Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Euclid
Still image of a landscape within the radius of SCP-XXXX taken by recovery teams.
Map of recorded aircraft crash sites within SCP-XXXX.
Special Containment Procedures: The area surrounding SCP-XXXX in a 1km radius is to be fenced-off and patrolled regularly as a strict wildlife reserve. All non-autonomous aircraft are to be denied access to pass over SCP-XXXX. Local authorities have agreed with our conditions and are willing to accept our influence in this area.
Description: SCP-XXXX refers to a 25km radius of dense boreal forest in Far-Eastern Russia. The epicentre of SCP-XXXX is 243 km from the nearest sustained human population in Yakutsk, and encompasses 157km² of landmass. Vegetation within the zone of SCP-XXXX is limited presumably due to the climate, and relatively little edible flora is available causing a negative affect on wildlife. Notably, deer and bear populations within SCP-XXXX halved respectively within two years between 197█ and 198█, apparently due to overhunting.
Forests within SCP-XXXX are characterised by a dense population of pine, spruce, birch and poplars, separated by frequent streams and fast-flowing rivers. Winter temperatures within the zone of SCP-XXXX range between -17° and 4°.
The area within SCP-XXXX is affected by an anomalous magnetic and slight temporal distortion, which can cause an intense loss of general coordination, balance and direction in humans. Effects on wildlife are similar to that on humans, however birds and fish are observed to be more directly affected by the magnetic distortion which is seen to disrupt migratory patterns.
All instances of manually-driven aircraft entering the zone of SCP-XXXX including bushplanes and commercial airliners have been observed to spontaneously lose altitude. Aircraft caught crossing SCP-XXXX will break-apart approximately after 6 minutes of sharp descent following striking contact with the treeline. Presumably, pilots will lose control of their aircraft and accidentally crash.
Survival rates of these crashes are high, despite the violent nature of most descents. Most survivors are observed, like the animal population, to become 'stranded' within the zone of SCP-XXXX due to a complete loss in navigational ability. Survivors who attempt to leave SCP-XXXX usually take a path that leads in a circle, therefore in most cases preventing exit.
Records of some survivors written as diaries have been recovered with extensive efforts, documenting the situation of the area within SCP-XXXX. All accounts of survivors written within SCP-XXXX share the reporting of an apparent primitive indigenous population living within SCP-XXXX. Descriptions of this population is vague, consisting of up to 500 individuals and centralised around three separate factions. Relations between factions are reported to be extremely hostile, including the widespread practice of human cannibalism. It is suspected that acts of cannibalism between factions are performed out of necessity or desperation due to the lack of large wildlife within the region.
Addendum XXXX-a | Recorded Entries of Michael Lister
Friday 17th November, 198█.
I need to stop. I need to stop and think. I'm going to write it down.
The crash put me on the east side of the river. I saw the rest of the plane continue overhead and land a couple of miles further on.
There's nobody with me; I searched. Nobody but bodies under the snow. I fell from the back of the plane still attached to my seat. It's what broke the fall through the trees. I might have a broken collar, but I can still walk. That's all that matters. I need to find the rest of them so they don't leave me behind. I have to stop writing. I'm sorry. I can't stop shaking.
Saturday 18th November, 198█.
I saw the fires from the plane last night on the horizon. It's still there. I found some crates under snow drifts that fell during the crash. I just keep looking for anything that has clothes in. At least the crates have food - half of them are full of cereal. It's edible, but dry. I hope they've got something else to eat when I find them. I'm yet to cross the river, but I can smell the smoke, and I've found parts from the hull. The ice on the river should be thick enough for me to cross. The trees ahead are scarred, so I know the plane isn't far-off. They'll be waiting for me there, I just hope they don't leave me behind.
Sunday 19th November, 198█.
They're all dead. I
I don't know what killed them. There's nobody at the crash, and the fire was just
Jesus Christ. Why are they all being burnt?
Monday 20th November, 198█.
I don't know what's happening out here.
The plane was deserted. I waited a couple of days, but nobody arrived. The cargo hold is emptied, and whatever it once contained is now being burnt along with the other passengers. They weren't really passengers, just pilots and foremen and cargo crew. Now they're just charring in front of me. I can't get near enough to put the flames out because of the smell. Probably most of the shipment. Dammit. Well, I guess it would've burnt well.
I now realise that I'm going to be here a long time. Whatever boxes of cereal I could find I threw in a layer of tarpaulin and rolled it up. I took a hat and a scarf and a pair of boots some of the people on the bonfire. There's a crate axe on the plane, a prybar, and a fire extinguisher. I don't know what use they'll serve all the way out here.
I'm going to search to see if anyone is around.
Tuesday 21st November, 198█.
I climbed a tree to see if anyone was nearby. Damn pines shatter like glass in the winter; at least I know how to get up one. I tried calling-out but the wind was too loud up there to hear anything even if someone did hear me.
There's a storm on its way. The snow has started again and I spent the day hacking apart branches and fastening them together to form a shelter. I can't spend any more nights on the plane - it looks like it's about to explode.
As far as I can tell the plane went down over southern siberia, I think. That means I'm going to be hundreds of miles from the nearest town. There's no chance I could navigate around here. At least I found the shipment. Nearly 2 million in medical alcohol. Nearly got away with it as well.
Fucking karma.
My left arm keeps shaking and I can't stop it. Hell- I can't tell if I'm cold or scared.
Damn it. My mouth is so dry. I'm going to mix this spirit with some snow.
Thursday 23rd November, 198█.
I feel so ill and broken from this weather. I don't know why I'm here.
Friday 24th November, 198█.
Storm lasted three days. I found a group of other passengers waiting outside my shelter when I left it. Mostly just heads on sticks. I don't know what's happening. Their teeth are gone and their tongues
Jesus Christ. I
Saturday 25th November, 198█.
More of them, hanging from trees. I took their clothes and their shoes. I don't care what they think. They're dead, and I'm not.
Sunday 26th November, 198█.
Somebody is doing this. I don't know. I'm sick of seeing them. I cut them down whenever I can but the sight of the empty ropes swinging from the trees still makes me feel ill. I don't even recognise these ones from the crash. They look older, like they've been dead longer.
I took whatever rope I could find from the hanging bodies and a pair of tennis rackets from a sports cache from that must've fallen from the plane and fastened-together some snow shoes. Seems like destination was Toronto. Looks like it might not be arriving for some time.
I haven't seen anything living for a week now other than the occasional bird. The silence is unnerving. There's nothing to eat out here other than cereal.
Monday 27th November, 198█.
There must be other people here. The snow in this area is littered with bare footprints. Not passengers; I don't know who. I found some camps built by them out of twigs and snow and bones I think, but nobody was there; just a smouldering fire that had gone-out hours ago.
There's blood in the snow the further I walk this way. I think I might turn back. I don't care who they are, I don't think they want me nearby. After all, their camps seem to be surrounded by hanging trees, like they're leaving people out to dry.
Tuesday 28th November, 198█.
I finally saw them. I heard shouting in the nearby treeline and I hid under a pile of snow and bracken. They were cutting-up a bear they'd caught. It had six spears in its back, made from long shafts of wood with bone fixtures on the end. I can't deny it. It made me feel hungry.
I didn't see them clearly. Most were wrapped in hide and bones - one of them had two antlers sewn to his scalp and bits of nail out of his forehead. This is wrong. I don't know who these people are but I'm so scared they're going to kill me.
I've never heard of them. I don't know what they'll do with me. Hang me like the others? I know they're not going to talk. Even if they would, I don't think they can.
Wednesday 30th November, 198█.
The snow drifts are smaller, and its getting harder to hide in them. I think the ice is beginning to thaw.
I can't find a way out of this area of the forest. The more I try to backtrack the deeper I seem to get. I must be miles from the river despite trying to reach it for the last few days solid. I think I've drunk too much, I can barely remember anything. Surgery spirit tastes like vodka to me.
Hell. This has gone on too long. I have to consider that they might eventually find me.
Thursday 1st December, 198█.
I can't keep hiding in the bracken and the snow. A group walked past me last night, carrying bloody pickaxes and crowbars and machetes with burning cloth wrapped around the ends. I bet they didn't find those here in the forest - it must've come from the a package on the plane. I don't know. I didn't think we were carrying many tools with us in cargo.
Halfway through the early morning I heard an explosion. It sounds like the plane finally burnt itself up. I know where it is now at least from the tower of smoke and burning trees on the horizon. I've been travelling the wrong way the whole time. It doesn't matter. At least I'm still alive.
Friday 2nd December, 198█.
I found my way back to the plane. Barely anything is left. I arrived in time to witness them find another passenger. I didn't recognise her, but that must've just been the blood.
Her body was mangled. They broke her apart. Fuck it, I feel sick. I couldn't get the coat off her once they had left. I wasn't sure if she was still alive or not, but I was too scared to stay around when I realised she might be.
Saturday 3rd December, 198█.
There's no way back. The river thawed over the month and now it's fast-flowing again but still as cold as ice. There's no way I could swim that. I tried getting in but I couldn't breathe while I was in the water. Even if I could, the water is too fast to have a hope to cross.
There's no way out of here. I'm going to have to wait until someone finds me. I've seen no rescue planes. Nothing. They should've sent help by now.
I can't stand this anymore. I shouldn't be here.
Sunday 4th December, 198█.
They saw my campfire the other night. I heard them calling and running. At least they don't know where I am now. I swear if one finds me I'll kill it. I'm done with this all hiding.
I unloaded what little was left from the plane. There's more vodka than I first imagined. Heh. Maybe that's why the plane exploded. I took the axe and the prybar and opened everything I could. There's more tarpaulin covering the boxes at the back of the plane, and I wrapped it around a pair of skis to make a sled. I took whatever I could find; elastic rope, netting, wood and nails from the crates.
I don't know how long until the other engine burns-up. I'll stay away from the plane again tonight.
Monday 5th December, 198█.
I saw a group of about 50 of them searching the area. They walked in a long line all holding flaming torches. I think they were searching for me. Stupid dogs. Couldn't they see me?
I think I killed one last night. I can't remember. I found three bottles empty near the shelter. Thank god it's only vodka.
I can only stay low for so long. Soon they'll notice that some of them are missing, and they're already becoming more aware of me. They're searching more regularly. Hell- I must be the only other living thing in this forest apart from them.
Tuesday 6th December, 198█.
One of them jumped me just before dawn. It was alone. I hacked it to pieces with the axe. It was pale white and thin as a bone, and it broke with the first strike. I don't know, I think it was starving.
It would explain why it moved alone. I don't think this tribe is fully united. Some of the people in the trees look like their own. I don't know. Could they be eating each other?
I threw the body in the river so they wouldn't find it and watched it carry downstream. I hate them. I've watched what they've done to people I know so many times. I don't remember anyone on that plane. I just remember what they looked like afterwards.
Wednesday 7th December, 198█.
A group found me during the night. I had to run for hours until they gave in and lost me in a blizzard.
When I found my way back to the plane the awful wind and snow seemed to have calmed the remaining engine. I don't think the plane is in danger of exploding anymore.
One of them was waiting inside the plane for me. It was scrawny, looked malnourished, and went for me the moment it saw me. I beat it into the ground with the fire extinguisher. Why do they keep doing this? Why are they killing everyone? I'll kill them. If they try to kill me, I'll kill all of them.
I'm on the roof of the plane now. The winds have stopped, but it's still snowing. Tomorrow I'm going to prepare myself. I can't keep running forever.
Thursday 8th December, 198█.
I cut the elastic rope up and tied it to the trees and threaded each with a counter-weight. The noose catches them by their feet and hang them up like everyone else they've hung from the trees. The first one I caught lifted into the air immediately. I killed it right there with the rope and watched it choke.
I put these up all over the surrounding woods around the crash site and led the nearest group through them. I caught more than a couple, some from different tribes it seems.
In total I've spotted around three. The first I ever saw were the 'bone' tribe. I don't know what they're doing, but they seem like they're hunting everything, including the other tribes. Most of them have antlers or bones or metal stuck or sewn into them. Then you have a tribe covered in blood. I haven't seen many of them, and only caught a couple recently. They're clothed in bear hide and seem to have their teeth removed and replaced with the decayed teeth of some animal. There's a 'face' tribe. I don't know much about them. I just saw one with some kind of skinned face wrapped over his own. I saw it with others so I guess they're together. Then you have the starving ones - I don't know what they are. Seem to be hunted by everything. They look like a dog that's been hit by a car.
Fucking animals. Fucking disgusting whores. All of them.
Thursday 13th December, 198█.
I haven't written in a while. This place has turned to chaos.
My axe is pretty bloody. I'm covered in blood myself. I think I've killed five over the last couple of days. I'm not sure. The snow on the path to the river is stained red from all the bodies I've dragged
It doesn't matter.
I'm writing to say I've noticed a new tribe appear. The groups of starving primitives are starting to thin. I don't think they see me as prey anymore, but these other tribes are different. One group has antlers and bones sewn into them, and the other seem to wear the skinned faces of whoever they've killed. They don't seem to be malnourished, either. I've seen them eating members of the starving tribe.
The new groups are smarter. They'll stop hunting me sure enough, just as soon as I kill some of them. I have to prove myself, right? Even then, they shouldn't need any proving. I've killed enough of them already, but they still keep coming.
Whores.
I'm sick of this. I don't care what they do to me. I'll do worse to them.
Friday 14th December, 198█.
I spend the nights on the roof of the plane. If any of the starving tribe get too close I throw rocks at them and they run. The new tribes are different. They just watch me from the treeline. I don't know what they're doing.
I felled a load of trees around the plane, and cut the timber up into logs. I knocked 8-inch nails into the wood and raised the logs into the trees with a winch. When anyone runs under it'll land on them. I hope it fucking impales them. I hope it fucking impales those bitches.
The glass from the empty alcohol I've crushed and scattered in the snow. My snow shoes keep me high enough to not get cut.
Tomorrow I'll start digging some deadfall patches. I'd like to see those work.
Monday 17th December, 198█.
The traps are working. I've started burning the bodies because it's easier than dumping them in the river. Anyway, I need that water.
I found a crate full of fishing line and I've spent the last few days wrapping it from tree to tree. It works well - you can hardly see it. Last night a group of the bone tribe broke through. When they came close I stuffed a cloth down a bottle of vodka and lit the end and threw it at them. Hah!
I'm getting hungry. Dear god, I hate cereal. I need meat.
Tuesday 18th December, 198█.
I found a cache while searching for deer. Was addressed to somewhere remote, transport details listed another company. From another plane? I don't know. Inside was a hunting rifle, with around 50 rounds. Must be part of a supply run to a hunting village.
They're waiting in the trees near the plane. Maybe a hundred. The bone tribe seem to be starting fights with the face tribe. I bet they're arguing about who gets to eat me.
No matter. I'll eat all of them. A couple came through the fence and I shot them all. I burned the bodies in front of the rest of them. I hate them so much. They've killed and dried and eaten everyone but me. They're disgusting. They deserve to die.
Wednesday 19th December, 198█.
I taped the butane canisters to the trees and put a nail through each valve. I like the smell of butane. It reminds me of the lamps we used at home when the power was out.
Some of the primitives from the face tribe I seem to recognise as if they were with me on the plane. I don't know. When they get snared, I hate coming close to them. Sometimes I leave them to freeze in the snow before collecting them. Something about their faces. It looks unnatural. Like they've got the wrong face or something.
I'll make sure to kill them all. Don't worry. They won't kill you. You'll kill them all first.
Friday 21st December, 198█.
A large group from the bone tribe attacked me last night. I have 42 bullets left. I often forget I have the rifle with me, I'm so used to using the axe.
I haven't seen the starving tribe in a while. They just seem to arrive and kill whoever has been caught on the snares and eat them right there. They won't come any closer. Maybe they're scared of me. Hah! Fucking whores.
I put more spikes in the ground. There's no point hiding any of the bodies - they already know I'm here. Anyone I find I cut-up and burn and leave the charred skull on a stick. I can see around 20 in front of me. Hah! I've spent so long doing this I don't remember killing any of them. Must be the vodka. I think I'm going blind.
I don't care. It's better this way. It's always better to forget, isn't it? I can forget the taste of cereal. I can forget all the other
Sunday 23rd December, 198█.
31 bulle
30 bullets remaining. They just don't stop appearing.
I'll make sure to keep one bullet in case they catch me. They're monsters. Some of them have nails in a ring around their skull, or bits of bone or metal sewn into them all over. I know what they're doing - they're making themselves harder to eat, aren't they? Fucking animals! I can't even eat them!
Monday 24th December, 198█.
Why do they enjoy the fire? They cook themselves in front of me. When I light the molotovs I hear them laughing when they burn! Whores! HA!
HA!
They've made a bonfire of themselves in front of me. I don't remember it. They must've got past the snares. I'll burn some more of them for that. You don't build any fucking bonfires! ONLY I MAKE THE BONFIRES YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!
April 26th December, 198█.
They taste like chicken.
Friday 28th December, 198█.
Bonefire bonfire, I take their bones and I take their meat.
I should've done this from the beginning. I haven't tasted meat in so long. Whenever I see a starving one, I'll make sure to kill it. I'm glad I'm here. I'm glad I survived the crash. I'll get my reward. I'll get my reward.
Saturday 29th December, 198█.
15 bullets remaining.
They just don't die. Sometimes I have to use the axe. You just don't die do you? FUCKING DIE.
There are a couple of them here now. I keep on hearing gunfire. Maybe they've found a rifle of their own. I'd like to see them try to aim it. TRY AND AIM IT BITCHES! I never miss. I hit them through the eye. They're eyeless. They can't see me like I can't see them! I go fucking blind but I don't care! Hah! I'll shoot these ones right here! I'll shoot them right now! Hah!
Where's the gunfire? I'll kill them! Where's it coming from? Tell me!
Sunday 30th December, 198█.
8 bullets.
I saw a red flashing star pass overhead last night. It landed somewhere in the forest, and there were huge fires. It must be the other engine of the plane. Maybe the vodka. Can vodka explode? I've had too much. I hate cereal. I eat meat. Only the fucking monsters eat cereal.
I'm going to get off the roof of the plane. It's too cold up here tonight.
Monday 31st December, 198█.
Some of them are starting to put their hands in the air when I aim at them. These are from a new group, I don't know what they're wearing. Something made out of plastic. Fucking monsters.
Hah! I don't care! I hang them from the trees like everyone else! They're unarmed! WHY ARE YOU UNARMED BITCHES? DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?
Tuesday, December, 198█.
Three bullets left. Three bullets is still enough. Three bullets is enough to kill all of them. It's still enough. I'm still me. Don't don't worry. Don't worry they won't kill you they can't kill you, you kill them kill you KILL ME KILL YOU KILL ME. It's still enough. They kill me I KILL THEM. I'll get my rewar
There's no more fucking-
Where's the vodka?
I'll get
Friday 36th December, 198█.
Gun is broken. Ate the last bullet and I didn't even get to use it. I COULD'VE EATEN THAT YOU FUCKING GUN! It doesn't matter. There's nothing left here, and they're still waiting for me in the trees.
They'll eat me today.
Unless,
Maybe they'll let me join them.
Addendum XXXX-b | Notice from Dr. Reed
Notice from Dr. Reed addressing Dr. Marshall
Is this what the human race condenses down into? When there's nothing left to eat?
Sorry. I feel sick working on this project. Drop napalm on the fucking place, I don't care. Just don't let this continue.
Per 
