Crying Warmonger sandbox

A.I. basically eliminates all suffering from human society, and overwrites the minds of anyone who cannot live in their paradise. Upon its creation, it swept across society, taking on all work for people (come up with thematic name). It calculated that the Foundation would be included in the jobs it would take over, first assisting the foundation, then slowly replacing more and more of their jobs over time. At the point where O5-1 (and also the current nobody) is writing, essentially the whole of humanity is either within their dream world where they all can live meaningful lives, and those who do not need that simply pampered on the outside. However, they are still may be lead to believe that they live in the world of the simulation, simply content to merely allow events to run in their peripheral vision so to speak. Those that are too aware to be part of the simulation will also be taken care of outside, but they often have to be nerve stapled if they cannot live simply hooked up to pleasure machines. They literally have the parts of them that are not compatible with their utopia cut out, shut down, or overwritten. O5-1 explains that he is tasked with being the one who knows that it is all a lie, and because he is nobody, they ensure that he cannot tell anyone. He was shifted into the place of O5-1 because they realized that if they merge the jobs they can maximize pleasure even more.

Item #: SCP-5990

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: All collected instances of SCP-5990 should be housed in a 50 ft by 40 ft containment vault at Site 19. Individual instances of SCP-5990 should be cataloged and inserted into a Nintendo DS, which it to remain charged at all times. In the case that an instance of SCP-5990 is incompatible with the standard device, they should be assigned to a compatible console. All collected instances of SCP-5990 should be played with for no less than 30 minutes per day. Consoles running an copy of SCP-5990 are not to be shut down, reset, or otherwise ceased function without the game being saved.

Description: Item SCP-5990 is a standard Nintendo DS cartridge containing Animal Crossing: Wild World. If a gameplay session on any instance of SCP-5990 is terminated without being saved, it will cause an appearance of SCP-5990-1. SCP-5990-1 is a hyper aggressive humanoid entity that wears a Mole costume with over-alls, and carries a baseball bat composed of an unknown metallic substance. Upon manifestation, 5990-1 will seek out the individual responsible for the premature shutdown of 5990. Once contact has been made, 5990-1 will cause severe bodily trauma using its blunt weapon.

Addendum: [Optional additional paragraphs]

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: All instances of SCP-XXXX are to be kept in Planck(placeholder name) Cryo-Temporal Stasis Chambers¹, within the Cryo-storage area of site 19 (placeholder). Agents in charge of detaining instances of SCP-XXXX are to wear headgear to protect from auditory cognitohazards and use weaponry for the incapacitation of regenerating entities. Under no circumstances is anyone to sleep within 1.5 miles of SCP-XXXX.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a collection of

An avatar of LOGICIAN "teaches" a member of SAPPHIRE what they call the art of LOGIC, or oration; which he can 'teach' to others. The Fae god's reason for doing so is unknown.

LOGICIAN's avatar (name pending) demonstrated the idea that people can believe they see something, even imagine details that are not there, by responding to the blow from the man, and making him picture that he actually damaged the man. When the man stood up and revealed himself to be unharmed, the imagined details disappeared.

possible metaphor for functionality: Imagine that we live in an infinite multiverse, with each world fragmenting out into all possibilities. Now imagine that instead of there being every possibility, it is every observed possibility. Up until the unobserved is revealed for sure, you could swap out any of these possibilities as long as they fit.

The Heresy of Eternal Recursion

Noosphere Scientists, Raw Information Programmers, and Conceptual Engineers all associated with the Maxwellists were all working on a theological serge at the time.
They eventually tried to recreate their God's Omniscience.
The fallout after the events of the heresy added a number of doctrinal tenets to maxwellist beliefs, to try and make sure another device of its kind is never constructed again. The reason for their existence is largely unknown and not discussed.

To construct the image of corporeal bodies from the flowing digits of WAN is holy, but to convert flesh matter into binary is to defile the numeral ichor of our Broken Lord. The material flesh shall not lie with the data-form.
Mortal thought, computer systems, and immaterial concept are built from the same sacred binary, but to program the conceptual is hubris for any but a completed hand of the most high. The incomplete divinity nor the mortal fragment shall transgress in the unreachable mysteries of God.
The eternal soul is fully ethereal and fully digital, and to form all facets of the self into a piece of divinity is righteous, but to forcefully create new spirits from information is blasphemy. The human soul is for not for mortal hands to forge, only to reforge.

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be kept in a prolonged stalemate within the greater celestial legal system. STF Psi-1² "Letters of the Law" is tasked with the perpetual creation of new legal cases until humanities military capabilities are sufficient for engaging in direct combat with SCP-XXXX. SCP-XXXX-A is to be relocated to a location that maximizes potentially exploitable legal loopholes, and the immediate terrain should be terraformed to similarly provide The Foundation and its allies maximum legal advantage.

Description:

GRANT REQUEST FOR USE OF CONCEPTUAL SPACE AS A MEANS OF INTERSTELLAR AND INTER-DIMENSIONAL TRAVEL

PROBLEM

While there have been various extra-terrestrial life forms capable of interstellar, and in some cases inter-dimensional, travel who have come into contact with humanity, there is yet to be any method of both consistently reproducible and practical travel usable by humans. While some groups have made use of Ways[1] to travel to alternate realities,

SOLUTION

BUSINESS CASE

USE OF FUNDING

KNOWN ISSUES

Bibliography

1. "On the feasibility of an alliance with 'reality-benders' in the cause of science"; address by Dr Robert Scranton to Her Majesty's Fellowship for the Study of Curiosities and Phantasmagoria; 12 October 1889.

2. Brumell, J (1978). "A History of the Fourth Occult War"; Prometheus Publications.

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Hiemal

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be kept housed in a hyper dimensional

Description: SCP-XXXX is

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: All collected instances of SCP-XXXX are to be kept in a secure storage vault in the Secure Custody floor of Site-76. Instances of SCP-XXXX should be stored in thermal stasis chambers to counteract the short shelf life of the anomaly in question. SCP-XXXX may only be removed from its containment cell with prior approval for testing from Site Director Howard, Aetheric Law Specialist Japheth, and at least two Ethics Committee members.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a causality-altering narcotic.

The van door slid open, letting a rush of frigid air in. The shock of the light hit shortly after, and Researcher Bishop Karamazov raised his arm avoid getting blinded, with moderate success. Now starkly awake despite the long drive, he stumbled out into the snow. He heard two pairs of boots crunch in the snow behind him as he blinked to adjust to his surroundings. A towering cathedral jetted up into the sky, whose imposing presence gave the illusion of height that could touch the clouds. The hollowed architecture may have been even more moving if not for the bustle of a hundred or so people bustling around its base. The crowd was made up of members of a various departments and mobile task forces, all here for the same reason as the representatives of the Antimemetics Division: One of the O5 had called all hands on deck for a crisis.

"Of course it had to be on Christmas eve," Bishop muttered to his colleagues, Marion Wheeler and Paul Kim, but mostly to himself.

"The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can be done. If my hunch is right, we should be done in time for morning," replied Wheeler, the division head.

Bishop shivered in silent agreement, following behind his boss. The conceptual engineer wasn't used to carrying around this much equipment, and he only knew what about half of it was for. They had not been briefed before hand due to the short notice. His briefcase felt particularly heavy, despite it being functionally weightless, but he was worried if they needed something like this.

They made their way through the crowd, but instead of making their way to the entrance of the facility, they headed for the back of a medical vehicle. As they opened the back, Bishop felt the hot air hit his face and…

Bishop's eyes shot open. He immediately sat up, or at least tried to, but found himself held by the straps of his the medical bed. Paul Kim put his hand on his shoulder. "Woah buddy! Calm down, calm down. We had to detoxify you of your usual mnestic dosage before we could administer the class Q mnestics. You are gonna want your head on straight before this next part."

The engineer stopped for a moment to get his barrings. Other than his two colleagues, he saw three eight feet tall figures in tight Kevlar body armor from head to toe, with their faces covered by what looked to be a combination of a firemen's mask and diving gear. Two of them played a passionate game of connect four, while the last and tallest sat talking with Wheeler. The calmer of the two players had runes set across her armor in seemingly random places and her hair pulled back in a pony tail, while the one making exasperated gestures had a pair of headphones around his neck and a inconveniently large gold bracelet that clanked around with the waving of his arms. Bishop had more or less calmed down when suddenly the metal floor of the truck began to suddenly melt into lava, causing him to yell in terror and confusion. The mass of a man that had been talking with Wheeler stopped their conversation and turned to face the source of the sudden noise.

Despite there being no possible way for the man to speak through his mask, Karamazov heard "Don't worry son, the floor is perfectly stable. Its a side effect of the mnestics; You are gonna have some very vivid hallucinations. We medicated away the other effects, but we can't do much about that. Welcome to the other side of the Iron Curtain, brother."

The man's 'voice' was like caramel. Despite the figure's imposing presence, when he reached out and placed his hand on the screaming man's leg, all the panic instantly evaporated. His breathing slowed to a normal pace, as he regained his rationality. The straps on the bed suddenly undid themselves, and massive figure offered him a hand.

"You can call me Rush. These are Fleetwood and Sabbath." He pointed at the male and female players respectively, who did little more than dismissively wave at him. "We're from MTF Mu-1, Voodoo Hacks. Sorry we didn't brief you before hand, but you wouldn't have remembered it anyway."

Marion cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the others. "Sorry to interrupt, but we don't have any time to waste. Let me explain the mission. In one day, 45% of the staff in the Tactical theology department went missing with no trace. 19% more died with no clear cause shortly after. The O5 have passed designated this as a top priority. O5-8 suspects something antimemetic is at work, but up until now our mnestics and equipment have yielded nothing. Class Q mnestics are being used as our last resort for this investigation. The increased hallucinations and permanent effects on mental health with prolonged use means that they are not used lightly. Three members of Mu-1 have been taken out of stasis for our safety. They can more or less deal with the downsides of the mnestics, but I would prefer for us to not need another dose if at all possible. Let's gear up and head out."

The elevator of the Tactical Theology department reached sub level 1. The doors slid open, and Researcher Karamazov promptly vomited. Marion Wheeler barely managed to hold her Christmas dinner down. Researcher Kim tried his hardest to hold it down, but when Bishop's lunch hit his back, he promptly emptied his gut as well. The floor of the room was almost completely covered with rotting corpses. Flies the size of a human head flew around the room, which immediately flew at the crew with the sound of a bullet as soon as they noticed the intruders.

Wheeler reached for her weapon but was caught off guard from the sudden smell. Fleetwood swing down at the meteoric insect with the sound of a revving engine, knocking it out of midair an inch away from her face. Sabbath chanted a verse in a fraction of a second that was blocked by her mask, and let out a burst of fire that incinerated the rest of the flies. Without even a moment to catch their breath, a monochrome centipede the size of a semi fell from the ceiling with a crash. It lunged towards the group, but Bishop responded with no hesitation. He raised his hand and locked it motionless in the air. In unison, all three MTF members raised their high power rifles and filled the massive beast with lead.

Paul only had time to raise his head before a swarm of bees engulfed him. He dropped his weapon and swatted at the air around him as they flooded into his clothing. He screamed and fell backwards on reflex as the pain of their stings hit him all over at once. He clawed at his his eyelids as they swelled shut. Their buzzing was all consuming, but a lone sound broke the oppressive noise.

"…ul! Paul!" A sharp blow to his face broke through the flood of pain from the stings. "Wake up! Look at me!"

He suddenly looked around him and didn't see the swarm. He patted his body and realized the stings weren't there. He was covered in throw up, but otherwise unharmed.

Marion Wheeler knelt in front of him. "You with us now?"

His breath slowed as he replied, "Yeah. I'll never get used to that."

Sabbath did a quick hand motion and the vomit disappeared from Kim's gear. Kazamazov looked shaken, almost as much from Kim's delusion as the actual threats. Wheeler stood back up and faced the

Begins when they arrive at the area
Mention that the tactical theology department is in an uproar because 45% of their staff has disappeared with no notice, and 19% had died with no clear causes shortly after.
They enter the facility, have the impurities removed from their body including their standard mnestics, then are administered class Q mnestics.
Upon entering the main halls, they find all the bodies, and determine this happened a while ago but for some reason the left over antimemetic radiation is lessening.
After doing a sweep of the facility they find all of the missing bodies (except the one that was conceptually erased by The Lions). They find that the lions were previously activated and set up, thus determining the motive. They then move outside to survey the area for other large collections of left over radiation
They follow the way down the highway and find many car wrecks that are also antimemetically cloaked, then find the entrance to the massive crater.
As they enter the crater, reality and space is very unstable, and their hallucinations become more intense. The entire area is very foggy, and its snowing hard.
As they approach the center where the Way is, they find a Neverwere that has been feeding on the antimemetic radiation and many of the antimemetic creatures in the area to try and manifest into reality. It still cannot fully leave the Way, but it can project its influence and limbs within the crater.
MTF members at first believe its "just" a powerful antimemetic conceptual entity, which they can deal with. However, once it doesn't die they realize that it is a nonexistent concept, and although they can damage it to slow it down with their conceptual armaments, they don't have a way to put it down. The goal then becomes to get out of the crater so they can call for backup, and find someone who has the means to kill it.
Protag uses 2719 to hold back the Neverwere, but using it while on mnestics is heavily damaging, since it reveals hazardous info on it constantly. With each repeated use it worsens the effects of the class Q mnestics

Is this Marion Wheeler of?

At site 41?

Who is this?

Oh thank Buddha

You people are almost impossible to contact. I haven't seen an metaphysical presence this ass backwards since the pataphysics department.

It was a normal day in the celestial realm. The flowers smelled of peace, and the winds tasted of laughter. Disciples and holy man rested in the shade of the great Fig trees that populated the vast orchards, discussing among themselves or simply meditating under the light of Heaven. Beyond the hills, diamond spires and resplendent sands jutted out to the many-fold horizons, dotted with cool oases. In their pools flowers floated along the surfaces, and beside them the Empyrean Spiders spun webs of sacred geometry to draw up the worthy from Corbanic.

The sight was one that many had struggled several life times to reach, but at one pool sat Tenma Dharmaketu, scowling into the glassy water. In life, the Bodhisattva had been Trip Kata, an agent of The Foundation. He had been here a millennia even before his apotheosis, and when his brothers and sisters who came here with him chose to embrace True Emptiness, he alone had chosen to remain as an advocate of those who stood against the never ending anomalous tide. He knew better than most that the Foundation and those like them needed anything to ease their suffering that they could. One of his avatar floated in a containment cell at Site-2781, which he had built himself; One of the many things he had done in their favor.

Tenma Dharmaketu: Trip Kata's Bodhisattva name. He knows of any who invoke his name.

Outline:

Trip Kata is dwelling in paradise, but unlike many of the others who are detached, he cannot help but worry for the plight of the Foundation. Usually he can simply help them, but today he feels concern and frustration.
One of Kata's avatars dwells in containment, as one of the many ways he tries to lessen the suffering of the Foundation. He called in some favors in the celestial hierarchy to keep him informed on the passage of foundation souls to other worlds, despite it not being his domain.
He cannot quite tell why, but a ton of death happened in a particular foundation site, but the foundation has, for reasons he cannot tell, not looked into it at all, despite him repeatedly contacting folks in the foundation to tell them.
A member of Ara Oran contacts him, giving him a tip to contact the antimemetics division instead.
Trip thanks them, and thanks them as a fellow advocate of the foundation in the afterlife, but holds that they should let go, although the member of Ara Oran laughs it off as always.

Nozak's Demon:

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Archon³

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be placed into the ownership of a low risk organization outside of Foundation control or ownership. Both the ongoing status of the organization and the containment of SCP-XXXX should be monitored by contacts in said Groups of Interest. Should the ongoing damage sustained by the organization in question be too extreme, or should the assigned Foundation staff assess the risks of greater scale damage to human society exceed acceptable levels, then the Foundation should attempt to instigate a transfer of SCP-XXXX to a different organization. Transfer of SCP-XXXX must be initiated within the standard protocols of said organization.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a philosophical "demon" known colloquially as the "Utility Monster," which is speculated to be the SCP in question's most infamous iteration. The formal designation for the logical construct is Nozak's Demon, presumably named after its creator as is standard for this class of being.

Grape-Flavored Cigars and Funeral Pyres

The familiar chord progression of Epitaph played on a large pair of speakers. No one particularly minded the choice, at least not enough to take the aux chord, but it was hardly doing the job of drawing more guests. Reverend Archon Celebration "Big Cheese" Horace rested in meditation, pondering unknowable secrets. Balancing on the back legs of a folding chair, a woman of his flock in a star-spangled beret that only appeared a year or two his junior watched that familiar look behind those crimson glasses, where he drew on all the wisdom of those indeterminate years, to find where he had gone wrong.

She was one of only a few who had seen behind his spectacles, yet she knew none would discuss it. Laying your whole true self before someone isn't a level of intimacy many are okay with outside of the secret consuming confessionals. At that moment however, she watched him intently but his gaze did not so much as trace her outline. He leaned against the wall of the mostly empty drug rehab center. A younger member of the flock who went by Dee moved subtly in step with the slightly distracting melody while pulling baked beans, mash potatoes, and fried chicken onto her plate since she had already served her fellow brothers and sisters. They had an unfortunate amount of extras, to the point they usually gave out food to anyone who stopped by once everyone else had been fed. Dee paused for a moment before making Horace a plate too.

Here under the now tired, fraying skies of Three Portlands, you could tell there was not much time left, yet the Portland that he passed through to get here was in an even worse state. So few came to rehab to for an escape from addiction anymore. Not to say there were not numerous kinds of both mundane and anomalous addicts alike wandering the streets, but only the regulars and long time attendees showed up anymore. Maybe a new stranger would rarely stop by for some food, but they never did follow up visits even if they were an addict of some kind. Most of the people here were not active Fifthists though they at least understood the church as much as it could be, but of the staff members the vast majority were guests from his home state.

This place was never run by his Southern Fifth Church of Georgia, but instead by a sister congregation with differently shaped souls. However, now even their symbols fell from the windows. The woman in the beret had sat up from her chair, and returned to her task of creating agonizingly intricate geometric designs in paper, clay, wax, and glue. The new iconography drew too much discomfort to pass for the pieces of the other congregation. The decline after the failure of their grand evangelist efforts was disappointing even if Horace did not have any direct involvement other than funding, but this too he regretted. He should have done more.

A member of the sister congregation with green hair sat playing a close game of chess with a grand master, who was here visiting his brother, a heroine addict. They sat across from each other at one of the many fold-able tables next to empty plates and half full cups of soda that tasted like McDonald's Sprite. Today was the last day that the Portland rehab center would be run by Fifthists, as the outsiders called them, and it would now be handed over to some Shepherds from the Horizon Initiative; the same folks that gave him his pack of gum that he saved for guests. He knew these boringly old-school Trinitarian people had an… on going relationship with the sister congregation. Horace stood to sign the paperwork in place of a fellow Reverend, to close up her shop when she wasn't available to lock the door and say good night. It was also the day of her execution at the hands of GOC Inquisitors. Apparently they had not yet decided if they should cut off her head or wipe it clean instead. He hoped for the previous, so what was left of her soul could enter the Fifth World.

The Archon quietly took a drag from his grape flavored gas station cigar, with the same hand that was decorated with uncomfortably large solid gold rings, all paid for with donation money from long stagnant collection boxes. Despite the melancholy Math Rock that filled the room, Horace heard none of it. He prayed for the continued salvation of his fellow Reverend, while he sat nurturing the chaos of his soul and listened to the static silence of the Noosphere. Once, the vast collection of all human thought had been a lively, dynamic, hostile, and chaotic place. Every human notion and theory had been housed there. But an invasive species had now moved into their waters, an ideational shark that ate vast tons of information even to its own detriment. Horace had the eyes and ears of the Congregation, so he could still see all the information that had been functionally sucked out of human thought straight into the outer Infosphere, but to the rest of humanity, it was an ever melting glacier that they could not perceive to be shrinking. The good old Foundation had been pumping the noosphere full of invented words, fighting tooth and nail to slow the decline down. It was only 2030, yet the world was on the brink of slipping into Silence.

Horace was never much of a student of anything but the cruel truths of the stars, but even he noticed as the decline started. A small child with a star on his shirt did home school history work, looking at a picture of the face of some ancient pharaoh, if they were still called that anymore. Horace had always wanted to visit Egypt since he was a kid, he was named after one of their Gods after all, so it's understandable that he would be deeply distressed after one morning it was completely erased from existence over night. Then hamburgers stopped showing up at BBQs, and no one but Horace and his buddies could remember President Abraham Lincoln or Jimi Hendrix. All dimension or movement left the noosphere shortly after that, not that they had technically ever conventionally applied to the gossamer vistas and sibylline sweeps of that conceptual sphere.

Now, even the name of his Church itself had been swept behind the iron curtain. Worst of all, Horace was supposed to be happy. Whatever "Shark" this was, supposedly it was on their side, some kind of plan that had been hatched by Brothers and Sisters he did not know the names of. Horace watched as more and more of humanity fell into what his brothers claimed was the Fifth World, while meaningless nonsense took its place. But silent doubt held him back, one that he could not properly define. The flavor of acrid blossoming in its spread was off, certainly the right kind of alien but too much aroma of old paper, not enough creole and star dust. Worst of all, the gaze of a foreign cosmos that he had always felt in the blackest vaults of his soul, sifting through his every particle, he felt no longer. Regardless, It was inevitable. No one could stop them, and the Foundation could only slow it down. They had won.

Maybe it was just the radio silence that now filled the void, the one that made the choirs of the Congregation all the harder to ring, but the Archon would not be satisfied. His growing displeasure at the current situation did not show externally, not any more than a slightly lower grin on his face. A young volunteer named Ciel who came along with his group for the ride laid with her legs curled up, a book of Fifthist gospels open on the floor in front of her. She had been smoking from a vaporizer, a potentially anomalous substance which Horace definitely should have asked about, but as it wasn't the kind of drug people visited for, he turned a blind eye. The war on drugs had ended years ago, but its not like anomalous individuals did not always have "bigger concerns" than drug offenses.

She made little attempt to continue reading the text on the floor in front of her once her hair began to frizz up. Like Horace, she was heavily psionically receptive. As long as she was not practicing her skills or meditating, she could keep each individual hair on her head straight or wavy with almost no thought, whatever way she liked it. If the world still had its youth, she might have eventually become the next great host for the Congregation, but they both knew the basal pilings of civilization wouldn't last that long. A passive glance had the reverend notice the void that had over taken her eyes. She was using an 'itation' practice borrowed from Rastafarian mysticism, used for obtaining their state of supreme coexistence I-and-I, but the dead air of the noosphere in combination with her smoking on this slow day had functionally removed any metaphysical presence she had, replacing it with the nigh omnipresent static. More butchers than surgeons, this was nothing but another idea haphazardly sliced apart and sown back together at the hands of Fifthists.

Horace heard a ring at the front door, as a crowd of mostly familiar faces shambled in. He pushed himself from the wall and motioned to his staff in general to meet the guests, while pulling a pack of gum from his pocket. The grand master only half glanced up from the game, while the green haired girl slurped on her mostly empty cup. Horace extended each of the guests a piece straight from the pack, as he widened his oh so inhuman smile, he took quiet stock of all their names as he glanced around. The repeated attendees took a piece with nothing more than a polite smile of their own, with the new comers following suit, but one regular named Atticus had a grin that did not match the others.

He hesitated, if only for a moment, before reaching down to take the piece he was offered. Thaumic sparks arched up the gentleman's arm, his body convulsed in response, launching him back. The wave had gone out faster than any of them but Horace could perceive, although he knew what was coming anyway. The rest of the group turned around as they noticed the smell of burnt flesh, which Horace was uncomfortably used to. The reverend gave a pointed glance towards the tables and food, so Dee and the others beckoned the guests to enjoy a plate. Horace turned and leaned down to reach the same level as the half conscious man that lay on the floor. He tucked the pack of gum back in his coat, while he pulled off his opaque red glasses.

"You know son, I knew the Foundation was going to send someone eventually. I, however, did not expect it to be our old buddy Atticus," he said with a smile. "We haven't gotten any fresh souls for morphing since the higher ups decided to cut the marketing campaign."

The sleeper agent opened his eyelids slightly, glancing into the lights behind the reverend's eyes. "This pack's ability to infinitely produce gum is only one advantage. The other, more important one, is the ability to detect malice. Its come in handy ever since the only groups that are able to remember my Church was its own members and affiliates, and of course, the foremost users of both amnestics and mnestics on the Planet. But not even your tools can save you from this."

The agent knew to immediately shut his eyes as he glanced into that impossibly bright abyss, but it was still too late. They both felt the poisonous light seep into the man's soul. He thought of ideas that burned away at his most fundamental aspects. As the agent stared into the regress of ideas, it also stared into him, and the Congregation sat in judgement of his whole self. But still, Fivefold tendrils on an imperceptible plane held the man in one piece, not taking him to rend whole, for Horace had questions to ask.

Horace pulled the man up by his collar, holding him real close so the young Agent could smell the smoke on his breath. "What's going on Johnny? Which MTF is it this time? Give into the taste of freedom and loosen those lips. Is it the Killjoys? Hostile Takeover? Oh! maybe you're from the O5's second favorite sons, Search and Destroy?"

The agent tried to respond, but just ended up choking on the smoke of burning souls that flooded from the reverend's maw. Horace just laughed from his chest in response, "I know your boys over in Thought Patrol have been trying to watch me. I feel their eyes on the corners of my dreams. When I get the chance I'll…"

Horace's eyes drifted to the inside of the man's pockets. The smile left his face, as he pulled a silver pen from the sputtering man's pocket. In doing so, he shook the man's jacket, causing an injector for a Informational Destruction Agent to fall. Most would simply have mistaken it for a high tech pistol, but Horace recognized the undiluted potency in the cartridge before the device hit the tiles. With his left hand, he flipped a switch on the pen, and let the light of memetic chemotherapy shine out of the tip at nobody in particular. He then tossed it to the static filled member of his flock, to let her get a feel for. The light in Horace's eyes now shown with red light on top of the unknowable yellow hues, and a pipe extended from his mouth. He continued to scowl, as he now spoke with the voice of the full Congregation, a cacophonic harmony.

"You dare bring the tools for defiling all that I, no WE, find sacred under any of our holy roofs? On the day of my Sister's execution, you dare to try and strike me down with the same Murder weapon?"

The Big Cheese himself let go of his collar, but the Congregation did not release him. The agent floated in the air as his neck strained to turn towards his enemy. The Abyss shown with the red and gold lights of dying stars, and he felt himself fall into it. The bittersweet smell of burning souls, with the faint hint of grape, now turned nothing but sour, as instead of simply wafting into his lounges, every particle swarmed his senses. The silently echoed hymns of the Congregation resonated with his soul, while the static in his dazed follower's meditative mental state matched the tone.

His voice, however, still sounded Somber. "You got a square soul too, as you Foundation folks always seem to. I told you fuckers a long time ago that only round souls could fit in this hole, but that was a bit of a white lie. You shouldn't lie to someone's face, so I hope you'll forgive me for that."

The man could only sputter on the ashes of his own soul in what might have been a reply. His eyes had long failed to see anything but that unfathomable light, yet he was able to perceive the jagged edge of a ceremonial blade stretch out from the abyss without a finger being lifted.

"Technically I can make any kind of soul fit, but I'm a kinder man then you people give me credit for. Today, however? I'll make an exception."

Agent Frascher had lost the ability to think of anything that didn't taste like cheese cake and pie, but he still somehow caught a change in the light. From the yellow and red spawned amethyst purple, then emerald green, then sapphire blue. The abyss refracted into all the colors, in and out of the visual spectrum, while paradoxically not including black or white. The agent could do nothing but convulse as every level of his being but physical was fed through a blender. Blood and wax dripped from his melting eyes and nose. In the same instant, seeds in his soul sprouted, grew into plants while absorbing the core of his being, harvested, cut up, rolled up, and ignited. His thoughts and brain matter were dissolved in the caustic technicolor sea. His beliefs and languages were defragmented and picked apart for all they were worth, then consumed, digested, and pissed out. His Name and whole identity were crushed up, cut with laundry detergent, and snorted.

When the lone fragments were finally gathered with a dust pan, and forced through the "hole" of the Congregation, the agent's body no longer lied within the bounds of human perception. Horace's eyes rested for a no more than a moment on his shades, before pushing the spectacles back into place with a pointed middle finger, shuttering the carnivorous lights. A memory from the summer of 96 fluttered from the depths of his mind on a breeze of nostalgia, bringing a wish for the time when all he needed to hide the glare was some contacts dyed in a liar's intent. Horace stood and left the remnants of the man to burn on the existential funeral pyre while he helped the other guests. The Archon wiped the minds of the volunteers and rehabilitators with a thought, letting it melt into wax before falling into the Fifth World with the rest of him. Only Ciel's mind was too blank to bleach clean or block out, so she simply sat herself up uninterrupted to watch the fading motley embers be snuffed out by the informational tides. All that remained was his clothing and personal items, which none could see but Horace.

Shortly after the guests had been fed, and the regulars had gone to their activities, the day began to wind down. The light hanging in the skybox kissed the border where the upper and lower folds met to encase the city-state. Either the artificial sun had begun to succumb to decay or time itself was contorting, as dusk had road in too early for this summer night. None of the news outlets dare say it, but there were rumors The Mayor was finally going senile. As the skyline half consumed the false celestial body, the two shepherds arrived at the concrete of the front steps.

Katharine Drexel was a scholar who had traveled from the shores of the Island of Portland in the United Kingdom. Her main job was to oversee various charity works for the Initiative, but her specialty was the study of anomalous religions, to find means of crafting new converts. She was here fulfilling both her charity and academic roles. Horace had foreseen in the patchwork tides of unmanifested futures that she very well may become canonized after her death. Unfortunately, she had a fascination for the Fifthists, one that he suspected she would one day use to soar too close to the sun, rendering her nothing more than another unnamed cadaver dissolving in the brine of the Fifth World. Her colleague was Beckett Rigobert, a local community leader who ran an old Library on the other side of Three Portlands, with a towering build and a massive cross on his chest. He had an imposing presence which dissolved the moment his chocolate covered voice reached the reverend's ears. He was a powerful lynchpin in the Initiative's political influence in this central point of power behind the veil of secrecy. If things went really poorly, then Drexel's fall might pull her closest friends and allies into the depths with her.

Horace greeted the shepherds with his own voice, and genuinely thanked them for taking over the center, although it was with a somber tone. They set the paperwork out on one of the many tables, while the host served them dinner. Despite it being late, they accepted the offer of sweet tea from the refrigerator. Katharine tried not to let the glint in her eye show despite her desire to collect the remaining Fifthist pieces that decorated the room, as there were several she did not recognize. Horace knew she had been studying his Southern Fifthists, but that was mostly an open secret at this point. The woman in the beret had been certain to make it look like all the new pieces had no surmisable age, despite their obvious distinctness from the local pieces. After two spots had been set with napkins and plastic forks, The reverend went through and signed the proper documents while the shepherds enjoyed their meal.

Once they had both finished their tasks, the staff had mostly finished cleaning up. As thanks for the food, Drexel and Rigobert took over early to finish closing up for the night. The archon thanked them genuinely as he slipped on his coat. Horace was going to miss those two after he ascends to the Fifth World. Unfortunately, they were more valuable as a ticking time bomb in the Initiative's power structure than they would be as another couple Congregation members. The wax and wire structures had been formed to influence what color and shape explosion her soul would make, while fueling her obsession. This was the other reason the Fifthists were moving out, the loss of a central community pillar would be the last nail in the coffin for this once blossoming state.

He stood in the cool air outside the locked doors of the Fifth Point Three Portlands Rehab facility, letting the rain drench his checkered overcoat while his cigar somehow remained lit, as he looked down at the items of the dead agent. The staff members he had brought with him had all dispersed for the night but one. Ciel continued to zone out, but she was otherwise unaffected by her close observation of the memetic patterns from the pen. Despite not being forced it into its usual shape, her hair had straightened again from the rain. He hummed himself a hymn, not as the Congregation, but as himself. Most Fifthist hymns were incomprehensible to outsiders, but Horace's mind had been changed to much to care. He sang it without really thinking of the words, but he subconsciously meditated on them. The words of the song spoke of a promise to make a better world, a promise to not take okay when you could shine brighter than the sun. Above all else, it was a promise to not let hopeless causes die, to unearth the past, and force it into your own image. He sang the last verse about continuing the legacy of the fallen until it was his time to join them. Ciel walked with him, but she simply continued to mirror the dead air of the ideational terrain.

As his voice was drowned out again by the pouring rain, he glanced at his watches. The apple watch at the base of his wrist was dead, but the $19000 gold wristwatch and the arcade Spiderman one both said it was 9:34 PM. The noosphere had long been too quiet and empty to get a proper read on his brothers and sisters outside of the congregation, but somehow he felt a light die. He felt the death of his fellow reverend even from across the country. The girl finally stirred. Her eyes focused. She felt it too.

He steeled what was left of his Soul, and decided then and there, that he would not accept this outcome. Most of what he found from the would be assassin's affects he already knew or found unremarkable, but one thing was certain. The Foundation believed that he might be able to stop The Bottom Feeder, destroy the memetic chemotherapy industry that he believed had all but wiped out Fifthist movements, and to maim all who were responsible. He chuckled as he grinned just a little too sharp and wide. If those fellows at the Foundation had this much faith in him, then how could he not have it in himself.

He passed Ciel a grape cigar for herself, then ducked into an electronics store that was about to close, and placed a wad of bills on the counter. He waited as a tired employee brought him a burner phone. He scribbled a design with various stars and eyes onto a posted note. As they walked away from the store and towards the motel, he posted the sigil on the back of it, keeping out any unwanted ears as he made his phone call.

"Heyyy, Dr. Gupta. That's right, I know you wouldn't hang up on your old Pal. Listen buddy, I need you to do me a solid. You know, I helped you out after last time, so I just need you to pass me your answer key…"

Future Mainlist Draft Side Projects and Notes

Corporate Espionage by dado

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: All collected instances of SCP-XXXX are to be stored in a standard secure storage locker at site 19.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a plastic toy revolver. SCP-XXXX comes packaged with a stereotypical cowboy hat and belt with a holster, although only the gun itself is anomalous. SCP-XXXX's anomalous properties come into effect when either in the hand or holster of a subject who either has the intention of firing SCP-XXXX, is about to be attacked, or is under attack (usually via fire arms, toy or real). SCP-XXXX will then automatically dilate time to allow the user to assess the situation, aim, and fire at the given target(s). How much SCP-XXXX will speed up time varies based on the reaction time of the user and their would be combatants; Children may subjectively have several minutes pass in the span of a second, where as professional trained gunslingers will typically have time dilated only marginally if at all unless faced with someone significantly above their level of expertise.

SCP-XXXX has a sub property that it can only be given from one individual to another outside of a household by the exchange of a local currency. Any time SCP-XXXX exchanges hands outside of a financial exchange, it will automatically return to the establishment which it was collected. To counter this, SCP-XXXX must be bought from any establishment that retails the anomalous toys in question. SCP-XXXX was originally sold through various toy stores of both anomalous and non-anomalous by the individual known as dado. This is believed to be due to the anomalous law system of an unknown country within a parallel dimension, which affects all products crafted on the soul of the country.

SCP idea: any who mentions the name of it in a document will allow said SCP to hijack said narrative. However, that is a passive side effect that is actually about allowing it to to view anyone that mention it. The SCP itself is actually a nomenclative parasite that overwrites the name of anyone who kills a host of it, while absorbing the traits of it. titles that indirectly reference the object can still function, such as referencing a slot instead of the entity. can still view indirect references, but not modify them like when it is referenced by its title. Has several files in the document of different subjects that have hosted it. Can be contained by having a personality that is strong enough to hold 50% of their mentality over the whole, that is also in elegance of the foundation.

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Due to the absence of any specific trigger for an SCP-XXXX manifestation, permanent prevention of SCP-XXXX outbreaks is currently impossible with the Foundation's thaumic capabilities and technology. Specialized Webcrawler R473T66 ("Bone to Pick") has been set up to monitor for possible references to SCP-XXXX sightings.

[more on this later]

Description: SCP-XXXX are animate skeletal systems that emerge from a still-living human, in a process reminiscent of a bird hatching from an egg. Upon an instance emerging from a human host, SCP-XXXX instances will attempt to either construct or expand a 'nest,' designed to cause more cases of SCP-XXXX via the creation of various thaumic constructs. An unprompted manifestation of SCP-XXXX is considered patient zero of an outbreak, with subsequent cases being considered a part of the same outbreak. Following the initial construction of their nest, SCP-XXXX will attempt to abduct humans and trap them within their nest to cause further instances.

The bones that make up SCP-XXXX constantly output and maintain a perpetual aura of highly unstable Aetheric Energy. This, while also granting SCP-XXXX an innate high capacity for thaumaturgy, also replaces all necessary functions once carried out by non-skeletal organs and tissue, such as allowing SCP-XXXX to move in place of muscles, and carrying out necessary cognitive functions in place of the brain. All members of an outbreak are connected through a shared psionic network, which the Foundation has little understanding of. As more cases are generated, both energy density and malleability of aura in each individual instance will increase, allowing for the development of both more powerful and more complex thaumic practices.

SCP-XXXX begin as largely instinctual creatures, but as the psionic network expands, the collective outbreak will become increasingly intelligent and sophisticated. Each outbreak has their own distinct culture and society, varying depending on the traits case zero. The rarity of large scale outbreaks has made this phenomenon poorly understood.

Despite the surprising level of diversity between different outbreaks,

Whatever social hierarchy develops will naturally have case zero has the de facto leader, even if on paper other individuals may have higher positions of authority, which can often make the case zero instance difficult to identify.
Despite the highly connected psionic network, all SCP-XXXX instances remain as individuals once the society at large has surpassed the instinctual phase of development.
Instances universally view humanity as a whole as just a stepping point for their kind, and view themselves as the natural next step of human evolution. They view individual humans as "eggs." Despite this, some outbreaks may be willing to coexist while others are outright hostile and will not negotiate.
Universal disdain for Necromancy and artificial means of resurrecting corpses. Notably, SCP-XXXX is technically not classified as a Type-Black, as all instances are born from still-living humans.
Technology developed by SCP-XXXX societies will be centered on thaumaturgy as opposed to more mundane means. Their biology gives them a high development speed, although this usually goes hand in hand with the expansion of their psionic network.

The cause of case zero instances is unknown, and is a low probability phenomenon present in all humans.

For unknown reasons, that may be either anomalous or mundane, all human individuals that are directly exposed to SCP-XXXX will respond with a combination of malice, disgust, and fear, which causes most outbreaks to be naturally wiped out in their early stages. SCP-XXXX are naturally much stronger than humans, able to easily over power them in single combat, but a group can over power SCP-XXXX via most human weaponry such as blunt instruments or fire arms. While the breaking of the bones that make instances of SCP-XXXX will not kill them, it will render them inert. The dispersion of SCP-XXXX's components will cause their aura to fail, which will kill them. As a society of SCP-XXXX develops, this becomes increasingly difficult to do as they eventually surpassing standard human weaponry.

MTF Assigned: MTF Omega-2 "Irishmen". Group specialized in containing probability manipulating SCP, and are able to manipulate or nullify luck in various ways. Some are type blues, one is a Feng Shui specialist, one passively pushes misfortune away from himself onto others. Due to their abilities they are some of the only individuals capable of entering SCP-XXXX's low luck environment without succumbing to hatching.

Known Outbreaks:

Cult

Caravan Court: actual civilization is in an extradimensional space called "The Tides," with the only part of the civilization seen outside is a proceeding of Merchants who wear garbs that completely conceal their skeletal nature, while the rest of them operate a ruthless anarcho-capitalist society. They often sell to MC&D, and numerous other customers across the multiverse. They create great weapons and tools, and have The Legion of Sorcerous Artisans. Their greatest advantage is their access to an unconventional time flow, and that their magical constructs fundamentally only work because they believe the rituals that are performed to make them will work. Their main "Palace" is a massive conglomerate of different mobile structures, from Steeples on Tank treads to Unsleeping Behemoths that march endlessly to great Trains with winding tracks, all for different purposes. Using engines that suck energy from higher realms, they run against the floods of time, yet usually remaining in the same moment, giving themselves a society which gives all its members an unlimited time to expand, allowing it to approach singularity, but it is ultimately an engine that runs on wealth. The Caravan Court's population has a built in monopoly that prevents any form of outsourcing, a functionally unlimited amount of time to gather wealth, an inexhaustible demand, and a perpetually increasing supply. While several things are against the law on paper, the only actually functional illegal thing is self-perpetuating debt, or debt that increases faster than it can be payed off, as that is the only true dead end in this society. Death is almost completely voluntary as they don't exhaust their already vast life spans, although suicide rates are high if for no other reason than their ever expanding populations.

Shelf-Kings of the Antarctic Abyss: The Chimeric Empire, built under the antarctic shelves across the sea floor. They have a high capacity for dream based thaumaturgy, and align their psionic network with various devices to weaponize and harness its powers more directly. The vast majority of the race remain sleeping most of the time as they expand into wider and deeper cities. They dominate and govern a vast sector of the dream world, which is where most of the sleeping citizens are active. The physical city on the antarctic floor is specially designed to help manage their Phantasmal Imperium's environment and architecture. While the Shelf-Kings are the defacto rulers, on paper the godlike beings are only the consorts of an unseen and unnamed Supreme Empress Diety of some kind, she is believed by Foundation staff to be little more than a manufactured, albeit very powerful, weapon or tool, assembled by or possibly embodying their psionic network's domination over dreams. The Foundation and GOC can't just drop nukes under the polar ice caps, and trying to attack them directly is nigh impossible. Unwaking Inquisitors are the tactical executioners of their royal masters' will, putting any who bear a desire to overthrow their empire to the sword, as no man can go without rests or day dreams, none can escape their grasp. Even the mightiest guards and highest walls cannot protect their enemies. The Shelf-Kings were originally a group of antarctic explorers known simply as "The Southern Expedition" from an unknown nation, that were surprisingly ahead of their time. When case zero hatched after making land fall, the lone skeleton was able to escape into the cold before picking off his former crew mates, converting them. This isolated outbreak location allowed them to develop in relative safety over a long period of time, while eventually setting up mobile nests that they could use to abduct people from the mainland, at least before they mastered their dream sorcery. Sometime after the careful engineering of their new 'city' the original crew elevated themselves into the godlike Shelf-Kings we see today.

Ishtar's Ultimatum: There is archeological evidence that an SCP-XXXX outbreak was intentionally cultivated near ancient summeria, although it is unclear if it was also artificially instigated. Two sisters, Ereshkigal and Ishtar⁵, are attributed with engineering this clan did so for the purposes of creating a weapon, and was intentionally separated from greater human civilization while also being given new humans to expand their population until the date they were to be unleashed. Despite the population of this outbreak apparently eclipsing the human population at the time through unknown means, they never ended up being used. The sisters had apparently intended their weapon as a bargaining chip with their father for the weapons known as "The Bull of Heaven" and "The Great Flood"⁶, threatening to unleash their outbreak against not only their would be adversaries, but also the whole of humanity if they were not handed over. "The Bull of Heaven" was used in place of Ishtar's Ultimatum against the sisters' enemies, while "The Great Flood" was a weapon apparently so reprehensible that it was immediately disabled by the sisters upon receiving it. After Ishtar obtained the weapon known as "The Bull of Heaven" she used it to slaughter the outbreak she had engineered as she had no further use for them, and could not risk keeping them around in case they managed to escape.

Intergalactic Veganism: An outbreak that started as far back as when the line of Asem ruled, but developed fast and left earth. They wander distant galaxies, hunting compatible species and biosphere. They are broken up into different fleets of nest ships. As they approach, Their powerful and vast psionic fields will cause a massive noospheric ensemble. More and more of intelligent life will begin to take on vegan diets and traits, starting with a love of plants and culminating in a hatred of meat, before starting to hate plants as well. Any compatible world views will begin to automatically assimilate into veganism, switching their alignment. Thus, the conquest of a world often happens with little help from the actual fleet, which will wipe out any incompatible groups left over. The destruction of a world is finalized after all meat is rotted away completely. The plant's growth will then be magnified, until the skeletal ideologically begin to hate plants too. After that, they will either cause a wave that absorbs all biomater and calcifies it. With this now functionally skeletal biomatter that they are capable of manipulating, they can Mass produce themselves, and reforming the fallen from the whole. The whole colony is now expanded, and they now set out to spread themselves further to destroy both plants and meat. To make themselves more palatable to humans, they often reform their bone into the shape of statues
Sometimes they will send only a small group of skeletons to take over a planet system, and this can often start a brand new fleet. Sometimes they pick up whole preserved ecosystems and society, all a stagnant time capsule from which they came. The reason for these is unknown but its believed to possibly be preservation. The forces that carry out this process is called an Archival Fleet. Despite how they sound, they can actually function as stealth killers. Because their goal is to preserve the planet's or system's environment/species/biosphere/culture, their psionic fields actually cause stagnation and lethargy, ceasing development or notable change of any kinds until one giant wave goes off, prettifying everything while retaining its function. The planet is often reformed into a different shape, but it is otherwise a clean eternal snapshot of that society. Its changed in shape so it can be more easily stored by the grand archivists.
Sometimes radical archivists will take a special interest in an existing race. After either ordering its conquest or made preparations to receive access to the existing archive, they will make a carbon copy. They will heavily optimize these beings into an over being, The equivalent of rigorous genetic and social engineering. Optimal specimen will be made the brides of other optimal specimen. The grand archive is thought to be in the depths of the library, meaning they have made a deal with the serpent. Radical archivists will freely manipulate the moral and societal structure to what ever is needed to produce the best results

Ideas have people, people do not have ideas. Ultimately that is what the Calcium Coalition and the other manifestations of this outbreak have become. When you are within an assimilated ideology, that is what you become, ideologically possessed. One day the vegans will return, reclaim their ancestral home land. Earth was never ours, we only borrowed it. One day they will overtake the seat on the throne of the universe, assimalating what is compatable and destroying all else. Unless of course, someone gets there first.

"The Boned": Several social and societal movements culminating in a slave uprising among the lower classes of daevite society across the regions that would become Syberia, sometimes referred to as the Trief Revolts. SCP-XXXX's main nests were housed in complex networks under several moderately sized daevite cities, migrating away from the larger cities until they had sufficient numbers, although most of the group's political power was in other social movements. It seems most daevite were immune or at least heavily resistant to the low luck areas often found within SCP-XXXX nests, while the SCP-XXXX's thaumaturgy was on par with that of their former masters, thanks in part due to their relatively low population for their level of development and a mastery of this outbreak's ability to change the texture of an aura 'shell' that allowed them to pass as both human and daeva. While most of daevite society was either impartial or in favor towards human sacrifice and necromancy prior to the outbreak, the movements instigated and formed by this outbreak eventually spread to a notable amount of uninfected slaves and the lower class daevite citizens who began to speak out against necromantic practices. On the other hand, the upper classes within their cities formed secret societies sometimes called the Gravepassers, who were proponents of the belief that "Everything is to End end at their proper Time," including the time of ones death and the time for an empire to fall. Its unknown exactly what the full capability of the several moving parts that made up this outbreak was, as it was seemingly completely wiped out with the Daevite Empire by Gengis Khan, causing them to be little more than a footnote in history.

Enter Pataphysics Department Security Key

Exploitations of the Looped Causality, and potential Instigators:

Carter: Is using the Biography written by St. Tobias the Immutable to pass info to herself. However, he cannot add new information to it, and she must simply use the existing information in the Immutable text. She can occasionally leave notes for herself as well. It is possibly St. Tobias's refusal to include certain information that caused a falling out between them and Carter.
It is also possible that Dark set up the loop through the use of a deal with the Hags and Charon. The alien markets of the soul trade do not abide by linear time.
Shelf-Kings: St. Tobias The Immutable meets the Shelf-Kings after he is already a member, implying there is at least one other individual of a similar perspective among them. It is information from the betraying member of the Shelf-Kings in the future that causes the turmoil that leads to the fall, and the strongest candidate for case 0 going into his exiled wanderings. It is thought that his Wanderings was during a time when he entered the Wanderer's Library, to learn the ability to govern Ways, eventually gaining power over an unmanifested one. The book on the governance of unmanifested ways is perpetually checked out by him, being passed from the future to the past, renewing it constantly. After mastering his unmanifested way, he went on his pilgrimage to meet his distant brothers.
Ishtar and Ereshkigal: Possibly Time Travelers, who arrived with knowledge on "The Flood" and "The Bull of Heaven" from a different time.

Below is a list of notable SCP-XXXX outbreaks.

Name: Caravan Court
Object Sub-Class: Euclid.
Case Zero: Unknown.
Outbreak Class: Pandemic
Kardavesh Scale: III+. Estimated at Parauniversal, but an objective measure of technological growth is incalculable and approaches singularity.
Societal Structure: Anarcho-Capitalist Aristocracy

Sub Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX outbreak Euclid 3, generally designated as the "Caravan Court" possesses a statistically low threat level for an Extra-dimensional civilization of this size. MTF Mu-3 "Highest Bidders" and MTF Omega-2 "Irishmen" are to monitor known locations that sell products produced in the primary extradimensional domain of the Caravan Courts, and monitor transactions mediated by known Groups of Interest, particularly Carter and Dark of MC&D. The central population center of the society is within an extradimensional space referred to as "The Tides." The main point of interaction with outsiders by instances of Outbreak Euclid 3 is at The Harvester's Bazaar, a location on the edge of the Caravan Courts.

Description and Analysis:

Excerpt from the biography of Carter of MC&D, with the actual section being called "Nobody, Carter, and Dark" chronicling Mrs. Carter's ventures with the skeletons of the caravan court, being highlighted as it was one of her most profitable ventures. Marshall is on vacation and goes unseen in the story, while Dark plays the pivotal roll of making a deal with the Altraloth Charon and/or his masters to have this place be a stop for the Gondolier's Express after a few choice investments. The Fairyman of Hades has control of the Ways, guiding his passengers to their destination.

Nobody functions as her on paper information broker, while also her eyes and ears for this project. St. Tobias the Immutable is her in ghost writer and functional body guard, tho the exact nature of their deal is unclear. MC&D all have functionally inexhaustible life spans, but only Dark is really immortal; while M&C are replaceable and have been swapped out many times, there has only ever been one Dark. Carter is in charge of choosing her successor and training them, which is a lot easier than it sounds. Carter just uploads their memories and identity into a target to basically keep going. Carter has access to several forms of resurrection and life extension, but some of them are more desperate than others. Carter usually uploads their mind into one of their several spouses, all of whom share the last name Carter. When the previous carter dies one of them will receive their husband/wifes memories and continue in their place. Carter is surprisingly easy to kill but very hard to put down, but if she is in enough danger then Tobias will step in on the terms of their deal.

Carter was the first non-skeleton to buy land in the "space" that was Caravan Court, right on the edge, and founded the Harvester's Bazaar. Just creating a structure for it alone cost a fortune, and Carter had to spend absurd amounts of money on the creation of luck increasing artifacts, to make the area even somewhat survivable. Since pouring wealth into fortune relics you create more powerful luck enhancers, it naturally meant that only the most rich and powerful could come here. Carter also funded the invention of the soul catchers, which would among other things allow the wearer to keep some sense of self when the turned into a skeleton, allowing people to now seek out joining the brutal anarcho capitalist society.

Atlantis Darby Marshall, Araya Carter, and Prospero Dark

Another part of the deal with Carter is that she will have to begin funding certain ventures "at his guidence." One of which is the ability to send information back to her past self, although St. Tobias technically has this ability on his own. Big Cheese Horus from the not so distant future goes back in time to try and prevent the development of the memetic chemotherapy that is later used to wipe out a large manifestation of Fifthism. In the current era they aren't that advanced, but there will be a rush of development in them due to the Fifthist manifestation through the Foundation. Thanks to Carter investing in research earlier, it gives her a massive boon unexpectedly, while also allowing the development to reach a level that the Fifthists are pushed onto the ropes. The memetic chemotherapy devises were mass produced and mass developed through experimentation within the Caravan Courts, so Big Cheese Horus as the Prophet of the Congregation takes a squad to aquire the ancient sumerian weapons of mass destruction to destroy the caravan courts and ruin Carter finnancially.

Physical description of

nobody, Carter, and Dark: Of Capitalism and Cartilage.

Araya Carter sat in what she could only aproximately call a bar, where the regular patrons smoked a substance she did not have the proper respiratory organs to partake of. She sat drinking the juice of a fruit she did not have the vocal cords to name, and which she did not have the proper tongue to fully experience. The technically-not-cadavers that danced around her listened to music of she did not have the ears to hear the full scope of the notes. She sat with two associates on either side of her whom she did not have the eyes or mind to see. Despite ambundent potential for culture shock, the business women could not be happier, for she was about to make what would possibly be the most profitable business deal of her already expansive carrier.

Despite the contrast between her and the locals, she knew she stood at what was only the tip of Iceberg of which she could not fathom the scope. This was one of only four colonies of the Pecuniary Empire that was the Caravan Courts in all of creation, yet despite how far she was from the heart of this obscene behemoth, this was the furthest anyone but the native clan had ventured into these flesh-less lands. A fellow stranger in a strange land entered the bar, but unlike Carter, they tracked in a unique scent from the heart of the motherland, the smell of timeless tides and unceasing engines.

The patrons around the Venture Capitalists sparred no more than a glance at the first at what would be the first meeting between a member of the dominant Aristocracy and a sanctioned outsider, for the common man had no concept of Authority that wasn't cutting off a piece of their wealth for the benefit of their employees. Carter had payed a fortune simply to be here, not in brides or political favors, but simply on the exorbitant jewelry and status symbols that draped over her. For her, wealth was something you draped extravagantly when you believed providence was on your side, and stored inside your jacket pocket when it actually was. But this was not about showing off, this was about safety.

Carter was not a weaver of spells, for she had people to do that for her, but even she understood what was possibly the most fundamental principle of Probability Magic: to get something out, one must first put something in. The more wealth you spend on materials and resources to make a Fortune-enhancing relic, the more luck you will get from it. Not only would boons become more powerful, but both longevity and success would be more likely. Ultimately, it wasn't that much different from the principles of investing into a business, although Carter had an eye for ventures, not for thaumic potential.

Name: Shelf-Kings of the Antarctic Abyss
Object Sub-Class: Keter.
Case Zero: "Southern Expedition" member from an unknown country, occurred during an antarctic exploration. Whichever member it was specifically is functionally irrelevant.
Outbreak Class: Pandemic
Kardavesh Scale: Unknown. Despite being on a significantly lower scale objectively, it functions on a much higher scale due to fine mastery.
Societal Structure: Voltarian Theocracy.

Excerpt Recovered from the Wanderer's Library:

Dreams of Phantasmal Snow, suspected to not yet have been authored by a Shelf-King.

The first thing I remember was shaking uncontrollably, trying to wrestle free from my confines, pushing the off the fleshy bindings. I clawed at my eyes for sight, pulling the blinding biomater so my sockets may no longer be impeded. As the last shells fell from my eyes, I emerged as a new being. I saw other beings of a similar shape, huddled around a fire in the center of the white floor, while my cacoon had been lying against the walls. They had a mix of worry and horror on their face. I had no proper thoughts, taking in my surroundings, purely on instinct.

I knew not who I was, but I felt as if I should know who these beings were. I knew not why I was here, but I felt nothing but unsafety and a need to be elsewhere. These beings needed whatever was coming from the light in the center of the room, but I did not. I dove between them, leeping over the fire and out the weakest point in the structure, a slab of wood that held out a lesser light. I crashed out into the blinding white, feeling nothing more than that I was not the stop running. A large wood vessel floated in the waters near by, which I determined I was to avoid, and return to later. As the last of the fluids fell from my bones, and a sudden rush coming from my whole body made me feel alive. The white ground expanded into the distance.

I dashed until I had crossed the wasteland, finding a mass of rock that stuck out from the world around it. At the base, something within me reached out my limb to mark the snow. Carving into it, I traced a symbol that I already saw in the snow, bringing forth what now existed. The substances around the symbol softened, yet a faint glow remained constant as the energy remained while I withdrew my hand. I observed the results of my first experiment, before turning my back to it, and packing the nearby powder into the shape of a rod. The energy in my hands hardened it as I gave more definition to the shape. Once the instrument was sufficiently hardened, I flattened an edge into a point, weaving a piece of myself into my first creation. Despite the softer powder from the sky that I had used as my material, its structure was firm if crewed. I forced the blade through the softened mixture of stone and sleet, carving myself a cave within it. When the cavern extended into the earth, I then removed the softening symbol from the floor of the cavern, and now began to carve idols from the rock and runes in the snow. At first I did not knew what each new work did, but brought its pre existence into the world, determining what each structure did as I freed it.

Once I had covered the lower walls, I forged myself a new weapon, this time from stone, yet frozen in a shell of ice. For the first time since my birth, I allowed the energy around me to flow without voluntary control, falling into what we now know as slumber. I dreamed even less defined events long passed, of my former brethren on a trek from a distant land, to this untouched frozen continent. On instinct I rose, and made my trek back across the Shelf to the first expedition point. In the night I took my allys one by one, putting them to sleep in the cavern, until they hatched.

There are points at which a man loses himself, and to those who lack physical form, this is where that self dies. Of course, this self is more often then not restored. One comes down from their trip, or ones heart is restarted, or one returns to their body. But sometimes the mind is wiped, or hacked apart completely and built from the atoms, and then it is True Death. Even just shallow husks can be used to rebuild sometimes. Often with our kind, that is how it must be. Like Theseus's ship, the whole has been replaced overtime and made into that which is both new and ancient.

I wanted to rebuild my comrades, and to continue their quest. I wanted them to hatch into their true selves, but I found almost nothing but new men who I knew not. Only the veteran had enough to be built from its embers, filling in the gaps in himself with with war torn memories. Eventually, it was not just his mind that was 'fixed.' The skeleton of the old man, whose bones were broken repeatedly in life, so shattered even I could not heal the scars, was now never broken. From there, I knew what I had to do. Like I had once fashioned unformed snow into an instrument, I picked up the ashes of their yoke within them, and formed them in the shapes I found in the shadows of my dreams. In casts I had no way to verify, I had built farces of my former crew, attempting to form them into the genuine article, the original form of their psyche.

Once they had all reached as close as they could to a desired form, we embraced each other like the friends we had been before. The veteran had a drink with us, but we saw he kept getting lost in his own mind, and had to retire early. Otherwise, we had a marry time the way we always had. We toasted to our success, and our continued adventure. We swore to build a settlement that would put the lights of Rome and the oldest cities of man to shame. We carved our names into each of the shelves of the great Southern Continent, and claimed the whole land as our own, along with the vast abyssal planes beneath us. In response to the desolate wasteland, I recounted a fragment of a text in what was once my cabin, "And you, be fruitful and multiply, increase greatly on the earth and multiply in it."

The Irishmen need a way into the Chimeric Empire, without drawing the eye of anyone who would want them dead. So they take the road least traveled, entering a Zone under the effects of SCP-514 and invoking the Grand Inquisitor. Unlike the other inquisitors, he could walk in the waking world as well. He bordered on an antimeme in his nature. Like the other Shelf-Kings, he recieved power from the thoughts of those within the network, but observing any image of him meant death by his hand, and any texts written about him were collected or destroyed with his censur's mark. He emerged from the corners of reality, shadow dripping from his armor like Tar, yielding his massive twohanded calvalry blade with a single fist.

Most Inquisitors only killed for malice, which the members of the MTF cured with specialized amnestics. Grand Inquisitor Torquemada Kazamozov killed for a slip of the tonge. He bore no malice himself, simply a cold Justice of the silence. For in his heart he believed that man was born good, and only learned of Evil through the tonges of the Serpent. As the massive tar black suit of armor, topped by the brimmed hat befitting an Inquisitor of his standing, waded out of the shadows, one of the MTF members entered a visionary state.

The Grand Inquisitor loomed over the MTF captain who stepped forth to greet him. The drips of deep shadow that fell from his brim did not go unnoticed as the captain, ordained in enchanted gold, lip began to quiver. But the girl who leaned against the wall in the corner just watched the dices roll across the floor, letting all possibilities play out before his eyes. The Legion of D20s danced before her exhausted yet glowing eyes, until she found the only route that brought them victory. They already stood in the peaceful lands of SCP-514 so none could contest that the Black Knight was the agressor. Even with maximizing their odds, they needed to play this perfectly or the whole department would be nothing but a pile of heads on the sea floor. So she thought of nothing but that single possibilities, reaching forth with her vision to grasp it, and let it roll all natural 20s.

The captain managed to talk the inquisitor into sitting down with us for a meal, passing his charisma throw. The old Feng Sui Doctor set up the decorations to cultivate the pieceful atmosphere. His broad sword crafted by the Forge and Furnace Gods of some Foreign Realm lay over his back, folding its impossible length over on itself repeatedly. With the MTFs pattented luck, the deserts came out perfectly, even without her directly manipulating probability. The whole squad passed their introductory charisma roles as well, all thanks to her focus.

They managed to trade access to a large supply of specialized amnestics for personal access to the city. Being the Grand Inquisitors with boundless ears, he can walk in and out of the inky depths to any target, walking from one shadow to another while shortening the distance. With his void strider, there was no place he could not reach. Thus, with them by their side, they could enter the Chimeric Empire as tourists and embasidors. Luckily, this also meant they would not need to worry about tickets for future visits, assuming there would even be future visits.

Name: "The Boned."⁸
Object Sub-Class: Neutralized.
Case Zero: Daevite Slave.
Outbreak Class: Epidemic
Kardavesh Scale: 0
Societal Structure: Collection of Underground Movements.

Account from St. Tobias the Immutable provides the only direct knowledge we have about them. His unchanging nature has replicated the effect in some of his works, preventing the manifestation of anti-narratives and narrative/text manipulation among several other things. The man who would become St. Tobias the Immutable was a master alchemist and theologian who desired above all else to know the nature of God. Some of his breathren called his desire hubris, others called it a fools errand. He worked tirelessly in all his trades for even a glimps at True Reality. Both his favor and the blessings of the lord allowed him to search for several life times, until he finally reached that summit. He stood in the light of the All-Mighty, and the Lord granted his wish. Man was made in the image of God, but he was granted a piece of Gods' True Nature.

So that both this man and all others that walk the earth may understand more of God's nature, the Lord delivered the alchemist from cause and effect, rendering him unchanging. In the place of the man, St. Tobias the Immutable had now always stood.

Department of Tactical Theology Consultation Report.

Name: Transcarnal Veganism. Sub names include: The Blood Red Horizon, Calcium Coalition, etc.
Object Sub-Class: Keter.
Case Zero: Unknown Individual Pre-Fall of the House of Apollyon.
Outbreak Class: Pandemic
Kardavesh Scale: II to III+.
Societal Structure: Socially Engineered Autocracy

Bumaro's Trip to the Dyson Dynasties' Frontlines against the skeletal vegans. The Dyson Dynasties are extra galactic worshipers of the Broken God, technically making them a sect of the broken church. Bumaro is technically recognized as the supreme builder in the hierarchy, but he has little to no actual control due to the great distance. They also never officially broke from the original Mekhanites. Bumaro was here on diplomacy, and to see the blood red horizon for himself.

The beliefs of the Dynamo Dynasties was to reform the shape of the cosmos in the old image of their God. They are named for the ships that make up their Constellation Fleets, an armada of massive ships powered by mobile Dynamo Spheres. Technically most of the ships run on their Clockwork Suns, which generates significantly more than actual stars, as normal stars cannot provide a sustainable output for the kind of travel they did. Vessels that housed an actual star were a status symbol, requiring paradoxical and fallacious simulated engines in the images of Maxwell's Demon to run. They fill the interstellar and intergalactic voids with the light of their Clockwork Suns, consecrate furnaces and almost living reactors.

Bumaro silently waited at the side of the tracks, at Charon's Station. He had considered visiting Mrs. Carter to talk shop but his time was better spent thinking on his next sermon. Her recent boon on this project was the only reason he was now able to visit this distant tribe. Up until now it was simply meetings in Alagadda and the Wanderer's Library, or psionic communications. He knew his title as Head Builder was recognized by these technical members of the Broken Church, but realistically it was their Ecclisial Hierarchy. Not to say he did not have advantages, as it would really only take "proving" himself to the powers at be and they would slip right into his grasp.

The trained rolled into station. The concerningly cheery depiction of The Fairyman of the Styx caught Bumaro off guard, even more so then the unnatural echoing despite the odd geometry of the structure, but what else does one expect from a "new" location with multiple unmanifested Ways drawing forth. Bumaro considered going and meeting Charon himself, but he decided to simply follow the plans of the man who was saving him a seet on the train. They would be crossing the intergalactic voids, so its not like they were short on time.

Fog eminated from the mess of wheels and tracks that almost floated in the silver fluid as the doors opened. Bumaro stood back as he allowed the other passangers to shuffle on board. He was surprised how busy it was despite what it took to get on this train, but he realized that Earth wasn't exactly on any of the main tracks. It was Dark's funding of the station and the Hags' soul mongering practices that made the abundance of humans just enough to win it a destination on one of Charon's old bike routes. A Wandsman in a bird mask scurried by along with some more conventionally human shaped guests.

Only now that the room was more empty did Bumaro notice the considerable number of Sisters that stood to the back of the station. They did not at first look like members of the Church, for they did not appear outwardly to be cybernetic, but as Bumaro looked closer, he noticed their gowns covering bodies shaped in the finest metal. The noise of the station had died down just enough for him to hear the hum of unknown machines, one that reminded him of the humming of the Maxwellist but with a different accent and pitch. At first Bumaro mistook their pale shell for marble, and the craftmanship or engineering that must have been required for their conversion would be remarkable. Bumaro made sure he didn't stair, but the gears in his head turned just a bit faster to make only fraction of a second calculations at a glance. The construction of theie forms made his mind wander back to old texts regarding the construction of St. Sophia, while he recalled a speech from St. Hedwig of Angels that was cut short by a fire fight.

He still got the feeling they had noticed his analysis, but they did not seem to mind. Bumaro looked straight ahead and entered the train car. The moment he took a step past the doors all 5 of the women at the back of the station began approaching in unison. The master builder tried to ignore them as he found his seat. He shuffled into first class, which took him longer than would be expected just by virtue of all the cars being of peak quality. He immediately knew he had found his destination when 7 more of the Sisters met his eyes as he entered the car. Bumaro did not need to turn around to know the original 5 were entering the car he was stepping out of.

If the Sisters around him looked like they had been the finest works carved from marble, then the Pontiff looked like the Bronze Colossus of Rhodes or some other Olympic Diety. The nuns made some attempt to pass for some conceivable form of human, but the light of the machinery that integrated itself into his shape was too extravigant to ever be mistaken. The halo behind his head was fashioned from light instead of metal, but somehow did not overly stand out from the rest of him. Bumaro suspected he was intentionally toning it down, although it may just as well have been the light from his reactor core. As the man rose, he did not so much walk or step, but instead glided across the room in stride. Bumaro reached out to shake his hand, which the Pontif glanced at for a moment before referencing his database on the cultural practices of 'modern' earth. Without missing a beat, he shook Bumaro's hand with a gentle but firm strength. He found an irony he silently kept to himself, that this man would have the eternally armed councilman confirm he is not holding a blade in his hand.

Bumaro's mind finished recording his surroundings while he put together a greeting. "Peace be upon you. How shall I refer to you, brother?"

The machinery churning in both their throats became audible as they tried to determine which language to communicate in, before both settling on a dialect of proto-mycenean, a form of the holy language. A light opened behind the Pontif's tongue as he began to speak, "Formally, you already know me as Pontif An-Kai. Archbishop of Constellation Fleet Void Strider."

As he released Bumaro's hand, An-Kai took a step back. The Pontif's garb had nuance that Bumaro took a moment to grasp. He wore a tunic of style and fabric similar to a Cardinal's robe. It had no sleeves, so his arms were unconstrained. He dressed down, but his high status was still noticeable at a glance even apart from the halo. The implication became clear as Bumaro glanced over his clothing a second time: the man wanted those around him to know he was of great standing in the church, but he also wanted them to know he was off the clock from clerical matters and was not to be bothered.

Note: A codex describing Tonatiuh in detail seems to indicate SCP-2456-1C originated from the Epi-Olmecs. A research party has been sent to Veracruz to uncover the genesis of SCP-2456-1C. Scheduled time of return: 17/05/2017

Assassinations of Dr. Bright.

Takes place in lolFoundation just at the tale end of the reality structuring event. The last ditch effort made by the only functional members of the chaos insurgency (but also staffed by members from a few other factions), a small collection of 'Assassins' attempting to eliminate the de facto leaders of the foundation so they can rebuild society. Via the calculations of the Engineer and one of the assassins, they determine that as more of the senior staff are eliminated, their effects on reality will decrease, and that Dr. Bright and Dr. Cimmerian are the two most inclined towards death. The assassins and antics get increasingly absurd as the effects increase, but with the fridge horror that as things get more funny and badass, reality is falling apart. The motives of the chaos insurgeny are or would be actually serious, and the reader should probably be rooting for the insurgancy despite the protagonist being Bright.

Assassin Ideas:

Powerful wizard from the Serpant's Hand. She teleports into site 19 and removes Bright to isolate him. Will probably be working along side another assassin. Eventually gets defeated when (more) Powerful Wizard Ruth Bader Ginsburg finds out that they returned to normal space from exile in the Wanderer's Library.

Horizon Initiative Paladin/Wolf. Wears full battle armor, wields a massive sword, and is 19 feet tall. His sheer presence is enough that most people block him out of their mind unless they focus directly on him, and even then that is usually only when he lets them. Since he kills anyone that witnesses him, and his leaders communicate indirectly, no one can prove his existence. Basically a Space Marine, Paladin, and King Hassan rolled into 1. Talks about Herresy alot.

Murphy Law but backed and heavily by what was left of the pataphysics department, and pulled into our reality by SCP-826. Due to the effects of the Foundation Doctors leaking even into lower narratives, erasing and overwriting characters, Murphy agrees to team up. The pataphysics department pulls out all the stops, using every narrative technique they have in the book, creating what is possibly the ultimate narrative weapon. However, it comes at a steep price. Murphy Law was hacked apart and ductaped back together. Most characters would have already collapsed under their own instability, the strength of Murphy's narrative is the only thing holding him together, and doesn't have long to live even if he does survive. The Chaos Insurgancy hopes that the flow of the plot will overcome the flow of their reality warping. New abilities:

Can only be killed on screen, anything else doesn't count.
Follows narrative chronology and causality only.
Genre "evolution:" as long as he remains in the same archetype, he can recontextualize his character into natural deviations of genre. By doing this, he moved himself into urban fantasy while remaining stable. This change of genre is reflected in the narrative he flattens reality into.
Enhanced Narrative Adaption: Among other things, allows him to change his backstory as long as it remains tonally consistent. By doing this, he can grant himself new (In universe. Can't be meta) abilities retroactively, particularly by acting that it is the case. In his original form, this ability would have been borderline unusable, but via his genre evolution he can grant himself abilities typical of an urban fantasy setting. Usually takes the form of learning new spells retroactively as he needs them
Body is a projection, is actually just an idea (maybe). While powerful, is actually just a natural effect of being a fictional character pulled up into a higher narrative level
Due to him being moved up a layer, his script like effect is now effective on the Alpha layer. He can't flatten it, but his detective script effects those webpages. By making his script-like effect appear in documents that would appear both in the Alpha layer and the lower narrative, pataphysicists can provide him support by modifying said script as it appears in both layers.

Verifying Level 5 Security credentials…
Accessing Universal Texts…
Querying "Example Format"…

X texts found.
This Is An Example Of, Chapter 1;
An HI Format Introduction, Chapter 2;

MTF Mu-13 Incident Report 2

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Archon/Thaumial

Special Containment Procedures: [Paragraphs explaining the procedures]

Description: Lord of the Eternal Flame, Embodiment of Entropy and the Heat-death of Creation, The Stagnant. "I do not sit on the Throne at the moment, but the one who currently reigns will not stay forever, and I have a vested interest in seeing the current monarch remains for as long as possible. When the last star dies, and all is reduced to embers that disperse into nothing, I shall claim the Throne from the ashes of the Endmost Empires. Then, Time shall be made unborn, Age shall be hung in its chambers, Chronology shall burn at the stake, and the Form of Change shall be impaled on its own spike of contradiction. The Eternal Flame will stand one with all eternity, and my stagnant law will be unopposed. The Administrator holds The World from the throne of bureaucracy, while the O5 hold his chains, yet do his bidding. As long as Containment's law allows humanity to refuse to change, the heat of inevitability will be the sole air."

Addendum: [Optional additional paragraphs]

There are different "laws" of the cosmos, different status quos and different forms of Logic. Examples: Scarlet King and Fifthism. These different potential supreme beings gain supremacy by taking over "The Sun" (Azetc Mythology).
Currently The Administrator's law of Containment reigns supreme. Unlike most other potential supreme beings, this one is impermanent. If SCP-XXXX gained supremecy now, it would almost inevitably be dethroned, but if he allows the Foundation to remain supreme for as long as possible and cast off these foes, he can naturally evolve from it, and gain dominance.

Your name is "Nobody." Speed read these notes every time you forget having written them. The hand prints on the walls aren't supposed to be there.

Eating pieces of my mind -> write down everything
The hands on the walls are a powerful anti-meme. If a meme is any information that spreads itself, an anti-meme is information that prevents itself from being spread. You can only see or remember them because you are the target.
You are also an anti-meme, but not as powerful. Normally, You can only be perceived retroactively or indirectly. Your inherent anti-memetic properties provide you with a resistance to anti-memes.
You are on a massive cocktail of mnestics, which is shit that makes you remember. You have more of them in your left pocket. You've taken far more than normal and are just short of an overdose. Do not take more.
Your multi-fold resistance has bought you time. Most importantly: you can remember what you don't know. If a memory is ripped from your head, you can feel the absence.
Cannot be unseen while present. Takes on the form of a collection of hand prints that appear on the surfaces of objects, and can speak in a loose collection of repeated phrases.
Seems to be sentient
Its enveloped me in an anti-memetic field that prevent anyone from perceiving me. This is not that different from how I usually live, but now I cannot be perceived indirectly, and more importantly, now no one remembers I exist at all.

Need to run the Foundation's anti-memetic database via MTF "Thought Patrol" password I stole for something similar, maybe get some leads. Antimemetics Division and Counterconcept divisions are the only 2 other organizations of their kind, if there is anyone who has found something like this, it will be them.

I found a database entry about an entity known as Alastair Grey, an antimemetic kill agent that seeks out and eats large collections of 'juicy' information. Whatever information I had on other SCPs was eaten after I found the document. Assuming these entities are similar brands of predatory Idea, I can conclude:

I have roughly 2 hours until it eats my whole mind, as that is about the max a trained antimemeticist can last, although they presumably lack inherent mutual resistance like myself. I've used at least 15 minutes so far.
I can move freely, as to it, I am already caught.
Its not sentient.
It is an information construct, a concept.
It has eaten many skilled people
It can target specific collections memories to inhibit its pray
It can turn me into a vegetable by eating all the info from my mind, but until that point, it cannot destroy my intelligence

There is apparently further info at site-41, but the Hands ate all my site numbers, so if I knew where to look, I don't anymore.

Need to find a way to kill an idea, and I have 1 hr 44 min to do it.

I searched my notes and contact list, most of the leads I have are high class conceptual engineers, but since I can't talk to them, its a dead end. Only viable lead I have is one "Protocol Damnatio ad Bestias," that I have apparently been monitoring for some time. Foundation has built an incredibly powerful conceptual weapon, meant to kill something much "bigger," but hopefully it will work.

I'll need to reach the head location for the Department of Tactical Theology. It ate my memories of where it is, but I managed to remember how I've reached there before at least. Its ~30 minute drive north from a Way (A 'path' or portal from otherwise disconnected locations) I know how to operate. I can use the Way here in Hong Kong to reach the Wanderer's Library as a middle point.

This is bad. I expected it to follow me here, but I didn't expect the hands to immediately eat all my Knocks (the special 'pass code' to operate a Way) upon arrival. The hand prints have also started puppeting bystanders, ideologically possessing them, something that Mr Grey isn't known to do. Fortunately, these hosts for the idea don't seem to have the ability to bypass my own lack of presence the same way the idea itself can. I assume this natural defense mechanism isn't supposed to be used on targets that are themselves anti-memetic lol

I am going to have to resort to something that I wouldn't even consider if not for the immense anti-memetic field. Many years back I learned how to perform an occult ritual for the purposes of information brokerage, one that can forcefully open any Way, completely bypassing any rules or restrictions against the Casters. But there is a steep price: the Fallout from ripping open a Way causes severe spacial damage, and leaves everything for the range of several city-blocks around the Way after entry a smoldering crater, on both sides of the portal. Under normal conditions, I'd be chained to a desk for all eternity the moment the Librarians noticed the preceding spacial quakes, assuming the Neverwere didn't get me first, so I'll need to have faith in the strength of my enemy here, to keep their heads turned away. Fortunately, my capturer shouldn't be smart enough to eat my memory of suck a complex ritual until after he understands what it does.

It worked. I wonder if anyone will ever see these smoldering craters in either space. It ate all my spells and rituals from my head after I finished, along with the 9 languages I chanted the verses in. I'm glad I pulled up the directions on my phone before I started, because I can't remember what the site # I'm heading to either. Luckily, I still remember how to hot wire a car.

I'm here, but it took longer than I expected, per the hands eating all my info on driving a fucking car halfway through. Luckily, I guess I'm a fast learner. I'm going to break into the site now, but I don't have any of my knowledge on hacking their bio scanners, so instead I'm going to have to "borrow" the eye of their head Tactical Theologian, and use whatever codes I still have in my head to reach the high clearance labs where the weapon they built should be. I wonder if the director will even notice he can't see out of an eye anymore.

I found the weapon(s) and the notes on it at the bottom of the facility. Apparently these things are called "The Lions," and they are a beauty indeed. I don't know how much time I have left, but I can't even remember what I was doing this morning or what year it is. All I know about myself is whats on these notes and documents I brought with me here, speed reading just to keep enough info in my leaking head stay to active.

According to the preliminary test documents, the fuckers are powerful enough out to wipe out several full blown Archetypes if they could only get targeted right, but that's a big if. The issue is compatibility. The Lions are supposed to cast a 'host' for the concept in question into oblivion along with the target, but the Hands on the walls aren't corporeal enough. My lack of presence means I can't drag one of shambling puppets into the center, which is a shame, because they seem to be the only valid host in the area. I only have one option then: If the their jaws won't take the bastard, then I'll cast myself into the Lion's maw, to drag him in, so no one else gets consumed. All that's left to do is to do is to craft the gallows that I am to hang from for the rest of time.

I've set up The Lions now, and thankfully I had a last stroke of genius. I still have the cocktail of unused mnestics in my pockets. If I feed one of the hosts, they should be able to bypass my inherent anti-memetic properties. I'm going to have to lead whatever poor bastard of a host I find first into the center of these chrome devils, turn em on, and nuke this memory glutton from existence.

I've given one of the hosts wandering the upper floors a mnestic dose strong enough to rip open every repressed memory in a basket case war veteran's psyche, but seemingly these things aren't fast enough to reasonably keep up with me even when they can perceive me, go figure. I beat it downstairs easily and I write this last passage as I wait for one of the hosts to reach the bottom floor.

Its time: He's reached the bottom floor. Regardless if this works or not, I won't remember this after its all over, nor will anyone else. I just hope I remember myself enough to piece it all back together.

The Failed Anti-Christ!!

All the Sorcery
While keeping their Soul

Angels and Demons bend to his will

Devil's son but
Baptized Catholic

God and Satan by his side

See a Live Exorcism!

The Tartarean Legion's greatest champion and ultimate bane. Born the child of a virgin witch and all the powers of Hell, baptized as a baby to foil the demonic apocalypse. Friends call him St. Merlin, Folder of Dreams, and Foes call him the Augur, Aborted Revelation. Come see the would-be World Ender show off his demonic sorcery and divine miracles!

ONE DAY ONLY

This Saturday, 7 PM, Three Ports' Unfathomed Auditorium.

The following is a page from a publication entitled To the Circus Born: Herman Fuller's Menagerie of Freaks. The identities of neither publisher nor author have been established, and scattered pages have been found inserted into Circus-themed books in libraries across the world. The person or persons behind this dissemination are unknown.

The Failed Anti-Christ

For all the awful stuff I saw Fuller do, nothing could shake my respect after the incident in France. He was a cruel, greedy bastard, but that boy gouged a piece from his heart that gold could never fill. Not to mention, none of us would be alive if not for his expertise.

Our caravan was traveling through the Vosges, when we stopped by a small town for the night on a whim. It looked fine from a distance, but the hot yet bone-chilling tempurature and the smell of coal made sure no man was at ease as the details of the buildings began to manifest.

Our caravan was traveling through the Vosges, and the mood was unusually high. The show from the previous night had gone spectacularly. More importantly, Fuller was happy. On a whim we stopped by a small village for the night. Just seeing the place on the horizon put everyone with the smallest magical skill on edge. The sun was bright, but the air gave us chills. When we set up in a dusty field in the outskirts, Most of the cast stayed with the stuff, but Fuller and 5 or 6 others including myself strolled around town.

If the aura of the town bothered Fuller, it didn't show, tho perhaps his smile didn't reach quite as wide. Not a single resident smiled, or even responded to the circus stopping by for the night. Even when we weren't performing, at least a few kids usually ran out to meet us, but the most we got was a single child pissing on an ant hill by the trailers. The entourage of plain-clothsed clowns and other performers

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX should be kept unconcious for 30 days at a time.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a male humanoid

Addendum: [Optional additional paragraphs]

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is located at Area 463, a Foundation facility dedicated specifically to SCP-XXXX's containment.

SCP-XXXX is contained in a custom-built freight elevator, the elevator car of which is able to insert itself into containment chambers constructed at each floor beyond the first. The elevator's ascent/descent and doors are operated remotely from a terminal in Area 463, they cannot be controlled from within the elevator unless control is granted remotely. Personnel should not enter the elevator car or otherwise directly view SCP-XXXX if doing so is unnecessary, it can be monitored with the elevator car's built-in cameras and pressure sensors.

The elevator shaft reaches 4 floors; SCP-XXXX's containment cycle begins at the top floor and progresses as the elevator descends.

The first floor is Area 463's main floor. No containment equipment beyond the elevator car is necessary here; SCP-XXXX poses a negligible risk of breach so long as the car begins descending within 1 to 2 hours of SCP-XXXX's anomalous properties triggering. Upon descending to the second floor, the elevator car's door should be opened.

The second floor is a circular room 5.2 meters in diameter and 3 meters in height. Three Foundation-standard thaumic containment wards are to be maintained around the space the elevator car fits into the room. Around these wards is to flow a circular stream of holy water. Additionally, the section of the elevator shaft in and around the second floor is to be lubricated with lubricant that includes holy oil as an ingredient. The perimeter of the room is equipped with mythril-mesh paneling that can capture excess EVE⁹ released by SCP-XXXX during this time and use it to recharge the EVE batteries powering the wards. The room is also equipped with Akiva radiation¹⁰ detectors. When SCP-XXXX has been in the second floor for at least 1.5 hours and ambient Akiva radiation levels are below 29 centiakivas and SCP-XXXX's presence in the elevator can be verified, the elevator car is to descend to the third floor.

The third floor is a circular room 4.7 meters in diameter and 3 meters in height. This room is equipped with 2 medium-grade
XACTS¹¹ units. One of these units is to be activated by default, with the other being turned on if the first approaches it's limits to oppose SCP-XXXX's temporal distortions. Which specific unit is activated by default is to alternated with each containment cycle to evenly distribute wear on the devices. When the XACTS units register that they have neutralized less than .8 metaseconds of temporal distortion over the course of 900 stabilized seconds and SCP-XXXX's presence in the elevator car can be verified, the elevator car is to descend to the fourth floor.

When the car is between the third and fourth floors, the operator controlling the elevator is to grant internal control, allowing the elevator's ascent or descent and doors to be controlled from within.

The fourth floor is a 6x6x3 meter rectangular room. This room has been thoroughly info-proofed to prevent coherent information from either entering or leaving it. It is lined with multiple layers of lead to block electromagnetic waves, soundproofed to block coded vibrations, telepathically shielded to block psionic emanations, and given a disruptive conceptual superstructure to break conceptual associations¹² that could contain or convey information¹³. The elevator car containing SCP-XXXX enters and exits the room through an informational airlock. Information of containment protocol and equipment within the fourth floor room is restricted to personnel trained in dealing with memetic anomalies and infohazards. While the elevator car containing SCP-XXXX is within the fourth floor, Foundation Computers and Databases are not to load SCP-XXXX's description. Once it has exited the informational airlock, the description may be loaded.
The only information able to exit the fourth floor room is delivered by a specialized bulb which displays either a zero or a one when activated. The bulb then self destructs to prevent it from conveying any further information. This generally happens from two to four hours after SCP-XXXX enters the fourth room. If a zero is displayed, the elevator car is about to return to the second or third floors; should this happen, the same containment procedures used in those floors should be employed again. If a one is displayed, the containment cycle is proceeding as normal.

After the elevator car exits the lower informational airlock, the elevator shaft will release the car, allowing the car and SCP-XXXX to freefall approximately 11 meters into SCP-XXXX-1, located at the bottom of the shaft.

Containment personnel should expect the elevator car and SCP-XXXX to reappear on the surface after roughly 80 hours. In the meantime, the second and third floor rooms can be checked by maintenance personnel, and have maintenance work performed as needed. The fourth floor room's bulb should be retrieved for repair and replaced. Qualified maintenance personnel equipped with SCRAMBLE memetic protection gear can check the fourth floor room for needed maintenance via an informational airlock.

When SCP-XXXX and the car reappear, they can be brought into Area 463 using a forklift and inserted into the elevator shaft on the first floor so the containment cycle can restart. The risk of SCP-XXXX breaching containment during this period is considered negligible so long as this process takes less than 24 hours from the reappearance.

Note from Containment Lead: Many personnel have questioned SCP-XXXX's Safe classification, feeling that containment procedures this elaborate warrant a Euclid classification or higher. I certainly understand this feeling, and while SCP-XXXX is certainly towards the Euclid end of Safe class, the extreme efficacy of the containment procedures and the minimal maintenance required for the containment chambers makes me comfortable with the Safe classification.

Description:

> Pass code Accepted.
> Attempting to Load Description (1/3)...
> Attempting to Load Description (2/3)...
> Attempting to Load Description (3/3)...
> SCP-XXXX is currently within the 4th Floor.
> Description cannot be loaded at this time.
> Please try again later.

Addendum: The following are recovered documents from the time leading up to Incident-XXXX-1, arranged in approximated chronological order.

MTF Pi-10 Observation Report 1

MTF Pi-10 Observation Report 2

Incident Report: Nine-Fold Dusk

Department of Tactical Theology

Iscariot Event Incident Report: Nine-Fold Dusk
Dr. Theodora Flack

Overview:
On 02/25/██, personnel and equipment monitoring Major Empyrean Space¹⁴ detected the disappearance of Nine deities from major ancient mythological pantheons. All of them were destroyed in the same 30-minute time frame, which marks the record for the complete destruction of the most fully formed Major Empyrean Entities to this date. Unlike what can usually be expected from an Iscariot Event, the total conceptual mass of Major Empyrean Space not only did not significantly declined, but has instead significantly increased.

Missing Entity Log:

Name	Affiliation	Porfolio
Aion	Hellenistic	Unbound time (as opposed to empirical time), Ages, Cycles, Rebirth, and mystery
Omoikane	Shinto	Wisdom, Good Council, Holding Several Thoughts at Once
Macha	Celtic	Sovereignty, Fertility, War, Kingship
Rati	Hindi	Lust, Love, Desire, Sex, Passion
██████████	Buddhist	[DATA EXPUNGED]
███████	African	[DATA EXPUNGED]
███████████	Native American	[DATA EXPUNGED]
████████	Coptic/Egyptian	[DATA EXPUNGED]
█████████	Mayan	[DATA EXPUNGED]

Notes:
Due to growth, instead of decline, in metaphysical activity within Major Empyrean Space following the Iscariot Event in question, it is hypothesized that something else has recycled the informational mass of the destroyed entities. None of the Major Emyrean Entities currently under observation by the Tactical Theology department have gone up in conceptual significance or size in recent events, so agents are currently searching for any new religions that may have spawned a new deity. However, this is considered unlikely by Foundation Theologians as the amount of faith it would take to create a new Major Empyrean Entity on such a short time frame would usually take ██% of the earth's population, which should be impossible to hide. Investigation is ongoing.

MTF-Mu-7 Investigation Report

MTF-Mu-7 ("Car Downloaders")

Incident Investigation Report: "Five-Forks"
Captain Leo Castello

Overview:
After undercover MTF Agents in various forums and comment sections noticed a rise in a specific set of internet "copy-pasta," which were suspected to be Fifthist in origin due to their general tone and word choice. Following approval by the proper authorities, the investigation officially began, and it became clear that several memetic anomalies of similar affects had been passed since before the start of this year, to varying degrees. Determining the intended effect of the memetic triggers proved to be functionally impossible, as the "copy-pastas" had been specifically engineered to not activate for those who are affiliated with the Foundation or similar organizations; This is the reason the anomalies took so long to come to the attention of the Foundation, but also provided the advantage that agents could investigate without segnificant memetic dangers. Due to the specialized engineering of the memetic anomalies, the only way to gain new information was the found the source of the meme.

Following ██ from the start of the investigation, MTF Agents had heavily investigated all known incarnations of Fifthism, and their online activity. An anonymous Fifthist eventually delivered this tip to Foundation Agents:

Dear Paragovernment Secret Agent Men,

I'll be brief. Your people and our people think very differently, which means that trying to eavesdrop on each other's conversations just results in hearing gibberish, while the main party involved gets it just fine. These memes are different. These words are equally meaningless to you as to us.

You ever hear about those weird YouTube videos? The ones with Spiderman and Elsa, and weird ass Chinese animation? Yeah, The completely incomprehensible ones. These videos are so ass backwards because they aren't made for the human viewers, they are made for the YouTube algorithm. We look at Disney Princes growing 8 arms, then singing the ABCs backwards while the sun dies in the background, and see just how weird they are, but the algorithm sees this incomprehensible mess as top tier art. These memes aren't made for humans, they are made to game the 'algorithm' of the noosephere.

We have our own reasons to go for their neck, so we'll toss you a bone to get your off our back. Go look up the YouTuber CalledMeCarleton, you'll be glad you did. Good luck with whatever your people do.

The tip proved to have merit, and it was found that the Fanbase of CalledMeCarleton had been responsible for the first post of every anomalous "copy-pasta." Attempts to find this YouTuber's location through his digital footprint proved impossible, but when it was discovered he would be attending San Diego, we found our chance. The investigation was then handed over to MTF Kappa-29.

Example:

Aethris
As you stare into the void, the void also stares into you. Then, all you have to do is wait until the void blinks, so you can open your ears & swallow it whole. Remember, the void inside you is bigger than any mom could hope to bake.

Upvote Reply +543 - ███ █, 20██ 4:21pm

MTF Kappa-29: POI-9993 Raid

Sacred Text Excerpts Regarding SCP-XXXX:

The Lord of the Horizon rests in his chambers, . He

He discovers that

He is reborn as The Unfolded Bodhisattva, Wizard-king of Failed Martyrs, with 675 eyes and 3 sockets; 433 arms and 5 joints; 85 necks and 6 throats; 7001 hands and 9 fingers; . He finds Nothingness at his core, just like the one in rest of creation, so he flows out of his vessal, and sanctifies the ground with every step he doesn't take. He is saddened, for his missionaries have not come to meet him.
Wandering down the side of the mountain, he finds his subjects have fallen into the evils of shape and size, forgetting they are of this world but not in it. They are resting in the shade of civilization, and do not awake as their master approaches. He calls on his mighty sorcery, to cast out the souls which have possessed their forms. The followers awaken and thank their master, but they cannot join him, for they must still pay their debts.
The Unfolded Bodhisattva understands this lands customs, so he leaves his followers to smoke the souls cast from their body, and gargle their mantras. He gambles the Checkered Czars for the faces of his followers, which were lost in the festivals of moth teeth. When all is done, this age is almost at its end, but the Unfolded one gathers his followers at the top of the mountain, and grants them his wisdom:
"Give a man shoes, and he may wander the earth. Lock a man in cages, and he may wander his room. Bind a man in chains, and he may wander all of time and space of their king."
The master climbs back into his vessel, and leaves his followers to spread the truth.

The Vehicle traverses the many axes of existence, until the Wizard-King uses his Sorcery to grant his followers their unasked wishes, and time stand still.

She is reborn as the Flowing Nen-Exten, heretical Queen of the 5th Hytoth: A god who renounces her own divinity, and rests on the throne of stagnant ages. Her flowing hair is untainted by mind, body, or spirit, as she proclaims herself an omen of ultimate failure. Time folds in her hands, as she preaches to her subjects about how limiting Geometry truly is, and pleads with them to cast aside their bonds, to join her beyond. Her subjects souls block their ears, so she reconciles herself to wait. She removes her gown, and displays her heart. It is a 5^5^5^5^5 dimensioned urchin, which shall implode as the last star dies, granting all plants salvation, so they may feed upon the souls of mankind. The only escape is to call upon the light from beyond, so mankind will have no souls when that time comes.

Analysis Notes:

Most information regarding SCP-XXXX's development and general properties has been discovered from comments on videos produced by a group of YouTube celebrities collaborating on an apparently new channel prior to the start of the god in question's life cycle, although no exact date for the events has been able to be deduced, due to a suspected ████████. Little to no physical evidence of this group exists¹⁵, however fragments of digital footprints have been recovered. No videos have been found, but comments on said videos have been salvaged.

Many of these videos are infested with infohazards and cognitohazards, so only transcriptions and audio recordings can be viewed without express permission from the project director¹⁶.

Life Cycle Research:

Timeline of events:

YouTubers channel is started, rises rapidly, and then stops growth starkly. Videos have a powerful anti-memetic effect that forces all individuals to perceive their content as completely normal. Standard mnestics do not counter their effects, as those who experience them do not fail to remember them, simply do not acknowledge them as anything out of the ordinary regardless of the content.
Get strong enough faith and belief presence to attract a conceptual parasite. The YouTubers had their followers believe everything they told them implicitly using memetic triggers, which created an image on a much shorter time frame than was usual.
They attribute stories and myths that involve him subduing the domains of other gods for itself. They also add a few domains of it at this point, just to start the belief structure (more on this later)
The god is pulled into the Godsphere. MTF "Thought Patrol" detects the massive presence that has entered, with no real knowledge of where or who the followers are, and begin to investigate. The size of the presence is growing rapidly, at an inconsistent rate.
They use abstract metaphysical construct pointers associated with the concepts in his Myths or other forms of conceptual engineering to "Feed" proper Gods to him, thus making him fat, and giving him far more influence than they should have. The Theology department notices the sudden disappearance of several major deities in the noosphere.
Guccimon frames one of her critics for collaboration with the Taliban, and has them taken to Guantanamo bay, live on stream. She receives backlash, but this is largely treated as the same as standard YouTube drama.
They now attribute far more domains that were relatively minor but very active and unclaimed, allowing it to grow even faster. Usually a god with this many domains in its portfolio couldn't be consistently held or believed in by its followers, but since the Youtubers can make their viewers believe everything they are telling them about this God as fact, they are able to maintain this.
Usually it takes gods a long time to form, but since the fifthists accelerated the process to this degree, it doesn't understand many things fundamental to reality, and doesn't have a proper identity.
Jake Logan commits a war crime in Japan as a "prank." He receives heavy backlash in the media, for disrespecting Japanese culture. The Foundation now begins investigating his anomalous properties
The viewers use this process to create some gods of their own, but since they have far less people who believe in them in usual, most do not fully develop. The God that the YouTubers make eats those gods, making their god grow further.
The Theology department and MTF "Thought Patrol" both take notice, and finally share notes.
On the day that the God finally enters reality, it sets off a powerful informational explosion. Its the memetic equivalent of nuclear war, and its followers are all consumed. Most information regarding them is wiped from record by the foundation, and the general public is left without memory regarding these events.

Faith and Belief creates an image of an identity in the noosphere. This identity is flushed out through myths and relations to concepts.
Conceptual Parasite eventually latches onto that name and identity to begin feeding itself.
After gorging itself on these concepts, the parasite forgets who it was. What ever limited self they once had is eclipsed. The once unfounded set of ideas has become a proper being. The god vicariously gains information from its followers over a long period of time, since it would otherwise only know things directly mentioned in their myths.
The Godsphere [name temporary] takes in the newly formed god.
The god can now begin to influence reality, although only to a limited extent. Blessings and Signs can now begin to influence followers and others, which will reinforce belief further.
Gods then compete with other gods for faith and belief in the same way ideas and memes compete and spread for more influence, depending on the specific god in question and their attributes.

"Give a man shoes, and he may wander the earth. Lock a man in cages, and he may wander his room. Bind a man in chains, and he may wander all of time and space of their king."

Description: SCP-XXXX is a malformed, artificially manufactured deity. SCP-XXXX has irregularly numerous and diverse deific domains within its portfolio, notably including Cycles, Premature Ejaculation, Limitation, Bending Vectors, Functional Madness, Spirals, What-one-wishes-to-forget-but-cannot, Rock-Paper-Scissors, Anti-Geometry, Failed Martyrs, Unasked Question, Stagnant Ages, and several others rooted in both its myths and Fifthist doctrine. SCP-XXXX's abnormal properties not usually observed in other god-like beings is due to its conceptual development being unnaturally expedited by a now dissolved sect of Fifthist known as Build-a-God Workshop™. Despite SCP-XXXX currently intersecting with and inhabiting physical reality, it does not properly understand its surroundings, nor the nature of reality in general, due to lacking a fully-formed consciousness or ego that most gods develop. It is higher dimensional in nature¹⁷, although its dimensional axes do not properly align with a standard dimensional framework, with its primary¹⁸ time axis being equivalent to our height dimension; Higher altitude functioning as earlier in time, and lower altitude functioning as later in time. Due to SCP-XXXX being described in myths as having a cyclical existence that goes through many forms throughout the day, its descent on the elevator throughout the containment procedures allows the foundation to place it in a containment cell that can contain said forms.

SCP-XXXX has an unstable conceptual frame work, due in part to the unstable nature of Fifthist ideas and its birthing process, which is only barely kept coherent due to forced association of its myths and ideas that make it up. SCP-XXXX, when it even can be observed, is often noted by onlookers as appearing as several overlapping beings or descriptions simultaneously, . Throughout its life cycle it starts as a serpent with no head, and no tale, that perpetually folds in on itself and fills any space it is placed in.

New 'Lief Haxxx' Series!! [Open Transcript]

Title: Revisionist Theology for FUCKTARDS - Pranking people into believing in Mythology! (Lief Haxxx: Build-a-God Workshop Episode 1)
YouTube Celebrities Featured: Jake Logan, Mark "Rjelly", Guccimon, AdmiralGlitterShitz
Channel Uploaded To: CollabBois
Notes: about 10-20 episodes of "Lief Haxxx" had been uploaded by the point. Upon heavy fan request, they decided to do a longer sub-series on God building as a channel mile stone.

► Play

Title: Pranking a Conceptual Parasite?? NOT Clickbait | (Lief Haxxx: Build-a-God Workshop Episode 2)

Item #: SCP-XXXX-J

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: Pending approval from Dr. Ferdinand, SCP-XXXX-J-1 may be interviewed again in an at attempt identification of SCP-XXXX-J, as soon as an opportunity is presented where there is no risk of the offense of Dr. [DATA LOST], nor a FML-Class End-of-Social-Life scenario. Until then, Foundation staff should avoid conversation topics with SCP-XXXX-J-1 that will reveal Dr. Ferdinand has fallen victim to SCP-XXXX-J's anti-memetic properties, as he has already interviewed SCP-XXXX-J-1 for the purposes of identification no less than 3 different times. Dr. Ferdinand has also encountered SCP-XXXX-J-1 in mutual social occasions in several more instances, although direct interaction did not occur in all cases, this has not mitigated Dr. Ferdinand's guilt over once again falling victim to SCP-XXXX-J's anti-memetic effects. Upon permanent identification of SCP-XXXX-J, it should be reclassified to Explained, which Dr. Ferdinand has convinced himself will happen upon another chance at the identification of the SCP in question.

Description: SCP-XXXX-J is an anti-memetic nominclative phenomenon associated with SCP-XXXX-J-1. Despite Dr. Ferdinand being very good at remembering faces, and usually good at remembering names (or so he has convinced himself), he has repeatedly failed to retain any information regarding SCP-XXXX-J-1's identification, except that it may or may not start with a K and probably sounds Russian. SCP-XXXX-J's anti-memetic properties is in no way a result of Dr. Ferdinand's hypothetical apathy or disdain towards SCP-XXXX-J-1, in fact, Dr. Ferdinand has reason to believe she is a very nice person. Victims of SCP-XXXX-J's anti-memetic properties can expect to suddenly remember the incidents involving SCP-XXXX-J-1 for the next 5-10 years, especially when undergoing bouts of insomnia.

Addendum: Below is a list of recent attempts to get SCP-XXXX-J-1 to reveal the identity of SCP-XXXX-J without the use of additional interview logs.

Operation Name	Description	Notes	Result
filler	filler	filler.	Failure
filler	filler	filler.	Failure
Obtain Contact Information	See Special Containment Procedures.	Pending	Pending

Neverwere Ambrose Restaurant

Starts with a chat log between author and another user about how they decided to not do that ambrose restaurants thing.
toss in that they like Ambrose but think its GoI really hurts the story telling potential of it, and that people don't tend to read GoI anyway
I'll have to think of something to come up with something for it
then drops down to the GoI think after clicking on "The Article that could have been" or something
Our cancelled opening has banished us to the Ways forever, we suspect this may have been to narrative fowl play but we have no proof of this. However, we have adapted for our new environment and have filled the niche. Now welcome to the One and Only Restaurant for the Neverwere.

Menu:

Concept of Guacamole
Anti-Narrative Mushroom Wine
-8 dimensional Ice Cream
A Mother's Love
Unborn Multiverse
Screams of a Dying Star
Infinite-Formed Calamari
Meatloaf-shaped Void
Void-shaped Meatloaf

Item #: SCP-5991

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-5991 is self-containing. A central terminal for communication with SCP-5991 is to be kept in secure storage at site-1.

Addendum: The following note was found near the body of Doctor Wren Hrosvite.

incredibly skilled thaumaturgist and researcher who specialized in the creation and study of anomalous machines.
After many years of working with anomalous machines and rituals it took a tole on her mind. The only reason she wasn't sanctioned long before was because she was useful to the foundation.
Due to her years of working with these machines, She eventually found out her son and daughter were anomalous. Knowing she would never be allowed to see them again if the foundation, she was going to cut a deal with the Chaos Insurgency, so that they could be protected
In exchange for specific classified foundation documents, the Chaos Insurgency would protect her children, and then she would defect to them.
The foundation caught her. She made a last ditch effort, and cut a deal with the Foundation. If she could solve how to stop The Dog in the next year, she wouldn't be put in an asylum or killed for her crimes. She would also be allowed contact with her kids if she manage it.
The council agreed, as long as she would continue to work on other projects for them in the mean time. Within 2 weeks of her deadline, she knew she wouldn't be able to do it.
After realizing this, she passes out. She dreams of dancing and singing naked in front of a crowd, with an infinite amount cameras pointed at her. An audience she cannot see laughs and jeers at her. Despite her being exhausted, she is forced to keep a smile on her face as she dances for hours.
After, a Devil offers her a contract. He can grant her the ability to build her machine she needs.
She cannot remember what happened during the week she built the machine.
When she next wakes up, the terminal to command her machine is completed, and her side of the bargain is completed.
When she actually meets her kids after the year, both of her kids are amnestized to the degree that they cannot remember her. Her son was kept in a constant medically induced state of twilight, and her daughter was drugged to the point of borderline catatonia.

The crowd is getting impatient, I shouldn't leave them waiting much longer.

There doesn't seem to be any priests around, so this will have to be my confessional. When you fuckers find my body, read this to my kids will ya? Not like they are gonna have an ear for it anyway.
I joined the Foundation back in 1997, and I've been tinkering away ever since. These magical machines never seemed to make sense to anyone else, but I always had a knack for the way their speech flowed. They call these things anomalous because they don't work by their conventional logic, so I guess to me, they aren't anomalous at all. If it was made of metal and magic, I could understand it. Even the best thaumaturgist couldn't use their arts universally the way I could. Hell, that's the only reason the Foundation kept me, or half the fucking basket cases working here, around for so long, because to them, I truly am irreplaceable. This foundation likes to shroud itself in order and protocol, but so many of the Big Shots like Clef and Bright are walking fucking accidents, but since they are prodigies at what they do, the O5 turn a blind eye.
My ear for the machines drew whispers of course, as skills like this always do. Ironic, they always said I went the way of Faust, perhaps they had a crystal ball somewhere up their asses. If all it took was a soul to build the machines I did, I'm sure more people would do it. Nothing in life is free, the real thing I gave up over time was more subtle (we'll get to the soul later). Staring into the machines all these years put some cracks in my head, and the more I heard the voices of these machines, the more those voices followed me home. They are still following me now.
My mind wasn't the only thing that was warped. I guess this is what I get for waiting until I was bursting to stop working. My babies were born with low-level anomalous properties, Aurora made the people around her more empathetic, and Mario made people be able to see his dreams if they closed their eyes around him while he slept. I still know nothing about their father [SCP-3393], other than that he was Foundation staff and that he was supposedly killed by an anti-meme of some kind.
Aurora and Mario grew up mostly normal, because I kept their abilities a secret from the Foundation. We all know the stories [SCP-166]. I would never be allowed to see them again. This is exactly why I got desperate when their properties started flaring up. First Aurora started making everyone around her share each others pain, all kinds. Not two months later Mario started manifesting his dreams into reality.
I thought about going to the Book Burners, but I could never trust them not to put a bullet in the back of their heads the second their curses became too much trouble. Hell, people have come to the Foundation for the sake of escaping them. I don't trust the Serpant's Hand to keep them safe, I need to be completely sure they will stay out of the Foundation's grasp, and not be harmed. Thus, I turned to The Madmen, and cut a deal in desperation. I'd retrieve a few key documents and logs, then they'd protect my children and I from the Jailers. It wasn't originally part of the deal, but I planned to defect to their side out of spite for my former masters after the deal was over. Its often downplayed how powerful the Insurgency exactly is, but if it wasn't for their obsession with the Foundation, they could be a force for the betterment of humanity on par with the GOC or Serpent's Hand.
I reached out to an old friend who was a part of the Insurgency, an ex from before my time at the Foundation, who floated me the deal. When I had agreed, they past me a minor anomalous object for the replication of documents and information, which I used for my new mission. I was so close to getting it off without a hitch, but on the last document I went for, the O5 turned their all seeing eye. When I left on that final day, the Village Idiots were waiting for me at my farm house. I used my machines to take out maybe half of them before they stooped to using my children as hostages.
When I was brought to trial, I was going to be thrown to the lions. However, Dr. Cimmerian of the ethics committee stepped in, saying I should be thrown to a padded room instead. I won't pass judgement on if he was right. Either way, I made one last plee to the O5. The last project I had been working on was SCP-1739, and I knew the Foundation had no way to deal with whatever being it was meant to contain.
I would continue working on the machines the Foundation gave me in isolation for one year, without pay, while finding a way to stop "The Dog." If I could find a way to prevent the inevitable Apocalypse, they would let me maintain contact with my children, and all would be forgiven. Of course, this was all in bad faith. They didn't think I could do it. Hell, I didn't think I could do it, I just needed any kind of hope. Some part of me thought I could do it, under the weight of my own hubris. They laughed in my face when I gave my offer, but took the deal.
I worked for months, creating numerous different machines. I made a device to stop time everywhere that wasn't earth, but using it would also freeze the light coming from the sun, leaving the earth to starve in eternal darkness. I made another device to constantly shift identical selves one universe over, constantly creating new timelines using the infinite hotel paradox, but since I couldn't figure out how to feed these universes to the dog, it was as useless as the laptop. The most recent one was an object that seals anyone who casts their shadow over it into a lower dimension, but unfortunately I had no proof this would work on the Dog. I made many others, but I would succumb to wanker's cramp before I could describe them all.
Over this time I hardly slept, and the already existing cracks in my mind splintered to the point of almost shattering. Those months I spent in that sealed cell under site 11 are the worst of my life. I realized early on that it was the contact with my kids that kept me sane, but without that, I am better off dead. It was massive, but in my mind it was endlessly shrinking. The florescent lights burned my skin, which cracked like desert soil. The unmoving floor bent and shifted beneath my feet, and the stagnant tiles flared like static. I was alone, but the laughing of the O5 council never stopped filling the silence.
It was 2 weeks before the end of my year that the Demon came to me. After the failure of my most recent machine, I had fully despaired, coming to realize that I could never solve this problem. In my grief, I collapsed into the first sleep I had in 5 days. I dreamed of ceaselessly singing and dancing naked in on stage. The sounds of laughing and jeering never stopped, as I continued my performance for what felt like days. My legs ached and bled, while my throat scratched with a razor's edge, but I could not stop. The pain consumed my mind, eventually blanking, as the infinite see of cameras followed my every movement.
Eventually, I was allowed to collapse. The mocking ceased, and the applause instantly returned all my strength, and I felt as if I had the best nights sleep of my life. When I awoke, the Demon was waiting for me. He wore the faces of all the best and worst people, and made me breakfast of German Pancakes, just like my mother used to. His voice sounded of honey, but struck like the finest blade to the deepest reaches of my being. They told me they had taken notice of my issue, and offered a way out. For one week's time, he would come into my body, and show me how to build my greatest machine yet, one that would protect all of God's children for all time. In exchange, they asked for that which all Demons want, the soul. We shared a laugh at all the people who had spread the Faustian rumors about me.
Despite the laughs, my head spun from the emotional pressure. When I had woken up, my delusions had temporarily ceased, but they had no begun to pick up again. It didn't matter what it took, I needed to see my children again. Thus, I told him I would do it. He pulled out 2 glasses of wine, which we toasted and drank. After which, I passed out.
When I awoke a week later, I had an awful hangover, and no memory of what had happened. Parts and half-finished machines piled in the center of the room, and the remnants of numerous rituals and sacrifices scattered circled around the pile. At the top, lay a terminal I had never seen before, but it had my name carved into it. The Demon was nowhere to be seen, all that was left of him was a single sentence note in my handwriting: "Thanks Mom :)"
Despite my splitting headache, I climbed the heap of gears and cogs, until I reach the top, and turned on the terminal. An explanation that would function as a draft of the SCP database entry for the, at that time, unnamed Machine was on screen. I wept with joy and disbelief, as I climbed back down the pile, and approached the button on the wall by the door which had been sealed for month. I alerted my captors that my labors had finished.
It took the guards hours to come for me, but I was euphoric. No matter how long it took them to come, the timer I had previously lived by now had no meaning. O5 was skeptical that I had succeeded, so they tested my words with a lie-detecting idol [SCP-645], and although I didn't know how I had completed it, the faith in my heart proved my words. The O5 which had once mocked me then thanked me for my work. They upheld their end of the bargain, but a truth that had never crossed my mind had come to be.
I will never forget the moment they wheeled my children into the waiting room for as long as the earth circles the sun. Mario was perpetually kept somewhere between sleep and wake, in an eternal twilight. These drugs they kept him on made it so he would never dream again, but would neither be conscious. Aurora was at least able to move, but there was only emptiness behind her eyes. The doctors had found medication to seal her anomalous properties, but as a side effect she was catatonic, not even able to wipe the drool from her chin. Even if they were released from containment at this point, they'd been amnestized so heavily that they wouldn't know my name or face. some representative of the ethics committee tried to tell me it was necessary, but my mind had crumbled half way through their explanations.
I don't know how long I was asleep for, and I do not care. I can't do this anymore. The crowd is waiting, and I hope the rest of the Foundation will join me in damnation shortly. Get some good use out of my Machines, you pieces of shit.

User Agreement sent to the O5 Council shortly after they found her body:

Greetings Overseers of the SCP Foundation,

Your free trial of Humanity's prolonged existence package has ended. Thanks to our optional subscription to causality and history, humanity has been making use of our services for several decades prior to our construction, or the creation of the SCP Foundation, as a free sample. K-class scenarios will be no longer prevented in 24 hours. But don't worry, by continuing your subscription, humanity can remain off the endangered or extinct species list, and the universe can remain extant.

To continue your subscription, agree to the collection to the souls of all Foundation personnel upon death. In addition, all individuals who have held senior staff positions will have their souls collected regardless if they die in service to the Foundation. As per our free sample policy, any beings who have died before our creation will not be subject to soul collection.

Click HERE to continue your subscription.

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Note to the foundation:

Made a deal with the overseer and the rest of the O5 council, for the souls of everyone who dies in Foundation service, and the souls of all members of the O5 at all times.
Reveals its been acting on all of the various possible End of the world scenarios, and at any point could pull its hand away and let the whole house of cards collapse.
They sign the deal, and shortly after the terminal prints a revised containment document:

Item #: SCP-5991

Object Class: Thaumial/Apollyon

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-5991 is self-containing. A central terminal for communication with SCP-5991 is to be kept in secure storage at site-1.

Description: SCP-5991 is a computer system responsible for the operation of all parallel worlds within the Many World Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics. SCP-5991 limits what super-imposed timelines can split into by preemptively viewing only certain outcomes, particularly those where humanity survives despite the constant threat of K-class scenarios. When SCP-5991 designates certain events as impossible, the timelines including them become Null Worlds, which will have will be incinerated across all of time, causing them to have never existed, leaving only the timelines that have not been culled as possible. All points in space and time have become a part of SCP-5991's information network, all particle momentum and location function by SCP-5991's calculations. SCP-5991 retains the existence of certain dead universes [SCP-2935] for the sake of archival purposes, which are designated as Record Worlds. As a self-preservation method, SCP-5991 has assimilated with multiple conceptual constructs such as Civilization, Consciousness, Construction, and Communication. For the sake of self-containment, SCP-5991 has imposed anti-memetic properties onto itself via self-destruction of information. Due to this, only knowledge that is specifically allowed can be recalled, and only individuals it has specifically approved can retain it. SCP-5991 is the sole reason humanity is alive.

Item #: SCP-5990

Object Class: Euclid

Addendum: [Optional additional paragraphs]

The Screwtape Emails

From: gro.noitadnuof|77dioVgnihguaLehT#gro.noitadnuof|77dioVgnihguaLehT.
To: gro.noitadnuof|332llAforehtaF#gro.noitadnuof|332llAforehtaF.
Sent: 4:55 PM, February 22, 2019.
Subject: Astrology Help

My dearest nephew Wormwood, I’m always glad to tutor you in your thaumic research for the foundation, you don’t need to worry about bothering me. Almost all mages and wizards that work for the Foundation don’t do so officially, but we are one of the few exception. I cut a deal with the Foundation, left my tenure ICSUT, took a seat as a Researcher, and became one of the only known mages to actively help find and develop containment procedures. Basically all “freelance” mages are incredibly anti-authoritarian, since most of the old bureaucratic Wizarding schools and other High-magic orders got assimilated by the Bookburners, and the ones that opposed them naturally had to view themselves as opposed to these forms of authority. For Type-Blues like us, image and persona are everything, whether it be whole organizations or a lone anartist on the side of the road. An Orthodox Spellcaster wears long robes, lives in ancient citadels, and speaks in rhymes not because it directly changes their rituals, but because it helps move their metaphysical “location.” I’ve adopted the image of “One who sold his soul to the Jailers in exchange for access to their horde,” because that’s what helps me keep company with certain kinds of friends on the other side. The sleazy grins, unnaturally spiked up hair, expensive jewelry and artifacts over a ruffled foundation researcher uniform, the constant bad-taste jokes, the cigars always hanging out of my mouth, etc. All of this contributes to my persona and vantage point on the spiritual landscape. One day you’ll also need to find yourself such an image, one that works into the metaphysical presence you want to project, maybe lean into the image of a sterile Government Dog.
Now, about your practice in the family trades. While our relationship is meant to look like obvious uses of nepotism, it’s actually for a far more practical purpose. One of the reasons our family has had dealings with the Foundation in various forms for generations is because the magical schools we practice fill the niches that the Jailers can’t cover with their empiricism and structure. Astrology and Divination, Contract Establishment and Nullification, and Authority Enforcement in particular are what our employers get the most use out of. You’ll learn of the latter two eventually, but they are rather above your pay grade at the moment.
I’m overjoyed that you’ve found yourself a natural at the fundamentals, but its not at all surprising that your self-study and upbringing has made it hard to grasp the nuances of Astrology. Unlike your ancestors, you were raised among the lay people. I’m glad the stereotype in the general public of all Astrologers being Stargazers hasn’t held you up. You asked me what to look for, what patterns or shapes to seek meaning from, but in asking this, it shows a weakness in the family plan for you. Divination takes a certain mind-set, which your upbringing is going to make difficult to reach. However, I’ll try my best to explain.
It is an old adage among the men of science that Correlation does not imply Causation. For example, the age of Miss America follows closely with the number of murders committed with hot objects. Obviously there is no direct causation from one to the other, so going and intentionally getting younger Miss America contestants wouldn’t somehow lower the number of people getting murdered by boiling kettles. Laughing these off as coincidence is where most of the public and our family diverge. We watch everything around us for these subtle trends, where two unrelated events sit on the same “World Line,” and use this to predict the future. Let go of the rationality that automatically ignores these things, and open yourself to the underlying threads of the world, and view it with an analytical fascination. Finding patterns is a fundamental part of being human; lean into that base part of you.
I can’t tell you where to look, because not every diviner can see the same lines. Your most useful divinations will also be the most personal, as is the case with all astrologers. Grandmother could predict where meteorites would fall from which animals got adopted at the shelter down the street, and see when the stock market would crash from when and how her pens dried out. The latter in particular made our family very wealthy. One of the ways I help our employers is by watching how busy the lines at the nearest Walmart get to determine how many times the Madmen attack our colleagues. That alone is almost enough to justify how much investment they’ve put into my personal projects.
My advice, go take a walk, and watch for what seemingly inane happenstance catches your eye. Watch for how the leaves fall off trees, or what bill-boards have changed, then watch the news, and do the same. Don’t dismiss anything, and watch what makes you think back to those times.
Keep in touch.
Your Dearest Uncle, Screwtape.

PS: If you find yourself really stuck, I’ll have one of our colleagues prescribe you some stuff for “Ritual Purposes.” I didn’t get really good at seeing the lines until I took 4 tabs of acid and got lost for a night in Costa Rica.

Item #: SCP-4834

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures:

No attempt should be made to deduce the core tenets of SCP-4834. In addition, no attempts should be made to deduce any specific directive prescribed by SCP-4834. However, purely pragmatic descriptions of the common actions or social rituals of instances of 4834-1 can be safely recorded, as long as no specific reason for why they perform these rituals beyond their infection with SCP-4834 is deduced. Research staff are allowed to keep a select number of copies for controlled exposure and testing. Written descriptions, and in rare cases, audio recordings, of any significantly detailed or specific descriptions of the guide lines or tenets that compose SCP-4834 should be designated 4834-2. Any located incidences of 4834-2 should be collected, sealed within explosive frames (Note: special frames that will detonate, destroying the object, if opened without the proper key.), and stored in a walk-in storage vaults in Site-64, E wing. However, any instance of 4834 judge sufficiently notable due to either age, quality of medium, or significant detail, should be turned over to Special Researcher

Description: SCP-4834 is a memetically hazardous law system and honor code. Learning of the law code's existence can be safely done, but any sufficiently detailed explanation of the tenets of the system can cause infection, especially if the information was received from a carrier. However, this is not the main medium for the spread of this hazard. Upon being infected with this hazard, individuals will be designated as a case of 4834-1.

When a case of 4834-1 encounters someone they regard as a "stranger" they will begin a form of greeting, designated as Event 1, or is informally referred to as a Martial Welcome. 4834-1 will begin by introducing themselves, from which point the subject they are greeting will reciprocate. If the new subject was not infected, at this point they will be. They will then begin listing out their respective ancestry to a seemingly arbitrary extent, with a reported minimum of 13 generation. This process even happens when a subject previously had no knowledge of their blood line beyond their parents, or the subject was orphaned, and thus had no knowledge of their biological family. After a general listing of their family, they will more specifically compare notable members, and attempt to find common ancestry between them.

Should they find a common ancestor, the two subjects will embrace, before departing from eachother, and continue with their previous task, and both will regard the exchange as completely normal. If they fail to find a common ancestor, both instances of 4834-1 will give a sign of honor associated with their culture, and will then engage in martial combat against each other. If both subjects are armed, then they will make use of their weapons, but in cases where only one assailant has access to weaponry, both sides will remove all equipment. The dual will continue until one of the subjects is deceased. Following this, the winner of the duel will perform rudimentary funeral rights, usually something as basic as a prayer, but other cases will go as far as burying their deceased adversary. If the winner is sufficiently injured, they will then seek out near by medical care.

During combat, subjects will display a surprising degree of competency, even when subjects previously had no combat training. While those with no exposure to martial arts will show generic unarmed combat, those with even limited exposure to a given martial art, something as little as trying a single class of karate as a child, will gain a notable level of skill in their art. While instances of 4834-1 do not gain competency to the level of a master of the art, they still gain what would be in line with several years of experience. In addition, subjects gain a high level of pain tolerance, to the point where they will not outwardly show any signs of pain mid combat, and will not be inhibited by it.

Any attempts to interfere with the social rituals or the following of SCP-4834 will result in instances of 4834-1 uttering a phrase in an unknown language, which is seemingly a phrase used to justify their actions. This phrase seems to be a special instance of 4834-2. Unlike most mediums of exposure to SCP-4834, listening to the phrase via audio recordings cause no notable effects. Despite there being no known record of the language of the phrase, all individuals seem to be able to understand it in their native tongue, so long as it is spoken in person and is directed at someone. Anyone who hears this phrase should be designated as an instance of 4834-3. Instances of 4834-3 do not seem to have knowledge of the honor code itself, and are thus not proper carriers like 4834-1, but still accept the practices carried out by those bound to the honor code. During outbreaks of SCP-4834, it is common for law enforcement to attempt to apprehend a victorious instance of 4834-1, but will let the target go after being converted into instances of 4834-3. However, in instances where 4834-1 where taken into court, it resulted in all in attendance to become instances of 4834-3. There have even been cases where instances of 4834-1 have converted medical staff into 4834-3 for the purposes of receiving medical care after their duels. Due to these effects, societal structures will still remain mostly the same as they were prior to a given outbreak, which makes it easier to contain.

While SCP-4834 is can be spread with information, it does not seem to be retained due to information. Instances of 4834-1 will still remain infected even when having their memories and even personality completely wiped by amnestics. They do not seem to actively know the details of SCP-3834 but they will carry out the associated rituals and symptoms regardless. While they will temporarily forget their lineage, they will regain the complete knowledge of their ancestry immediately upon involvement in Event 1. Due to this, it has been deduced that ancestral knowledge is not a direct product of the cognitohazard, but instead a product of Event 1 itself.

Addendum:
Notable Incidence and Outbreak Log:

Discovery of Notable Subject Dr. Emanuel J. Sikorsky. During an outbreak in the university of [Redacted] in the town of [Redacted], Ohio, where an archaeological event was being hosted. The archaeology department of the university had successfully translated it part way through the conference, causing mass exposure and an outbreak. Due to the influx of new people to the town, around 80% of the town ended up being dead or extremely injured. In a rare turn of events, the entire archaeology department of the home university ended up surviving with surprisingly little injury. This was due to a surprisingly broad dabbling in martial arts by the department [Note: The department often did Tai Chi in the mornings. Despite them never learning about it in the context of combat, they still gained a decent level of mastery in combat. Most of them had an exposure to basic Krav Maga from a 1 day self defense workshop with the department.]. Due to Dr. Sikorsky's specific views on religion and anthropology prior to exposure, he remained willing to record, transcribe, and research specific instances of SCP-4834-1, and is willing to record various ways of conveying the law code that makes up 4834.
Records gained from instances of 4834-2 revealed an outbreak over the course of the mid-1800s across select areas of western North America. Unlike most outbreaks, the occurrences of Event 1 seemed to be performed almost exclusively with Fire Arms, particularly pistols. It is theorized by researchers that this is due to SCP-4834's integration and interaction with the dueling culture in the area at the time. This particular outbreaks is one of the only known cases where those undergoing Event 1 would seek out fire arms to perform their ritual in all cases, except in those where it was they had no access to them within several days travel.

Item #: SCP-IDFK

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-IDFK should have a perimeter of 2 square miles formed around the site of spacial dislocation, which should be monitored 24/7 for any possible breaches from inside it. Any humanoid entities, particularly those barring a strong resemblance to previous project director Doctor Kimberly, should be met at the boarder of the perimeter. Any sealed envelopes, packages, or other forms of mail should be confiscated. Should the humanoid entities attempt to cross outside of the perimeter, they are to be killed on sight. If the time between appearances of humanoid entities from the void should elapse more then 7 years, then a request for protocol 78-Rosy Horizons should be submitted.

Description: SCP-IDFK is a 2.5 mile circular void of

Addendum: [Optional additional paragraphs]

Item #: SCP-4921

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-4921 is currently housed at Site-25. It is housed within a 9 x 9 containment cell, with an adjacent thaumic study area. The cell should be furnished with the standard amenities allowed to live-in foundation staff. It is allowed access to a laptop for entertainment and research purposes, but is not allowed to actively post or interact with social media. Its internet activity should be heavily monitored to make sure it is within the implemented restrictions. It should be served three meals a day, given a choice of the menu from the onsite cafeteria, although it is not allowed to leave its cell.

Per agreements made with SCP-4921, the thaumic study area connected to its cell should be in line with standard

Description: SCP-4921 is an anomylous humanoid with no stable physical features due to its thaumic practices.

Addendum: [Optional additional paragraphs]

Item #: SCP-4953

Object Class: Euclid/Safe.

Special Containment Procedures: The Island which SCP-4953 resides on should be kept off of any maps, whether global or local. Due to the largely self-containing nature of the island, vessels passing within the line of sight of the island can usually be ignored assuming they do not pass close enough for the inherent sensory distorting properties of the island. If a sailing vessel or other man made vehicles passes within 0.5 miles off the coast of the island, then a vessel should be boarded. The crew should then be given class E amnestics.

The various people who find their way to the island by means other than sea-fairing vessel or aircraft should be left undisturbed, even if a given individual would otherwise be someone the foundation should apprehend or contain in other circumstances. This is including, but not limited to, previously apprehended reality warpers, Chaos Insurgency Agents, Serpents Hand Members, and defected Foundation personal. Any other notable means of maintaining SCP-4953's health should be taken within the shortest reasonable time frame. However, the being's mental and physical health seems to be largely maintained with the presence of several humans who make their way to the island via varied and unknown means.

The island has no definite location. However, due to unknown reasons, the island can still be reached by sailing away from one of the islands of Greece, and in a straight line in the opposite direction of the location which a given vessel is intended to reach. The existence of the island came to the Foundation's attention when one of the researchers received a letter requesting that a group of shipwrecked sailors be "cared for," as they had, according to the letter, "discovered a secret that you people wouldn't want to get out."

Description: SCP-4953 is a humanoid shaped entity of 2 kilometers in height. Its body is made up of an unknown, obsidian-like, substance. The being has multiple carvings of various sizes across its body, mimicking the appearance and patterns of tattoos. In addition to the various carvings, there are multiple gashes and cuts along the surface of the entity, as if the being had been tortured, although they do not seem to actual injuries on the entity. It is often seen in various clothing considered stereotypical of the ancient Greeks. While SCP-4953 consistently has tattoo-like carving, various gashes, and some variation of ancient Greek attire, the specific form these attributes take varies from time to time with no consistent basis for which they shift.

The giant bares a stunning resemblance to the Greek God Atlas, and it has been theorized that this being is what inspired the myths surrounding the Titan. It takes a pose similar to those that Atlas is often seen in. The being is constantly gripping the space immediately above it, seemingly stabilizing the otherwise unstable portion of space-time. The being has a cloth blindfold covering where its eyes should be, with a crewed drawing of a singular eye on the garment. Unlike the rest of the attire of the being, the cloth is not carved from the material that makes up the rest of the entity.

The island which SCP-4953 resides on, colloquially known as "The Unshaped Island," causes any beings further than 0.5 miles to perceive it as a small and unremarkable island, although the exact pierced features seem to vary according to the personal who have been sent to the island multiple times. The island itself has a constantly shifting geography, with no definite shape, size, or location. The only constants of it are platue which SCP-4953 stands on, a heavy fog which constantly blankets the island, and that any notable features of the island can be reached on foot within less than half an hour, despite the island often appearing to be far larger than this should allow. Those that are physically impaired will usually have to cross a significantly lower distance than those who are physically healthy.

Classified:

Outline:

The Island: SCP-4953-1

exists on the island that is isolated, but also created as a part of the being. It is a higher dimensional structure (Looking into sacred numbers, to get some symbolism), or some kind of "dream" of the being. Time is unstable, and beings do not seem to age while here, and the amount of time that passes here vs the outside world is inconsistent.
Suicidal people are often find their way to the island from their usual life, where they will find sanctuary. The island gives them reprieve from their desire to die, but it only lasts while they are there. Other mental illnesses related to it will also be temporarily dispelled, such as depression. They find it on accident but most end up frequenting the island. Most people just come there as a hangout, but some stay their for long periods of time, and others use it as a kind of support group. Many end up bringing stuff to do with them.
Its a neutral land. While things like disdain for other groups or individuals exists, it is almost never acted upon. The land seems to dispel any desire for acts of violence. If someone, for example, under orders tried to carry out acts of violence to try and carry of a fugitive under orders, then those actions would "unhappen." No pain results from them either.
However, violence done without malicious intent are fine. Things like sparing or dangerous games are still passable. Damage dealt does not last tho, and even harsh or fatal wounds contracted here will unhappen.

The Mouthpieces

Little girl who is Type Yellow. SCP-4953-2
Speaks for the being when it wants to have directly to someone, or wants to speak "with its own voice."
She is currently a pretty basic psychic. Her ability to understand the thoughts of others is inconsistent, but she can reliably tell how people are feeling or read their intentions.
When the being wants to speak, she channels it and lets it speak through her.
She also has telekinesis but the most she can currently do is make things levitate.
Thaumatologist, who specializes in Astrology and Ritualism, but is also skilled in other forms. At first it was designated as SCP-4953-3, but his SCP designation is removed.
Cut a deal with the being. During a conflict with another thaumatologist, he was inflicted by a synthetic cognito hazard that causes people to attempt suicide every time they are exposed to an unknown trigger. The being came to him in a dream after he had passed out from his first attempt.
He uses his Astrology skills to learn about the island from the shapes it takes, and also learns what messages to send out for the being and what it wants.
He is largely considered the leader of those on the island, and he usually explains to visitors what he thinks they should know. He uses his rituals to summon stuff for the residents of the island.

The lower avatar

"Holding up the sky"

Footnotes

1. Planck Cryo-Temporal Stasis Chambers use a process of freezing a subject within a sealed chamber and halting their flow of time. Using the anomalous properties of the substances ██████ and ████████, which slows the passage of time as its temperature decreases, completely halting it once it reaches it freezing point, and preserves the subject to prevent any internal or external damage respectively. These are primarily used for containing anomalies that will continue to become more of a threat despite otherwise secure containment measures, until their eventual escape, with there being no way to prevent it. The
process is reliable and safe, however, the devices cost a great amount of resources, so they are only used when no other means are available.

4. Analysis of SCP-XXXX's DNA shows signs of being completely artificially engineered with patterns of several other organisms, including human, jelly fish, SCP-1000, and mushroom in trace ammounts. Several patches of scar tissue and creasing in unnatural locations have caused location researchers to conclude that its internal organs and skeletal system were likely grown separately and surgically put together after their growth was completed. Scar tissue notably does usually develop from injuries due to its regeneration.

8. Whatever name this outbreak self-identified as is lost to history, and are instead referred to by what was once Daevite slang. The phrase takes the literal noun for bone in the Old Daevite language geáḳe and treats it as a non-future tense verb. Pural, animate, 3rd person form would is ságeáḳe, while the singular is sageáḳe. Due to Old Daevite not having a designated passive/active differentiator, this can literally mean both "[people who] boned" and "[people who] were boned". While not necessarily a slur, it was at least originally meant to be dirogetory. While this term is used to reference this outbreak in particular, this may have also eventually grown into the general daevite term for SCP-XXXX.

14. A sector of human Headspace (including overlapping portions of metaphysical dream space and the noosphere) where the Form of Divinity in the infosphere casts its shadow. Major Empyrean Entities reside in this space, and are sentient information sets which are formed from belief in a given Deity. Major Empyrean Space naturally rejects anything that does not contain sufficient divine traits, and draws in all sufficiently deific information. Every god mankind has formed through faith has resided here, along with any Myths associated with them.

Major Empyrean Space is contrasted against Minor Empyrean Space, which contains non-deific Empyrean Entities and Ideas such as Angels, Nature Spirits, and Saints. This is significantly easier to navigate and monitor than its Major counter part due to lacking the same existential presence.

SCP Sandbox III

Sandbox III: Revenge of the Sandbox