AKA: Stuff You Will Never Use, But Wanted To Share
The point of this page is simple. Everyone has pieces of stories, or articles, inside their head. Bits that you yourself may never use, but would still like to share/let someone else use. So, that's what this page is for.

How to use this page.

You are free to use any of the snippets/fragments found on this page in your own writing. However, you do need to attribute this page by adding the following to the licensebox:

[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]]
=====
> Original concept/idea found on [[[fragments|the Fragments page]]]
=====
[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]

Furthermore, please make sure to credit the original author of the material you are using, and post as such in the page's discussion thread so the fragment can be removed.
Thank you.

2011
One-Sentence Premises
Concepts
Draft Excerpts
Combination Concept/Excerpt

These are the Fragments added to the page during 2011.
(Click the tabs to look through the different fragment types.)

By tunedtoadeadchannel
A business called Tonk and Revelstoke's

By evictedSaint
A "tooth fairy" SCP that rips teeth from people's heads and uses it to fuel itself.

By Asthix
"As long as I live, the humiliation will color my perception with the tint of his arrogance!" (Now stay out of my head!)

By Drewbear
"The lion shines and its roar blinds."

By Photosynthetic
An electric mixer with no batteries or power cord: it runs on music.

By Photosynthetic
A magnifying glass works only at night, and which can do with moonlight what any magnifier can do to an ant in sunlight.

By Salman Corbette
A lock that, when locked, would stay stuck in the same place (although still moving with the Earth's rotation, etc.).

By Ninteen45
SCP contained within a Timezone.

By Exun Yannah
Humanoid SCP with highly aggressive immune system, able to deal with infections before they enter the body

By Flock of Whales
A traffic cone which, when placed on a road, cannot be moved by motor vehicles. IE: Concrete traffic cone.

By Communism will win
An anomalous original copy of the Declaration of Independence (or possibly the Constitution) held at the Foundation's branch in the National Archives.

By arverst_aegnar
"You don't understand! I'm trying to help you!"

By Bland
Victims of a freeze ray. Their outer molecule in stasis and cannot be damaged in anyway. Their innards have long since rotted away, but without anywhere for the fluids to go, they… slosh…

By Communism will win
Just a group of a bunch of normal numbers that add up to different totals when you add them in a different order. Like, maybe twenty or so three-digit numbers.

By TroyL
Those ads on the sides of the screen? The ones that have fun, cute little games you can play? They're not really there. No one ever programmed those in. Instead, the second that you click on one of them, you're a tool of an unknown force. Every click, every attempt to get the egg in the bucket or kick the donkey… goes to something. Fuck knows what, but it's going somewhere.

By Communism will win
A set of five disguises made out of flesh, each one corresponding to a UN ambassador on the security council: USA, France, Great Britain, Russia, Taiwan (people's republic of china). Found mid-'90s.

By minmin
Terrestrial life form. Has a thin membrane filled with lighter-than-air gas saturated with natural phosphorescent chemicals. Not particularly carnivorous but have been known to lure and share small prey like young deer. 'Deflate' in the daytime. Reside in Australia. The article's aim is 'interesting/cute', not 'scary'. Yes, it's an SCPification of this.

By evictedSaint
A song that causes the listener's heart to beat in tune with the music. Speeding/slowing the beat of the song has obvious detrimental effects. No one can quite recall what the tune was or how the song went.

By oops_ur_dead
An SCP that rearranges parts of things into other useful things for its own use. Maybe living organisms or something.

By Dexanote
Something that is immune to bullets and projectiles of all types. Not a shield, some sort of creature. Preferably based off some mythological critter that is, itself, immune to projectiles. Point behind this is that the containment and retrieval stuff requires close combat.

By arverst_aegnar
Windmills - something that grinds up stuff creepily (though that would have to work hard to be a not-repeat of other SCPs), or something that would power something the Foundation really, really doesn't want powered. Or windmills - a whole field of windmills that blow in conjunction with some other world's wind? Windmills that draw things to them?

By arverst_aegnar
A shopping cart that acts like a dog: bonds with the person who touches it, likes to "play" - run fast, go around in circles, play chase - will bump you affectionately, chase off other things/people/carts it views as a threat to bonded subject, etc.

By Ninteen45
SCP - A contract expiry announcement from a PR company. Any non human entity (Company, country, curch, store, event) who holds it will be repeatedly subjected to more and more PR and in-entity disasters (Like losing important files, accidents destroying essential property…)

By Voct
SCP whose containment involves reading it stories of murder. Fresh ones every time. Published fiction works best.

By arverst_aegnar
Children's fairy-tale book that, when read, causes the reader to regress chronologically, to something like six or seven. Reader hears voice of an elderly woman reading aloud, illegible writing on the inside of the book cover - only readable part says "Love, Granny" or something.

By Dexanote
A story somehow incorporating SCP-ARCs and SCP-Ds together to restart a universe after an X#-Class Scenario deletes it.

By Dexanote
SCP-169 is stated to be between 2000 and 8000 km long. This is a big descrepancy, so what if there are two of them each around 3000 km long? The Tale would be a diary of a survivor who watched the news of them coming ashore, devastating southern South America, shrugging off military might, breeding, and spreading across the Earth.

By Adam Smascher
A Foundation Tale pertaining to Project Longshot entitled, "The Longest Shot." An alternate history, or perhaps set in the near future, in which the project is completed and the spacecraft launched. In the 104 or so years it takes the craft to reach Alpha Centari and transmit data back to earth, humanity has been wiped from the face of the planet. Somewhere, a radio might crackle to life and begin blaring odd static. A monitor or two may light up at NASA mission control, even though they rightfully shouldn't, gazed upon by many eager eyes, none belonging to anything capable of comprehending the information on the LCD panels before them.
It would contrast the success of the mission with how little it meant, making subtle implications as to why humanity is gone, when the race died out, and what may have changed.

By Sophia Light
A basis for a story: For a group (or race, planet, person, I don't know) with advanced technology, it would be easy to make something designed to be found by scientists. Just by making an object that's inexplicable enough, and leaving it somewhere, one stands a good chance that it will eventually end up in the hands of researchers. Say, the Foundation.

By Sophia Light
A pair of MTFs who work together to remove information from either the public eye or within the Foundation when members are promoted to certain positions- the Sin Eaters, who disappear people, and the Silverfish, who disappear information.

By Bland
Commercials I hear (U.S. based):
"SCP Johnson - a family company!"
And then I think of Soap From Corpses and it all goes weird.

By Quikngruvn
A containment procedure in search of a chemical SCP:

Show Procedures

Hide Procedures

Special Containment Procedures: No samples of SCP-███ may be stored at any site except under experimental conditions. All samples of SCP-███ must be synthesized ad hoc using procedures in Document PR-███-01 (Level-4 clearance required to access and oversee synthetic process). No individual below Level-4 clearance may know about or perform more than three steps from Document PR-███-01.
When synthesized, SCP-███ must be handled as a strong, water-soluble narcotic. Excess or unused SCP-███ must be disposed of via methods outlined in Document PR-███-13.
Samples and synthetic procedures for SCP-███ still exist around the world. Foundation policy is to seize and/or suppress all items related to each SCP-███ event, including attempts to reverse-engineer SCP-███, [DATA EXPUNGED].

By Kero Shiranui
It is said we are born in the infinite darkness, and to it we will return.
And those that would believe these words often cower behind them, using them to excuse themselves from bringing light to this world.
But should a star not shine simply because it is a difficult task?
Simply because they too must return to the void?
What would become of this world if our brethren, the stars, stopped giving their nurturing light?
The same that comes when we stop giving off ours.

By AdminBright
On an SCP that erases the memories of whatever it is told from everyone but the teller:
Subject D-42 enter the enclosure, and told the SCP 'Two plus Two is Four.' There was no reaction for approximately five minutes, at which point D-42s head exploded.

By Eric Adler
A cold- or flu-like disease that spreads by memetic vectors instead of the normal transfer of microorganisms.
(videotape recording of D-class sick with the Memetic Cold) "Achoo, man this cold is kicking my butt"
(previously healthy agent) "So what the heck is this? You wanted me to watch securidy foodage of some guy with a head code? *phlegmy cough* how did I just ged sick?"

2012 Part 1
One-Sentence Premises
Concepts
Draft Excerpts
Combination Concept/Excerpt

These are the Fragments added to the page during 2012, from January through July.

By Adam Henderson
A tale in which we see what keeps wild SCP-831 from taking over the world… they find SCP style items of their own and try to use them wiping out their hives as a result

By Adam Henderson
An item which can only be described in insults regarding the item.

By MrCobalt
An anomalous Halloween decoration that either turns people into black cats or produces black cats with human intelligence at regular intervals.

By Boa Noah
A God that disguises itself in the costume of a fake God because it enjoys messing around with mortals.

By solomen
A scp involving the concept of ceremorphosis where an organism either hatches from a skull like an egg or eats the brain and mutates the body as part of its life cycle like a mind flayer or head crab.

By solomen
A crashed vessel recovered from the crater in Mexico.

By Theally
A chick tract parody for the CotBG.

By Communism will win
A tale in which the leader of the Serpent's Hand (or a faction thereof) reaches out to a college student and has said student found AWCY? as a counterpart to the Serpent's Hand.

By Adam Henderson
Creature/s living on a beach which make nests that look like sandcastles. With moats, decorative sticks, etc.

By Adam Henderson
A migratory herd of toy trucks.

By MrCobalt
A humanoid SCP whose containment procedures require it to be inebriated at all times.

By Ihp
Due to a shortage of Amnesiacs of all classes (not just Class A) following a raid on a production plant by a GoI (CI, ORIA, Serpents Hand, or GOC), The Foundation is forced to ration amnesiacs until further notice, leading to several suicides and deaths thanks to things that cannot be unseen or memes getting out of control.

By anonymous user
An SCP that's like a toy dog bone and when a dog buries it, it grows into a tree that has more toy bones coming off of it.
And then those toy bones can grow new trees propagating the cycle.

By Bland
SCP-963 is an interesting place to mine for tale ideas. As an example, there is one (type of) individual that should be immune to its effects - a Jack Bright that went past the 30-day mark. So if the Foundation wants an expert watching Bright, who better than a Bright to anticipate what he's up to? And they've (sort of) given him what he wants: That version can live out a normal life and finally die.

By Bland
An -EX SCP; the original lay person explanation about “Many Worlds Quantum" was that every decision, every coin toss generated a new universe. Later, it's "Undetermined until observed, when it collapses the wave and resolves". So now, instead of creating universes we're destroying them. Not sure how/why but what if, like SCP-8900-EX, something changed. Something awful. And now we have to live with it.

By Adam Henderson
A tale about the CotBG winning by reassembling their god, but rather than it taking over the world it simply ascends to a more clockwork plane of existence taking its followers with it. Much Foundation faceplaming results at the realization that an enemy wining just got them permanently out of the Foundation's hair.

By Adam Henderson
A tale in which Serpent's Hand operatives having broken into a foundation containment site try to convince an apparently intelligent SCP to escape with them. Pity for them that the SCP they found is robo-dude™.
Meant to be humorous, with a mix of Serpent's Hand dramatic speeches about SCP freedom and "robo-dance™."

By unknown user
A sloth that is capable of passively absorbing nutrients and calories from the surrounding environment. On any other animal, it might not be a big deal, but with a maximum speed of less than 2 km/h, it can destroy large swaths of rainforest in a matter of days.

By Adam Henderson
A SCP which was formerly a foundation Agent who got captured by one of the GOIs and exposed to something. The foundation only found out who their new SCP once was by DNA tests. Not a useful change, more body horror and nightmare fuel that the Agent might still be self-aware under whatever was done to them.

By Norman Dy Invidia
An SCP that consists of a barrel of totem-shaped penises with the shafts being in the shape of various 'baramins' of animals. When touched by a female belonging to said 'baramin', the female will become pregnant.
The offspring will live to around just after reaching sexual maturity. Their birth will cause the mother to ignore all pre-existing offspring and their death will cause the mother to undergo severe depression. Usage of the SCP renders the female infertile except for subsequent uses of the SCP.

By Norman Dy Invidia
A "How To Draw Anime" book, which when in contact with a picture or video that contains humans, will turn all instances of that picture or video into a stylized, 'anime' version of whatever is depicted in the picture or video.

By MrCobalt
"Have you ever had one of those moments you just wished you could be a fly on the wall?
Wish granted.
Are We Cool Yet?"

By MrCobalt
An anomalous crime scenario involving a mass murder situation that always leaves only two suspects/witnesses remaining after the event with some sort of connection or relation that could make them accomplices. One or both of the suspects will either claim responsibility for the murders themselves or blame the other suspect, and will give an account of the crime that supports their claim, while the other will assert said account cannot be true, giving their own account of the event that conflicts with or contradicts the first. In any case, evidence recovered at the crime scene will be compatible with both accounts, but may be insufficient to give a clear picture of what happened. If the crime is not correctly "solved", i.e. authorities figured out exactly what happened during the event (who was responsible for which death, which details of either story are true, whose idea was it, etc.), within a certain amount of time, both suspects will self-terminate in a manner consistent between incidents, usually with a murder tactic or implement they or the other supposedly used during the crime, and the event will repeat itself some time later.
Each instance of the crime will have some elements that denote it as an instance of the SCP, i.e. implements used or manner of death of at least one victim, but will otherwise create an entirely new scenario so study of previous instances does not provide any clues to subsequent ones.
Not exactly sure how this would be contained, or even if it is contained, what makes it spread, how it would recognize having been "solved", how the Foundation finds out it needs to be solved, etc.

By MrCobalt
A small-scale replica/floor plan of [your choice of city here] made of dominoes. Formations collapse of their own accord when corresponding buildings in the real city are damaged or destroyed, and vice versa. Might possibly be connected to AWCY.

By MrCobalt
SCP-J idea: "The [EXPLETIVE] You Button!tm" An "easy button"-esque device that, when pressed, emits the aforementioned phrase (sans censorship) and injures the person that pushed it, usually via a random object thrown from an indeterminate origin point.

By Adam Henderson
Adventures of Lord Blackwood, explorer and gentleslug.
Lord Blackwood in UnLondon
Lord Blackwood at Sea: A voyage to capture a whale-like monster preying upon shipping. Throw in pirates, storms, a rather odd castaway, other adventures joining the hunt, and his ship itself and this may be more of a threat to His Lordship than it seems….
Lord Blackwood and the Sky-Discs: His Lordship takes to the skies in an airship on the hunt for a flock of strange flying animals, unlike anything ever seen before. Add in the problems of a predatory flying jellyfish pulling people from the airship and swarms of airborne robots eating the airship out from under its crew make this a rather odd trip.
Lord Blackwood on the Dark Continent: A thrilling expedition 'cross Darkest Africa for the rarest of beasts, the eye-pods.
Lord Blackwood and the Tower

By Adam Henderson
A horrific monster with the personality of a cute and cuddly puppy. The nightmare fuel comes from both the fact that it really doesn't know its own strength leading to loads of deaths when it tries to play with people, and how the foundation treats it.

By MrCobalt
A tale consisting of entries in a diary the Foundation recovered from the home of a child who had heard or read a description of SCP-1128. Parents probably would think he was just overreacting from reading/hearing too many scary stories until it was too late, or maybe parents began showing symptoms of infection as well.

By MrCobalt
SCP idea: A mummified corpse resembling a deformed human recovered from an MC&D auction. Included with it were several "tags" bearing writing in an ancient Chinese script. Corpse becomes animate when one or more of these tags is applied to the body, with each tag causing it to exhibit different behaviors, e.g. "serve", "attack", "guard", etc. Based somewhat on popular depictions of the Jiang-shi, a Chinese zombie-like creature.

By Adam Henderson
A Project crossover Tale in which the foundation deploys Mobile Task Force Omega-Seven back when it had Able in it, in an attempt to contain a small town in which a bunch of animals had been turning up drained of blood.
A small town called Forks….
Also referred to as:
Able and Dr. Clef working together to kick sparkly butt!

By MrCobalt
An SCP object made by AWCY… but what catches the Foundation's interest isn't the object itself so much as the vandalism done to it in response. Said vandalism is clearly done by someone other than AWCY, yet it seems to be creating its own anomalous effects which appear to be a mockery of/a response to/interfering with the intent of the original object. Over the "Are We Cool Yet?" logo would be graffiti reading something along the lines of "YES, UR F@(KING C00L NAO! 3NUF OF TH15 BU11$H17!" ("leetspeak" obfuscation not necessary)

By Goodwill
A product/drug (possibly smoked) developed by MC&D-employed scientists. Modeled after something made and used by the Fifth Church that they stole that they heard about from a converted club member.

By MrCobalt
Someone or something that makes people do musical numbers. I don't mean like that -J curtain that made people do showtunes, I mean something that causes mass quantities of people to break out in choreographed song-and-dance routines, disregarding their safety or present situation.

By Flah
Brain worms that lay eggs which look exactly like Q-tips. An unsuspecting victim decides to start cleaning his ears and suddenly realizes that what he was using disappeared from his hand. Months later, their barely breathing body trudges through drugstores, pulling pristine Q-tips out of its nose and inserting them into the appropriate packaging. Depending on the angle, could be either a real article or a -J.

By Ihp
The Toynbee Tiles turning out to be an SCP; due to the relatively widespread knowledge of them and their public appearances, containment would focus on suppressing knowledge of its anomalous effects.

By Drewbear
A biological organism that doesn't die. Instead it expires. Literal expiration date like on food products, at which point [REDACTED]

By Adam Henderson
"This is the task you must do…" announced the Wonderful Wizard of Wondertainment. "KILL FOR ME 682!"
"In return, you Pesterbot will be granted the power to carry out your threats. You, Lord Blackwood will have your humanity restored. You, Able shall be granted a heart and the power to love.
Any you Dr. Clef will be allowed to return home to the SCP foundation. And take your pet Dragon-Snail with you."

By Adam Henderson
Dr. Wondertainment's Mini-Cities™: Just plant the city-seed™, water and be ready to govern your own little city of little people!
Results may vary.

By Adam Henderson
A heartwarming Tale involving a wedding of two of the faithful in church.
"And now two are united in marriage as His Cogwheels and Gears shall reunite when He is made whole…."

2012 Part 2
One-Sentence Premises
Concepts
Draft Excerpts
Combination Concept/Excerpt

These are the Fragments added to the page during 2012, from August through December.

By MrCobalt
A "Who's on first?"-esque skit about a Nobody sighting.

By Goodwill
A tour of a Wondertainment factory a la Roald Dahl.

By Dr Oak
A (very) junior researcher failing to explain Procedure 110-Montauk.

By Dr Oak
A very dramatic and serious tale about SCP-789-J.

By Adam Henderson
A radio which picks up signals from its equivalent location in different parallel realities depending on how the tuning is set.

By Adam Henderson
The IIPES report on their end of the dimensional gate and the primary SCP foundation world.

By Adam Henderson
Wondertainment product/s intended to be marketed to the antarctic empire's world, or the university.

By Adam Henderson
A Tale in which Lord Blackwood in his present slug form meets SCP-1227. Both proceed to have a very odd conversation, as each of them perceives themselves as normal whereas they are actually a sea slug and a gigantic squicky mass of body horror.

By Adam Henderson
A bunch of eggs, each about a quarter-meter long. Slightly warm indicating they are alive, and made out of something which has resisted all attempts at drilling into it for study. The foundation has no idea what they will hatch into, or when they hatch. Candling and other tests have proven inconclusive

By Adam Henderson
A swarm of tiny flying creatures or micro-robots which look like snowflakes. Can "swarm" people, and the edges of their wings are sharp.

By Adam Henderson
Wondertainment Face-paint - will change the coloration of any biological matter it is applied to, not like tattoos but like birthmarks. Brightly colored birthmarks. Can permanently blind if it gets on eyes by turning the eyes colored. Needless to say has a "keep away from eyes" note in typical wondertainment style.

By Adam Henderson
A toy car that will act like a real one. That is to say, it will move by itself to drive along roads, stop at gas stations and generally act like a normal car apart from being a toy and not having any driver.

By Adam Henderson
A fragment of organic tissue, apparently part of an animal. DNA tests and simple appearance shows it to be of no known species. Maybe a gigantic severed leg ending in a single claw or a weird, nonhuman skull or something.
When touched by any living animal or person the part of the animal or person which made contact with it will "stick" being peeled off their body and incorporated into the tissue fragment. DNA tests of the part peeled off the victim will reveal it is changing to match tissue from the fragment, replacing bits of it.
Whatever creature the fragment was part of is healing…..

By Adam Henderson
A species of tree which will open small dimensional "oddities" near it causing abnormal things to happen at random. A single tree can't really do anything major but a grove of them is able to "puncture" reality spreading seeds between the many worlds of the foundation universes sort of like SCP-507's power. Also makes a great defense mechanism for the tree having herbivores moved out of the same dimension as it.

By MrCobalt
An SCP comprised of a large quantity of "excessively helpful" humanoid beings that follow a "target" around and provide him or her with courteous assistance in anything they attempt to do. And they are everywhere. Approaching a door? They open it for you from the other side. Shoe untied? One's already on it. Hungry? One of them already made you dinner somehow while hiding inside your fridge. Out of toilet paper? One comes out of the medicine cabinet with a fresh roll. They'll do anything for you to the best of their ability whether you want them to or not, and they don't take "no" for an answer.

By Adam Henderson
A tale in which SCP-962 starts expanding the range it sends former animal "servitors" to work in. To the point where keeping the hoards of animals contorted by mechanical implants into crude mockeries of the human form killing any other animals they comes across and helping people out sort of like the "excessively helpful" humanoids mentioned at the bottom of this page out of public knowledge is impossible.

By Adam Henderson
The back half of a broken plastic squirt-gun. Not abnormal as far as the foundation can tell, just highly radioactive and with….
rtainment™
ega-Soaker™
….printed on it. Found following a [DATA EXPUNGED] disaster of some sort.

By Adam Henderson
A chain letter. Very specifically written, misspelled, the grammar is horrible but believable considering some stupid chain letters people fall for. Tells the person who gets it to copy it out and send it to ten more people or a "monster" will kill them complete with very specific description of the "monster." In event of the letter not being copied, misspellings and all, a creature resembling the "monster" will show up, attack and vanish. The process in event of foundation personal getting infected would be to have them tell ten class-D personal who would then be shot.

By Adam Henderson
Some sort of drug which has two effects.
1. Cannabis-like mental weirdness.
2. Gives the person using it temporary reality-warper powers which last as long as the "trip" does.
Inspired by posts in the chat thread for SCP-1958.

By Adam Henderson
A project-crossover Tale. Star Trek is rife with missed opportunities and blindness regarding the application of the technology available. There usually end up being more rationalizations and justifications as to why something doesn't do something useful than techo-babble about how it works in the first place. The original series had an episode involving a plant that could cure any disease, and regrow severed limbs for an example. The plant was conveniently forgotten in all future episodes.
It's almost like some organization is still around, amnesiac-ing people who find it then locking the anomalous stuff up…..

By Adam Henderson
Santa. Not as a -J but as an all-powerful reality bender just sitting around in the arctic, unable to be sneaked up on or captured. Not only that, but he knows what the foundation is, and he knows about the relatively harmless humanoids that hate being here. He knows about 110-Montauk. Guess who's on the naughty list?

By Adam Henderson
A DIY style computer including a human brain as the CPU as well as vital organs for life support. As a result has massive memory storage, effective functions. Does not appear to still be sapient. DNA of brain and organs matches matches ████████ supposedly kidnapped in █████. Apart from being very fast and having a lot of memory storage doesn't really show many abnormal traits for a computer in terms of software. Just a good-working homemade computer which happens to be made out of a kidnapped victim.

By Communism will win
"Your mom" as a joke SCP. Alternatively, the "she" in "that's what she said".

By Flappybobb
A joke SCP about some horrible vile creation that turns out to be a vacuum, the joke being that it was written by Kain Pathos Crow. Of course I would recommend getting his permission first.

By Adam Henderson
A first-person-shooter videogame set in the middle of a few kilometer area in Alaska, at least ██ kilometers from civilization. Seems unfinished, the copy the foundation has lacks enemies, most of the sounds are defaults, ect. When turned on, in the part of Alaska where the game is set, a creature resembling the player character will appear. Said creature can be moved by the game controls, and on the game screen the player can see things as they actually are in the real word, although with graphics and health bars like the game. Attempting to move the player character to the edge of the game world will have it vanish and return to spawn point, the same happens when the foundation tries to take the creature out of the equivalent of the game world. Trying to harm the creature just leads to decreasing health for the player character, and a "you died - re-spawn?" message and the body vanishing making dissection and other such studies impossible.

By Adam Henderson
A tale where some researchers and scips play DnD/Pathfinder/insert tabletop RPG here.
Able and the Lizard optional, 181 recommended.
If you can somehow make 173 play, you have my seal of approval.

By Ihp
A set of three chemicals developed by a failed project at Prometheus Labs. Chemical A grants superhuman strength, Chemical B grants telepathy and superhuman senses, and chemical C grants flight and superhuman speed. What's so bad about that? For one thing, once the chemicals enter your blood stream, they cannot be turned "off"; you'll always be super humanly strong and have to hear people's thoughts, for example. Secondly, real world physics apply; go too fast and your organs get liquefied, or you just catch on fire. Go too high up in the atmosphere with flight and you freeze to death, or run out of oxygen and fall to your doom. Shake someone's hand too hard with super strength, [DATA EXPUNGED]. The point here is to deconstruct superpowers, and why they would suck in the real world.

By Ihp
Werewolves as an SCP. Before you shoot me, these are not your typical werewolves. Firstly, this particular type of lycanthropy is a genetic condition that is only carried by females; the presence of a Y chromosome, for some reason, makes it inactive. Secondly, they do not change with the lunar cycle, but with their menstrual cycle, and gradually change from 100% human to 100% lupine over the course of the cycle. Thirdly, they never stop undergoing oogenesis (the act of creating eggs, which is supposed to stop at birth), meaning they never run out of eggs and therefore never go through menopause. They're also fatally allergic to silver, and can more easily be killed with it, but anything fatal to a human will kill them just as easily.

By Adam Henderson
A horrific body-horror inducing plague which forces its victims into homicidal rampages against the uninfected. The twist, it doesn't affect humans. Rather, just some randomly selected by the author species of small animal. Think 610, only for squirrels for an example.

By Adam Henderson
Dr. Wondertainment's attempt at a toy spaceship. Looks like a stereotypical pulp science-fiction rocket, about ten feet tall and with a hollow cabin which can be closed with an airtight door. Inside has a child-sized chair and simple, video-game-style joystick controls for moving in three dimensions and acceleration. There is no fuel supply, apparent place to put fuel or need for fuel. Unforgettably for any would-be astronaut, Wondertainment has shown his/her/its normal disregard for safety, the rocket can at maximum acceleration turn its pilot into gory slime on the floor of its cabin, and while its cabin seems to be radiation-proof and somehow maintain a self-renewing supply of air there's no room for food supplies, no bathroom, and steering the thing in space to the extent of getting home alive is exactly as hard as you'd expect.
The foundation got it after it crash landed in ███████ carrying an unidentified child's corpse, starved to death or crushed by acceleration.

By Adam Henderson
Some kind of creature which has an instinctive ability to control and/or build complex mechanical stuff. For example, it might be sort of squidlike in form and basically mummify the dashboard, steering wheel and pedals of a car in tentacles to allow it to operate it. Clearly not naturally evolved. Not intelligent apart from its technical skills, for example a den it could make would have gas heating and automated sentry guns but it can't communicate or recognize itself in a mirror.

By Adam Henderson
A Tale in which foundation researchers in the world reached by SCP-1483 find the Factory or Wondertainment products, sold openly and the resulting issues. Ends with the foundation having to pay SCP-1483-world police bail to get their researchers out of jail, for robbing a small business in an attempt at "containment." Much O-5 facepalming ensues.

By TorrentGamer
An oil rig that has a seemingly infinite oil supply. Due to the interest of companies and outside groups, the SCP would need some lengthy containment procedures.

By Adam Henderson
A swarm of tiny Von Neumann machine astrochicken-type spacecrafts. Basically intended to land, set up a small factory and get to work on an industrial plant for creating more "ships." Not human-made, found after meteorite shower or something. Not very fast at replicating, little risk of their grey-gooing the planet. Mostly rely on the fast that something had to have made the first ones for creepiness.

By Adam Henderson
A "living" snowstorm. That is to say; a small, unending snowstorm with the characteristic that any snowmen/snow sculptures at least partiality made from snow it produced will animate and endeavor to self-replicate. They appear to share a hivemind with the snowstorm cloud as the "queen." Highly hostile to foundation agents and citizens, not very effectively as they're snowmen. Presumably would have been found in the arctic or antarctic as otherwise it would melt each season.

By Adam Henderson
A Tale regarding a class-XK event triggered by someone asking SCP-662 to build a superior version of itself, then ask the superior version to build a superior version of itself, ect.
Cue a SCP-based Singularity.

By Adam Henderson
Some sort of monster made of high-tech equipment. Maybe sort of a robotic thing which assimilates any other form of electronics it gets its grippers on. In an attempt at stopping it from growing, containment procedures would basically consist of guards armed with longbows, and a few sticks of TNT as an emergency site self-destruct.

By Adam Henderson

Blackwood Tale idea

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Idea crossposted from here.
After the events of this Tale, Lord Blackwood hits his Despair Event Horizon and makes a deal with SCP-738 which he encountered on one of his travels. The terms of the deal.
SCP-738
• The creation of an "end-of-the-world" shelter based on British culture.
• Not taking Lord Blackwood's soul.
• Not killing Lord Blackwood.
Blackwood
• Lord Blackwood's body, sort of like what happened here.
Upon the deal being made, SCP-738 creates SCP-1678, takes Lord Blackwood's soul out, placing it in a sea slug his lordship had as a zoological specimen from his travels, and takes over Lord Blackwood's body, altering it based on SCP-738's own warped sense of improvement, and proceeds to go on a rampage killing everyone besides Lord Blackwood within Blackwood manor, I.E. Lord Blackwood's entire family before the foundation of the time was able to catch it.
As now Lord Blackwood is still in his Despair Event Horizon after this, just ended up having his entire family murdered, arguably his fault and is now trapped, theoretically forever in the body of a sea slug he is finally driven insane, retreating into his memories of still being a human adventure while ignoring the real world sort of like what happened with SCP-1227.

By Adam Henderson
A Tale in which SCP-106 is proven to be Mister Scary™ from Dr. Wondertainment's Little Misters™. Seems like it could be proven. If true, than "Mr. Scary, from Little Misters ® by Dr. Wondertainment" should be tattooed on SCP-106's left calf. Checking could be difficult however.
Also, SCP-076 could be Mr. Mad.

By Adam Henderson
Von Neumann Golems. In essence, each specimen is an animated sculpture with an [EXPUNGED] displaying some resemblance to Hebrew writing symbol under the carapace of the forehead. Assembly consists of chewing up materials, either the hollow "gut" produces sticky mucus-like material or heats up to melt metal, regurgitating the resulting cement-like substance, shaping it into a new specimen then using [DATA EXPUNGED] extends from the lower jaw to carve the symbol into the forehead of their offspring. The offspring animates, pushes a layer of semi-hardened material over its forehead to seal it, then waits to harden/dry/cool. This idea was one I had in regards to alterations to an existing SCP, I'll take it down from here if the author chooses to use it. Also, a few pictures which could probably make good images for this.
Image One
Image Two
Image Three
Image Four

By Adam Henderson
The Orientation Tale for the foundation coverup writers. The people who make up cover stories.

By Adam Henderson
The Orientation Tale for the foundation diplomatic workers. The people who would staff the embassy in SCP-1483's world for example.

By Adam Henderson
A tiny, partially biological spaceprobe sort of like the plans for a starwisp of non-human creation. Apart from the biotechnological parts being impossible with present human technology, it seems to work off known scientific ideas for how a starship could be built. The damage to it seems to have been inflicted by a meteorite impact "stunning" it, then it drifting for a few million years off its intended course ending with it crashing into earth.
Inside, it has a bunch of chambers and equipment intended to work for genetic engineering and growth of living organic tissue, both for self-repair and expansion of biological parts and for the growth of "SCP-xxxx-2" specimens. SCP-xxxx-2 specimens consist of simple "meat robots" creatures which lack digestive/reproductive/respiratory systems instead running off stored fat and oxygen, intended simply to gather biomatter, which then is then stuffed into a "stomach" aboard the main ship for "digestion" and metal which is [DATA EXPUNGED] since recovery the ship has expanded by █ meters.
Presumably the reader would think, this is so it can build up enough biological tissue and machine parts to build a specimen of whatever created it….

.....but really.....

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it is simply healing the meteorite damage, and fermenting the biomatter for methane, as rocket fuel. The expansions aren't armor, they consist of new rockets to get the "probe/creature" back into space. And the foundation is keeping it trapped on earth.
The goal would be a bit of a Mood Whiplash between thinking of it as a sort of sci-fi alien weapon, and feeling sorry for the poor astrochicken the foundation has been in essence torturing by keeping its wounds from healing.

By Adam Henderson
A device consisting of a large cage, a bunch of electronics which the foundation has absolutely no idea what's going on with, a dial, a switch and an electrical socket suitable for charging batteries. If a living animal or class-d is put in the cage, the dial will move to show an amount of voltage, apparently random, and if the switch is pulled, than the socket will proceed to charge any batteries placed in it with that amount of electricity. After being used once, the animal or class-d will, if placed back in the device never cause the dial to move again.
The twist is, it's harmless as far as the foundation can tell. The only effect of being drained is that you can't make the device create more electricity.
The foundation is tearing its hair out trying to find what the device is getting energy from.

By Adam Henderson
A historic Wondertainment toy. Maybe a corn-husk doll, or hoop rolling game equipment. Not sure what the abnormal trait should be, I just think we need some Wondertainment stuff predating mass manufacturing.

By Bland
"It's not like we're keeping we're keeping Hilter's brain in a jar. Okay, yea - we actually are but it's in formaldehyde! Well, of course it's dead, don't be an idiot!"

By Bland
Titles for The Collected Works of The Foundation

The Works of Dr. Gears
Notes from Dr. Alto Clef
Professor Kain Tales

(Damnit - I had ones for Bright…)

By Adam Henderson
In SCP-111 there's this quote.

By reading this document and incubating your Dragon-Snail™ eggs, you agree to all said terms and forfeit your rights to lawsuits, organized boycotts, protests, honor duels, etc.

This means, at least once someone challenged Dr. Wondertainment to an honor duel over Dragon-Snails burning their house down. And considering the need for a note, apparently won.
That needs to be a Tale.

By Ihp
Six-hundred and sixty-six sick skippers suddenly start singing songs of sinking ships so that someday they shall stop Saturn from super-colliding with satire.
(I don't know what I was on when I wrote this. I'm thinking it could be incorporated into some kind of AWCY Dada rap or something.)

2013
One-Sentence Premises
Concepts
Draft Excerpts

These are the Fragments added to the page during 2013.

By LithiumXCVI
A piano that plays the musician.

By marslifeform
096 discovers Instagram.

By Adam Henderson
A native junkperson in SCP-967 encounters the foundation explorers for the first time.

By Adam Henderson
SCP-993 and SCP-1592 compete for broadcast time-slots.

By Adam Henderson
A recovery log/Tale backstory for SCP-771.

By Ihp
And MTF dealing with a cheese-based SCP called the "Gouda Grenadiers".

By Adam Henderson
A bellerverse Tale about a bunch of people who tend to SCP-1514-1A as a holy relic of their sky-god and in return anything that attacks them gets smote via xasers from orbit.

By Ihp
An SCP that is a pair of telepathic "signals" that randomly attach themselves to people and do two things: the first signal tells everyone within a certain radius to acknowledge the person affected by the signal in some way, and the second one transmits all sorts of information about the subject. (Name, age, address, pet's names, whether or not they've been affected by Chron's disease, the number of living skin cells on their body, length of toenails, what movies they've seen in the past 24 hours, other useless statistics). Originally developed by someone or something as a medical first-alert system, but.. it didn't work out as planned.

By Ihp
An SCP based on the concept "Loose Lips Sink Ships". Talking about a ship being sunk by the SCP will result in more ships sinking.

By Adam Henderson
A hoard of tiny, clockwork-looking, automated pieces of construction equipment. If left alone, they will create large buildings out of whatever, easy-to-transport local materials there are. Just lots of stone, or sand, or random junk quarried and placed into huge, ornate cathedral structures, which as far as the foundation can tell, have no abnormal properties. The buildings frequently have problems like lacking any way for the building machines inside to get out, or falling over due to being made entirely of rubbish. The builders are apparently capable of self-replicating as their population remains steady despite the foundation sometimes dissecting a few, or construction accidents, but nobody has seen them do so, or has any idea how they do it.
The SCP where recovered by a deep-sea submarine mission after radar showed an absolutely huge building they had created. Considering how slow they generally are, the foundation calculated it would have taken them ████ years to have completed it to the scale observed.

By Adam Henderson
A parasitic, body-horror inducing SCP which causes bones to split, branch out, and start growing into sort of a "bone fractal" structure. I'm not sure of a good twist for it, I just had a nightmare regarding such a thing.

By Adam Henderson
In SCP-1296, mention is made of failure to chase it, or set up a roadblock due to it evading pursuit.
Let's see the Tale in which we have an action-movie-ish Llamamobile vs Foundation car chase.

By Adam Henderson
Who's to say that SCP-1585 has no effect on humans? Might be a good idea to make having a vasectomy mandatory for foundation personal on it.

By Adam Henderson
A Tale in which SCP-1585 is sapient. Not the rapidly evolving ecosystem on it, the jellyfish itself. And is trying to make it's ecosystem into a death world with the intent of breeding a species of supersoldiers with a warrior race mentality.
SCP-1585 is a single organism, and it wants to reproduce. In layman's terms, it wants to conquer the universe.

By Bland

+ Something in real life

- Shut up Bland!

The Triangle Waist fire is one of the worst disasters since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution.
The logo for the company:
The alchemical symbol for fire:

Maybe I'm just easily creeped…

By Adam Henderson
A tale about the secret method by which the foundation gets Class-D personal.
Craigslist adds.
Someone on craigslist probably has a statue-watching/cleaning blood/dung mixture fetish. That solves 173 for example.
Needless to say, intended as a parody/crackfic.

By Adam Henderson
The sixth tribe in SCP-967, a foundation analog. They work to keep the major junkmonsters and anomalies from wiping out the other tribes, and contain the knowledge of the abnormal by removing the memory-holding tape decks of junkcitizens who find out stuff. Like the outside world, which from their view is sort of a hellish alternate universe which kills anyone who enters it, and is inhabited by monsters unlike anything native to 967. They might not even be made of trash!

By Amelia Eardly
An object that only exists in a certain hour/minute/secondof the day. Either every single day, or once a week, month, year, ect. Whenever the time it exists in it runs out, it ceases to exist with no signs as to it ever being there.

By Adam Henderson
A creature consisting of basically a brain, a bunch of tentacles some of which have boney "scalpels" on them, spider-like spinnerets, an amazingly powerful immune system and external blood vessels. It works by stealing parts from prey, using the clawed tentacles to remove organs from prey, the spinnerets to stitch the parts Frankenstein-like onto itself, and the immune system to keep itself from falling apart. It lacks any sort of digestive or respiratory systems unless it steals them from another creature and links itself into the bloodstream of the stolen organs. It is highly hostile and frequently attempts to escape and/or assimilate people.

By Adam Henderson
A few Jenny Hanivers recovered somehow from the Circus Of The Disquieting. Not fakes made out of ray parts, live ones. In a fishtank.

By Communism will win
A group of normal people stuck in a house in some implausible location, no memory of how they got there. Every so often, creepy candid-camera type videos of them get posted to the internet. Nobody in the house has reported any sort of cameraperson.

By Ambrosius Ostberg
A guy that is afflicted by the condition that no matter where he goes he becomes wanted by the authorities, with wanted posters changing to show his face or even appearing out of thin air. As he got older the effect began to increase, with his face appearing in newspapers and even on TV and radio, as well as the charges increasing from small offenses like theft to large offenses like murder and/or terrorism. Eventually he showed up as a person of interest with ties to a GoI on one of the Foundations databases who sent out an MTF for him.

By Ihp
An SCP centered around a political party that is entirely made up of cannibals. Should be called The Donner Party.

By Flying Spidersnake
A video game. At first, it seems to be a AI who modifies the game in its favor, but it's really a reality bender trapped within the video game. He begs the foundation to let him go.
By Communism will win
Plaque/sign above an ice cream vending machine reads: "Paul M. Ehrweiler, the oldest man alive, also has some of the world's strangest eating habits. He only eats when, at irregular intervals, he purchases a treat from this very machine. He is 153 years old — so old that scientists say he may not even age. Paul cannot see what you purchase."

By unknown author
A demon of some sort that moves around in a location (such as a house, or a hospital) at an extremely high speed. It appears to follow some sort of routine, and does so X number of times a day. Variances include manifestations of humans, also moving at this speed, that the demon interacts with in ways well just use your imagination. We cannot physically interact with it, and it is not inherently dangerous. Hooks… the presence of D-Class subjects during iterations. Ideas… we're peaking through at another dimension, possibly a partition of some kind of Hell, and we see things move there at a much faster rate. What is this thing's purpose? Can it see us? What happens if we destroy the environment where it manifests? When it interacts with the manifested humans, does anything get left behind?

By unknown author
A collection of notes regarding television programming from widely known media sources that seem to hint at some higher force influencing the nature of television programs. Probably not good as a skip, probably better as a skip-as-tale.

By unknown author
Someone saw a face near the sun. It peaks out from behind the sun occasionally. Can everyone see it? Is it threatening?

By unknown author
On a mountain in X you can see four white humanoid figures at the peak, motionless. You have the feeling that you're making eye contact when you look up at them. They're not always there, and when you go up to find them they're the same distance away from you. They also seem to be present in a few photographs you have lying around. They look like they might be moving closer.

By unknown author
Project crossover idea: Commander Shepard (Mass Effect) discovers abandoned Foundation space containment facility with uncontained SCPs. Foundation may or may not have worked with Cerberus. Sometime before Mass Effect 3.

By Bryx
A tale about 239's infant years. I always had an idea that she created 597 after she inadvertently destroyed her hospital.

By marslifeform
"Please, come back," the half-formed creature rasped. "I need you."

2014-2018
One-Sentence Premises
Concepts
Draft Excerpts
Combination Concept/Excerpt

These are the Fragments added to the page during 2014 through 2018.

By Agent Jac Pearce
A story that SCP-106's pocket dimension controls 106, and that more 106's could be created by the pocket dimension

By Nightruin
Puppy dog eyes as an anomalous event that is a cognito hazard, where puppy dog eyes force whoever sees them to either forget any wrong a dog has done, or give them food or let them out.

By unknown author
A wild west themed SCP.

By unknown author
A memetic contagion that is an internet meme.

By unknown author
Write a tale where a conspiracy theory magazine learns of the Foundation's existence.

By errorlypse does not match any existing user name
A "beware of dog" sign that turns dogs into hellish creatures.

By Professor P, from “Shrek” in chat.
A file that was kind of obviously written up by the foundation as propaganda against a particular group of interest. -Shrek

By MandyMarshell

Object Class: Toroidal

– hide block

Try to write a SCP that contains itself

By unknown author
An SCP about a faucet that pours acid instead water, no matter where it is installed. The acid comes from another dimensions and is highly corrosive, capable of destroying absolutely anything - including diamonds. Keter-class?

By Communism will win
Metaphors are traditionally understood as figurative constructs that link otherwise unrelated things together. This is arrogance. Our world is simply the set of things that serve to link metaphors together.

By Bland
"In lieu of recent events" - it's thought to be a miswording in Dr. Bright's bio. But what if it's not? What if history was rewritten to stop an XK event, with Jack saving the world by being trapped for all eternity?
When Dr. Bright was initially killed and imprisoned in SCP-963, it was during a containment breach of SCP-076-2. What if ORIGINALLY he dropped it a half second before dying and ABLE became trapped in the amulet instead?

By Bryx
Skip Idea: A beaver that was reincarnated as a chainsaw. But it still remembers the dirty catholics that ate it as a hangover cure after Mardi-Gras (look it up), and seeks revenge to this day. Only then can it rest. Only then.

By Steeltitan
A pharaoh with the head of a turtle. Maybe have the turtle head be detachable?

By GuesssWho
Have you ever noticed that the clump of hair that comes off when you use a comb looks sort of like a big, hairy spider? Well, sometimes it is. And it's one of the really poisonous ones. You might want to start burning your stray hairs, so they can't breed.
(See also the spiders that form when you remove the navel from an orange.)

By MrRonin
A skip based on the Roland TB-303 synthesizer and the 80's 'acid rave' culture it revolved around. Why was it so underground? Did people really get shitfaced on drugs? Why were the media and police so against it? And more importantly: Is the movement really dead?
Don't forget the yellow smiley faces.

By errorlypse does not match any existing user name
SO
SCP #### is a China doll of some sort. Whenever anyone touches SCP ####, scp reforms into the person who touched it but when they were a kid. This can be useful for finding the origin of various scps.

By MrCobalt
A nightclub (or similar social gathering place) staffed (and frequented by) friendly animate skeletons. Humans entering this place are met with warm welcomes and friendly greetings, accompanied by polite requests to "check your skin at the door". Subjects who do not immediately flee the place will discover they are in fact able to shed their skin and organs in a similar manner to a heavy overcoat, while still retaining all their former senses and mobility. Interviewed subjects usually describe it as feeling "liberating" or other such terms indicating that this absence of flesh is somewhat pleasant, akin to removing restricting clothes. Subjects also report feeling more "open"- both literally and metaphorically- and often find it easier to speak freely about themselves or their thoughts amongst other skeletal subjects. While there does not appear to be any compulsion from the grounds itself or its staff forcing goers to remain in the club until it closes, many of them do unless serious obligations (job, family etc.) would require otherwise, though some exceptions to this rule exist (usually where the subject is seriously displeased with said obligation, e.g. dead-end job or unfaithful spouse). In any case, subjects desiring to leave are prevented from doing so without first putting back on their skin and organs, which analysis suggests does not dry out or decay while in storage. Donning a skin is done just as easily as removing it was (seals around its corresponding bones only when applied properly) and does not appear to damage the skin in any way (though direct damage to a vital organ still affects its wearer when they attempt to put it back on). Skeletal subjects that manage to leave the grounds skinless immediately perish- even their skin hanging up in storage ceases to function once its "owner" collapses outside the club grounds.

By KretchSteamclaw
Do some skip involving platypuses with human faces on their backs. It's a mated pair and two litters of baby platypuses. The runt of the second litter died. It had a gulper eel's face on its back. Gross.

By KretchSteamclaw
icy, glacial settlement
people live in it
they seem normal
is illusion
they dont look like people; faces distorted
real fuckin creepy an shit
pretend to be people
get sinister when you know what they look like
wtf

By KretchSteamclaw
some guy who's so boring it friggin' hurts. Gives off an aura that makes people so unbelievably bored that they can't stand it anymore. Thinks he's some accountant or some shit. Holy hell, this guy is dull. If his routine is broken the boredom aura expands super fast and it sucks major balls. If you can make this better, then major props, bro

By Wuz
This is an analysis of picture of a tiny rock on mars that has the shape of a bigfoot. Now, the image itself might have a lot of evidences against it, but it does raise some interesting ideas. What if SCP-1000 had managed to develop a space program and sent some bigfoot astronauts into space? There are quite a lot of possibilities with this one. Here are some ideas I came up:

How will they react to having their homes taken away from them? For thousands of years?
Do they have space bigfoot colonies? How do they hide them?
How do their bio-ships work?
What is the space-bigfoot's relationship with humans?

Et cetera.

By GuesssWho
A 10-year-old girl whose touch causes random mutations, 75% of which are fatal. She has a three-headed puppy named Muffles. All the rest of her family is dead.

By GuesssWho

Macuahuitl Mouth

– hide block

An individual who sought out the Foundation's help, as whenever this person eats their teeth fall out and are replaced by sharper teeth. At first it was only when they ate hard food, then any solid food, then any food at all. Their teeth are now as sharp as obsidian, and only intravenous feeding prevents the anomaly.

By GuesssWho

Mirror Hallways

– hide block

You know how when you put a mirror up to a mirror you see that creepy endless hallway? What if there were two mirror that, when you held them up to each other, there were things wandering through that hallway, and other hallways connected to it?
Or maybe there's just one creature, but every time you form the hallway it's closer …

By Wuz

Conflicted Circus Magician

– hide block

Circus all have magicians. Stage magicians that create illusions to make the audience experience seemingly impossible things.
But what about Herman Fuller's circus?
If you are a magician in a paranormal world, how will you work when everyone around you is doing impossible things?

By pastarasta1 does not match any existing user name
1. Food that turn into corpses when they expire.
2. Cliche green goo that has a crisis when contained.
3. A dimension where everything is alive and it all screams.
4. Dr. Wondertainement's BOOK OF LEARNING! [DISCONTINUED]
5. A theme park that is growing bigger and bigger and will not stop making rides out of other houses and structures.

By Wuz

Small-Town Office

– hide block

The Foundation listens to conspiracy radios, hears folk tales, investigates urban legends, and digs deep into internet myths in case they stumble upon an anomaly.
Imagine that you are the person responsible for it, and you have a small Foundation-established "paranormal detective agency" in the weird part of the city. Unaffected by the politics of GOIs and the world-ending anomalies, what will you see and hear in this small anomalous world?

By TheImmortalDragoon
A pen that animates whatever is drawn with it made out of the material it is drawn on. If drawn on a living thing, the living thing dies and whatever was drawn is created in the process. If what was drawn can't gather enough materials from what it is drawn on, it becomes horribly disfigured.

By Communism will win
ＰＲＡＧＵＥ is an old city. It has been falling apart at the seams for centuries. It is not long before ＰＲＡＧＵＥ dissolves into the logical subterranean chaos that is the foundation of our consensus reality.
That's not to say you can't have a little fun first. Utilizing the lastest advancements in computer science, our team of Underminers has fathomed into the unknowable, risking the destruction of two dimensions to discover these 218 amazing ways that YOU can ＨＡＣＫ　ＰＲＡＧＵＥ.

By Ihp
A tale for the Broken Masquerade canon where the Serpent's Hand tries to levitate the US Pentagon like they tried to do in the 1960s- and succeeds. Bonus points if you include these phrases:
"The Serpent's Hand will return the color blue to the visual spectrum once our demands are met!"
"It's over, it's over, the Charade/Masquerade is broken. It's over. It's over. The Serpent's Hand has spoken."

By Bland
Something with a Texas take on it:
"The name's Dark. Carter N. Dark. MARSHALL Carter N. Dark" (Pulls out six shooter and fires at the camera.)


Well, shit.
Yeah, I'd say you got the bastard. They don't get much more dead than that.
Okay, calm down. You're not gonna get D-Classed. Breathe, kid.
Here's what happened. You're not the one who shoved him off the building with a live grenade. You were doing your honest best t'follow orders and take the bastard in alive. You were doing just fine, too, until Nobody killed him.
Well, yeah, obviously, someone killed him. I meant Nobody, the person. Or people. Or whatever. You've heard of Nobody, right?
Yeah, that one. Does mysterious shit, helps or hurts us, an' then he disappears. He's the one who did it, understand?
No, it's not exactly lying. Okay, so it's lying, but it's lying to cover your ass, which is practically a moral obligation at this point.
Look, you're new, so I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. Everybody wants things to be simple. They want the world to make sense. Even the higher-ups. Sure, they know the world's fucked up, but they want it fucked up in a way they understand. Things out here, in the field, they get messy. Sometimes, we gotta do things they wouldn't understand. And sometimes we make honest mistakes. The higher-ups don't wanna think that sorta thing happens. We're their hands and eyes. We go out, we fix problems for them, and so far as they're concerned, we always do it the way they want.
Like, sometimes maybe you end up needing help from outside. We all know the other guys in the GOC, or MC&D, or hell, even in the CI. We trade favors when we have to, but the higher-ups wouldn't understand it, and they'd fuck it all up. Or maybe they want us to take in something alive that turns your blood to fire by lookin' at you, and never mind how you're supposed to get it done.
We do what we gotta do. We try to make the mission go through. Sometimes, that means we gotta do things they wouldn't like, sometimes it means we cut our losses. And then, when you write up the report, you gotta make everything nice and neat in a way the higher-ups understand. That's where Nobody comes in.
Everyone knows Nobody does shit that doesn't make much sense. Sometimes he helps us, gives us information, works with us. Sometimes, he comes in and fucks it up. The higher-ups, they understand about Nobody. They don't like him, but they accept that he exists and that there's not much we can do about it. So, when we write up these reports, he's real handy for tying up loose ends. At the end of the day, the mission gets done the best we can do it, and the higher-ups get a story they can swallow.
So kid, you didn't do it. You tried to take the skip in alive, but Nobody got in the way. Said some mysterious crap, I'll come up with that, and then left before we could stop him. Maybe jumped off the rooftop. He does shit like that, after all. He's Nobody.
Is he real? I dunno, kid. Ask him yourself sometime.


You get up. You shit, shower, and shave, because you have to go to work. Like everyone else, you hate going to work.
It's not, generally speaking, all that bad. It's just stressful. You've got twenty or so people working with you, doing the work of fifty. Hell, they have enough cubicles for fifty.
It's the same thing when you drive to work. Your subdivision has about forty people in it, but there's houses for twice that many. It makes a sick degree of sense, though. There's a labor shortage, and the government figures that if they pay people to build houses and workplaces, people will start having more kids. Nowadays, you can't even spit without seeing the commercials that talk about how great the houses are, and how easy it is to start a family with practically-free housing. It's passive-aggressive politics at its best: "We spent all this money making all of these cubicles and houses for you, the least you could do is populate them!"
Halfway to work, you notice the fading post-it note by your radio, with a list of stations on them. You try each one, just like you always do, even though you can't remember the last time most of them were live. Sure enough, the only one with anyone on it is the last one. There's so many things that need doing in the world, and running a radio station isn't one of them.
You stop to fill up your car. You see Rachel, filling up her car at the same. She lives in your subdivision. Pretty cute. You two fuck occasionally, but nothing serious. It's that pleasant time before one of you grows too attached, and you'll try to make something official, which'll ruin everything. You bet it'll be you that gets too attached. You wave at her, sitting on the ass-end of her car, listening to her MP3 player while her tank fills up. You make a mental note to ask her out, when you're done filling up.
Again, the stupidity of the government smacks you in the face. There's eight fill-up spots. Can you remember how many times you've seen two cars being filled up? Sure, you're experiencing one right now. Three? That'd take you a while. Four? Never. They've built too too many cubicles, furnished houses, and gas station fill-ups in the hopes that the populace will just jump into bed, squirt out kids, and find use for them. Disgusting.
Your car fills up, and you close the gas flap. You turn back to the other car, and there's still nobody there. As you're about to get back in your car, you notice a MP3 player on the ground, underneath the other car's back bumper.
You know how expensive those things can be, and how shitty it would be if you had backed up over your MP3 player. So you walk over to where it the thing lays. It's not broken, still playing that one band the government hadn't forcibly disbanded. You figure that the person is inside paying, and you realize that handing them back in person is going to make you late for work. You quickly wrap the player's chord around their car's antenna. If they don't notice it there, fuck them.
Your good deed done for the day, you get back in your car and peel out. You've wasted enough time, and now you're going to be late for work. Your co-workers are going to be insufferable (well, even more so than usual) because of it.
Your drive into work is uneventful. It's too quiet, though, since there's nothing on the radio to listen to.


"So, let me get this straight," said Agent Shields, flipping through the folder he had been pondering over. "You commissioned a mass murder of D-Class personnel by firing squad, set up a series of unnecessarily elaborate traps, and cost the Foundation around a dozen researchers… all so you could catch the Grim Reaper?"
Doctor Sheridan grinned broadly as he took the SCP report back from Shields. "Sure did, boy. And don't call my traps elaborate. Those things were child's play to make and set up."
"Sir, you're dodging the real issue here. I just want to know, along with everyone else, why you did it."
Sheridan's brow furrowed significantly. He had never been one for dealing with those who couldn't understand his brilliance, and Shields had always pestered him with those petty questions, details that in the vast scheme of things didn't matter. Still, he felt obliged to answer, if only to suffer one less fool.
"Why? Well, why not? You might not be the brightest, Shields, but surely you've been paying attention to your surroundings. Catching the bastard's been the best thing to happen to the Foundation since its creation! Due to the dampening effect we've put around his cell, Death doesn't have any powers. We also stripped him of everything on his person, and posted a dozen guards outside the main cell alone. Ergo, we've got him locked up so tight that nobody can ever die again!" He stood up with his arms spread wide at this last sentence.
A silence fell over the room as Shields stared down at Spencer Sheridan. He too had a strong hatred for the other man, though in his case it was due to a lack of patience for those absorbed in themselves. There was the temptation to finish the mission right then and there, but he needed to keep things going for now.
"Sir… I don't think you see the implications of what you've done. By rendering a good deal of the SCPs harmless, you've put unknowable amounts of people out of work, and…"
Sheridan put a finger to his lips and shushed Shields. "You hit the nail on the head there, boyo. The SCPs are harmless. The whole point of this place is to Secure, Contain, and Protect. Now tell me, is that not better accomplished if none of these creatures and objects pose a threat?" Shields continued to stand stock still, not moving a muscle, so Sheridan sighed and continued. "Just look at what this has done for us! We're making huge strides towards dismantling 173 now that it's not willing to attack us!"
"Yes, but…" said Shields, thinking of the fifty men incapacitated for life before the statue stopped attacking.
"Or how, since we can survive the tortures it inflicts, 212 has given us dozens of super agents?" And dozens more sent into permanent comas. "Try and tell me that isn't a good thing!" Shields made another move to speak, but Sheridan was on a roll. "Or how we're able to safely study 008 to our heart's content?" Sixteen men chopped into pieces. "Or the massive profit from 447?" Untellable damage from exposure to previous dead bodies. "Hell, 590's more effective than it's ever been!" Shields clenched his fists. "Point is, boy, I've solved every single problem the Foundation could foreseeably have. I don't understand why you'd ask such a silly question as - why do you have your weapon out?"
While the Researcher had been blathering off into space, the Agent had slowly unholstered his gun, and was now pointing it squarely at his face. "Christ, I can't stand listening to you. Now please listen, sir," he sneered, "and listen good. Nobody cares how many great things you've done with this whole 'Catching Death' business. The point is that the evils you've wrought far outweigh the good. We can't stand for that around here."
Spencer Sheridan went pale in the face as he tried to look for a way out of his predicament. An Agent, one of the most worthless positions in his mind, was threatening him, and he couldn't run. What to do?
At length, color returned and a smile played over his face. "Now, now, Shields," he chuckled, "you know you can't do this. I've got the bloody Grim Reaper in containment! So shoot me all you like, because I cannot…!"
A bullet flew from the chamber of the gun, and slammed square into the Researcher's chest. He stumbled for a moment, his mouth flapping uselessly, before he hit the ground with a low thud. Pulling himself onto his hands and knees, Sheridan gasped for breath, and grunted, "You… you can't kill me Shields… you can't kill me… we're all immortal…"
"Not anymore," said Shields, staring down at the man before him in disgust. "Or at least, not for very much longer. We're releasing the Grim Reaper in an hour or two, so everything you've done will have been for naught. Of course, we've rounded up all the SCPs and worked hard to minimize the damage, so you don't need to worry about that." Sheridan tried to speak, but he could already feel himself fading. "What I'd worry about, if I were you, is the fact that you'll be in some pretty bloody bad pain before expiring."
The Researcher tried to make one last protest to the Agent, one last attempt to buy his way back to life. But his lungs had failed him, and Shields was already on his way out, establishing contact with someone over the radio. "Hello? Yes, I did what you asked. Mission accomplished. Anything else you'd like done with him before you get here?"


SCP-███ Observation Log
Forward: A total of ██ transcriptions have been made from SCP-███. Each has resulted in similar narratives in the subject's native language, using vocabulary appropriate for their education level. The following notes were written as they were perceived by Dr. ███████.
Begin Log:
Dr. ███████ (spoken): SCP-███ has begun to [DATA EXPUNGED]. Taking it in my hand, I feel the same compulsion reported by D-1589. Memetic precautions are in place, and I will now proceed to write as directed by the object.
Dr. ███████ (written):

There were so many against us. So many lies from so many liars. The non-believers argued with us, they taunted us, they laughed at us. It never stopped. My family grew smaller and smaller as the years went by. Those of us who remained dedicated were becoming fewer and fewer. Everywhere we looked, the temples were closing and the dear followers of The Gods were abandoning the faith. The endless hordes of putrid faithless, reveling in their blasphemy, assaulted our very essence. Their existence was an insult to the Divine. But we are not unreasonable people. While the heathens chanted their propaganda of "progress", we raised no hand in anger. The faithful knew that, in time, it would be Their hands raised in anger against the vile ones. And this would be all the justice our battered community could hope for. But the Elders knew that time was running out. The Truth was clear to some of us, but it had begun to fade in others.
The strident grew older, and the younger ones were being seduced by the heathen filth. The heathens took credit for the "miracles" of science and technology, and the young ones believed them. It is through The Gods that all miracles are possible. It was through Them that our solution was made possible.
Praise be to They who are Divine, for granting us reprise from the heathens! Damned are they in their ignorance!
Those with the financial means to make a difference looked to us, the Elders, for guidance. Surely, said the faithful, there must be a haven. Our prayers were many and desperate but our faith held strong. Finally, we were granted a vision of our blessed future. A paradise awaited us! Our children would finally be free from the barrage of filth the non-believers tried to visit upon them. The stench of moral decay could not follow us to our new home.
The faithful of means had discovered a place of safety, and the arrangements were made. The heathens agreed to leave us alone forever. Never would their feet, their words, or their signals get to us. Their lies would never reach our new home. And as we claimed our new land, free of the tyranny of the heathens, we destroyed everything that might remind us of that terrible past. We destroyed everything but this. This Holy record is for you, my dearest descendant. May it be passed on to each High Elder in turn, so that our final struggle for paradise might not be forgotten. May our kind live out all of our days in Holy isolation on this beautiful new world.
All glory be to The Gods, for ever and ever.


He was lost in hell. Or as hell, one of the two. He'd kicked and screamed to get here, and now he just wanted it to be over. Two days of computer and technology stuff, in a nice big hotel, with lots of food and drink. His girlfriend had been less than thrilled, to say the least, but he'd prevailed with a minimum of tears. It all seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now, he felt shell-shocked. Too many people, everything so expensive, rude and snide jerks everywhere, and the growing, acidic tension between him and his girlfriend was starting to come to a head.
He'd managed to drag her down to look at cell phones, but he'd run into an ex-girlfriend running a seminar registration table. She'd sort of cornered him, immediately pouring out her heart, how sorry she was, how much she missed him. By the time he'd gotten away, his girlfriend was well gone, only the aura of her rage hanging behind. He searched, demoralized, but she hadn't even returned to the room. He'd had to narrowly dodge the Ex a couple more times, reminding himself easily of why he left her to begin with. At least their car was still in the lot.
Slithering through the crush of people, he wormed out to the relative calm of the lobby. He just wanted to rest, to let the clock spin to the end of this nightmare, even if he knew it'd lose him position in the great argument to come. The elevators were packed tight, a hefty and unruly line pressed against them, and he sighed, looking around for stairs. He spotted a small, dingy set of elevator doors set against the far wall just as his Ex spotted him across the lobby. He dived for the call button like a drowning man.
The doors hummed, his foot tapping in a panic. If she caught him in a enclosed space, things could go badly quickly. The door bonged, and the tarnished steel door slid half-way open before stopping with a jerk. He slipped in, just as his Ex cleared the crush of people, the door shuddering shut on her disappointed face. He sighed, leaning against the back wall, then wrinkled his nose at the sudden smell. He looked, and quickly recoiled from the wall. The metal booth was filthy, sticky with urine and something melted, the floor stained and scuffed, some mass of soft, filthy material making a small pile in the corner.
The booth was small. Very small. Barely big enough for one, let alone two. He looked to the door, and had a sudden flutter of panic. There were no buttons. No up, no down, no numbers, no emergency stop. Nothing. He felt a click and a hum, the car starting to rattle its way up, the flutter of panic growing as he contemplated being trapped here, but lost it almost instantly as the car stopped again. This had to be some kind of service elevator or something, which went to every floor in sequence. He had no idea if such a thing existed, but for him, now, it did. He'd just get off, apologize, and hike to the room.
For several seconds the door stayed closed, eating at his slim ledge of calm. Finally, one door shuddered a quarter of the way open, revealing a dark hall. He pressed hard, pushing through the slim gap just as someone emerged from the dark. He seemed tired, haggard, and totally ignored his half-stated apologies. The pale man shoved in the the elevator he'd just left, quickly disappearing behind the shivering door. As he watched the man leave, he saw no call buttons of any kind on the door frame. He sighed, looking around, the gloom illuminated by just a few bare bulbs strung along the ceiling. The walls, floor, everything seemed to be made of a dark, crumbling brick, slightly moist and…
Wait. What?
He'd gone up, not down. This sure as hell looked like a basement room, with the damp bricks, the uneven floor, the walls chipped and missing bricks in places, the…what the hell. The short hall ended in what looked like a “T” junction. The left side seemed to have a handrail, so that was probably stairs. There was a bulge in the brick on the left-hand wall, just before the junction, as if they'd bricked around a large pipe, and for some reason it scared the hell out of him. He started, nearly on tip-toe, sneaking silently down the dim hall. He reached the stairs without incident, no hisses or arms or anything leaping from the dark to tear him to bits, and grabbed the slightly pitted handrail. He was three steps up before he heard the chuff.
It was the sound a sick dog makes. Phlegmy and echoing through a snout. He turned slightly, not wanting to at all but feeling compelled to do so. Opposite the stairs, down the other junction, a thing shivered. It was low and squat, about the size of a person laying down. It had four short, oozing legs, massive back eyes, and sawblade teeth. It looked like a partially-skinned possum, frizzy hair around large patched of black, rotten-looking muscle. It started to lurch up to the stairs, seeming to be in a great deal of pain, but still very fast. He flew up the creaking stairs, not realizing he was screaming for almost a half hour.

He ran. Insanely, he ran, up and up and up, trying halls at random, finding locked doors, bare rooms full of teeth, pulpy floors with large patches of rot, all sending him back to the stairs with hoarse screams, always the thing just behind him, leaving a dripping trail of slime and blood. He beat at the walls of the stairwell, clawing, watching as the bricks bled just as much as his cracked fingernails. A hallway choked with lines that felt like tendon ended in a flat mass of hard jelly the color of a cataract. He ran, and ran, voice gone, only a drip of blood from shredded vocal cords, stumbling and crawling like a drunk.
Lurching up, he found the ceiling of the stairwell, the stairs smashed against the wall as if the ceiling had suddenly slammed in against them. He turned silently in to the nearest hall, too numb to rejoice or despair, feeling the floor sag and wobble under his feet, glancing in a open doorway to see a massive mound of flesh that seemed to be absorbing smaller ones, barely noticing as a brick fell loose from the ceiling, clouting him on the back and letting loose a slow waterfall of pus from the now open gap. He stumbled, feet sludgy in the floor, half-swimming along to the vague light at the end of the hall.
He looked up, focusing dim eyes on a window to life. Grass blew in a night breeze around a packed parking lot, a hotel lit up like a tower of salvation behind it, people walking to and from cars, laughing happily. He flailed, crawling, croaking bloody yelps as he reached, straining, fingers stretching as a flabby, oozing paw sank hard into his back, the flesh instantly turning black and flaking at the rotten touch. He screamed then, the ragged, broken howl of a deer with a wolf in its throat, the chuffing muzzle starting to search through the flabby bags and soggy tubes of its catch for sweetbreads.

The janitor sighed, edging up on the reeking mess. These goddamn kids, no respect at all, just wandering wherever they please. This says “staff only” on the fucking door, yet look there. He scowled, looking down at the pile of bloody vomit and shit. Honestly, what the fucking hell? Still, not his business to deal with the punks, just clean up after them. He did so, swearing all the while, hoping whoever did this was having a fucking hell of a bad time. The janitor scowled at the now mostly clean floor, pushing his bucket along to the stupid service stairs. They really needed to put a fucking elevator down here, but who cares about the wants of one old man? He shook his head, hearing the sounds of pounding and screams far off, some wild party or another to clean up tomorrow.
Fucking kids.


"For fuck's sake." I told him. 'Him' being Robert E. Brooks, chief of human resources at Site 19. "We've been working on this SCP for the past four months and we've gotten nowhere. It doesn't do anything besides play shit with people's minds and act as a short-range microwave. My team is tired - I'm tired - of running test after pointless test, always getting nothing, because there is nothing. There isn't anything left to figure out."
"Dr. Daveson, I told you already, there is nothing we can do. You signed on for the term, you can't transfer until it's over. I'm sorry." His sausage fingers rifled through a stack of forms.
"Fine. Just look over the papers. Look over what we've done, look for openings anywhere. " He tried to reply, I could see him forming 'No', with his lips. So I turned around and left. Nineteen has these enormous wooden doors leading into offices, I made sure to slam them on the way out.
There was a hallway between me and the security checkpoint when I started noticing the assistants rushing up and down between labs weren't making eye contact with me, they probably thought I was about to kill someone. I walked down the checkpoint, two guards were ready to meet me. "Intimidating", that's one word to describe the security at nineteen. Massive men with jet-black body armour and face masks. They gave me the rub-down, I gave them a blank stare.
I let out a heavy sigh when the garage lamps buzzed into life. I checked my watch, it was a half hour to midnight, I never realized how late it'd gotten. Lights flickered above me, and even though I couldn't see the outdoors it felt like the night. Most of the vehicles were gone, but the night staff's were still here. The stiff scent of old concrete covered everything, but I greeted the musty smell of my Cadillac with a sigh. I turned the key in the ignition, and frowned as the car started.
I lied when I told Brooks that we had done all we could. The last experiment alone had given us plenty of questions that were still unanswered. We had Foundation grants to work with, enough D-Class to last us a decade. My team was happy with the work, and I liked it too. It's none of that which made me want to leave. It was what happened when I slept, it was the dreams.
The same dream. Every. Single. Day.

I open my eyes.
Everything is vivid, but blurry. Goddamn it, it's like broken glasses, giving me a headache. I try looking around, and realize that these 'glasses' are covered in paint. I blink, or at least I try to blink. It doesn't seem to work. I try wiping my eyes, my arms don't seem to work either.
I feel like an observer, like I'm looking through my eyes but I don't control them. I see shapes move, and my - are they really mine? - eyes follow them. They all glow, softly, warmly. I can't make out their features, but I have the overwhelming feeling that they're good people. They all take seats in something in front of me. A table. A few more blurs shuffle into the room and sit down, they bow their heads. Something comes through the walls, these bright, yellow things. They sit around the corners of the room, they don't move much. I think they have wings. The blurs lift their heads, and suddenly everything changes.
The sound of breaking glass, my vision clears. They're all people, I know now, all the blurs are people. Some young, children. They all look scared. The yellow things are sharper, whiter, golden. Feathery wings rest at their sides, hovering above the ground almost gracefully.
Everything changes again, damnit the paint is all over my eyes, an explosion, all the people are rushing, screaming, shouting. I see panic on their faces, the little children cry. Figures in black. They come down the stairs two rooms over. Pain courses all over me, bullets fly, they kill one of the children. They kill all the innocent. It hurts so bad to see them die, but I can't even cry. The yellow things' wings fly out, they descend like enormous shields to protect all the blurs, the people. One of the dark men toss up a canister, it erupts in a red cloud. All the yellow things, all the - the, angels? they perish. Die, all the people choke, cough, collapse.
The men come closer. They examine the bodies, check for life, but they already know that no one survived. I know it too. They come closer to me, I can see the insignia on their uniforms. It is that too familiar symbol of containment, circle and arrow, it is the Foundation.

A few weeks passed, and then the day came. "Tim!" I knew that voice. Claire was a seasoned doctor, but she always seemed to have the enthusiasm of a junior researcher.
My groggy eyes rose up from behind a pile of forms to see her "Yes, Dr. Claire?"
"Results from the latest spectrum analysis!" She dumped a stack of papers onto my desk, her smile hovering slightly above the top of the pile. If it was any other person I would have thought they were trying to piss me off, but Claire was different. Besides, getting angry at her would have disrupted her walk out of my office, viewing her from behind was a highlight of my days.
As the door shut, I felt the gentle gust of wind that accompanied it. Some papers caught it, their edges lifting up, but clips made sure they stayed in stacks. The room became silent again. I remember hating it. It was a tomb made of drywall, forms and similarity. Whenever I was in that room I looked forward to leaving it.
I read into the sheets Claire had left behind. The SCP we had been working on, all data analysis of wavelength variation. After the last experiment resulted in a containment breach of half a dozen SCPs, O5 restricted personnel exposure. All we had left was wavelength analysis, and psychological testing. Everything else was off-limits, I appealed, I thought we could get more done if we had just a few more tests, but it was denied. The other doctors thought that preventing long-term exposure, and keeping the guards rotated would stop it from reaching out to other people. I don't believe that anymore.

Time doesn't work right in my dream. Sometimes things move faster, sometimes slower, sometimes not at all. You only get bits and pieces, you can grasp a few things but lose others. But most of it, I understand. All the pain when your family dies, all the anger, hate, suffering. I would be angry, too.
A thousand things all pass at once. The time in my dream skips. Suddenly I arrive in a room, a white room, a single light illuminates the box around me. A bed colored gray is against the farthest wall, it lacks a pillow, and is just a thin cushion against a cold metal frame. But it is not for me, or the eyes which I see through, I don't have a body which could rest against that bed. A shelf and desk lay to the right of me, both cold, hard metal. The shelf is filled with mostly old, tasteless, and useless literature. The desk has only a pen and a stack of paper.
I don't know the time, I only see half-formed shapes move outside the room. They move quickly, too quickly to be human. Or is it that I'm moving too quickly to see them as human? It doesn't matter. All I know is that this is alone, this is isolation. I don't like it.
Across the room, in the reflection of the wall, I see myself. I don't have a body, I don't have arms or legs or anything. I - It is a symbol of love?

I looked at the stack of papers on my desk, graphs, charts, diagrams abundant. I slid them all to the side, and reached down to a low knob on my desk drawers, the wooden frame opening with a loud creak. A thick pile of melange folders bulged out of the wooden coffin. I carefully pushed them forward, searching for the lowest folder. Ah, there it was, just above an oddly-shaped lump I had placed there not long ago. I pulled the folder out, and laid it on my desk. Photographs spilled over the wood, accompanied by a number of written files.
The drift of my hand caught the edge of the folder, it opened to let its contents be read. Pictures of the bodies of people killed, pictures of that SCP in that damned room. I was trapped in here by the Foundation, by our protocol, by our duty. We were supposed to safeguard mankind, but all we did was produced an imaginary farce for the world to live in while we stymied the tides of unknown, efforts which only made humanity more and more vulnerable. The SCP of my dreams was trapped by the Foundation, by our protocol, by our duty. It could have given so many gifts to our world, but all we did was lock it away.
I didn't realize all this at first, the first time I had the dreams. It was three days before I authorized the first D-Class testing under the supervision of Dr. Dier that I first had them.

Suddenly the door flies open, a figure bursts in. Everything slows down to normal speed. It's a person. I see the face for a moment, before things start getting faster. He is a D-Class, he is a slave to the Foundation. He walks around, reads, leaves, returns, claws himself. I don't understand.
I hear his voice, he calls out. His pain, he is so alone. Then I, I? Something responds, from me, but I didn't say it. It is the eyes I see through which speak to him. They tell him not to fear, that soon all the pain will be gone, that his suffering will serve to help him. He fears, but accepts my, my? The words. He accepts. He grows weaker, or is it stronger? His form changes, becoming closer and closer to the image in the metal mirror. He becomes closer to love? He contorts, his body is in agony. Somewhere, deep beneath his body something stirs, his soul?
All the blurs think he suffers. But they don't understand. They watch, and despite all their safety, despite all their precautions, the symbol, I? It? enters them, enters into their memories. They don't realize it, but I do. Just through their sight of it, because they remember it, it will forever be with them. It will watch them. But there's something about the memory, something strange. It is diluted, unfinished, imperfect.
Oh my god he changes, the man on the ground, he changes oh god he changes so different. I recognize that image, it's the same as the reflection, it's love. Everything relaxes. Heart stops. Brain stops. But he does not die.

Everyone thought D-3466 was going to die. Everyone thinks that D-3466 is dead. I thought that he would die. But as my eyes looked over those files, as I thought about my dreams, I realized, I did not give him death, I gave him eternal life.
The dreams made me eager for work, eager to learn more. But they also made me afraid. I leaned back and forth, I wanted to stay but I had to get out. I went to try to get transferred, but Brooks put up a wall I could not pull down. The dreams got stronger, I started day dreaming them, they kept coming and coming. I didn't understand them, I didn't know what was happening to me. But on that afternoon all those days ago, Dr. Claire didn't stir me from work, she awoke me from my dreams. She awoke me from when my dreams changed, she awoke me and I understood what I had to do.
I sighed, looked down onto old hardwood. I reached into the bottom of the opened drawer, and my hand drew out a Colt Single Action Army.

A fear in me grows, quickly, unstoppable. My dream should end when I see the angel of D-3466. No. This isn't right. Why is it going? Why do the men outside the room darken? I can feel their hatred, why won't it stop? Stop! STOP!
I want to cry. I want to cry so badly, I don't understand why does it keep going. The lights are brighter, stronger, they flash and turn red, get erratic, spray the room in their glow. Alarms screech in the air, get louder and louder and louder. Shadows of men pass outside the room. What the fuck is that? Gunshots?

The door of my office closed, a tomb of drywall which I would never enter again. I felt my breath against my lips as I exhaled, as I stepped closer and closer to the point of no return. My mind leaked, the dreams entered by wakened mind. Oh my god…
"Sir? Are you alright?" A young guard asked me as I passed through the checkpoint between me and my dreams.
"Get the fuck out of my way." His brains exploded into the wall.

Fucking bullets, fuck. Glass shatters, all the sounds glass breaks containment breached. Women on the intercom tells me containment is breached. Why must this happen to me? The blurs are all people. All people. All people.
EVERYTHING WILL BECOME CLEAR.

Red lights were everywhere, I stumbled down the hallway covered in blood. Its face was everywhere, alarms blared so loud, but its voice even louder. I stumbled forward, looked back. Men in dark armor turned the farthest corner.
I felt bullets fly past, the glass separating the observation and containment rooms shattered. Its face was everywhere, everywhere. The blood that falls from my chest turns into the face of my dreams. Gunshots gunshots gunshots everywhere behind me they are all behind me. Researchers within the room screamed, worried, panicked. I stepped over the broken glass, into my future.

A man, he falls into the containment cell. Bleeding, broken. Why? He crawls forward to it. No, he becomes closer to me. To me. He becomes closer to his dreams. He become closer to his god. God. God. Closer become god god god look at me LOOK AT ME AND SEE
UNDERSTANDING.

Don't know, what? own future. All of the men flood the room, all of them looked at me with their hate their fucking hate monsters. I see Claire, I see all the other doctors. I felt death pierce my lungs, my chest. I looked up, my arms outstretched to myself on the wall. Fucking headache. I lost my feeling, everything turned sideways as I fell onto the ground and my vision grows dark. Then before everything faded I saw them. I saw the monsters. And they all saw me.

IN YOUR DEATH THEY WILL ALL REMEMBER ME. IN YOUR SACRIFICE THEY WILL ALL REMEMBER YOU.

Oh I remember fuck I remember why
I understand

THEY WILL ALL DREAM THE SAME DREAMS.

Addendum-Σ-5-1: On ██/██/████, Dr. Timothy Daveson breached the containment of SCP-███. Security team ECHO-████-█ engaged [REDACTED] report a glowing instance of SCP-███ briefly appearing on the corpse of Dr. Daveson. Shortly thereafter site personnel within 20 meters of SCP-███ lost consciousness for 340 seconds. Medical analysis of affected personnel showed eye movement consistent with REM sleep. After awaking, personnel showed [DATA EXPUNGED] SCP-███ covered 80% of the skin, including observers outside of the 20 meter [DATA EXPUNGED] ██ escaped from security zones, and remain at large.