- "It's Not That Anomalous!" MAINLISTED-JAMCON
- FULL COMMUNISM SCP
- rewrite of magic vacuum cleaner
- SCP-2164 MAINLISTED
- Work Bitch
- CI write up
- SCP-2426 (MAINLISTED)
- Goddess in Training
- A Simple Change in Paradigm... (MAINLISTED)
- The Meeting of the Twain
- Little Lost Skip (MAINLISTED)
- SCP-2015
- SCP-1714 (MAINLISTED)
- The Coward (MAINLISTED)
- Her Inveterate Patience At Action (MAINLISTED)
- Babby's First Humanoid SCP-MAINLISTED
- snippets
Item #: SCP-3678
Object Class: Keter1
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-3678 is currently uncontained. A Task Force of Foundation organizational sociologists, psychomathematicians, and thamaturges is currently investigating the source of SCP-3678, possible vectors of transmission, and possible patterns between 3678-Milliarium Events. As ██% of Foundation employees (and ██% of employees at Level 3 and above) fit the profile of SCP-3678 affected individuals, identifying possible vectors of transmission is a top priority.
Description: SCP-3678 is an anomalous probabilistic phenomenon that affects individuals fitting a specific profile within an organization. Affected individuals will advance through the organization non-anomalously until the conditions for a 3678-Milliarium Event are met. After a 3678-Milliarium Event, the affected individual will suddenly and invariably suffer an irreparable loss of prestige in the organization or leave the organization altogether. This will happen against all statistical models of organizational inertia, psychological analysis, or sociological prediction.
Profile of SCP-3678 Affected Individuals
- Membership in Organization: All SCP-3678 affected individuals are members of some organization. These organizations range in size and power, but include non-profit organizations, public office, activist groups, political parties, and hospital groups. For an exhaustive lists of organizations in which SCP-3678 affected individuals have been found, see Appendix SCP-XXXX-A
- Neophytes: SCP-3678 affected individuals are almost always in their twenties or early thirties. A longitudinal study of SCP-3678 affected individuals2 (n=██) found that the median age of infection by SCP-3678 was 24, (sigma=1.5 years).
- Charismatic SCP-3678 affected individuals are unusually socially intelligent and charismatic. Foundation organizational psychologists have found that SCP-3678 affected individuals are extremely skilled at forming and maintaining strategic relationships conducive to rapid advancement within their organization.
- Ideologically and Personally Motivated In addition to being single-mindedly committed to their organization, SCP-3678 affected individuals have personality traits that are perfectly suited to the ethos and goals of their organization. For example, SCP-3678 affected individuals in corporations will be individualistic and unusually ruthless, while SCP-3678 affected individuals in public office will be extremely effective communicators who value compromise and procedural norms. Anderson et al found that SCP-3678 affected individuals were statistically highly significantly (p=0.0092) more likely to be described as being the embodiment of the organization. Furthermore, those surveyed were statistically significantly (p=0.05) more likely to refer to SCP-3678 affected individuals in those exact words or using a similar metaphor in the local cultural context.3
On SCP-3678-Milliarium Events
There are a few conditions that will trigger 3678-Milliarium Events, including:
- An SCP-3678 affected individual's impending promotion to a leadership position within their organization
- If an SCP-3678 affected individual has already achieved a leadership role, the eve of a significant policy/mission shift enacted by the affected individual
- Instability within the organization and the impending ascendency of the faction led or championed by an SCP-3678 affected individual
- Prolonged conflict with hostile organizations, especially at a point where these conflicts are at an all-time high
Notable Examples of SCP-3678
Name of SCP-3678 Affected Individual | Organizational Affiliation | 3678-Milliarium Event and Aftermath |
Irakli Tsereteli | Russian Social Democratic Labour Party-Menshevik Faction | Rising from the executive committee of the Petrograd Soviet to Minister of the Interior in the Russian Provisional Government, Tsereteli was able to consolidate his influence to the point where he was the Prime Minster of the RPG from July 7th-25th 1917 in all but name. Suddenly, despite the long running power struggle between Bolsheviks and Mensheviks for control of the Petrograd Soviet, Tsereteli successfully campaigned for the release of Bolshevik Leon Trotsky from prison. Once released, Trotsky campaigned to seize control of the Petrograd Soviet on September 25, 1917 and summarily exiled Tsereteli. |
Carl Walters | Renaissance Technologies, LLC | In 2010, twenty-five year old Carl Walters was hired as an analyst for the hedge fund management firm Renaissance Technologies, LLC, having recently received a PhD from MIT for research on stochastic processes. In a mere two years Walters had risen through the ranks of Renaissance analysts, and by December 2012 Walters had been offered the position of junior manager of the 3.3 billion dollar Medallion Fund. On the afternoon of December 5, 2012, Walters was served with a termination letter due to a clerical error. In a rage, Walters responded with an email to the entire department, his direct supervisor, and all his current clients laden with profanity and invective towards the company. At the moment before Walters sent the email, the entire office building experienced a three minute brown-out and email services crashed. Realizing his near miss, Walters left his office for a walk to clear his head and reflect upon his fortune. Two blocks outside his building, Walters was accosted by a homeless man asking for spare change. When he stopped to berate the man, Walters realized that the homeless man, Virgil Cantwell, had been a postdoctoral fellow in the MIT mathematics program at the same time Walters had been in a PhD student. Cantwell told Walters that he had been hired as an analyst by a different firm after his time at MIT, but the high pressure environment had driven him to amphetamine abuse and eventual ruin. As recounted to Foundation interviewers, Walters was "struck by the futility of gathering wealth", embraced Cantwell, threw his own amphetamines down a storm drain, and quit his position at Renaissance. After giving away all his worldly possessions, Walters joined a commune twenty miles south of Humboldt, California, where he lived for one week before being expelled for forming a black market for processed, genetically modified junk food. Walters is now a call-center manager in Scottsdale, Arizona. |
Mark Yeager | The People's Liberation Front of Greater Bushwick | In 2008, Mark Yeager graduated summa cum laude from the University of Chicago with a Bachelor's in Philosophy and moved to Williamsburg, a rapidly gentrifying neighborhood in Brooklyn, New York City. In 2009 Yeager joined the The People's Liberation Front of Bushwick. From there Yeager became a powerful force within the group, spearheading the initiative to change its name to "The People's Liberation Front of Greater Bushwick" (PLF-GB), including the neighborhoods of Williamsburg and Bedford-Stuyvesant. In the meantime, Yeager was discussing the possibility of an anti-capitalist protest with Mark Graeber. It was Yeager who suggested the location of Zuccotti Park, as it was privately owned and protestors could not be evicted without the consent of the property owners. On September 17th, 2011, the Occupy Wall Street protest began in Zuccotti Park, with Yeager leading a cadre of twenty trained PLF-GB members. Over the next few weeks, Yeager grew his personal following to over seventy-five members of the 100 to 200 consistent protestors in the park, spreading a blend of neo-Maoist and Situationist philosophy dubbed "New Bushwick Thought". On the night of November 14th, protestors recieved word that the New York City Police Department would be clearing the park within the next twenty-four hours. Yeager immediately assembled a human megaphone4 of fifty people. Yeager drew the attention of the entire park by laying out a detailed platform of anti-capitalist stances, as well as a clear and specific program of direct action guided by the philosophy of New Bushwick Thought. Ten minutes into the speech, Yeager was interrupted by his girlfriend, Annalyn Barnett. Despite Barnett's use of an intrauterine device and Yeager's consistent condom use, Barnett had become pregnant. This instigated an hour long argument between Barnett and Yeager, intermittently amplified by confused members of the human megaphone, as Barnett wanted to keep the pregnancy and Yeager wanted to terminate it. Continuing to argue, Barnett and Yeager left the park and went to Barnett's apartment in Bedford-Stuyvesant. After two weeks, Yeager threatened to end the relationship and work solely for cash as to prevent Barnett from securing child support, after which Barnett agreed to terminate the pregnancy. On the morning of November 30th, Barnett arrived at Joan Malin Brooklyn Health Center for the termination appointment to find that the clinic had been closed for the day due to a telephoned bomb threat. Barnett's call to Yeager to inform him of the delay was interrupted by a call from Barnett's mother. Barnett's mother informed Barnett that her father had suffered a stroke and was now partially paralyzed, and requested that she move back to the Charlottesville, North Carolina area to help her care for him. Barnett and Yeager sold their possessions and spent their savings to move to the Charlottesville area, renting an apartment and working six part time jobs between them. By the time Barnett's father died on April 15th and Barnett had settled the funeral and estate arrangements, the pregnancy had advanced past North Carolina's twenty week abortion ban, and Barnett could not afford to leave the state to obtain an abortion elsewhere. Yeager and Barnett were married in 2012, and in 2015 Mark Yeager's father died and left him a substantial inheritance. As of 2017, Mark and Annalyn Yeager live in a house in an affluent Charlottesville suburb along with their daughter Lucy. Mark Yeager has not been involved in political activism since he left New York. |
Mailie Brown | The Fifth Church | Mailie Brown was a twenty-two-year old resident of Liverpool who joined The Fifth Church some time in 1999. Raised in a strict Catholic family, Through Brown's dogmatism, loyalty to the Fifthist hierarchy, and chanting abilities, she achieved a mastery of Fifthist practices at an unusual rate. Merely one year after she was inducted into the Fifth Church, Brown was made a Fifthist pastor. According to Fifthist apostates and the coerced testimony of Fifthist moles, Brown received some sort of anomalous revelation in May 2000 and began training Fifthist acolytes to infiltrate Foundation offices across the United Kingdom, apparently in response to the future actions of Project [REDACTED] and the events of [DATA REDACTED]. On the evening of October 5, 2005, Brown gathered her congregation in Stanley Park, Liverpool to harness the power of "the falling of the Star Veil", an astrological event still poorly understood by the Foundation. As Brown led her congregation, they began to exhibit a reality warping effect that encompassed a hemisphere centered on Brown that grew at a rate of 0.05 m/sec. Fifthist defectors described such phenomena as congregants beginning to merge psychically, physically, and metaphysically (with each other and with local flora), eddies of anti-time, and "ideas manifesting in physical form, so that we could kill them".5 Meanwhile, against all meteorological and astrological predictions for the night, a large cloud formation had formed over the Isle of Man to the northwest of Liverpool and was blown towards the park by winds of 75 km/hr. This cloud formation did not seem to be anomalous in any way. The reality warping phenomenon in Stanley Park was still well below cloud level by the time the cloud formation arrived at around 10:05 PM local time. For reasons that are still not well understood, this cloud cover interfered with the ritual so as to instantly collapse the radius of affected space to the space Brown was occupying. This coincided with a small, natural fluctuation in global Hume levels, which lead to the metaphysical annihilation of Mailie Brown. At this point, a Foundation counterintelligence unit along with Mobile Task Force Lambda-5 "White Rabbits" descended upon Stanley Park and apprehended the remaining Fifthists. Foundation metaphysicians and thaumaturges found that the woman who had been Mailie Brown (denoted Brown-1), while retaining all her memories, was metaphysically identical to Marie de Dugnirie, a peasant woman who lived around Pontivy, France in the late 18th century. As the Mailie Brown-1 is not a Fifthist, and arguably never has been, she was amnesticized, released from Foundation custody, and has lived in Liverpool under EID surveillance. Brown-1 is now married and a supernumerary in the lay Catholic organization Opus Dei. By all accounts, Brown-1 is a traditional Catholic with no anomalous or even heterodox beliefs or practices. |
Selected Diary Entries from 3678 Affected Individual, María de Leon:
de Leon was an intern for Hillary Clinton's congressional office, before joining Clinton's presidential campaign, and rising rapidly through the ranks to become Clinton's main campaign advisor for the Midwest.
March 5, 2016
I've been promoted today!!!! I had to step out of Robby's office and call Máma the second he told me. I'll be advising on the entire Midwest! I can't believe I've come this far. Robby said I was really something special, and he was proud to have me reporting directly to him. He said that to me! This really is the Year of the Woman. I'm so honored to be a part of this movement, to be here for Máma and my tías and my Abuela. And her Abuela! I'm proud to be at the forefront of the fight against bigotry, and keep this country truly great.
October 2, 2016
Dozens of local MI activists have been calling us non-stop asking for signs, asking for other organizers and canvassers to be diverted to them. They say they're in trouble. Robby called a meeting today and reiterated that we are not to promise them any more aid. According to him, all the models say MI is ours, and that we've got science on our side and local organizers don't. I spoke up at that point. Pápa had been in the UFW6 long enough for me to know that the people on the ground know the ground. But as everyone's eyes turned to me, I remembered everything that had happened this morning. Connor and I got into a huge fight the night before. We made up, but as he was leaving for work he kissed my forehead and told me sometimes I let my emotions get away with me. That I'm fiery and that's a good thing but sometimes I need to remember to center myself and listen to reason. My desk calendar of inspirational quotes for today says, "Sometimes intuition can lead you astray. Remember to align yourself with your higher nature". And I'm on my period today, so maybe I'm not thinking straight. After all, Robby keeps talking about the data and the model. I've never been afraid to offer my input (isn't that what I'm getting paid to do?), but maybe this time I should trust that these smart people know what they're doing. I excused myself and sat down. I felt like it wasn't even me, but it was some other person taking the pen of my life from my hand and writing my story for me. I have to believe that we've got justice and reason on our side.
November 7, 2016
I don't even know why I got out of bed to write this. My head is still pounding. I could get myself some Advil but it won't fix my heart. How could this happen? All my life Máma had told me that the world can be a harsh, cruel place, but thanks to people like me it is becoming steadily less so. Was she wrong, or is it just me? The one upside is that the world ending distracts me from the fact that my career is over. This is one hell of an albatross around my neck.
Now, everything I've believed in and strove towards my whole life feels like some stupid joke my Abuelo used to tell me and my cousins, building and building for ages, all of us waiting with bated breath, and the punchline is nothing.
Or maybe the punchline is me.
On March, 3, 2020, Researcher Brendan Kowalski, SCP-3678 Research Head, surrendered himself to Foundation custody claiming that statistical analyses showed that he himself was being affected by SCP-3678. As SCP-3678 is now targeting Foundation members, it has been reclassified as Threat Level Black.
The Foundation is the only bulwark against the utter destruction of the world. Behind every corner lies horrors unimaginable to the minds of the uninitiated. And as they say, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't all out to get you.
But maybe you are just paranoid.
It is my belief that SCP-3678 is not anomalous at all. Researcher Kowalski is brilliant, motivated, utterly devoted to the Foundation…and young. This is not an insult to him. Young people are a source of nearly infinite promise, but have not yet learned resilience. Thus obstacles become tragedies, and a life that has not even truly started yet seems a endless and pointless digression into a cruel and meaningless punchline. Then, one goes searching for similar tragedies to try and justify this loss of hope. I recommend an intensive round of psychotherapy for Researcher Kowalski and his transfer to a different project.
-Senior Researcher Avvaiyar Chandrasekar
Recommendation received. Request denied. The evidence is too strong and the cost of a mistake is too great.
-Site Director Alexandre Basquiat
Formal complaint received. Decision pending.
-O5-2
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be kept in a Standard Object Locker. SCP-XXXX may not be tested without permission from the Site Director. As of 30/09/2009, SCP-XXXX may not be moved from its current site without a direct order from the O5 Council.
Description: [Paragraphs explaining the description]
Addendum: [Optional additional paragraphs]
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be kept inside a standard object containment locker. SCP-XXXX is not to be connected to a power source unless under a controlled testing situation approved by the Site Director and the Senior Researcher assigned to SCP-XXXX. The supplemental documentation is to be kept in an adjacent locker, contained in a argon-filled titanium casket. Copies of the documentation may be accessed an analyzed by Level 3 Foundation linguists with permission from the Senior Researcher assigned to SCP-XXXX.
Description: SCP-XXXX is an Electrolux Model E canister vacuum cleaner with a mass of 6.08 kg, similar to models sold in the 1960s. When powered off it displays no anomalous properties and can be partially disassembled and examined. Instead of a traditional fan, motor, and bag seen in non-anomalous vacuum cleaners, SCP-XXXX's interior is mostly empty. The presumed motor analogue is a small rectangular box that has resisted all attempts to open it. Metallurgic analysis indicates the inner components of SCP-XXXX are rich in iridium and technetium, elements that are very rare on earth but significantly more common on asteroids and in red dwarf stars.
When SCP-XXXX is connected to a power source and switched on, it displays suction significantly stronger than expected in a machine of its age and model, suctioning items with masses up to 320 kgs in normal atmospheric pressure. SCP-XXXX's interior is inaccessible and impervious to analysis when SCP-XXXX is powered on.
Test 1
Procedure: SCP-XXXX placed in high vacuum chamber set to .1 micropascal and switched on by remote drone.
Results: SCP-XXXX functioned at significantly diminished capacity but was still able to suction off the arm off the remote drone.
Test 2
Results: The pressure within SCP-XXXX was measured at 10 picopascals, comparable to the vacuum of interstellar space. This procedure was repeated inside several vacuum chambers of various strengths with similar results.
Test 3
Procedure: SCP-XXXX placed in an ultra-high vacuum chamber set to 1 picopascal and switched on by remote drone.
Results: SCP-XXXX ejected small quantities of dust and rarefied gas. Spectroscopic analysis of the dust and gas reveals iridium, helium, hydrogen, and other elements common to interstellar space.
SCP-XXXX Supplemental Documentation
SCP-XXXX was found with a roll of translucent chemically treated film inscribed with an unknown language. Foundation linguists have provided a translation.
[Untranslatable, appears to be name, closest rendering Reh-lu-meesk-in-v],
By the time you read this [message, piece], I will be gone forever. I will make a new life for myself and for [closest rendering: Reh-lu-meesk-in-vea] in the red [light/heat/love] of the companion star.
I can hear you now, raving to your compatriots at the [spring/baths/agora]. How dare I flee with [Reh-lu-meesk-in-vea]. You will rave that I have no right, that the [little one/child] is not my own, and your friends will wriggle their appendages in indignant concurrence. I admit freely that I see none of my face in the little one's features and no part of my genetic code is in that body. So what, I ask? It may be true that little ones only have two genetic donors, one [mae]-kind and one [vuh-uhrr]-kind, but without the [vil]-kind, without me, we could not have offspring. I carried little [Reh-lu-meesk-in-vea] in my nurturing chambers for two full turns around our sun. I sought out only the most nourishing [pets/meat] for us. You know full well that without [vil]-kind our [unformed/incomplete/tender] offspring would wither and die in the heat of the cruel sun.
And what thanks do you give us, the [vil]-kind? You [hate/erase] us. You surgically modify us to bear more offspring at the expense of our [walking/freedom/dancing]. You tear us with your claws if we venture outside our nests in the dark. You say things like "[Homeworld/Planet] belongs to [maevuh-urr]-kind, and consider us an addendum, a side effect. We have no right to the offspring we drain our bodies to nourish, and the [vil] who refuse to house little ones in us are despised. If you had your way, all [vil]-kind would be like the [elite/wealthy/royal] [vil]-kind, too massive to move, all our appendages sliced away, existing only to bring forth YOUR offspring.
I dreamed of being a [People-Artist/Speaker/Head] when I was a little one. You never knew that, did you? I was the quickest with my teeth in the entire Southern Spawning Ponds. But that life died the day my nurturing chambers began to bulge and I was marked forever as [vil]-kind.
Your visit to [Neighbor/Savage/Other] Planet was, I think, the final straw. You came back with such amazing tales! You brought your companions [pets/meats] that had walked on another world. You brought the clan such foreign yet quaint playthings, toys made for the little ones of another planet, devices that ring with alien words. Records of their science, their myths, their legends.
And to me you bring one of their primitive tools of drudgery. You laughed with the [vuh-urr] of the clan, telling me that this contraption from the stars may improve my nest keeping. Well, we shall see how good at nest keeping it is now. I have made it stronger, as the nest will give you quite some trouble without my ministrations. But then again, [vil] work is so easy to you, is it not?
You may have everything. You own our nest. You own our other offspring. You have seen the teeming meats of another world, and you will own that experience until you grow cold. But no longer do you own me, and this little one is mine.
May all [vil]-kind one day know this joy.
[[footnoteblock]]
Item #: SCP-2164
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-2164-A is to be kept in modified humanoid containment cell. A Foundation expert in Renaissance-era occult practices is to be assigned to SCP-XXXX-A at all times and review containment procedures every six months. All furnishings in SCP-XXXX-A's containment chamber are to be made of plastics or synthetic fibers, and Agrimonia eupatoria (agrimony) is to be planted along the perimeter of the cell. These plants are to be tended to by maintenance personnel weekly and any ailing plants replaced immediately. All personnel entering SCP-XXXX outside of testing scenarios are to don protective garlands of Laurus nobilis (Bay laurel) or Ocimum basilicum (sweet basil). Good behavior on SCP-XXXX-A's part may be rewarded with access to Salvia officinalis (Common sage), Fraxinus excelsior (European ash), one small white beeswax candle, and other plant and animal materials documented in Document-XXXX-A. Under no circumstances is SCP-XXXX-A to be supplied with black candles, Artemisia absinthum (Wormwood), Juniperus communis (Common juniper), Santalum album (Indian sandalwood), Cedrus libani (Cedar), Rosa moschata (Musk rose), or any of the other restricted herbs or materials listed in Document-XXXX-A. Female personnel advised to remain cautious around SCP-XXXX-A.
SCP-XXXX-B is to be kept in a standard humanoid containment cell. SCP-XXXX-B's food is to be cultivated on-site to ensure that all its meals are organic, non-genetically modified, and completely gluten-free. SCP-XXXX-B may be rewarded for cooperation with various small quartz crystals, unprocessed amethysts, turmeric, red ginseng, the use of one yoga mat, and approved reading materials. A Foundation psychiatrist who has been briefed on New Age spirituality is to examine SCP-XXXX-A under the guise of an "angel therapist" and encourage its cooperation with the Foundation. Only D-class personnel scoring below 115 on the Stanford-Binet IQ Test and below +1σ on the Foundation Expanded Intelligence Test for Non-Anomalous Humans or born before 1994 are approved for testing with SCP-XXXX-B.
Under no circumstances are SCP-XXXX-A and SCP-XXXX-B to come within 100 meters of each other unless separated by soundproofed walls and accompanied by experts in negotiation.
Description: SCP-XXXX is a phenomenon manifesting within a one meter radius of two humanoid entities. Within SCP-XXXX's event radius, scientific laws as commonly understood break down and can be manipulated according to set principles by the humanoids within SCP-XXXX.
SCP-XXXX-A is an elderly Caucasian male appearing around eighty years of age but claiming to be about ███ years old. SCP-XXXX-A can manipulate matter within its range of effect using occult rituals or herbal concoctions in the Renaissance tradition. All reality alterations (herbal mixtures, incantations, etc.) lose their effect outside the SCP-XXXX effect radius.
SCP-XXXX-B is a Caucasian female in her early thirties formerly known as Jennifer █████████. SCP-XXXX-B spent its life before Foundation recovery in Orange County, California. SCP-XXXX-B can perform small reality alterations with the aid of common crystals and non-corporeal entities, as well as heal various illnesses using homeopathic techniques. It also displays anomalous knowledge of subjects within its effect radius. As with SCP-XXXX-A, these effects reverse outside the SCP-XXXX zone.
SCP-XXXX-A and -B have knowledge of and are mildly antagonistic towards each other.
Tests Involving SCP-XXXX-A
Test 1
Procedure: SCP-XXXX-A given 20 g each mercury, powdered iron oxide, lead(II) chromate, calcium carbonate, charcoal, 99.99% pure gold leaf, a crucible, and a pelican vessel.
Results: SCP-XXXX-A took all provided materials except gold. Over the course of four weeks, SCP-XXXX-A conducted a complex series of alchemical procedures including [DATA EXPUNGED BY ORDER OF O5 COMMAND]. Resultant object leaks clear amber-colored fluid, which SCP-XXXX-A claims has a strong rejuvenation factor. Fluid administered to 75 year old D-Class with advanced Parkinson's Disease and chronic rheumatoid arthritis. Subject's tremors and joint pain vanished and subject displayed drastically increased visual clarity and endurance. All restorative effects of the fluid reverse when subject leaves SCP-XXXX. Subject terminated after resisting attempts to remove it from SCP-XXXX.
Test 2
Procedure: Fluid from previous test taken outside SCP-XXXX-A's event radius and administered to 32 year old D-class with Parkinson's.
Results: No initial effect. When D-class is brought within SCP-XXXX, tremors vanish and subject displays extra strength and improved focus. Restorative effects vanish when subject is removed from SCP-XXXX.
Test 3
Procedure: SCP-XXXX-A given various common essential oils and dried herbs, along with one copper kettle.
Results: SCP-XXXX-A chose one vial each of Rosa moschata oil (Musk rose), Lavandula angustifolia oil (Common lavender), Cinnamomum verum oil (cinnamon), and dried Quercus robur (English oak) leaves. SCP-XXXX-A waits until first day of the waxing moon before boiling the mixture in the kettle. Audio surveillance shows SCP-XXXX-A chanting in an obscure dialect of Latin. SCP-XXXX-A then attempted to lure Junior Researcher Aaliyah Freeman into its event radius, claiming the fluid would increase her intelligence and attractiveness to male personnel. Junior Researcher Freeman alerted Senior Researcher Eric Stanton. D-23944 was dispatched and compelled to drink the fluid over the objections of SCP-XXXX-A. Subject immediately fell to the floor in front of SCP-XXXX-A, threw her arms around its ankles, and began to profess her infatuation with it. Effect disappeared outside SCP-XXXX only to reappear when D-23944 re-enters perimeter. D-23944 expresses revulsion towards SCP-XXXX-A when outside effect radius. SCP-XXXX-A's privileges are revoked and containment procedures updated.
This is ridiculous. SCP-XXXX-A's actions hardly present a breach risk if the effect reverses a few steps away. Discipline him for this infraction but we could still benefit from testing him. -Senior Researcher Eric Stanton
Request granted -Site Director Jacob DeLozier
Test 4
Procedure: SCP-XXXX-A requests round black wax pendant, essential oils of Juniperus communis (Common juniper), Santalum album (Indian Sandalwood), and Cedrus libani (cedar), and a small dagger made entirely of silver. Request granted with the exception of the dagger.
Results: SCP-XXXX-A carved an intricate symbol into the black wax with a fingernail before anointing it with each of the three supplied oils. SCP-XXXX-A then tucked the wax into its pocket, anointed its left index and middle fingers with the remaining oil, and chanted in an unidentified language. Research Assistant Mark Wagner was accosted by SCP-XXXX-A and convinced to enter SCP-XXXX in exchange for a power charm and control of the site. Once Research Assistant Wagner entered SCP-XXXX, SCP-XXXX-A touched him with his left index and middle finger while repeating its earlier chant. Wagner's higher brain functions immediately ceased, leaving Wagner unconscious but highly open to suggestion. SCP-XXXX-A moved to the edge of its cell and commanded Wagner to uproot the Agrimonia eupatoria hedge. The Foundation occult specialist and containment expert at the time, Dr. Elizabeth Perry, retrieved seven sprigs of basil from the site cafeteria and entered SCP-XXXX. When SCP-XXXX-A attempted to touch Dr. Perry, it lost consciousness, enabling Dr. Perry to retrieve Wagner. Wagner revived once outside SCP-XXXX, and SCP-XXXX-A regained consciousness thirty minutes later. Mark Wagner was demoted to Level 0 personnel, Senior Researcher Eric Stanton was issued a formal reprimand, and Dr. Perry was recognized for her quick thinking in preventing a containment breach.
Test 5
Procedure: To test whether any sapient being could manipulate reality within SCP-XXXX, Dr. Elizabeth Perry entered SCP-XXXX wearing one long purple tunic, one wreath of basil, and one tapered, sanded branch of Ilex aquafolium (Common holly) engraved with the astrological symbols for the seven planets.
Results: SCP-XXXX-A produced a beam of glowing red light and aimed it at Dr. Perry. Dr. Perry chanted a Latin charm against evil and successfully deflected the beam with the Ilex aquafolium branch. The beam exited SCP-XXXX and vanished. SCP-XXXX-A registered shock at this development. Dr. Perry chastised SCP-XXXX-A, referring to Foundation containment as "Limbo" and punishment for misuse of its powers. SCP-XXXX-A expressed remorse and has since fully adjusted to containment.
Tests Involving SCP-XXXX-B
Test 1
Procedure: SCP-XXXX-B given a 20 mL vial of thyroxine, three seven-liter jugs of distilled water, and a one liter water bottle with a screw-on cap.
Results: SCP-XXXX-B poured one liter of distilled water into the bottle and diluted 1 mL thyroxine in it before sealing the bottle and succussing it ten times against its open palm. After succussion it disposed of 990 mL water/thyroxine solution and mixed 990 mL fresh water into the bottle before succussing it again. SCP-XXXX-B repeated the process until all jugs of distilled water were empty. When questioned about the number of dilutions SCP-XXXX-B tilted its head and replied that it hated "weak-ass cures". It then administered mL of the diluted solution to D-99746, suffering from advanced Graves' disease with pronounced exophtalmos. D-99746's eyes immediately retreated back into their normal position in their sockets. Subject no longer experienced tremors and CT scans within the effect radius showed subject's thyroid had shrunk back to a healthy size. Effect reversed once subject left effect radius. Testing of the solution both inside and outside the effect radius showed that no molecules of the original thyroxine remained in the solution.
Test 2
Procedure: D-3047 brought into effect radius. Subject has no known medical conditions.
Results: Subject immediately takes on a dulled affect. SCP-XXXX-B attempts to engage subject in conversation. Subject demonstrates severe echolalia and begins to vigorously flap his hands. Symptoms reverse outside effect radius. Repeated tests with various D-class show a 55% occurrence of the phenomenon, with tests involving low-level Foundation personnel showing occurrences up to 85%. Upon reviewing medical records of test subjects, it was determined that about 60% of subjects who have received all recommended vaccinations displayed the above symptoms. When asked, SCP-XXXX-B rolled her eyes and recited "Love them, protect them, never inject them" in an exasperated tone. SCP-XXXX-B refused to elaborate further.
Test 3
Procedure: D-34875 and a pack of "Angel Cards" sent into SCP-XXXX to test SCP-XXXX-B's clairvoyant properties. The Angel Cards are a 44-card "oracle deck" devised by a self-proclaimed "angel therapist". Each card has the picture of angel and one or two sentences of an "angel message". Messages are uniformly vague and uninformative.
Results: SCP-XXXX-B greeted D-34875, shuffled the cards, and called upon a group of non-corporeal entities it referred to as "guardian angels" to guide its hand. SCP-XXXX-B drew the Aimee card (I am your angel, Aimee. I represent the ones who hold you dearest), the Bethany card (I am Bethany, the angel of indulgence. Remember to take care of yourself), the Scholastica card (I am Scholastica, guardian of all seekers of knowledge), the Dolores card (I am Dolores, angel of tribulation. I am here to guide you through all life's struggles to make your spirit stronger), and the Azrael card (I am Azrael, angel of death and rebirth. Do not fear me, for all death is simply change, and I am here to comfort you no matter what change comes your way). SCP-XXXX-B was able to correctly deduce that the subject was protected from abuse and neglect by his mother's sister until her death when the subject was ten, that the subject was convicted for the murders of his two children under the influence of drugs, that the subject's purpose was to aid the Foundation in gathering knowledge about paranormal objects including itself and an SCP-[REDACTED] not yet cataloged, that the only obstacle towards this purpose was the subject's fear and mistrust of the Foundation, and that the subject would be dead about two weeks from that date. Interviews and the subject's criminal records confirmed SCP-XXXX-B's deductions. Seventeen days after this test, SCP-[REDACTED] was recovered by Foundation personnel. After several experiments failed to gain any understanding of SCP-[REDACTED]'s properties, Senior Researcher Xuan Chang proposed testing with D-34875. The first test involving D-34875 and SCP-[REDACTED] was instrumental in the Foundation's current understanding of SCP-[REDACTED], especially its reaction [DATA EXPUNGED]. When D-34875 was terminated, he expressed a calm awareness of the nature of the termination process and did not resist, stating that he'd "done what [he] came here to do".
Test 4
Procedure: D-80044 was introduced to SCP-XXXX-B. D-80044 was born in 1994 and scored a 145 on the Stanford-Binet IQ Test and a +3.3σ on the Foundation Expanded Intelligence Test for Non-Anomalous Humans. D-80044 was twenty years old at the time of the experiment.
Results: [DATA EXPUNGED] After killing ten guards, three researchers, and critically injuring the site director, D-800044 was ambushed by Junior Researcher Maekawa who managed to disengage the unconscious SCP-XXXX-B from D-80044's back. As the two separated, D-80044 reverted to his usual mental abilities and was summarily terminated. SCP-XXXX-B was successfully revived and treated for minor injuries. Although SCP-XXXX-B was physically unharmed, the incident caused it to sink into a state of depression for weeks afterward. SCP-XXXX-B made statements during this time such as, "How could this happen? His aura was so blue", "The children were supposed to bring peace", and "I thought I could help him achieve his true potential". SCP-XXXX-B has since recovered, but it refuses to interact with individuals matching the parameters in the containment procedures.
Incident Log XXXX-1
SCP-XXXX-A and SCP-XXXX-B were introduced to each other in a controlled testing scenario. The following is an audio transcript of the encounter.
<Begin Log>
SCP-XXXX-B: Hey! What the fuck are you doing here?
SCP-XXXX-A: Undoing the mockery unto nature that thou hast wrought. It is not a light endeavor, I assure thee.
SCP-XXXX-B: Mockery unto nature my ass. I can't believe these people haven't blasted you to smithereens. You're ruining everything, you know that?
SCP-XXXX-A: I know, strumpet, that I have been chosen to usher in a new age of fantastical things. The reign of angels and demons, of sprites and spirits, is nigh. My charge is to remake the world, and save it from the likes of charlatans such as thee.SCP-XXXX-B: Chartalans! I'm trying to save the world! We don't want any part of your dark ritual bullshit! Didn't you guys, like, cover you in leeches if you had a cough? Now we know if Monsanto kept their evil little fingers off our food we wouldn't even have coughs. This is the future, Methuselah. We're enlightened, higher beings now. No way I'll let the Age of Aquarius be stained with your blood sacrifice nonsense!
SCP-XXXX-A: This "Monsanto" warlock you speak of is foreign to me. How could he hex men of my day if he is of your era?
SCP-XXXX-B: Well, it's not just them. Everyone knows you guys had *way* low vibrations because of all that witch burning and Black Plague. You got everything wrong about guardian angels too! Like, with all your hellfire-and-brimstone shit? Us evolved people know angels are, like, all about love and peace and self-acceptance and stuff.
SCP-XXXX-A: May Albertus Magnus and all his disciples be blind to your ignorance! The angels of heaven are far more terrifying beings than your tame, lily-livered shades. Thine milk-minded pets of yours bear no true semblance to the servants of the Most High!
SCP-XXXX-B: That's it! I've had it with your psycho mumbo jumbo! You're about to get your chakras *all* out of alignment!
<End Log>Closing Statement: //SCP-XXXX-A and SCP-XXXX-B charged into each other's SCP-XXXX effect radius. SCP-XXXX-A was observed to raise his staff and shout a Latin incantation to Azrael, the angel of Death, as SCP-XXXX-B rolled her eyes upwards into their sockets, faced her palms towards SCP-XXXX-A, and vocalized a low "ohm". Observers of both the event itself and the video footage express extreme psychological distress after this point. Under extreme sedation, observers report simultaneously witnessing both SCP-XXXX-A's curse hitting SCP-XXXX-B directly in the sternum and killing her and watching SCP-XXXX-A suffer a massive aneurysm and collapse dead with SCP-XXXX-B victorious. Observers then report that both SCP-XXXX-A and -B appear blurry and out of focus [DATA EXPUNGED] fifteen separate simultaneous sightings of SCP-XXXX-A and -B throughout the site [DATA EXPUNGED] reported sightings of SCP-XXXX-A and -B falling up walls [DATA EXPUNGED].
[DATA EXPUNGED]
After three hours, SCP-XXXX containment was reëstabilshed. Containment procedures updated accordingly.//
[[footnoteblock]]
The Machine had failed and Dr. Molly Jayawadena was fleeing.
In a filthy subway bathroom, Molly smeared cheap bronzer on her face. The dollar store powder left grimy, muddy streaks on Molly's golden-olive face, just as she knew it would. The rest of the powder was rubbed into the thick, musty smelling anorak bought in a yard sale. It had been unseasonably warm for March in New York state, not warm enough that one would remember selling a heavy coat, but just a touch too warm for that particular jacket. This anorak had been very deliberately chosen, and Molly was ready to test that choice. She gathered the black trash bag containing everything she now owned in the world and shuffled out of the bathroom. Head downcast, Molly ambled to the bus station.
Molly's choice of disguise was a good one. People's eyes slid off her as if she was coated with some unsavory perceptual grease. Dr. Jayawadena knew it was cynical to rely so strongly on people's callousness towards the homeless, but cynicism has a way of paying off. Pedestrians gave her a wide berth while refusing to acknowledge her presence, shiny young police officers merely gave off an air of annoyance, and the bus driver patently ignored her fumbling with handfuls of sweaty quarters. Molly took a seat at the bus. No one sat beside her. Molly settled in with satisfaction for a long ride.
She would be in New York in a few hours, and then…Molly was generally a meticulous planner. That's why she had been able to flee the second the Machine melted down. No one else would have several thousand dollars in small bills, fake IDs, enough stage makeup to render Hitler unrecognizable, and yet…
Something else was guiding Molly. This was The Machine speaking to her. She must be passive now and surrender to the rippling currents of destiny.
This was not her. Molly Jayawadena was not a passive participant in the Universe.
But then again, she didn't design the Machine.
How could she? She was a physicist, not an engineer. A theoretician, mind you. A tinkerer in ideas, not metal. Molly didn't know a resistor from a reading light and didn't care to. The Proof was her work and hers alone, but the Machine was a collaboration.
With whom? Pieces of memory swirled in Molly's addled head: dreams of schematics in smooth clean lines, notes left in her office or falling out of textbooks, whispers from her students. The students! The engineering majors, bringing her odd little components they'd built "for fun", "on a whim". Damned if they knew what it did, but maybe you'd like to have it as a desk piece, Dr. Jayawadena? In turn, she'd given them the blueprints formed in half-waking moments. Here's a tricky little circuit here. Let's see if you can build it. Winner gets drinks on me. Most of those students were male, and what a male thing it was to try and win a competition of skill, especially to impress a woman. So the Machine was fashioned, piecemeal, but undeniably real.
But who designed the Machine?
All of a sudden Molly realized that the seats beside and in front of her were taken.
The seats on the train were in groups of four, a pair of seats facing each other. Molly had slid into the window seat. This, she now realized, was a mistake on her part. A man in nondescript beige clothing sat next to her, blocking her access to the aisle. Another man and a woman sat across from her in the same forgettable attire. Their outfits and demeanor were so bland that Molly knew they were some sort of plainclothesmen.
"You can't stop me," said Molly in a stage whisper.
The woman across from Molly removed her headphones and smiled a toothy, foreboding smile at her. "Stop you, Doctor? I'm personally offended. We're here to protect you, ma'am."
"Protect me? From those people at the test site?"
The man across from her smiled. "Clever one. No wonder the Engineer picked her."
Molly's head snapped to the man. "Engineer?"
"I'd better let our scientific representative answer that. Doctor?"
The man next to Molly peered up for the first time. Steepling his fingers, he addressed her in a low, thick voice. "Dr. Jayawadena. I must say it's an absolute pleasure to finally meet you, circumstances notwithstanding. I am Dr. Mikhail Kronovich, head of my organization's Physical Sciences Research and Development Department. My organization has taken quite the interest in you and your work."
Molly cocked an eyebrow. "Me and my work?"
"Absolutely, Doctor. You see, our…organization is not only devoted to finding the proper science, but the proper minds. We want vision; we want those minds dedicated to unity and order…ah, I see you know exactly what I'm talking about."
Molly's head was pounding. "Pare it down. Pare it down. The anomalies…"
Dr. Kronovich chuckled. "Comrades, she's practically one of us already. Doctor, you know about the anomalies. They're written into the language of the universe. So why, my dear Doctor, do we not know about them?"
"Surely they disguise themselves?"
"Oh, yes, of course, a few of them do, that's the nature of the anomaly. But the others? No. They are being purposely hidden, locked away so as not to contaminate our precious grip on creation," Dr. Kronovich spat venomously.
"Hidden?"
"Yes, by our friends in black. The spooks."
"They're not government." It was a statement, not a question.
Dr. Kronovich roared with laughter. "If only! The leader of this government cannot trifle with an intern without the world finding out all the salacious details. Bumbling idiots. Government indeed."
"Who are they then?"
The woman leaned in. "They're a Foundation. The Foundation. They exist to keep the human race in the dark."
The man added, "You see, we're all far too stupid to handle reality as it is. We have to be protected. Watched over by our shepherds, the lords and masters of The Foundation." His face twisted bitterly. "Of course, they're perfectly good enough to use the anomalies themselves…"
"But we'll save that for later," said Dr. Kronovich firmly. "Let us attend to the matter at hand." He turned again to Molly. "This is an offer of employment. We want to bring order to the universe. My organization will bring harmony between the anomalies and consensus reality, and we want you to help achieve that vision."
"Let's not attend to the matter at hand. This Foundation of yours, how could they have possibly found my test site so quickly, and what could they possibly have to gain?"
"The Foundation is everywhere, Doctor. They are in every branch of every government on Earth, every industrial sector, every religious organization. Our records indicate that you enjoy movies. You have seen movies where some dark global organization overlooks a small resistance by virtue of their cleverness or insignificance?"
"Yes," said Molly, "One of my least favorite tropes, actually."
"Then you will be pleased to learn life does not imitate art. The Foundation is not that incompetent movie villain and no part of your life is beyond their reach. Within five minutes, they will know exactly which seat you have taken on this bus. If it wasn't for certain tricks of our own, they would have a transcript of our exact conversation. Do you know, Doctor, what they do with all this immense power?"
"I have no idea, seeing as how I'm only learning of them now."
Dr. Kronovich brought his fist down on his armrest with a dull thud. "Exactly. The Foundation uses that immense power to convince humanity that the world is flat and the sun revolves around it. You have seen evidence of wonders, Doctor. The Foundation is in the business of hiding them from sight. Does this not offend you?"
Molly slid back into her seat. "Everything I've learned and taught has been a lie," she said blankly. All of a sudden, a bright, childlike smile burst like a sunbeam onto her face. "Everything I know is a lie! I've got a PhD in alchemy! In astrology! In antiquated bullshit!" She fell back laughing rapturously.
"Wonderful, no?" asked Dr. Kronovich with a crooked grin.
"It's Christmas in March!" she laughed again. "And to what do I owe the honor? Isn't there some sort of application process or…"
"You've passed it. We've been supplying you with a bit of help these past few months and you've gotten farther than we have in years. Imagine what you could do if you had an entire fully staffed lab devoted to controlling your ouroboric anomalies."
"I presume I must go into hiding with you."
"You presume correctly. To the outside world you will be as good as dead. We will protect you completely from your pursuers. In return we want you to research for us what you've been studying already. It's certainly not a bad deal, is it not?"
"Definitely. You're not with the government either. You're some sort of cloak-and-dagger bullshit, right? Spanning the globe, men in black, hiding in plain sight? 'The Truth is Out There'?"
Dr. Kronovich smiled. "Sarcasm aside, you have the idea."
"Well, I'm in. When do I start?"
The man leaned forward. "What? Just like that? Aren't you going to ask what happens if you refuse? Aren't you going to ask who you're working for or how you can trust us?"
Molly turned to him, smiling wryly. "I'm a scientist. Have you ever had to explain to a politician why your work is worth funding if you can't pick off terrorists with it? I don't give a fuck who I'm working for as long as I can research what I want and you're paying me for it. I don't have to know what happens if I refuse because I'd be an idiot to refuse."
"And you are no idiot," said Dr. Kronovich with a smile. "I believe this is our stop."
"What are you talking about? We're not stopping for at least another hour."
"Working for us has certain perks. Take this," said the woman.
Molly took a large wristband with a big yellow button on it. Noticing that her new coworkers wore the same device, she strapped it on.
"Ready? On three, push the button. And Doctor? Welcome to the Insurgency."
Two hours later, the bus made an unscheduled stop. Armed men and women in intimidating uniforms swarmed the bus looking for a young postdoc who had undergone a mental breakdown and was missing. No one looked too closely at the uniforms.
A thousand miles away in an underground bunker, Dr. Molly Jayawadena reached for a pencil and began to write.
[[footnoteblock]]
DeCIRO Catalogue Number: SC-13/234-14/362
Document Type: Step Compilation
Dates Received: 04/07/13 through 06/23/14
Operation Status: Open
Foreword: Given the intricacy of the Plan and the multivariate nature of our opponents, it is sometimes necessary for us to use objects known to Delta Command as bargaining chips with other groups with a vested interest in the anomalous. Operation Midas continues to be a key resource for our secret agents in the den of thieves known as Marshall, Carter, and Dark.
The Foundation will crumble on its corrupt and rotten foundation. Delta Command is everywhere and Operation Midas is a testament to its reach and power. Once the Operation is completed the Chaos Insurgency will extend its reach across time as well.
Hereafter we of Delta Command document the Steps of the Plan as transcribed by the Engineer of the Chaos Insurgency.
1. STEP 13/234
Dispatch one armed Beta-Class with the Red Sight on May 6th at 10:46 AM to a shop in the Irvine Spectrum Shopping Center in Irvine, California. The shop will be in the Nordstrom wing of the Center and will identify itself as "Kitsner of New New York". The Beta-Class will be equipped with seven hundred counterfeit United States dollars. The management is unversed in contemporary counterfeiting methods and will not notice.
I will need one pair of translucent, purportedly indestructible grey women's boots, size 36, a pair of allegedly quantum-entangled diamond cufflinks, two tan evening clutches purporting to be constructed of human skin, and a necklace, earring, and bracelet set the management claims are composed largely of astatine. Place all retrieved items in Lockers U-567 to U-571. Return results to the Engineer.
2. STEP 13/309
Dispatch a team of Gamma-Class personnel from Research and Development to analyze the items in Lockers U-567 to U-571. They are allotted three Alpha subjects for exposure testing with the jewelry set.
The Gammas are to verify the purported properties of the items retrieved in Step 1. After submitting a report on these properties to Delta Command, they are to be amnesticized.
DeCIRO Catalogue Number: FR-13/309-001
Document Type: Summary Report
Date Received: 05-20-2013
Author: Dr. Amelie Bradford
Summary Report: The women's boots appear to be comprised of a single layer of graphene. Testing with Alpha-Class revealed that, in keeping with our knowledge of the material, the boots were able to resist wear and tear by repairing holes in its structure with carbon molecules from the Alpha-Class' sweat and skin. Long term wear resulted in the physical degradation of Alpha-Class' skin. Testing with the diamond cufflinks, separated across a continent, revealed that the pair is quantum entangled. Each diamond either rotates clockwise or counterclockwise when observed, and exists in a superposition of states when unobserved. The bags are somewhat less truthful in advertising. DNA analysis showed that while the cells were of human origin, all genetic information pertaining to the construction of a human body was absent. The only genes in the cells from the leather are those that regulate skin texture, color, and growth. The jewelry set appears to be made of astatine. We have reached that conclusion owing to the decay patterns of the samples we took from the jewelry, as every sample has sublimed in seconds due to the immense heat generated by astatine's intense radioactivity. How the necklace set stays intact is still unknown. Testing with Alpha-Class Personnel reveal an average safe wear-period of about 3.5 hours before the subject succumbs to radiation poisoning.
3. STEP 13/324
Return items to their respective lockers except the jewelry set. Install an extra 10 cm of lead shielding in Locker R-078 and relocate the set to that locker.
4. STEP 13/387
Transfer items to Gamma Agent Raj Bhattacharya for use in Operation Midas.
5. STEP 13/896
Bhattacharya is to transport the items in a secure container to the Marshall, Carter, and Dark clubhouse in the 5600 block of Wilshire Blvd, Beverly Hills, California. There he will meet a tall, thin Caucasian male in his mid-sixties, nearly bald and with a mild limp. He will introduce himself as Dr. John Windermere, although this will not be his real name. He will take a marked interest in the items offered by Gamma Agent Bhattacharya. Gamma Agent Bhattacharaya is to charge him no less than fifty million dollars for all items, as well as "information regarding your dark, quiet friend's Monday afternoon habits", worded in precisely that manner. The information on Foundation Agent Harold Torres and the object he is seeking to acquire divulged by Dr. Windermere is to be reported directly to Delta Command.
6. STEP 14/362
Dispatch one Beta-Class personnel to the Fashion Island Shopping Center in Newport Beach, California. Administer double the normal dosage of Red Sight. The Beta Class personnel is to inquire about a sales position. There will be an opening. The Beta Class is now to function as a secret agent, examining temporal disturbances and reporting them directly to Delta Command. The Beta Class is to remain under the employ of the shop until s/he receives information relevant to mass temporal travel or important knowledge of future events.
[[footnoteblock]]
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: Foundation operatives are to monitor all luxury shopping malls and outlets in the Southern California area for instances of SCP-XXXX. A list of retail centers particularly noted for SCP-XXXX manifestation is included in Document XXXX-Alpha. Once an instance of SCP-XXXX is located, Mobile Task Force Psi-7 ("Home Improvement") is to be deployed, cutting off public access to the anomalt. The entities within SCP-XXXX are to be contained using an approved cover story until de-manifestation. Anomalous items inside SCP-XXXX should be seized and sales records from SCP-XXXX should be reviewed. Owners of items purchased from SCP-XXXX will be detained, interviewed, administered amnestics, and released. Should an instance of SCP-XXXX enter a hiring phase, an undercover Foundation agent is to be deployed to gain employment at SCP-XXXX.
Description: SCP-XXXX is a luxury store selling shoes, handbags, wallets, mobile device accessories, and on one recorded occasion, home accessories. Merchandise is marked by logos and labels that do not belong to any known retail company and appears to be of high quality. Brands recorded to date include "Cicily of Cygnus", "Polygynwa Gbltaru", "Three Eyes over Luna", and "Eleanor of Gilese Five" (For a complete list of brands see Document SXXX-Alpha). Products sold within SCP-XXXX will often be made of unusual or exotic materials and frequently possess anomalous properties.
Description: A partial list of items either purchased within SCP-XXXX by Foundation personnel in testing situation or items confiscated from civilians.
- One octagonal crossbody women's leather bag, bearing the brand name "Delia Decadent". Label claimed item was "100% cultured babyskin". Testing revealed that the bag was composed of the tanned skin of a human infant. DNA testing indicated a shared genome with several civilians. No link between identified citizens has been found.
- One black pair of open-toed kitten heels. Shoes absorb all visible and low frequency ultraviolet light. Heel scupted from a dull metal. Testing revealed pure iridium.
- One men's belt bearing a label from "Three Eyes Over Luna". Belt is perfectly two-dimensional.
- One piece of jewelry that appears to be worn as a chin strap, emulating a false beard. Brand name "Fruits of Jupiter". Wearers report a cold sensation on face. Testing indicates the material is a hyper-pressurized mix of methane, hydrogen, and nitrogen gas that is similar but not identical to the composition of Jupiter.
- A nearly-transparent pair of men's oxfords. Almost invisible unless viewed from a 70 degree angle. Shoes weigh 0.02 grams, are virtually indestructible, and are composed of an previously unknown form of graphene.
- A pair of diamond earrings, 200 milligrams each, that occasionally vibrate. Earrings display quantum entanglement. When unobserved in their boxes, the studs are in a superposition of states. Observing either earring as vibrating or not vibrating instantaneously causes its partner to collapse into the same state, regardless of distance between the two boxes.7
There are seven known entities associated with SCP-XXXX. SCP-XXXX-1 is the designation given to the store manager, who claims its name is "Mr. John Smith". SCP-XXXX-2 through -6 designate the five regular, full-time employees of SCP-XXXX, answering to Michael Anderson, Jennifer Williams, Jessica Brown, Christopher Jones, and Amanda Miller, respectively. SCP-XXXX-2 and -5 stand about 1.7 meters tall and SCP-XXXX-3, -4, and -6 stand about 1.58 meters tall with a variety of skin tones and hair/eye coloring. Photographic analysis shows that SCP-XXXX-2 through -6 possess abnormally similar facial structures despite the appearance of different ethnic backgrounds. SCP-XXXX-2 through -6 have always been observed in a cheerful, yet professional mood and possess higher than average, though non-anomalous, persuasive abilities. SCP-XXXX-7 designates an entity only occasionally seen within SCP-XXXX, who claims to be a regional manager by the name of Jason Moore.
Event XXXX-03: On █/██/██, when occupying a store at █████ █████ █████ shopping center, SCP-XXXX displayed a "Now Hiring" sign in the window. Within one hour, an applicant, one █████ ██████████ of █████ ████, California, entered SCP-XXXX and filled the position. █████ ██████████ continued to work at SCP-XXXX until it de-manifested.
Interviewed: █████ ██████████
Interviewer: Dr. Kateri Anowara
Foreword: On █/██/██ at 7:00 AM, SCP-XXXX de-manifested from its location. ██████████ was to open SCP-XXXX at 8:00. ██████████ was detained and interviewed.
<Begin Log>
Dr. Anowara: Good morning, Mr. ██████████.
██████████: Uh, what do you guys want me for? I don't know nothing, man.
Dr. Anowara: We're interested in your former employers. It seems they left quite abruptly.██████████: Man, I don't know about that shit. Y'all the Feds or something? They're tax evaders or something aren't they? Man, I knew it.
Dr. Anowara: Oh?
██████████: That place was weird, man. Weird as hell. Aw, shit, are you recording this? Am I allowed to cuss or…
Dr. Anowara: You may speak normally, but please stick to what you observed. Now. What circumstances lead to your employment at this shop?
██████████: Well, my girlfriend was all, 'Get a job, baby, can't be with a man who don't have a job', and I was like, whatever. So I was, like, walking around the mall looking for places that were hiring and shit, 'cause the mall's all fancy and I'd make bank. And then I saw this store and I thought, sure, right?
Dr. Anowara: Did you feel any unusually strong urges to apply there?
██████████: Nah, man, didn't even care about the job, just needed the money, y'know?
Dr. Anowara: Right. Tell me about your co-workers.
██████████: Like I said, totally weird. It's like they were always high or something, I dunno.
Dr. Anowara: How many of them were there and what did they look like? What about their behavior was so unusual?
██████████: Uh, they all looked kinda alike, but not like anyone I'd ever seen, y'know? Like, Jennifer was black and I think Chris was Asian or something, but they still just kinda looked the same. Not like twins or anything, but just something about their faces, man.
Dr. Anowara: And you thought their behavior was unusual.
██████████: It was like sometimes they were on Adderall, y'know? All peppy and happy with customers, right? And that store was dead as shit, man. Like, hours with no one in there. So normal people would be all whatever, and slacking off, like at every other job I've ever had. Not these dudes. Always dusting and making themselves busy. But at the same time, it was like they were on downers or something. Like, normal people have better things to do at work than work, right? But it was like these guys didn't do anything else but sell. They didn't care about anything else. No girlfriends, no sports, no clubbing…nothing. Hell, I don't even think I ever saw them eat.
Dr. Anowara: Interesting. And your manager?
██████████: Aw, yeah, Mr. Smith was okay. Less of a freak than the others. Kind of a hardass, but not as much as most bosses. He seemed kind of jittery all the time, especially when his boss Mr. Moore, was around. Moore was a big, beefy type of guy. Real hard-looking dude, didn't wanna mess with him.
Dr. Anowara: Did you notice anything unusual about the customers?
██████████: Mostly old rich farts. They liked to come in and bitch about how their shoes floated or their belt sliced through their pants or some senile bullshit like that. I didn't care but Mr. Smith would always flip shit. Soon, he started grilling me for fashion advice crap?
Dr. Anowara: Such as?
██████████: Like, 'what exoleathers are used in this era?', or 'is two dimensional fashion in vogue yet' or 'what kind of graphene do you guys use in apparel', weird stuff. Hell, I haven't even heard of half this stuff, but like I said I'm not a fashion guy.
Dr. Anowara: And you explained that to them?
██████████:Yeah, that was weird too. I didn't know shit about anything they were talking about but the second I'd tell them that Mr. Smith would flip at the others and tell them to get rid of everything he was asking about. I guess it worked too, because we'd been getting way less complaints.
Dr. Anowara: I see.
Closing Statement: ██████████ was administered mild amnestics and released. Ongoing Foundation surveillance has revealed nothing unusual about ██████████.
On DATE REDACTED, the following audio was picked up on hidden microphones within SCP-XXXX.
Audio Log
Voice 1: Hey, Big Man! Zap the new shoes. These primitive froods haven't invented nanofashion yet.
Voice 2: Fuckin' serious, Lup? I told you this was a stupid idea. 'Like selling glass beads to Indians', you said. 'Totally easy', you said. Didn't you think for one second that Time Crimes would notice 20th-century reports of nanofashion and hypobelts and this little operation would get shut down?
Voice 1: Ah, slingshot off, Big Man. It's still a good idea. We haven't been caught yet, yeah? I mean, there are always those temp-local tax guys getting all up in us, but we don't have any Time Crime slimelords wondering where all these millions is coming from? While you're burning up in re-entry, dirty credits from all over the Galaxy come in one end of my operation and come out squeaky clean and perfectly legit. Untraceable, Big Man. Not just laundered, my friend, irradiated and sterilized.
Voice 2: I'm telling you, Lup, this is a pretty janky process here, but isn't someone gonna notice all the authentic 20th century antiques we just happen to be selling back in our homewhen?
Voice 1: You just don't grok it, Big Man. Leave the masterminding to me. You're here for the pretty pretty shoes and purses. Man, I can't believe this dreck. Biggest gang man in the sector and I'm waiting on these shriveled old browns. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Voice 2: You can replay that, Lup. Wanna firestick? I've got a box here.
Voice 1: You're a Class Blue life-form, Big Man. Don't know how I'd get by without you.
Speech followed by heavy inhalation noises. Microphones malfunctioned soon after.
[[footnoteblock]]
Interstellar space isn't really empty.
A miasma of gasses, sprinkled through with a dash of stardust, permeates the space between stars. It's tenuous, of course. Ethereal enough to make the purest Earth breeze seem like the foulest bog sludge. Sometimes, if you look very closely with just the right state of mind, you can catch the faint golden iridescence of a dust cloud caught in the rays of a far-off alien sun, shimmering like a chiffon veil woven with spider silk. And of course, there are the stars themselves. Tiny blue specks of diamond, small yellow topaz dots, fiery ruby pebbles strewn liberally across the deep black void. It is a cold, unforgiving sort of beauty, cruel in its indifferent largesse.
And in an infinitesimally small one meter by two meter by one meter space of air, pressure, and warmth, Dr. Molly Jayawadena is suspended, seriously reconsidering her life choices.
The Fifthist elder (patriarch? bishop? Grand Wizard? Molly still wasn't quite sure) had told her that the pure void would free her mind from the limitations of its body and its culture, thus opening herself up to the pure voices of the stars. They would tell her the secrets to creating the Fifth World, in which the stars would cease to manifest as giant gaseous fusion reactors and show their true, ultimate form.
Molly was reasonably certain this was cultist nonsense. Solitary confinement and sensory deprivation caused hallucinations, which were then molded by the expectations of the initiate. She may have been of dubious mental stability, but Molly was no idiot. She had been expecting them to shut her in a black room with tiny LED lights on the ceiling and chant nonsense at her as she broke down. So when they asked her to stand on that marble spot in the floor, she had done so with a skeptical smirk on her face.
She left that smirk behind as she was ejected at impossible speeds up, up, out of the skylight of their secret temple, up over Los Angeles, barely missing the wingtip of a plane. Her scream when she saw the plane had barely left her lips when she realized she could see the entire California coast by now. She had only realized that when she realized she was no longer looking at California, but the Americas. And by the time she had made peace with the situation, Earth was nothing more than a pretty blue marble shrinking to a pale blue dot. Constellations streaked past her like falling stars until she stopped, abruptly enough that her continued existence was a miracle, at her current position.
Tentatively, Molly had extended her arm. She had just begun to relax when her fingertips exploded with searing pain. Molly jerked her hand back with a scream and examined her hand. The tips of her fingers were slightly swollen and blue. As she instinctively sucked on her wounded fingers, she noticed that the affected flesh was deathly cold and strangely yielding, like beer froth in a plastic bag. Depressurization. Extreme cold. Expected of flesh exposed to outer space.
Through a great deal of careful manipulation, Molly upended herself in her tiny box of life. What she knew to be logically true was supported by her perception; there was really no difference. For all intents and purposes, she was right side up.
She spent several hours entertaining herself thus, adjusting to one vantage point then, flip, no difference. She'd stopped when a hot searing pain cut across her cheek. Molly's hand touched the spot and came away bloody. Turning, she saw a small asteroid, unblunted by wind and rain, speeding away covered in scarlet ice. Molly rubbed her bloody fingers together, singing pensively,
"Küsse gab sie uns und Reben/ Einen Freund, geprüft im Tod/ Wollust ward dem Wurm gegeben/ Und der Cherub steht vor Gott."
So this was the kiss of heaven. Molly laughed, loudly and without bitterness. Pain moored her to her body and reality. It could slice through her chattering delusions with all the reliability of Haldol and none of the side effects. And so here was the fugitive physicist, lightyears away from home, stunned by the series of little events that had lead her to float among the stars.
Molly looked out, a bitter heaviness in her chest. The bubbling insanity still lay over everything she saw, but Molly knew it was an illusion. There was a bright bluish star relatively close to her, the size of a small marble in the abyss. No human on Earth had ever been that close to it, Molly reflected, and the vast majority of people who'd seen it could never understand what kindled its celestial fires.
Molly knew, and the knowing was beautiful.
She sighed. Sometimes it was all beautiful and she belonged here. That was how it was at first, when she was a bright eyed little undergraduate with a fondness for difficult questions. She put up with Nature's reticence the way only a lover can. Molly reflected with bitterness that only those who'd been madly in love could see how quickly love can sour into hate.
The Proof started out as a love letter to the Universe. It crooned; it sang in Molly's skull. The realization came to her in the darkness of space that Molly was bound to two lovers. On one hand she was drawn to the world as it was, solid and unpredictable and yet so strangely charming, having created man in her own image. But then there was her eldritch mistress, the sickly waifish ghost of What Is Not, strangely fascinating in the disgust it caused Molly.
Molly ran her hands through her hair. It was a uniquely masculine dilemma, wasn't it? He's in movies and television caught between the flawed, multidimensional companion and the dangerous creeping magnetism of the femme fatale. She had always hated those weak and self-destructing men.
She needed to go back to a psychiatrist. She needed to take her medicine and go back to Professor Harris's lab and try to cobble together a normal life. Molly wanted to desperately.
So what was keeping her? She didn't rationally believe in Fate or Destiny, and yet Molly was overcome with the great and horrible feeling that her path had been set. She would stay with the cultists and The Proof would be completed. Was it her delusion? Was it defeatism? Was it stubbornness? Or even simple inertia? Monumental events had been sent in motion, and Molly had known for decades that it would take a monumental force to change their path.
Molly felt tears well up behind her eyes as the the stars continued to shine.
"I just can't believe it. These people have no business shoving each other. We're all getting on the bus…Damn thing's empty, after all."
The old black woman who'd lamented her fellow passengers' lack of courtesy sighed. Her silently judging gaze locked onto a younger woman in a grey housekeeper's uniform waiting patiently to board. Her gaze blank and serene, she was not muttering curses upon Metro officials' firstborn children or pleading with their phones for pardon of their tardiness. She looked like a young girl, at most in her early twenties, but she carried herself with the sort of slow deliberation that came with age. The old woman pulled herself up straight as the housekeeper exited the bus. Patience, the old black woman thought as she watched the younger woman walk into the lush vegetation of Beverly Hills. Something the young lack.
The younger woman, however didn't lack patience. Perhaps it was because she wasn't really all that young at all. Perhaps it was because she was a little bit off. But really, it was because forces of nature are not to be rushed. They are deliberate. They plan. They bide their time, carefully waiting until the right moment. So was she, Dr. Molly Jaywadena, goddess-in-training.
Dr. Jayawadena's brilliant but fractured mind had slowly narrowed in on Los Angeles as a choice of sanctuary. While she saw the chaos of the city as a sick aberration, some masochistic crevice of her mind was drawn to it like flies to rotten flesh. The endless mayhem of the City of Angels was perfect for someone who wanted to hide among people wrapped up in the endless minutiae of their uninspired lives.
Molly stumbled on the shimmering, impermanent ground. Where most only saw perfectly manicured gardens and obscenely extravagant houses, she saw rippling quantum chaos, particles that were not particles blinking in and out of solidity, chained together like jewelry made of energy and not-empty space. Atomic cogs meshing together like tiny keys turning the clockwork of cellular life. Blocks of protoplasm forming leafy greenness or warm red flesh. The framework of the world seethed and bubbled under her gaze, maddeningly, eternally. It was like those optical illusions that overloaded your senses and pierced your brain with confusion and pain. It was a disgustingly cluttered veil on the reality that had to be done away with as soon as possible.
Dr. Jayawadena had already entered the gaudy faux-Baroque monstrosity of a house through the unassuming servant's door. Molly was prone to losing large gaps of time like this. She now found herself conducting a bizarre and pointless ritual on a pane of glass with a spray bottle of Windex and some newsprint. If Molly concentrated on exactly how odd and pointless it was, she could avoid feeling aggressive atoms dig themselves into the microscopic feelers of her nose, remain blind to the iridescent bands on the window and the quantum electrodynamical equations that described them…Molly closed her eyes.
The woman of the house entered the room. She was a visually pleasing pile of carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and potassium; she was wealthy, famous, and utterly inconsequential. The woman shifted her center of gravity, causing a temporary imbalance before catching herself with her other leg. She repeated this motion, this controlled imbalance, the rhythmic almost-falling, until she reached Molly. "I want this house spotless for our meeting tonight. It has to be perfect. Some real important people are coming." She sighed in irritation before stooping over to Molly. "Big meeting. Important. Clean hard. Comprende?"
Molly nodded vigorously. The owners of the house seemed to be under the impression that Molly spoke no English and was in the country under less than legal circumstances. It wasn't a hard sell thanks to Molly's dark complexion, exotic features, and the banal racism of the wealthy in Southern California. Plus, the current arrangement allowed Molly to disregard this world's odd song and dance about the exchange of goods and services.
The woman shifted into the media room as a flash of something caught Molly's eye.
Her employer was wearing a large, polished stone on her wrist. Molly halted even the pretense of work to consider this. The stone reflected a very distinctive wavelength of light, somewhere in the neighborhood of 510 nanometers. Nothing too unusual by itself, but the frequency of light reflected off that stone was disharmonious with the frequency of light reflected by the woman's clothing, and that was utterly outside the bounds of the woman's normal behavior. Molly remembered that the woman had been telling her equally pretty and vapid friends that it was a gift from some very important people she was entertaining.
Molly decided that she wanted to observe these "very important people". And since she was Dr. Molly Jayawadena, Bringer of the Perfect Universe, she had every right to know whatever she wanted to know. She frowned before fiddling with the newsprint in her hand. The world as it was did not recognize Dr. Jayawadena's natural entitlement to all imaginable knowledge. She would have to listen in secret, hidden in the shadows.
Night fell as Molly's weary gray coworkers leave the mansion. Molly herself was standing, unobserved, in a corner of the wine cellar. Shaking her head, she pressed a finger to the carefully balanced panel (poorly) concealing the secret passageway. She knew that others were blissfully unaware of the nonstop whispers of the universe, but she would have thought someone would have noticed the odd draft down there. The panel swung open silently into total darkness as Molly stepped in. Shutting the panel behind her, she began to feel her way into the tunnel.
Molly could have brought a flashlight but the possibility of others patrolling this hallway stopped her. Besides, she wasn't so disoriented in the darkness. She didn't have to feel photons and their always shifting nature bouncing wildly off her surroundings and into her eyes. Molly continued to navigate by touch, strangely at peace.
The calm faded as a thin line of bluish light appeared ahead of Molly. Now, she stuck to the walls, silently inching towards the light until she could see the outline of a door. Gingerly, Molly pulled the door open just enough for her to peek inside.
The light was blinding compared to the darkness of the hallway, but as her eyes adjusted Molly realized that the silvery light was actually rather dim. Human figures in dark green robes sat in a circle around a copper stem topped with a large translucent pale green glass globe. Molly's eyes raised to the ceiling. Bright points of light were suspended in an ink blue field. With a start, Molly recognized Orion. It was a perfect map of the night sky over LA, sans light pollution. Molly decided that because she was the Bringer of Order, the Purifier of Nature, she was well within her rights to enter this room. She glided past the door and around the dark corners of the chamber. The people in the circle were completely focused on the center and did not notice their visitor. Molly recognized the man and woman of the house, looking unusually humble and abashed. A man next to them wearing a five-pointed diadem on his head offered them a large incense coil on a copper platter. "The honor is yours tonight," he intoned in a strange voice that seemed to come, not from his mouth, but the walls of the entire room.
The woman produced a small candle and lit the incense, hands trembling. "Slon thrli phthle Fifth ynvo," she chanted.
"Slon thrli phthle Fifth ynvo," the circle chanted back.
Molly leaned back into the dark, heart racing as a horrible realization descended upon her. The incense, the chanting in a strange language, the odd clothes. Her employers had done it. They'd gone and become Catholics. Well, no matter. She'd fought her way out once, she could do it again if she had to.
Her panicked train of thought was suddenly arrested by a voice. "Thl brn, brothers and sisters. All good Fifthists are welcome. The heretics have not prevailed. Yvne, we will rise again."
"Slon thrli phthle Fifth ynvo," chanted the circle. Confused, Molly tried to figure out who had spoken.
"The Foundation heretics grow nearer. But their arrogance cripples them. Remember, brethren, they almost failed. Matter will not save them. The Fifth World will rise."
"Slon thrli phthle Fifth ynvo."
Molly observed that each word spoken by the mysterious voice seemed to correspond with puffs of smoke sent out by the incense coil. She hypothesized that this pattern would continue. Continued observation was in order.
"The Fifth World is not. Neither has it ever been. But soon it will be. Minds and stars align anon. The Fifth world is Freedom."
"Slon thrli phthle Fifth ynvo."
Molly's hypothesis was solid so far. Now, the woman leaned over the incense and took a deep breath in. She shut her eyes tight and held the smoke in her chest as the circle looked on silently. She exhaled thick green smoke as two voices intoned, "All worlds die in fives." Molly started. One of the voices that came from the woman's mouth was her normal, nasal speaking voice. The other was the mysterious voice that had been speaking before. The woman passed the incense to her paramour, who inhaled as she did, and spoke the same words as he exhaled. And again, the mysterious voice came from him along with his own.
"All worlds die in fives," he breathed as he passed the coil on.
Well, Molly thought to herself, unless they'd severely restructured the Communion service, this was not a meeting of Catholics. She watched with growing confusion as every member of the circle repeated the ritual. The room was beginning to fill with green smoke, but it was not dispersing as smoke does. It pooled at the celebrants' feet, sending out tendrils like some undiscovered sea animal. Green tentacles snaked across the bodies of the assembly, as every celebrant tilted their heads up and spewed a thicker, black smoke from their mouths. This smoke mingled with the green as every celebrant hummed a deep, barely audible tone felt deep within the ribs and spine.
"Now…now hold on one goddamned minute!" shouted Molly.
The celebrants leapt to their feet, screeching. The green smoke suddenly gathered itself like a frightened squid and swept back to the incense coil, enveloping it. Molly marched into the circle as the celebrants screamed in unison a harsh, dissonant tone.
"Everybody…you all…just-just be quiet! All of you!" Molly thrust her finger into the man with the diadem's face. "I don't, I mean, if you, that is…That smoke is not acting the way smoke should act! It's acting more, you know, it's just that, it's alive, but of course not really…" Molly rubbed at her eyes in frustration as she tried to collect her thoughts.
The man of the house gaped at her. "What the he-you spoke English this entire time?"
Molly answered, not facing him, "I was born just outside Chicago. Now tell me…you explain…that thing over there," she pointed at the hovering incense cloud.
The man with the diadem had maintained a neutral expression throughout Molly's interrogation. Molly wondered briefly if his face hadn't been paralyzed when he spoke from seemingly closed lips. "Your curiosity is your downfall. You will long for death."
"Hold your wrath, Your Grace." Everyone turned with wonder to the green cloud shrouding the incense coil. "The ptlwi did not sound. It should have announced her. It allowed her to enter. It is worth asking why."
The woman piped up. "Maybe it's, like, broken or…" Every other celebrant except her darling whipped their head around and hissed, cowing her into silence. The large green cloud left the incense coil and floated over to Molly.
"Breathe me in, rash woman," it commanded. Molly, figuring that she'd gotten this far on bad decisions, shrugged and inhaled deeply. The smoke slipped into her lungs like the slimy predestination of a half-remembered nightmare. It left a bitter, evil taste in her mouth. It wanted the quantum anarchy that tormented her vision stripped of even those lax laws that governed it, expanded, reconfigured. If her New Nature was heaven, the Fifth World was hell. Struggling to remain calm against the invasive presence, Molly slowly exhaled.
Mercifully, the smoke shot out of her nostrils and wrapped itself around the large glass globe above them. It began to glow with a pulsing green light until the smoke drifted down to its coil. A small slip of paper popped out of a slot in the copper support. The man in the diadem picked it up and read it. Though his face did not change, Molly could feel a jolt of wonder surge through him.
"Fives alive, she's a 998," he breathed. Silence reverberated through the room before everyone began to whisper. The woman's nasal voice sliced through the charged air.
"So, what does that mean?" she asked irritatedly.
"She sees the world's wrongness. Nature's sins call to her. She can undo it all. She can birth Fifth World." To Molly he said, "You have failed once before. Do not rely on machine. The observer changes the observed. We have succeeded thus before. Use minds to create perfection."
The hot, acidic taste of failure returned to Molly as sharp as it had been that day in her university apartment. He was right, the machine had failed. And he was right again in that every enthusiastic undergrad knew that an observer could collapse the wavefunction. What implications did that have for The Project? Could she really use human consciousness to rewrite the laws of nature?
It was definitely worth investigation, and these people seemed to know something. Even if their Fifth World was the antithesis of her vision, even if their robes were strange and their chants blood-chilling, science was science. Discoveries made by the Nazis, draped in mindless cruelty and stupid occultism, are still discoveries.
"I will…I mean, of course I would like…If you would…" Molly stopped and collected herself before smiling darkly. "Slon thrli phthle Fifth ynvo."
The green smoke snaked over to the man in the diadem. A tendril wafted up to his face and situated itself under his nose. As Molly watched with some concern, the thin trail of smoke curved up to form the illusion of a green smile on the man's static face.
To be continued…
[[footnoteblock]]
It was the consensus of her superiors that Dr. Alexis Baxter was not cut out for dealing with younger skips. Sure, they all admitted she was competent enough for such a new hire, but it had come to their attention that she had always displayed a dangerous amount of compassion in her eyes when she interviewed 2017. So they'd whisked her away from her young ward on a temporary mission to the East Coast that would involve no children.
Their intervention came too late though, for Alexis Baxter's inner monologue no longer referred to 2017 as an "it", but a "she".
Sometimes, to Dr. Baxter's chagrin, she even thought of 2017 as "Kiara".
Alexis absently tapped her fingers in a seemingly random 15 beat rhythm as she was debriefed. Mathematical anomaly and remains of an anomalous device. Affects physical laws. One agent dead. Suspected origin: the mind of one once-to-be-Dr. Molly Jayawadena. Status: Missing. Psychological instability probable.
Alexis hated physics.
Luckily, she would not have to deal with tangled theorems and proofs the length of a Tolstoy novel. She had been brought in to shed light on the human side of this event. Her task: to interview the colleagues, friends, and acquaintances of the AWOL physicist to try and shake out a sense of the woman behind the wonder. While the other interviewers chose to focus on the missing woman's peers, Alexis decided to go right for the man she likely spent most of her time with: her doctoral advisor.
Dr. Calvin Harris was mired in explaining a heinous looking tangle of differential equations to a lecture hall of shell-shocked undergraduates when Alexis slipped into the auditorium. Alexis thought he looked very young for a Ivy League professor, and he didn't sound like one either. Professor Harris lectured at a coked-up auctioneer's pace with a very distinct Midwestern drawl. Alexis could swear she could see white foam at the corner of the his mouth. His students' faces were painted with a strange mix of tense panic, laser-like focus, and sparks of illumination. Alexis fought back the panic rising in her throat.
After a seeming eternity peppered with a staccato, physics-related background noise, the students rose sluggishly out of their seats and trickled out of the room. Alexis noticed with mild amusement that Professor Harris continued to lecture as students left, simply ratcheting up his speech to a superluminal pace. As he finally finished whatever vital point he was making, Alexis made her way towards the front of the lecture hall.
A small group of students rivaling their lecturer in youthful enthusiasm surrounded him. "Dr. Harris," asked a gangly young man, "could you do that derivation where you [INSERT IMPRESSIVE PHYSICS THING HERE]? I told Jason here about it and he didn't believe me."
Harris laughed. "Absolutely! It simplifies down [PHYSICS STUFF]. It's been a while since I've done the whole thing, but I'm sure I can recreate it off the cuff. It's an very simple derivation I came up with as an undergrad. Very simple. Y'all can follow it easily; you only need a basic foundation in calculus to derive it, no pun intended…" His pupils chuckled obligingly.
He picked up a piece of chalk as the gangly young man elbowed his companion. "See? I told you he came up with that."
Alexis cleared her throat.
"Professor Calvin Harris? I'm sorry to interrupt you in the middle of instruction, but this is very important. My name is Sandra Baker and I'm with the FBI. I'd like to speak with you in your office, please." Alexis flashed him a fake badge and gently but firmly guided the confused academic towards the door.
Outside the classroom, the professor stopped short. "Hold on a minute. I don't have to speak to you without a lawyer present. I have a right to legal counsel, whether I'm under investigation or not. I'm sure the university legal team will have something to say about this."
Alexis struggled to suppress a chuckle. She knew it was rude to laugh at the man's corn-fed Bible Belt accent, but it was certainly difficult for her coastal ears to take his threats seriously. "Professor Harris, I assure you that not only are you not under investigation, but I'm asking you for your help. Molly Jayawadena has gone missing as of this morning and I was hoping you could help us find her."
Dr. Harris's head tilted towards Alexis in shock, eyes wide. "Oh, no," he said softly.
"I'm sure this comes as a surprise to you."
"Actually, it's not much of a surprise at all," said the professor grimly. "But we can talk about this more in my office. Follow me."
Alexis resisted the childish notion to ask if he didn't want to wait for his university appointed lawyer as she followed the professor through the labyrinth of narrow, anemically-lit hallways and ducked into his office. "Please have a seat," he said as he shoved thick stacks of books and papers around the top of his desk before practically jumping into his own chair. He leaned forward earnestly. "I'll help you as much as I can, which probably won't be a lot." Alexis's initial impression was correct; Professor Harris was a relatively young man. Despite the large gray swaths in his conservative side-parted hair, he seemed to be in his early to mid-forties. Foundation training kicked in at this point. About 1.7 meters tall. Square face, omnipresent five-o'-clock shadow, thin mouth, pinched-looking Greek nose, deep-set blue eyes. Simple silver wedding ring. Alexis leaned back contemplatively before switching on her pocket recorder with a small, imperceptible movement.
"How are you acquainted with Dr. Jayawadena?"
"Well, as you know, I'm her doctoral advisor. She, along with two postdocs, are conducting research into Next-to-Minimal Supersymmentric Standard Model Theory. We were looking at some new data that could indicate the existence of one of the seven theorized physical Higgs bosons. Now that we've pinned down one of the suckers, we all got a little more optimistic. It's very exciting. A lot of laypeople don't realize that we're living in a very fascinating time for physics discoveries. We're honing in on nature and at the same time, we're finding whole new horizons."
Alexis was beginning to sense a common theme in his manner of speech and settled into her chair. Might as well make myself comfortable seeing as how I'll be here a while. "I see. It must have been a competitive environment."
"Oh, not as much as you'd think. The life scientists are always at each others' throats for grant money and the cure for cancer, and the humanities are always battling each other to see who can publish the most pompous, postmodern nonsense, but Molly wasn't too concerned with academic stardom. A wonderful trait in a scientist."
"And her two colleagues?"
"Oh, there was a bit of friendly competition but…Oh, God, you don't think they had anything to do with it, do you? I certainly hope they didn't, and I don't think they're capable of such a heinous action, but if that's the case I want you to know I'll do everything in my power to help you find Molly."
"We don't think this is a kidnapping, Professor. Could you tell me about Molly? Why weren't you surprised to learn she'd gone missing?"
"Well…Molly is a very bright young woman in a rather fragile situation. I'm sure you can tell we're suffering no shortage of top-notch students, but even among them Molly is very exceptional, with a wide range of talents not just limited to physics. She is also a bit…well, unstable."
"How so?"
"It became pretty clear to me that she was living with some considerable mental health issues. It wasn't too obvious most of the time, but she would definitely be plagued bouts of strange behavior. Almost manic, actually. Impulsiveness, restlessness. It's not unusual for grad students to skimp on sleep and food when against a deadline, in fact, it's to be expected. But when Molly was having an episode she'd make the most desperate cram session look like a sabbatical. And that's not even counting the more worrying behaviors. Often times when she was in the middle of one of her episodes, she'd consult me about some aspect of her work and sometimes she'd stop mid-sentence to inform me that my desk was changing shape or my sweater was no longer the right color."
"Interesting. Was there any pattern to these episodes? You mentioned deadlines, do you think they might have been related to some sort of stress?"
"No, and that was immediately strange to me. She'd fly through deadlines and as cheery and stable as you please, while the rest of my group suffered. It seemed to me like these episodes came out of nowhere. It was all very strange and seemed random to me. Maybe they correlated with events with her life outside my group, but I wouldn't know about that."
"Did she ever consult medical help, to your knowledge?"
"Yes, actually. I urged her to see a psychiatrist about a year ago. Even then she was so close to getting her thesis to something roughly publishable, so it was even harder to watch her be held back by her…condition. I felt like it was my responsibility to say something to her. She had actually been doing really well, made a great deal of progress on her dissertation too, and then recently they had some sort of falling out and she stopped going. That's when things really began to go downhill. When she'd have her episodes she'd ramble disjointedly and none of her papers made any sense. I kept pleading with her to get help, and it seemed like she was finally coming around. She was really going to follow through this time." Professor Harris slumped back. "It was hard to watch, because she'd be perfectly lucid most of the time and she knew she'd get thrown back into these states. Sometimes it felt like you were looking at a condemned woman."
"So she did have some insight into her condition."
"Most of the time, yes."
"And do you know why exactly she quit treatment?"
Professor Harris shook his head. "I wondered myself. I asked her many times but she'd just deflect the question. If I pressed her, she got upset. She was starting to come around, so I stopped worrying about it."
"You certainly know a lot about Dr. Jayawadena's mental health status."
"I suppose that's not exactly typical for most academic mentors and mentees. We were very…We are very close."
"How so?" asked Alexis with a false casual air.
"Well, my wife and I don't have any kids. We're perfectly happy, I mean, we're both professors and to some extent our students are our kids. But when it came to Molly…there was a special vulnerability there. She's a perfectly capable scientist. But even in her lucid days, there was a sort of…other-worldliness to her. When you saw her look at the world, you wondered if she was seeing it as it was, or how she thought it should be. It was her greatest flaw as a future physicist, and she knew it." Professor Harris glanced out the window. "I think that caused a lot of her mental distress. She told me once that she sought out physics as a way to love the universe, but sometimes she felt like the universe was fighting her. It just seemed like she could use a little extra support."
"It must have been very fulfilling to you to have such an exceptional young woman rely on you so heavily."
Professor Harris's brow furrowed in disgust. "Now hold on one moment, Doctor. There are plenty of male professors, perhaps at this very school, who are perfectly content to seduce a series of young, naive, vulnerable ingenues. That's not me, Dr. Baker. That's socially acceptable pedophilia."
"A PhD candidate is not a child, Professor Harris. You know that."
"Maybe pedophilia isn't the right word. Incest is probably a better comparison. I have a duty to all my students to help them grow as scientists and people, and having affairs with them is not the best way to do it. And in Molly's case…well, I suppose I'm something of a father figure to her, and I take that trust seriously."
"Do you know anything about her biological family?"
"Next to nothing. She grew up in Illinois with a large family, moved out at eighteen. That's all she told me, and more than she told almost anyone else."
"Professor Harris, do you know about anything about any other independent projects she might have been working on?"
Equal parts defeat, regret, and a touch of bitterness bloomed across his face. "Ah, yes. The Project. That's what this is about, isn't it? Is that what pushed her over the edge?" Harris stood up, turned away from Alexis, and walked to the window. Alexis watched him look out at the cold grey sky, wondering if she should prompt him further until he spoke again. "Molly is a very secretive woman by nature. Even so, she tells me almost everything, even if I have to pry it out of her or read between the lines. But this Project… she'd at most allude to it when she was lucid, rave about it when she wasn't, and then work on it secretly in the meantime. I never saw it, although she'd ask me some very, very strange questions sometimes which I assume were related to this little pet project."
"Such as?"
"She was working with some particularly tricky topological manifolds at one point. I was always rather good with topology and I haven't had that much fun since grad school. I…You know, I almost blame myself. Parts of this The Project were so much fun for us to work with. I feel like I encouraged her past her breaking point."
"Did you ever see enough of it to know what it was all about?"
"Never. Parts of it seemed to have very real applications for particle physics and other parts just seemed like entertaining mathematical hypotheticals."
"Would you characterize Dr. Jayawadena's work on this project as obsessive?"
"Would you characterize my work as obsessive? Actually, that's a very interesting question. In her better periods she was just fascinated by The Project, and it absolutely took a back seat to her dissertation. She talked about it as a labor of love."
"And in her worse periods? Was it a labor of love then?"
"Then, she loved it the way a drowning man loves a lifeboat," said Professor Harris sadly. "It was almost this religious fanaticism. Extra Project nulla salus. I'd be shocked if she remembered she was working on a thesis during her episodes."
Alexis chewed on this information for a moment. "I see. You spoke about real world applications. Would any of them be technological in nature?"
"I don't understand the question."
"We found diagrams and various bits of unusual mechanical and electrical devices in Dr. Jayawadena's apartment. None of it is operational but we were wondering if she might have been tinkering with them for her work with you or this…independent study."
Professor Harris cocked his head. "Are you absolutely sure they're hers?"
"Reasonably. Why do you ask?"
"This is hardly unusual in our field, but Molly had a marked distaste for anything involving the practical, real-world application of physics. Some physicists I know love to muddle around in wires and circuits but Molly is definitely not one of them. I don't think she's picked up a soldering iron in her life."
"Interesting."
"May I see these diagrams and mechanisms? Perhaps I can help shed some light on them."
"I'm sorry, Professor, but that's evidence. We're examining them for fingerprints. We'll let you know if we need anything more from you." Alexis rose. "I'm very sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, Professor Harris, and I hope we find your research assistant soon."
"Of course, of course. Here is my personal cell number. If there's any way I can help you, or if there's any break in the case, please don't hesitate to call at any time. Day or night."
"I'm sure we'll be in contact soon."
"Of course," said Professor Harris distractedly. He crumpled back into his chair, eyes distant. "Excuse me, Doctor. Let me show you out," he said, neither looking at Alexis nor rising from his chair.
"That's just fine, Professor, I can find my way out. Thank you for your time. Here is my card if you think of anything else." Alexis strode out of the office, mind racing.
Back in med school, Alexis' second favorite professor had a poster of the peripheral nervous system, removed from its body, lying exposed on an autopsy table. She hadn't thought again of that pale, fleshy tangle until she saw the delicate webbing of copper wiring inside the charred shell of Jayawadena's device. It was almost as dissimilar to those nerves as they were alike: mottled pink flesh and the bright antiseptic sheen of copper, the flaccid stringy knots contrasted with the rigid, geometric web. It was the clean, parsimonious artistry of a pragmatic, not idealistic, mind.
Besides, that would have taken a hand skilled with a soldering iron.
"Damn it," said Alexis Baxter to the head of the investigation, "she must have had help."
"Damn it," muttered Professor Harris to himself. "I forgot to tell her about the envelope." He yanked open the bottom drawer of his desk and rummaged through its contents. Compared to Molly's behavior over that week it had been almost normal, so normal that he'd forgotten about it. She'd shown up to the lab with matted greasy hair, far-eyed, and muttering to herself. Luckily he had intercepted her before the other researchers noticed her, and gently suggested that perhaps she should take the day off, maybe take her medication and take a nap. "Yes, yes, you don't want to take the medication, but I really think you should. You trust me, don't you? I haven't led you wrong yet. Why don't I walk you back to your apartment?"
Molly was quiet almost the entire walk back, giving him sideways glances from time to time. "Your face keeps changing," she said casually as they entered the building.
"It does?" Finally, a coherent sentence, Dr. Harris thought. Maybe she's snapping out of it.
"Yes. It doesn't look, I mean, it kind of, well, no, not really, but I don't think I've…it looks different. But not really…I just…"
"Well, it's not impossible. My face has changed a lot over the past few decades," he'd said, with a playfulness that barely concealed his worry.
"It's fine. I know…I mean…I'm sure it's you. I know you. Even if you don't…Even if it doesn't seem like you." They were outside her door now. Her eyes flickered restlessly and Professor Harris remembered that she refused to make eye contact with him or any other person they passed. Usually Molly had a way of looking people in the eye that was charming and affable but also piercing, assertive, and deeply perceptive. In a field full of social misfits, it was one of Molly's traits that gave her a huge professional edge.
"I really think you should take your medication, Molly. You always feel so much better when you do. You told me that yourself, remember?"
"Okay. Yes. I will. Don't want, I mean…it doesn't really, well, okay. I'll do it." She fumbled with the lock and stepped into her apartment.
"Good. I'm very glad. I'm very proud of how you've been handling yourself."
"Professor." Finally, Molly's eyes met his, and Harris saw a bright spark of lucid purpose. "I came down to the lab for a reason. I wanted…I felt like…" Helpless frustration took over and the spark in her eyes sputtered. "Dammit, why can't I say…I've been thinking…"
"I'm sure you can tell me when you're feeling better," said the professor gently as he turned to leave.
"Wait! I have to give you…" Molly disappeared into her apartment. Professor Harris heard papers shuffling, books falling. Molly reappeared carrying an envelope. "Professor, I'm just, I need, I'm…" She took a deep breath. "Something bad is going to happen. If something happens to me, you need this."
"Nothing is going to happen to you," he said soothingly.
Molly became agitated and coherency again began to slip away. "No! Fucking..you have, you need, this has to…take this! Promise…you have to! Promise me, please…."
And of course he had accepted. How could he not? She had been so upset, and it was such a little thing, and she had called hours later, calm and perfectly sane, and apologized profusely for frightening him, telling him she would be taking the medication regularly from now on. And he had, in his relief, forgotten all about the envelope. But here it was, a thick manilla envelope with "To Dr. Harris" written in Molly's smooth handwriting. Harris picked up the phone to call the FBI woman. He stopped. He knew was far too invested in this student and her dark, haunted eyes.
Carefully, Professor Harris opened the envelope and began to read.
Dr. Andrea Segerstrom had stopped trying to control the nervous picking at her flaking, peeling nails. They'd always been soft and prone to splitting even when left alone. And in this situation her polished, tasteful French manicure had become a ragged mess. Nigel detested her ruined nails and the snags in his precious sweaters that followed them.
Then again, it was on Nigel's account that she was nervously ruining her manicure to begin with. I'd probably stop greying if I just divorced him already, she thought in anguish. Out loud she said, "But you don't know it's him".
"No we don't, ma'am", said the agent sympathetically. Andrea had already forgotten his name. He was a hulking giant of a man with a paradoxically cherubic face. "We don't know who's been compromised. That's why you're here, Doctor. We were hoping you could straighten this out."
"But I'm Nigel's wife. Aren't they concerned the emotional connection might affect my judgment?"
"Are you?"
"Every good psychiatrist recognizes they may be influenced by emotion and never even realize it."
"Dr. Segerstrom, you were the obvious choice. What with your work on SCP-1536…"
"I only directly researched subjects exposed to SCP-1536 and the long-term effects of SCP-1563 exposure. Yes, I used 1536 as a case study for Human-Impersonating Anomalies, but 1536 was hardly sophisticated."
The sweet-faced agent flipped through her file. "It says here your work on HIAs is seminal to the field. Who else could we call in?"
Andrea sighed before peeling off what was left of her right pinky nail. "Fine. Give me the relevant facts."
"At 0300 today, Area-29 experienced a massive containment breach due to an attack by the Chaos Insurgency. After all the other breached anomalies had been secured at 0430, it came to Area command's attention that SCP-378 was still at large. The entire Area has been placed under quarantine. Nobody comes in or out until we get this sorted out."
"So we have an entire Area's worth of personnel, one of which might have been compromised?"
"Not exactly. We were able to clear all but five personnel before our brain scanning equipment was compromised."
Andrea leaned forward. "Wait. If this site is under quarantine, why am I here?"
The agent sighed. "We don't have any medical personnel to spare. So if we get new scanners, they'll have to send all the technicians and doctors to operate it, and someone's going to have to get close enough to SCP-378's host to run the risk of being killed. And I'm sure you're aware that's how SCP-378 breached containment the first time. Or we could send the closest expert in detecting non-human anomalies and have you interview the five personnel being contained. They deemed the latter to be lower-risk."
Andrea leaned back in her seat. "Alright. Let me go over everything SCP-378 has ever communicated to us. After that, I'll speak to the five in quarantine."
The agent handed her a depressingly thin file folder. "Good luck," he said before leaving the debriefing room.
Agent Brenner. Agent Tom Brenner is his name, Andrea thought pointlessly before going to work.
Five different quarantine rooms. Five different windows, five different microphones. But only four humans in those five rooms. Can't hurt to start with the basics. Andrea couldn't help humming to herself as she interviewed the unlucky five.
Quarantined Subject One appears to be Dr. Erik Vanderhausen, Nordic male, forty years old. Blond hair, blue eyes, 2.1 meters tall. Senior Researcher, Microbiology, assigned to SCP-378. Married to Aimee Vanderhausen for fifteen years with two children, Sigrid, ten, and Adrian, two. He displays all the classic symptoms of shock. Visible pallor and sweat, and breaks into tears while reciting the names of his children.
"I just want to see my kids again. I can't be locked up forever, I have to tell my wife I'm sorry I fucked up the garden, she loves that thing, you know? I'm not SCP-378, please let me go!"
"Dr. Vanderhausen, I will ask you to remain calm. The Foundation hates false positives as much as it hates false negatives. If you are uncompromised you will return to your family unharmed."
One of these things is not like the other ones…
Quarantined Subject Two appears to be Tessa McAvoy, Scottish female, twenty-nine years old. Auburn hair, hazel eyes, 1.63 meters tall. Clerical Personnel, Clearance Level 1. Daughter of Sarah and John McAvoy and visits them frequently at their home in Arizona. Is notably calmer than the other four.
"Sorry Doc, you know these guys don't tell me anything. Men, huh? Between us girls, what's going on? So, the gas leak got fixed, right?"
"Sorry Ms. McAvoy, I can't comment on ongoing situations, but I can tell you I'm here to straighten things out. I'm just going to ask you some questions about your family."
"Don't you guys have that on file or something?"
"We just want to test your mental wellness in the wake of this event. Now if you could provide us with your date and location of birth, your immediate family members…"
"Fire away, Doc."
One of these things just doesn't belong…
Quarantined Subject Three appears to be Britney Howard, American female, twenty-eight years old. Light brown hair, light brown eyes, 1.51 meters tall. Clerical Personnel, Clearance Level 1. Is on friendly terms with Tessa McAvoy. Lives with her boyfriend of one year, Bradley Weston. Is nervous but not panicked.
"Look Dr. Segerstrom, I know you guys are working with some dangerous stuff and I'm kinda freaked out. It's not like I thought bioweapons research would be a walk in the park but I didn't sign up for this, you know?"
"I understand your concern. Your safety is our top priority."
"Did…did one of your samples get loose or something? I don't have cholera or some shit like that do I?"
"I can't comment on security breaches, but I am here to ask you some basic questions to gauge your emotional response to these events…"
Can you tell which thing is not like the others…
Quarantined Subject Four is Dr. Cheng-Gong Li, Chinese male, thirty-two years old. Black hair, dark brown eyes, 1.70 meters tall. Research Assistant to Dr. Vanderhausen. Engaged to Chan-Juan Wen, a biochemist at Area 19. Is belligerent and loudly insists on being released from quarantine.
"I don't understand! My name is Cheng-Gong Li, I was born in Hainan Province, I met my fiance Chan-Juan at Johns Hopkins and we're getting married three months from now. I'm not SCP-378, let me go!"
"If you're aware of SCP-378 then you know that it is a very sophisticated HIA and has access to the host's memories. I do not yet know whether or not you are really Dr. Li."
"This is ridiculous! Are you just going to keep us here until the host dies and the damn worm bursts out of the poor bastard's skull?"
"Please remain calm, Dr. Li."
"Don't you dare tell me to remain calm! I'm a Foundation researcher! I'll be dead by the time you incompetent fucks find 378! Let! Me! Out!"
By the time I finish this song?
Quarantine Subject Five is Dr. Nigel Segerstrom, Caucasian male, thirty-six years old. Medium brown hair, blue eyes, 1.83 meters tall. Clinical psychiatrist specializing in memetic hazards. Married to Dr. Andrea Segerstrom, Foundation psychiatrist specializing in the detection of human-mimicking anomalies. Is, like Ms. McAvoy, unusually calm and rational.
"Hi, Peach."
Andrea retained her professional demeanor while inwardly flinching at the pet name. "Hello, Dr. Segerstrom. As you're aware, there has been a containment breach of SCP-378. We would like to ask you some basic questions now."
Five's faint smile flickered out. "I'm sorry, Andrea. I really shouldn't have called you that. I suppose I was hoping the nickname would convince you it was me, but SCP-378 can't be rooted out with cheap gimmicks like that."
"Let's stick to the questions, Dr. Segerstrom."
"Of course, Doctor."
The rest of the interview was uneventful until QS-Five said plaintively, "I have an idea to catch 378."
Andrea shot him a guarded look. "Do you?"
Five sighed. "That's the thing. I don't know it'll be of any use to you, coming from me. You'll have to figure it out yourself. Not that I'm worried, of course." Five leaned back and smiled dreamily. "You always were the first one to find the best solution. I'll be out of here in no time."
Andrea suddenly felt that she would forget how to cry if she didn't do so soon. "Well, Doctor, that ends our chat. We will continue to interview you and the other quarantined personnel."
"Alright. I'll see you then."
As Andrea stood and turned to the exit, QS-Five called. "Andrea! Wait!" She turned.
Five was standing out of his chair, face pressed against the protective glass. "I was wrong. It won't work. I have no idea how to identify 378. It's all on you, Peach."
Andrea nodded perfunctorily. "Thank you, Dr. Segerstrom." She was very proud of herself for managing to keep the tears in until she was alone in her room.
Dr. Matthew Inglewood was not particularly thrilled to see Andrea. As Area 19's resident psychiatrist, he felt somewhat shafted by the decision to call her in. He was thus rather eager to prove himself. "Far be it from me to question your methods, but isn't it a bit unnecessary to apply Tier One PiDHIA? SCP-378 is a fairly sophisticated Human Impersonating Anomaly. It's passed Tier One since it was contained."
"The Protocols for the Detection of Human-Impersonating Anomalies are meant to be applied sequentially. And 378 is hardly infallible. Perhaps its access to host memories is imperfect."
"Is it?"
"Not that we can tell. But at least now we know that."
"So we apply Tiers Two through Four?"
"Did that."
Dr. Inglewood looked furious. "That's it then. The second we get a surgical machine down there, we open up their skulls. To hell with it."
"That might not be necessary." Andrea stood up, closing the yellowed paperback she was reading. "PiDHIA focuses on things the original person would know that the imitator would not. SCP-378 clearly has access to all the person's memories and personality traits. It's spoken about using the science of other planets to seed space. Its intelligence has given it quite a nasty little superiority complex."
"So?"
"I have an idea. Get me your resident mathematician," Andrea ordered as she tossed the book at Inglewood.
Inglewood seethed as he flipped over the paperback. It was a beat-up copy of I, Robot. He threw Asimov's beloved work in the corner of the room as he reflected this was a lose-lose situation for him. If Dr. Segerstrom failed, he was stuck with a bodysnatcher and if she succeeded, well, she succeeded.
"Dr. Vanderhausen, we have finished the first round of testing. This second round tests higher level logical reasoning. We are hoping that SCP-378 does not have access to this part of the human brain."
"Wait, what? I haven't been working on 378 long but that doesn't sound right."
"We have this protocol in place for a reason, Dr. Vanderhausen. You may take as long as you like. It's a simple test. Just do the best you can."
"Hah! No pressure, right? God, and to think I thought the A-levels were terrifying…"
Did you guess which thing was not like the others?
"Ms. McAvoy, we need to test if this recent emotional trauma has impaired your reasoning. If that is the case, we will make psychiatric care available to you. Please complete this test to the best of your ability. You have all the time you need."
"Uh, okay. I was really bad at math in high school though."
"That's fine. This test is like the LSAT in that it doesn't test prior knowledge, but reasoning ability. It shouldn't be difficult."
"Okay, Doc. For science, I guess."
Did you guess which just doesn't belong?
"Ms. Howard, we are concerned that this recent breach of security may have affected you negatively. Studies have shown that intellectual ability can be drastically harmed by emotional trauma. We're asking everyone to take this simple assessment of logical reasoning skills to gauge your mental health. It requires no prior knowledge and is not timed."
"Oh, okay. And when I'm done?"
"Slip it into this drawer and await further instructions."
"Whatever you say, Doctor."
If you guessed that this one is not like the others
"Dr. Li, this is the second round of our protocols to determine 378's host. We believe 378 exposure curtails high reasoning abilities at the expense of an increased recall of the host's memories and behavior. This assessment will gauge your math and logic abilities. Take all the time you need."
"The hell I will. This thing looks like the Rosetta Stone."
"Please don't be discouraged. This is a basic assessment and doesn't rely on prior knowledge."
"All right. I'll take it, and I'll show you. Not only will I prove I'm clean, I'll blow the damn thing out of the water."
Then you're absolutely…
"Dr. Segerstrom, in accordance with protocol, we are administering a basic test of logical reasoning skills. This assessment requires no prior knowledge and is not timed. It is our belief that SCP-378 may be able to access so much host information at the expense of higher brain functions. This assessment will help us make a decision."
"Oh, Andrea, you know I'm horrible with tests."
"Please complete the test to the best of your ability."
"Alright. Just promise me I won't be terminated for not having 378 as an excuse for failing."
Andrea paused. "I promise." She meant "I love you", and they both knew it.
The next time Inglewood encountered Andrea, it appeared his ill mood had spread to the wiry man with the mussed hair beside her. He was going through the stack of tests with a ruler, carefully scanning each line. "Ah! It's so obvious when it's written like that! Do you know how infuriating this is?"
"What?" asked Inglewood. He had a vague feeling that the frazzled looking gentleman was irritated by something completely different than the woman with them.
"Hello, Matthew! I believe we've solved your little problem here. I'm sure you know Dr. Steven Penderbrook. He's a brilliant man."
"I don't feel very brilliant right now, Dr. Segerstrom," Dr. Penderbrook mumbled, nose deep in his papers.
"And how, may I ask, did you accomplish that?" asked Inglewood with a remarkably tiny amount of resentment in his voice.
"Why, we already established that SCP-378 knows at least as much about humans as we know about humans. So how do we differentiate the normal humans from a cosmic parasite?"
"How?"
"By finding the something no human knows, but SCP-378 does." Dr. Penderbrook handed Andrea a sheaf of papers. "We know SCP-378 thinks very highly of itself and wouldn't pass up an opportunity to show off, especially when it thinks that passing as a human depends on it." She handed Dr. Inglewood ten pages of small, cramped handwriting. "Here's the question in pictoral form. You don't even have to know English to understand what you have to do. All you have to do is prove that every even number starting with 4 is the sum of two prime numbers."
"That's it?"
Dr. Penderbrook laughed bitterly. "That's it? Of course that's it! Except it's not it. That simple little statement is the Goldbach Conjecture. It's 260 years old and no one has proved it until now." Penderbrook waved the sheaf of papers in Inglewood's face. "Every mathematician in here's checked this out and it's perfect. There are lemmas in here no one's ever heard of."
"Excuse me?"
Dr. Penderbrook ran his fingers through his hair, somehow managing to make it look less unkempt. "Not only has this proof never been seen by a human, some of the mini-proofs that prove the proof have never been seen by a human. And yet all of us can tell it's sound," he said with the slow, careful air of someone being forced to explain something to an idiot.
Andrea chimed in gleefully. "Something no human on earth knows, but a correct answer known to be correct when we see it. Something that doesn't necessarily require foreknowledge, so 378 couldn't plumb its host's brain and know it doesn't know it."
"Well, our doctors are the best of the best. Maybe they felt the pressure and came up with it."
Dr. Penderbrook took on a frighteningly murderous expression for a man who seemed so mild. Andrea simply replied, "Well, the doctors are biologists and a medical doctor, the latter of which I assure you has a terminal terror of proofs. And that doesn't matter anyway," she continued as she delivered her coup de grace, "for I highly doubt that a clerical worker with a Bachelor's in Communications could pound out this masterpiece in five hours."
Inglewood sank into his chair. "So it's over then?"
Andrea smiled. "It's over. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to talk to a psychiatrist. Know any good ones around here?"
Andrea was told it was a marvelous re-establishment of containment. They were planning to encase the body of Britney Howard in tungsten, but they had barely reached the sealing room when SCP-378 became wise to the plan. Five agents were severely wounded, but Agent Tom Brennan received a Foundation Star and a bionic leg for managing to encase the rampaging corpse in its metal chamber. Andrea was offered the chance to watch the mayhem, but declined, remembering the innocent-looking light brown eyes.
"I have to hand it to you, honey. Your plan was way better than mine," said Nigel.
"You know, you never did tell me what your plan was."
"Hell, I don't even remember it, that's how bad it was."
"You need to stop getting wrapped up in these situations. I can't always be there to save your sorry ass," teased Andrea.
"You know that was the plan all along, right? Trapped you into marrying me and now you're obligated to save me from bodysnatching hell worms."
Andrea kissed Nigel on the cheek. "Well, at least you've made one decent plan in your life."
[[footnoteblock]]
Item #: SCP-2015
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: A single copy of SCP-2015-a is to kept in a standard document locker on Site-33. Testing is restricted to D-class and must be monitored using CCTV filtered through a Level II Visual Memetic Filter programmed to blur out any instances of SCP-2015-a. The testing chamber must be equipped with euthanizing gas to terminate subjects at the end of testing scenarios. Cadavers must be disposed after examination in the site's alkaline hydrolysis tissue digester built for this purpose. All publishing houses are to be monitored for instances of SCP-2015-a. Should a containment breach occur, MTF-Eta-10 (See No Evil) is to be deployed and all civilians within a .5 km radius will be quarantined. Civilians displaying the symptoms of SCP-2015 infection are to be terminated and disposed of using a sodium hydroxide solution in a specialized chamber kept at no less than 7 kPa and 133 degrees Celsius.
Description: SCP-2015 is a self-replicating prion protein spread through a memetic trigger designated SCP-2015-a.
SCP-2015-a is the full text of evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins's book The Selfish Gene, printed in a specific blue ink not produced by any known manufacturer of paints or pigments. Mass spectrometer analysis shows the pigment is composed of phthalocyanine, copper oxide, and trace amounts of human neural tissue.
When more than five pages of SCP-2015-a are read, the brain of the affected subject produces unidentified neurotransmitters that combine to form different "strains" of SCP-2015. SCP-2015 behaves similarly to non-anomalous prion proteins by destroying neural tissue in the self-replication process. The variants of SCP-2015 undergo an accelerated process of natural selection, with more efficient and longer-lasting versions of SCP-2015 eventually monopolizing brain of the subject. These strains of SCP-2015 have certain common characteristics:
- Through a process not yet understood, the vitreous humor of the subject becomes the blue fluid used in SCP-2015-a. Subjects will generally incise one eye to access this fluid while preserving the other eye to reproduce SCP-2015-a.
- While tremors and other extrapyramidal effects are symptoms of late stage SCP-2015 infection, the most successful strains of SCP-2015 preserve the host's motor functions until the host has successfully produces the vector needed for SCP-2015 infection.
After the discovery of SCP-2015, Foundation scientists took Professor Dawkins into custody. After it was concluded that Dawkins had no knowledge of SCP-2015, he was administered amnestics and released under continued Foundation surveillance.
Prions are neither fish nor fowl. Most scientists will say they are not alive, being a simple protein. I hold that SCP-2015 is life in its most fundamental form. A single molecule with all the information it needs to be fruitful and multiply…and evolve. So simple that our Lysol and heat won't harm it. It's Darwin's warm little pond all over again…except the warm little pond is your neural tissue. - Dr. Jorge de la Cruz, Foundation molecular biologist
Test 1 - 12/19
Subject: D-5040. Subject has artistic background and a particular aptitude for color.
Procedure: Subject was taken to an observation room with an instance of SCP-2015-b and a blank sheet of paper. Subject instructed to focus on paper and given an extremely detailed description of the blue hue of SCP-2015-a, and instructed to keep it in mind as subject was read excerpts from a non-anomalous copy of The Selfish Gene.
Results: Subject descended into psychosis marked by disordered speech and auditory hallucinations. Notably, subject did not seem to experience visual hallucinations. 1 mL Haloperidol administered through intramuscular injection. No improvement in subject's condition was noted. Subject observed and terminated five days after start of test. Analysis of the subject's brain showed significant damage to the temporal lobes consistent with prion disease. Vitreous humor of the subject was normal in both eyes.
Test 2 - 01/04
Subject: D-2394. Subject is a native English speaker, but illiterate.
Procedure: Subject taken to an observation room with an instance of SCP-2015-a Subject instructed to closely observe SCP-2015-a.
Results: Subject experiences similar psychosis to previous test subject with the exception of the presence of visual hallucinations. 2mL Haloperidol administered through intramuscular injection. No effect. Subject observed and terminated five days after start of test. Analysis of the subject's brain showed severe damage to temporal lobes and visual cortex consistent with prion disease, but no instances of SCP-2015 itself. Vitreous humor in the subject's eyes had turned a vivid purple.
Test 3 - 02/28
Subject: D-9233. Subject speaks and reads Italian fluently. Does not speak or read English.
Procedure: Subject was taken to an observation room with an instance of SCP-2015-a English, with phonetic Italian pronunciation guide. Subject instructed to read aloud SCP-2015-a until the subject could pronounce the phrases within.
Results: Similar results to Test 2. Autopsy revealed similar brain damage patterns, but the vitreous humor of the subject had turned the correct shade of blue for SCP-2015-a production.
Test 4 - 03/13
Subject: D-93478. Subject speaks and reads Chinese fluently. Does not speak or read English.
Procedure: Subject taken to an observation room with an instance of SCP-2015-a translated into Chinese as faithfully as possible. Subject instructed to read SCP-2015-a silently.
Results: Within forty minutes of exposure, subject developed bruxism and tremors. Over the next ten days the subject continued to experience extrapyramidal disease and dementia. On day 10 of observation subject broke restraints and attempted to reproduce SCP-2015-a. Subject's dyskinesia was too advanced to faithfully render the pattern. Subject terminated immediately afterwards and analysis found several strains of SCP-2015 molecules.
Item #: SCP-1714
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: A single copy of SCP-1714 is to be held in a standard document locker. Testing involving SCP-1714 is restricted to D-class with a score below 130 on the Foundation Standard Test of Logical Reasoning Skills (FST-LRS) or a score below 130 on the Foundation Standard Test of Mathematical Aptitude (FST-MA). Tests involving subjects outside these parameters must be approved by the head researcher and at least one Foundation mathematician or scientist with Level 4 Clearance. Foundation operatives in the academic community will monitor journals, universities, and laboratories for SCP-1714, with special consideration given to higher mathematics, physics, or philosophy departments. Civilians who come into contact with SCP-1714 are to be interviewed, treated with a Class A amnestic, and covertly monitored for a period of one year.
Description: SCP-1714 is a partially-finished mathematical proof, identified as logically sound by Foundation mathematicians, attempting to create a mathematical framework for the analysis of reality-altering anomalies. SCP-1714 postulates a quantum-mechanical model for such objects, arising from the coalescence of virtual particles generated by quantum foam. Among SCP-1714's more important sections is a lemma proving the existence of reality bending anomalies as a natural consequence of the boundary conditions of the universe. This lemma predicts a prevalence of ████ alterations in reality as understood by mainstream science, with only ██% known to and contained by the Foundation. Foundation mathematicians and theoretical physicists have reached the conclusion that SCP-1714 in its entirety could be applied to the creation and manipulation of reality-altering anomalies by parties of sufficient technological advancement.
At seemingly random intervals in the text of SCP-1714 are a series of writings railing against the complexity of the observable universe and expressing a desire to restructure the universe into a form too simple to sustain life. These writings vary in tone from clinical and explanatory to barely coherent and seem to indicate at least a suspicion of the existence of the Foundation.
Excerpts from SCP-1714
I was told by those who lacked vision that knowing all would be impossible. It is simpler than they thought. I needn't obey this tricky enemy. I just need to cut it down to size.
We hope we have already proven to the reader that the universe is a far more fantastic place than modern science has accounted for. That such self-referential, self-nullifying physical laws exist is incredible. In the next section, we prove that these laws can in fact be understood and even manipulated. The author realizes the potential danger of releasing this information, as such power could be abused with impunity. But you mustn't worry. I'm going to fix it. Shhhhh. Everything will be alright.
The universe. It speaks to me through the math. It speaks in a convoluted babble. Where is the beauty I was promised? Where is the music of the heavens? There is no music here, only the discord of many voices. Certain lines must be cut. The crowd must become an ensemble. The ensemble must become a quartet. The quartet must become a trio. The trio must become a duet. The duet must become one lone voice, rising high and pure, so I the listener may hear and take delight.
Considering the vast number of ouraboric anomalies we proved do exist in the section above, one must wonder if they do not serve a purpose. The author is not given to teleological modes of thought, but we have demonstrated clearly that reality-warping anomalies seem to be a natural consequence of the laws in the universe. It seems to us strange that those same needlessly cluttered laws also provide our liberation. Here, again, ancient myths reveal a kernel of wisdom, for out of formless, terrible chaos comes universal perfection.
It will be purified, all of it, shaken through a series of my sieves and rendered into its most perfect essence, into the beginning and the end. The glorious singularity, static, sacred. And I, beholding its glory, understanding all, knowing all. Forever.
Acquisitions Log 1714-1
Based on handwriting and linguistic analysis and interviews conducted with the faculty of ██████ University, the author of SCP-1714 is presumed to be Dr. Molly Jaywadena, a former postdoctoral fellow ██████ University. Dr. Jaywadena studied Beyond Standard Model Theory under the mentorship of ██████ University professor emeritus Dr. Beau █████ alongside her work on SCP-1714. Interviews with Dr. █████ and Dr. Jaywadena's medical records reveal a history of mental health issues beginning with pre-psychotic symptoms manifesting in childhood.
On 27 March 20██, the Foundation responded to reports of a small weather anomaly in an field eleven kilometers outside the ██████ University campus. Mobile Task Force Gamma-3 (Gone With the Wind) was deployed. MTF Gamma-3 reported a circle on the ground two meters in diameter being abraded of vegetation and soil, which was then ejected from this circle at high velocities. Ignoring a direct order from the MTF Gamma-3 captain, Agent Jacob ███████████ stepped into the circle to take more precise measurements. Agent ███████████'s body was immediately accelerated to a velocity of ██.█ m/s as (measured by MTF camera feeds) and ejected out of the circle before impacting with an abandoned farmhouse 50 meters due west of the anomaly. The accompanying explosion caused permanent hearing damage to the entire Mobile Task Force and completely obliterated the farmhouse, along with most of Agent ███████████'s body. Slow-motion analysis of the footage and the remains of Agent ███████████ show rapid depressurization consistent with exposure to a vacuum. Further testing showed that gravitational forces within the anomaly had ceased to exist. All air within the anomaly had escaped into space, leaving a cylindrical vacuum extending from ground level to the exosphere. Approximately one hour after the anomaly was secured, the phenomenon ceased. Another loud noise described by one witness as "a clap of thunder" caused further hearing damage to Foundation personnel as the air around the anomaly rushed in to fill the vacuum.
Information given by local [REDACTED] and sources in [REDACTED] led Foundation operatives to Dr. Molly Jaywadena's apartment on the ██████ University campus. The apartment was noted to be in disarray, with clothing, bags, money, and other valuables missing. Analysis of the doctor's computer revealed a surveillance feed of the field, several pages of equations, a log detailing the duration of the anomaly, and SCP-1714. Also of note was the word "εὕρηκα" found scrawled in lipstick on every reflective surface. Dr. Jaywadena's whereabouts have been unknown since.
Log Recovered from Dr. Molly Jaywadena's Apartment
-10 minutes Double-checking equations for first test. Cameras set up in the abandoned █████ Field. Video reception good. I can set the anomaly for a maximum of 120 minutes before my calculations break down. Proof not yet complete enough to affect change on a larger scale.
-5 minutes Setting up device. Manufacture sub-standard. Outsourced labor and parts evident upon examination. While undergraduates provide an abundant source of compliant free labor, the results are disappointing.
-2 minutes Device functional. Seems like an anomaly in itself. The success of the test now relies on my calculations.
0:00 If the radiance of a thousand suns/ Were to burst forth at once from the sky/ It would be like the splendor of the singularity.
15:37 Anomaly is stable. Matter within the gravity-free zone behaving as expected. As Mr. ███ would have said, "Inertia's a bitch".
20:45 Unexpected development: Paramilitary squad appeared out of nowhere. Can infer from behavior that they were sent to research the anomaly.
21:57 First casualty. Others acting with more caution. Appear to be securing the area and calling for backup.
52:34 Reinforcements have arrived. Mainly scientists or other researchers. Notable lack of military presence. Seem less puzzled by the anomaly than one would expect.
60:14 Not government. Definitely not first anomaly. Explains lack of knowledge of ouraboric anomalies in scientific community.
66:13 Something's wrong
70:24 DAMN IT DAMN IT i knew it goddamn vulture capitalists and their bitch engineers the entire damn device has to be gutted DAMN IT
The remainder of the log contains random characters consistent with the pattern of someone pounding the keyboard with clenched fists.
Date: 29 July 201█
Description: On the 29th of July, ██ years after Dr. Jaywadena's disappearance, Foundation astronomers observed various anomalies affecting the █████████ system, approximately ██ lightyears away from Earth. Due to the nature of these anomalies, they are presumed to be the work of continued refinement of SCP-1714. The following observation log details the observed changes to the █████████ system.
00:00- Exoplanets █████████-a, -b, -c, -d, and -e deviate from their usual orbits around █████████ and move into the same plane of rotation.
00:37- Exoplanet rotation deviates further. New orbits are observed to be perfect circles with radius equal to the periapsis of the old orbits. Neither the mass of █████████ or any of these exoplanets have been observed to change. No magnetic forces from █████████ are observed to act on any of the planets.
01:30- Objects within the █████████ system that are not the star itself or any of its associated exoplanets suddenly lose their mass and accelerate out of the █████████ system at the speed of light. Once ██ AU from █████████, the various asteroids and comets suddenly decelerate and exert gravitational pull.
21:00- Every remaining object in the █████████ system becomes a perfect sphere.
30:47- █████████-d and █████████-a, the second and fourth planet from █████████, collide. Instead of deforming around each other, the two planets appear to bounce off of each other with no observable damage to either planet. No increase in thermal radiation from either planet is observed. The tangential velocities of both planets observed not to change except in direction after the collision. █████████-a, the smaller planet, continues on a path out of the █████████ system. No further changes to the █████████ system affect █████████-a.
42:54- █████████ and its remaining four exoplanets suddenly shrink into infinitesimally small points. Orbits do not change. █████████ does not supernova.
1:00:30- [DATA EXPUNGED]
1:20:10- Foundation astronomers confirm through [REDACTED] that electromagnetic radiation from the █████████ system [DATA EXPUNGED]. Researchers speculate that observed events in the █████████ system are [DATA EXPUNGED]. The O5 Council is notified and preparations are made for a XK-class scenario.
1:45:00 █████████ supernovas. The █████████ system appears to return to its original state with █████████ intact. However, Foundation astronomers warn that this may be a reversal of the [DATA EXPUNGED] observed earlier. Observation of the █████████ system will continue to be a top priority until 20██, when this conjecture will be proven or disproven.SCP classification of the █████████ system pending.
Addendum-02 Since Dr. Jaywadena's disappearance, materials similar in content to SCP-1714 but lacking the sporadic author's notes have surfaced at educational institutions from research universities to community colleges to, in one documented case, a high school. These documents are written in the format of a textbook at a level appropriate to the point of acquisition and appear to be an introduction to the esoteric concepts required to understand SCP-1714. Reclassification to Euclid pending.
"It's good to see you awake, Nigel."
Nigel gritted his teeth. He thought of screaming at the placid psychiatrist to his right, but he decided to just go with it. Less painful that way.
"Nigel, I know you don't want me here, but we need to know why you did this."
Nigel sat up in his infirmary bed wearing a grimace meant to look like an innocent smile. "Did what, Doctor?"
The psychiatrist sighed, removed his glasses, cleaned them with his shirt. "Nigel, they flushed the amnestic out of your system before it could take full effect. And even the memories it did erase aren't completely gone. You should know that better than anyone."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Look, Nigel, we know. We know that you gave yourself an unauthorized dose of Class A amnestics. We also know that you should be able to remember why. I can show you the blood toxin screenings, the brain scans, your responses to memetic triggers. I'm here to help you. I just want to talk."
Nigel couldn't think of any response to that which wasn't screaming. After a long pause, the doctor changed tactics.
"It's been a tough couple of months, hasn't it Nigel?" The psychiatrist didn't even bother waiting for a reply before tapping his clipboard with his pen. "Why, it says here that one of your brand new researchers succumbed to a cognitohazardous Fifthist propaganda page. It must have elicited some intense emotions."
"Succumbed to a cognitohazardous Fifthist propaganda page". Bastards make it sound so damn clinical, thought Nigel bitterly. Esperanza didn't just succumb. Put up one hell of a fight against that skip. Maybe it would have been better for her if she hadn't. Maybe then she'd only be huffing corpses and chanting nonsense instead of downing Haldol and screaming nonsense. A clear image of the eager young researcher flitting about the lab sliced its way through Nigel's awareness. He could see those big, bright brown eyes that looked…He flinched and buried his head into his pillow.
The psychiatrist continued, unfazed. "Oh, and you were right in the middle of that CI ambush. Says that one of the agents dispatched to rescue you was shot right in front of you. That must have been horrific."
I suppose 'horrific' can describe the smell of a good man's blood drenched in your clothes and hair, or the slimy texture of his grey matter on your cheek. Ben was a good man. A decisive man. Quick. I suppose he was all sorts of other things that I'll never know about.
Something about remembering Agent Nguyen's mannerisms dredged up a dark sludge within Nigel. He clenched his fists next to his head, determined to remain in control. If the psychiatrist noticed (If!, Nigel thought bitterly) he did not show it.
"I suppose this is the part where I conclude that you chose to cope with these deaths by forgetting them," said the psychiatrist in that hatefully bloodless voice. Nigel gave him a skull's grin meant as a gesture of agreement. It vanished as the psychiatrist continued. "That would be asinine, of course. A man of your genius wouldn't dose himself up the way you did to forget some passing acquaintances." The doctor continued placidly as Nigel began to sputter. "Oh, not that they didn't matter to you. But you were trying to forget something far deeper to your heart than some co-workers."
Silence descended upon the infirmary.
"Andrea has been worried about you, Nigel."
Nigel allowed the rage to contort his face for a second before forcing his it into a mask of serenity. "Who?"
"I told you, we know the amnestic didn't work."
"I don't know what you mean."
"The conclusion is quite obvious. I'm hardly judging you, Nigel. Sharing a workplace with one's wife can lead to unbearable tension within a marriage. You'd clearly grown sick of her, but not sick enough to break her heart. An accidental dose of Forget-Me-Drops could be the catalyst you needed."
"It's not like that."
"Not to mention that Foundation hires seem to be getting more attractive by the year. You can hardly betray your marital vows with an intern if you don't remember making the vows in the first place."
"Shut up! Shut up! You cold bastard with your fucking clipboard, you have no idea. You have no idea at all!" Some rational slice of Nigel Segerstrom knew he had snapped, but the rest of him didn't care.
"Clearly I don't."
"Damn right you don't! You fucker, you've never loved anyone as much as I loved Andrea. You don't even know what love is, Doctor." Nigel spat out the last word with all the contempt he could muster.
"Explain it to me, Nigel. What is love?"
"You fucking want to know what love is? You know the UIU? Let's pretend we liked them. Like, we really fucking like them. So much that we threw opsec out the window and told them everything. Everything. We tell them what 447 does to dead bodies. We tell them all the nasty details of 110-Montauk. And just to top off the love-fest, we give them some goddamn Keter and tell them 'hey, we like you guys so much we're just going to give you this and hope nothing bad happens'. And of course because we're talking about the UIU, they fuck up. They don't feed it at exactly the right time, or they cross test it with the wrong skip, and the entire goddamn Foundation crumbles. And once the shell-shocked survivors rebuild, once every fuckin' skip is back in its cell, you know what we do?"
"What do we do, Nigel?"
"We find the UIU and do it all over again. That's love."
The psychiatrist pauses. "So your wife betrayed your trust, either through physical or emotional infidelity. I'm sorry to hear that, Nigel."
Nigel threw the blankets off his bed, yanked his body to a sitting position, and screamed at the doctor. "She didn't betray shit, you fucking moron! She's the only goddamn person in this goddamn world that has my back no matter what. She's…she's…"
"She's your Achilles heel," murmured the psychiatrist.
Stricken, Nigel slumped back. The psychiatrist tapped his pen. Finally, Nigel spoke up in a hoarse whisper.
"Do you realize, Doctor, that my wife works in one of the few institutions on the planet where one can die investigating a sack of potatoes?"
"I'm very aware of that."
"We have a children's cartoon that makes kids violently psychotic."
"That's true."
"Did you hear about the murderous teddy bear?"
"Which one?"
Nigel shot an inquisitive look at the psychiatrist. "What?"
"Never mind," said the doctor quickly.
Luckily, Nigel didn't press the matter further. Staring at the ceiling, he said quietly, "You'd think it's not that dangerous to be a Foundation psychiatrist, as supposed to an MTF agent or a researcher. I mean, you would. But our coworkers just don't understand that we're the first line of defense against pathological memes and cognitohazards. Bet you my life savings that no one in my med school has to worry about their wife dying or going irreversibly insane from reading some new book her boss wants her to look at."
The psychiatrist studied Nigel for a while. "I think you're ready to tell me why you did what you did, Dr. Segerstrom."
Nigel's shoulders sagged and he resigned himself to the tears leaking out of his face. "I wanted to forget my wife because I can't imagine life without her. All those deaths…I saw Andrea's face on both of their corpses."
The psychiatrist steepled his hands together. "Was it worth it, Nigel?"
"I…I don't know."
"What are you going to do now, Nigel?" asked the psychiatrist in the mirror.
Dr. Nigel Segerstrom, Foundation psychiatrist and devoted husband of Dr. Andrea Segerstrom, Foundation psychiatrist, looked blankly into the mirror to the right of his hospital bed. "I don't know," he whispered back.
"Nigel, this is Nurse Petersen. There's someone here to see you."
Nigel turned around. There was Nurse Petersen, warm and compassionate as ever, and the pale, drawn, lovely face of Andrea Segerstrom.
Nigel didn't know what to do, but he did it anyway.
Dr. Andrea Segerstrom had a wonderful junior year English teacher. The woman had the endurance of a saint, which befitted her since she made the regrettable decision to teach at a high school for gifted students. Whenever her students got too out of control, Mrs. Cameron would close her eyes and whisper "I love my job I love my job I love my job," until her thoughts of murder/suicide ebbed away.
As Research Assistant Jarvis lay on the couch in her office, Dr. Segerstrom whispered to herself, "I love my job I love my job I love my job I love my job". To Jarvis she said, "Look, Mike, there's a reason you were ordered to see me. This gambling problem is getting way out of hand. It's clearly affecting your ability to reason."
Jarvis regarded her with a calm, benevolent condescension. "Now, don't you think that's a bit of an exaggeration, Andrea?"
The entirely fed-up psychiatrist simply consulted her files again. "It says here you've taken out a second mortgage on your house and drained your savings. You've spent every one of your days off over the past two months at a casino or other such establishment."
Jarvis' carefully constructed superiority began to crumble a bit. "I'm able to keep my behavior off-site separate from my work life. I'm sure if you look in that impressively extensive file, you won't find a single instance of inappropriate use of Foundation time or money."
Dr. Segerstrom fixed him with her best icily clinical stare. "There's no such thing as a off-the-clock-you and an on-the-clock-you, Michael. And there's no such thing as a compartmentalized addiction either, just one that hasn't become life-consuming yet."
Jarvis sat up. "Look, Andrea, I don't have an addiction, okay? You know, working here is incredibly taxing and a man has a right to unwind."
"Absolutely, unless his method of 'unwinding' begins to monopolize his life, drain his resources, and present a security breach to the Foundation. By the way, in this room, for the next 10 minutes, my name is Doctor Segerstrom."
Jarvis's jaw clenched, his collected haughtiness gone. "Well Andrea, rumor has it you've seen first-hand what the pressure of the workplace does to a man. Perhaps if you were a bit less uptight, certain people wouldn't have to resort to extremes."
Dr. Segerstrom sighed inwardly, bottling her anger. She could prolong this session for the next nine minutes, but it would only be prolonging the inevitable. She jotted down a few more notes on her clipboard before putting on her icy clinical face again. "Well, Mike, I believe we're done here. You've got a few more minutes left but I don't think they'll be very productive." She stood, opened her office door, and motioned the soon to be ex-Research Assistant Jarvis through. "Please exit to your left. When Nurse Takagawa calls your name, she will help you sign off on your required paperwork and give you any further instructions." When Jarvis had made his sneering exit, Dr. Segerstrom exited to her right and handed the papers to the older nurse. "Michiko, please pull up a list of all Foundation sites in need of Level 0 Clearance personnel."
"I shall be sorry to see him go," said Takagawa. Andrea wondered, impressed, how anyone could maintain both genteel politeness and utter contempt in the same sentence.
"Nothing for it, I'm afraid," said Andrea lightly. "He's completely unwilling to address his condition. Unless he begins to display even the vaguest understanding of the responsibilities that come with the title of Research Assistant, it's my professional opinion that he will better serve the Foundation as a Level 0."
Nurse Takagawa handed Doctor Segerstrom the next patient's file. "Research Assistant Connor Graves," she said before pausing. "Have fun with this one." Andrea sighed. No matter what kind of doctor you were or where you practiced, vague statements like that never boded well.
Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Segerstrom was rubbing her temples again. Graves refused to lie down on her couch and was staring at her with the twitchy nervousness of a guilty conscience. She sighed. "Connor, I'm not here to judge you."
Graves barked short, humorless laughs. "Then what's the clipboard for?"
"The clipboard is for me to make sure that you are healthy enough to continue to work for the Foundation. I'm here to find the best possible way for the Foundation and you to continue to work together."
"Really?"
"Connor, we won't consider ending your employment unless you pose a risk to yourself or the Foundation. This is for your own good, Connor. I'm here to help you, not condemn you," Dr. Segerstrom said soothingly. Andrea's Good Doc manner always worked wonders. Graves relaxed visibly as she went on. "Now, what led to today's visit? Don't leave anything out. Remember, I'm on your side."
Graves sighed.
"Do you know why you're here today, Connor?"
Connor Graves clenched his fists. "Doctor, I get off to anthro skip porn."
"I see."
"But Doctor, I wanna make one thing clear," Graves looked Dr. Segerstrom dead in the eye as a new determination entered his face. "The vernacular 'anthro porn' comes from 'anthropomorphic', from the Greek root 'anthro-' denoting gender neutral human characteristics. It should say 'gynomorphic', from the Greek 'gyno-', relating to that associated with women."
"And is that significant?"
"Of course! I'm not gay or anything!"
Dr. Segerstrom's thin veneer of professionalism began to crack around her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth. "I see. I'm going to have to ask you a few more questions, of course."
Thirty minutes later, Research Assistant Connor Graves exited Dr. Segerstrom's office with his position intact. Andrea left her office for lunch, checking her PDA. There was one small work-related task she would have to complete over lunch.
Many considered Overwatch HQ to be the heart of the Foundation. Andrea thought that title belonged to each and every Foundation site cafeteria on Earth. Loose lips may free skips, but a skilled Foundation ear can glean just as much from what's left out of the gossip as what's in it.
Site-33 was, like most Site cafeterias (and average high schools), self-segregated by specialty or interest. Biologists there, linguists here, MTFers in the corner. However, because this was Site-33, the mental health (hah!) specialists took up half the cafeteria. The shrink bloc was further subdivided, as psychiatrists regarded their psychologist counterparts as touchy-feely hippie types, while psychologists derided their physician colleagues as soulless pill dispensers. Nothing too different from the outside world.
Andrea was looking for a spot where one could hold a reasonably intimate conversation without being too isolated. She settled for row of seats on the fringe of the Psychiatrist table, towards the Psychologist table. Perfect. The presence of others would be comforting, but they wouldn't be disturbed. Andrea scanned the room for the lost little figure she knew would be there. Finally, she found it. "Dr. Baxter! There's a seat right here. Why don't you join me?"
The nervous young woman smiled at Andrea as she skittered to the table. "Thank you so much, Dr…Segerstrom?"
"Yes, but please call me Andrea."
"Then call me Alex! Thanks for inviting me over."
"Oh, don't mention it. I was just as lost as you during my first couple of weeks. Now, you said you wanted to talk to me sometime. About what, exactly?"
Alex Baxter fiddled with her napkin. "Well, I guess I want to know what to expect."
"You've completed your orientations, haven't you?"
Alex snorted. "Actually, Dr. Segerstrom, I'd like to know what actually goes on around here."
Andrea laughed. "You're a bit more wary than most new hires, aren't you?" Alex cracked a smile as Andrea continued. "Well, congratulations. As a Site-33 psychiatrist, you're privy to the most disturbing secrets of the Special Containment Procedures Foundation."
Alex's eyebrows shot up. "Really? So what does SCP-"
"No, no, not those kinds of secrets. I mean really disturbing."
"Like what?"
Andrea opened her mouth, then paused. She was a very self-aware woman with an in-depth knowledge of her strengths and flaws. One of her failings was that she was both an indefatigable gossip and intensely secretive. Andrea loved to dish out little tidbits of information, making her listener work for the whole story. That way, she could prolong the thrill of sharing a juicy bit of knowledge while remaining as aloof and mysterious as she chose to be. Now, Andrea knew that she'd be a spectacular failure as psychiatrist if she couldn't exert a fantastic amount of control over her more destructive urges. But, she reasoned, there wasn't that much harm to be done in indulging just this once. Besides, the kid was going to have to learn sooner or later. "Let me give you a case study. Bet you haven't heard one of those in a while."
Alex laughed. "Go ahead."
"John Doe. Late twenties. Research Assistant, transferred here within the past few months. Sought out psychiatric evaluation after colleague found pornographic images featuring various anomalies in his possession and threatened to publicize them."
Alex's eyes got wide. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I am not. I was bound to run into it sooner or later. Dr. Macmillan's written a fantastic paper on paraphilias of the anomalous. Give it a read, it's fascinating. Anyway, the patient showed no other psychiatric abnormalities. I've found him completely able to fulfill his duties and sent him on his merry way."
Alex's eyebrows shot up. "Really? You just…let him go? No mandatory follow-up?"
"Other than the required yearly mental checkup? No. His paraphilia wasn't ego-dystonic, but I recommended he see me again if that changes."
"But…"
Andrea smiled indulgently. "At the risk of sounding old before my time, you kids don't learn the things you need to learn in med school. It's easy to say we're non-judgmental healers and scientists until you come up against something that you, personally have an objection to. Well, Alex, you get over it eventually."
"So this man is still in the Foundation dreaming of the type of erotic ecstasy only an eldritch abomination can bring?"
"Yes. I should mention that this particular research assistant is particularly gifted, even among such a well-educated and professional group. The man's a positive asset to the Foundation, and his…proclivities…do not get in the way of him doing his job."
Alex shrugged. "I suppose."
"Not to mention that his paraphilia is relatively mild. Even if he was the foulest rapist to walk the Earth, the Foundation still might not discharge him if he was useful enough," Andrea said with a dark smile. "If you are important enough, certain indulgences may be granted to you. Sometimes horrible perversions are an asset for containment."
Dr. Baxter's face suddenly looked very drawn. Andrea leaned forward. "That's your first hard lesson, Alex. The Foundation needs competence more than it needs virtue. You, just like every bright-eyed hopeful in here, came to this site in the middle of Cousinhump, USA because you wanted to be with the superheroes saving the world. Well, put up the capes and eye masks because you won't be needing them here."
Alex began fiddling with her napkin, working it into a felted wad. "So…we're…I mean, if those people get certain immunities…"
Andrea had to keep herself from rolling her eyes by reminding herself that her fellow women learned from experience that the institutions they stood for would not stand for them. "Don't worry about that, Alex. You're among one of the most talented members of an already indispensable class. The last thing the Foundation needs is for its best and brightest defecting to the GOC or CI because it can't keep its other members in check. No, there are other allowances. But you'll learn all about that later."
The cafeteria continued to bubble with lively chatter and acerbic scientific arguments, but the two women were silent together.
Andrea broke the silence. "Jack Doe, also in his late 20s. Ordered to undergo psychiatric evaluation after concern was raised over Doe's behaviors outside of his work. Surveillance of Doe's personal life revealed financial problems, excessive gambling, and his most recent routine neurological tests revealed structures and dopamine levels consistent with addiction. Subject was obstinate and showed an acute lack of insight into his condition. Doe's security clearance was subsequently revoked and he is being remanded to Level 0 Maintenance duties."
"It's…very strange. I know that's probably the wisest option to take, but compared with the earlier case file, it just seems…excessive."
Andrea shook her head. "Once again, you're not really thinking like an impartial scientist yet. Why are you so much more uncomfortable with a minor sexual deviation than a condition which is known to affect judgment?You still haven't learned to think like a doctor. It takes time, but if it's meant to be, you'll get used to it."
"I just don't get it." Alex motioned to the busy cafeteria. "We're scientists! We're specialists! We're all the best minds humanity has to offer. How can people like Jack Doe slip through the cracks? You'd think the Foundation was run by complete idiots, playing with skips and hiring psychopaths for laughs."
"Not idiots, Alex. Just people."
Alex fidgeted uncomfortably as Andrea went on resignedly. "Just people. People who pursue things that will ruin them just because they feel like it, people with unimaginably fragile grips on reality, people who are so unpredictably affected by the sort of trauma that's par for the course here that we never know for sure when Researcher Doe is going to snap and take half the site with him. That's the Foundation's most awful secret, Dr. Baxter, that we're all far closer to utter collapse than we dare to admit because the Foundation is made up of people."
Andrea leaned back and continued pensively. "When Jack Doe, the one with the gambling problem was hired, he was completely stable. Cleanest bill of psychiatric health I've ever seen. My colleagues will say that he was a time bomb, but I don't think that's it."
"What do you think happened?"
"Do you really want to know?"
Alex paused before replying, indecisively, "Yes."
"It's working here that did it. We've got so many anomalies that we might as well start referring to 'the friendly suggestions of physics'. Everyone reacts to trauma and extreme chronic stress in different ways, and some people develop defense mechanisms that can end the world as we know it."
"And we can't really tell in advance who those people are going to be, can we?" whispered Alex.
Andrea leaned forward with a sardonic smile. "Oh, we can to some extent. That battery of tests they put you through wasn't for the pleasure of the examiners. But despite our best efforts, some people just slip through the cracks. My esteemed colleagues believe that's a failing of our methods and that we just need bigger and better tests. Me, I think doing what we do here will cause some of the most stable people in the world to snap, and no test will tell you who. All you can do is stay vigilant and hope that you're not one of those people." She stood up to throw away her leftovers and looked back for a parting remark. "I hope you understand just how important your job is now. Psychiatrists are the immune system of the Foundation. We secure the unstable. We contain the effects of their symptoms on the workplace. And we protect the asylum from being taken over by the patients." Andrea grabbed Alex's trash as Alex started in shock at the table. "Welcome to your first day on the job. It's not too late to hand in your resignation," said Dr. Segerstrom as she walked away.
Alex looked around the cafeteria with a new sense of vigilance. The high pitched, almost hysterical giggle of a research assistant, a dulled affect of a MTF captain, the silent weeping of a security guard. Panic welled in Dr. Baxter's chest. Reflexively, she began tapping a structured, exacting fifteen-beat rhythm on the table with her left pointer fingernail. The panic flowed out of her chest and through her arm, dripped out of her fingernail like a medicine dropper, and expelled itself onto the table. As she calmed down, Dr. Baxter continued to tap, ritualistically, robotically, precisely. Nothing bad would happen, as long as she continued to tap. The tapping would save everyone. The tapping would jar loose the unstable elements of the site and restore the Foundation. A tapping a day keeps the nutjobs at bay.
The friendly din of the Site 33 cafeteria continued, and the tapping went unheard, unseen.
Item #: SCP-2017
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-2017 is to be kept in a standard humanoid containment cell furnished with a bed, a set of drawers, and a bookshelf with age-appropriate books. A pediatrician and a child psychologist specializing in early-onset psychosis and anxiety disorders are to be assigned to SCP-2017 at all times. Except when isolated in containment or during a testing scenario, SCP-2017's skin is to be completely covered at all times, and all personnel handling SCP-2017 are advised to wear full-body protective suits.
Description: SCP-2017 is a African-American human female, about 7 years old, formerly named █████ █████████. It is underweight compared to non-anomalous children, displays symptoms of anemia such as gray pallor and cold extremities, and is unusually shy and withdrawn. Its anomalous effect manifests when a human makes unprotected skin contact with with SCP-2017. The subject experiences a condition tentatively called Sudden Onset Dissociation Disorder or SCP-2017 Triggered Derealization Disorder. The affected subject recognizes itself as an entity but perceives the external world as foreign and nonsensical. SCP-2017 Triggered Dissociation Disorder will cause subjects to have difficulty understanding or internalizing even the most basic facets of human behavior. Subjects in the late stages of STDD will eventually perceive the entire physical world as lacking order or sense. In addition, affected subjects uniformly speak a place or plane of existence they claim possesses the consistency the physical world lacks. Subjects eventually descend into complete self-neglect before experiencing heart failure and a longer than normal period of post-mortem brain activity. Brain death will often be attended with other anomalous phenomena.
Worth noting is the fact that other than SCP-2017's taciturn nature, it is psychologically healthy and does not suffer from any type of dissociative disorder, anomalous or otherwise.
Document 2017-A
D-3500 was exposed to SCP-2017 on 01/03/████. Subject displayed literary talent above the general D-class population. Researchers predicted that subject would shed light on the more subtle, abstract effects of SCP-2017 induced dissociation through his personal writings
Day 1: My field of vision is so oddly limited. It reminds me of a panoramic movie screen, the ones they show you nature documentaries on. These appendages in my view-screen…can I believe they are mine? They put the words I think onto those paper. I order them, but the hands are not me. My face feels hollow. It feels like a thin coat of paint that touches the world, and behind it…nothing. Is my face me? I can't see it. It doesn't exist. I have no face.
Day 2: Nothing here makes any sense. These people in coats run performing rituals with all the effortless non-thought of lemmings jumping off a cliff. I have far-off visions of a avuncular sounding male voice narrating the courting dance of small, scurrying things. I wonder what the animals think of their strangely structured habits.
Day 3: It's worse than what I thought. They've got this huge, invisible edifice of rickety, anarchic, patchwork rules and mores and unwritten thou-shalt-nots. What architect built this? I think they did. Do? They're part of it, and build it, but the groundwork was laid forever ago. Why? Who the fuck is in charge around here, anyway?
Day 4: This isn't how it's supposed to be. There isn't a single part of this monolith that makes any goddamn sense. Are all of them in on it? Can they be said to be in on it? Is a bee "in on" building a hive?
Day 5: I have no body. The viewscreen works with scaffolding to move me, I, myself in this strange plane. It takes in, it excretes, but none of it is me. It's an avatar into the land of chaos. I'm not from here. There has been some sort of huge mistake.
Day 6: Somewhere Else. I have seen it in my dreams, can touch it with the me that is me and not the projection they call my body. It vibrates with the sort of fractal perfection I yearn for. It is crystalline, cold, clean. Perfect. The order of things is woven tight into its fabric, is not the fraying net that binds things together here. That. Somewhere Else is my home.
By Day 7, subject refuses to move or eat. Subject requests recorder to continue his notes.
Day 7 Transcript: I am haunted by visions of hands that touched other hands, faces, bodies, that were beings like myself. The visions have an odd…tint to them, but not like a tint. They operate with dream logic where bizarre and confusing things happen and are accepted as perfectly normal. The faces in the visions were people, not faces. Now I do not see people, but bodies. And they aren't right.
On Day 7, D-3500's heart and respiratory activity completely ceased. His brain continued to remain active for an inexplicable three hours and twenty minutes. After this time, subject underwent brain death and vanished. Subject's cot suddenly transmuted into a large, perfectly rectangular prism with a reflective index of zero. Mass of the object was determined to be the exact mass of the cot plus the mass of the subject's corpse, and testing indicates that the mass is indivisible and not composed of any atoms. Item classified as SCP-████.
SCP-2017 has proven uncooperative with Foundation researchers and has not adjusted to containment. Most questions posed to SCP-2017 are met with blank silence, quiet crying, or requests to be reunited with its parents. SCP-2017's mother and father, Derek and Abigail ████████ of ████████, California, are the only two people known to the Foundation to have made physical contact with SCP-2017 and not suffer its anomalous effects. Medical records of the couple show that Abigail ████████ was diagnosed with depersonalization disorder in her early college years, was successfully treated, and has not had a relapse in over ten years. Derek ████████ displayed many commonly recognized risk factors of dissociative disorders8 and received psychiatric treatment similar to that recommended for dissociative disorders9 while never actually having a dissociative episode. SCP-2017's mother and father were aware of SCP-2017's properties and attempted to conceal them from notice from a group such as the Foundation.
Interviewed: SCP-2017
Interviewer: Dr. Alexis Baxter
Foreword: Dr. Baxter is one of the few Foundation personnel SCP-2017 will respond to. It is suspected this is the case because Dr. Baxter bears a striking resemblance to SCP-2017's mother.
<Begin Log>
Dr. Baxter: Hello, SCP-2017. I'm glad I get to talk to you today.
SCP-2017: Hi, Doctor. I really wish you'd call me █████
Dr. Baxter: I'm sorry, SCP-2017. But we've been over this before and we can't do that.SCP-2017: Why?
Dr. Baxter: Well…lots of people here are named █████! Why, there's a doctor in this very division named █████! We don't want to get mixed up, do we? You deserve to have your very own name that nobody else has.
SCP-2017: Like a nickname?
Dr. Baxter: Exactly. Now. I'd like you to tell me about what life was like before you came here.
SCP-2017: Mommy and Daddy told everyone I was sick and if they touched me I'd die. But that wasn't true. If people touched me they acted funny.
Dr. Baxter: Do you know what happened to them after they acted funny for a while?
SCP-2017: Mommy said not to worry about it.
Dr. Baxter: It must have been hard with just your mommy and daddy all the time.
SCP-2017: shakes head
Dr. Baxter: Really?
SCP-2017: Mommy and Daddy would take me to the zoo and beach and stuff. They covered me up so people wouldn't touch me.
Dr. Baxter Do you remember how you came to be here?
SCP-2017: I was playing in the cul-de-sac with Jenny and Richie when the Alton boy hit me with his car. Mommy rode in the ambulance with me. She was glad they were there but she worried someone would touch me. I think that's what happened at the hospital. Then I was here. Pauses. Can I ask you a question?
Dr. Baxter: Anything. And I will answer if I can.
SCP-2017: Pinky swear you'll be honest?
Dr. Baxter: Reaches across table and grasps SCP-2017's gloved pinky in her gloved pinky Absolutely.
SCP-2017: Am I here 'cause I was bad?
Dr. Baxter: Absolutely not. You're here so we can protect others from getting sick and protect you from others that might want to hurt you. We're doctors, and we study these sorts of things so we understand what's happening and can help you.
SCP-2017 Then why can't I see my mommy and daddy?
Dr. Baxter: Because it's still very dangerous. There are bad people out there that might hurt you or use you to do bad things because you're different. Worse, they might do that through your parents. When we can understand what's going on a bit more clearly, maybe that can change.
SCP-2017: I guess.
Dr. Baxter: Now, I'd like to talk to you about something you said the other day.
SCP-2017: About the Other Place?
Dr. Baxter: Yes.
SCP-2017: I see it when I dream, and sometimes when I'm awake. It's different there. Everything is all lines and stuff, and things are simpler than they are here. No rules about when to go to bed or what to eat or what to say to grownups. I don't think there are any rules there at all.
Dr. Baxter: Do you think this place is real?
SCP-2017 Daddy said it was just a dream and dreams aren't real. But if it's not real, what about all the people there?
Dr. Baxter: Well, sometimes people see things that aren't…Wait, what people?
SCP-2017 They aren't really people. Or maybe they are, but they're not like us. They're really different. It's scary. I don't like them. I feel cold every time they pass through me.
Dr. Baxter: They interact with you?
SCP-2017: They what?
Dr. Baxter: You can touch them?
SCP-2017: Only when I see the Other Place and I'm not dreaming.
Dr. Baxter: That's…very interesting. This is the first time you've told us this. When is that?
SCP-2017: When someone touches me.
<End Log>
Closing Statement: Interview was terminated when Dr. Baxter expressed signs of surprise and alarm. As this was Dr. Baxter's first un-mentored interview with an anomaly, she was given a verbal reprimand before being allowed to contact SCP-2017 again.
In light of SCP-2017's comments during this interview, we took readings of subjects' brain activity before and after contact with SCP-2017. The results show a marked distinction from all recorded human brain waves, normal and abnormal. I submit the hypothesis that subjects who come into physical contact with SCP-2017 do not suffer dissociative symptoms, but are actually overwritten by a foreign entity from this 'other place'. As we are receiving possibly hostile entities from an undisclosed location, I recommend that exposure testing with SCP-2017 be suspended. - Dr. Alexis Baxter
Request denied. However, testing to support or debunk Dr. Baxter's hypothesis is recommended at this time. - O5-9
12:00 Vivax Physics is for chauvinists.
12:01 *** wei quit (Ping timeout: 185 seconds)
12:01 Vivax Biology is for lovers.
12:01 Vivax Kinky. Weird. Lovers.
12:01 MissMercurial i've heard more about animal penises from my biology friends than i would ever care to know
12:01 Vivax My favorite
12:01 Vivax Is traumatic insemination
12:02 Vivax because the name is so honest.
12:02 MissMercurial that…sounds rapey
12:02 Vivax Insect is like "I have a harpoon dick"
12:02 Vivax "I can shove it anywhere through your carapace"
12:02 Vivax "baby"
12:02 Riemann noooo
12:02 Riemann I don't want
12:02 Vivax "Also sometimes we'll be stuck together and I'll be bait until you lay the eggs"
12:03 Vivax "Then we will die together"
12:03 Vivax "Baby"
12:03 MissMercurial once you go stab it won't be drab
12:03 Riemann Take your weirdness elsewhere
12:03 Vivax Then there's hypodermic insemination
12:03 Vivax Where the dick is a needle
12:03 Vivax Essentially.
12:04 Vivax Practiced by marine flatworms
12:04 Vivax .y penis fencing flatworms
12:04 Glacon Vivax: World's Weirdest - Flatworm Penis Fencing - length 2m 8s - natgeowild on 2012.06.04 - NSFW
12:05 MissMercurial yeah i'm at work
12:05 MissMercurial gonna save that one for home
12:05 Riemann I'm not sure why you'd save that one at all
12:05 TroyL Vivax. I need you to… punch yourself.
12:05 MissMercurial same reason Eve ate that apple and Pandora opened that box
12:05 TroyL Twice.
12:05 TroyL Report back when you're done.
12:05 MissMercurial damned female curiosity
…..
12:08 MissMercurial the only penis fighting in physics was the Feynman-Schwinger duel to see who would be Best Physicist
12:09 Photosynthetic I'll stick with plants. Their sperm competition tends to be a lot less… violent.
12:09 TroyL Feynman won that on, if I remember.
12:09 TroyL *one
12:09 Riemann Feynman didn't just wn
12:09 Riemann He like,
12:09 Vivax He anihilated the other dick
12:09 Vivax With his anti-dick
12:09 Riemann Destroy-
12:09 Riemann Bingo
….
TroyL Better than when Brian Green shook his pubes at Niel Degrasee Tyson, screaming "THIS IS MY THEORY!"
12:10 Riemann Feynman was just that powerful
12:11 Riemann Troy Brian Green doesn't even study the same field as Niel!
12:11 Riemann > 0.0
12:11 Riemann > 0.0
12:11 TroyL That's what made it so… awkward.
12:11 Vivax Neil and Troy were the same person.
…..
12:11 Vivax That's what physics does to you, man.
12:11 Vivax It makes you shed yourself
12:11 Vivax and then makes you penis fence.
12:12 MissMercurial physics sounds a lot like meth
….
12:08 Vorcha so how about them [DATA EXPANGED]
12:08 Riemann lurkd made a page, and Alexandra does not yet recognise that they wrote it
12:08 Photosynthetic "Expanged"?
12:08 Vorcha reducted
12:08 Smapti I explunged your [DATA EXPANGED] right up the [REDUCTED], Vorcha.
12:08 Photosynthetic facedesks, giggling
12:09 Vorcha [EXPLANTAIN CENSORED]
12:09 AndarielHalo [DATA PTERODACTYLED]
12:09 MissMercurial when i first started writing for this site
12:09 MissMercurial i wrote about Class-A amnesiactics
12:10 Photosynthetic Oh dear.
12:10 lurkd Did you now?
12:10 lurkd :D
12:10 AndarielHalo SCP-002-J
12:10 Alexandra AndarielHalo: SCP-002-J (Amnesiac Treatment, Written by AndarielHalo, Rating:+38) - http://scp-wiki.net/scp-002-j
12:10 Smapti IDEA: Amnesi-tic-tacs. They're little candies the Foundation uses to give people amnesia.
12:10 Smapti "Dear me, I'm so sorry your husband was just eaten by that giant lizard thing. Care for a mint?"
12:12 Dr_Leonard Theory: Amnestics are an -EX.
12:12 TheRaven https://imgur.com/gallery/RjqOMPU
12:12 TheGreekOwl That was some nice Schinztel
12:12 Lumindia_ hahaha
12:12 DrYucatan Better not let Tox hear you talk about amnestics.
12:13 TheGreekOwl Smapti: Oh nice
12:13 Dr_Leonard That should be "amnestic-tacs"
….
12:15 Vivax Coral wars are like "oh hey"
12:15 Vivax "Let me just extend my cnidiaee on tentacles over there to murder you and your family"
12:16 Vivax "We must have the light. and nobody else"
……
12:28 ScpROBLOX How do these guys DO it'
12:28 ScpROBLOX I mean.
12:29 Photosynthetic Sorry, ROBLOX, but do what?
12:29 ScpROBLOX Capturing creatures that have NO origin?
12:29 Photosynthetic Also, could you please remove the "SCP" from your name? We strongly discourage "SCP", "O5", etc. in usernames.
12:29 Riemann Well, we start by them not actually being real
12:29 ScpROBLOX Oh.
12:29 ScpROBLOX Sure
12:29 Riemann As this is a collaborative writing site
12:29 Photosynthetic Yeah, this is a creative-writing site. ;)
12:30 Riemann For fiction
12:30 Pixeltasim Entirely fictional
12:30 Photosynthetic We crank these things out of our imaginations.
12:30 Smapti Except, of course, for the butt ghost.
12:30 Tuomey SCP-1111-J
12:30 Smapti The butt ghost is VERY real.
…
18:22 * MissMercurial joined #site19
Welcome to #site19 | RULES http://scp.so/chat http://scp.so/newbies | Sandbox http://scp.so/sand | #site17 talk to staff / critique | Review : SCP-437 | GoI Fact: Congrats to SH, MCF, and AWCY! http://scp.so/GoI | SCPs (and all other creepypasta) are entirely fictional. | R.I.P. Robin Williams
Topic set by Piefish on Tue Aug 12 2014 00:22:16 GMT-0700 (Pacific Daylight Time)
18:22 * ghostchibi joined #site19
18:22 MissMercurial oh goddamn who set that topic
18:22 MissMercurial buried under wave of feels
18:22 Tuomey Apparently it was piefish
18:23 MissMercurial fuck you piefish for reminding me that funny people suffer the most
18:23 Cimmerian yeah I'm not having the best time today for some reason… celebrity deaths are usually stuff I can shrug off
18:23 Cimmerian this may be the first one to actually get me
18:23 MissMercurial Yeah, it's usually like 'who gives a shit'
18:23 *** Penguinizer quit (Ping timeout: 182 seconds)
18:23 Vince MissMercurial: yeah… it kind of sucks
18:23 MissMercurial I think part of it is that I beat depression really recently so it kinda stings
18:23 MissMercurial that someone so vivacious didn't
18:23 Vince seeing hte reminder burns
18:24 Vince not as bad as David Wong's column on the whole situation, though
18:24 MissMercurial uh-oh
18:24 Vince that fucking hit home
18:24 MissMercurial lol nope
18:24 MissMercurial runs forever from the feelings
18:24 Devereaux waves at MissMercurial as she runs
….
18:33 BlackWing "A Foundation expert in Renaissance-era occult practices is to be assigned to SCP-XXXX-A at all times and review containment procedures every six months." This makes me imagine some researcher go "I've seen Seventh Seal seven times, does that count?"