Darkness slowly turned into light once more. Blinding, red, fiery light. At first it was amazing, the sun rising to greet his vision, warming his bones. Just as everything else since the accident though, it was a false warmth, a false feeling of hope.
Sure the first couple times he managed to turn his head to view the Earth he was filled with the hope that he would be brought back, that somehow his comrades would find him and bring him home. Now, he's glad that they didn't. It would have meant their end.
You can return home.
It somehow tuned in to the radio too. Over the years he heard a constant stream of broadcasts from his home, oh what the world had become. That was probably just to lure him in though, get him to fall. But he wouldn't, not now, not ever.
They want you home, look how they try…
He wasn't sure exactly how it happened, or exactly what it was. One day he was on a shuttle, a secret flight into space, and the next…Well he was where he is now, and this Presence was with him.
You can't hold out much longer…
At first he just thought it a figment of his imagination. A way to keep himself sane in the cold void of space. But as he began to drift towards the Earth he began to realize, he wasn't drifting. He was being pulled, and the closer he got, the stronger the Presence was, and it felt….wrong.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
So he stopped it. He's not sure how he did this either. He stopped himself, stopped his unnatural inertia. Caught himself in the Earth's orbit. Oh, how the Presence raged…But what he didn't expect was for it to defend itself so well.
Can't stop…Weak, pitiful thing.
It wrapped itself around him and his suit, not something solid, just a Presence. And it was that Presence that made him unstoppable. Anything he touched broke before his velocity and density. Even those who were sent up to collect him could do nothing but fail and die. But you know what…
You will fall.
I stopped it. I saved my comrades, I saved us. Or rather just halted what was inevitable. But I'm not going to let go. Even though I'm trapped in this body, in this suit, I won't let go. Sometimes I even gain control, I smash my visor. To expose it to the vacuum of space when it was engrained so deeply in me would kill us both. But it's too smart for that. Too old, and too smart. So I will continue to hold. I will continue to be the harbinger of death who's blade hovers above the throat of the Earth. And on the day that this son of a bitch dies, on the day this Presence realizes it can't beat us…I'll finally come home.
Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace
His blade was the end, his judgement absolute.
He was Azazel, destroyer. He was Samael, the last word upon the dead's lips.
He walked through the wooden land, so far a dissapointing test of his skill.
Thousands fell before his blade, yet not one knew of his target. Not one could slow the harbinger, not one deter him from that which had wronged him.
There was only one who would anger Death itself, and for it death would sweep across the land, leaving nothing but the scavengers to feast.
Eventually though, even death must pause.
The grey demon sat among the woods, his flesh slowly knitting once more.
The savage weapons had bit at his skin, but none could harm that which was oblivion incarnate.
The white goddess was full that night, shining among the Earth.
The demon could feel the eyes upon him, the ones that were always present when she was full in the sky.
He knew there was something watching him from above, but even the demon can not fly.
As the light fell upon him, the eyes once more watching the grey demon, something else began to hunt.
For he was the destroyer, but the Legion fears nothing. One Who Is Many desires a demon for his collection.
And so as the grey one slept, the Legion struck.
The many rose, tearing at the skin, ripping into the grey one. But no one, not even Legion, could surprise death.
Within moments he was a whirlwind of metal, the wooden land filling with the sounds of clashing titans.
The greatest warrior to have lived severed the edge of the Legion time and time again, but the Legion was many.
They fought, wave after wave was sent from He Who is Many, but even still as the white goddess shone on, the grey demon did not abate.
He bled, his flesh ripped and torn, his weapons bent and broken, but still more appeared at his beck and call, a gift of his father.
His father the reason for this, his brother the key. And so his fury would not end until that which he had by right, he had by truth.
He Who Is Many is clever though, and in time his limbs found purchase. They dug into the legs of the grey demon, pulling him down.
More and more of the Legion swarmed, dragging him to his knees, ripping, tearing, beating, and it seemed the warrior had lost.
But just as the Legion seemed to overwhelm, Able rememebered. He remembered what had been done, what was his. What he needed to do.
Rage filled him, red as the blood moon, hot as the boiling seas of the North.
And he rose, biting and slashing, tearing away the arms of the Legion, breaking the hold of the mass which only desired more for its hive.
And he fought. Fought hundreds, thousands, slicing away all who came to him, his skin now discarded as it was ripped from him.
There was only bone and muscle, grey and pulsing with the unquenched rage of one who's existence was hate, was death.
And as the tendrils of the fire in the sky crept to reclaim the world from the white goddess, he stood. The Legion retreated, for it could not stand the fire of the one above. And he trudged on, the grey demon constantly on the hunt, leaving nothing in his wake but death.
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 Sarawat, 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, the 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 his 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 they 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 to.”
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 to soft clicking of her arms and legs, and smiling at her proudly.
“Sleep, my Sweetness.”
On January 17, 20██, D-837's corpse was found in his cell [DATA EXPUNGED] against the wall, a diary at his feet. It is unknown where D-837 acquired any of these materials. Cell now designated Restricted Area 35 of Site ██. Under no circumstance is any item in the cell to be moved without permission from at least two (2) on site level 4 personnel. The cell door is to be locked and secured with a retinal scanner for authorized personnel. Cell is to be manned at all times by two armed guards.
He hated this part. The shuffling of feet, the click of a dozen trained killers checking and rechecking their gear. The tension in the air as a conglomerate of soldiers and scientists wait to see if today is the day they die. They wouldn't really be able to stop it if containment was breached, he knew that much. Regardless, every day the corporal rose from his bed, geared up, and went to watch the screen displaying SCP-923-02. No one outside of those at the site and 05 Command knew the truth, but they were continually assured it was better that way by superiors without names.
The screen flickered to life, the display soon over illuminated and colors exaggerated despite the latest upgrades to their system. A side effect of 923 apparently. So what was it this time? It appeared to be…the corporal squinted his eyes. Yeah, that damned "duck" again. He wouldn't even classify it as one, it's just what the creature most closely resembled. This was 923-06 if he remembered. The first one. Every once in a while it would appear within 923-02, a creature born of pure evil, making plans and manipulating the area to suit its own needs before enacting its latest scheme to breach containment. The corporal doubted they could even make a dent in it if it was successful. He gripped the prayer beads wrapped around his hand tightly, pressing his lips against them. It was all up to 03 now.
SCP-923-03 looked outside. He was always the first to spot the others. He was a creature born of 923-02 just as the others were, but he was a counterbalance, a silent guardian whose sole purpose was the protection of his lair and the two who dwell within. With a yelp he saw the duck and turned around to warn the others.
Thirty minutes later the corporal slumped down against the wall, an audible sigh releasing from the members of observation post 923. He had done it, 03 had stopped the creature again, and they were safe for another day. Still, he couldn't help but shiver. One day he knew that the dog would fail, and then all hell would break loose. The soldier covered his face with his hands, whispering a short prayer. If Courage failed, god help them.
Double 0 173
"Your mission is a simple one 00-173. You are to infiltrate the Chaos Insurgency and stop them from weaponizing 682. Your tools are as follows." C held up a bright green bouncy ball with a smiley face drawn on it. "This ball when thrown will blind anyone in a 5 meter radius for approximately a minute." The doctor tucked the weapon into a pouch that had been conveniently installed on the statue with a power drill just minutes earlier. They were still cleaning up the mess. Those poor D-class never stood a chance. "If you understand your mission, give us a sign." C nodded to his assistant who started a countdown from 3 seconds, upon which all present researchers blinked.
C nodded as 173 was carted off to the armored transport, and flicked on the headset in his ear. "We're good to go. Also send in a clean up crew." He gingerly stepped around the corpses of a dozen researchers, heading back to Site 19.
The senior staff and 05-2 gathered around the helipad as the junior researcher tasked with carrying 173 up the stairs to the roof arrived, placing the statue inside the Black-hawk before collapsing. "The Chaos Insurgency can not turn 682 into a weapon for their own nefarious purposes. Failure is not an option. SCP-105 will provide tactical support, with C in constant conta-" 05-2 paused as a shockwave rocked the building before the door to the roof exploded open, the hail of splinters showering over multiple nearby guards,and Yoric. Kondraki soon ran through the now open entrance and help up a finger, pausing to catch his breath. "What…the hell…are you doing?!" He spit out, still coughing from his apparent sprint and extremely unnecessary destruction of an unlocked door. "Dr. Kondraki, such behavior better have a legitimate explanation." 05-2 narrowed his eyes at the king of the butterflies as he spoke. "You're sending 173 on a mission to an enemy base, completely uncontained, and expecting him to return!" The senior staff nodded amongst themselves, he spoke truth. "We have taken all of the necessary precautions Dr. Kondraki. 105 will be as good as there via pictures taken by 173, and C will be in constant contact. Now we don't need any more interruptions, guards take him out back and beat him repeatedly." The surviving guards nodded and grabbed the doctor, dragging him off. "But 173 can't take pictures, and doesn't even talk or have any indications of being able to hear! Plus as soon as the pilot turns around to fly, he'll be killed!" 05-2 pursed his lips as the mad man was dragged back down the stairs. "He does have a point. Tell the pilot to constantly keeps his eyes on 173 as he flies." The senior staff nodded and muttered to each other, content with this solution as the helicopter was prepped for takeoff.
Five minutes later, a blacked out helicopter crashed outside of a remote Chaos Insurgency base, a rotor blade flying off and slicing into the ear of a nearby Agent Yoric sent out for reconnaissance. With all nearby creatures either dead or Yoric, SCP-173 moved unharmed from the flaming wreckage of the Foundation helicopter, quickly smashing through the door into a room full of startled insurgents. The commanding officer, a senior ex-agent of the Foundation quickly widened his eyes. "Don't blink, this thing will kill you faster then you can…well blink, I guess. Jones, pat it down." A short almost mousy agent moved forward, quickly recovering the burned remains of a headset with an attached camera, and a surprisingly intact green bouncing ball with a smiley face drawn on it. "Looks like he was sent in as a spy…and what do you think this is sir?" The senior insurgent examined the ball closely. "My instincts tell me to bounce it. Try it out rook." Agent Jones nodded and dropped the ball.
C nodded his thanks at his newly recruited assistant holding a bloody feces covered mop. The assistant held a hand to his mouth and gagged, carrying it out of the room at arm's length. His eyes moved over to the newly clean statue, and to the teenager clinging to it. "00-173, your new mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find and eliminate Dr. Kondraki. We broke both of his legs and dumped him somewhere but we honestly can't remember where, so good luck." He eyed 105 and turned around. "I'll let you two get some alone time beforehand." Clef walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He grinned, 'what a slick statue' he thought to himself before flipping out his shades, sliding them up his nose with a finger before shoving his hands into his pockets and whistling to himself, walking back to site 19.
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be kept in a storage locker at Site ██ secured with a combination lock accessible only with written approval to on site level 3 and above personnel. SCP-XXXX is only to be placed on the head of D-class personnel.
Description: SCP-XXXX is a light brown toupee woven of what has determined to be infantile hair. When placed on the head of a human living male mammal, the subject becomes convinced that SCP-XXXX is their real hair. Any attempts to remove SCP-XXXX is met with violent resistance from subject. When subject is restrained SCP-XXXX exhibits resilience to separation, appearing to cling to the currently affected subject's head via unknown means. During this process subjects show extreme pain which seemingly does not reduce their belief that SCP-XXXX is their actual hair and should not be removed. Post-separation subjects are marked with cranial scars consistent with the claw marks of adult raccoons, and show a marked aversion to being within eyesight of SCP-XXXX. The latter effect appears to be a natural reaction to the pain and experience of being affected by SCP-XXXX rather then an abnormal effect.
Testing on various animals have shown that SCP-XXXX exhibits anomalous properties on all living male mammals. Animals utilized during the testing of SCP-hair include: a horse, a gorilla, an orangutan, several Rhesus monkeys, a capybara, an infant American black bear, and Sprinkles the chihuahua (pictured).
When not attached to the head of a living male mammal, SCP-XXXX exhibits no abnormal properties, with all chemical and genetic testing having shown no abnormalities. So far no claws or mass dissimilar to the normal composition of hair have been found in order to account for the scars left behind after testing. X-Rays of affected subjects have proved similarly inconclusive, with no visual aberrations.
SCP-XXXX first came to The Foundation's attention when a salesclerk at ██████ Inc. reported to local authorities that a customer had tried on a wig from the store and began arguing that the hair was real, refusing to pay and lashing out whenever the store security guard attempted to remove it. After arriving, two officers including an undercover Foundation agent with local law enforcement were injured removing SCP-XXXX. A recovery team was dispatched to secure SCP-XXXX, and witnesses were distributed Class-B amnesiacs.
It was a simple matter really. Just a few authorization codes he nabbed the last time he got out and….there it was. For all their security, the Foundation was essentially just a secret prison that excelled in covering their tracks. If you knew the right people, you could use their tricks against them. This time it was looping the cameras. It's kind of interesting really, all you have to do is stand still for a few days and thats what they expect you to do. He adjusted his hat and locked in the codes. That was their one big flaw he thought, cocking his head at the unconscious guard slumped against the console. They expected the same. They expected their containment procedures to work and if they didn't, they at least expected them to break with a huge flourish and bang. They never check for problems until after the fact. He stuck his hands in his pockets, sauntering out into the halls of site 17.
His walk was uneventful as he knew it would be. With each turn, the guards in the previous hall changed. With each step, the cameras moved over their blind spots, missing him. He had planned this too long to let a minimum security site stop him. And finally, here he was. Nodding to the content looking guards, he opened the door to the containment cell, letting it softly shut behind him. His skin rippled, letting a rare display of emotion affect him as he walked up to the old man. This time he had decided to do The Foundation a major favor, as it had come to a point that this issue could no longer be ignored. Oh it had been noted before that "God" couldn't see other SCPs. But he was special. His skin changed, his form taking on the appearance of an old wisened man. There it was, finally recognition in the sage's eyes. His hands tightened around the neck of 'god' and squeezed. The fear in the abomination's eyes as his world slowly went dark was nothing short of blissful for the faceless man. Poor thing. Wiping his hands on his jacket, he once more strode out into the halls of Site 17.
This time there would be an alarm, but he would be back in his cell before that ever happened. People would talk, they would devise plans dealing with the death of god. It would be fun to watch at least, though if they knew what really happened they would devise new procedures for him, and that wasn't something he planned on letting happen. His walk back was once more without incident. At this point researchers and guards were running to 343's cell, hell some of them would probably even take their own lives when they saw what happened if they had been corrupted far enough. But unfortunately that show wasn't for him. Just one last thing to do.
There was only guard left patrolling the hallway, one guard to notice the man in the crooked fedora and gray suit stroll into view. He tilted his hat and answered the question as he always did, knocking the guard unconscious before he could radio it in. He would be fine, wake up in a few minutes to tell them the story about the mysterious man completely calm in a sea of chaos. And SCP-600 would be standing still in its room as always, with no features, nothing to identify itself except for the identify of those who approached it. After all, it really was just Nobody.
Item #: SCP-1582
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: Due to it's length, SCP-1582 is to be kept in 5 x 5 x 8 m reinforced concrete cell, with all adjoining observation rooms kept at a minimum of 5 meters from the ground. Every four hours SCP-1582 is to be fed 1 mouse or creature similar to the common prey of Serpentes Viperidae. Every 48 hours no less then 3 D-class personnel are instructed to enter the containment chamber with high pressure water saws accompanied by 4 guards with standard issue tasers. Upon subduing SCP-1582, the saws are to be used to shorten it the length of 7 posts (approximately 10.7 meters). It is advised that any and all personnel should avoid walking within 3 meters of any point on SCP-1582 excluding shortening procedure or testing with permission from level 3 staff or higher. All personnel handling SCP-1582 should do so within 2 hours of previous feeding and carry standard police issue X26 tasers.
Description: SCP-1582 is a rusted silver metal chain-link fence currently measuring 55.47 m in length end to end. Testing on shed 'skins' of SCP-1582 has revealed it to be primarily made up of wrought iron along with various other unidentified metal alloys. SCP-1582 mimics the behavior of a common Eurasian viper. It will routinely shed its metal upon which all rust is removed from its body, and will become increasingly aggressive if it has not been fed within five hours. When any living creature approaches SCP-1582 its end-post will split open, upon which it will proceed to attempt to devour the creature. If successful, SCP-1582 will resume normal shape for one hour, after which another 5 feet of fence with an additional end-post can be observed growing from its end. How it is able to contain and convert this mass despite a difference in size from matter digested to expansion is currently unknown. High voltage electrical discharges cause SCP-1582 to fall rigid for approximately 10 minutes per dosage.
SCP-1582 can be traced to a an O████ factory in ███████, Wyoming. Retrieved paperwork shows that it was fully assembled on ██/██/1963 and delivered immediately to a residential address in town. Local authorities were contacted when the owner of the fences' young daughter was reported to have been running around the family's property line where the fence was installed when they heard screaming, and upon running outside discovered the daughter's left leg to be missing below the knee. The girl claimed to have been attacked by the fence, though forensic testing showed no evidence of her genetic material on the iron. 3 days later, the daughter died from a severe generalized tetanus infection.
After several similar incident reports in the area, the fence was reported to have disappeared from the ███████ home and the Foundation was contacted. Foundation assets were dispatched and found SCP-1582 approximately one mile west of its installation point, feeding on local wildlife. It was observed to be approximately ███ meters at this point. It was subdued via electrical discharges from Agent █████'s taser upon which time it was safely transferred to Site-██ and shortened via current containment procedures.
Addendum: The O████ factory has since been abandoned, and upon Foundation investigation only the corpse of the apparent factory foreman was recovered, discovered to be killed by injection of venom originating from a water viper. Fences delivered were traced via surviving paperwork within the factory but as of ██/██/2008 do not show any anomalous properties.
With a bang, the steel door was ripped from its hinges, crashing into the large ornate office. A stocky balding man in a white jumpsuit stumbled out from the doorway, smoke billowing from a large hole in his stomach as he fell. "Señor Blast!" exclaimed the suited Mexican man behind the dark mahogany desk. He quickly rushed over to the fallen Señor, shouting coming through the dimly light hallway. Señor Blast had died during the explosion it seemed, and there was nothing they could do about it, at least not until the boys in Shanghai got a good look at him. Now was not the time for that though, he reminded himself, drawing his personal Mucho Explosión™ handgun and gripping it tightly. Before he could move however, he felt cold steel pressing against his neck.
"Professor Funtastic, you are guilty of copyright infringement and creating inferior quality toys that are dangerous to today's youth. You have been sentenced to death." The new toymaker slowly turned around, laying his gun on the floor as he looked up at the sharply dressed gentleman who's head appeared to be a briefcase with a face roughly carved into the front. The face showed no signs of life, neither blinking nor breathing visible, though the human hand appeared to curl tighter around the gun now pressed against his forehead. "Please, don't hurt me, I have done no such thing! I simply create affordable toys for children to collect! I had no idea you created those things before me, just let me go and I promise to never create again…" As he spoke, the small man slowly slid a hand down without breaking eye contact, reaching for his first edition Mucho Explosión™. At the last word he swiped the gun away from his face, picking up the miniature green cannon and pulling the trigger, grinning from ear to ear as a loud explosion was heard throughout the facility.
Professor Funtastic quickly shook the ash from his face, staring down at the destroyed cannon with disbelief on his face. "But..no, no you can't do this, I'll stop, don't shoot me!" The barrel of the gun was pressed against the shaking man's forehead as the mouth on the suitcase slowly opened up. "Objection denied." With a click, the bullet slid through the barrel and into the Mexican upstart's skull, quickly eliminating the would be counterfeiter. Mister Litigation pulled out a towel, wiping off his suit. Between this and The Foundation's attempts at recreating Mr. Redd, it had been a busy week. Oh well, as Dr. Wondertainment said, a Mister's work was never done.
Doctor Wondertainment smiled, placing the finishing touches on his newest creation. "You'll be my greatest toy yet! Not only will people be able to play with you, but you'll be able to play with people, won't that be such fun." He adjusted the man's sandals, looking him over once more with the satisfied smile that only one who creates is truly capable of knowing. "You will be the ultimate toy, able to play with everyone at once and change things around so there's more fun for the world. I don't want you interfering too much though…" With a touch and an inhuman screech a limiter was applied. "I don't want you messing with my other toys and pets, so lets let you think you're the only toy around." Doctor Wondertainment picked up the humanoid figure, walking to the door….well, one of the doors that existed in this exact space at this exact time, and opened it up, depositing him on a lonely back alley in Prague. He placed a hand on the toy's back, making a slow winding motion before letting go, the toy's eyes opening. "You did give me trouble in your original form, but I knew you'd be worth it in the end. After all, it's not like I'm destroying you, more like..re-purposing. Now go out there and have fun…Mister God."
Dr. Tuna's Personnel File
Name: Dr. ████ Tuna
Security Clearance: Level 2/1118-1528-1299
Facility: None (see below)
Profile: Dr. ████ Tuna prior to employment by the Foundation was employed at one ██████ inc. as the head of human resources, having earned his doctorate in industrial psychology from ████████ university. Approximately nine months after his arrival, the organization was acquired by ███████, a Marshall Carter & Dark Ltd. front company. At the time, the Foundation had multiple moles within ███████ and so were able to successfully raid ██████ inc. after the merger, acquiring the recently transferred SCPs ███, ███, and ████.
During the Foundation raid, stray bullets shattered the glass of the company's 1.9 kiloliter aquarium behind which Dr. Tuna was hiding behind. Approximately █ minutes later during routine clean up procedures, Dr. Tuna was found shaking on the ground, covered in shards of glass and with one ███ pound tuna with its mouth closed around his right arm up to the shoulder. Due to his extensive psychiatric experience as well as his knowledge of aforementioned the SCPs and Marshall Carter & Dark Ltd, he was offered a tentative position within the Foundation. The circumstances surrounding his recruitment as well as the apparent inclination to eat only meals in which tuna is the main ingredient and the tendency for both subordinate and overseeing staff to write Dr. Tuna on all official forms has led to his current Foundation designation.
Owing to Dr. Tuna's work on sentience and mass psychology, he currently works as a mobile Foundation asset, overseeing applicable experiments at multiple Foundation sites.
SCP objects overseen by Dr. Tuna
Item #: SCP-1717
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-1717 is to be stored at mobile containment unit 73, the location of which at any time is restricted to level 3 staff and above. Due to the sensitive nature of the object, it may only be removed for testing with clearance from three level 4 personnel.
Description: SCP-1717 has the appearance of a standard Foundation issue stainless steel flash drive. SCP-1717 has no apparent capacity for data, though as of this time any data transferred to or deleted from SCP-1717 has failed to show up during its next activation.
When SCP-1717 is plugged into a computer, it contains an image file in the .jpg format. When viewed, the subject will go unconscious for an average of five minutes. All attempts to wake the subject during this time have so far proven unsuccessful. At the conclusion of this period, the subject will begin to speak apparently random syllables rapidly for a period of ten to fifteen minutes, at which time their eyes will close and they all brain activity will cease, resulting in death in 100% of cases regardless of attempted outside intervention. The picture will retain its properties when copied, and as such all known copies of the file have been destroyed and all requests to replicate it for study have been denied.
SCP-1717 was discovered lying on the floor of the Site-██ cafeteria on ██/██/20██ by custodial staff, though examination of the security footage shows no evidence of it existing, with █████████'s hand closing around empty space. It has since been determined that SCP-1717 affects any medium through which is it recorded, altering it to exclude its own existence.
All attempts to destroy SCP-1717 to date have failed, with SCP-1717 appearing entirely unscathed in each scenario.
A House Divided
"And now ladies and gentlemen we have something spectacular that I know you'lll love. Mr. White, Mr. Black?" The curtain behind the auctioneer rustled and a large suited man walked out, pulling along a covered object with four muscular arms. The crowd gasped and clapped happily, or rather their servants did for them (one could not expect such a refined piece of society to clap for themselves after all), as the auctioneer smiled. "Now now ladies and gentlemen unfortunately our two headed friend here is not for sale, but do not be disappointed as I guarantee our last item up for bidding will leave you more then satisfied. If you please."
At that the large monstrosity of a man pulled off the tarp, revealing a large granite statue of a man holding a musket. The crowd was rather silent at this, and the auctioneer held up his hands as a gesture to wait. "This glorious piece recovered from Vermont is a sentient creature, and questioning of its former caretaker has led us to the information that is capable of speech and possesses an IQ of approximately 160. What a fantastic piece for your garden, a philosopher and a watchman!" He smiles and claps his hands. "The bidding starts at one million…"
And two minutes later it was over. A pudgy man with a graying handlebar mustache smiling to himself at his most recently acquired item. "Congratulations to bidder number thirteen, this piece will undoubtedly entertain you and your guests." The members of the room stood up to leave and began to shuffle towards the doors, pausing only as the distinct sound of stone grinding against itself echoed through the hall. "Come." The granite man spoke, his eyes locked upon the crowd. The guests of Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd. shifted uncomfortably but moved closer, enthralled by the prospect of words yet unspoken by the intelligent statue. "Ahem. Mr. White, Mr. Black please cover this piece once more and return it. I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen, but until it is delivered, this object must be returned to its secure location." The large dual-man walked out onto the stage once more, grabbing onto the statue. "I would rather you not." With one swift movement the granite soldier grabbed onto their dual throats and crushed them in his stone palms, pushing the gasping and twitching experiment away from himself. The crowd and even the experienced auctioneer stood stunned as the statue slowly stepped down from his pedestal. Granite bullets appeared in his hand as he began dropping them into his rifle, the doors to the auction bursting open as a dozen men in SWAT gear flooded through, bullets peppering the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen…The Foundation sends its regards."
Item #: SCP-XXX
Object Class: Thaumiel
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXX is contained in Unit-01 located within [LOCATION REDACTED BY ORDER OF 05-13]. SCP-XXX is contained in a standard humanoid containment cell, modified with SCPs ███ and ████ to be completely soundproof. Entrance to SCP-XXX's cell may only be granted with a 2/3 majority vote of confidence from all current 05s, excluding routine soundproofing inspection which is to be carried out by two level 3 agents bi-weekly. Weekly psychological evaluations are to be carried out on all Unit-01 personnel, and upon any deviation or death of personnel, one staff member from Site-[LOCATION REDACTED BY ORDER OF 05-13] is to be briefed and assigned to his/her position. Due to the intimate nature of SCP-XXX, 05-13 is in charge of containment of SCP-XXX and Unit-01, with the information needed for its containment only disseminated to the 05 council upon the event of 05-13's death.
Description: SCP-XXX is a caucasian male of indeterminate age who has been in a state of REM sleep for an as of yet undetermined amount of time. SCP-XXX was discovered asleep outside of Site-██ by 05-13, then known as Agent ███████. Upon attempting to wake SCP-XXX, [DATA EXPUNGED] resulting in the use of SCP-████ in order to contain the ZK-Class reality failure. Due to the center of the breach surrounding two focal points, that of SCP-XXX and SCP-███, it is assumed that SCP-XXX's "dream state" in fact revolves around SCP-███. As a consequence, protection of SCP-███ is a secondary goal of all personnel assigned to Unit-01 and to a lesser extent, the Foundation as a whole.
The Invasion of Site [REDACTED]
"And with that, I'm done with you and this 8 day work week." Technical Researcher David Rosen leaned back and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. How 732 had somehow infected the latest batch of flash drives sent over for mobile storage was beyond him. Also beyond him was how exactly he had just worked eight days in a week and what the name of the last day of the week was. Cracking his knuckles, Rosen hunched over the computer once more, preparing the final check before he was done with this hell hole of a site. Just one more command and…wait. That wasn't right. His eyebrows furrowed as the screen began glowing bright red, the system running seemingly random lines of code across the display. As the last symbol flashed across the screen, recognition finally flashed across Technical Researcher David Rosen's eyes. Unfortunately, so did the superheated shards from an exploding monitor barely a foot away from the programmer's face.
"I'm telling you, my doctorate is in psychology!" Dr. Tuna pouted, staring at the array of medical devices attached to the latest patient admitted to the site's medical bay. "
With all the recent breaches, we don't have anyone else to spare, now get bandaging!" The command came from a sharp faced nurse, with an even sharper syringe in her hand, right before another researcher stumbled through the doorway missing an arm, commanding the attention of her and the other nearby emergency staff. Dr. Tuna sighed and shook his head, gripping the roll of bandages tightly before walking over to the nearest bed. The heart monitor indicated a man close to death, and a thin layer of gauze adorned his face. Severe burns and a pierced optical nerve if his memory served. He began wrapping the fresh bandages around the man's eyes, letting a frown spread across his normally implacable features. This man would never see again, maybe even speak. Tuna's eyes closed for just a split second of grieving, remembering the sacrifices of those who were injured in their research.
"You're going to die here Dolphin…" Dr. Tuna's eyes shot open as he yelped, stumbling and smashing his face into the corner of the bed post. "Damnit Rosen!" Tuna stood up, rubbing his nose as he turned at the recently eyepatch'd researcher. "And it's Tuna, not Dolphin." The proper marine animal that the doctor's name was derived from quickly became a source of controversy between the two, leading to a shouting match, an attempted bandaging of Researcher Rosen's mouth and would have most likely led to a fist fight between the two had the same nurse from earlier not intervened and forced both of them out of the medical bay. As they crossed the threshold, a shout in Lithuanian was heard, followed quickly by a certain Baron carrying a scalpel into the Operating Room dressed in traditional crimson robes. The fact that this man was not in fact a doctor in any legitimate sense of the word seemed to make no impact to anyone not currently being dragged through the hall, and so was lost in the chaos surrounding the site's emergency ward.