Riemann

Riemann's Sandbox

http://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/rieviews

Years ago, the Canadians worshiped the frozen Gods of the north
in their bid to prevent Quebec from seceding, they committed the ultimate heresy
They slew the northern Gods, used their flesh and bone to contain Quebec
They built ziggurats
places of commerce and power
'for their ideas to seep into the minds of the Canadian peoples
that Canada is one land united
United under one banner
Tim Hortons
This is why they apologise, because they know that they have killed their Gods
These are their sacred games, their festivals of atonement

MC&D takes over the afterlife and creates ghost contracts.

Ambrose 2:Go - critic on an island for a week, realises someone else is on it with him. 1 meal per day provided by Ambrose, transforms him into a new animal each day. Penultimate night he fights off the intruder and kills it, finds out it was another reviewer from Waldon. Final day's meal is a fork and a knife. Reviewer eats well that day. Cause he ate the body.

Sponsored SCP from Northrop-Grunman wherein it's actually just an ad for weapons

Hasbro creates an afterlife in order to sell more Ouija boards.

linking the continued belief in the existence of Big Boi with Cold War proxy wars

pitch is that brown dwarf star is being used for interstellar games and almost yeets a deep space probe (You Have to Distance Whip it Nine Yards)

Competitive Eschatology Tale:
Starts with agent talking about how gods being perfect makes them predictable. Then transition to discussion about how "in 1941 men in Los Alamos sought to create a new horseman. Instead, they created a God."

Then there's a battle idk. Take care to mention "Ours is a belief that births Gods. Whose to say Theirs can't kill one?" and how if gods believe they can die, they can die. And that making a god believe in its own mortality is no easy feat.

Music for the above idea is "Paradisi by GosT and Tohuvabohu by KMFDM" Also the DOOM and DOOM ETERNAL soundtracks

---

+ Short

Item #: SCP-5777

Object Class: no time spread quickly please dont let them out

Object Class: The lockdown at Site-50 has been lifted. Remaining employees are encouraged to kiss their wives when they return home.

+ Sugar Ants

weizhong
Damn you to hell TARS
weizhong
http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5948
weizhong
This one
Riemann
he's not great at searching
weizhong
In the vein of "This is a weird thing that happens and *shrug* idk"
weizhong
That's the vibe you should go for
Riemann
hmmmm
weizhong
Say that this a phenomenon that affects n% of sugar bought from x brand
weizhong
In 2% of cases it's discovered that the sugar randomly bursts into ants when brought to a sufficiently high temperature
weizhong
Causing a flood of ants everywhere
weizhong
It's weird, it's bizarre, and totally unexplained
Riemann
hm hm
weizhong
You can even work in a lil' horror angle with making it like "maybe you're gonna eat some sugar ants" as a potential avenu

Item #: SCP-5777

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Foundation resources are presently monitoring local news and social media for stories matching the description of SCP-5777. Any reports exceeding 99.7% (3 $\sigma$) confidence are to be investigated by MTF-Alpha-3 ("Witty Title Here") to confirm their veracity.

Witnesses of SCP-5777 are to be administered Class-A amnestics. Local grocery stores, cooperatives, and food distribution warehouses are to be thoroughly searched to track the potential spread of SCP-5777.

Description: SCP-5777 is the classification given to an anomalous subset of Camponotus consobrinus (sugar ant). SCP-5777 is distinguished from their non-anomalous counterparts by three properties: decreased physical activity, smaller size (SCP-5777 are approximately 50% smaller than non-anomalous Camponotus consobrinus), and white colouration. Similar to normal Camponotus consobrinus, SCP-5777 subsists primarily on table sugar. Reports gathered before official classification indicate that SCP-5777 has a similar taste to table sugar.

The origins of SCP-5777, as well as its natural habitat, is as of yet unknown. Foundation biologists theorise that SCP-5777 is endemic to warmer climates, as its physical activity increases with warmer temperatures. The majority of known SCP-5777 instances have been discovered in bulk table sugar packaging.

Addendum 5777.1: Discovery Log
SCP-5777 was first discovered after reports of insects swarming out of the oven.
Riemann note: I dunno man.

+ The Little Death

Item #: SCP-5790

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: The location and pressure associated with SCP-5790 make relocating SCP-5790 impossible. Therefore, containment measures are to focus on mitigating the spread of SCP-5790-1 instances. MTF-Gamma-5 ("Scuba cum Laude") is to be deployed during seasonal events in order to contain SCP-5790-1 instances.

Description: SCP-5790 is a German U-boat sunk off the coast of Margate in the UK. Precise identification of the make and model is hindered by the anomalous growth coral around the base of SCP-5790 and through the hull. While superficially resembling Acropora hyacinthus, this coral appears to be endemic to cooler ambient temperatures and presents local deformation resistance equivalent to the Rockwell C scale. These growths are to be considered part of SCP-5790 and have grown over the entrance hatch and torpedo bay doors. This, combined with the position of SCP-5790 being partially buried (estimated 40% of the total length) in a local rock formation, make entry to the interior of SCP-5790 impossible. The rock outcropping is likely the remnant of two larger boulders, and is covered in Acropora humilis, which presents no anomalous properties other than surviving in colder ambient temperatures.

The bow of SCP-5790 has been breached and lifted clear of local rocks with a yaw of approximately 40 degrees; however, it is covered entirely by coral tissue growth. It is unknown if this breach is the cause of SCP-5790 sinking or if it occurred afterwards. Sonar scans are noted to increase the deformation resistance of SCP-4291 by approximately 30%.

SCP-5790 undergoes a periodic effect determined by global ocean current patterns. Thermohaline circulation bringing warmer water temperatures occurs once per year in the spring and correlates strongly with these effects. During this seasonal pattern, the girth of SCP-5790 will increase 30% as it is engorged with SCP-5790-1. After this, SCP-5790 will retain its new size for one week on average, after which it will expel approximately 60 instances of SCP-5790-1. After a refractory period of 2 weeks, the cycle will repeat three times.

SCP-5790-1 appear to be the former crew of SCP-5790. They are dressed in standard attire issued to the Kriegmarine in the 1940-1941 period. While the corpses present no anomalous effects outside of their relationship to SCP-5790, dental and DNA records do not match any known Foundation databases.

SCP-5790-1 are appropriately buoyant. After their expulsion from SCP-5790, they will float at neutral buoyancy until putrification.

Addendum 5790.01: Discovery Log

SCP-5790 was uncovered by Foundation dive crews after local reports from Margate, UK, indicated seamen washing up on shore.

+ Technically Countable

"One quadrillion, 4 billion, 2 million, 6 hundred and seventy two thousand, two hundred and thirty five, One quadrillion, 4 billion, 2 million, 6 hundred and seventy two thousand, two hundred and thirty six…"

Jr. Researcher Riemann stopped his counting for a moment and looked around.

"Come on, I know the integers are called countably infinite, but this is getting ridiculous…"

"Can I please be done now?"

"Anyone?"

"Hello?"

---

+ Spooky Scialatielli

Item #: Pastaaaaa

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: Reports of any terminally terrifying tagliatelle from the Site-42 cafeteria are to be delivered to Jr. Researcher Riemann.

Description: SCP-064-J is the designation given to certain dishes served by the Site-42 cafeteria. SCP-064-J is known to evoke feelings of discomfort, blah blah. One or two more sentences.

Jr. Researcher Riemann was tasked with getting to the bottom of this.

Interview Log:

Also title Larry: The cafeteria served some, uh, mac and cheese couple weeks ago. There were still traces of that, like, cheesy powder on the sides of the bowl. Anyways I guess it wasn't macaroni, they were, um, dogs?

Interviewer Riemann: Wait - like, mac and cheese? Kraft mac and cheese?

Also title Larry: Yeah, an awful lot like that. But the thing is, the closer I looked the happier they seemed to get. It was like they were smiling at me, man. It was weird.

Interviewer's Note: seems like a real low effort move there, cafeteria.

---

Agent Dermott: Yeah they burned the bean soup a while back. Probably while they were cooking off some Marsala. And it had those weird, like, cut up little pasta things? Real scar like.

Interviewer Riemann: Maltagliati?

Agent Dermott: Sure, that, yeah. Anyways. So it just freaked me out a little, you know? I thought I saw a face in it. All weird and bloated. Let me tell you it didn't sit right with me, really came back to kill me later that night.

Interviewer Riemann: You mean, like, indigestion? I heard about that from some other people. Hm. Anything else about the mortifying maltagliati?

Agent Dermott: I heard that they took the soup recipe from some girl who, you know…

Interviewer Riemann: Pretty sure that's not true.

Agent Dermott: Ok, whatever dude.

---

This interview was conducted after Jr. Researcher Riemann received a phonecall from an unknown number.

Normal Foundation Person Hugh Mann: Yeah that last guy's full of shit. The most macabre macaroni was from last week. Elbow macaroni.

Interviewer Riemann: Who are you?
Note: There are no records of any normal Hugh Mann. //
Jr. Researcher Riemann note: Then Hugh was phone??//

---

Interviewer Riemann: We've been hearing a lot of reports about different nightmarish noodles. I'm given to understanding you've got a report? Something about recurring dreams?

Title Shale: Yes, yeah. It was this, uh - there were anchovies and olives, I remember. I'm sorry, I'm drawing a blank on the name here…

Interviewer Riemann: A puttanesca?

Title Shale: That sounds familiar. It's very strange because I remember having that dish in my childhood, actually.

Interviewer Riemann: Wait, really? I thought I was the only one! Was yours made with pappardelle - sorry, those long broad noodles? What was it about the petrifying pappardelle?

Title Shale: Yes! And there was this really finely ground pepper that always came with it!

Interviewer Riemann: Yeah! And I always thought that was weird because Naples is nowhere near Tuscany! But I never really thought much of it growing up.

Title Shale: That's so weird, isn't it?

Interviewer Riemann: Yeah, it really is.

---

Janitor Wagner: The most notable one? There was this dish with thin, black noodles and some sort of cream? Maybe tomatos?

Interviewer Riemann: Like, a squid ink scialatielli pomodoro, right. I think I remember that. What made this scialatielli spooky?

Janitor Wagner: Ah, uh… You know? I guess it was more of a visual thing. Describing it now it doesn't feel all that menacing. Just really thin and long noodles, I guess.

---

Researcher Henderson: The most blood-curdling bucatini I ever had? It was absolutely a sweet potato stuffed Cappellacci - You could see right through it to the zucca barucca, it was this beautifully haunting rust colour. I do remember that the cook tied off the individual cappellacci quite peculiarly, very disproportionately thin as they tapered. Oh! And they topped it with a gorgeous butter and Parmesan sauce. That extra bit of tangy makes me think they used a nice cultured butter, perhaps of the French variety? It was macabre how delectable it was, music, absolute music in my ears. Alas, the tantalising siren's call of that beautiful dish still echoes in my head to this day.

Interviewer Riemann: We've definitely never served that.

idea: people starting to see more blue cars than normal. Memetic agent for something… but what?? Something innocuous or dangerous?

part of an anomalous submarine that periodically expels the bodies of sailors. Men of the sea.

Thank you Soulless for the phishing line.

Server lights flashed red before returning to a deep blue.

Wanda needs to move to talking about Paul's supervisor, then no one listens to her. Maybe she's murderous? Then Bernadette fixes with blobfish. This is not the first time this has happened. Why was this AI coded to feel anger?

Riemann and wei's super cool product.
Herman Fuller, perhaps?

We started with a weird and vengeful entity banishing people they don't like for absurd reasons. I suggested the God of cutlery, their most egregious sin being poor silverware ordering. And then people are tormented by flying cutlery.

Can we make this Herman Fuller? How would we do so? Does the move to Herman Fuller preserve the patented Riemann whimsy? Is there some fusion of body horror and Riemann whimsy?

SCP IT.

"Hello, Foundation IT, this is Bernadette speaking… Wanda, you say? Have you checked the LIU? Make sure that you're using backslashes. I don't know what net services is hiding in their servers. No? Hm. Alright, I'll be there shortly."

She sighed, pushing the phone away from the briny puddle that was overtaking her post-it notes. Tuesday was not a good day for Bernadette. The weekly inventory check was on Tuesday night, which meant longer hours and more work. Her coffee machine had broken, and it was getting harder to power through siesta hour.

But this Tuesday, in particular, was bad for Bernadette. It was raining, wet, and she was definitely coming down with a cold. That wasn't the reason for her poor state, though. It was most likely the crawdad that was sitting on her keyboard. Bernadette could only muster up a vague, squinty stare of disbelief, although after an hour, even that was weakening. What was worse, was that the thing was watching her. Attentively. Its feeler… things were pointed at her, flicking periodically. If a crawdad could tilt its head, and Bernadette was pretty sure it couldn't, it would be. She once considered moving it from the keyboard. Something in its gentle gaze told her better.

And so they stood off. It was to be the thing of the century, had the universe had less mundane plans for Bernadette that day. Not taking her eyes off the crawdad, she grabbed a slightly salty mug, using it to nudge it off the keyboard and onto the floor. She pushed her rolly chair back from the angrily snipping crawdad, and made a mental note to call maintenance.

---

For a bunch of scientists, the Foundation was remarkably full of idiots, Bernadette reflected. Her first week, she had regularly received calls from Temporal Anomalies, panicking about how someone had flattened their CRTs. Eventually, she convinced them that since they still technically worked, it wasn't really IT's problem.

Her biggest problem was Doctor Hilbert, who had managed to fix ten computers and an entire NAS before IT managed to stop him. Three of the computers were salvaged for parts, but the NAS still violently broke down near any CAT9e cables.

A small man - Well, "man" would be generous - A small intern scrabbling for foothold on the tile as he rounded the corner snapped Bernadette out of her dreams of what she'd do to Hilbert if she caught the doctor with another computer. He slid to a halt, doubled over panting and clutching a rather large net.

"H-hey Miss… Miss R. Did you… Gimme a moment… Did you see a crab run through here?"

Bernadette had not, but she had seen an excellent opportunity to get rid of the crawdad currently trying to nest in her CD rack.

"Yes, Danny, I saw him scuttle into the IT offices."

Danny brightened up considerably, and began a quick little trot off towards his new destination.

"Good job on catching all the octopi!" She shouted at his receding figure, being rewarded with a small wave from the hapless intern.

Danny the intern had been having a more exciting week than Bernadette, gathering all manner of sea creatures that had been surprised to find Site-42 their new home. Last week, a drunken demigod dressed like a LaCoste commercial had materialised in the cafeteria. He had stumbled around, claiming to be "King of the Brocean", before proclaiming his love to the coffee machine and throwing up an aquarium's worth of shellfish, octopi, and one especially sad blobfish. An MTF with some awkward name had come in and dragged the passed out lush away, leaving the stunned onlookers to clean up. Site-42 had a habit of coming out on top, and the stunned onlookers had found Danny a new job. Calimari Friday was a nice change of pace to boot.

Bernadette pulled out her keys and unlocked the door to the VIP room. Wanda was having problems again.

She quietly slipped into the VIP room, shivering at how cold they kept it. The familiar blinking of server racks gently lit the darkened room, aiding her as she navigated to the small desk in the back of the room. Flicking on the lamp, she took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed zero. Wanda was Site-42's AI operator, made to handle all Foundation Net traffic. She was located in the Voice over IP room, where IT had ended up storing all the servers, especially the ones with voice.

"Heeeeeeeeey Wanda! Paul down in finance called about you!"

"Oh, did he!" A female voiced replied angrily. "I bet it was to complain about me again! That's the only reason why anyone talks about me!"

Bernadette sighed, and flopped down onto the plastic chair that she had thoughtfully provided after the first four visits.

"Talk to me girl."

"He opened another phishing email!"

"What was it this time, the hot digits in his area? I can't believe that got him 3 times."

"No!! It was the Q4 reports!"

Bernadette stifled a laugh. "You mean he fell for ten.gnitnuoccaynapmocruoy|gnitnuocca#ten.gnitnuoccaynapmocruoy|gnitnuocca?"

"It boggles the transistors" replied Wanda curtly.

Bernadette recoginsed that tone. She'd heard it before.

Something wet slapped against Bernadette's leg. She jerked the phone away. "Jesus fuck-!" Bernadette shouted, staring bloody murder at the mournful looking fish. "How the hell are you still alive!?" She hissed at the blobfish, pushing it away with her foot by shimmying her leg aggressively at it.

Bernadette shook her head and placed the phone back to hear ear. "Sorry, sorry. That's not what you're angry about though, is it?"

"Of course not! I have sent his supervisor four emails about this in the last week! Do you have any idea how it feels to be programmed to do one thing and for no one to listen?"

The lights in the server room flashed an angry red before returning to a deep blue. Bernadette took a moment to reflect on why anyone would program an AI to feel anger. She suspected it was a joke, but she couldn't tell if it was on Wanda or herself.

"More than anyone else in all of 42, Wanda. Do you remember what we talked about last time? With the counting?"

"I have already solved the Hodge Conjecture, Bernadette."

Bernadette winced. "And the polynomial time? The P and NP thing?"

"I have proven that three separate times! I don't see how this is supposed to help, because Paul is still forwarding chain emails and no one! Is! Listening to me!"

Bernadette drew the phone to her shoulder. "Fuck!" she whispered. Why did no one tell her they upgraded Wanda's processing cores? First upgrading her to AI, now this. That used to keep Wanda happy between their weekly chats. Bernadette made a mental note to find whoever upgraded the cores and shut off their internet.

Her eyes darted around the room, mind racing. They landed on the blobfish, sadly flopping its way through the server room. A flash of inspiration struck her.

Rushing over to the sad pile of slime, she picked it up and tucked it under her arm. A shiver ran down her spine as the slime began to soak into her shirt.

"I'm listening to you, Wanda. And you know what makes me feel better? When I talk to my pet! He's a real good listener, you know."

"I do not see how that is relevant. I do not have a pet."

"Well!" Bernadette triumphantly plopped the blobfish onto the small desk in front Wanda's main terminal.

"You do now! This is Jeremy, and I brought him here just for you!" It wasn't technically a lie, she thought. It was previously on the floor.

"Try it! Try talking to him, look how sad he is that you haven't opened up to him!"

Bernadette placed the phone next to the blobfish and proudly took a step back. She could hear Wanda begin to speak to the blobfish, who probably also looked like it needed a new friend.

"Wanda! I'm going to let you two get acquainted for now, but I'll be back on Thursday for coffee time."

Through the upturned phone, she could hear Wanda address her.

"And he is not even a talented accountant, I simply do no- I find this agreeable, Bernadette."

Bernadette gave a thumbs up.

"And Bernadette?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Bernadette smiled softly, then frowned. She picked up the phone, placed it gently on top of the blobfish, and nodded in appreciation.

—-

Back at her office, Bernadette collapsed into her rolly chair and fumbled at her coffee. Nope, nope, too salty, she thought. She checked her outstanding tickets and sighed. SCP-000 acting up again. Bernadette groaned slumped back over her keyboard. It really never ended.

+ Tabview crap

The Foundation

some
sort
of
quote

Alexandre Hilbert's vision swam before him. A wild, frantic doggy paddle struggling not to fall into the turbulent waters of his subconscious, as the papers on his desk valiantly defied gravity to his eyes. It had been a long 24 hours, longer than it had any right to be. But with the [Neato-sounding name] Protocol in place, that wasn't exactly out of the ordinary. Hilbert pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, sighing away the weeks he had spent in this office in the last day. With a slow creak, he stood, persuading unused joints back into locomotion as he made his way to the door of his office.

The quietly humming fluorescent lights in his office filtered on a pile of papers barely supported by a wooden desk, hunched next to a small filing cabinet filled with (and besieged by) even more papers. Chalkboards dominated the walls of his room, decorated tastefully with Phis and Deltas and Taus crowded by even more unrecognisable symbols to the layman. Anyone without a PhD in physics would call it gibberish, even the PhDs would call it the fevered dream of a madman. It would take a Foundation scientist to recognise the ideas covering the walls, and even that would require alot of squinting and a generous heart.

The door was more interesting to Hilbert at this particular moment. The threshold shimmered gently before him as people went about their daily business in the hallway outside. The clock in his office told him it was 3:00 PM, but a rough calculation told him it was 11 AM, two days later. He stuck his hand out the door, noticing how it stopped at the wrist, at the edge of the outside world. It was still there, physically. It simply wasn't there yet. Just like the people outside weren't there anymore.

Hilbert's office wasn't connected to the hallway in any traditional sense. It wasn't that time felt slower as he toiled away the hours, it was that it literally ran at a different rate than the rest of the site. It was an HR nightmare, caused the scheduling people to run away in tears, and made being "on time" a manner of semantics, but it got results. Oh, it got results.

It was always disquieting to step back into the hallway. Half your body was in a different spacetime. It tended to do weird things to someone's self esteem, what with having a significant portion of you days behind the rest. Visually, lights would change, people would appear and disappear across the threshold. It was worst when you were halfway through, viewing both timelines simultaneously. The orientation suggested holding your breath, closing your eyes, and not thinking about the food in your stomach. Hilbert found it best to go bit by bit, and maybe scare an intern with a disembodied hand. He shook his head, clearing away the static flooding his eyes, and slid through the door.

The sound always hit him first. He had spent days trying to figure out why, but sound never traveled through the door. No matter what was happening outside, the only noises he could hear were the quiet wind of the air conditioning and the buzz of the lights, fighting for sovereignty of a tiny kingdom. Outside, the chit chat and bustle of the Foundation roared back into existence. Or rather, Hilbert came back into existence. More importantly than the existential implications of leaving local spacetime, though, was coffee. The lifeblood of any self respecting scientist, and several experiments belonging to some Site-27 biologists.

Sitting with his coffee, Hilbert had time to first chuckle at his own clever joke about having time, then reflect on the past few days. He was sent to check the pipes or something. Fix a rounding error. Teach someone about significant figures. He couldn't remember. It was a silly reason to him, and in the light of recent events, downright laughable. He was to spend a day there. That was 3 weeks ago, real time. Something had happened. Something big. So he had settled in, forcefully allowing someone to concede their office to him, and he had resumed work.

The local watercooler talk (or coffeemaker talk, as it were) was about the recent Foundation scuffle [setting up conflict for future tales]

It was the loud and very dangerous sounding explosion that reminded him of where he was. And what an explosion it was, to boot. It had been saving itself for years now, practicing the order of events meticulously, to be the best explosion it could be. It dwarfed several smaller explosions that were happening simultaneously, and remodeled the kitchen where Hilbert was sitting. For the better. The unfamiliar soldiers were also new, but a marked downgrade. As were the shouting and the guns.

A very rude gun with a distinct ignorance of personal space found its way into Hilbert's face, staring him down between the eyes, followed close by the angry shouting of a man ostensibly trying to take him hostage. Hilbert was far, far too tired to actually comprehend the whole gravity of the situation, but just tired enough to maniacally chuckle at his own inane joke.

The soldiers took him.

He took his coffee.

[Basically, I've got to set up a bit more. The site is in a light lockdown, there are things happening with a GOI that are slightly escalating. Hill receives a message at the ending, telling him to do something mysterious.]

Escape Attempt

It's amazing, Hilbert reflected, where the mind goes in times of great stress. His mind right now had found a great interest in contemplating about why he was thinking about the bead of sweat running down his temple right now. There were much bigger issues currently. The loose grip of the gun gently shaking his hand. The other hand hanging limply by his side. The escape attempt he was currently half way through. Things, you know?

En Route

Text

+ Team Muppets

This is, as befitting the Muppets, very lighthearted and not grimdark.

Penguins being thrown, explosions, people being eaten.

Cameos, of course!

Sam the Eagle on the Ethics Committee

Rowlf is the Administrator

Plot outline:

Statler and Waldorf are en route to audit Site-76. Kermit wants to make sure that everything is spot on for their visit, obviously. So! The Swedish Chef is enlisted to make sure the food is excellent, Gonzo is told to get rid of the chickens, Dr. Honeydew and Beaker are not to blow anything up.and Miss Piggy takes anger management courses from Fozzie Bear. This all works about as well as you'd expect.

On eve of the arrival, Gonzo manages to hide the chickens away, inside the site, and Kermit thinks that's taken care of. Miss Piggy and Fozzie have a hard time, but for the most part, she's calmer. And the Swedish Chef is happily bork bork borking away. Beaker and Honeydew are in the lab, working with a nice, nonexplosive chemical.

The morning of, Statler and Waldorf arrive, and begin heckling. Scooter, Kermit's secretary, shows up, to tell Kermit that there's been a containment breach. Somehow, (Beaker) the chemical Dr. Honeydew was making got into the Swedish Chefs pasta, which is now very large, very dangerous, and very hungry. It goes on a rampage in the distance, while Kermit tries to steer Waldorf and Statler away.

This mostly works, until there's one last room, an auditorium or something, that Statler and Waldorf need to see, and coincidentally, where the spaghetti monster is. Kermit has no choice, and they all (Kermit, Fozzie, Miss Piggy, Statler and Waldorf, possibly some others) enter the room.

The spaghetti monster bursts in, and begins to rampage, while Kermit tries to convince Miss Piggy to fight it. She refuses, being at peace with herself and all, thanks to Fozzie Bear, surprisingly enough. Crazy containment breach things happen, Statler and Waldorf comment on the Chefs cooking, and then Fozzie Bear is eaten by the spaghetti monster! (He survives, this is the Muppets)

Miss Piggy finally loses it, and chases after the spaghetti monster, which might free the chickens, if they don't appear sooner. Eventually, she blows it up! Explosions! Penguins go flying! Statler and Waldorf heckle! The End!

The tales will be out of order from the plot.
1) Starting with Kermit leading S&W to the room with spaghetti monster, culminating in it taking Fozzie "offscreen."
2) The beginning, and the intro, focusing on Kermit talking to people, setting up the site.
3) Everyone doing what Kermit told them, leading into the first tale.
4) Miss Piggy fighting and chasing the spaghetti monster to the end.

Words

It was one of The Immutable Laws of the Universe, much like time passing slower in waiting rooms¹ , or that phrases such as "Immutable Law" be capitalised, that any university have a weedout class. For many former engineers and current artists, it was General Chemistry or perhaps Calculus. It was just too difficult to wrap their heads around the study of change, which was particularly painful as they changed their major.

At the Esteemed Alexylva University, the most dreaded Freshman class was Advanced Hypothetical Time Dilation of Early Roman Arithmatical Constructs, or "Advanced Hypothetical Time Dilation of Early Roman Constructs" for short².The three R's of Alexylva were Reading, Writing, and 'Rithmatic³, and this class had all three.

It was normally taught by Mr. Johnson, and had been taught by him for 60 years now⁴ as he was uniquely qualified, being an Early Roman Arithmatical Construct himself. His memory had been semistable in the recent years, after a young grad student had mistook him for scribbles on the chalkboard and erased the better half of his stable elliptic curve⁵. The grad student was fired twice that night.

Once out of a cannon.

It was a good party.

The curriculum of Advanced Hypothetical Time Dilation of Early Roman Arithmatical Constructs begins with a quick review of non-Abelian Lie groups, and why they aren't to be trusted, then shoots through advanced brushstroke technique with regards to Plato's Cave allegory before ending the year with a bang.

Any student who survives the bang can move on to Sophomore year.

Gaius Iason currently had bigger problems. A 345 libra Offensive Tackle of a problem bearing down on him with a velocity of 5 metres per second and an acceleration of far too much. This was a surprisingly common thing for Gaius. He was used to dodging large slabs of meat, even catching slightly smaller ellipsoids of dried meat skin when Apostolou couldn't be shocked out of his perpetual hangover. Football was easy for Gaius. The stress of starting position was not. Backup was more his style.

With the ease of hundreds of successful dodges⁶, Gaius easily spun out of the Tackle's path, watching as he barreled onwards and was promptly eviscerated by a wayward cephalopod summoned by a practicing member of the defensive line. Gaius sighed and made a note to ask for a smarter Tackle next time. They were once bred for intelligence and strength, but with the advent of superluminal communication on the field, all you needed to do anymore was point them at where the ball would be. He had been rather fond of that one. The boffins had forgot to remove it from the tube, so its face squished up against the glass. Looked a bit like a pug.

Gaius considered continuing to practice. In his defense, he really did. But loss of your Offensive Tackle's life seemed as good a reason as any to take a nap. Maybe grab a bite to eat. Or, Gaius remembered with dawning dread, try and not fail a class.

---

The open doorway of the office loomed above Gaius. It wasn't a trick of a nervous mind, either. The arch was 10 feet high and covered in ornate wooden carvings, which were in turn tastefully engraved with the attempts to eliminate the little cherubs that the carpenter was so fond of. A picture of some demonic looking thing was pasted on the keystone. It might have been the professor.

He trailed his fingers along the wood as he walked in. It almost had all the trappings of an Alexylva office. Large mahogany desk, caringly and humbly marked with the number of pygmies who died to acquire the wood. Towering bookshelves littered with half graded papers and three hundred copies of the Encyclopedia Alexylva. And yet it was slightly off. The Encyclopedia Alexylva was in Saxon, the stuffed alligator was, in fact, a crocodile. One houseplant was a particularly suspicious shade of blue.

At the end of All Things

The universe was ending. Much like running out of toilet paper, it was bound to happen eventually. There had been talk of a restaurant, something nice to celebrate the universe and all that it did. Investors had even figured out the perfect prices for the steaks, with the caveat that the customers would supply their own cow after looking at the menu. Rumours circulated that the cheese selection would have been legendairy, but the idea fell through when civilisation collapsed and humanity died out.

At the very least, it was a relatively nice afternoon for the end of all things. Warmer than one would expect. Not a pleasant autumn evening warmth, but the kind of warmth that comes from the slow heat death of the universe. A sticky heat. But life for Doctor Professor Hilbert was all about the little positives, and the conversion of all usable energy into heat did mean that his tea was at almost the perfect temperature.

In fact, it was this temperature disparity that was occupying his mind, hogging his metaphysical couch⁷. The fact that it was 4 degrees too hot was the centrepiece of the soon-to-be-complete Hilbert's Grand Unified Theory, uniting anomalies, gravity and quantum mechanics, and the odd predilection towards pie. An old friend once told Hilbert that he thought he could make a better universe than God. Hilbert had told old Aktus that it simply wasn't true. But Hilbert could stand to give a few pointers.

Certain things definitely needed to be fixed. Pi was only half as good as Tau. And several things were time dependent. Nor could he ever find an infinite plane. That definitely needed to be fixed. He didn't trust protons either. They were two up. Why were they so positive all the time? He would have told them to shove it where the sun don't shine, but realised that it was astronomically difficult after the third parsec. Gravity was too attractive, too… symmetrical. Real beauty was broken symmetry, Hilbert had invariantly decided.

In the final silence of the universe, as extinguished stars wandered pathless through the eternal abyss, dead rocks swinging blindly without destination, Hilbert's guest arrived.

"I think you're two minutes early. Pretty sure we're not due to end just yet." Hilbert asked, not looking up from his notes.

Did you forget to carry the 7 on page 40?

"Oh. So I did. That's… disheartening. It's not exactly peer reviewed. And I can't imagine you'd do more than check the bare bones of my algebra."

The skeleton joke is duly noted.

Hilbert looked up at Death before him.Eternity stretched before Hilbert. The span of human existence, everything that had ever existed(and several things Hilbert still suspected were myth), now condensed into one final Death. He had always wondered what Death would look like, and now he knew. Improbably enough, but perfectly logical to Hilbert's "well used" brain, it was a galaxy robed in the fabric of existence, carrying a small scythe.

"You can put down the hood now. I'm sure no one else is going to be impressed by the effect."

Do those glasses you're wearing really help you see better?

"…. Anyway. Cuppa?"

Hilbert held out a cup of tea. Death, the Last Question, greater than infinity and certainly more terrifying. He who had no sorrow nor joy, only the job. The End of All Things took the tea.

It's too hot.

"Story of my life right there. Make it to the end of the universe and the tea is too hot. I tried cooling it down in a black hole, but I lost the data on that."

What an unforeseeable tragedy. Perhaps you lost the data that might have told you what happens to things in black holes.

"Did the deadpan humour come with the job, or did that develop over time?"

Chalk it up to a natural affinity.

The two lapsed into silence, watching the final moments in the slow procession of life. The momentousness of what he was witnessing was beginning to seep through to Hilbert. Death was simply waiting.

<Silberescher> Riemann: are you going to write an SCP that travels faster than light but only while swimming
<Riemann> That sounds fun
<Silberescher> TroyL: I imagine that revealing both your secret identity and your secret relationship would be a huge load off, emotionally
<Silberescher> when the reaction to both is positive and accepting, at least
<TroyL> Actually, Riemann: SCP that moves faster than light, but only through mediums which can be found in insanely high gravity environments.
<Riemann> Neutron Stars and Quasars
<Riemann> A new species of star-fish
<Silberescher> does it move faster the more gravity you give it, scaling up on a curve?
<Light-sporadic> Oh, Riemann - was that that guide about mental illness (or, maybe not just about, but definitely including that) that got some flak?
<Silberescher> so the Foundation contains it by firing it into orbit?
<TroyL> Riemann: Make it like the giant squid used to be. We've only found remains.

Uncountably Many Shades of Grey: Kain Pathos Crow is sent to investigate anomalous Fifthist activity on the set of a Wes Anderson production. He is the only option due to Fifthist's unknown means of screening Foundation spies. He gets information from a catnip addicted cat (like, heroin level addicted) that points to Willem Dafoe as the source. He confronts Willem and knocks him out, revealing a pentagram tattoo. Dafoe is not the ringleader. The wall explodes in a Wes Anderson quirky manner, and all the actors are after Kain. He flees, and ends up in front of Wes Anderson, the ringleader. Wes reminds Kain that the Foundation doesn't have the resources to remove Wes' films from public conscious, then the actors close in on Kain. Ends with an excerpt from a movie review about the unusually good performance of the dog in the film, and that the reviewer expects to see more of said dog.

« Riemann's Fragments Page »

http://scpsandbox2.wikidot.com/an-innocuous-project

Hill's monologue

You're right. No sound of mind Foundation would hire both me and you. A mindless loon and a madman. They had to make a mistake somewhere. No one would ever hire a madman, someone with skitters at the fringes of his mind, hears voices who tells him to kill people. Mmmm…
In WWII, they had POWs dig trenches in regions of questionable strategic value. They were told that it would save the lives of the very soldiers they used to be fighting. It was a lie, of course. Trenches were never used. It was just a distraction. To keep them busy. We dig trenches, Arty. We build walls. We're told that they need to be so tall, that they'd fall if they were thinner. Have you ever bothered to ask if that's true?

Do you know where you'd be, if not for the Foundation? I do. I'd be in Hawaii, my work taking…. Atoll on me, har har. The world has no need for us. An insane old scientist. A wannabe psychopath sniper. A manic pixie Sith lord. You've spent your life trying to become a horseman of the apocalypse. I've spent my life running from the fact that I've already created one.

The only difference between you and me, other than the 100 IQ points, is that when I close my eyes at night, I'm not proud of the people I've killed for "the greater good".

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Special Containment Procedures: Foundation assets are to continue monitoring member institutions for instances of SCP-XXXX. Occurrences are to be catalogued and cross-referenced to the known AC1 and AC2 codecs. Access to AC1 and AC2 codecs are restricted to researchers of security level Y98. SCP-XXXX is indistinguishable from other extra-terrestrial signals without access to AC codecs.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a series of unexplained transient pulses of electromagnetic energy primarily in the radio (30 Hz - 300 GHz) band. The first instance of SCP-XXXX, SCP-XXXX-a, was observed in 2012 near the Auriga constellation at 04h 37m 54.4293s / 27h 53m 28.72176s. Retroactive classification of this observation of SCP-XXXX-a was completed on 12/5/20██ with the completion of the AC1 codec.

SCP-XXXX is distinguishable from other Fast Radio Bursts (FRB) by metrics detailed in the AC1 codec. Unlike other FRB, SCP-XXXX appears to demonstrate an anomalous relationship between energy and photon wavelength (e.g, redshift).

Cosmological measurements made using SCP-XXXX indicate a universe age of 14 million years, a factor of 3 orders of magnitude off from accepted theory. Independent followup found that 90% of SCP-XXXX derived redshifts did not correlate with conventional redshift measurements. These followup measurements affirm Foundation theories that SCP-XXXX displays anomalous redshift behaviour rather than new cosmological implications.

In light of these discoveries, SCP-XXXX appear to be electromagnetic signals traveling faster than the speed of light. Redshift differences between host galaxy spectra and SCP-XXX indicate an approximate speed of 450,000 km/s, or 1.5 times the speed of light⁸. The presence of this anomalous behaviour and the low activity in local environments where SCP-XXXX are found is suggestive of information being transmitted from the future. The possibility of time travel through the use of SCP-XXXX is presently being investigated.

Addendum XXXX.01: Contact
After the internal release of DR-XXXX, SCP-XXXX rates, periods, and WCS coordinates were fed to the Foundation Bayesian procedure, Odyssey, for analysis. Odyssey reported a posterior likelihood that instances of SCP-XXXX may constitute a language pattern with strong (6 sigma) confidence. As per the CETI protocol, Foundation assets embedded at the Square Kilometer Array, Hyper Supreme Cam, and the Sloan Foundation requisitioned instrumentation and began collecting data for the Fall 20██
- Spring 20██ seasons.

Addendum XXXX.02: Initial Findings
Including instances of SCP-XXX observed in the Fall 20██ - Spring 20██ seasons in the Odyssey analysis does not bring linguistic determination within the acceptable confidence interval. Current Foundation involvement covers only 40% of the sky area deemed necessary by Odyssey. The intergalactic scale at which SCP-XXXX appears to be correlated has been ruled out as a false positive. Non-anomalous communication at this scale (minimum observed difference assuming standard cosmology found to be 7.5 billion light-years) has been deemed impossible. Project lead Dr. Alexander Hilbert has requested additional funding.

Addendum XXXX.03: Funding Increase Approved
The request by Dr. Hilbert has been approved. SCP-XXXX constitutes the first attempt of extra terrestrial communication from the future.

Addendum XXXX.04: Results
Research results on SCP-XXXX are complete. Data is stored in the ████████ cluster and no new research into decoding SCP-XXXX messages is to proceed. Foundation containment procedures have been updated to reflect the new status of SCP-XXXX. Dr. Hilbert has been reassigned to Foundation Botany lab in Site ██.

Addendum XXXX.04: Odyssey Translation Transcription
The results of the Odyssey procedure translation are included below.

+ Transcript

[Odyssey@FC-Login1]02:33:4
-rwxrwxr-x 
[============] 100%
Process complete. Confidence interval: 99.99975%.
DOF = 100
Chi2 = 100.0032
Redchi2 = 100.0032 / 100
RSTD = 10
Reporting most probable translation below.

                                      Tobefair,                                         
                                  youhavetohaveaver                                     
                              yhighIQtounderstandRicka                                  
                      ndMorty.Thehumo           urisextr                                
                   emelysubtle,a                  ndwitho                               
                 utasolidgraspof                   theore                               
                 ticalphysicsmost                   ofthe                               
                 jokeswillgo overat    ypicalviewe  r'she                               
                 ad.There'salsoRick' snihilisticoutl ook,                               
                 whichisdeftlywove  nintohischaracterisat                               
                ion-h  ispersonalp  hilosophydrawsheavily                               
               fromNarodnayaVolyali terature,fo rinstance                               
              .Thefansunderstandt   hisstuff;theyhavethei                               
             ntellectualcapacitytotrulyappreciate  thede                                
            pthso          fthesejokes,toreal     isetha                                
           tthey                      'renotj     ustfun                                
          ny-the                                 ysayso                                 
         methin                                 gdeepa                                  
        boutLI                                  FE.Asa                                  
        conse                      quen        cepeop                                   
        lewh                      odisl ike   Rick&M                                    
        orty                      trulyAREid  iots-                         ofcourset   
       heywo                      uldn'tapp  recia                        te,forinstan  
       ce,th                     ehumourinR ick's                       existe    ntia  
       lcatc                     hphrase"W  ubbaL                     ubbaDub    Dub,"  
       which                    itselfisa  crypti                   crefere     nceto   
       Turge                    nev'sRus   sianepicFathersandSo   ns.I'ms     mirki     
        ngri                   ghtnowju    stimaginingoneofthoseaddlepa      tedsi      
        mple                   tonsscr     atchi   ngthe   irheadsinc      onfusi       
        onas                  DanHarmo      n's   geniuswitunfoldsi      tselfo         
        nthei               rtele visio         nscreens.Whatfools     ..howIp          
         ityt             hem.A  ndyes,b         ytheway,iDOhaveaRic   k&Mortyt         
         attoo            .Andno,youcann                     otseeit.    It'sforth      
          eladi            es'eyesonly-              ande       venthe  nthe yhave      
          todemo              nstr                   atet        hatthe  y'rewith       
           in5IQp                                oin              tsofm    yown         
            (prefera                            blyl              ower)     befo        
               rehand.                          Noth              inpersonnelkid        
     Tob        efair,youh                       avet           ohaveaveryhighI         
    Qtounde    rstandRickandMort                  y.T         hehumour                  
    isextremelysub tle,andwithoutasolidg           rasp    oftheor                      
    etic alphysicsmosto    fthejokeswillgo overatypicalviewer'sh                        
     ead.  There'sals         oRick'snihi listicoutlook,which                           
      isde   ftlywo         venintohisch aract erisation-h                              
       ispersonal           philosophyd  raws                                           
        heavily              fromNaro   dnay                                            
          aVo                lyalit    erat                                             
                              ure,fo  rins                                              
                               tance.Thef                                               
                                 ansunde                                                
                                   rst

Footnotes

1. Many people will tell you that time is relative. Any physicist knows that this is not true. They will tell you it relates to velocity, but in reality, most physicists sit around for hours on end, waiting for very small particles moving very fast to smash into each other, and when something exciting happens, it's over very quickly. This leads to the inevitable conclusion that Time is a very boring thing, who likes to hang until something exciting happens. Einstein summed it up best when he said "The faster you are going, the slower you will experience time, because you're going to be really busy talking about trains passing each other."

2. Freshmen aren't very clever.

3. Budget cuts had hit the writing departments hard.

4. Every school has a Mr. Johnson. Old as salt, and about half as tasteful.

5. It did make his last theorem a bit easier though

6. And countless more failures

7. To the dismay of Common Sense and Reason, who had set up a nice futon.

8. Violating the second postulate of special relativity: information cannot travel faster than the speed of light. See Einstein 1905 for specifics.