Billith's Skips
rating: 0+x


Item #: SCP-3143-J

Object Class: Euclid Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Due to SCP-3143-J's relationship with SCP-3143, containment efforts are ongoing. Foundation psychoanalysts and divorce attorneys are to be on paid retainer to assist SCP-3143 with handling the extreme psychological stress that arises from extended exposure to SCP-3143-J. Members of the Pataphysics Department and Mobile Task Force Iota-9 ("Marriage Counselors") are to investigate narrative alterations in popular romance media and issues of Redbook, Home and Garden and Good Housekeeping magazines.

Description: SCP-3143-J is a narrative-based entity by the name of Barbara Law, a 43-year-old Protestant woman and ex-wife of SCP-3143. SCP-3143-J was first encountered on ██/██/████ during a joint investigation of SCP-3138 emergence phenomena (See OPERATION SÉRIE NOIRE for more details).

At this point, SCP-3143, who had been an active and involved part of the investigation, momentarily exhibited atypical behavior and refused to continue operations until a Foundation therapist could be deployed (See Addendum 3143-J.1).

SCP-3143-J has shown to be capable of several anomalous abilities including:

  • Suddenly manifesting in situations in which SCP-3143 would consider to be inopportune
  • Manifesting legal documents such as court orders on command
  • Winning all verbal altercations despite all evidence to the contrary
  • Exerting negative energy as an unknown memetic agent
  • Being all around kind of catty

SCP-3143 describes SCP-3143-J as "Shrill, abrasive and perpetually angry", stating that, due to longstanding marital strife that was endured during the years prior, they had not been on good terms to the point where SCP-3143 was actively avoiding her and "focusing on his career".

SCP-3143-J has declined any and all interview attempts by Foundation staff.

Addendum 3143.1: Incident Logs


DATE: ██/██/████
NOTE: This was the first confirmed sighting of SCP-3143-J, during an investigation of SCP-3138 activity in an effected narrative. Mobile Task Force Lambda-8 ("Infowars"), a specialized force comprised of informational narrative constructs, was on the scene and receiving aid from SCP-3143 when the entity manifested.



A light-skinned man in a dark trilby stands alone in the normally crowded club, head cocked downward with his jaw tightly wound closed. He's alone because the other three in the room are dead.

He's got a gun in his hand, but he didn't kill these men. His name is MURPHY LAW, and he was going to find out who did.

MURPHY is also our NARRATOR. His voice sounds like an electric pencil sharpener as it gargles a mouthful of pebbles. It might sound coarse, but nothing as rough as the night these corpses had.


Fifth body in three days. Whoever the Chicago Spirit has got dumping corpses is on a hot streak, and you'd better believe I'm going to put that SOB on ice.

The front doors swing open with a loud groan, followed by the echoing steps of a band of heavily armed spec ops soldiers- the Foundation's finest. Leading the group is SGT. ASTAIRE, a stout man with a look of unpleasantness on his face.


Things were much different now, the science goons had even gone as far as to ask him for help. When the going gets tough, befriend the one who beat you before.


Yeah, nice to see you too, SCP-3143.

MURPHY is silent as he steps around the pool of blood on the floor.


More bodies. We better end this before the count reaches the double digits.


You don't have to tell me twice. Any leads so far?


Actually, I just got here, surveying the damage.

SGT. ASTAIRE glances over MURPHY's shoulder.


Excuse me, ma'am, you can't be here. This is an active crime scene.

MURPHY turns to see his ex-wife BARBARA LAW marching up to the group. She looks like she's been through the ringer, arguably one of her better days.


Barb, what are you doing here? I told you not to bother me while I'm working.


Don't give me that bullshit, Murphy! Why haven't you been returning my calls? Your last check bounced, I'm being generous not getting Feinberg1 on your case for this nonsense.


Oh, yes, how generous. Generous Barbara here, everyone!


You bastard! After everything I did for you-


-Excuse me, guys-


You did for me? I swear to god, Barbara, you do this every time. Every damn time! How can I pay you if you are constantly interrupting my work? I can't give you my money if I don't get paid!

At this point in time, SCP-3143 unknowingly broke character, temporarily reverting the structure of the narrative.

SCP-3143-J: You self-absorbed piece of-

SCP-3143: Oh, I'm self-absorbed? Which one of us is holding up a murder investigation for her own petty restitution? Huh?

Sgt. Astaire: -Guys-

SCP-3143-J: I wouldn't be here if you answered your goddamn phone when I called you.

SCP-3143: Which part of 'I'm working', don't you understand? Jesus, I need a drink.

SCP-3143-J: Oh, that's just great, go right back to the bottle. I can't deal with you when you're drunk. Why do you think we are even here?!

SCP-3143: Joke's on you, I'm already drunk!

Sgt. Astaire: Seriously, guys-

SCP-3143 & SCP-3143-J: What?!

Sgt. Astaire: Ah, nothing, nevermind.

Sgt. Astaire and the rest of MTF Lambda-8 exit the narrative and signal for Foundation support. Dr. Alexander Koestler, Foundation psychotherapist, is called in to speak with SCP-3143. Upon returning to the narrative, SCP-3143 is seen sitting on the side with a dour expression. SCP-3143 refuses to continue investigation and is transported to a secure facility for brief counseling before returning to work.



Although it was one of his weirder days, Hux was having the time of his life.

"And you tell me they breathe oxygen now? Oxygen?"

"Correct. All terrestrial life forms on Earth require oxygen to sustain life."

"I'll be damned. Trey- hey! Trey, you hear that?"

Approaching once more from the back, Trey was not as enthusiastic about the situation. Everyone on the Stack had just woke up on the floor. No one could account for the last six hours. Hux, on the other hand, seemed to be making the best of the situation.

"What? What is it now?"

"Buddy says people on their Earth breathe oxygen! Can you believe that?"

"No, Hux, I can't believe that. Now would you come and help me with this? My head is killing me and I need to get a drink."

"Sure, sure. Everyone passes out for six hours and apparently gets, what, 'possessed'? Everyone gets possessed and the first thing you want to do is get straight back to work. Why not get the drink first?"

Trey emitted an exasperated sigh and grumbled something-or-other, turning away from him and sauntering off to retrieve a jug of coolant from a storage cabinet.

"Okay, okay, fine. You gonna be alright on your own for a while Buddy? I'd give you the grand tour but you seem pretty capable yourself."

"I am perfectly able to navigate this space on my own. Thank you for your time."

"No problem. You're not so bad, you know that? Come back anytime."

"I will return to speak with you later."

"It's a date, then. You'll find the Hub through that way over there. Those who have a little free time hang out in that space. Don't get yourself into any trouble."

"Advice noted. Thank you."

Buddy turned his metal chassis towards the back and stepped away from the two leathery humanoids.

The cool halls of the stack rumbled with commotion from deep inside. The complex was daunting, but the noise provided Buddy with a direction to follow. Passing more connecting pathways, our drone proceeded into the core, a lone sign marked in an unknown language denoting several locations.

Continuing towards the source of the noise, Buddy was greeted by another archway that led into a dark room of magnificent size. Small structures were constructed in an overlapping fashion- store fronts or something similar, emblazoned by neon blues and reds. Thousands of beings meandered through the space, loitering and eating strange delicacies that were obtained from creatures unknown. Buddy paused for a minute, his camera panning across the view, taking it all in. Almost in wonder and amazement, if the little robot could feel such a thing. Here, the culture and livelihood of the creatures in the Stack were pronounced, a heritage of such diversity it would stun the average inhabitant of Axiom-8, the planet known as modern Earth.

Buddy sidestepped foot traffic and proceeded into the Hub, many creatures failing to see the small autonomous machine. A few did, and pointed with slender digits, curiosity welling in the few who had thought they had seen everything. The tech was obviously different than that of this place, but it was not unheard of to find a robot or two in these parts. Still, Buddy's presence began to cause a stir, and, one-by-one, the inhabitants of the Stack turned their attention to the newcomer.