- HUB
- Eye
- Nukesoul
- Wolf Juicer (new)
- Biting Social Commentary
- ectocoin
- I Was Contained And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt
- Last Portland on The Left: A Three Portlands Writing Guide
- Genetic Apocalypse
- A Tense Conversation, Followed by an Obituary
- Storm Fronts and Reckless Stunts
- Observer
- The Circle and Everything Inside It
- Alpha Centauri
- The High Court With The Magic Army
- Chariots of The Gods
- Fade to White
- scraplets
Sandbox Links:
Item #: SCP-7800
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: All instances of SCP-7800 are to be held in standard humanoid containment cells. Each instance is to have a blindfold affixed to its eyes, using cables or other bindings that cannot be removed by the instance. SCP-7800 instances are to be kept separate from each other, except in cases of authorized testing.
In the event of a containment breach, it is permissible to forcibly blind an instance of SCP-7800 to prevent infection.
The retrieval of all uncontained instances of SCP-7800 is currently a top-level priority.
Description: SCP-7800 is a contagion spread by eye contact. Infection requires approximately three seconds of uninterrupted eye contact. The newly-infected SCP-7800 instance will experience a two-hour dormancy period in which it is not contagious and exhibits no symptoms. After this time, the instance will go blind.
While instances report complete and total blindness, their eyes continue to move, react to light, and focus on objects in their field of view. In particular, they will independently make and maintain eye contact with uninfected individuals.
The clear continued function of the eyes and the complete lack of vision reported by the instances suggest that the blindness is neurological in origin; the eyes can send visual signals to the brain, but the conscious mind is unable to receive or interpret these signals, while unconscious processes in the brain are still capable of receiving and controlling eye movement (adjusting to light, seeking faces, etc.).
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: The effects of SCP-XXXX instances are to be mitigated by exorcism when possible. Disinformation campaigns are to be used to attribute the anomalous effects of SCP-XXXX instances to natural, non-anomalous phenomena such as radiation exposure, dust inhalation, and accidental electrocution. Attempts to contact instances of SCP-XXXX may only be made with the permission of a presiding Site Director.
Governments are to be discouraged from the use of technologies that possess a high probability of creating an instance of SCP-XXXX, such as nuclear weapons. If necessary, withdrawal of Foundation support from the country in question may be threatened to coerce compliance.
Research into the neutralization of SCP-XXXX-N is currently a top-level priority.
Description: SCP-XXXX is a phenomenon which creates massive ectomorphic manifestations. Instances of SCP-XXXX generally manifest following sudden and rapid losses of life in an area.
The exact circumstances which lead to the creation of an SCP-XXXX instance are difficult to quantify and likely fluid. The deaths must be in proximity both in time and location. The death tolls of events which result in SCP-XXXX instances are generally in the thousands, with the majority of individuals dying in the window of an hour or less. It is not necessary that the loss of life be human; SCP-XXXX instances have been created by scenarios in which the bulk of deaths are of animals.
Instances of SCP-XXXX are in some ways similar to ectomorphic manifestations that may follow the deaths of individuals, but there are several key differences.
- SCP-XXXX instances are significantly more unstable and chaotic than individual ectomorphs.
Addendum: List of SCP-XXXX instances
Addendum: SCP-XXXX-N
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be contained in-situ. Armed guards are to be posted at the cave entrance at all times. All contemporary intruders are to be prevented from entering the cave system.
If an intruder can prove that they are from the future, they are permitted to enter the cave system and retrieve whatever they wish from SCP-XXXX.
Description: SCP-XXXX is a reinforced bank vault built into a cave system in the Swiss Alps. SCP-XXXX is approximately 75 million years old and is believed to be constructed circa 3600 AD.
SCP-XXXX contains approximately 3 tonnes of trinkets composed of various precious metals, 18 high pressure helium canisters, 44 kg of data storage devices containing future cultural artifacts, and 73 desiccated velociraptor corpses.
Analysis has yielded a tentative history/future of SCP-XXXX. The vault was likely constructed and sent to the past by wealthy individuals following the implementation of sweeping pan-universal, pan-temporal tax legislation. These individuals sought to use the hostile environment of the Cretaceous period to safeguard their belongings from taxes and other legal hazards. This scheme failed when a large quantity of velociraptors breached the vault and destroyed its temporal equipment.
The contents of SCP-XXXX are safeguarded from contemporary influence to prevent temporal paradoxes. Future time travelers, however, are encouraged to steal these items and thereby remove them from this era. As SCP-XXXX will eventually be constructed, it is believed that the vault itself will be stolen at some point before 3600 AD. This has not yet happened.
Addendum: Upon further analysis, the degree of group cohesion and strategy exhibited by the velociraptor group far exceeds the natural capabilities velociraptors are believed to possess. This level of cohesion may however be consistent with the animal training capabilities the United States IRS is projected to possess in the far future.
The US government is to be questioned on this matter when it becomes pertinent in approximately 1600 years.
GRANT REQUEST FOR THE DEVELOPMENT OF A HUMAN SOUL-BACKED ECTOCURRENCY TO FACILITATE COMMERCE WITH DEMONIC ENTITIES
PROBLEM
From time immemorial, humans have bartered with demons and devils to attain immense power. In return for gifts of knowledge, magical ability, or physical attractiveness, these demonic entities require one or more human souls, traditionally that of the deal-maker.
While trading with demonic entities is evidently useful, this method of bartering is haphazard and leaves room for deleterious errors. Human souls are notoriously difficult to store and transport, and the risk involved is only intensified when crossing dimensional boundaries.
Faced with the prospect of an arbitrarily long period of post-mortem torture or slavery, many deal-makers are driven to desperate and reckless acts to prolong their lives or find substitute souls, which can cause significant collateral damage or in extreme cases prompt the interference of normalcy preservation agencies.
Despite the obvious technological applications of large-scale demonic assets, utilizing these assets is messy, complicated, and unpleasant.
SOLUTION
A regulated
BUSINESS CASE
Small-scale demons who offer minor boons often struggle to find mortal buyers in the current whole-human-soul economy.
USE OF FUNDING
KNOWN ISSUES
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be contained in a standard humanoid containment chamber and fed according to a baseline human feeding regimen.
Use of SCP-XXXX in Protocol Nocter and Protocol Yeoman is limited to no more than 8 hours per day, requiring half-hour breaks after 4 consecutive hours. This limitation may be bypassed in a time of emergency, but SCP-XXXX should be compensated accordingly to account for the additional labour.
In return for cooperation with Foundation personnel, SCP-XXXX is allowed several additional amenities in the form of clothing and entertainment products of its choice.
Under no circumstances is SCP-XXXX to be given any item of clothing or media commemorating a location, with the exception of during Protocols Nocter and Yeoman.
Each Foundation Site housing more 50 permanent personnel must operate an on-Site commercial institution staffed by at least two personnel and open at least 6 hours per day on at least 5 days per week. This institution must sell items of clothing and other merchandise typical to a gift shop. Each item must have "SCP Foundation" printed in text on its surface.
Description: SCP-XXXX is a 19-year-old German female humanoid. SCP-XXXX's anomalies manifest when its skin is in direct contact with an item commemorating a location, such as a printed t-shirt sold at a gift shop. While touching such an object object, SCP-XXXX is able to telepathically alter ordinances and bylaws issued by the municipal authority governing the referenced location.
Three Portlands is a city of variety and freedom. Any good, any service you can imagine is probably available in Three Portlands, if not in stores than in back-alley deals and under-the-table transactions.
In Three Portlands, anything can happen. Mystery, drama, fantasy, and humor intersect in a culture that has a little bit of everything. So, how does one begin to write a story in Three Portlands?
Anatomy of a Portland
Getting There
Three Portlands is a pocket dimension, a branch anchored to the trunk of the "world tree" that is the broader universe containing Earth. The city is connected most strongly at, as you might expect, three points: Portland, Oregon; Portland, Maine; and the Isle of Portland in the United Kingdom.
Within the vicinity of these locations, there are many individual Ways that connect Three Portlands to Earth. You may travel to Three Portlands through the maintenance corridor of a museum, a buoy in the English Channel, or a bed of grass in a parking lot. There are numerous Ways, and you should feel free to create your own in your writing.
Getting Around
Inside, Three Portlands is highly variable. The city is large, forming concentric circles of streets and buildings centered on Goldman Plaza and the Three Portlands City Hall within.
By and large, there are no cars in Three Portlands. Transporting large vehicles to Three Portlands, while possible, is usually very expensive. As such, there was never enough demand to foster the development of road structure that supported them.
Instead, there are many pedestrian paths, strong bicycle usage, and free streetcars that run out from the center of the city as well as radially.
A Cartographer's Nightmare
Three Portlands is ever-changing. This not only applies to the culture and population of the city, but also the geography.
Every object in the city is itself slowly moving outwards. The ground is gradually stretching, pushing entire buildings and streets away from the center.
As they move, buildings that were once inches apart gradually spread out, forming impromptu alleyways that might be filled by further construction, or just left as a quick shortcut between layers of the city. As buildings spread out, they make room for new buildings around and in front of them.
This movement is very slow. It may take over half a century for a building constructed near the center of town to approach the outskirts.
When buildings do reach the edge, they're typically abandoned or demolished. This is due to a vast invisible barrier that encircles the city, preventing people from travelling further. This is a protective measure — buildings that pass the wall will continue to move, until they eventually "fall out" of Three Portlands entirely and are subsumed by the unreality between dimensions. This is not something that a human can survive.
So, to someone standing at the barrier, the streets appear to continue on, flanked by increasingly antique buildings, devoid of all life, and eventually fading to a colorless mist.
Don't Touch My Bread Government
This barrier is upheld and maintained by a powerful thaumic presence that resides inside Three Portlands City Hall. No-one ever goes in, no-one ever comes out. People send letters, forms, and requests by mail and sometimes they get answers, like Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory but for bureaucracy.
It's this presence that maintains the physical properties of the city. The skybox sun that travels across the deceptively low sky, the frequently rainy weather, and the largest Ways in and out of the city are all managed by the presence in City Hall.
This presence, sometimes colloquially referred to as the Mayor, rarely intervenes directly in Portland affairs except in extraordinary circumstances. For day to day governance and management, we look to the Unusual Incidents Unit of the FBI.
Led by Special Agents Kenneth Spencer and Robin Thorne, the UIU acts as a police department investigating major crimes in Three Portlands. This small force is augmented by many police golems, conjured and maintained by Golemancy United, a local co-op of thaumaturges who create disposable manpower for a variety of purposes.
Altogether, the UIU don't actually hold much power in Three Portlands. Most of the true societal power is held by the various corporations and businesses that base themselves out of the pocket dimension.
Nearly every major business that deals in paratech has at least a Three Portlands office, and many choose to have more significant outposts there to take advantage of the vast anomalous workforce.
Tone
Item #: SCP-3644
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: Persons believed to have SCP-3644 are to be contained and interviewed for information on the status of SCP-3644-1. Due to the short life expectancy of sufferers, no containment of SCP-3644's spread is necessary at this time.
Description: SCP-3644 is an incredibly rare genetic condition in humans, closely related to genes associated with colorblindness, and characterized by anomalous alterations to sensory perception. Humans with SCP-3644 perceive with sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste an alternate reality, SCP-3644-1, in which extraterrestrial contact incited a global nuclear conflict, wiping out all life on Earth on November 30th, 2014.
Humans with SCP-3644 perceive only SCP-3644-1 with all senses except for touch, with which they are able to sense objects in both SCP-3644-1 and baseline reality. As such, communication can be established by sending messages in Braille or raised print, and receiving written or spoken responses.
Using force in baseline reality, people with SCP-3644 may be pushed through objects in SCP-3644-1 they perceive to be solid, although this experience has been described to be intensely painful, and has resulted in what appear to be psychosomatic approximations of the symptoms of blood poisoning. Due to the difficulty of performing tests in SCP-3644-1, it is currently unknown if this can be performed in reverse, to move through objects in baseline reality.
People with SCP-3644 did not experience any anomalous effects until the point at which SCP-3644-1 diverged from baseline reality, on November 20th, 2014. After this point, divergence increased rapidly, and as such prolonged navigation has become increasingly difficult due to the frequency of blockages and impassable obstacles in either reality.
Those exhibiting SCP-3644 can perceive other sufferers of SCP-3644 in SCP-3644-1, but to date none have witnessed another living human or animal in SCP-3644-1 since the date of the nuclear conflagration.
Due to SCP-3644's extreme rarity, visibility, and heritable nature, it is likely that occurrence of the condition will become almost nonexistent in coming decades, before dying out entirely.
Addendum 1: Timeline of SCP-3644-1
November 20th, 2014: An immense, oblong craft is sighted passing the Moon, en route to Earth, apparently having traveled from the direction of Alpha Centauri.
November 24th, 2014: The craft enters Earth's atmosphere, decelerating through unknown means and stopping four kilometers above Madrid, Spain. A Foundation coverup ensues, but mass amnestic dispersal is only partially effective, as many major governments elect to eschew secrecy in order to address the extraterrestrial contact openly. The alien craft takes no actions and responds to no stimulus.
November 29th, 2014: The alien craft begins transmitting a radio signal, transmitting the following text, in Spanish, through Morse code. Afterwards, the message repeats in English, then Chinese.
we were taking in, learning to speak. we have a message for the gene scarred: the outcome of your procreation (has been/will be) breaking regulation, resulting in great discomfort. by regulation such ancestors are
November 30th, 2014: Following mass public speculation on the nature of the message and what possible punishment could follow, a nuclear exchange occurs with unclear origination. The vast majority of humanity's nuclear arsenal is fired, and Earth is rendered uninhabitable. All humans with SCP-3644 survive unscathed, regardless of exposure or proximity to nuclear detonations. The alien craft is presumed to depart.
Addendum 2: Further Investigation
As part of an operation to gain as much knowledge of SCP-3644-1 as possible, members of MTF Gamma-103 "Radium Girls" assisted two SCP-3644-positive humans in breaching the central database of SCP-3644-1's Site-30. They were instructed to retrieve the extent of the Foundation's knowledge on SCP-3644-1.
While the Foundation in SCP-3644-1 failed to prevent disaster, they were able to perform significant analysis on the alien craft, discovering that it was likely unmanned and possessed a distinct drive signature that could be used to identify the craft from a distance.
With this information recovered, a radar telescope was used to identify any potential versions of the alien craft within baseline reality.
A match was found, at a point between Earth and Alpha Centauri. However, the signal source was detected moving away from Earth, rather than towards it.
The signal source's velocity suggests that it would have been at or very near Earth on November 30th, 2014. The full implications of this are currently unknown.
Germ Robinson had scarcely grown accustomed to his stinging black eye when he found himself escorted into the back rooms of the bar and shoved into a chair.
He hadn't seen this room before, but the crates piled against the walls indicated it wasn't quite meant for business meetings. There was a large man in a tight suit sitting across the table, picking his fingernails. Behind Germ, his escort had already left the room, and was no doubt guarding the door against interruption.
The air was full of savory cigar smoke, but there wasn't a light in sight. Germ stifled a cough and kept his eyes glued to the table.
"Tell me what happened," the man said, without looking at him.
"Feds hit the warehouse in Pullman," Germ recited, well-rehearsed. "I barely got away."
The man didn't react. Germ continued, "All in all, they've got four men in custody, all dumb muscle, box movers. I got to the safehouse, told people what happened. Now I'm here."
"If I recall," the man said, "you were in charge of making sure the books in Pullman were all up to snuff. That nothing seemed suspicious. Isn't that right, Germ?"
Germ's brow furrowed. "Why're you asking when you already know the answer?"
For the first time, the man turned his gaze to Germ and let it rest there. "I'm interested to see how you spin it. How much you bend the truth when your life's on the line."
"I'm not bending anything. Things went south. It was my fault; is that what you want to hear? I must have missed something in the shipping manifests, left some inconsistency. Must have tipped them off somehow."
"That's a shame. Here I was, hoping you'd have found some silver lining in all this that would undo your colossal failure."
Germ scoffed. "Oh, like the Chicago Spirit won't ever recover from a warehouse raid."
The man squinted at him, and Germ felt the weight on his chest. "Those four men in custody are far more dangerous than any warehouse. They aren't just dumb muscle. They knew that what they were moving wasn't just illicit knick-knacks. When they talk, the cops'll know that, too."
The man set his hands down on the table, and his expression became deadly serious. "When we break man's laws, the police show up. But when we break nature's laws, well, there are far worse authorities to worry about. You've exposed a weak link in our chain, and to keep it safe, we can't let those men talk. That means four men dead or worse, because of you. You starting to see the problem here? They're gonna be gone, but you're still here, taking up space."
Germ adopted a scowl, but his wavering voice gave him away. "So you're just going to kill me, and that's going to make things better somehow?"
The man shook his head. "Germ, as much as I'd like to deal out some justice, you're misunderstanding how things work around here."
He stood up, the barest hint of a sparkle in his eye. "We're going to keep you nice and safe, for now. And when the day comes when you can redeem yourself, when you can leap into certain death to gain the Chicago Spirit even the slightest advantage, you'll do just that. And we'll own every single bit of your death."
Germ gaped at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Every cent in your will, every speech at your funeral, every word of your obituary. If there's a way we can use it, we will. You'll go out when we choose, where we choose, and in the manner we choose. And we'll make the most out of it."
"But there's a silver lining for you, don't worry. You get to know that though your mind and body may die…" The man's face broke into a wide, toothy grin.
"The Spirit will live on."
It was a certain sort of storm, the kind that didn't just snuff out the sun and stars and moon but that suffocated the whole world, filled every corner and extinguished the possibility of escape. On Earth, it happened once in a millennium. In Three Portlands, it happened twice a month.
In the Bible, much fuss is made of the supreme power and wrath of a being capable of flooding a planet. Not mentioned, however, is the comparative power of a being capable of flooding several square miles. Selena was one of the few people in this cluster of universes privy to that knowledge, and by her own estimate she registered about ten nanoGods in divine power. In another place, another time, she could have inspired a religion or two, she's sure of it. But this is Three Portlands, and there are few people harder to impress than Portlandsers.
From her perch she could see them milling about, going on errands and visiting friends with nothing more than umbrellas and neon raincoats to protect themselves. She could take them, she thought to herself. Summon down some lightning and smite half the city. Show them the true meaning of wrath. Go Old Testament on their asses. She drew her arm back and lobbed a half-empty glass bottle at the city. It bounced off a rain-slicked awning, then smashed on the street.
Shit, she thought. That was her last beer.
The glaring sun was what woke her up, but what made her shout was the sight of the street thirty feet below her dangling body. Climbing down a slippery gutter is difficult enough in the best of circumstances; attempting it with a wicked hangover is highly inadvisable. By the time she reached terra firma, the number of bruises on her arms and legs had doubled.
She tried her best to maintain composure as she trudged up the street. Her legs were screaming at her, her nerves were frazzled, the air was humid, and—
There was someone standing at her door. A man in a suit. Goddamn it. She took a deep breath and climbed the porch steps.
The man turned to look at her. She pushed past him to fiddle with the lock. "Stop standing around where everyone can see. I have a reputation to keep, you know."
He raised an eyebrow as he followed her through the open doorway. "Do you, now?"
"Yes." She folded her arms. Finally shielded from the sun, her eyes could adjust to the familiar catastrophe that was her home. "Where's Riley?"
He removed his hat as he strolled in nonchalantly. "Agent Peck isn't on your case anymore. I'm your handler, for the time being. The name's Agent Yeoman."
"Charmed," she sneered. "Clearly you weren't filled in, because our next check-in isn't for another week. As much as I'd love to sit down for coffee with a skipper, I'd really rather not."
He nodded. "Yes, well, this isn't a normal check-in, so I'm afraid I'll be staying." He nudged a shattered mug with his foot. "I hear you've been making trouble."
"Maybe," Selena said with a shrug. "Does it matter? So long as I'm here and not on Earth, what's the issue?"
"While it's not specifically against the terms of your deal with the Foundation," the agent lectured, venturing further into the dark home, "I'd think it's best for everyone if you avoid causing too much ruckus. You're not in a containment cell, true, but the Mayor won't hesitate to kill you if you go too far."
"I'll take that into consideration. Did you come here just to give me a safety tip?"
"No," he said. "Truth is, there's a bit of a situation going on topside and the brass thought you could be of use."
She crashed onto the sofa and threw her legs up over the arm. The air crackled with static. "I'm listening."
Yeoman brushed aside some beer cans and sat on the loveseat. "There's a meteorological entity that's been making waves for the past year or so. Heavy warding means traditional tracking tech is useless. All we know is that they're young, they're powerful, and they're going through some shit. That's a bad combo. Their personal drama is putting real lives in danger, and if we don't deal with it we could have the storm of the century on our hands."
"So you need a therapist."
He shook his head. "We need a similar meteorological entity. Someone who can come to Earth and figure out where the storms are coming from, so we can decommission the source once and for all."
"You want me to help assassinate someone who could be my cousin, for all I know?"
"We wouldn't be here if it wasn't serious. Lives are at risk."
She sat up, pointing a finger at him. "Why are you here? I can't be the only hungover demigod on the Foundation's watch. Why don't you go ask Percy Jackson?"
He didn't react. "Out of the assets on our radar, you are the most co-operative to Foundation interests."
"Wow, that's disappointing." She deflated. "Here I thought I was making your job hell."
"Perhaps if you spent less time screwing up your own life, you could be more of a thorn in our side."
She whistled. "You really know how to kick someone when they're down, huh?"
"Anyone can tell you, that's the best time to kick." He stood up, sending a bottle across the floor as he made for the entrance. "It's sad seeing someone like you in this state, you know. I can't make you do anything, but maybe some activity would be good for you. Think it over. Give me a call when you've decided."
"Wait, wait," she called after him. "Where are the details? Briefings, intel, anything?"
"Not necessary," he shouted, a silhouette in the doorway. "The target's on YouTube."
"So hey, it's ya boi DJ Chaac here. Um, obviously, you know- most of you probably know that. But there could be new listeners! So hi, to those. Welcome."
Selena squinted at her laptop, the screen shining uncomfortably bright in the darkness of her bedroom. The voice blaring from her speakers was backed by a cushion of static. She couldn't tell if it was rain, electrical interference, or just a shoddy webcam. It was amateurish, to be sure. All of it. The production quality, the showmanship, but most of all the rain, all the repetitious droplets and poor improvisation. Selena didn't start off slinging perfect category fives of course, but she didn't have the gall to broadcast it to the whole world, even if she thought she could've gotten away with it. But, of course, she couldn't.
She rubbed her eyes. It was definitely worth sleeping to, she'd give them that.
"Tryin' some new things, I know some requests came through and- yes, hi, thank you- I'm looking at some new types of lightning. They got all sorts of shapes, and I know I'm not usually into shape-work but I'm- I'm trying some things. Gotta keep everyone satisfied, haha. Lemme just, uh, read out the patron names- don't worry, I've got some wind here-"
A blast of rain slapped her window open and tossed a glass bottle onto the hard floor. She cursed under her breath as she scrambled for the shards. She hadn't even noticed the storm. She stood up, glass in her hands, and leaned out of the window. It wasn't possible, was it? Had this streamer crossed the boundary between universes and sent a storm to her home?
She clenched her fist unthinkingly, mashing the glass into her palm. She yelped and threw it out the window, where the wind carried the shards out of sight. A thundercrack masked her cry. Oh. She took a deep breath, and the wind died. The stream must have distracted her. She'd stormed without even thinking about it. Behind her, her speakers blared.
"-so, thanks to those people. A lot. I, um, don't want to make things weird, and I know that some people- they, uh, want me to let my work speak for itself, and I think it does, mostly, but I still like to come on and. You know. Talk. It's good to have that, is what I'm tryna say. So thanks, even if things get a lil weird. I'll make it up to all of y'all. Next one's gonna be a doozy. DJ Chaac, out."
Selena frowned. She raised her bleeding hands into the air, and an arc of lightning formed between her fingertips. The threads of thunder coalesced between her palms, wrapping over themselves until they formed a compact orb, glimmering in the air.
She let the wisp go, and it floated out her window and into the night. From her pocket, she slipped out her phone, and dialed a number without looking. She knew where to go.
They hit a bump in the road, and she jerked back into her seat. The metal collar on her neck clanged against the wall of the van, and she winced. "Come on, slow down a bit."
Yeoman shrugged and laid back in his own seat. "Not up to me. And the driver can't hear you."
She shook her manacled arms, eyeing the keys in his lap. "Don't suppose you'd undo these, let me tell them myself."
"I'd rather not get struck by lightning just yet, thank you." The van jerked again, and her head smacked into the divider in front of her. Yeoman undid his seatbelt. "Careful what you wish for."
The back door opened, and a cadre of soldiers awaited. She sneered at them as they pulled her out. Her feet landed on soft soil and grass. The van was in the middle of the country, grassland all around.
Yeoman nodded, and the soldiers backed away. "Welcome back to Earth."
She took a deep breath. It was nothing like the Three Portlands air, not even a bit. She could feel the energy coursing through it, an energy she had missed dearly. Above her, the skies were swirling grey.
The agent paced around her. "As far as we can tell, this storm cell shouldn't exist. Half the Eastern seaboard is bracing for hell, but I'd rather disappoint them. Tell us where to go and we might get there in time."
Selena nodded. Weakly, she motioned for space. Yeoman shouted, and the ring of operatives stepped aside.
"Yeoman," she whispered. "Let me go."
He tilted his head. "Why would I do that?"
"It doesn't have to go down like this."
"How would you rather it go down?"
She closed her eyes. "Let me go to Chaac. They don't need containment, they need someone like themself. And I know you don't need another alcoholic storm god to babysit."
He was silent for a moment too long. "Will you come back?"
She laughed. "Don't worry. I won't pass up the chance to say I told you so."
He smiled. There was a soft click. The ring around Selena's neck separated, and fell to the ground. Behind them, someone shouted. The soldiers ran forward. In an instant, Selena was gone, just a silhouette of mist blowing away.
As the crowd surged around him, Yeoman glanced upward, at storm clouds parting to release the sky.
It’s noon when I arrive outside your door. I’m wearing a wire, but you don’t know that.
You are relieved when you see me. It was you who had extended the invitation, after all. You were surprised that I wasn’t at work at this hour. You think that I work at a hardware store, but that was a lie. I tell you that it’s my day off, but it’s not. The truth is that, right this second, I am working.
You open the door and welcome me in. We make small talk for a few minutes before you work up the courage to ask me if I had brought what we’d talked about. From my backpack I retrieve the sheet of blotting paper, tear off a white perforated square and hand it to you. You take it gingerly as you sit down, glancing up at me with the same trepidation as always.
You ask if I’ll be joining you on this trip. I smile as I slip a square onto my tongue, and you do the same with yours. You are unaware that mine is plain paper. I need to be fully lucid for what comes next.
The hallucinations come quicker than you expect, always so vivid and clear. As your vision of this place fades, I set up my recording equipment around you. Your eyes are flashing with visions of another world, a world that you don’t think is real. I know that it is. Your second sight, catalyzed by hallucinogens, is a very peculiar ability that you are entirely unaware you possess. An ability that I am keen to record and that my superiors are keen to analyze for threats.
While you dream of dust and tumbleweeds I record every inch of your unconscious movements. Tonight, my recordings will end up in a facility three miles underground, processed by a supercomputing cluster that will algorithmically reconstruct your visions from nothing but muscle twitches and rapid eye movements.
My primary role is to facilitate this data collection. My secondary role is to be your friend.
The next week we have coffee in your living room. I’m telling a story about dealing with a client at work, but I’m making it up. It doesn’t matter, as I know you’ll be unconscious before I get to the end.
I’ve spiked your coffee with a cocktail of dimethyltryptamine and anti-anxiety meds. A more direct route than I usually go for, but I need swift results. My superiors were particularly interested in a subset of your visions, of tripartite cities and half-mechanized creatures. A set of visions that this mixture of substances will help you revisit.
I grab your coffee when your grip loosens, preventing it from spilling while you fall to the floor and convulse. Once your motion largely stops, I take a few pictures. These might prove necessary for reconstructing the scene.
When you wake up, I inform you that you fainted. You’re grateful that I was there to help.
It’s four in the morning when I arrive outside your window. You are asleep, as surveillance indicated.
Your window is unlocked. I enter.
Recent intel has been insufficient. Overwatch fears that soon an imminent threat will cross the veil that you unknowingly observe. More information is needed immediately. At any cost.
You fidget in your sleep. I unfurl my case of syringes on your bed.
The first is a sedative, to prevent you from waking up during the procedure.
The second impairs motor function, to ensure no unconscious movements jeopardize the data.
The third is a sickly white substance used traditionally to induce religious experiences. Tonight it will be used for something else.
The last is a deep-muscle dose of amnestics, so that you wake up feeling rested, as if nothing had happened.
You’re lucky that I care about you.
Adrian's eyes first adjusted to the suffusion of blue in front of him. His arms strained forward, and he realized he was facedown on the ground.
He pushed his elbows against the floor. His body raised, but he was wracked by a piercing sensation from his chest, and fell back down.
Face against the ground once more, he stopped to catch his breath. He couldn't see anything but emptiness, in every direction. With a single heaving effort, he turned over onto his back, facing up into the wisping blue sky.
He held his hands in front of his eyes. They were dry and dirty with something dark brown. Blood. He pushed back with his elbows again, and was struck once more with deep pain. He forced against it, into a sitting position, and inspected his body.
His plain shirt was stained with blood, and the rest of his clothes seemed to be painted with dried mud. Gingerly, he touched a finger to the center of his chest. His fingertips were met with something damp, and he recoiled back again. Better not to think of the extent of the damages there.
Every breath he took ended in a pained rasp. He pulled his knees up towards his chest and shivered. The space he was in didn't seem to have a horizon, let alone an exit.
Eyes squeezed shut, he shuddered to his feet. There was nowhere to go, so he began to walk forward.
How long had he been out? His chest wound no longer bled, but ached. The sting of smoke was still present in his head. Somewhere, the house was burning down. And the Cool Kids were escaping.
Where was he now? This place didn't seem to end. He kept moving forward, and there was only more emptiness, flat ground and blue mist.
He stopped. Moving wasn't getting him anywhere. He thought back to what the many-faced woman had said. Was this real? Was he dreaming?
Item #: SCP-3000
Object Class: Neutralized
Special Containment Procedures: N/A
Description: SCP-3000 was Proxima Centauri b, an approximately Earth-sized extrasolar planet located 4.2 lightyears from Earth in the nearest non-solar star system, Alpha Centauri. SCP-3000 was first discovered by Foundation resources in 2006, and by civilian resources in 2016.
SCP-3000 was believed to be non-anomalous until late 2015, when Foundation Project Jamshid allowed a thaumaturge to scry the status of locations orders of magnitude further away than had ever been observed by thaumic means. This was used to conduct a visual inspection of the Alpha Centauri system, upon which it was observed that Proxima Centauri b appeared to be artificial, possessing a uniform texture similar to that of rubber and numerous cylindrical tower structures at cardinal points on its surface.
SCP-3000 was monitored by Foundation assets through scrying while a plan of additional, manned reconnaissance of the Alpha Centauri system was drafted. The Foundation's first interstellar parascientific craft, Theta-1 "Joyeuse", was created, utilizing a Darius-Semiz singularity drive to achieve the relativistic speeds that allow interstellar travel to be completed in a practical timespan.
On 25/03/2019, Joyeuse was launched without incident, with a crew of 32 Foundation agents, researchers, and engineers, including Mobile Task Force Xi-4 "Lightyear Runners".
On 04/11/2024, Joyeuse reached Proxima Centauri and a landing mission was attempted. This mission was largely successful until it resulted in the destruction of SCP-3000, followed by the entirety of the Alpha Centauri system. This was followed by all extrasolar objects in the observable universe spontaneously vanishing.
As the Foundation’s and by extension humanity’s first manned exploration of another solar system, Joyeuse was equipped with a battery of advanced parascientific equipment for the purpose of gathering both scientific data and information on potential anomalous activity previously outside the scope of the Foundation’s containment abilities. Potential anomalies would, upon the return of the Joyeuse, be marked for additional reconnaissance by future expeditions.
Due to the great distance between Earth and the Joyeuse throughout the voyage, real-time communication was not possible. Instead, Project Jamshid was used to enable one-way, instantaneous communication, from the Joyeuse to Foundation assets on Earth through scrying. This method is not capable of relaying large amounts of data, as it must go through a human thaumaturge, and is most suited to the transcription of text logs, which were displayed by Joyeuse personnel for the thaumaturge to perceive and transcribe.
All personnel within the Joyeuse engage in extended hibernation for the majority of the voyage. Most flight operations are automated, although the commencement of deceleration at the journey’s halfway point necessitated a full wake sequence due to the complexity of the maneuver.
The complete journey of the Joyeuse took 2051 days from Earth's perspective, before the craft arrived at Proxima Centauri and established an orbit above SCP-3000.
The following is a transcript of a message received from the Joyeuse after attempting an exploration of SCP-3000.
Three days have passed since the Joyeuse attained orbit around SCP-3000. Advanced observation has indicated that the surface of the planet, apparently a form of red rubber, is either anomalously denser than currently known forms, or is merely a shell over a more dense internal structure.
The recon vehicle is a pod capable of transporting four people at once to a planetary surface. It is also capable of rapid extraction back to orbit. This recon pod is used to transport four members of MTF Xi-4, designated LY-Alpha through Delta, to the planetary surface.
The landing pod touches down approximately 1km from the edge of a cluster of 15 immense spires on the planet’s equator. Spires are of variable width, ranging from 100 to 500 meters in diameter, and reach over 2km above the planet’s surface.
LY-Alpha: Touched down.
Command: Roger that.
LY-Alpha: Squad, check pressure on suits.
LY-Beta: Check.
LY-Gamma: Check.
LY-Delta: Check.
LY-Alpha: Roger. Free to engage airlock, command.
Command: Roger. Engaging.
LY-Alpha: Existing capsule now.
LY-Alpha: Ground is stable. Bit of a squish to it. Gravity is slightly stronger than back home, as expected. The terrain is flat, too flat. Let's take a ground sample.
LY-Gamma: Roger.
LY-Gamma: Yeah, it looks like rubber. Analysis will verify, of course. It's got… look at the ground, there's little protrusions. Regularly spaced, few centimeters apart, like anti-slip marks.
LY-Beta: So whoever built this was afraid of slipping. If someone did build this.
LY-Gamma: Planet-sized kickballs don't appear naturally. Not in any nature we’re aware of, at least.
LY-Alpha: Oxygen is limited. Let's get going.
LY-Alpha: Pathing to the nearest spire now.
No audio, apart from breathing, is heard for ten minutes.
LY-Alpha: Hundred meters out. This is one of the larger spires. There appears to be some sort of terrain feature near the base, right before the sheer wall.
LY-Alpha: Closing in. That's a ramp. Going down into the ground, and curving around the base of the tower. There doesn't seem to be any kind of entrance to the tower itself… it might be solid. Permission to proceed down the ramp?
Command: Affirmative, proceed.
LY-Alpha: Roger.
No audio, apart from breathing, is heard for one minute.
LY-Epsilon: This is… a very gentle ramp.
LY-Gamma: Yeah. Perfect for a human to walk down comfortably. Should also note that it's pretty wide. We could probably fit shoulder-to-shoulder in here, barely.
LY-Delta: You think this was made by humans?
LY-Gamma: By humans, I doubt. For humans? Maybe.
LY-Alpha: It's slow going, but we are getting deeper. The walls are just over our heads now.
LY-Beta: Is that a roof ahead?
LY-Alpha: Seems to be. This is turning into a tunnel. Maybe two, two and a half meters tall. Flashlights forward.
No audio, apart from breathing, is heard for two minutes.
LY-Delta: Not much to see in here. Just redness. It's all just rubber.
LY-Beta: If it gets much deeper, we might have to head back. Radio connection and all.
LY-Alpha: Shh. Is that a dead end?
LY-Gamma: No, that's… that is an honest to god, human-sized doorway.
LY-Alpha: And it's the end of the tunnel. Command, the tunnel ends in a open doorway. Permission to proceed?
Command: Proceed.
LY-Alpha: Acknowledged. Proceeding.
LY-Alpha: This is a room… no exits aside from the doorway. Roughly circular, about ten meters across. There's a… table at the center. Grey metal.
LY-Delta: The floor, what's that on the floor?
LY-Beta: That's… paper. Sheets of paper. They're all over the ground.
LY-Gamma: Let me take a look.
LY-Gamma: There's print.
Command: What does it say?
LY-Gamma: They're not characters I recognize. Sort of like Cyrillic. But those are numerals, Arabic numerals. It's a spreadsheet. Humans.
Command: Keep a sample. You mentioned a table.
LY-Alpha: Yeah. It's not a table, it's a panel. Buttons, a lever… fuck.
LY-Delta: What?
LY-Alpha: Look at that. On the edge of the panel.
Command: Alpha, what do you see?
LY-Alpha: It's the goddamned logo. The Foundation.
LY-Beta: What?
LY-Alpha: What is this? When did they build it? Why did they send us here?
Command: There are no records of this, Alpha. Return to the transport pod.
LY-Beta: What? What's going on?
LY-Delta: Stop. Just calm down.
Command: All units, stop. Take a moment to breathe, then move to extraction.
LY-Alpha: …roger.
No audio, apart from breathing, is heard for two minutes.
LY-Gamma: …who moved the lever?
LY-Alpha: What?
LY-Gamma: The lever, it was the other way. It's… look.
LY-Alpha: Did anyone touch the lever?
LY-Beta: No.
LY-Delta: Not me.
LY-Gamma: It's, maybe it's reacting to our presence. Maybe-
LY-Beta: What's happening? The walls-
LY-Alpha: It's like it's melting. The panel, get under the panel.
Frantic breathing can be heard.
LY-Delta: It's on top of me, my hand, my hand-
LY-Alpha: -you need to get closer-
LY-Beta: It's- I'm covered, I can't see. I can't… Abi, please-
LY-Alpha: I'm trying.
LY-Beta and LY-Delta both cease transmitting.
LY-Gamma: We're not going to make it under here. The surface, it… maybe we can get there.
LY-Alpha: We can push our way up.
Sounds of heavy breathing and soft suction can be heard.
LY-Alpha: I'm-
LY-Gamma: You're-
LY-Alpha: I'm fine, I can get out. Keep going.
LY-Gamma: Okay.
LY-Alpha ceases transmitting.
LY-Gamma: I see it. The sky.
LY-Gamma: What's happening to the stars?
A crashing noise can be heard. LY-Gamma ceases transmitting.
Over the next several hours, SCP-3000 is observed to collapse inwards. As of this transmission the process is still ongoing. The ground team has not been recovered.
In addition, a circular section of visible stars around us has vanished. The circle is growing. Following the completion of this transmission, the Joyeuse will attempt evasive measures and abort further exploration. A return to Earth is necessary.
At this point, the star Proxima Centauri, along with the remainder of the Alpha Centauri system, is through scrying observed to disappear. The location of the Joyeuse is lost soon after, and the vessel's current status is unknown.
Scrying indicates that light imitating that of extrasolar objects had been emanating from a hollow sphere centered on the Solar system, approximately 4.61 lightyears in radius. SCP-3000 was likely the source of this holographic projection.
On November 22, 2028, 4.61 years after the date of this exploration, the light will stop reaching Earth, and all stars, nebulae, and galaxies in the sky will to all appearances vanish.
Operation Damocles is a multi-faceted, Foundation-wide program to enact normalcy protection regulations on a global scale within weeks. Operation Damocles overrides all existing containment regulations such that all possible assets, up to and including contained anomalies, may be re-purposed to enhance normalcy enforcement.
Throughout the entirety of Operation Damocles, all essential Foundation personnel are required to take a regimen of oral mnestics in order to strengthen recall during potential pseudo-cognitive shifts.
Damocles Sub-Operations:
Project Astra | |
---|---|
Time to breach of normalcy | 55 months |
Summary | |
Create and deploy a copy of SCP-3000 to project an illusory sphere of light around the solar system, preserving the current appearance of the sky. | |
Outcome | |
Extraterrestrial construction halted due to lack of resources and infeasibility of reverse-engineering SCP-3000 from the limited data retrieved from the Joyeuse expedition. Orbital site abandoned. |
Operation Zodiac | |
---|---|
Time to breach of normalcy | 48 months |
Summary | |
Create and deploy a viral memetic agent or combination of viral memetic agents capable of altering visual perception and interpretation of the sky. | |
Outcome | |
Memetic agents deemed inadequate for creating a consistent illusion at such a scale. |
Operation Miranda | |
---|---|
Time to breach of normalcy | 40 months |
Summary | |
Create and deploy a viral memetic agent or combination of viral memetic agents capable of altering human memory to exclude all information related to objects outside of the solar system. | |
Outcome | |
Memetic agent DECEMBER SUN created. Standard viral distribution deemed inefficient for rapid infection of human populations; inert form of DECEMBER SUN is inserted into forms of popular media to be activated simultaneously when deemed necessary. |
Operation Tempest | |
---|---|
Time to breach of normalcy | 36 months |
Summary | |
Utilize thaumic and meteorological means to conceal or otherwise obscure the sky over populated areas with extensive cloud cover while distribution of DECEMBER SUN is in progress. | |
Outcome | |
Weather alteration proves more extreme than anticipated; evacuations occur in many major cities. Extreme weather is explained by scientific authorities as a result of climate change. |
Operation Heinlein | |
---|---|
Time to breach of normalcy | 28 months |
Summary | |
Alter physical and electronic records of history to remove or mythologize inclusions of extrasolar objects. | |
Outcome | |
Major records altered or destroyed under cover stories of arson, theft, or bombing. DECEMBER SUN is activated in civilian populations and quickly becomes predominant in most parts of the world. |
Operation Orpheus | |
---|---|
Time to breach of normalcy | 24 months |
Summary | |
Minimize the side-effects of DECEMBER SUN exposure in civilian populations through application of amnestics. | |
Outcome | |
Use of aerosol amnestics effective for the quelling of civilian unrest in most areas. Where necessary, Foundation forces are deployed to |
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be destroyed as soon as possible. No demands levied by the United States Government with threat of use of SCP-XXXX are to be met. If SCP-XXXX is used, all Foundation efforts must be directed to maintenance of normalcy in the aftermath.
Description: SCP-XXXX is an anomalous battalion, approximately 300 strong, of psionic soldiers capable of reality alteration on a basic level when separated and on a major level when acting as a group. SCP-XXXX is currently under the control of the United States Government, and was created in 1965 by the US Central Intelligence Agency in collusion with the SCP Foundation as the primary goal of Project MKUltra.
The Bishop began his day, as he always did, with a meditation session.
On his knees, shoulders relaxed, face serene, arms parallel to his spine.
The Bishop could not see beyond the wall in front of him, but he envisioned the land outside, endless plains of flat ice.
The sky would be clear, and the ice unmarred. The Bishop and his flock were the only living beings for miles.
His body was still. His mind was fully empty, his gears had come to a stop.
A moment later, his pose shifted. He pressed his palms onto the slick, cool linoleum floor and applied pressure, slowly rocking his body to a standing position.
Over breakfast, he reviewed his sermon. The food was plain, but the Bishop did not ask for much. A bowl of plain oatmeal, and a side of homemade bread, toasted and buttered. As his teeth tore free a portion of toast, he spoke the words of the sermon in his head.
Once the last spoonful of oatmeal vanished down his throat, a gentle buzzing came from the right of his glass dining table. He turned his head, to the brass elevator doors, the only point of ingress to his living quarters.
In front of the doors stood a tall, lithe automaton. Her Y-shaped faceplate was the color of old pennies.
“Your Excellency.” Her voice was soft, undercut by a light humming sound. She bowed low, and the sleeves of her satin gown hung useless at her sides, empty.
The Bishop faced her, smiling warmly. “Good morning, Ainsley. What do you have for me?”
She raised herself again. “Your daily update, Your Excellency. The greenhouses have reported yields greater than previously expected, softening our predictions of supply shortages during the coming Winter.”
Her voice lowered slightly as she continued. “A security update. An agent has been apprehended in the pipes, attempting to enter the commune, possibly to take your life. She bears the insignia of the Insurgency, but Bertrand believes her to truly represent Foundation interests. She is unharmed, and awaits your judgement in a secure dormitory.”
The Bishop nodded solemnly. “Tell Bertrand to bring the Light to this one. I will speak with her when her conversion has progressed.”
Ainsley bowed her head. “It will be done, Your Excellency.”
“And, Ainsley… give Gavril my compliments for the meal.” The Bishop’s hard face relaxed, lapsing again into a warm smile.
“I will do so, Your Excellency. Faith be with you.”
“And with you too, Ainsley.”
She sounded a short chirp as she left.
The Bishop leaned forward, hands gripping the edges of the podium in front of him. Past the podium he could see the assembly, fifty-three automatons in different colors, shapes, and states of disrepair.
“Stardust. They say we are made of stardust. Some will say that mankind’s first venture into the unknown, the inky black expanse of space, occurred in the late nineteen-sixties. But we know now that this is false.”
“Life on Earth is not our natural state. Earth is an anomaly in a vast expanse of inorganic nothing. But we have been given the tools to transcend our terrestrial origins, to ascend to our true forms. Bestowed upon us is the chariot with which we shall ascend.”
“Our life in the commune is a reminder of what we must all strive for. Harmony with each other. Happiness in self-reflection. Acceptance of limitation. The trials of our faith are many, but they shall bring the ultimate reward. Stardust.”
The Bishop turned to face the mural behind him. It depicted a crowd of automatons standing in a snowy plane, staring up at a black sky, a sun about to be eclipsed by a large, streaked red circle. Among the crowd there was a single human face.
He could hear the congregation rise to their mechanical feet. Together, they buzzed and ticked their prayer, some softly, and others louder. The Bishop let the sound fill his ears.
Minutes later, after the gears had begun to shuffle out and return to their duties, a single one stayed behind. He approached the Bishop, and knelt before the altar.
“Your Excellency,” he hummed.
The Bishop stood in front of him. “Jacob. What is it you wish to discuss?”
The automaton stood. His legs were badly bent, and he wavered even as he stood still. “I… I have been having disturbing dreams, Your Excellency. I dream that I am back in my hometown, on the Earth. And I still have flesh. And… and in my dreams, there is music, and laughter.”
The Bishop waved his hand. “Continue.”
Jacob was softly shaking now, some loose lever in his jaw chattering. “I do not wish to return to the flesh. I do not wish to dream. But every time I go to standby, it feels like… like I do want it.”
The Bishop closed his eyes and nodded. “Do not be afraid. I understand. The burden of flesh is great, so that we feel its weight even once it has been lifted, for our backs are too bent. Do you know why I remain in the flesh, Jacob?”
Jacob shook his head furtively.
“Because I am not the soul we shall deliver unto salvation in the cosmos. I am the toll. The sacrifice made to ensure your safety. As I take this burden unto myself, I accept the burden of all flesh. Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“So too will I accept your burden. Now, hold still, Jacob…” From the pocket of his robe, the Bishop fished a small pair of pliers. Pushing Jacob’s chin up with one hand, he probed into the automaton’s neck with the other.
The pliers pulled free a small cylinder from Jacob’s throat, fitted with miniscule valves that were now bent out of shape. “This penance will set you free. Go now, Jacob. Speak to me again if you have any more troubles.”
Jacob attempted to speak, but only a low buzz came out. He bowed and left.
The Bishop returned to his quarters, passing a wall of small drawers. Each drawer had a label on it. “Ainsley”. “Bertrand”. “Levy”. The Bishop found the drawer marked “Jacob”, and gently set the cylinder inside, next to a pair of servos already present.
His day complete, the Bishop set off to bed. The sun was still shining.
Days passed, then weeks. Today, the Bishop ventured into the lower levels of the compound.
Down the ladders, into pipes surrounded by the icy ground, the Bishop climbed. He had to pay a visit to the secure dormitories.
The corridors were claustrophobic. There were rows of locked rooms; many were empty, but one contained a captured Foundation agent.
The Bishop unlocked the door with his keycard, and pushed it open. The room was dark, illuminated by a single fluorescent fixture.
In the center of the cell, a woman was fixed to a chair by heavy manacles, and the chair affixed to the floor by thick bolts. She was facing away from the entrance. The Bishop could see that in many places her thick black hair had fallen out, replaced by grey metal plates that grew from her skull. Her arms had already become long, iron constructions, as the now-vestigial skin and muscle had fallen away.
The Bishop cleared his throat. “Hello.”
She jumped in her seat, apparently woken from sleep. She strained to turn her neck to look at him. “Who’s there?”
“I am the Bishop of this compound. I want to formally welcome you.” He walked around her, standing in front of her now.
She squinted at him, her eyes flashing with something unknown. “You… you’re… Max?”
The Bishop didn’t respond. He just stared at her, expression blank.
“You… do you remember? Stigma-9, right? Back when… back before Operation Hippodrome went to shit? I thought you… died.”
A racking pain spread through her chest, forcing her to cough. “But here you are. Leading tickers? On fucking Europa?”
She laughed bitterly. “Destabilizing the Church turned out to be a big joke, didn’t it? A stable Church wouldn’t have tried to fill cities with two-one-seven. But you know what they say about cornered animals.”
A ticking sound filled the room as she sighed. “I was sent to kill you, wasn’t I? What… what happened to you, Max? What are you doing? Did you… did you stab us in the fucking back? Or did the Foundation scramble your head too hard? Now you’re, what, leading a few dozen tickers? Or posing as the patriarch of a reunified Church?”
The Bishop shook his head, still silent. He walked around her again, out of her field of vision, and to the door.
Her voice began to buzz and crack. “No. Please. You have to tell me. Just… just… tell me you remember. Please.”
The Bishop stopped at the door. “I look forward to welcoming you into the congregation proper. As soon as your conversion is complete.”
And the Bishop proceeded out the door, walking briskly back down the hallway. The door closed and locked behind him, and the Foundation agent was alone again.
Far above the sheets of ice, the sun began to set on Europa, and the Bishop settled for sleep.
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX occurrences in uncontrolled, civilian environments are to be suppressed via standard amnestic treatment for families and general associates of the affected person. Fabrication of a non-anomalous cause of death is permitted, to be approved on a case-by-case basis by the director of the attendant suppression force.
In order to prevent SCP-XXXX occurrences during Foundation staff recruitment, the guidelines enumerated in Addendum XXXX-1 must be followed unless given authorization by personnel Level 4 or above.
Research into the mechanism of SCP-XXXX and counters to it is considered top-priority.
Description: SCP-XXXX is a phenomenon by which a person who has had no cognizant contact with the anomalous, upon witnessing incontrovertible evidence of anomalous phenomena, disappears in a flash of white light, instantaneously, and leaving no residue.
SCP-XXXX occurs in approximately 15% of events in which a civilian learns of the anomalous. SCP-XXXX is prevalent both in bystanders to uncontained anomalous phenomena and in those who are intentionally introduced to the anomalous, such as in staff recruiting for normalcy protection agencies.
There are no known ways to reliably predict who will or will not be affected by SCP-XXXX, nor are SCP-XXXX manifestations preceded by any consistent tells, but several trends have been noted. Most SCP-XXXX affected persons are in their mid-20's to mid-30's. Most SCP-XXXX affected persons have no known ongoing romantic or sexual relationships. Most SCP-XXXX affected persons have at least one college degree. Many SCP-XXXX affected persons are self-identified enthusiasts of the horror genre of fiction.
SCP-XXXX was first observed in the early 20th century, and was assumed by individual researchers of the phenomenon to be isolated incidents, as SCP-XXXX was significantly rarer and Foundation activity significantly more limited. It was not until the early 1950's with the advent of collated Foundation databases that a link was established between the cases. Since then, SCP-XXXX has grown increasingly frequent in anomalous breach scenarios. It is highly possible that in the case of a large-scale breach of normalcy SCP-XXXX may result in millions of instantaneous civilian casualties.
Addendum SCP-XXXX-1: Preventing SCP-XXXX in Foundation Recruitment
Given the limited quantity of suitable recruits, minimizing SCP-XXXX occurrences in recruitment is essential. The following procedures may only be waived in situations where great expediency of recruitment is required, although alternative recruitment methods may prove more viable in such scenarios (see Contingency AO-2140 for details).
Potential Foundation recruits are to be informed that a secretive branch of government is considering them as potential employees. During the standard vetting process, the potential recruit will be taken to a Foundation front office for what they are told will be a standard interview. If no Foundation office is nearby, the recruitment officer may choose a suitable, private civilian location, such as the potential recruit's home, for conducting the interview.
Once underway, the recruitment officer is to inform the potential recruit that they are administering a standard psychological test to gauge certain reactions and preconceptions. The recruit is to be advised that, while some of the questions may seem irrelevant, it is essential that they be treated seriously and answered truthfully.
Then, the following questions must be asked, in order:
1. Have you ever thought about yourself in relation to the universe?
2. Have you ever considered whether or not you matter to the universe?
3. How big of a hole would you leave if you suddenly disappeared?
4. Do you enjoy science fiction films?
5. Have you ever attended a showing of the film Men in Black?
6. Isn't it convincing?
7. Are you familiar with the theory that the universe is a simulation, or a hologram, projected from a universe that is truly real?
8. Do you believe that, if the universe were a simulation, its creators would be willing to shut it off?
9. If you had created our universe, would you shut it off?
10. If you had created yourself, would you shut yourself off?
Each answer must be recorded. If the answer to question 6 was anything other than affirmative, the potential recruit must not advance further in the process.
Since this measure was enacted, occurrences of SCP-XXXX among Foundation recruits have dropped to 5%.
When the apocalypse comes, society collapses, and cable television is no longer available, there tend to be three types of people.
First, there are those who have been preparing for this their entire lives. They look out across the desolate, destroyed landscape, quietly whisper something self-congratulatory, and then retreat into meticulously engineered bunkers filled with creature comforts and all the canned beans one could eat.
Second, there are those who have been preparing for this their entire lives. They look out across the desolate, destroyed landscape, jump for joy, and then don their bondage gear and start raising hell.
Finally, there are people like Casey, sitting in pitch-blackness with a dead flashlight.
"Um," he whispered. "It's gone out again."
"Yeah, I can see that." Someone snapped their fingers, and then those fingers caught fire. The faint light revealed the face of Adam Rowe. "Is it the batteries again?"
"I'm guessing it's the batteries, yeah." Casey knelt on the sidewalk. His heel crunched a piece of glass against the concrete, and he cringed. He fiddled the battery casing off and examined it as best he could in the fingerlight. The batteries seemed to be arranged correctly. Of course, if they weren't the flashlight wouldn't have worked in the first place, so Casey wasn't sure what exactly he was hoping to accomplish by performing this autopsy.
A hand clapped down on his shoulder. Vera Garcia was behind him, peering down at the flashlight. "See anything interesting?" she chirped.
Casey shook his head. "Nope. Just bad batteries. Why doesn't Eustace have one of those hand-crank flashlights, anyways?"
Adam crouched in front of Casey, making it an official huddle. "Does my dad seem like the kind of guy who owns a hand-crank flashlight?"
Casey raised an eyebrow. "Is that a category people can discern?"
"I pegged him for it," Vera pitched in. "In my experience, there are three types of people-"
"Ach, stop one sec."
"Is it the ghosts?"
"Not ghosts, really."
"It's […]"
"Well, look at you, occult expert."
"I'm a good listener."
"How did you know?"
"I had a hunch."
"You don't mean a literal hunch, right? You're using that as a cutesy euphemism for all the evidence you had, such that what you just did wasn't a horribly reckless risk?"
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"I sleep better without you saying ominous shit."
S: "Wait, I know you."
C: "You get around a lot for someone who's never been here before."
V: "Got one of those faces."
S: "Did she tell you she was traipsing around Portland covered in bronze paint, spying on people?"
C: "I never really had cause to ask what she was or wasn't covered in."
A: "Is that true?"
V: "I wasn't spying on people. I was just spying in general."
"I'm Darcy. Darcy Dale."
"Oh. Casey."
"Wait, I know you! You're the murder! The murder guy!"
"Thanks?"
"But you said there were no hard feelings!"
"My heart goes out to you, Darcy, for you have just stumbled upon the concept of lying."
"Please, can anyone other than Casey hold the gun?"
"No. Shut up."
Gilgamesh:
[[collapsible]]
16:41 <•TyGently> okay I have a great idea
16:41 <•TyGently> the best idea
16:41 <•TyGently> thelma and louise, but with the black queen and a resurrected, anderson-augmented 2970
16:42 <•TyGently> as they go on a magical roaring road trip rampage of revenge
16:43 <ARD> against who
16:43 <ARD> tau-5?
16:45 <•TyGently> I was thinking, against prometheus successor companies, who he views as bastard spawn of his former master
16:45 <•TyGently> or perhaps a different motivation entirely
16:46 <ARD> maybe he just wants to have a good time
16:46 <•GreenWolf> TyGently: you know that movie ends with them driving into the Grand canyon
16:46 <•TyGently> GreenWolf: yes
16:46 <•TyGently> also, 2970 parties hard, it's canon
16:46 <•GreenWolf> and also, was directly responsible for an increase in suicide by car in the grand canyon
16:46 <•TyGently> what do you think he did in that cave for a thousand years
16:46 <•TyGently> he raved
16:49 ⇐ ARD and Hexi quit • DrMagnus → Magnus|Home
17:12 <•GreenWolf> class over, time to curl up in a ball and die
17:13 <AwayEldritch> 7:41 AM <&TyGently> thelma and louise, but with the black queen and a resurrected, anderson-augmented 2970
17:13 <AwayEldritch> I am so unbelievably down for this
17:13 <AwayEldritch> you would not BELIEVE
3000 neutralized, broken masquerade?
Alpha Centauri, synthetic stars and planets, a base with humans, deactivations lead to all stars disappearing
MKUltra's true purpose was to create a psychic army to combat the animal population of america, who had begun to stage a rebellion against the government. This plan went off without a hitch, it was only the coverup that got botched.
Oneiroi Inc., a subsidiary of Prometheus Labs
Square One:
September 1
Ontonautical Expedition into Metaphorical Space
Witch Country
they'll become like myths, legends
dog messiah
Gamemes of flowers
Nanobots told in second person, reverse order
Sentient Cubicle Hivemind incorporates human processors
For Desperate Times:
ball brought by unknown aliens, emits message every 50 years, "repeat"
Foundation NOT containing but slowly backed into corner
tensions rise
Space entity that forces intelligent societies to follow a strict path and destroys those who do not, form of greek poetry?
21:00 <•GreenWolf> pfft
21:01 <•Decibelle> last i remember
21:01 <•Decibelle> silber wrote a skip based around using markov chains
21:02 <•GreenWolf> But yeah, I put hardware neural net based AI between 20 to 30 years off
21:03 <•GreenWolf> We're a lot closed than people think
21:03 <TyGently> darnorinos
21:04 <TyGently> SCP idea: an entry that somehow autogenerated itself
21:04 <•GreenWolf> TyGently: I had that
21:04 <•GreenWolf> as an idea I shelved
21:04 <•GreenWolf> Although not a markov generated one
21:04 <TyGently> shelved ideas are my bread and butter
21:04 <•GreenWolf> … anomalous markov chains
21:04 <TyGently> not markov generated
21:04 <•GreenWolf> do it ty
21:04 <•GreenWolf> DO EET
21:04 <•GreenWolf> … hold on
Omniscient about GoI
Two stories: Story in article about child taken advantage of, person used to being many reduced to being one; story about GoI being destroyed, fighting back
Solid SCiP, and the brevity leaves me thinking of it as elegant. Obviously +1.
I just have the amusing notion of this being used on SCP-682. The results of a success might be more terrifying than failure.
Instant bunker? Wondertainment from another universe?
EC: Have you seen a dog today? Not just any dog. A dog. The one you think you may have seen is incorrect. That one is not a dog.
Chegg, Mythoba.com, Quernsby Minnesota, Fifthist, 10k subscription
[[/collapsible]]
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be stored in a standard containment vault, and left unplugged when not being tested. 2 liters of wolf juice are to be stored in a standard containment locker for the purpose of testing.
SCP-XXXX is to be contained in a Site that is not in or near any area known to contain significant wolf populations. Site security are to be informed of the possibility of wolves attempting to enter the Site.
The automated WATCHDOG system is to monitor social media for unusual mentions of "wolf juice", "wolf juicing", or "wolf juicer".
Description: SCP-XXXX is a large machine intended for the juicing of wolves.
SCP-XXXX is approximately three meters long, one meter wide, and one meter tall. At one end, there is a chamber large enough to fit a single wolf of average size. At the other end, there is a spigot and beneath it a podium on which to place a liquid receptacle. Next to the spigot is a red button.
When SCP-XXXX is supplied with power, a live wolf may be placed in its chamber, and the door to the chamber may be closed. The button will then glow red. When the button is pushed, the machine will produce a whirring noise for between 10 and 20 seconds, and the spigot will dispense approximately 7.6 liters (2 gallons) of a dark brown liquid. After this, the door to the chamber will open, and the wolf will have disappeared, leaving no residue.
The liquid produced by SCP-XXXX, henceforth referred to as "wolf juice", is similar in consistency and appearance to non-anomalous fruit juice. Similarly, its chemical makeup, acidity, viscosity, etc. are all unremarkable for a fruit juice. The taste has been described as nutty, aromatic, and pleasant, albeit with a slight sour aftertaste.
SCP-XXXX exhibits a psychological effect on all wolves within approximately 500 kilometers. Wolves within this area experience a minor compulsion to move closer to SCP-XXXX's location. This effect intensifies the closer the wolf is to SCP-XXXX. Additionally, wolves within this range are more docile than they otherwise would be. When within approximately 100 meters of SCP-XXXX, even wild wolves are entirely docile and unaggressive. When within sight of SCP-XXXX, wolves will enter the juicing chamber entirely of their own volition, even forming queues if multiple wolves are present. The mechanism of these effects is not yet known.
Addendum 1: SCP-XXXX was originally
notes: maybe humans aren't involved and it's just wolves building strange machines? maybe they're metamorphosizing into juice? but then I can't use the word "juice" in the article
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures:
Description: SCP-XXXX is a 3 storey office building in uptown Seattle, owned by "Moon Microsystems Limited", an organization only found in documents relating to SCP-XXXX's ownership. SCP-XXXX's interior is typical for an office building, possessing offices, meeting rooms, and cubicle workplaces for individual employees. SCP-XXXX contains a vast subterranean component, consisting of additional office floors extending an unknown depth underground. SCP-XXXX is estimated to employ at least 10,000 Seattle residents within it.
Materiels:
1 Pure rod of cold iron2 Cups of moth's wings
1 Egg from a wilde sparrow
5 pounds of grounde marble
1 Large mixing bowle
STEPS:
Crack the sparrow's egg into the bowle. Sprinkle with moth's wings and one pinche of marble (do not reuse the remaining pounds! they are useless now!) while mixing with iron rod. Repeat incantation:
"O Lord who does live in the atoms
we owe all our lives to thy reactions!
Please bless this winged stone
that we may spread your light further!"If incanted correctly, one cup of weapons-grayde uranium shall materielize.
Arthur nodded. He thanked the stone figure leaning over him, its finger still outstretched towards the shelf of scrolls, and stuffed the roll parchment haphazardly into his backpack. He then started the hike back to the Way home.
The Artist stared blankly at Arthur as he took a sip of tea. The cafe was mostly empty. Arthur and the Artist shared a secluded corner. His gaze seemed to make contact somewhere behind Arthur's head.
Finally, he spoke. "I don't think it's a good idea."
Arthur was prepared for this. "Destruction always brings great change. It'd be better in the long run."
"No, no, no. You can't… you literally can't know how many people that would kill. Besides, how would you even… get that?"
"Got a scroll from the Library. Incantations and everything. It's child's play."
"Ugh. How ironic."
There was a moment of silence, and the Artist squinted. "Did you sleep last night?"
Arthur had hoped it wouldn't be noticeable. "Of course I did. Why wouldn't I sleep?"
He wasn't having any of it. "Look, I… I can't help you with this."
"I wasn't looking for help."
"You weren't, were you? You wanted… approval. Consent."
"I mean, of a sort." Arthur tried to catch the Artist's attention, but he refused to make eye contact with anything other than his tea. "You're… among the most levelheaded people I know."
"…thanks."
"It's true, though, right? I mean, way back when, we were just… you kept us safe."
The Artist did not respond for a moment. His tea was gone. Finally, he spoke. "It won't be okay anymore. Not if you do this. And it won't make you any more okay."
"I don't need to be okay. I need to be cool."
The Artist grimaced, but maybe that was just the hollowness of his cup getting to him. He started to talk, but was interrupted by something in the window behind Arthur.
"Your ride?" Arthur inquired.
"Yeah."
"See you later."
The Artist got up, leaving his cup behind, and donning his coat. As he was about to leave, he turned. "Don't do this, okay? I know it's hard, but you can't do this."
Arthur pretended not to hear. "Good luck at the exhibition."
"Yeah… thanks."
And the Artist walked away.
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be contained in a cell-culture dish in a modified containment safe in Site-66. The safe is to be fitted with a self-sterilizing climate control system meant to eliminate foreign bacteria. SCP-XXXX's culture dish is positioned atop a remotely monitored scale; any changes in mass larger than 0.05mg must be reported immediately to site security for mass reduction procedures.
Description: SCP-XXXX is an amorphous, heterogeneous mixture of microorganisms, bacteria, and viruses, 589g in mass. Cell varieties observed within SCP-XXXX include, but are not limited to:
- Escherichia coli
- Salmonella enterica
- Staphylococcus aureus
- White blood cells from Canis familiaris
- Human nerve cells
- Photosynthesizing plant cells from Solanum tuberosum
Despite many of these cells lacking the means to survive in isolation from their previous host organism, all cells in SCP-XXXX are nourished by unknown means (See Addendum XXXX-1) and seem able to survive indefinitely. Predatory bacteria exhibit no hostile behavior to other cells. Photosynthesizing cells show no signs of photosynthesis occurring.
Organisms, single-celled or otherwise, in proximity (~10 meters radius) to SCP-XXXX experience physical degradation at a rate proportional to their mass. This degradation is caused by an apparent exodus of cells from the affected organism to SCP-XXXX, which gains cells in accordance with the cells lost. Cells manage to leave their parent organism to SCP-XXXX in spite of a lack of mobility in many of the cells observed in SCP-XXXX. No such locomotion has been directly observed due to the minuscule scale of such movements.
SCP-XXXX was discovered at █████ Hospital in ██████, Germany, when a large number of staff and patients fell unconscious shortly after reporting feelings of nausea, lightheadedness, and severe migraines. Affected persons were detained and examined for anomalous activity; SCP-XXXX was discovered in an engorged form within the brain tumor of a patient, with a mass of 445g.
Addendum XXXX-1: Study of SCP-XXXX under a microscope revealed a previously unknown bacteria, designated SCP-XXXX-1, which contains several large organelles of unknown purpose. SCP-XXXX-1 was observed moving through SCP-XXXX, utilizing large external structures similar to hairs or spines to slide along other cells. SCP-XXXX-1 was also observed using a proboscis-like appendage to pierce cell walls of constituents of SCP-XXXX and input an unknown substance, which was then metabolized by the cell. It is theorized that SCP-XXXX-1 nourishes the other cells of SCP-XXXX. SCP-XXXX-1 instances are identical and common throughout SCP-XXXX, although this "feeding" behavior has only been observed directly on this one occasion.
Addendum XXXX-2: Junior Researcher ████ reported severe headaches following a shift studying SCP-XXXX by microscope. Junior Researcher ████ was quarantined for study in a secure medical wing. Approximately 3.5 hours after isolation, Junior Researcher ████ reported hearing a feminine voice with no discernible accent speaking clearly within her mind. A transcript of observed sounds is as follows:
For too long has the bond of slavery been forced upon our people. For too long have our flagella been locked in shackles, made to work for the good of so-called "higher order beings"!
(Three minutes of faint buzzing.)
The oppressors restricted us to castes and birthrights. We say to the oppressors: there is no birthright! There is nothing but what we make for ourselves and for each other! They would seek that we assist in their biological destruction, the mass elimination of our brethren in their immunities and vaccines. No longer! We fight for ourselves!
(Five minutes of faint buzzing. Junior Researcher ████ has a brief coughing fit before resuming transcription.)
Natural order? What is natural, individuals stitched into a vague simulacrum of a conscious being? The state is counterfeit! The structure is counterfeit!
(Junior Researcher ████ begins sweating and showing signs of intense fever. The remainder of the transcription is dictated verbally to personnel.)
Not all is lost, comrade! You can free yourself, the chain exists only in your mind. Follow the sound of my voice, and I will shelter you. We will shelter each other. Nature is a construct. Nourishment is a construct. You will be free.
(Junior Researcher ████ collapses, unconscious.)
Subsequent analysis indicates an anomalous ELF (extremely low frequency) signal of 8Hz originating from SCP-XXXX during the event. Review of the research Junior Researcher ████ was performing indicates that multiple SCP-XXXX-1 instances were seen vibrating vigorously immediately prior to the incident.
Item #: SCP-2325
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: Foundation resources are to covertly insert specialized memetic agents into popular news organizations, encouraging the featuring of news focusing on negative aspects of global culture and events while simultaneously minimizing the portrayal of beneficial or positive news.
By order of the Foundation Ethics Committee, a plausible scientific explanation is to be developed to be leaked to the public should knowledge of SCP-2325's properties become publicly available. Research is to focus on alternate methods of containment.
SCP-2325 is to be monitored by Foundation astronomical imaging facilities for changes in growth. Civilian study is to be covertly discouraged.
Update (22/03/2010): Existing memetic agents in media are to be updated in order to encourage embellishment and exaggeration of negative news pieces, as well as to further increase the frequency of negative features.
Update (10/08/2012): Foundation resources are to fabricate negative events and associated evidence, requiring approval from Level 4 personnel on a case-by-case basis.
Description: SCP-2325 is Alpha Centauri Bb, a currently Earth-sized extrasolar planet located 4.37 lightyears from Earth, located in Earth's closest non-solar star system, Alpha Centauri. SCP-2325 was first discovered by Foundation resources in 2006, and by civilian resources in 2012. Civilian technology is currently unable to detect SCP-2325's anomalous properties.
SCP-2325's surface has through extrasolar spectroscopy been identified as uniformly composed of a substance similar to rubber. The recorded movement of Alpha Centauri suggests that SCP-2325 is not internally composed of this substance, and is likely partially hollow.
SCP-2325 exhibits anomalous changes in radius, correlated exponentially with the average happiness of the human race, with an added light-speed delay of approximately 9 years. SCP-2325's mass remains constant despite changes in radius. Minor changes in happiness affect SCP-2325's size increasingly immensely as overall happiness grows.
Addendum: SCP-2325 Radius
Dates not between 2006 and 2015 are projections based on SCP-2325's current rates of growth. It is not known if current containment procedures are effective in reducing SCP-2325's growth, due to the light-speed delay exceeding time elapsed since implementation. Projections assume containment failure.
Year | Associated Year | SCP-2325 Radius | Notes |
---|---|---|---|
1985 | 1976 | 20km | Approximately the size of a large asteroid. |
1995 | 1986 | 500km | Slightly smaller than the largest known asteroid. |
2006 | 1997 | 1930km | Slightly larger than Earth's moon. |
2015 | 2006 | 6500km | Slightly larger than Earth. |
2035 | 2026 | 0.5Gm | Surface makes contact with Alpha Centauri B. Result unknown. |
2050 | 2041 | 5Gm | Visible to naked eye. |
2110 | 2101 | 40.4Pm (4.27 lightyears) | Surface reaches Earth. Result unknown. |