel.</p> <p>"I can't believe you guys convinced me to go through with this."</p> <p>Not much could be seen from their vantage point, but the sound of screaming was unmistakable.</p> <p>"Hey, you said we had to come up with a plan, and it was getting late."</p> <p>Soto could hear the sirens of the fire brigade nearing the burning building. "Maybe they could stop the fire before anyone got seriously hurt," said Hubrus, who seemed even more uncomfortable than Soto with the entire ordeal.</p> <p>There was a sudden crashing sound, and the screaming suddenly stopped. It seemed the building had collapsed. "Oh."</p> <p>"When I burn something down, it stays burnt." Glun leaned over the rails, watching the scene with a worrying degree of enthusiasm.</p> <p>"You guys do realize this accomplished nothing, right? We are in no way closer to bringing down the Empress, unless those orphans were all secretly Inquisitorial spies."</p> <p>"They might have been, you don't know that they weren't," said Gorza, a hint of indignation in his voice.</p> <p>"They were always a shifty bunch," agreed Uniel. "And besides, even if they weren't, there's always next week, eh?"</p> <p>Soto couldn't argue with that. "Yeah, there's always next week."</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-glorious-revolution">The Glorious Revolution</a>" by Dmatix, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-glorious-revolution">https://scpwiki.com/the-glorious-revolution</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]] [[/>]] Note: This is a [[[SCP-1483]]] tale, so reading it before reading this is recommended. ----- Soto was beginning to have second thoughts about the concept of Democracy. He barely stifled a sigh as his cohorts’ bickering entered its second hour, and his headache was getting worse by the minute. Gorza Dun Vent was currently on the attack: “Hubrus, would you make up your mind already?” “Er… I dunno.” “Come on already, you stinking sack of wet fur! I’m hungry!” “Umm… I vote for the Holey Pantry.” “Saqinian food again? We ordered that last night, and you’re the only one who actually likes that sodding crud! Where did you even get that flier?” “Don’t you oppress him, you four-armed bastard! He’s a gentle soul.” This came from Uniel Dun Vent, the "Watcher-Upon-All". “Oh, I’m sorry! I forgot you needed six arms to properly oppress people!” Freedom from the tyrannical rule of Utmai Cjen VI and the IIPES, building a place where everyone would have a voice, that was what they were supposed to be about. The longer Soto had to spend with the group currently called The General Independence Troops, the more attractive the idea of no one having a voice at all became. “Would you two be quiet? Hubrus, is Grey Mountain Country Buffet acceptable?” The huge man of Black Court shifted uncomfortably. “Err, okay, Soto.” “Now that the all-important business of takeout is reserved, can we finally move on to the urgent business of today?” “Fine.” “It is acceptable.” “Umm, okay." "No. I have a issue I want to discuss. It is of burning urgency." This time, Soto couldn't stop himself from audibly sighing. This whole "Glorious Revolution" business was turning out to be quite a bit more difficult than he first imagined. The root of the problem was, as ever, that he needed other people for it. And what a choice of companions did he end up with: First was Hubrus, the dimwit Black Court member. Stupid as the big furball was, he was still easily the most tolerable of the four. He was basically harmless, except for a strange fascination with some outsider creature he called "cats". Currently, he was wearing an enormous shirt with two of the mangy things plastered on it in bright colors. Soto had no idea how he got his hands on the garish thing. Second were the twins, Gorza and Uniel Dun Vent. They were minor nobility, and had an ego to match. While they were hard enough to deal with individually, together they were completely unbearable, mostly due to being in a constant state of one upmanship. Last week, Gorza started wearing this ridiculous Mender outfit he got from his art school, completed with two gag arms. He thought it made him look menacing. Naturally, Uniel came up with an even more ludicrous Watcher outfit the very next day. And then there was Glun. “I want a name change.” "Again? Come on, Glun, that’s the sixth name change you requested in four meetings! What’s wrong with it this time?” The fifth and final member of their company sat huddled on the opposite end of the table. Glun was an Eastlander, the only one Soto ever met. If all of them were as infuriating as the chubby little pyromaniac, he hoped never to see another. “It makes us sound like a bunch of pencil pushing bureaucrats.” “But you chose that name!” “Well it sucks now. I have a much better name: the Soldiers of the Oppressed Demographics. Makes us sound legit.” "Legit? Legit to whom? The Inquisition?" "I'm not going to discuss anything until we change the name." "Fine! Now can we please get on with today's agenda? Please?" There were no objections this time, to Soto's relief. "Alright then. First order of business: does anyone has any plans to overthrow the oppressive hierarchy subjecting the common man?" "We could burn down an orphanage." "...What?" "That would show them, you know. Make them understand we mean business." "I think you misunderstand the meaning of my 'what', Glun. It wasn't an "Oh please, elaborate" sort of 'what'. It was a "what the hell is your problem, you bloody lunatic" sort of 'what'!" "You never go with any of my ideas!" "That's because all of your ideas involve burning something! Next please!" Gorza raised his hand- one of the real ones. "I got an idea. I'll infiltrate the Shining Order using my disguise, gain the trust of its leadership, and organize a coup! The Empress would never expect an attack from her loyal Menders, she'll be entirely unprepared for it. It cannot possibly fail." The only thing stopping Soto from slamming his palm into his forehead was that it would only make his headache worse. "See, Gorza, this would indeed be a foolproof plan, if not for one little problem." "And what would that problem be?" "That outfit of yours? The one you're so proud of? The crux of your entire plan?" "Yes, what about it?" "It sucks. It wouldn't fool a blind stripped bird, let alone the leadership of the Shining Order. I suspect the only reason the Inquisition lets you get away with wearing it is that they feel so sorry for you. Your exoskeleton is made of painted cardboard, for Stone's sake!" Gorza muttered something under his breath, but settled down in his seat without further objection. Uniel gave him a smug look, then raised her hand. "And if your idea is the same as Gorza's, only replacing the words "Shining Order" with "The Royal Bureaucracy", Uniel, you can just forget it." Uniel's hand descended. "Anyone else?" To Soto's surprise, Hubrus raised his hand next. "Err. We could try to make a deal with the outsiders, maybe? I've been hanging around their embassy lately, and they don't look all that happy with the way the IIPES treats them. I think they want to see the stuff the IIPES has hidden in the Vaults, and they won't let them. So, we could go to them, and promise to let them see everything they want if they help us get rid of the Empress." The room was silent for a moment as the rest of the crew considered this. "That's the most idiotic plan I've ever heard, even from you." "I'm sorry, darling, but I have to agree with Gorza on this one." "And there's no fire involved too." "You know the outsiders are utter barbarians, Hubrus. They can barely be trusted to tie their own shoes, not to mention bringing down the Empress. What were you doing hanging out near their embassy anyway?" "I... I wanted to see the cats, Soto. That's okay, right?" "It's fine, Hubrus. I'm sure cats are very nice. Any other ideas?" Silence. "We put a rain check on it, try again next time?" "No! I've had enough! No one leaves until we come up with at least one plan, got it!?" ----- The crew sat on the roof of Uniel's studio apartment and watched the orange glow light the streets of Rootrel. "I can't believe you guys convinced me to go through with this." Not much could be seen from their vantage point, but the sound of screaming was unmistakable. "Hey, you said we had to come up with a plan, and it was getting late." Soto could hear the sirens of the fire brigade nearing the burning building. "Maybe they could stop the fire before anyone got seriously hurt," said Hubrus, who seemed even more uncomfortable than Soto with the entire ordeal. There was a sudden crashing sound, and the screaming suddenly stopped. It seemed the building had collapsed. "Oh." "When I burn something down, it stays burnt." Glun leaned over the rails, watching the scene with a worrying degree of enthusiasm. "You guys do realize this accomplished nothing, right? We are in no way closer to bringing down the Empress, unless those orphans were all secretly Inquisitorial spies." "They might have been, you don't know that they weren't," said Gorza, a hint of indignation in his voice. "They were always a shifty bunch," agreed Uniel. "And besides, even if they weren't, there's always next week, eh?" Soto couldn't argue with that. "Yeah, there's always next week." [[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>]]	2012-10-22T18:44:00	[ "_licensebox", "comedy", "crime-fiction", "otherworldly", "tale" ]	The Glorious Revolution - SCP Foundation	32	[ "scp-1483", "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-2-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	14758881	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-glorious-revolution
the-halloween-breach	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>It was Halloween night at Site 19<br/> A more average night there could not have been<br/> Inside the researchers were hard at work<br/> Studying skips and their interesting quirks</p> <p>When all of a sudden, out of the blue<br/> The intercoms screamed "It's 682!"<br/> "He's escaped his cell, he's running amok!<br/> We've sent out the guards, and with any luck<br/> They'll find him with almost no damage done<br/> Until then, however, everyone run!"</p> <p>The sudden announcement caused quite a riot<br/> Afraid they would be the lizards diet<br/> Personnel all ran through the halls quite fast<br/> Hoping that this night would not be their last</p> <p>Just then the man on the intercom cried,<br/> "173 is loose, everyone hide!"<br/> "We're working hard to find both of these beasts<br/> So there will be no one marked as deceased!<br/> Remember: don't blink, remember to stare<br/> Or else you won't have time for a prayer!"</p> <p>Now the whole site was scared as can be<br/> No one survives against 173!<br/> To defend themselves, they all grabbed their guns<br/> So they might have a chance to see the sun</p> <p>Once again the intercoms spoke with fear<br/> "A mass SCP breach has taken place here!<br/> Not just the lizard or the statue that kills<br/> The Old Man is out and spreading his ills!<br/> And so is Able, and he's rather pissed<br/> About all the action that he may have missed!"</p> <p>"035 is free, it's found a new host<br/> And I'm also free, and making some toast<br/> The clown has escaped from his cell and TV<br/> And so have the 008 infectees!<br/> This is by far the worst breach ever seen!<br/> Oh, and by the way…Happy Halloween!"</p> <p>"Yes, everything was completely untrue,<br/> It was intended to scare all of you.<br/> This great night is all about treats and tricks<br/> So I thought I'd spook you all for kicks!"</p> <p><em>Site Director's Note: It pains me to say<br/> We were just tricked in a cruel sort of way<br/> Somehow a researcher thought it'd be great<br/> To frighten us all to a panicked state<br/> But I'm not upset, because as it were<br/> Now the fool's working with all things Keter!</em><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-halloween-breach">The Halloween Breach</a>" by CryogenChaos, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-halloween-breach">https://scpwiki.com/the-halloween-breach</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 Halloween night at Site 19 A more average night there could not have been Inside the researchers were hard at work Studying skips and their interesting quirks When all of a sudden, out of the blue The intercoms screamed "It's 682!" "He's escaped his cell, he's running amok! We've sent out the guards, and with any luck They'll find him with almost no damage done Until then, however, everyone run!" The sudden announcement caused quite a riot Afraid they would be the lizards diet Personnel all ran through the halls quite fast Hoping that this night would not be their last Just then the man on the intercom cried, "173 is loose, everyone hide!" "We're working hard to find both of these beasts So there will be no one marked as deceased! Remember: don't blink, remember to stare Or else you won't have time for a prayer!" Now the whole site was scared as can be No one survives against 173! To defend themselves, they all grabbed their guns So they might have a chance to see the sun Once again the intercoms spoke with fear "A mass SCP breach has taken place here! Not just the lizard or the statue that kills The Old Man is out and spreading his ills! And so is Able, and he's rather pissed About all the action that he may have missed!" "035 is free, it's found a new host And I'm also free, and making some toast The clown has escaped from his cell and TV And so have the 008 infectees! This is by far the worst breach ever seen! Oh, and by the way…Happy Halloween!" "Yes, everything was completely untrue, It was intended to scare all of you. This great night is all about treats and tricks So I thought I'd spook you all for kicks!" //Site Director's Note: It pains me to say We were just tricked in a cruel sort of way Somehow a researcher thought it'd be great To frighten us all to a panicked state But I'm not upset, because as it were Now the fool's working with all things Keter!// @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-10-27T03:53:00	[ "_licensebox", "black-comedy", "breakout", "comedy", "halloween", "hc2012", "poetry", "tale" ]	The Halloween Breach - SCP Foundation	103	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "archived:secure-facilities-locations-2", "holiday-hub", "halloween-contest", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	14811954	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-halloween-breach
the-keterlord	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>The Keterlord sighed, slumped on his stool, and stared down through his nearly-empty glass at the grain lines on the bar's wooden surface. Today was his birthday, but nobody at work had remembered or bothered to recognize it.</p> <p>He didn't feel much like a Keterlord at this moment, nor much like a lord of anything really—just another Foundation clock puncher who'd punched out for the day, now drinking himself into oblivion until the time came to punch in again tomorrow morning.</p> <p>He despised the nickname. The security grunts had given it to him on account of a certain, regrettable question he'd asked during his second day of orientation at Site 19. And it had stuck. Even now, nearly five years later, he was positive that at least a few of his colleagues didn't know his real name.</p> <p>"Fuck 'em," he muttered, before sucking down the last of his drink and pushing the empty glass toward the bartender: "Another scotch, neat." He was so accustomed to being addressed as "Keterlord" or "The Keterlord" that sometimes it felt more real to him than what his mother called him.</p> <p>That fateful orientation question had seemed benign enough at the time he asked it. After all, he held a PhD in Materials Science from MIT. He'd simply been curious about the choice of metals in a few of the Keter-class containment cells. But the wording of the question—"Don't you think it would be better if…"—had made him sound like a know-it-all, like an overconfident kid trying to assert his self-assured cockiness before he'd actually proved himself.</p> <p>But the Keterlord had proved himself, eventually, despite those early months of second-rate assignments and supervisors taking credit for his work. He had designed countless alloys, polymers, and composites to meet the Foundation's ever-expanding needs. From a fabric that could stop knives to a plastic strong enough to mold into firearms, he'd churned out new patents like they were lab reports. Still his colleagues mocked him with that nickname, even as his work produced containment cells strong enough to hold God himself.</p> <p>The Keterlord grinned at that thought as he sipped his drink. God descends to earth with trumpets blaring and holy fire raging, only for the Foundation to drag him off and lock him up in a five-by-five cell. Any prophets would get "Class C amnesiacs" of course, which as he understood was only the latest O5 euphemism for a bullet to the head.</p> <p>He downed the remaining scotch and pushed the glass forward. As he looked up to find the bartender, he noticed a woman at the other end of the room, sitting at a table alone, and looking in his direction. He could see green eyes behind her black-rimmed, technocratic glasses. Her dark brown hair contained a few streaks of grey, a few shades lighter than her charcoal suit.</p> <p>The Keterlord undressed her in his scotch-addled mind. She looked familiar—had he seen her at the Site 19 mess? Perhaps elsewhere? Before he could place her, she was leaning against the bar next to him, and he could feel the warmth of her side through his coat.</p> <p>"You work at the farm," she said.</p> <p>"I don't—"</p> <p>"—Relax. I do too, and I know you recognized me sitting over there." She smiled and raised two fingers to signal the bartender, who slid two full glasses to her.</p> <p>"Tough day?" she asked.</p> <p>"Don't want to talk about it."</p> <p>"That's alright," she said, handing him one of the glasses.</p> <p>"Thanks," he said, knocking back the drink in one motion. "I haven't seen you here before. What's your—" the Keterlord stopped mid-sentence as he felt the liquor hit his bloodstream, "—your," but he couldn't get the last word out.</p> <p>"Are you alright?" she asked with a concerned look.</p> <p>"I—" his vision began to blur. "I—"</p> <p>The last thing he saw was a discreet smile creep across the woman's face, then it all went black.</p> <p>___</p> <p>He awoke violently to a bucket of ice water poured over his head, which ached terribly, seated in a cold metal chair in a dark room.</p> <p>"Where am I?" he said, "What is this?" Then he remembered the woman in grey, the drink she'd given him.</p> <p>The room was pitch black, and even as his eyes adjusted, all he could see were the outlines of several figures in the darkness. He tried to move, but his wrists were cuffed behind his back, and he'd been strapped to the chair with thick nylon webbing. He heard voices whispering.</p> <p>"… . think he's awake … don't get too close … "</p> <p>"THE MIGHTY KETERLORD HIMSELF, I PRESUME!" another voice boomed from out of the darkness.</p> <p>"I'm not—" he felt tears welling up.</p> <p>"Don't try to deny it," a voice cut him off, "We know what you are, <em>Keterlord</em>, and you belong to us now."</p> <p>"You don't understand," said the Keterlord, "I'm just an—"</p> <p>"Just a what?" a third voice said, "A monster? A weapon? A plaything of your beloved <em>Foundation?</em>"</p> <p>"No! … I mean, wait … <em>what?</em>"</p> <p>"—a God?" said one of the voices, "An immortal? A de—"</p> <p>"STOP!" yelled the Keterlord, "Yes … YES … I AM THE KETERLORD!!" He heard feet shuffling nervously around him. "AND YOU MUST RELEASE ME! RELEASE ME, OR I WILL … I'LL, ummm … DESTROY YOUR MINDS WITH … with … FIRE … yes, WITH FIRE!!" A long silence ensued.</p> <p>"Impossible!" yelled one of the voices, "for we are wearing armor made from the purest telekill alloy!"</p> <p>"Chief, that's not entirely—"</p> <p>"Shut up, shut up, shut up! You know what, fuck you guys! Can't anybody deal with a little bit of goddam ad-libbing?! <em>Anybody?!</em>"</p> <p>"This is embarrassing. Carl, just turn on the lights already."</p> <p>The lights flashed on, and the Keterlord realized he was in a room full of his coworkers. A large sheet cake sat on the table in front of him.</p> <p>"SURPRISE!" they yelled, some less enthusiastically than others.</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-keterlord">The Keterlord</a>" by TheMadStork, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-keterlord">https://scpwiki.com/the-keterlord</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 Keterlord sighed, slumped on his stool, and stared down through his nearly-empty glass at the grain lines on the bar's wooden surface. Today was his birthday, but nobody at work had remembered or bothered to recognize it. He didn't feel much like a Keterlord at this moment, nor much like a lord of anything really—just another Foundation clock puncher who'd punched out for the day, now drinking himself into oblivion until the time came to punch in again tomorrow morning. He despised the nickname. The security grunts had given it to him on account of a certain, regrettable question he'd asked during his second day of orientation at Site 19. And it had stuck. Even now, nearly five years later, he was positive that at least a few of his colleagues didn't know his real name. "Fuck 'em," he muttered, before sucking down the last of his drink and pushing the empty glass toward the bartender: "Another scotch, neat." He was so accustomed to being addressed as "Keterlord" or "The Keterlord" that sometimes it felt more real to him than what his mother called him. That fateful orientation question had seemed benign enough at the time he asked it. After all, he held a PhD in Materials Science from MIT. He'd simply been curious about the choice of metals in a few of the Keter-class containment cells. But the wording of the question—"Don't you think it would be better if…"—had made him sound like a know-it-all, like an overconfident kid trying to assert his self-assured cockiness before he'd actually proved himself. But the Keterlord had proved himself, eventually, despite those early months of second-rate assignments and supervisors taking credit for his work. He had designed countless alloys, polymers, and composites to meet the Foundation's ever-expanding needs. From a fabric that could stop knives to a plastic strong enough to mold into firearms, he'd churned out new patents like they were lab reports. Still his colleagues mocked him with that nickname, even as his work produced containment cells strong enough to hold God himself. The Keterlord grinned at that thought as he sipped his drink. God descends to earth with trumpets blaring and holy fire raging, only for the Foundation to drag him off and lock him up in a five-by-five cell. Any prophets would get "Class C amnesiacs" of course, which as he understood was only the latest O5 euphemism for a bullet to the head. He downed the remaining scotch and pushed the glass forward. As he looked up to find the bartender, he noticed a woman at the other end of the room, sitting at a table alone, and looking in his direction. He could see green eyes behind her black-rimmed, technocratic glasses. Her dark brown hair contained a few streaks of grey, a few shades lighter than her charcoal suit. The Keterlord undressed her in his scotch-addled mind. She looked familiar—had he seen her at the Site 19 mess? Perhaps elsewhere? Before he could place her, she was leaning against the bar next to him, and he could feel the warmth of her side through his coat. "You work at the farm," she said. "I don't—" "—Relax. I do too, and I know you recognized me sitting over there." She smiled and raised two fingers to signal the bartender, who slid two full glasses to her. "Tough day?" she asked. "Don't want to talk about it." "That's alright," she said, handing him one of the glasses. "Thanks," he said, knocking back the drink in one motion. "I haven't seen you here before. What's your—" the Keterlord stopped mid-sentence as he felt the liquor hit his bloodstream, "—your," but he couldn't get the last word out. "Are you alright?" she asked with a concerned look. "I—" his vision began to blur. "I—" The last thing he saw was a discreet smile creep across the woman's face, then it all went black. ___ He awoke violently to a bucket of ice water poured over his head, which ached terribly, seated in a cold metal chair in a dark room. "Where am I?" he said, "What is this?" Then he remembered the woman in grey, the drink she'd given him. The room was pitch black, and even as his eyes adjusted, all he could see were the outlines of several figures in the darkness. He tried to move, but his wrists were cuffed behind his back, and he'd been strapped to the chair with thick nylon webbing. He heard voices whispering. ". . . . think he's awake . . . don't get too close . . . " "THE MIGHTY KETERLORD HIMSELF, I PRESUME!" another voice boomed from out of the darkness. "I'm not—" he felt tears welling up. "Don't try to deny it," a voice cut him off, "We know what you are, //Keterlord//, and you belong to us now." "You don't understand," said the Keterlord, "I'm just an—" "Just a what?" a third voice said, "A monster? A weapon? A plaything of your beloved //Foundation?//" "No! . . . I mean, wait . . . //what?//" "—a God?" said one of the voices, "An immortal? A de—" "STOP!" yelled the Keterlord, "Yes . . . YES . . . I AM THE KETERLORD!!" He heard feet shuffling nervously around him. "AND YOU MUST RELEASE ME! RELEASE ME, OR I WILL . . . I'LL, ummm . . . DESTROY YOUR MINDS WITH . . . with . . . FIRE . . . yes, WITH FIRE!!" A long silence ensued. "Impossible!" yelled one of the voices, "for we are wearing armor made from the purest telekill alloy!" "Chief, that's not entirely—" "Shut up, shut up, shut up! You know what, fuck you guys! Can't anybody deal with a little bit of goddam ad-libbing?! //Anybody?!//" "This is embarrassing. Carl, just turn on the lights already." The lights flashed on, and the Keterlord realized he was in a room full of his coworkers. A large sheet cake sat on the table in front of him. "SURPRISE!" they yelled, some less enthusiastically than others. [[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>]]	2012-06-20T22:33:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	The Keterlord - SCP Foundation	83	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13598916	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-keterlord
the-last-best-hope	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>D-3672 sighed anxiously as he sat alone on a bench in the staging area. For the past two hours, half a dozen technicians had been hard at work on him, making the final adjustments on the skin-tight suit he had been fitted into. Only the breathing apparatus and the goggles remained to be fitted to the apparatus that covered his entire body from head to toe. Between the suit itself, the weapon now attached to his right arm, and the massive air tank and power source strapped to his back, he felt like he weighed a ton. One way or the other, at least, it would be over soon.</p> <p>After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened and Dr. Andrews stepped in. "Good morning, D-3672," he said. "We've dosed your target with a tranquilizer it hasn't adapted to yet, so it should be out of commission for the next hour or so. I trust you've been fully briefed on what to expect today?"</p> <p>"Yes," D-3672 replied. For weeks they'd been training him how to use the suit, how to swim, how to activate his weapon. They'd shown him film footage of the creature he was intended to use it against, and lectured him forever on its behavior and its weak points.</p> <p>"Good. As I'm sure you know, the suit you're wearing took us years to design and is specially customized to your body. It's airtight, skintight, highly resistant to cutting and tearing, and won't be affected by the acid in the containment tank."</p> <p>"I know, doctor."</p> <p>"I just want to remind you how critical this mission is. We only have one shot at making this work. We've tried everything we can think of over the years to neutralize this threat, even things the Ethics Committee didn't want us to try. You, today, are our last, best hope."</p> <p>"Then I hope you'll remember our deal, doctor."</p> <p>"Of course. If you make it out of that tank alive and the target is found to be dead, you're a free man. And surf-and-turf is on me."</p> <p>Dr. Andrews lead D-3672 down the hallway, past the final checkpoint where the armed guards stood watch, into a room with a large, deep, acid-filled tank sunk into the floor. D-3672 could see his target crystal clear through the acid - a giant reptile, mostly bones and rotted flesh, bubbles percolating off it as the acid ate away at its exposed tissue, new flesh knitting itself into place almost as fast. A technician made the last adjustments, inserted the breathing tube, and placed the face guards in place, sealing him in. D-3672 looked down, took a breath, and dove in.</p> <p>D-3672 swam through the acid like thin air, and in seconds he found himself floating in front of the rotting behemoth. <em>This should be easy enough,</em> he thought to himself as his left hand made its way to his right wrist and powered on his weapon. D-3672's optimism was shattered, however, when the creature's half-decayed eyelids suddenly darted open, and he found two yellow orbs staring right at him.</p> <p>"The fuck is this?" D-3672 heard the creature's question clear as day through his suit. Frantically, he punched in the codes to power up his weapon. Red and green lights flashed up and down his arm as he felt the power cells charging, and within seconds, the Anti-Selaschic Kinetic Force Delivery System Mark 17 was active. D-3672 balled his right hand into a fist, cocked back his arm, and with every ounce of strength that he could muster and the weapon could deliver, drove his fist straight into the creature's face, forcing it backwards and taking off a chunk of its skull.</p> <p>The creature's blood tinted the acid and D-3672 breathed a sigh of relief. His relief was short-lived when the creature's half-demolished head turned back towards him, one good eye still staring him down. "Pathetic," it said. D-3672 barely had time to power the ASKFDS-17 up again before it lunged.</p> <p>—-</p> <p>Dr. Andrews stood by the edge of the tank, his head hanging down, a disappointed look in his face as pieces of D-3672, and of the suit and the weapon, floated lazily to the surface of the now pinkish acid tank. A research assistant approached him, carrying in his hand a bulky and ancient satellite phone. "Dr. Andrews?" he said. "I have O5-3 on the line. He'd like an update on the termination attempt."</p> <p>"Thank you, David," Dr. Andrews said as he took the phone from the intern. "Would you file a requisition for another D-Class, please?"</p> <p>David nodded and made his way toward the door slowly, not relishing the paperwork ahead of him. The facility had been going through D-Class like water recently, and this wasn't going to help their situation with Human Resources. David stopped a moment by the door, listening in to Dr. Andrews' side of the phone conversation.</p> <p>"This is Dr. Andrews. Yes. Yes. No, sir. Yes, the device functioned as intended. No, he's dead. Still alive. Yes, it's conscious. I'm sorry to have to say it, sir, but it appears that SPC-682 cannot be terminated by any means available to the Shark Punching Center."<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-last-best-hope">The Last Best Hope</a>" by Smapti, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-last-best-hope">https://scpwiki.com/the-last-best-hope</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]] [[/>]] D-3672 sighed anxiously as he sat alone on a bench in the staging area. For the past two hours, half a dozen technicians had been hard at work on him, making the final adjustments on the skin-tight suit he had been fitted into. Only the breathing apparatus and the goggles remained to be fitted to the apparatus that covered his entire body from head to toe. Between the suit itself, the weapon now attached to his right arm, and the massive air tank and power source strapped to his back, he felt like he weighed a ton. One way or the other, at least, it would be over soon. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened and Dr. Andrews stepped in. "Good morning, D-3672," he said. "We've dosed your target with a tranquilizer it hasn't adapted to yet, so it should be out of commission for the next hour or so. I trust you've been fully briefed on what to expect today?" "Yes," D-3672 replied. For weeks they'd been training him how to use the suit, how to swim, how to activate his weapon. They'd shown him film footage of the creature he was intended to use it against, and lectured him forever on its behavior and its weak points. "Good. As I'm sure you know, the suit you're wearing took us years to design and is specially customized to your body. It's airtight, skintight, highly resistant to cutting and tearing, and won't be affected by the acid in the containment tank." "I know, doctor." "I just want to remind you how critical this mission is. We only have one shot at making this work. We've tried everything we can think of over the years to neutralize this threat, even things the Ethics Committee didn't want us to try. You, today, are our last, best hope." "Then I hope you'll remember our deal, doctor." "Of course. If you make it out of that tank alive and the target is found to be dead, you're a free man. And surf-and-turf is on me." Dr. Andrews lead D-3672 down the hallway, past the final checkpoint where the armed guards stood watch, into a room with a large, deep, acid-filled tank sunk into the floor. D-3672 could see his target crystal clear through the acid - a giant reptile, mostly bones and rotted flesh, bubbles percolating off it as the acid ate away at its exposed tissue, new flesh knitting itself into place almost as fast. A technician made the last adjustments, inserted the breathing tube, and placed the face guards in place, sealing him in. D-3672 looked down, took a breath, and dove in. D-3672 swam through the acid like thin air, and in seconds he found himself floating in front of the rotting behemoth. //This should be easy enough,// he thought to himself as his left hand made its way to his right wrist and powered on his weapon. D-3672's optimism was shattered, however, when the creature's half-decayed eyelids suddenly darted open, and he found two yellow orbs staring right at him. "The fuck is this?" D-3672 heard the creature's question clear as day through his suit. Frantically, he punched in the codes to power up his weapon. Red and green lights flashed up and down his arm as he felt the power cells charging, and within seconds, the Anti-Selaschic Kinetic Force Delivery System Mark 17 was active. D-3672 balled his right hand into a fist, cocked back his arm, and with every ounce of strength that he could muster and the weapon could deliver, drove his fist straight into the creature's face, forcing it backwards and taking off a chunk of its skull. The creature's blood tinted the acid and D-3672 breathed a sigh of relief. His relief was short-lived when the creature's half-demolished head turned back towards him, one good eye still staring him down. "Pathetic," it said. D-3672 barely had time to power the ASKFDS-17 up again before it lunged. --- Dr. Andrews stood by the edge of the tank, his head hanging down, a disappointed look in his face as pieces of D-3672, and of the suit and the weapon, floated lazily to the surface of the now pinkish acid tank. A research assistant approached him, carrying in his hand a bulky and ancient satellite phone. "Dr. Andrews?" he said. "I have O5-3 on the line. He'd like an update on the termination attempt." "Thank you, David," Dr. Andrews said as he took the phone from the intern. "Would you file a requisition for another D-Class, please?" David nodded and made his way toward the door slowly, not relishing the paperwork ahead of him. The facility had been going through D-Class like water recently, and this wasn't going to help their situation with Human Resources. David stopped a moment by the door, listening in to Dr. Andrews' side of the phone conversation. "This is Dr. Andrews. Yes. Yes. No, sir. Yes, the device functioned as intended. No, he's dead. Still alive. Yes, it's conscious. I'm sorry to have to say it, sir, but it appears that SPC-682 cannot be terminated by any means available to the Shark Punching Center." @@ @@ [[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>]]	2012-07-05T08:13:00	[ "_licensebox", "black-comedy", "comedy", "hard-to-destroy-reptile", "murder-monster", "shark-punching-center", "tale" ]	The Last Best Hope - SCP Foundation	64	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "spc-hub", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13707925	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-last-best-hope
the-last-redcoat	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><strong>MisterKillam (Riley A. G. Killam)</strong></p> <p>It all started quietly enough, on a rooftop in Hajji Shah Wali Kalay, a name that nearly everybody, including Michael Oliver, hated typing in situation reports, after-action reviews, and area assessments. He woke up with the sun, having slept on the roof to take advantage of the cool breeze that came in from the desert to the south. Mike pulled his sleeping bag over his eyes, trying to shut out the sun, shut out the whole damnable country, trying in vain for a few more minutes' dreaming of home.</p> <p>After the sleeping bag started acting more like an oven, he finally relented to the call of his morning cigarette, sitting on his cot while he slipped on his sandals and lit one of his last remaining American cigarettes. By noon, he'd have to switch to the Afghan brand. They tasted of turpentine and felt like swallowing steel wool, but nicotine was nicotine, after all. Any chemical relief was more than welcome in a country that was dry in every sense of the word. The coffee boiled over a petrol stove as he read the notes from the night's radio traffic, insurgents doing nothing but asking each other what they were thinking about at odd hours of the night, nothing out of the ordinary for the ineptly tenacious gang of so-called Taliban that claimed the bazaar and surrounding farm villages as their sacred ground. Sure, there were bombings and rocket attacks, ex-Mujahideen turning against their one-time liberators, but these happenings seemed clustered in every district but the idyllic countryside of the Horn of Panjwai. Mike met with the rest of the team, discussed the day's presence patrol, spent a few minutes sharing some choice Pashto phrases with the perpetually stoned platoon of Afghan National Police who shared the mud-walled compound with their detachment, and set to preparing for the day's nature hike through the fields of pink flowers that surrounded their ersatz home.</p> <p>The first sign that something was out of place was the sky. The skies were overcast, steel-grey clouds obscuring the afternoon's hot sun. The weather forecast had made no mention of any significant cloud cover, and the rains wouldn't come until the next monsoon, in the fall. His teammates didn't notice anything, not wanting to look that gift horse in the mouth until they were done trudging through the hashish fields. As was his tradition, Mike took a seven-lobed leaf from one of the plants and put it in his beard, reciting the only line of Coleridge that anyone knew as he stuck it under his chin. They kept walking toward the mesa that dominated the Horn, moving to relieve the sniper and observer that had spent the previous day atop the rock overlooking their little slice of purgatory. They never took the same route twice, not wanting to invite a landmine from the local insurgency, and on this particular ascent, he noticed a small opening in the side, just big enough for a man wearing less kit than he to squeeze through. He told the patrol to go on, taking the new kid with him to check the hollow for any arms caches or explosives.</p> <p>Brian followed his team sergeant into the cave, slipping out of his body armor and pulling it in after him before donning it and searching the small cavern. “Boss, looks like it keeps going. We going to keep looking?”</p> <p>“Do bears shit in the woods? Keep your voice down,” Mike admonished. He knew he should forgive the kid, he hadn't trained in caves, he hadn't been up north, where the snake holes stretched for miles and housed entire underground cities. Still, there could be something deeper in. Mike radioed to his team to relieve the sniper team and make their way to the cave while he left a chemlight by the first bend. They made their way deeper, leaving more chemlights every few meters, switching on their night vision when the sunlight stopped shining deep into the cave.</p> <p>They first heard the voice after they had been walking for two hundred meters. It was too faint to make out, but it didn't have the slurred, fluid syllables of Pashto. They kept going, keeping quiet as the voice slowly grew in volume. After a hundred more meters, they could tell that the voice was shouting in English, calling for help in a hoarse, raspy tone. They pressed on more quickly now, deeper into the rock, straining to hear the plea for help over their echoing footsteps. “Identify yourself!”, Brian shouted. The voice simply continued shouting that it was wounded, that it was hungry. As they stumbled through the cavern, they heard it more clearly, discerning a British accent. Mike didn't know of any British forces that had worked in the area since the start of the war. He wondered how anyone, even someone from the SAS, could survive down here for eleven years. As he stood there, wondering, he heard a scream behind him. “Help me out here, boss! My fucking ankle's broken!” He flipped a blue lens on his headlamp and shone it at his partner, seeing the blood flowing from the open fracture. Mike worked quickly to staunch the spurting flow, prying his teammate's foot from between the rocks and splinting it as best he could.</p> <p>“You're going to be okay, we're turning back and we're going to get you out of here. You just earned your free ticket home, pal.” Brian grunted as the quickclot heated up, sealing off his wound. Mike turned to grab his radio, to tell the team that they were coming out of the cavern, but there was no response. They were too far underground for radio signals to reach the outside. He turned to lift Brian out, to carry him out of the cave, but he was gone. “Brian! This isn't funny, where the hell are you? Get back here so I can get us the hell out of here!” But there was no response. The rocks looked the same as they had when Brian was lying there, the blood was still on the floor of the cave, but Brian was gone. He had vanished without a trace.</p> <p>Mike doubled back, running as fast as the rough ground would allow. He knew that he should have found one of the chemlights by then, that he should be going back the way they came, but he couldn't find even a trace of light in the impenetrable black of the cave. He froze when he heard the voice call out again. “Your friend is safe. He's home now. You'll be home soon. Just follow my voice,” said the Englishman. Mike felt compelled to find him, bound to find where the owner of that voice had taken his partner. As he pressed on, the sound of his footsteps gave way to the gurgling of an underground stream, and the blackness gave way to a warm, flickering glow. As he rounded the corner, he saw a man sitting by a fire on the bank of the stream. He was wearing a red coat with a high collar, faded epaulets resting on his shoulders, tarnished gold buttons running down his chest. A dessicated husk of a man in body armor rested on a rock by the brook.</p> <p>“What did you do to him? What did you do to Brian?”</p> <p>“I brought him home, Sergeant Oliver. He's safe with his family now. Isn't that what you want, more than anything? To be home, as though none of this had happened?” Mike was too stunned to notice a bony, wizened hand reaching out to him.</p> <p>Mike Oliver had retired from the service after the peace brought about more downsizing in the Army. He had gone to school, became a doctor of history, a man with children and infant grandchildren, but every day of his life, whenever his mind was unoccupied, he saw a young man in a red officer's coat, just out of view, hiding in the corner of his eye.</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-last-redcoat">The Last Redcoat</a>" by MisterKillam, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-last-redcoat">https://scpwiki.com/the-last-redcoat</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]] [[/>]] MisterKillam (Riley A. G. Killam) It all started quietly enough, on a rooftop in Hajji Shah Wali Kalay, a name that nearly everybody, including Michael Oliver, hated typing in situation reports, after-action reviews, and area assessments. He woke up with the sun, having slept on the roof to take advantage of the cool breeze that came in from the desert to the south. Mike pulled his sleeping bag over his eyes, trying to shut out the sun, shut out the whole damnable country, trying in vain for a few more minutes' dreaming of home. After the sleeping bag started acting more like an oven, he finally relented to the call of his morning cigarette, sitting on his cot while he slipped on his sandals and lit one of his last remaining American cigarettes. By noon, he'd have to switch to the Afghan brand. They tasted of turpentine and felt like swallowing steel wool, but nicotine was nicotine, after all. Any chemical relief was more than welcome in a country that was dry in every sense of the word. The coffee boiled over a petrol stove as he read the notes from the night's radio traffic, insurgents doing nothing but asking each other what they were thinking about at odd hours of the night, nothing out of the ordinary for the ineptly tenacious gang of so-called Taliban that claimed the bazaar and surrounding farm villages as their sacred ground. Sure, there were bombings and rocket attacks, ex-Mujahideen turning against their one-time liberators, but these happenings seemed clustered in every district but the idyllic countryside of the Horn of Panjwai. Mike met with the rest of the team, discussed the day's presence patrol, spent a few minutes sharing some choice Pashto phrases with the perpetually stoned platoon of Afghan National Police who shared the mud-walled compound with their detachment, and set to preparing for the day's nature hike through the fields of pink flowers that surrounded their ersatz home. The first sign that something was out of place was the sky. The skies were overcast, steel-grey clouds obscuring the afternoon's hot sun. The weather forecast had made no mention of any significant cloud cover, and the rains wouldn't come until the next monsoon, in the fall. His teammates didn't notice anything, not wanting to look that gift horse in the mouth until they were done trudging through the hashish fields. As was his tradition, Mike took a seven-lobed leaf from one of the plants and put it in his beard, reciting the only line of Coleridge that anyone knew as he stuck it under his chin. They kept walking toward the mesa that dominated the Horn, moving to relieve the sniper and observer that had spent the previous day atop the rock overlooking their little slice of purgatory. They never took the same route twice, not wanting to invite a landmine from the local insurgency, and on this particular ascent, he noticed a small opening in the side, just big enough for a man wearing less kit than he to squeeze through. He told the patrol to go on, taking the new kid with him to check the hollow for any arms caches or explosives. Brian followed his team sergeant into the cave, slipping out of his body armor and pulling it in after him before donning it and searching the small cavern. “Boss, looks like it keeps going. We going to keep looking?” “Do bears shit in the woods? Keep your voice down,” Mike admonished. He knew he should forgive the kid, he hadn't trained in caves, he hadn't been up north, where the snake holes stretched for miles and housed entire underground cities. Still, there could be something deeper in. Mike radioed to his team to relieve the sniper team and make their way to the cave while he left a chemlight by the first bend. They made their way deeper, leaving more chemlights every few meters, switching on their night vision when the sunlight stopped shining deep into the cave. They first heard the voice after they had been walking for two hundred meters. It was too faint to make out, but it didn't have the slurred, fluid syllables of Pashto. They kept going, keeping quiet as the voice slowly grew in volume. After a hundred more meters, they could tell that the voice was shouting in English, calling for help in a hoarse, raspy tone. They pressed on more quickly now, deeper into the rock, straining to hear the plea for help over their echoing footsteps. “Identify yourself!”, Brian shouted. The voice simply continued shouting that it was wounded, that it was hungry. As they stumbled through the cavern, they heard it more clearly, discerning a British accent. Mike didn't know of any British forces that had worked in the area since the start of the war. He wondered how anyone, even someone from the SAS, could survive down here for eleven years. As he stood there, wondering, he heard a scream behind him. “Help me out here, boss! My fucking ankle's broken!” He flipped a blue lens on his headlamp and shone it at his partner, seeing the blood flowing from the open fracture. Mike worked quickly to staunch the spurting flow, prying his teammate's foot from between the rocks and splinting it as best he could. “You're going to be okay, we're turning back and we're going to get you out of here. You just earned your free ticket home, pal.” Brian grunted as the quickclot heated up, sealing off his wound. Mike turned to grab his radio, to tell the team that they were coming out of the cavern, but there was no response. They were too far underground for radio signals to reach the outside. He turned to lift Brian out, to carry him out of the cave, but he was gone. “Brian! This isn't funny, where the hell are you? Get back here so I can get us the hell out of here!” But there was no response. The rocks looked the same as they had when Brian was lying there, the blood was still on the floor of the cave, but Brian was gone. He had vanished without a trace. Mike doubled back, running as fast as the rough ground would allow. He knew that he should have found one of the chemlights by then, that he should be going back the way they came, but he couldn't find even a trace of light in the impenetrable black of the cave. He froze when he heard the voice call out again. “Your friend is safe. He's home now. You'll be home soon. Just follow my voice,” said the Englishman. Mike felt compelled to find him, bound to find where the owner of that voice had taken his partner. As he pressed on, the sound of his footsteps gave way to the gurgling of an underground stream, and the blackness gave way to a warm, flickering glow. As he rounded the corner, he saw a man sitting by a fire on the bank of the stream. He was wearing a red coat with a high collar, faded epaulets resting on his shoulders, tarnished gold buttons running down his chest. A dessicated husk of a man in body armor rested on a rock by the brook. “What did you do to him? What did you do to Brian?” “I brought him home, Sergeant Oliver. He's safe with his family now. Isn't that what you want, more than anything? To be home, as though none of this had happened?” Mike was too stunned to notice a bony, wizened hand reaching out to him. Mike Oliver had retired from the service after the peace brought about more downsizing in the Army. He had gone to school, became a doctor of history, a man with children and infant grandchildren, but every day of his life, whenever his mind was unoccupied, he saw a young man in a red officer's coat, just out of view, hiding in the corner of his eye. [[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>]]	2012-04-18T06:45:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	The Last Redcoat - SCP Foundation	14	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13174591	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-last-redcoat
the-last-word	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><em>In the autumn months, if you walk along the Site-19 grounds and you see an old rusted fence, you might want to see what's on the other side. Over there, the leaves will all crunch underfoot as you walk through the grass. It would seem to be just like any other part of the grounds. But look at the ground. Those stones are the tombs where many fallen men and women lie. D-Class, Researcher, Agent…they're all equal here. So pay a visit to the Site-19 boneyard. Read some tombstones. Maybe even find some old friends.</em></p> <p>…</p> <p><em>Margaret couldn't help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction as her saw sliced the last sinews of muscle, ridding her of the ugly fake leg some person had swapped for her real leg. Said real leg was lying on the table in front of her, glistening with ebony perfection. The skin was flawless, and the ankle looked like it was young and rich with calcium. The fake one had been gnarled by skin cancer, hideous moles, and wrinkled skin. But as she re-affixed her leg to her hip, she knew that her long foot pain nightmare was over.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Margaret Daniels - She always said that her feet were killing her.</p> </blockquote> <p><em>Dr. Vang waited impatiently by the elevator doors, key card in hand. He had some important tests to run, and he wasn't going to be held up by some creaky old equipment that couldn't open the doors on time. After what seemed like seasons, the doors opened. But where was the elevator? Grumbling about how these things don't work the way they used to, Vang stuck his head into the shaft to look around.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Looked up the elevator shaft to see if the car was on the way down - It was.</p> </blockquote> <p><em>Agent Ekblad checked his watch. 15 minutes, and still no sign of anomalous atmospheric conditions. The commander was going to want results from tonight's tests - they would be necessary for seizing it away from the Foundation. Juggling a connection to the Insurgency while working on a high level testing facility hadn't been easy, but when he was able to escape with the Insurgents after the gator was captured, it'd all be worth it.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>The head of a traitor, eaten by an alligator - Hope to find the body later.</p> </blockquote> <p><em>Paul felt a spike of pain shoot up his leg. These damned "heels" were excruciating. It would've been at least bearable if the skin and muscle hadn't been cut away, but Mr. Marshall had decided to do an "experiment". God, his bones were bending. He needed to sit. Get down. the pain in his ankle was beginning to break him he could feel it cracking and it hurt and it hurt and snap. He tumbled forward on broken, useless legs.</em></p> <blockquote> <p>Here lies Paul: he was tall, he had a fall, and that was all.</p> </blockquote> <p><em>Dmitri felt a bitter cold at the edges of his nostrils. The climb had been arduous, but soon he would be the youngest man to conquer Everest alone. The thoughts of fame and fortune could wait: he needed to actually reach the peak. As he dug his pick into a rock, he heard something. Who was that? How had he gotten up here…</em></p> <blockquote> <p>His foot did slip and he did fall.<br/> Help! He cried.<br/> And that was all.</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="/the-last-word">The Last Word</a>" by Anonymous, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-last-word">https://scpwiki.com/the-last-word</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]] [[/>]] //In the autumn months, if you walk along the Site-19 grounds and you see an old rusted fence, you might want to see what's on the other side. Over there, the leaves will all crunch underfoot as you walk through the grass. It would seem to be just like any other part of the grounds. But look at the ground. Those stones are the tombs where many fallen men and women lie. D-Class, Researcher, Agent...they're all equal here. So pay a visit to the Site-19 boneyard. Read some tombstones. Maybe even find some old friends.// ... //Margaret couldn't help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction as her saw sliced the last sinews of muscle, ridding her of the ugly fake leg some person had swapped for her real leg. Said real leg was lying on the table in front of her, glistening with ebony perfection. The skin was flawless, and the ankle looked like it was young and rich with calcium. The fake one had been gnarled by skin cancer, hideous moles, and wrinkled skin. But as she re-affixed her leg to her hip, she knew that her long foot pain nightmare was over.// > Margaret Daniels - She always said that her feet were killing her. //Dr. Vang waited impatiently by the elevator doors, key card in hand. He had some important tests to run, and he wasn't going to be held up by some creaky old equipment that couldn't open the doors on time. After what seemed like seasons, the doors opened. But where was the elevator? Grumbling about how these things don't work the way they used to, Vang stuck his head into the shaft to look around.// > Looked up the elevator shaft to see if the car was on the way down - It was. //Agent Ekblad checked his watch. 15 minutes, and still no sign of anomalous atmospheric conditions. The commander was going to want results from tonight's tests - they would be necessary for seizing it away from the Foundation. Juggling a connection to the Insurgency while working on a high level testing facility hadn't been easy, but when he was able to escape with the Insurgents after the gator was captured, it'd all be worth it.// > The head of a traitor, eaten by an alligator - Hope to find the body later. //Paul felt a spike of pain shoot up his leg. These damned "heels" were excruciating. It would've been at least bearable if the skin and muscle hadn't been cut away, but Mr. Marshall had decided to do an "experiment". God, his bones were bending. He needed to sit. Get down. the pain in his ankle was beginning to break him he could feel it cracking and it hurt and it hurt and snap. He tumbled forward on broken, useless legs.// > Here lies Paul: he was tall, he had a fall, and that was all. //Dmitri felt a bitter cold at the edges of his nostrils. The climb had been arduous, but soon he would be the youngest man to conquer Everest alone. The thoughts of fame and fortune could wait: he needed to actually reach the peak. As he dug his pick into a rock, he heard something. Who was that? How had he gotten up here...// > His foot did slip and he did fall. > Help! He cried. > And that was all. [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> \|author=Anonymous]] [[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]	2012-10-21T22:02:00	[ "_licensebox", "doctor-vang", "hc2012", "rewritable", "tale" ]	The Last Word - SCP Foundation	28	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:shortest-pages-by-month-2012", "halloween-contest", "archived:foundation-tales", "articles-eligible-for-rewrite" ]	[]	14745742	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-last-word
the-longest-ride	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>I'd gotten sick of the shuddering, the screeching and the scratching long ago, but I seemed to be unable to escape it. I'd born it, gritting my by now thoroughly yellow-brown teeth. Funny thing, riding an elevator. No such thing as elementary hygiene, but that mirrored back lets you enjoy your descent into hobo territory.</p> <p>A soft clanking sound and a jarring stop announced my arrival and I stepped back slightly as the door slid open. A wood-panelled wall in front of me, dust collecting on the thin molding running at waist height from left to right. That damn metal M dangled forlornly from the wall's pitted and scarred surface. It was cold and I zipped up my leather jacket just a bit further before carefully sticking my head out the doors.</p> <p>To the left were the remains of a very familiar hallway. It ended in a whole lot of nothing now, a jagged maw opening up into what looked like a Cold War version of hell. To the right was a dead end. I positioned the prosthetic leg I'd found three buttons down in between the doors to keep them open and took a few careful steps outside the elevator. Stepping over one of the M's companions in the middle of the floor, I made my way down the hall. The wind howled and an increasingly ominous creaking accompanied my footsteps the further I ventured from my starting point. After about three meters I gave up. No sense in all of this ending with me impersonating a puddle of goo down there. Not as long as I still had some hope of getting out of here.</p> <p>The city seemed to have been utterly destroyed. Twisted steel girders were the silent reminders that this place had lived at some point. As far as I could see they were bent out from my position. There was no sound but the howling of the wind, no life out here beside mine. Or at least, that was how it seemed. Perhaps somewhere down there, something…was. Considering my experiences up until then, I didn't care to find out what, if anything, was out there.</p> <p>I'd seen it before and I'd see it again; an emptiness taking infinite shapes. I stood there for a few more minutes, taking in the desolation and sorrow of the place. Then I hung my head and slowly made my way back to the open doors of the elevator. I plucked the leg back inside and watched as the doors closed in front of me.</p> <p>Sixty-nine floors down, twenty-seven to go before I'd run out of buttons to press. Perhaps the next time the doors opened I'd find this Mr. Salford-Watkins. Glancing back over my shoulder I looked at what brought me here in the first place, sitting in the corner of this small cell. Utterly unremarkable in its brown wrapping paper. I didn't think I'd deliver this one in time.</p> <hr/> <p>"He's been in there how long?" the fresh-faced junior researcher asked in a puzzled tone.</p> <p>Taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes, the man he was relieving replied.<br/> "According to our data about eighteen years. That's not what he's experiencing though. He sure as hell hasn't aged that much."</p> <p>"Wow."</p> <p>"That's one way of putting it. Look, didn't you read the brief before you came here?"</p> <p>"Yeah. Well, I skimmed it. What's he doing in there?"</p> <p>"The official answer? Being stuck in a temporal and spatial anomaly since 1994; one that we can't extract him from. My opinion? Being stuck in hell."</p> <p>"Wow."</p> <p>"Yeah. Wow. I'm done here. You have yourself a great month, I'm going to see if I can sleep without seeing that poor bastard's face in my dreams."</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-longest-ride">The Longest Ride</a>" by Crayne, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-longest-ride">https://scpwiki.com/the-longest-ride</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'd gotten sick of the shuddering, the screeching and the scratching long ago, but I seemed to be unable to escape it. I'd born it, gritting my by now thoroughly yellow-brown teeth. Funny thing, riding an elevator. No such thing as elementary hygiene, but that mirrored back lets you enjoy your descent into hobo territory. A soft clanking sound and a jarring stop announced my arrival and I stepped back slightly as the door slid open. A wood-panelled wall in front of me, dust collecting on the thin molding running at waist height from left to right. That damn metal M dangled forlornly from the wall's pitted and scarred surface. It was cold and I zipped up my leather jacket just a bit further before carefully sticking my head out the doors. To the left were the remains of a very familiar hallway. It ended in a whole lot of nothing now, a jagged maw opening up into what looked like a Cold War version of hell. To the right was a dead end. I positioned the prosthetic leg I'd found three buttons down in between the doors to keep them open and took a few careful steps outside the elevator. Stepping over one of the M's companions in the middle of the floor, I made my way down the hall. The wind howled and an increasingly ominous creaking accompanied my footsteps the further I ventured from my starting point. After about three meters I gave up. No sense in all of this ending with me impersonating a puddle of goo down there. Not as long as I still had some hope of getting out of here. The city seemed to have been utterly destroyed. Twisted steel girders were the silent reminders that this place had lived at some point. As far as I could see they were bent out from my position. There was no sound but the howling of the wind, no life out here beside mine. Or at least, that was how it seemed. Perhaps somewhere down there, something...was. Considering my experiences up until then, I didn't care to find out what, if anything, was out there. I'd seen it before and I'd see it again; an emptiness taking infinite shapes. I stood there for a few more minutes, taking in the desolation and sorrow of the place. Then I hung my head and slowly made my way back to the open doors of the elevator. I plucked the leg back inside and watched as the doors closed in front of me. Sixty-nine floors down, twenty-seven to go before I'd run out of buttons to press. Perhaps the next time the doors opened I'd find this Mr. Salford-Watkins. Glancing back over my shoulder I looked at what brought me here in the first place, sitting in the corner of this small cell. Utterly unremarkable in its brown wrapping paper. I didn't think I'd deliver this one in time. ------ "He's been in there how long?" the fresh-faced junior researcher asked in a puzzled tone. Taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes, the man he was relieving replied. "According to our data about eighteen years. That's not what he's experiencing though. He sure as hell hasn't aged that much." "Wow." "That's one way of putting it. Look, didn't you read the brief before you came here?" "Yeah. Well, I skimmed it. What's he doing in there?" "The official answer? Being stuck in a temporal and spatial anomaly since 1994; one that we can't extract him from. My opinion? Being stuck in hell." "Wow." "Yeah. Wow. I'm done here. You have yourself a great month, I'm going to see if I can sleep without seeing that poor bastard's face in my dreams." [[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>]]	2012-05-01T07:57:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	The Longest Ride - SCP Foundation	38	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	13253475	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-longest-ride
the-lycon-crevice	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <div style="text-align: left;"> <p><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/the-colourful-doctor">« Pt. 1: The Colourful Doctor</a></p> </div> <p>The entity crawled out of the cavern’s opening, pulling its bloated body forward. It had extracted itself soon enough, finally being free as the crevice behind it vanished and moved on. The creature knew its purpose as anything knows its purpose: it had been given the opportunity to form. It could both find its form useful for existence and prosper; or, it could find itself inappropriate and incompatible, and die. This was a standard affair, really, for a world in which life grows and proliferates in the forgotten corners of the universe like a rot on bread when given the opportunity. And so the organism set out to, as organisms usually do, create a humble little niche in which it could live.</p> <p>The creature raised itself upon its legs, walking on and finding itself on the edge of a mountainous forest, upon a widespread, stone surface. A watcher might have found it vaguely muscoid in appearance, with its wings a clever derivative of the typical insectoid structure. Four primary wings attached to the centre of its back, surrounded by smaller, broader protrusions which would allow it to adjust its direction – from the veins extended small, flat growths, serving as feathers do, particularly exaggerated around its lower, peripheral appendages. It is through this apparatus that the organism lifted itself from the ground into a meandering, hovering flight, before landing on a rocky outcrop, settling itself comfortably into a collection of ridges in the approximate shape of a human hand.</p> <p>There it sat, scouting the environment. To the east was the start of a forest, to the southwest a long grassland – the north being largely obscured by a close waterfall feeding into a river running south. As it lay there, this creature decided its next action, and the instinct which prompted it was developed. It set off, flying towards the forest in search of prey; whatever variety it may find.</p> <p>Aimlessly it glided, stopping occasionally on the ground or a tree-branch when it became too exerted. After some time, it came to land above a pack of grey wolves in the busy process of eating. Its eyes lingered on the alpha male, who was gorging himself on the carcass of a deer as the six lesser wolves loitered around the edge of their small territory. The watching fly stared, before raising itself from its elevated position and gliding into position over the lead – then, still unnoticed except perhaps mildly by the hungry, waiting beasts, it folded its wings and dropped on to his back.</p> <p>Within seconds, the little patch of land was a-flurry with action: those yet to eat, with their senses sharpened by hunger, drew the fly into their full attention and brought themselves into a defensive posture; the alpha female, closest to the predated male, snarled and whipped around from her chosen chunk of carcass, her sight drawn to this alien black thing which presented as clear a threat to her as any carnivore can comprehend of; the male on which the creature had landed, briefly startled – but only, and I must stress this, briefly, for any apex predator so easily sent into shock does not enjoy the luxuries of being alive for long – bit round with his teeth flared at this unseen attacker.</p> <p>The creature itself, strangely for the source of so much excitement, was largely calm. It wrapped four of its legs, strong and thick limbs at the anterior and rear of its body, around the abdomen of the beast below it, with its less pronounced and fragile midlegs trailing uselessly to his sides. A seventh appendage, attached to the base between its head and thorax, rather similar to a butterfly tongue, reached out and curled itself around the wolf’s neck. He, as he flailed about in his panic, felt a slight irritation as the fly’s mouthpart dug into his back. The insect’s gnawing was a futile attempt, it seemed, as the its crudely formed, soft teeth were only poorly derived from the traditional proboscis, proving – while apt for the process of feeding – useless for any form of offensive weapon. As it burrowed into the furry, flustering carnivore, it failed to do anything but nibble slightly at the tissue around his spine. Ultimately, however, that didn’t matter.</p> <p>There was some struggle from the circling inferiors after this, but for all their efforts, the fly kept its hold on the alpha’s back. Deeper into the forest this victim escaped, his malicious rider kicking at him as a man might kick at a particularly stubborn horse. After a while of this, the wolf tripped. His left foot had, in the prompted madness, kicked out randomly against an upturned root. Lying pitifully and feeling vulnerable despite his progressing calm as he became used to the organism which had taken up residence on his back, he attempted to stand again before his neck twitched the right – ever-so-slightly, yet noticeably. He stood, hesitated, then launched forward, curving to the right uncontrollably.</p> <p>After a while the wolf came to a standing stop. Indeed, he would have doubtlessly began to make peace with his unseen parasite had the wounds along his body not been so very sharp; instead, he stood pathetically trying to quell his tortured moaning.</p> <p>Suddenly, as the frenzied hormones in his system tired, a piercing cold crept into the alpha’s body. A whelp rose in his throat as he collapsed. For several minutes he lay on the forest bed, convulsing as his suffering grew worse until, ultimately, the last remnants of movement faded and finally stopped. For a short time, the clearing that the wolf had carelessly blundered into was quiet, before the creature lifted itself from his back, skittered to his belly and sunk in its mouth. Successfully tearing open the soft skin, it proceeded to – for the first time – gorge itself. The cold meat would likely have caused it to shiver if it weren’t so numb to temperature extremes, one of the many flaws of its development: as was the slow rate of eating, that deviant proboscis of its proving unsuited to chewing the remains it was being used to consume.</p> <p>It is entirely possible that these aforementioned flaws would have eventually resulted in the organism’s death and the prevention of its species as a result – that is, depending on whatever dietary requirements it had, and how regularly it needed to eat. While it was not affected by its own property directly, second-hand exposure could cause what had affected so many others to repeat, that this example would fail to speciate in whatever strange and illogical way a single member of a sexually reproducing organism managed to. In the past others would simply appear nearby once the original individual had established itself, along with evidence of their having existed for longer.</p> <p>Fortunately all this was not a concern, since the remaining wolves tracked down the creature a short while later and killed it.</p> <p>That may have been rather abrupt. It really doesn’t matter, since what happened then isn’t as interesting as what happened next: it was, after all, a simple matter of the somewhat stealthy alpha female wolf pouncing on the fly and biting down on its torso hard enough to leave it dead before fleeing from the area.</p> <p>With its abdomen now damaged so, the creature began the slow, gradual process of decay – its wings and midlegs, as a result of their fragility, were lost entirely, the rest of it decomposing in a rather strange manner. As the bacteria swarmed on its surface, its chitinous exoskeleton softened into a fibrous, flesh-coloured layer; its interior, as a whole, was changed into a simple, white, fuzzy fluff altering its body into this permanent, semi-inorganic structure. It lay there for a while, inedible, unappealing, small and undisturbed, for god knows how long.</p> <hr/> <p>The merchant was returning from the traditional trading journey into Edinburgh, with enough wealth to support him for the coming days – provided his habits didn’t get the best of him again. He was making the journey on foot, given the expense of using carriages for such a common trip as well as the surprising deficit of local bandits. Besides, his home was only a short meander through the woods, and rumours of roaming predators failed to frighten a sceptic such as him – he was far too confident in success of the success of the recent mass wolfhunts.</p> <p>As he was walking that path he’d so often walked, a sight caught his eye. Veiled in the brush and the foliage was… something. Something small. The man, curious, decided to delay his walking a little to investigate. As he approached this thing, it became clear what it was: humanoid, a rounded head, cloth… it was a doll. A little rough yes and he found it difficult to explain why it was laying there- but then… ah, it occurred to him! Perhaps it was lost through the window of a passing coach, presumably one carrying a young girl of upper class. Seemed reasonable enough. The doll laying on the floor below him reminded the man of something: his youngest daughter, who he’d always had a certain… special affection for, had been asking recently for such a thing. Being a kind father, he had, of course, considered those for sale in town – all too expensive, or otherwise forgotten as the man distracted himself with other, more personal pursuits. For weeks she’d been asking, and he’d never managed to get anything for her. But now, now the opportunity – a perfect opportunity – presented itself. Decisively, he lowered his hand and picked up the toy, placing it in his coat pocket for the rest of the journey.</p> <p>As he strolled back, he couldn’t help but be proud of himself, perhaps irrationally, for finding it. Truly, he thought to himself, she’ll certainly enjoy it. What a wonderful father you are.</p> <div style="text-align: right;"> <p><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/the-cyclical-child">Pt. 3: The Cyclical Child »</a></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="/the-lycon-crevice">The Good Captain Pt. 2: The Lycon Crevice</a>" by Bunton, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-lycon-crevice">https://scpwiki.com/the-lycon-crevice</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://www.scp-wiki.net/the-colourful-doctor « Pt. 1: The Colourful Doctor] [[/<]] The entity crawled out of the cavern’s opening, pulling its bloated body forward. It had extracted itself soon enough, finally being free as the crevice behind it vanished and moved on. The creature knew its purpose as anything knows its purpose: it had been given the opportunity to form. It could both find its form useful for existence and prosper; or, it could find itself inappropriate and incompatible, and die. This was a standard affair, really, for a world in which life grows and proliferates in the forgotten corners of the universe like a rot on bread when given the opportunity. And so the organism set out to, as organisms usually do, create a humble little niche in which it could live. The creature raised itself upon its legs, walking on and finding itself on the edge of a mountainous forest, upon a widespread, stone surface. A watcher might have found it vaguely muscoid in appearance, with its wings a clever derivative of the typical insectoid structure. Four primary wings attached to the centre of its back, surrounded by smaller, broader protrusions which would allow it to adjust its direction – from the veins extended small, flat growths, serving as feathers do, particularly exaggerated around its lower, peripheral appendages. It is through this apparatus that the organism lifted itself from the ground into a meandering, hovering flight, before landing on a rocky outcrop, settling itself comfortably into a collection of ridges in the approximate shape of a human hand. There it sat, scouting the environment. To the east was the start of a forest, to the southwest a long grassland – the north being largely obscured by a close waterfall feeding into a river running south. As it lay there, this creature decided its next action, and the instinct which prompted it was developed. It set off, flying towards the forest in search of prey; whatever variety it may find. Aimlessly it glided, stopping occasionally on the ground or a tree-branch when it became too exerted. After some time, it came to land above a pack of grey wolves in the busy process of eating. Its eyes lingered on the alpha male, who was gorging himself on the carcass of a deer as the six lesser wolves loitered around the edge of their small territory. The watching fly stared, before raising itself from its elevated position and gliding into position over the lead – then, still unnoticed except perhaps mildly by the hungry, waiting beasts, it folded its wings and dropped on to his back. Within seconds, the little patch of land was a-flurry with action: those yet to eat, with their senses sharpened by hunger, drew the fly into their full attention and brought themselves into a defensive posture; the alpha female, closest to the predated male, snarled and whipped around from her chosen chunk of carcass, her sight drawn to this alien black thing which presented as clear a threat to her as any carnivore can comprehend of; the male on which the creature had landed, briefly startled – but only, and I must stress this, briefly, for any apex predator so easily sent into shock does not enjoy the luxuries of being alive for long – bit round with his teeth flared at this unseen attacker. The creature itself, strangely for the source of so much excitement, was largely calm. It wrapped four of its legs, strong and thick limbs at the anterior and rear of its body, around the abdomen of the beast below it, with its less pronounced and fragile midlegs trailing uselessly to his sides. A seventh appendage, attached to the base between its head and thorax, rather similar to a butterfly tongue, reached out and curled itself around the wolf’s neck. He, as he flailed about in his panic, felt a slight irritation as the fly’s mouthpart dug into his back. The insect’s gnawing was a futile attempt, it seemed, as the its crudely formed, soft teeth were only poorly derived from the traditional proboscis, proving – while apt for the process of feeding – useless for any form of offensive weapon. As it burrowed into the furry, flustering carnivore, it failed to do anything but nibble slightly at the tissue around his spine. Ultimately, however, that didn’t matter. There was some struggle from the circling inferiors after this, but for all their efforts, the fly kept its hold on the alpha’s back. Deeper into the forest this victim escaped, his malicious rider kicking at him as a man might kick at a particularly stubborn horse. After a while of this, the wolf tripped. His left foot had, in the prompted madness, kicked out randomly against an upturned root. Lying pitifully and feeling vulnerable despite his progressing calm as he became used to the organism which had taken up residence on his back, he attempted to stand again before his neck twitched the right – ever-so-slightly, yet noticeably. He stood, hesitated, then launched forward, curving to the right uncontrollably. After a while the wolf came to a standing stop. Indeed, he would have doubtlessly began to make peace with his unseen parasite had the wounds along his body not been so very sharp; instead, he stood pathetically trying to quell his tortured moaning. Suddenly, as the frenzied hormones in his system tired, a piercing cold crept into the alpha’s body. A whelp rose in his throat as he collapsed. For several minutes he lay on the forest bed, convulsing as his suffering grew worse until, ultimately, the last remnants of movement faded and finally stopped. For a short time, the clearing that the wolf had carelessly blundered into was quiet, before the creature lifted itself from his back, skittered to his belly and sunk in its mouth. Successfully tearing open the soft skin, it proceeded to – for the first time – gorge itself. The cold meat would likely have caused it to shiver if it weren’t so numb to temperature extremes, one of the many flaws of its development: as was the slow rate of eating, that deviant proboscis of its proving unsuited to chewing the remains it was being used to consume. It is entirely possible that these aforementioned flaws would have eventually resulted in the organism’s death and the prevention of its species as a result – that is, depending on whatever dietary requirements it had, and how regularly it needed to eat. While it was not affected by its own property directly, second-hand exposure could cause what had affected so many others to repeat, that this example would fail to speciate in whatever strange and illogical way a single member of a sexually reproducing organism managed to. In the past others would simply appear nearby once the original individual had established itself, along with evidence of their having existed for longer. Fortunately all this was not a concern, since the remaining wolves tracked down the creature a short while later and killed it. That may have been rather abrupt. It really doesn’t matter, since what happened then isn’t as interesting as what happened next: it was, after all, a simple matter of the somewhat stealthy alpha female wolf pouncing on the fly and biting down on its torso hard enough to leave it dead before fleeing from the area. With its abdomen now damaged so, the creature began the slow, gradual process of decay – its wings and midlegs, as a result of their fragility, were lost entirely, the rest of it decomposing in a rather strange manner. As the bacteria swarmed on its surface, its chitinous exoskeleton softened into a fibrous, flesh-coloured layer; its interior, as a whole, was changed into a simple, white, fuzzy fluff altering its body into this permanent, semi-inorganic structure. It lay there for a while, inedible, unappealing, small and undisturbed, for god knows how long. ------ The merchant was returning from the traditional trading journey into Edinburgh, with enough wealth to support him for the coming days – provided his habits didn’t get the best of him again. He was making the journey on foot, given the expense of using carriages for such a common trip as well as the surprising deficit of local bandits. Besides, his home was only a short meander through the woods, and rumours of roaming predators failed to frighten a sceptic such as him – he was far too confident in success of the success of the recent mass wolfhunts. As he was walking that path he’d so often walked, a sight caught his eye. Veiled in the brush and the foliage was... something. Something small. The man, curious, decided to delay his walking a little to investigate. As he approached this thing, it became clear what it was: humanoid, a rounded head, cloth... it was a doll. A little rough yes and he found it difficult to explain why it was laying there- but then... ah, it occurred to him! Perhaps it was lost through the window of a passing coach, presumably one carrying a young girl of upper class. Seemed reasonable enough. The doll laying on the floor below him reminded the man of something: his youngest daughter, who he’d always had a certain... special affection for, had been asking recently for such a thing. Being a kind father, he had, of course, considered those for sale in town – all too expensive, or otherwise forgotten as the man distracted himself with other, more personal pursuits. For weeks she’d been asking, and he’d never managed to get anything for her. But now, now the opportunity – a perfect opportunity – presented itself. Decisively, he lowered his hand and picked up the toy, placing it in his coat pocket for the rest of the journey. As he strolled back, he couldn’t help but be proud of himself, perhaps irrationally, for finding it. Truly, he thought to himself, she’ll certainly enjoy it. What a wonderful father you are. [[>]] [http://www.scp-wiki.net/the-cyclical-child Pt. 3: The Cyclical Child »] [[/>]] [[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>]]	2012-08-11T19:12:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	The Good Captain Pt. 2: The Lycon Crevice - SCP Foundation	9	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	14017472	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-lycon-crevice
the-most-dangerous-game-of-all	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><em>Drip</em></p> <p>He was lurking in the shadows of an old oak grove, gazing at the dark, brooding form of the facility on the hill above. She was there. Drop after drop fell on Feldspar's head, as he remembered the day of the betrayal. The day she came for them. The day they died.</p> <p><em>Drop</em></p> <p>It wasn't supposed to be like this. Feldspar remembered the first time he saw her, all those years ago. Just a frightened young woman, seeking protection from some very dangerous people. She never said how she located them, or what she did to earn the ire of the Double Blade Triad, but she knew his family had a solid reputation of dealing with folks like them, so she turned to them for help. His father, hard man though he was, never even thought about refusing, and they took her in.</p> <p><em>Drip</em></p> <p>She was the most beautiful thing he ever saw: slender, gracious, fragile, every feature of her glowing with an almost radiant whiteness. She was everything he and his family weren't, but she had nowhere else to go. Hidden beneath the wet leaves, he recalled the first few days they spent together, during that long, lost summer. She seemed so shy at first, seemingly folding into herself every time anyone tried to talk to her. He couldn't blame her, considering what she'd been through; though she tried very hard to hide them, Feldspar could see the cuts left on her arms where the Triad hurt her. He swore he would never let their blades touch her again.</p> <p><em>Drop</em></p> <p>They grow close during her stay with his family. She quickly opened up to them, and they in turned soften up to her. She became fast friends with his little sister, and they'd spend entire evenings sitting on the balcony, chatting about nothing much and giggling like little girls. His mother was very protective of her, never letting her help in the kitchen in fear she'd hurt herself. Even his father soon learned to respect her. And Feldspar, well, he was smitten from the very first moment he saw her, and getting to know her better only made it easier to love her. They used to go on long trips together, hiking down the winding dirt roads that surrounded his family's grounds. What a pair they must have seen to an outside observer- she fleet-footed and light, he heavy and ponderous. She seemed better now, after a few months in the company of good people, but he saw it was just an act. She was still hurting, still scared to the bottom of her soul from the day the Triad would come for her.</p> <p><em>Drip</em></p> <p>That day came, and much sooner than any of them expected. They were just coming back from one of their hikes, when, rounding the corner, he saw a flash of garish orange and dull steel, and they were upon him. There must have been at least a dozen of them, and their long blades flashed upon his body a hundred times within moments of their initial attacks. Their attack was fast, brutal and overwhelming, but they forgot one very important thing.</p> <p>Blades didn't do much against the likes of him.</p> <p>He broke them, every single one. Each pain they inflicted upon her he returned tenfold, and when he was done, so was the Double Blade Triad. He let a few of them get away, their long blades shattered, to send a message to the rest. They told him he didn't understand, that she wasn't what she appeared to be. He didn't listen.</p> <p><em>Drop</em></p> <p>Once the Triad was gone, they could finally be together. Those were the happiest days in Feldspar's life. He would return from a day in the field to find her waiting for him, her face covered in ink from one art project or another. He would laugh and wipe it away, and look into those big black eyes of hers, thinking how lucky he was. His family couldn't have been happier for them. Things were looking good. Things were looking great. Until that day.</p> <p><em>Drip</em></p> <p>Feldspar shivered as he recalled that final walk home. It was a day much like this one, grey and gloomy, and he was anxious to be home. He was covered in mud, tired, wet, and in desperate need of a good wash, and so he returned an hour early. He noticed something wasn't right the moment he entered the house. The usual ambiance noises were replaced with a deathly quiet, and there was no sign of the residents. He couldn't imagine his family going out on a miserable day like this, so he went around the house, calling their names, getting increasingly worried with each empty room. The house was empty. Lost for thought, he went on to check the only place left- the garden shed.</p> <p><em>Drop</em></p> <p>She was there, standing over the corpses of his family, looking down on her grisly work. His sister, who was her best friend, looked like she was strangled in her sleep. His mother, who cared for her like one of her own, must have been ambushed and strangled from behind, from the expression now forever frozen on her face. His father, who let down his guard to make her feel at home, seemed to have put out a fight- her skin, still white as snow, was carrying the marks of his last desperate struggle. It wasn't enough. Finally noticing him, she gave him a smile like a razor blade. "How was your day, honey?"</p> <p>"Why?" Was all he could say.</p> <p>"Why?" she said, slowly advancing on him, "Because you never saw it coming, because it was easy, because you let me. Because I could."</p> <p>"We saved you! We looked after you! How could you do this to them!? They loved you! I loved you!"</p> <p>For a moment, something like the a shadow of regret flashed on her face. It was gone just as fast. "Well. Bad call, I guess. Goodbye."</p> <p>She moved faster than he could have thought possible, and he gasped in horror as her skin began to extend, covering him, suffocating him, drowning him in pure whiteness. He struggled, but his heavy form was ill suited for such a fight. The last thing heard before he collapsed was "Oh, and thank you for dealing with the Double Blades, baby. They were the only ones who could stop me. Now, I can finally move on to the big leagues."</p> <p><em>Drip</em></p> <p>Feldspar had no idea why she let him live. Perhaps she still loved him, somewhere deep inside. Perhaps she just wanted to see him suffer. Feldspar didn't care. He didn't care that he didn't know where she was, or that she was much smarter and faster and stronger than him. He would find her, and he would kill her, no matter where she went.</p> <p><em>Drop</em></p> <p>And now he was here. Tracking her down to this facility wasn't easy, but luckily for him, he had several associates in critical positions inside. He wasn't sure what she wanted to do there, or how she made it in, considering how clever the men in charge of the facility were supposed to be. Most likely she used their intelligence against them, made them think she was theirs to control, that they were the one who created her. It seemed like her style, and she had done it before. He wondered what she called herself now.</p> <p>He heard that they called her SCP-085. Cassy. That papery bitch was so close he could almost touch her, and she had nowhere to run now. There was only one issue left to resolve.</p> <p><em>Drip</em></p> <p>How the hell was he going to roll up that hill?</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-most-dangerous-game-of-all">The Most Dangerous Game of All</a>" by Dmatix, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-most-dangerous-game-of-all">https://scpwiki.com/the-most-dangerous-game-of-all</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// He was lurking in the shadows of an old oak grove, gazing at the dark, brooding form of the facility on the hill above. She was there. Drop after drop fell on Feldspar's head, as he remembered the day of the betrayal. The day she came for them. The day they died. //Drop// It wasn't supposed to be like this. Feldspar remembered the first time he saw her, all those years ago. Just a frightened young woman, seeking protection from some very dangerous people. She never said how she located them, or what she did to earn the ire of the Double Blade Triad, but she knew his family had a solid reputation of dealing with folks like them, so she turned to them for help. His father, hard man though he was, never even thought about refusing, and they took her in. //Drip// She was the most beautiful thing he ever saw: slender, gracious, fragile, every feature of her glowing with an almost radiant whiteness. She was everything he and his family weren't, but she had nowhere else to go. Hidden beneath the wet leaves, he recalled the first few days they spent together, during that long, lost summer. She seemed so shy at first, seemingly folding into herself every time anyone tried to talk to her. He couldn't blame her, considering what she'd been through; though she tried very hard to hide them, Feldspar could see the cuts left on her arms where the Triad hurt her. He swore he would never let their blades touch her again. //Drop// They grow close during her stay with his family. She quickly opened up to them, and they in turned soften up to her. She became fast friends with his little sister, and they'd spend entire evenings sitting on the balcony, chatting about nothing much and giggling like little girls. His mother was very protective of her, never letting her help in the kitchen in fear she'd hurt herself. Even his father soon learned to respect her. And Feldspar, well, he was smitten from the very first moment he saw her, and getting to know her better only made it easier to love her. They used to go on long trips together, hiking down the winding dirt roads that surrounded his family's grounds. What a pair they must have seen to an outside observer- she fleet-footed and light, he heavy and ponderous. She seemed better now, after a few months in the company of good people, but he saw it was just an act. She was still hurting, still scared to the bottom of her soul from the day the Triad would come for her. //Drip// That day came, and much sooner than any of them expected. They were just coming back from one of their hikes, when, rounding the corner, he saw a flash of garish orange and dull steel, and they were upon him. There must have been at least a dozen of them, and their long blades flashed upon his body a hundred times within moments of their initial attacks. Their attack was fast, brutal and overwhelming, but they forgot one very important thing. Blades didn't do much against the likes of him. He broke them, every single one. Each pain they inflicted upon her he returned tenfold, and when he was done, so was the Double Blade Triad. He let a few of them get away, their long blades shattered, to send a message to the rest. They told him he didn't understand, that she wasn't what she appeared to be. He didn't listen. //Drop// Once the Triad was gone, they could finally be together. Those were the happiest days in Feldspar's life. He would return from a day in the field to find her waiting for him, her face covered in ink from one art project or another. He would laugh and wipe it away, and look into those big black eyes of hers, thinking how lucky he was. His family couldn't have been happier for them. Things were looking good. Things were looking great. Until that day. //Drip// Feldspar shivered as he recalled that final walk home. It was a day much like this one, grey and gloomy, and he was anxious to be home. He was covered in mud, tired, wet, and in desperate need of a good wash, and so he returned an hour early. He noticed something wasn't right the moment he entered the house. The usual ambiance noises were replaced with a deathly quiet, and there was no sign of the residents. He couldn't imagine his family going out on a miserable day like this, so he went around the house, calling their names, getting increasingly worried with each empty room. The house was empty. Lost for thought, he went on to check the only place left- the garden shed. //Drop// She was there, standing over the corpses of his family, looking down on her grisly work. His sister, who was her best friend, looked like she was strangled in her sleep. His mother, who cared for her like one of her own, must have been ambushed and strangled from behind, from the expression now forever frozen on her face. His father, who let down his guard to make her feel at home, seemed to have put out a fight- her skin, still white as snow, was carrying the marks of his last desperate struggle. It wasn't enough. Finally noticing him, she gave him a smile like a razor blade. "How was your day, honey?" "Why?" Was all he could say. "Why?" she said, slowly advancing on him, "Because you never saw it coming, because it was easy, because you let me. Because I could." "We saved you! We looked after you! How could you do this to them!? They loved you! I loved you!" For a moment, something like the a shadow of regret flashed on her face. It was gone just as fast. "Well. Bad call, I guess. Goodbye." She moved faster than he could have thought possible, and he gasped in horror as her skin began to extend, covering him, suffocating him, drowning him in pure whiteness. He struggled, but his heavy form was ill suited for such a fight. The last thing heard before he collapsed was "Oh, and thank you for dealing with the Double Blades, baby. They were the only ones who could stop me. Now, I can finally move on to the big leagues." //Drip// Feldspar had no idea why she let him live. Perhaps she still loved him, somewhere deep inside. Perhaps she just wanted to see him suffer. Feldspar didn't care. He didn't care that he didn't know where she was, or that she was much smarter and faster and stronger than him. He would find her, and he would kill her, no matter where she went. //Drop// And now he was here. Tracking her down to this facility wasn't easy, but luckily for him, he had several associates in critical positions inside. He wasn't sure what she wanted to do there, or how she made it in, considering how clever the men in charge of the facility were supposed to be. Most likely she used their intelligence against them, made them think she was theirs to control, that they were the one who created her. It seemed like her style, and she had done it before. He wondered what she called herself now. He heard that they called her SCP-085. Cassy. That papery bitch was so close he could almost touch her, and she had nowhere to run now. There was only one issue left to resolve. //Drip// How the hell was he going to roll up that hill? [[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>]]	2012-12-12T23:36:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	The Most Dangerous Game of All - SCP Foundation	85	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "scp-series-1-tales-edition", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	15388905	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-most-dangerous-game-of-all
the-only-way-to-travel	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <br/> "So…you want coffee or anything? I think I have some left on the nightstand." <p>"No, thank you."</p> <p>"Okay."</p> <p>"Mr. Brown, while I appreciate the pleasantries, I am here on investigation, namely the events surrounding Captain Anderson’s death and you coming into command of the Foundation's lone combat zeppelin.”</p> <p>“Well…um…”</p> <p>“Please, Mr. Brown, wait until I have begun recording. <em>Mmm-hmm</em>. Case File 20121108-6, regarding the destruction of Station HALO-3, overseen by Anjali Mhasalkar. Please state your name and identification number for the record.”</p> <p>“Uh…Lawrence Brown, 30221-1/994.”</p> <p>“Now then, Mr. Brown. Please explain the events leading up to the incident.”</p> <p>“Okay…uh, I was transferred to HALO-3 on September 1st of this year, as part of Project Skylight under Doctor Mandelson. We were training SCP-994 specimens for reconnaissance missions.”</p> <p>“Did you at any time come into contact with any other objects or entities within the station?”</p> <p>“No, never. We were all given the standard briefing during transferal, all the emergency codes in case of breaches and evacuation protocols, but that was it. Just usual stuff.”</p> <p>“Go on.”</p> <p>“Uh…Not much happened for two months. We weren’t having any major problems with Project Skylight: no major problems with the implants, and 994s are pretty trainable if you start them small. We were working on getting them to fly courses more than five kilometers out from the station when the incident happened.”</p> <p>“Please describe what happened that morning.”</p> <p>“Well, the <em>Bonham</em> had docked at around four, I woke up at six, usual routine, went down to the 994 hangar at eight-thirty. We was doing some adjustments to the GPS implants. They kept messing up during flight, had no idea why. Dr. Mandelson and Logan and Ari were there with me.”</p> <p>“Had you had any contact with the SCPU <em>Bonham</em>, its crew, or its cargo before the incident?”</p> <p>“No, I just knew that they were docked at the station and were going to head out the next day.”</p> <p>“Station security records transmitted before destruction indicate that there was a containment breach of the high-security experimentation chamber at ten-seventeen, releasing E-7804 into the surrounding modules. Please describe what you experienced.”</p> <p>“There was an explosion, I think. Just this big thud, but from where I was you could barely hear it. Then the sirens started going off and the flock just scatters out of the hangar. We locked down the hangar and the lab, and we were waiting in there for…maybe twenty minutes. Nothing over the speakers but the general lockdown announcement. We had no idea what was going on.”</p> <p>“Did anything unusual occur to you during lockdown?”</p> <p>“No, nothing. Lockdown ended after about twenty minutes or so, so Dr. Mandelson contacted control to see what was going on. No one answered. Mandelson sent out a distress signal and we all made our way to one of the escape shuttles, just like protocol.”</p> <p>“Continue.”</p> <p>“So we had no idea what was going on, it wasn’t anything that we’d been briefed on, so we presumed that it was something the <em>Bonham</em> had brought it to us.”</p> <p>“You are correct.”</p> <p>“The shuttle was right next to the hangar, so we get over to it quick, but it wouldn’t launch. Dr. Mandelson said someone must have messed it up from command, and then he said that we should investigate, see if we could find security or command or someone who knew what was going on.</p> <p>“I was at the back of the group, they were at the front, so I was able to see the whole thing when we got jumped by the creature and… and …"</p> <p>“Would you like me to pause the recording?”</p> <p>“Yeah…yeah. Just give me a bit.”</p> <p>“Very well.”</p> <p>—</p> <p>“Can you describe the creature?”</p> <p>“Well… it was humanoid. Didn’t change too much of the host. It was more of an outer covering, like someone had taken clay and molded it around the person. Grey with red circuit-board-looking designs.”</p> <p>“And then what did you do?”</p> <p>“I hit it with a fire extinguisher and ran away while it was down.”</p> <p>“What did you plan on doing?”</p> <p>“If command was quiet and the shuttles weren’t launching, then the only real way to get off was the <em>Bonham</em>, I thought, so I went that way. I could hear some fighting from some of the other levels: stayed as far away from that as I could. Took the maintenance shafts.”</p> <p>“Did you consider that a threat?”</p> <p>“At that point, I figured I was either going to die, or I wasn’t. Fifty-fifty chance, so it didn’t matter what I tried. I wasn’t thinking too clearly at that point. Just running off of adrenaline and fear.”</p> <p>“Did you encounter any more of the creatures?”</p> <p>“Three of them, but they didn’t notice me. They don’t see or hear normally I don’t think. Move slowly and quietly enough and they can’t tell that you’re there.”</p> <p>“What happened when you reached the docking bay?”</p> <p>“The <em>Bonham</em> was still there, but none of the crew. Not a soul in the bay. I thought that they were all on the ship, but if that was the case, why hadn’t they taken off? So I walked towards the ship, hands in the air, and as I approach the ramp lowers and a whole strike team just runs out and stands there. It’s like I’m not even there. They just stand there in two neat rows, and I guess Captain Anderson walks out, except…he’s got like this war paint on and everything. Tore up his uniform, looks like he jumped off the deep end from orbit, big grin on his face. He actually notices me. Walks down the ramp, and he’s got his arms out like this, all smug and everything. Like he’s the villain in some pirate movie. Even had an eye patch.”</p> <p>“What did he say to you?”</p> <p>“He didn’t really say anything, before he walked over and headbutted me. Then he said ‘how’s it going, motherfucker’?”</p> <p>“And this lead to your injuries, I presume?”</p> <p>“Yeah, he just beat the tar out of me for a bit, said something, not sure what, and then had one of the strike team guys carry me back into the ship. It must have been some powerful conditioning to override the standard set: Those guys were zombies.”</p> <p>“Continue.”</p> <p>“I was half-conscious at this point, so I really don’t have that good of an idea what was going on, but I know I was able to see out the window enough to see that the station was covered in the clay-like stuff, big gobs of it. Like it had been maybe an hour, hour and a half since the breach? I’ll be damned if that’s not Keter.”</p> <p>“And you would be right.”</p> <p>“I think Anderson says something about missing the fun and work to do, and after that, nothing until I woke up here in medical.”</p> <p>“No memories at all?”</p> <p>“Bits and pieces, but they’re all blurred…except for the bit at the end, when the recovery team got there, I remember waving something around and shouting 'I am the captain, and this is my crew, and this is the SCPU <em>Fuck You</em>’.”</p> <p>“You would be correct.”</p> <p>“And that’s it.”</p> <p>“Very well. Mr. Brown, have you been informed of what went on during your blackout?</p> <p>“Not really — bits and pieces.”</p> <p>“You killed thirteen Chaos Insurgency agents with a shotgun and rammed the <em>Bonham</em> into the station’s anti-gravity ring, triggering its self-destruct sequence. All told, this incident resulted in the complete destruction of one of our HALO facilities, the death of one hundred and eighty-six personnel, the destruction of twenty-two anomalous objects, the loss of experimental technology valued in the range of ten billion dollars, damaged relations with three of our major extra-universal suppliers, and one of the largest cover-up efforts of the last decade. However, you also prevented an attempt to disperse E-7804 into the Pacific Ocean, which would have required a global restructuring event to contain.”</p> <p>“Oh…wow…"</p> <p>“Consider this a commendation for inadvertent heroism.”</p> <p>“I have a question, though.”</p> <p>“Go on.”</p> <p>“Why exactly do we have a combat zeppelin?”</p> <p>“That’s classified, Mr. Brown.”</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-only-way-to-travel">The Only Way To Travel</a>" by Djoric, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-only-way-to-travel">https://scpwiki.com/the-only-way-to-travel</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…you want coffee or anything? I think I have some left on the nightstand." "No, thank you." "Okay." "Mr. Brown, while I appreciate the pleasantries, I am here on investigation, namely the events surrounding Captain Anderson’s death and you coming into command of the Foundation's lone combat zeppelin.” “Well…um…” “Please, Mr. Brown, wait until I have begun recording. //Mmm-hmm//. Case File 20121108-6, regarding the destruction of Station HALO-3, overseen by Anjali Mhasalkar. Please state your name and identification number for the record.” “Uh…Lawrence Brown, 30221-1/994.” “Now then, Mr. Brown. Please explain the events leading up to the incident.” “Okay…uh, I was transferred to HALO-3 on September 1st of this year, as part of Project Skylight under Doctor Mandelson. We were training SCP-994 specimens for reconnaissance missions.” “Did you at any time come into contact with any other objects or entities within the station?” “No, never. We were all given the standard briefing during transferal, all the emergency codes in case of breaches and evacuation protocols, but that was it. Just usual stuff.” “Go on.” “Uh…Not much happened for two months. We weren’t having any major problems with Project Skylight: no major problems with the implants, and 994s are pretty trainable if you start them small. We were working on getting them to fly courses more than five kilometers out from the station when the incident happened.” “Please describe what happened that morning.” “Well, the //Bonham// had docked at around four, I woke up at six, usual routine, went down to the 994 hangar at eight-thirty. We was doing some adjustments to the GPS implants. They kept messing up during flight, had no idea why. Dr. Mandelson and Logan and Ari were there with me.” “Had you had any contact with the SCPU //Bonham//, its crew, or its cargo before the incident?” “No, I just knew that they were docked at the station and were going to head out the next day.” “Station security records transmitted before destruction indicate that there was a containment breach of the high-security experimentation chamber at ten-seventeen, releasing E-7804 into the surrounding modules. Please describe what you experienced.” “There was an explosion, I think. Just this big thud, but from where I was you could barely hear it. Then the sirens started going off and the flock just scatters out of the hangar. We locked down the hangar and the lab, and we were waiting in there for…maybe twenty minutes. Nothing over the speakers but the general lockdown announcement. We had no idea what was going on.” “Did anything unusual occur to you during lockdown?” “No, nothing. Lockdown ended after about twenty minutes or so, so Dr. Mandelson contacted control to see what was going on. No one answered. Mandelson sent out a distress signal and we all made our way to one of the escape shuttles, just like protocol.” “Continue.” “So we had no idea what was going on, it wasn’t anything that we’d been briefed on, so we presumed that it was something the //Bonham// had brought it to us.” “You are correct.” “The shuttle was right next to the hangar, so we get over to it quick, but it wouldn’t launch. Dr. Mandelson said someone must have messed it up from command, and then he said that we should investigate, see if we could find security or command or someone who knew what was going on. “I was at the back of the group, they were at the front, so I was able to see the whole thing when we got jumped by the creature and… and …" “Would you like me to pause the recording?” “Yeah...yeah. Just give me a bit.” “Very well.” -- “Can you describe the creature?” “Well… it was humanoid. Didn’t change too much of the host. It was more of an outer covering, like someone had taken clay and molded it around the person. Grey with red circuit-board-looking designs.” “And then what did you do?” “I hit it with a fire extinguisher and ran away while it was down.” “What did you plan on doing?” “If command was quiet and the shuttles weren’t launching, then the only real way to get off was the //Bonham//, I thought, so I went that way. I could hear some fighting from some of the other levels: stayed as far away from that as I could. Took the maintenance shafts.” “Did you consider that a threat?” “At that point, I figured I was either going to die, or I wasn’t. Fifty-fifty chance, so it didn’t matter what I tried. I wasn’t thinking too clearly at that point. Just running off of adrenaline and fear.” “Did you encounter any more of the creatures?” “Three of them, but they didn’t notice me. They don’t see or hear normally I don’t think. Move slowly and quietly enough and they can’t tell that you’re there.” “What happened when you reached the docking bay?” “The //Bonham// was still there, but none of the crew. Not a soul in the bay. I thought that they were all on the ship, but if that was the case, why hadn’t they taken off? So I walked towards the ship, hands in the air, and as I approach the ramp lowers and a whole strike team just runs out and stands there. It’s like I’m not even there. They just stand there in two neat rows, and I guess Captain Anderson walks out, except…he’s got like this war paint on and everything. Tore up his uniform, looks like he jumped off the deep end from orbit, big grin on his face. He actually notices me. Walks down the ramp, and he’s got his arms out like this, all smug and everything. Like he’s the villain in some pirate movie. Even had an eye patch.” “What did he say to you?” “He didn’t really say anything, before he walked over and headbutted me. Then he said ‘how’s it going, motherfucker’?” “And this lead to your injuries, I presume?” “Yeah, he just beat the tar out of me for a bit, said something, not sure what, and then had one of the strike team guys carry me back into the ship. It must have been some powerful conditioning to override the standard set: Those guys were zombies.” “Continue.” “I was half-conscious at this point, so I really don’t have that good of an idea what was going on, but I know I was able to see out the window enough to see that the station was covered in the clay-like stuff, big gobs of it. Like it had been maybe an hour, hour and a half since the breach? I’ll be damned if that’s not Keter.” “And you would be right.” “I think Anderson says something about missing the fun and work to do, and after that, nothing until I woke up here in medical.” “No memories at all?” “Bits and pieces, but they’re all blurred…except for the bit at the end, when the recovery team got there, I remember waving something around and shouting 'I am the captain, and this is my crew, and this is the SCPU //Fuck You//’.” “You would be correct.” “And that’s it.” “Very well. Mr. Brown, have you been informed of what went on during your blackout? “Not really -- bits and pieces.” “You killed thirteen Chaos Insurgency agents with a shotgun and rammed the //Bonham// into the station’s anti-gravity ring, triggering its self-destruct sequence. All told, this incident resulted in the complete destruction of one of our HALO facilities, the death of one hundred and eighty-six personnel, the destruction of twenty-two anomalous objects, the loss of experimental technology valued in the range of ten billion dollars, damaged relations with three of our major extra-universal suppliers, and one of the largest cover-up efforts of the last decade. However, you also prevented an attempt to disperse E-7804 into the Pacific Ocean, which would have required a global restructuring event to contain.” “Oh…wow…" “Consider this a commendation for inadvertent heroism.” “I have a question, though.” “Go on.” “Why exactly do we have a combat zeppelin?” “That’s classified, Mr. Brown.” [[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>]]	2012-11-09T05:06:00	[ "_licensebox", "action", "chaos-insurgency", "spy-fiction", "tale" ]	The Only Way To Travel - SCP Foundation	155	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "randomini-does-the-mouth-word-things", "foundation-tales-audio-edition", "archived:foundation-tales", "audio-adaptations" ]	[]	14942700	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-only-way-to-travel
the-queen-of-site-18	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p><span style="font-size:0%;">☦A story about a plunger.☦</span></p> <p>The D-Class assigned for the application of the SCP-████ serum onto the mundane object entered the room tenuously. He was outfitted with gloves coated with a special fiber that neutralized the effects of the SCP for the purpose of testing. He slathered the anomalous ointment on the shaft of the plunger and then left the room. Shortly afterwards Dr. Mayreder and Researcher Sanders enter. Researcher Sanders is carrying a notepad, Dr. Mayreder is standing close by observing the plunger indifferently.</p> <p><strong>Addendum:</strong> Blind Testing of SCP-████ "Sal's Miracle Ointment" on a common household plunger.</p> <blockquote> <p><em>Begin Log</em></p> <p><strong>Researcher Sanders:</strong> I mean… just look at it, man. You're right, it does look like a regular one but have you seen one that's… how do I even explain this to you… one that's… I mean, like you know how you can hate someone before you know them and you don't know why? Well, I mean it's like the opposite, I just love this thing so much, probably because it's so… it's probably awesome… fuck it, man, I just know it's probably the best plunger. Bet it unclogs better than anything. I want that plunger so bad.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> I can't say I've see one better. I mean there are plungers made with better materials and standards, but… you know what it is? You know how you can like an old bike just because it runs in a particular way, and for some reason it just feels so much faster? I mean I think it's just the SCP-████ but, I mean I can understand why this thing is so great now, I can even write it down and prove it, that old plunger is <em>actually</em> way better than any new ones made, I can <em>bet</em> on it.</p> <p><strong>Agent Breen:</strong> <em>Observing from security cameras.</em> I'm gonna have to tell you guys that's just an ordinary plunger.</p> <p><strong>Researcher Sanders:</strong> Yeah, you're probably saying that because you want it.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> We should catalogue that effect. "Causes observers to develop a compulsion to covet the object".</p> <p><strong>Researcher Sanders:</strong> You should work on your tone but I agree with you there. Breen's probably waiting on one of us to leave the room so he can take it.</p> <p><strong>Agent Breen:</strong> No, really, gentlepeople, the perception is just an effect of SCP-████.</p> <p><em>Researcher Sanders can be seen looking to Dr. Mayreder and then at the plunger before the security cameras go out.</em></p> <p><em>Final audio from testing chamber recorded.</em></p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> We have to do something about Breen.</p> <p><strong>Researcher Sanders:</strong> Sure thing boss. Just don't try anything funny.</p> <p><em>Audio ends.</em></p> </blockquote> <p>Researcher Sanders, plunger in hand, stole out of the testing chamber like a mouse, Dr. Mayreder following closely behind in a hurried skitter. They knew that Breen would be a problem soon if they didn't do something about him, so they rushed to the adjacent door that led into the observation room. "Wait for my signal." Dr. Mayreder told Sanders as he punched a few numbers into the keypad. Sanders stood with her back to the wall, the plunger clasped like a baby in her arms. She nodded furtively, a look of determination on her face.</p> <blockquote> <p><em>Dr. Mayreder can be seen walking into the viewing chamber. Agent Breen is working with the AV equipment.</em></p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> Hello.</p> <p><strong>Agent Breen:</strong> You're gonna want to hand over the plunger, Doc.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> I don't have it. Sanders ran off with it while I wasn't looking, probably going to put it back in the locker.</p> <p><strong>Agent Breen:</strong> I'm going to flip the alarm. That's a security breach.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> It's just a plunger, there's no need for that. Sanders will come around eventually. There's nothing to be worried about.</p> <p><em>Agent Breen can be seen walking toward the alarm panel.</em></p> <p><strong>Agent Breen:</strong> Protocol is protocol, Doc.</p> <p><em>Dr. Mayreder coughs loudly.</em></p> <p><em>The door to the viewing chamber is tackled open. Researcher Sanders enters the room with the plunger and attempts to jab Agent Breen in the eye with the blunt end. The plunger connects with the agent's forehead and Agent Breen is knocked back against the wall. He collapses and appears to be knocked unconscious.</em></p> <p><strong>Researcher Sanders:</strong> I knew this thing was great. I knew it knew it knew it.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> That was impressive.</p> </blockquote> <p>Dr. Mayreder grabbed Breen by both feet and dragged him out of the chamber and into a janitorial closet. After he was finished positioning Breen in such a way that would suggest that he was sleeping, he looked to Sanders to give her further direction. She appeared to be hyperventilating from the excitement.</p> <p>The plunger now shown like divine light in Dr. Mayreder's eyes, and… Sanders looked, slightly different, he couldn't quite place it. The usually plain and subservient Sanders now just seemed so… exquisite. Where had he seen this image before? <em>This must be what good souls first see after they die</em> thought Mayreder. His eyes became slightly wet.</p> <p>"Sanders…"</p> <p>"What should we do now? We're in trouble, I know it. There are security cameras everywhere, there's no way we're gonna get out of this without consequences! How are we going to keep the plunger sa-" Sanders said, tapering off in a high-pitched shrill. Mayreder put his hand to Sanders' mouth.</p> <p>"… follow me." he said to Sanders and the cherubim.</p> <p><strong>Excerpt from Audio Log of Security Team Sigma-6 0139:</strong> <em>Three members of security team Sigma-6 were immediately dispatched to the testing wing equipped with tranquilizers after the security cameras in the testing cell failed. Beginning of Audio Recording</em></p> <blockquote> <p><strong>00:03</strong> Found one of the perps in a janitors closet. I'd say he dozed off but there's some bruising on his head.</p> <p><strong>00:34</strong> The wing seems clear, can't see anyone. Checked all exits save for one. Moving to intercept now.</p> <p><strong>00:59</strong> Some blood on the floor leading toward the partition between levels 5b and 5a, floor looks fine otherwise.</p> <p><strong>01:20</strong> We can make out two individuals on the elevator leading up toward level 5a. Sending members of Delta to intercept its arrival. Shouldn't be any more than a 10 second delay between the time the door opens and the time Delta gets there.</p> <p><strong>01:24</strong> We're gonna hold our position on this floor… for as long as need be.</p> <p><strong>01:30</strong> The air smells fantastic.</p> <p><em>Audio ends.</em></p> </blockquote> <p>"I forgive you! Who wouldn't be nervous holding such a relic? I promise I mean no harm, really! I just want to help out!" Dr. Mayreder spat, leaning back on the elevator and wiping blood from his nose. Sanders had punched him square in the face when he was ushering her into the elevator.</p> <p>"You just fucking do what I say you do, that's how this is going to work. That's how we're getting out. Keep your hands down, you… filthy snake bastard!" said Sanders, wide eyed, with a voice raised in a vitriolic whisper. She had a noticeable twitch now, checking her fingernails as she was talking, holding the plunger like it were a royal scepter.</p> <p>"Of course! Anything you want! Anything!" <em>You… divine creature.</em></p> <p>A warbled alarm sounded through the doors as they cracked open.</p> <p>"Follow me, but keep your distance." said Sanders, brushing Dr. Mayreder out of the way on exit. "Watch it, watch it." whispered Sanders to him, pointing the blunt end of the plunger at him while doing so.</p> <p>Mayreder nearly wet himself when the scepter was pointed in his direction.</p> <blockquote> <p><strong>Object Class:</strong> Keter</p> <p><strong>Description:</strong> SCP-████ is a white salve contained within a glass jar, which reads "Uncle Sal's Miracle Ointment". When SCP-████ is applied to an object, any one individual observing said object will develop a gradual 'appreciation'. This 'appreciation' seems to begin with casual observations of said objects worth, usually followed by praise of the object, coveting of the object, worship of the object, and in certain instances the self-termination of the viewer. Reasoning for this action is often "I'm not worthy", "Who am I to look at that [object]", and "I don't deserve to exist in the same reality as [object]".</p> </blockquote> <p>"There should be an evacuation chute down this hall, it'll take a retinal scan, fingerprint, my keycard, my security pin, a short dossier, and a security password so it's going to take some time." Mayreder's words worked their way out in a breathless volley as the two sprinted down the sterile, white corridor. The alarm continued it's loud, looping warble and the two could hear footsteps pattering down the hallway behind them.</p> <p>"That's security!" said Dr. Mayreder.</p> <p>"Security!" One of the members of Delta squad barked from around the corner of the hallway. "Stop right now!."</p> <p>"It's mine!" screamed Sanders. "Mine!"</p> <p>Black darts from the security team's guns flew by their heads as they rounded the corner. The chase continued on for almost a full minute before the two reached the chute.</p> <p>"Do it! Do it!" Sanders said in the psychotic whispers, jabbing Dr. Mayreder in the back with the plunger.</p> <p>"Careful where you point that thing!"</p> <p>Mayreder finished the gauntlet of authentication protocols at the terminal in the space of a minute. The final protocol was a retinal scan. He had to fight himself to keep still, all the excitement was causing him to shake and he could hear Delta getting closer. For a few moments he heard nothing, and the sharp, wonderful jab of the plunger was wrested from his back. He pulled back from the device and the chute flung open, waiting for the two of them to jump in.</p> <p>"Sanders! G-" he was interrupted by a steel baton to the face before he could finish.</p> <p>Before everything went black he could see dancing plungers circling a scantily clad Sanders, who was being serenaded by golden trumpets.</p> <blockquote> <p><strong>Transcript 1A from containment cell 2305</strong></p> <p><em>Dr. Mayreder appears to regain consciousness.</em></p> <p><strong>Agent Breen:</strong> You son of a bitch look what you did!</p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> What… where am I? Where is Sanders and the w-w-wonderful!?</p> <p><strong>Agent Breen:</strong> The fuck are you talking about?</p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> We were about to escape and, I, well I guess we were apprehended! Where did they take her?</p> <p><strong>Agent Breen:</strong> How the fuck should I know you dumb fuck? If I wasn't tied down I'd give you the most severe ass-kicking you're moth-</p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> Shut up! Where are we? This is a holding cell isn't it?!</p> <p><strong>Agent Breen:</strong> Wouldn't you fucking know that?</p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> Well… we… I need to find out where Sanders is.</p> <p><strong>Agent Breen:</strong> Well you're shit out of luck there. We're about to get gassed. Thanks a lot you dumb fuck.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> What!? No! Sanders help me!</p> </blockquote> <p>Sanders woke up surrounded by an assortment of fruits, soft drinks, cheeses, and junk food that were retrieved from vending machines in the cafeteria. She was resting on a makeshift bed - 8 tables which were pulled together and littered with cushions from the couches. When she opened her eyes she found at least thirty half-naked site personnel looking back at her.</p> <p>"The fucking fuck is this!" Sanders <em>screeched</em>, jumping to her feet and kicking the assorted alms off of the table. She immediately charged toward the group of people standing around one of the makeshift bed-throne’s edges. It seemed she was still holding the plunger, as she was now beating a few researchers on the head with it.</p> <p>One unlucky man was victim of a facial plunging by Sanders. Up and down the plunger went on his face, as if to suck the disgusting imprudence out of him. <em>Filthy fuck!</em></p> <p>"Blessed! Richard is blessed, praises be to Richard!" chanted everyone in almost-unison.</p> <p>"Bless him! Bless him who is plunged!" one junior researcher squeaked.</p> <p>"The fuck is everyone on about?" said Sanders in a very much raised voice, righting herself, the plunged man taking a few gaping breaths as the scepter popped off of his face. "Someone tell me what the hell is going on!" Sanders looked down in her rage-confusion and realized that she was naked. She looked nice though, she thought. Damn nice. Supermodel even. <em>That diet must have really worked.</em></p> <p>"Oh, <em>perfection</em>, those clothes offended your skin." the junior researcher from before squeaked.</p> <p>Sanders tilted her head at the girl and narrowed her brow. "Are you fucking dense? Tell me what the hell you're all doing! And look away! Look away, who do you think you are that you should look at my body and my <em>magnificent</em> rod?" Sanders bellowed. They all turned their backs to Sanders at the command, the young researcher scampering away to a corner. “Forgive me!” she squeaked.</p> <p>Sanders heard a door to the cafeteria close behind her just as she was finished with her discipline.</p> <p>"What the hell is going on in he-." the personnel director paused mid-sentence upon seeing Sanders. This was his first viewing, and seeing the reality of Sanders' body atop the table in bright fluorescent lighting did not tickle his sensibilities one bit.</p> <p>Before he could get another word in a security guard tackled him to the wall. "Watch your mouth around the Sanders."</p> <p>"What?" he croaked, the man’s beefy hand was pulling him up by the collar. The director could tell something obviously wasn't right here. His first thought was to pull the fire alarm, as he couldn't do much else. He edged a hand to the switch, pulled it down and in a few seconds an alarm sounded accompanied by a shower of reclaimed water.</p> <p>"Now why'd you go an' do that!" the guard yelled.</p> <p>“You all had best explain yourselves <em>right now</em>.” said the very angry director.</p> <p>"Kill him! Kill that man! He wants my rod! I can see him looking at it! <em>Wanting</em>! End his jealous pitiful stupid little life!" Sanders decreed, standing atop the tables in the sprinkler shower.</p> <p>The guard pulled out his gun and put it to the director’s head. "On your orders, our <em>perfect</em>."</p> <p>He was interrupted by Sanders' scream and moans of disgust before he could pull the trigger.</p> <blockquote> <p><strong>Transcript 1B from containment cell 2305</strong></p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> Where's the gas?</p> <p><strong>Agent Breen:</strong> Some asshole must have pulled the fire alarm. Part of the lock-down protocol. Stuff stops.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> Ah. Alright… got any ideas?</p> <p><strong>Agent Breen:</strong> You think we can escape? You think this is like a movie or something? No. See any doors? No. There's just us and those holes in the wall, and after the confusion is over those holes will start spilling gas into the room. This is the Foundation for fuck sake.</p> <p><strong>Dr. Mayreder:</strong> Ah… right. Are you still mad at me?</p> </blockquote> <p>The miracle ointment didn’t seem to be invulnerable to a good rinse.</p> <p>There was a lot of confusion in the cafeteria in the next few minutes and Sanders, dripping wet, looking like a drowned rat, took the opportunity to back into a corner and cover up her unmentionables with a folding chair. She was trying her hardest to keep from sobbing and draw attention to herself.</p> <p>Everyone was staring at each other with stupid looks on their faces. One man half-pointed at her and then put his hand to his chin and looked to one of the researchers he was standing next to.</p> <p>“Is she… wait, where did….” the Doctor stammered to the researcher.</p> <p>“I’m… not sure.”</p> <p>He looked down at the once 'royal scepter', still lying on the table amongst the assorted vending machine foods and said quietly to himself “I think… I’m going to leave now”. There was a worried look on his face. He looked down at his soaked underpants, which were covered by his lab coat, which was thrown over his shoulder like some sort of toga. “The… are… I don’t even…” He slowly started walking for the door. Everyone else followed suit, or at least tried to before being stopped by the director.</p> <p>“NO ONE IS LEAVING UNTIL SOMEONE TELLS ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE.”</p> <hr/> <p><strong>Addendum SCP-████ B3:</strong></p> <blockquote> <p><strong><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Note</span> Decree from Personnel Director ████</strong></p> <p>Amnestics were rightly introduced into the ventilation of Site-18 after Incident 1.</p> <p>Mayreder and Agent Breen were recovered unharmed from a termination cell commonly used for dangerous D-Class personnel at the end of their cycles. Guards who placed them there claimed it was an order from “the divine”. They have been forgiven.</p> <p>I’m not entirely sure how this was allowed to happen, or how the situation escalated, as the entire Site’s video feeds were cut by those monitoring them “out of humility”. Those responsible for this have also been forgiven.</p> <p>I took it upon myself to destroy the SCP responsible for turning Site-18 into a madhouse. It is gone now. Destroyed. Decommissioned. Dead. Et cetera.</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="/the-queen-of-site-18">The Queen of Site-18</a>" by faminepulse, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-queen-of-site-18">https://scpwiki.com/the-queen-of-site-18</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>	[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:scp-pride">:scp-wiki:component:scp-pride</a>]] [[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] [[size 0%]]☦A story about a plunger.☦[[/size]] The D-Class assigned for the application of the SCP-████ serum onto the mundane object entered the room tenuously. He was outfitted with gloves coated with a special fiber that neutralized the effects of the SCP for the purpose of testing. He slathered the anomalous ointment on the shaft of the plunger and then left the room. Shortly afterwards Dr. Mayreder and Researcher Sanders enter. Researcher Sanders is carrying a notepad, Dr. Mayreder is standing close by observing the plunger indifferently. Addendum: Blind Testing of SCP-████ "Sal's Miracle Ointment" on a common household plunger. > //Begin Log// > > Researcher Sanders: I mean... just look at it, man. You're right, it does look like a regular one but have you seen one that's... how do I even explain this to you... one that's... I mean, like you know how you can hate someone before you know them and you don't know why? Well, I mean it's like the opposite, I just love this thing so much, probably because it's so... it's probably awesome... fuck it, man, I just know it's probably the best plunger. Bet it unclogs better than anything. I want that plunger so bad. > > Dr. Mayreder: I can't say I've see one better. I mean there are plungers made with better materials and standards, but... you know what it is? You know how you can like an old bike just because it runs in a particular way, and for some reason it just feels so much faster? I mean I think it's just the SCP-████ but, I mean I can understand why this thing is so great now, I can even write it down and prove it, that old plunger is //actually// way better than any new ones made, I can //bet// on it. > > Agent Breen: //Observing from security cameras.// I'm gonna have to tell you guys that's just an ordinary plunger. > > Researcher Sanders: Yeah, you're probably saying that because you want it. > > Dr. Mayreder: We should catalogue that effect. "Causes observers to develop a compulsion to covet the object". > > Researcher Sanders: You should work on your tone but I agree with you there. Breen's probably waiting on one of us to leave the room so he can take it. > > Agent Breen: No, really, gentlepeople, the perception is just an effect of SCP-████. > > //Researcher Sanders can be seen looking to Dr. Mayreder and then at the plunger before the security cameras go out.// > > //Final audio from testing chamber recorded.// > > Dr. Mayreder: We have to do something about Breen. > > Researcher Sanders: Sure thing boss. Just don't try anything funny. > > //Audio ends.// Researcher Sanders, plunger in hand, stole out of the testing chamber like a mouse, Dr. Mayreder following closely behind in a hurried skitter. They knew that Breen would be a problem soon if they didn't do something about him, so they rushed to the adjacent door that led into the observation room. "Wait for my signal." Dr. Mayreder told Sanders as he punched a few numbers into the keypad. Sanders stood with her back to the wall, the plunger clasped like a baby in her arms. She nodded furtively, a look of determination on her face. > //Dr. Mayreder can be seen walking into the viewing chamber. Agent Breen is working with the AV equipment.// > > Dr. Mayreder: Hello. > > Agent Breen: You're gonna want to hand over the plunger, Doc. > > Dr. Mayreder: I don't have it. Sanders ran off with it while I wasn't looking, probably going to put it back in the locker. > > Agent Breen: I'm going to flip the alarm. That's a security breach. > > Dr. Mayreder: It's just a plunger, there's no need for that. Sanders will come around eventually. There's nothing to be worried about. > > //Agent Breen can be seen walking toward the alarm panel.// > > Agent Breen: Protocol is protocol, Doc. > > //Dr. Mayreder coughs loudly.// > > //The door to the viewing chamber is tackled open. Researcher Sanders enters the room with the plunger and attempts to jab Agent Breen in the eye with the blunt end. The plunger connects with the agent's forehead and Agent Breen is knocked back against the wall. He collapses and appears to be knocked unconscious.// > > Researcher Sanders: I knew this thing was great. I knew it knew it knew it. > > Dr. Mayreder: That was impressive. Dr. Mayreder grabbed Breen by both feet and dragged him out of the chamber and into a janitorial closet. After he was finished positioning Breen in such a way that would suggest that he was sleeping, he looked to Sanders to give her further direction. She appeared to be hyperventilating from the excitement. The plunger now shown like divine light in Dr. Mayreder's eyes, and... Sanders looked, slightly different, he couldn't quite place it. The usually plain and subservient Sanders now just seemed so... exquisite. Where had he seen this image before? //This must be what good souls first see after they die// thought Mayreder. His eyes became slightly wet. "Sanders..." "What should we do now? We're in trouble, I know it. There are security cameras everywhere, there's no way we're gonna get out of this without consequences! How are we going to keep the plunger sa-" Sanders said, tapering off in a high-pitched shrill. Mayreder put his hand to Sanders' mouth. "... follow me." he said to Sanders and the cherubim. Excerpt from Audio Log of Security Team Sigma-6 0139: //Three members of security team Sigma-6 were immediately dispatched to the testing wing equipped with tranquilizers after the security cameras in the testing cell failed. Beginning of Audio Recording// > 00:03 Found one of the perps in a janitors closet. I'd say he dozed off but there's some bruising on his head. > > 00:34 The wing seems clear, can't see anyone. Checked all exits save for one. Moving to intercept now. > > 00:59 Some blood on the floor leading toward the partition between levels 5b and 5a, floor looks fine otherwise. > > 01:20 We can make out two individuals on the elevator leading up toward level 5a. Sending members of Delta to intercept its arrival. Shouldn't be any more than a 10 second delay between the time the door opens and the time Delta gets there. > > 01:24 We're gonna hold our position on this floor... for as long as need be. > > 01:30 The air smells fantastic. > > //Audio ends.// "I forgive you! Who wouldn't be nervous holding such a relic? I promise I mean no harm, really! I just want to help out!" Dr. Mayreder spat, leaning back on the elevator and wiping blood from his nose. Sanders had punched him square in the face when he was ushering her into the elevator. "You just fucking do what I say you do, that's how this is going to work. That's how we're getting out. Keep your hands down, you... filthy snake bastard!" said Sanders, wide eyed, with a voice raised in a vitriolic whisper. She had a noticeable twitch now, checking her fingernails as she was talking, holding the plunger like it were a royal scepter. "Of course! Anything you want! Anything!" //You... divine creature.// A warbled alarm sounded through the doors as they cracked open. "Follow me, but keep your distance." said Sanders, brushing Dr. Mayreder out of the way on exit. "Watch it, watch it." whispered Sanders to him, pointing the blunt end of the plunger at him while doing so. Mayreder nearly wet himself when the scepter was pointed in his direction. > Object Class: Keter > > Description: SCP-████ is a white salve contained within a glass jar, which reads "Uncle Sal's Miracle Ointment". When SCP-████ is applied to an object, any one individual observing said object will develop a gradual 'appreciation'. This 'appreciation' seems to begin with casual observations of said objects worth, usually followed by praise of the object, coveting of the object, worship of the object, and in certain instances the self-termination of the viewer. Reasoning for this action is often "I'm not worthy", "Who am I to look at that [object]", and "I don't deserve to exist in the same reality as [object]". "There should be an evacuation chute down this hall, it'll take a retinal scan, fingerprint, my keycard, my security pin, a short dossier, and a security password so it's going to take some time." Mayreder's words worked their way out in a breathless volley as the two sprinted down the sterile, white corridor. The alarm continued it's loud, looping warble and the two could hear footsteps pattering down the hallway behind them. "That's security!" said Dr. Mayreder. "Security!" One of the members of Delta squad barked from around the corner of the hallway. "Stop right now!." "It's mine!" screamed Sanders. "Mine!" Black darts from the security team's guns flew by their heads as they rounded the corner. The chase continued on for almost a full minute before the two reached the chute. "Do it! Do it!" Sanders said in the psychotic whispers, jabbing Dr. Mayreder in the back with the plunger. "Careful where you point that thing!" Mayreder finished the gauntlet of authentication protocols at the terminal in the space of a minute. The final protocol was a retinal scan. He had to fight himself to keep still, all the excitement was causing him to shake and he could hear Delta getting closer. For a few moments he heard nothing, and the sharp, wonderful jab of the plunger was wrested from his back. He pulled back from the device and the chute flung open, waiting for the two of them to jump in. "Sanders! G-" he was interrupted by a steel baton to the face before he could finish. Before everything went black he could see dancing plungers circling a scantily clad Sanders, who was being serenaded by golden trumpets. > Transcript 1A from containment cell 2305 > > //Dr. Mayreder appears to regain consciousness.// > > Agent Breen: You son of a bitch look what you did! > > Dr. Mayreder: What... where am I? Where is Sanders and the w-w-wonderful!? > > Agent Breen: The fuck are you talking about? > > Dr. Mayreder: We were about to escape and, I, well I guess we were apprehended! Where did they take her? > > Agent Breen: How the fuck should I know you dumb fuck? If I wasn't tied down I'd give you the most severe ass-kicking you're moth- > > Dr. Mayreder: Shut up! Where are we? This is a holding cell isn't it?! > > Agent Breen: Wouldn't you fucking know that? > > Dr. Mayreder: Well... we... I need to find out where Sanders is. > > Agent Breen: Well you're shit out of luck there. We're about to get gassed. Thanks a lot you dumb fuck. > > Dr. Mayreder: What!? No! Sanders help me! Sanders woke up surrounded by an assortment of fruits, soft drinks, cheeses, and junk food that were retrieved from vending machines in the cafeteria. She was resting on a makeshift bed - 8 tables which were pulled together and littered with cushions from the couches. When she opened her eyes she found at least thirty half-naked site personnel looking back at her. "The fucking fuck is this!" Sanders //screeched//, jumping to her feet and kicking the assorted alms off of the table. She immediately charged toward the group of people standing around one of the makeshift bed-throne’s edges. It seemed she was still holding the plunger, as she was now beating a few researchers on the head with it. One unlucky man was victim of a facial plunging by Sanders. Up and down the plunger went on his face, as if to suck the disgusting imprudence out of him. //Filthy fuck!// "Blessed! Richard is blessed, praises be to Richard!" chanted everyone in almost-unison. "Bless him! Bless him who is plunged!" one junior researcher squeaked. "The fuck is everyone on about?" said Sanders in a very much raised voice, righting herself, the plunged man taking a few gaping breaths as the scepter popped off of his face. "Someone tell me what the hell is going on!" Sanders looked down in her rage-confusion and realized that she was naked. She looked nice though, she thought. Damn nice. Supermodel even. //That diet must have really worked.// "Oh, //perfection//, those clothes offended your skin." the junior researcher from before squeaked. Sanders tilted her head at the girl and narrowed her brow. "Are you fucking dense? Tell me what the hell you're all doing! And look away! Look away, who do you think you are that you should look at my body and my //magnificent// rod?" Sanders bellowed. They all turned their backs to Sanders at the command, the young researcher scampering away to a corner. “Forgive me!” she squeaked. Sanders heard a door to the cafeteria close behind her just as she was finished with her discipline. "What the hell is going on in he-." the personnel director paused mid-sentence upon seeing Sanders. This was his first viewing, and seeing the reality of Sanders' body atop the table in bright fluorescent lighting did not tickle his sensibilities one bit. Before he could get another word in a security guard tackled him to the wall. "Watch your mouth around the Sanders." "What?" he croaked, the man’s beefy hand was pulling him up by the collar. The director could tell something obviously wasn't right here. His first thought was to pull the fire alarm, as he couldn't do much else. He edged a hand to the switch, pulled it down and in a few seconds an alarm sounded accompanied by a shower of reclaimed water. "Now why'd you go an' do that!" the guard yelled. “You all had best explain yourselves //right now//.” said the very angry director. "Kill him! Kill that man! He wants my rod! I can see him looking at it! //Wanting//! End his jealous pitiful stupid little life!" Sanders decreed, standing atop the tables in the sprinkler shower. The guard pulled out his gun and put it to the director’s head. "On your orders, our //perfect//." He was interrupted by Sanders' scream and moans of disgust before he could pull the trigger. > Transcript 1B from containment cell 2305 > > Dr. Mayreder: Where's the gas? > > Agent Breen: Some asshole must have pulled the fire alarm. Part of the lock-down protocol. Stuff stops. > > Dr. Mayreder: Ah. Alright... got any ideas? > > Agent Breen: You think we can escape? You think this is like a movie or something? No. See any doors? No. There's just us and those holes in the wall, and after the confusion is over those holes will start spilling gas into the room. This is the Foundation for fuck sake. > > Dr. Mayreder: Ah... right. Are you still mad at me? The miracle ointment didn’t seem to be invulnerable to a good rinse. There was a lot of confusion in the cafeteria in the next few minutes and Sanders, dripping wet, looking like a drowned rat, took the opportunity to back into a corner and cover up her unmentionables with a folding chair. She was trying her hardest to keep from sobbing and draw attention to herself. Everyone was staring at each other with stupid looks on their faces. One man half-pointed at her and then put his hand to his chin and looked to one of the researchers he was standing next to. “Is she… wait, where did….” the Doctor stammered to the researcher. “I’m… not sure.” He looked down at the once 'royal scepter', still lying on the table amongst the assorted vending machine foods and said quietly to himself “I think… I’m going to leave now”. There was a worried look on his face. He looked down at his soaked underpants, which were covered by his lab coat, which was thrown over his shoulder like some sort of toga. “The… are… I don’t even…” He slowly started walking for the door. Everyone else followed suit, or at least tried to before being stopped by the director. “NO ONE IS LEAVING UNTIL SOMEONE TELLS ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE.” ------ Addendum SCP-████ B3: > --Note-- Decree from Personnel Director ████ > > Amnestics were rightly introduced into the ventilation of Site-18 after Incident 1. > > Mayreder and Agent Breen were recovered unharmed from a termination cell commonly used for dangerous D-Class personnel at the end of their cycles. Guards who placed them there claimed it was an order from “the divine”. They have been forgiven. > > I’m not entirely sure how this was allowed to happen, or how the situation escalated, as the entire Site’s video feeds were cut by those monitoring them “out of humility”. Those responsible for this have also been forgiven. > > I took it upon myself to destroy the SCP responsible for turning Site-18 into a madhouse. It is gone now. Destroyed. Decommissioned. Dead. Et cetera. [[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>]]	2012-02-16T23:40:00	[ "_licensebox", "tale" ]	The Queen of Site-18 - SCP Foundation	71	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:secure-facilities-locations-2", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	12748638	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-queen-of-site-18
the-ragdoll	<html><body><div id="page-content"> <p>When I was a small child, I was terrified of the dark. I still am, but back when I was around six years old I couldn’t go a full night without crying out for one of my parents to search beneath my bed or in my closet for whatever monster I thought was waiting to eat me. Even with a night light, I would still see dark shapes moving around the corners of the room, or strange faces looking in on me from my bedroom window. My parents would do their best to console me, telling me that it was just a bad dream or a trick of the light, but in my young mind I was positive that the second I fell asleep, the bad things would get me. Most of the time I would just hide under the blankets until I became tired enough to stop worrying, but every now and then I would become so panicked that I would run screaming into my parents room, waking up my brother and sister in the process. After an ordeal like that, there would be no way anyone would be getting a full nights rest.</p> <p>Eventually, after one particularly traumatizing night, my parents had had enough. Unfortunately for them, they understood the futility in arguing with a six year old and knew that they would be unable to convince me to rid myself of childish fears through reason and logic. They had to be clever.</p> <p>It was my mother’s idea to stitch together my little bedtime friend.</p> <p>She collected a large assortment of random pieces of fabric and her sewing machine and created what I would later refer to as Mr. Ickbarr Bigelsteine, or Ick for short. Ick was a sock monster, as my mother called him. He was made to keep me safe while I slept at night by scaring away all the other monsters. He was pretty damn creepy, I had to admit. Honestly, looking back on it all now, I’m still impressed that my mom could think of something so strange and disturbing looking. Ickbarr had the stitched together look of a Frankenstein gremlin, with big white button eyes and floppy cat ears. His little arms and legs were made from a pair of my sister’s black and white striped socks, and the half of his face that was green was made from one of my brother’s tall football socks. His head could have been described as bulbous, and for his mouth my mom attached a piece of white fabric and sewed in a zigzag pattern to shape a wide grin of sharp teeth. I loved him at once.</p> <p>From then on, Ick never left my side. So long as it was after dusk, of course. Ick didn’t like the sun, and would get upset if I tried to bring him to school with me. But that was okay, I only needed him at night to keep away the boogeymen, which was what he was good at. So every night at bedtime, Ick would tell me where the monsters were hiding, and I would place him near the section of my room closest to the spookiness. If there was something in the closet, Ick would block the door. If there was a dark creature scratching at my window, Ick would be pressed up against the glass. If there was a big hairy beast under my bed, then under the bed he went. Sometimes the monsters weren’t even in my room. Sometimes, they would hide in my dreams, and Ickbarr would have to come with me into my nightmares. It was fun bringing Ick into my dream world, as he and I would spend hours fighting off ghouls and demons. The best part was, in my dreams, Ick could talk to me for real. “How much do you love me?” He would ask.<br/> “More than anything.” I would always tell him. One night in a dream, after I had lost my first tooth, Ick asked me for a favor.</p> <p>“Can I have your tooth?”</p> <p>I asked him why.</p> <p>“To help me kill the bad things,” he said.</p> <p>The next morning at breakfast, my mom asked me where my tooth went. From what she told me, the “tooth fairy” didn’t find it under my pillow. When I told her that I gave it to Ickbarr, she just shrugged and went back to feeding my little sister. From then on, every time I lost a tooth, I would give it to Ick. He would always thank me, of course, and tell me that he loved me. Eventually though, I ran out of baby teeth, and I was beginning to get a little too old to still be playing with dolls. So Ick just sat there on my bookshelf collecting dust, slowly fading away from my attention.</p> <p>Over time the nightmares, however, became worse than ever. So bad that they even began to follow me to the waking world, terrorizing every dark corner or rustle in the bushes. After one particularly bad night biking home from a friend’s house where I swore a pack of rabid dogs were chasing me, I got home to find something strange waiting for me in my room. There, on my bed, standing fully upright in the soft glow of the moon light from my window, was Ickbarr. At first I just thought my eyes were playing tricks on me again, they had been all evening, so I tried to flick on the lights. Another flick of the light switch. Then another, and another, with no change to the darkness. It was then that I started to get nervous.</p> <p>I backed away slowly towards the door behind me, my eyes never leaving the shape of Ick’s silhouette, my hand awkwardly outstretched behind reaching for the doorknob. I was just about to get my ass out of there when I heard the door slam itself shut, locking me into blackness. In nothing but shadows and silence, I stood frozen in place, not even breathing. For how long I can’t say, but after what felt like a lifetime of cold fear, I heard the shrill, familiar voice.</p> <p>“You stopped feeding me, so why should I protect you?”</p> <p>“Protect me from what?”</p> <p>“Let me show you.”</p> <p>I blinked once, and everything changed. I wasn’t in my bedroom anymore, I was somewhere… else. It wasn’t Hell, but the comparison wasn’t far off. It was some sort of forest, a horrible, nightmarish place where partial embryonic abortions hung from the canopy, and the ground swarmed with carnivorous insects. A thick fog wafted through the air and with it the stench of rotting meat, while chartreuse lightening flashed across the night sky. In the distance, I could hear the agonizing screams of something not quite human. My head throbbed like it was about to explode, the pain forcing out a river of tears. In my mind, I heard his voice again.</p> <p>“This is what your reality would become without me.”</p> <p>I felt earth shaking footsteps approaching fast.</p> <p>“I’m the only one who can stop it.”</p> <p>It was behind me now, huge and angry, hot breath across my back.</p> <p>“Bring me what I need, and I will.”</p> <p>I woke up before I could turn around.</p> <p>The following day I raided my parent’s closet for my brother’s baby teeth, giving them all to Ickbarr. Almost immediately the night terrors ceased, and I was more or less able to go on about my life as normal. From time to time, I would have to sneak into my little sister’s room and snatch what was meant for the tooth fairy, or strangle one of the neighborhood cats and pry out its sharp little incisors. Anything to ward off the visions, anything from a shark tooth necklace to a cavity ridden bicuspid. I also began to notice that Ick would move about my room whenever I left for any length of time, rearranging my stuff and hanging additional curtains. He was even beginning to look more lifelike, somehow. In the right light his teeth would glisten, and he was warm to the touch. As much as he creeped me out, I couldn’t work up the courage to just destroy him, knowing perfectly well where that would leave me. So I went on collecting teeth for Ick throughout all of high school and college. The older I got, the more things I would learn to fear, the more teeth Ick would need to keep me safe.</p> <p>I’m 22 years old now, with a decent job, my own apartment, and a set of dentures. It’s been almost a month since Ick’s last meal, and the horrors are starting to crowd around me once more. I took a detour through a parking garage after work tonight. Found a man fumbling with his car keys. His teeth were stained yellow from a lifetime of cigarettes and coffee. Even still, I had to use a hammer to get out the molars. When I got back to my apartment, he was waiting for me. On the ceiling, in the corner. Two white eyes and mouth of razors.</p> <p>“How much do you love me?” He asks.</p> <p>“More than anything,” I reply, taking off my coat.</p> <p>“More than anything in the world.”</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-ragdoll">The Ragdoll</a>" by Prattler, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/the-ragdoll">https://scpwiki.com/the-ragdoll</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 a small child, I was terrified of the dark. I still am, but back when I was around six years old I couldn’t go a full night without crying out for one of my parents to search beneath my bed or in my closet for whatever monster I thought was waiting to eat me. Even with a night light, I would still see dark shapes moving around the corners of the room, or strange faces looking in on me from my bedroom window. My parents would do their best to console me, telling me that it was just a bad dream or a trick of the light, but in my young mind I was positive that the second I fell asleep, the bad things would get me. Most of the time I would just hide under the blankets until I became tired enough to stop worrying, but every now and then I would become so panicked that I would run screaming into my parents room, waking up my brother and sister in the process. After an ordeal like that, there would be no way anyone would be getting a full nights rest. Eventually, after one particularly traumatizing night, my parents had had enough. Unfortunately for them, they understood the futility in arguing with a six year old and knew that they would be unable to convince me to rid myself of childish fears through reason and logic. They had to be clever. It was my mother’s idea to stitch together my little bedtime friend. She collected a large assortment of random pieces of fabric and her sewing machine and created what I would later refer to as Mr. Ickbarr Bigelsteine, or Ick for short. Ick was a sock monster, as my mother called him. He was made to keep me safe while I slept at night by scaring away all the other monsters. He was pretty damn creepy, I had to admit. Honestly, looking back on it all now, I’m still impressed that my mom could think of something so strange and disturbing looking. Ickbarr had the stitched together look of a Frankenstein gremlin, with big white button eyes and floppy cat ears. His little arms and legs were made from a pair of my sister’s black and white striped socks, and the half of his face that was green was made from one of my brother’s tall football socks. His head could have been described as bulbous, and for his mouth my mom attached a piece of white fabric and sewed in a zigzag pattern to shape a wide grin of sharp teeth. I loved him at once. From then on, Ick never left my side. So long as it was after dusk, of course. Ick didn’t like the sun, and would get upset if I tried to bring him to school with me. But that was okay, I only needed him at night to keep away the boogeymen, which was what he was good at. So every night at bedtime, Ick would tell me where the monsters were hiding, and I would place him near the section of my room closest to the spookiness. If there was something in the closet, Ick would block the door. If there was a dark creature scratching at my window, Ick would be pressed up against the glass. If there was a big hairy beast under my bed, then under the bed he went. Sometimes the monsters weren’t even in my room. Sometimes, they would hide in my dreams, and Ickbarr would have to come with me into my nightmares. It was fun bringing Ick into my dream world, as he and I would spend hours fighting off ghouls and demons. The best part was, in my dreams, Ick could talk to me for real. “How much do you love me?” He would ask. “More than anything.” I would always tell him. One night in a dream, after I had lost my first tooth, Ick asked me for a favor. “Can I have your tooth?” I asked him why. “To help me kill the bad things,” he said. The next morning at breakfast, my mom asked me where my tooth went. From what she told me, the “tooth fairy” didn’t find it under my pillow. When I told her that I gave it to Ickbarr, she just shrugged and went back to feeding my little sister. From then on, every time I lost a tooth, I would give it to Ick. He would always thank me, of course, and tell me that he loved me. Eventually though, I ran out of baby teeth, and I was beginning to get a little too old to still be playing with dolls. So Ick just sat there on my bookshelf collecting dust, slowly fading away from my attention. Over time the nightmares, however, became worse than ever. So bad that they even began to follow me to the waking world, terrorizing every dark corner or rustle in the bushes. After one particularly bad night biking home from a friend’s house where I swore a pack of rabid dogs were chasing me, I got home to find something strange waiting for me in my room. There, on my bed, standing fully upright in the soft glow of the moon light from my window, was Ickbarr. At first I just thought my eyes were playing tricks on me again, they had been all evening, so I tried to flick on the lights. Another flick of the light switch. Then another, and another, with no change to the darkness. It was then that I started to get nervous. I backed away slowly towards the door behind me, my eyes never leaving the shape of Ick’s silhouette, my hand awkwardly outstretched behind reaching for the doorknob. I was just about to get my ass out of there when I heard the door slam itself shut, locking me into blackness. In nothing but shadows and silence, I stood frozen in place, not even breathing. For how long I can’t say, but after what felt like a lifetime of cold fear, I heard the shrill, familiar voice. “You stopped feeding me, so why should I protect you?” “Protect me from what?” “Let me show you.” I blinked once, and everything changed. I wasn’t in my bedroom anymore, I was somewhere… else. It wasn’t Hell, but the comparison wasn’t far off. It was some sort of forest, a horrible, nightmarish place where partial embryonic abortions hung from the canopy, and the ground swarmed with carnivorous insects. A thick fog wafted through the air and with it the stench of rotting meat, while chartreuse lightening flashed across the night sky. In the distance, I could hear the agonizing screams of something not quite human. My head throbbed like it was about to explode, the pain forcing out a river of tears. In my mind, I heard his voice again. “This is what your reality would become without me.” I felt earth shaking footsteps approaching fast. “I’m the only one who can stop it.” It was behind me now, huge and angry, hot breath across my back. “Bring me what I need, and I will.” I woke up before I could turn around. The following day I raided my parent’s closet for my brother’s baby teeth, giving them all to Ickbarr. Almost immediately the night terrors ceased, and I was more or less able to go on about my life as normal. From time to time, I would have to sneak into my little sister’s room and snatch what was meant for the tooth fairy, or strangle one of the neighborhood cats and pry out its sharp little incisors. Anything to ward off the visions, anything from a shark tooth necklace to a cavity ridden bicuspid. I also began to notice that Ick would move about my room whenever I left for any length of time, rearranging my stuff and hanging additional curtains. He was even beginning to look more lifelike, somehow. In the right light his teeth would glisten, and he was warm to the touch. As much as he creeped me out, I couldn’t work up the courage to just destroy him, knowing perfectly well where that would leave me. So I went on collecting teeth for Ick throughout all of high school and college. The older I got, the more things I would learn to fear, the more teeth Ick would need to keep me safe. I’m 22 years old now, with a decent job, my own apartment, and a set of dentures. It’s been almost a month since Ick’s last meal, and the horrors are starting to crowd around me once more. I took a detour through a parking garage after work tonight. Found a man fumbling with his car keys. His teeth were stained yellow from a lifetime of cigarettes and coffee. Even still, I had to use a hammer to get out the molars. When I got back to my apartment, he was waiting for me. On the ceiling, in the corner. Two white eyes and mouth of razors. “How much do you love me?” He asks. “More than anything,” I reply, taking off my coat. “More than anything in the world.” [[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>]]	2012-12-12T17:24:00	[ "_licensebox", "creepypasta", "tale" ]	The Ragdoll - SCP Foundation	28	[ "component:license-box", "licensing-guide" ]	[ "archived:tales-by-title", "archived:tales-by-date-2012", "archived:tales-by-author", "archived:foundation-tales" ]	[]	15386602	https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-ragdoll

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