It's not every day that the SCP Foundation
opens a brand new site, and appoints a new site director. But today is one of those days. Work is about to begin at Site-41, and a respected
Senior Researcher has been appointed director of the brand new site. He hasn't been told much about it yet, but
he knows a few things for certain: some sort of new, highly volatile anomaly was discovered,
a site was constructed around it, and his many years of loyalty to the organization
have finally been rewarded with a promotion. As he takes his morning shower, his mind races,
turning over the possibilities that this new chapter might bring. Is he up to the potential challenges? Just how dangerous is this new anomaly? What could possibly necessitate the building
of a brand new site just to contain it? Whatever it is, these years of securing, containing,
and protecting have prepared him. He's seen bizarre creatures, cursed places,
and objects that defy the laws of physics. Whatever awaits him in his new position, he
can handle it. He rinses the shampoo from his hair, letting
his jitters flow down the drain with it, and switches off the water. He climbs out of the shower and turns to the
foggy mirror. He sweeps a palm across the glass and meets
his reflection's eyes. His serious expression catches him off-guard,
and he can't help but let his mind wander back to someone else who looked at him that
way, with those stony gray eyes, such a long time ago... He and his brother had never gotten along. Though they shared the same face, the same
hair, and the same eyes, they couldn't have been more different. He was the screwup, the one who couldn't focus
in class and was always bumbling through life like a bull in a china shop. His brother was the golden boy, the star student
who could do no wrong. As the boys got older, he tried to climb out
of his brother's shadow, and tried to live up to their parents' expectations, but anything
he did his brother could do better. He got into a great college, his brother got
into Harvard. He got a job, his brother got a more impressive
one. He got a Honda, his brother got a Mercedes. He fell in love with a girl, and his brother
married her. It seemed like he would never stand on his
own, never be anything but the lesser version of a perfect man. A nasty little homunculus who just happened
to be wearing the graven image of something greater than himself. On the night of his brother's wedding, the
festering resentment had finally come to the surface. He remembers the night in bits and pieces:
a harsh word, a fifth drink, a broken champagne glass. His brother said something that went too far,
cut too deep. Without thinking, he shoved him, just a bit
too hard. He watched his brother fall, watched his head
hit the corner of the table. And then...he was still. Silent. He thought about turning himself in...but
then another thought crossed his mind. Why ruin two futures at once? His brother was gone, there was no coming
back from that. Should he really spend the rest of his life
in prison over a tragic mistake? It didn't seem fair. Instead, he planned. For once, he was grateful for the similarities
between him and his brother. Their handwriting, for instance. He forged a note to his brother's new bride,
telling her that he couldn't take the pressures of his life anymore. He was leaving, fleeing to Europe to start
a new life, with a new name, and leaving all of his old ties behind. Then, he packed his brother's body, the one
that looked so much like his own, into a suitcase. He drove out into the woods, to a place they
had once gotten lost as children, and he buried it so deep no one would ever find it. He’d never forget how he felt that night. Laboring away in the dark forest, face an
unpleasant mess of snot and tears. The end of his shovel piercing the dirt again
and again, until he’d made a big enough hole to consign the case that now held his
own brother’s mangled body. Every shovel full of dirt that he piled back
on, hiding his sin, felt heavier than the last. What had he done? What the hell had he done? But by the time the grim deed was concluded,
rationalizations had smoothed out the hard edges of his crime. There were a million reasons this was okay. This was justified. It was an accident, of course, that much was
clear, but didn’t his brother also have it coming? For flaunting his perfect life in his face
for all these years? And who was the worthless chunk of dead meat
now? The scales were balanced once more. No one would ever know what he did. No one but him, in those moments where he
could see his brother in the mirror, reminding him of his greatest shame, no matter how hard
he tried to forget. But that moment is long gone. He's back in the present now, grounding himself
with a splash of cold water on his face. He shakes off the memories and dresses for
the day. It's time to get to work. When he arrives at the facility, he's shocked
by what he sees. It's a castle, grand and imposing, even if
the years have not been particularly kind to it. The Foundation did not build this structure,
though they've set up shop inside now. His reminiscence has made him late, and he
hasn't even had a chance to look over his paperwork yet. But when you’re a Site Director, what does
it even matter if you’re a little late? You’re the boss. The head honcho. The party doesn’t start until you walk in. Just the thought of it is enough to make his
chest swell with pride. He will have to ask someone to fill him in,
an eager subordinate who won't mind going over the basics of the new facility and what
they are here to study. Like clockwork, a young Assistant Researcher
scurries up to him, holding a clipboard and practically vibrating with energy. She clearly hasn't been working here long. There's still light behind her eyes. He thinks to himself, “the things you see
here will snuff that out soon enough, my dear.” The Assistant Researcher leads him inside
the castle, its guts ripped out and replaced with sleek, modern technology. A stone staircase has been swapped out for
a row of elevators, marble busts exchanged for security cameras and monitors. They enter one of the elevators, and the Assistant
presses the button for the lowest possible floor. They are going deep into the bowels of the
castle, into the belly of the great beast. With a ding, the doors open, and they step
out. The air down here has a peculiar smell, musty
and dull, with a sharp metallic tang of dried blood. Along the wall, he can see a row of prison
cells, eight of them to be precise, all shut tight. They're rusted and old, they've been here
for quite some time. The Foundation didn't put these here. Of course, he realizes with a sinking feeling
in his stomach that he can't quite explain. These cells themselves must be the anomaly
he's here to supervise the containment of. He should have read the file before arriving,
shouldn't have let himself get distracted. Then he would know what he's walking into. "So, here we are!" The assistant chirps, startling the man. He had almost forgotten she was standing next
to him. "Shall I give you the grand tour?" She won't last long here with such a chipper
attitude, he thinks. But he nods, just the same. She walks ahead of him, referring dutifully
to her clipboard as she goes. "This is the first cell. As you can see, all of them are currently
inactive. We'll be performing some tests later, though,
and you'll hopefully get to see them in action. It's really something." She continues walking to the second cell. "There are a lot of potential applications
for this anomaly that, once we understand it, could be incredibly promising." He's only half listening as he trails behind
her. As they near the third cell, the assistant
glances back at him. "I really look forward to working with you,
Sir! I've heard such great things." He opens his mouth to brush off the praise,
to feign humility for her sake, when a sound startles him. The grind of metal against metal, the screech
of a long-disused door. The third cell is opening on its own. The assistant flips through her notes, growing
pale. "This isn't supposed to happen, this shouldn't
be happening..." She stammers, but he barely hears a word. He's staring, transfixed, at the darkness
within. There's a rattling sound, like chains being
dragged across a stone floor. What is about to be unleashed from this prison? He braces himself, remembering all of the
near-death experiences he's faced down in the past. Nothing could prepare him for what finally
appears. A pair of iron shackles, attached to lengths
of chain, shoot out from the shadows, headed right for him. A shackle clamps suddenly around each of his
wrists, the cold metal tight enough to cut off the circulation, digging into his skin. Then, an invisible force on the other end
of the chains begins to pull. He fights it, the shackles cutting into him,
as the assistant screams for help, but his efforts are futile. Whatever wants to pull him closer, whatever
is trying to lock him away, it's far stronger than he could ever be. The chains yank him inside the cell, and the
door slides shut behind him with a crash. He thinks, for just a moment, that he can
see his brother, laughing. Then, he is gone, leaving only an empty cell
and a traumatized assistant behind. Sometimes the sins of the past come back to
haunt you, and unfortunately for this particular man, there's no statute of limitations when
it comes to SCP-567, or The Dungeon. In case the nickname wasn't clear enough,
The Dungeon is not the sort of place you would ever want to be confined. SCP-567 is a series of eight cells located
beneath Foundation Site-41. Each cell has a designated number, from SCP-567-1
through SCP-567-8. Most of the time, the cells are inactive and
indistinguishable from any ordinary prison cell. However, when someone that one of the cells
deems to be guilty of a specific offense enters their proximity, the anomalous properties
of SCP-567 become abundantly clear. Each cell punishes a specific horrible act:
SCP-567-1 targets those who have committed theft, 2 punishes sexual violence, three and
four punish various types of murder, 5 punishes adultery, 6 and 7...I'm afraid I can't quite
make out what it says. Someone appears to have deliberately scratched
out the text in the file. As for SCP-567-8, whatever wrongdoing it chooses
to penalize is still unknown, and it has never activated in the entire time the Foundation
has known of it. Every other cell is completely empty, but
567-8 contains one single, antique wooden chair in the center of the room, nailed to
the floor. The purpose of this chair is unclear. When an individual who has committed one of
the aforementioned acts comes within 2.5 meters of their corresponding cell door, a pair of
shackles will shoot out from within the cell, seemingly materializing out of nowhere. These shackles will then lock around the individual's
wrists and drag them inside, at which point the cell door will slide itself closed and
lock, and the prisoner and shackles will disappear. Multiple researchers have compared this anomaly,
both in its function and its methodology, to SCP-1002 - or Demisers - and SCP-2701,
or True Solitary Confinement, which I have discussed at length before. Since the Foundation first contained SCP-567,
only two prisoners have ever reappeared after being taken. 68 hours after he was first placed inside
SCP-567-3, D-903912 escaped and was found collapsed on the ground just outside Site-41. He died only moments after reappearing, before
any medical intervention could take place. An autopsy showed severe injuries including
lacerations, internal bleeding, and burns on his wrists and ankles. The second subject to ever return was D-937122,
who was found 157 months after being locked in SCP-567-6. In spite of her injuries, which included head
trauma, missing fingers, and the same burn marks on her wrists and ankles, this subject
had a great deal more energy and attempted to attack the Foundation personnel that found
her. She was subdued by several guards, restrained,
and interrogated by an unnamed Agent. Thankfully, an audio log of the interview
was included in the file, giving us a sense of what transpired. "Please state your name." The Agent began. D-937122 did not respond. "Please state your name." They repeated. Again, no response. The Agent sighed heavily and changed tactics. "Look, I am very sorry, and I want to help
you, but we can't give you medical attention unless you cooperate with us. So please, please state your name for the
record." At long last, the D-Class responded with an
intense outburst. "My name? You want to know my name? Screw my name! There is no name! There is no anything! But…but there is. I escaped! I got the metal off! None of the-" And here the audio was corrupted
to the point where I couldn't understand what was being said. After the interference clears, D-937122 could
be heard shouting, "I should be free! Let me go!" A struggle followed, as she attempted to escape
custody. The agent then replied, in an attempt to calm
the D-Class down, "I apologize, but now we have the opportunity to…." "Screw your opportunity! There is no opportunity! There is only escape! You called me a monster. Maybe I am one. But the nightmares……they…..” She briefly broke down into unintelligible
mumbling, before returning to normal speech. “Compared to their crimes, I've done nothing! Nothing at all! I haven't done anything wrong……nothing……." At this point, the D-Class became inconsolable,
all coherent speech dissolving into sobs. The Agent attempted to calm her down, but
she remained hysterical. After several moments of sobbing, the D-Class
began to gasp, as if she was having difficulty breathing. She clutched her chest, and began to go into
apparent cardiac arrest. The Agent attempted to administer CPR, but
it was unsuccessful, and after a few minutes she was dead. An autopsy was ordered following the interview,
which revealed the apparent cause of her death: Her body was covered with tiny punctures,
and a toxicology report revealed an unknown poison in her bloodstream. Though only two people have ever emerged from
SCP-567, they were not the only organic lifeforms to break out of the Dungeon's cells. Every so often, the doors of a cell will open
and an entity will emerge. These creatures are given the designation
SCP-567-9, and they are always aggressive. They do not usually match the description
of any existing animal, instead appearing to be some sort of undiscovered creature. Once an instance of SCP-567-9 has escaped
its cell, it will attempt to leave the dungeon and attack anything that gets in its way. The first instance of SCP-567-9 observed by
the Foundation was a four-limbed creature, approximately 2 meters in length. It walked on all fours but had human-like
hands on its front limbs complete with opposable thumbs and sophisticated enough mobility to
operate machinery. It was highly intelligent and used this intellect
to take out 14 Foundation operatives before it was contained. The details of SCP-567-9-2 have been stricken
from any official documentation. The only thing I can surmise from the file
is that nine personnel were killed after it appeared, and one of the Agents that helped
contain it requested and received psychological counseling for what they experienced during
the process. So, whatever it was he encountered, it wasn't
anything good. During a round of routine testing with SCP-567-4,
while the cell door was open, an instance of SCP-567-9 appeared, attacking and killing
the Researcher leading the tests. The entity was not contained, but, after seven
casualties, was lured back toward its original cell. At this point, the cell deployed its shackles,
and the creature was pulled back inside. The most recent instance of SCP-567-9 emerged
when the door to SCP-567-7 opened and closed spontaneously. This was spotted on the CCTV footage, but
none of the security monitoring the video could see anything leaving the cell. Two weeks later, an Agent assigned to the
Dungeon was found dead in his home, still in bed. The circumstances of his death were virtually
identical to those attributed to SCP-966 - a nightmarish species of creature known as the
Sleep Killer, which I’ve discussed here on the channel before. When the escaped entity was found in Site
41, it was found to resemble an instance of SCP-966, with only a few variations. It was successfully contained, and the onsite
security cameras were upgraded to prepare for future anomalies like it. Though many specifics are missing from the
file, including the exact appearances of the creatures that emerged from the cells, I have
deduced one thing: Wherever SCP-567 is transporting those it deems guilty, it is a prison for
monsters of all species. Humans are not the only ones it wishes to
hold accountable for their crimes. As I was reading about The Dungeon and the
various tests involving it, a rather morbid question came to mind: What would happen to
a test subject guilty of more than one crime? Which cell would claim them? Well, fortunately for my curiosity, and unfortunately
for him, one D-Class found out. D-834200 was used as a human test subject
during initial studies of SCP-567. He was placed in front of SCP-567-6 and 7. Almost instantly, the cells rattled open,
and the shackles shot out to grab him. His left wrist and ankle were ensnared by
Cell 6, and his right were trapped by Cell 7. Then, he was pulled into both cells. Well...part of him was, at least. How can I best explain his fate without causing
too much distress...Have you ever held a wishbone in your hand at a family dinner, while your
sibling or cousin held the other side, and you both pulled until it broke? It was a bit like that. SCP Foundation Site-41 has been established
in the abandoned castle that contains SCP-567, in order to prevent any civilians from coming
across it. The entrance to the Dungeon is kept sealed
at all times, and the doors to each of the cells are monitored via CCTV. If any door is opened without authorization,
Task Force Delta-9, also known as "Hacks", will be deployed to contain the resulting
instance of SCP-567-9. If for any reason it cannot be contained,
the Task Force is permitted to terminate. In order to prevent the unnecessary loss of
any personnel, all applicants to join Task Force Delta-9 must have a clean criminal record,
have never committed a crime at all - even at the behest of the Foundation - have a strong
dedication to the law, and show loyalty to the social contract and the feelings of others. A robust moral compass is considered a vital
qualification to work near SCP-567, lest they become simply one more victim added to its
long list of tortured penitants. The Foundation has encountered many anomalies
over the years that could pose a danger to the organization itself. SCP-567 is no exception. Untold numbers of Foundation operatives have
committed terrible acts in the service of the greater good. They have lied, stolen, and even killed in
order to protect and contain the secrets locked away in files and behind heavily guarded walls. A great deal of caution should be used when
dealing with The Dungeon, no matter how justified a person thinks their past sins might be. After all, there's no chance to plead your
innocence when the very prison that plans to hold you is also the judge, jury, and executioner. Now go and watch another entry from the files
of Dr Bob, like SCP-2128 The Liars Cradle for another supernatural dispenser of punishment. And make sure you subscribe and turn on notifications,
so you don’t miss a single anomaly, as we delve further and further into the SCP Foundation’s
classified archives.
