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SCP-1786 grazing in the paddock. |
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be contained in a paddock at the Agricultural Research Station at Site 58, as part of a flock of no less than seven (7) sheep kept within the Experimental Farm. SCP-XXXX is to wear a sheep jacket at all times in order to facilitate distinguishing it from the rest of the flock; the sheep jacket is to be replaced immediately whenever necessary. Due to the highly social nature of the species, SCP-XXXX will suffer the physiological effects of extreme stress if isolated from other sheep for more than 1 day; in the event that any of the other sheep are killed, they are to be replaced within that time frame. All interactions with SCP-XXXX and its flock, including veterinary care, must be done with full protective gear (gloves, long sleeves, goggles, boots). SCP-XXXX and its flock are all to have standard access to water and foraging-suitable vegetation.
Description: SCP-XXXX is a female sheep (Ovis aries), of an as-yet-unidentified breed. When SCP-XXXX makes contact with the skin of a live mammal that is not another sheep, SCP-XXXX will explode. The force of this explosion has yet to be properly measured; however, when in an open space, it is sufficient to kill everything within approximately six (6) meters of SCP-XXXX. SCP-XXXX is not immune to its own explosive nature, and will be reduced to biological debris; however, after approximately 5 minutes, the flesh and organs will move towards each other, and reassemble into SCP-XXXX as it was immediately prior to the explosion. The process of reassembly and reanimation takes 1 minute. SCP-XXXX does not appear to be traumatized or otherwise psychologically affected by its detonations.
Breeding experiments with SCP-XXXX have been unsuccessful; in particular work, male sheep have proven to be extremely reluctant to mate with SCP-XXXX after witnessing its detonation. However, if it is possible for SCP-XXXX to bear lambs that share its anomaly, it would open opportunities to do internal experimentation on SCP-XXXX.
Acquisition Log: SCP-XXXX was discovered on ██/██/20██, in the aftermath of an apparent terrorist attack at the ███████, ████████ Petting Zoo, in which ██ visitors and █ employees were killed; all other sheep in the paddock likewise died in the blast, with the exception of SCP-XXXX, which was standing at the blast's epicenter and grazing on vegetation. Amnestics were administered to survivors and witnesses, and SCP-XXXX was taken into custody.
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be held in a standard humanoid containment cell with padding on its walls and is to be given a bed, blankets, food and water, and is allowed one (1) notebook and one (1) pen to use as a journal. For its own safety, SCP-XXXX is not to be permitted to leave its cell at any time, but is allowed visitors upon request after a proper screening and approval from two L4s.
Description: SCP-XXXX is a young girl, aged 15, identified through birth records as ███████ █████.
Acquisition Log: SCP-XXXX was discovered on ██/██/2009,
As I sit on the subway home from work, I light up a cigarette and stare out the window when the train pulls into a station. There's an advertisment for Smith's Car Parts, boasting 140 locations in the tri-state area. I chuckle quietly to myself before looking away, observing the people who get on and off of the train.
Lying is essentially half of what I do outside of work. I lie to my neighbors, I lie to my friends, I even lie to my husband, straight to his face. It's not even a compulsion, either, it's genuinely part of my day-to-day job. If you were a curious stranger, I would tell you that I'm the assistant CFO of Smith's Car Parts, that my daily work life consists of desktop after desktop of paperwork, and that I hate my job enough to rant about it every day, but that "someone's gotta do it".
However, my actual job title is Biological Object Study Specialist. My work life consists of peering over supernatural animals and people, studying their anomalous effects on themselves and others, determining their danger to the outside world, and keeping them contained within my worksite. It can get monotonous from time to time, but it is not the kind of job you get used to, I assure you.
After the subway pulls into my stop, I stand up and walk out of the station, flicking my cigarette into an ashtray on the way up. My home is only a couple of blocks away from the station, so I'm there within minutes. As I step through the door, my husband greets me with a peck on the cheek.
"Hey, darling, how was your day?" He says chipperly as he heads back into the kitchen to finish what I assume is our dinner.
"Oh god, honey, it just dragged on and on. My boss screamed for what seemed like almost an hour." I reply, thinking of the incredibly frail and alien-like man who roared at the top of his lungs for around 52 minutes at a D-class.
"I don't know how he thinks he has the right to yell at his staff like that." He muses as I take off my coat and hang it up. "Come sit down, dinner's ready."
I nod and place my shoes next to the door, then step into the dining room to sit down. He grins at me when I notice what he's done. He's set up quite the romantic dinner, with steaks, green beans and potatoes, along with a glass of red wine.
"Oh, honey, this is beautiful…" I exclaim, admiring his handiwork and moving to take a seat.
"No, no, let me get that for you." He smirks and pulls my chair out for me. I sigh and laugh a bit, sitting down. He takes a seat across from me and we both start to eat our dinner. I smile at him when he shoots me a look, swallowing a bite of green beans.
"You know, darling," he begins, setting his fork down gently. "I found something rather strange today."
"Did you, now?" I ask, taking another bite of the steak. So perfectly cooked, with just the right amount of fat for flavor.
"It was some form that was in your desk, something about the 'SCP Foundation' and some kind of statue that kills people when no one's looking at it."
I immediately stop mid-chew and look up at him, staring. I must have accidentally mixed up part of my actual paperwork with my cover paperwork. My palms almost start to sweat before I tilt my head and ask, "Huh?"
"Yeah, I know! It's weird, right?" He chuckles and takes another bite of his steak. "I mean, I figured it was just some kind of dark fiction from the internet. …you're not looking up that sort of thing, are you?" He says, half-joking.
I stare at him for a moment before sighing. "No, honey, it's a real thing and it's something I'm studying every time I go in to work." I say, laughing. "Alright, you got me. I…I kind of like that sort of dark and bloody storytale stuff."
Unsuspecting, he chuckles. "Yeah, I figured you've always had a thing for stuff like that." A weight is lifted off my chest. I would sigh in relief if I didn't have food in my mouth. Swallowing, I reach over to my glass of wine and take a sip, smiling at him. "I hope this doesn't make me any less attractive to you." I say as I take something out of my pocket before standing up and getting the wine bottle.
"Nothing could ever make you less attractive to me, darling. Not since the day I met you." He replies with a somewhat sultry tone in his voice.
"And that's why I love you." I grin and lean forward, kissing him on the lips. As he closes his eyes, I use my thumb to slip a Class-A amnestic into the wine bottle. "Perhaps later, we can…make this evening a bit more romantic." I insist as I refill his empty glass.
"Ooh, I thought you'd never ask." He laughs a bit. "Let's finish our dinner first, though, shall we?"
I nod and sit back down, watching him take a sip of his fresh wine. Our dinner continues and we idly chit-chat back and forth before he starts to rub his head. "Are you alright, honey?" I ask in a concerned tone.
"Ngh…I think there was something in my steak…" He says weakly before falling out of his chair. I quickly stand from my seat, walk over to him and drag his unconscious body into the living room, where I lay him down on the couch. "You stupid moron, Nicole, you just nearly caused a breach…" I rub my face in anger before running upstairs and going into my office, shoving the door open.
I frantically shuffle through my desk drawers, looking for the object log. If this were to get out, losing my job would be the least of my worries. Unable to find it, I slam my fists down, running my hands through my hair as I nervously look around the room. Then, I remembered…he probably wouldn't have just put it back where he found it. Not something like that. I run downstairs to the garbage bin, practically sliding on the floor to it like a baseball player rushing to home plate.
After yanking an apple core and today's paper out of the bin, I find it. That fucking statue. I take it into our backyard and pull my lighter from my pocket, igniting the flame and burning the page until nothing is left. Satisfied, I step back inside and lock the back door behind me.
When I walk back into the living room, I look at my husband and try to think about what I should do. I gave him an amnestic, but what if it doesn't take? What if he wakes up and still remembers it? What then? If this gets out, we'll both be killed and the Foundation would cover everything up. I think about the gun I keep hidden in the basement and wonder if I should use it. I can't let anyone know about this by any means necessary, but…I don't think I can just kill my husband. Not after everything we've been through together.
Overwhelmed by the situation, tears start running down my face as I look back and forth between him and the basement door, but before I can make either choice, he stirs. I quickly move over to him. "Honey, are you okay?" I ask.
"…Nicole…? What happened? Why am I on the couch?" He asks, rubbing his forehead.
"We were eating the dinner you made for us and you passed out." I say, sniffling as I caress his cheek gently.
"I…was? Last thing I remember is getting home from work…" He sits up.
I let out a gasp of relief. "Yes, honey…you did. I think something was wrong with your steak. It did look slightly off…" I smile.
"Heh…are you alright? You're crying…" He worries.
"I…I was worried about you. I thought I was going to have to call 911." I say, smiling. He smiles back and kisses me on the cheek. I was so relieved that everything was okay.
"Should…we finish the dinner?" He asks.
"No, let's just watch a movie. We already ate most of the dinner anyway. You just go up and take a nice shower and I'll clean up. You deserve it." I kiss his head and he nods, standing up from the couch and walking upstairs.
I rub my eye, thinking about how close I just came to killing my own husband. After cleaning up the dishes, I take the bottle of wine and pour it down the drain in the sink, staring outside and looking at the sky.
I'm never happy about how I have to handle my life. Almost everything I say to my husband is a lie, and I have to maintain those lies, often with force. My job can leave me feeling too drained to care about it, but when I do, I wonder if it's even worth the trouble sometimes. But then I repeat to myself the same mantra that gets me through my day:
"It's hard work, but someone's gotta do it."
The SCP Foundation. One of the world's best-kept secrets, home to thousands of paranormal objects and beings, hundreds of staff members, and a place where cruelty is just another part of the job. While most would think that an organization that dedicates much of its time to sacrificing human lives of all ages simply to contain the ghouls and the ghosts that plague the darkness, others would justify that they are a necessary evil.
Today, however, was a special day, as Head Researcher Paul Silva was working on a new initiative to ensure containment of a particular object with a minimal loss of life. As he typed away at his keyboard, making sure everything was coherent and proper, he glanced up at the ceiling, wondering if something had made a noise. He glanced around in confusion, but knew that this was simply a minor distraction, and his work was too important today to let anything bother him.
"…absolutely not." Said Silva, as he stood up from his chair, realizing that anything out of the ordinary, whether it be a simple tap on the wall or a scream in the building, was something to be concerned about, and must be reported. He stepped down the hallway, almost appearing paranoid to his coworkers as he peered around, taking particularly long glances at the PA speakers. Quickening his pace, he approached his supervisor, Dr. Klein in his office, who was currently pushing through a stack of paperwork.
"Sir?" Silva said, staring his boss down, taking a brief glance at the radio on the table.
"Yes, Silva, what is it?" Klein didn't look up from his work, far more focused on the task at hand.
"There's a voice narrating what I'm doing." Silva admitted, silently hoping that he wouldn't assume he was exposed to a hallucinogen, or one of the many mind-affecting objects he works with that are contained on-site.
Klein glanced up from his work at him, the scratching of his pen on the paper coming to a stop. "…perhaps you should visit the physician, then." He said dismissively.
"Sir, I've been in my office all day and haven't been exposed to anything, and you should know that I have no history of hallucinations." Silva affirmed, confident that his supervisor would at least acknowledge his concern.
But Klein simply sighed. Silva appeared somewhat irritated, but he soon began to entertain the concept that he had possibly come in contact with something, causing him to hear a voice that simply was not there. He excused himself from his supervisor's office and stepped out, thinking to himself how insane he must seem. But his problems were far from over, as in only a few minutes, SCP-173 would breach containment during a routine test.
"…SIR!" Silva shouted, rushing back into Dr. Klein's office. "The voice just said that 173 will breach containment."
His supervisor, still skeptical, put his pen down in a displeased manner, but nodded as he rubbed his face. "Send a team down there, just to be sure." He knew that although his head researcher was most likely hallucinating, it was better to be safe than sorry.
Silva nodded and got on his radio, sending a message to the assault team nearby. "Guys, head over to 173's chamber, please?" He ordered, glancing over his shoulder at his supervisor.
"Roger that, on our way." The team leader replied, arming their weapons and getting to work. Silva chuckled quietly to himself, believing he had outsmarted the voice he had heard, and that he had successfully prevented a containment breach.
Head Researcher Silva had never been more wrong in his life.
Just after his expression turned from satisfaction to shock, Silva heard the assault team leader over the radio. "Code Black! Code Black! Sound the alarms, 173's getting out! IT'S GETTING OUT!" Dr. Klein looked up in horror as he heard the message, and Silva glanced back at him just as the PA system began blaring the breach alarm. They both hustled out of the office, Silva stumbling over his feet and falling to the floor, bruising his hand.
"Oh, come on, that was just unnecessary!" Silva shouted at the ceiling he sprung back to his feet, running down the corridor with Dr. Klein.
Upon reaching the chamber that once contained SCP-173, they spotted the two men left of the assault team, staring it down, each of them alerting the other to let them know they were about to blink. The statue was positioned in its chamber near five different bleeding bodies, two of them were the other members of the assault team, and the other three were lowly D-class personnel, having been killed just before the team arrived.
"What the hell happened?!" Silva shouted at a technician behind a panel on the mezzanine above them.
"The doors mucked up before we could close 'em right! I'm working on it!" The technician shouted back in a panic, dropping one of his tools in his haste.
"None of you take your eyes off of it." Dr. Klein commanded, joining the survivors in watching SCP-173. Silva, however, knew that Klein and the assault team had it handled, and that he was able to head over to the technician in order to assist him in repairing the control panel.
"No fucking way. I'm not taking my eyes off of it." Silva disobeyed, keeping 173 in his eyesight. "You almost fixed it?!" He screamed at the technician.
"Almost!" The technician fiddled with the wires a bit more. Just moments later, he shouted with pride as the doors finally sealed shut, locking the murderous statue back into its chamber. The remaining agents, Dr. Klein and Silva stopped staring it down, Klein sighing in relief as Silva leaned against the wall.
I just can't seem to ignore the possibility that something will go wrong. It's probably just a bad feeling. I mean, we've been working on this device for months, and I have this feeling that it won't work. If it doesn't, we've essentially wasted hundreds of thousands of dollars in research grants, and our careers are basically over. When I look over at Matthew, he smiles back at me before going back to reading the monitor. He's helped me stay positive this past year and he was the one who convinced Joseph that I was perfect for the project. And, well…if it weren't for the fact that we may just prove time travel is possible today…he'd be the only reason I'm sticking around here.
Speaking of which, I look over at Joseph who is checking over the device for the third time. He's always so anal-retentive about his work, but that's probably what's helped us get this far. Well, him and the two intern researchers he hired. Plus, he's the one who had the idea for it in the first place. Not that this device needed much thought as a concept, but he did the math and made the idea possible. I smirk to myself, thinking about what the look on his face will be like if it works, then look back at my computer, typing up a little bit more work. He is going to go out of his mind if it works. I should get a camera ready just before we test the device. That'd be good for a desktop.
Now that I think about those interns, though, I have to wonder why Joseph even needed them. He seemed to be capable of doing most of this himself with his hands tied behind his back, but for some reason, he insisted on having assistants. I wasn't really inclined to disagree with him, since he's the one responsible for the project, but it's still perplexing. Especially that one intern, London, who seemed a bit too overeager to join in on the project. He was even willing to pay his way in. I've never been one to question someone's love for science, but the thing was that he seemed more interested in Matthew than the project itself, not that Matthew seemed to notice. Maybe I'm just being paranoid.
I hear a loud slam, making me jump in surprise a bit, followed by footsteps coming into the room, but just as I start standing up, I hear Joseph shout, "Hey, this room is supposed to be—" before his voice is cut off by two gunshots to his head. I gasp and watch as he falls to the floor, bleeding onto the linoleum. Immediately ducking under my desk, I put my hand over my mouth before I can make a sound, staring in horror as the interns are gunned down practically at the same time, just after London screams "Wait, wait, wait!" I peek out under the desk and see Matthew hit the floor, three gushing wounds in his chest. I think I might have heard a voice say, "That's what you get, you fuck." What the hell was he talking about?
What in the world am I going to do? How am I going to get out of here? I'm alone under my desk and I can't just run away. I'm trapped. I can see these guys are wearing combat boots as they move through the room…who are they, the military? That's not possible, we had no less than absolute encouragement from the government for this project! No, this…this can't be happening. I can't let this happen. One of them is moving toward the device. They're going to ruin everything. I remember the pistol I have on the table next to my desk. I have to do something, so I quietly lean out, reaching for the weapon. Before I can grab it, I look over and notice that one of their bullets hit the device. Just as I realize what's about to happen, there's a bright flash of light.
I just can't seem to ignore the possibility that something will go wrong. It's probably just a bad feeling.