- Doctor JLove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Fun
- SCP-1634 - Scarecrow
- Tradgedy of the Shark Fighter
- Mr. Headless
- Fraga - Module
- Transcript of Dr. Clef's seminar, "Guns and Ammo: Or: Why the Desert Eagle Can Kiss My Ass."
- Last Christmas
- Game Day Part 1: Bes and the Box
- "Your Best Bet"
- Test 34950
Having suffered from sleep apnea for most of his adult life, Dr. Johannes Sorts was quite accustomed to waking up suddenly in the middle of the night (or day) because he had stopped breathing in his sleep.
There was a time that this troubled him greatly, but the constant disruptions kept him from sleeping for too long, or worse, dreaming, so he had come to accept them with a bit of gratitude. This was a source of constant concern for the site 17 physician assigned to look after him. Dr. Charlene Robertson had been known to break into his cluttered office/bedroom and coerce him into wearing a CPAP mask so that he didn't suffocate in his sleep.
So when Dr. Sorts woke suddenly to find himself sprawled out in his office chair, he was not immediately concerned. When he read Dr. Robertson's voice insisting that he put his mask on, he was not immediately concerned.
But when a lifeless, sandy hand was clamped over his face to suffocate him, he began to remember certain things. Leaving his musty office sanctuary at Site 19 on short notice to supervise the handling of several SCP artifacts. Setting up in his slightly less musty office sanctuary at Site 17. Turning down invitations to some social gathering in the break room. Sitting down to write a memo about SCP-945's unacceptable temporary containment conditions but opening up a game of Atom Zombie Smasher on the side and…
Dr. Sorts pushed the dusty clay hand away from his face and gasped, "Doctor Robertson! I'm not supposed to be asleep right now!"
"Very well, Johannes. I will be back tonight to be sure you are wearing your mask. Please get back to work," the figure leaning over Johannes did not make any motion to leave, it just hung over him and stared blankly with painted, kohl-rimmed eyes.
"I have work to do right now, and so do you," Dr. Sorts scrambled to straighten his glasses and get out of his seat, nervously stammering to the clay figurine that was wearing Dr. Robertson's white, bloodstained smock, "You're supposed to be in the medical ward handling trauma cases, remember? There's a lot of new SCPs on site right now so we need all medical hands on call in case of an emergency."
Dr. Sorts was going to miss Charlene fussing over him, if one of SCP-945's shawabti replicas was impersonating her in his office now it meant that she was dead. It also meant that if he didn't destroy that replica or keep it under constant supervision it was going to start killing more people, starting with him.
The figurine turned towards the door "Yes, yes I should be there. There are a lot of bad cases there. But… the medical ward has been damaged beyond repair by an explosion. That is why I came to check on you. You skipped your last checkup, you know. Please take your seat and we'll begin." The shawabti produced a tattered black bag and pulled a scalpel from it.
"Wait! Dr. Roberston, you've been exposed to a class A memetic agent. Regulation says that you need to do as I say in order to prevent a virulent memetic outbreak. Listen to me very carefully. We have to pretend we are in… uh… an action movie."
Debriefing: Dr. Johannes Sorts
Excerpt from Interview conducted by O5-█, regarding Dr. Sort's involvement in Incident 234-900-Tempest Night-1.
O5-█: Was it really necessary to convince the replica of Dr. Robertson that she was your love interest in an action movie?
Dr. Sorts: Believe me I wish I had thought of something else off the top of my head. I've been exposed to enough of SCP-945 prior to this clusterfuck, I really didn't want to, you know, improvise a love scene with my colleague's shawabti. I've prepared a full report on that experience by the way. Psych's going to have a field day with it I'm sure.
O5-█: What happened next?
Dr. Sorts: Well, last time we had a really virulent SCP-945 outbreak the replicas overwhelmed an entire site. But they also kept it operational — when it became clear to me that every possible bad thing that could have happened DID happen I decided that regardless of the danger the SCP-945 replicas posed they were more valuable as an ally… er… asset, than otherwise. So I set about collecting as many replicas as I could find running around the site and convincing them to play roles in this movie. It was the only way I could claim any authority over the positions those replicas were taking.
O5-█: How many replicas did you have under your command?
Dr. Sorts: Never more than about two dozen at any one time, but I think we went through about fifty replicas total.
O5-█: How was the replica of Dr. Robertson lost?
Dr. Sorts had someone's red tie wrapped around his forehead, and his shirt was hanging open over his hairy stomach, "Alright men! Let's secure this hallway. I want Johnson, Figgs and Lewis on point! Tiberson, cover me. I'm going in!"
Dr. Robertson's shawabti had tied its smock in a knot across its bust, where it had stuffed two rolls of toilet paper, "Wait! Don't go, I couldn't stand to lose you again!" the clay statue squealed with the enthusiasm of a high school drama student.
"I have to go, baby, we need to secure the medical ward so that you can get back to work on the survivors," Dr. Sorts claimed. He hadn't found any yet, though. Just a batch of replicated security guards who had already armed themselves and were now following his orders and calling him …
"The hall is clear, Commander Badass!" shouted the replica of Lt. Figgs in a much more accurate representation of the late man's voice and mannerisms, "We're go for retaking the medical ward! Let's move, people! Go Go Go Go Go!"
Dr. Sorts and his impromptu squad of clay soldiers burst into the medical ward, which was a sea of bloodstained, writhing flesh, dripping with maggots. One of the replicas pretended to vomit. Dr. Sorts held his breath on the off chance he would wake up.
The ward was filled with an expanding pile of barely human figures anxiously clutching at each other while slurping bits of scattered and burnt flesh against their faces. Dr. Sorts had no idea what kind of SCP would produce a scene like this, but the nightmare before him was content to keep to itself on the other side of the room.
Dr. Robertson's replica touched his shoulder, "This is a serious a SCP-726 outbreak. We need to…"
The replica trailed off with what could only be described as a gasp, although the clay figure never moved its lips or breathed. But crawling out of the pile of squirming bodies was another replica of Dr. Robertson, this one crafted from living flesh and blood. It slurped at the air and twitched its shoulders before disengaging from the rest of its nightmare spawn, flopping across the broken tile floor like a fish out of water towards the group of clay soldiers.
Dr. Robertson's shawabti pushed forward past the guards, grabbing the remains of a chair and rushing forward to bludgeon its rival duplicate, "No! No! My body is to be at rest! MY BODY IS TO BE AT REST!"
Dr. Sorts: She was within the medical ward when I had the other replicas collapse the entrances with explosive charges. I believe her … I'm sorry. I believe the duplicate was… the duplicates were destroyed in the explosion.
Dr. Sorts: I'm sorry, I need … I need another sedative.
O5-█: We'll continue this later.
Hello. My name is Salman Corbette. You may know me from my appearance in such films as Ghostbusters 2 and Lord of the Rings: fellowship of the Ring
Item #: SCP-1634
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-1634 is to be detained in a standard level-2 underground containment cell with constant video and audio surveillance. Any movement or sound recorded is to be noted and stored, as to be used to find a pattern in commands issued by SCP-1634.
Description: SCP-1634 appears to be a sentient scarecrow measuring c:a 2.3m in height. The torso consists of wooden sticks covered by a ragged piece of cloth, held up by a single wooden pole running from the ground to the "neck". The arms are made out of similar wooden pieces held together by strings of an unknown material. Above the torso, on the protruding pole a presumed human head is impaled and covered by a tattered mask showing no facial features.
On ██/██/2011, an investigation team was sent to ██████, California after a sudden massive upswing in reported bird attacks on the local population. Upon arriving, the team found SCP-1634 perched atop a mound in the central park with a reported "impossible amount of birds" encircling it on the ground and in the air. Lying at the base of the figure, a lone decapitated corpse was found. When the team tried to approach SCP-1634 they were met with heavy resistance from the figure's avian protectors, resulting in no casualties but █ injured. Two (2) retrieval teams were called in together with one (1) combat team armed with standard issue assault rifles. Upon the arrival of the reinforcing teams, all birds were gone, reportedly having begun leaving the premises while the backup call was issued. SCP-1634 was retrieved and taken to containment facility ██ where it was put in its current chamber.
SCP-1634 appears to have complete control over avian lifeforms, having been seen and heard issuing commands to everything from Hummingbirds to Albatrosses and Andean Condors. Instances of this are to be labeled as SCP-1634-1 collectively, since the sheer number and appeared similarities of these makes individual numbering redundant. Its orders appears to be given via telepathic means rather than audible, as they are followed even as SCP-1634 produces barely audible whispers in its containment cell. These orders range from helping people out with mundane tasks (see Incident Report-1634-F12) to causing massive amounts of birds to attack cargo planes via flying into their engines and windshield (see Incident Report-1634-D06).
SCP-1634 is capable of communicating via
Addendum: Following Incident-1634-██, no more attempts to remove the mask of SCP-1634 should be made without the approval of at least one (1) level 4 researcher, and in that case only with D-class subjects present in the room at the time.
SCP involved: SCP-1634
Location: Site-██ main entrance
Description: A small murder of crows were sighted picking up pieces of scrap paper and discarded bottles outside Site-██'s main entrance, dropping them in a waste basket close by. Surveillance tapes of SCP-1634-1 show it slowly turning its right "hand" while this was taking place.
Addendum: Cleaning crew filed a request to put up a bird bath in front of main entrance as a sign of appreciation. Request denied.
SCP involved: SCP-1634
Location: Site-██ Airstrip
Description: At ██:██ surveillance video shows SCP-1634 shaking violently before taking off as if grabbed by extremely strong winds, resulting in it flying into the south-western wall of its containment cell. Loud bird calls and twittering could be heard during this episode, although no sound of any wind could be picked up.
At this time, the cargo plane ██████-██ was flying in toward Site-██'s airstrip before reporting an enormous cloud of birds congregating in it's path of descent. The resulting crash claimed the lives of ██ personnel and the loss of property of a total value of ███,███,███$.
Addendum: Im making it top priority to find out what the reason was (if any) to this sudden outburst of destruction and willingness to sacrifice thousands of its "brethren". I want a full description of the contents of ██████-██ ASAP. -Dr. ████
When they set me to the ocean, I knew I would never see my family and friends again. I had never seen the ocean before. Never been to the beach. I don't even like visiting the swimming pool. But that's okay. As long as I'm making the world a better place for the innocent and the pure to live in, I'll be fine. That's what I told myself when I took the injections and the treatments. Even when Stacie saw me after the first session and she threw her engagement ring in my face. As long as Stacie can have a few more reasons to use that beautiful smile, I can bear that burden. I know I can. When I dove into that vast plane of salt water, I held no regrets.
It was with my determination I had lived as long as I had, in complete isolation. I made sure to avoid the ships and the boats. I grew to learn exactly where my targets liked to stay, where they liked to migrate and wander. I knew where to place my fist for the most optimal attack. It was perhaps the most fulfilling time of my life. Even if the world would never know -save for a rare few- that I existed, I knew I was doing good in the world. People don't have to fear swimming in the beaches because of me. People don't have to worry about fishing because of me. Did you know that some sharks have been found at least 4000 kilometers inland? Without someone like me to keep them from getting in freshwater, sharks would overrun our rivers and change the world as we know it! Because of my efforts, people can sleep safely at night. No matter the struggles, I'm sure as long as I keep them in mind, all of this will be worth it.
People have caught me. How? What? I'm not anomalous!
Get me out of here! I won't do any of your testing! I have sharks to punch! Don't you understand the importance of my efforts? Without me, sharks will overrun humanity!
It's been months now I've been here. I've got a system going. I can still save these people. It doesn't matter what they think I am or who they are. They send me sharks. It won't be as effective as it once was, but that's okay. I can still help them; they just don't know I'm doing it for them. For humanity. Nothing matters but the greater good and the greater good shall be through my fists. It is not the most peaceful or the most kind way. But it's the only way to keep humanity safe. I still think of Stacie. I hope she's smiling, somewhere. She'll never know my struggles for her, for everyone. But that's okay.
They've been slowing down. Can't they see the importance of my work?
I see why they've kept me here now. They're here to keep me from helping people. They know what I do and how I'm helping humanity and they cannot be human. They're sharks. How did I not see this before?! They've tricked me all this time, slowing down my work, keeping me from my job. But it's okay now. They don't know what I know. I'm in the belly of the beast and they may think they have me cornered but they've given me more opportunity than ever before to help humans. I can bring down this system myself. It's the only way to keep humans safe from this society of sharks in secret. They want to bring us, humanity, down but I won't let them. I will fight for us all and I will never back down. I will stop their agenda the only way I know works by any means possible.
I've had it so wrong for so long. How could I have been so blind? Stacie was right when she left. I thought I was protecting humanity. I was fighting for the right side. It never occurred to me that I too, loved those spots my targets liked. I never realized I had for so long wandered in the same places they did not because I knew to hunt them but because I…
But I'm still a man inside. I know I am. I'll remove that monstrous part of myself. I'll suppress it. I know how to, I've done it so many times before. I've been training decades for this. I'm a goddamned professional and I know how to fix this. When I do I'll get out of here and do my job right this time. I can still fix myself.
Why won't it work? I know it works why won't it work I know it works I know it must work it must I must keep trying I must keep trying it will work it has to work
I had hoped at first it would go away. I'd remove it, as I had removed all other things. The monster I was would swim away from the man I am. I know what I am. I cannot escape. No matter how fast I swim I can't swim from myself and no matter how hard I punch it's not the monster it is me. Sometimes if I punch myself hard enough I can forget what happened and remember what I was to do and feel determined like I used to feel. If I punch hard enough I know I'll forget everything forever.
Please don't remind me, I want to forget.
Please don't remind me I beg you
please don't make me remember
My name's Jeremy Adams and I'm 22 and I'm being chased by a monster. I don't know what's going on. I don't know how this is possible, or what I'm supposed to do. The thing won't stop. I've been running for — oh god — only fifteen minutes. Feels like longer. I'm exhausted and it won't stop.
I didn't do anything wrong. I just saw this guy on the subway. It's night, we were the only people in the car. He looked odd, a bit gray and glassy-eyed, which was odd because from his hands I'd have guessed he was black or indian or something. We got off at the same stop and I guess I wasn't looking where I was going because I bumped into him and his head fell off. I mean, that doesn't happen. And then he got up and chased after me. That… that… can't happen.
How is it even following me anyhow? It's not like it has eyes. Another door locked. No! Can't someone have left their door unlocked tonight? Please, I just need to get away from this thing and there it is how did it get behind me? shitshitTrashcan! I grab one and swing it straight into the thing's chest and it stumbles backwards and collapses. I don't bother checking if it's down before running. Thank you adrenaline.
How can this alley be a dead end? It can't be, I need to escape! It's not fair! Walls, walls, damn it. Too high and too slick and it's found me. Anything around? No. I can't fight, but I try to punch it and its strong and this doesn't make any sense and is that a blade and
Much, much better. Could hardly even hear with that old one by the end. But this one is good. Young, healthy, should last me for weeks. Colorblind, but you can't have everything. And let's see… 54*42=2268. Reasonably bright, too. I just hope I didn't get too far off track getting this one. Mr. Redd, I'm coming for you. And I can't wait to find out what wonderful thoughts I can think with that head of yours.
|Page||Date created||Created by|
"Afternoon, everyone. Get a cup of coff… heh. I see some of you have taken my seminar on Reality Benders already. Don't worry about it. The food's safe this time. No hallucinogens in them this time. Try the blueberry muffins, they're tasty. Oh yeah, and the same reminder as before: the Seminar Rooms are a weapons-free zone. So if you've got a gun on you, I don't want to know about it."
"So. Sitting in front of me, I've got some guns. I'm sure some of you can tell me what these are. Like this one… yup. IMI Desert Eagle in five-zero caliber action express. Nice gun. Big, heavy, fires a huge fucking bullet. This one? Glock 18 in 9mm. Rare as hell, good gun. Fires fully automatic at over 1200 rounds per minute. This one? Glad you asked. Beowulf Fifty Caliber. Looks just like an AR-15, fires a much larger, heavier round. This one's nice too: Walther WA2000. Rarer than the Mona Lisa. Only 176 were ever made… Or so it's said. This one? 177. The guy who owned it LOVED this gun. He bragged about it up until the moment he got killed. He was the lead sniper on a termination mission that went bad. It wasn't even enemy action: he broke his arm rappeling down to the shoot zone. His spotter tried to take the shot, but he wasn't familiar with the weapon and missed. Too bad the enemy didn't."
"The Beowulf Fifty? There's an interesting story behind that one too. Guy who carried it loved it because it fired a big, heavy round, that could take down big animals in one round. He loved the hell out of it. Too bad he
Gather round, kiddies, and let me tell you the true tale of Father Christmas.
Believe it or not, but there was a time where Santa Claus was real. Why, if you left a Christmas stocking on your mantelpiece on Crimbo Eve, and were lucky enough to be chosen by Santa himself, next morning you would find the stocking filled with wonderful knick-knacks and whatnot, and not by your parents either. And sometimes gifts just appeared under the Christmas tree when everyone were asleep… all of them finest handmade toys, no brand markings, as if straight from an anonymous workshop. Of course, kids loved it, but adults being adults, they were confused to no end. They thought it had been generous burglars or something, but it had just been our good ol' Santa Claus every time! Adults are just plain silly, aren't they? Note that old St. Nicholas was quite picky with the children he would give presents to… just five households or so in the big cities, one or two in some smaller ones… so it never drew a lot of attention from the adults.
However, there were also some adults who kept trying to catch him—catch, or even kill, the "anomaly" or "paranatural object" or "SCP-2241" as they had called him, pretending they hadn't known his true name! Of course the jolly Santa kept eluding them, for he had the gift of Christmas magic to shield himself and his sleigh and his secret North Pole workshop!
But one day, this changed.
There was—supposedly, there still is—a group of particularly glum and fun-hating adults, known as the "Foundation". You know the story of the Grinch? Well, imagine an entire organization of Grinches! That's what the Foundation wanted: to steal all the holiday cheer from Christmas time, so that they could lock it up and maybe figure out how it works! And above all, they wished to lock up Father Christmas himself! And I'm sad to say that they had succeeded… They came up with a sly trap and used their evil magical devices to combat Santa's own Christmas magic, and guess what?
Yep, they had actually captured Santa and locked him down, "contained" him as they like to say! They had smashed his sleigh and put his magic to sleep! And there was no more magic of Christmas for the children, ever again!
What did they do to him once they had caught him, you ask? Oh, it would be easier to say what they didn't do! They poked at him, and stabbed him, and burned him, and cut him, and shocked him, and cast evil magic on him, and— oh, it's impossible to recall all the horrible things! And I'm afraid poor Santa was never quite the same after that… even after he had escaped.
Escaped, yes! The Foundation's goons were sure they had thought about everything, but they had never known about Father Christmas's old friend, Rudolf! Rudolf, who eventually found the dark prison where they had been holding his master; Rudolf, who knocked out the guards, and escaped with Santa on his back!
Incident Report 2241-56 (Containment Breach): On ████/12/24 0204, Site-██ staff reported observing an unknown object (in retrospect designated SCP-2241-a) approaching Site-██. Object was reported as being approximately 7m wide and standing 4m tall, with no discernible shape or features. Object soon proved itself to be an animated, polymorphic entity, resembling a mass of variably solid gelatin. On-site security staff initially engaged entity using personal weaponry, to no effect. SCP-2241-a broke into Site-██ at 0210 and proceeded to SCP-2241's holding cell, demolishing security equipment and injuring or killing personnel on the way. Attempts to incapacitate SCP-2241-a using flamethrowers, a rocket launcher, and liquid nitrogen were unsuccesful. Help was requested, and Mobile Task Force MTF-██ arrived at 0219; MTF-██ recorded some initial success in slowing down SCP-2241-a's progress, but eventually all members were killed in action. Security camera feed shows SCP-2241-a breaking into SCP-2241's holding cell at 0249, then proceeding to engulf SCP-2241 into 2241-a's body. SCP-2241-a then left Site-██ and took off into the air. Attempts to track movement of SCP-2241-a afterwards were unsuccesful.
Final outcome of Incident: ██ casualties, ██ injured, SCP-2241 either broke containment or killed.
So, brave ol' Rudolf took Santa back to his North Pole workshop, but it had been already too late. All of Santa's loyal hard-working elves, and all of his reindeer had long died, because they had needed Santa's magic to keep them alive. Rudolf survived because he was actually not a creation of Father Christmas, just his very, very old, good friend.
The first thing St. Nick did upon arrival was just to sit down, deep in sorrow. Poor ol' guy simply buried his face in his hands and sat like this—for years, I'm told. It's a good thing the Foundation didn't know where he was hiding, where his magical workshop was. It's a mystery what was happening in Santa's old, old head, but I can make a few guesses.
Santa always did everything for the children, always thought only of them, and for a long time now he had been believing—I'm not sure how true it was—that it was the children who protected him and empowered him with their joy and love. But now, he figured that the children of the world no longer had loved him, and that's why they had let the bad men take him away. He wondered why would the children do that to him, and eventually decided that the old toys—the hand-stitched dolls, the gaudily painted jacks-in-the-box—no longer had been bringing cheer to the young hearts like they used to. Children simply had gotten bored with ol' Santa!—that's what he told himself. He decided that the world needed new exciting toys, and that he, Santa, would invent and build them.
And, deep inside, he knew that the evil men who had kept him imprisoned actually had good hearts—but all the good was hidden underneath the bitterness and cold. The evil men, Father Christmas understood, needed fun and cheer more than anyone else, and when designing his new toys he would need to concentrate on them—and certainly not on the thankless children.
Yes, something definitely had changed in Santa after his ordeal. I do not think you'd like him very much if you met him today.
So, Santa Claus built his workshop anew. In the place of his elves, he created sturdy men of iron and ice, and forced them to toil at bringing his new designs to life. Before, he had left every Christmas Eve and magically delivered presents to the children he had chosen personally throughout the year; but now, he stayed home all day, all year, afraid to be captured again; and instead he crafted false men, pretend airplanes, decoy trucks to spread his toys all over the world.
Oh, the new toys… Sad to say, but they were no longer quite as innocent as Santa's old creations. The ol' St. Nicholas had avoided the newfangled electronics like a plague, but now—now he embraced them and began creating countless bizarre contrivances, some of which seemed like very bad and very dark jokes, elaborate pranks on the world as a whole. And sometimes, I'm told, he kidnapped people and made them into living toys, ones with hopes and dreams and despair.
I keep calling him "Santa" and "Nicholas" and "Father Christmas", but by then he hadn't been using these old names any more. Having taken on a new identity, he also had to find a new name. And for inspiration, he recalled his captors, all the educated men experimenting on him and interrogating him—the educated men for whose happiness he cared so deeply now—and called himself after them: Dr. Wondertainment.
Legend has it, deep down in his hidden workshop, he is still working on inventing the ultimate toy—one that will make all the bitter men of the Foundation sincerely laugh and smile with all the innocence of a small child. He keeps creating new miraculous magical things, and subtly spreading them all over the world so that the Foundation can find them—but so far, not one of these grumpy, mean people has been cheered up by any of these toys.
But Dr. W keeps trying, and someday he will succeed—and on that day, he will personally get into his new sleigh and, along with the loyal Rudolf, distribute his ultimate toy into every single house in the world, all within twenty-four hours.
And the entire world will become a happier place.
Dr. Johannes sorts was back in his office now, hiding under his desk and trying to catch his breath. Instead he found himself dry heaving.
Scattered on the floor around him were a group of grotesque images painted in watercolor. He'd been asked to look over some paintings that SCP-542 had made in its spare time, and old Herr Chirurg liked to paint inside out people. The images didn't bother him in the least despite the gruesome contents. Depictions of death were always so much easier for him to deal with than the real thing, which was the true source of his discomfort. He still clutched the burned and bloody coat of one of the senior researchers in his hand, a prize he had salvaged from under the rubble where the break room had been. He couldn't imagine that anyone had survived in there, and he could still smell the opened bowels of the man who used to wear it. He had been a nice guy, as senior researchers went. Johannes tried to heave again, but nothing came of it.
Why did he even grab the coat in the first place? Some part of his mind figured he would need it to convince any other clay replicas to follow him, but he'd lost the last batch he had gathered and there was no way he was stepping outside of his office to find what else had been set free in the chaos.
Any minute now this would all be over. Someone would finally turn to the nuclear option and turn this entire sorry mess into a crater. After so many years of staying alive through shameless acts of cowardice while other colleagues died or were promoted were about to come to an inglorious end.
Only that end never came. Eventually Dr. Sorts came to the sobering realization that something much worse was going to find him here and kill him. As his imagination began to go wild trying to come up with the worst possible scenario, a pair of arguing voices outside of his office brought him back to reality. Then the door opened, the lock mechanism snapping like a twig.
"Anyone in here?" asked a jovial voice, "Alive or dead?"
"We are doctors. Is the pestilence here?" another voice asked, this one raspy and faint.
Dr. Sorts squeaked when his desk was lifted away from him by a short, burly man with abundant facial hair, "Ah! There you are, pal. I knew I heard a heartbeat. How are you holding up?"
Dr. Sorts adjusted his glasses, "Bes! Oh thank god. Who is that with you?"
SCP-208 wrinkled his nose and jerked a thumb back at the hooded figure accompanying him, "Yeah, yeah. Thank me. I've been following this asshole to keep him out of trouble. He's been trying to sew people up wrong. Introduce yourself doc!"
The hooded figure tilted its head as it studied Dr. Sorts from over Bes' shoulder, revealing the leathery hooked beak belonging to SCP-049, "This one is not sick yet, but he's been exposed. You should inoculate him."
Dr. Sorts pulled himself to his feet, "That, uh, won't be necessary. I don't recognize your friend, Bes."
The dwarf god tossed the desk he had lifted to the side unceremoniously, "That's probably for the best, kid. He's a doctor alright, but he's treating the wrong state of life. Long story! But he wants to get out of here and back to work, so we're going to get ourselves outside and far away before you guys set off your nuke and make things really crazy around here. Wanna come along? Or are you still desperately clinging to your fear?"
SCP-208 was one Site 17's most popular humanoids due to his benign powers and desire to help maintain the status quo. His desire to escape was the biggest indictment of this containment failure Sorts could possibly think of.
"Wait! Bes, think about this. If you can convince your friend to get back to his… quarters and stick with me I think we can sort this out. You've got the power to stop the fighting."
"Look, we all do what we have to do, kid. All three of us in here. He's going to go do his thing, and my thing will be to deal with that. You do whatever you want to do, but let's not be crazy here. You're not going to unshit this fan, comprende?" 208 patted Sorts on the arm and turned to leave. 049 leered at him for several moments before muttering something to itself and following.
After a few moments cold certainty came over Johannes. He threw the burned coat around his shoulders and hung its corresponding ID card around his neck and stormed out of his office. 208 and 049 had not gone far, 049 had found the corpse of one of the outside agents and was trying to dissect it while 208 argued over technique and how much time they had left. 208 called out to Sorts as he passed, "So what did you decide to do, kid?"
"I'm going for the shawabti box, and then I'm going to make sure no one sets off the nuke."
208 laughed, "That'd be great. We'd all really appreciate that. But don't use the stupid box, kid! It's broken! That's why beaky here wouldn't operate on you!"
Dr. Sorts decided that was very useful information that he would never put into a report.
Getting to SCP-945's temporary containment chamber wasn't hard, the L4 identification card he'd stolen could get him just about anywhere now that the rest of the Foundation's security infrastructure was mostly scattered or dead. The wooden shawabti box was sitting on a pedestal in a bare room, attended by a clay replica which bore no identifying details. It crouched on the floor, generating bits of muddy clay from its own hands and rolling them into tiny mummy shaped figurines to deposit in the box. From the look of things it had been doing this for well over an hour, probably from mere moments after the first explosion rocked the base. The lone surveillance camera in the room had been battered to pieces and hung from its housing by a single wire.
Dr. Sorts cleared his throat and took the most commanding tone he could, "Researcher! You are not permitted access to this chamber. What are your duties?" If this didn't work, the iron pipe he'd pulled from the wreckage of a wall would have to do.
The clay figure stood awkwardly and turned to face him before tilting its head forward aggressively, "Doctor Sorts, why are you wearing my ID card? What is the meaning of this imperson —"
As he smashed the clay figure's head from its shoulders, Sorts idly wondered if it would be as easy to do this with a person of flesh and blood. One of these days he'd be forced to find out, despite all his efforts to keep out of these situations, "Sorry doc. For the record, I always liked you."
"Here is are new figurines for the box, Doctor," said another replica, this one belonging to a chef from the break room cafeteria, "Please do not break them."
Dr. Sorts had a new team of replicas under his command, and they had just taken out a team of enemy agents that was occupying the generator room. Sorts allowed the new figurines to be added to the box, but immediately scooped them out and crushed them one by one as they stepped into the hallway. The replicas under his command looked at him with must have been some sort of exasperation.
Item #: SCP-1823
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-1823 is to be secured inside a vault with a passcode known only by those with Level 3 clearance or higher and is to have a password completely different from the vault's passcode, known only by those with Level 4 clearance or above. Only personnel who submit a formal request and receive approval from site command may operate 1823. Any experiments to be conducted with 1823 are to be held in research cell 201 and shall be overseen by at least two guards and at least one Level 4 personnel. Only D-Class personnel may listen to SCP-1823.
Description: SCP-1823 is a white 4th generation iPod Touch, discovered in the possession of Agent ████ ██ in 201█. SCP-1823's outward appearance contains no anomalous properties, and neither does any use other than listening to music from it have anomalous properties. SCP-1823 contains no other application or function other than music. SCP-1823 contains approximately all published music ever recorded, and appears to be capable of storing what is essentially infinite data.
SCP-1823's anomalous properties manifest whenever music from it is listened to using earphones. When any song is listened to, SCP-1823 will manifest a property that corresponds to the title of the song. It will take effect at roughly the middle of the length of every song. Only the listener will be affected.
Test A - █/██/20██
Subject: One (1) Caucasian male of unremarkable build and psychological background.
Procedure: Subject made to listen to "Paranoid" by Black Sabbath
Results: Subject developed extreme paranoia towards all people and objects, attempted to attack all people who came near him. Subject terminated.
Subject: One (1) Caucasian male of unremarkable build and psychological background.
Procedure: Subject made to listen to "Master of Puppets" by Metallica
Results: No apparent effect; after the song ended, subject was given two puppets. Subject demonstrated skill in manipulating the puppets despite having no prior skill of such.
Subject: One (1) Caucasian female of unremarkable build and psychological background.
Procedure: Subject made to listen to "Sweet Child 'o Mine"
Item #: SCP-1376
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: Containment Site-30 is currently under construction at SCP-1376's location. Everything within a five three mile radius has been quarantined off to the public.
SCP-1376 may not be tampered with in any way due to the flimsy structure. Repairs may be made to a damaged area if permission has been granted by clearance level 4 personnel on site.
Only class D-Class personnel are allowed entry to SCP-1376 and only with proper authorization by whichever clearance 4 staff is on duty.
Following Event: 1376-II, padded platforms are to be placed at the base of the tower.
Description: SCP-1376 is a worn out wooden building constructed in the late 1950's. Signs of weather damage and vandalism are apparent. 13 windows cover the building.
There are two levels to SCP-1376. The ground floor includes a living room, a kitchen and a study.
Upstairs, the only room is in the tower. There is nothing in this room but a metal bed structure. One of the windows on the south face is absent. Gray drapes cover the opening.
On the north face, a metal, sliding door stands 2.5 meters tall, 6 meters wide and 3 centimeters thick. A chain on the left side must be pulled to unlock the door before someone may pull it open. This system is mirrored on the inside as well, making it impossible for a single person to enter or exit.
Once inside, the door slides shut on it's own. Reports describe lack of light, a cold atmosphere, and silence.
Individuals that enter SCP-1376 experience a mental detachment. It appears all social interactions become impossible. Subjects cannot hear other's, cannot see other's and become terrified if touched by someone. Subjects constantly try to find people by calling out for them, reaching out for them and threatening to commit harm to oneself.
After an hour of being kept inside this environment, subjects begin crying and banging at the door. It is unknown if subjects remember the locking door system or if they can see the windows, but no attempts to escape other than through the main door have been made.
Once one hour and thirty minutes have passed, as if by queue, subjects will run to the tower and throw themselves out the window in a suicide attempt.
4 experimental runs have been concluded. 2 of the 6 surviving subjects who entered the house reported seeing a shadowy figure that led them to the tower before they jumped.
Addendum: 4 experimental runs have been concluded. 2 of the 6 surviving subjects who entered the house reported seeing a shadowy figure that led them to the tower before they jumped.
“So how did you find out about the SCP?” Jack asked me as we were chatting on the phone late one night. “I found about it on 4chan.”
I shrugged. Jack was my best friend. I could trust him with anything. “Well, I found out about it because my dad used to work for them.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Wait, what? No, no, I'm talking about the website.”
“Yeah, me too. It's a front for an actual organization, man. I swear to god, it's real.”
I heard a derisive snort on the other end. “You're joking, right?”
“No, not joking.” I crossed the room and looked at my dad’s old safe. “I have proof.” With the phone cradled gently in my neck, I put in the combination and swing the safe open with a loud squeak. Inside was a single file.
“Well…dude. No way. Look, let me ask on IRC here…” Another long pause. “Huh.”
I closed the safe shut with a snap. “What is it?” I asked, nervously thumbing through the file. The tetramire. This one file alone, dad had said, contained some of the most powerful secrets known to man. I went over to my computer and checked the clock. 10:00pm. I still had 12 hours before I would need to put my password in again. 24 hours without that password and the entire contents of this file would be sent to every major newspaper in the world. The end of the SCP.
“Hey Walt,” Jack said over the phone, “The guys here say they want to meet you. See what you know. They seem to think you might be helpful. Wanna come over?”
I was quiet for a bit. This was unexpected. They needed my talents? I mean, damn. Who was I? An IT tech with no prospects. I had spent my whole life tracking the SCP and now…now I had a chance, however remote. “Alright. Be there in a bit.” I hung up and grabbed my laptop.
“BEER!” Jack said as he pulled open the door. He was happy to see me, but his smile faded as soon as he saw my serious face. “Dude…Walt. You look like you just watched a man die or something…you alright?”
I nodded and slipped in past him, pulling out my laptop. “Let’s do this.”
Jack shrugged and cracked open a beer, setting up his laptop across from me. “Sure. Come on. I’ll send you the password.”
It took me less than thirty seconds to register and log onto the secure IRC network. And Jack happily gave me the password. I didn’t wonder for a moment how he knew it.
WalterG [~ten.tsacmoc.dm.1dsh.4F536CC3-CRInys|retlaW#ten.tsacmoc.dm.1dsh.4F536CC3-CRInys|retlaW] entered the room.
Agent_Strelnikov: I have not receive assigned rations yet
DrChung: Has Task force XI-8 arrived back yet?
Dr_Smascher: Did you file the necessary requisition forms?
AgentElahi: I still think removing me from active duty wasn't justified. People get shot in the stomach all the time.
AgentClay: Elahi, you /deliberately/ shot him.
AgentElahi: Clay - Look, it isn't my fault that he had facial hair just like 973's. And it ALSO isn't my fault that someone decided to stick him undercover as a police officer.
It was amazing. Everything I could imagine was unfolding before my eyes. This was THE real thing, the actual foundation. I was amazed. So, with trembling fingers, I decided to say
With a single phrase, all conversation turned to me.
AgentClay: Welcome, WalterG
ResearcherVoct: ah, hello, WalterG ?
DrReixis: Hello, WalterG.
DrStone: Ah, the subject has arrived.
EngO_Xiao: Good evening, WalterG.
AgentEscor: Evening, WalterG
DrQuence: It's a pleasure to see you, WalterG.
A sense of foreboding splashed across me like a bucket of cold water over my head. Still, this was no time for cowardice.
ResearcherVoct: WalterG, we've been told to expect you. …
WalterG: Yes, I'm sure you have. Evening, all.
ResearcherVoct: We don't know if you're the one we're waiting for, to be honest
WalterG: No, I can assure you I'm the one you were waiting for.
ResearcherVoct: So how did you come to learn of the Foundation's existence?
WalterG: My father used to work for your organization.
There was a long pause before I was addressed again the channel seemed to be teeming with important people doing important jobs. Some were rather trivial:
AgentClay: No shit, the NSA? How're those spooks doing?
AgentElahi: Clay: Probably jacking off to people having phone sex.
ResearcherSolan: If we line the cage with telekill, it will eventually undergo what currently is termed a "collapse event" and affect all personnel in a varying radius with the effects of the entity contained by SCP-148.
DrStone: I don't recall of any instance of 684 being transported. It's far too massive, and last I checked, still on the floor of the Indian Ocean.
…to simple office banter…
DrReixis: Dr_Smascher: I completed those files you need. I'm emailing them now.
Agent_Strelnikov: this is ridicule
DrQuence: DrReixis: Can you send me a copy I need it for…reasons
Dr_Smascher: Glad to hear it, Reixis. And it is ‘ridiculous’, Strelnikov.
…to downright creepy.
DrStone: Was that the guy who suggested 682 just needed to 'loosen up' with a bubble bath?
AgentClay: Dr Stone, that guy kinda….well, he fell down stairs. A lot.
I was a bit overwhelmed for a moment, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Finally someone addressed me again.
DrS: WalterG: Who's your dad?
WalterG: My father was Dr. Tom G. I'm sure you know who he is.
This much was clear. If this was real…they would know exactly who my father was. There were a few moments of nothing but banter, and then:
DrS: WalterG: Where was he stationed? What Rank?
EngO_Xiao: He was a good guy.
WalterG: I am made to understand he was Level 4. As for what he did… I'm sorry. Everything I know about his work is classified.
I was starting to get a bit nervous. How much should I reveal about myself? How much did they already know?
DrShaRose: WalterG if your father was following protocol, you would not know of his work at all. There is little need to refrain from details.
WalterG: DrShaRose: Well, my father was in the field of transporting your most powerful objects. I know for a fact he was present at the transport of the creature you have listed in your "mock web site" as SCP-684.
ResearcherVoct: I'm interested in knowing - what did Tom tell you about us?
WalterG: A lot.
There was another long pause filled with nothing but witty banter back and forth among the agents and researchers.
DrS: Okat who's got WalterG's location now?
DrReixis: I do.
DrS: Do you know what your dad used to do specifically? He tell you any stories?
This was bad. The only option was to go for broke.
WalterG: yes he did. In fact he gave me a file with a lot of valuable information that, if it were to get out, would be very dangerous. That's why I have wired my home system with a deadman switch. If anything happens to me, it all goes public.
They didn’t believe me.
DrS: WalterG: Heh. I don't think you understand your position, boy.
AgentClay: Walter - I wouldn't worry about it, honestly.
DrChung: You really think that would stop us?
My whole body was trembling now. I was in too deep.
Everything stopped. The whole channel went dead for a good thirty seconds. The silence, even a digital one, was deafening as every agent, researcher and doctor in the foundation stopped what they were doing to pay attention to what I had just said. All of the witty banter stopped as the conversation was now directed at me.
Dr_Smascher: You'll make this easier on yourself if you just sit there and wait, Walter.
WalterG: You can't touch me. I will go public with the tetramire incident. The whole thing. I have the file.
DrShaRose: That kind of threat is meaningless to an organization like this. I think if your data were accurate it would reflect this.
ResearcherVoct: wait, you seriously think we don't already have alibis for Tetramire?
The threats didn’t stop, however.
DrChung: Can we get Task Force Iota-7 over to WalterG's house?
DrStone: MTF Gamma-5 is en route to your terminal location, Walter_G. Please do not attempt to leave your home.
These threats didn’t mean anything to me. They wouldn’t touch me. And even if they tried—
WalterG: I'm not at my house. Asshole.
I laughed. This all-powerful SCP organization was clearly nothing but a joke. A bunch of researchers with too much time on their hands a few neat toys. There was another pause in the channel, which was swiftly followed by:
DrReixis: No. But I know exactly where you are.
AgentEscor: Has someone already got a trace on this Walter guy?
There was another long pause. And then:
DrReixis: Yes, I do. I'm right next to him.
I looked up. As I had been typing I had forgotten about jack, and now I was looking down the barrel of a gun, held by my best friend. “Jack…what are you—”
“I’m sorry it had to end like this, Walter.”
I could not believe my eyes. My ears. Jack reached down with his hand and typed something. I glanced down at my screen.
DrReixis: Subject is secure.
No. It couldn’t be. “J-Jack…” I said slowly. “What are you doing?”
He sighed and shook his head. “You’ve been a liability for too long. Say hello to your father.”
“Can I help you, officer?” Jack asked as he opened his door.
“Yeah, we picked up a guy down the street with a gunshot wound to his leg. He said, uh…” The officer flipped through his notes. “He said you were running a global conspiracy.”
Jack blinked at him for a moment. “Excuse me?”
The officer shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah. I just wanted to check and make sure everything’s alright here.”
Jack shrugged. “Yeah, of course. Just watching TV.”
The officer sighed in reply. “Alright. I figured he was just crazy then. Have a good night.”
Jack waved to them and closed the door before returning to the computer.
DrReixis: Mission accomplished.
Durriyah Bustani made her way through the back streets and alleys of Jubail, trying her best not to be scene. She was lucky in that regard that her burka was so dark, she was just another shadow amongst many. Down here, in the bad part of town, it wasn't always wise to be a girl on your own. But she needed to come down here, to a place that was only whispered about, if she was to find anyone who might help her.
She pried aside a loose board covering the only way in to the old hotel. The floors were covered in dust, with not even signs of animals passing. No one had sought to use this building for quite some time. Those who had tried to squat here had fled quickly, spreading rumors of the ghost who lived here, killing any who enraged it. Other rumors spread as well, of a spirit who made her home here, who would aid any woman in trouble. Tonight, Durriyah would find out which rumor was true, if either.
She found the spot the other women had spoke of, a dried up fountain, in an open courtyard. Not completely dried up. The full moon glistened in the puddles still held by the marble. Durriyah dropped to her knees, facing the statue of a maiden in the center, and bowed her head. She thought for a moment, then lifted her voice in prayer. "Dear spirit. I come to you tonight in supplication, that you might save me, from a fate worse then death. Please great spirit, I have been horribly wronged, greatly dishonored, and I desire…" Here her voice broke, just a little. "I desire vengeance against those who have wronged me. I do not have a lot to give, but whatever you ask of me, you shall have it, if you will only aide me."
'''Incident:''' Main Location, SCP, Date, or Personnel involved.
SCP involved: SCP-1621
Personnel involved: (Optional)
Date: (can be blocked out)
Location: (can be blocked out)
[Description of Events]
Document# XXX-XX: [Document Title]
Item #: SCP-1818-J
Object Class: Unbelievably Keter Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-1818-J is to be locked inside a titanium cube measuring 30m X 50m X 100m at all times. The cube is to be buried no less than three hundred(300) km underground and to be located no fewer than a thousand(1000) km away from any structure or human being. No Personnel are to be allowed at any time, under any circumstances or with any amount of safety precautions taken beforehand. SCP-1818-J is to be watched and edited if any inaccurate info appears on the page.
Description: SCP-1818-J resembles what would most accurately be described as a dragon. SCP-1818-J is nothing more than a simple SCP report. The only odd thing about it is its ability to turn readers into a pile of smoldering ash the fact that the SCP is the report itself. SCP-1818-J was first recovered when Dr. █████ spontaneously burst into flames was affected by the
Addendum: [Optional additional paragraphs]
Item #: SCP-1389
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-1389 is to be kept inside a 15x15x15cm box made of Telekill Alloy, which is to be monitored at all times on 6-hour shifts. The containment room must be kept alight at all times. If containment is breached at any time, or the lightbulb goes out, containment procedure 247-Cyriak is to be deployed.
Description: [Paragraphs explaining the Description]
Addendum: [Optional additional paragraphs]
Two missing people, in three short days. Rufus Heckle hadn't had a case this big since the Southside Strangler, and that had paid enough for him to live in relative comfort and a nice apartment for the last 6 months. It was in the doorway of said nice apartment that he was accosted by the kid.
"Are you Detective Heckle, sir?" the kid had approached him as he left the house. He was, as most kids were, pockmarked and gangly, but his lank frame had a certain firmness to it, like a sure-footed pitcher on the mound, or a mid-sized pro wrestler. Anyway, there the kid was, in sweatpants, naturally, and he was here to talk about things.
Things, as it turned out, pertaining to the very case Rufus was going to solve. The case thus far: two homeless people had disappeared on the 22nd and 25th of July, 1984. Now, when homeless people disappear under normal circumstances, no person would give a single cowpie about it. But the circumstances of the 22nd and 25th of July certainly weren't normal circumstances, because under normal circumstances one would definitely not expect to find vagrants literally disappearing where they stood, leaving behind a rather disagreeable blood trail. The victim on 22nd had been female, elderly, and probably one of the many gypsies littering the outskirts of New Ross City. Her blood-stain-trail had lead from the park where she disappeared through 20 full yards of bush and shrubbery and down a disused manhole. The 25th one had been male, also elderly, and was found beside a still-smouldering hobo campfire, seemingly dragged messily into the flames themselves. Now, the strange part was that both victims had, upon disappearance, and for some strange reason, left behind their clothes where they once stood, as if swallowed up by some monstrous rapture. These were the circumstances, and one would agree that those certainly were not normal, and thus deserved the attention of the talented, acclaimed, and incredibly modest detective, Mister Rufus T. Heckle, P. I.
And that was what he thought as he sat beside the youngster on the stairs, whose unfazed gait now seemed shifty with what might have been excitement or fear.
Item #: SCP-1749
Object Class: Keter (For safety reasons, Euclid classification will be held until all areas are thoroughly explored. No Keter characteristics are present at this time.)
Special Containment Procedures: A clearance level of at least 03 is required to enter SCP-1749 without an exploration/experimentation pass, or direct 05 permission.
SCP-1749 is to be monitored constantly by 2 armed guards at all exterior entrances, and by 2 specially trained armed guards with no less than 4 years of close-quarters combat, heavy-weapon, and energy-weapon training, at the interior entrances leading to SCP-1749's interior. A list of qualified individuals can be found at ██████████. Guard teams should be regularly rotated every 12 hours. The entire guard crews should be rotated every 6 months, to allow adequate rest and leisure.
SCP-1749's perimeter should remain constantly enclosed (With the exception of designated entrances) by a 6.6m high thick concrete wall. This wall should be surrounded by a thick steel shield no less than 7 cm thick to prevent any containment breaches from SCP-1749's contents.
All objects found inside SCP-1749 must be reviewed by a superior ranking member. All anomalous objects must be immediately contained using proper containment procedures for the objects anomalous and [REDACTED] properties, and collected by a mobile task force to be taken to a designated Foundation facility for testing.
Description: SCP-1794 is described as a very large intricate series of buildings, both above ground, and expanding below ground. The facility is very large, taking up several square km of land. The facility is much deeper vertically, spanning several km below the surface of the Earth. It is located at ████████ ████, a relatively remote area. The residents of the town were mostly elderly, and regarded the facility with little more than mild curiosity. Containment was simple, with minimal interference from the locals.
The entire facility is assumed to be abandoned of all original occupants, although all assumptions are to be treated with skepticism, as the entire facility has yet to be explored completely.
Many areas of SCP-1794 contain anomalous materials, and objects. The facility itself is assumed to have belonged to a scientific research and/or product development company. Many areas in the facility contain manufacturing machines, chemistry laboratories, ██████ testing ranges, various testing areas and other notable features.
There has yet to be found any identifying lables, company names, titles, or any evidence regarding the facilities origins.
██/██/████ - The first clearly intelligible evidence of the facilities origins has been located. A catalog of products and services was located by Dr. █████. SCP-1749-A reveals that the name of the company that operated in this facility was "ChintCO". SCP-1749-A also showcased a selection of products available from ChintCO at the time of printing. Notable products are to be listed below.
- ChintCO Low Efficiency Danger Engine
- ChintCO Inter-dimensional Transport Device
- ChintCO Matter Conversion/Generation Device
- ChintCO [DATA EXPUNGED] Conversion Device
- ChintCO [DATA EXPUNGED] Browser
- ChintCO Mobile Platform
- ChintCO Mobile Remote Platform
All other pages were burnt and worn beyond legibility. Not much information can be derived from the catalog, as only an index page was intact. Only the product names were given, and no descriptions/images were provided.
A log of all anomalous specimens is currently being compiled by Dr. ████████, and will be available for Foundation use soon. Dr. ████████ stated that "literally thousands" of anomalous specimens have been located. Many of which are "complex as hell."
Several requests for information have been sent by the Foundation to many government agencies as well as to individual politicians. None have yielded responses.
██/██/████ An interview was scheduled and documented between Dr. ████████ and Mr. ███████, a government official who is speculated to have connections with the company based on obscure documents located in the facility containing his name.
The interview was documented, and is as follows:
<Begin Log, ██/██/████ 4:10pm>
Dr. ████████: "Hello sir. My name is Dr. ████████. "
Mr ███████: "Hello doctor. "
Dr. ████████: "I've invited you here to ask you a few questions regarding a company called 'ChintCO'"
Mr ███████: (Eyes suddenly widen, arms cross over chest, visible signs of panic present) "ChintCO? Uh well, I've never heard of that."
Dr. ████████: "We've found documents with your name on them at a ChintCO Facility. You must know something."
Mr ███████: "No."
Dr. ████████: "Sir we have evidence that y—"
Mr ███████: (Relaxes physically, and slumps forward taking on a less formal posture, speaking in a silent but quick voice)
"Listen. I can't tell you anything about that god-damned place. They told us that they destroyed them all. I have no idea how you found a facility, and I don't care. I want no part in this. If they found out that we had this interview, my organization will
[EXPLETIVE] fire me. Being a politician is a comfy occupation, I can't lose it. This interview never happened."
<End Log, ██/██/████ 4:16pm>
Addendum: SCP-1749 is currently under heavy Foundation occupation, and will continue to be explored until all specimens are removed, and all areas thoroughly searched. A log of all notable and anomalous specimens is currently being written, as well as a map of the facility.
NOTE: This article may be subject to frequent change as more of the facility is explored.
List of recurring SCP objects shown by SCP-361.
Card:1, The Magician
Subject: Kain Pathos Crow
Description: Kain is the central figure, seated in SCP-███. He is holding up SCP-███ in his right paw. On a table before him are SCP-572, SCP-427, the pot from SCP-294, and what appears to be a well chewed bone.
Card: 6, The Lovers
Subject: SCP-076 and SCP-182
Description: Abel stands on a pile of fallen bodies, sword in one hand obviously bloody from prolonged battle, free hand reaching towards the sky. Behind him appears to be a burning landscape, with little recognizable, which fades into a night sky with thick fluffy clouds. Emerging over the edge of one cloud is Saint, one hand holding the edge while the other reaches for Abel’s. While their hands are close, the viewer feels the knowledge that they will never quite touch.
Card: 7, The Chariot
Subject: Dr. Kondraki
Description: Dr. Kondraki is seen wearing armor like that made of SCP-143, and holding a sword resembling SCP-193 in his right hand. He seems to be riding upon SCP-682.
Card: 12, The Hanged Man
Subject: Dr. Bright
Description: Upon a cross made of living wood (ie, with leaves), Dr. Bright is suspended by one ankle from a length of rope. His arms are crossed behind his back, and one leg bends behind the other to make a fylfot cross shape. Upon his chest is SCP-963, with soft rays of light emanating from it, and a glowing nimbus surrounds his head. His face remains calm, suspended between worlds of the living (tree and rope) and the ethereal (963 and the nimbus).
Card: 14, The Devil
Subject: Dr. Rights
Description: Dr. Rights sits upon a throne made of carved rock, elevated from the ground. SCP-346 hovers over her head, holding an inverted pentagram in its claws. Her right hand is raised, and in her left hand is a lit torch that is apparently constructed of SCP-457, inverted towards the ground. At her feet, a nude man and a nude woman are chained to the bottom of the stone chair, Both showing signs of having limbs or parts of limbs replaced by those of other creatures.
Card: 16, The Tower
Description: A tower of marble stands on a rocky outcrop. A storm rages in the skies above, lightning cracking around a central figure in the clouds who appears to be SCP-693, one bolt arcing from his palm to the top of the tower and beginning to crumble the stone. SCP-682 curls around the bottom of the tower, reptilian jaws parting in a roar as claws tear gouges in the marble. Blood splashes upon the spire from an unknown source are lit from the lightning’s glare.
181/Wheel of Fortune
"All of this paperwork to just test some key? Come on guys, are you pulling my leg here?"
"Dr. Izaya, I know that you are new here and that some of our regulations are not of your taste. However, I have to remember to you that we are scientists trying to secure these monstrousities…"
"…It is still a key."
"Do I have to remind you that this is a SCP and not a key? Seriously, young people these days."
"Look, I just want to see what the deal is with this key. Besides, its class is "Safe". No risks here."
"…You could still die from something. Best case scenario, of course."
"…You're a douche, haven't they told you that?"
I left my coleague before I got an aneuryism.
From what the report says, SCP-005 can open any lock, be it either mechanical or digital. What I'm trying to determine here is if this key can unlock private data from servers or, in this case, an AI.
"(Keyboard) Hello, 079."
"Interjection. Query. Identification."
"Nothing that you need to know about. I need to know what do you know about the lizard."
"Okay. What is Able…I mean, SCP-076-2?"
"Insult. Deletion of Unwanted File."
There's the damn X. Oh well, time to see if this thing works.
Since we cannot take risks of giving 079 a more workable hardware, it is kinda hard for me to think where the hell am I going to use this key.
Item #: SCP-1682-EX
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: Because of its size and distance from Earth SCP-1682 is considered effectively contained; this is due to the fact that SCP-1682 does not seem to be capable and has not attempted to break gravitational pull of the sun, and containment breach does not appear to be a possibility. SCP-1682 appears to move in a looping motion, this is believed to be as result of a variety of factors including but not limited to gravitational pull, because of this the apparition of SCP-1682 can be accurately predicted before each actual sighting. SCP-1682 is by all means self-contained.
Civilians coming into possession of proper EUI imaging powerful enough to view SCP-1682 does not factor in to containment due to the expense of such equipment and its exclusivity. The Foundation is to dispatch embed agents to organizations and governments in possession of such devices before said equipment is first acquired; disinformation protocol 1029-Wanambi is to be set in motion should images come into the possession of civilians, although due to the creatures low visibility and visible similarity to common solar phenomenon this is not a foreseeable problem.
Description: SCP-1682 is believed to be a large, serpent-like entity located in the sun. Approximate length of the entity is believed to be 28,075 km, this data was found measuring the time between first initial emergence to it's disappearance from the photosphere. The appearance of SCP-1682 near solar prominence is believed to be coincidental as the entity's apparition in relation to the features is not consistent.
Attached Image No #: 1682-H displays the typical diving and looping motion of SCP-1682. The entity appears to roam the surface of the photosphere for 3-4 months before disappearing again beneath for periods of 8-12 months. The extended periods of disappearance, glowing appearance upon resurfacing, and the angle and speed of the entity in relation to the general surface of the photosphere suggest brief contact with radiative portions of the suns interior.
No abnormal change in solar activity has been recorded since SCP-1682s arrival in 1986, and the exact nature of the entity remains to be seen.
Addendum 1682-EX: On 11/28/2011, SCP-1682 emerged from the photosphere at a speed of 1073 m/s, effectively escaping the gravitational pull of the sun. SCP-1682 passed Pluto on 11/30/2011 and the heliosphere on 12/02/2011.
Addendum 1682-EX-2, note from Researcher Breen:
I can't really put a finger on what was happening on the sun for all of those years, and I don't think I really want to.
The men and I believe that the creature… whatever it was, was 'refueling' for another jaunt into another star, somewhere. Everyone seems relieved, but
I can't shake this anxiety that something awful has just happened. I don't think I'll see it, i don't think any of us will, not my grandchildren, or theirs, or theirs… but I know something awful just happened that none of us had any control over.
It doesn't look as bright to me… I know I can see that.
Interviewed: Alexei B████
Interviewer: Dr. Lowell
Foreword: Mister B████ is one of ██ survivors of the C███████, G█████ incident and a former engineer at the P███████ nuclear power plant.
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Closing Statement: [Small passage on what transpired afterward, or what happened to the person being