Do not edit other writers' sandboxes without permission.
5/Mlerm LEVEL 5/MlermCLASSIFIED |
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Item #: SCP-MlermObject Class: Euclid |
- AUTHOR PAGE
- Too Many Wolves
- CURRENT WORKPROJECT IN WORKING PROJECT
- Idea
- Food stuff
- Kingdom of Stone
- Tab 4
- Mayonnaise
- MCF number 18
- don't even look, nothing is here
- MCF/Anabasis chars of mine
http://www.scp-wiki.net/andariel-halo-file
If for some odd reason you want to read any of my failed drafts or early versions of them (please don't1, it only feeds my vanity), contact me and I can send them to you, since my sandbox is running out of speis and looking ugly as hell.
** **My long meandering Director's Commentary is now located here** warning it is most likely very boring **
ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my fiiiiiiiles
- ridin in mah truck down to the store
- I get out, my door handle is furry
- turn around JESUS CHRIST MY ENTIRE TRUCK IS WOLVES
- they bark incessantly at me, then drive off
- <Dr_Sanford> AND THE WOLVES HAVE GUNS
- <Dr_Sanford> WHICH SHOOT SLIGHTLY SMALLER WOLVES AT YOU
Item #: SCP-3388
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: Due to the uncontrollable nature of the anomaly, SCP-3388 is kept at Site-78-A, a residential structure cordoned off from the neighboring area. Containment efforts are focused on minimizing the frequency of SCP-3388-2 events. MTF Upsilon-XI ("Some Cocky Pun"), is to be deployed in the event of a containment breach.
SCP-3388 is to be blindfolded and dressed in bite-resistant body armor and fed by two armored personnel. Subject is allowed certain small-sized granola/energy bars upon request. Personnel are to tranquilize instances of SCP-3388-2, if practicable, and ensure the safety of SCP-3388.
Discussions are ongoing between the Foundation and "Stuff of Dreams LLC" regarding the safe neutralization of SCP-3388's anomalous effects. Foundation legal counsel (Ames Farthings, C. S. Lough, and picked staff) are responsible for the case.
Description: SCP-3388 is a Caucasian female who causes nearby inanimate objects to spontaneously transform into one or more gray wolves2 roughly arranged in the shape of the object they have replaced and scaled to size. The wolves (SCP-3388-2) display no anomalous behavior, although in many cases they are capable of replicating the basic actions of the object(s) they have replaced.
Attempts to contain SCP-3388 resulted in the continuous manifestation of gray wolves until such time as Foundation personnel temporarily vacated the area. Personnel re-established contact with the subject and made her aware of the situation, after which the subject was successfully contained following the implementation of Marlowe-Stormberg Hostile Extraction Protocol 2.
Several days after containment, a letter was left addressed to the subject on Site-78-A addressed from "Stuff of Dreams LLC." The source of the anomaly, according to the letter, stemmed from an unspecified interaction between the subject and the organization in question. The subject then began to experience anomalous effects in public. The letter addressed SCP-3388's anomalous properties, and apologized for the "unintended effects".
Both the company and the subject agree that the anomalous effects were unintentional and the result of some "malfunction", although subject denies having made any definitive agreements. Citing loss of their personal vehicle, as well as physical and psychological trauma sustained (up to and including containment), SCP-3388 has declared their intent to sue "Stuff of Dreams LLC" for damages.
"Stuff of Dreams" responded some days later by returning SCP-3388's vehicle, unchanged from its anomalous transformation. SCP-3388 perceived this to be an insult, and began to threaten "exposing" the company to the public. "Stuff of Dreams" then sent a representative to Site-78 with the purpose of mediating a resolution with SCP-3388.
The representative, going by the name "Mr. Ice", refused to allow SCP-3388 to be amnesticized without first reaching an agreement, as they claimed the subject's "unconscious memories" would be unaffected, leading to the subject spreading knowledge of this conflict to the "pool of potential clientele" whilst dreaming. Mr. Ice apparently attempted to imply that this would likely lead to a leak of sensitive information obtained by SCP-3388 while in containment. As such, a mediation session was agreed to.
Logs:
Mediation Log, 10/25/20██
Note: SCP-3388 had requested the services of a Foundation-appointed attorney. Personnel on-site have postponed making a decision pending the outcome of this mediation attempt. "Stuff of Dreams LLC" are represented by an individual calling themselves "Mr. Ice"
<Begin Log 11:04:48>
Agent West: Let's get started. [NAME REDACTED], would you begin?
SCP-3388: Alright, so I had a weird dream [Subject gesticulates to Mr. Ice] brought about by them, I guess. I wake up-
Agent West: You don't remember the dream?
SCP-3388: I remember that I had the dream and that it felt uncomfortable. I wake up, and get out of bed, on my way to work, I almost get hit by some ass cutting me off without using a turning-signal. I got a little freaked out and pulled in to a parking lot of a 7-11 to get some air. I look back, and my car is made of hair. Then it starts wriggling and writhing, and I see wolves' heads poking out of it. Suddenly they're all barking at me wildly, and then the car just runs off. Like, each of the wheels became a wolf, and the four started running all together.
Mr. Ice: Excuse me…
SCP-3388: I'm not done. So I run into the 7-11 and start screaming for a phone, since I'd left mine in the car. They pointed me to a payphone, and when I turned around, the shelves collapsed into a pile of wolves. One at a time, each shelf just becomes a pile of wolves. A fucking pile of wolves.
Mr. Ice: This is irrelevant to the issue at hand…
SCP-3388: I'm not done. I run out the door and the wolves start chasing me. At least, I thought they were at the time. I didn't stop running. All around me, stuff was turning into wolves. Street signs, mailboxes, benches, even a few cars. I saw a cop pull a gun and start shooting some of the wolves. His gun became a little wolf, and it started spitting out even littler wolf pups!
Mr. Ice: My company is not refuting the sequence of events leading to [NAME REDACTED]'s containment.
SCP-3388: Listen to me, you fuck; you did this. You caused it somehow, and I have no idea how or why.
Agent West: Please, let's take a step back here. No more interruptions. Mr. Ice?
Mr. Ice: Stuff of Dreams is not in the business of hounding individuals unprovoked. What we do involves a great deal of discretion. To be approached by someone representing us, you have to have made a conscious effort to do so. Ms. [REDACTED] made contact with an individual known to us as a frequent and satisfied client. From there, we established contact with her the night prior to the events previously mentioned.
SCP-3388: That's bullshit.
Mr. Ice: I believe Agent West specified there were to be no further interruptions?
SCP-3388: That's a lie, though. I never asked anyone about 'making my dreams come true'. That's just stupid. And why would I even wish for…like, wolves? Everything turning into wolves?
Mr. Ice: As we've made clear several times, a mistake was made.
Agent West: Could you clarify exactly what you mean by a 'mistake was made'?
Mr. Ice: I'm not at liberty to divulge specifics. The mechanism by which we responded to Ms. [REDACTED]'s request…
SCP-3388: Ms. [REDACTED]'s bullshit
Mr. Ice: Excuse me.
Agent West: [NAME REDACTED], please.
SCP-3388: This is a crock of shit! Where are your logs of this so-called meeting we had? This dream-meet? No, screw that, you could've forged them. Where's security footage or whatever?
Mr. Ice: Security footage. Of a meeting taking place in a dream.
SCP-3388: You know what I don't need this shit. You better find yourself a damn good lawyer, because I'm taking this to fucking "Dream Court".
Mr. Ice: "Dream Court"? How exactly would that work? And what if you lost such a legal battle? Who would enforce the outcome? What stops you from ignoring that outcome and persisting in slandering our reputation?
SCP-3388: Nothing. What stops you from just killing me to shut me up?
Mr. Ice: Killing a dissatisfied customer would be a significant stain on our reputation.
SCP-3388: So then what do you want? Why do any of this?
Mr. Ice: The Foundation is not in the business of casually neutralizing anomalous beings so long as they can be reasonably contained with a reasonable amount of effort expended. They will continue to keep you alive and "malfunctioning" for as long as you should naturally live. What I'm proposing is a mutual agreement, in which we would remove any and all alterations made by Stuff of Dreams to you which may have contributed to your current situation. In exchange, you agree not to hold us in any way liable for these events, and will refrain from making others aware - knowingly or unknowingly - of our role in this unfortunate sequence of events.
SCP-3388: How's that happen?
Mr. Ice: We will go over the details at a later date. Being as you are in Foundation custody, we will have to speak directly with your project overseers at a later date.
SCP-3388: Being held illegally I should add…
[End log]
Addendum: Mr. Ice of "Stuff of Dreams" returned with a formal offer to neutralize SCP-33883 while the subject [NAME REDACTED] would be unharmed and safe to release following amnestic treatment. Mr. Ice explained that he was fully aware of the Foundation's policy towards containment, and explained the motivation behind this offer being the "good name and reputation of Stuff of Dreams." Mr. Ice further explained that SCP-3388 would be able to interact with other anomalous entities via her dreams and damage the reputation of the company.
Foundation personnel on-site are divided over this offer made by Mr. Ice. Arguments have been presented by each side (for and against) and have been presented to Site Director Forelle. Truncated summaries of each presentation are attached.
- optional, most likely delete these
Pro side, intros here, whatevs
"Secure, Contain, Protect". That is our motto, and that is our work. It's not supposed to be fun and it's not supposed to be easy. Opportunities like this one are the very reason we still stand today. Existential threats to the very existence of our civilization are staggering in their scale.
We've been lucky more often than we've been successful. When it comes to anomalies, our very way of life is on the line every time we send a Mobile Task Force out there, every time we call in a researcher whose specialization may be tangentially related to an entirely new field of science introduced by an anomaly, and every time one of these anomalies ends up outsmarting or overcoming our best efforts and kills someone.
It's our job to be perfect. We have to keep every single anomaly from destroying lives, destroying civilization, in some cases from destroying reality itself. And we are only human. The burden this places on us is titanic, and we can't afford the slightest falter in our resolve and our work. We've got people trained in abnormal psychology or nuclear physics who go home each night suffering burnout and PTSD like career EMTs or soldiers experience; we see a suicide rate among our personnel to rival them, as well.
We are only human, and we can only handle so much. The means by which we operate requires complete discretion, and the more anomalies we come across and catalogue, the heavier that burden on us becomes. And the heavier that burden, the sooner that day comes when an anomaly breaks containment in such a way that deploying a clean-up crew just can't fix. The masquerade will inevitably break the more we take on under our current system.
An anomaly has sprung up, one which will likely require our intensive monitoring for decades to come. A life is being destroyed by this anomaly. We will lock her away and keep watch over her for the rest of her life. Other lives will be destroyed trying to deal with this anomaly's effects. A child will go to bed while their mother goes to work one night, and that child will wake up and find the door still shut, the house still a mess, no lunch prepared for them for school that day. Hours will pass and that child won't ever see their mother walk through the front door ever again.
And it's our fault. It's our fault if we turn down this offer, this gift given to us. It's our policy not to destroy what can be reasonably contained. Put a little thought into what's being offered to us by this Stuff of Dreams company. Even if they're lying to us, what do you imagine their response would be if we refuse them? I doubt they'd let SCP-3388 remain in captivity. So we upgrade her to keter and have ourselves a containment arms race with them and our joyless work will go on, that much harder because we refuse to budge in the slightest.
If we accept, SCP-3388 will be neutralized. Her anomalous properties will be removed, and she will be left alive and unharmed. A series of amnestic treatments later, she will go back home and her life will resume. Everyone currently involved in containing her will get to breathe that much more easily.
Foundation personnel will still die. They'll still go home and struggle with the harsh realities of their lives. They'll still take their own lives when they've endured too much. Why make it worse? If we refuse the offer, what do we get over them? They'll disappear and continue operating, invading people's dreams and spreading their special brand of chaos for us to clean up after. If we accept their offer, they'll continue doing exactly the same thing.
Our lives are already set. We secure, we contain, and we protect. Our lives are devoted now to this cause. [NAME REDACTED]'s life can be saved. All we need to do is have some courage and say "We will not allow someone to suffer because we were too stubborn and too trapped in our own dogmatic ideals to compromise for the sake of an innocent life."
We may set a new standard when it comes to dealing with anomalous entities in the future, but how is that any different from what's happening now? Innocent people become affected by anomalies, or outright killed by them, and none of the responsible parties come to us offering a fix.
It's only one life, but one life is enough. We cannot ever lay down our burdens, but if we ignore these offers of help given to us, we will crumble beneath them. It is not wrong to accept help when offered. We can't fight the entire world. We accept what help is offered to us, and we can get back to our duty of securing, containing, and protecting.
Counter side, intros here, whatevs
"Secure, Contain, Protect" is our bylaw. It is our work, but it is woefully inefficient to justify everything we do. Tracking down anomalies and keeping them contained is a mere hotfix to a far more important issues. Securing and containing anomalies is merely treatment of symptoms. Protection comes from understanding the anomaly.
The burden of protecting people from the anomalous is hoisted upon us because we can handle it. Alone amongst virtually all other governmental and non-governmental organizations (certain major examples aside), we are qualified to this business not just of containment, but of future prevention as much as possible. Things that can't be explained by modern science come to us, and we enlist the best of the best from around the world to doing all we can to understand these things. Many times we fail to fully comprehend, but even in this failure we gather invaluable information that helps us, at the very least, better contain the anomaly and future anomalies related to them.
We're faced here with an unusual anomaly affecting a young woman. By her mere presence and our containment efforts, the source of her anomaly was made known to us. Contact with groups of interest is volatile, and in this case we were lucky. What little intel we get from these types of meetings is fleeting at best. We often don't even get information on any group of interest until long after they've "struck". "Stuff of Dreams" came to us offering to undo what they did, with seemingly no strings attached.
This is exactly what they want; a hotfix to save face. We let them fix up SCP-3388 and we let her go, and we gain absolutely nothing from the encounter. We know very little about this group, and have no way of directly interacting or infiltrating them. We don't even know if this Mr. Ice represents them at all, or if "Stuff of Dreams" is even a true functioning company. Their motives, if they even have any, are a mystery. By letting them neutralize SCP-3388 without further incident, we let them learn from their mistake and go on about their business. The next incident they cause might not be as containable as SCP-3388.
Containing anomalous entities like SCP-3388 isn't supposed to be a case of hoarding anomalies because we don't know what else to do with them. There's a reason we experiment and occasionally cross-test. We need to learn, not just to sate the irresistible lust for knowledge innate to humankind, but to better secure ourselves with better information for the future.
Consider SCP-████. We kept it contained, virtually untouched and forgotten for more than 30 years. It wasn't until the digital revolution and encounters with anomalies like SCP-███ and SCP-████ that we learned how to deal with SCP-████. The day it was downgraded from Euclid to Safe was one of the shining moments of some of our careers, a major achievement in scientific advancement in the understanding of non-Euclidean physiologies.
Each number in the SCP archives is a potential time capsule, waiting for us to catch up to its level of scientific understanding before baring to us its secrets and potential. Something completely inconceivable in 1995 may be the key to understanding another anomaly in 2015 or 2058, even to neutralizing some previously unknown, uncontainable terror.
Given how little we know of the Stuff people and how they operate, why should we believe that they would be so willing to cooperate with us for such a clear-cut reason as "customer satisfaction"? The fact that they caused SCP-3388 and are giving pure business reasoning for neutralizing it will not help us if we agree to let go of this anomaly. There's no telling what retention of SCP-3388 will allow us to learn about this particular type of anomaly in the future. There's no telling if SCP-3388 herself won't provide us with valuable intel on Stuff of Dreams, whether by active infiltration or recovered memories from their initial encounter.
The life of one young woman is indeed being destroyed, by her own actions or not. There is nothing stopping them from neutralizing her without our cooperation; they don't care about her.
Any one of you working for the Foundation long enough to be reading this should know just how precious an opportunity like this can be. We haven't gotten this far by fretting over small sacrifices like this. SCP-3388 is one life, and she will continue to live a safe and comfortable life in our custody. She will have more than just food and shelter, but plenty of accommodations to make any minimum security prison look like ADX Florence.
Given the choice of abandoning this valuable link to the Stuff people without any strings attached and keeping her fat and happy the rest of her life while we spend millions of man-hours learning all we can from her anomaly, we'd call this decision a bargain.
Item: SCP-69
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: Site-6699 is to monitor all reports of missing persons and/or recovered unidentified decedents matching descriptions to follow in document.
Foundation assets embedded within major metropolitan police departments and state bureaus of investigation4 are to be made available at the request of Site-6699 personnel in acquiring decedents and monitoring missing persons cases suspected of being tied to SCP-69.
Incidents where non-affiliated law enforcement comes upon instances of SCP-69 should be handled either with falsified documentation and/or recruitment of involved officers with the ongoing containment efforts. Due to the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, use of amnestics is not advised due to high likelihood of repeat incidents necessitating repeated amnestic usage.
Description: SCP-69 refers to a number (currently 7) of bodies all identified as that of 27 year-old Aurelio Ferrero, an American male who went missing on 09/23/07 and was presumed deceased after initial discovery and identification of the first body. Subsequent discoveries of further bodies within a two week period drew the attention of the UIU of the Illinois Bureau of Investigation, who subsequently reached out to the Foundation upon discovery of the third body.
Each instance of SCP-69 is as follows:
SCP-69-1: Recovered from XXXX, IL, 10/06/07, initially positively identified by family members as 27-year old Aurelio Ferrero. They said on 09/23/07 Aurelio was intoxicated and had gotten into a physical altercation with his father over a personal matter which escalated when Aurelio threatened his father with physical violence and had to be restrained and calmed down by other family members present. Aurelio subsequently left his parents house on foot and was not seem again.
SCP-69-2: Recovered from CCCCCC, IL, 04/01/09, decedent was unidentified due to previous closure of Aurelio Ferrero file and the belief that technical errors were made during DNA examination that lead to a misidentification. At this point, body was listed as CcCcCC County Doe #xx until subsequent discovery.
SCP-69-3: Recovered from YyYYY, IL, 05/20/09. DNA matched the individual to Aurelio Ferrero. An attempt to generate a death certificate was flagged as a duplicate entry which lead to the connection with the previous decedent, at which time the Illinois UIU became involved with the case and brought in the Foundation.
SCP-69-4: Recovered from HHHHHHHH, WI, 11/09/11. DNA match was made after a delay due to the initial false identification as an unrelated missing individual based upon the clothes worn by the decedent at the time.
SCP-69-5: Recovered from OOOOOO, ND, 03/15/19. Decedent was estimated to be between the ages of 35 and 45 and was not initially believed to be related until DNA identification was made. Decedent was discovered in the home of Darlene KKKKKK, a missing person. Police discovered the decedent while administering a wellness check for Ms. KKKKKK who had not been seen for 4 days until that point. There was no evidence at the scene suggesting a break-in or foul play, nor any apparent connection between KKKKKK and the decedent.
SCP-69-6: Recovered from ZZZ, SD, 06/25/21. Decedent was discovered in a submerged vehicle recovered from XXXxX lake, believed to have been submerged for a period of 6 to 12 months. Car was registered to McKayla XXXXXX, a missing person out of Mississippi who had been reported missing around the same time the car was believed to have entered the lake.
SCP-69-7: Recovered from IIIIII, IA, 09/23/23. Decedent was initially alive and seen frantically running down the XxXX Highway attempting to run alongside cars to flag them down. They were subsequently struck by a vehicle and hit their head on the center railing where they were killed instantly. The Decedent was dressed only in a pair of blue jeans and white shirt and a damaged cellphone later determined to have belonged to yet another missing individual, Jennifer X XXXX. The phone had been locked after multiple attempts to unlock it had failed. There was no indication the decedent was able to access any data on the phone.
- "reverse serial killer"
a woman goes missing with her car. police find the car, and there's some guy dead in it
another woman goes missing, police searching for her find the same dead guy
it's basically copies of the same guy's body
the missing people are never found
- Whole town dreams its own existence
- 5000 people all together report themselves to the Foundation. They have been dreaming themselves as a town that does not exist. They all moved to either an empty field or an abandoned town, and every 1 or 4 or 9 years, when they all sleep, they dream 1 or 4 or 9 years worth of events in the town, before waking up back at the start.
1999 - dream - dream - dream - dream - 2008
wake up, 1999
1999 - dream - dream - dream - dream - 2000
wake up, 1999
2000 - dream - dream - dream - dream - dream - 2009
wake up, 2000
entire 5000 people are living years of their lives over the course of nightly dreams.
it's… like, some kind of anomalous organization or something that is recruiting tons and tons of people to do jobs for htem, then administering some manner of generic amnestic on them
and there's absolutely no way of knowing who was recruited and why
and it's not even clear this organization is still in operation, but the "recruits" are not too old
how do I piece that together
POSSIBLY RELATED TO ABOVE IDEA:
An apocalyptic event like in "Dies the Fire" in which a large portion of people around the world suddenly experience an apocalyptic event in which they must survive and adapt in a completely new post-apocalyptic earth. They live, fight, and die as normal. When the last of them dies decades later, all of them are revived and returned to the point where they were pre-apocalypse, in the normal modern world, retaining all their memories but not aged or changed physically.
Realized this is basically the plot of "The Inner Light" from Star Trek The Next Generation.
- top secret organization no one knows of is conscripting people to do certain acts, including military, before wiping their memories of the activities, essentially creating entire gangs of hackers, guerrillas, criminals, etc out of unknowing civilians with no ties or connections to each other or to the organization recruiting them
Similar to Army protocol in terms of putting people from different towns in the same units so the loss of that unit does not disproportionately affect a single tower with sudden losses?
Activities unfolding are mostly harmless and only occasionally militant
- D class aren't real
They're figments of your imagination while conducting thought experiments
Scp-001: d class spawning in your dreams
The problem with using d class is The more you use them the more your facade of SCP breaks down
You keep imagining d class experiments and the more times you do it and use them The more you gradually awaken to the fact that scp isn't real and you're imagining it all
And this is the shared delusion of the SCP Foundation
Had an idea for a new type of zombie. Something reanimates the dead, as expected. It isn't sentient so it isn't operating to make the zombie act a certain way, so it is firing off brain commands entirely at random based on how frequently they were used in life.
These zombie types are constantly moving, every part of their body, seemingly twitching, making random facial expressions, exaggerated breathing or breath holding. They speak incoherently, muttering, rambling, yelling, shouting, all in semi-gibberish words almost resembling language. Randomly spitting, gasping, jumping, any physical action that a person can take in life, this zombie will imitate at a random moment without any reason or understanding.
A horde of these zombies mashed together in a flock, endless droning noise of chattering, endless bodies twitching, flailing, falling over, swinging limbs, reacting to external stimuli like cockroaches caught in the light , fight or flight responses
The level of randomness added to some manner of pattern recognition (they most repeat actions that were done in life) would mean a whole lot of them speaking common phrases in between mouthfuls of nonsense
Some will literally crawl like insects , though the chances of it being sustained are incredibly small. They will be endlessly falling over and tripping, knocking things over, hitting people in their way, squeezing into the drywall of buildings and squirming and flailing endlessly until by sheer relentless movement they've ground down the material and broken free
They will be like literal waves of water eroding things in their path with their incessant squirming, twitching, scratching, and hitting. They aren't even hostile, they just never stop "interacting" with anything in their path. Standing before one is like standing in front of a slow motion avalanche of debris slowly smothering you and breaking occasional bones, while being deafened by the incessant hooting and jibbering
Cow affected by SCP-XXX. A single abscess was allowed to grow undisturbed.
Item: SCP-
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: All subjects infected with SCP-XXX are to be kept in Site-XX's Zoological Research center. Reports of unusual wildlife activity and/or acts of self-mutilation or attempted suicide should be investigated for signs of SCP-XXX. If confirmed, the subjects are to be contained if practicable. Otherwise, subjects are to be terminated and their remains incinerated.
Should a human be infected with SCP-XXX, they are to be brought to Site-XY and treated if necessary. End-of-life care procedures for later stages may only be authorized by a Site Director and with the consent of the subject. Long-term treatment for early cases have been largely successful in removing SCP-XXX infection.
Description: SCP-XXX is an unknown prionic pathogen affecting mammals, birds, and certain fish. The prion appears to be inert or otherwise inactive, and quickly dissipates in a subject's body. After an unknown period of time, the infected animal's brain physiology begins to change, including a shrinking of the medulla oblongata5, and a significant growth and increase of bloodflow to the inferior frontal gyrus.
Animals under the effect of SCP-XXX demonstrate extreme regenerative abilities, able to replace lost tissue and most internal organs without suffering the effects of external infection, exsanguination, or any apparent pain. Left uncontrolled, biomass will continue to accumulate, producing excess tissue and bone, appearing as abscesses accumulating throughout the body. Animals in this stage appear to be in pain, and will attempt to remove these abscesses by any means at their disposal, up to and including attempts to induce predatory other animals to attack them. Domesticated animals infected by SCP-XXX typically appear submissive and offer themselves to larger animals, including humans.
If not acted upon, the abscesses produce fully functioning duplicate appendages. The growth rate and location of the appendages often impede the animals' normal functioning, leaving them vulnerable to predators.
SCP-XXX was first discovered in ███ ████, Somalia during a violent altercation between local militants and forces from the Global Occult Coalition. The conflict is believed to have been triggered by the alleged presence of SCP-XXX in foodstuffs being provided to the locals by the Manna Charitable Foundation. As the GOC abandoned the area shortly before Foundation personnel arrived on scene, no further information could be obtained. Interrogation of surviving MCF personnel has yielded no information on SCP-XXX, although a potential link with SCP-1███ was mentioned by [REDACTED] under questioning.
Instances of SCP-XXX in humans have been limited, as local residents who had contracted SCP-XXX either died as a result or were later euthanized. Consumption of a small amount (estimated to be between 0.5 and 1 ounces) of the infected meat is sufficient for a human to contract SCP-XXX. A number of animals were being used as a source of food by several individuals; the individuals allowed the abscesses to grow unrestrained until full appendages could be removed from the animal and eaten.
While most affected individuals recovered from Somalia have been successfully treated, one case was too far advanced to safely treat. The individual was in the process of bifurcating from the top of the head, with both ends slowly regenerating. Once the bifurcation separated the esophagus from mouth, the individual suffocated before the esophagus could safely re-open.
Discovery:
Information regarding the discovery of SCP-XXXX has been found to involve sensitive information regarding an ongoing investigation. Only individuals assigned to the investigation of PoI-84 have been given credentials to access this information.
Witness testimony regarding the recovery of SCP-xxxx from Somalia have potentially found possible links to an unrelated ongoing Foundation investigation into a person of interest known as "Priscilla Locke".
Surviving infected were recovered in [REDACTED] some ███ km from the initial point of origin. The group was transported to Site-994, consisting of:
- 11 Black-backed jackals (Canis mesomelas)
- 32 Bat-eared foxes (Otocyon megalotis)
- 1 Lion (Panthera leo)
- 8 Hartebeests (Alcelaphus buselaphus)
- 3 Cows (Bos Taurus))
- 1 Reticulated giraffe (Giraffa camelopardalis reticulate)
Animals were put in separate containment chambers by species and divided into 3 groups. All subjects displayed signs of uncontrolled tumor growth within the first ten hours of containment6 and began to remove abscesses with teeth and/or claws. 7 of the 8 hartebeests and the giraffe were unable to reach several abscesses. These abscesses began to perforate the epidermis, revealing healthy tissue underneath. The giraffe was unable to remove an abscess on its neck, which branched off into a second neck. Giraffe became belligerent, necessitating use of force to restrain it.
Addendum-1: On 12/14/20██, foxes in containment were discovered to have merged together, in an apparent attempt to force abscesses to become tangled. The animal reportedly resembled a pulley or a crane, with one fox heavily mutilated in order to elongate its frame to act as a makeshift rope. The mass was witnessed attempting to breach containment by raising the mutilated fox up through the bars and lowering it through the other side of the door7.
The process of removing the foxes from its merged mass was completed without incident or interruption from the foxes themselves. Excess animal matter was incinerated, and all foxes involved have made a full recovery. Following the incident, all animals have been separated into new containment cells, capacity numbering no more than 2.
By Cgoodwin (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:Cgoodwin
Overseer… Five? Was it that one?
"I have to talk to myself out loud," He croaked, "For my thoughts suffocate beneath the storm of noise that forever clouds my mind."
He couldn't tell if he was walking or imagining he was walking.
"Where am I? Where am I headed?"
He looked around, and saw no one, "But haven't I been trailed by my escort for some miles now? Where could they be?"
He patted his knee, and carefully lowered himself to the ground, turning over to sit on his rump, and look up at the sky.
"Where is the sun? Was it always so gray?"
He put a hand up to shade his eyes. The armored knight beside him put his hand on the Overseer's shoulder, "It has always been gray. The clouds envelope the earth. The sun shines no longer."
"Oh, thank you, my girl," The Overseer smiled and patted the armored hand, "Oh, my apologies, young man… I know how sensitive you types can be, with your dangly parts."
"My lord, we have the enemy in sight. Shall we attack?"
The Overseer looked up again, "Is that the sun? No… I remember now."
He dragged himself to his feet, stiff arms flailing as he sought to catch his balance. No one was around to help him. He slowly began to turn, taking in a full view of the land around him. Empty, flat lands, the dust pale brown and gray. Every breath he took was a vicious assault on his lungs. Turning the way he came, the dust was still. Turning the way he was going, the dust was stirring, moving, billowing in the air.
"Aye… there they are," The Overseer smiled, and waved a brittle hand in the direction of the dust. He turned, looking up and seeing no one, "Of course, it's difficult to keep track of you all. You move so quickly. Sometimes I'm not even sure you're there at all."
The Overseer sighed, and sat back down. The armored knight patted his shoulder again, and turned to the rows of infantrymen standing ready. He called forth a young boy, and smiled down to him.
"Tell the men we take the enemy from the rear. Tell them not to charge until they have loosed all but one of their missiles. Have them count to forty, then we begin."
He smelled it moments before the horns sounded. Smelled them. It was uncanny; the smell of hot, sweaty men was barely noticeable over the odd, faint smell of something that simply did not belong. Like a cool, fresh batch of panacea, suddenly intruded upon by the subtle metallic waft of blood.
Overseer Seven stepped out from the line, stepping back away from his small group to better take in his surroundings. They all knew what to do; already they began to halt, huddling together as they moved from a loose mass on the march into a tight collection of straight lines. Once they had straightened up, they would all about-face, turning to meet this sudden enemy.
The Overseer watched as the approaching horde began to slow. Just then, something smashed into his helmet, with enough impact to stagger him, his half-helm twisting on his head, leaving him blind as he hit the ground. Adrenaline charged through him as he lunged to his feet, twisting his half-helm back in place, in time to see the next wave of missiles coming down on his men. Javelin, darts, rocks, even a sword or two, blades and warheads glinting. Metal weapons.
This was too sloppy and noisy to be a professional fighting force, yet too well-armed to be a band of brigands or peasant rebels. The sound made as they smashed into the heavily armored lines of his own men indicated they had good, solid shields too.
He scowled, and unsheathed his sword, returning to the lines to take direct command of the fight.
The caravan that went out with Dodger numbered about forty people. Most of them hauled wagons behind them, latched on to their belts, with sacks of cloudy water hanging from their waists or necks. Everyone walked. Knights hauled as did peasants and helpers. People worked together regardless of class or age or sex, a true harmony of equality as all shared in the same suffering.
There was the distinct possibility that no one in this caravan would return to Whore's End alive. Dodger figured she might, being the only one whose blood was more panacea than plasma by this point. Every day she looked at her reflection in a steel mirror, she saw something subtly less human. The staples in her head corroded frequently, needing to be replaced every few months. Her eyes seemed to be drying out, looking more and more like glass orbs with bright blue irises painted on. Her skin had the consistency of paper, and grew pale without fresh doses of panacea. Only when she was grimy and dirty did she manage to look normal. Even then…
They always see through me.
They'd left Whore's End the night before. Dodger was glad she had the chance to say goodbye to Kit — her face sporting a new reddened bump weeping petrifying blood like cement. She pitied the poor girl, having been selected to train under that giant of a woman who had been so pleasant to Dodger her first day there.
She slowed, and let one of the knights catch up to her, "You there. You know where we're going?"
The man looked panicked, "You're supposed to know."
She snorted and grinned, "Do you know anything about the area?"
"No," He shook his head, "I hail from far north of Whore's End. Everything to the south is unknown to me."
"You scared?" Dodger muttered softly, still grinning wickedly.
The man stared back at her wanly, "Should I be?"
She shrugged, and went on ahead of the caravan. Looking down at her notes, she smiled again, "I've entirely forgotten what a 'Bugbear' looks like."
In the midst of battle, determining whether one's side was winning or losing was impossible. Oftentimes it was irrelevant; all that mattered was killing. The Overseer had learned one trick to determining the sway of combat; whether your side was taking more steps forward or back. He'd lost count of how many steps back he and his men had taken.
Despite that, the bodies that fell most consistently were those of the jabbering attackers. They howled and screamed as they charged, and dropped wordlessly, death rattles cut off by the force of a spear dug through their soft throats. Most of them lacked helms, and those that did lacked proper protection for their throats. It was too easy in most cases for the Overseer's men to put them down with a single thrust with an overhand strike.
The Overseer stepped back, letting another armored man take his place. Taking in the sight of combat around him, he saw why his men were stepping back. The press of enemy soldiers kept driving them back. They stood on the dead and used them to catapult themselves over the front line, using flesh itself to incapacitate an armored knight, breaking his spear in the man's gut or denting his helmet so severely as to force him to cast it aside.
His men were chosen for their height. They were tall, lithy, powerful. The barbarian foe stood two heads shorter in most cases. Now they were eye to eye with his knights.
A mountain of meat steadily grew and pressed down on them. The more the knights stabbed, the more the mountain seemed to grow. Knights were falling out of line, vomiting their guts out from sheer exhaustion. Men in the rear pulled them out of line, to keep them from being crushed beneath their comrades, or the mountain that lurched ever closer.
They were outnumbered, stretched too thin as it was to even attempt a risky flank attack. The Overseer rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and stepped back into the fray, shield held high and spear clasped overhand, all the while his body burned with exhaustion. By now, he doubted any of the knights didn't feel as though their blood was aflame. This was their business, and they were the best at what they did.
- something involving Anchorage. Breach of some sort or the like. something radioactive or toxic is leaking. people aren't dying but are changing. Some become new species that is essentially a species of Giants, physiologically similar to human but with simplified organs and reaching average 10 - 20 feet tall. people effected do not view giants as being unusual or anomalous. people start dying, then disappearing, then returning alive. information on this event in this town keep leaking to the media, necessitating constant news reports of a nuclear event necessitating evacuation of town and such.
- underground facility in an office building. mining or something of the sort. some manner of wild animal is revealed underneath and militarized forces are going under to hunt them down. the air down there is toxic and causes reality-altering events. soon, events in the sub-lobby of this building start repeating, with people witnessing events re-occur constantly, such as the same soldier in the same power armor approaching the same front desk and dropping the same giant bag full of animal corpses. sometimes the animal corpses are power armor helmets. sometimes they are different things, but the course of events and conversations are always identical.
a news report on the two locations happens and the scp manages to shut it down after a few pages of information are leaked
these repetition events continue even after the mine has been sealed up. the subway tram that leads into the mine no longer exists, but every few weeks the station continues to sound the alert that the tram is coming. attempts to disable these alerts from the tram station seem to correlate with a gradual increase in technical issues and code corruption throughout computer systems at the Anchorage site.
people who sit in the tram station overnight when these events occur report seeing the tram arrive in station and off-load groups of people. some of these people resemble people who have died (natural deaths) who previously worked on the site, some of them are missing substantial portions of bodily tissue and are unable to respond. some are hostile but unable to threaten or pose any significant threat due to severe lack of muscle and tissue mass. as these these tram events occur, the concrete used to fill in the mine appears to lose a portion of its mass, gradually becoming brittle and at risk of collapsing entirely.
The people are actually made of a slimy, filmy white biomass that is nutrient rich and can be used as substitute for topsoil for growing crops. It displaces matter in primary universe so concrete and various debris detritus was being used in place for this mass to form. Failure to provide mass for the biomass to replace will cause it to expand and start to replace the matter around it, possibly leading to sinkholes.
Item #: SCP-192168
Object Class: Epilektos
Special Containment Procedures: While SCP-192168 is deemed neutralized, continuous effort is to be made in terms of monitoring social media traffic and/or local news media in the greater Miami metro area for any reports of interpersonal acts of violence related to SCP-192168. Mortuaries and hospitals in the area are to be monitored for the foreseeable future for indications of decedents affected by SCP-192168. Sizeable donations are to be made to the affected hospitals on behalf of local Foundation charitable fronts and affiliates on an annual basis for a period of no less than twenty-five years. Donations are not to be cancelled under any circumstances without the prior approval of at least 4 level 4 personnel or one O5.
The annual operating budgets for Sites-305, 4480, 918A, 005, and 2788 are to be permanently increased by 25%. Additional budget increases requested by site directors are to be expedited for consideration. On-site counseling services are to be made available to all personnel free of charge. All requests for leave by personnel is to be expedited to the newly formed Department of the GMM Revitalization, Foundation Resources. Additional funding is to be earmarked for substitutes for any personnel necessitating extended leaves of absence.
Funerary services for affected Foundation personnel and/or their family members are to be subsidized by the Foundation, and bodies are to be interred temporarily in Site-305-Wynwood Annex until such time as plots of land allocated for cemeterial usage are fully shielded and reinforced. No decedent is to be interred or cremated until this time. Cremations must be done at Site-4480-Homestead Annex with IPC-260 or higher matter-scrubbing filters fitted.
An ongoing campaign is underway to infiltrate local area governing bodies and plant Foundation assets to steadily replace all elected officials who have assumed office prior to, or immediately following SCP-192168's neutralization. Once all local government offices are occupied by Foundation personnel, a larger-scale socio-economic restructuring of the Greater Miami Metro area can be implemented. Should containment procedures succeed, no further action will be needed. If procedures fail, SCP-192168 is to be reclassified as Keter and preparations made throughout the Florida peninsula, Cuba, the Bahamas, and any neighboring region susceptible to SCP-192168's advances.
Current analyses do not indicate a significant risk of SCP-192168's "re-activation" and thus will remain classified as "epilektos" until such time as rate of homicides, disappearances, and abnormal spikes in the discovery of unidentified decedents return to pre-SCP-192168 levels. Discussion is ongoing amongst Site Directors as to whether these procedures constitute a permanent "new normal" for the Greater Miami Metro area or not.
Description: SCP-192168 lied to us.
Dodger sat down on the couch in the lobby of MCF Africa Branch's main office in Johannesburg. She was almost happy for once. Happy at least to see Rhiannon Locke for the first time in a decade. She glanced down at the bundle in her lap and pulled back the cover of the manilla envelope again, casually rereading the contents from the page she had left off on.
"The massacre in Laascaanood that had followed the Manna Charitable Foundation's failed mission was the one to nearly put an end to the MCF. The size and scope of the MCF didn't matter; the Global Occult Coalition was larger and had the UN's backing. The 'Sour' outbreak had drawn the MCF to Somaliland, but it was the problem with the Vesta donation that led to the chaos.
Martina Bauer, "Dodger", was one of the MCF personnel extracted from Laascaanood by the GOC. According to her, it played out like she expected; everyone picked up was separated, interrogated, treated antagonistically, and ultimately released back to the MCF. Except for her.
It was already shaky for them to appear in Laascaanood and start deploying fully functioning buildings in a matter of days. Then the local wildlife started eating the fungus that made the buildings. Then they started growing flesh, regenerating lost limbs, and wandering into villages and towns without fear of the human populace.
We set her up in a hotel in Bosnia-Herzegovina. The questions we asked her she claimed she couldn't fully answer. Truthfully she wasn't meant to. They were less inquisitive and more accusatory, and not aimed at her specifically but the MCF as a whole. How could they be so sloppy? How did animals get into the fungus before it fully matured? Who was Priscilla Locke? What was the Anabasis? Why had she been brought on without sufficient a background check and put an untested anomalous device to use? Why had they let it escape?"
Who had said that about her? She kept opening the envelope to scan further down the page until it finally reached a name. Black bars. She smirked and got up as Rhiannon came out to lead her in to Kone's office.
"They just dumped you and left you there like— like a hostage?" Rhiannon was still uneasy about Dodger's upbeat tone.
"It's not fair to characterize it like that." She said to Rhiannon as they walked into the elevator. "It was a nice hotel. And it was only about eight months. I've been around since then. Just sort of waiting."
"Well no one knew you were out until just last year." Rhiannon still felt guilty about it. The image in her mind was of Dodger locked away in a GOC detainment center for ten years. "What have you been doing?"
"Nothing," Dodger shrugged, "I spent nine years sitting at home, watching TV, freelancing, exotic dancing, fishing, picking internet fights, and sitting at home."
"You never thought to contact us?"
"You all didn't think to contact me." She retorted and quirked a brow at Rhiannon, "The GOC told me not to reach out to anyone, that they would contact me. So why didn't you?"
"We just," Rhiannon squirmed and shrugged helplessly, "We didn't know. We didn't know where you were or what had happened. Kone told us you had most likely defected. Lindsberg thought you might've been fearing retaliation and so you went into hiding. Everyone had their own little theory for a while. Then we just sort of—"
"You forgot about me." Dodger smiled cheekily as they sat down together in the waiting area, "Once you get past the good looks, the loveable nature, and the deep facial scarring, I'm pretty forgettable."
"Did you get those scars from Laascaanood?" Rhiannon glanced at her face, not lingering too long on it.
"Yeah," Dodger rubbed at her nose. A deep scar tore horizontally across the bridge of her nose, almost segmenting the septum, and over her left cheek. Another curved scar cut deeply into her right cheek near the jawline. She had always thought herself pretty. Beautiful. Astonishingly gorgeous, the type who could make a fashion statement with just a burlap sack. She had spent enough time with the shredded meat looking back at her in the mirror to come to terms with the fact that most people in their right minds would consider her ugly.
She rubbed at the scar that slashed into her right cheek, "If I hold water in my mouth long enough, this scar starts to leak."
Rhiannon whined, "Why would you tell me that?"
Dodger giggled, then got serious, "The MCF didn't think to contact me, really? Not even a call, a private detective to track me down, a fleeting internet search?"
Rhiannon frowned and shook her head, "Everyone thought Laascaanood would be the last straw for you. They figured you didn't want to be found."
Dodger sighed, "Maybe I shouldn't have let you find me. That's always been the problem with Manna. No one knows what anyone else is doing or where they're doing it until it blows up and the Other Foundation or the GOC comes to clean up after us. 'Just like Mexico', they used to tease me with. 'Just like Somalia' they'll get to add to it now."
Rhiannon shrugged again, "It's just how it is."
"That's the problem." Dodger said again. "What about… What happened with you and your sister?"
Rhiannon didn't visibly react but her gaze was slightly off as she replied, "That wasn't my sister. I mean, it was… That wasn't my sister." The memory was still new for her, still vivid and fresh, "She left with the Anabasis. Left us completely. Maybe she went back to the place she came from or… or not. I don't know how to feel. It's not a very relatable experience, to have lost a family member, then had an alternate universe version of them come back only to leave again. It's hard for me to process. All I can do is just… Wish them well."
Dodger pursed her lips and gave an empty nod, "That sucks." She muttered. Then she drew her arm around Rhiannon's shoulders and hugged her.
Joseph Kone had lingered in MCF Africa Branch while so many others drifted away. Most retired or joined up with the GOC or the other Foundation. A handful of others were sacked after the Somalia disaster. Cortes had been one of them. She was the deciding vote in letting them bring along an unknown asset in the Anabasis. In reality it was Rhiannon Locke who had sold them all, but Rhiannon Locke was a Junior Assistant Secretary. Cortes was above her. Locke had offered to resign but Cortes wouldn't allow it. So Cortes took the blame and Cortes was sacked. Despite that, Rhiannon Locke's career came to a halt. Kone kept her on in Mission Branch for Africa, but she would never rise above Assistant Secretary nor would she ever be put in charge of any future donation.
Here she comes, Kone thought as Rhiannon Locke entered his office with a very familiar face beside her, making it worse for herself.
"Hi." Dodger said with a sheepish smirk.
"You motherfucker." Kone rose up from his seat. She didn't look any different since Laascaanood, except for the scars. When had she gotten into a face-off with a lawnmower? He stepped around the desk and approached her, looking her over with awe before pulling her in to a big hug.
"What the hell have you been doing with yourself? You look like you just stepped off the plane from Somalia."
Dodger shrugged, expecting a cordial greeting but not quite that cordial, "I don't know where you all got this idea of the GOC as being some kind of paramilitary global police force."
"That's literally their job description." Rhiannon said.
"Well, like, with paranormal and abnormal stuff, not with people." Dodger replied.
"I still can't believe they did you dirty like this." Kone put his hands on his hips and glanced back over at his desk, "Ten years treading water, good God, I don't know how you could take it."
He motioned for them to sit across from his desk, then sat himself down and looked Dodger over again.
"Maxwell wants you."
"Oh God."
"There's an opening in the Americas branch that they want filled. Associate Director. And the GOC suggested you."
Dodger vaguely remembered some of the interrogating she'd been subjected to. Lots of yelling and shouting and accusations of recklessness and misconduct encompassing everything about Programme Las Anod-1 and directed at her as if she were more than a grunt on the ground. More than a grunt. An executive grunt. Chief executive grunt.
"What do you mean, 'suggested'?" Rhiannon asked warily.
"Just that. Suggested." Kone said calmly, not betraying any of his own feelings about it.
"So from what I hear," Dodger shifted in her seat and pressed her knuckles against her scarred cheek to crack them, "The GOC takes me into custody, blames me for anywhere between fifty to sixty percent of the Somalia thing, keeps me under house arrest for a while, then releases me and says they'll tell you guys to contact me. Then eight, nine years pass and they finally get around to telling you guys to contact me, and then suggest that I fill in as Associate Director of the Americas branch."
She looked between Rhiannon and Kone, gripping the armrests of her seat now. Neither of them responded.
"Oh come on, this is a fucking trap! I'm a 'Manchurian Candidate', they've hidden a remote control up my butt and, and, and plan on turning me on once I get close to the Director so I can kill them or whatever. What the hell is this?"
"Did they put something up your butt?" Rhiannon asked hesitantly.
"Locke." Kone gave her a look, then turned to Dodger, "The GOC isn't interested in sabotaging us. And after Laascaanood, they could've pulled the trigger on us at any moment and probably been well within their rights to. You have no idea how much that disaster cost us, not just in terms of people and materiel, but support. We lost a third of our major donors after that. If not for the GOC, we would've lost a third more."
"So then why me? Aside from the eight months house arrest, I have no ties to the GOC. I barely even read anything they give us. This is clearly some kind of political infiltration thing"
"The decision doesn't rest with the GOC, it rests with Maxwell." Kone said calmly.
"And Maxwell said yes." Dodger was squirming, frustrated, and uncertain exactly why.
"He did and you're going to Toronto."
"This is a setup."
"Tell him that, if you like. The GOC doesn't have the time or the energy to play games with us like that. You haven't been around the past ten years so you don't know just how big of a blowup Somalia was for us. If it was the other Foundation, they would've taken direct control and terminated all of us, then set up a brand new MCF made up entirely of their own people. The GOC had that chance and they refused to. Many times."
It was all frustrating to Dodger and she couldn't get past the inconsistencies. Why her? That was the most pressing one. Leaving aside her occasional charm, the only social skill she had mastered was the ability to antagonize everyone without a vested interest in her, personally or professionally.
"There's no way out of this?"
Kone shrugged, "You could always turn it down."
"But then I'd be out of MCF permanently."
"Not necessarily, but… You've been gone for so long and almost everyone who could've vouched for you is gone. You've been with us since, when? 1994? Apart from that ten year stretch after Somalia you've been here longer than anyone else left in Africa Branch."
Dodger frowned and sank back into her seat. Something had to be seriously wrong with the Manna Charitable Foundation.
Maxwell sat upright in his chair, angled slightly askew from his desk and gazing pensive at the window that normally overlooked Toronto below. Right now, it was shuttered from the inside, but Maxwell seemed not to care.
"Martina Bauer. Martina Bauer? Why do they call you 'Dodger'?"
Dodger sat upright in her chair opposite him, looking far less natural in this environment. They had told her to get a suit, so she did. She wore a skirt and plain black shoes, orangey-red hair combed and a tasteful amount of bare skin showing below her neck. It all contributed to making her feel uncomfortable and on edge, afraid to slouch or even blink too much. Or too little.
"It was a… When I was in basic training, there was a man there who said I resembled an ex-girlfriend of his. I don't remember if he said her last name or first name was 'Dodger' but he started calling me that and soon so was everyone else. He tried to flirt with me but it was… It didn't work out."
Zachariah Maxwell swelled and turned to face her, a smile slowly broadening, "He wouldn't accept 'no' as an answer. He wouldn't change no matter how badly he treated you."
"Well it didn't escalate to that point." She felt perturbed by Maxwell's movements. Not the smile, but something about how he moved felt almost theatrical, slow and deliberate movements, a hand rising, finger extending upward, the other grasping the desk as if about to rise, "There wasn't any violence involved, just… mutual humiliation."
"No." He pointed the elevated finger at her, "Yes and no. Yes that's where you may have gotten the name, but no, that is not why you allow others to call you that. Martina Bauer, why are you called Dodger?"
"I don't understand what you mean. Like…" Her mind started to race, dreading a sudden turn toward a cheap pseudo-psychological 'what's in a name?' discussion.
"Do you want to be called 'Dodger'?"
"Yeah. I mean it's been so long by now, my own name almost sounds foreign to me."
Maxwell remained in that pose for a moment longer, then relaxed and put his hands in his lap, "Alright. Straight to the point: I want you here. I want you heading the Americas branch. I'm not going to bullshit or baby you. You are a brute. A subtle brute, and that's what I want."
She nodded, still on edge but showing nothing.
"You know… I'm sick of this. Don't even answer this; what comes to your mind when I say 'The Foundation'? Competence, clarity, a strong and narrow focus on an objective and getting that objective at what ever cost."
"Okay." She nodded again, used to this sort of talk but rarely seeing it being deployed on the field.
"You know what comes to the mind of most people? Cold, callous, ruthless. That's been the problem." Maxwell was still seated but looked eager to jump to his feet. He was hiding something, nothing nefarious, at least for Dodger, but something big.
"There comes a time, Dodger, where the way things were is not enough anymore," Maxwell's voice was shaking now, intensifying, until he was slamming a fist on the table with the last few words, "Where the honorable thing isn't good enough, where shit needs to get done and it needs to get done now or it doesn't get done at all!"
"You mean you plan on killing people?" Dodger asked flatly, "Steal from the rich, give to ourselves kind of thing?"
Maxwell pointed at her, unable to hide a smirk, "No. Not people. But yes. Stealing. But not from anyone. Not from anyone here."
Now he did get to his feet and moved to the door at the back of the room. She instinctively got up to follow him. He was brimming with excitement but not saying a word as he led her to a large storage closet, with a false electrical panel that he stripped off with a sharp snapping noise. Underneath was a deep crevice in the wall. He reached in, the crevice deep enough that his hand disappeared within and he lurched back and forth a bit as he struck at something back behind it, struggling to get a firm grip before starting to pull.
The wall shifted back, no hinges on it, just a big slab of concrete that grated noisily as it was dragged across the floor.
"Help me with this." He said as he managed to get a few inches out. There was nothing to grab on to so Dodger put her fingers along the exposed side and tried to squeeze it back, putting her weight into forcing the slab across the threshold.
If Dodger was expecting the slab to give way to reveal some vast expanse of tunnels or intricate caverns or a palatial secret room she didn't show any disappointment as Maxwell let the slab go with just enough space for them to squeeze in.
The room was barely a closet, and there was a big safe on the floor, facing up. It was left open and Maxwell stepped beside it, glancing at her excitedly and motioning for her to look inside.
She did and didn't know what she was looking at. Then it hit her and she froze up, feeling the sick sensation of needing to vomit and urinate at the same time.
"Where did you get that?" She said when she could.
"Doesn't matter right now if I told you. It would just be a name to you. A name without a face. Just know it's a whole lot better than Locke's." He looked up at her again, grinning, "Are you ready?"
"You want to use this? After Somalia?"
"Yes. Are you ready?"
She looked down at it again and felt the sensation return. How many of these were there out there? Better yet how many were in use? Did the Foundation have a few in lockup? Did the GOC? Did it matter? Neither were likely to use it.
"Sure," She said, starting to blink harder, face getting warmer. Her eyes burned and she began to grin like Maxwell, tears welling in her eyes as she started to make sounds between giddy laughter and tired sobs. "Yes! Yeah… Sure. Why not?"
surprise mothafucka!
Item #: SCP-5
Object Class: Unclassified
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-5 is not containable. SCP-5 Subject "Charles Locke" is kept in standard humanoid containment and to be monitored while sleeping. Should an SCP-5 event occur, further procedure is irrelevant.
Description: SCP-5 is an anomalous event instigated by individual Charles Locke in which the subject, while engaged in REM sleep, experiences a childhood memory belonging to another individual. Whilst experiencing this memory, the subject assumes the body and mind of the subject of the memory.
Following this event, the subject's "present" state causes a ██-class reality restructuring event, causing a temporal shift in which the planet's present date is "rewound" to the present date of the subject's new identity. All living things appear to follow suit, with individuals post-dating the new subject's date of birth appearing to become "unborn" and temporarily ceasing to exist.
All information on the effects of this anomaly have been gathered via interrogation of the subject and corroborated via information gleaned from SCP-5-A (originally SCP-5). Due to lack of additional sources of information, it is unknown if persons or events undone by SCP-5 repeat or become permanently lost.
Description: SCP-5 is an anomalous event instigated by individual Nasir abu Yusef (Subject declared deceased 05-26-2030), Vance Johnson (Subject declared deceased 09-01-1964), Charles Locke (Subject detained 04-29-2019) in which the subject, while engaged in REM sleep, experiences a childhood memory belonging to another individual. Whilst experiencing this memory, the subject (currently Charles Locke) assumes the body and mind of the subject of the memory.
Following this event, the subject's "present" state causes a ██-class reality restructuring event, causing a temporal shift in which the planet's present date is "rewound" to the present date of the subject's new identity (First confirmed 2/27/2011). All living things appear to follow suit, with individuals post-dating the new subject's date of birth appearing to become "unborn" and temporarily ceasing to exist.
All information on the effects of this anomaly have been gathered via interrogation of the subject and corroborated via information gleaned from SCP-5-A (originally SCP-5). Due to lack of additional sources of information, it is unknown if persons or events undone by SCP-5 repeat or become permanently lost.
Resources provided by the subject correspond with the 4-30-1951 recovery of SCP-████ (including audio and photographic images) as well as a high degree of familiarity with SCP-████ and former Site Director ███████. While the likelihood of this information being obtained via other means, the resources and information provided do appear to corroborate SCP-5's effects.
Original Outdated Description: SCP-5 is a partially preserved human body recovered in a sinkhole directly above the Floridan aquifer in Western Miami-Dade County. The body has undergone mummification as a result to exposure to an anomalous environment inconsistent with the local climate. The body was initially sealed in an anomalous area inside an alcove which caused it to be invisible to human eyes and impervious to environmental effects. [REDACTED] caused the anomalous area to become breached, fully revealing the body and exposing it to the environment, causing it to suffer some damage.
The body is that of a young adult male, estimated to be between 500 - 800 years old, dressed in faded denim jeans and a long-sleeved shirt of apparently modern make. The jeans are unmarked, and the shirt tag identifies it as [REDACTED] brand, made in Bangladesh, 100% cotton. The body was found holding a [REDACTED] brand composition book. Due to the threat posed by heat and humidity, SCP-5 has been moved to Site-304.
Much of the notebook found on SCP-5 is intact, with approximately 30 pages filled with modern English writing. A list of names is arranged vertically with years (ranging from "1701 AD" to "2099 AD") beside each name. The meaning behind this list is unknown, as most of the names have not been corroborated to any known persons, while any remaining matches have been dismissed as unrelated or coincidental. The last name in the list is that of a "Chucky P.", and below the name is written "seriously? Charles, you cuck".
Additional entries in the notebook appear to show repeated mathematical equations, including adding and subtracting years from dates, fragmentary biographical information on an assortment of individuals, and brief commentary on local events surrounding certain individuals (unnamed in the book).
Select contents of the notebook contain data (later confirmed by Locke under interrogation, despite the subject's previous denials) apparently confirming Locke to be the individual being discussed in the notebook. Mr. Locke has since refused to cooperate with Foundation personnel, and his continued presence in Foundation custody without another SCP-5 event cannot be quantified.
[DATA EXPUNGED]
Addendum-1: [DATA EXPUNGED]
Incident-5-1: Analyses made by Dr. Volkov, previously added to article as Addendum-1, have been purged from the record as it was discovered Dr. Volkov had knowingly included discredited information obtained via an interview with the subject, as well as the liberal inclusion of speculation. Additional details included in the addendum were found to be extraneous, irrelevant, and/or otherwise needlessly hostile towards Site Director Watson.
—
Interview of SCP-5 subject, conducted by Dr. Volkov, 08-16-2019
(Note: Portions of the interview have been edited for brevity.)
Dr. Volkov: I'm having trouble fully understanding.
Locke: What?
Dr. Volkov: You. Your condition, your ability. Superpower.
Locke: All I know is what you've told me.
Dr. Volkov: You remember talking to me as Mr. Abu Yusef
Locke: That's what you tell me.
Dr. Volkov: But that was in the future, which hasn't actually happened yet.
Locke: It's what you tell me.
Dr. Volkov: Who are you, then?
Locke: "I have existed since the morning of the world, and shall exist until the last star falls from the night. Although I have taken the form of Charles Locke, I am all men as I am no man, and therefore, I am a god!"
Dr. Volkov: A god?
Locke: No, not really. That's just a line from "Caligula". 1979. Malcolm McDowell. Pretty sure I was him, too.
Dr. Volkov: How sure?
Locke: Someone told me. Or maybe they said I sound like him. Sorry I've distracted you. What were you trying to understand?
Dr. Volkov: Hard to keep track of everything, chronologically.
Locke: Then start from your beginning.
Dr. Volkov: You… as someone, let's say—
Locke: Joe Shit the Ragman.
Dr. Volkov: Joe Shit goes to bed one night in 2012, and has a dream. Joe Shit's dream happens to be the childhood memories of someone else, let's say—
Locke: Joey Numbers.
Dr. Volkov: Now, Joe Shit teleports into baby Joey Numbers' body, and becomes Joey Numbers. And now the year is 1975 and Joe Shit never existed. Joe Shit, Joe Shit's dog, Joe Shit's neighbor, Joe Shit's ex-girlfriend, none of them exist. Or they do exist, if they were born before 1975.
Locke: That's what [you] tell me.
Dr. Volkov: Now Joey Numbers grows up, it's 1991, and Joey has another dream of another person's childhood. Joey wakes up as baby George and it's 1959. Baby George grows up and has another "memory dream" in 1980, and Georgie wakes up as little Vance Johnson and it's 1926.
Locke: Does he?
Dr. Volkov: Now, I sit here in 2019, I go on the web, I look through libraries, whatever, and I find out that Joe Shit, Joey Numbers, George, and Vance in fact all existed and were real people. Maybe some of them even met; maybe Joey Numbers was a student in Old Man George's class. Maybe they never met each other at all.
Locke: [Dramatically] They were the same person!
Dr. Volkov: You were the same person.
Locke: If you say so.
Dr. Volkov: No, I don't say so. You said so. And your friend said so, through his notebook.
Locke: Okay. Why are you talking to me, then?
Dr. Volkov: How do you do it?
Locke: Close my eyes and wait for sleep.
Dr. Volkov: You don't control it? You don't… pick someone to change into? Pick how long ago it was? Based on what I've seen in the notebook, it looks like you only ever go back a few decades. Forty, fifty, sixty years. Sometimes as few as twenty or fifteen. Sometimes you're co-existing as one person with the person you later become.
Locke: Maybe everyone is actually me.
Dr. Volkov: Everyone where?
Locke: Maybe everyone is me. Maybe I came from the end of time, dreamt I was a lonely boy in a house on Mars. Then maybe I became that boy and dreamt I was a boy on Earth living around the same time, and became him. Maybe I keep going back far enough, and I've actually lived as everyone.
Dr. Volkov: How far in the future did you come?
Locke: I said "maybe", I don't know. I only know what you all tell me.
Dr. Volkov: People die, though. What happens when you die?
Locke: Want to find out?
Dr. Volkov: I can't let anything happen to you.
Locke: Apparently you already have, if I am Vance Johnson, like you say.
Dr. Volkov: I'm trying to piece this together from what you tell me, and what your boy tells us in 30 half-written, rambling pages.
Locke: If you say so. Oh, hey, you know that guy who comes by to chew people out around here?
Dr. Volkov: Who? Erikson? Fergus? Watson? Veles?
Locke: Watson. He's a cuck.
Dr. Volkov: What?
(Note: Subject refuses to continue, and refuses all further interview requests)
Addendum-1: SCP-5 re-contained as subject, now Nasir Abu Yusef, was located and taken into Foundation custody on ██-██-2030. Subject was able to recount the interview conducted by Dr. Volkov with then-subject Charles Locke on 8-16-2019, although they could not confirm that they were in fact then-subject Charles Locke. Despite the subject's good health, they displayed significant physical and mental deficiencies, including chronic knee pain (could not be confirmed via X-ray or MRI scans), memory loss, fatigue, and asthma. Subject appeared to be unusually agitated over some of the contents of the interview with Charles Locke, and began repeating "who's a cuck?" until falling asleep.
—
Unauthorized personnel will see an end of file here
Further expunged information has been retained at the request of O5-█, against the wishes of Site Director Watson, and O5-██ and O5-█. Contents are restricted to Level 5 personnel until a decision has been made regarding their complete and total removal
The continued operation of this site and the maintenance of SCP-5 is, at best, utterly frivolous. At any moment SCP-5 will cease to exist, and something else will take its place, possibly with a different numeric designation and a different research staff assigned to it. "Charles Locke" is a name as meaningless as my own, easily replaceable, as is my own.
The Foundation saw fit to hide from me some of the contents of the notebook found on SCP-5-ARC. 30 pages were written in, but the rest were not empty; every other one of the maybe 170 pages were stuffed with printouts, stapled in to the book, making it bulge twice as thick as it should be.
Every one of the page printouts was the article for SCP-5. The numbers sometimes changed, the names often changed, some instances were filled in with unusual observations or references to some nonexistent agencies or operations. All of them describe the exact same anomaly described here, to varying degrees of understanding, almost always as a result of finding the exact same body.
The names and dates had no direct pattern. Millie Gaines, 1947. Vance Johnson, 1964. Ellie Highler, 1956. Carolinis Nora, 1970. Juan Almorado, 2058. Jane Buck, 2005. Milton Sykes, 1979. Nasir Abu Yusef, 2030. Those were some of the articles that stood out the most, the most unique stories or curious details. It makes it easier to remember them.
Honestly I'm not mad. I can see why they saw fit to hide these articles from me. I don't know how I would've reacted had I found out. Still, it feels a little bit personal that they should have kept it from me even to the very end. They probably should have re-copied the written parts, at the very least, and destroyed the original, but they didn't. Their mistake; I happen to have very distinctive handwriting.
From the office of O5-1, Jakob Volkov.
- everyone is one person re-living every life at once.
- every so often, a noun personplaceorthing happens. Someone becomes "aware" and does something in which they are able to witness someone else's childhood memory. Then they manage to infiltrate the memory and become that person at that point in time. The Earth's "time" is re-set to that point in time as the person (now subject) grows up living a new life as someone completely different. At any given moment in adulthood, they can undergo the process again, witness another person's childhood memory, and replace that person, further "rewinding" the Earth.
- In effect, the Earth can essentially end up re-playing the same time period for trillions of years.
- Through some grinding, the subject can push the "rewinding" of Earth further back. For example, if they were 50 in the year 2000, replace someone who was a child in 1980, then "rewind" again in 1996 to someone who was a child in 1964, then "rewind" as an adult in 1988 and go back to someone who was a child in 1921, then "rewind" as an adult in 1945 to someone who was a child in 1898, and so on.
- Theoretically, this could indicate that all humans who have lived or ever will live are actually only one person, who has been constantly doing this anomalous event, taking over someone else's life, and "rewinding" the entire planet.
- Questioning runs wild, does this mean this is the origin of life? Is this how human life has always been? Or was this a true anomalous event which occurred billions of years ago and has completely frozen up the development (or extinction) of the human race by re-playing the lives of every human over and over and over again? If this is a natural event that has always happened, then doesn't this mean this is not an anomaly? But what if our discovery of it is anomalous?
Priscilla Locke.
Name:
Profession:
Profile:
Alleged to be a Foundation agent of an alternate timeline. A transgender high school student matching the description of "Agent Locke" was reported missing in 1996. Her remains were recovered and identified by former MCF Director and sibling Rhiannon Locke. Ms. Locke claimed no knowledge of recent sightings of Priscilla Locke or her alleged involvement with the Manna Charitable Foundation. "Agent Locke" may or may not be in possession of Foundation property and an as-of-yet unrecovered anomalous object referred to as "Anabasis".
Rhiannon Locke.
Name:
Profession:
Profile:
J. Jonathan Kone.
Name:
Profession: Undersecretary for Africa operations
Profile:
"Spiffy Dodger".
Name:
Profession: Health thing
Profile:
Former Manna Charitable Foundation operative. Current affiliation and whereabouts unknown. Key figure in the MCF-backed investigation of a group of interest known as "The Stuff Industry". She is believed to have had previous dealings with the Foundation, either under an alias or through a third party source. Described variously as being tall, short, red-haired, blue-haired, blonde, "beautiful", and variously missing an eye, nose, or teeth. Only certainties are that she is narcissistic and insufferably annoying, and always manages to avoid getting arrested.
Caecilia Cortes.
Name:
Profession: MCF person
Profile:
KNOWN ASSOCIATES
The following individuals have been identified as cronies associates to Dr. Halo and frequently appear on-site wherever an SCP handled by her is located.
Dr. Jaime Marlowe.
Name: Dr. Jaime Marlowe
Profession: Researcher
Security Clearance Level: [DATA EXPUNGED]
Profile: [LEVLE 066 REQURED] Average researcher, specializing in space-time, extra-dimensional, and visual, spatial, and cognitohazardous anomalies. Previously described as "painfully, painfully, painfully average", notable more for minor interpersonal incidents and inappropriate outbursts when under stress. Marlowe's profile has slightly increased due to apparent unexplained connections to unrelated anomalous events which only appear to have increased in frequency.
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Dr. Hessia Prynn.
Name: Dr. Hessia Prynn
Profession: Researcher, dumbass sent in to touch strange new SCPs first volunteer test subject
Security Clearance Level: Level 3
Profile: [REDACTED] pending lawsuit
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Dr. Shi Mingxia.
Name: Dr. Shi Mingxia
Profession: Researcher
Security Clearance Level: Level 3
Profile: [DATA EXPUNGED] "OH MY GOD WHAT DID YOU DO?!" were the very last words found.
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Agent M██ H███████.
Name: Agent M██ H███████
Profession: Agents of SCP Foundation
Security Clearance Level: 05 and such
Profile: Agent M██ H███████ is the agent of the SCP F-F-F-Foundation. M██ H███████ also rea-rea-rea-rea-rea-reads all of SCP Foundation's articles. Agent M██-M██ H███████ is the Foundation. [DATA EXPU-EXPU-EXPUNGED]
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Dr. Sagan.
Name: Dr. Carl Sagan
Profession: Astrophysicist
Security Clearance Level: All of them
Profile: [REDACTED FOR BREVITY] And ever since then, all Foundation personnel have recognized that he was a nice guy.
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Dr. Sobotka.
Name: Dr. Anna Sobotka
Profession: Eater of Dreams
Security Clearance Level: 4.8
Profile: Do you like [DATA EXPUNGED]ing other people?
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- SCP-093
- SCP-603
- SCP-1981
- SCP-1427 Holy fuck what
- SCP-1279 Yes this is Doge
- SCP-255
- SCP-610
- SCP-140
- SCP-2998
- SCP-1173
- SCP-1733
- SCP-1250 Holy fuck what
- SCP-1115
- SCP-507
- SCP-173-J
- SCP-087
- SCP-1370
- The entire Class of 76 canon
- SCP-1437
- SCP-004
- SCP-914
- SCP-789-J
- SCP-1322
- SCP-586
- SCP-001-EX-J
- SCP-2299 (My own)
- SCP-1692 (My own)
- SCP-1425
- SCP-329-J
- SCP-006-J
- SCP-186
- SCP-1986
- SCP-028
- SCP-176
- SCP-315
- SCP-698
- SCP-1234-J
- SCP-752
- SCP-776
- SCP-887
- SCP-939
- SCP-940
- SCP-1070
- SCP-1085
- SCP-1116
- SCP-1256
- Pastry based aquatic life form - P13F15H
- SCP-1284
- SCP-1287 Despite the sappy ass last note
- SCP-1309
- SCP-1312 It is greats
- SCP-1345
- SCP-1351
- SCP-1375
- SCP-1377
- SCP-1442
- SCP-2322
- SCP-1583
- SCP-1598
- SCP-1599
- SCP-1606
- SCP-4991
- SCP-4048
- SCP-3008
- SCP-6830
- SCP-3956
- SCP-4833
- Any article mentioning Class-D genocide (aside from being morally repugnant in so many directions at once, it's physically impossible to sustain without causing severe population drops around the world)
- Any SCP that essentially could exist in reality without being anomalous—such as, new species of animals that act oddly, but not too extraordinary. A bird with four wings isn't anomalous; it's a fascinating new discovery.
- SCP-627
- SCP-318
- SCP-743
- SCP-2085
- SCP-1074
- SCP-1082
- SCP-1083
- SCP-1100
- SCP-1208
- SCP-1258 Come on, that was fucking stupid
- SCP-1299 Fucking repugnant
- SCP-1324 Sappy trite fucking trash
- SCP-1325
- SCP-2717 Repugnant and revolting beyond belief
- SCP-3955
- SCP-3986
