The fabric of our world is littered with doorways
if you know where to look for them. Tears, portals, anomalies, all leading to places
and planes beyond human imagining and understanding, and SCP-2317, otherwise known as A Door to
Another World, certainly fits that description. Contained and kept at all times under the
watch of armed guards, SCP-2317 appears to be a simple and unsuspecting wooden door in
its frame. It hardly looks like it requires such extreme round-the-clock security or needs
a strange, secretive ritual that the Foundation performs, presumably to keep the door closed.
But, of course, sometimes the most interesting thing about a closed doorway isn’t where
it leads, it’s what it keeps out. Even by the Foundation’s already-high standards,
the requirements and regulations for personnel who are assigned to SCP-2317 seem oddly specific.
Psychological testing is standard practice for to work for the Foundation, but an additional
hurdle that anyone has to clear before even getting to glimpse at this unassuming wooden
door is having a score of at least seventy-two on the Milgram Obedience Examination. It is
also mandatory that personnel assigned to maintaining it are both unmarried, with no
children or next-of-kin, as well as an unwavering, unquestioning loyalty to the Foundation, pure
devotion to its code and objectives. These may seem like strange requirements, after
all, SCP-2317 is just a door…isn’t it? Perhaps there’s a reason that the Foundation
keeps so much of the information about SCP-2317 buried deep under layers upon layers of security,
with only the Overseer Council privy to the full details of its strange nature. Knowledge,
as they say, is power - but maybe knowing too much about whatever is behind that door
can prove deadly. Still, if SCP-2317 is a Door to Another World, an alternate dimension
or parallel reality, it must be safe enough to visit. After all, the Foundation has been
sending personnel in there on a regular basis. Daily, in fact. According to the O5 Council,
this is done as part of a procedure to maintain Active Containment of…something lurking
beyond that old wooden doorframe. But what could possibly warrant such constant maintenance
and surveillance? In accordance with the Foundation’s guidelines,
all staff are required to rotate out of observing SCP-2317 after every two months and spend
the following third month in full psychological counselling before they are permitted to return
to the containment unit housing the Door to Another World. It was after one of these month-long
periods of evaluation that a Foundation guard was informed that his security clearance had
been raised to Level 3 and that he’d been selected for the duty of carrying out 220-Calabasas.
He knew the name instantly; this was the title given to the daily containment procedure that
absolutely had to be carried out. The guard didn’t question these orders,
after all, he’d been selected precisely because of his loyalty to the Foundation.
He did make one request to his commanding officer, however: he wanted to know what had
happened to the last guard that had performed the procedure.
“Didn’t make it out of psychological evaluation,” the officer replied.
Not letting this affect his dedication, the guard was told to prepare for Procedure 220-Calabasas.
Along with a fellow member of Foundation security personnel, the guard was instructed to gather
everything on a strange list. The first was a pre-selected member of Class-D Personnel,
specifically a convicted murderer. Class-D refers to ‘Disposable Class’ personnel,
expendable individuals recruited by the Foundation for the sole purpose of testing SCPs.
Class-Ds were usually prison inmates repurposed for SCP testing, and the one chosen for 220-Calabasas
was no exception, serving multiple life sentences for murders, or at least that was what the
guard had been told. A Foundation personnel member instructed him to refer to the Class-D
solely as the ‘assistant’ from that point on.
Next, the guard collected a live chicken, an obsidian-edged knife, a silver aspergillum
and aspersorium, to be filled with 500ccs of Holy Water that had been blessed by a priest
of the Abrahamic faith, and finally a one-kiloton nuclear device, which, according to instructions,
was to only be detonated in the unlikely event of a catastrophic containment failure. In
other words, the last resort. After following his instructions to the letter
and without question, the guard and his colleague were briefed. The Foundation personnel member
informed them that he’d be joining and leading them in the procedure. The staff member also
specified that henceforth he be referred to as the ‘celebrant’ until the completion
of 220-Calabasas. The guard was acutely aware of how specific these instructions were, but
trusted in the Foundation, knowing that if they wanted this procedure performed a certain
way, then it was in everyones’ best interest to carry out the orders to the letter. But
what the celebrant then went on to explain, raised far more questions about SCP-2317 and
the nature of Procedure 220-Calabasas. The Class-D joining them, wasn’t actually a
Class-D. The assistant, as they were now referred to,
was in reality another Foundation staff member, with a Level 4 security clearance, specifically
tailored to SCP-2317. Every member of staff entering through SCP-2317 and taking an active
role in 220-Calabasas needed to be informed that this assistant was not to be harmed or
treated as a member of Disposable Class. Fighting back the nagging question of why the Foundation
would employ this subterfuge, the guard, along with his fellow security officer, the celebrant
and assistant, prepared for their departure through the Door to Another World at solar
noon, when the sun was highest over SCP-2317. Solar noon, chickens and holy water, this
all seemed like an oddly-occult combination for the Foundation.
As they entered the old wooden door, beyond lay a barren salt plane, stretching out for
kilometers in every direction. This alternate dimension, according to the briefing, was
designated SCP-2317-Prime. The guard immediately noticed a ring of seven pillars directly ahead
of the group as they entered, each of them bearing intricately-detailed engravings unlike
anything from any era of ancient history. Procedure 220-Calabasas was carried out quickly,
but carefully, the guard watching as the celebrant and assistant were careful not to miss a step.
First, the celebrant scattered Holy Water into the center of the pillars with the aspergillum
and aspersorium, looking down at his feet and keeping a steady pace as he stepped counter-clockwise
around them. The guard watched intently as the celebrant completed his circuit around
the pillars and turned to the assistant, anointing his head with Holy Water.
“Seven Seals, Seven Rings, Seven Thrones for the Scarlet King,” he said aloud.
The assistant, with the obsidian blade in his hand, took the chicken and dispatched
it in sacrifice, letting its blood mix with the Holy Water. He then repeated the celebrant’s
circuit in the opposite direction, before stepping into the center of the stone pillars.
“Blood for the Old Gods, Water for the New King,” the assistant recited, pouring the
remaining mix of blood and Holy Water over a patch of salt in the middle of the seven
pillars. Even though he knew it wasn’t his place
to question the Foundation, as the 220-Calabasas procedure took place, the guard couldn’t
help but wonder what all this was for. It seemed so…ritualistic, like something deeply
religious or even magical. He’d never bought into all that occult mumbo-jumbo, even while
working for the Foundation, but he had learned not to question anything, even the strangest
and most inexplicable of sights. Little did he know that beneath his feet,
was an ancient and unknowable horror. A beast, chained and lying in wait. Contained in a
chamber directly underneath the pillars, sat an impossibly-large creature. Humanoid and
obese, its body covered entirely in scales thicker than armour plating. Branch-like horns
protruded from its jawless head, pointing up to chains that hung from the seven pillars
above, each one hooked into the entity’s back. All but one of the chains was broken,
a final, withering shackle keeping the Devourer of Worlds in its underground prison.
Ever since 1894 BCE, when Erikeshan mystics imprisoned it, the Devourer has been waiting
patiently for its inevitable freedom. It knows, as well as the Foundation, that nothing can
be done to prevent the final chain from one day breaking. Even Procedure 220-Calabasas
won’t keep the creature contained, it’s nothing more than a smokescreen, an act, designed
to create an illusion of active containment and maintain Foundation morale until a permanent
solution can be devised to keep SCP-2317 imprisoned. Of course, if the guard had known this, it
would have also explained the need for a one-kiloton nuclear device as part of this staged ritual.
Procedure 220-Calabasas has all the components to trick everyone below the O5 Council, emulating
religious and occult rituals, the increased level of security surrounding the procedure
and its purpose, and telling staff that any failure to correctly, and completely, perform
the 220-Calabasas procedure will result in an XK-Class End of the World Scenario. All
these elements work together to conceal the truth: that one day, the Devourer will escape
and lay waste to our dimension. Knowledge is power, and maybe knowing too
much truly is deadly. Perhaps if the guard had learned any of this, he’d have understood
why his predecessor never made it out of psychological evaluation. Maybe if he had questioned the
purpose of Procedure 220-Calabasas, he'd have learned the true nature of SCP-2317, and what
that doorway kept out. But he was loyal to the Foundation, through and through. As the
team finished performing 220-Calabasas and returned though the wooden door, the guard
took one last glance over his shoulder at the vast salt plane. The entire dimension
was calm, silent, but not peaceful: it was patient. The entity had waited centuries for
its time, and now all it would take was the breaking of the seventh and final chain. One
day. The door was closed behind the guard as he,
the celebrant, the assistant and his fellow security officer stepped back through, their
work done and, as far as they knew, preventing catastrophe for another day.
Only the Foundation higher-ups, the Overseer Council, are aware of the true danger posed
by SCP-2317 and its sole inhabitant. Current predictions are that at some point within
the next thirty years, the Devourer of Worlds will be freed. Any and all attempts to repair
or recreate the chains holding it in place have so far failed. As such, the O5 Council
has elected to continue providing Foundation personnel with the ignorant hope that Procedure
220-Calabasas is an effective strategy for containment.
As we’ve said, sometimes the most interesting thing about a closed door isn’t where it
leads, it’s what it keeps out. In the case of SCP-2317, the unassuming wooden door holds
at bay an ancient creature of untold power, that will one day break free and wreak havoc
in our dimension. Nothing the Foundation does can prevent it, or keep it contained behind
the Door to Another World, and only the Overseer Council knows that any and all efforts to
do so are futile. With all that in mind, we can only hope that the doorway of SCP-2317
stays closed, at least for a little while longer.
A veteran worker of the SCP Foundation sits at his terminal, performing one of the most
critical tasks in the entire organization - creating a file for an as yet undescribed
SCP. But there’s something terribly wrong. His eyes are glazed over, his mouth hangs
open - is this a zombie or a trained foundation researcher? What is going on? Like any large international organization,
it takes more than just the exciting, action filled jobs to keep the wheels turning at
the SCP Foundation. Sure, the head researchers, guards, mobile task force soldiers, and members
of the O5 Command get all the praise, but a legion of number crunchers, cleaners, and
paper pushers are equally important. One such person was archivist Walter Bainbridge, who
had been tasked with digitizing some of the older records that the Foundation had on file. It was when he was innocently recording the
details on SCP - 050 through 060 that he first came under the strange and startling effects
of SCP - 055. But, the most peculiar part, as with all incidences of SCP - 055’s anomalous
effects taking hold, is that Walter had no idea any of it was happening. In his new digitized filing system, he first
took note of SCP - 053. Euclid Class, also known as the Young Girl, this anomaly was
a seemingly normal human female child who provoked homicidal insanity in those directly
exposed to her. Then SCP - 054. Safe Class, a non-aggressive humanoid female made entirely
of, as well as biologically and chemically identical to regular spring water. Next, SCP
- 056. Euclid Class, a being that changes form to suit its environment, but only when
all observers lose focus on it. And then SCP - 057. Safe Class, an underground chamber
that crushes the humans who walk within. It was at this point that Walter received
a concerned message from one of his superiors at Site-19, Mr. Kovach. The message praised
the thorough digitization of the other anomalies’ records, but was confused about why Walter
had left out any mention of SCP - 055. Immediately, Walter was embarrassed. How could he have
forgotten SCP - 055? That iconic anomaly known for...Well, he couldn’t quite say, off the
top of his head, but he’d be sure to look into it. A quick trip to the Site 19 Archives
showed him that there was actually quite a hefty file on the nature of SCP - 055, which
must have been the result of a huge number of studies. What struck him as strange was that all the
files were filled out in pen rather than being typed up, like a traditional file. The majority
of these notes were written in short-hand, too, as though they were frantically taken
during the tests themselves on extremely short notice. There weren’t even any redactions. Walter made a mental note of what he had seen,
put the file back in its proper place, and headed back to his computer terminal. However,
after writing in an almost trancelike state, he looked back on his work to see that he
had written an entry on SCP - 058, a giant, evil bovine heart with insect legs and a scorpion
stinger… Strange, he thought. That’s when Walter got a call from Mr. Kovach
on his Foundation-issue phone, and he didn’t sound happy. He’d given Walter direct instructions
to go back and digitize the files on 055, and instead, he’d been working on 058. What
was the meaning of this? Walter was typically an extremely loyal and diligent employee,
but the verbal barrage from his supervisor had him considering talking back, just this
once, and hoping it didn’t get him demoted to D-Class and thrown into 682’s acid bath
for play time. Walter gulped, picked up some courage, and
interrupted Mr. Kovach’s rant to ask if he had any idea what SCP - 055 actually was.
The line went silent for a moment, then the supervisor spoke again, this time with less
confidence. “Of course I can tell you about SCP - 055.
It’s a classic, one of the first hundred. How could you forget its...Or, um, you know,
its...I think it’s the one with the...” Another long pause, as Mr. Kovach seemed to
search for the words, but instead just trailed off into silence. Knowing that some of the
anomalies on file were dangerous memetic hazards, Walter was worried for a moment that he may
have accidentally killed his boss by getting him to think too hard about SCP - 055. He
asked if Mr. Kovach was okay, and finally got a reply. “I’m sorry, I seem to have zoned out for
a second there. What were we talking about, again?” But this time, it was Walter who couldn't
answer. He had no idea at all what the two of them were discussing just moments ago.
He felt disoriented and kind of sick, like they’d taken some low-level amnestics. Mr.
Kovach told Walter to get back to his filing duties and they’d speak later. Walter then
checked the messages he’d received from Mr. Kovach earlier, and there it was, plain
as day: “You missed 055. Go back and digitize that before proceeding. - Mr. K.” But Walter had never even heard of an SCP
- 055, if such an anomaly even existed! What was going on here? In that moment, Walter realized he was dealing
with something much stranger than just a standard digitization job. After all, how could he
properly complete his duties if SCP - 055 seemed to be impossible to speak, write, or
even think about, unless you were directly observing it at that moment? Walter had to
know, and ask around the entirety of Site 19 to find the answers if he had to. Sadly for Walter, he was about to embark on
a much more challenging task than he could have ever imagined. To paraphrase a supposed
quote from Socrates, “All I know is that I know nothing.” And that’s also about
the extent of the knowledge we have on SCP - 055, also known as The Anti-Meme and the
Self-Keeping Secret. What does it look like? When and how was it obtained by the Foundation?
What are its anomalous abilities? Is this thing dangerous? We may never know, because the only anomalous
ability of SCP - 055 that we’re aware of is the fact that nobody is capable of retaining
any information about it. It’s crucial to note that, whatever 055 is, it isn’t invisible,
or indescribable. Foundation personnel are perfectly capable of entering its containment
chamber and observing it without incident, but mere minutes after leaving the chamber,
any memories of the particulars of 055 seem to spontaneously erase themselves. Hence,
the Self-Keeping Secret. But this didn’t deter Walter. Perhaps his
greatest advantage was that he didn’t know enough about the thing he was investigating
to know how futile his mission was. He wanted to know the unknowable, and a pesky issue
like “impossibility” wouldn’t stop him. He’d get to whoever he needed to at Site
19 to get the answers he needed. Of course most people had no knowledge of the mysterious
anomaly. The common response he got back from his colleagues was, “055? Do we even have
an 055?” While the realization of sudden memory loss
- or the realization of 055’s existence - has been known to cause momentary stress,
there are no known long term physical or mental effects from 055’s anomalous abilities.
It’s a fleeting idea in its purest form - like forgetting why you walked into a room.
055 could be the most harmless object on the Foundation’s roster, or the most deadly.
Either way, we just don’t know. At times, Walter worried he was going insane.
055, and everything related to it, was gaslighting him. Was 055 even real? The one thing that
proved to him that 055 must have existed is that its containment chamber existed. According
to the official records kept by the Foundation on the Site 19 Containment Facilities, 055
is kept in a “five by five by two point five meter square room constructed of fifty-foot-thick
cement, with a Faraday cage surrounding the cement walls.” The report continues that, “Access is via
a heavy containment door measuring two by two point five meters constructed on bearings
to ensure door closes and locks automatically unless held open deliberately.” 055’s
cell is one of the few to have no posted security guards, and any personnel working on other
SCPs in the area are ordered to remain at least fifty feet from the geometric center
of 055’s cell, where the anomaly itself is kept. When he tried to explore further
why the cell was constructed in this manner, he found that - surprise, surprise - nobody
knew. 055 was an anomaly whose containment requirements
were so mysterious that it automatically netted itself a Keter Class designation. After all,
how can you properly contain something you can’t even hope to comprehend? There were
plenty of rumors about the true nature of 055. Some of the more conspiratorial minds
at Site 19 theorized that 055 was actually an autonomous or remotely controlled spy inserted
into the site to observe Foundation operations - or even humanity as a whole. If you’re on the more paranoid end of the
psychological spectrum, this theory makes total sense. An anomaly that’s physically
impossible to remember, even when writings and pictures on the subject exist, would be
a perfect spy. However, this was all ultimately little more than speculation. Walter was barely
any further along than when he started. There were multiple points in his investigation
where Walter seriously considered giving up, until, finally, he had a major breakthrough. Dr. Bartholomew Hughes and Dr. John Marachek
were two scientists that had performed extensive research into 055, and who - Walter hoped
- might have the answers he sought about the Self-Keeping Secret. These scientists were
the first to discover the “Anti-Memetic” nature of 055, performing numerous tests on
D-Class personnel to see if it was possible to create feasible written records, sketches,
or any other records or impressions that could bypass its anomalous effects. The disorienting, memory-ruining effects of
055 also extend to any materials concerning 055. It seemed to be a truly uncrackable code,
but Dr. Hughes may have finally found some cracks in the armor. For starters, the fact we’re able to remember
that 055 is Anti-Memetic is an ironic exception to its Anti-Memetic qualities. This revelation
also inspired another realization from Dr. Hughes: Would it be possible to discover more
about 055 from the process of deduction rather than the typical induction? In other words,
could they possibly learn about 055 by figuring out all the things it isn’t rather than
what it is? Dr. Marachek designed an experiment with Dr.
Hughes to explore this theory. They designed the experiment around a simple question: Is
055 not spherical? In designing the question to specifically find out what 055 isn’t,
they hoped to subvert the anomaly’s Anti-Memetic Powers. Walter was fascinated by this potential method
of getting answers. Marachek and Hughes found that, while the questioning process for those
exposed was often arduous and frustrating, they could now definitely say that 055 is
not a sphere. It is theoretically possible to discover the
true nature of 055 by an almost endless barrage of deductive questions, though whether command
would authorize the resources for such extensive testing is still an open question. Walter, in his desperation, begged Marachek
and Hughes for clearance to view 055 himself. The curiosity had become too great during
his search to just walk away with the single fact that 055 wasn’t spherical. He needed
to see this thing. And after several weeks of filling out forms and cutting red tape,
his wish was finally granted. Walter Bainbridge was allowed a private audience with SCP - 055,
the subject of his months-long obsession. Outsiders observed that Walter spent just
over an hour in the containment chamber, taking photos, drawing sketches, writing down notes,
recording audio logs, and reciting memory mnemonics. He was pulling out every stop to
counteract the anti-memetic effects of the Self-Keeping Secret. He was adamant that he
would not be defeated by his non-spherical nemesis, not after all this time and effort. Once his time in the 055 containment chamber
was over, he retired back to his office to finally digitize his exhaustive findings,
so that his supervisor, Mr. Kovach, would finally get off his back. Walter smiled, took
a deep breath, and began to type. “SCP - 059. Keter Class. This anomaly is
a radioactive mineral that emits a unique radiation known as Delta Radiation. Exposure
to this radiation has caused strange fungal growths on the infected...” Wait, what was
this supposed to be about again? Oh well, it couldn’t have been that important.
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.
Corpses littered the facility, around twenty in total. Their massacre had unfolded in a matter of
seconds despite their advanced armor and heavy weaponry. Their killer, wielding an ancient sword he’d
somehow pulled from thin air, looked upon them with disdain. Weak, unworthy opponents. He breathed heavily - His torso was covered
with bullet wounds and many had punctured his lungs. It was enough to kill a normal man ten times
over, but not him. He was the ultimate warrior. The perfect killing machine. He would need to seek out an enemy more fitting
for his legendary combat skills. He fled from the chamber into a connecting
hallway - where a giant, metal door slammed shut behind him. At the other end of the hall another door
did the same. He laughed at the thought of someone thinking
he could be trapped so easily and charged towards it. But then, large valves began to open all around
him. Torrents of freezing seawater began pouring
in, filling up the chamber and submerging him before he could reach the door. The warrior fought for breath, and he held
it far longer than any mortal man could - especially considering the state of his lungs, but water
always wins. He soon gave his last gasp, and floated, lifeless,
in the hallway. And soon after his body turned to dust and
disappeared in the briny water. But he would be back. He’d always be back. His brother was a different story. Tall and handsome, with a strange Sumerian
rune tattooed on his forehead, he was practically a pacifist and spent most of his days reading,
conversing with the staff, and wandering the facility of his own accord. Upon hearing of the latest incident at the
facility, he gave a sigh. He knew, on some level, that all of this was
his fault. It’d been centuries, millennia even. But was it too late to make things right? Six days later, the two are standing face
to face. This meeting had been a long time coming,
but it was always destined to end in blood and pain. The man with the runic tattoo was unarmed
- the only thing he carried was his regrets. The warrior, eyes full of burning fury, drew
his sword. And not long after, a head hit the floor. Who are these two strange men? And what is the significance of this fatal
meeting? In our own universe, these two may never meet
again. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a universe
out there where they will. And it is that universe where today’s tale
springs from. The story between these two began a long,
long time ago, when they were both set on a course of destruction. But to learn how these two finally met once
again, we only need to go back a few days. While they seem more human than a lot of the
beings under the SCP Foundation’s watchful eyes, there’s no doubt that these two are
anomalous - they’re known as SCP - 073 and SCP - 076, but better known as Cain and Able. From the name alone, most people with a basic
knowledge of the bible could tell that these two have a connection, but the particulars
were largely a mystery to the Foundation. They wanted to know how much of the story
was actually true. SCP Researchers approached SCP - 073 - aka,
Cain - and asked if he’d be interested in reuniting with his brother one last time. It took Cain three days to answer: Yes, but
on one condition - that he was the only person who could abort the mission. The Foundation mulled over this requirement
for three days before the O5 Council finally made a decision - Cross-testing approved. These two brothers, separated by millennia,
would finally meet again - and the SCP Foundation would get to watch what happened when they
did. Of course, for safety reasons, the cross-test
would have to take place in 076’s containment facility - a bedrock chamber two hundred meters
beneath the sea. That would be the closest thing to “safe”
this fateful meeting could ever be. Though safe was really a relative term when
it came to SCP - 076. His escape attempts were as frequent and unpredictable
as they were deadly, and everyone who’d ever worked with him knew exactly why. To the untrained eye, it would seem strange
to create such a complex facility for a three-meter-squared stone cube, known as SCP - 076 - 01. But the cube isn’t what’s being locked
up here. The real danger comes from the corpse stored
inside - known as SCP - 076 - 02, but better known as Able. He’s a lean, olive-skinned man who appears
to be in his late twenties, but his most distinctive physical feature is the fact he’s covered
in an elaborate network of arcane and occult tattoos, largely of scowling, demonic faces
- similar to those found on members of the Yakuza. Whenever Able’s corpse reanimates, as it
does at random intervals, everyone in his vicinity is in terrible danger. He’s capable of pulling bladed weapons out
of miniature dimensional rifts that appear around him, though he does this so quickly
that it seems as though the weapons are simply materializing in his hands. Despite the increasingly complex efforts to
contain him, Able has been able to breach containment and go on brutal rampages multiple
times, killing scores of Foundation personnel in the process. Able possesses superhuman strength, speed,
and durability. During prior containment breaches, he was
able to shrug off rounds from .50 caliber machine guns. He’s torn through reinforced steel doors. He’s even swatted bullets from both handguns
and assault rifles out of the air with a length of steel rebar. Only killing him can truly end one of these
rampages - and the Foundation has had to go to terrifying lengths in order to achieve
this during past containment breaches. He’s been drowned, asphyxiated, crushed,
burned to death with a thermite grenade directly inserted into his chest cavity, and even disintegrated
by the activation of the facility’s on-site nuclear warhead. This may seem like overkill, but if Able ever
made his way into a major population center, the fatalities would be… well, of biblical
proportions. Even death can’t keep him down for long
- his body will rapidly decompose, and reappear intact within SCP - 076 - 01. There’s no telling when he’ll reawaken,
and his periods of inactivity can range from hours to years. Because of this, he must be constantly observed
by guards highly proficient in close combat, always ready to go toe to toe with perhaps
the most dangerous melee combatant in history. He’s such a proficient killer that there
was once a project aimed at weaponizing Able, but this turned out to be a disastrous failure
for the Foundation. When they ran out of missions to give him,
Able’s thirst for blood caused him to turn his blade on his allies with no remorse, hacking
them up with the same ruthless abandon he gave his assigned enemies. Interestingly, Able does seem to have a twisted
sense of honour. He has a respect for combatants capable of
providing him with a real challenge - and has even expressed concern for guards he considers
to be respectable adversaries. But don’t be fooled. There is no reasoning with Able - either you
kill him, or he kills you, and trust us, he’s much better at it than you are. While he’s often overshadowed by world-ending
anomalies or more talkative mass killers like SCP - 682, Able is one of the most deadly
creatures known to the Foundation. Able’s counterpart, 073, is an entirely
different story. Despite his namesake being the first biblical
murderer, this Cain is a far more enigmatic figure. A tall man in his early thirties appearing
to be of Middle Eastern descent, he has two very notable physical characteristics - The
untranslated Sumerian symbol tattooed onto his forehead, and the fact that several of
his body parts - namely, his arms, legs, spinal cord, and shoulder blades - have been replaced
by mysterious prosthetics of unknown origin. Unlike Able, Cain is polite, non-confrontational,
articulate, and communicative. He’s even allowed to wander the facility
he’s housed in freely, though with certain regulations. Namely that Cain is never permitted to come
into contact with plant life or uncovered ground. This is because, in spite of the fact Cain
doesn’t appear to harbor any malicious intent, direct contact with him causes plants to wither
and die, and the ground to become infertile. If Cain was ever introduced into a natural
environment again, he could unwittingly cause an ecological catastrophe with his mere presence. In that sense, he can be almost as dangerous
to large populations as Able. However, Cain’s danger to flora is only
one of his several anomalous qualities. Another is extraordinary mental capabilities,
and a near-perfect memory. His memory and ability to recall is so good,
that some Foundation personnel have suggested using Cain’s mind as a kind of backup server
for the Foundation’s collective knowledge. But perhaps his most well-known anomalous
trait is his ability to act as a kind of immortal human voodoo doll. That’s right: Any damage inflicted on Cain
causes no permanent injury to him, and is reflected back on the perpetrator. While Cain has remarked on still being able
to feel the pain of these assaults, he’s functionally immortal. This damage-reflecting ability has even made
performing certain kinds of tests impossible - as doctors attempting to draw blood from
Cain have found that their sample was actually their own blood, and their skin exhibited
the telltale bruising and puncture marks of blood testing. But, of most interest to the Foundation right
now was the fact that Cain has shown prior knowledge of Able. However, he was cagey when questioned. He refused to add any additional information,
and commented that it would be best if he and Able were never brought into contact. But what does “never” really mean when
you live forever? Cain finally did agree to the test, and while
nobody knows what caused Cain’s change of heart, the Foundation knew better than to
push him and potentially get the entire mission scrapped. Cain was taken from his facility, and transported
to the access point of Able’s underwater prison. The experiment’s design was simple: Cain
would occupy a temporary residence in Able’s containment facility until he next reanimated,
at which point, the interaction between them would be closely observed. Perhaps it would take weeks, months, or even
years before Able once again awoke and left his cube, but when he did, Cain would be there. Thankfully, as Cain whispered soothing words
into Able’s tomb, the resurrection took only minutes. If you were expecting a heartwarming reunion,
think again. Cain tried to apologize, but Able immediately
struck him with a decapitating blow which - due to Cain's damage reflecting properties
- caused him to sever his own head instead. Cain remained at Able’s side as he regenerated,
and as soon as Able did he immediately tried killing Cain again. It went on like this again and again and again. It was an arduous process, and eventually,
even Able began to tire of it. The duo fell into a tearful embrace. Able asked his brother why he killed him,
so long ago. And Cain apologized, saying it was the actions
of a younger and more foolish man. In that moment, the two finally reconciled,
and having fulfilled their bargain with their creator, both finally crumbled into dust. Peace at last. As we said, this didn’t happen to the Cain
and Able of our universe, but when universes are more numerous than grains of sand in an
endless desert, such a thing has indeed happened somewhere out there - perhaps in a kinder
universe than our own. We can only hope that our Cain and Able may
someday get to meet and find the same resolution, but until then, these brothers will remain
one of the most dangerous and fascinating duos in the Foundation’s catalogue. Joseph and Frank were two life-long Squatchers. No, that isn’t an insult – that’s a
self-given title for Bigfoot enthusiasts who are willing to head out into the woods and
search for the legendary Sasquatch first-hand. While most Squatchers will go their whole
lives without ever encountering one, Joseph and Frank were about to get lucky – they
just didn’t know what kind of luck. During a journey through the forests of the
Pacific Northwest, Frank spotted something moving in the distance: A huge, ape-like creature
with greyish fur and human-like movements. Frank thought he was finally laying eyes on
the mighty Bigfoot after decades of searching. What he didn’t know was that he’d just
made a deadly mistake. He had looked directly at SCP – 1000. And there would be terrible consequences. Frank was excited – he’d just achieved
the life goal of any Squatcher. He tapped Joseph on the shoulder and directed
him to look in the direction of the creature. Joseph followed Frank’s direction and stared
into the distance. When his eyes finally came into focus on the
ape-like beast... he froze. His brain just short-circuited. One second, he was about to encounter the
Holy Grail of his hobby, and the next, he was literally brain dead. Joseph collapsed. In the distance, the ape-like creature disappeared
back into the woods. Not that Frank even noticed – he was too
busy trying to wake Joseph but it was no use. Joseph was gone, and Frank had no idea why. The headlines read, “BIGFOOT KILLED MY FRIEND.” Most people either ignored it or laughed it
off. Just a couple of cranks goofing off in a forest
and one of them had dropped dead. Who cares? Well, one organization cared – The SCP Foundation. Mobile Task Force Zeta-1000, the Foundation’s
specialized SCP – 1000 detail, were alerted to the reports. They sprang into action, tracking down and
detaining Frank for questioning. They process a million loony bigfoot lovers
every year, and usually find nothing, but the death of Frank’s friend made it all
too clear – they hadn’t encountered a bigfoot but a real, genuine example of SCP
– 1000. SCP – 1000 rarely ranks among the scariest
or most dangerous SCPs, but underestimating the creature is a terrible mistake because
just looking at it gives you a 2% chance of dropping dead on the spot. Frank, despite losing his friend, was one
of the lucky ones. The Foundation debriefed him before administering
amnestics, and making sure that he’d never venture back to those mysterious forests in
the Pacific Northwest again. Director Jones, the site director charged
with the management of SCP – 1000 populations, was given the information on this latest case
of a SCP – 1000-related fatality. It was a story he’d heard many times before. For Director Jones, they all seemed to bleed
into one another. So, what exactly is SCP – 1000? And how did it leave poor Joseph dead in the
woods? SCP – 1000 is a whole species of large,
hominid ape-like creatures. They’re largely nocturnal, but sightings
of the creature during the day aren’t unheard of. They’re omnivorous, mostly seeming to consume
plants and insects and their fur is usually grey, brown, black, red, or occasionally white. The creatures have large eyes capable of impressive
vision nestled underneath a pronounced, Neanderthal-like brow. Another defining feature is the ridge of bone
on the forehead, much like that of a gorilla, that is present in both sexes. According to Foundation studies, the creatures
exhibit a level of intelligence on par with that of the common chimpanzee, but nowhere
near that of us humans. What they lack in intelligence, though, they
more than make up for in size. The adults can be as large as ten feet tall,
and weigh up to 600 pounds. Despite their great size and impressive strength,
the creatures are neither aggressive nor territorial. In fact, they seem to instinctively avoid
humans, mostly residing deep in the forests of the American Pacific Northwest and in the
Himalayan Alps. There have been sightings of SCP – 1000
on every continent, though the Foundation has taken pains to exterminate all SCP – 1000
populations situated near human population centres to prevent a potential disaster, considering
the 2% chance of instantaneous death upon visual contact. That brings us to our second question: What
is it that makes these seemingly harmless creatures so dangerous? Sadly, for both these unfortunate creatures
and us humans, the danger is beyond the control of SCP – 1000. According to Foundation research, SCP – 1000
likely evolved alongside us homo sapiens, until a tragedy occurred between ten and fifteen-thousand
years ago. A mysterious extinction event eliminated the
vast majority of their species, leaving only one to five percent alive in the aftermath. What happened? It’s believed that around this time, SCP
– 1000 contracted what the Foundation refers to as an “anomalous pseudo-disease.” Meet SCP-1000-f1, a disease that is passed
along at the genetic level, and is so durable that it persists in the species to this day. The tiny fraction of the population that are
immune to its effects manage to survive, but the majority who aren’t immune die shortly
after birth. This is why the overall population remains
relatively low to this day. It’s a disease that only appears to affect
hominids – including humans, chimpanzees, bonobos, and non-immune instances of SCP-1000. Any hominid that lays eyes on a carrier of
the disease has a two percent chance of experiencing immediate brain death. While a two percent chance of instant death
may not seem all that threatening, at least when compared to some other nightmare inducing
SCPs, the truly scary part is that the percentage is cumulative. In other words, the longer one observes a
carrier of SCP-1000-f1, the higher that percentage rises and the greater your chance of experiencing
an abrupt death. According to Foundation studies, the percentage
rises by around one percent every twenty minutes. And the percentage also varies between specimens,
with some exhibiting a terrifyingly high death chance of 90% upon viewing. This death chance continues to occur in dead
specimens if they carried the anomalous pseudo-virus while alive – though thankfully the risk
doesn’t appear to apply to small fur or tissue samples. The Foundation’s true concern actually goes
far beyond SCP – 1000 themselves. Because of the species’ close relation to
homo sapiens, there’s a worry that SCP-1000-f1 could transmit to humans, causing our own
species to meet a similar fate. If humans did indeed become carriers of SCP-1000-f1,
it’s extremely likely that humanity would undergo an unprecedented extinction event,
with billions across the globe dropping dead as brain death sets in en masse. While full extermination of the entire species
has been deemed unlikely, the existential threat they pose to humanity more than justifies
the occasional culling of SCP – 1000 populations. That was a lot to take in, right? First, the creature we thought was Bigfoot
was actually a new species of SCP out in the wild. And second, these creatures could end human
life as we know it if they made it into a population center. But what you’re about to hear next – a
dark secret only available to people with Level 3 SCP Foundation clearance – is the
most shocking SCP - 1000 fact of all... Are you ready? The true secret of SCP - 1000 is that what
you’ve just heard is a lie. There is no anomalous pseudo-disease, and
SCP – 1000 poses no pathogenic threat to humanity whatsoever. Who would spread such a thing? The SCP Foundation, of course. Strictly speaking, the Foundation has disseminated
two direct lies about the nature of SCP – 1000. The first is that of the disease, which does
not exist, nor has it ever existed. The second lie is about the creature’s intelligence
level – they’re far smarter than the average chimp. In fact, they’re every bit as intelligent
as human beings. These were all lies formulated by Director
Jones and the Foundation, as was the very existence of the Bigfoot myth. The Foundation has been spreading information
that makes the very concept of the Sasquatch out to be a joke for decades, all to discredit
and further push the very concept of SCP – 1000 into the shadows. But…why? The Foundation is no stranger to coming up
with cover stories, but why would they put intentional lies into their own files to anyone
below a Level 3 clearance? Well, that all comes down to the horrifying
truth behind the origins of today’s SCP – 1000 population. The creatures were first brought to the attention
of the Foundation by outcast members of the Serpent’s Hand, an organization dedicated
to defying the Foundation’s activities. These members, known as the Children of the
Sun, told them the secret history of SCP – 1000. While at first, Foundation personnel like
Director Jones didn’t want to believe what they were hearing, they soon came to terms
with the horrifying truth. Humans and SCP – 1000 did evolve alongside
each other, with humans occupying the day and SCP – 1000 the night. However, while humans were still basic hunter-gatherers,
SCP – 1000 were undergoing vast intellectual and societal development. They were able to create tools, weapons, agriculture,
stable settlements, domesticated animals, and eventually even fully developed cities. It was like nothing the world had ever seen,
and wouldn’t see for thousands of years to come. Their numbers swelled into the tens of billions,
as they created culture and technology hitherto unimagined – including weapons of devastating
power. Meanwhile, humanity was pushed to the brink
of destruction by their competitor’s rapid and seemingly unstoppable growth. It looked as though the human species had
lost the evolutionary arms race, and would have to bow out, but according to the Children
of the Sun, a trickster forest god smiled upon humanity, and gave them the power to
use SCP – 1000’s weapons and technology against them. 70% of SCP – 1000’s population were wiped
out in a single horrific day, known to the Children of the Sun as “The Day of the Flowers”
– as every flower supposedly bloomed that day during the massacre. Humanity destroyed the entire civilization,
and with the same technology they stole from these unfortunate creatures, the vengeful
humans drove the apes mad. Their higher consciousnesses were blocked
out, reducing them back into the states of mere animals. Once the massacre was done and everything
that was built had been destroyed, we – the human race – used the SCP – 1000 weapons
to wipe any memory of the atrocity from our own minds. The advanced civilization of SCP – 1000
had been wiped from history. Humans returned to their plodding path of
evolution, none the wiser. For thousands of years, all the way up until
today, this time remained a mystery to us. So again, why did the Foundation lie to us? What did they have to gain, by convincing
us all that it was dangerous to even look at these creatures? Well, as the frequency of sightings and the
attempts at communication increased, people like Director Jones became aware of a frightening
possibility: What if the pendulum was swinging back? What if the apes were regaining their lost
intelligence, and worse, still harboured feelings of revenge for what we did to their species
thousands of years ago? Even the mere possibility that they could
do to us what we once did to them is a chance that the Foundation simply cannot take, and
thus, limiting contact between humans and SCP - 1000 at all costs is an absolute must. However, in spite of the Foundation’s fears,
one intercepted message from the apes suggests that their paranoia may be misplaced. This message, translated from an attempt at
communicating with Foundation personnel, reads simply as follows:
“we forgive you; given choice for now, not forever;
let us back in.” It’s enough to make you wonder what species
the Foundation should really be keeping tabs on here. After all, when it comes to meting out violence
and death, humanity has a track record to rival the worst creatures in the Foundation
containment cells. And few examples illustrate that better than
the tragic case of SCP – 1000. Ask yourself a simple question: is the world
around you real? It seems like the answer should be pretty
obvious, of course the world as you know it is real, how else would you be able to interact
with it? Perhaps a better question would be this: how
much do you trust that the world you know is real? How much do you believe that reality, as you
experience it, is constant and cannot be changed by external forces? Now imagine, if you can, an entity to which
the very fabric of reality is like clay, able to be shaped and moulded at will. Then imagine that this entity, this malicious,
twisted, and unknowable horror, has taken a special interest in you. If you can picture such a scenario, then you
may as well be standing in the shoes of James Talloran, a Foundation Researcher assigned
to SCP-3999. Talloran could only have imagined what the
Foundation kept contained in an airtight cell all the way at the bottom of a kilometer-long
shaft; and never expected that it was where his lifeless body would be found. Despite having the entity contained, The Foundation’s
only knowledge of SCP-3999 came from a text document discovered on Talloran’s phone
after his demise. Even their own records indicated no such creature
ever existed. Why? What could possibly shape reality in such
a way that it could hide its own existence from the Foundation and where was it now? The document on Talloran’s phone yielded
some evidence, seeming to be a long, rambling and confused account of some sort of battle
between a reality-shaping entity and the ill-fated researcher sent to examine it. Unlike many of the Foundation’s documents,
the entry for SCP-3999 is riddled with contradictions and strikethroughs, a confusing mess of information
that makes piecing together the mystery of Talloran’s fate all the more difficult. Beneath the strange formatting and uncertainty
surrounding SCP-3999, lies a tale of one man’s torture for the amusement of an impossibly
powerful, and eternally sadistic creature. Based on the information available, it appears
that SCP-3999 was fixated on Talloran. Upon his arrival to the entity’s cell, the
researcher had no idea how long he would spend in the company of SCP-3999, or that he would
never emerge alive. Many SCPs contained by the Foundation require
their own, specially made prisons in order to hold them, and maintain the safety of Foundation
staff as well as the outside world. But imagine if an SCP could turn the tables,
bending the world around a single member of the Foundation, using all of reality as their
own personalized torture chamber. The list of horrors endured by Talloran is
both exhaustive and incomplete, given the length of time he spent with the creature. Shortly after James Talloran was assigned
to Site 118, where SCP-3999 was contained, the entity was somehow able to breach containment,
and began to twist the world around it in the name of a singular, cruel objective: the
torture of James Talloran. The creature, while having no physical description,
possessed the capability to cause either a CK-Class reality-restructuring event or a
ZK-Class end-of-reality event. SCP-3999 was somehow able to both destroy
reality itself, while simultaneously rebuilding it around its prisoner, Researcher Talloran. Every creature, person and machination that
SCP-3999 created was done so with the express intention of making Talloran suffer horribly,
over the course of millions of years, according to the researcher’s own writings. The exact details of how SCP-3999 tortured
Talloran are littered throughout the document he was found with, but it is apparent that
the entity was able to use its reality-altering abilities to continually revive the man after
killing him as a way to prolong his pain. SCP-3999 seemed to be able to use its powers
however it pleased, but focused all its attention and actions on causing misery for one man. It simply enjoyed inflicting suffering. One of the examples of the atrocities James
Talloran suffered at the mercy of a cold, remorseless creature, was witnessing the deaths
of others. Although they were constructed and controlled
by SCP-3999, Talloran saw trained Foundation security personnel drag three people into
the cell. He recognized them instantly as his own family. Talloran was made to watch as his mother,
father and sister were executed with a single gunshot to the head by members of the same
organization that he was a part of. All of Talloran’s professional colleagues
were also killed in front of him, followed by anyone and everyone that had ever come
into contact with James Talloran – including the O5 Council. He was made to watch as they were systematically
murdered one by one, all for the enjoyment of SCP-3999. At some point during the creature’s torture
of Talloran, there appears to have been some attempt to contain SCP-3999 within another
SCP. SCP-2432, a room within a hotel now owned
by the Foundation that appears to compel its guests to write exaggerated positive reviews
after staying there. When introduced to SCP-2432, SCP-3999’s
ability to alter reality seemed to have the effect of creating a dimensional anomaly within
the hotel. A crawl space opened up in SCP-2432, leading
to an almost-identical room. The front door of this new room, designated
SCP-2432-1, led to an alternate dimension that resembled the hotel housing SCP-2432. The rooms of this new version of the SCP-2432
hotel were a seemingly infinite, endless loop of rooms. This dimension also played host to a number
of strange creatures, as uncovered by Foundation research teams that ventured there. Most notably, a creature resembling a male
homo sapien calling itself ‘Researcher Talloran’. This being was dressed in clothing similar
to Foundation researchers, and appeared nervous and confused when approached by personnel,
only to be executed when asking to be told the location of SCP-3999. Later during SCP-3999’s three-million-year
torture session, James Talloran was interviewed with another doctor working for the Foundation. The interviewing doctor had no recollection
of Talloran’s assignment to SCP-3999, and both James’ involvement with the Foundation
and the very existence of SCP-3999 were expunged from the Foundation’s database. As Talloran desperately tried to rationalize
what was happening to him, he told the interviewer: “I have trouble focusing on things now. I just feel a lot of unease. It's like reality has started to feel less…real…if
that makes sense.” Shortly after, he attempted to ask the doctor
for his name, and for him to identify which of the Foundation’s sites they were at. In response, the doctor emitted a strange
noise from his mouth, confusing Talloran. “That's not a name, you just made a noise
with your mouth,” the researcher replied. “Why am I thinking of redactions? How can a word be redacted like that in normal
conversation?” Following this, the floor beneath James Talloran’s
feet disappeared and he was swallowed by darkness, as SCP-3999 continued bending reality to make
him suffer. What followed were multiple failed attempts
from Talloran to either escape from the entity or nullify its abilities to warp reality. SCP-3999 had, at a later point, trapped Talloran
in a stage play version of its cell. As James frantically tried to escape out of
a nearby door, where he hoped to find reality, he was met with a solid wall. “I'm trapped in whatever this place is with
this thing, and there's no outside reality anymore,” he realized. Researcher Talloran tried to understand the
entity, but SCP-3999 defied description, it was simply chaos. In his desperation, Talloran was able to dig
a tiny hole in the floor, through which he could see a light. Filled with thoughts of his beloved family,
his colleagues and the rest of the world that had once existed, he opened the hole wider. It is unclear what happened after this, but
it is apparent that James Talloran was still unable to escape SCP-3999. However, as the situations he found himself
in grew increasingly strange, James Talloran was able to take greater control of his predicament. This is evidenced in the Foundation’s document
regarding SCP-3999: “Researcher Talloran cannot be contained
by this. Researcher Talloran will fight his way back. Researcher Talloran will recontain SCP-3999.” This torture had gone on long enough, and
Researcher James Talloran was determined to be free of the creature that had taken such
sick pleasure in his pain. Talloran at one point was able to subdue SCP-3999,
although it is initially unclear how he accomplished this. There were several attempts made to contain
the entity, using a recursive joke, a melon, the graves of American crime novelist Robert
B. Parker or an O5 Council member, and a roach motel. It is believed that every single one of these
attempts failed. Attempting to beat the creature at its own
game, Talloran tried to turn SCP-3999’s reality-altering powers against it by imagining
the entity as something easier to subdue. These included several mouldy blankets, a
murderous penguin, and a pillow. Eventually, Talloran was able to contain SCP-3999
with the aid of forty-eight trained containment personnel, all of whom were also Researcher
Talloran. During this time, a conversation between the
two was partially recorded, although any dialogue from SCP-3999 suffered from data corruption. Claiming to finally be in charge and in control
of the situation, Talloran interrogated SCP-3999, berating the creature for keeping him prisoner:
“You can't frighten me anymore. For the first million years of nonsensical
containment procedures and tortures and dream logic, it was the worst pain I had ever felt,
but I survived. For the second million years…it was still
the hardest thing I had ever done, but I survived. By the third million years, I was growing
numb.” The researcher tried to ascertain the exact
nature and origin of SCP-3999, but to no avail. Vowing to fight the entity, Talloran told
it: “Here's the thing about horror and weirdness:
the more you reveal of it, the less effect it has. I am sick of your horror. I am sick of you.” Afterwards, he was melted into goo for five
years. It appears that, shortly after this, Researcher
Talloran managed to understand how to destroy SCP-3999. While the entity was immortal and virtually
unstoppable, he realized its weakness: that it had to bond to another being in order to
survive. Upon discovering this, Talloran took his own
life, causing all that SCP-3999 had done to disappear. After Foundation Researcher James Talloran
committed suicide, reality reverted to its original state before SCP-3999 had heavily
altered it, his death freeing reality from the evil entity once and for all. The Foundation remains unaware of what SCP-3999
was, or indeed is, and one can only guess as to why the entity subjugated Talloran to
such torture and horror. What made this powerful reality-bender hold
such a perverse fixation on one man? Some have likened the creature to a horror
writer, continually subjecting a character to all manner of nightmares before deciding
to redraft and try something new. Whatever it was, SCP-3999 carries with it
a warning that reality isn’t always as it seems.
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.
Mobile Task Force Edna-84, also known by the code name “And Thus Upon His Crucible”, is on one of the strangest missions they’ve
ever been sent on. They sit in a darkened room, beads of sweat
trickling down their brows. The lights of computer monitors shine up into
their faces. They’re tackling a monster that, if it escapes,
will literally devour all of creation. It has no fear, it has no remorse, and if
it isn’t kept contained by Edna-84, it may escape and wreak havoc across the world. Oh, and did we mention it’s trapped inside
a Minecraft server? You heard us right: SCP-4335 is a cognitohazardous,
extradimensional being of pure terror, trapped inside a procedurally generated world in the
immensely popular game Minecraft. You hear about a lot of horrifying monsters
being described as Lovecraftian, but only this monster is Minecraftian. There’s a lot that needs explaining here,
and we intend to get to all of it, but let’s start with how the Foundation keeps this truly
exceptional beast contained. The Foundation first discovered SCP-4335 back
in 2010, shortly after the Alpha Version of Minecraft was released. Because of the online nature of the game,
it’s proven to be impossible to contain 4335 externally, seeing as it isn’t confined
to any one physical location. Shutting off the server 4335 is found in is
not an effective containment method either, as this just causes the entity to simply hop
to a different server. The Foundation’s greatest fear is that 4335
will one day make the leap out of Minecraft and cause chaos in our world. That’s why it’s imperative to draft Containment
Procedures for SCP-4335 within the game. This led to the creation of a containment
site unlike any other: Site-M1, the first official Foundation Site made entirely out
of Minecraft blocks. Everyone who was originally involved in the
server has been removed and amnesthetized. Since then, elite SCP Foundation Containment
Specialists and Gamers have been constructing the perfect prison for SCP-4335. Site-M1 is a large, stone complex built into
the side of a mountain. It has a number of key features - including
a supply area filled with materials vital for 4335’s continued containment. Chests filled with books that contain SCP-4335's
containment procedures. A few animal farms, for the purpose of breeding
and killing livestock for their meat. The entrance to a mine. Several chests containing books specifically
designed for civilians to learn about 4335, if they ever breach containment and enter
the server. And of course, the actual containment chamber
for SCP-4335 itself, which is a little more complicated. 4335’s containment chamber is built out
of several layers, all made from iron blocks. The outermost cube is 75 x 75 x 75 blocks,
the inner cube is 55 x 55 x 55 blocks, and the innermost cube is 25 x 25 x 25 blocks,
creating several levels of defense. Finally one layer within all these others,
which contains the anomaly proper, is made from obsidian blocks. SCP-4335 is bound into the center of the containment
chamber with a complex mechanism. The outermost cube is completely filled with
water, and several dispensers capable of rapidly dispensing large amounts of items in a short
amount of time line the cube. The cube also contains several mob farms,
which are devices that constantly spawn enemies into the chamber that drop loot when they
die. The chamber is essentially designed to funnel
a constant flow of items inwards to SCP-4335. There are even contingency measures for if
SCP-4335 manages to breach containment. If escape is attempted, blocks of TNT detonate
above the ceiling, causing lava to pour into the chamber. At that point, MTF Edna-84 are dispatched
into the server to lure 4335 back into its containment chamber. To do this, they use a mix of fire-resistance
potions and Ender Pearls - which have teleportation capabilities. Interestingly, there’s one more basic method
of luring SCP-4335 back into the obsidian cube: Taunting and insulting. One of SCP-4335’s many anomalous abilities
is being able to hear people through the screen, and - being a proud creature - it often responds
to insults by charging in to directly engage the insulter. If SCP-4335 still manages to breach the containment
that has been set up for it, then they expect that it will likely soon hop into another
server. At that point, the goal will shift to finding
the monster and recontaining it. With Containment Procedures this complex and
extensive, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that SCP-4335 rests firmly in the Keter Class. What exactly is this anomalous entity? Why does its containment hinge on constantly
providing it with items? And how did it end up in Mojang’s popular
building and survival game in the first place? SCP-4335, in terms of physical dimensions,
appears almost identical to the player character, with an all-black skin. It also appears to be constantly shrouded
in a cloud of smoke particles, and has long, black tendrils protruding from its back. In some respects, 4335 has been compared to
two popular creepypasta figures: Herobrine and The Slenderman. But 4335 is far stranger. Its physical body behaves similarly to most
assets native to the game, with a few peculiar anomalous abilities we’ll discuss soon. Handling SCP-4335 is an extremely delicate
process. If command blocks, creative mode, or server
commands are ever enabled in a server with SCP-4335, the server will instantly shut down,
and SCP-4335 will move to a different server. SCP-4335 also uses its tendrils to destroy
surrounding blocks before consuming them. With each successful consumption, SCP-4335
grows, and when it reaches sufficient size, it hops to a different server. As you can see, keeping SCP-4335 contained
is an uphill battle, but luckily there are two factors on the Foundation’s side here. The first is that SCP-4335 is immobilized
while consuming items and blocks, limiting its ability to actively escape Foundation
forces. The second factor is that SCP-4335 needs a
rest period between consuming blocks in order to grow, meaning, if its consumption is constant
and continuous it isn’t able to grow. These two factors have informed the entirety
of the Foundation’s Containment Procedures around SCP-4335: It’s locked into its chamber
and fed items and blocks constantly, effectively rooting it in place. When SCP-4335 begins to grow, the Foundation
also found that the application of Ender Pearls helps reduce it back to its normal size. However, SCP-4335 does have a method of striking
back against its captors. 4335 is Vurgent-class multi-sensory cognitohazard. Anyone viewing it without proper training
and protection may experience distressing hallucinations. SCP-4335 is also capable of telepathic speech
with people playing on its server, and - as we alluded to earlier - it can also hear any
noises you make while playing. “Weird” is a term thrown around a lot
when it comes to SCPs, considering it’s pretty much a requirement for the Foundation
to take interest in you. But an all-devouring Minecraft demon that
can hear you talking through your screen is strange even by Foundation standards. MTF Edna-84 first discovered SCP-4335 in the
single-player server of Minecraft user Leakingheart. Three team members - Jason Yelsan, Richard
Duchamp, and Sheila Freemason - covertly entered the game to investigate and potentially apprehend
the creature. When Leakingheart first discovered their presence
on what he thought was a private server, he quickly left, a little creeped out by the
sudden intrusion. Thankfully, the trio was still able to locate
SCP-4335. They discovered the creature hiding inside
a giant crater, as though it had impacted the earth at considerable speed. Richard Duchamp, who was the leader of the
team at the time, made the mistake of looking directly at the entity. In that moment, he experienced the full force
of SCP-4335’s cognitohazardous effects. He hallucinated, believing that his keyboard
was melting before his eyes. In the aftermath of this incident, Duchamp
was taken off the case, and Jason Yelsan was promoted to head of the project. Things were still going to get stranger. Yelsan was able to open a dialogue with the
creature after containing it in a chamber filled with lava. It asked him whether it had landed in the
right location - meaning, our world - and Yelsan informed it that it’d somehow fallen
into the world of Minecraft instead. The creature was at first confused, and then
angry and resentful about its situation. It vowed to find its way into our world somehow,
and obtain more “sustenance.” A few months after this, the entity managed
to breach containment and hop into another server. Yelsan and two others once again managed to
track it down and recontain it, but this time, two civilians also inhabiting the server were
exposed to the anomalous effects of SCP-4335. They weren’t hurt, but they did appear strange
and incoherent after experiencing 4335’s cognitohazards. The Foundation tracked them down in the aftermath
and gave them amnestic treatment. 4335 was contained shortly thereafter. Once again, Yelsan came face to face with
his new foe. Eight months after being captured, 4335 granted
Yelsan another interview from containment. 4335 admitted that it almost respected Yelsan
and the rest of the Foundation for figuring out how to capture and contain it so quickly. In exchange, it would give the Foundation
something extremely valuable: Information. First, it asked one question of Yelsan: How
does he define “creation?” Yelsan replied, “Uh… something that is
built and brought to this universe by a sapient being, using other things from this universe?” 4335 agreed. It went on to explain that it came from a
universe devoid of creation. A dark and unknowable place, filled with nothing
but violent, random chaos. Its dimension existed directly above ours,
and it often looked down at us through a dimensional window, fascinated by all the creation below. It plotted and dreamed to one day infiltrate
our reality, and Yelsan finally had the opportunity to ask the magic question, “Why?” Though he wasn’t quite ready for the brutal
honesty of SCP-4335’s reply. “I do not like to lie, so I will tell you
now. I wish to suck it dry of the toys of whatever
force controls your universe. Destroy the light, destroy the Earth, and
destroy humanity. It reminded me… of me. A blubbering mass of intelligence and order. It sickens me in ways I cannot comprehend. I hope you understand.” SCP-4335 was a connoisseur of creation, and
it sought to devour all of it. In this moment, Yelsan realized what an incredibly
dangerous entity he was dealing with. The only mystery was why this creature had
somehow landed in Minecraft instead of our world, which appeared to be the only thing
that saved us. But Yelsan didn’t have time to think: 4335
was about to stage another daring escape attempt. One of its tendrils reached out and attacked
Yelsan’s player character. In that moment, the real life Yelsan began
to hallucinate and panic. Suddenly, back in the game, a series of abnormally
tall, slender black figures appeared and began deconstructing the containment chamber around
SCP-4335. It had somehow summoned new minions into the
game to assist in this containment breach. Jason Yelsan entered cognitohazard quarantine
following this incident, and was removed from the project. And he wasn’t the only one affected by this
incident. Following the first appearance of these long,
dark figures, players across the globe began to experience them appearing in their own
games. The Foundation managed to find a solution:
They contacted Mojang and had the creatures patched into the game during the next update,
as a new non-anomalous entity, which seemed to stop 4335 from being able to use them as
its own tools. They’re now known as the Endermen, and are
beloved among fans for being one of the creepier enemies. To this day, containment efforts continue
for SCP-4335. There’s only one question left: Why did
the entity fall into Minecraft rather than our world? The file posits the most likely answer. Because 4335 defines creation as elements
made by sapient beings. In Minecraft, the most popular game in the
world at the height of 4335’s power, everything that exists is the product of code made by
humans. Creation is truly abundant there. As for our world, in SCP-4335’s extra-dimensional
eyes, there is no creation, no intelligent design, no soothing piano soundtrack. Just frightening, chaotic, randomness, which
is too unlike its own dimension. So even if SCP-4335 ever did arrive in our
reality, it would likely be disappointed by how little there is to eat. It’s the late 90's, and an Air Canada flight
experiences severe malfunctions while traveling from London to Vancouver. The pilots are unable to do anything and the
plane crashes into the woods of Northern Alberta. The crash was devastating - only 10 of the
nearly 300 people on board are alive. And even though they survived the initial
disaster, their battle for life has only just begun. It’s late autumn in Northern Canada and
there’s no telling when help will arrive, if at all. If the survivors want to make it through the
night they need to find shelter, and fast. As they trudge through the freezing woods,
the group finds a path that looks like it might lead them to civilization. After all, if there was a path in the woods,
that meant they were probably in a national park, and if they were in a national park,
there had to be a ranger's station around somewhere where they could warm up and call
for help. They didn’t have many other options, so
they followed the path which opened up to a clearing, but instead of finding a ranger's
station or campground, they found something none of them could have expected. It was a pond, but there was something off
about it. As they got closer they saw that this strange
pond wasn’t filled with water, but blood. The survivors were horrified. That couldn't really be blood, could it? It must be a weird algae or a chemical reaction. But one member of the group, a man named Thomas
Dean, who had been on his way back to his hometown of Prince George, British Columbia,
thought there was something strangely familiar about this. He remembered being a boy and going to visit
family in Alberta, and hearing an urban legend from the older local kids. According to the stories, somewhere out in
the wilderness, in the northern part of the province, there was a pond full of human blood,
and what made it even worse, was that some said the pond was a gateway to hell. The SCP Foundation was also aware of this
legend, and had been trying to pinpoint the exact source of it for decades prior to the
Air Canada crash. They would finally receive definite confirmation
of the blood pond when Foundation personnel intercepted a radio transmission from a ranger's
station located within the Wood Buffalo National Park. It was the survivors of the crash, who had
managed to make it through the night, and they were about to be escorted out of the
park by rangers. The Foundation mobilized quickly to cordon
off the pond, as at this time they were unsure of what potentially harmful properties the
pond might have had. They set up Watch Station Epsilon-38 and put
staff on guard to deter travellers from the area. The pond was given the designation of SCP-354
and classed as Euclid. Foundation scientists made a number of interesting
discoveries about SCP-354 when they collected samples for testing. First, the pond was not in fact full of blood,
merely an inorganic liquid that closely resembles blood in color and consistently. Second, and even stranger than the red liquid,
is that the pond doesn't seem to have definite banks or a bottom. Instead, the liquid in the pond increases
in density as the radius away from the center increases - the liquid congeals at the edges,
becoming more solid and blending into the surrounding soil. It also becomes thicker as one descends deeper
into the pool, and a bottom of the pond has not yet been reached, if it even exists. Initially, the foundation found no signs of
life within the blood pond. But that would all change at 2:03 PM on the
day following the opening of Watch Station Epsilon-38, when the science team noticed
an unusual level of activity on the pond's surface. Security footage feeds showed a shape rising
up out of the pond, followed by a deafening shriek. After that, the feed was cut and Foundation
lost all communication with Watch Station Epsilon-38. Fearing the worst, a Mobile Task Force was
dispatched to the location. When they got there, all personnel at the
watch station had been killed by what could only be described as a gigantic bat. The task force was able to neutralize the
entity, and as soon as they could, the Foundation moved in to increase security around the SCP,
creating Area - 354 and installing a permanent security detail. After this point, the pond started to regularly
spit out a variety of monstrous entities, almost as if it was reacting to the SCP Foundation's
increased security measures. After SCP-354-1, the giant bat came SCP-354-2. 354-2 was an echidna-like monster the size
of a bear, that was virtually bulletproof but unable to escape Area 354. The foundation neutralized this anomaly with
napalm. SCP-354-3 was a floating black sphere capable
of firing deadly beams of concentrated energy. The area's head scientist was able to hit
it with a sledgehammer, causing the sphere to malfunction and self-destruct before it
was able to escape the area. The Foundation wasn't as lucky with SCP-354-4. This creature was a reptilian humanoid that
stood roughly 15 feet tall and was unable to be put down with gunfire. This was the first creature from the pond
to successfully escape containment, and was only able to be neutralized when the Foundation
sent in Mobile Task Force Omega 7, also known as “Pandora's Box.” The data on pond incursions is partially corrupted,
so a complete list of creatures is not available, but some of the other monsters that came out
of the blood pond included a killer robot, a set of gigantic tentacles that dragged several
D-class personnel into the pond, a pair of panther-like creatures - one made of ice and
the other of magma - that ignored foundation staff and instead fought each other, and one
seemingly normal human man who was executed as soon as he emerged from the pond. Tests on his body revealed that he was, in
fact, totally normal and would have posed no threat. These anomalies came out of the pond at fairly
regular intervals for several months, before the pond went silent for an unprecedented
22 months. The head scientist at the time noted, “I
suspect this means one of two things. Either the Red Pool has ‘died’ or ‘powered
down’ or whatever the correct term for it is; or it is ‘charging up’ for something
big to come through. O5 believes the former is the most likely
explanation, and has recalled 30% of our total personnel and cut 25% of our funding. While I can only hope that they are correct,
if the latter situation is true, we're soon to face some terrible monstrosity and we won't
have anywhere near the force necessary to deal with it. I worry for all of our safety.” His words would prove eerily prophetic following
the events of Exploratory Mission 354 Alpha. The Foundation's research and development
team built a specialized craft to explore the pond. Because of the strange properties of the pond's
density, the craft was essentially made to be both a submarine, for parts of the pond
where the contents were liquid, and a drill, for when the liquid congealed into a semi-solid
towards the bottom. The exploration team consisted of Agent Swanson,
Agent Turquoise, Agent 86, Dr. Jay Macarthur, Chris Simmons, Leroy Tucker, and a pilot named
Marty. With the team assembled, the ship was sent
down into the pond. Nothing eventful happened for the first two
days of the mission, but at 4:30 AM on the third day, gravity suddenly reversed for the
crew of the ship. This seemed to indicate that they were approaching
the halfway point, though what would be on the other side, nobody could say. On the fourth day, the ship surfaced, proving
definitely that the pond was in fact some sort of portal. The crew looked out of the portholes to see
the darkness of night above them. While sensors outside the ship detected nothing
harmful in the atmosphere around them, the crew were wary of exiting the craft. The other side of the pond was nothing like
the world the crew knew. For one thing, the night lasted for 28 hours
before dawn came, and when the sun finally rose, it was much larger and redder than the
earth's sun. Under the light of that strange, red star,
the crew could see that the pond on this side was massive compared to where they'd come
in - more like a large lake. Surrounding the lake was sand and rocks that
were covered in a kind of moss that disappeared under sunlight and regrew during the night. The team left the ship and started to explore. During their time in this strange world, they
found that the day lasted just a few hours shorter than the night, meaning that whatever
planet they were on had roughly a 43-hour-long rotation as opposed to our own planet's 24. The team found a number of anomalous elements
on their expedition, including razor-sharp grass that can puncture skin and streams of
liquid carbon dioxide. They heard some loud roars in the distance
once or twice, but other than that the planet was eerily silent, with seemingly no animal
life and not even wind. When it rained, the soil remained dry, and
based on that, the scientists theorized plants in this world were more efficient at absorbing
moisture. On the 25th day, the team ran into a huge
metal wall that appeared to be artificially constructed. Luckily, Leroy Tucker, a quick-thinking researcher,
was able to rig a blowtorch from camping supplies and melt a hole through the metal. On the other side, there was finally wind,
and odd black grass. That's the extent of what is known about the
other side of the wall, though, because the expedition logs are heavily corrupted after
that point, but we know that whatever was in there wasn't good, because the team never
returned. Strangely, there's no record of any of the
names mentioned in the ship's log - almost as if being killed on the other side completely
erased them from history. No other expeditions into the pond were launched
after that. On an undisclosed date, a year following the
discovery of the blood pond and construction of Area 354, the site was completely evacuated,
and the power was cut to the area. Mobile Task Force Theta-12 was dispatched
to investigate the cause of the evacuation, but before contact could be established, the
area's on-site nuclear warhead was detonated, completely destroying the site. MTF Theta 12 was then attacked by a convoy
made up of D-class and other low-ranking staff who had evacuated Area 354. It was apparent that there had been some kind
of mutiny within the site, and that a dissolution of the chain of command had led to its evacuation
and destruction. The convoy totally annihilated MTF Theta 12,
and no further contact with the former personnel of Area-354 has been made since. Following the site's detonation, a new site
was constructed, called simply the Red Pool Containment Site. Unlike the previous facility, which focused
on research and neutralization, the new site is entirely concerned with containment. The shift in directive came as a response
to the pond's apparent reactive nature - each creature that emerged from the pond seemed
to be in retaliation to the Foundation's actions, and it was theorized by some that the mutiny
at Area 354 was triggered by some kind of psychic attack from the pond itself. An interview in the SCP file on 354 reveals
that there was one more disastrous attempt to control and understand the blood pond. According to an interview with a Foundation
agent, the head doctor proposed a scheme to drain the blood pond using a system of pumps
and hoses. All non-essential personnel were evacuated
in case of emergency, leaving only the pump technicians, D-class personnel, and a few
agents for security. However, as soon as the pump was scheduled
to be turned on, everyone at the site experienced a mass dissociative episode. The agent described the feeling they all experienced
as like being in a dream and suddenly realizing that you're asleep. He said “Everything stopped being real. It was like we had to escape right now.” When asked what happened when the pump was
turned on, he simply explained that it “wouldn't let them”. This interview confirmed the theory that the
pond is not only capable of releasing monsters out into our world, but also that it's capable
of powerful but much more subtle, psychological attacks. This suggests a chilling possibility - that
the pond isn't just blindly reacting to being attacked, but it's fully sentient, and the
actions of the SCP foundation have only served to annoy it. And worse, studies of the pond's banks have
provided evidence that the area of congealed liquid around the perimeter of the pond has
been steadily expanding. That's right - the pond is getting bigger. The last thing the Foundation agent stationed
at the site said before being dragged out of the interview and sedated was “It gets
bigger and stronger every day, and now we've made it angry!” One of the primary aims of the SCP foundation
is to contain the anomalies that they discover. Secure, Contain, Protect is their mission
statement, after all. However, there are some forces so unknowable
and malevolent that there is no way to truly contain them. SCP-4205 is one such force. Very little is known about SCP-4205, even
compared to other SCPs, many of which are mysterious by their very nature. We do not know what it is, we do not know
what it wants, and we do not have any meaningful way to stop it. The best that can be done to protect yourself
from it is to implement the few known preventative measures available, and pray that it doesn’t
set its sights on you. The little information that exists on SCP-4205
was recorded by Wade Dalitz, a former junior researcher at the Foundation. He wrote the initial report on SCP-4205 on
a computer, Terminal 4, which was linked to his brain and consciousness as he wrote. Though his work was highly valuable, and provided
many previously unknown insights about the nature of the SCP, sadly his knowledge could
not save him. The official entry on SCP-4205 was his final
act before his death on December 11, 1992. Before we get deeper into that entry, and
Wade’s final day on earth, it’s important to understand what SCP-4205 is. Or, at least, understand the little we know
about what it is. 4205 is a Keter class SCP, meaning that it’s
incredibly difficult or complicated to contain. It also shows extreme hostility toward all
life. It is described as an amber-colored pair of
human-like eyes, with the ability to appear spontaneously in windows, mirrors, or any
other glass or glass-like surface. One of the reasons so little is known about
these eyes, is that anyone who sees them dies within seconds. The effect is nearly instantaneous. Much like the mythical basilisk, the gaze
of SCP-4205 is deadly and inescapable. The eyes only seem to appear to people who
are alone in a room, and never in places where there’s more than one person. But aside from that, there is no way to predict
where the eyes will appear. Since it is unknown if the eyes are part of
a corporeal body, or even present on this plane of reality, there is no way to contain
them or stop them from killing. This brings us back to that fateful day, December
11, 1992. The day that the SCP Foundation would finally
be given some tangible information on the mysterious amber eyes, at the cost of one
of their researcher’s lives. Wade Dalitz, a young man fresh out of his
university studies, was brought onboard as a Junior Researcher by Dr. Mark Forsyth, a
Senior Researcher. Dr. Forsyth recruited Wade after giving a
guest lecture at his university and being impressed by Wade’s keen observational skills,
thirst for knowledge of the unexplained, and determination to understand that which seemed
to defy explanation. After Wade graduated, he was recruited by
Dr. Forsyth, and given the position of Junior Researcher at the SCP Foundation. where he assisted Dr. Forsyth, now a site
supervisor, in his research. After several months of working under Dr.
Forsyth with minimal responsibilities, Wade was finally given the opportunity to write
his first SCP report... on SCP-4205. Following some initial documented appearances
of 4205, Dr. Forsyth approved further research into the anomaly, with Wade appointed as the
lead researcher on the subject. According to Wade’s entry, he was responsible
for the discovery of SCP-4205 when he spotted the anomaly in a window. Though later reviews of security footage determined
that he was not the first person to observe the eyes, he did claim to be the first to
observe them and live to tell the tale. In his writing on the subject, Wade is puzzled
by the fact that he survived his encounter with SCP-4205, and wonders what could have
set him apart from the others that fell victim to its gaze. He found himself frustrated as he documented
SCP-4205, his rough drafts of reports dissolving into angry rants about his own incompetence. Wade had difficulty adjusting to his new responsibilities,
especially with the added element of his assigned subject’s mysterious and volatile nature. In between his reports on SCP-4205, its previous
appearances, and its effects on its victims, he wrote letters to his father, desperate
for reassurance that he was not messing everything up. Letters that would sadly go unsent. In his coverage of SCP-4205, Wade made note
of a troubling recurring element in each victim’s death. When medical professionals attempted to revive
the victims, it was always noted that their brain activity stopped much more quickly than
in cases of death by natural causes. When examined, all aspects of the body aside
from the brain were completely unharmed. The brain, however, showed massive nerve damage
in the amygdala, hippocampus, medial temporal lobe, and occipital lobe. The appearance of this brain trauma has been
compared to the effects of electrical shock or a severe head injury. In addition to Wade, six other people on record
encountered SCP-4205. Every encounter ended the same way, with sudden
brain death and severe nerve damage immediately after viewing the eyes in a reflective surface. The first encounter occurred on January 5,
1990, when Deputy Liaison Gena viewed the eyes in a reflective glass one-way window. Security tape reveals that the eyes appeared
in the window eight minutes before the Deputy Liaison spotted them. As soon as he did, he fell from his chair
and immediately died. Though the specifics varied from case to case,
the end result of every encounter was the same, with none surviving long enough to relate
what they experienced. Every encounter except Wade’s. As he continued his documentation of SCP-4205,
Wade’s mental state quickly began to deteriorate. The process of his mind coming apart, and
his thoughts giving way to confusion, fear, and anger at his own survival, is documented
in his reports on the SCP. He agonized over the question of why he was
able to survive gazing into the eyes of SCP-4205 when so many others had not? The question consumed him until he was unable
to eat, sleep, or do anything but obsess over the SCP he was tasked with researching. As he became more agitated, he began to write
about the eyes appearing to him again. On one occurrence, he attempted to touch them,
and described the sensation like touching a balloon to your arm after it has been charged
with static electricity. He continued to report seeing the eyes. The worst was when trying to sleep, during
which he was overtaken by violent sleep paralysis and plagued with visions of the amber eyes. The only comfort Wade seemed to find was in
memories of his loved ones. He wrote about his mother and his father,
even as their memories grew foggier to him. He also mentioned a man by the name of Theodore
Quale, who he claimed was a researcher at the Foundation. Later fact checking determined that this was
not the case, and that Quale must have been someone from Wade’s past. He wrote about Quale wistfully, mournfully,
with words of love and loss, tormented by the sense that he was losing his grip on reality
and everything he once held dear. As Wade descended deeper into a hell inside
his own mind, he continued to mull over the questions of SCP-4205. Was there more to it than what was visible? Did it have a body? Why had he survived his encounter with it? And what did it want from him? He decided that those who had perished immediately
were the lucky ones. They had escaped the torture that had overtaken
his life. The eyes were everywhere now, watching him
even as he attempted to unlock their secrets on a Foundation computer. He spoke to the eyes at one point, but refused
to write down what they had said to him. His last entry, his last thought, was a plea
for Theodore Quale’s embrace. There is no more written about the research,
or about the eyes, only a simple, desperate need for a comfort that is long lost. Now is the part of our story where terror
meets tragedy. Contrary to what Wade thought, and what was
recorded in his final computer entries, he did not survive his brief brush with SCP-4205. The truth is that he spotted the amber eyes
in the glass above his terminal monitor while recording the entry, and died seconds later. Though his death was swift, it felt agonizingly
slow, as revealed by his descent into panic and paranoia recorded in his writings. The entries recorded as a result of the connection
Wade and the computer, his physical contact with it at the moment of exposure to SCP-4205’s
anomalous effects allowing the terminal to archive his final thoughts before he succumbed
to the deadly nature of the eyes. The entries were never physically typed, but
rather jumped from his dying mind into the mainframe. His entries, the echoes of a dying mind, offer
a glimpse into the way that SCP-4205 kills its victims. In the seconds leading up to death, the amber
eyes fast-forward a person’s mind, feeding on the electrical impulses that it gives off
as it speeds through what seem to be days of fear and of a loosening grip on reality. The death may be swift, but the suffering
is long. Wade left the foundation with a digital fingerprint,
an echo of the person he was at his core in addition to his experiences with SCP-4205
itself. Wade spent his final moments terrified for
his life, dreaming of a father that he missed and a long-lost love from his college days. His sacrifice must not be forgotten. Because no one ever survives an encounter
with SCP-4205, his documented final moments are the only first-hand account in existence. Junior Researcher Wade Dalitz gave us a gift
in death. He allowed the SCP Foundation a glimpse into
the true horror of the amber eyes, and a reminder of what they are capable of stealing from
us. So be careful of windows, mirrors, screens,
and all reflective surfaces. When you look into them, you never know what
you might see looking back. The Young Girl stood silently in a room full
of corpses, staring off into the distance. She was in a trance, seemingly unaware of
the carnage that’d just unfolded around her. Some of the men were shot or stabbed
or beaten, others had no apparent cause of death whatsoever. But the Young Girl was unscathed.
She was wearing a yellow summer dress and looked like she couldn’t have been more
than three years old. She awoke from her trance, still paying no heed to the violence in the
room, and left. This is the story of SCP - 053, the Young
Girl. Her strange and terrifying life before containment, her thrilling capture, and the
part she played in one of the most dangerous SCP Foundation cross-tests of all time. She had no name. The Young Girl could never
spend enough time around someone to be given one. It was her terrible curse that she could
never stay in one place for too long, or something truly awful would happen to everyone around
her. She’d been drifting for years, but never grew to look older than a child. Her
memories were long but formless - divided mostly into ten-minute increments. The Young
Girl kept on moving. It was all she could do. In 1993, when the Young Girl had already been
alive for a very long time, she found herself in Illinois after days of trekking on the
roadside. She would scavenge what little food she needed from the trash, and drink from
lakes, rivers, or even puddles when she needed to. Deep down, the Young Girl knew that even
if she grew hungry or thirsty, she would not die. In her travels, the Young Girl had managed
to scrounge together a few dollars, and though she knew her contact with people had to be
limited, there was one thing she wanted that felt worth the risk: A candy bar. It’d been
a long time since she tasted chocolate, and she found the idea of tasting it again too
enticing to resist. When she reached Chicago, she entered a small corner store with her
handful of dollars, selected a candy bar from the rack, and approached the counter. For
reasons even she didn’t fully understand, she kept her eyes down as she placed the money
on the counter. You see, SCP - 053 was always a special child.
As we briefly mentioned earlier, you might even say she was cursed. Whenever she was
around other people for too long, terrible things tended to happen. Unspeakable things.
And as a component of this strange, unexplainable curse - or perhaps as a means of keeping her
safe from it - the Young Girl was doomed to never understand the nature of her predicament.
It was like there was a mental wall between her and the horrors her presence could cause. All she knew was that it was best to avoid
eye contact, stay away from large groups of people at all costs, and never spend any longer
than ten minutes around anyone. Ever. That’s why, as she waited for her chocolate bar at
the cash register, she kept her head down and waited to go. The cashier looked down upon this strange
girl with apparent concern. It’d been a slow day, all in all. A few listless patrons
milled around the store, window shopping. His brain was practically on autopilot, until
he saw this child. She looked filthy, in a dishevelled dress and was totally alone. What
on earth had happened to this child? The more he looked at her, the more he sensed a creepy
vibe exuding from her. Something about this girl was wrong. He spoke softly to her, introducing himself
as Miles, and asking her where her mommy and daddy were. The Young Girl hesitated for just
a few seconds too long for his liking, before simply saying that they were at home. Any
parent who’d let their three-year-old kid just wander around the South Side of Chicago
alone was either crazy, neglectful, or both. He asked her politely to remain in the store,
while he gave the police a quick call. He’d even let her have the candy bar for free while
she waited. Immediately, the little girl became uncomfortable.
She’d already been in here for a few minutes now, and while Miles called the police he
expected her to wait around even longer. Again, she couldn’t even tell you why she knew
waiting around like this would be so dangerous, but she had a nagging, instinctual awareness
that she needed to get out. Around the store, the few patrons still inside started to get
a strange feeling, like someone was watching them. Soon, what seemed like mild paranoia was quickly
becoming white-hot anger. Pure rage. They felt almost like they had to kill someone.
But not just anyone. Someone particular. They had to kill the little girl. It wasn’t long until the police arrived.
Two officers, Holiday and DeWitt, entered to collect the apparently neglected little
girl. It was a story they’d sadly heard all too often - a tragically common occurrence
in the big city. When the two of them approached the Young Girl, she was looking down at the
ground. They tried to speak to her but she was unresponsive. Miles looked on, concerned,
but deep down, he felt the same bizarre progression all the other store-goers were feeling: Confusion,
irritability, and finally... violent rage. The corner store was a powder keg, all it
needed now was a spark. And that spark came when Officer Holiday reached
down, and took the Young Girl by the arm. His bare skin touched her’s, and it was
all over. The cop twitched, his mind washed out in murderous insanity, as he reached for
his side-arm. Officer DeWitt opened his mouth to protest, but he didn’t manage to get
a syllable out before Holiday turned and shot him. In a fraction of a second, the quiet
corner store exploded into a violent bloodbath, as the patrons and cops slaughtered each other. All the while, the Young Girl just stood there
in a trance. Everyone was dead within minutes, except Miles
and the Young Girl. He shakily rose to his feet, his mind carved out by madness, and
reached for Officer Holiday’s discarded pistol. Outside of the store, The Young Girl appeared,
walking out as if nothing had happened. Inside, Miles’s body was sprawled over the counter,
clutching his chest as if his heart had just exploded. This was the true nature of the Young Girl’s
curse. Anyone who meets her eye, touches her skin, or spends over ten minutes around her
is destined to slip into a state of murderous insanity. They’ll go into a kill-crazy frenzy,
and attack anyone around them, until all that’s left is them and the Young Girl. At which
point, they’ll try to kill her, too - but the mere act of attempting to kill her is
also fatal, killing its victims with a massive heart attack or a seizure. The second part
of the girl’s curse is that she herself can never die. She keeps coming back, unknowingly causing
more misery and death along the way. Until, of course, a certain secret organization took
notice. That night, the Young Girl sat in the cavernous
interior of a local abandoned warehouse, quietly eating her hard-earned candy bar. Suddenly,
she heard a quiet “crack” in the distance. She tried to move her left arm, but found
it was numb. She could barely move it. The Girl turned her head, and saw a tranquilizer
dart sticking out of her skin. Instinctively, she got up and began to run, limping as her
left leg started to lose all feeling too. Suddenly, she was surrounded by footsteps,
as masked men in SWAT uniforms emerged out of the darkness on all sides. The last thing
she remembered before slipping out of consciousness was a blindfold being pulled over her eyes,
and tiny metal handcuffs clasping over her wrists. When she woke up, she was in the nicest room
she’d slept in in years. It was sixteen feet by sixteen feet, with toys, books, and
games. Standing across the room from her was a stranger in a full hazmat suit, connected
to a long, steel cable leading out of the room. He spoke calmly and politely. A timer
on his wrist counted down from ten minutes. The stranger explained to the Young Girl that
they would be taking care of her now, and would provide her with all the toys and games
and treats she wanted, provided she cooperated and submitted willingly to some tests. Compared to living out on the streets with
no food or comfort, this seemed like an excellent compromise. She would live in what seemed
like luxury, and every so often, she’d be taken to a testing room with a stranger in
an orange jumpsuit. After a few minutes of waiting, the stranger would inevitably go
feral, and attempt to kill her - and then always die in the process. The strangers in
the hazmat suits told her that all of these tests were helping them learn extremely valuable
things about her, and that soon, they’d have a very special job for her. It would
be a wonderful surprise. It was in the spring of 1994 that the Young
Girl, now officially designated SCP - 053, finally received her special mission. Several
strangers in full hazmat suits, wielding rifles, escorted her out of her usual bedroom. She
asked where she was being taken, and was told she was going to meet a new friend. She was
taken to one of the recreational testing rooms, and pushed inside. Out in front of her, she
saw something terrifying: A giant, reptilian creature. She retreated from it instinctually, hiding
behind a chair in the containment area. The giant reptile didn’t move. It just sat there.
Eventually, she plucked up the courage to go and touch the creature, before retreating
again. No reaction. Little by little, the Young Girl gained confidence, and continued
to approach and pat the creature. It exhaled through its huge nostrils, and the Young Girl
literally jumped for joy in her amusement. She began to play with the docile monster,
hugging it, even drawing on it with a crayon. The observers were truly baffled. What the
Young Girl didn’t know was that she was playing with SCP - 682, one of the most hateful
and aggressive anomalies under the Foundation’s watchful eye. And yet, in her presence, the
creature was like an overgrown puppy dog. After the test phase, the Young Girl was removed
from the Hard-To-Kill Reptile’s presence, immediately causing the creature to become
violent and murderous once again. After being separated from her strange new friend, the
Young Girl was seen crying for several minutes. According to all accounts, the Young Girl
is eager to see her friend again some day, though considering the Reptile killed several
guards after their separation, the Foundation isn’t eager to grant her that wish. SCP-053 was classified as Euclid and continues
to be held in containment, with her toys, books, and games rotated out on a regular
basis. Seeing as she shows no sign of aging, this ongoing containment is likely to be the
sad, strange fate of the Young Girl. An anomaly that never wanted to hurt anyone - but an
important and cruel reminder that what we want doesn’t always influence the world
in the way we want. Cast your mind back to the height of the Cold
War. The ever-accelerating nuclear arms race brought
us closer than ever before to making the nightmare of nuclear armageddon a terrifying reality. The two main parties in this conflict are
the United States and Soviet Union, each amassing huge amounts of nuclear warheads and jumping
on any available advantage they can over their enemies. What you may not know is that, in order to
detect an impending attack from the United States, the Soviets developed what would become
known to the West as the “Dead Hand.” But this experimental piece of technology
also has another name: SCP-1984. It is no secret that the Soviet Union feared
the threat of US nuclear strikes and invasion just as much as the US feared an attack from
them, so SCP-1984 was created to act as a deterrence mechanism, specifically against
secure second strikes. Secure second strikes were both a deterrent
and overwhelming concern during the Cold War, referring to a country’s ability, after
suffering an initial nuclear attack, to still retaliate, firing on their enemy and causing
untold damage with their own arsenal of nuclear weapons. The Soviet Union knew that any action they
made that could be perceived as an attack on United States soil would be threatened
with nuclear retaliation, and that if they fired first, America would return fire and
potentially annihilate them with a second strike. SCP-1984 was to be an automated system that
would activate in response to the destruction of the Soviet’s main command and control
structure. Given that the Dead Hand was created during
the eighties, you might be forgiven for expecting a nuclear detection system built at this point
in history to consist of various sensors connected to a computer network. But you have also probably already realized
that, if that was the case, then the Foundation wouldn’t be so interested in it. In actuality, SCP-1984 is a fully autonomous
entity rather than a network of sensors for detecting incoming nuclear attacks or a computer
capable of initiating a second strike. Perhaps what makes the Foundation more interested
in the Dead Hand is that it is both self-aware, and linked simultaneously to every single
one of Russia’s nuclear launch sites. Not only this, but SCP-1984 also has direct
access to every single one of the atomic weapons stockpiled by the Soviet Union during the
Cold War, and is capable of launching Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles at a moment’s notice. In short, SCP-1984 could very easily and horrifyingly
quickly, trigger an all-out nuclear war, resulting in the extinction of all life on Earth. No wonder the Foundation considers the Dead
Hand such a massive threat. SCP-1984 itself actually consists of the preserved
remains of a Russian soldier by the name of Sergeant Marat Chernikov, who was killed during
the Soviet-Afghan War in 1982. Most of the official documentation of Chernikov’s
existence has been expunged by the Russian Federation, and he is only referenced in fragmented
documents recovered by the Foundation that refer to a ”Project December.” These remains serve as the location of a semi-sentient
consciousness that has been classified as SCP-1984-01. When it remains dormant and is not interfered
with, SCP-1984-01 has the ability to receive and process any signal broadcast to it, and
is able to decipher information contained in any signal it picks up. However, when global military tensions start
to climb, especially when those tensions affect the Russian Federation - or what were once
the satellite states of the former Soviet Union - the entity begins to manifest itself
in the physical world, and usually in various strange and differing ways. SCP-1984-01 has been known to appear in the
real world in forms such as a humanoid outline, or a bright-red specter, taking the shape
of a child with its legs cut off. Regardless of which shape it appears in, it
is when the Dead Hand manifests in a more physical form that the wider scope of its
abilities become clear. As mentioned previously, it can influence
and even launch nuclear weapons, overriding their command systems and bypassing launch
sequences. After appearing fully, SCP-1984-01 will travel
at speeds of up to 140 kilometers an hour, directly to the nearest military installation
capable of launching Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles. Once it reaches its destination, SCP-1984-01
will immediately attempt to override the necessary systems to initiate a launch. After firing missiles at their pre-determined
targets, SCP-1984-01 will hastily travel to another facility housing nuclear ordnance,
repeating the process until it has successfully launched all of Russia’s atomic weapons. When engaged, the physical manifestation of
SCP-1984 is highly aggressive, and will lethally defend itself against anyone that it observes
trying to interfere with it or stop it from causing a nuclear launch. The entity has displayed the ability to disrupt
the nervous system, causing excruciating pain and debilitating damage to human beings. Its only known weakness, if any, is a susceptibility
to microwave radiation. Although, exposure to this doesn’t seem
to cause any lasting damage to SCP-1984, instead only temporarily disorientating its physical
form. As for the origins of SCP-1984, the Soviet
Union’s official liaison with the SCP Foundation offered some clarity on this, ironically,
during early 1984. The liaison, a doctor named Sergei, described
information regarding the Dead Hand as being of “grave importance to the continued survival
of the human race”. Seeing as he was referring to an entity that
could single-handedly launch the Soviet Union’s entire nuclear arsenal, he certainly had a
point. A top-secret conference was held in Sarajevo
between the Foundation’s O5 Council and officials from both the USSR and United States,
using the 1984 Winter Olympics as cover, avoiding too many questions about several nations’
high-ranking state officials being in the same place at once. The O5 Council was then given full, in-depth
information about the Dead Hand, something they had previously assumed was a more conventional
form of nuclear deterrence. SCP-1984 was far more, and worse, far out
of the control of the Russian government. It was revealed that the entity had been designed
outside the original specifications given to those who developed it. Initially, the Soviets had intended for the
Dead Hand to be solely used as a secure second-strike response. If the leaders of the Soviet Union were killed,
SCP-1984 would react in-kind to Russia’s enemies, launching back all the USSR’s nuclear
missiles in retaliation. This is most likely where the “Dead Hand”
nickname comes from, hearkening to the idea of a “dead man’s switch.” Picture that you had been mortally wounded
by your worst enemy - shot in the stomach and laying on the ground, rapidly bleeding
out. You know that there is no chance you will
survive, but you cannot afford to let your enemy get away. What they don’t know is that you rigged
the entire building around you both with explosives. With your dying breath, you activate the detonator,
assuring your own and your enemy’s mutual destruction. Kaboom, then curtain for both of you. The pressing issue, and reason this secret
summit between the USSR, USA and SCP Foundation was held, was that SCP-1984 was no longer
interested in just waiting for Russia to be attacked and only reacting after the fact. Instead, the entity’s physical form was
trying to preemptively strike at the enemies of the Motherland, attempting to activate
nuclear launches and send atomic weapons to destroy the United States, France, West Germany,
and the People’s Republic of China. In other words, the Dead Hand was eager to
get a head start at causing total nuclear annihilation, not to mention potentially killing
millions and reducing target countries to little more than irradiated craters awash
with deadly nuclear fallout. Both the Soviet Union and United States begged
the SCP Foundation to intervene and contain SCP-1984, and under the direction of the O5
Council, they stepped in to take direct control of the situation, establishing new containment
procedures in the hopes of keeping SCP-1984 from hitting as many launch buttons as it
could find. The embalmed remains that seemed to create
the manifestations of the Dead Hand entity were held securely in an Armed Containment
Complex, near Verkhoyansk, part of the Sakha Republic within the Russian Federation. SCP-1984 was placed within a standard humanoid
containment cell, which was itself held within a Faraday cage - a type of enclosure constructed
with or covered in conductive material, designed to block electromagnetic fields. This was done to block any external broadcast
signals from reaching SCP-1984, and thus causing it to manifest its other form if it learned
of an impending attack on Russia - even a fictional one, perhaps as part of a television
broadcast. As part of the Dead Hand’s containment,
all signals broadcast near its cage are to be monitored, and only broadcasts featuring
doctored information would reach the entity. Thanks to the work of the SCP Foundation’s
Information Control Team, SCP-1984 is drip-fed a stream of carefully-fabricated information. Using on-site equipment and facilities, a
team of military historians, economists, actors, and Soviet media specialists, the Information
Control Team have created an ongoing narrative wherein the Cold War never ended. Through falsified radio and television broadcasts
made to look like era-appropriate news organizations, they manage to keep SCP-1984 convinced that
the nuclear stalemate between the Soviet Union and United States is still ongoing. Unfortunately, sometimes information from
the real world is able to bleed through. An incident involving SCP-1984 occurred on
August 8th, 1984, and almost brought forth a full-scale nuclear war. While preparing for a campaign speech, the
fortieth President of the United States Ronald Reagan uttered the following joke: “I'm
pleased to tell you today that I've signed legislation that will outlaw Russia forever,
we begin bombing in five minutes.” Naturally, thousands of media outlets reported
on this, but signals of those broadcasts, including recordings of the President’s
remark, made their way to SCP-1984. Foundation researchers were both unsure of
how these transmissions breached the Faraday cage surrounding the Dead Hand, and were unable
to prevent what happened next. Hearing what it could only assume was a genuine
declaration of war, the manifestation of the SCP-1984-01 entity happened immediately after
Reagan’s words reached its containment cell. This time, the entity appeared as a semi-transparent
woman, withered and blue, wearing traditional Pashtun dress. Armed personnel guarding SCP-1984’s cage
engaged the entity, causing it to retaliate, lashing out and attacking any that stood in
its way. One captain and two privates that suffered
the brunt of SCP-1984’s offensive capabilities began bleeding heavily from their ears, seizing
violently. Most gruesomely of all, a liquid leaked from
their eyes and nose, believed to have been cerebrospinal fluid. While armed personnel attempted to utilize
microwave emitting weaponry to slow the entity down, the Information Control Team was frantically
trying to record a new falsified broadcast in the hopes that SCP-1984 would cease its
hostilities and the entity would dissipate before it was able to travel at high speed
to any nearby Soviet nuclear facilities and begin bombarding the United States. Their first attempt to record a new broadcast
that would result in a cessation of SCP-1984’s slaughter of its guards was interrupted when
a nearby wall collapsed. Desperate to re-contain the creature, Information
Control Team tried to film the broadcast a second time, and succeeded, although one of
the actors portraying a newsreader suffered a stroke and had to be edited out, to convince
the Dead Hand of its supposed authenticity. What followed was a short news clip, clarifying
that Russia’s Politburo was in on President Reagan’s joke, including old footage of
the USSR’s General Secretary Konstantin Chernenko confirming that the Soviet Union’s
nuclear forces were not on high alert. Miraculously, after fifteen more minutes of
sustained fighting with guards, SCP-1984’s physical manifestation began to disappear,
gradually dematerializing while it seemed to attack with far-less intensity. Eventually, containment was re-established,
at the cost of the deaths of seventeen members of Foundation staff, both guards and researchers. A further eight, however, suffered traumatic
brain injuries that left them all permanently disabled. The one upside is that this incident remains
the only time SCP-1984 has ever breached its containment and caused harm to others, and
considering that it could very well have launched Russia’s nuclear arsenal, the casualties
could easily have been much higher. So remember, folks, don’t joke about nuclear
weapons, especially if you’re the president. You never know what anomalies lurking in the
bodies of dead Russian soldiers might be listening, and if they are, you better hope they have
a sense of humor. 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. “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets
its wings.” It’s an iconic line from “It’s a Wonderful Life” and even if you don’t
believe in angels, it’s a pleasant image. After all, angels are the embodiment of goodness
and light, so an angel getting its wings has to be a good thing, right? Well, as anyone who’s ever eaten one too
many Christmas cookies can tell you, it’s possible to have too much of a good thing.
Even something that sounds like the embodiment of all things good, in theory, can become
deadly when taken to the extreme. That is where SCP-469, also known as the Many-Winged
Angel, comes in. This angel-like creature is anything but innocent and in fact it has
been responsible for multiple deaths of SCP Foundation personnel during its captivity. SCP-469 may be deadly, but it is also undeniably
beautiful in a mysterious, ethereal way. When first seen, it appears to be nothing more
than a massive pile of pristine white feathers, like something out of a pillow commercial.
The pile measures 24 feet in diameter and weighs at least two tons. However, like many of the entities contained
within the walls of the Foundation’s countless containment sites, all is not as it seems
with 469. What looks at first glance to be a pile of
feathers is in fact a dense, curled mass of giant wings. The wings vary in size, from
the tiny wingspan of a sparrow to the staggering 3.6-meter wingspan of the wandering albatross. The one thing they have in common is their
plumage, with each wing being covered with the same glossy white feathers.
The Foundation was able to perform a series of X-rays on the mass of wings, revealing
a skeletal structure beneath the feathers. Like those of a bird, the wings’ bones are
hollow. However, they are unnaturally soft and flexible, allowing for a range of motion
that no known birds possess. This accounts for the curvature of the wings, and their
ability to coil tightly into each other. The X-Ray also provided the first, and only
recorded glimpse at the creature hiding underneath all of the feathers. At the center of the
layers upon layers of wings, is a humanoid creature, curled into a fetal position. In
defiance of the laws of natural anatomy, every single wing appears to be fused to this creature’s
spine. How it would be able to move under the weight of these wings, or if it even could,
is as of yet unknown. The first Foundation personnel lost to SCP-469
were D-class personnel, D-112 and D-624, who were sent in to investigate the nature of
the creature and attempt to contact the humanoid entity identified on the X-rays. 112 and 624 entered the room, equipped with
gloves and protective eye gear, as scientists watched the situation unfold on a monitor
on a video feed. No one expected much to come of the encounter, the working hypothesis was
that the layers of feathers would simply be too thick to get through without seriously
damaging the bones. It would be a fairly uneventful experiment, or so they thought. 112 approached SCP-469 first, and attempted
to part a section of its feathers with his hands as 624 stood back and observed. The
moment his fingertips touched the feathers, a rustling sound filled the room. The feathers
began to quiver, shaking as if all waking up at once from a deep slumber. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the hundreds
and hundreds of wings unfurled and pulled 112 into their depths. He was swept into a
swirl of feathers and, within seconds, he had disappeared from view completely. Though 624 and the scientists watching on
their monitor could no longer see him…they could certainly hear him. From the moment
the wings pulled him into the sea of feathers, 112 had begun to scream in agony. His screams
persisted, growing louder and more desperate even as his voice cracked and grew weak. 624 stood, frozen in place with fear and shock.
624 was ordered to attempt to retrieve 112 from the feathers, but made no move to do
so. He simply stared at the feathers, eyes wide, face pale, as the pained shrieks of
his colleague bounced off the sterile white walls of the containment room. A guard called over the intercom, threatening
to terminate 624 if he did not attempt to remove 112 from SCP-469’s grasp. This warning
seemed to shock 624 back into action, and he made a run for the center feathers, arms
up to protect his face. Again, the sound of rustling as the feathers began to quake. The
wings unfurled once more, and 624 did not even have a chance to turn back before he
was pulled in to meet the same dismal fate as the other D Class. His screams of pain joined 112’s as the
scientists watching over the monitor could do nothing to help them. As the two men cried out in pain and horror
from within their winged prison, something began to happen that the scientists had never
seen before. The feathers started to shake again, faster than before, and at first the
wings appeared to be unfolding again. Upon a second look though, it was clear they hadn’t
moved. There were simply more of them now. As the men continued to scream, more feathers
appeared, the wings stretching out and elongating, and new wings sprouting as if from nowhere. SCP-469 appeared to be feeding on the sound
of the screams, and using that energy to expand. It was only after several long minutes when
the screaming finally stopped that the growth of the wings did too. At this point, the wings
shifted again, expelling the bodies of 112 and 624 from within its folds, dropping them
limply on the ground. Though their deaths were unfortunate, the
loss of 112 and 624 did reveal some new information about SCP-469. First, that it could grow,
and apparently needed to feed on sounds in order to do so. Second, that it was deadly
to humans, and most likely to other living things as well. Autopsies of 112 and 624’s
corpses would later reveal exactly what happened to them, and how SCP-469 kills its prey. Though 469’s feathers may look as though
they would be soft to the touch, each feather is actually made up of sharp barbs that are
capable of piercing clothing and skin. These barbs release a neurotoxin into the system
that activates every pain receptor in the body of the victim. The neurotoxin present
in these feathers has not been identified anywhere else in nature, but is somewhat similar
in structure and function to the neurotoxins excreted by the cone snail and in the bite
of the blue-ringed octopus. In addition to the pain-inducing neurotoxin,
the feathers also carry several unidentified stimulant compounds, which seem to be intended
to keep the victim awake for as long as possible. Where the neurotoxin on its own would induce
enough pain for the affected party to pass out almost immediately, the stimulants serve
to keep the victim conscious. SCP Foundation scientists posit that this
is so that 469 can get as much noise, in this case in the form of screams, out of its prey
as possible and achieve maximum growth before the captive creature dies or goes into shock. Further experiments confirmed this theory,
and showed that SCP 469 will react similarly when exposed to any living creature capable
of making a sound and experiencing pain, not just humans. Nonliving matter though, including
dead animals, elicit no response from 469. Additional experiments were then undertaken
that involved applying various different sounds in order to test their effect on SCP 469’s
growth. Though it feeds on any sounds produced in its presence, it seems to respond most
strongly to musical sounds, exhibiting a particularly strong response to classical music. No sound
elicits a stronger reaction from this creature, however, than the sound of ringing bells. It is rumored that when a bell was rung in
the presence of the 469, the humanoid at the center of the feathers is said to have moved
for the first time on record. Apparently whatever is at the center appeared to “wake up”
and unfurl its wings, revealing itself. But unfortunately, all security footage of this
incident has been wiped, and the data has been expunged from the record leaving the
creature’s true form a mystery. You may be remembering that four members of
Foundation personnel on record were lost to SCP-469, and that only two have been mentioned
so far. The second pair of casualties resulted when the Foundation attempted to terminate
SCP 469. Believing that there was no more scientific benefit to keeping it alive, or
at least that the possible benefits did not outweigh the risks, it was ordered that SCP-469
be terminated by any means necessary. Two skilled personnel, Dr. Jones and Dr. Smith,
were sent into the containment facility in hazmat gear, armed with several sharp instruments.
They were to attempt to use these to cut through the forest of feathers and soft bones until
they could reach the humanoid at the center. It was presumed that once they did and the
creature no longer had the protection of its poisonous feathers, that it would be relatively
easy to kill. They could not have been more wrong. Dr. Jones approached the dense cover of feathers
with a pair of sharpened gardening shears, while Dr. Smith opted for a machete. At first,
the strategy appeared to be working. Dr. Jones made several quick cuts, with feathers fluttering
to the floor and sticking to the Hazmat suit as Dr. Smith slashed into the feathers with
his machete, making similarly promising progress. However, the situation quickly took a turn
for the worse when Dr. Jones dropped her shears and let out a bloodcurdling scream. The feathers
had taken a little longer to get through the suit to her skin, but somehow they had managed
to find a way just the same. Smith grabbed Jones and attempted to make a break for it,
but he was too slow, and far too close to the feathers already. The wings wrapped around
them and swallowed them both up, leaving the researchers outside helpless to do anything
but listen to their screams and wait for them to go quiet. After several minutes they finally
did, and the now larger SCP-469 had officially claimed another two Foundation personnel. Obviously, 469 could not be terminated using
any methods that would place the responsible personnel within its grasp. That was simply
too risky. So, the Foundation selected a team of D-class personnel to attempt to burn the
feathers with an array of flamethrowers. Though the feathers were vulnerable to fire and began
to blacken and disintegrate on contact, the sound of the flames being expelled was loud
enough to feed SCP 469. Its growth was so quick in response to the noise that the fire
could not keep up with the amount of new feathers and wings being produced. By the time the flamethrowers ran out of propellant,
469 was the same size as it had been when they started. Other termination methods have
been discussed, including the possibility of submerging the entire creature in a highly
corrosive acid, but so far this has not yet been attempted. Whatever they end up trying,
it is clear that nothing that produces a significant amount of noise will be able to kill 469. So, where is it now? What’s become of this
perverse angel with the never-ending wings? Currently, it is kept isolated in an airtight,
soundproof chamber where nothing can trigger the growth of any more wings. So, what is
it? An angel? A demon? A twisted, mutated bird of some kind? It is entirely possible
we will never know. But It’s a Wonderful Life had something right, even if by accident.
Every time a bell rings, something, twisted and deadly though it may be, gets its wings. 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.
