Containment Class:
uncontained
Secondary Class:
{$secondary-class}
SCP-54XX at the perimeter of Site-06-3. Photograph taken on 03/19/2024.
Special Containment Procedures: At the present moment, SCP-54XX remains uncontained. All remnants of SCP–XXXX, including its corpse, are currently kept in the avian morgue at Site–64. When the entity reappears, MTF Lambda-4 ("Birdwatchers") will be dispatched to recontain the entity and transport it to Site 84. It is of critical importance that the entity be captured alive and unharmed. Once SCP-54XX reaches Site 84 it will be injected with two tracking ticks. One will be planted near the nape of its neck, and the other into its right talon. Its transportation can not be done via automobile, aircraft underwater submersible, or any kind of underground transportation due to the risk of harm to the entity should the transport vehicle fail. Lambda-4 members are permitted to release the anomaly back into the wild if its transportation to Site 84 becomes too dangerous. The anomaly can not come into contact with it's corpse or any other sample currently held by the Foundation for any reason whatsoever. Site 84 is not permitted to hold any Scranton Reality Anchors or contain any entity that disrupts hume levels in any way. Site 84 is also not permitted to hold a thermonuclear device or any other kind of destructive failsafe.
Description: SCP–XXXX is a turkey vulture of the Cathartes Aura Septentrionalis subspecies which possesses incredibly powerful temporally manipulative properties. Its wingspan measures 2.2 meters, it has a height of 110 centimeters, and at its time of death it weighed 3.75 kilograms, making it the largest Cathartes Aura Septentrionalis specimen ever documented.
An autopsy on the anomaly's corpse revealed an absence of a stomach cavity. In its place is a large mass of flesh packed with a myriad of nerve endings, the purpose of which is still unclear. How the entity lived under these conditions is also unknown. Apart from this discrepancy, the autopsy revealed no other differences in composition compared to other members of its species. Testing on the SCP's corpse revealed that it held no anomalous properties that were still present in its neutralized state. Although many hypothesis were offered as to the nature and origin of this entity, the lack of a live subject made proving any of them impossible.
In 2021 a new tracking implementation, colloquially known as a "Tick," was developed by the Foundation. Following its first activation, the tick network picked up two unregistered tracking devices coded to its network present within Site 64's avian morgue. At first it was attributed to a glitch in the system, but both a standard reset and an in depth retooling of the operations network did not fix the issue. Through the use of Foundation archivists and a difficult process of trial and error, it was determined that the signal was originating from SCP-54XX's corpse. Reexamining the corpse with the aid of several high powered microscopes revealed two electronic devices identical to the newly invented Ticks. One was planted on the nape of the creatures neck and the other had been injected into the middle of its right talon. A team of researchers specializing in temporal anomalies was formed after this discovery and were assigned to SCP-54XX for further analysis. Doctor Mike Richardson is the current team leader for this project.
Discovery: The first known sighting of the bird was June 28th, 1916, on the banks of the Somme river in France. The initial appearance of SCP-54XX was recorded by Lieutenant Richard Castel in his journal. Over the next 145 days, Castel documented seeing the entity four more times. In these descriptions he described seeing the entity consume five entire adult corpses in the space of two hours. The last time Castel saw the anomaly alive was the 20th of November, in a field near Maurepa, France. It was there, due to what he claimed was a momentary collapse of his mental state, that he shot and killed the entity. Castel took the corpse with him when he returned from the western front. Upon returning home, Castel sent the corpse to be taxidermized for aesthetic purposes. Upon receiving the corpse of this specimen, the taxidermist submitted the corpse to the University of Cambridge’s zoology department to have a case study written up. A SCP sleeper agent at the University contacted the Foundation as soon as the autopsy report for the entity was made public. After securing the entities corpse the Foundation implemented standard cover up procedures. Castel committed suicide shortly after he was amnesthetized. This suicide has been determined to be a side effect of his amnestic treatment and is completely unrelated to SCP-54XX.
Because the Foundation was not the one to conduct the initial autopsy, the anomalies corpse was kept under the Barnum protocol. It was housed in a Foundation warehouse in New Jersey with other unusual animal corpses until its reappearance in 1968.
Reappearance: On January 28th, 1968, SCP-54XX was sighted along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. The entity appeared to be tracking a reconnaissance unit of PAVN members and followed them for the majority of their deployment during the Tet offensive. Le Taun, a Foundation agent embedded within the group, notified his operations commander about its presence on February 18th of the same year. MTF Lambda-4 ("Birdwatchers") was dispatched to contain SCP-54XX, but failed to recover the entity. An interview was conducted with Le Taun following his extraction from Vietnam.
Interviewed: Agent Le Tuan
Interviewer: Agent William Johnson
<Begin Log, February 25, 1968. Time is 08:02>
Johnson: Agent Tuan, Welcome back. This interview will serve as your debriefing. Please take me through your first encounter with SCP-54XX.
Tuan: Gladly. The first time I saw SCP-54XX was on January 28th. I was leading a reconnaissance unit that was planting a couple minefields near the outskirts of Kontum. We were in the jungle at around midday when it first showed itself. It was perched on a branch of a tree that hung directly over the pathway.
It was easily the biggest bird I had ever seen, black as night except for its bright red fleshy head. It looked like the branch it was sitting on was going to snap under its weight. It definitely saw us, but it couldn't care less. We were able to walk right under it without it so much as moving.
Most of the members of my unit had spent our whole life in Northern Vietnam, and we had never seen anything like this before. In the end though, we ignored it. We had bigger things on our mind.
Johnson: And when did you see it next?
Tuan: I'm pretty sure I saw it a few more times over the next few weeks. Each time it was when it was my turn to be on night watch though, so my visibility was limited. Whenever it did show up it was always at the edge of my vision. How something so big managed to fly around in a jungle that dense I will never know. During the night though, your fears are magnified, so I figured it was some kind of bird that I was just blowing out of proportion.
Johnson: Did you ever see it move?
Tuan: Yeah. In the daylight no less. We had just finished setting up our final minefield and were eating lunch when we saw it waddling around the jungle floor like a goddamn penguin. It might have been cute if it didn't look so fucking creepy. The weird thing was it seemed like it knew the locations of all of our traps. It ended up walking to one of our incendiary mines and started using its beak to try to dig it back up. After a while it gave up though and ended up flying to a nearby branch where it just stared at us until we left. To be honest, its all kind of a blur. The only thing I remember clearly besides trying to get out of there as fast as I could was trying to kill it. Each one of us raised our guns the second it got away from our mines but for some reason not one of us could pull the trigger. The moment I took aim at the thing it was if the entire world melted away. I couldn't hear anything. My mouth tasted like blood and ash. I got a splitting headache and every fiber of my being told me to turn and run. So that's what I did. I think that feeling was mutual, because everyone else followed suit.
Johnson: Jesus. I imagine some of the less educated among your group thought the bird meant something, what did the Vietcong thi-
Tuan: The People's Army of Vietnam.
Johnson: Excuse me?
Tuan: Thats the second time you've called them Vietcong. The official title of the army is The People's Army of Vietnam.
Johnson: Ok…
Tuan: Or P.A.V.N. for short.
Johnson: Absolutely fascinating Taun, and while I would love to hear all about the linguistic complexities of the Vietcong, I am afraid we have more pressing matters to discuss. What did the "P.A.V.N" soldiers think about the anomaly?
Tuan: My boys ended up calling it Cái Bóng Của Tinh Thần, or Bóng for short. Most of them thought it was a sign from the jungle that what we had set up would have the desired effect. The others thought it was an angel of God and that's why it was so hard to look at.
Johnson: What does that name mean?
Tuan: The spirit's shadow.
Johnson: And when did you contact the Foundation?
Tuan: My group and I met up with our main force about a day later, and from their I was able to contact the Foundation. About two days after that, the containment team arrived and I started leading them to the minefield.
Johnson: And?
Tuan: About an hour before we reached the minefield we heard it trigger. The screams were louder than the actual explosion. It took about 30 minutes for them to stop. Then came the smell. Most people don't realize how bad death can smell. There was nothing left in our stomachs by the time we got to the burned out clearing. We had outdone ourselves. There were about a half dozen men wrapped around the few trees that were left standing. About 30 more had been smeared across the ground in a soft red paste. Appendages lay about the grass like stones, and whatever foliage that was still present was ablaze. There were only one person left alive. It was a kid… couldn't have been older than twenty, leaning up against the stump of a teak tree, calmly staring at the center of the clearing. Both he and the stump were on fire, half of his digestive tract was spilling out of his goddamn chest, and all he was doing was fucking staring. The only reason I knew he was alive was that when we entered he turned at us and blinked. Do you know what he was staring at? It was the bird. IT WAS THAT FUCKING BIRD.
Johnson: Agent Taun get a hold of yourself.
Tuan: You want to know what the bird was doing? It was devouring every single fleshy pulp it came across. Not eating. Devouring. It unhinged its beak like a goddamn snake and choked down everything whole. It walked in circles along the ground, moving in a sick rhythm. Unhinge, swallow, two steps, unhinge, swallow, two steps. It didn't care about the world burning around it. All it did was consume. The heat is what finally broke us out of our trance. Fire had nearly surrounded us, and we didn't have much time left. All the guys had those tranq guns you gave them. They took them out and pointed them at the thing but I could tell that they felt the same things I had felt. I heard them stop breathing, I heard them drop their guns, and then I heard them run. I couldn't move. I couldn't stop looking at it. I can still see it when I close my eyes. Unhinge, swallow, two steps. Unhinge, swallow, two steps…
Johnson: How did you get out of there?
(Agent Taun remains silent)
Johnson: Taun can you hear me??
Tuan: Yeah, sorry.
Johnson: How did you escape?
Tuan: …I just ran. I didn't stop until I got back to the extraction point. And now I'm here.
<End Log>
Agent Taun's request for amnestic treatment has been granted.
After reappearing, the entity was reclassified as to an SCP, and its corpse was immediately transported to the avian morgue in Site-64. A search of the area recovered three large feathers which were an identical genetic match to SCP-54XX's corpse. Access to these objects are restricted to personnel with a level-2 security clearance.
CRITICAL CONTAINMENT UPDATE: 03/19/2024, 13:30. SCP-54XX's tracking ticks have been detected outside Site-06-03. A Senior Researcher is being sent out to confirm the sighting, and Site Command has contacted MTF Lambda-4 in anticipation of visual confirmation.
SCP Tale
Culling Fates Discarded Souls
Prosperity during war is usually only reserved for arms dealers and mortuaries. Despite lacking both of those industries, a tiny village near the border of the Russian and Ottoman Empire had recently been gaining notoriety among refugees as an area of peace and stability. A welcoming place to reestablish one’s life after being displaced by the two nations’ ongoing and seemingly perpetual conflict. The Divine Coalition had sent three informants disguised as refugees to investigate the source of their prosperity. Only one of them made it out alive. He confirmed the coalition’s fears. The town was operating with the assistance of an unholy relic. An abomination of god and all things good and holy. An oblivion battalion was formed, and I was selected to be its commander. Our mission was to travel to the town and purge it of its sin. I had high hopes for the group to suffer minimal casualties.
We were able to find out quite a bit about the town. It was founded a little over a century ago and maintained a relatively small population. It mainly produced textiles and like most small towns it was mostly self-sustaining. The only thing that set it apart from the countless towns exactly like it was its incredibly sophisticated architecture and a well-made wall surrounding its perimeter. The surviving informant compared it to the best parts of Moscow compiled into a village of 400 people. Stone roads, several two-story buildings, gardens, glass windows and two churches each with stained glass windows were among its list of accomplishments.
The oblivion battalion consisted of just 20 members not including me. Each of us had three horses and highly sophisticated experimental weapons that we called needle guns. Unlike most rifles, the ammo in these ones came with their own self-contained cartridges. Firing these guns was a treat. They had been gifted to the coalition by divine means, though what these were I can not say. With these weapons we became angels of heaven. Dealing out divine retribution onto this unclean world. There was not fighting force in the world who could ever stop us.
The relic we were sent to contain was either a building or a being that inhabited the building. Our informant wasn’t able to gather as much information about it as the town itself. The villagers would open the gates to the refugees and shepherd them into a church near the gate entrances. Once everyone was inside, they would the church doors and place large stones in front of them so that they were impossible to open. The church would then morph and fold in on itself violently ripping out its foundations and crushing its walls and roof dust. Once the building was nothing more than a pile of rubble, it would violently begin to shake, and in mere moments it would revert to its original form, as if it had revered the flow of time for only itself. Once done, the door would open, what happened next, we do not know. Our spy fled before he could see the process finish.
Whether the town sourced its prosperity from this godless thing was of no relevance. They were in possession of an unholy relic, and they would be purged. I also never found out how the informant managed to get away, but that was also unimportant. I was leading my battalion at a comfortable trot; we had been riding for a fortnight along the main roads and were nearly at the town. It was midday when we finally were able to set our eyes on it. It sat atop a knoll and had a commanding view of the steppe. The one thing I was not able to see was their grain fields. I could only assume that the town had some sort of self-sufficiency which would hinder the effectiveness of a siege. We rode up just outside bow range and started preparing. Luckily for us, our enemy seemed out of touch with the current advancements that had been made in warfare over the past millennium. Our informant told us that the only guards he saw were clad in chainmail and carried longswords. They possessed the greatest tools of an era long passed. None of what they had could compare to the divine weapons we carried. After dismounting from our steeds, I ordered ten of my men to begin constructing a few trenches and to scout around the length of the wall. And the rest I ordered to begin to dig a mass grave where we would bury the corpses of the civilian’s bodies after securing our objective. While they were doing that, I decided to attempt a parley in an effort to avoid needless brutality. Before I could start walking toward the main gate, a small door hidden by a guard tower was opened and a man who I assumed was a monk stepped out and began to approach me. Not wanting to get any closer to the wall then I had to, I decided to let the monk come to me.
As the monk was dragging his withered corpse of a body towards me and my men, I began to take not of his appearance. I was shocked at his age. He was impossibly old. Long grey hair was wreathed through stitched holes in an oversized dark purple robe which was draped over his body. On the robe there were several symbolizes stitched in gold thread, none of which I recognized. His earlobes hung nearly to his shoulders, with more than a dozen earrings hanging from each one. His nose was long and droopy, looking more like the trunk of an elephant than anything a human would be born with. An elegant but greasy grey beard was wrapped around his neck akin to a scarf. The expression he wore told me he was incredibly dehydrated. In his left hand he held a walking stick, but despite his hunched appearance, it was clear he was not using it for support. Because of the way he carried himself, it was difficult to say how tall he really was, and the robe hid how much he weighed. Upon reaching my position, he prostrated himself in front of me and began weeping. I nudged him with the bayonet of my rifle to no effect.
“Sir?” I inquired
His sobbing continued, and in a voice muffled by dirt, tears, and hair he began to plead with me
“Spare us sir, please.”
I was stunned.
I looked at my second in command in total confusion. I decided that introductions might smooth things over enough to get some coherent sentences out of him. "Sir, I am a representative from the kingdom of God. Relinquish your unholy artifact and we shall leave you at peace."
We have no such thing! the monk fired back, looking up at me with eyes full of hate. We were given a divine boon for our sacrifice to the great lord. It is the source of our prosperity! you will not take it away!!!
I will not say this again sir, I hissed, barely hiding my contempt for the wretched creature, Abandon this place, never return. To not obey us would be in defiance of god.
The aged creature righted himself and began to push his body to a standing position. I knew better than to help him. Upon finally getting to his feet, he looked at me with eyes no longer filled with hatred, but seemingly empty of all emotions. What say you sir? I inquired, my gun now pointing directly at his chest. He was silent for a long while, and a snarl began to come from his throat. His staff and his eyes began to emit a faint purple hue. Six gunshots rang out from behind me and the ancient creature fell to the floor, dead.
A massive shriek erupted from inside the town. So horrible was its nature that it felt like an angel had died. The men digging the grave had the sense abandoned their task and rushed up to assist with the construction of the trench. Each of the men began desperately shoveling dirt in the hopes of finishing the trench before whatever made that noise came outside of the walls. The shrieking refused to stop, and it began to cause each of us a headache, including the town guards stationed at the wall. Even from this distance their discomfort was evident.
I got out my shovel and began digging with my men, only taking time off to order one of my men to lead our horses far down the road in case something went wrong. The horses seemed antsy to break away from our position to get reprieve from the horrific wailing. To go without a horse in this god forsaken land would be a more certain death than whatever awaited us on the other side of those walls.
Four hours later our trench was completed. The satanic noise refused to stop. We had all created improvised ear plugs made of grass and wax to try and deafen the wretched noise, which against all odds partially worked. We were exhausted, but relaxing was not an option. I sent some men to continue digging the grave, and to drag that old man’s body nearer to it. We held off throwing it into the hole so we could examine his heretical robes once we had finished the purge. It was imperative that we find out everything we could about the ways of these godless people so that we may prevent the spread of our wicked ways. Our scouts had returned with no new information besides the fact that the noise seemed to be originating nearer to the gate in front of us. By midnight, all of our preparations had been made, and we ate a light meal with jackets held over our heads. Sleep was nearly impossible, and we went into the next day exhausted and tense.
Morning arose and It seemed as though nothing changed. That hellish screech still reverberated in our skulls. There were no longer guards on the walls. It seemed as though the entire world had gone quiet in the presence of the nightmare wailing. After a brief debate with my second on what our next step would be, we decided to plant a retribution pin at the base of the wall. Of all of our magnificent blessed military advantages we had over everyone in the world, our explosives were certainly our most potent. We almost never got to use them because if we needed to keep something even remotely intact, we couldn’t risk it. I figured that since the unholy relic could revert itself back in time, we could afford to use them, although my second strongly disagreed. I ordered three of my men to set the explosives while the rest of us stood in our trenches on guard aiming our rifles the areas where key choke points would form after the explosive was activated. The retribution pins were set without incident, and the three men sprinted back towards us with the fuse trailing behind them and threw themselves into our glorified ditch. Still no movement. I gave the signal to light the fuse, and I heard flint strike steal. No movement, the fuse ignited, and I watched the spark move down the fuse inching closer and closer to its destination. No movement. I screamed one last order at my men. “LEAVE A FEW OF THEM ALIVE!” The spark neared the payload and the screech cut short and for two brutal seconds there was a deafening and unnatural silence. We took cover in our trench with our eyes squeezed shut and our hands placed over our ears in addition to our wax plugs. The spark reached its destination. The force of a divine wind ripped through the air and flattened the everything but the strongest and oldest of the trees from the explosive’s origin to the farthest horizons, the earth shook and felt as though it might be torn asunder. No matter how tightly one protected their ears the scream of fire could not be entirely shut out and left an untrained man dazed long after the explosive had been triggered. Tremendous heat radiated over us. A jet of fire reached up to the heavens and harsh white light destroyed all but the darkest of shadows. The smell of sulfur washed over us, and it was all one could do to keep from vomiting. The light would blind any man who was not wise enough to keep his eyes closed. And just like that it was over, and all that was left was the smoldering ashes of the towns wall and every standing building within it save three. The two churches, and the bell tower. We wasted no time; we vaulted over the trench with guns drawn and bayonets affixed.
We ran around the enormous craters which were left in place of the sites of the explosive charges and over the charred rubble that was once the wall. once we crossed the threshold of the perimeter of the town, we split into three groups, one for each building still standing. We were to take prisoners, but only important ones. My squad headed to the bell tower. All things considered it was in ok shape. It retained most of its from, although with the amount of foundation It was clearly missing it was obvious it would not stay so for long. We encountered a few maimed survivors buried beneath collapsed houses who we shot on our way to the tower. We made note of their location so we could come back and grab the bodies, also making sure to note the positions of all of the corpses we had to step over. We saw a young man attempting to crawl away from us. Not wanting to waste a bullet, I went up behind him and…
I shuddered awake. Those dreams had been happening more recently. Events that happened to me centuries ago surfacing in my subconscious and forcing me to relive them. I did not like contemplating my past, especially when it came to my time in the divine coalition and even more so when remembering all the things we had to do before the refinement of amnestics. The proto foundation saved the planet many times over, but its methods were barbaric. There was no price we were not willing to pay. The Foundation, on the other hand, is more civilized. The outlook on sacrifice, however, hasn’t changed. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and realized I had been crying and I was covered in sweat. A glance at my clock informed me it was four in the morning. The committee is having meeting today. A veteran site director is being looked over for a possible position on the O5 council and thus has been given full access to all SCP documentation. When he found out the exact details of 110-Montauk he conveyed an emergency meeting with the committee. Apparently, this guy has friends in high places. Almost every member is going to be present, despite the inevitable outcome. What a waste of time.
I was able to get to the meeting on time, which surprised everyone including myself. Of the 25 total members, 22 showed up. Reviewing these kinds of procedures usually is the only way we get this kind of turnout. A sat in my seat at the center of the massive horseshoe shaped table and grasped my gavel. Slamming it down on the table, I let my voice ring out for all to hear. “The date is January 18th, 2020. I hereby officially declare this meeting of the ethics committee to be in session.”
To the readers of this file:
Green=Good
Red=Bad
Grey=Temporal Proposition
Yellow=The Present
For the last 30 years I have specialized in the study and containment of temporal anomalies and paradoxes. This is by no means the most dangerous things I've worked with, but it is one of the most convoluted. For the sake of the reader, I have created this note and the attached flowchart in an attempt to succinctly sum up the entities powers, it's current place in the timeline, its life cycle, the temporal propositions that come with its existence, and where we all fit in this. Because of its presence during the containment breach on 03/20/2024, we now have a much better understanding on how this creature works.
The vulture possesses some sort of crude form of clairvoyance, and uses this ability to place itself at events which result in massive loss of human life as some kind of hunting mechanism. My team strongly believes that it is in no way related to these events, but instead just uses them as a convenient way to get access to what it wants. After the event has concluded, it swoops in to devour whatever corpses remain. Why it exhibits this behavior while lacking a stomach is still unknown. It also appears to be able to eat anything attached to its preferred corpse with no ill effects. This includes Kevlar, metal slags, chunks of concrete, and body modifications.
This vulture is a living breathing paradoxical bomb. Any new appearances of the anomaly are past versions of itself. Any kind of harm or permanent damage that would be caused to these past versions of the entity carries a risk of infinite proportion that would result in the complete destruction of the universe. Luckily for us, it seems like there is some sort of failsafe attached to its existence, as evidenced by Tuan's testimony. If its life is put in jeopardy, it is as though the universe itself provides a kind of protection to the entity, Causing visions, paralyzing fear, and perhaps worse in a would be attacker. Despite the consequence of its broken time loop being unknowable, we must prepare to prevent the worst possible outcome.
Our plan, in a sense, is to capture the anomaly, make sure it doesn't die during its transportation, and keep it in a nice home where it gets plenty of food and water with a thousand contingencies for its escape should its safety ever be called into question. The good news is we know we will eventually be successful in this endeavor. The bad news is we will never be able to know when SCP-54XX eventually closes its own time loop, and the Foundation must remain vigilant for its reappearance for as long as we exist. Its life cycle and each of its possible temporal scenarios are highlighted within the flowchart. Commit it to memory.
As it stands now, SCP-54XX is currently detached from our current timeline, but it won't remain that way forever. Preordained points in time dictate its inevitable reappearance.
I will be the first to admit that our understanding of paradoxes is not perfect. It is possible that its preordained death created a fixed point in time, and fate will not allow it to be destroyed. As result we are wasting an extraordinary amount of resources on something we have not control over, but we can not take that chance.
Keep your eyes open for the spirit's shadow, the fate of our universe may depend on it.
[DESCRIPTION OF EVENT REMOVED DO TO PRESENCE OF COGNITO HAZARD]
PRIORITY UPDATE: Following the containment breach on 03/20/2024 SCP-54XX's research team size was quadrupled and was reclassified as a critical containment team, with more emphasis on devising a method for containment of the entity. Alongside this, Site Director Edgar Holmes submitted Proposal AJ-051, codenamed "The Slaughter Pact." This Proposal involves staging several false flag operations centered around large population centers across the planet in the hopes that the anomaly will show up either before or during the attacks. Due to the risk of accidentally triggering the anomalies paradox, the proposal has been rejected by the O5 council.
It is believed that the events of 03/20/2024 were caused by a humanoid SCP unrelated to SCP-54XX
[[collapsible show="+ Note from Head Researcher Mike Richardson" hide="- Note from Head Researcher Mike Richardson"]]
Transcript of the crisis meeting following the Site-06 containment breach
<Begin Log, March 23, 2024. Time is 02:09>
How the hell are we supposed to figure out what's going on when we're still not entirely clear on what the hell happened.
I'm not sure but I don't think that matters at this point
So then why are we here?
We have to figure out what the fuck the bird is doing there.
I read its file on the way over here, can we get Taun over here for nestic treatment?
He died a few years ago
What about the containment team?
We're trying to find the documentation for that deployment. It never got attached to the skips file and from the looks of it the file might not have been digitized yet
How long it take to find it?
That's a good question.
So all we have to go on is the interview?
Seems that way.
So lets break it down. We get its corpse in 1917, store it and consider it case closed. it shows up in '68. It triggers tracking ticks 3 years ago, and it showed up again last week. What do you make of that?
So if its behavior is any indication, it seems to be a prophet.
But if that was its only problem, the higher ups would have assembled a different team.
We are here because the things already dead. Its existence is now a paradox.
Does its anchor pointed death make it nigh invincible?
It seems like there's some sort of fail safe attached to it
The Barnum Protocol
History: The SCP Foundation's "Barnum" protocol was created after the American based branch of the Foundation raided Barnum's American Museum, an establishment owned by Phineas Taylor Barnum in 1842. The Foundation believed that several objects contained within the museum were anomalous in nature, so Mr. Barnum and his associates were detained and any suspicious exhibits were confiscated before the museum's official opening.
The items confiscated were mainly taxidermized animal hybrids, the most notable of which was the Fiji Mermaid. However, once testing on the items began, they were all found to be non-anomalous. The raid cost the Foundation a significant amount of time and recourses. These losses were critical as the Foundation was still relatively new and its access to trained personal were especially limited. The exhibits were returned, Barnum and his employees were released, and standard cover up procedures were conducted.
In response to the raid's failure, the Barnum protocol was established. This protocol aims to reduce Foundation expenditure in responding to potential hoax anomalies.
The Barnum Protocol: Should the Foundation be alerted of a potential anomalous object exhibited as an attraction in a public setting, the Foundation will send one undercover agent familiar in card tricks, optical illusions, and sleight of hand to perform a risk assessment.
- If the object is clearly a hoax, the Foundation will document its existence with a short description of the hoax. No further action is required
- If the object is of no consequence now but may have at one point held anomalous properties, the item will be confiscated, documented, and placed in a warehouse in Secaucus, New Jersey. The confiscated item will be replaced with a replica if it's potential absence is deemed significant.
- If the object is obviously anomalous in nature, standard containment procedures will be implemented.
For a list of items currently held at the Secaucus warehouse, please contact Dr. Carl Seely.
Prologue:
Brandon's heartbeat roared in his ears as he swung the door to his interrogation room open. He was painfully aware that there was a chance he would be robbed of his memory when he left this place. However the true extent to which this would be done remained a mystery to him, one which had been tormenting him ever since he had been recovered. With a deep breath, he strode in. The space was not much bigger than his first dorm room, yet it somehow it managed to be more unsettling. A sickening florescent light illuminated a solitary metal chair and table, both of which had been bolted to a tiled floor. Standing next to them stood a tall suited figure obscured in shadow. It's eyes met Brandon's briefly, before focusing on the doorway behind him. A small nod summoned it shut. The figure then stepped towards him allowing light to illuminate his features. Brandon supposed that in his prime, the man standing before him would have been a giant, but it was clear that time had not been kind to him. His posture was atrocious. Thick weathered skin was drawn tight everywhere it was visible. Deep lines of age stretched across the skin of his face not obstructed with bright white hair. He wore a full beard which had gone some time without grooming. Bushy eyebrows nearly obstructed his eyes. His hair was short, messy, and seemed to have been cut by his own hand. In all his years of knowing Thomas, Brandon had never figured out how old the man actually was. All he knew was that he had looked like this since he met him and that the man did not act his own age, whatever that may have been.
"Good to see you, Lakeview" Thomas said in a clear baritone voice, shattering the tenseness that had manifested itself around Brandon the past two weeks. He outstretched a withered hand, and motioned towards the chair.
"Hilarious." Brandon muttered, sitting down with a small groan.
"I always try to be. I find that everything gets easier if you can manage a chuckle."
"You should tell your coworkers."
"How's the arm?"
At its mention Brandon instinctively touched the sling his shredded appendage was suspended in. Brandon was a stout man, and years of outdoor work had made him a powerfully built one. His arm muscles used to be as strong as iron and as thick as tree trunks. While his left arm still carried that distinction, his right was now a shadow of its former self. It had shrunk to almost half its former size. A thick cast hid how extensive the surgical and animal scars that covered the remaining skin "It hurts, but I've been told I get to keep it, which is nice."
"Hell yeah! Congrats Man!"
"Bad news is that they won't give me any morphine. Are you holding?"
"There's at least 15 recording devices monitoring this room. Be more careful on how you speak."
"That wasn't a no."
"Tell you what, if you behave yourself, I'll see what I can do."
"You've got yourself a fucking deal."
"Good!" Exclaimed Thomas. His face then grew more grim, and lowered the cadence of his voice. "Ready to begin debriefing?"
"Interesting, I walked in here thinking that this was an interrogation."
"It can be both, in fact it often is. We are nothing if not thorough. "
"You'll forgive me for not having as much confidence in that as I used to."
"Well let me see if I can restore some. Please state your name, agent number, and the events that led to your injury and the destruction of the Clearwater animal rescue facility."
Chapter 1:
Kyle maneuvered his way through stacks of papers lining the floor in the cramped control office held in the back of the Clearwater animal rescue center. A concerned expression was written across his boney face and his forehead was damp with sweat.
Kyle cleared his throat. "Hey Brandon?"
"What's up?" Brandon was sitting at a desk in the far corner of the room. He had not looked up from his book when Kyle had entered and meant to keep it that way.
"Your brother picked up the family of raccoons that were causing all that damage down at Parkside right?"
"Yeah."
"What happened to them?"
"Mark dropped them off here last night and I'm gonna release them into the state park at noon today."
"So where are they?"
"Dude, it's only 10, I said I would do it."
"No I mean they aren't where your brother said they were."
"Well he must have put them somewhere else then, just call him and ask."
"I don't have his number."
"How? You've been here for like two years."
"Its actually been five. Quit reading that shitty paperback and call him."
"One sec."
"Now Brandon."
"Fine."
Brandon set his book down on the desk with a sigh and started rooting through the many pockets of his cargo shorts for his phone. He eventually found his beat up blackberry in a pocket with far too many sets of keys and called his raccoon wrangling sibling.
After a few rings Mark managed to pick up. "What's up?"
"Where did you end up housing the raccoons you picked up?" asked Brandon in a disinterested voice.
"I stored them in some dog kennels in our holding room."
"Ok."
Brandon hung up the phone.
"They're in the holding room" said Brandon, reaching again for his book.
"Dude. Focus."
"What's up?"
"I was just in there. There are no raccoons."
"Check again, you probably missed them." Brandon book had been reopened.
"Do you think I don't know what a raccoon is?"
"Just check again. If it makes you happy I'll scrub through the security footage quick."
Kyle stormed out of the office towards the holding room at the other end of the facility. He had learned it was better to placate Brandon then argue with him. The man's apathetic nature was legendary.
Brandon set down his book with another huff and booted up the the computer. He pulled up the security camera footage from the previous night and began fast forwarding through the tape. Seven seconds into reviewing the footage, he was violently searching his cargo shorts for a flash-drive with his left hand and his right was franticly dialing a number into his phone.
A soft flowery voice began speaking from the other end of the line. "The number you are dialing is no long-"
"UNIFORM BRAVO LIMA ZERO EIGHT SEVEN!"
The line redirected and moments later an stern voice answered. "Go."
"Anomalous activity at Clearview animal control approximately eight hours ago. Escaped from the property and its current whereabouts are unknown. It has the appearance of a raccoon."
"Civilian exposure?"
"Can only confirm one."
"A field agent will be at your location momentarily." The line went dead. Brandon worked fast. Very quickly he backed up all the footage onto a large black flash-drive he had mashed into the desktop. Once the files were safely stored, he quickly shoved the flash-drive back in his shorts and then ripped the computer out from under the desk. After looking around the room for an object suitable enough to permanently decommission the machine. It became apparent that harnessing gravity would do the most damage, and he quickly threw the computer as hard as he could at the tile floor. The frame shattered, but it was clear that not enough damage had been done. After a few more enthusiastic throws he rammed open the top drawer of the desk and pulled out the large thermos that helped facilitate his caffeine addiction and began to poor its contents on the internal workings of the machine. After dousing some of the more important looking parts he began yanking bits of machine out and throwing them against the wall. Kyle returned, and upon seeing what was happening was frozen with rage.
After a few seconds of awkward eye contact Kyle broke himself from his trance. "Brandon, what the hell!" Kyle roared
"What's up?" Brandon replied, as casually as he could muster.
"What in the holy fuck are you doing?" he said stepping forward in an attempt to halt the bizarre act of destruction taking place in front of him
"Calm down Kyle, this will all make sense in a second."
Judging the computer to be sufficiently annihilated, Brandon dropped the and began slowly making his way towards Kyle with a somber look on his face.
"Kyle I have some bad news."
"What?! What the actual Fu-" Kyle was stopped short by Brandon's fist connecting with the side of Kyle's head. Kyle's body went limp and he collapsed, toppling several stacks of paper on his way down to the floor. Brandon clutched his hand in pain. After checking to make sure he hadn't killed him, Brandon fished out his phone and redialed Mark.
"What's up?" Mark said casually.
"I need you back at the center, bring some ice."
End of Part 1
Part 2
Willard swerved into to the Clearview parking lot on a motorbike that he was at least 30 years too old for. Brandon was sitting outside waiting for him.
Long time no see Brandon my boy
I cleared everyone out but we are gonna have to amnestitize Kyle.
Jesus, what happened to him?
I kind of panicked.
Ah.
How did he manage to beat the foundation getting here?
I was close by checking out a lead on some wild looking caterpillars when base command let me know that you needed some help. what are we dealing with?
Some kind of anomaly that you probably wont be able to keep to be honest.
As long as its safe I don't really care.
Good, said Brandon, clumsily taking out a flask from his back pocket and taking a healthy swig.
Jesus, are you already drunk?
I think I might have fractured Kyles skull.
Shit, that's gotta suck. Don't worry, the Foundation will fix him right up.
I'm just worried that I'm gonna be reprimanded for using excessive force.
Willard handed him a water bottle from the back of his bike. Worry about that later, and drink up. You need to be as sober as possible when the containment team gets here
Per 
