Item #: SCP-2715
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-2715 is to be kept in a low-security humanoid containment cell in Site 47. All vents leading to and from the subject's containment area are to be connected to an outdoor air supply. SCP-2715's meal schedule is not to be deviated from without the permission and approval of at least one level-three researcher assigned to the subject's containment unit. Site 47’s onsite therapist is to be made available if needed.
Description: SCP-2715 is an eighteen-year-old Brazilian-American female originating from ███████, Oregon. Subject displays a near-complete immunity to all types of biotoxic substances. Approximately two (2) hours after ingestion of a biotoxin, SCP-2715 will begin sneezing uncontrollably, releasing the ingested biotoxin into the surrounding area in the form of airborne particles. Breathing the ejected particles will result in strong negative reactions in line with those for the substance ingested, but notably more severe. Methods of inducing this reaction are limited to oral intake; any other means of introduction (e.g. injection) will be processed normally by the subject's body and cause effects consistent with normal human intake of the substance.
SCP-2715 came to the Foundation’s attention after ████ ██████, the son of the president of ███████, contracted an illness and died during the Fifteenth Les Âmes Libres Gala in France. Two days after the event, SCP-2715 sought out undercover Foundation personnel and admitted to having anomalous abilities that she had used to carry out ████ ██████’s assassination. Further questioning revealed that she had been operating in service of the Chaos Insurgency for several years, and wished to leave after Insurgency agents threatened her family with [DATA EXPUNGED] when she refused to comply with their demands.
SCP-2715 was taken into custody shortly thereafter and has since been cooperative in her containment.
Addendum 2715-3/16/██: As of 3/16/██, SCP-2715's mother and sister have not been located. This information is not to be made available to SCP-2715 in order to maintain her emotional well-being. False information regarding SCP-2715's capture has also been disseminated to Insurgency operatives to discourage retaliation against extended relations.
Addendum 2715-4/3/██: Since initial containment, SCP-2715 has consistently shown symptoms of post-traumatic stress. This is presumed to be a result of the subject's time with the Chaos Insurgency, though this has not been confirmed. Semi-regular appointments with Site 47's therapist are recommended.
Dr. ████ said that writing things down might help with the nightmares. It'll be like a letter, since I know he'll be reading it. I don't mind. The last time I had privacy, I was wearing Hello Kitty shirts and playing that stupid DS.
It's weird, but I've been feeling a lot better since they stuffed me into this cell. I don't have to worry about Aaron or Sellie. Assholes. Sellie was the worst. She hated my guts from the moment I walked in there, even when I was normal. I think she thought of me as inferior or something. Inferior to her and the guys that had always been weird, not modified like me.
Well, she can suck a dick. I'm safe and she's the one who's being chewed out for letting me get captured.
Bored to hell half the time. Been trying out meditation. I'm pretty bad at it. All I can think about is Mike's dumb face. Kind of defeats the point of meditation if you keep thinking about the person who threatened to condemn your family to a fate worse than death.
The more time I spend here, the more I think, and the more I think, the more I blame myself. It wasn't about money, it was about being dissatisfied. I was bored with real life. I wanted something else.
Well, I got what I wanted, didn't I?
I remember when I got out of surgery. I was walking around all weird, and my mouth was dry from the cotton they'd stuffed it with so I wouldn't bite my tongue. But I was so excited. I'd become a superhero, a tiny, twelve-year-old superhero. It was like being high. I've never been high, but I think that's what it'd be like. And it persisted even after the anesthetic wore off, so I knew it was genuine. It was the best feeling I'd ever had, and I never want to experience anything like it again.
The first man I killed was a political leader from Africa, about half a year after the surgery. They didn't give me any details, but I heard rumors he was getting fed up with Insurgency policy. So I downed my pills, lured him into his bathroom, and killed him. They put a new dictator in his place, one that agreed to do everything they wanted. Same shit, different day.
They told me I was doing good. My mom always said that the most addictive drug is heroin, but it's not. The most addictive drug is superiority.
They wanted me to kill some politician's son at the gala. I don't know why. ████, I think his name was. He was sixteen. He died in his bed, with my head resting on his chest. I felt him go cold, got up, put on my bathrobe, and ran out into the ballroom screaming bloody murder. I'd practiced that. His mother looked like she'd been shot.
I felt nothing, and that scared me. What do you tell yourself after that? "Oh, so sorry you killed that guy who'd done absolutely nothing to deserve it, now what about those tens of other corpses who were probably good people at heart?" I'd locked those feelings away in favor of complete and utter apathy.
Aaron found me in the courtyard when I was supposed to be at base. I had done a pretty good job of holding back my tears up until that point, but when I saw him, everything just started pouring out. He helped me get up and back to base. I thought he'd be understanding.
I got called to Mike's office the day after. He always put on a neutral face when he was about to do something really awful. He was staring at me, and I was staring at the sins reflected in those dark sunglasses. He asked me if I loved my sister. I told him that of course I did. He just looked at me. We both understood the threat.
I don't know what I was thinking when I left. I was only taking a walk around base.
I kept walking.
I kept walking straight out the front doors and the alarms sounded and Aaron started running at me. I started running too. I kept running even when Aaron had stopped, miles away.
I stopped at a building. I'd seen that building before, and was told to steer clear of it. Nobody'd ever told me why. But I started to understand when I saw the phrase "Sally's Computer Products" plastered onto the window. I mean, I may not be the brightest knife in the shed, but nobody can miss a cue that big. I walked in, told the guy at the desk not to shoot me, and I guess things went from there.
The researchers tell me Mom and Kelsey are alright. I hope it's true.
One portion of SCP-3715's wall
Item #: SCP-3715
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: Due to its immobile and relatively benign nature, SCP-3715 does not require any specific containment beyond keeping non-Foundation entities away. Personnel with level-2 clearance or higher stationed at Research Site-95 are allowed access to the anomaly for morale purposes.
Description: SCP-3715 is an anomalous event that occurs in Room-121 in the former Bellview City High School, located in Alberta, Canada. SCP-3715's effects typically manifest on weekdays during the fall and winter months. Between the hours of 11 PM to 6 AM, a variable amount of tea will manifest in any suitable container within Room-121. Generation of tea will always occur, but certain variables (Such as flavor and brand of the tea) may be controlled. Occasionally, in addition to the tea, a document will appear addressed to individuals who have recently entered the room. This document always takes the form of a handwritten note, giving praise and/or positive feedback to the individual.
The flavoring of the tea may be controlled by taping tea bags to a wall adjacent. In the event that the tea does not require or come with a tea bag, the tea will manifest as normal if the ingredients are placed in a plastic bag and taped to the wall. See below test log.
| Type of Tea Used |
Container Used |
Document Contents |
Notes |
| Green tea bag from school stock |
Videographer Stockton's mug |
I hope you have a nice day. :) |
This was the first recorded instance of SCP-3715. Videographer Stockton was allowed, upon request, to keep the document from this test. |
| Licorice tea bag |
Generic teapot |
NO!! >:( |
This was the first time that SCP-3715 had reacted negatively to any stimulus. Site staff had been using many types of tea for several weeks before this event. Staff are discouraged from giving SCP-3715 licorice tea in the future. |
| English breakfast tea bag |
Generic teapot |
Su Tan, check your code again. |
Researcher Tan had recently completed several blocks of code for a device designed to more efficiently contain SCP-████. Upon inspection, it was revealed that the code held several typos that could have kickstarted a series of containment failures. The errors were corrected. Discussion regarding SCP-3715's ability to find errors in Foundation documents is ongoing. |
| Loose jasmine tea leaves from a nearby specialty store |
Generic teapot |
This is very good tea! Thank you! Next time though, try giving it to someone who needs it more than I do :) |
The tea was shared amongst researchers. |
| Imported Pu-erh cake (Retail price of roughly $40 USD) |
Generic teapot |
??? [sic] |
Lab 4 was found to have been deep cleaned overnight. A note was found on the lab bench reading 'I wouldn't feel right otherwise.' |
Addendum 3715-A: SCP-3715 was discovered in 2014, when reports of a 'tea ghost' made their way to Foundation agents in Alberta. Notably, the classroom was last inhabited by Bellview City teacher Betty Miles, who had attained mild popularity within the school due to her optimism and willingness to assist students. Miles had suffered a fatal heart attack in 2013 while in class. Anomalous reports began surfacing shortly after.
Marked area indicates the location of SCP-3915's tent before it was removed.
Item #: SCP-3915
Object Class: Neutralized (Formerly Euclid)
Special Containment Procedures: Currently, no containment procedures are necessary to contain SCP-3915 beyond standard POI monitoring. Outpost-84 is currently being maintained as an independent Foundation installation in Alaska.
Montague Island is to be kept as uninhabited as possible, aside from the personnel assigned to Outpost-84. Guided hunting expeditions are allowed during times when SCP-3915 is not active, to increase credibility and not draw attention to an unexpected island closure.
Alongside NOAA and the Marine Conservation Alliance, a false cleanup effort has been organized, in order to disguise SCP-3915's refuse-gathering. Once per month, Foundation helicopters are to transport the collected refuse to designated processing facilities in Anchorage.
Description: SCP-3915 was an anomalous humanoid residing on Montague Island, Alaska from 2012 to 2017. SCP-3915 was virtually identical to an ordinary human male except for its incorporeal nature, with any and all physical objects phasing through it completely. However, it appeared to be able to interact with the physical world at will.
SCP-3915 claimed (and was later identified) to be a thirty-four-year-old man named Cees Martin from Fort Worth, Texas. Inquiry as to the nature and origin of its anomalous ability had yielded very little information; SCP-3915 had been unwilling to go into specifics, calling it "a gift from a friend".
SCP-3915's primary objective on Montague Island appeared to be refuse collection. It kept a rigid schedule, waking up at 6:00 AM, walking the coastline and picking up garbage, then returning to its tent on the peninsula northeast of Patton Bay to sleep at 8:00 PM. At 7:00 AM, 12:00 PM, and 7:00 PM, it stopped for meals; it has not yet been determined where it acquired its food for said meals. On Saturday and Sunday, it refused to go further than a half-kilometer from its tent, as it claimed to be resting.
Given its incorporeal nature, it was impossible to physically remove and contain SCP-3915. Efforts to persuade it to leave had been met with hostility on SCP-3915's part, as it insisted it must finish its task before it could go back home.
On 13/6/13, SCP-3915 agreed to an interview with Foundation agents, in exchange for reading material and cigarettes.
Interviewed: SCP-3915
Interviewer: █████ Vought
Foreword: SCP-3915 requested a slice of pizza while waiting for the interviewer to arrive; this was denied, as the facility did not have any pizza on hand.
<Begin Log>
Mme. Vought: Evening. Mr. Martin, was it?
SCP-3915: Oh, no, man, call me Cees. I'm no good with that formal stuff. Hey, you got a light?
Mme. Vought: A match? (To dispatch) Hey, can I give him a match? Okay, great. [Vought hands SCP-3915 a matchbox. SCP-3915 lights its cigarette.] So, Cees, why are you in Alaska?
SCP-3915: Well, to pick up the trash, obviously. What that tsunami washed over here. Thanks for the match, by the way.
Mme. Vought: You're quite welcome. Which tsunami are you referring to?
SCP-3915: What? The tsunami. The tsunami. The one in Japan a couple years ago. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?
Mme. Vought: I remember now. And you're picking up garbage from it?
SCP-3915: Yeah, dude. Bunch of shit washed over here, fucking up the environment. I figured: well, why not come and make a difference? Save the little baby penguins 'n whatever.
Mme. Vought: Admirable. Why Montague Island specifically?
SCP-3915: [Smiles] Before this, I've gone, camped, spent some time hunting with Mark- er, hunting deer. They've got some really pretty blacktails here. I got one once, really nice three-pointer? Oh man, that thing was gorgeous-
Mme. Vought: Who's Mark?
SCP-3915: [Falls silent for seven seconds] My… partner. I'm not real sure if he is my partner anymore, though.
Mme. Vought: Why's that?
SCP-3915: [Is silent for a full nine seconds] We, uh, fought. It was stupid. Shouldn't have happened.
Mme. Vought: Is that why you came here?
SCP-3915: …yeah.
Mme. Vought: Do you plan to go back?
SCP-3915: I guess. But not until all the trash gets picked up. I mean, somebody's gotta do it.
<End Log>
Closing Statement: SCP-3915 was escorted back to its tent. Marcus G. Halen flagged as a possible person of interest.
Addendum 15/12/17: On 6/12/17, SCP-3915 vanished from Montague island, leaving its tent behind, as well as a written document that read 'gone to do what should have been done years ago'. Foundation sweeps revealed almost no garbage present on the island proper.
SCP-3915 itself was found to be occupying its old residence in Fort Worth with with POI Marcus G. Halen. During debriefing, it was discovered that SCP-3915 no longer had any anomalous properties. It was subsequently determined that further containment would incur unnecessary expenses, and as such it was allowed to continue living with Halen as a civilian. Both are currently under surveillance.
Addendum 22/12/17: During the dismantling of SCP-3915's tent, a sheaf of papers in a sealed plastic bag was discovered under SCP-3915's air mattress. Most of the papers were blank, or filled with some type of scribble/drawing. Three, however, had coherent sentences on them.
First of all, I am so sorry
Mark, I'm sorry
Mark, I want to say how much I
[The rest of the page is filled with crudely drawn pictures of coastal birds in flight.]
TO THOSE COAST GUARD DUDES
okay. i know you're not coast guard. it's fine. really, it is. i couldn't care less.
i regret don't regret have mixed feelings about coming here. on one hand, i get to pick up trash and save all the puffins. on the other hand, i've run away from my problems, which i know now only ferments them and makes them worse. that was a bad idea. i'll stay here until i get all the trash picked up, but not an hour minute second longer. i'll even give back that magic thing [DESTROYED] gave me.
just leave me us me us alone after i go back home. i'm going to fix this. i swear i will, and it's not like i can do that by writing letters.
i won't tell a thing to anyone. just let me be with the person i love.
cees
p.s. vought, those cigs you got helped me out a lot so thanks again for those
Those guys don't know a damn thing about the coastguard
i'm sorry. about everything. i don't even remember what we were fighting about
i wish you could be here, if only to understand how very blue the sea is
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: One handwritten copy of SCP-XXXX is to be kept in a secure item containment locker at Site 76. Following an event where the handwritten copy is lost, an instance may be retrieved from a secure database located at Area 25 (see attached document XXXX-A).
In the event of an isolated incident, MTF Eta-8 ("Supermodels") is to be mobilized for damage control and administration of amnestics. Otherwise, in the event of an instance becoming public, Protocol Alberta-14 is to be carried out at the earliest opportunity.
Description: SCP-XXXX is an anomalous English phrase which, when read and remembered by a human, will cause the affected to continually engage in chronic excoriation up to and including acts of extreme self-mutilation.
SCP-XXXX's effect is largely dependent on the quality of an affected person's skin, though other factors have been documented. Items targeted by SCP-XXXX include surface blemishes such as pore blockages, scab tissue, and hanging skin. Other times, under-skin deformities such as bumps and tumors may be targeted. In most milder cases of SCP-XXXX, nails are used to pick at these items. However, in cases where nail leverage is small or nonexistent, use of sharp objects such as tweezers, knives, and scissors has been recorded.
In a large majority of cases, persons affected with SCP-XXXX will continue to engage in self-destructive behaviors until death occurs due to blood loss. SCP-XXXX may be semi-effectively countered with the use of targeted and general amnestics.
SCP-XXXX was initially recovered following its use in an organized protest against cosmetics manufacturer ████ █████ where instances were being disseminated in the form of informational flyers (See attached document XXXX-AB). Cleanup efforts for this event were successful, with an affected count of ██, and a deceased count of █.
Addendum: Following the events of 4/1/██, Agent Katie M█████ has been removed from MTF Eta-8 following concerns about his safety and susceptibility to SCP-XXXX.
Document XXXX-AB: Recovered from SCP-XXXX acquisition efforts.
BEAUTIFICATION OF SELF LEADS TO HYPOCRISY
BEAUTIFICATION OF OTHER LEADS TO BETRAYAL
TRUE BEAUTY IS FOUND IN ACCEPTANCE OF SELF
LOVE YOUR SELF
LOVE THE WAY YOUR SELF BLEEDS
[COGNITOHAZARD EXPUNGED]
Item #: SCP-XXXX-J
Object Class: Adorable Keter
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX-J is contained within Junior Agent Smith's house. SCP-XXXX-J is allowed to come and go as she pleases, as she usually stays within a close distance of the house. SCP-XXXX-J is provided food and catnip periodically. SCP-XXXX-J is to be booted outside and let inside only when she has sufficiently thought about her actions and made pitiful meows at the back door.
Description: SCP-XXXX-J ("Blue") is a grey housecat belonging to Junior Agent Smith. Junior Agent Smith finds her to be the most precious thing ever and also worthy of an SCP classification.
SCP-XXXX-J's anomalous abilities begin to manifest during the weeks preceding December 24th. During this period, SCP-XXXX-J will begin to become extremely festive. Sometime on December 24th, she will slice her owner's hand during playtime, hideously mutilating them for as long as they live. If not responded to appropriately, she will continue to scratch her owner's hand and be a general little shit for all time.
Kicking SCP-XXXX-J outside in the cold for a time has proven effective at countering her scratchiness.
[[gay trashman]]
The first person to pick Cees up had been a weathered old angler named Josephine.
It was a bit of a miracle, really; an old woman out night fishing at exactly the time he wanted to leave. She'd seen his flashlight flickering out into the bay that chilly October night and had pulled her boat alongside him.
"Need a ride, sonny?"
He hesitated for a second. But only a second. "Can you take me to Whittier?"
"Hey, you awake?"
"What is it, KC?"
"You check on him recently?"
"3915?"
"Yeah."
Edina Vought rubbed her eyes. "I will tomorrow. We've got one more photoshoot lined up, and he asked me to alert him before it happens. Says the helicopter disturbs his peace."
"Ha. That's kinda funny." KC seemed thoughtful.
"Mark, that's not how-"
"No! You listen to me! We literally cannot afford to keep a cat here."
"Well, where else is she going to go!? The shelter, where they'll probably put her down?"
"The shelter's not going to put it down. It's sweet, it'll find someplace."
"Do you know the kill rate of Oakenfen, Mark?"
"Goddamnit. But it can't stay here."
"Where's she going to go then?"
"Find somebody who'll take it. Hell, give it to Rathway, god fucking knows he needs another pussy strutting around."
Mark turned around and started to his room. Cees yelled, "You're a real fuckin' jackass, you know that?"
"Count on it!"
"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Cees muttered as he shoved his feet into his snowboots. "You fucking penis ass shit dick. Go eat a fucking cactus. Shithead."
He grabbed the cat carrier, exited out the front door, and slammed it behind him.
He had nothing but his clothes, wallet, flashlight, and a ballpoint pen that had long since run dry, but which he had sharpened to a point in a kind of really shitty shiv. He and Josephine glided along the water.
"Uh, quiet boat you got," he noted after a few minutes of almost dead silence.
"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to keep it that way."
So he shut up and watched the reflection of the moon on the water as they moved ever slowly towards home.
"Morning, Ed," the other woman in the outpost said cheerily. "Your coffee."
"Thanks, Abelone. Movie any good?"
"Of course! We weren't very interested in it, though." Abelone cast a meaningful look at Taro Jakob, who seemed bashful. Vought sipped her coffee to hide her smile.
There was a series of quick knocks. "Oh, KC. I'll get it."Abelone went to the door and opened it to reveal one very out-of-breath KC, who looked directly at Vought.
"Ed, he's supposed to be eating right now, isn't he?" they said.
"Yes?"
"He's gone."
"What do you mean gone?"
"I mean gone! He's not in his tent. I searched around and he's nowhere."
"He could have left early," Abelone quipped.
"Not possible," Vought said. "He's never left early." To Taro, she said, "Call the Anchorage site and tell them to get a sweep done on the coast. We're looking for garbage, any kind."
He drove for a long time. Hours, maybe. He had no roadmap other than the word "NORTH" echoing in his head over and over. North to Miles City. He reached it after about a day. Then he called someone.
"Hey."
"Cees?"
"That's me."
"Hey! I haven't seen you in forever, man! How you doing?"
"I'm alright. Say, do you want a cat?"
"A cat?"
"Yeah. I found one on the street, but we can't afford one right now. Do you want her?"
"Bring her over."
Cees drove to the house, set the cat crate on the front steps. The person leaning on the doorframe watched disinterestedly. "You look like something's fucked your duck, dude. You get into it with Mark?"
"I need to redeem a favor you owe me," Cees said. "I'm going to Alaska. Was wondering if you'd be willing to work some magic."
"Where in Alaska?"
"I don't know.
The figure thought. "Where'd you guys get that three-pointer?"
"Montague."
"Yeah, Montague. If you're looking for a place to go spend some time, that might work. Well- hm. Maybe not, actually."
"Why not?
"Ah, that quake in March. Started washing a bunch of rubble over there. The whole beach might be better called Trash Beach now."
"Oh. Has it been cleaned up yet?"
"Who knows?" the figure said dismissively. "With all the bureaucracy these days, it'll probably be a year before they get someone over there. What's this you said about a favor?"
"Well, with the bears and everything, I've been thinking about keeping myself safe…"
The two of them caught sight of Whittier as the sun began peeking over the horizon. The cold had gotten worse over the last six hours; Josephine had been grumbling about wanting to go back to Freeport for easily half of that. Cees honestly couldn't blame her.
They reached the docks at and Josephine looked at him. "Anchorage is about fifty miles to the northwest, if you're heading there. Good luck." Then she shooed him out of the boat and drove back the way they'd come. Unceremonious, Cees thought. Then he stretched his hand out and started walking toward the road.
"Find anything?" Vought asked the regional director.
The regional director shook his head. "Clean as a whistle. Y'all wasn't watching it last night?"
"Why would we? He's- it's been doing the same thing every day for years now. We had no reason to think it would leave."
"Fair." He gazed around at the island. "Pretty spot a land here. You do any fishing?"
"You'd have to ask KC about that," Vought replied.
[[/tab]]
Click-clack, went the heels on the tile, and her mind still spun ever outwards.
She was in a hallway. There were people: just enough to seem make it seem busy without being crowded. People cast glances at her, but didn’t speak. She registered a pair of men pointing at her and whispering. She felt deeply out-of-place, like the first week she’d been back at public school.
Room-B15, she was looking for B15. She looked up. C-Wing, then the B-Wing. Eighth room on the left, be sure to knock, use your visitor’s pass to gain access once you receive a reply, the door sticks, there’s a puddle of Pepsi immediately to the right of the door, but please disregard it, the janitor hasn’t had time to clean it yet, just be mindful of it. Thanks, receptionist lady.
She stopped in front of B15’s door. It seemed… heavy? It had one of those rubber things installed on doors to keep drafts out, and a wired glass window that someone had taped blue construction paper over. She rapped twice on the door, making sure to use measured, even knocks. Her knuckles protested at the effort, and she wiped them on her skirt. A reply came, an affable “Come in!” which she was glad to obey.
The door did stick, but not to the degree she had expected, and a puddle of brown liquid was indeed present on the floor. Someone was waiting at the table in the middle of the room, a dark-skinned woman with an infectious smile.
“Dakota Chen?” the woman said.
“That’s me,” Chen replied.
The woman nodded. “Jesse Kovak.” She extended her hand out, and Chen shook it.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Chen.”
“You as well,” Chen said.
Jesse Kovak moved toward the back of the table. Chen let her sit down first, then settled into the polyester chair. It was all very polite. Chen’s head itched.
“So, Miss Chen. You are…” Kovak glanced down at the papers set in front of her. “…looking for a full-time position in the security department of the Alide Corporation’s Northern California Offices. Is that correct?”
“It is.”
“Right, then.” Kovak nodded and made some notes on her clipboard. “So, Miss Chen. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
Chen answered in modest terms. She was hardworking, ambitious, with a sharp eye and quick reflexes, first aid and CPR certification, good with computers. In one of her proudest moments, she had prevented the kidnapping of a fourteen-year-old girl at her previous job. Kovak listened with interest. Even though the woman’s smile was friendly, Chen couldn’t help but feel she was being scrutinized at every angle.
The next few questions followed suit. Normal interview questions that might’ve been asked by any other number of other companies. She started to relax.
Kovak looked at her clipboard, eyes scanning the sheaf of papers attached. She looked back up at Chen, evidently in preparation for asking another question. Chen felt she was getting into the swing of things, so she smiled and made eye contact. Ready for anything.
“Our records indicate you have ties with the Fifthist sect located in Sheridan, Wyoming. Tell me about it.”
Ow. Ow, ow. Not ready for anything. Kovak couldn’t have knocked her off her feet any harder if she’d stood up and physically kicked her in the chest.
“That sounds vaguely illegal,” she said. “I’ll refrain from answering.”
“Miss Chen, we both know legality isn’t the problem here.”
Kovak looked as though she were still expecting an answer. They were dancing around it. How long they would dance was still up in the air.
“My involvement with them ended well over ten years ago. It’s a non-issue.”
“And our records indicate as much.” Kovak flipped through the papers. “It’s- wait. You would’ve been eleven when-”
“Maim Lorin?”
“Yes. You were present during that?”
Chen looked away. Kovak made a sympathetic noise. “You poor woman. I’m sorry. No one should have had to go through that.”
“It was a long time ago.” Chen looked back at Kovak. “And I’ve got my own suspicions about who rescued us, too.”
“Then you already know.”
“To an extent. I was wondering if you’d be willing to clear some things up.”
“Well, alright then. Miss Dakota Chen, as of now, you have achieved temporary level-one clearance within our organization.”
“Organization?”
“Indeed. As a matter of fact, it may interest you to know that you are currently in a front building for the SCP Foundation.”
And there. Chen hadn’t expected the interview to go this way, but it had ended how she’d wanted it to. A position at the Foundation. Dancing around it had been a hassle, and she hadn’t wished to reveal that she was present at the Maim Lorin incident, but that wasn’t important. She was still here, after all. Here, and with Kovak looking at her like she might've been useful.
“Good to know,” Chen replied.
Kovak nodded. “And you know what we do? What we fight against?”
“Work to preserve status quo by any means possible and keep humanity from dire fates?”
“And there, you see-” Kovak said, “-is half your orientation already completed. You did your research.”
"Not research, really. Just picked some things up over the years.” That was a lie. Damned if she hadn't paid dearly for the information.
Kovak nodded. “Smart. No other living family members either, huh? Just your father and brother?”
“That’s correct.”
“Uh huh. So, Miss Chen. Here’s my dilemma: we believe you represent a gigantic security risk, and our best course of action would likely be to make you forget this ever happened and sic a tail on you to make sure you’re not a spy. However, I am not We, and following that logic, I believe that you would make an excellent employee.”
“Thanks?”
“Don’t thank me yet. See, thing is, your connections can be considered both an asset and a liability. I’m more inclined to call it an asset, but there are others who would see otherwise. If you could prove that you're not going to sell us out to your sect, I think you'd make those people think differently.
could make those records disappear, but you’d have to do something for me, first.”
“And how can I do that?”
Kovak leaned back in her chair and took a breath. “How do you feel about joining a team specifically designed around your particular group of Fifthists?”
Chen suddenly felt very cold. “They’re not ‘my group.’ And if you’re asking me to kill them-”
“Not at all, at least not without them wanting to do the same to you. No, Miss Chen, your job would be to infiltrate them. Get intel. After Maim Lorin, they were quiet for a while. Now they’ve started making noise again. You’ve arrived at just the right time, and I think you’d be just the right person to go in. What do you say?”
"What happens if I say no?"
"Nothing. You leave and try to find another job."
Kovak was lying, Chen knew. The Foundation didn't let people walk off. She'd get killed, or memory-wiped, or some other horrendous form of not being the same person she was. Kovak didn't tell that to people, because a coerced employee was a bad employee, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. An invisible carrot-and-stick deal where the stick was actually targeted amnestics.
Chen thought. Then, she made a decision.
~
Several days later, she had a dream about Maim Lorin.
It might have been more of a nightmare by any reasonable person’s standards, honestly. But she’d had worse. Far worse. This was nothing.
She was in the foyer, Lorin’s foyer, where she’d been blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. The ceiling soared far, far above her, and the skylight let in the early evening air, casting the room in subtle shades of orange. Her mother, father, and brother were beside her, the first two chatting about stupid things like the weather and Mary Lee’s recent divorce, and her brother picking at the lint on his sweater. He looked at her and said something, but the words were garbled. She didn’t reply.
She turned toward the front door and tried to open it. Locked, because of course it was. She turned back. The room had gone silent, and people were staring at her. Her mother stepped forward and said something, but it was garbled too. When Chen didn’t say anything, her mother walked forward, grabbed her arm, and tugged her into the living room. The flesh where her mother had touched was rotting and falling away. She watched the strip of skin fall to the floor and felt a wave of nausea roll over her.
She looked up. Maim Lorin sat on the couch, looking at her.
“Dakota!” Lorin’s voice reverberated through Chen’s skull, like when was hungover. “In a bit of a trouble spot, are we? Nice to see you again, anyway.”
Lorin’s face wasn’t like the others’; every wrinkle on her face stood out clear as day, and her clear green eyes shone. Her smile was real.
“You’re dead,” Chen said.
“Really?” Lorin replied with mock surprise. “Someone should tell William. Fellow always wanted my inheritance. But yes, love.” The smile returned. “Dead in the physical. Lifeless, powerless, rotting away in Foundation cold storage as they wonder whether or not I’m coming back. Here’s a hint for you, love: I like it here. I won’t come back. You’ll tell them that, won’t you? Let the bastards give a person a proper burial for once, eh? Ha!” Maim Lorin raised her champagne as if to toast it.
“Are you going to leave me alone now?”
“Leave you a- what on God’s Earth are you talking about, love? I never sought you out. You knocked, and I opened the door. If you insist, I’ll leave it locked. But- ah, you have bigger problems, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
Lorin took a very long sip of champagne, never taking her eyes off Chen. “Sheridan. Who hosts dinner parties there now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mm. And that’s problematic, love. I’d start there. And your brother and father-”
“If you’ve touched them-”
Maim Lorin laughed a very short and high laugh, like tinkling windchimes. The sound kicked Chen in the head and she staggered.
“How could I touch them? I’m dead. Oh, good lord, you’re adorable. Well, love, here’s to a long and fruitful career in the Secure, Contain, Perjury Foundation, hm?” She laughed at her own joke and toasted again.
Chen turned around and walked back through the now-empty house. Her ears rung. She opened the door, took in the dryly featureless landscape. The second she closed it behind her-
She woke up in her bed, in her own apartment. 4:52, said the alarm clock. She stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then a thought occurred to her. She looked out the window; outside her apartment were two nondescript-looking men in a van. One of them was sleeping. The other was- was he knitting? He sighted her face in the window and waved.
She sighed and got up to take the last shower she would ever take in that particular apartment.
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: To date, no reliable methods of containing SCP-XXXX have been proposed. As such, containment is limited to damage control of incidents and administering amnestics to affected persons.
Description: SCP-XXXX is an anomalous phenomenon that occurs randomly to persons between 15 and 50 years of age. SCP-XXXX is characterized by a single bout of extreme rage, uncharacteristic propensity toward violence and cruelty, and anomalously heightened levels of strength and pain tolerance. Sympathetic traits, along with the ability to read social cues, deteriorate almost to the point of non-existence.
During an occurrence of SCP-XXXX, the affected person will attempt to seek out the person who they believe has caused them the most amount of stress up to that point. They will then lash out at that person
SCP-XXXX is always preceded by a large, continual amount of irritation, trivial stress or annoyance resulting from the actions of another person. Irritation resulting from non-human entities, such as animals or nonbiological objects, do not appear to trigger SCP-XXXX. SCP-XXXX's properties make it difficult to determine a steady occurrence rate; however, estimates on the rate of observed instances have placed the global rate at about once per 3.2 weeks.
Addendum: On 5/6/13, an SCP-XXXX event occurred in southeastern Washington, near Kennewick. This occurrence was recorded by a household web camera. Foundation agents were able to acquire the recording.
Notes:
[BEGIN LOG]
<11:02> Camera is turned on. An adolescent female steps back and looks at the camera. Female begins to speak at length
[END LOG]
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