On March 15th, 2011, Martin Sims was wandering
down the streets of Carson, California. His clothes were ragged, he was filthy, and gibbering
like a madman with a full beard and long, unkempt hair. His body was covered in scars,
but he showed no signs of malnutrition. What made Martin’s sudden appearance so remarkable?
He’d been missing for three years. When he was interviewed by police, they asked him
where he’d been all this time. They couldn’t believe his answer. He’d been trapped in
an Ikea since 2008. But this was no ordinary Ikea – this was a dangerous anomaly that
would come to be known as SCP-3008 . Martin’s strange answers in his interview
were laughed off by his interviewing officers, who assumed he was either crazy or under the
influence of something, but they caught the attention of an SCP Foundation Field Agent
embedded in the precinct. The report was passed up the chain to a local Site Director, who
approved a detachment of Foundation Field Operatives to look into Martin’s case. While
he was reluctant to lead the Foundation Agents back to the offending Ikea – the Foundation
can be extremely persuasive. His screams of “Please, I’m begging you, don’t take
me back! Don’t make me go back!” were noted but ultimately disregarded.
When the SCP Foundation had triangulated the position of SCP-3008 , which was indeed an
active Ikea, the entire retail zone was closed and barricaded under the pretence of a severe
black mold infestation. Armed Foundation Personnel also arrived on site shortly after, based
on Martin’s vague statements that there were creatures of some kind inside. Due to
his deteriorating mental health, Martin was unable to provide a great deal of lucid information
on the specific traits of SCP-3008 , but one phrase he kept repeating was “bigger on
the inside.” Once researchers were satisfied that Martin
had delivered all the pertinent information he was able to, he was administered Foundation
Amnestics to erase his memory of the last three years and returned to his family. A
cover story was formulated: Martin had been kidnapped and abused for three years by a
mentally-unbalanced stalker in downtown Carson. He’d been able to escape as said stalker
took his own life out of guilt – a suicide that the Foundation expertly fabricated to
make their cover story airtight. With the loose end of Martin Sims taken care of, the
true observation of SCP-3008 could begin. A base set around the perimeter of the mysterious
Ikea kept a 24-hour watch on the building, covering all potential entrances and exits.
No exploratory missions had yet been approved by the Foundation ethics committee, so they
first wanted to perform a week of external observation to see if any of the store’s
anomalous properties extended beyond the confines of the building. After a week of nothing,
it appeared they did not. A local Site Director approved the use of twenty disposable Class-D
Personnel to explore the interior of SCP-3008 .
The D-Class operatives would be split into four squads of five men – Alpha, Bravo,
Charlie, and Delta Squad. Each would be assigned a different quadrant of the store, and would
deliver information back to the control team on site via a live audio and video link. Three
of the four teams, upon entering the store, reported nothing out of the ordinary. Neither
the audio or video they were sending back indicated anything different from a standard
Ikea store – from the flat-pack wardrobes to the Swedish meatballs. Team Delta, however,
suddenly began experiencing a scrambled audio and video connection.
Shortly after, communication with Team Delta dropped off entirely. They disappeared somewhere
inside the store, and haven’t been seen since – with one notable exception. After
the disappearance of the extraction of teams, Foundation Researchers classified SCP-3008
as Euclid, because its anomalous properties were at least confined to the interior of
the store. And even then, seemingly not the entire interior. The anomalous area within
SCP-3008 became known as SCP-3008-1, and containment appeared to be 100% secure. There was no telling
how many people had already gone missing in the store over the years, but the disappearances
must be stopped. The Foundation maintained constant surveillance
around the perimeter of SCP-3008 , but it appeared they could prevent any further “incidents”
by simply preventing other civilians from accessing the Ikea store. Martin’s ravings
about monsters were assumed to just be the product of delirium. Until a surviving member
of Delta Team suddenly reappeared. The date was November 3rd, 2011. It was a
cold night, a few hours after what would have been closing time if the store were still
active and seven months after the extraction teams had disappeared somewhere in the confines
of SCP-3008. There had been no anomalous activity outside the store since the perimeter was
first secured, and Foundation researchers hadn’t expected that to change, until the
last surviving member of Delta Team came barging out of the store’s entrance. Startled Field
Operatives were amazed to see him again, but they were even more amazed to see what was
following him out of the store, repeating the same phrase: “The store is now closed,
please exit the building.” Despite the fact that the entity chasing the
Delta Team survivor was wearing the yellow shirt and blue pants of an Ikea store employee,
the being was definitely not human. It was around seven feet tall, with no visible face.
The entity had grossly extended limbs – with each arm being around five or six feet long,
and ending in a huge, oversized hand. The whole process was so sudden that the Field
Agents present at the perimeter weren’t able to save the Delta Team survivor, as the
entity reached forward with its freakishly long arms, grabbed him, and twisted his head
off like a child with a doll. The Field Operatives present drew their weapons
and peppered the entity with bullets. It would later be classified as SCP-3008-2. The being
appeared to collapse and die from the physical trauma, at which point both it and the body
of the former Delta Team survivor were taken for an autopsy by Foundation researchers.
There were no biological abnormalities to the body of the Delta Team survivor, so it
did not appear that the anomalous properties of SCP-3008-1 had any effect on the physiology
of its occupants. He was not malnourished despite being missing for months, and the
contents of his stomach looked to be half-digested food consistent with the menu of a typical
Ikea store restaurant. SCP-3008-2, on the other hand, raised a number
of perplexing biological questions. The autopsy revealed that the creature’s clothes were
actually a part of its body, like an additional layer of skin. The creature lacked blood or
any kind of vascular system. Even stranger, the entity didn’t appear to have any bones
or internal organs, not even a brain or nervous system. It was a being made entirely of skin,
all the way to its core. How it was able to move, or even live for that matter, remains
a mystery. Though when you work for The SCP Foundation, you learn to accept that some
things will always remain unexplained. One thing was certain, though: Martin Sims
was right about his monsters. After the incident with Delta Team, the Foundation
deemed that sending manned explorations into the heart of SCP-3008 was too much of a liability,
and planned a series of drone-based reconnaissance missions into the anomaly. The first of these
drones experienced connection issues and failed when attempting to venture into the Ikea’s
anomalous zone. However, after a lengthy period of trial and error, the Foundation was able
to establish a more secure connection with its drones, even when deep into the SCP-3008-1
anomalous zone. It was only then that some of the most extraordinary discoveries were
made. SCP-3008-1 seemed to break the laws of spatial
reality, as the area of the Ikea’s interior was at least an order of magnitude larger
than its exterior. Just as Martin Sims had said: It was bigger on the inside. But just
how much bigger? The Foundation has yet to find evidence of any physical terminators
within the store that might indicate SCP-3008-1 has an “end point.” While an area of at
least ten kilometres squared has been uncovered in SCP-3008-1, it could – in theory – be
infinite. Laser rangefinder tests, which are normally very reliable, have only given inconclusive
results. Interestingly, the anomalous area doesn’t
have any clear, visual differences from the rest of the Ikea store except that it extends
forever. An individual trapped within the confines of SCP-3008-1 wouldn’t even realize
that they’d entered an anomalous zone until they tried to locate an exit and leave, at
which point, they’d find they were already hopelessly lost. The geography of SCP-3008-1
does at least appear to be consistent, so people trapped within are theoretically able
to retrace their steps and escape if they hadn’t already ventured too deep.
According to data collected during the drone reconnaissance missions, SCP-3008-2, of which
there appeared to be a vast population, would wander the stores aimlessly during the day.
They were unresponsive to the drone’s presence, and did not appear to be aggressive. While
the physical descriptions of these creatures could vary slightly, they all followed the
same overall trend: “Clothes” consistent with the Ikea uniform, no face, either seemingly
too tall or too short, and limbs that are grossly out of proportion with their bodies.
As the Foundation began sending drones deeper into SCP-3008-1, they found another incredible
discovery. There was an unknown population of humans trapped inside the Ikea’s anomalous
zone, and these people had used the Ikea furniture around them to create entire settlements and
towns within the store. There were several of these towns, all of which seemed to cohabitate
peacefully. Even Foundation personnel found this development in their research to be truly
extraordinary. Since SCP-3008 was first identified, there
have been only fourteen civilian escapes. Some had been trapped inside for months, others
had been in there for years – some far longer than Martin’s three-year stint. While every
one of these escapees has eventually been released back to their home, after a liberal
application of Amnestics and a proper cover story has been devised, the Foundation interviewed
each of them extensively first. According to these escapees, the people trapped inside
the Ikea have built an entirely new society across the various settlements.
Contrary to the “Lord of the Flies” expectations of a group of people isolated and afraid,
there’s immense cooperation between the trapped civilians. The food in the several
Ikea restaurants in SCP-3008-1 mysteriously replenishes while nobody is there, so there’s
no threat of starving. And the automatic turning on and off of the lights forms a kind of rudimentary
day and night cycle. Night time, however, is when things get dangerous, as the SCP-3008-2
entities – which are known to the people inside as “The Staff” – become extremely
hostile after dark. Aggressive hordes of the Staff swarm the settlements
at night, repeating “The store is now closed, please exit the building.” The civilians
inside are usually able to repel these attacks with minimal casualties, but the constant
war of attrition slowly wears down those inside. The bodies of the creatures also need to be
removed from the area after each attack, as the presence of corpses or even parts of corpses
has been known to heighten the ferocity of the next night’s attack. During the day,
the Staff return to a docile and unresponsive state, though they’ll still defend themselves
violently if anyone dares to attack. Over the course of the interviews with the
fourteen escapees, Foundation Researchers were able to answer another of their key questions:
How had so many people gone missing in the store for so long without being noticed? But
the answer they received only raised many more unsettling queries. According to the
escapees, there were people inside the settlements that, despite being otherwise of entirely
sound mind and standard intelligence, seemed to lack very common knowledge that even a
child should know. For example, some weren’t aware of the International Space Station orbiting
the earth, or stranger still, the existence of the Statue of Liberty.
This led the Researchers to a frightening conclusion: SCP-3008-1 may not only be a nexus
point of multiple Ikea stores in our dimension, it could be connected to Ikeas in every dimension
where Ikeas exist. While it only abducts a handful of people from each store over an
extended period of time, it suddenly becomes clear how this SCP was able to trap so many
people without detection over such a long period of time.
Which, in turn, led to an even more terrifying revelation: The SCP Foundation may not have
SCP-3008-1 as contained as they thought. It might even be tucked away in an Ikea somewhere
near you, just waiting for you to visit. After all, there’s always room for one more…
There are some things human beings aren’t meant to know, and it’s the sworn duty of
The SCP Foundation to discover and contain such information. But sometimes, knowledge
is discovered that shakes even the Foundation itself to its very core. One such discovery
occurred on April 28th, 2016 – the night that SCP – 2935 made itself known to Foundation
personnel. To this day, the exact nature of SCP – 2935 is a mystery that even the Foundation’s
brightest minds can’t completely understand. Everything we know about SCP – 2935 today
comes from three doomed missions into the anomalous zone’s interior. This is the story
of those infamous expeditions. The nightmare began around 5:00 AM, when SCP
Foundation Site 81 in Bloomingdale, Indiana, intercepted a distorted radio signal. Communications
personnel at the site traced this strange signal back to the unincorporated area of
Joppa, Indiana, near US Interstate 70. As is Foundation policy, a team of Field Agents
were dispatched to the location in order to determine what they were dealing with. However,
rather than finding anything that could logically produce such a signal, they instead discovered
a long abandoned cemetery. The most recent death on any of the tombstones was recorded
as being over a hundred years ago, all the way back in 1908.
On further investigation, the Foundation discovered an unmapped limestone cave opening beneath
the cemetery and when they sent a drone into the depths of the cave, it appeared to quickly
exit out the other side of the cave. But something wasn’t right. The area that the drone was
observing appeared consistent with the landscape from which it’d entered, but now it looked
somehow…greyer. It lacked the color and life of the place it’d just come from. The
grass was dead. There were no trees, no shrubs, no animals or birds in the sky.
They weren’t looking at our world. They were looking at a strange reflection of our
world on the other side of the cave. In fact, it wasn’t a cave at all – it was a passageway
between two dimensions. It was SCP – 2935. Just then they were able to unscramble the
distorted transmission they’d been receiving. It went as follows:
“This is an automated emergency broadcast from the SCP Foundation and your national
government. One or more of our sites is experiencing a communication breakdown, likely due to a
containment breach of unknown magnitude. All citizens are ordered to stay in their homes
as containment teams work to secure the breach. This message will broadcast from April 20th,
2016 until—” At that point, the message would cut and repeat,
as it had been for eight straight days. The message’s source? Site 81. But not this
Site 81. The SCP Foundation was receiving an emergency distress signal from themselves
in another dimension – a bizarre event that even the Foundation had never experienced
before. The Field Agents were terrified by the implications
of what they’d just heard and contacted Site 81 Command to request additional units.
The Foundation wished to fully understand this anomaly as quickly as possible, due to
the potential threat it could pose towards the Foundation, so they dispatched Mobile
Task Force Epsilon-13, codenamed “Manifest Destiny”, to perform the first of three
manned missions into the heart of the anomalous zone.
The first exploratory mission into SCP – 2935 was codenamed “Gauntlet”, and consisted
of a four-man team fitted with full hazmat suits and direct video and audio links to
mission command. The team was led by a Field Operative known only as Agent Juno. His subordinates
were Agents Kael, Devon, and Underwood. Their directive was to gather samples and survey
the area positioned directly around the insertion point, meaning the other cave mouth of SCP
– 2935. The mission only lasted about an hour, but
what they saw in there would stay with these men for the rest of their lives.
After a fifteen-minute trek through the cave, Manifest Destiny arrived in the mirror dimension
where they were struck by the eerie silence of a place that seemed identical and yet so
different from their home dimension. The first observation they made was the total absence
of all living vegetation. Trees, grass, weeds, everything – it was all dead. On orders
from their superiors back in the original dimension – that we’ll refer to from here
on as Dimension Prime – Manifest Destiny headed deeper into the mirror dimension of
SCP – 2935. They travelled two kilometers without detecting
a single sign of plant or animal life. Not even insects. Eventually, they came upon a
farm house with two cars parked outside. With authorization from Command, Manifest Destiny
breached the house and headed inside. Agent Kael confirmed that there was still power
flowing to the building, as the lighting appeared to work just fine, but they came upon a horrifying
discovery in the house’s dining room: Three adult corpses, two female and one male, were
seated at the table. A fourth corpse, that of a male child, was sprawled out on the ground
nearby. If the death of what looked to be an entire
family wasn’t awful enough, the Manifest Destiny team noticed a number of other alarming
details. There were no signs of decomposition on the bodies, nor did there appear to be
any obvious cause of death. The family’s last meal was still on the table – Chicken,
mashed potatoes, and green beans. While the food looked cold and stale, there was no evidence
of rot or spoiling. The team found an opened newspaper dated April 19th, 2016, illustrating
that the family may have died a full eight days before the discovery. In Dimension Prime,
decay would already be well underway by that point, yet here, there wasn’t even a smell.
Instead, everything was just covered in a thin layer of dust. Command requested that
Manifest Destiny collect samples of the food as well as hair, skin, and fluids from the
corpses for further study. Small electronics like smart phones were also taken from the
bodies. Agent Devon turned on the television in the living room, and found that, while
most stations were now running test signals, the shopping channel was still live. Well
the feed was live at least. Both hosts sat in front of the cameras, dead, but perfectly
preserved. The date on the screen read April 28th, 2016, suggesting that the times of Dimension
Prime and the Mirror Dimension were exactly the same.
In fact everything seemed the same, the only difference between the two dimensions being
that some kind of mysterious apocalyptic event had occurred in the last eight days in SCP
– 2935’s Mirror Dimension, but exactly what had happened, or how, remained a mystery.
When Manifest Destiny exited the farm house, they once again remarked on the lack of all
signs of life around them. At this point, the team returned to the insertion point of
SCP – 2935, but were instructed to remain in the Mirror Dimension while additional units
joined them inside. Manifest Destiny swelled to sixteen members,
with the notable addition of Agent Roy as the new commanding field officer. The team
split into two groups of eight, and Agent Roy and his men infiltrated the Mirror Dimension’s
Site 81 while Agent Juno’s detachment attempted to access the base’s off-site deep storage
servers. This second expedition was codenamed “Overland”, and led the Foundation’s
Field Agents even deeper into the terrifying mystery of SCP – 2935.
Accessing the site was easy for Roy’s detachment. It seemed there were relatively few cars on
the road at the time of the mysterious Extinction Event. In the distance, fires still smoldered
in the wreckage of planes that looked to have just dropped out of the sky. Agent Roy and
his team, like all SCP Foundation personnel, were fitted with vitals trackers, and they
assumed that the distress signal that started this whole thing could have been triggered
by the deaths of every member of the Foundation at once in the Mirror Universe. Once inside
Site 81, they realized that assumption was probably right.
Going door to door in the administrative wing, they found the perfectly preserved corpses
of everyone they knew to be stationed there in Dimension Prime. People without a doubt
were still alive in their universe. Samples from the corpses that the Foundation would
later study even confirmed the reason that the bodies were perfectly preserved: The corpses
had experienced complete and sudden death on a cellular level, and even the bacteria
that would typically take part in the decomposition process had died with it. In SCP – 2935,
death was total and absolute across all types of life forms.
As Agent Roy’s team ventured further into the bowels of Site 81, they made another unsettling
discovery - their own corpses, in roughly the spots they had been inside Dimension Prime’s
Site 81 eight days prior. Some of the Foundation’s top scientists, including the esteemed Dr.
Bright, were also found dead inside the facility. In an attempt to see just how far this unexplained
phenomenon stretched, Agent Roy’s team decided to inspect the containment cells – where
they found that all the Mirror Universe SCPs, including SCP – 2996, were dead.
In his desperation to find some kind of exception to the Extinction Event, Agent Roy revealed
a terrifying secret to the rest of his team: SCP – 682, the immortal, misanthropic lizard,
and one of the deadliest creatures known to the SCP Foundation, was contained at this
very facility, right below them. Could it have something to do with what was going on
here? They descended into its containment facility to discover an even more unsettling
truth. SCP – 682, the unkillable anomaly, floated dead in its tank Death truly made
no exceptions within SCP – 2935. Agent Roy’s team left the site and rendezvoused
with Agent Juno’s team to send their research and back to Dimension Prime using automated
drones. Both teams remained in the Mirror Dimension for another manned operation, codenamed
“Nineteen,” they had no idea it would be their final mission. As they descended
deeper into the facility, passing more dead SCPs they discovered one final clue. Based
on the last activity of the Foundation servers, the event occurred at roughly 3:00 AM.
While underground in SCP – 2935’s Site 81, the team accidentally activated the base’s
on-site nuclear weapon – a failsafe meant to be detonated in the case of an emergency
containment breach. Due to the base’s failsafe protocols, every member of the Manifest Destiny
team was locked and sealed inside Site 81. They, along with everything else, were incinerated
in the nuclear blast. Once again, the Mirror Universe inside of SCP – 2935 was lifeless.
But that isn’t where this ends. When the automated drones returned out of the SCP – 2935
cave to the Field Operatives in Dimension Prime, they were in for their own horrifying
discovery. None of the footage or information gathered from SCP – 2935 illuminated how
or why the Extinction Event occurred. Everyone and everything simply dropped dead at the
exact same moment. Nobody was aware, nobody was prepared. Death came suddenly and silently,
and none were spared. All the Foundation on Dimension Prime were
left with was a message from one of the agents from Manifest Destiny, Agent Keller. His final
message was: “I don't have any answers. I don't think there are any. I'll do this
one thing, and hope that fixes it. Seal it shut. You've got to lock it in here with us.
I'm sorry.” The Foundation were at first confused by this, until they discovered a
final encrypted audio log buried in the files recovered from the Mirror Universe’s Site
81. It was a message from Keller himself, but
not the Keller from Universe Prime. In this message, Keller described the Foundation in
the Mirror Universe receiving the exact same distorted transmission that they did a few
days earlier from a cave in Joppa. When he and the others were dispatched inside, they
discovered the same lifeless, post-Extinction Event world that was now so familiar to Foundation
Command. But there was a key difference: This wasn’t the Mirror Dimension they’d just
been studying, but a third, entirely different dimension.
In his haunting final words, Mirror Dimension Keller admits that whatever caused the event
in that third dimension – an entity that Mirror Dimension Keller believed was the spectre
of Death itself – had followed him back into his world, and history had repeated itself.
SCP – 2935 was the passageway through which absolute death could pass from dimension to
dimension, and our dimension was the next in line. The deaths of Manifest Destiny may
have saved our entire universe, as anyone passing back through the cave had the potential
to bring Death itself back with them. The Foundation decided, in the end, to follow
Keller’s advice. They sealed the entrance to SCP – 2935 with concrete, and now keep
it under constant watch, since what waits behind the barrier is an entity even they
have no power to stop if it ever got through. After all, it had killed them all before,
or at least another version of them. What’s one more dimension on the pile? While it may
now just seem like a simple slab of concrete under an abandoned cemetery, this is why SCP
– 2935 might just be the most dangerous SCP of all.
A month ago, Dr. Robert Maxwell was a senior researcher working at the facility, but a
tragic mistake had cost the lives of several of his co-researchers. Now he was being led
down a bleak hallway in Armed Bio-Containment Area-14, a rifle-wielding guard flanking him
on either side. The once rising researcher had a very different title now: D-8724. He
had been made a D-Class personnel… a death sentence.
However, as the guards led him to his possible demise, he wasn’t dressed in the typical
D-Class orange jumpsuit. No, he was dressed in frilly, rococo dining wear more typical
of 18th century France. If anything, Dr. Maxwell looked like he was on his way to meet royalty.
And, in a sense, he was. The former researcher had begged for any other
assignment, but the site director insisted on committing Dr. Maxwell to teatime with
SCP – 082. He’d always been the talkative type, so the two would make a perfect pairing,
and if the creature found him sufficiently amusing, then Maxwell might even leave the
containment cell alive. He’d heard legends of the giant creature they called The Cannibal.
Maxwell hoped they were just stories. Dr. Maxwell was pushed by the guards into
a large, luxuriously-appointed room and the doors were locked behind him. He felt like
a child, surrounded by freakishly large furniture and ten foot high ceilings. The fog of obnoxious
floral perfumes couldn’t fully cover up the pervasive smell of death that lingered
in the cavernous halls of 082’s palace. Thanks to an elaborate ruse conducted by the
Foundation, SCP-082 believed he was the king of France, and that his containment cell was
a palace where he remained for his own safety. The creature’s continued good behaviour
and everyone else’s safety relied on visitors keeping up that lie.
Maxwell had never worked in this area of the facility, so a lot of the standard procedures
were new to him. Still, his superior had given him a clear directive: Talk to the monster,
communicate with him. Be cordial and friendly. See if you can find out more about his mysterious
past. And most importantly: If you want to survive, don’t annoy him.
The down-on-his-luck scientist gulped and sighed, trying to steady his nerves in this
oversized, fake French palace. He just kept thinking “Surely he can’t be that big?”
He almost talked himself into believing that the accounts of the creature were just that
- tall tales - until a huge figure began lumbering into the main chamber. It was him: SCP – 082,
also known as Fernand The Cannibal. SCP-082 was an eight-foot-tall hulking monster,
built sturdier than the castles it likes to imagine are its true home. Swollen, bloated,
and grossly out of proportion, the creature clocks in at over seven hundred pounds – most
of which is pure muscle that’s almost impossible to pierce with conventional weaponry. SCP-082
stopped just feet away and stared at Dr. Maxwell with its beady, sunken-in eyes, like a hungry
rat. Just the sight of it struck terror into Dr.
Maxwell’s heart, but he didn’t dare show his fear. Instead he remembered his brief
training, bowing politely and forcing a smile, referring to the creature as “your highness”
and profusely thanking it for granting him an audience. The monster continued staring
without saying anything and then gave a wide, lock-jawed grin, showing off its huge teeth.
It did everything through gritted teeth, except eat and sing. Dr. Maxwell hoped he wouldn’t
be a part of either activity. Fernand gave a low, booming chuckle. He thanked
Dr. Maxwell for coming to give him some company and invited him to come further inside and
take a seat. Adding, with a sly wink, that he won’t bite.
The monster complained that he so rarely gets visitors to the palace these days – but
he omitted the fact that the main reason for this was his tendency to devour them.
Maxwell nodded and followed the giant deeper into its oversized abode. He couldn’t help
but notice that the monster’s arms looked like huge, fleshy punching bags. He knew that
if Fernand wanted to, he could easily crush him flat, just like he’d done to so many
unfortunate guards during containment breaches. Fernand told Dr. Maxwell that he was thinking
of having some decorating work done. The walls of his palace were starting to look awfully
drab and he gestured to one covered with a rusty red streak. Maxwell remembered that
D-Class cleaners were sent into the containment cell twice a month to tidy any of Fernand’s
messes, but they often ended up becoming one the messes themself.
The creature encouraged Maxwell to take a seat at his oversized dining table, while
he tended to a pot of what he said was full of delicious onion soup. Maxwell obliged his
host’s request and took a seat at a huge chair that made him look like a six-year-old
sitting at the grownups’ table. Meanwhile, Fernand was using a huge machete-like knife
to cleave onions in half for his bubbling pot of stew. Even though Fernand had shown
no signs of outward aggression, as he watched the Cannibal hack away at onions with his
enormous knife, Maxwell could feel himself beginning to sweat.
After all, they didn’t call this creature “The Cannibal” for nothing – this was
a monster with a truly horrifying body count. During previous containment breaches it had
taken enough tranquilizer to put down two elephants to subdue the creature, but not
before multiple agents quite literally lost their heads in the process. Fernand was able
to bite them off with one huge chomp, like he was eating a drumstick, snapping right
through bone with his incredible tooth and jaw strength
Surprisingly when he wasn’t on a violent rampage, foundation researchers had found
SCP-082 to be unusually polite and forthcoming, offering the researchers plenty of information
about himself and his past. The only problem was that almost everything the creature said
was a complete lie. From his time as a researcher, Maxwell knew
that there were only a few details about the creature that could be ascertained for certain
- SCP-082 would reliably answer to the name “Fernand”, and genetically, Fernand was
technically human. The means by which Fernand became so grotesquely huge, strong, and cannibalistic
are still unknown – Foundation personnel are still looking into whether it’s due
to some kind of anomalous genetic mutation, or by more supernatural means. All we know
is that he’s big, unpredictable, and extremely dangerous.
Dr. Robert Maxwell sat, terrified, at the dining table of SCP – 082, listening to
Fernand’s slightly dull blade chop through the final onion, which he then tossed into
the boiling soup. Fernand had switched the topic of conversation to one of his favorite
fictional characters – Hannibal Lecter. Of course, Hannibal the Cannibal isn’t quite
so fictional to Fernand. While he’s been shown to be extremely intelligent in terms
of puzzle-solving and memory, he seems to have no understanding of the distinction between
fiction and reality. He assumes all movies and TV shows are a form of documentary or
reality television. And ever since seeing The Silence of the Lambs,
Fernand has been eager to meet with Dr. Lecter, which he emphasized to Maxwell over and over.
Since trying to explain the concept of fiction to Fernand has never previously worked, Maxwell
simply told him that Dr. Lecter is extremely busy at the moment, but will visit whenever
he gets a chance. This seemed to satisfy Fernand, who placed two large bowls of steaming soup
on the table before sitting down a little too close to Maxwell. He couldn’t help but
notice that the giant cannibal was now sitting within biting distance, and as a lowly D-Class,
nobody would be rushing in to save him if things went south.
Fernand began ranting through his clenched teeth once more, occasionally stopping to
consume a hefty spoonful of onion soup. Maxwell was sure to do the same, not wanting to seem
anything less than polite. But soon, the tenor of Fernand’s rant began to shift. Typically,
the monster spoke French or heavily accented English. Now, he was affecting the accent
of a Victorian gentleman, peppering his speech with “tally ho” and “the game is afoot.”
Maxwell was confused at first, but quickly realized the game Fernand was playing.
It’s well known that Fernand is a pathological liar who likes to play numerous characters,
changing his mannerisms and clothes accordingly. These personas have included: A vampire, Big
Bird, André the Giant, Foundation researcher Dr. Bright, The Incredible Hulk, Alexander
The Great, Captain Hook, Dr. Frankenstein, and Frankenstein's Monster.
And of course, in this case, the iconic fictional detective Sherlock Holmes.
Fearing for his life in this strange situation, Dr. Maxwell did the only thing he could - Play
along. As Fernand reeled off his Holmesian delusions, Maxwell began to play the role
of Dr. John Watson, asking follow-up questions and complimenting Fernand’s “impeccable”
deductive reasoning. And it seemed to be working – Fernand played along too, acting as though
the two of them really were Arthur Conan Doyle’s crime-fighting duo. Towards the end of their
game, Dr. Maxwell was even starting to enjoy it, amazed that his quick thinking was actually
keeping him safe. But just then the Cannibal froze, as if in
a trance. He locked eyes with Dr. Maxwell – like a mad dog, that you can’t tell
if it’s going to bite you or not. He saw the creature’s gargantuan teeth separating,
its huge jaws stretching open. This could surely only mean one thing. Dr. Maxwell winced
and prepared for death, cursing that all his quick thinking had amounted to nothing.
Fernand leaned towards him, his gaping maw with its hot onion scented breath just inches
away from Maxwell. And then… he began to sing – the Cannibal broke into a raucous
Victorian pub song, happy and jovial. In his moment of terror, Dr. Maxwell had forgotten
that this was the other reason SCP – 082 opens his nightmarish jaws. Relief washed
over him, as he knew he was safe, at least for a moment. Not long after, foundation guards
arrived and escorted him from the cell, leaving the delusional giant to his own devices back
in the so-called palace. The former researcher had done it, he had
bested Fernand the Cannibal and hopefully it would be the last time he’d ever be face
to face with that deranged giant. Unfortunately for Dr. Robert Maxwell, in a performance review
later that week, one of his superiors remarked that Fernand enjoyed his company and he had
done a great job. Such a good job in fact, that Fernand insisted he have Dr. Maxwell
for dinner... or any other meal for that matter... sometime very soon.
The first thing that tipped the Foundation off to SCP-087’s presence were the reports
of numerous unexplained disappearances on campus. There were plenty of rumors about
what might be behind them, but Field Agents suspected that the true source of the vanishing
would be something beyond civilian imagination. All anyone knew for sure was that everyone
who had gone missing was last seen in a certain administrative building on the university
grounds, and that the disappearances only seemed to happen when the elevator was out.
The campus was soon flooded with Foundation agents, creating a barrier around the administrative
building, and the presumed habitat of SCP - 087. Nobody else could get in, and hopefully,
whatever was inside couldn’t get out. One of the Foundation’s lead scientists was
flown in to consult on the investigation. What could have been behind all those students
disappearing? The doctor’s preliminary interviews with university staff who worked in the building
yielded some interesting details: Strange noises, like banging and even a faint, shrill
crying, would be heard from a door that lead to a no longer used stairway in Hallway 3B.
Staff in the building had no reason to ever take these stairs, especially considering
how many of them reported a strange sense of unease when just standing outside the door.
The only reason someone might take those stairs is due to…Elevator malfunctions. In that
instant, the doctor had put it all together. The staff they interviewed had their memory
wiped with Amnetics – special chemicals used by the Foundation with the power to delete
human memories. The Foundation only used them for staff or civilians who had confirmed contact
with an SCP, and the doctor knew that they had a live one on their hands.
The staircase. There was something terribly wrong with that staircase, and it was the
SCP Foundation’s job to find out what – before it made anybody else disappear. This is the
story of SCP – 087, otherwise known as The Endless Staircase, and the three doomed journeys
down into its murky depths. The doctor was more than eager to begin research
into the staircase, and its frightening, anomalous properties. After all, you don’t claw your
way up to being one of the Foundation’s key researchers without being brave, and perhaps
just a little bit deranged. As was standard, once a perimeter was secured around the staircase,
the good doctor requested a selection of D-Class personnel for testing. For those not in the
know, D-Class is the Foundation’s polite way of saying “cannon fodder.”
The doctor was sent three D-Class prisoners for use in his investigation of SCP – 087.
The first, D-8432, was – according to official documentation on the incident – a “43-year
old male of average build and appearance and unremarkable psychological background.”
This man once worked for the Foundation in a more official capacity, but he was given
the often-deadly demotion to D-Class due to a dangerous mistake handling SCP – 682 that
lead to the deaths of several other agents. Now, it looked like it would be his turn.
The doctor explained his mission to him: Explore the staircase, gather data, help us find out
exactly what we’re dealing with here. If you come back alive, there may even be a promotion
in it for you. And with that promise, D-8432 was given his load-out: a 75-watt flood lamp
with battery power capable of lasting 24 hours, an audio headset, and a handheld camcorder
fitted with a transmission stream. D-8432 was then pushed through the door in
Hallway 3B, and out onto the staircase. According to declassified Foundation files describing
the staircase, “SCP-087 is an unlit platform staircase. Stairs descend on a 38-degree angle
for 13 steps before reaching a semi-circular platform of approximately 3 meters in diameter.
Descent direction rotates 180 degrees at each platform. The design of SCP-087 limits subjects
to a visual range of approximately 1.5 flights.” But in D-8432’s mind, “unlit” really
didn’t seem like the right word. He would have chosen “all-consuming darkness.”
Despite carrying a powerful 75-watt lamp, D-8432 was only capable of partially lighting
the platform he was standing on – and the illumination only stretched down nine of the
thirteen steps to the next platform. When D-8432 observed how little help his lamp was
giving him, he was instructed to shine it out of the doorway into Hallway 3B. When he
did so, the light seemed to shine far further than it ever could in SCP – 087.
Already, the beginning of anomalous activity was obvious: Everywhere else, darkness is
just the absence of light. In SCP – 087, darkness eats light. It was like a tangible,
black mass that only a certain amount of light could survive, while the rest just wouldn’t
show. D-8432 swallowed hard over a lump in his throat.
The door to Hallway 3B was closed behind him, and he was ordered to descend. Surviving to
see that promotion was feeling unlikely, but it’s not like he had a choice. If he tried
to escape SCP – 087 before he was permitted, he’d be shot by SCP Foundation Field Agents
on the spot. So he followed the high-ranking doctor’s
orders and began to descend the steps to the next platform. Nothing about the physical
makeup of the staircase itself seemed abnormal – the base and walls were a very plain,
dull concrete, with a metal handrail. The only thing that seemed unique about it so
far was the strange light-bending properties. That was, until he reached the second platform
down and he heard it, a soft, echoing cry. A child’s cry. It was shrieks of panic,
or maybe even pain, echoing up from below. He was asked why he had stopped, and he explained
the crying sound he’d been hearing. It sounded like it was coming from far down the stairs,
maybe 200 meters below him. He could just make out the words “please”, help”,
and “down here” coming from the darkness. But the team outside the stairwell couldn’t
hear anything, so they asked him to descend further.
Another platform down, and they could hear it too, the unmistakable cries of a terrified
child. “Please”, “help”, and “down here.”
D-8432 was ordered to keep going and only stop if he noticed changes to the visual environment
or in the sounds he was hearing. D-8432, knowing his life was on the line, had to keep going,
and descended another twenty flights of stairs before stopping to remark that the sounds
of the child hadn’t gotten any closer. They still sounded just as far away as when he’d
first heard them. He was told his observations were noted, and pressured to continue. Within
half an hour, D-8432 had descended a full fifty floors, with no sign of a bottom in
sight. Somehow the volume of the child’s crying
had remained consistent throughout, as if it was moving away from D-8432 at the same
rate he was descending. At this point, D-8432 reported that he was
feeling uneasy. The doctor said that this was understandable, given the circumstances.
He’d been watching what little there was to see over a live video feed the entire time,
and something about the truly bottomless nature of the staircase, and the ever-elusive crying,
was undeniably eerie. But things were about to really take a turn for the worst. As D-8432
stepped forward towards the next set of stairs, he froze. There was something on the platform
below him, barely illuminated by the light of his 75-watt bulb.
It was a face. Vaguely human in size and shape, but with a few terrifying differences: it
had greyish skin, and no mouth, nostrils, or pupils. And yet, D-8432 could feel that
this thing was making eye contact with him. He couldn’t move, trapped in this thing’s
piercing gaze. In an instant, the face jerked forwards, suddenly only about a foot away
from D-8432’s face – eyes staring into his own. D-8432 screamed and ran, scaling
all fifty flights in an astonishing eighteen minutes, before charging out into Hallway
3B. There, he collapsed from the exhaustion and the fear of what he’d just seen.
Upon reviewing the footage, the strange face was designated “SCP-087-1.” Fascinating.
It was time for a second experiment. The doctor just had to know more.
The second test subject was D-9035, a 28-year-old male with a history of aggravated assaults
against women. He was given the same loadout as his predecessor, except this time with
an even more powerful 100-watt bulb. He was also given 100 small LED lights that had adhesive
backs and a battery life of approximately 3 weeks, with which they intended to permanently
illuminate SCP – 087. However, despite the extra wattage of his bulb, he still couldn’t
illuminate beyond the ninth step. SCP – 087 wouldn’t allow it.
Having no idea of the horrors that lurked below him, he descended on the doctor’s
orders, and began fixing the LEDs to walls of each platform he passed. The LED always
illuminated the landing, but the light couldn’t pass the first step on either side. The flights
of stairs themselves would remain in perpetual darkness.
After the second flight, D-9035 noticed the same crying D-8432 had heard and became uneasy.
Just like before, as D-9035 descended, the volume of the crying didn’t seem to increase,
as if for every step he descended, the source of the crying descended one, too, keeping
them at a constant 200 meters apart. Still, he was ordered to continue his descent and
the placing of LED’s even as his paranoia grew.
When he reached the 51s floor, he observed damage to the wall and steps – sections
appeared to have been smashed to rubble by an extreme force. As he descended past the
broken step, he only felt his fear, anxiety, and paranoia grow. The doctor made a note
of the fact that SCP – 087 seemed to cause instances of anxiety and terror in its occupants,
even before they encountered SCP – 087 – 1. As D-9035 reached platform 89 – a full 350
meters under the initial platform – he stopped dead in his tracks, and saw something staring
up at him from the platform below. That same terrible, grey face, with those dead, white
eyes. He was encouraged to stay calm and try to
get better footage of the face, but it charged for him and D-9035 ran for his life. He ascended
the staircase at a staggering pace, even passing out from exhaustion and remaining motionless
for 14 minutes half way. When D-9035 finally gathered the strength to get up, he scrambled
back to Hallway 3B and fell into a state of catatonia. He remains unresponsive to all
external stimuli to this day, just staring off into the distance with a haunted expression.
Almost like he’s still there in the hallway. The doctor wanted to conduct one more test
before he ordered SCP – 087 shut off from the world forever, and it was the most terrifying
of all. The final subject was D-9884, a 23-year-old woman with a history of depression and the
use of excessive force. The doctor had hoped that D-9884 would travel the deepest yet,
and so, he gave her the additional supplies of a backpack containing 3.75 liters of water,
15 nutrient bars, and 1 thermal blanket. As far as the Foundation was concerned, she was
in this for the long haul. But none of them had any idea quite how right
they were. When D-9884 entered SCP – 087, all the lights
from the previous expedition had disappeared. Still, she was ordered to go deeper. She heard
the crying of the mysterious child – if it was even a child at all – and again she
was ordered to go deeper. At the 496th landing, even as D-9884 seemed to slip into a state
of mortal terror, once again she was ordered to go even deeper. Every moment, he was hoping
to get a better look at the face of SCP – 087 – 1. And when D-9884 finally broke, and
fled back upstairs, he did. The face appeared but this time it was mere
inches behind her, staring directly into the camera with its blank eyes – startling even
this veteran of the supernatural. The face appearing caused D-9884 to panic and flee,
but instead of going back up the stairs to safety, she went deeper down the staircase
in an attempt to escape it. Deeper, and deeper, and deeper, until her video feed cut out.
D-9884 was never seen again. In the aftermath of the tests, the SCP was
classified as Euclid – it may have been dangerous, but at least it was easy to contain.
The door to Hallway 3B was replaced with one made out of reinforced steel, with an electro-release
lock mechanism. It has been disguised to resemble a janitorial closet consistent with the rest
of the building. The lock won’t release unless a classified number of electrical volts
are applied, while the key is turned counter clockwise. And after a few inches of foam
insulation were applied to the inner side of the door, staff at the building never again
reported hearing strange noises. As for the fates of those lost within the
endless turning flights and platforms of SCP – 087, we may never know. But one can only
assume it isn’t pleasant. A tangled mass of yarn and ribbon sounds more
like what you’d find in the back room of a craft store or a forgotten closet than a
mysterious creature worthy of investigation. And yet that’s exactly what SCP-066 appeared
to be, or at least it did at first glance. But the SCP Foundation doesn’t contain and
study just anything, and there was - and still is - something incredibly strange just below
the surface of SCP-066, also known as “Eric’s Toy.”
At first, Eric’s Toy seemed to be completely harmless and even helpful, a knot of string
that produced strange but harmless items and effects. But, the Foundation soon discovered
a dark side to SCP-066. While it may be referred to as a toy, this is no mere plaything.
SCP-066 weighs only about one kilogram and appears to be a braided bunch of yarn and
ribbon. Though there is no apparent musical capability within the strands of yarn and
ribbon themselves, music can be produced by moving individual strands one at a time. When
it was first being studied, this SCP was composed of multicolored strings and ribbons, but it
has since undergone a transformation and now presents an appearance somewhat different
from its initial description. The strands of yarn and ribbon can be used
to play the notes of a diatonic scale - C-D-E-F-G-A-B - though the research has not been able to
determine just how SCP-066 produces music, or any sound at all. SCP-066 was thought to
be completely benign at first and was classified as Safe, but following an incident known as
Incident 066-2, its classification was adjusted to a subcategory of Euclid: Euclid-impetus.
Euclid is a classification given to SCPs that are more difficult to contain than those classified
as “Safe.” Impetus, in Latin, means “attack” and specifies that SCP-066 is not only Euclid
class, but on the more aggressive side. While 066 is not always aggressive toward humans,
the events of Incident 066-2 proved that it is highly unpredictable, and should not be
provoked. Like many SCPs, it proved that underestimating
its capabilities can be a dangerous mistake. Before the incident, SCP-066 displayed only
charming, if unusual, behavior. Various researchers spent their time playing random assortments
of notes using its strings, curious about what would happen and determined to record
anything this unusual ball of string had to offer. They did not yet know that the creature
was capable of any hostility, and went about their work with a lighthearted, carefree spirit.
After playing an improvised six-note melody with the strands, a researcher was thrilled
to find that SCP-066 was capable of shapeshifting. Its appearance changed to resemble a small
calico kitten for seventeen minutes. The kitten was incredibly friendly, rubbing its head
against the researcher’s gloved hand and purring loudly. Ironically enough, the kitten
also spent time playing with a piece of string. After the seventeen minutes were up, the kitten
transformed back into SCP-066’s original form. A few days later, another researcher
played a different melody on the strands, and was surprised to find that, when they
stopped, the music continued on its own. The sound of an acoustic guitar kicked in,
accompanied by vocals, with no visible source for either sound. The SCP then played a four-minute
song with lyrics warning against the use of sharp objects without the supervision of a
parent, especially scissors. After the song ended, the SCP was silent for the rest of
the day. The following week, a research assistant used
the strands of SCP-066 to play the opening notes of “Happy Birthday,” and a chocolate
cupcake with a lit birthday candle appeared from within the braided strings. Against the
warnings of his peers, the assistant ate the cupcake. In response, the SCP played the rest
of “Happy Birthday,” and the assistant suffered no adverse effects from the cupcake.
All of this fun was brought to a swift end when one scientist suggested that a portion
of SCP-066’s yarn body be cut off and removed so that the specimen could be tested. On April
18, 2008, the event that would become known as Incident 066-2 took place. A young man
known only as D-066-4437, or D, was assigned to the task. Naturally, he was a member of
the highly disposable D Class personnel. But D was grateful for the opportunity, as most
experiments of a similar nature involved quite a bit more obvious risk. It was a simple enough
job: take a pair of scissors, snip off some yarn, and bring it back to the lab for further
study. It was hardly on the level of supervising 173 or being 682’s latest chew toy.
He entered the containment room, where SCP-066 was lying dormant and still, and approached
it with the scissors. He grabbed a small handful of string, and
started to cut. As soon as the scissors began to cut through the fabric, the SCP rolled
out of his grasp. It came to a stop one meter away, where it started to make a high-pitched
squeaking sound resembling the cry of a frightened rabbit. Unsure what to do and unprepared for
this scenario, D approached the entity again. He snagged another fistful of yarn and cut,
only for 066 to curl into a ball and roll away from him again, even faster this time.
Once it was safely on the other side of the room and away from the scissors it stopped
moving. Only this time it didn't squeak. Instead,
for the very first time since its containment, it spoke in a deep, uncannily human voice
and asked: “Are you Eric?” After recovering from his initial shock at hearing a voice
come out of a mass of string, D responded “No, I’m not.” This answer set something
off in SCP-066, and its form began to shift and change. The string wriggled around on
the floor, unbraiding and wrapping around itself into a mound. The colors, previously
a rainbow of shades, shifted until every strand was blood red.
Much to D’s horror, the transformation was not yet complete. Small bumps began to emerge
from the spaces between the strands of yarn, popping out all over the bright red mass.
If that wasn’t terrifying enough, suddenly all together as one, they blinked open, revealing
themselves to be over a dozen small eyes. Every single eye was focused at D, studying
him, staring him down. SCP-066 then began to produce loud, abrupt, dissonant notes like
someone banging on the keys of a piano. D had seen enough. He abandoned his task and
fled the containment room. After this failed attempt to extract a sample,
SCP-066’s behavior and its treatment of personnel who interacted with it began to
change dramatically. Before the incident, the SCP was largely dormant, only becoming
active if a melody was played using its strands. Following the incident, and its change of
form, 066 began to move on its own. Long strands of its yarn body would move like tentacles,
writhing and wriggling around at a high speed. It no longer needed human interaction in order
to produce sound, or to produce any other effects.
At the sight of any human, regardless of the human’s behavior, the SCP would begin to
react with sound and effect within six seconds. The first of these effects was noted by a
research assistant who entered the SCP’s containment facility a week after the incident
with D. As she approached 066 to take notes about its current state and its new ability
to move, a bee appeared out of nowhere. It stung the assistant and flew away before it
could be captured. Weeks later, a team of eleven personnel were
monitoring the SCP when it suddenly burst into a rendition of Beethoven’s second symphony.
It produced this music at a volume of over 140 decibels, permanently deafening three
of the personnel, and causing permanent hearing damage in the other eight. It was theorized
that the SCP did this as an act of retribution for its perceived mistreatment. These personnel
refused to work with SCP-066 again. When a new team was assigned to monitor the
entity, everything seemed to be going well at first. It was moving around, flailing its
tentacles of yarn at nothing in particular, and staring at the personnel with its many
eyes, but otherwise was on its best behavior. Then, suddenly, every light in the room went
dark, and there was a complete loss of visibility. The lights were unable to be turned on for
five hours, and any attempt at an alternate light source such as a flashlight was unsuccessful.
It was as if the darkness in the room swallowed any and all light right up. It was similar
to the oppressive darkness within SCP – 087, or the unlimited black of SCP – 3001’s
shadow dimension. The personnel in the room later reported hearing
the sound of loud, labored breathing just behind their shoulders, though when they searched
for a source of the sound, they could find nothing.
There have been no recent anomalies reported, or any additional hostile behavior. Instead,
whenever it sees a new human, SCP-066 repeats the name “Eric” again and again in that
same deep voice. Who is Eric? No one at the facility knows, or, if they do, they have
not reported it to any official channels. It is possible that the SCP was once owned
by someone named Eric and perhaps, given the circumstances under which SCP-066 first said
the name, Eric attempted to cut the threads of the entity while it was in his care.
Unfortunately, there are no official records of how SCP-066 was discovered, or why it was
brought to the foundation in the first place. Its origins remain murky and as mysterious
as everything else about it. All that is known is that, whoever Eric is, SCP-066 is determined
to find him. Once the SCP’s class was changed from Safe
to Euclid, its containment procedures had to be adjusted. While it was previously kept
in a simple room, it is now contained in a tungsten carbide box at its site’s high-value
item storage facility. Once a month, the box is inspected for damage to its interior, due
to the SCP’s tendency to use its appendages to wear down the walls of the box over time.
If there is any damage, SCP-066 is to be moved to a new box using a robotic arm that performs
this transfer in less than three seconds. The Foundation has attempted to place recording
devices in the box with the entity in order to monitor its behavior when there are no
humans present. But the SCP destroys every recording device placed inside of its containment
box and any attempts to record its behavior when it is not being observed by humans have
been unsuccessful. Whatever it’s doing when there is no one around it wants to keep a
secret. On the surface, SCP-066 is one of the less
frightening finds contained within the walls of the SCP Foundation. It does not have claws,
or teeth, or the ability to cause mass deaths, but it has incredible, unpredictable capabilities,
and seems very capable of holding a grudge. There is so much that is unknown about it,
from its origins, to its form, to its ability to manifest matter from nothing, and there
is something deeply unsettling about this SCP’s unpredictable behavior and increased
hostility toward being observed. We do not know what it has done, and we do not know
what it will do next. All we can do is wonder. As we ponder the nature of SCP-066, it does
nothing but sit, staring with unblinking eyes, waiting for Eric to come back.
An SCP Foundation researcher sits at a table inside of a standard containment cell. These
are often dangerous places to be, especially when the SCP you’re supposed to be studying
is one that you can’t see. The researcher is taking notes, unsure of exactly what’s
going to happen next. He can hear the sounds of knives scraping behind, of flesh sizzling
and searing from high heat. He braces himself as a burst of heat hits the back of his head,
as if a fireball has erupted. Just then it happens - an object floats through the air
and settles in front of him on the table. It’s a plate of food, and it looks delicious.
It may surprise you to learn that there is no rule that the SCP Foundation must deal
exclusively with violent and vicious creatures. Not every SCP held in containment shares the
same malevolence and contempt for humanity as SCP-682, or the world-ending threat posed
by the likes of SCP-2317. Some - perhaps not many, but some - are benign and might even
seem outwardly friendly, but you’d still be taking a huge risk to assume that anything
contained by the SCP Foundation is completely harmless.
Such is the case with SCP-5031. As per the Foundation’s containment procedures, this
quasi-humanoid – meaning it appears to have some vaguely human features - is held in an
airtight cell that is regularly checked by Foundation personnel on a bi-weekly basis.
SCP-5031 has no need for regular nutrition or regular interactions from staff. The trick
with SCP-5031, is not being eaten by it, since though it doesn’t need food, it does still
hunt and consume anything it encounters - human or otherwise.
Avoiding being eaten is hard enough with creatures that can actually be seen, but like so many
other creatures the Foundation keeps contained, SCP-5031 has developed an almost-perfect defense
mechanism - which is that when observed, it will literally cease to exist. Some might
choose to refer to this as a ‘quantum lock’, however it is worth noting that traces left
by SCP-5031 still remain observable when the creature has temporarily disappeared. For
example, trails of blood and scratch marks left behind by SCP-5031 still exist when the
SCP itself does not. Naturally, this makes both avoiding the creature
and capturing it using cameras difficult. However, when SCP-5031’s existence ceases
it still casts a shadow. From this, researchers have been able to determine several of the
creature’s physical traits. Based on its silhouette, it has been deduced that SCP-5031
levitates about half a meter above ground level, it sports an abnormally small, neckless
head atop an elongated torso - approximately 1.9 meters long - with three sets of spindly
lower arms that branch outwards. Using these arms and its loosely hanging body,
SCP-5031 will lower itself to hunt any human or animal that draws near to it and uses the
bladelike tail to cut up food. Perhaps the most interesting facet of SCP-5031
beyond its defensive capabilities and apparent physical attributes, are the series of nine
tests conducted by Senior Researcher Stanley Huxtable. Appalled by the conditions that
the creature was being kept in, Huxtable took over the role of HCL Supervisor for SCP-5031.
Having grown increasingly frustrated and empathetic towards the creature, listening to its screams
from inside its iron containment unit, Huxtable devised a series of tests to introduce SCP-5031
to various different stimuli as a way to better understand the creature and hopefully keep
it contained in a way that didn’t seem to cause so much suffering.
It's worth remembering that the SCP Foundation makes it its mission to be cold, not cruel,
in performing their duties to protect normality and many of the researchers and staff are
just as capable of having empathy for creatures as you might for a stray animal at a shelter.
The first of Huxtable’s tests involved installing speakers in SCP-5031’s cell, through which
a variety of different ambient and popular pieces of music were played to see if they
had any effect on reducing the creature’s stress. By judging SCP-5031’s stress levels
based on how much it screamed when compared to normal, Huxtable was able to determine
how to best to use music to calm the creature. SCP-5031 seemed to convey higher levels of
stress when listening to ‘Morning Forest’, ‘Deep Grotto’ and ‘Seaside Paradise’
ambience, as well as the best of late 60s British rock band Jethro Tull.
However, the best of Mozart, Enya, KISS and Ben Folds produced dramatically different
results, decreasing SCP-5031’s apparent stress. Following this test, Senior Researcher
Huxtable compiled a playlist featuring SCP-5031’s favorite music. Over time, the stress-reducing
effects of music on SCP-5031 seemed to decrease, but keeping the playlist on shuffle seemed
to keep the creature consistently calmer than it had been previously.
The next test involved introducing inanimate objects into SCP-5031’s enclosure to monitor
its reactions and how its stress levels were affected. When a softball was thrown into
the enclosure, SCP-5031 immediately sliced the ball in two with its tail in one swift
motion. A similar result occurred when researchers threw the creature a basketball, which was
quickly punctured and sliced open by SCP-5031’s tail. Its stress levels first seemed to diminish
when the creature was offered a bowling ball, which it rolled around the enclosure and then
later knocked against a second bowling ball. However, when one of the balls chipped, rendering
it unable to roll properly, SCP-5031’s stress increased dramatically, until a replacement
was offered. Researcher Huxtable noted that SCP-5031 seemed to possess a similar level
of motor skills to an average human toddler, with similarly explosive emotional reactions
to match. Next, when given the choice between two food
sources at opposite ends of its enclosure, SCP-5031 seemed to gravitate towards higher-quality
food, most notably favoring cooked rotisserie chickens over animal carcasses. It even chose
this option over a live chicken, using its tail to cut its food into more manageable
bite-sized portions, rather than ripping its meat with its hands or teeth like many of
its fellow SCPs. Researcher Huxtable recorded these findings and highlighted that, even
though SCP-5031 didn’t need to eat in order to survive, providing the creature with food
of a better quality marginally reduced its stress.
Senior Researcher Huxtable next attempted to test SCP-5031’s coexistence with other
living subjects, each time making sure that the creature had been adequately fed to avoid
any unseemly incidents. First, a live chicken was introduced. SCP-5031 rolled its bowling
ball at high speed towards the chicken, increasing both its and the chicken’s stress levels,
and inadvertently killing the chicken in the process. When a second chicken was introduced,
SCP-5031 gently rolled a basketball towards it but ceased any further engagement after
the chicken squawked from being hit by the ball. Next to be introduced into the enclosure
was a blindfolded D Class staff member, who was instructed to sit down and roll the basketball
towards SCP-5031. After doing so for several minutes, the creature
began to approach the D class subject, who was instructed to remove their blindfold to
cease the creature’s existence and prevent any potentially deadly incidents. Finally,
Researcher Huxtable had another Class-D engage in a game of catch with SCP-5031 while facing
away from the creature. This test proceeded successfully, and Senior Researcher Huxtable
remarked how SCP-5031’s motor skills were improving. Albeit gradually, and with some
gentle encouragement, through Huxtable’s tests the creature was learning.
The next test, focused on teaching SCP-5031 linguistic symbols, utilized LCD displays
and buttons connected to a food dispenser. One display showed an image of a rock, and
the other an image of a rotisserie chicken. After some brief probing, SCP-5031 was quickly
able to understand that pressing the button under the correct display would dispense a
rotisserie chicken for it to eat. The creature was later able to adapt when, the following
day, the screen displays and materials dispensed were swapped, and then later set to swap at
random intervals. When additional rock-dispensing stations were introduced, this time displaying
the word ‘rock’ as opposed to an image, SCP-5031 was able to determine which station
dispensed ‘chicken’ through a process of elimination.
Whenever the functions and displays were swapped, SCP-5031 would find whichever displayed the
word ‘chicken’ to receive its food. The final phase of this test presented SCP-5031
with a single station, displaying the word ‘chicken’, but with a button that would
remain inactive unless the creature spelled out the same word with a collection of lettered
blocks it was provided with. After some initial confusion and frustration as to why the button
would not dispense food when pressed, SCP-5031 was able to assemble the word correctly, not
only activating the button and dispensing food, but proving to Researcher Huxtable that
the creature was capable of learning language. Huxtable continued to test the creature, encouraging
it to spell words using lettered blocks as a method of communicating. By increasing SCP-5031’s
vocabulary and the amount of human interaction it received, Senior Researcher Huxtable observed
that SCP-5031 was gradually learning to sing - albeit nonverbally - as well as to juggle
with its six hands and was even communicating its own food preferences and dish pairings.
Later, another Class-D, D-52125, was introduced to SCP-5031’s enclosure to aid in further
testing. Through D-52125’s instructions, the creature quickly learned to draw using
crayons, and created artworks depicting itself, its newfound friend D-52125, Researcher Huxtable,
a cat and a rotisserie chicken. SCP-5031’s new creative side didn’t stop
there though, as the creature quickly learned to play Chopsticks in only two days once a
piano was introduced into the enclosure. SCP-5031 even managed to start creating its own original,
admittedly crude, compositions. Next, a spice rack was placed inside the creature’s
cell and D-52125 demonstrated how to season meat. This proved to be SCP-5031’s new favorite
hobby, as it spent the next three days experimenting with different combinations of foods and spices,
using its letter blocks to request ‘more, more, more’ garlic powder. Interestingly,
the creature only created artwork or music when D-52125 was present, but seemed to thoroughly
enjoy its experimentation with food when left alone.
Following this development, Senior Researcher Huxtable devised a new test for SCP-5031.
Providing the creature with cooking utensils and using D-52125 to demonstrate, 5031 was
shown how to prepare a variety of different dishes, from hamburgers and tacos, to Mongolian
Beef, steak, clam chowder and profiteroles. In addition to a small peanut allergy, this
eighth test revealed SCP-5031 to be a phenomenal chef, possessing culinary skills far beyond
the average person. The creature quickly and enthusiastically embraced its newfound talents,
concocting its very own brand-new recipes, with D-52125 even volunteering to be the first
to taste test 5031’s dishes. It was shortly after this test that SCP-5031
spoke its very first word, and it should come as no surprise that the word was ‘salt’.
Naturally, Senior Researcher Huxtable was very proud of the progress the creature had
made with its development. The final test almost seemed to be what the
creature was born for. Over the course of two months, SCP-5031 was tasked with creating
a full three-course meal which would then be served to Foundation staff for Thanksgiving.
SCP-5031 not only rose to the task, but exceeded all of Researcher Huxtable’s expectations,
creating a meal that even Gordon Ramsey would be hard pressed to find fault with. The creature
created a first course consisting of sweet potato miso soup seasoned with turmeric. Next
came a beautiful duck confit, glazed luxuriously with apple cider and topped generously with
sweet cranberry compote, paired with a side of butternut squash gnocchi and served on
a bed of kale seasoned with truffle salt. The grand finale of the exquisite meal was
a spiced cassava pie for dessert, complemented with the finest French vanilla ice cream and
a maple-hazelnut syrup. And SCP-5031 didn’t stop there, the creature also debuted one
of its original musical compositions to compliment the decadent meal it had created. As the staff
enjoyed the food, SCP-5031 performed live from its enclosure the deeply moving Piano
Concerto for Six Hands, to an overwhelmingly positive response from not only Senior Researcher
Huxtable, but the entire Foundation staff. As a fitting end to the creature’s tale,
Huxtable reported that, during the Thanksgiving banquet it had created, SCP-5031’s stress
levels reduced entirely. New kinder containment measures that would keep 5031 safer but also
far more contented were submitted for approval. Perhaps some of you may find it refreshing
to learn that SCP-5031 isn’t simply just another malicious, malevolent monster that
the Foundation has to keep under lock and key for the safety of the world. Instead,
SCP-5031 is a gentle – if a little frightening at first creature - that just requires careful
and considered guidance instead of a cold iron cage and around-the-clock armed guards.
Through testing, Senior Researcher Stanley Huxtable and his fellow Foundation staff were
not only able to help the creature develop, but also found what makes it tick; and not
just for the purposes of containing it. Instead, it is hoped that SCP-5031’s creativity and
flair for culinary and musical masterpieces can continue to thrive and grow, under the
proud watch of Researcher Huxtable. Over fifty men and women, clad in red robes,
kneel before an unholy altar. They chant and mutter indecipherable words - words of cruelty
and madness… of obsession and sacrilege. Not long ago, these were regular people. Computer
technicians, teachers, plumbers, construction workers, accountants. This was before they
fell under the ungodly influence of a new ruler. The center of this makeshift place
of worship was once a normal school gymnasium, but it’s now the home of a huge statue.
A humanoid being, wreathed in tentacles. Its head is more like a squid or cuttlefish than
anything resembling an actual human face. While he’s known to the cultists as the
Tentacled God, the beast they worship is known to the SCP Foundation as SCP - 2662, and he
sits in the belly of one of their expansive containment facilities, locked away from the
world. But not for long, if his devoted followers have anything to say about it. This is their
god, all-powerful and unchanging, and when it comes to springing him from containment,
no tactic is too vile or underhanded to get the job done. Their mortal leader and high-priest, a man
in a purple robe calling himself Brother Marsh, walks among their crouched forms. He whispers
instructions for the great day of liberation that’s soon to come, providing everyone
plays their part. It’s a plan months in the making - and one that, if it goes off
without a hitch, could free their monstrous god into the world. They would strike at the
very heart of their enemy, The SCP Foundation, when they least expect it, and nothing shall
stand in their way. How could they lose when they have a god on their side? But why did all these normal people become
violent zealots for squid-faced deity? It all began with a dream. To those who experienced
these dreams, they felt more like prophecies, premonitions of the glorious horrors to come.
A red sky, billions dead and billions more enslaved. A dark silhouette on the horizon
- Their Tentacled God, holding dominion over all. At first, it just seemed like a strange
nightmare. The ones who experienced it woke up shaken and afraid, hoping to shake the
images from their mind. But they couldn’t. Every night, the nightmare would return. They’d
see the images - the red sky, the dead and enslaved, the Tentacled God. And after a while
it would come to them even when they weren’t asleep, eventually happening whenever they
closed their eyes. Little by little, this scene stopped looking so hideous… and started
to look glorious. They felt his presence in their minds, slowly pushing them towards their
inevitable future. They started to realize that they wanted him to rule over the universe,
and to experience the honor of serving him. Many of them abandoned their homes and families
- leaving their friends and loved ones left to worry that they’d gone insane. In their eyes, they were safer than they’d
ever been. They finally had purpose. They were working in service of something far greater
than themselves. The influence of the tentacled god drew them
closer to one another. They would meet in secret, exchanging information from the prophecies
their ruler sent them in their dreams. They worshipped together, building altars and idols
to congregate around. They performed dark blood rituals, involving human and animal
sacrifice. It was when Brother Marsh, The Anointed One, arrived to guide them towards
their true mission that things kicked into high gear. Just three months prior, Brother Marsh had
been an office drone working in data entry for a large insurance company, before the
Tentacled God invaded his thoughts with a simple message: “FREE ME, AND THE NEW WORLD
I CREATE SHALL BE YOUR PLAYGROUND.” Since then, he’d devoted himself completely to
the cause, quitting his job and maxing out his credit cards to help fund his new life’s
purpose - infiltrating the SCP Foundation, and releasing his inhuman ruler from its imprisonment. That was the single goal he united the cultists
under: Freedom for the Tentacled God. And at long last, they had all the pieces in place
to strike. They’d finally gathered the necessary intel to subvert the will of the most powerful
secret organization on earth. Even the strongest institution is made of people, and people
are weak. Unlike the almighty Tentacled God, people could be broken. The people in question were Kelly Thompson,
Sidney Levitt, Jordan Brosh, Dr. Juan Gutierrez, and Gillian Larson. Dr. Juan Gutierrez was
a researcher with Level 3 clearance on the site where the Tentacled God was being contained.
Sidney Levitt and Jordan Brosh were both Security Officers charged with verifying personnel
clearance on site. Kelly Thompson was a member of Site Administration with research authorization
powers, and Gillian Larson was a research assistant who often collaborated with Dr.
Gutierrez. These five were the key to getting access to SCP-2662 and bringing their plan
to fruition. Normally, personnel dossiers on people working
for the Foundation were highly confidential, but the Devotees of the Tentacled God had
their ways. They had a number of computer experts in their ranks more than capable of
hacking in and pulling some basic information off of Foundation servers without being detected.
For the other information they needed they turned to some good, old-fashioned torture,
which is often the most effective method when you need some quick results. Of course, while the cult’s grip on sanity
may have been a little tenuous, they weren’t stupid. While gathering their intel, they
also made sure to find out what exactly they were up against. SCP-2662 was being held in
a humanoid containment cell, and guarded by on-site Task Force TAU-9, better known as
the “Belligerent Bodyguards.” These aren’t lazy, donut-chomping mall cops - these are
a heavily trained, heavily armed fighting force. Though the cultists had one thing that
these Foundation soldiers didn’t: The element of surprise. For everything to go off perfectly, Brother
Marsh’s plans would have to be executed within a single day, and they were already
on the clock. TAU-9 had been charged with tracking down any new SCP - 2662 cults and
dismantling them, and Brother Marsh knew that it was only a matter of time before the Foundation
tracked them down and did the same to them. If they wanted any chance of freeing the Tentacled
God, then they needed to strike quickly and with overwhelming force. The SCP-2662 worshippers were able to secure
the addresses of the five key Foundation personnel, and station members outside each of them - including
one who could realistically imitate each. They waited for night to fall, and broke into
each of their homes as they slept. What followed was a sequence of ruthless and efficient murders
done in the cause of freeing their god. Dr. Gutierrez was shot in the head while he
slept. Sidney Levitt and Jordan Brosh were both stabbed to death before either even realized
what was happening. Thompson, who’d gotten up to use the bathroom, went down in a hail
of machine gun fire. Gillian Larson had seen that masked figures were breaking into her
home and attempted to flee, but was caught and beaten to death by cultists in her hallway.
It was a strange irony that people whose day jobs entailed working with some of the most
dangerous and nightmarish anomalies imaginable were murdered in their homes by nothing more
than regular humans. So far, Brother Marsh’s plan had gone perfectly,
with all five key personnel murdered within a two minute period. Next, the selected doppelgängers
stole clothes from their victims’ closets and were handed the correct forged documentation.
The next morning, each replacement began their journeys to the site where the Tentacled God
was being contained, while the rest of the cult armed themselves in preparation for their
own part in the plan. Nobody at the Foundation seemed to notice
anything amiss when the five arrived on site. When you work for the SCP Foundation, more
mental energy is devoted to following the rules that keep you alive than to memorizing
the faces of all your co-workers and each one slipped neatly into position, disappearing
into the familiarity of office life. But, infiltrating the site was one thing, getting
past the Belligerent Bodyguards and into the cell of the Tentacled God would be another
thing entirely. That’s where the rest of the cult would
come into play. Heavily armed with whatever firearms they could get their hands on, the
rest of the Devotees of the Tentacled God - Brother Marsh included - would attack the
containment site head-on. In the ensuing chaos, the five cultists who had already infiltrated
the site could take advantage of the distraction, and break into the containment chamber. It
was perfect. They’d launch their attack from the outside… and from within. When Brother Marsh declared that the time
was right, the assault began. A legion of gun-wielding cultists seemed to spring out
of nowhere and started shooting up the warehouse that was a front for the containment site.
The site quickly mobilized guards and task force members to take on the sudden threat,
and just as Brother Marsh had anticipated, the Site Director called on the majority of
TAU-9 to help repel the violent cultists from their perimeter. TAU-9 obeyed, leaving three task force members
behind to guard SCP - 2662’s containment chamber. They expected to be guarding the
cell from rampaging religious zealots seeking an audience with their god. What they didn’t
expect was a group of five Foundation employees walking right up to them and opening fire,
killing two TAU-9 members and taking the third as a hostage. While the war was being waged
outside, the infiltrators had found the Tentacled God’s containment cell in the low-risk humanoid
ward. Their hostage insisted that using him wouldn’t
give them any leverage - the rest of his team would neutralize the whole group, him included,
if that’s what it took to stop them. The infiltrators explained that using him as leverage
was never their intention - he wasn’t a hostage at all. He was a sacrifice. The cultists of the Tentacled God detonated
explosives, creating a hole in the wall and finally giving them access to their deity.
They climbed through and gazed upon him in awe. There stood SCP-2662, twice as tall as
a regular man, with ten huge tentacles emerging from its back. In their months of envisioning
this creature, they’d pictured it sitting on a throne made of thousands of human bones,
ready to dictate its commands to the obedient liberators. What they certainly didn’t expect
was to see the Tentacled God hunched over a computer screen.
Still, gods work in mysterious ways, so they stuck to the plan and began chanting. They
pulled out a sacrificial dagger, and began sacrificing their captured TAU-9 member. It
was at this point that SCP - 2662 turned and saw what they were doing with a look of pure
horror. He rose up from his computer, his headphones getting caught as he did so. He
told them to go away, that he didn’t want them here, and that them murdering people
in his bedroom like this was inconsiderate and disgusting. The cultists became even more
confused - why wasn’t their god accepting their offerings? What were they doing wrong?
They tried more chanting, and painting arcane symbols on the floor in blood, but this just
seemed to make the creature angrier. He told them, in a tone more fitting for a teenage
boy than a Lovecraftian God, to just leave him alone so he could play his video games.
This was seriously not cool! The cultists were baffled. They told the Tentacled God
they were there to free him. He replied that he didn’t need saving. That crazy stalkers
like them were why he turned himself in to the Foundation in the first place! Before the cultist infiltrators could get
another word in, the remaining members of TAU-9 stormed into the containment cell and
gunned them down with surgical precision. The war outside was already over - Brother
Marsh and the rest of the cultists were all killed in the firefight. TAU-9 didn’t look the least bit surprised
upon entering 2662’s cell, this was a common occurrence unfortunately. They had to deal
with an attempted cult invasion every few months, because SCP-2662’s main anomalous
ability is inspiring violent cults who relentlessly track down and worship it with arcane and
bloodthirsty rituals. The problem is, 2662 doesn’t do this consciously,
and definitely doesn’t like the results. That’s why he’s under the voluntary care
of the SCP Foundation who keeps him amused with video games and reading material while
fending off the deranged cults who try to invade and abduct him. Following the termination of The Devotees
of the Tentacled God, just one of many cults who’d broken into 2662’s containment cell,
the remaining TAU-9 members apologized to the tentacled creature for the disturbance,
allowing him to return to his gaming. They assured him that it’d probably be at least
a few more months before something like this happened again. SCP-2662’s cell was repaired, and the Foundation
returned to its task of seeking out would-be cultist emancipators, because for the SCP
Foundation, it’s not always about the anomaly that’s being kept in containment, but what’s
being kept out. “This is impossible!” The SCP site director wasn’t normally a
calm or cheerful man, but the researcher had rarely seen him as angry as he was right now. His face turned a deep beet red as he scanned
the documents on his desk before he asked how months of valuable research on this subject
had suddenly gone blank, the data was completely gone. The researcher gulped nervously, hoping a
demotion wasn’t in his future, and nodded. How could this be possible. This was an experienced
researcher who should have been taking all of the necessary precautions. Could the being
they were studying somehow have erased all these documents himself? That’s just what the researcher had been
trying to find out for months, with hours and hours spent trying to learn the extent
of its abilities. “Well? Where are they?” the site director
asked. “I want everything you have!” The researcher dropped a print-out of their
research on the mysterious subject’s abilities on the director’s desk. Every relevant line
read “Data Lost”. The director let out a deep sigh. He wanted
to hear everything the researcher knew, well everything he could remember at least, from
the beginning. The researcher sat town and began to relay
everything he could about SCP-343, which some of the other researchers had started to refer
to by the nickname… God. SCP-343 was first sighted in Prague, just
an unassuming older man wandering the streets. He seemed completely normal to everyone who
passed him by - until he decided he was tired of staying on the ground. An SCP agent stationed
in the area noticed the old man disappear from the streets as if he was blinking out
of existence - only to appear on a rooftop nearby. The local SCP teams were marshalled,
and they had soon tracked down what seemed to be a very powerful specimen.
But SCP-343 didn’t seem concerned. He reacted calmly when detained by the foundation and
went with them willingly. He was detained in a standard holding cell for interrogation
and examination, but he seemed completely at ease with his sudden confinement. It would
soon become clear that this ordinary old man was anything but. Doctors Beck and Ndlovu were brought in to
consult on the SCP’s classification, and that’s when the first anomalies began. Their
assessments matched initially, but when it came time to describe him physically, things
took a strange turn. Older male, seemingly non-descript and with
no unusual physical features. Caucasian in appearance. Doctor Ndlovu was confused by what Doctor
Beck was describing in his report. This man was clearly black.
The two doctors quarrelled, unable to square their differing perceptions. They decided
to bring in a third impartial view to settle it - their fellow researcher, Dr. Wan. She didn’t take long before coming back
with her assessment. Older male, seemingly non-descript and with no unusual physical
features. Asian in appearance, possibly Chinese. Whatever SCP-343 was, he seemed to be perceived
by each staff member as close in appearance to their own race. But that was only the start
of the anomalies surrounding the old man in the holding cell. Dr. Beck started making regular visits to
the mysterious man, and in their first interview, he asked the old man who he was and how he
came by his abilities. The old man had a simple response. “I created this universe.” Dr. Beck stifled a laugh and decided to indulge
the old man’s delusion. It was a fascinating claim, but could he prove it? Without another word, SCP-343 got up from
his chair, laughed, and turned around and walked through the solid wall in the holding
cell and disappeared. Dr. Beck was about to hit the panic button and marshall the facility’s
security to find him when the strange man reappeared, walking through the solid wall.
The only thing that was different? He was holding a hamburger, which he sat down and
enjoyed. The facility quickly went on lockdown and
a full investigation was done into how SCP-343 breached containment. But there was no evidence
of any security breach, no failures in containment, and no evidence of any other cells failing.
SCP-343 hadn’t broken through the security - he had just ignored it, as if it wasn’t
there at all. When questioned about how he had gone on his hamburger run, he simply repeated
his belief that he was God - in between bites of his fast food treat. This would be far from the only time strange
things happened around SCP-343. SCP containment cells are as secure as they
need to be, but even the least-strict containment isn’t known for its decor. Which is why
Dr. Beck was in for a surprise the next time he paid a visit to SCP-343. The bare-bones
cell now looked like a comfortable home, decorated in Old English fashions. The scientists assumed
that SCP-343 had been making many more trips out of his cell to get accessories to feel
more at home - but that didn’t explain all the changes to the cell.
No one could explain how he had installed a roaring fireplace in the containment cell
- and everyone who entered could swear the cell looked many times bigger than any other
cell in the facility. SCP-343 wasn’t just breaking containment - he now seemed to be
breaking the laws of physics in the facility. The rules of the SCP containment facility
didn’t seem to be a concern to SCP-343, but there was one thing he didn’t seem to
want to do - escape. After every sudden exit, he would always return to his personal cell
and treat it as his home. When interviewed by staff members, he was polite but vague,
and everyone seemed to enjoy talking to him. It was decided to keep him on site, not attempt
to increase his security, but restrict access and keep his room guarded at all times to
ensure only researchers with Level 3 access and above were allowed to meet with him. But God works in mysterious ways. Minimal Security Site 17 was one of the less-restrictive
SCP containment sites, hosting anomalies that could be safely contained and weren’t likely
to mount violent escapes. But as in every SCP facility, security was still taken seriously
and only those with proper clearance could interact with the subjects. So why did SCP-343
seem impossible to guard? While only Level 3 clearance and above were allowed in, the
guards assigned to protect the entrance all seemed to fall down on the job. Security Officer James, who was supposed to
be keeping people out of SCP-343’s cell, had instead let in multiple visitors in addition
to dropping in several times himself. When questioned on why he had gone against orders
and done so, he simply replied that 343 seemed lonely and was so happy every time he got
company that it just seemed like the right thing to do. The security guard was reassigned and new
ones were brought in - but history repeated itself. Guards were given stricter instructions
to minimize exposure - but SCP-343’s presence always seemed to influence them anyway. His
containment cell was a revolving door, with staff members at the facility entering regularly
for friendly conversations. Dr. Beck decided it was time to take matters
into his own hands. He would meet with SCP-343 one-on-one and express how dangerous these
security breaches were. He would try to convince the mysterious being that he needed to stop
influencing the minds of the guards watching him, or the facility would have to look into
new measures to contain him. Dr. Beck entered the containment cell and
had a long conversation with SCP-343, and when he emerged...he had a big smile on his
face, like he had just finished a reunion with an old friend. He gave the current guard
a friendly clap on the back, and told him not to worry so much about security. After
all, nothing bad was going to happen from letting people at the facility visit SCP-343,
right? He wasn’t dangerous in any way. He also said that security should bring him anything
he requests so he would feel less need to leave his cell. Minimal Security Site 17 soon became a model
SCP facility, with morale being the highest of any site - with most giving the credit
to the presence of SCP-343. Employees generally make daily visits to his chambers, and he
seems to have an encyclopedic knowledge of anything they want to talk about - including
things he should have no way of knowing. Guards no longer quit their posts or break protocol,
as their only real duty is to keep track of who meets with SCP-343 so they can be interviewed
and debriefed after. Everyone’s conversation is different, but they all report being in
a better mood after leaving than when they came in. No further information is available on SCP-343’s
origins, the full extent of his powers, or whether he is telling the truth about being
the God who created the universe. The site director rubbed his temples after
hearing the researcher’s explanation. “So what you’re telling me is that we have an
uncontained, highly powerful SCP that has not only been breaking containment whenever
it wants, but has managed to destroy all the files regarding the research on it?” The researcher’s answer was yes. However,
the situation at Site 17 seemed to be stable, and they had come up with a plan that should
help to maximize the positive effect SCP-343 has on the facility. They were even hypothesizing
that staff from other sites and even certain anomalies could be pacified by 343’s presence. The site director wasn’t impressed though.
He wanted the researcher to go back to the drawing board and redo the research. After
all, if all the files were blank, how could they ever learn how to properly contain it?
That’s what the C in SCP stood for after all - containment. The researcher finally had to stand up to
the director though, and told them that it wasn’t a good idea. That they had already
tried everything to contain SCP-343, but that it wasn’t that he broke containment, it
was as if he didn’t even acknowledge that an attempt had been made to contain him. He
was omnipotent, aware of things he shouldn’t, and able to do things that broke the laws
of physics without breaking a sweat. There was no evidence that this was God, the creator
of the universe as he claimed to be, but there also wasn’t any evidence yet to conclusively
prove he wasn’t. The researcher’s best guess was that this
was a powerful reality bender whose abilities knew no limits, and that the only reason he
was staying in the facility was because he wanted to, and doing anything to change that
might cause him to change his benevolent ways. The director sighed. As much as he hated to
admit it, his researcher was making good points. He wanted to meet SCP-343 personally. But
did he need to know anything first? “Well, sir…” the researcher replied,
“he likes hamburgers. But beyond that, he’ll take care of the rest. He’s right where
we left him, in his home - waiting for his next guest.”
The esteemed doctor Thomas Morstead entered the cell of the anomaly. He’d been warned and even chastised by his
colleagues, but who in the foundation could tell him what to do? He was the best at what he did, maybe the
greatest in the whole history of the foundation. As he entered the room, SCP-049 bid him welcome,
cordial as always, so polite in fact that you’d never guess you were talking to a
killer. Doctor Morstead knew the truth of what he
was dealing with, but he also believed he could get through to 049, calm him, exorcise
the devil from him. It was the meeting of two great minds, one
of them human, one of them part-human, part... something that has never been clear. It was to be a battle of wits, and like so
many great battles, this one would turn into a massacre. Before we get to that fateful meeting, there
are some things you should know about the anomaly known as SCP-049. If you saw him in the street the first thing
you’d think of is “plague”, because 049 always looked the same - a man dressed
in black robes with a plague doctor’s mask. But this wasn’t a costume that could be
taken off. In fact it wasn’t a costume at all. It was him… the robes had grown out of him
like an exoskeleton, that horrible mask with the pointed nose wasn’t covering his face,
it was his face, a kind of shell that had seemingly sprouted from bone. The first reports came during World War Two. In a picturesque town in the south of France
called Montauban, people had begun going missing. Children disappeared from their beds in the
middle of the night and weren’t seen again; adults went to the market and never returned. Local authorities searched high and low; they
scoured nearby woods and dragged the rivers, but nothing was found. Because what was happening wasn’t criminal,
there was no clue they could stumble upon or eye witness who would break the case. No, this was something else, something that
the townsfolk could never understand. Word spread, and that’s when a search and
discovery team was sent from The Foundation. It was a cold, dark night in January of 1941
when the team found what they were looking for. They walked through the open door of a small
house located not too far from the grand Château de Richelieu, to find a masked man sitting
next to an open fire. And he wasn’t alone. The floor around him looked like it was moving. Upon closer inspection the team saw that the
floor was covered with writhing, grasping bodies. Its patients as it called them. “Bienvenue chez moi,” said the thing,
“Welcome to my home.” Those so-called patients crawled towards the
team, intent it seemed to cause harm. The hostiles, now known as SCP-049-2s, were
deemed dangerous and had to be eliminated. A sight, it seemed, that didn’t bother 049
in the slightest. It just sat there, occasionally looking up
from writing notes in a leather-bound book as his patients were gunned down. Once the carnage ended it simply closed its
book, stood up, and allowed itself to be escorted away. And that’s the story of how 049 ended up
at the facility, becoming a guest of sorts staying in a Standard Secure Humanoid Containment
Cell, Research Sector-02, Site-19. The few that came into contact with 049, remarked
that it was a pleasure for them. With its impeccable manners, vast knowledge
of medicine and human anatomy, sharp tongue and stinging wit. They almost became spellbound listening to
it, caught in the throes of its charms until, with the simple touch of its hand, it would
drain the life from them. That’s why SCP-049 was classified as a Euclid. That’s why armed guards were always stationed
outside its cell. It’s why doctors took great precautions
when in its presence. And it’s why Doctor Morstead should have
known better. Remember, when 049 was discovered in France
it willingly went with the team, like it was happy it had been found; as if it had planned
its own capture. When it arrived at the facility it didn’t
act like it was contained against its will, it was like it was returning home. Initial findings as to the biology of 049
were that it didn’t require any sustenance at all, not even water. It seemed content to be left alone with its
notebooks. It did not object when it was asked if it
could share some of its notes and gladly handed over its journals, but upon examination it
was discovered that they were written in a language that no linguist or cryptologist
has so far been able to translate. It’s apparent that 049 derives much satisfaction
from seeing so-called experts struggle over its text. Unable to read those notes, a long line of
doctors visited 049 in its cell, each fascinated by what they beheld. It was learned that it has traveled the globe. It speaks many languages, but prefers to speak
what it calls “le langage de l'amour” - French. It asked for only one thing, warm-blooded
animals. The facility agreed to supply 049 with various
kinds, including rabbits, cattle, and even an ape on one occasion. Just like with humans, it could kill the animals
with a mere touch of its hand, sucking the life right out of them. But that wasn’t even the most incredible
part. Soon those animals would rise again, as if
reanimated by 049. They would become, for all intents and purposes,
the living dead. And they were hostile. After several unfortunate incidents, they
were then taken from the cell the moment they arose and disposed of in the incinerator. This was not to the liking of 049, who would
claim it had “cured” the animals. For it, the world was sick…it saw plague
and pestilence everywhere and the meaning of its existence was to rid the world of disease. Humans, it said contained a virus, and had
to be cleansed. In the first days after arriving at the facility,
049 didn’t seem to pose a threat to humans. It was quite friendly in fact. It seemed aware of the fear it caused in staff
and would often go out its way to make them feel comfortable and safe. This was a ruse, of course, or a “canard”
as 049 liked to say. It had no intention to help humans. No, it had come for humans. It wasn’t trapped…it had set a trap. One of the first people to truly upset 049
was Dr. Raymond Hamm, a well-respected physician that had twice been a contender for the Nobel
Prize for his more mainstream work. What had confused Dr. Hamm the most was not
049’s clothes-like exoskeleton, or even his ability to reanimate the dead, but the
bag that it used. 049 was somehow able to pull a seemingly endless
supply of surgical tools from that bag. Sometimes it would even pull out objects that
were somehow larger than the bag itself. It was as if the bag connected to somewhere
else, and that’s what Dr. Hamm wanted to talk about on that fateful day. With 049 on one side of the cell and Dr. Hamm
on the other, he asked, “How is it that you can produce a great quantity of tools
from that bag…I have observed you, and it seems to me, that you are doing the impossible.” “Dear doctor,” replied 049, “The Scourge! The Great Dying, cannot be fought with a handful
of toys. My bag is merely the product of my imagination,
it gives me what I require. You dear sir, it seems, are limited by your
imagination.” It stopped for a second or two and stared
at Dr. Hamm. “I detect you are unwell,” it said, in
a voice not as amiable as before. “It’s just a cold,” said the doctor. “Ah, just a cold? If you had seen what I have seen you would
not utter such insulting words.” Dr. Hamm pulled out some papers from a briefcase
and approached 049, holding them close enough so it could read them. “You see,” said Doctor Hamm pointing to
the results on the paper, “Those animals you say you cured, they were not diseased…they
were perfectly healthy before they died…and your so-called cure, it turned them into something
quite terrible. We found that if they were left alone, they
began to eat each other, and then themselves.” 049 did not respond and after a brief pause
said only, “A good day to you doctor, please close the door on your way out. You should get some rest.” Hamm refused to go, and instead turned the
conversation to this real interest, the bag, demanding that 049 let him see inside of it. “Very well, doctor.” 049 said, “in private.” 049 began to pull a series of long metal poles
out of its bag followed by a rolled up curtain that it hung between them, creating a kind
of medical tent around Doctor Hamm. It seemed to stare for just a moment into
the observation camera outside of its cell before whipping the curtains shut. Doctor Hamm was discovered three hours later,
crawling around the floor of 049’s cell, now another mindless undead. When he was retrieved by security, 049 didn’t
even look up from his notebook. Doctor Hamm didn’t get the incinerator treatment,
but he did receive a fatal dose of drugs. A mercy. A removal team was sent to 049’s cell, but
it said there was no need for special extraction techniques. It would go willingly, wherever they wanted
it to go. It was not, it said, an enemy of the people. “The Hippocratic Oath forbids me to hurt
a human being,” it said while walking to the interrogation center. “My only desire is to offer you my services
and expertise.” The floors and walls of the interrogation
center room were painted a bright white. Even the table was white, which contrasted
with 049, a mass of black, sitting in the middle of the room. During interrogation it refused to admit or
even accept that it had killed Dr. Hamm. “I cured him, I removed the pestilence from
his body,” it said. It was later asked if it regretted its actions,
to which it replied, “Well, good sir, one always regrets the loss of a colleague for
any reason, but I stand by my actions. The pestilence must be abated before it’s
too late.” Every two weeks from that point 049 was given
animals. The scientists at the facility observed it
time and again, touching the animals, killing them, before producing a saw or scalpel and
opening them up. Organs would be carefully removed with perfect
precision. It was astounding to even trained surgeons
just how talented 049 was. “I require a close relative of yours,”
said 049 one day to a young doctor, who expressed shock that it was asking for one of the do
ctor’s family members. “I mean a great ape,” said 049, “not
your dear aunt.” There were several instances of 049 displaying
a crude sense of humor. Staff would almost forget that the thing they
were talking to wasn’t human… almost. And it was Doctor Thomas Morstead that had
supplied the great apes, orangutans in fact, that had been rescued from the rainforests
of Borneo only to be taken to 049’s cell. Then one day something changed. 049 told Doctor Morstead that its work was
done, that it had accomplished what it had wanted to do, and could someone remove the
cured animal from its cell. “I think you’ll find that it’s quite
the work of art. A triumph,” 049 said through the intercom. When the removal team entered the cell they
found the orangutan, or what was left of it. It was lying in the corner of the cell, the
top of its skull had been removed leaving its brain exposed. On its face was an expression of relaxation
and from its mouth it issued very soft squeaks, like that of an infant. 049 said, “Tell Doctor Morstead that it’s
rage mechanism no longer exists, I’ve removed the amygdala and made some changes to the
hypothalamus and limbic system. It is cured and quite harmless.” The next day Doctor Morstead announced that
he wanted to visit 049’s cell himself, after which he heard a chorus of disapproval from
his colleagues, all telling him that 049 was now too dangerous. “Dr. Hamm was sick,” replied Morstead,
“and 049 has assured us that he would never take another human life. He’s never lied to us and I’m going to
take him at his word.” It appeared that 049 had created the perfect
specimen, so what was next? Dr. Morstead had to know. “Everyone is sick,” 049 told Doctor Morstead
after the two had talked for a couple of minutes. “The great pandemic has started. Fear not doctor, I have a cure, no longer
will you humans spread your disease.” “I’m afraid you are wrong,” replied
the doctor, “This pandemic you speak of does not exist. We can happily live with our pathogens. We have done so for millennia.” Doctor Morstead became angry that he couldn’t
get through to 049. “I’m afraid you are suffering from paranoia. It is you who need to be cured”
“You have no idea,” said 049, standing up. “What are you doing?” shouted Morstead,
“you promised you wouldn’t hurt a human again!” “I’m not hurting you, I’m healing you”
049 said and leapt across the room in a flash, placing a hand on the doctor’s head. Morstead slumped to the ground. They were being watched in the observation
room and this had gone too far. He had to be moved to the containment cells,
permanently. Mobile Task Force Epsilon-11 was right on
the scene and burst through the door. “No imagination,” 049 said to himself,
“those humans have no imagination at all.” It began walking towards the task force who
opened fire on the anomaly, but the bullets bounced off its black coat and mask. SCP-049 calmly touched each of the members
of the task force one by one draining the life from them. The last one standing stopped firing and attempted
to run but again 049 leapt across the room, black cape billowing out behind him, and gently
touched the man causing him to drop to the floor. 049 stepped over the bodies of the fallen
team and walked out of the confinement cell. The full details of what happened next are
available only to The O5 Council, what are sometimes called The Overseers. The redacted report that is available reads:
Standard Secure Humanoid Containment Cell, Research Sector-02, Site-19 – subject: SCP-049
Date of breach: REDACTED. Euclid Class SCP-049 breached cell and subsequently
gained access to adjoining rooms and nearby buildings. Breach lasted approximately three days and
five hours. Total Casualties: REDACTED with REDACTED number
of survivors requiring incineration therapy Course of action: Department of Science - Alchemy
Division, suggested injecting anti-transmogrify disinfectant into Class D former prisoners
who were transported to site and allowed to come into contact with SCP-049. SCP-049 failed to reanimate injected prisoners
and “cure” them. SCP-049 acknowledged this failure and surrendered
to Mobile Task Force Alpha-1. SCP-049 then requested to be contained. Present containment under responsibility of:
REDACTED; REDACTED. Present location of SCP-049: REDACTED. End of report. We were a team…despite our differences,
in spite of the terrible things they’d done, we were still a team. That’s not how the higher-ups saw it, though.. No, the guys upstairs with their perfectly
pressed shirts… for them, we were judged by our level of expendability and they knew
that our next mission... was a death sentence. One by one that… that thing, took out my
team, my friends. Snapping their necks so quickly and with such
ease that no sooner did I hear the scream... they were dead. We had been used…I’d been used. Delivered as prey to the predator, a plot
that was sanctioned by the bosses and approved with a blood-red stamp. Why did they do it? I’m still trying to figure that out. Maybe that’s something you can tell me after
you hear how these so-called scientific men left us in the cell, and in the hands, of
SCP-173. For me it had been the best of times before
it became the worst of times. The best, because I’d quickly risen through
the ranks at the facility…the worst because, well, I’ll get to that. I was never the best student. I’d finished high-school by the skin of
my teeth, and my job prospects looked bleak. But I was lucky I guess… Or at least I thought so at the time. You see I have an Uncle Siegfried who did
some work for the government. I never actually knew what he did, just that
it was secretive work. I used to imagine he was some sort of super
spy so you can imagine how excited I was when he found out I needed a job and he offered
to help me out. I couldn’t believe it, I always thought
he hated me. I’d overheard him telling my parents that
I was a no good deadbeat but now he’d had a change of heart and was willing to take
me under his wing. What would I get to do? Undercover intelligence gathering? International assassinations? “Just you wait,” he said. And that’s how I found myself walking into
a sprawling, futuristic-looking facility where they handed me a level one security clearance
card with big bold letters that read… Janitor. But I was happy, just the words “security
clearance” made me feel important and it beat flipping burgers. I pushed mops, turned off lights, fired-up
generators, clocked in and clocked out, but all that time they must have been watching
me, grooming me, waiting for the day they could throw me to the wolves. I should have known; I’ve always been an
expendable kind of guy. After a few years I was called to an office,
and there was a man in a plaid shirt and kind of tweed jacket professors wear. He asked me, “Do you have any idea about
what we actually do here?” And to be honest, I didn’t. I knew that there were many parts of the facility
I couldn’t enter. I imagined that down the maze of corridors
were weapons being built, or prisoners being interrogated, but I had no idea about the
anomalies. How could I? Before I was told anything I had to sign a
bunch of forms…there were so many I thought I’d get to find out who really killed JFK. And while they didn’t come out and say it,
what I inferred was that if I ever talk about what happens at the facility to someone outside
the facility, well let’s just say it’s not the kind of thing they’d spell out on
a piece of paper but it involves padded cells and rusty tools. I wasn’t scared though. I was a part of something big, something secret,
and I loved it. So I signed my life away with no hesitation. Soon after I was introduced to my first anomaly,
the “Safe” class of course. They took me to an observation room and from
that room I could see into another room with a sign on the wall that read, “SCP-067.” I just stood there, waiting for something
to happen, when in walked another guy in a white lab coat. “Welcome to your first anomaly,” he said. “Is it okay if I hook you up to this heart
monitor? We want to gauge your reaction to what you
see.” “All I can see,” I told him, “Is an
empty room with a table and what looks like a pen on top of some papers.” “Correct,” he said, half-smiling as if
I was some kind of idiot, “That’s SCP-067.” I thought about telling him that if I needed
years of training before I could see a pen then I probably should have taken that fast
food job. I could have been shift manager by now. They then brought a young chimpanzee into
the room, small enough to be harmless. One of the guys forced a pen into the scared
chimp’s hand and something strange happened… it started scribbling. Nonsense at first, but suddenly it was sketching
and drawing, faster and faster, I could catch glimpses of words and images. By the time they dragged it out it was flailing
around like it was possessed. “That pen has power” said the man in the
lab coat, “a power whose source or origin we don’t fully understand. That’s why we’re here. That’s why you are here.” One of the guys in the other room held the
chimp’s drawing up to the window. It was a perfect sketch of the Tower of London,
intricate and brilliant. Above the sketch was the title, “Tower of
London: Tudor Period, circa 1541, the year Margaret Pole, the Countess of Salisbury,
lost her head on the chopping block.” Underneath that the chimp had written, “Pity...she
was no traitor, take it from me, I was there.” They didn’t need to look at the heart rate
monitor to see that I was shocked. That was far from the only anomaly I’d come
into contact with, and I must have been doing something right because in time I went from
level 1, to 2, to level 3 security clearance, and that’s when they made me a “Containment
Specialist.” I won’t bore you with all the details, but
as you can guess, I dealt with the containment of anomalies. A lot of my time was spent looking through
small windows in cell doors, making sure that whatever was inside was still inside and still
in one piece. Other times I worked with field agents when
anomalies were brought in, a transition period that the arrested freaks didn’t much like. There was one certain anomaly though, that
I was tasked to oversee on many occasions. I liked to think of it as my pet, but in hindsight,
I was its pet. This was SCP-173, something that was in what
we call the Euclid class, a classification meaning that we don’t fully understand it,
but know is very dangerous. We know it’s intelligent, we know it’s
unpredictable... and we know it will kill. And for that reason, there’s people tasked
with containing it and keeping an eye on it at all times. At first glance, you wouldn’t guess just
how dangerous 173 is. You wouldn’t think it’s incredibly intelligent…
in fact you’d probably think the opposite. That’s because it’s more or less a walking
slab of concrete and rebar with stunted limbs and traces of spray paint that give the impression
of a dopey face. We have to enter its cell twice a week for
cleaning duties. It leaves a disgusting, foul smelling liquid
on the floor, a reddish brown substance that I can only describe as a mix of blood and
waste products. Where that stuff comes from has remained a
mystery since we first contained it in 1993. Going into the cell was always a three man
job because, and this is maybe the weirdest part about 173, it can’t move if human eyes
are watching it. That’s why you need at least two people
watching it at all times. If you were in the room watching 173 by yourself
and blinked you’d be dead before your eyes opened. We don’t know how it moves that fast but
in that fraction of a second of a second your neck is snapped so hard it’s almost like
being decapitated. I’ve seen the videos to prove it. All it took was a sneeze. He wasn’t even finished getting the rest
of the ACHOO out when there was a flash and his partner was left lying on the ground,
his head twisted around the wrong direction. So, you can understand why we now require
three men for any time we must enter 173’s cell. Then a few months ago I was told that a long
process would begin to train and reeducate some future Class Ds. Class Ds are mostly prisoners with life-long
sentences or those we’ve taken from death row and given a new lease on life. We were apparently understaffed, so why not
employ men whose lives had pretty much ended anyway? That was the rationale, or at least that’s
what they told me. I was to train them on their new job... mopping
up 173’s mess, so that me and the rest of the containment specialists could focus on
more important tasks. They hadn’t been through the training I
had, seen what I had seen, but after showing them the video of 173 nearly taking off a
man’s head they were more than willing to follow the rules. They understood not to blink, or turn away,
or sneeze, and that any lapse in focus could lead to a violent death. So I started to show them the ropes, how we
move as a team into the cell and always keep the others informed on what we’re doing. 173 was always sitting in the corner of the
cell, no expression on that crude face, but when we walked in its cell I got the feeling
it knew something had changed. I felt almost as if it was communicating with
me, but I couldn’t tell what it was trying to say. And then it happened. It was a Tuesday afternoon, three days from
the last time we’d cleaned. As usual, 173 had covered the floor with that
horrible liquid. We headed in to clean, my new team alert as
always, and some of them cleaned while others kept their eyes focused on the thing in the
corner. Things were going smoothly when we heard a
noise I knew very well. It was the sound of the cell door locking. Someone must have screwed up. “Hey guys, we’re locked in here,” I
shouted through the intercom. Nothing. “Guys, the damn door is locked.” Nothing. I lost it a bit. “Open the door, will you!” Nothing. My team looked at me, the ones not on eye
contact duty that is, as if I should know what to do…hoping that this had happened
before and that there was some kind of standard plan to deal with it. There wasn’t. We were always observed when in the room and
I knew that a technician couldn’t accidentally lock the door. It was impossible. There were protocols. Someone had done this on purpose. The four of us sat in the corner of the room
as far from 173 as possible, our eyes locked on it. It didn’t move an inch as usual, just stood,
staring at the wall as it always did. We stayed awake through the night, talking
a little, holding on to the slim hope that something had gone wrong. But as night turned to day again we all began
to lose hope. We weren’t sent here to clean. We were a test… totally expendable… lab
rats. But I wouldn’t go down without a fight. We couldn’t just stay up forever, that was
a death sentence. I suggested that two of us stand, one sit
and rest, and one get some sleep. We’d take shifts. A couple hours on, a couple hours off, maybe
if we could show that we wouldn’t give up they’d have time to realize what they were
doing was insane, call off the test, and come free us. We made it through a couple of shifts like
this and it seemed like we’d actually be able to make it another day or two when everything
went wrong. It was my turn to sit and rest when I heard
the worst possible noise… snoring. The con next to me was sleeping quietly so
it must be one of the standers. I glanced over for just a split second and
saw both of them, leaning against the cell wall, dozing. At the same time I saw the flash. Crack, snap, pop. One after another their necks were snapped. I’m not sure how it happened but I was standing
again, staring at 173 who was now in the corner, dead bodies with their heads twisted around
piled up in front of it. I couldn’t take it anymore, I couldn’t
stare at this thing forever, I felt myself giving up. I lowered my head to the ground and then finally
broke my gaze, ready to die. And then… nothing happened. I slowly raised my head back up and -
There it was, it’s hideous face inches away from mine. It was then that I understood what we’d
been containing, what we’d underestimated. I felt again like it was telling me something. It was telling me to close my eyes, to sleep. So I did. But as my eyes closed I didn’t see darkness,
I saw 173, or something like it. But not in the cell, I saw it outside, in
the world, standing over children sleeping in their beds, watching. I saw them hiding in the shadows, staring
out at passers by. Then I realized they weren’t watching, waiting
to pounce. No, they were hiding. My eyes popped open as the door opened and
in rushed six security personnel. They took me outside, jabbed my leg with a
syringe injecting me with something as the world faded away… Incident Report. Time and date redacted. Following the experimental forced interaction
with Euclid Class anomaly SCP-173, subject has ceased responding to external stimuli
and appears to have taken on the traits and behaviors of the anomaly. Subject now spends entire day sitting in corner
of cell staring at wall. Staff are advised to proceed with caution
when dealing with subject as the only behavior they engage in is an attempt to strangle anyone
who enters the cell. No treatments have shown any effectiveness
and subject will unfortunately require incarceration, likely forever.
The SCP Foundation is no stranger to pure evil. Whether it’s a reptile that wants to end
all life, a sadistic old man with his own torture dimension, or the personification
of death itself lurking beyond a limestone cavern. But what if there was something even worse
out there? The embodiment of chaos and cruelty, existing
across multiple realities and dimensions. And what if it was coming for us. This is The Scarlet King - believed by many
to be the ultimate evil behind much of the trouble the Foundation has faced and some
even speculate that fighting him was the reason the Foundation was created in the first place. But what exactly is the Scarlet King? He’s known by many names, almost always
including some allusion to the color “red”, and then a reference to royalty or power-
Harak, Khahrahk, the Red Shah, the Crimson Khan, PTE-616-Mendes-Ex-Machina, the Lāla
Rājā, and of course SCP - 001 to name a few. And like many of the Foundation’s mysterious
enemies, stories about his true nature and origins abound and are often contradictory. According to the official SCP - 001 files
of Tufto’s proposal, symbology of the Scarlet King has existed in multiple cultures throughout
history, with the king often depicted the same way, as a huge, red demonic figure, often
wearing a gold crown of other headdress indicating royalty. He shows up looking similarly within different
cultures’ mythologies, despite existing at different points in history or them not
having the means to communicate with one another. A number of entities that the SCP Foundation
is familiar with are believed to be somehow connected to the Scarlet King, including SCP
- 2317 - a wooden door leading to the realm of a being known as the Devourer, who’s
expected to escape and cause an apocalyptic event in the next thirty years. But really, there’s no way of knowing just
how many SCPs are directly connected to the Scarlet King. Strangely, the Foundation's official file
on the Scarlet King once designated his containment class as Keter, but that has since been downgraded
to Safe. According to the file, any attempt to change
this designation is likely to lead to horrifying results. It is widely known that the Scarlet King still
has considerable influence over a number of groups, individuals, and anomalies in our
universe, and if ever he made his way into our universe, it would likely lead to the
irreversible damage of reality itself, so then why safe? And why are the O5 Council so adamant that
it remain that way? Getting to the bottom of this mystery is exactly
why we’re here today. But, to fully grasp the true nature of the
Scarlet King, we must first understand the man whose life and fate have always been tied
to it: Dr. Robert Montauk. If that name feels oddly familiar to you,
it’s because of its association with one of the Scarlet King’s most recent attempts
to enter our reality: SCP - 231. This SCP, often referred to as the Brides
of the Scarlet King, was formed of seven women - seven, by the way, being an extremely significant
number for the King - all kidnapped by the most recent in a long line of the King’s
devoted cults known as The Children of the Scarlet King. Each of these seven unfortunate women were
impregnated with anomalous horrors, such as the infamous SCP-682, and every time one of
these horrors were birthed, a catastrophe occurred and the mother died. At the time, Dr. Montauk was a prominent researcher
studying this anomaly, and as six catastrophes had already occurred, pressure was mounting
to figure out a way to prevent the final birth. But as he was working on the issue, Dr. Montauk
was struck with a personal tragedy - The mysterious disappearance of his 14 year old brother,
Jacob. In his fear and anger, Montauk believed that
this must have had something to do with the Scarlet King and his disciples. Wanting revenge, Montauk proposed an idea
so horrifying that the details were never made public - a procedure known as 110-Montauk
to be performed on the final bride at regular intervals. However, this wasn’t the end of Dr. Montauk’s
fraught relationship with the Scarlet King - it was just the beginning. To give you some perspective on just how dangerous
the Scarlet King is, the SCP Foundation and the Global Occult Coalition decided to put
aside their differences and form a joint effort to stamp out the Children of the Scarlet King. They were successful in this mission, and
even managed to capture the Children’s leader - a mysterious man named Dipesh Spivak. Dr. Montauk, who’d become the lead researcher
on 231 and 2317, was naturally the first choice for interviewing Dipesh about the true nature
of The Children and of The Scarlet King. Dr. Montauk could never be the impartial interviewer
that the SCP Foundation wanted though, the suspicion that the Scarlet King or the Children
had something to do with the loss of his younger brother, still lingered just beneath the surface. Like a lot of cult leaders, Dipesh was extremely
cryptic in his answers to Dr. Montauk’s questioning. He’d already heard of the doctor from the
reputation of the horrifying Montauk procedure, and was surprised to see him so calm and courteous
in person. A few key facts about the King and his cult
were revealed in the first few rounds of questioning: The Children had once worked with the Serpent’s
Hand before being excommunicated for their allegiance to the King, and they had stolen
sacred texts from the mystical Wanderer’s Library to assist in their summoning rituals. Dipesh also revealed that the Scarlet King
is bound by three Laws - the Law of Blood, the Law of Concrete, and the Law of Howling. Dr. Montauk, confused and frustrated by Dipesh’s
secrecy, had to learn more. He found an old memoir from a former member
of the Children of the Scarlet King, Jack Hearst, who had the ability to invade the
minds of people from the past and experience what they experienced. He recounted a battle between the Scarlet
King and his followers and a group of time-traveling Turkmen warriors from SCP - 3838. Hearst saw both sides of the battle. From the perspective of the Children of the
Scarlet King, their lord ruled over them from an immense fortress embedded in a volcano. From the perspective of the Turkmen, the Children
were starved and beaten peasants, commanded by the King’s voice in the roaring howl
of the wind. Montauk also found extensive records of summoning
rituals performed by various Scarlet King-aligned cults. Interestingly, some of them incorporated the
use of carved SCP Foundation symbols. What could this mean? Montauk returned again to Dipesh, who finally
gave him the truth about the Law of Blood. This is the Law of the Scarlet King - it’s
defined by poverty, violence, starvation, hate, and most of all, fear. Like the serfs in the Middle Ages, persecuted
by and subjected to violence from the nobles. To the Children of the Scarlet King, this
sense of holy pain and awe is the only way to live. The alternative is the Law of Concrete - which
means the modern age, defined by empty safety and false comfort. Buildings, easy to access food, healthcare,
knowledge, technology. This is everything that the Scarlet King despises. But the mystery only deepened as Montauk found
files from a former Foundation operative by the name of Agent de Beauvoir. Montauk learned that the Scarlet King didn’t
seem to appear until after the Foundation was created, and in fact, it seemed that the
greater interest the Foundation took in the Scarlet King, the more powerful he became. How could this be? Things were also getting stranger on a personal
level for Dr. Montauk - Dipesh repeatedly pressed him about his brother’s disappearance,
and the Montauk Procedure, during the interviews. Little by little, it was beginning to take
its toll. The questions still plagued him: What was
the Law of Howling? Who or what really is the Scarlet King? How did he come to be? Montauk’s search was causing him to act
more like the Children of the Scarlet King - ranting about the horrors of the modern
world, how all of us are living a lie. how the only “honest” way to live is suffering
under the dominion of the Scarlet King. This philosophy is summed up in the words
of one cultist named Ariadne Cartwright who said: “We must learn what it is to die. To be enslaved- truly, brutally enslaved,
with no compassion or compunction from our masters. We must learn what it is to be taken towards
a single purpose, to know and truly understand our lack of agency. We must be beholden to a world of gods and
darkness, the tempest-tossed refuse of a race of fools. We must kill modernity, postmodernity, with
all its analysis and sneering observation. There is only one rule; the rule of chaos. For humanity! For life! For the Scarlet King!” Basically, any time humanity tries to exert
control over the world, the Scarlet King gets stronger. Every time they try to understand or organize
or categorize their world, the Scarlet King gets stronger. As colonial and imperial powers conquered
and invaded lands like India, Africa, and South America, and subjugated their beliefs
under western ideas, the Scarlet King got stronger. Montauk was beginning to truly understand
the power of his enemy here, and even worse, he was starting to understand his part in
it. Montauk, slowly being driven mad by the knowledge
he was gaining, realized that the Scarlet King’s greatest enemy - The SCP Foundation
- was also its greatest asset. Every time they tried to understand the monster,
to give him some kind of comprehensible form, they only made him more powerful. Just in time with Montauk’s new revelation,
a red crack appeared in the wall of Dipesh Spivak’s containment cell - a portal to
the realm of the Scarlet King. Foundation staff found that they were unable
to enter the cell, and Dipesh demanded a final interview with Montauk. With no other options, the Foundation relented. In their very last conversation, Dipesh congratulated
Montauk for finally understanding what he was dealing with. The Scarlet King, Dipesh told him, is an idea,
a concept. He is a being given power through the conflict
between the old and new. This is the Law of the Howling - The Scarlet
King’s endless rage at the direction the world and humanity has taken. The King, according to Dipesh, hated the Foundation’s
belief that science and rationality was the true path to progress. The King saw this as little more than petty
arrogance. The reason Montauk’s Procedure on the final
Bride of the Scarlet King was so effective was because it wasn’t born out of science
- it was born out of hate, pain, the desire for revenge, and in the Scarlet King’s realm,
that would be all there is. Unless our world, and especially the Foundation
changed course, the Scarlet King’s rise to absolute power would be inevitable. Montauk, his mind practically gone, asked
one last question: Did the Children or the Scarlet King take his brother, Jacob? When Dipesh told him the answer… no. And in response, Montauk shot him dead. Finally bringing an end to the Children of
the Scarlet King. In light of his new revelations, Montauk begged
the O5 Council to change their ways in order to avoid letting the Scarlet King break into
our reality. They refused, saying Montauk’s ideas were
too radical. But they knew they couldn’t just ignore
the threat posed by the Scarlet King, they would have to take some steps. And so, the O5 council of the SCP Foundation,
the most powerful and secretive group in the entire world, in order to prevent the most
dangerous threat that humanity has ever known from breaking into our reality and enslaving
all the people of the world, finally did something. They changed the classification of the Scarlet
King from Keter… to Safe, and made its description on the official Foundation files deliberately
vague. The O5 council thinks this will be enough
to stop the Scarlet King’s power from continuing to grow, but Montauk knew it wasn’t enough. He had seen the truth, and he couldn’t unsee
it. While the Foundation was going on as normal,
Montauk grew to despise them. He knew the Scarlet King was coming, he knew
that he couldn’t be stopped, and that our whole reality was little more than sitting
ducks. Dr. Robert Montauk is no longer a researcher
for the SCP Foundation, no Dr. Robert Montauk chose a different path. He’s now a child of the Scarlet King, a
devotee of madness, hate, and chaos. You can’t beat the Scarlet King after all,
and as the old adage goes, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”
When an anomaly is first detected by an SCP Foundation Field Agent, it’s up to the Foundation’s Mobile Task Forces to tag and bag the impossible
entities before they can do any more harm. Sometimes these retrievals are uneventful,
other times... not so much - especially when they’re dealing with brutal forces of nature
like SCP - 096, also known as, The Shy Guy. A creature that, from its very first interaction
with the Foundation, had a reputation for being dangerous and needed to be feared. A series of vague sightings and mysterious
disappearances up in the frosty mountains of the Yukon first sparked the Foundation’s
interest. When they were certain that they had an anomaly on their hands, two retrieval
teams - Zulu 9-A and Zulu 9-B - were dispatched to secure and contain the entity. Zulu 9-A
took the lead in a heavy duty chopper, equipped with .50 caliber GAU-19 Heavy Machine-Guns
and carrying an AT-4 Anti-Tank launcher. They were prepared for anything - or so they thought
- as they established a visual on SCP - 096 while two clicks away from the target. They couldn’t get a clear line of sight
on the creature, but it appeared to be stationary, docile, and was making no attempt to flee.
Piece of cake, right? Little did they know that SCP - 096 was just looking away from
them. If it was facing towards them, it’d be a whole different horror story, as Zulu
9-A were about to find out. The team landed their helicopter next to the
creature and were shocked to see that it was completely naked, in spite of the subzero
temperatures all around them. The creature was unnaturally thin, as though it’d been
starved for weeks, with bone-white skin and unnaturally long limbs. The team guessed that
the creature’s arms must have been at least 1.5 metres long, but its docile nature and
insubstantial body mass gave the impression that it wouldn’t prove too difficult to
contain. That is, until they saw its face. Zulu 9-A’s Captain was the lone survivor
of the incident, as he was lucky enough to be looking away when the creature turned towards
his team. The rest of the squad ended up staring eye to eye with SCP - 096, and from that moment
on it wasn’t docile anymore. The creature began to whimper, then cry, then sob uncontrollably
in a way that sounded eerily human. This sudden change in temperament startled the rest of
Zulu 9-A and they opened fire on the creature. Under the hail of gunfire, SCP - 096 entered
a murderous frenzy and began tearing into the hapless squad of soldiers. While its flesh
and organs did seem to take damage as a result of the barrage of .50 caliber rounds from
the helicopter mounted machine guns, its skeletal structure remained intact and it continued
its onslaught, tearing the team limb from limb even after they’d blown practically
all the flesh from the creature. The AT-4 Anti-Tank launcher proved equally
ineffective at stopping SCP - 096 while it was in attack mode, and it was only after
slaughtering the entire team that it returned to its docile state. Nobody knows exactly
what the creature did to Zulu 9-A after the gunfire started, but no trace of the team
was left behind. Zulu 9-B touched down soon after, and with
a grave warning from the Captain not to look at the creature’s face, they were finally
able to subdue it. A bag was placed over SCP - 096’s face, which seemed to soothe it
enough to move it to a nearby Foundation facility. Little did they know, they’d just obtained
one of the deadliest SCPs of all time, and while it may have been under lock and key
for now, it seems inevitable that it would get out and cause more violence and chaos. Research and containment procedures for the
SCP - 096 were put under the command of Dr. Dan, a senior researcher at the site. It was
his job to find out exactly what this being was capable of, and the more he tested, the
more he realized that they were dealing with something truly terrifying. Disposable D-Class personnel were used to
figure out exactly what it was that caused the creature to enter its attack mode. Just
as it had during the initial retrieval mission, SCP - 096 went berserk when any of the attending
personnel saw its face. In this stage, it would enter a period of considerable and unstoppable
distress for one to two minutes - covering its face and wailing loudly. When the period
of distress ended, the creature would mercilessly slaughter every D-Class that had seen its
face, and just like with Zulu 9-A, no trace of their bodies would be left behind. Dr. Dan was horrified and intrigued by this
phenomenon. The creature killed anyone that saw its face directly, but could the same
be said for indirect depictions of the creature’s face - such as images and videos? Dr. Dan
was desperate to find out. More D-Class personnel were brought in to
test this, to frightening results. Dr. Dan found that the creature did indeed still enter
attack mode when people saw pictures and videos of SCP - 096’s face. The creature seemed
to have an innate sense of when people were viewing these representations even when it
should have had no conceivable way of knowing. It didn’t matter how far away or how many
barriers were in place between the viewer and the creature, the attack mode would still
activate. And once it did, it seemed as though nothing could stop the creature from hunting
down the one who saw its face. With all of this new data, special containment
procedures were devised to keep the creature safely under lock and key. Its cell was a
5 m x 5 m x 5 m airtight steel cube, fitted with advanced pressure sensors and laser detectors
to ensure that SCP - 096 remained in its cell without risking anyone having visual contact
with the creature’s face. All cameras and video equipment were strictly forbidden, and
weekly checks for any cracks or holes in the containment cell were mandatory. Of course,
none of this would stop the creature if anyone somehow saw its face. In order to solve that
little problem, Dr. Dan would need to continue his research. To find a method of subverting the creature’s
deadly glance, they needed to know exactly what they were dealing with - but how could
they, when even a glance at a photo or video of the being meant certain death? A potential
solution was proposed - creating an artistic representation of the creature’s face, something
that hadn’t yet been attempted. But how would they achieve such a feat? Simple - they’d
procure a D-Class prisoner with some artistic talent, and they found one who had been a
tattoo artist before becoming a Foundation guinea pig. Dr. Dan formulated an ingenious plan for keeping
this D-Class alive for long enough to accurately draw an image of SCP - 096’s face: He would
be placed in a Bathysphere diving bell several kilometers underwater, and tens of kilometers
away from the containment cell where the SCP was being held. The D-Class was made to look
at a photograph of the creature’s face, and then replicate that image in a pencil
sketch. Dr. Dan first confirmed that the creature’s attack mode is only activated by the creature’s
face by having the D-Class look at a series of photos of the SCP’s body parts one by
one, finally finishing with its face. The D-Class began drawing and even remarked on
how creepy the SCP’s facial features were, despite not knowing the deadly context. Meanwhile, back in its containment cell SCP
- 096 sensed someone viewing its face, and entered its inconsolable crying state followed
by its attack mode. It broke out of containment easily, and began making a beeline for the
D-Class, traversing the miles between it and its prey. The D-Class didn’t know it as
he locked the finished drawing into a separate, autonomous submersible, but he was already
dead. As the drawing made its way up to a researcher on the surface, SCP - 096 dived
into the water, and started swimming down towards the artist. Minutes later, the bathysphere
was breached, and the D-Class was torn to shreds. SCP - 096 was recaptured without issue by
surface recovery team Foxtrot-303-A, and further testing on the drawing showed that artistic
representations of SCP - 096’s face were in fact harmless. From this experience, we
now know that the creature has a gaunt face with totally white eyes, possibly indicating
blindness, and a grossly extended jaw. Nevertheless, Dr. Dan was adamant that SCP - 096 was too
dangerous to be left alive, and requested permission from the upper echelons of the
Foundation to terminate the creature by any means necessary. However, the doctor’s request
would fall on deaf ears, until... It all started with a seemingly innocent image.
(Use this image: http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/incident-096-1-a/G9zmJ.jpg) While it’s now been redacted for your safety,
the black spec inside the yellow circle was once a minuscule image of SCP - 096, taken
unknowingly in the 1990s by a semi-professional mountaineer. One day, they were looking at
old photographs when his eyes passed over the tiny spec without even noticing he had
seen anything. But SCP - 096 noticed, and began entering its attack mode. It tore through its steel containment unit
like tissue paper, causing the release of a nerve agent that killed a number of attending
Foundation staff. The monster then fled the base and began pursuing its prey, with Mobile
Task Force Tau-1 in hot pursuit. Dr. Oleksei, who was helping to manage the site where the
SCP was contained, was in dismay over the situation. Dr. Dan was out of the country
at the time, trying to discover more about the creature’s origins. However, he did
leave the Mobile Task Force with a new secret weapon against the rampaging Shy Guy… Project
SCRAMBLE. SCRAMBLE were state of the art goggles featuring
a new technology created by Dr. Dan, which - using artistic renditions of 096’s facial
features - could detect and scramble the features of SCP - 096 into an unrecognizable form,
preventing the normally deadly effect of gazing upon on its face. In theory, this would allow
MTF Tau-1 to engage safely with 096 once its prey had been eliminated and bring it back
into containment. But disaster struck on two fronts. First, the prey in question was located
in a population center, creating the potential for a huge loss of life. And the second bigger problem was that the
SCRAMBLE technology didn’t work, as stray pixels of the creature’s face would reach
the eyes of the task force before the internal microprocessor had time to scramble them.
The mission turned into a death sentence, as SCP - 096 slaughtered almost the entire
task force, as well as a number of civilians in town - including an infant and its entire
family. It was a monumental disaster, made even worse by a final revelation: Dr. Dan
and Dr. Oleksei had themselves facilitated the entire containment breach and allowed
the resulting massacre to happen, with Dr. Dan hoping it would be enough motivation for
Foundation Command to green-light his research into destroying the creature. Anything that would give him the opportunity
to kill this thing would be worth the bloodshed. His plan worked and the SCP Foundation saw
it his way, approving his request to neutralize SCP - 096. However, success comes at a cost
for Dr. Dan. Once he figures out a way to finally kill the creature, though done in
the line of duty, he himself will be terminated by the Foundation for his crimes against humanity. But considering how much damage SCP - 096
is capable of causing if it ever got to a major population center, or - even worse - was
ever caught on camera and broadcast to a worldwide audience, the doctor himself would likely
deem his own death a justifiable cost. To this day, the Foundation is researching ways
to kill the creature, and they’re still looking for their silver bullet. And the pressure
is on. They hadn’t known about the seemingly innocent picture that sparked the last containment
breach. The one taken decades ago, in which the Shy Guy had only occupied four tiny pixels.
Four tiny pixels that resulted in multiple innocent lives lost. So be careful where you look because who knows
how many other photos of the creature are lurking out there, photos with an innocent
dot in the background. Your eyes glance over it, not even noticing the little blip, until
you hear a distant wailing that seems to be getting closer, and closer, and closer. And
then... it’s already too late. The SCP Foundation does their best to live
up to their famous namesake: They secure and contain anomalies and monsters from all around
the world - or sometimes even off-world - and protect the public from the dangers that these
strange entities might pose. However, despite their efforts to maintain
security and keep their subjects under lock and key, there are sometimes creatures so
clever, so devious, and so determined to escape their captivity and wreak havoc on the world,
that even the SCP foundation struggles to keep them from getting free. One example is SCP-035, or the Possessive
Mask. SCP-035 is one of the most dangerous test
subjects in SCP Foundation custody, and its mere presence at the Foundation has resulted
in untold damage, death, and destruction. It seems innocent enough, to the untrained
eye. The mask, which resembles a classic white
porcelain “comedy” mask - though it occasionally changes its expression to “tragedy” - has
been in existence since at least the 1800s. In the late 19th century the Foundation discovered
the mask in a sealed crypt beneath an abandoned home in Venice. It is unknown how it got there, or how the
Foundation knew to look for it. If there ever was an explanation for its discovery,
it has long since been removed or redacted from the Foundation’s archives. You’re probably wondering: How can a simple
mask leave multiple seasoned Foundation employees dead? Well, like everything at the SCP foundation,
this mask is not what it seems. There is a reason its classification is “keter”,
a designation that refers to an entity that’s excessively difficult to contain - and it
couples this difficulty with a pronounced hostility toward human life, and the ability
to cause widespread destruction in the event of a containment breach. These are qualities that the poor unfortunate
souls assigned to guard SCP-035 would come to understand all too well. The Possessive Mask is a parasitic entity,
constantly seeking out a host willing to put it on. Any human being in the mask’s proximity
experiences a sudden, unexplainable urge to put it on and once they do, there’s no going
back. SCP Foundation research has determined that
once a host has put on the mask, their brain waves are replaced with an alternative pattern,
this one coming from the mask, rendering the host effectively brain dead. Once the host’s brain function has been
eliminated, the mask takes over, piloting their body and even speaking through them. However, the mask can only occupy a host for
a small amount of time before the body begins to decay and decompose, eventually rotting
away completely, leaving nothing but desiccated flesh and bones where there once was a person. SCP-035 is capable of possessing any humanoid
being, whether that’s an actual human being or a lifeless humanoid shape. Despite all their research, the SCP Foundation
unknowingly gave the Mask all the tools and resources it needed to break containment...
and leave a trail of bodies in its wake. For a time, the mask was given “host privileges,”
meaning that it was purposely allowed to occupy a host in order to speak with the scientists
studying it. In order to avoid murky ethical issues, the
host was usually something inanimate like a mannequin or a statue. These conditions, however unsettling, allowed
the researchers to carry out interviews with the consciousness housed inside the mask,
in the hope of beginning to understand it and its motivations. However, SCP-035 lost all access to its host
privileges after it almost pulled off an unprecedented, shocking, and nearly catastrophic escape attempt. In its early days at the facility, when it
was still allowed host privileges, it was contained in a triple locked room and monitored
by several research personnel. These were experienced researchers who had
been with the Foundation for a minimum of five years each, an unusually long tenure
in such a dangerous and mentally corrosive line of work. These research staff members were thought
to be the most capable of handling interactions with the mask, and be able to resist its attempts
at manipulation. Unfortunately, these assumptions were naive,
and seriously underestimated the mask’s power. Research on the mask indicates that the mask
is incredibly intelligent and a skilled manipulator. It has a photographic memory, intelligence
that would rank in the 99th percentile of humans, and the ability to incite dramatic
changes in the behavior in people that it talks to. One particularly infamous interview, between
the entity and an unnamed Doctor at the Foundation, suggested that the mask may even possess telepathic
abilities. The mask was able to give details about the
Doctor’s life that no one else was privy to, including knowledge of an affair that
his wife was having. Following the interview, the Doctor suffered
a psychotic break and committed suicide just 24 hours later. The mask is able to use its superior intelligence,
charismatic personality, and mind reading abilities to get inside the heads of those
it speaks with. It will pull out any and all psychological
stops to get what it wants, leaving broken minds and spirits in its wake. It was really only a matter of time before
it used this skill set to its advantage and attempted to escape its confinement. The day of the escape attempt was like any
other. The research staff, a team of three intelligent,
experienced men, checked into the facility, measured the conditions of the mask’s containment
unit, and began the process of interviewing the mask like normal. Its motions were slow and looked to require
great effort, as its current host was beginning to degrade beyond use. The mask was attached to the blank face of
a mannequin, and corrosive black liquid could be seen oozing from its eye and mouth holes. This liquid is excreted by the mask at a near-constant
rate, and is thought to be at least partially responsible for the accelerated decay of the
host bodies. In spite of the entity’s unsettling, nightmarish
appearance, it was just another day’s work for the men assigned to monitor SCP-035, and
so they carried on with their daily routine. Everything was going according to plan until
one of the men, Dr. Jones, began to behave erratically. He demanded that his fellow scientists leave
him alone with the mask for a while, and allow him to engage in a private conversation with
it. It is unknown what exactly the two spoke about
while the other two scientists were absent, as the security footage captured has no sound. However, several minutes into the conversation
in the footage, Dr. Jones can be seen dissolving into a fit of tears, laying on the ground
and shaking with sobs as the mask dispassionately watches. He then climbs onto his knees, begging the
mask for something, before he embraces it. He holds the mannequin in his arms for five
straight minutes, weeping again, before they separate. After this disturbing emotional display, Dr.
Jones brought the other scientists back into the room with him. What happened next is still uncertain, but
there are a few things that we know for sure. The other scientists began to speak with the
mask. In later interviews, the other scientists
were bordering on incoherent, babbling about various traumas from their lives. One repeatedly referred to a drunk driving
accident where a dear friend was killed, and he was at fault. Another simply cried out for his mother again
and again. Whatever the mask said to them, it was enough
to completely destroy their mental health. After the other two scientists had been emotionally
devastated by the mask, Dr. Jones escalated the situation further. Dr. Jones removed the mask from the decaying
mannequin body, and, shocking everyone who would later review the security footage, placed
it onto his own face. Once the mask was in place, Dr. Jones went
unnaturally still for several moments, as his colleagues looked on. This is where the security footage ends. At the command of the mask which was now speaking
through Dr. Jones, the other two men switched off all security cameras monitoring SCP-035’s
containment facility. The mask, piloting the body of Dr. Jones like
a horrible fleshy puppet, made its way through the facility, avoiding detection until it
reached the exit doors, where it was finally stopped by a team of over a dozen security
guards. Knowing the dangers of touching the mask,
all Foundation employees involved in the re-containment of SCP-035 refused to remove it from Dr. Jones’
face. Instead, he was placed in the locked room
with the mask still on, left alone to be observed over the security cameras until his body had
decomposed beyond use. His body paced back and forth in its cell
for days, flesh rotting and dropping away until only sinew and bone remained. Only when the bones began to turn black and
brittle, crumbling apart into dust, did the body finally stop moving. His family was notified, the mask was carefully
removed from what was left of his body, and his remains were destroyed. The other two scientists involved in the SCP-035
escape attempt were terminated, and their files destroyed. After this incident, a few more failed escape
attempts, and the acknowledgement of the devastation that could have been caused if the mask had
made its way out into the general population, SCP-035 lost its host privileges altogether. Several research staff protested this decision,
insisting that there was more to be learned from speaking with the entity, and citing
valuable information that it had given about other SCP’s. However, the risk was determined to considerably
outweigh the potential reward, and the request to reinstate 035’s host privileges was denied. Several staff members went so far as to erupt
into violent outbursts on 035’s behalf, attacking their superiors who refused to provide
the mask with a new host, clawing at them with animalistic rage. Any staff members that submitted a request
to reinstate said privileges were considered a security threat, and reassigned to a different
SCP or in some cases terminated. Any staff member who had direct contact with
SCP-035 was also terminated, in order to avoid the risk of any more staff-aided escape attempts. The mask is now kept in a hermetically-sealed
glass case, and there is a psychologist on call to provide assistance to anyone guarding
it, in case of adverse effects on their mental health from the mask’s presence. Personnel that work around the mask, even
in its current dormant state, experience frequent violent outbursts and a higher rate of suicide. Even without a host, the mask’s corrosive
effects have spread across its containment facility. The walls of the room have begun to secrete
the same black liquid that emanates from the mask, which tests have revealed to be highly
contaminated human blood, that damages the structural integrity of the walls following
prolonged contact. This blood has begun to form patterns on the
walls, spelling out words and phrases in Italian, Latin, Greek, and Sanskrit, as well as depicting
drawings of ritual sacrifice and mutilation. Staff members also report hearing unintelligible
whispering and horrifying, high-pitched laughter when in proximity to the mask. Further exposure to the mask results in migraines,
hemorrhaging around the eyes, mouth, and nose, and an eventual psychotic break. Between the corrosive substance appearing
on the walls, and the physical and psychological damage to employees, SCP-035 is becoming increasingly
difficult to contain and there are debates among staff as to whether the entity can,
in fact, be contained at all. As soon as possible, SCP-035 will be moved
into a new containment facility, and its previous cell will be isolated from the rest of the
foundation’s property and destroyed for the safety of all involved. We can only hope that the new containment
procedures are more effective than the last ones, and that this mask never makes its way
into the world again. If it does, who knows how many lives it will
claim? In the meantime, if you ever come across a
strange mask and feel a nearly uncontrollable urge to put it on…ignore the whispered pleas
to just try it, ignore the echoing laugher and the sensation of something older and more
powerful than you can imagine rummaging through your deepest, darkest secret thoughts. Turn around, and run as fast as you can in
the other direction. You’ll be glad that you did. It’s 3:00 AM, and the facility is quiet. Office workers and administrators roam the
halls. Security Officers stand at their posts, clad
in advanced tactical armour and carrying standard-issue M4 Carbines. Three Foundation employees sit at flickering
monitors, watching a live feed of footage from the containment cell of the infamous
SCP-106, or as it’s referred to by staff, The Old Man. No Foundation personnel are permitted to travel
within sixty feet of the cell for security reasons, and nobody is permitted to physically
interact with the anomaly without the approval of two-thirds of O5-Command. The observer’s eyes itch and sting from
the hours of unending blue-light exposure, but they can’t look away. The Old Man is crafty – he may have the
insatiable bloodlust of a hungry great white shark, but he’s not mindless. He’s a calculating predator, more sadistic
than the worst human serial killer, and he’s always searching for the next opportunity. According to Foundation records, he’s been
active since at least World War II, and it is estimated that he has hundreds if not thousands
of victims to his name. And many of those made the simple, but extremely
foolish mistake of underestimating him. After all, it only takes a few seconds of
inattentiveness, the briefest moment of distraction, to give him the window he needs. To do what, you ask? Oh, don’t worry, you’ll find out – just
like they did. The Old Man has his nickname for a reason
– most of the time, he really does look like exactly that - an old man. Or more specifically, an Old Man’s decaying
corpse, his body covered in rotten, dark greyish-black flesh that looks like putrid meat. Though the creature has been observed being
able to change shape, the rot seems to run too deep for the Old Man to ever hide it. Foundation employees that have observed SCP-106
for extended periods of time have reported seeing it assume the form of grinning, decayed
children, and women whose rotted flesh barely hangs on to their creaking bones. Just seeing the images through a video feed
is enough to cause a lifetime of insomnia and other sleeping issues. Still, they have a job to do, and the cameras
remain fixed on the Old Man. He’s been completely motionless for three
months, just sitting there, like a Buddhist monk in deep meditation. A novice might see this period of inactivity
as a cause for celebration, but those with experience know that this is merely the calm
before the storm. SCP–106 can remain in a dormant state for
months at a time. Described by Foundation scientists as a “lulling
state,” it is believed that The Old Man is simply waiting for its captors to get soft,
make a mistake, or simply have a momentary lapse in concentration, which is all it needs
to make its move. It had happened so many times before, and
it was about to happen again. One of the observers must have felt an overwhelming
wave of anxiety when he saw the creature ever so slightly twitch. Just a tiny quiver in the shoulder muscles. But that was enough to tell the observer that
their day had just taken a terrifying turn. He grabbed the emergency phone fixed to his
desk and practically screamed into the receiver that 106 is moving, that they needed a tactical
team stat. But it was already too late. He and the two other observers stared into
the monitors with their mouths agape, as a gooey, rust-like substance began to pool around
the creature on the floor of its cell. Slowly, the creature craned its withered neck
around. Its face was fixed into a broad, yellow-toothed,
lipless grin. Its eyes had the kind of dull, flat malice
of an underwater predator. It looked directly into the camera. Directly at them. And smiled. The observers know this was bad. Really, really bad. With what they could have sworn was a little
nod, the Old Man began sinking into the rusty puddle it’d made on the ground beneath it,
until it had disappeared entirely. SCP–106 is capable of phasing through any
solid surface with ease, making it one of the hardest entities to reliably contain,
and earning it a spot on the dreaded “Keter” class – reserved for the anomalies that
are a complete nightmare to keep locked up. Through years of costly research and deadly
trial and error, the Foundation would later devise ways of at least slowing the creature
down. It’s shown to have an aversion to lead,
highly complex or random physical structures, and intense bright light. None of these cause harm to the creature – as
far as we know, literally nothing can – but they’ll at least buy you some precious extra
seconds with which to at least try and escape, seconds the three observers didn’t have. One of them grabbed the emergency line again
and barked into it that they had lost visual on the anomaly. Just then the observers heard a faint crackling
sound behind them, and the hissing of a chemical burn. They turned in horror to see a huge, rusty
burnmark expanding across the wall, right next to the door – which was their only
escape route. They backed as far away from the door as they
could as a rotten hand began reaching out of the mass of corrosive, black sludge, followed
by the grinning face of SCP–106, ready to have some fun. Meanwhile, two heavily-armed Security Officers
– Agents Goodwin and Resnick – came charging down the corridor towards the observation
rooms. It’d become a bleak slogan during SCP–106
escape attempts that all you need to do is “follow the screams.” And that motto was proven true that night,
because awful things were happening to the observation personnel, they were certainly
screaming about it. Of course, even with top-of-the-line firearms,
there was little they could do to harm the rampaging Old Man. He seemed immune to all forms of physical
damage. All they could hope to do was keep the thing
distracted until the scientists and containment specialists finished the preparations to lure
him back into his containment cell. Goodwin surged forward while Resnick covered
his six. Vigilance was key, as – unlike a standard
human combatant – SCP–106 could attack from literally any angle including above or
below. Physical obstacles were irrelevant to him
and no cover was safe. The hardened security officers could see the
burnmark on the wall of the observation room as they approached. SCP–106 was perpetually coated in a thick,
black mucus with powerful corrosive properties that left any surfaces it touched permanently
marred. Foundation Scientists speculated that this
mucus served as a kind of pre-digestive substance that tenderizes meat and bone alike, but to
what purpose this serves is a mystery as the Old Man has never been observed eating. It’s postulated that the only purpose is
causing additional pain. Goodwin and Resnick knew to treat this hissing
sludge as a potential threat, as the corrosive properties would remain active for as much
as six hours before finally fizzling out. The two officers shared a quiet nod, before
Goodwin breached the observation room door with a hard kick. The two of them surged inside, guns at the
ready. In their time working at the Foundation, they’d
seen some truly horrific sights. From the mutilation of D-Class Personnel – typically
death row prison inmates brought in for use as SCP guinea pigs – to the violence and
mayhem of a containment breach. But there was nothing in their past that would
ever make the horrifying sight they saw in the observation room that night feel “normal.” All three observers were dead. Almost nothing remained of two of them, and
the third, while still intact, no longer looked human. He looked like he’d somehow been dead a
hundred years in the brief period that the Old Man had been free. His skin was grey and completely dried out,
and his mouth was locked into a perpetual scream. It was a massacre, but there was no sign of
the Old Man. Goodwin grabbed his radio, and whispered “This
is Goodwin in observation room six. Requesting immediate back up. We have no idea where this thing—”
But his sentence was cut off by a sudden scream from Agent Resnick. SCP Foundation security officers are as tough
as nails – the best of the best, you might say, recruited from the top military organizations
in the world – so hearing one of them scream in fright is a rare if not impossible occurrence. But even they were forced to yell out in fear
when they looked up to see the Old Man standing on the ceiling, grinning down at them. Resnick raised his M4 and shot a three-round
burst at center mass. SCP–106 didn’t care. Even under sustained gunfire from the two
security officers, it didn’t even flinch. The Old Man simply reached down and snatched
Agent Resnick from the ground, like it was picking an apple from a tree. The Old Man held Resnick in one hand and pounded
its other rotten fist into the Agent’s body, breaking all of his bones. Resnick screamed for his partner to help him
but there was no time. Before Goodwin could do anything, SCP–106
began receding back into another slimy burnmark on the wall. Only this time, he was taking his screaming
victim with him. Agent Resnick gave one more horrified scream
before he was pulled backwards into the inky darkness leaving the room silent except for
the burning hiss of the corrosive goo left behind. You might think this would be the end of it,
but no. For poor Agent Resnick, the worst was yet
to come. He was being dragged into what SCP Foundation
scientists refer to as the Old Man’s “Pocket Dimension”, a miniature layer of reality
within our own where the malicious SCP is essentially a cruel, all-powerful God. According to witness reports extracted from
victims who were taken to this little nightmare realm, the dimension resembles a series of
twisting, endless corridors where the Old Man stalks and tortures his captured victims
to the breaking point, manipulating space and time to its own sadistic ends. On rare occasions, the SCP will even release
its victims, just for the joy of hunting, capturing, and torturing them all over again. While Agent Resnick was learning the true
meaning of terror, containment specialists were mobilizing in its cell, preparing the
one known tried-and-true method of luring the Old Man back: Tempting it with the prospect
of causing even more suffering. In order to do this, Foundation personnel
take one of the aforementioned Class D personnel and begin inducing extreme pain by breaking
a major bone or slicing a tendon every twenty minutes. The victim’s agonized screams are then played
over the facility’s intercom, acting as bait for the pain-loving Old Man. The screams echo through the facility’s
otherwise silent halls, as the mutilated corpse of Agent Resnick falls from a new scorch mark
on the ceiling. The Old Man can hear the sounds of suffering
ringing out through the air around him, and he can barely contain his excitement over
the prospect of a new plaything. The snapped femurs, the torn Achilles tendons,
it was all too good to miss. Having had its twisted fun with the security
officers and observers, SCP-106 wandered back to its containment cell, where a new screaming
victim awaited. The other security officers, containment specialists,
and scientists evacuated the area, leaving the Old Man alone with his prey. While the unfortunate Class D was left to
his fate, the rest of the staff commenced clean up procedures, which mainly involved
wiping the brown and black mucus from the walls. It would probably be at least another month
before anything like this happened again, and new personnel would be transferred over
to the facility to replace the fallen. All in all, just another night at The SCP
Foundation. “SCP-682 must be destroyed as soon as possible.” So begins the SCP Foundation file on the dreaded
SCP - 682, a highly-intelligent reptilian monster that has - despite the Foundation’s
best efforts - proved impossible to kill. It may not be the most dangerous SCP out there,
considering that some are capable of eliminating entire realities, but it’s one of the most
iconic, and you’ve probably heard tales of the monster that death forgot, and you
know exactly why everyone is so afraid of the so-called “Hard to Kill Reptile”. It’s been subjected to some of the most
deadly weapons and traps the Foundation could devise, and survived attacks from some of
its deadliest fellow SCPs. But before we tell you about the Foundation’s
many failed assassination attempts against the so-called “Hard to Kill Reptile”,
we need a little more groundwork on what this creature even is. The first thing to know about SCP - 682, is
that this thing wants you and everyone you know dead. Unlike some other creatures like SCP - 096
and SCP - 173, which are murderous but exhibit no real higher processing skills, SCP - 682
possesses cunning, advanced reasoning, and even human-level logical intelligence. SCP - 682 can engage you in conversation,
but just talking to the creature calmly and cordially will sometimes cause it to enter
its “rage state” where it becomes even more dangerous and volatile. The beast is perpetually kept in a huge tank
of powerful hydrochloric acid, melting its tissue to prevent it from reaching its full
potential and going on a rampage. The creature’s most terrifying asset, and
the reason it’s proven impossible to terminate thus far, is its incredible adaptability to
any and all external stimuli. 682 is a reactive being, capable of not only
surviving and regenerating from all attacks, but often incorporating those attacks into
its own wide arsenal. In other words, if you’re hoping to kill
this thing, you better kill it on the first hit - cause if you don’t, you better believe
it’s gonna hit you back a hundred times harder. This brings us to the main event: Some of
the SCP Foundation’s most ambitious and frightening attempts to terminate SCP - 682,
or even understand how it could theoretically be terminated. There are quite literally too many unsuccessful
attempts for us to list them all here, so think of this as a highlight reel of the Foundation’s
most prominent failures. 682 was first cross-tested with SCP - 017,
a humanoid shadow-entity shown to be able to consume matter with its shadows and leave
no traces behind. Tests on tissue samples from 682 showed that
SCP - 017 was able to consume said tissues with no adverse effects. However, when SCP - 017 was placed into the
containment chamber with the actual creature, 682 let out a horrific roar that was so loud
it damaged nearby audio equipment. SCP - 017 fled to the corner of the room,
and 682, in its rage state, attempted to breach containment. Agents managed to suppress and remove the
creature, but no meaningful damage was logged. Attempt failed. SCP - 173 - the Killer statue - was later
brought in, hoping that its thus-far impeccable track recording for killing would hold strong. The second that 173 was introduced into the
testing area, 682 retreated to the far wall and began screeching intensely. It was intelligent enough to know what it
was dealing with here. While the researchers and guards expected
an instantaneous reaction, there was actually a stalemate for over six hours as 682 stared
at 173 continuously. Eventually, the tie was broken when Agents
shot out 682’s eyes with high-caliber sniper rifles, breaking the line of sight and causing
173 to attack. Though 682 sustained damage to several parts
of its body while its eyes regenerated, the creature was not killed. It then regenerated a number of eyes all over
its body, covered in a clear, armored carapace that made them resistant to bullets. The stalemate continued for an additional
twelve hours, as 682 maintained perpetual eye contact. 173 was eventually removed from the containment
unit, and the mission was aborted. Attempt failed. In their desperation, the SCP Foundation resorted
to bringing in another dangerous and seemingly unkillable monster to take on 682: SCP - 096,
also known as The Shy Guy. As astute SCP fans will already know, this
being kills anything that sees its face, with no known exceptions - and when it enters its
attack mode, it’s thought to be quite literally unstoppable. Or, at least, it was. While SCP - 096 was able to destroy 85% of
682’s original body mass during their 27 hour battle, it was left mentally broken - wounded,
and huddled in the corner. To this day, if ever confronted with SCP 682,
the Shy Guy reacts in pure terror, turning away and clawing at his own face. Attempt failed. During a deadly containment breach, SCP - 682
also went head to head organically with another iconic SCP hall-of-famer: SCP - 106, also
known as The Old Man. The Old Man and a shapeshifting, psionic anomaly
known as SCP - 953 broke into 682’s containment cell. The Old Man pulled both of his fellow anomalous
combatants into his pocket dimension to continue the battle on his terms. However, despite losing 67% of his body mass
during the ensuing pocket dimension showdown, 682 still prevailed - with the Old Man eventually
fleeing back to his cell, and 953 being collected and taken away by agents. Once again, SCP - 682 continued to hold the
title. But it wasn’t just cross-testing experiments,
intentional or otherwise. The SCP Foundation’s quest to kill 682 lead
them to a number of more conventional murder methods, all with varying degrees of success. Due to SCP - 682’s highly adaptive abilities,
some methods were discounted from the outset. For example, launching a powerful thermonuclear
missile at the creature was soundly rejected by O5 Command - on the premise that, if the
creature wasn’t destroyed and evolved to the point where it could shrug off nukes,
humanity would be pretty much done for. Other ideas were abandoned just for being
too ridiculous - such as one researcher’s suggestion to fly the creature through the
air and drop it from a considerable height, hoping to kill it with the high-altitude impact. I’m not sure we even need to tell you why
that’s a terrible idea. But, during the experiments on SCP - 682,
the studies ranged from honest to incompetent to straight-up evil. One guest researcher fed two small, innocent
children to the creature, just to see what would happen. He was then himself fed to the creature for
his sadistic behavior, which was viewed as getting in the way of his professional conduct. After all, the Foundation is meant to be cold,
not cruel. It was SCP - 682 that had the monopoly on
cruelty. Memetic Kill agents were a resounding failure. They attempted to dismember 682 with a powerful
laser, only to have the creature develop reflective surfaces that displaced the beam and caused
catastrophic damage to the area around it. They attempted to kill the creature by sucking
all the air out of its containment facility and creating a vacuum, but it expelled a dangerous
gaseous compound that reacted violently and exploded when air was once again introduced
into the room. The Foundation used high-precision blades
to slice SCP - 682 into approximately 12,000 pieces then separated these pieces. Unsurprisingly by this point, this attempt
also failed. The 12,000 pieces reformed a short while later
into the fully operational killing machine we all know and fear. In one particularly frightening display of
intelligence and adaptability, the Foundation attempted to kill 682 with extreme heat, but
it shielded itself by developing a secondary carapace composed of solid helium. When personnel entered the room following
the failed attempt on the creature’s life, it shattered its helium carapace into deadly
shards that fired around the room and shredded all Foundation personnel in attendance. It’d set a trap, and that trap had been
wildly successful. The creature’s ability to adapt to seemingly
any offensive is unparalleled, to the point where Foundation staff have no idea how to
classify this creature - whether it’s organic, inorganic, or even alive at all based on any
definitions we could understand. At every turn, the creature just raised more
questions. What is it? Is it possible to destroy it at all by any
means? Who was even trying to kill who here? Because it certainly seemed like SCP - 682
had a masterful K/D ratio by now. More extreme feats of cross-testing continued
in the Foundation’s growing desperation to eliminate this monster. SCP - 162, which is a hypnotic ball of sharp
objects, hooks, and high-tension fishing line, was introduced to 682’s containment cell. The hooks latched onto the creature and tore
huge portions off, including its entire lower jaw and one of its limbs. However, 682 was still able to breach containment,
kill eleven people, and badly wound 86 others. It regenerated its severe injuries in no time. The beast was even taken to the domain of
The Gate Guardian, one of the proposals for SCP - 001. The Guardian has a flaming sword hotter than
the sun, capable of destroying its targets on an atomic level. Naturally, SCP - 682 survived and regenerated. Perhaps the most fascinating cross-test of
all was between 682 and SCP - 053, who manifests as a kind, innocent little girl with the unfortunate
condition of causing homicidal tendencies in all who come into contact with her for
more than ten minutes. The people with these tendencies would then
attempt to harm the girl, but would immediately drop dead shortly after, leaving the girl
intact. The researchers present anticipated two possible
outcomes here: The optimistic outcome, in which 682 entered a rage state, attacked 053,
and died for good. And the realistic outcome, in which 682 attacked
053, possibly experienced some minor injury or nothing at all, and 053 had to be removed
from the containment cell. But that didn’t happen. What did occur was considerably more shocking
than any kind of violence. When 053 entered 682’s containment chamber,
the monster became uncharacteristically docile. Researchers and staff were baffled, and watched
with amazement as 053 approached the terrifying, immortal, mass-murdering monster...and began
to play with it. 682 even allowed 053 to draw on its face with
crayons. Researchers thought they must’ve been dreaming,
seeing this surreal display play out. 053 even appeared to have affection for this
unkillable misanthrope. It was a single act in defiance of everything
they thought they knew. When Foundation personnel entered the containment
cell to separate the two, 682 went ballistic and killed multiple guards. 053 also wept, sad at being separated from
her new friend. To this day, despite further testing, the
Foundation has no idea how or why this happened. Like many details surrounding SCP - 682, it’s
shrouded in deeply frustrating mystery. And so the tale of SCP - 682 continues, in
spite of the Foundation’s best efforts. The monster continues to breach containment
and slaughter with some regularity, taking out its seemingly limitless hatred for not
only human beings, but anything that dares draw breath. Nobody knows where exactly the creature is
from, what its true nature is, or why its ability to adapt and regenerate far exceeds
any known organism on this planet. Perhaps one day, through enough research and
cross testing, we can someday answer these questions with scientific precision, but until
then, we only have one answer: Hatred never dies. Almost all cross-testing to kill or pacify
SCP – 682 had failed miserably. It faced the Gate Guardian, an SCP with a
flaming sword hotter than the sun – capable of tearing your atoms to shreds – and came
out fine. In its face-off with the horrifying SCP – 096,
also known as the Shy Guy, it broke the Shy Guy’s mind and reduced it to gibbering despair. Even SCPs with supposedly unlimited powers
simply refused to engage the beast in combat. So, when it was proposed that they test 682
with SCP – 999, a creature known among Foundation staff as “The Tickle Monster,” the idea
was considered laughable. 682 had been burned, suffocated, cut up, incinerated,
and growled in the faces of Gods. How could this so-called Tickle Monster ever
hope to survive an encounter, let alone win a fight? Some even believed that this was the last
we’d see of SCP – 999. But what makes this story truly remarkable
is that that isn’t how this played out. As you’ll soon discover, 0SCP – 999 is
an amazing and unique SCP in and of itself, but its secret origins and its interactions
with some other prominent figures in the SCP universe are what make this humble, slimy
creature beyond extraordinary. Prepare yourself for the heartwarming – yes,
you heard that right - the heartwarming story of SCP – 999. Several highly-trained agents on 682 detail
placed 999 into the immortal lizard’s cell. Compared to the giant, reptilian sitting across
from it, 999 wasn’t much to look at – it’s a large, orange, amorphous blob of anomalous
slime. Weighing in at around 120 pounds, SCP - 999
was nothing compared to the monstrosity it was supposed to face. While its weight has, in the past, caused
minor injuries to some of its human handlers, it has never caused serious or long-lasting
damage of any kind to a living thing. Even its diet consists only of candy and sweets,
with a particular preference for M&Ms and Necco wafers. It consumes these treats through the cell
membrane of its slimy body, much like an amoeba. This extremely stretchy membrane means the
creature is highly malleable, including the ability to stretch and flatten itself out
to a mere two centimeters thick. At rest, the creature takes a dome-like shape
around two meters wide and one meter in height. The closest things the creature has to limbs
are prehensile pseudopods, those are the arm-like projections normally seen on single celled
organisms, of which it has at least three. The more you hear about this utterly harmless
creature, the more that matching it up with the pure embodiment of absolute hatred known
as SCP – 682 feels downright cruel. In absolute contrast to the misanthropic attitudes
of the reptile, 999 loves humans. It has a playful, dog-like attitude. Much like an over-excited puppy, when approached,
999 will react with extreme joy and slither towards the nearest person in order to interact. It will leap onto them, using two of its three
prehensile pseudopods to hug the person, while the third nuzzles the person’s face – emitting
high-pitched cooing and gurgling noises throughout. The creature is apparently pleasant in every
conceivable fashion, as even its odor has been reported to smell just like the favorite
scent of whoever is smelling it. Examples have included chocolate, fresh laundry,
bacon, roses, and Play-Doh. It's almost impossible to oversell just how
beloved and benevolent this strange creature is. It’s one of the rare sapient SCPs to earn
the “Safe” class, and it’s allowed to roam freely around its facility at all times,
apart from a one hour bedtime period between 8 and 9 PM. In the rare instances that 999 has caused
harm to a worker at the facility, it immediately began to back away and contract its body while
whimpering in a kind of dog-like apology. The closest the Foundation had ever come to
having a real incident with the creature was the time someone accidentally fed it a can
of caffeinated cola, causing it to become hyper for an hour before becoming visibly
queasy. You’ll be relieved to know that it’s since
made a full recovery. But what would happen when this whimsical
creature is forced to go toe-to-toe with the Foundation’s most ill-tempered monster? The employees observing the test watched in
suspense as 999 began to enthusiastically slither towards 682. It’s no surprise that after being tortured
and almost killed hundreds of times during testing, 682 had grown jaded to the cross-tests
it was regularly subjected to. When it saw this strange, orange blob squelching
across the ground towards it, it sighed and groaned, expecting the worst. “What is that?” the creature asked of its gelatinous guest. SCP – 999 began jumping up and down in front
of 682 like an excited puppy, creating a high-pitched squealing noise. Just as it regarded all living things, 682
thought the creature bouncing around before it was disgusting and hardly worth the effort
to destroy. Was the Foundation even trying anymore? With a single vicious stomp, 682 flattened
the friendly creature beneath one of its feet. Observers were prepared to charge in and liberate
999 from under 682’s claws, but then something truly unexpected happened. The expression on 682’s acid-eaten face
began to slowly change. It was beginning... to smile. Observers recorded a noise that they thought
could have been a chuckle, as the creature growled and said, “Hmmm? What is this…I feel… good…” While the observers looked on, stunned at
what was happening, 999 began to slither and crawl up from between 682’s toes. It reformed on its scaly leg and slithered
up along its side until it reached the neck. There, it began to nuzzle like it had never
nuzzled before. The results spoke for themselves. 682 was grinning and chuckling, repeating
a phrase that the Foundation never would have even imagined coming from 682: “Feel…
so… happy. Happy…happy… happy…” Just when you thought SCP – 999 couldn’t
possibly be more adorable, you learn about its greatest power: Bringing joy. Anyone and anything that comes into contact
with the creature, even in passing, will experience a kind of mild euphoria. As one’s contact with the creature is prolonged,
this overwhelming sense of joy increases, and continues long after you’re separated
from it. Prolonged contact has completely cured depression,
anxiety, and PTSD, along with a number of other conditions, including rage and antisocial
personality disorders. Serial killers practically become saints after
coming into prolonged contact with 999, and in that moment, 682 was no exception. And there truly does appear to be no exceptions. While “causing happiness and joy” isn’t
a dangerous weapon, when it comes to SCP – 999, it is an extremely powerful one. And what’s more, SCP – 999 also appears
to have an innate sense for those who need its help most – with a particular affection
for the hurt and the unhappy. The creature appears to be a true altruist
on a fundamental level, even risking its own safety to help humans during dangerous containment
breaches. In one dramatic instance, 999 leaped into
the air to block a bullet from making contact with a member of staff. As a result, the creature is pretty much universally
loved by all members of Foundation staff. It’s the one SCP who never made trouble
for anyone. Back in SCP – 682’s containment cell,
the beast was still smiling and laughing as 999 rubbed against its neck. It was an event so strange, so unprecedented
that the observers in attendance felt like they were hallucinating. For a few minutes, the monster kept dreamily
repeating the word “happy” but then, suddenly, the creature began to enter a fit of uncontrollable,
booming laughter. It rolled onto its back, slamming its huge
tail against the door. It’d just fallen victim to one of 999’s
favorite pastimes: Tickle Fights, hence how it earned its Tickle Monster nickname among
staff. The tickle fight continued until 682 appeared
to tire and fall asleep, with a smile still on its face. After fifteen minutes of inactivity, two D-Class
personnel were commanded to enter and retrieve SCP – 999 from the containment cell. They did so successfully, but as soon as 999
was removed, 682 roused from its slumber and released a powerful psychic attack from its
entire body while laughing maniacally. It rendered all personnel within a certain
distance incapacitated as they collapsed in fits of laughter, allowing 682 to escape and
go on a violent rampage. However, in spite of this, 999 showed no fear,
and helped save some of the bystanders as security officers subdued and recaptured 682. And even after all this, 999 showed no hard
feelings towards 682, and indicated a desire to play again. It’s a creature whose capacity for love
is so limitless that it’s practically immune to fear. Which is all well and good, because the true
enemy that 999 is destined to face is infinitely more powerful and terrifying than 682 could
ever hope to be. What is this monster, and why should 999 have
to face it someday? The answers to these questions all lie in
the true origins of SCP – 999, available only to those with level 5 clearance and beyond. It’s a perfect example of how something
good can come from the darkest places… There would be no SCP – 999 without SCP
– 231 – 7. SCP – 231 was a collection of seven girls,
all impregnated by horrific nightmares in a ritual performed by a cult known as the
Children of the Scarlet King. Each of these girls, over the years that followed,
gave birth to some of the most horrific monsters imaginable – one of which, according to
some, was SCP – 682. These beings were manifested by the Scarlet
King, a powerful interdimensional nightmare God, believed to be behind a great deal of
the darkness and horror present within our and many other dimensions. Foundation higher-ups have declared the Scarlet
King to be the greatest existing threat to the Multiverse at large, and SCP – 231 was
his latest direct interaction with our universe. The only surviving member of SCP – 231,
SCP – 231 – 7, gave birth in secret. But she didn’t give birth to a monster – she
gave birth to SCP – 999, a being of pure goodness. That’s right: The nicest, kindest, cuddliest
SCP of all is the direct descendent of a being that’s essentially the Dark God of all evil. Feel free to take a moment to absorb that. The creature even healed the girl who birthed
it, and allowed her to return to normal life with her family once more. From its first moments, SCP - 999 was making
positive changes to the world around it. And according to ancient texts from a Scarlet
King-aligned culture known as the Daevas, SCP – 999 is still very much in its infancy,
yet it already has the power to pacify its monstrous siblings like the aforementioned
682. It’s believed, according to some prophecies
and Foundation theories, that the power of SCP – 999 will grow exponentially as it
matures. Why does this matter? Well, it’s believed by some that one day
999 will grow powerful enough to overthrow not only its own monstrous siblings, but the
thought-to-be-unstoppable Scarlet King himself. Not through violence or hate, but through
the pure force of happiness and love burning out the darkness and purifying the corrupted. While the humble SCP – 999 rarely outshines
its frightening competitors, to those truly in the know, 999 is one of the most powerful
and valuable SCPs in existence, and may be the greatest asset in the Foundation’s arsenal
for the war against dangerous anomalous activity. After all, what could strike more fear into
their hearts than the knowledge that it might be love rather than firepower that finally
dethrones the Scarlet King? And for the knowledge that it may one day
save everything we know from a fate so much worse than death with nothing but affection
for everyone and everything, it’s worth offering thanks to the little orange blob,
or at least an extra pack of M&Ms before bedtime.
