- Red Box
- My Notepad
- Snuff Video
- Toothed Goddess
- Audio Cough
- Egg Timer
- Arabian Knights
- Gentlemans Duel
- Failed SCP's
A red box found buried in the woods. Made of lacquered red-painted holly wood. Sea-salt packed around it, box is covered in tallow. Ground contains traces of ash. Inside, box is crammed full of dry rice and a (mask? doll? sword? something sp00ky and spiritual.) Found by a couple of kids because they noticed a bare patch in the ground where the grass wouldn't grow and a small stone statue planted in the center. Euclid. Item summons ghosts? Maybe? Needs an effect, which is always the kicker. Ugh. Things always get wet around it? Like sea water? Possessed individuals have been known to puke inordinate amounts of seawater.
Where am I, again?
Okay, there's my alarm clock, and my dresser, and my desk…home, duh. Of course. I'm in bed. I should have known that.
The alarm clock gets turned off first, then I pick the pad of paper off the nightstand — ah, shit, knocked it to the floor. I grumble and carefully pick it up.
"January first. Wednesday. Rebecca Church of Blackensville, Tennessee." Right, that's how I start every page. Date, name, location.
"You have work today at the Super Collection grocerie store on five-hundred fifteen and a half Main Street at nine o'clock." It's a good job. The note pad says so. Easy work, since I just work in the produce section. "Your shift ends at four, then you'll stop by the post office on three hundred Greenbeck Street to mail your bills."
The next few minutes are spent curled in bed, reading off the list and minutes of what I had planned for today. I was gonna be busy, it looks like. Judging by the previous pages, I'm busy every day. I'm always busy. That's why I have my note pad, to make sure I do everything and don't forget any of it. I read it over once more then get out of bed and shower — ugh, dropped the shampoo, I wonder if I do that often — and come back out to read the list again. It's very important that I follow my list. Good things will happen if I follow my list. Breakfast next.
I follow my instructions and have a nice bowl of cereal. My note pad says they're cheerios, and that I like cheerios.
I don't think I like cheerios.
I glance around the kitchen and stand up, sneaking over to the pantry to steal some honey. I think I like honey, but my note pad doesn't say so I can't be sure. I drizzle a generous amount on my cheerios and they taste a bit better. I feel guilty, because the list didn't say to use honey, but I wrote that list and I can do whatever I want.
I pour out my cheerios and put the honey away. I really shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry.
I study the next part of my list super-hard, to make up for not following the last part. I get ready for work at the…um. I check the list again. Right, Super Collections, produce section. I put on my uniform, a nice blue polo shirt. The top button was buttoned and it hurt my throat, but the list didn't say to unbutton it so I didn't.
I go to work at the groceries store. The people are all very nice. One lady even told me she liked how I arranged the carrots! I check my note pad again and it says to tell her "thank you."
I say "thanks!"
She hesitates, then leaves.
I'm should have said "thank you," not "thanks." I really shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry.
That's two things now that I've done wrong. I hold my list extra-tight when I leave work. I have to go to the post office now. It's a nice post office and the old man behind the counter is extra nice to me today. I hand him my envelopes, which I remembered to bring because of my list. He takes them and puts them away, telling me to be good and follow my note pad. I check my note pad. It didn't say what to do so I didn't reply.
I'm being good, see?
I feel sick as I leave the post office. I want to go home and lay down, but my note pad doesn't say I can. I have to go to the park and feed the pigeons. I hate pigeons. I hate them so much. I want to kill them all, but I don't. I sit on the bench and feed them crumbs and smile, because the list says that I like feeding pigeons and I don't want to be bad again. I need to follow my list.
I hold out my hand to feed the pigeon some crumbs but he pecks me. I cry, but I keep my hand out because my note pad says I like feeding pigeons even though I just want to wring its neck. I want to stomp its little birdy skull flat. He pecks me again, as if he knows what I'm thinking, and I do something bad.
I freeze, staring at the ashes. I really, really shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry. I'm so so so sorry.
I stand up and start sprinting away. I don't know where I'm going but I know I need to leave. The other people in the park aren't nice to me any more and start running after me. One man tackles me to the ground and I scrape my chin. The others start piling on and soon I can't move any more. I can burn them, but I don't. I don't want to be bad.
An old man in a white coat comes into the park. He looks at me and frowns and I suddenly feel as cold as ash. I'm sorry. Kneels down so his face is closer to mine and shakes his head sadly.
"I'm sorry," I blurt out. "I didn't mean to."
"Rebecca, we talked about this. You promised me you didn't want to burn things any more. You said you couldn't. You were doing so good, too. You only had a few days of trials left."
"I'm sorry. I don't remember." I really didn't. I was just so sorry. I knew I messed up but I didn't know what, but he was already pulling a needle out.
"We were going to make you Safe, Rebecca. But you lied. Even if you don't remember, you lied and now you have to go back." My neck stings as he sticks the needle in.
"I'm so disappointed in you."
Where am I again?
Okay, there's white walls, and a white floor, and white sheets…containment, duh. Of course. I'm in a cell. I should have known that.
Item #: SCP-1971
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-1971-1 must be kept in a 3 x 3 x 3m cell with minimum living conditions. 1 x 1 x 2m cell encased within a solid concrete cube with at least 20m side. Video and audio transmission equipment must be installed for interviews and monitoring.
Any other instance of SCP-1971 is to be neutralized on sight with tranquilizer guns and Dr. A████████ is to be contacted in that case. The other members of the crew are to be contained in the same fashion as SCP-1971-1.
SCP-1971-12 is to be neutralized, tranquilized and transferred immediately to facility 1971 if sighted. Until more information is gathered about its unusual translocation abilities, it shall be kept sedated at all times.
Description: SCP-1971 is a group of 12 almost identical humanoids, 6' tall, that travel together as a crew. SCP-1971-2 through 12 wear black leather overcoats with high collar upturned, black male pants, long shoes(est. size 16, male) and a black bowler hat. Their hands are covered with white cotton gloves and their faces are covered with a round white plaster mask with no features whatsoever except for two round holes for the eyes, behind which nothing is visible. SCP-1971-1 dressed in a similar way, but is significantly taller and dons a top hat instead of a bowler hat. The plaster mask of #1 also features a long and acute protuberance in the middle that resembles a beak or a very long nose. Upon examination of SCP-1971-1, it is known that under all the clothing, the SCP-1971 individual resembles a human being with subnormal BFP, acute kyphosis and abnormally long toes and fingers. Behind the plaster mask of SCP-1971-1 [DATA EXPUNGED]. The same is assumed to be the case for all the other creatures.
SCP-1971 identifies themselves as a filming crew, composed of:
- 1 Director ("Boss");
- 4 Carriers, usually seen hauling, loading or unloading two heavy metal trunks containing antiquated, but otherwise seemingly normal filming equipment and a portable editing table;
- 2 Cameramen;
- 1 Sound Engineer;
- 1 Lighting Specialist;
- 1 Editor;
- 1 Mechanic;
- 1 "Shipper"
The crew always travels together, and have been sighted as they literally appear and disappear into the night. Their MO consists in first kidnapping a seemingly random person and later on — from 2 to 12 days later — contact another person in an isolated location, usually graveyards, abandoned warehouses and tunnels, the whole area set up with the crew's equipment as if it is a movie set. The kidnapped person(subject A) will be presented to the contacted individual(subject B) and the crew will propose B the chance to terminate A in any fashion they prefer, as long as the crew is allowed to capture it in film. After the deed is done, the editor creates a videotape from the footage and the shipper sends the object away with unknown teleporting powers, the same ones used to appear and disappear quietly. Details of the MO of SCP-1971 were gathered from various interviews transcripted below and rare reports of sightings and encounters. The people involved were administered Class C amnesiacs after the reports were collected.
To this moment, only SCP-1971-1 was contained, and is to be kept under heavy vigilance until the whole group is found and eliminated.
Incident 1971-01 - Containment of SCP-1971-1:
After a 3-month patrol surrounding other appearance sites of SCP-1971, the crew was sighted leaving the scene at the ████████ graveyard, in [REDACTED], where [DATA EXPUNGED]. The agents in charge could see SCP-1971-12 was already in the process of "shipping" a tape with what is presumed to be the result of that night's activities, when Agent ██████ opened fire against them. The mounted spotlights were turned off and the crew hastily put their equipment inside the trunks and prepared to leave under fire of the agents, who were now approaching quickly. Presumably. no shots hit either a member of the crew or the equipment, but it was not possible to assess that matter.
Half a minute later, the crew was ready and the "Shipper" started their departure ritual. It was then that Agent ██████ sprinted and tackled SCP-1971-1 to the ground, rolling downhill and colliding with a gravestone. The remainder of the crew either did not take notice or was unable to stop the ritual, as they left without their Boss. [REDACTED] Surrounded by gun-toting Foundation agents, SCP-1971-1 raised its hands and surrendered peacefully, agreeing to be taken into containment, but did not say a single word.
Agents ███████████ and ██████ were left at the place in case the rest of the crew came back to look for their missing member. After a 72-hour wait, no sign of the crew was sighted and the search was abandoned.
No trace of █████ ████████████, the only other person present, who fled during the turbulent encounter of the crew with the Foundation, was left, either. The corpse of ███████████ ███████ was taken for autopsy.
SCP-1971-1 entered the examination room at ██:██ on day ██-██-████ followed by two security guards and Dr. A███████, who insisted to be present during the procedure. The individual was told to sit on the examination table and the routine procedure began. The subject agreed to cooperate.
The subject was stripped first of its overcoat, revealing a silk button-up shirt with long sleeves, also meticulously buttoned on the wrists. Upon stripping it of its pants, the examination crew was able to finally have a glimpse of its skin as the legs became visible. It is gray and covered in freckles and scab-like non-descript bumps, concentrated over the kneecaps. It was also wearing silk boxers and long socks, that were taken off soon afterwards. [REDACTED] The naked back was covered by large quitinous plaques that made the subjects kyphosis look even more acute. These slates were seen to move constantly in rhythmic fashion, revealing red flesh-like matter under it for a second or so with each movement, then hiding it once again. [REDACTED] Under the top hat, the subject seems is hairless, with a very short skull and no visible outer ears, only two holes presumed to be the inner ears. The plaster mask, tied up with a single nylon string, covers most of the subject's head. As the crew's hands approach the mask, respiration movement becomes faster and the subject jerks slightly. The mask came off easily and [DATA EXPUNGED]
[DATA EXPUNGED] cleaned up and the place properly sterilized, SCP-1971-1 was taken back with its mask reattached. It apologized profusely before sitting back on the table for examination.
[REDACTED] Sthetoscopic examination of the chest reveals a heart is present, but there's little sound of breathing. Upon auscultation of the back plaques, a rasp breathing sound was heard from inside. Bowel movement was heard inside the abdomen.
[REDACTED] The subject has no visible sexual organs or any kind of genitalia whatsoever.
Post-Examination Report, by Dr. A███████
We've learned a good lot about SCP-1971, if we presume all the others are like SCP-1971-1. We still need to capture SCP-1971-12 to research however it achieves its powers of teleportation, assuming they are in any way physiological or even reproducible by human means.
Also, here's a memo: keep SCP-1971's mask on all the times. No kidding.
The following are excerpts from various interviews between Dr. A. and SCP-1971-1 between ██-██-201█ and ██-██-2012.
Dr. A: I think we should start with names. Mine is Dr. A███████.
SCP-1971: Pleased, doctor. They call me "Boss".
Dr. A: It's a pleasure. I'd like to know what you are, and what you do.
"Boss": We are filmmakers. We make documentaries. We were sent to document you people. We make films, send back, they love it and ask for more.
Dr. A: Who sent you?
Dr. A: That means… they want to come?
"Boss": No. They like to watch. That's why they sent us.
Dr. A: And again, what are you?
"Boss": Filmmakers. I said already.
Dr. A: I know. I want to know what you are, not what you do.
"Boss": We are what we do, doctor. Filmmakers. Like our parents and parents of our parents. All filmmakers.
Dr. A: Tell me about your crew, please.
"Boss": We are fully equipped. Carriers, technician, editor, cameras… they are all very good and well trained. I am no exception. The shipper, too, is very good. He sends films to the audience. Very important. But no more important than the director. That's me.
Dr. A: This "shipper"… how does he send your films away?
"Boss": I do not know. Nobody knows, only the shippers. They have this trade secret they pass along. I don't understand. I'm just a director.
Dr. A: I see… and he sends the crew away the same way?
"Boss": Yes. In and out. We travel through [REDACTED] or something, he said once. I don't really understand.
Dr. A: So… you think your crew might be looking for you?
"Boss": Probably. They can't make a movie without the director. I write the scripts, too.
Dr. A: And… do you think they can find you?
"Boss": Maybe. Didn't yet, anyway.
Dr. A: I see…
After this interview, Dr. A requested alterations to SCP-1971-1's containment procedures. The subject complied without trouble.
Dr. A: How long have you been doing this?
"Boss": A million… a million and a half days or so. I lost count.
Dr. A: That's… amazing. Where did you get this filming equipment, then?
"Boss": [REDACTED] That's why it's so good: it's born that way.
Dr. A: So, all this time, and no do-overs?
"Boss": No. Flawless record. One take, is all.
Dr. A: How do you do it?
"Boss": We say "do it". They do.
Dr. A: …There must be something to it. Hypnosis? Control of mind waves? Priming?
"Boss": We say "do it". We just say. We don't force. We just tell them and they do it.
Dr. A: This… is uncanny.
"Boss": We could say "jump", I don't know if they jump. If they feel like, maybe…
Dr. A: I'd like to test that. If you don't mind.
"Boss": I won't.
Dr. A: Good. I'd like to end this for today. Thanks for the information.
"Boss": No problem. (pause) Doctor?
Dr. A: Yes?
"Boss": It is very tight in here.
Dr. A: I know. It's temporary. (pause) I'm sorry.
"Boss": I see.
Tests realized later with randomized D-class personnel to figure SCP-1971's method of supposed mind control failed not only for a "do it" command, but for any command at all. Subjects didn't report any abnormal inclination to obey. When asked about it SCP-1971-1 replied "Actors no good. I'd choose others." Its request to choose subjects for subsequent tests was denied.
Item #: SCP-GGG
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: Basically keep her in a locked room, don't let her talk to people. Feed her teeth, maybe?
Description: She's immortal, been around for years. With the fall of paganism and stuff, she decided to become more low profile. She is a bit of a tooth fetishistic woman, and can talk people into self mutilation, namely removing their own teeth.
Maybe she uses the teeth she gets to stay alive? Replace her own teeth? Hook would be what she does with them, gotta think up something interesting. Could be that she uses them for nefarious purposes?
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? Granted, they are whiter and straighter than the average ladies 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. 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 want us to try a little something together, 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. I promise, you are entirely under your own control.
Teeth. Tell me, do you floss? Everyday? Lies, I know you don't. Your dentist doesn't remind you each time you stop by for nothing, does he? Yes, maybe you should take better care. These are your adult teeth, aren't they? They're not going to grow back, you know. Except for those wisdom teeth hidden back up under there, but those babies aren't due to erupt for a few more years. 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. 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? There we go.
Feel it. Still smooth, isn't it? Hard to imagine something on the human body can be that perfectly smooth. Make sure you take it in. No one knows your teeth like you do. Know one knows about that subtle little hitch, that little bump, those itty bitty ridges from where it erupted. Know one knows the exact curve and length, except for you. Why don't you take better care of something that is so innately part of you? Still feeling it? 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. Forefinger and thing, grip the very tip, there we go. Go on now, this isn't anything your teeth wouldn't experience if your brushed them every once in a while. You can definitely feel it now, can't you? That wiggle? No, I'm not doing anything to it. Your tooth is 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? It's almost a pleasant ache. You take an almost perverted pleasure in the way they hurt, 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.
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 would like to see. Ooh, yes, I can see the gums moving with it now. They're following it around, like chewed bubblegum. Don't stop, I can almost see it. Twist it. Yes, twist it I want to see. It's so loose, I bet you can taste it, can't you. No, don't stop. 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 pop. Almost. Don't stop. Pop. You've got to sever the nerve, dearie. Just one more. One more pop. You're so close, don't stop now. Keep going. One more. One more-
Mmmm, yes, that is nice, isn't it? Go on, explore it! There's no harm. You're 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 would 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.
Dr. Namelessguy Sat back, grinding a fist into a single blood shot eye. Done. He was finally done for tonight. He drew in a heavy breath, holding it captive for a long, aching moment before letting it hiss from his lips. The hot, stale air ruffling the papers on his desk and he frowned. Carefully, he rearranged the product of sixteen hours of work, the thick sheaf still warm from where his hands had been pressed to it. He was finally caught up with work, a rare enough occurrence by itself for Foundation employees. His weary mind mulled over the possible expenditures of his newly-found free time, briefly entertaining the idea of going to the cafeteria for his first meal in eighteen hours. He discarded the thought, deciding on sleep.
Even the thought of it made him smile. He settled in his chair, thinking back to the last time he had a good nights rest. Let's see; it's four o'clock in the morning on a Saturday, and he hadn't slept yesterday. Thursday night he'd been in quarantine when that fungus SCP had broken loose, and Wednesday he'd spent sleeping on the couch after an argument with the missus…hadn't slept on Tuesday, and Monday he'd stayed late to finish that report on D-Class allocation…Sunday he'd been in the burn ward after another SCP had breached containment…huh. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a good nights sleep. Well, that's all going to change tonight, he thought triumphantly.
He remained sitting, letting the quiet of his small office wash over him before he would pack up and go home. It was peaceful, an area that was his. To him, it was more home than home. He ran a fingertip over his stapler, following the devices smooth, black outline, before going up and tracing the rip of his desk lamp. Both were gifts, given to him by the Foundation when he got his office. Next was his pencil cup, a pale mug labeled "#1 Researcher!", also a gift from when he figured out how to make D-Class transportation systems 2% more efficient. His "In" box, mercifully empty, followed closely behind by his "Out" box, obscenely filled with neatly stacked and filed papers. Almost unconsciously, his finger found the handle to his top drawer and gently tugged it open.
It was filled with various odds and ends, office supplies, the occasional rubber band ball. They rattled softly as the drawer slid open, but Namelessguy's eyes were drawn to the 9 mm sitting on a stack of old printer paper. A standard issue Foundation Beretta M9 15RD, another "gift". Distributed among all researchers at Site 19, it was a fairly common firearm as far as hand guns went. He remembered the day they signed him on and gave him his office. There hadn't been a whole lot of ceremony to it; they'd shoved him in, handed him a stapler, gun and name tag, then told him to get to work. Unsure what to do with it, he'd stuck it in the drawer and tried to forget about it. It was always there, though. Tickling the back of his mind; an instrument whose sole purpose was to end life. It was not a tool of construction, of contribution, nor of production. It was a tool of destruction. And it was sitting in his desk drawer.
He picked it up.
The smooth, machine-wrought curves passed under his fingertips as he examined the thing, the matte finish soaking up light like a hungry maw. There was no part to this weapon that did not have purpose, he realized. Every sliver of metal, every groove, every nick, and every curve fit together, sliding over one another, resisting where resistance was needed and giving where give was needed. It was fascinating. Dr. Namelessguy hefted the lump of metal, appreciating the weight, the coolness of steel in his palm. With a flick of his thumb, he let the magazine slide free, catching it and placing it on his desk. His attention followed along the carefully planned chain of reactions; as the trigger depressed, the levers and pins spun, pulling the hammer back. The spring would resist, of course, as was its purpose, but it would give way, allowing the hammer to pull back father and farther before-snap. The tiny bit of metal rocketed forward, hitting the flint. He manually operated the rest of the sequence, pulling the slide back as the gases expanded, the cartridge flying out of the chamber in slow motion in his minds eye. He let the slide slip forward, knowing it would scoop another round into the chamber as it did so. He sat there a moment longer, running through the process in his minds eye once more.
He pressed the barrel against his temple.
His pulse jumped immediately, then settled as logic kicked in. It was empty; the magazine was on his desk, he'd just checked the chamber, what he was doing was perfectly safe. Still, the tiny kick of adrenaline at the simple move caught his attention. His breathing was elevated, and a slight tremble had entered his hands that he couldn't wholly attribute to sleep deprivation. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine what it would be like. Holding a gun to his head, the trigger depressing. The spring creaking as it gave way, the hammer pulling back. He frowned. It wasn't quite right. It didn't feel…real. He glanced at the door, wetting his lips.
He slid the magazine in.
Still safe, he reasoned. He had the safety on, and even if he didn't the chamber was empty. He was just getting a feel for it. The weight of the bullets definitely made it more realistic, made it easier to imagine. Closing his eyes, he replayed the scenario once more. The trigger going down, the hammer coming back, the bullet leaving, the slide rocketing, the casing flying out…yes, he could imagine it perfectly. Almost perfectly. The almost nagged at him. Almost perfectly. There was no bullet in the chamber. That degree of realism was still removed. He held his breath and listened to his pulse pound through him. He felt on edge, he felt on fire, he felt alive. If this was as excited as he got without actually being in danger, what would it be like if-
He pulled the slide back.
Safety on. Still safe. Still secure. Still-GOD, everything was in such crystal clear definition. He could see every grain, every nick, every stain on his shitty little office door, every greasy fingerprint on his desk, and every fleck of dust that wafted through the air. His breath came out in ragged gasps, his finger tip trembling on the trigger. He mentally berated himself, disgusted at his own excitement. He still had that safety net, that little pin of metal holding the bullet in check. He still had his finger, the final line he wouldn't cross. And yet, he was acting like he had just ran a marathon. He gulped wetly, letting the thoughts spin through his mind. He felt oddly detached, almost dizzy even, from the gallons of adrenaline his body was dumping into his veins. So high, such excitement, and the safety wasn't even turned off-
He flipped the safety.
Everything was quiet. God damn, it was never this quiet. He could hear fucking EVERYTHING. The air whistling down his throat, the soft clatter as the gun shook in his hand, the soft creak in his finger as it tightened. He focused on that, his eyes staring straight ahead, unseeingly. He focused on his finger, tightening around the trigger. He knew exactly how far it had to go before the hammer tripped. He squeezed half that distance. His heart was beating a thousand times per second, pouring the barely oxygenated blood through his system. He pulled half the remaining distance. It was hot. So fucking hot. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that it was because of the blood pounding just below his skin, dumping his body heat into the room. That part of him was quickly smothered by the roaring in his ears. He depressed half the remaining distance. Just an eighth. Just an eighth of a pull left. Such a tiny amount. He pulled half, then half again. A thirty second. Such a tiny amount. His eyes dilated, black pinpricks as the world narrowed. It was just him. Just him, that gun, and a thirty second-no, a sixty fourth of a pull now. He could feel it. He could feel the hammer straining, begging the spring to release it. Begging to be reunited with the flint. Begging to spark, to ignite the gun powder. It pulled back, just the tiniest amount, nearing the point of no return as his finger tightened, the tendons and nerves and muscles pulling the trigger that last, indivisible amount-
"Doctor, I know it's late, but I was looking over the 892 report and I thought that maybe-"
Assistant Researcher Wilkes paused at the door, holding a stack of paper and staring at the doctor stupidly. Dr. Namelessguy hastily pulled the gun away, dropping it into the drawer and pushing it shut all in one smooth motion. A moment of awkward silence filled the tiny space as they stared at one another, neither moving a muscle.
"Doctor, what were-"
"An experiment," he cuts him off. "Just an experiment." His eyes flick to the thick sheaf of paper, and he held out a hand. "If I may."
Wilkes clumsily handed him the report, fumbling with the papers as he stammered out, "I-I noticed a few consistent cells in the, uh, uh-DH block, and I, uh, thought that if it were a pattern, we could…"
He trails off, gesturing helplessly at his report. Dr. Namelessguy flipped through the papers, nodding thoughtfully.
"Interesting. That could work…but only if the cells didn't change over that period…Get a copy of the last twenty iterations. I don't think they were perfectly consistent, but it should give us a control group." He returns to the report, mumbling quietly to himself. Another moment of awkward silence passes. He glances up, noticing Wilkes was still there. "That will be all, ."
"Doctor, when I walked in, what were-"
"That will be all, Doctor Wilkes."
They stare at one another a moment longer. He fidgeted, then nodded respectfully. Slowly, Assistant Researcher Wilkes turned and exited the office, casting back a final, lingering glance. Dr. Namelessguy ignored the look and picked up his pen. With a certain tired, methodical pace, he started scribbling notations in the corner, reading through the report carefully. He stifled a yawn and turned the page.
He had really been hoping to get some sleep.
Just a Cough
Item #: SCP-GGG
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: Undercover Foundation Agents are to be deployed within notable Third-World countries including, but not limited to, Chad, Rwanda, Guinea, Ethiopia, Mozambique, and Niger. Agents are to observe the local populace for signs of SCP-GGG; should an outbreak be detected, Mobile Task Force Pi-12 (aka "Native Speakers") is to be deployed to contain the local population.
Undercover Foundation Agents within the Centers for Disease Control in the U.S., Europe, Russia and China are to monitor incoming reports for signs of SCP-GGG. Should an instance of SCP-GGG be confirmed in a major population center, O5 Command is to be alerted and Rapid Response Task Force Omicron-11 (aka "Burke's Boys") is to be deployed to quarantine infected individuals and the surrounding area. Hearing protection is to be provided to those quarantined in an effort to minimize contamination.
Individuals suspected to be infected with SCP-GGG are to be quarantined immediately. Should quarantine prove to be impossible or infeasible, O5 authorization has been granted to terminate on-site.
Description: SCP-GGG is a sound-based memetic hazard. The symptoms of SCP-GGG will manifest rapidly, typically within 5 minutes of initial infection. Symptoms are reported as a cough which will, over the next several minutes, increase in intensity and frequency. These coughs will continue to increase in severity, resulting in severe internal damage. Infected subjects typically expire through internal hemorrhaging or suffocation due to severe lung damage 30 to 40 minutes after initial exposure. Sound wave analysis of coughs emitted by carriers of SCP-GGG reveal no unusual properties.
Should a subject hear the cough of an infected individual, that subject will then become a carrier of SCP-GGG. Due to the manner in which SCP-GGG spreads, it may infect entire cities within minutes. This effect does not carry through electronic devices, such as phone calls and recordings, and due to the rapid progression of symptoms and high lethality of SCP-GGG, testing has been difficult. Autopsies of infected individuals reveal an absence abnormalities indicating the cause of SCP-GGG.
To date, there has been a recorded ███ occurrences of SCP-GGG in small towns, cities, and villages in the U.S.A., Europe, Asia, and South America. Each instance has been successfully contained; however, there has been an estimated ███████ civilian and ███ Foundation deaths due to SCP-GGG since its discovery in 18██.
0 min. after exposure: No noticeable effect on subject.
5 to 10 min. after exposure: Subject will develop a light cough. From this stage on, the effect is considered "active" and will infect those within earshot.
10 to 20 min. after exposure: Coughing will have intensified to a deep, hacking cough. Subject will now be completely preoccupied with coughing, often attracting the attention of those nearby.
20 to 30 min. after exposure: Subject may be coughing blood due to tears in lungs. Broken ribs are not unusual at this point. Hoarse, shaking coughs typical of this period.
30 to 40 min. after exposure: Subject will typically decease due to severe internal organ damage or suffocation. Subject is considered non-infectious upon death.
Addendum GGG-A: With each occurrence of SCP-GGG, minute changes in its effects have been noted. This, combined with the rapid rate at which infected individuals die, its occurrence in only minor cities and towns, and its low incubation time makes it highly unlikely that SCP-GGG is occurring naturally. Despite each successful containment, a new occurrence of SCP-GGG has manifested every █ to ██ years. Investigation to the source of SCP-GGG is ongoing.
No more interesting than an ordinary disease. Abandon idea.
Item #: SCP-XXX
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXX is to be stored at Medium Security Storage Vault XXX-1 at Site ██. Access to SCP-XXX is prohibited pending O5 approval.
Should unauthorized personnel gain control of SCP-XXX, extreme caution is advised. If possible, target is to be terminated before coming in contact with the handle. Failing this, target is to be isolated and secured. Should the subject be successfully trapped, it is likely they will willingly give up control of SCP-XXX. Should subject resist, other methods of execution should be considered, the anomalous properties of SCP-XXX being considered.
Description: SCP-XXX appears to be an egg timer of indeterminate make. Timer is composed of plastic shelling, a plastic dial going from 0 to 60, and the mechanical internal components consistent with an ordinary egg timer. Scratched into the bottom are the words "YOU WERE RIGHT. -M.D." Meaning and context of this phrase are unknown at this time.
When an individual comes in contact with the dial with the intent to rotate it to any degree, they will experience a brief, intense hallucination. These hallucinations are all similar in nature; the subject will believe they had rotated the dial and continue to experience reality normally. Once they perceive the dial returning to zero, the subject will believe they had returned back in time to the point they first touched the dial. These hallucinations have been startlingly accurate in predicting actions and events that would otherwise be unknown to them. It is possible for the subject to perceive rotating the dial farther during their hallucination; however, the farther they believe to have turned it, the more distanced they will become from reality. This can go from minor details, such as believing objects were in different locations prior to activating SCP-XXX, to misremembering major parts of the individuals past. To date, there has been no recorded instance of a subject rotating the dial to any degree.
[[Link to testing log]]
Testing Log TXXX-A
██/██/██, Site ██, Sector ██, Containment Chamber XXX
Name: Dr. ██████ with Dr. ███████ assisting.
Log 1 of 20,103
After Action Report Tau-A.47, Operation "Sand Shark"
MTF Tau-17 "Arabian Knights"
Red-1 ██████ Wilkes
Red-2 ████ Nala
Red-3 █████ Peters
Red-4 ████ King
Blue-1 ██ Lee
Blue-2 ████ Church
Blue-3 ██████ Mikey
Blue-4 ████ Carr
Al-Numbi, a small village consisting of fifteen (15) buildings approximately 350 kilometers south of Al-Jawf, Libya.
Intelligence suggested a small Chaos Insurgency stronghold within the small abandoned town. Location suspected to house one or more Euclid-class SCP's. Mobile Task Force Tau-17 "Arabian Knights" sent to scout and secure the area. Operation "Sand Shark" commences at 13:00 (EET).
Operation "Sand Shark" commences at 13:00 (EET).
Red Team deployed via UH-60 Black Hawk on outskirts of settlement, south-west of site.
Blue Team deployed via UH-60 Black Hawk on outskirts of settlement, north of site.
Teams establishes a dominating presence in the village. Red Team preforms hut-to-hut sweeps of targets one thr
"So the skip took one look at me and hopped the balcony-"
Church laughed cutting in. "Well, if I saw your ugly ass stumbling out of the dark I'd probably jump too."
Carr snickered. "Yeah, but you can't impregnate people by sneezing on them."
He waved his hand dismissively. "I've gotten more ladies pregnant than you'll ever see, kid. 'Kay, cap'n, so the skip saw you and jumped-"
"The skip saw me and jumped," Lee continued, shouting to make herself heard over the roar of the helicopter blades, "so I rush over to the edge, 'cause the O5 were gonna be ticked if I splattered another one-"
"Fuck, Lee, you used grenades to flush the last one out, 'course they'd be mad-"
Lee cut Mikey off. "-And I look over the banister, and the fuck do I see? The fucker bounces. Like some kinda messed-up super ball or some shit. The asshole flew back up to the balcony and tried to sneezing-"
"Shoulda let him, capt'n, don't know how else you're gonna get pregnant-"
"-So I cold-cock the sucker. He goes flying off, turn out intelligence slipped up again. He was one of those physics benders, the laws are super-imposed or something. Green team was down range, so they caught 'em when he flew past-"
Church piped up, "Fucking physics benders, man, worst kind-"
"Bullshit, what really sucks are those bug ones." Carr shivered. "Gotta use flamers to get'em all, everywhere you step it's all crunchy and shit. Remember what those guys from the Eight Legged Creeps MTF were talkin' about? Buggers get into everything."
"You guys don't have a fucking clue. It's the kid skips, man." Mikey pointed a finger at each one of them in turn. "No one ever suspects the kiddies. Little shits can do fuck-all and every god damn time people hesitate to gun them down. Remember Bishop? Last sweep he did, came on a room infected by those skip-2300 parasites. He didn't want to hose'em down, so they ate'im. Simple as that." Mikey snapped, as if to show how easy it was. "Every time. Every god damn time."
"I thought they managed to piece Bishop back together-"
"Were at the dee-zee, gentlemen. Get your shit and get out," The pilot called back, cutting their conversation short. The Black Hawk leveled off, and in a single, well-practiced move, the team dropped the cables and rappelled out. Rolling away from the landing site, Lee immediately brought her weapon to bear, scanning the small crowd of shocked on-lookers for any threats. The rest of her team moved into position behind her and the helicopter pulled away. Before the dust had even settled they were moving.
The radio buzzed and Wilkes squawked out, "We're in position. Party's waiting on you."
Lee took a moment to answer. "Almost there. Rendezvous in sight."
The team burst into the center of the village, the civilians pulling away from the unfamiliar foreigners. Red team was already in position. "About time. Start your sweep, targets eight through twelve."
Lee nodded, her helmet bobbing into her field of vision. Taking up position on the nearest hut, her team surrounded the target, keeping the crowd at bay. Like she'd been taught in basic, she brought up a steel toed boot and sent it crashing through the rickety wooden door. It splintered with a satisfying crack, shards flying into the dim room beyond. Bringing her rifle to bear, she stormed the empty room, barely glancing as Carr followed her in. Flipping a lumpy pile of blankets, she wrinkled her nose as the rank laundry sent a cloud of dust into the air. They systematically tossed the room, pulling down flimsy shelves and ripping blankets from the walls.
"Clear. Next one."
Backing out of the room, they sprinted to the next hut and repeated the procedure. It was a dangerous job; the huts could have been booby-trapped, a nest of CI agents could be waiting for them to poke their nose in, or, even worse, a skip could be waiting for them. She eyed the crowd nervously. They were frightened, chattering rapidly in Arabic to one another. Thankfully, they kept their distance. Maybe Intelligence screwed up again, and this was just a village of frightened mooks…
"Cap'n, look at this."
A case, smooth and metallic, gleamed brightly as Carr ripped a thin woven tapestry away. Symbols, unfamiliar to any known to man, were etched expertly into the sides, and the object buzzed briefly as it was exposed to the weak sunlight streaming through the door. This didn't belong.
"We got something. Mikey, Church, keep the spectators away. Carr, secure the thing."
She radioed Command and the team spread in a half circle, maintaining a dominant position around the hut. The crowd kept a comfortable distance, seemingly content to watch the westerners rather than take action. A small child of five or six stepped forward, holding a crust of bread. Church noticed the break in the otherwise uniform circle of villagers and called it out. "Ay, capt'n, we got something, little kid holding piece of bread-"
"Buzz off kid." Mikey waved the kid away, but he took another step forward.
Lee looked over and hollered, "Church, tell the kid to get back-" Church was already speaking, Arabic tripping over his tongue. The kid mumbled something back, and Church frowned.
"Says he just wants to give us his dinner so we'll leave-"
"Fuck OFF, kid, I'm not going to tell you again-" Mikey trained his gun on the small child. The boy hesitated, then took another step forward, holding the bread out with both hands.
"Stand down, Mikey. Church, tell him we don't want it." Lee looked away from her vector, nervous. Church started speaking again, urgency evident in his voice. The kid answered back just as quickly, tears forming in his eyes, but still he stepped forward, palms out flat, a crust of bread rocking back and forth with each unsteady step.
"Kid I will FUCKING shoot you, Church tell him I'll shoot him dead if he takes another god damn step-" Panic was working its way into Mikey's voice, and he shuffled back. Church was nearly screaming at the child, and the boy was screaming back, tears running down his face, the precious moisture dripping down into the hot sand.
"Stand DOWN, Mikey. Church tell the fucking kid-"
"God dammit, just take the fucking bread already, he's just a fuckin' kid!" Carr yelled from the hut.
"GET THE FUCK BACK, GET THE FUCK BACK OR I WILL SHOOT YOUR ASS-" Mikey was screaming at the child, shuffling backwards with each step. The child sobbed, then took another hesitant step, desperation evident on his face.
"God DAMMIT, Church, get this fucking kid out of here! Mikey, you WILL stand down-"
"He's a fucking kid, man! Just take the bread and tell him to fuck off-"
"SHUT UP, CARR-MIKEY YOU WILL STAND DOWN-"
"I'LL KILL YOU, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME OR I SWEAR I'LL DO IT-"
Mikey squeezed the trigger. A stream of lead and fire poured forth and the child shuddered as each round ripped through his frail chest. In an instant, it was over. He crumpled to the ground, the scrap of bread clenched tightly in his fist. A wail of Arabic went up from the crowd and a woman rushed forward to sweep up the boys body. She turned to the MTF, screaming incoherently between sobs. Church held out a hand and started yelling something as Lee screamed into her headset. Carr grabbed Mikey by the scruff and dragged him away from crowd.
"-Red Team, we need to get out of here now, Mikey fucked up and shot a kid-"
"-the FUCK man? I mean, Jesus CHRIST, he was like, six years old-"
"-Church can't keep them pacified, there's too many, think they might try and swarm-"
"-You saw him, man! I told him, I fucking told him and he kept coming, not my fucking fault alright-"
"-was a KID, you shot a fucking KID-"
"-Lee, they aren't listening to me, we need to get out of here-"
"-WORKING ON IT, CHURCH-village center-I don't care, just get here-"
Red Team rushed into the clearing and took up position. Wilkes grabbed Lee and shouted into her ear.
"The FUCK went wrong? We don't have time for this shit, we found two, maybe three Euclid-" A stone rattled off his helmet and he stumbled back. Church screamed into the crowd, but whatever he was saying went unheeded. Another villager bent down to dig a stone from the sand, and another. A rock flew past and Lee narrowly managed to avoid it.
"Task Force, take up your positions!" Wilkes yelled back, and the group of agents brought their weapons to bear. "Do NOT, I repeat, do NOT shoot; Church, tell them to stop or we will open fire-" Yet another rock flew past, smacking Carr in the jaw. He stumbled back, then fell as another broke his knee cap. He screamed in pain, and Mikey had to yell to be heard over him.
"Capt'n, let's just hose these mother-fuckers, they're hostiles-"
"We are NOT shooting the civilians, I want you to shut the hell up Mikey-" She didn't see the next rock as cracked against her temple, but the after action report described in vivid detail how Task Force Tau-17 "Arabian Knights" slaughtered the small village of Al-Numbi.
villagers becoming hostile to Foundation personnel. The decision to open fire on the crowd was made by Agent ██████ "Red-1" Wilkes upon the incapacitation of Agents ██ "Blue-1" Lee and ████ "Blue-4" Carr. Decision has been upheld in light of the discovery of SCP-2848, SCP-2026 and Anomalous Item A-4408. Final body count estimates ██ villagers killed, █ wounded, and two Foundation Personnel injured.
Agent ██████ "Blue-3" Mikey's decision to terminate the child, while rash, showed remarkable intuition in light of SCP-2026's discovery at the site. While the decision to terminate was arguably justified, blatantly disobeying orders is inexcusable. Agent Mikey is to be court marshaled; no other disciplinary measures are to be taken at this time, pending further investigation.
Agent ██ "Blue-1" Lee's indecisiveness and ineffectual leadership proved to be nearly fatal to the entire operation. Despite a particularly outstanding record, her inability to control her squad may prove to be catastrophic in future missions. At this time, MTF Tau-17 "Arabian Knights" is to be temporarily grounded, pending further investigation.
Recommended that Agent Lee be reassigned.
Item #: SCP-XXX
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXX is to be kept within Cell XXX in the Humanoid Wing at Site ██. Cell XXX is to be soundproofed to prevent conversation with outside personnel and to be monitored via closed-circuit camera. Cell is to be furnished with one twin-sized bed, one sink, one toilet, and one shower. Once every two weeks cleaning crews are to be granted entry to replace bedsheets and preform other basic cleaning duties. Due to the ease at which SCP-XXX becomes agitated, cleaning crews are advised to speak only if addressed by SCP-XXX; however, any demands made by SCP-XXX ate to be ignored. Likewise, personnel are to politely decline any attempts on SCP-XXX's part to instigate conflict.
Should SCP-XXX choose to cooperate with Foundation personnel, further amenities may be granted pending Researcher ██████'s approval.
Description: SCP-XXX is a caucasion male 1.5 meters tall of Anglo-Saxon decent suffering from male-pattern baldness, claiming to be "Lord ██████ Byron George IV". Subject claims to have been born in the early 19th century, despite no records of such a person existing. Speculation as to whether subject is actually from the 19th century or simply insane is still under debate. Subject speaks English, but is familiar with French and, to a lesser degree, German. Subject exhibits a highly aggressive and xenophobic view of the world around it. Psychological screenings have been difficult as exposure to SCP-XXX is considered highly unpleasant and will quickly become agitated; however, evidence suggests that SCP-XXX may be suffering from a "Napoleon Complex" due to its relatively short stature.
SCP-XXX displays a remarkably short temper. SCP-XXX will easily become offended by any statement or action that could be construed as "insulting". Should SCP-XXX become insulted, it will challenge the offending party to a "gentleman's duel at ten paces" as a resolution to the conflict. Individuals challenged in such a manner will typically decline unless otherwise inclined; however, SCP-XXX will remain insistent that they settle their disagreement in such a manner. SCP-XXX will badger its opponent with increasingly offensive and irritating dialogue until A) the individual is removed from SCP-XXX's presence, or B) agrees to the duel. Continuous exposure to SCP-XXX will invariably result in the individuals acceptance regardless of prior disposition or nature of the offense, with the longest recorded resistance being nearly thirty minutes.
SCP-XXX will then manifest two (2) 19th century flint-lock pistols, hereby designated SCP-XXX-1 and -2, from an unobserved location, typically from within its clothing. Camera footage has been inconclusive to determine the origin of these firearms, as they vanish when unobserved and seem to manifest upon SCP-XXX's person only when it is in the "offended" state. Upon retrieval of firearms, SCP-XXX will allow its offender to pick one of their choosing. Should the offender accept one of the firearms subjects will begin a "duel at ten paces", provided room is available. SCP-XXX has been noted to exhibit terrible accuracy and will invariably miss its target. Oddly, bystanders, valuable or delicate objects, and vital support structures nearby tend to experience a greater-than-normal chance of being hit. Speculation that this may be deliberate on SCP-XXX's part has been discredited, as it will typically exhibit a great deal of rage at missing its offender. The accuracy of the individual is entirely dependent upon their skill with the firearm. Injuries SCP-XXX sustains during the duel will heal at a normal rate, regardless of lethality. Progress of the duel may be halted by any third party by physical means at any point.
SCP-XXX has been exceedingly uncooperative with Foundation Personnel. SCP-XXX's hostility and tendency to challenge those around it to duels has been frustrating to researching staff and made interviews entirely unproductive. Discussions with SCP-XXX generally dissolve into dueling bouts, and threats, concessions, and outcomes of prior duels do little to dissuade it. Until such a time SCP-XXX agrees to cooperate peacefully with the Foundation, bare essential humanoid habitation is to be implemented.
[[collapsible show="> Show Interview Log 1 of ██" hide="< Collapse Interview Log 1 of ██"]]
Researcher Dr. ████ O'Brien interviewing.
Security Personnel Agent ███████ Wilkes attending .
O'Brien: Good afternoon, SCP-XXX.
SCP-XXX: Pardon me?
O'Brien: I said, "Good afternoon"
SCP-XXX: No, what did you name me?
O'Brien: I referred to you as SCP-XXX.
SCP-XXX: That is not my title. I am Lord ██████ Byron George the Fourth, one-hundred twenty-eighth in line for the British Royal Throne, and you will refer to me as such.
O'Brien: I'm afraid I can't do that, XXX. Interview protocol dictates that-
SCP-XXX: I am your superior and you will do as I tell you. Who are you to command me?
O'Brien: Well, I'm Dr. ████ O'Brien, and I'm your interviewer. I was hoping you could answer a few que-
SCP-XXX: An Irishman? By Gods good grace, Guard, escort this man from my presence.
O'Brien: Agent Wilkes is here to assist me, SCP-XXX. Now, please, sit down-
SCP-XXX: I am Lord ██████ Byron George the Fourth, one-hundred twenty-eighth in line for the Royal Throne, and you will do well to remember your place, boy!
O'Brien: SCP-XXX, sit down or I will have Agent Wilkes-
SCP-XXX: You dare to threaten me? By the Royal blood in my veins, I will not stand these injuries any farther! Sir, I challenge you to a duel at ten paces!
O'Brien: SCP-XXX, please. I am not going to fight you. This is entirely childish behavior-
SCP-XXX: O, a child am I? You think that because you loom over me, you may compare me to a child? You are a disgusting bog-trotter, fit only to scratch potato skins from the face of the earth-
O'Brien: Hey now, I take offense to that. My family-
SCP-XXX: Your family of cat-licks belongs three feet off the ground and hanging from a rope!
O'Brien: You leave them out of this, don't threaten my family-
SCP-XXX: Or you'll what? Go home to your leprechaun children and tell them why their fathers honor yellowed its trousers before a British lord?
O'Brien: You son of a bitch, you shut your whore mouth-
SCP-XXX: Foul speech from a foul paddy who won't accept a duel to defend his honor.
O'Brien: Fine! You want to die? I'll [EXPLETIVE REDACTED] kill you you [EXPLETIVE REDACTED] son of a bitch!
SCP-XXX: Pick your poison! My only regret is that it's not cheap Irish whiskey that'll do you in.
SCP-XXX retrieves SCP-XXX-1 and -2 from beneath its clothing.
SCP-XXX: A gentlemen's duel at ten pac-
Agent Wilkes: SKIP WITH A WEAPON!
Agent Wilkes tackles SCP-XXX. SCP-XXX becomes incapacitated, SCP-XXX-1 and -2 lost in the scuffle.
Cutting out log 2 and 3
Make bystanders and objects likely to be hit
Modify containment procedures to sound less "Give him what he wants"
Make him more unpleasant
Make the effect to duel a gradual thing, like he's so annoying they agree to shut him up
Recovery log: He and several others were found in a hospital with musket-ball wounds, police had been called cuz nurse shot him.
Ideas for SCP's
The Evicted Saint
I: What is your name?
ES: I AM HE WHO RAINED FROM THE HEAVENS FOR THE SAVIOR OF THE LOST WHOSE UNENDING SEPULCHER STRETCHED THROUGH THE VEINS OF THE INSOMNIATIC SLEEPER
I: What is your name?
ES: I AM THE BEING OF RAGE AND RETRIBUTION SERVICE TO THE SPAWNERS OF INFANCIDE AND FALSE WITNESS WHOSE UNENDING LAMENTS FEED THE UNWOKEN DENZIN
I: What is your name?
ES: I AM EVICTED SAINT CAST FROM EDEN FOR MY VISIONS OF RECONCILIATION BURNING THROUGH THE AGE OF GOLD WERE HERITICAL FOR THE UNSLEPT DREAMER LOST FROM THE EYE OF SANCTUARY
I: Who is the "unslept dreamer"?
ES: THE WIELDER OF POWER HE WHO SLEEPS AWAKE WHOSE SHADOW CAST FROSTS AND FIRE THROUGH THE FIELDS OF THE INNOCENT WHOSE FAITH BROKE AGES BEFORE
I: Where is the "unslept dreamer"?
ES: THE SON OF QUAKE AND QUARANTINE STANDS BEFORE THE LOST IN PARADISE HIS HANDS OF BRONZE AND GILDED SILVER WITNESS TO THE ATROCITIES COMMITTED IN THE NAME OF GODS FALSE AND TRUE
I: What does he want?
ES: THE HEIR OF GENOCIDAL WOLRDS
SCP called the "Toothed Goddess". Whatever it is makes those around it believe it is a goddess and requires tributes of human teeth. Inspirations: Cutting out your own teeth with a razor blade, twisting them and pushing on them until they snap out and break.
SCP called "Fingers to the Bone". Keeps hands from being idle, often doing dangerous things you shouldn't (like pick up a pot with your bare hands off the stove, hammer in nails with your fist, bending sharp bits of metal with your fingers). End result is that the individuals hands get stripped of flesh down to the bone. A ring? REFERRED TO AS "D&D" ITEM. CONSIDER ABANDONING.
SCP called "The Anarchists' Standpoint". Something that makes people anarchists, or argue for anarchy, or causes a nation to dissolve into anarchy? Kind of a weak idea.
SCP called "Improper Microwave". A microwave with a warped door that causes weird shit to happen. Kinda lame. Find a hook.
Nanobots that exist everywhere at about 1 part per 20 trillion particles. Hard to find, hard to identify, and they seem to be collecting information. Warning, nanobots are on the list.
Item #: SCP-XXX (875?)
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXX is to be contained at Site ██. Site ██ is to have no structure within two (2) kilometers which one could reasonably refer to as "stairs" outside of SCP-XXX's containment cell; any location requiring such is to be replaced with ramps or rung-style ladders. SCP-XXX's containment cell is to consist of twenty-three (23) stairs 15 cm high and 20 cm deep connecting two 3 by 6 meter landings. Room is to be 5.5 meters at its highest point and lit by two (2) 110 watt bulbs at each landing. Door is to be locked when not in use to prevent unauthorized entry. Small objects, such as children's toys, blocks, and balls are to be left in SCP-XXX's containment cell. Objects are to be checked once a week for signs of manipulation to confirm SCP-XXX is still contained.
At no time is an individual to be left alone and unobserved in SCP-XXX's cell.
Description: Foundation researchers have attempted to observe SCP-XXX via thermal imaging, UV detection, chemical analysis, [DATA EXPUNGED], [DATA EXPUNGED], and PKE meters. Readings have, for every instance, been inconclusive. Despite this, a multitude of suspected XXX events have been recorded and logged, the most notable being the death of Dr. ██████ (please see incident Report IXXX-A). While an XXX event or SCP-XXX itself have yet to be observed, the sheer volume and inexplicable nature of these events have been enough warranted containment of the suspected entity.
SCP-XXX has shown a particularly strong affinity for stairs. Objects around or on stairs experience a larger quantity of manipulation than the surrounding area.
To date, there has been over 500 recorded XXX events since its acquisition in 196█. Every event is characterized by an unobserved manipulation of the environment, almost always around stairs of some kind. For the entirety of SCP-XXX's containment, a no manipulation nor the entity itself has been directly observed, nor has any method attempting to do so been successful. Prolonged observation of a location experiencing XXX events has resulted in the location of such events shifting, typically to a set of stairs within 1.5 kilometers. Events will typically result in some manner of manipulation of a nearby object, from simple locomotion to more complex actions, such as stacking or arranging by color, size, etc. These events are seemingly random, and no discernible pattern has been observed with the manipulation of the objects involved.
Incident IXXX-A: Following Experiment ██, Dr. ██████ was left unattended in containment area after reportedly telling assisting researcher Dr. ███████ he was going to stay behind to finish recording his notes. Two hours after experiment, it was noticed that Dr. ██████ had not returned. A brief search of the site revealed the researcher deceased on the lower platform of the containment area. Autopsy suggests that Dr. ██████ had fallen down the stairs, resulting in a fatal spinal injury. Suspicious circumstances surrounding the death has upgraded SCP-XXX's classification to "Euclid".
Addendum AXXX-A: Following Dr. ██████'s death, personnel are not permitted alone in containment area. Containment procedures upgraded accordingly.
Notable Excerpts from Experiment Log EXXX
██/██/██, Site ██, Sector ██, Containment Chamber XXX
Name: Dr. ██████ with Dr. ███████ assisting.
NOTE: Containment Chamber locked during all experiments. Room monitored by thermal imaging, UV detection, chemical analysis, [DATA EXPUNGED], [DATA EXPUNGED], and PKE meters during all experiments, all of which provided negative results.
Experiment 1 of ██
Set up: One (1) red square block 27 cubic centimeters, placed center on upper platform. Left unobserved for 5 minutes.
Result: Red block found 1 meter farther from stairs. No fingerprints, temperature change, or residue of any kind observed on block. External monitoring proves inconclusive.
Experiment 2 of ██
Set up: One (1) red square block 27 cubic centimeters and one (1) adjacent blue square block 125 cubic centimeters, placed center on upper platform. Left unobserved for 5 minutes.
Result: Blocks found stacked on lower platform. No fingerprints, temperature change, or residue of any kind observed on blocks. External monitoring proves inconclusive.
Experiment 11 of ██
Set up: One (1) number 2 pencil and one (1) sheet of notebook paper, placed center on lower platform. Attempt #2 at communication. Left unobserved for 10 minutes.
Result: Pencil found on stairs, paper found on lower platform folded diagonally.
Experiment 16 of ██
Set up: One (1) 5 week old kitten, placed center on lower platform. Left unobserved for 5 minutes.
Result: Kitten found unharmed, huddled in corner on lower platform.
Experiment 28 of ██
Set up: One sheet of aluminum foil 6 meters wide stretched from center stair to ceiling, secured. Effectively divided room into two. Left unobserved for 5 minutes.
Result: One humanoid-shaped hole in sheet, center. Dimensions of shape standard of typical adult male. Closer analysis of tears reveal [REDACTED] missing since the start of the 19th century.
REASONS FOR DELETION:
Some said it was too vauge, "…it's the description. I get that it is unobserved and only defined by the after-effects and that has to be one of the most dificult things in the world to describe scientifically; but the not-description you have here just kinda confuses me…"
The effect has, by now, boiled down to, "absolute minimum this needs "The exact nature of SCP-XXX is unknown" and a definition of the effect. It currently reads as "We can't observe it but it does stuff and likes stairs.""
Originally play on "Yesterday upon the stair I met a man who wasn't there" missed.
If considering rewrite, should bear in mind over-all effect by the end. Original idea went from "Unobservable/barely containable phenomenon that affects stairs when unobserved. Impossible to empirically prove. Scientifically should be considered to not exist" to "Malevolent entity around stairs" to "Stuff happens on stairs." Maybe the idea got dumbed down too much by the end? Overall difficult to write, pulled off poorly. Considered FAILED POTENTIAL.