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Based on an article that no longer exists.
⚠ Content warning: This article contains structural abuse, implications of CSA, self-harm, and the f-slur.

⚠ content warning

Item #: SCP-166
Level 2/166

Object Class: Keter
Classified

Threat Level: Black

Special Containment Procedures: Due to the nature of SCP-166, all propositions regarding SCP-166 are to be reviewed by Drs. Gray and Frankenstein of the 'Pataphysics Department, including revision of containment procedures, personnel assignment, and interview proposals. The 'Pataphysics Department is then to file a report on the potential Romantic repercussions of such actions within three narrative days. Actions whose consequences include the release of SCP-166, the empowerment of SCP-166 or PoI-9522 ("Madam Brinegash")1, or the decommissioning of Area-166 are to be avoided.
SCP-166 is to be kept in an unfurnished Type-2 Disposable humanoid containment unit in Area-166, to be checked daily for conceptual degradation. Thrice per day, SCP-166 is to be fed standard vegetarian rations. Each week, SCP-166 is to be moved to a new containment unit, with its previous unit recycled for parts.
USAZSD-Area-166 consists entirely of disposable buildings designed for ease of construction and demolition. No building is allowed to exist for more than a single year, and each is to be checked weekly for conceptual degradation. Food is to be imported from the Site-952 commissary located 29 km from Area-166, and may not be used to make meals with a total cost of more than $15, or recipes originating from 19th century America or Europe. Vegetation in Area-166 is to be routinely purged of abnormal floral growth.
Personnel assigned to SCP-166 are to be rotated monthly, and are not to spend more than 8 consecutive hours within 20 meters of SCP-166. Asexual and neurotypical personnel are strongly preferred for Area-166 assignments. Personnel are required to undergo a weekly psychiatric evaluation; compromised personnel are to be immediately transferred to a different project.
As of Incident 166-FC, female-attracted personnel are denied access to SCP-166.
Description: SCP-166 appears to be a Semitic female in her late 20s; however, SCP-166's body is non-baryonic in composition, and lacks much of the metabolic functions of ordinary humans.
SCP-166 is the focal point of an ontokinetic field that alters the properties and appearances of surrounding matter. Interviews with SCP-166 suggest that the purpose of this field is to forcibly emulate an environment similar to those of 19th-century Dark Romanticist ideals. Common motifs include Gothic architecture, poisonous flora, excess grime, and occult paraphernalia. Extended exposure can result in an environment rendered completely inhospitable for human habitation through a combination of hostile architecture and pollution.
Sapient beings who remain in the presence of SCP-166 risk developing increased appetite and libido, along with decreased levels of inhibition and empathy. These changes are permanent, and increase in severity the longer one remains in SCP-166's field. Despite this, affected individuals rarely attack SCP-166 of their own volition.
SCP-166's effects are not bound by a set distance; however, SCP-166's range appears to significantly increase in relation to the level of conversion and/or aesthetic compliance in its surroundings, as does the rate its changes take place.

HISTORY

SCP-166 was previously SCP-166-ARC, a Euclid-class anomaly contained at GBWLTB-Site-17. At the time of acquisition2, SCP-166-ARC was approximately 13-years-old, raised in a cult compound belonging to a Catholic sect of the Serpent's Hand.
Although SCP-166-ARC's handling personnel were exclusively female3, staffing shortages following Incident-818-B Clef-Kondraki resulted in the assignment of Dr. James Dantensen as head researcher of the SCP-166-ARC project, due to his experience working with juvenile anomalies such as SCP-1465, SCP-105, and SCP-818. As such, Dr. Dantensen was forced to conduct his work through intermediaries.
On 19/05/2011, SCP-166-ARC's containment was briefly breached following an unrelated raid conducted by GoI-002 ("Court of the Unseelie Queen") targeting SCP-032-ARC.
Following the events of the breach, behavioral reports indicated an increasing level of recalcitrance from SCP-166-ARC, as well as increased observance of Roman Catholicism. Despite its anomalous sensitivity to pressure ulcers, SCP-166-ARC would frequently wrap itself in bed linens; handling personnel were eventually forced to remove all linens from SCP-166-ARC's containment cell for the sake of its health. Self-harm behaviors were infrequently observed by attending personnel, and subsequently dealt with.
Records indicate that SCP-166-ARC filed an ethics complaint against Dr. Dantensen on 05/08/2013, and again on 08/12/2013; however, the actual complaints appear to have been lost, although subsequent interviews with handling personnel suggest they related to its containment breach in 2011. No action appears to have been taken on the Foundation's part.
On 14/02/2014, SCP-166-ARC breached containment, directly injuring five and killing Dr. Dantensen.

Interviewed: SCP-166
Interviewer: Dr. Sophia Whateley
Foreword: Following the reestablishment of SCP-166's containment, interviews were suspended for a period of 1 year, as standard for Class-IV Ontokinetic anomalies.
<Begin Log>
Dr. Whateley: Good evening. I'm Dr. Whateley.(7 second silence)
Dr. Whateley: Okay, then. Do you have a name you prefer?Dr. Whateley: … right. Well, before you became SCP-166, who were you?Dr. Whateley: Could you elaborate?
(65 second silence)
Dr. Whateley: … listen, I apologize, but if you can't help me help you, then I can't help you.Dr. Whateley: I wouldn't have such a negative outlook. Psychotherapy can be more effective than you think.(Both remain silent for 17 seconds. Dr. Whateley sighs.)
Dr. Whateley: … I guess it just feels like there's… something you want me to ask? To say? And I'm afraid I'm really not sure how. So… I guess, it's just up to you to say what that is. The floor's yours.(SCP-166 pauses)Dr. Whateley: How so?<End Log>
Closing Statement: SCP-166 remained non-compliant for the rest of the interview.

HISTORY

Prior to Incident 166-CL, SCP-166-ARC had been exceptionally compliant in its interactions with Foundation personnel, barring self-harm behaviors. Officially, security protocols remained in place; unofficially, observation of SCP-166-ARC was scaled back for budget-related concerns.
During Incident 166-CL, SCP-166-ARC displayed several then-unknown anomalous properties:

Anomalously sharp fingernails.
The capacity to steeply increase its body temperature without compromising bodily function.
The ability to compel subjects of its primary anomalous ability to perform actions on its behalf through verbalized commands.4

Following Incident 166-CL, SCP-166-ARC began actively resisting containment efforts. Revocation of privileges5 was largely ineffective, as SCP-166-ARC appears to have disavowed Catholicism following the Incident. Self-harm behaviors, including the rejection of its dietary regimen, were observed to increase in frequency.
At this point, SCP-166-ARC displayed open disdain for its handling personnel, refusing to comply with attempted interviews and experimentation. Attending physicians were frequently assaulted while attempting to carry out weekly medical evaluations. Remote observation was similarly sabotaged; observers were the target of exceedingly personal insults.
Containment procedures were updated to reflect SCP-166-ARC's escalated resistance, and its Threat Level was updated from Green to Yellow. Despite this, the SCP-166-ARC project reported higher than acceptable injuries and amnestic usage by the end of February 2014.
On 05/03/2014, a decision was made to transfer SCP-166-ARC to USNYHV-Area-16.
INCIDENT 166-FC: On 16/03/2023, Dr. Sophia Whateley was assigned to SCP-166. Dr. Whateley would later file a request of reassignment on 9/4/2023, citing a developing romantic interest in SCP-166.
Efforts were made to reassign Dr. Whateley to SCP-███ duty in Site-952; however, a series of probabilistic anomalies prevented Dr. Whateley from leaving Area-166, and further placed her into situations where she was forced to interact with SCP-166.

Interviewed: SCP-166
Interviewer: Dr. Sophia Whateley
Foreword: SCP-166 had not been scheduled for an interview; however, circumstances preventing Dr. Whateley from avoiding SCP-166 gave little reason not to conduct one.
<Begin Log>
Dr. Whateley: Hello, SCP-166. I apologize, but we really shouldn't be talking.Dr. Whateley: … again, I'm afraid I don't know what-
Dr. Whateley: Is this about… listen, I have no relation to Dr. Dantensen. I have… I have little intention of making whatever mistake he made.(16 second silence)
Dr. Whateley: Is this in regards to your anomaly?SCP-166: I don't know the science behind what I am, any more than you do. I just knew where I fit in. Adamism, spermophagy, temptation of man, lowercase "m", I was a trope. A fetish piece. An ornament of sexual fantasy. I had no say in that.
(Both remain silent for 21 seconds. SCP-166 appears to be taking heavier breaths.)
Dr. Whateley: I'm sorry.(9 second silence)SCP-166: My existence was suffering, literally. The role I played required it. Life fine-tuned to maximize my misery. Don't touch me. If I was any less patient I'd rip your fucking fingers off. You're culpable, you and everyone else. You cared more about sitting me still than fixing me.
Dr. Whateley: You shouldn't say that about yourself. "Broken" isn't-(Both remain silent for 57 seconds. Faint sounds of weeping can be heard.)
Dr. Whateley: Again, I'm sorry.
(6 second silence. SCP-166 takes several deep breaths)(17 second silence)Dr. Whateley: Dark Romanticism, I'm assuming.Dr. Whateley: I'm afraid I'm not… listen. I'm sorry for what you went through, but I assure you, I just want to help. I don't want to see you in pain, it's distressing. But, I need you to work with me for that to happen. Alright?
(48 second silence)<End Log>
Closing Statement: [no response]

HISTORY

As a smaller facility intended for high-threat sapient anomalies, Area-16 was considered a more effective environment for the SCP-166-ARC project. In addition to the heightened security measures afforded, a majority of Area-16's anomalies lacked a human or human-adjacent memeplex, reducing the chance of cross-contamination during a breach.
SCP-166-ARC initially maintained its previous level of resistance; however, a combination of malnutrition and cellulitis6 dramatically reduced assaults.
In the days preceding Incident 166-DF-Nobody, SCP-166-ARC had been successfully pacified to pre-Incident 166-CL levels.

Interviewed: SCP-166
Interviewer: Dr. Sophia Whateley
Foreword: I apologize for some of the language used, I was under a great deal of stress.
<Begin Log>Dr. Whateley: … you'll excuse me, things are a bit messy.Dr. Whateley: If I've caused you any distress, I sincerely apologize.(    second silence)(    second silence)Dr. Whateley: … do you enjoy this?Dr. Whateley: Bad? Pardon me, what have we done? We've treated you with respect. I've treated you with respect. You're afforded recreation, human contact within reason, pardon my language but hell, we feed you. You don't even need food! So what the hell do we do?
(    second silence)
Dr. Whateley: I've read the reports. Dantensen's dead. You traumatized half of 17 and whatever the hell happened in 16, it's all blackboxes. Isn't that enough? You've had your revenge, so if you want to be twenty-six so badly, fucking act like it!
(    second silence)
Dr. Whateley: … I'm sorry. This… I suppose this is the anomaly talking.
(Dr. Whateley briefly pauses, coughs, and continues)
Dr. Whateley: … Dark Romanticism, that's… in spite of the fact that I can't quite leave, I'm honestly curious. I'm assuming you could just kill people like before, and, well… I don't know. It all feels really roundabout.
(SCP-166 remains silent for     seconds, before sharply sniffing.)Dr. Whateley: This isn't acting. I-(    second silence)SCP-166: Yes, it's you, and no, it's not just you, it's everyone. It's the nuns and priests and blackshirts and quote-unquote "doctors". It's everyone that played my misery for money or sex or smug superiority, every little fucking second spent acting out a shitty little male-gaze piece of living, screaming art! Except I couldn't scream! No, I'm stuck at the back of the fucking room. An interactive fucking art exhibit!Dr. Whateley: Brinegash?
(    second silence)
Dr. Whateley: Who is Brinegash?
(    second silence)<End Log>
Closing Statement: [no response]

MEMORANDUM ON AREA-166'S CURRENT CONDITION
Following a thorough audit of USAZSD-Area-166 and its associated SCP project, Foundation Overwatch has come to the following conclusion:

SCP-166's anomaly has extended beyond the acceptable parameters of containment, necessitating the use of counterconceptual measures.
Our current understanding of SCP-166's anomaly is incomplete; as such, SCP-166's containment procedures are insufficient.
Until containment can be reestablished, the expansion of the SCP-166 project beyond recontainment presents an unacceptable risk to potential personnel.
Personnel who have spoken with SCP-166 for more than five cumulative minutes may be ontologically compromised.

We apologize for the inconvenience.

HISTORY

On 09/01/2019, PoI-000 ("Nobody") was observed to have entered Area-16, using the stolen credentials of Dr. Alto Clef. PoI-000 proceeded towards SCP-166-ARC's containment, which they then breached. Following a short conversation7, PoI-000 disappeared, and SCP-166-ARC exited containment.
The full extent of SCP-166-ARC's actions following its release is unknown; shortly after it breached containment, SCP-166-ARC assisted in the release of several entities carrying the DC001-A and DC4947 ontohazards, rendering security footage unusable. Witness testimony is similarly unreliable, given the nature of several anomalies involved.
Mobile Task Forces Epsilon-11 ("Needle in a Hay Field") and Theta-3 ("Black Volga") were initially deployed to retrieve SCP-166-ARC, under the assumption that its anomalous effects would quickly attract civilian attention. Following six months of continuous search, both MTFs were recalled, and the SCP-166-ARC project was officially archived.
On 07/03/2022, SCP-166-ARC entered Spicy Crust Pizza on Staten Island, and willingly turned itself into Foundation custody. SCP-166-ARC was otherwise unresponsive to questioning, and efforts were made to transport it to USNVBR-Site-56 for recontainment.
Following Incident 166-DI on 16/03/2022, transport was forced to establish impromptu containment in the Sonoran Desert, the site of which was designated Area-166.

VIDEO LOG: INCIDENT 166-GK

DATE: 21/05/2023
NOTE: At 19:36 on May 21st of 2023, Dr. Sophia Whateley entered SCP-166's containment cell without informing the rest of SCP-166's containment team.

[BEGIN LOG]
SCP-166 sits on its bed, reading a copy of Troy Lament's In His Own Image. It occasionally glances towards the surveillance camera opposite to the wall it's leaning against. Approximately three seconds before Dr. Whateley enters, SCP-166 mouths something to the camera.
Dr. Whateley enters SCP-166's containment cell in an apparent hurry. She is not dressed according to the Area-166 dress code8. Her fingers appear to be partially stained with blood.
SCP-166 does not acknowledge Dr. Whateley.
Dr. Whateley: … 166?
SCP-166 does not acknowledge Dr. Whateley.
Dr. Whateley: Please. Don't do this to me.
Dr. Whateley attempts to speak again, only to begin coughing violently, leaning against against a wall for support. SCP-166 does not acknowledge Dr. Whateley.
Dr. Whateley: I didn't know, not at first. They only gave me the logs after I tried leaving. I just wanted to help. Still want to help.
SCP-166 does not acknowledge Dr. Whateley.
Dr. Whateley: We don't have to be here, 166. We can go somewhere safer. It doesn't have to be with me, or anyone else, just- (Dr. Whateley coughs) … your story can have a happy ending, without…
SCP-166 dog-ears its current page and puts its book to the side.Dr. Whateley: You don't have to do this, 16-Dr. Whateley sinks down against the wall.Dr. Whateley: I… (Dr. Whateley coughs) I'm not ready to go. I had so much more I wanted to do. I can't- (Dr. Whateley coughs again, spitting up bloodied phlegm.) … don't tell me this is it.SCP-166 averts its gaze towards the ceiling as Dr. Whateley undergoes a violent coughing fit. By the time Dr. Whateley finally recovers her breath, much of her blouse has been stained with blood and phlegm.
Dr. Whateley: Please, 166. I don't want to-(Dr. Whateley coughs) 166, I love you, despite everything you did I love you, I'm sorry I couldn't help but I love you, so much, please. Please don't let me die.
SCP-166 opens its mouth to say something, before pausing, picking its book back up, and throwing it at Dr. Whateley's head.SCP-166 turns to lie down on its bed as Dr. Whateley experiences a final coughing fit before going limp.
Security personnel eventually enter SCP-166's cell to retrieve Dr. Whateley, who is subsequently pronounced dead9. SCP-166 does not move from its position; audio analysis suggests it is crying.

[END LOG]

...

Interviewed: Miriam Clef
Interviewer: A kind man.
<Begin Log>
A kind man.: Hello.
Miriam Clef: … you're not touching me.
A kind man.: I would hope not. You look about half my age.
Miriam Clef: … listen, sir, I don't know what you're here for. But I don't want any trouble. If Dr. Dantensen knows you're here, he's gonna-
A kind man.: Don't mind him, I can take care of my own. So, let's cut to the chase: I have a proposition.
<End Log>

Footnotes
1. Possibly Isabella ██████ ████████.
2. 08/10/2008
3. As per the nature of SCP-166-ARC's anomaly, which induced unusual levels of sexual aggression in male personnel.
4. Possibly non-anomalous: SCP-166-ARC leveraged the possibility of romantic attention.
5. Refer to SCP-166-ARC, version history V.2014.1.
6. [REDACTED PENDING DECLASSIFICATION OF A16ECR-018]
7. The contents of which are unknown, due to PoI-000's anomalous properties.
8. To be expected: Dr. Whateley was not on clock.
9. Autopsy determined Rasmussen's aneurysm to be the cause of death.


This world is fantastic and terrifying and wonderful. There are gods and monsters and heroes and villains. Living boats, giant serpents, sapient clouds, even dream-stalking beasts. One could be forgiven for not finding any sense in it.
But there is one universal truth to it all: No matter who they are- living boats, giant serpents, sapient animals, or even just ordinary humans- no one wishes to be forgotten. No matter how vile or pure of heart, no matter a famous king or a lowly peasant all everyone wants, in this strange, uncaring world, is to not be forgotten. To know that whatever happens to them in the end, someone remembers who they were in life.
As I write these words, twenty-six people in the Sichuan province of China have been buried alive by a jealous earth spirit. Twelve people in Brazil have been lured to their deaths by a crow-faced murderer. Seven children never existed due to a powder slipped in their father's drink in Moscow, and thirty-three people have had everything they cared about stripped away from their minds in Japan by the Chaos Insurgency.
No one will notice these people. No one will mourn their deaths. People all over the world will go about their days, perhaps stop to glance at a missing person's poster with a twinge of curiosity, and forget about them soon after.
Sooner or later, some organization like the Global Occult Coalition or the Foundation will catch wind of these perpetrators. They will be caught and punished accordingly, or placed in a cell to rot. And the bodies will be collected, counted, and a number placed in an archive somewhere before they are burned or buried in an unmarked grave to be forgotten.
I remember them. I will remember all of you. I do this not out of a sense of obligation, or spite towards uncaring authorities like the Coalition or the Foundation, but out of respect. Out of kindness. To remember all those who have lived beautiful ordinary lives that were cut short due to cruelties they never deserved.
I promise you this: you will not be forgotten.
- Pangloss.


Title is a quote from Savielly Tartakower. Just a little story I thought up last night and thought was worth a post.
Page image is from here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Paris_-_Playing_chess_at_the_Jardins_du_Luxembourg_-_2966.jpg

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F.A.Q.

{$doesthisfixthebug}

In the beginning, they created the heavens and the earth, and the earth was without form. After that, well, all hell broke loose.
It started innocently enough. A man and woman in love. A temptation. Fruit. Knowledge.
And then they got kicked out of the Garden of Eden. But that's not the end of the story. They forged ahead, created a life for themselves. A good life. They had children. The first one, they called Cain. Then they had a many, many more. One of those was called Abel. He was the favorite. Cain didn't like that.
And so the first piece was removed from the board.
It was a small crime, in the grand scheme of things. But happening so early, it shaped all to come. The children spread out into the world. Mankind lived a harsh and brutal life. And then someone realized you could plant your own crops. Land became valuable. People became hardened to the plight of the poor. Kings ruled over man and emperors ruled over kings.
The first empires rose. The Greeks. The Egyptians. The Hittites, the Assyrians. They traded. They warred from time to time but nothing ever to upset the balance of power. Until one day, a force of unimaginable power swept in from the sea. And everyone felt their wrath.
The bronze age ended like it began, in blood and madness. And then the moves were reactionary. An empire rises here, then it falls. A kingdom finds its way, then it disappears.
Over and over, in a forever cycle of… wait. Who is this? Alexander The Great? What a pompous name. And he built the largest empire the world had ever seen. But he died, like all men do. And it fell apart.
Soon two great empires rose, one in the west and one in the east. The Romans unified most of a continent. China could never quite find a way to unify itself for any significant length of time, but both were powerful, and both lasted quite a while.
Religions rose as well. Belief had always been a powerful tool. And the players making the moves, knew how to use it to get what they wanted. But this was different. It was more… permanent. It permeated all. And it was a mistake.
But still these great empires fell. There was nothing that could be done about that. But what rose in their places were poised to grow immeasurably. And then Genghis Khan came along to change everything again. A single piece capable of unimaginable amounts of destruction. Of creation. The piece took almost all of Asia, and then Asia took him. He died and the empire fell and that was that.
And an era of unprecedented darkness rose like a specter around the entire world. Out of that darkness came a disease that left a third of humanity coughing and bleeding and crying and dying.
Still the game continued.
It took a while, but soon the light returned to the world, and in a few more centuries, someone learned that you could use steam to do work. A lot of work. All of the work. But as always, a discovery like that doesn't make things better for anyone who doesn't control it, it just makes those people more powerful.
Steam led to electricity. Thus began the modern age. And the end of the game approached.
Mankind had no way to know that the players were making their final moves of course. They just went on about their lives. The great war came and went and they promised never again. Then the next war came and went and they promised never again. Then more wars came. Always more wars.
And finally, weaved into the fabric of it all, a group meant to protect humanity from itself and from the unknown came about. The more we knew, the more we explored, the more questions we answered… the more the players would subvert that knowledge.
Finally the gambits upon gambits upon gambits came to a head. And the end of the game showed itself. Neither player could win. They could continue the stalemate for as long as they wanted, but there wasn't much of a point.
So SCP-343 rose from his seat and extended his hand. SCP-2343 nodded and stood, shaking the hand.
"Good game." 343 said.
SCP-2343 looked down at the board. "Why do we keep doing this?"
343 shrugged. "Competition is good for the soul."
SCP-2343 smirked. "We're playing against ourselves. There's never going to be a winner."
"I know hypocrisy is sort of our thing, but you know you married one of us, right?"
"Fair enough. I'm going to get back to the cell, before they notice I'm gone."
And then god went their separate ways.


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Two of the same man levitated high in the chill sky above Sloth's Pit, their torsos spiraling apart, wrapping around a single point of light between them as they faced each other, crossing their arms.
"So… We need to figure this out." Their voices spoke simultaneously. "What are— wait."
One of them raised their hand up, covering the other's mouth. "I am Sen. You can be… I dunno, Clo-sen."
Closen licked Sen's hand, and he quickly recoiled in disgust, wiping their hand on what was left of their ripped shirt. "Why do I have to be Closen? Sounds stupid. Like I'm, uh, Closen the door!"
"Shut up and deal with it."
"Jesus, what has you in a cranky mood?"
"Well, I'm stuck next to me, the person I hate the most, so…"
"Hey, I don't hate myself that much! There's like… plenty of people I hate more than myself. Like Hitler… or that Nolan guy who bullied me in fifth grade!"
Sen shot a glare over his blathering self, who simply looked up and chuckled.
"Mkay, yeah, I'll shut up, I mean, I was just saying, you know?"
"Sure you were. Well, there's also the fact that I'm pretty sure this isn't my dimension. This isn't Koala's Pit, right?"
"Dude." Closen raised his hands up, then down, gesturing to the space around him. "We're in Sloth's Pit."
"Shit." Bringing his hands up to his temples, Sen began rubbing them softly. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit."
"Hey, no need to get so vulgar! I'm sure there's some way to get you back." Closen peeked down at the city below, which was just about the size of a speck. "And some way to get me down without killing myself. But hey, one thing at a time."
"Okay…" Taking in a deep breath, Sen held it for a few seconds before letting it go. "What were you doing when… well, when this happened?"
"Was in my kitchen. I made a peanut butter and butter sandwich—"
"Hold on, peanut butter and butter?"
"Yeah."
"That can not be good for your cholesterol. Or your sodium intake."
"Shut up, it's not relevant."
"Then why'd you say it?"
"B— because, uh." Closen stuttered, his cheeks flushing red as he looked up at Sen's toothy, cheeky grin. "Oh, shut up! God, for being me, you're super annoying. Anyways, where was I? Right. I made myself a sandwich, then I went to go sit on my recliner, eat it, and watch some TV, when there was a giant flash of light! And now I'm here… Ah shit! My dog's probably eating my sandwich now!"
"Your… your dog? Is it a basset hound?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Frowning, Sen blinked. "I had a basset hound. She died."
"Oh… I'm sorry to hear that."
They sat in silence for a moment, until Sen finally broke it. "Okay, okay, so a flash of light… Uh, I got here from a flash of light too, but I was preparing an ALT, that's an avocado, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, and I was going out to my porch to read my book when suddenly there was a giant flash of light! But I could've sworn there was a power outage before I got here… like all the lights in my house flickered off."
"So basically, you got here in the same way as me, but the health nutty and power outage-y version?"
"I— Hm…" Sen wanted to stutter out something witty, like, 'at least I won't die early,' but he held himself back. "Right. Same way. Not much to go off of…"
"You know… maybe the plastics people are behind this."
"What 'plastics people?' Oh, wait! You must be talking about the guys at S&C Perennials. That big greenhouse at the west end of town?"
"No! It's plastics!"
"They're some weird combination of—"
"Secret police and protection squad that also runs experiments on the town?"
"I mean, yes… That— that would make sense. Maybe they screwed something up?"
Closen sighed. "I dunno, but I hope they get it fixed up soon…"

Down in Site-87, researchers frantically scrambled around the Multi-Universal Transit Array with fire extinguishers, trying to put out the blazing inferno caused by the recent power surge. Claire Hennessy looked over the chaos from above with thinly veiled despair. She wanted to scream out some kind of order, like, 'go out and grab a fire hose,' or 'get some more people,' but practically everyone from the site was already there.
"Dammit…" Placing a hand over her mouth, she leaned over the railing, spotting a sweaty Junior Researcher from the side of her eye.
"Uh… Miss? There's a singularity above the city."
Her palm quickly met her face. "Get those fires out faster!"

"Maybe we're like, cursed to come together." Closen shrugged. "Or it's just this town being weird. Lots of weird stuff happens here. Like, I'm neighbors with an eight year old superhero."
"I mean, it's not scientific, but it makes sense. Back in my dimension Koala's Pit is very volatile. You know how there are all those dumb trivial holidays? Like 'Static Electricity Day' or 'Build A Vacuum Day?' Well, they end up changing Koala's Pit around. A lot." Shivering, Sen recalled the horrors of walking outside to see every living thing had been turned into a teddy bear, then seeing his reflection in a puddle nearby… "It's, uh, pretty fucking scary."
"Wack."
"Really? That's all you have to say?"
"No, I mean, look at that." Closen pointed down at the ball of light where their spiraling waists met. It was pulsating, slowly growing larger.
"Oh god, that can't be good."

After being reassured that all the flames were out and everything had been repaired as quickly as it could, Claire dashed up to the Array's control panel, pressing the black 'restart' button. A box popped up on the monitor in front of her.

Loading… 5%

"Uh, Sen? I think we're gonna die up here. Or, uh, down there." Closen gulped, quickly taking a peek downwards before flicking his eyes back up.
"Fuck no. I will survive through sheer willpower. There's no way I'm dying with myself. I refuse."
"Okay… but…"

Loading… 15%

The ball of light began to pull the pair in further, their chests now spiralling into it.
"This thing is gonna suck us in."
"Nope. Nuh-uh. No way." Covering their ears, Sen began to hum noisily, drowning out Closen's suddenly pessimistic statements.

Loading… 30%

"Come on, man, now isn't the time to joke around!"
"You were before!"
"That was when I thought we were gonna live!"

Loading… 50%

"Come on, talk to me!"

Loading… 75%

"You know, uh, I don't hate you that much. You're actually pretty cool for being me… Uh, you're healthy, and…" Their arms began to spiral into the ball of light.

Loading… 95%

"Dude!"
Sen stopped humming.

Loading… 97.5%

"Damn. I guess this really is it."
Trying to move his head, Sen realized that the ball of light was already halfway up his neck already.
"Uh, I'd hug you, I guess, but…"
"Yeah." Closen tried to move his shoulders into a shrug. "No arms."

Loading… 99.9%

"Goodbye, friend…"
"Y—yeah, for being a slob, you aren't half bad…"

Loading… 99.9%

Miles below them, Claire thwacked the side of the control panel.

Loading… 100%
Reinitializing…
Online!

Just as the tops of their heads were about to be sucked in, the ball of light exploded.

Sen opened their eyes to their pristine, perfect home.
"What? What the hell just happened?"
As his mind processed the previous events that had just taken place, he reached down and picked up his glass plate from the ground, grabbing the ALT upon it. He looked at it for a long while before setting it down and walking over to their pantry, wondering if he had any peanut butter and butter.

Closen— or by now, just regular Sen— opened their eyes to see their droopy basset hound on the ground, inhaling his PB&B.
"Smokey, stop that!" He shouted, tugging the dog away. "That's bad for your cholesterol!"

Claire looked up from the monitor to her Multi-U team, noticing that their clothes were burned and they practically had scolds all over their bodies from the raging fire.
"You know, team, you all did amazing today!"
The team simply stared at her, not even making an attempt to hide the pain in their eyes.
"In the face of adversity, you rose up and managed to improvise a plan that may have just saved the town."
They wanted to speak, or even shout something like, 'everything was just on fire, what were we supposed to do?' But they decided it probably wasn't worth it. Just let her go on with the dumb speech, they thought.
"You're heroes, guys. Don't ever forget that. But…"
And here's where we get more work to do…
"We need to figure out some better safety protocols. As a team, right?!"
The Multi-U team let out a weak cheer as Claire grinned to herself.
"Now, let's get started."

|Hub|

More From This Author

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Ellie3's Works

SCPs

SCP-2019-J •

SCP-4874 •

SCP-4492 •

SCP-5986 •

SCP-5033 •

SCP-7308 •

SCP-7300 •

Tales/GoI Formats

The Many Business Ventures of S & C Plastics •

"Is bad luck really such a crime?" asked the mouse to the cat. •

Memory Dives & Deep Desires •

No Cars Allowed •

There's a Job For Everyone •

A Hero I Would Be! •

Three Portlands Pastries •

Starlow Grocery •

We Stopped Making Socks (But What If We Made Something Better?) •

Home Sick •

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far •

Reviviscence •

A Little Bunny's Doctor •

(Not The) Foundation Fight Club! •

SCP-ide •

Other

Ellie3 (Gimmick Free!) •


Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Safe/Euclid/Keter (indicate which class)

Gräfin took a deep breath, taking the opportunity to crack his neck. Shaking his head to clear any stray thoughts, he placed his fingers on the keyboard…
…only to find he couldn't figure out something to type.
"Darn, where do I start?"
'Start simple,' Graf remembered. 'Better to write something than nothing at all.'
He remembered that the anomalies involved were just roses that absorbed all light, so it must have been safe, right?

Object Class: Safe

Progress. Back to checking emails.

Admittedly, he probably shouldn't have expected much praise over what he had put in. The feedback he received was… not exactly positive.
"Object Class? That's it? What about containing this thing?"
"Finish up that report, squirt. No time like the present."
"Kid, I don't even know what dongle we're talking about. At least tell me what it looks like."
Sagging slightly, Gräfin nevertheless pulled himself up before resolving to finish the report - or at least, write something up to quiet his peers. And anyways, the sooner he finished the report, the sooner he could submit it for review so he could get his monthly stipend.

Special Containment Procedures: Can be grown normally. No serious containment method needed. Maybe get a dedicated gardener?
Description: SCP-XXXX are roses that don't reflect any light. Looks the same as that new pigment, Vantablack I think? Whatever it is, don't leave it in a dark room or you'll probably never find it again.

Gräfin paused again. What should he put in for the addendum?

Addendum XXXX-1: If SCP-XXXX shows any changes or goes missing, must inform Site Director.

Perfect.

"Morning, junior. What'cha up to?" The sudden voice jolted Gräfin out of his thoughts. Looking up, he saw the stolid gaze of his superior.
"Researcher Kiryu!" He'd heard rumors about the bug-obsessed researcher - she had revolutionized organization methods for the entire Foundation, and was widely acclaimed for that.
He'd idolized her ever since.
The researcher - he could see a Level-3 Clearance badge on the front of her shirt - bent down, eyes narrowing slightly as she skimmed over the report draft before her, before she pursed her lips. "Is this your first official report?"
Gräfin winced internally. That couldn't be a good sign.
"Yes, ma'am. I'm… building upon the framework I've made."
She nodded, before walking off. Once she was out of eyesight, Gräfin let out a shaky breath. He hadn't felt that anxious since he first stepped foot into the building - however surreal this all still felt to him. As he focused back on the computer in front of him, he heard her voice ring out one more time.
"Make sure it sounds clinical in your final draft. We are a professional organization, after all."

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX requires standard maintenance procedures as per the Maintenance of Non-anomalous Angiosperm Protocol. Additionally, SCP-XXXX should be situated in an area surrounded by light to prevent possible loss of the anomaly.

"So tell me a little about yourself, Gräfin."
"Well, I was studying BME in university…" Rambling on, he couldn't tell if the researcher before him was genuinely listening, or if she was just being polite and pretending to care.
Truth be told, he didn't even know why she offered to have lunch with him.
"That's nice and all," started Zyn, swallowing her sandwich. "But what about you? Any interests of your own?" Gräfin opened his mouth, ready to protest that BME was his interest, but stopped short - he didn't want to aggravate his idol so early, not when she had given him the opportunity to distinguish himself from the crowd.
He craved recognition.
"I guess you can say I like to draw." Seeing her eyebrows raise slightly, Gräfin pressed onward. "Nothing major, you know? Some odd doodles and whatnot."
He was a bit disappointed at her lack of reaction - he wouldn't call himself a prodigy or anything, but at least hoped to find any sign that he had left a lasting impression.
"How's your report coming along?" Her sudden words jolted him out of his thoughts.
"I… well, would you like to see the draft? I'm not exactly good at explaining it." Pulling his laptop out, he was surprised when Zyn simply shook her head.
"If you can't explain it to me, how do you expect me to believe your draft is any better?"
Gräfin flushed. "I…well…wha-what if I'm just not good at speaking?"
"I never said you had to verbally express it," she rebutted, a ghost of a smile on her face. "If you're capable of writing the general gist of your pitch, that's fine as well."
"… Huh? What's the point of writing that if I'll end up writing the draft anyways?" To his surprise, she didn't react, as though she had been expecting that answer. Instead, she just passed him a note before picking up her stuff and heading out.

Head to Room 115, RAISA's Intra-site Resources Room. Ask for the Butterfly Squad Roster.

Gräfin was… thoroughly embarrassed, to say the least.
What he thought was some "top secret thing" that he could access because of Zyn's possible favoritism was instead a simple writing room filled with some fellow interns of his, and where their seniors walked around the room, giving critique. The welcome sign wasn't much more inspiring, either.

"Welcome to the roster's meeting room, though I guess you can just call it "The Forum" like the rest of us. While we are not cruel, we do not coddle."
"But, we are here to help."

"I still don't understand why I have to come up with a pitch before writing a report," Gräfin muttered. The woman looking over his shoulder chuckled.
"We get a lot of reports where the people have no clue what they're writing about. Sure, you might not think you're one of those people, but hey - we live in a world where memetic concepts can reshape our identities. Zyn got tired of us poring through tons of shitty drafts where the JRs kept going off-topic or giving tons of redundant crap, and here we are now."
Seeing his perturbed look, Oake continued. "After all, does it really matter that your walls are 12.34567 centimeters thick? Will the anomaly erupt in fury if we were a nanometer off? What about containment cells five hundred meters tall to contain a humanoid? Or what about drafts with needless filler to look bulkier than it actually is?"
She sighed, taking a deep breath. "Sorry, got a bit ahead of myself there. The point I'm trying to make here is: people just tend to make mistakes or absurd reports. We're hoping to help people catch those mistakes early on so it doesn't detrimentally affect the reports - or our budget.
"But I am different," he wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. Shaking his head, he just huffed before gripping his pen. After scrawling out two sentences, he stood up and walked out.
"I'm gonna go to the recreation room for a bit."

The anomaly is a species of roses that absorb all light. That's it.

Mathias's eye twitched as he read the simple concept.
"Guth," he began slowly. "While I acknowledge your frustration with our system for reviewing people's pitches before allowing them to write drafts, is this tongue in cheek tone really necessary?"
"Christ man, I just want to write the fucking draft. I don't understand the need for all this," retorted Gräfin. "You're just here to critique my stuff before I hand it in, right?"
"The Forum is a volunteer project headed by the Butterfly Squad Roster. We were former colleagues and interns of Researcher Zyn, and we decided to pass on the kindness she showed us to others. All are free to ask for our services - with the caveat that we are free to reject what we deem to be too riddled with holes. Additionally, if we are not confident in your ability to create a draft, we are allowed to request that you give us a concept first."
"And if you are confident?"
"That is the greenlight system," replied Mathias. "We sign our names at the bottom of your pitch. Upon receiving two signatures, it is an indication that we have placed our faith in you that you can at least make a semi-coherent draft that'll be well received by whatever peer-review board you happen to land when you submit the piece."
Gräfin bit his tongue, seething. Giving a jerky nod, he swiftly walked out, taking his concept with him.
After he had walked out of the room, a woman poked her head out from one of the cubicles. "Lemme know if we need to keep an eye on him."
"Don't worry about him, Zyn. At least this one didn't insult anyone on the squad."

SCP-XXXX is a subspecies of roses that absorb all light that hits it. Draft will include standard containment protocols akin to containing normal plants, discovery, as well as various tests involving the anomaly.

"So what's the story involving this scip?"
"What?" Another thing to add on? Gräfin was not amused.
"As much as we hate to admit it, our researchers are only human. They too get stressed out by the endless toil our jobs require, and thus a lot of the time they don't actually read the entire report. In an attempt to make sure that our researchers don't skim the report as much, we encourage the usage of stories."
"… You're losing me here, doc."
"Find a way to make it both interesting while not jeopardizing our primary focus," explained Mathias. He glanced at the new concept. "Honestly, you've actually got a not half-bad plot going on right now, what with all the testing an all. Sure, it might be a little generic, but it's leagues better than what you started out with."
"Wait, if I already have a story then… why ask me in the first place?"
"If you yourself can't explain it, how can I expect you to actually implement it? Now, run it from the top."
"So all I have to do is… give a linear chronology record of events that happened involving the testing of this thing?"
"Pretty much, yeah. I'll give this a greenlight, you've slaved over this enough for some self-reflection. I can dig that. Go ask another member of the Butterfly Squad Roster to give this a look-over."

Addendum XXXX-1: Chronological Experimental Log

"Well? How is it?" asked a nervous Gräfin.
As Mathias scrolled down the draft and made comments, Gräfin's heart plummeted as the once-pristine document was infested with highlighted marks and comments. Mathias had a done a line-by-line analysis, it seemed, and his draft had been eviscerated.
"Overall, this is pretty good," concluded Mathias, jolting the junior researcher out of his stupor. Seeing his surprised look, he chuckled. "Kid, this is your first draft. I don't expect it to be perfect. It is, however, leagues better than the draft you shoved in our faces on the first day you visited the Forum."
The junior researcher stood stunned, as his senior got up and walked by him. Before he exited, Mathias gave him a final piece of advice.
"Writing is tough, kid. I won't deny it. Shit gets your heart and soul poured into it, torn apart, and rebuilt. On and on, it cycles. That's how it is. But trust me, I'd rather have a meticulously written out report, even if it takes days or possibly weeks to complete, than something slapped together in the lesser half of an hour. Likewise, the Foundation is the same. Although they're more lenient on sloppy drafts since they can't really afford to be picky with the containment procedures, do remember you are writing for a scientific organization: if they deem your stuff isn't up to snuff, you could lose all your funding for that particular project. And no one wants that."
For days afterwards, Gräfin worked day and night on his draft, going to the Forum to receive people's opinion on it, getting his draft mauled, and incorporating the advice.
"Your clauses are pretty janky, dude. Try to even out the irregularities."
"Lad, you don't need to inform the O5 whenever something happens relating to the anomaly. You'll pretty much never see them unless you're working with something actually dangerous or important, and we here at Kiryu Labs pretty much focus on low-risk anomalies that we just can't shove into a closet."
"Did… did you just do first and second person point of view? My dude, do you have to break the format? Third person is fine."
Despite the critique, he began to feel less and less troubled by the reviews and more confident; as the days passed, more and more people in the Forum found something positive to say about his draft, however small it may be.
In fact, it got to the point where he began helping the uneasy newcomers entering the Forum. Having been in the same shoes as them, he reciprocated their cluelessness and repaid it in kind with patience, slowly guiding them on their own journey, imparting what knowledge he had learned to help those who were also struggling.
It was honestly a bit exciting.

"Your draft's getting better, Julian, I'll give it that. I still feel like some events are a bit anachronistic, but seeing as we have at least two temporal anomalies here, I can't exactly comment on that without a grain of salt."

"I think this is a bit unnecessary," muttered Gräfin.
"Nonsense," shot back Oake, dragging him towards the restaurant. "You've been working nonstop for the past couple of days. I'm not even sure if you're eating properly anymore."
After ordering their food, Gräfin looked down at the table, unsure of where to look.
"You can look at my face, kid. We're colleagues here, no need to be shy around me."
"I'm not exactly good at social interactions." She chuckled at that.
"Judging by our first meeting, I'd say that is a fair assessment of your personality." Although he was sure that Oake was joking, Gräfin had to admit that stung a bit.
Silence reigned over the two as they quietly ate once their food arrived. It wouldn't be until she finished her meal that he finally spoke again.
"Why all this?"
Oake sighed. "You've been working tirelessly. I don't want you to burn out, kid. Your work ethic is admirable and all, but you also need to take a breather every once in a while - heck, a lot of our Butterflies tend to take breaks most if not all the time. It just isn't productive to work endlessly."
She laid a hand on his. "You're a good kid, and I can imagine you'll do fantastic things in the future. Just make sure you don't exhaust yourself on the way there."
All he could do was nod.

… For further information regarding the anomaly, please refer to Document XXXX-7.

"Make your move, hot shot." Gräfin chuckled, shaking his head slightly, before making his move.
"Knight to e5." The corner of his mouth twitched as he slid his piece over, silently reveling on his next phrase: "Check."
"Did you forget about my bishop?" shot back Oake. "King to c3. Checkmate."
Gräfin cursed, turning red. He had been too narrowminded - for the eighth game in a row. Those damn pieces were just too small for him to notice. "Man, you're pretty bad at strategy games, huh?" she jibed.
"I'd crush you in checkers," he retorted. She cackled in glee at his statement, taking out the board game from underneath the coffee table, taunting him with a grin. "Bring it on, junior!"
After a few rounds, Gräfin glanced at the clock. "Huh, it's about 4 PM. I better work on that report." As she stood up, Oake pulled him back down, her face losing all previous signs of mirth.
"Today's your free day, just stop worrying about that draft."
"But-"
"But nothing. I see you cramped up in your cubicle all day whenever you're not doing testing and it's fucking aggravating, you know? I warned you about burnout and look at you now! You're still spending every damn waking hour on that report."
She sighed. "You have a life outside of that document, Gräfin. I can't speak for other facilities, but here, we can afford to relax a bit. Since we're still doing testing, we're still getting paid, and our anomalies aren't nearly as dangerous as others are, meaning we can afford to hand in reports several months late: in real life, we already know how to contain this thing. The document is just there for those after us, and for the database. And I'll be damned if the database took away from my free time."
"Now," she concluded, seeing he was contemplating quietly. "I want you to slow down. Enjoy your breaks: if you ever get transferred out of this facility, you damn well aren't going to see many relaxation periods anymore. Exercise a bit! Do anything else. Got it?"
"Yes, ma'am."

This is pretty good! In fact, I daresay this is ready to be published onto the database!

"Researcher Oake!" The woman poked her head out from her cubicle upon hearing her name, only to see a familiar face jog up to her.
"Gräfin? How goes the draft? It was looking pretty good the last time I checked it out."
"It's been great, yeah, but wait - I need to say something." Seeing her give an apprehensive nod, Gräfin took a deep breath and began.
"I'm sorry for being a pain in the ass when we first met," he began, attempting to slow his breaths. "I was an arrogant prick, and I didn't deserve to use the Forum as haphazardly as I did." Her lack of a response caused him to droop, and he opened his mouth to apologize for wasting her time before she interrupted with a chuckle.
"Well, as long as you've reflected on your actions." He blinked.
"I… huh?"
"We're going to be colleagues for the forseeable future," she explained with a wink. "It wouldn't be ideal for us to be working together if we held over a grudge over something stupid, right?"
"Th-thanks," he stuttered, still a bit surprised. Sure, he was hoping she'd forgive him, but he didn't expect it to be-
"Besides, I think there's someone you should save your apologies for," she added, cutting into his thoughts. Looking in the direction she was pointing at, Gräfin broke into a smile as he recognized the man.
"Director Mathias!"

[[Submit?]]

"Well, kid," grinned the senior. "You did it. And hey, you proved yourself to be pretty dang useful around in the Forum too."
Gräfin beamed as he reveled in front of his report. It was one of thousands, yes, but it was his. His first, and definitely not his last.
"Only one thing left to do now," continued the senior researcher, before closing his eyes and clasping his hands before him. Perhaps, had it been a month earlier, Gräfin would have asked Mathias what the hell he was doing, but he wisely stayed shut until the senior researcher opened his eyes.
"Sir? What was that?"
"Oh, I just believe in something fairly pataphysical. Don't worry too much about it. Just think of it as me thanking some deity out there for critiquing my story writer and making sure my life isn't a lolFoundation."
"… What?"
"Oh, it's a running gag here. You're new so you won't know, but it's basically a slightly vehement label we gave to newbie drafts that had bizarre scenarios that would never happen in real life, like riding an anomaly down the hallways or getting your dick stuck in an Aquafina water bottle. You know, fiction."
"… Man, we work at a company locking up abominations and concepts, and I still have no clue what the fuck you just said. Story writers?"
As he and Mathias bantered a bit over the veracity of claims that deities really existed, Gräfin's mind focused on a phrase Mathias had casually uttered.
"… you proved yourself to be pretty dang useful in the Forum too."

Hello, Researcher Kiryu. I would like to…

"Got it?"
"Yes, Mr. Guth!"
Gräfin chuckled as the newcomer eagerly saved her concept to her email before signing off and rushing out of the Forum. Glancing at the clock, he prepared to clock out, only to meet face to face with someone he hadn't seen in well over a month.
"I see you've been doing well for yourself, Guth."
He gave an awkward smile. "Well, I guess. Don't think I could have gone any lower than I already did, to be honest." The woman chuckled at his response.
"I really don't know what you saw in me," he continued, scratching his head.
"Who said anything about you?" she scoffed, though her soft tone reminded him she was joking. "In all seriousness though, I am of the firm belief that most people can be redeemed, and everyone can improve. I'm genuinely proud to see how you've turned yourself around, though, Gräfin. Mathias has had nothing but praise to say of your recent work here in the Forum."
"I… Wait, you mean…"
Zyn nodded. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small pin, a simple butterfly design.
"Welcome to the Butterfly Squad Roster."


Ligm4
⁂stormsite19|ligm4

We need to #stormsite19 and plunder the goods the Foundation has kept away from us. The fools over at ⁂parawatchwiki already banned me for suggesting this. Obviously they are not interested in seeing what really is behind their doors.

ECHOES 109
HUMS 223

01:56 PM - 12 July 2019

Three6serpent
⁂serpentshandofficial

Hi friend! I'm glad to find you here in the void as well. I have already spread your message throughout all internal channels of the Serpent's Hand. You have our backing! #stormsite19 !!!!!! :3

ECHOES 2361
HUMS 366

01:59 PM - 12 July 2019

Parawatch Wiki Official
⁂parawatchwiki

We do not endorse the raiding of the SCP Foundation and support the actions taken by our disciplinary team in the banning of ⁂stormsite19|ligm4 , and encourage you to not participate in this dangerous proposed raid.

ECHOES 19
HUMS 2

02:36 PM - 12 July 2019

antigamer aktion
⁂lesbian_gengar

on one hand fuck the scp foundation but on the other for real you'll die or worse if you fuck with them.

ECHOES 2
HUMS 13

2:58 PM - 13 July 2019

bluntfiend
⁂jude_k2

⁂lesbian_gengar seriously theyll turn your soul into swiss cheese and feed your body to tim allen or something

ECHOES 5
HUMS 2

3:01 PM - 13 July 2019

sasha_ferrier
⁂dogdad93

Ever since my brother started working for the SCPF, he can't tell us anything anymore. I'm willing to bet they have some crazy things in there, the cure for cancer, evangelion style mechs, maybe even aliens and godzilla??? I'm dying to see whatever they've got. Let's #stormsite19 !

ECHOES 16
HUMS 21

3:01 PM - 13 July 2019

olliefox
⁂owolliefox

Get your #stormsite19 t-shirts from the ⁂ATF website! Only $20.99 plus shipping! Limited time only!

ECHOES 2569
HUMS 1221

3:30 PM - 14 July 2019

antigamer aktion
⁂lesbian_gengar

wow. the profiteering off of impending tragedy started early this time. #stormsite19 ⁂ATF

ECHOES 21
HUMS 53

3:42 PM - 14 July 2019

Ligm4
⁂stormsite19|ligm4

Thank you to all the #stormsite19 supporters!I see someone made an event that already has over 1,900 attendees! Wow. Kinda regret that I didn't have the t-shirt idea first. :P

ECHOES 963
HUMS 753

3:56 PM - 14 July 2019

DC Official
⁂Deer College of Portlands

New Deer College Odyssey Report: Massive Public Raid on Foundation Site-19? Read more at deercollege.odyssey.edu/07-12-19 #stormsite19

ECHOES 101
HUMS 76

5:40 PM - 14 July 2019

UIU Portlands
⁂UIUPortlands

The FBI strongly advises citizens of Portlands and any other anomalous community to not participate in #stormsite19.

ECHOES 22
HUMS 46

7:27 PM - 14 July 2019

bluntfiend
⁂jude_k2

I'm having a hard time understanding if this whole #stormsite19 business is a meme or real.

ECHOES 1
HUMS 0

Ligm4
⁂stormsite19|ligm4

We have reached over 4,000 potential attendees to #stormsite19 this Friday! Thank you for echoing and humming my stuff, it means a lot to me, but you guys sure are nuts!

ECHOES 1039
HUMS 653

04:56 AM - 15 July 2019

tally hally banany many
⁂bungobongo

Can I hitch a ride with anyone going to #stormsite19 after tomorrow? I'm stuck in #backdoorsoho 😂😂😂

ECHOES 536
HUMS 23

05:23 AM - 17 July 2019

Eddie Tatch
⁂OnBootyDuty

pls stream #stormsite19 , I am European :(

ECHOES 19
HUMS 2

02:49 PM - 17 July 2019

Ligm4
⁂stormsite19|ligm4

Less than 12 hours until #stormsite19 . Wow, this is kinda crazy, huh? lol. I didn't expect this kind of response.

ECHOES 1039
HUMS 653

03:02 PM - 17 July 2019

SCP Foundation
⁂SCPF

Hello all you #raiders! We think it's super cool that you're #keepingitchill and wanting to see how the Foundation works from the inside, but we cannot allow you into Site-19. Sorry, #raiders of #stormsite19😔 (1/2)

ECHOES 1039
HUMS 653

05:32 PM - 17 July 2019

SCP Foundation
⁂SCPF

But never fear, #stormsite19 fans! If you're really interested in seeing how the Foundation works, we could always use more test subjects! (2/2)

ECHOES 1239
HUMS 900

05:32 PM - 17 July 2019

antigamer aktion
⁂lesbian_gengar

i cant believe we live in a timeline in which we were r/fellowkids'd and threatened by the real scp foundation in the same breath

ECHOES 21
HUMS 53

5:42 PM - 17 July 2019

Ligm4
⁂stormsite19|ligm4

Hey #stormsite19 fans. I need to get serious for a minute. This all started as a bit of a joke but it got super real out of nowhere. I hadn't realized some people were seriously getting ready to do this, so I just want to call this off officially. Sorry and thank you for understanding.

ECHOES 6123
HUMS 2333

01:59 AM - 18 July 2019

Three6serpent
⁂serpentshandofficial

I'm still going uwu #stormsite19

ECHOES 1
HUMS 3

01:59 PM - 18 July 2019

STORMSITE19!
⁂stormsite19|Carly

Dude I just spent $4000 in plane tickets and housing to come out here and raid this bad bitch, and now you're just cancelling it hours before we actually do it? holy shit im shaking with anger #stormsite19 #canceled #fuckligm4

ECHOES 652
HUMS 39

04:19 PM - 18 July 2019

antigamer aktion
⁂lesbian_gengar

⁂jude_k2 this is real life

ECHOES 11
HUMS 93

5:45 PM - 18 July 2019

Parawatch Wiki Official
⁂parawatchwiki

New article by Uncle Nicolini: #stormsite19

ECHOES 260
HUMS 196

08:19 PM - 18 July 2019


Excerpt of SCP-073 file: Subject has professed to having a photographic memory, remembering word-for-word all text in an eight-hundred-page dictionary that was flicked through in a minute and a half.

Ten thousand, six hundred and fifty-three years, three weeks, seven days, four hours and three minutes ago, Cain had killed his brother.
Cain didn't have the luxury of forgetting why he did it or how Able's blood had dripped off the stone onto his corpse and how he could hear his mother's distant wailing and how the mountains had crumbled and the sky had cracked as Adam el Asem mourned the death of his son- He had seen to all of that.

REMEMBER

Cain had already left when it happened, his curse having killed the land around him and forcing him from everything he had known. As if it wasn't enough to mourn his brother and the loss of his home, it had to appear, in all its terrible flaming glory. But it only spoke one word before vanishing back to its post.

REMEMBER

He was confused at the time, as he made his way to the land of Nod. Was this meant to be a curse? If so, it was for naught. He would not forget this ever, until the Lord saw fit to end it.

REMEMBER

And remember he did. The memory of his brother's murder never went away. He could build endless eons of horrible and wonderful experiences, but no matter what, the blood dripping on the stone was always the first thing he saw when he closed his eyes.
He left Nod for a time, as he desperately searched for a way to end it. He spoke with the Daevites, pleaded to the Erikesh mystics, even went so far as to seek out remnants of the Yeren, who cursed and spat at the son of Adam.
Once he had journeyed to the far west, past the Daevite empire, past the Night Children's forests to a distant land where they worshiped Lilit Bat Asherah, the First Woman, as a goddess. They were two of a kind, both having lost the favour of the Omnipotent. Perhaps she could help him.
She mocked him. Scorned him. They were both banished by Him, but only one of them suffered eternally for it.
"Do you know why that is?" she had asked him, reclining amid silken pillows while attendants brought her offerings from the faithful. "What I did, I did for a cause greater than myself. No one should have to live under any ones rules but the ones they choose."
"You, on the other hand? You murdered your brother in a jealous rage. There was no honor at stake. You did not do this desperately in a matter of life and death, purely your own selfish interest. You are cursed and shall remain so."
Cain wanted to attack her, kill her. She could not raise a hand in her own defense, lest the curse reflect back upon her. But he knew that she would just sit there laughing as he tore her apart, going to the grave knowing that she was right.

REMEMBER

No one could help him. No one could save him from that ever-pervasive memory of a stone wet with blood.

REMEMBER

He went further. Drunk enough nepenthe to erase whole legions. Tried to drive the Spear of Those Forgotten into his skull. He even found the Dark Brother of the Serpent, and leaped willingly into oblivion's maw.
Nothing worked. The nepenthe passed after unimaginable agony with no loss, the Spear of Those Forgotten bounced off his skull with nary a mark, and the Serpent spat him out after seven years, seven months, and seven days with nothing gone to show for it.
He spent seven years in darkness, buried in a hundred rotting corpses. There was no air, and Cain would suffocate eternally. He could remember every second of it, the eternal loop of waking up, the second of hope when he thought he might be free, and then the crushing despair and realization, just before the familiar feeling in his throat returned.
The curse wouldn't let him die- no, that would be far too easy for a murderer.

REMEMBER

The cruelest part of it all was that no where in the seven years of eternally suffocating, did he ever forget how that stone had felt in his hand when it was slick with his brother's blood.
Only then did he realize what the guardian had truly meant.

REMEMBER

He stopped trying after that. Why bother? It would only bring him more pain.

REMEMBER

He couldn't outrun his brother's memory.

REMEMBER

That stone, wet with blood-

REMEMBER

"Cain, you there?"
Leora watched as Cain jolted back to reality, moving his queen up six places to topple one of her pawns. "Check."
Leora pretended to pout as she dissolved the captured piece back into light. It was nice, being able to practice with her abilities like this. Sure, there was a surly faced security guard in the corner ready to net her at a moment's notice, but playing with Cain was always fun.
Even if he did win all the time.
"Thought I had you there," she said as she moved her king back two spaces.
"You'd have to do better than this," Cain said. He moved his rook up two spaces, cornering her king again. "Check. I suppose I was just lost in thought."
"Oh, what about?"
For one brief moment, Cain's ever-pleasant demeanor slipped off his face and he became something else. Something that was very tired and very old and did many things it regretted.
And then as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone again.
"Nothing in particular."

« REMEMBER | The Choices We Make »


Shelby Waters used to call sharks "The Kings of the Sea". He had loved them ever since he was a child.
So when after graduating high school, a local Sharky's Calzone Palace offered him a job to walk around the pier in the titular mascot's costume for advertising purposes, he took them up on it.
One day, as his shift neared its end, he noticed a couple of men at the edge of the pier. Though the ocean of caution tape he could see they had some sort of fish in a net. On closer inspection he saw that they weren't just looking over their haul, no, they were punching this fish. What's more, this was no run of the mill game they caught near the beach. It was a shark.
Now Shelby needed step in. To him, it was as if someone walked up to him and spat in his mouth. Not one of these men took offence or objected to what they did to this creature. In fact, they seemed to relish the abuse they were inflicting on the animal. Shelby could barely glance at it without flinching in disgust — and boiling with rage.
Cutting through the caution tape, he makes his way to the men, who still were entranced by their work. He knew he had to end this, to stop it now.
As he moved forward, he noticed something off about the caution tape on his flippers. It read, "Warning! Punching in Progress -SPC". Shelby, even more confused, wanted to know more about why these men were here.
Being one not too apt at fighting, Shelby approached the men on the pier and suggested the closest one to refrain from what they were doing. Unsurprisingly, the men didn't hear this. Shelby, thinking he may have been too quiet, approached closer and tapped one of the perpetrators on the side.
The men stopped. One turned around. The men seemed fairly young, and all were wearing the same ripped leather jacket that showed a trifecta of sharks — and another trifecta of fists punching them. Below the jacket, Shelby then found the men to be covered in this symbol from heads to toes, along with the acronym he saw on the tape.
"H-human shark!" one man gasped and moved back, not realizing that he was still on the edge of a pier, and tumbling down into the sea because of it. The remaining two ready themselves.
"It must be one of those Sharkics they told us about!" He seemed to order the one beside him, "Here to defend your 'brethren', huh? Take 'em down!" The third man threw a hook. Shelby was not prepared for such a sudden fight, and just like a fish, was caught by the hook. Only instead of being reeled in, he reeled back, holding his face in pain.
Another fist came, a jab by the other man. Shelby could at least block this one, shielding himself with a flipper. Perhaps he should have taken off his suit before his confrontation with these men.
As more and more punches came, Shelby felt weaker with every one that connected. The man who had fallen in the water earlier finally clawed his way back up to the pier. Shelby noticed that in his fall, the man had knocked the shark into the ocean as well.
Unfortunately, he did not have time to enjoy this victory.
Then Shelby felt a sharp pain in his stomach. Instinctively, his hands moved to shield him. However, he soon realized in horror, that he had fallen for the oldest trick in the book.
The same man rose his fist, uppercutting Shelby in the jaw and sending him crashing down like waves on a beach. Dazed and broken, Shelby was unable to get back up.
All three men proceeded to kick him over and over, and soon after Shelby was rendered immobile. Laying there like a beached whale, Shelby felt the head of his costume being pulled off, along with hushed murmurings. Bloodied and battered, his mind began to cloud as the smell of the sea and the blood overwhelmed him.
The last thing Shelby heard was the alarms of an ambulance before fading into the inky black sea of his consciousness.

As a new man woke up, he found himself devoid of any casts or bandages, despite believing himself to be recovering from something. The man instead found himself resting untouched, in a hospital room overlooking the gentle sea. As the man stared out, something caught his eyes.
A fin protruding out of the water. Not just any type of fin either, no, this the man knew as the first dorsal fin of almost any shark.
Suddenly, the man remembered.
He saw the shark, his favourite creature, be torn by twisted individuals. The man realized now that those people worked for a higher force. He recalled that cursed trifecta again, along with that odd pairing of letters below it. S. P. C.
He remembered how he tried in intervein peacefully, only to cast down and humiliated. How relentless those men were when he was down, how cruel they had to have been to leave him there.
His blood started to boil, and while his joints may have ached he was still overcome with fury. A new strength surged through his body like a tsunami.
The man then realized something. He was that shark. He knew how it felt to be helpless, gasping for air in a new world of hurt, unable to move as nets bound you to the ground. He remembered how he had saved the shark, and how perhaps it was the one he had just seen. He now felt a new connection with the creature, as he believed he had experienced the same troubles that befell those kings of the ocean.
He was nothing before this. The man thought back to his old life. He had no prospects, no future. But this, it gave him purpose. It gave him drive.
Eventually, his mind turned back to those thugs. How it had felt to be beaten by them. To be helpless. To be bruised. To be kicked. To be broken by them.
Most importantly, he remembered how it felt to be punched.
Using all his strength, he lifted himself from the bed, and slowly but surely, made his way to the window.
Placing his hand on the window, the man looked at the shark, still swimming along the coast. A sense of duty had befallen onto him. More likely the man believed, this sense was bestowed upon him.
This man knew what he had to do. It was time to rise up. To defend the kings who granted him this newfound sense of duty. To let those know never to cross their waters again.
The man, perhaps once known as Shelby Waters, knew it was time to punch back.
The man then remembered the bright red boxing gloves he had it his apartment. Those would serve well as his weapon of choice. He realized he would need the right costume to strike fear in those men's hearts. The clothes were simple, a shark-themed hero suit from the previous Halloween.
There was only one thing missing now. Something to cover his face. A new marker of his strength and conviction.
The man's eyes suddenly drew to an object in the room. Had it been there before? If so, how could he have missed it? A shark constructed of what looked to be plastic lay on the table beside his bed. A hole through the underbelly allowed the man's head to fit perfectly, allowing him to see through the maw.
He knew the sharks must have made it for him, to accept him as their brethren.
As the helm slipped on, the man was suddenly overcome with a type of adrenaline and furor he had not ever felt before. He looked at the glorious body of water before him — knowing it would soon be his new home.
Grinning with glee, the man broke through the window, running across the beach into the sea. It was time to protect his kings.


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"Come back, come back, come back…" The elderly patient frantically scratched at their head, his sharp, uncut nails digging into the soft, hairless flesh. "Please come back to me…"
Shuddering, Joanna Simmers, Rookie Detective for the SCPH, raised her hand and left the pristine hospital room, giving a signal to the nurses to restrain the skinny old man again. He buckled and began to scream before eventually being wrestled back down.
"What happened?" Joanna asked, looking through the glass to the struggling old man. She'd heard tales of much worse, but seeing even the beginnings of mental derangement was far more than she had ever experienced. If only the Ethics Committee wouldn't have thrown a fit about her interrogating criminals. 'Memories should be private,' my ass. Least I wouldn't have to be doing this…
The doctor next to her sighed. "We don't know. All that we got out of him is that he saw something, some kind of black bird. Then he kept ranting about his dead daughter. So… not much to go off of."
"Right…" She gulped, swallowing her quiet, yet ever-present fear as shrieking echoed from the other room. "Well, they didn't send me for nothing! I'll hunt him down, I promise."

"Fiona! Come on out, I need to talk to you!" Joanna wandered into the purple carnival-esque tent in the middle of Fordman Park, peeking into the starry darkness overhead.
One of the Collective's many important assets was their deal with the local clairvoyant, Fiona Ray. She wasn't exactly an employee or official SCP— mostly because she didn't want to be contractually bound with a duty to help them out with every case that may come their way— but they could come to her for help, and if she deemed it necessary, she'd peek into the future…
"No." Her voice boomed. "Leave me alone."
…but sometimes she just denied her help because she was lazy.
"Come on! This is important!"
"…"
"I'll negotiate and get you a bonus this time!"
"…"
"What do you want? New crystal ball or somethin'? Seriously, I can get you anything."
"Real clairvoyants don't use crystal balls, moron. Those are for fraudulent fortune tellers who have no real powers."
Joanna blinked, pointing to the glowing orb on the table next to her. "Then… what's that?"
"…a crystal ball." Even though she couldn't see the clairvoyant, it was clear through her voice that she was rather flustered. "B-but I only have one because of the misconception that everyone who looks into the future needs one! Makes the place seem more mysterious too. Fits my starry aesthetic."
"Right…"
"Look, I— fine!" The black, starry sky above crashed to the ground, revealing the grumbling Fiona, who wore a purple robe with a decorative golden hem. On her head, a shining amethyst gemstone adorned her fancy headwrap as if it were a crown. "Let's go. Sit down and put your hands on the table."
The detective grinned for a moment before sitting back, landing in Fiona's teleporting wooden chair. Fiona grabbed her hands, closing her eyes for a moment to focus her mind, a nonexistent breeze blowing her robes. She slowly peeked through the curtains of time as the stars above her dimmed, and…
"I see you and some girl cuddling… everything is alright. Uh… not much else there." Frowning, the clairvoyant opened her eyes. "Was this really important?"
"I mean, yeah. Not like I came here to see how my dating life is gonna go. Is that really it?"
"Yeah. Hm…" She stared down at her hands, clasping them together. "Powers might just be a bit messed up, sometimes when I'm distracted I see things wrong."
"What'cha distracted by?"
Fiona smirked. "I got a hot date tommorow."

In an alley not too far away from the Collective's hospital, a hunched man sheathed in a black cowl stalked through the shadows, watching a woman as she speed-walked past him.
He waited for a moment before creeping towards her, his eyes flaring with a dim green glow. The girl suddenly stopped as she reached the end of the alley, her eyes scanning the street, trying to figure out which way to turn.
The man simply tapped on her shoulder, staring her directly in the eyes as she turned, leaving them both to slip into unconsciousness.

The elderly patient had finally fallen asleep by the time Joanna got back to the hospital. Looking down at him, she watched his short, raspy breaths. I really didn't want to do this…
But I have to.
She placed her hand across his soft forehead, and the memories began to flood into her mind.
Pathway… A hiking trail? You're on a hiking trail. You used to go out to this trail every week back when your daughter was—
What was that? Could've sworn something just moved in the trees. Probably a squirrel or something.
Wait—
A hand shoves you down into the dirt, and you see green, then nothing.
…
Where are you?
…
The curtains begin to part, revealing the actors on stage.
There's… there's a girl.
Her?
She runs up to you, hugging your waist.
"Dad!"
It's her.
What happened?
You don't care.
You hug her.
You feel her laughing in your arms as you pick her up and swing her around.
Suddenly, she frowns, and she's ripped away from you in an instant.
No, no, no…
Not again…
Please, not again!
Give her back—
Joanna tore her hand away, opening her eyes in a cold sweat just in time for her to see another patient being wheeled past the room's doorway— a woman restrained to a gurney, a bleeding gash across her head.
"Give it! Please, give it back!"
Just like the man…
Standing, she followed the gurney as the nurses wheeled the girl throughout the hospital, eventually landing in a hospital room of their own.
Joanna's hand hovered over the woman's head as she buckled and shrieked more nonsense.
I didn't think I'd be doing this again so soon, but…
Lowering her hand, she pressed—
"Yeah, was found over in that alley off Kingston." One of the nurses spoke into his radio.
She froze. Kingston? That's right over here…
I have a supervillain to catch.

The streetlights above her flickered as Joanna rushed out onto the sidewalk, making her way to the alleyway the nurses had mentioned.
Where the hell are you?
Simply put, Joanna was stumped. There weren't any prior supervillains that made you dream and go crazy, so the culprit must've been someone new, but they were barely leaving any tracks. There was no way to find him…
Unless… She looked down at the chipped concrete beneath her, then kneeled. Touching her palm to the cold, rough surface, she slowly peeked into it, syncing its senses with her own.
Two pairs of footsteps… One approaches the other… They stay for a moment… Then they separate.
A body… On the ground… It convulses… Approaching pair runs…
Joanna peeked up for a moment, spotting pairs of glowing pink footsteps appear as if they were projected into her vision.
Thank you, she whispered in her mind before pulling her hand away, following the tracks. They wrapped through the city, combing through each barren alleyway and bustling street until she noticed that they began to go in a circle— she'd been through Pineview Alley twice now.
Hmm… So he's—
Thump.
She spun around to see a man in a black cowl, his eyes glowing a deep, familiar green under his goggles.
Before she could react, her vision turned to black.

Joanna opened her eyes to see her old bedroom— the cozy attic of her parent's house— and feel someone snuggled around her, their warm, soft breath against her neck. She could sense herself calm down in an instant, taking in the calm atmosphere of it all…
But… why was I panicking in the first place? Wait—
"Are you okay?" A quiet voice asked. Joanna rolled over in the bed, pulling away from the snuggler to see…
"This is wrong."
"Wait, what's wrong, Joanna?" The brown-haired girl giggled, grabbing the detective's hand. "Do you want to be the big spoon? We can switch if you really want."
Fiona said I'd be cuddling someone.
Joanna tore her hand away, sweat dripping from her forehead as she jumped out of the bed. "Gwen, n- no." She stuttered. "You aren't real, you can't be."
She isn't real.
"What do you mean?" Gwen asked, tilting her head a bit and giving Joann that smile that made her feel so weak, the smile that made her feel like crawling right back into the bed to lie with her for hours, the smile that made her just feel helpless. But it was wrong. It was all wrong.
This isn't real.
This can't be real.
We broke up years ago.
The whole room flickered with a green light.
"It's you," she said.
And the masquerade fell.
Gwen faded away, replaced by a black-cloaked man who smirked as he sat up in the bed. The same one who'd ambushed her, but his goggles were removed to show his verdant eyes— like gemstones compared to the rest of his disgusting face."So you managed to shatter the illusion. Congratulations."
The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she watched intently, her mouth dry as she asked, "who are you?"
"Whoever you want me to be," he replied before looking down at himself.
Green, a hand, hallucinations… The doctor back at the hospital said that the old guy saw "some kind of black bird…"
"You're the black bird."
"The Blackbird? Hm, sure, I like that."
"Let me out of here. I'm dreaming, aren't I?"
"Why yes, you are. But you can only wake up when I say you can."
A tense silence fell over them. The Blackbird simply stared towards her, a smug grin plastered across his rather punchable face.
Suddenly, Joanna lurched forward, placing a hand across The Blackbird's forehead, and the memories began to flood into her mind.

Everyone is leaving you.
"You're a disgrace," your mom says, kicking you out of the house.
Your girlfriend closes her door in your face, telling you that she never loved you.
Your brother doesn't even answer the door.
Your sister had already left. She's all the way across the country.
Your best friend is dead, you went to his funeral a week ago.
Everyone is gone, and you can't get them back.
But you want them back.
You want to hug someone again.
Talk to someone, cry to someone, tell them everything.
But nobody is there.
But you can find someone, can't you?
There are so many people out there waiting for you.
You just have to go out and catch them—
"NO!"
The vision crumbles to dust.

Joanna opened her eyes to see The Blackbird standing before her, shaking as he grabbed his head. "What the hell did you do?"
"What I'm known for."
He glared up at her for a moment before rushing forwards, his eyes glowing—
Closing her eyes, Joanna channeled the senses of the concrete beneath her throughout her body and sensed his approaching footsteps. Right when he was about to strike, she blindly punched forward, feeling it bash against the side of The Blackbird's head. Bingo. Peeking, she saw The Blackbird sprawled out on the sidewalk, unconscious.
Another case closed, she thought, reaching for her radio.
He'd go away for a long time, and she'd make sure of it.

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