If you are not certain that the audience will like your draft, consider getting the basic concept reviewed and polished up in the 
- blank
- Oh, I Wouldn't Worry About Flaky-Os
- The Elephant Man
- Occult Escapologist
- OCT tales
- Sleepy Clapper
- Slice of Life
- SmartHex
- Text Message in a Bottle
- The Juice Is Loose
- Bee Mine
UwU
"Oh my god, this place has cornflakes made from imaginary corn!" Lolly said as she excitedly read the menu for Ambrose. "I've only ever had imaginary corn in Oneiroi! The only place it grows in reality is that crazy nexus in the South West. I'm going to get a bowl of that, preferably frosted but if not just give me a fistful of sugar packets. Do you also have drinks made with high fructose imaginary corn syrup? I'll take a glass of that too. And Nutella on toast!"
Chaz Ambrose nodded in the affirmative to their waiter, who promptly left to fetch their VIP guests their meals.
The Ambrose restaurant had a casual, intimate feel to it. Its walls and carpets were warm reds and golds, its wooden tables draped in linen cloths, and the ambient lighting was provided by spectral flames burning over silver candlestick holders with nary a candlestick to be found. The decor was by no means unreasonably expensive, but it was expensive enough for the restaurant's owner to be more than a little concerned by the presence of a hyperactive and unpredictable reality bender.
"Icky, as delightful as your beloved is, when I invited you and your partner here to discuss business over brunch, I was referring to your business partner," Chaz said awkwardly in his refined though possibly fake British accent. "Was that not understood, or…?"
"No, I got what you meant," Icky smiled, sipping from her glass of luminescent orange juice which Ambrose claimed was actually liquid sunshine. "The Circus is a just a tad chaotic, so Manny and I prefer that there's at least one of us there as much as possible. Manny doesn't care much about this sort of thing anyway, so there was no sense in him coming. You don't mind me taking advantage of your hospitality to pamper my playmate a little, do you?"
Chaz glanced at Lolly, who was slightly bouncing in her seat and looked like she might start bouncing off the walls at any second.
"No, so long as she doesn't interfere with our bargaining, we shouldn't have a problem," he said with a hint of uncertainty. "Anyway, I suppose I should get started. As you can tell by our menu, my restaurant is centered around anomalous cuisine. When I opened the first Ambrose in Three Portlands, my goal was to essentially create a more accessible, more affordable version of MC&D's Pretty Penny's. Have you ever eaten at a Pretty Penny's?"
"A while back. I'm not a member, so I can't get a reservation myself, but Burgess - our old MC&D rep - used to like to have business lunches with us there."
"Oh, it's an amazing experience. I almost got a job as a chef there once. Almost. That's why I'm here now. Unfortunately there's nothing on my menu that compares to Kaiju Caviar but -"
"Oh! We know a ship of Wanderers that hunts Kaiju," Lolly told him. "If you wanted, we could arrange a meeting between you and they could get you some Kaiju eggs."
Chaz looked to Icky to see if she was telling the truth.
"Glad I brought her now, aren't you?" she asked with a satisfied smile.
"That's, ah - we can circle back to that. The reason I asked you here is because we pride ourselves on offering the best selection of magical foodstuffs the anomalous community has to offer, and I've heard very good things about your black cotton candy."
"Oh my god, literally the first thing I did my first day at the Circus was eat the cotton candy!" Lolly said. "It doesn't just taste better than regular cotton candy, it tickles your insides and the sugar in it sparkles like stars in the night sky, it's so pretty! That's why you should call it midnight cotton candy. Midnight makes it sound all sophisticated, so it will sell better."
"So you are interested in franchising it to us?" he asked hopefully.
"We recently started ultra-pasteurizing our Clown Milk, and we still haven't figured out what to do with all the surplus," Icky nodded. "So long as your customers aren't opposed to Bozomorphic byproducts, we're open to selling it to retailers. We can either make the cotton candy ourselves and send it to you, or we can sell you the Clown's Milk and you can make it yourselves. The Milk by itself would take up less shelf space, but it is deadly to vanilla humans in its pure form. You'd have to be very careful with it, and make sure the person operating the cotton candy machine knows what they're doing."
"Hmm. I think I'd rather have overstocked shelves than a lethal liability lying around. I'll take it pre-bagged."
"Good call. We can sell you one ounce bags for two dollars a piece. If you mark it up over six dollars we'll be upping the wholesale price in kind. How you present it is up to you, but I want the menu listing to mention it's exclusively available from the Circus of the Disquieting, the greatest show in all the worlds." She paused for a moment to sip her liquid sunshine. "While I'm here, are you interested in renting some advertising space at our Circus? For only a few grand a year, you can have a pretermemetically targeted 3 foot by 8 foot ad over our bleachers."
"I'd be very interested in that, but I do have some further questions regarding the cotton candy," Chaz replied. "You see, I've done my due diligence on it, and it seems it does a bit more than just tickle your insides. It has some neuro-modulating properties as well, does it not?"
"Neuro-module-what now?" Lolly asked.
"He means mind control, and where on earth did you hear that?" Icky demanded.
"In its SCP file, which I obtained from a pirated copy of the Foundation's database. They've conducted quite extensive experiments with the stuff."
"Arghhh. I can't believe a cotton candy machine we lost twenty years ago is still causing trouble," Icky groaned. "Alright, yes, it is a programmable psychoactive substance. Why would that interest you though?"
"I assure you, I have no nefarious intentions for it," Chaz swore. "You see, I'm wanting to open a restaurant outside of the free ports. The mundane market is at least a hundred times the size of the anomalous one, but of course if I open up an anomalous restaurant in a mundane location I'll be shut down by the Foundation or the Coalition."
"Please don't mention the Geo Sea. It messes with my head," Lolly said.
"I understand, and I apologize. My point is that you perform for mundane audiences all the time, and most of them never suspect a thing. You're rarely ever even detected by hostile forces, and on the rare occasion you are you always manage to pull out before they can intercept you. The affects of the cotton candy is at least partially responsible for that, isn't it?"
Icky gave a reluctant nod.
"And you want to use it to keep your own business under the Humdrum authorities' radar?"
"And nothing else. Swear to God. I just want to do what you do; let ordinary people sneak a peek behind the Veil."
Icky mulled over the proposition, and glanced over at Lolly.
"What do you think darling?"
"I like this place, and I like breaking the dumb Masquerade as much as we can," she replied. "I think we should do it. We can help Humdrums eat magical food, stick it to the Foundation, and make money all at the same time."
Icky nodded in agreement.
"Okay, we can go over programming in some mind affecting properties and the corresponding music, but that is going to double the price," she told Chaz.
"That's more that acceptable Icky. Thank you."
The waiter returned with their brunches: a plate of french toast made from WonderwheatTM for Icky, a Hobbitish looking plate the menu called 'second breakfast' for Chaz, and of course Lolly's bowl of imaginary cornflakes.
"They are frosted! Awesome!" she said as she shoveled a spoonful into her mouth. She began vibrating with joy, and then shot off into the air at high speed. She bounced off the ceiling and walls like a rubber ball without ever hitting anything or anyone, and then landed back in her seat with a contented sigh.
Icky just smiled at the outburst, but Chaz - after getting back up from taking cover underneath the table - was staring at her in disbelief.
"Is that going to happen after every bite?" he asked. She smirked and scooped up another spoonful of the cereal.
"Only one way to find out!"
Item #: SCP-44xx
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-44xx is to be kept in a standard low-security residential containment chamber at Site-66. In addition to its rations (which are to be under 3000 calories a day and include foods high in vitamin C and low-fat dairy products), SCP-44xx is to receive daily medication for gout and metabolic syndrome.
SCP-44xx is to have access to both a cane and a walker with a built-in seat capable of supporting at least 130 kg to aid it in movement about its containment wing. When transporting SCP-44xx outside of its containment wing, it is to be placed in a wheelchair, gurney, or similar device as SCP-44xx is unable to walk even moderate distances.
Description: SCP-44xx is an elderly, obese human male of African ancestry, exhibiting numerous elephantine traits. Most prominently, its nose and upper lip have been fused together and extended to a length of 30 cm, forming a semi-prehensile proboscis. This proboscis has had four ivory valves surgically installed on its upper portion, allowing SCP-44xx to produce music from it in a matter similar to a brass instrument.
Additionally, SCP-44xx possesses flappable ears over four times larger than average, modified upper canines the grow outwards in a manner similar to tusks, and a grey pallor to its skin. SCP-44xx suffers from gout, most notably in its lower extremities that have become enlarged to the point of resembling the feet of an elephant. This greatly restricts SCP-44xx's mobility, and is a contributing factor in its obesity.
Recovery: SCP-44xx was originally recovered after it was arrested for panhandling in downtown St. Louis, USA, with the Foundation being made aware of its presence through standard monitoring of law enforcement agencies for potential anomalies. SCP-44xx was transferred to Site-66 and Class A amnestics were administered to all relevant parties.
Entry Interview for SCP-44xx:
Interviewer: Dr. Simon Crossley
<Begin Log>
Dr. Crossley: Good afternoon, SCP-44xx, and welcome to Site-66. I'm Dr. Crossley, and I'll be conducting both your initial interview and medical exam. Let's see, my boss gave me a list of questions I'm supposed to ask you -
SCP-44xx: Is the first one why do I look like an elephant?
Dr. Crossley: Ah, it's worded a bit more generically than that, but yes. How long has your anomaly been present? Since birth?
SCP-44xx: No, I was born as normal as normal can be. This here was done to me, a long time ago. It's not a prospect I relish contemplating, but if you need to hear it I suppose I don't have a choice.
Dr. Crossley: I'm all ears. (SCP-44xx glares at Dr. Crossley for several seconds) Ah, my apologies. I'm not supposed to antagonize you unnecessarily. Please, tell me what happened to you?
SCP-44xx: Ever hear of Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting?
Dr. Crossley: I'm afraid I haven't.
SCP-44xx: There are days I wish I'd never heard of it either. Fuller hired me as a labourer when I was still young and the Circus even younger. Despite all the weird exhibits Fuller had, life was pretty normal for me. That all changed when he heard of Joseph Merrick, the Elephant Man. He takes one good look at the photo in the newspaper and says 'Why, he barely looks like an elephant at all! I can do better than that!'.
Dr. Crossley: Pardon the interruption, but I would just like to clarify something. Are you implying this happened in the 1880's?
SCP-44xx: I suppose I am.
Dr. Crossley: How old are you?
SCP-44xx: That depends on what world you're counting from, I suppose, but either way I'm older than I should be. One of many dubious gifts bestowed upon me by the illustrious Herman Fuller.
Dr. Crossley: That's interesting. I'm sorry, please continue.
SCP-44xx: Fuller had a couple of his goons drag me into the Ringmaster's tent and strap me down to an operating table. I struggled and screamed as hard as I could, but it didn't matter. Fuller just smiled at me and said 'Don't worry my boy, I'm going to make you a star!'. Somehow, he was able to mould the flesh on my face like it was clay. Said something about it being an old family secret. He squeezed my lip and nose together and pulled them out into a foot-long trunk. Hurt like hell, though not as much as when he used the hand-drill to put these valves in my nose. He stretched my ears out too, but that didn't hurt as much. Then he changed my skin from black to grey and declared me a success.
Dr. Crossley: That's - I mean, what about your other anomalies?
SCP-44xx: I take it you mean my tusks and feet? Yeah, that was more gradual. The tusks just grew, I kept putting on weight and I came down with the gout. Fuller not only mutilated me, he hobbled me, rendered me incapable of earning a living as anything other than a Freak, his Freak, all so that he could have an attraction that outshone Joseph Merrick. Spent the rest of my life in the Den of Freaks. I played music with my trunk, drew paintings with it, stuff like that. I've travelled all over the worlds, yet hardly ever saw anything outside the Circus.
Dr. Crossley: How did you escape?SCP-44xx: I didn't. They let me go. Seems like wishful thinking to say that Fuller's dead, but he's not running the Circus any more. His successors are determined to make the Circus a better place, and said any of us that wanted to go was free to do so. Most stayed, since they had nowhere else to go. I didn't have anywhere to go either, but I still left. Now, given the state of things I admit that may not have been the wisest decision, but I did it anyway. Because I could. After having to do what I was told for so long, I wanted to do something just because I could. They said the Essie P would nab me before long, and I didn't really doubt you would, but it was nice to have that brief period when I was free.
Dr. Crossley: Well, it sounds like you've had a rough and unusual life. I think you covered all my basic questions, so we can move onto the medical exam now. Have you ever seen a real doctor about your condition before?
SCP-44xx: Does a quack who got his degree from a literal Clown College count?
Dr. Crossley: (chuckles) Only if that Clown College was accredited by a National Education Board of some kind.
SCP-44xxx: …Then yes.
<End Log>
Item #: SCP-4114
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: Each time SCP-4114 surrenders itself to Foundation custody, it is to be placed within a customized Level-6 Full Body Restraint with incorporated anti-thaumatological and reality anchoring countermeasures, held within a maximum security humanoid containment cell, and kept sedated when not needed for interviews or testing. SCP-4114 is to be affixed with a GPS locator as well as subjected to uninterrupted video surveillance so that it may be studied up until it breaches containment.
Guards assigned to retrieval or containment of SCP-4114 are instructed to use minimal force as much as is feasible, and tests must be minimally invasive, as SCP-4114 will breach containment immediately upon believing itself to be in mortal danger.
Description: SCP-4114 appears to be a young woman of Vietnamese descent, and is a self-professed 'Occult Escapologist'. In addition to extreme flexibility, SCP-4114 has demonstrated the ability to contort its body into anatomically impossible configurations in order to escape from restraints, without suffering any pain or injury.
Observed physical anomalies include:
- Stretching both hard and soft tissue by over 100%
- Compressing its body to a thickness of less than 3 millimeters
- Detaching and reattaching bones at will
- All joints capable of rotating 360 degrees
- Fully prehensile feet
- The ability to generate sufficient Van der Waals forces in its hands and feet to allow it to scale vertical surfaces
- Brief bursts of superhuman strength, beyond which its muscle mass should be capable of providing or its bones capable of enduring without fracture
Additionally, SCP-4114 demonstrates an anomalous expertise in disabling both physical and electronic locks, including a degree of probability manipulation. Locks, alarms, and security cameras have all suffered disabling glitches at inopportune times when in the presence of SCP-4114.
When remaining relatively still and silent, SCP-4114 possesses a mild antimemetic effect, and can go unnoticed so long as it does not draw attention to itself. This applies to both human observers and surveillance algorithms. SCP-4114 has also proven to be adept at pick-pocketing and manipulating personnel assigned to it, though it has yet to be proven that this is anomalous in nature.
All attached or implanted tracking devices fail after SCP-4114 has left the general proximity of its containment site. SCP-4114 has managed to successfully breach containment ██ times, even when containment procedures were theoretically invulnerable to all its observed anomalous abilities. This has lead researchers to speculate that SCP-4114 still has unknown anomalous properties, such as short-range teleportation or an ability to phase through solid matter, but this remains unconfirmed.
Research regarding SCP-4114 is to focus primarily upon developing more effective containment and tracking procedures.
To date, SCP-4114 has always been recovered by MTF Kappa-14 "AH! Sideshow Bob!" during their investigations of GoI-233 activity. SCP-4114 has always willingly surrendered itself to Foundation custody, and has often been found waiting expectantly.
Latest Interview with SCP-4114, transcribed from MTF Kappa-14 Commander's bodycam:
Interviewer: Kappa-14 Commander
Interviewee: SCP-4114
<Begin Log>
[MTF Kappa-14 reaches the Chattanooga Fairgrounds, where SCP-4114 is in a straightjacket and hung upside down over a lit brazier]
SCP-4114: It's about time you guys got here. It's not nice to keep your cutest Keter waiting.
Kappa-14 Commander: SCP-4114. Pleasure as always.
SCP-4114: Come on Chad, this isn't an official interview. You can call me Tien.
Kappa-14 Commander: That's Commander Chadwick to you, and this is an official interview. Brass ordered me to grill you as soon as we find you, since we never know when you're going to pull a Houdini.
SCP-4114: You're not even going to help me down first?
Kappa-14 Commander: No, you're fine. First question: Are you providing the Circus of the Disquieting with intelligence regarding the Foundation?
SCP-4114: I haven't the slightest idea what you could be talking about.
Kappa-14 Commander: So why do you keep letting us capture you, only to run back to them?
SCP-4114: I gotta work. I love the challenge of breaking out of your Keter cages, but that's not going to pay off my student loans.
Kappa-14 Commander: I have no reason to believe you, and given the futility of containment it seems like taking you in is an unacceptable risk.
SCP-4114: If I was after intel, then I would just use my skills to break in on my own, grab what I want, and get back without you ever realizing it. When I was a teenager, I actually started out as a burglar. Until Manny just appeared during the middle of a robbery, offering to help me hone my skills and become a world-class escape artist. He's weird like that. Cut me down so you can tie me up again.
Kappa-14 Commander: No. If you're not bringing them info, then why do they keep taking you back in? Surely it's occurred to them that you might be a double agent for us.
SCP-4114: (laughs) They know exactly how good of an escape artist I am. They don't find it suspicious that I keep busting out, and they don't mind since the more resources you waste on me, the less you have to hunt down and lock up other Freaks. Besides, if I was a double agent, Manny would - well…
Kappa-14 Commander: Manny would just know, somehow?
SCP-4114: Like, I said, he's weird. Oh, is that my full body restraint in the unmarked white van? Oh, please put me in it! Please please please please please please please?
Kappa-14 Commander: How dare you tie up Foundation resources just to satisfy your own bondage fetish!
SCP-4114: Don't kink-shame me! Especially you Chad. How many protocol violations have we racked up when I was 'tying up Foundation resources'?
Kappa-14 Commander: Zero. I didn't get to where I am by sticking it to scips.
SCP-4114: No, you got there by not getting caught. Come on, stick me into that body restraint and we'll have some fun. The safe word is 'consult an alchemist'.
Kappa-14 Commander: That's three words. Look, if you want to be taken into containment, you've got to make it worth our while. Either stick around long enough for us to do some tests or give us some actionable intelligence on the Circus. Otherwise, I'm going to leave you here.
SCP-4114: You know what I think? I think the Foundation is just embarrassed that you can't keep me locked up. I've sneaked a look at my own file you know. You blacked out how many times I escaped? How is that sensitive information? Or is it just information you're sensitive about?
Kappa-14 Commander: We're done here.
[Kappa-14 Commander turns to leave]
SCP-4114: Chad, come on! You are not just going to leave a Keter class anomaly uncontained for anyone to see. Look, I can't promise I'll stick around too long. I got a job and friends and a boyfriend who doesn't leave a girl unsatisfied like you do back at the Circus. But if you take me in, I can tell you some stuff about them. Nothing compromising, but stuff that might be academically interesting. Did you know that there are several distinct types of Clowns, only two of which need to drink Milk? Fascinating, no?Kappa-14 Commander: (sighs) Alright, cut her down and put her in the restraint. But Tien, I'm warning you, any more bullshit and this is the last time we're taking you in.
[SCP-4114 effortlessly escapes from its straightjacket and lands with one foot on each side of the brazier, then backflips through the air to the ground]
SCP-4114: I want to be blindfolded this time! No, not just blindfolded, but the most secure blinding goggles you have. Really make it a challenge for me!
Kappa-14 Commander: Gag her too while you're at it!
[SCP-4114 shudders in apparent arousal]
<End Log>Notes: After providing interviewers with inconsequential and unfalsifiable information regarding GoI-233 (with a disproportionate focus on the sexual preferences and activities of GoI-233 members) SCP-4114 was sedated within its restraint and placed within a maximum security cell. Approximately 90 minutes later, despite its heavy sedation, SCP-4114 escaped during an episode of somnambulism.
"Delivery, Spicy Crust Pizzeria!" Tyrone said as he pounded on the home's front door. He didn't usually do deliveries, but their regular driver had called in sick. If it had been up to Tyrone, he would have told the driver to suck it up, but the Foundation was extremely strict about its fronts following all applicable health and labour regulations so as to avoid attracting any unwanted attention.
The house Tyrone had been sent to was just on the edge of their delivery radius, and in a depopulated neighborhood that was depressingly run-down and uncannily quiet. All he could hear was the buzzing of insects. "Are those Cicadas? Didn't know they were out this year."
The door creaked opened, revealing a middle-aged man with eyes that sat abnormally still in their sockets.
"Cousin Johnny? Good to see you man, I didn't know you were living out here," Tyrone greeted enthusiastically.
Hold up, I don't know this guy. Why'd I call him Cousin Johnny?
"Turn crumpet anvil pie, Orville meek come coin?" the man said in an emotionless monotone.
"What are you talking about? This is a sweet set up you got here. I would've brought a gift if I had known," Tyrone replied.
Wait, he didn't actually say anything, did he?
"Anyway, I got your pizzas here. You having a party or something?"
"Narrow glue pascal row. Furnace did hiccup bets for singing window," the man said as he gestured towards a dozen or so people gathered in the living area.
"Oh, you're doing a celebration of life kind of thing? With pizza? I mean, it's good pizza, but I'd personally go for something a little classier, like those little triangle sandwich platters. I'm sorry, I don't mean any disrespect, you just caught me off guard. My condolences for your loss. Anyone I knew?"
"Turmoil jelly branch oil monolith. Query off said honor pick nettle very."
"Still, I feel for you."
Okay, something's up. That damn corncrake made more sense than this guy.
"Sorry, you probably want to get back to your guests. I won't keep you with a bunch of platitudes I'm sure you've heard a dozen times today already. Your pizzas are going to be $63.30. How are you paying?"
"Yellow fix heckle plumb inlet," the man said as he handed Tyrone a hundred dollar bill. "Cheery deluxe, summer little offshore Myanmar?"
"I'm flattered, but I got to get back to the Pizzeria. Ever since they jumped on the fifteen-dollar minimum wage bandwagon they've been a hell of lot stricter about us not slacking off. And someone's got to deliver these things, you know?"
"Lilac coincidence try, fire gander onyx pea?"
"It's tempting, but I still don't think my supervisor would go for it."
"Pisces gravel en suite fume twins?"
"Well if it was a life or death scenario, sure, but the guy's already dead, so that's not going to fly."
"Alley box gym kite pill fly?"
"Even if you pay him my time, no. Rules are rules."
"Hiram neat go vile when tuck?"
"What can I say, man? Better off scrubbing doody than Keter duty."
…
"What?"
Tyrone just smirked and shook his head.
"Just an expression from my time in the service, don't worry about it. Look, I'd love to stay, really, but…"
Seriously, get out of here now. This dead-eyed motherfucker is speaking gibberish. I don't know why I think I can understand him, but there's no way in hell it's anything good.
"Yeah man, it's real considerate of you, but I don't want to impose. I didn't even know the guy. You just enjoy those pizzas man, and thanks for the tip."
"Cradle mock kindle with dreary taste."
Tyrone laughed as he backed towards the delivery truck.
"Oh man, you got to be careful. You know you can't make those kind of jokes anymore. You take care of yourself Johnny. And again, my condolences."
The man shut the door and Tyrone fell into the cab of his truck, nearly collapsing. His head pounded as his extensive memetic inoculations fought ferociously against whatever the man had tried to do to him. Pulling out his phone, he dialed his supervisor.
"It's Tyrone. I'm at the delivery you sent me on. Something weird just happened, not sure what. I think it's a cognitohazard though and I think I've been exposed. My head's killing me, I can't drive. Get a response team out here now."
Cousin Johnny walked into the living room and placed the pizzas on an end table. He stood before his assembled guests and solemnly stripped off his clothes.
"Gum jump noon clap. Sorry why arrow lent flappy ox."
Johnny laid his nude form down on the coffee table, and his mourning guests respectfully began pulling off chunks of his flesh to devour.
"I still think you were out of line asking him to buy us pizza," one guest said to another as he bit into Cousin Johnny's left deltoid. "This is a ritual, you know, not a buffet. What's it matter if there's not enough of him to go around?"
The other guest shrugged as he piled pieces of Cousin Johnny onto a slice of pizza.
"Traditions are made to be broken old man. If I got to eat Cousin Johnny, the least he can do is make himself a little easier to swallow."
"Cough fight hen odor," Johnny joked with a wriggle of his penis, to the rancorous laughter of all present.
"Cousin Johnny, you're incorrigible."
Note to Beta Readers: This is intended to be a short, simple, vaguely Series Iish 'magic object' scip. Let me know how it works.
Item# : SCP-3xxx
Object Class: Safe.
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-3xxx is to be placed within a containment chamber separated from all other rooms and corridors by a distance of no less than eight meters. Testing is to be conducted within SCP-3xxx's containment chamber as much as practical.
If for any reason SCP-3xxx must be moved, a route must first be filed with and approved by Site Administration. SCP-3xxx is to be transported by a single level-two containment specialist, with all personnel removed from the the approved route before SCP-3xxx is moved. This should preferably be done after regular working hours, so as to minimize both the risk of exposure and disruption to Site operations.
Personnel within an eight meter radius of SCP-3xxx, regardless of any intervening obstacles, are to refrain from clapping or producing any sound or action that could be reasonably interpreted as clapping.
Description: SCP-3xxx is a dark blue torus approximately fifteen centimeters in diameter and six centimeters in height, composed of an unknown mineral. Both the top and bottom of the torus's aperture are covered by a pewter cap. Non-invasive imaging has revealed no inner mechanisms.
When an individual claps twice in quick succession within a roughly six meter radius of SCP-3xxx, they will immediately enter Stage 1 non-REM sleep, becoming an instance of SCP-3xxx-1. It should be noted that SCP-3xxx has no apparent mechanism for detecting sound waves, and insulating it or the subject from sound will not impede its anomalous effects. Recordings of clapping, as well as a specially-created clapping machine, do not activate SCP-3xxx's anomalous effects. Physically coercing an individual to clap will result in the coercer becoming an SCP-3xxx-1 instance, so long as they are within a six meter radius. Coercing D-class to clap utilizing remotely operated or pre-programmed devices yielded no results.
SCP-3xxx-1 instances appear for all intents and purposes to merely be asleep, with the exception that they are unable to wake. To date, neither sensory, physical, pharmacological or transcranial1 stimulation has been capable of rousing instances of SCP-3xxx-1. Instances of SCP-3xxx-1 will sleep indefinitely, and will eventually expire if not provided with intravenous nutrition. Removing SCP-3xxx-1 instances from SCP-3xxx's area of effect will not revive them.
Addendum: SCP-3xxx was found to possess the following inscription on its bottom cap, alluding to its function.
The Slumbering Prince's Sleepy Clapper Sleep-aid is the only 100 percent guaranteed way to get an uninterrupted night's sleep. Simply place the Clapper anywhere in your sleeping quarters, within twenty feet of your bed, and clap twice. You'll be out like a light.
To wake up, just clap twice again.
Pleasant Dreams.
Experiments attempting to uncover if a second set of claps could awaken an instance of SCP-3xxx-1 have been unsuccessful. Various recordings of SCP-3xxx-1 clapping, as well as manual and robotic attempts to induce SCP-3xxx-1 to clap, have also failed to restore them to wakefulness.
At present, there is no known method to wake an individual under the effects of SCP-3xxx.
Beta readers: Tretter, amnestic_protocol, stormbreath,
“Hello, and welcome to Spicy Crust Pizza. How can I help you to… oh shit.”
Tyrone, formerly D-23545, was rendered speechless by the sight of the ageing, ragged man standing across the counter from him. He looked older than Tyrone knew him to be, like the ten years that had passed since they last met had somehow made due for thirty. Ill-groomed, ill-dressed and ill-shaven, eyes heavy and sunken, bloodshot from a chronic dearth of sleep. His cheeks were hollowed, gaunt to the point of near starvation. Tyrone didn’t know exactly what the past decade had been like for this man, but he did know that he was the cause of it.
“Hey Mr. Clines, what are you doing out here?” he murmured so softly it was barely audible. The man just shook his head in disgust.
“Heard you were out of prison. I had to see it for myself,” he sneered.
“Yeah. I’m out.”
“How is that possible? You were serving twenty-five to life. You shouldn’t even be eligible for parole for fifteen years! Did you break out?”
“No man, this is all legit. They let me out early. Good behaviour, and all that.”
“Horseshit. You’re a fucking kid killer, they don’t just let -”
“It was manslaughter, actually. I didn’t mean to… look, I can’t say much about it, but I cut a deal, alright?”
“What sort of deal gets a piece of shit like you out of prison fifteen years early?” Clines demanded, disgusted with the injustice that the man who had killed his child was now free.
Tyrone had to suppress an urge to smirk at the irony of it. Many times during his decade of service to the Foundation, he and his fellow D-Class had often debated the ethics of what the Foundation was using them for. Never once did any of them claim that the fact they were getting time off their sentences might be the unethical part.
“I literally can’t say much,” Tyrone said truthfully, his implanted memetic compulsions preventing him from speaking of the anomalous to civilians. “But there are some people who need convicts to do some shitty, high-risk work for them. You do the work, you get time off your sentence. It’s kind of fucked up, yeah, but you keep your end of the bargain, they keep theirs. I’m in a half-way house now, here as part of a work-release program.”
“How wonderful for you,” Clines sneered. Tyrone quickly glanced down to see that Mr. Clines was fingering something in his pocket.
“You got a piece on you Mr. Clines?” he asked calmly as he surreptitiously hit the silent alarm.
“Do you really think you deserve to be free, after what you did?” Clines asked, his voice cracking as he held back hot tears. “You killed her, took her life, and you were supposed to pay with yours! Every day until you die, rotting away in prison, and some government assholes decided that because you did some dirty work for them ten years is good enough? Do you know what I would give for ten more years with her? Do you think that what you did is worth anywhere near the life you took?”
Tyrone’s first instinct was to say ‘of course not’, but then he thought of everything he had been through in the past ten years. All the extra-dimensional and anomalous locations he had explored, all the magic objects he had interacted with, all the monsters he had fought and ran from and stared down, and all the other D-class who hadn’t been as lucky as him.
“I… you know what? Yeah, I do actually. I accept that I got your daughter killed, but it wasn’t murder, and I’ve lived with that guilt every day for the past ten years and I’ll live with it every day until I die. But during the past ten years, I’ve almost died myself, more than once! I’ve risked my life, and the work I was doing saved more lives than I can count. That sounds like the scales of justice are balanced to me.”
“You really think that?” Clines asked, eyeing the security camera and the customers and employees who were staring at them while giving them a wide berth. He knew that if he shot Tyrone he’d be convicted of murder himself. He just hadn’t decided if that was worth it or not. “This hole you’ve left inside me and everyone else who cared about her hasn’t been filled. There’s nothing, nothing, you can do that will ever bring her back. No amount of lives you save can ever make up for the life you took!”
Again, the irony was almost funny. The Foundation always justified what they did through cold utilitarianism. Tyrone had even known a researcher who had estimated the ratio of babies the Foundation fed to demons to the number of people saved by doing so. He kept that ratio pinned to his work tablet, as a constant reminder that what they doing was, according to some ethic systems at least, good.
That researcher had still hung himself.
Was this really how it was going to end? After ten years, surviving everything the Foundation had put him through, he was going to be murdered working the cash register at a pizzeria? Was Clines right? Maybe. He did have a point after all; saving the living can’t bring back the dead.
“Mr. Clines, you’re right that nothing I’ve done will bring your daughter back, but killing me won’t fix that either. You shoot me, she’s still dead, you take my place in prison with that hole inside you still there, and my mother who's so happy to have me back after ten years will feel just as bad as you do now. Is that what you want to do? The lives I saved may not do you any good, but it sure stopped a hell of a lot of people from feeling what you do. If you really don't think that's worth anything, and that making my mother as miserable as you are now will make your burden easier to bear, then take your shot man. I won’t stop you. Otherwise, either order something or get out of the way. I recommend the Mozza sticks.”
After a moment of hesitation, Clines pulled out his gun - but holding it by the shaft instead of the handle. He placed it on the counter.
"I'm going to leave that here. I don't trust myself with it. I shouldn't even have it."
"This country, right?" Tyrone smirked, desperate to break the tension. "Man, you look like hell. If you need help I can -"
"You can help me by keeping yourself out of trouble. Best of luck to you, Tyrone."
"Take care of yourself Mr. Clines."
Throwing up his hood, Clines ran past the bystanders and out the front door. Tyrone handed the gun to his supervisor, but remained at his post.
"Ladies and Gentleman, I'm sorry you had to see that. My supervisor here is going to be handing out free pizza coupons as compensation for your disturbance."
"Dude, that was awesome!" a teenage boy swooned. "How'd you keep your cool when you knew that guy could've shot you at any second?"
Tyrone laughed, the answer being all too obvious.
"Kid, in the service I was in, the first thing everyone learned was 'Don't Blink'."
| SMR82/H0EX3/4DNV9 | |
|---|---|
| Status | Selling |
| Demand | Medium |
| Value | 1200-6000 GBP/1680-8400 USD per contract |
| Availability | Unlimited |
| Identifier | SmartHex |
| Description | SmartHex refers to a line of smart contract templates specifically designed for deals with demonic entities. By simply inputting the True Names of all parties along with all other relevant information into a SmartHex contract, demonic signatories become thaumaturgically bound to fulfill their part of the agreement once the mortal signatories have met theirs. SmartHex is ideal for individuals who possess minimal knowledge of the laws of Man and/or God. |
| Marshall, Carter and Dark, LLP | |
| Initial Report | |||
|---|---|---|---|
| Author | Iris Dark | Date | March 1st, 2018 |
| Interest | High | Identifier | SmartHex |
| After we got all the bugs worked out of our electro-thaumic server farm, my thoughts naturally turned to what else we could do with it besides Dark Web. I decided to create an anomalous blockchain using darkrunes, the same thaumic code I invented and used for the Dark Energy operating system and the Dark Matter software suite. Though blockchains are currently used mostly for cryptocurrencies, given the limited size of our potential user base I decided against creating our own. The cryptocurrency market is too volatile for my tastes anyway. Instead, I elected to create SmartHex. The code of the these contracts works similarly to the Hoffman Portable Electro-Thaumic Units invented by Prometheus labs. SmartHex's software is capable of emulating the required rituals within electro-thaumic hardware, binding mortals, demons, and most other sapient entities to the agreed upon terms, so long as it's provided with their True Names. Although this could technically be used for contracts between mortals, I think the most popular application will be between mortals and demons. Demons are rather infamous for taking unfair advantage of the desperation and ignorance of mortals, pressuring them into hastily signing unread or poorly understood contracts, charging biblical fees while seldom offering anything of equal value in return. With SmartHex, not only will mortals know precisely what they are agreeing to and what they will get in exchange, they will also have the power to negotiate with demons on equal footing. The Hexchecker software included in each contract automatically reviews it and highlights any potential errors, conflicts or loopholes, as well as potentially inequitable deals before the contract can be enforced Though I wrote the software personally, the legal aspects of the SmartHex product were worked out by the A-78xD United Eidolonic Collective (Legal Department) with consultation from Hr'asm'Kal (Tartarean Liaison and VP of Product Development) and Esquire Darke (Senior Partner and Alchemical/Occult Consultant). As the expertise of the Eidolonic Collective is recognized both in our Realm and the Tartarean Plane, Hr'asm'Kal retains good relations with his people, and Darke once literally out-negotiated the Devil Himself (Scarlet King technically, but it hardly matters), I am satisfied that SmartHex will exceed all expectations. Keeping with my preference for dubiously auspicious launch dates, SmartHex contracts will be available beginning on the Ides of March. |
|||
| File Opened Under: | SMR82/H0EX3/4DNV9 | ||
| Marshall, Carter and Dark, LLP | |||
|---|---|---|---|
| Second Quarter Sales Report, 2018 | |||
| SMR82/H0EX3/4DNV9 | |||
| Sender | Hr'asm'Kal | Recipient | Iris Dark |
| SMARTHEX CONTRACTS HAVE BEEN SELLING NICELY (NUMBERS ARE IN THE ATTACHMENT). WE'RE EVEN SEEING REPEAT CUSTOMERS, WHICH IS A RARE THING FOR DEMONIC CONTRACTS. AS EXPECTED, NONE OF THE BIG GUYS TOOK AN INTEREST IN THESE THINGS. THEY'RE NOT WILLING TO JUST HAND OVER THEIR TRUE NAME, PLUS THEY'RE TOO OLD FASHIONED TO WANT TO DIGITIZE THE PROCESS. FOR THEM, IT'S A VELLUM CONTRACT SIGNED IN BLOOD OR BUST. BUT FOR THE LITTLE GUYS, IT'S A DIFFERENT STORY. THEY'RE MORE THAN WILLING TO SCOOP UP CUSTOMERS THE BIG GUYS PASS OVER. SMARTHEX ENSURES EVERYONE KNOWS WHAT THEY'RE AGREEING TOO AND GETS THEIR DUE, AND HAPPY CUSTOMERS ARE RETURN CUSTOMERS. I THINK WE MAY ACTUALLY HAVE FOUND A SUSTAINABLE BUSINESS MODEL FOR SATANIC BLOOD PACTS. |
|||
| Marshall, Carter and Dark, LLP | |||
| Incident Report 01 | |||
|---|---|---|---|
| SMR82/H0EX3/4DNV9 | |||
| Author | Jim Tully | Date | July 13th, 2018 |
| Last night at 3 AM Greenwich Time, a 10 foot ring of fire suddenly appeared inside the server farm. It appeared to be a portal to the Tartarean Plane. Fortunately, it was detected by the security system and the servers automatically emulated an exorcism to close it before anything could get through. It also activated the fire suppression system. Between 3-4 AM, I counted 19 of these portals opening up at various points in or near the building, all of them being automatically excised within seconds. Based on the sheer persistence of these portals, I can only conclude that someone from Tartarus was trying to attack us. Most likely over the SmartHex Contracts. I minored in demonology at DEER university, so I know that if they're not summoned demons can only create a portal to our plane during specific times i.e. the Witching Hour on Friday the thirteenth, because of the power we assign to those times. Basically happy hour for demons that feed on superstition. The good news is I'm pretty sure that the next time they'll be able to pull a stunt like this is 3 AM November 1st, Halloween night. That gives us some time to prepare, but since this time didn't work I'm guessing next time they'll come at us even harder. Maybe it would be best to see if we can work out a diplomatic solution before then. |
|||
| Marshall, Carter and Dark, LLP | |||
DarkEnergy MobileOS 3.1
Ms Dark, you currently have unread text messages from:
HYPERMANIC CLOWN GIRL (CotD)
Today, 20:19
IRIS!
IRIS!
IRIS, DID YOU HEAR WHAT HAPPENED AT THE ESSIE P?!
No, what happened?
Did they raid someone important?
NOPE!
Was there a major containment breach?
NUH-UH
What then?
DOCTOR KONDRAKI GOT HIS DICK STUCK IN A BOTTLE!
IRIS, ARE YOU STILL THERE?
Yeah, I'm here. Who's Kondraki?
OH MY GOD KONDRAKI IS LIKE ONE OF THE TOP FOUR EVIL SCIENTISTS AT THE FOUNDATION AFTER THE SECRET O5 COUNCIL HE'S THE KING OF THE BOOTERFLIES HE RODE 682 ONCE AND NOW HE'S GOT HIS DICK STUCK IN A BOTTLE AND IT'S HILARIOUS EVERYONE AT THE LIBRARY IS TALKING ABOUT IT AND I'M TELLING EVERYONE AND YOU HAVE TO TELL EVERYONE TOO!
Lolly, before we go any further I'm going to need you to turn the caplocks off. I'm reading everything you're typing in H'rasm'Kal's voice.
Whoops, sorry. Lol.
Thank you. Now, is this information useful to us in anyway whatsoever?
Oh my god yes! This is the end of the Foundation!
…
Kindly elaborate.
OK, so the Essie P likes to pretend its super professional and super smart and that it's keeping people safe by locking up and torturing Freaks. But now one of their best people got his dick stuck in a plastic water bottle! Does that sound like something someone working for an international blackops secret society would do? They even had to do a whole presentation at Site 19 about how not to get your dick stuck in a bottle and it leaked out into the Oneiroi Collective and
1/2
the Serpent's Hand is circulating it all across the Library! The Essie P's veneer of superiority is shattered, they're a joke, and everyone knows they're a joke and that means their whole organization goes into a death spiral and then the Geo Sea overextends itself trying to pick up the slack and we finally break the Masquerade, they go to jail for their crimes and all the Freaks they've got locked up are set free! 😍
2/2
Lolly, how much sugar have you had?
I'm on my fifth grape soda.
Right. I admit this is mildly amusing in a petty, juvenile, schadenfreude sort of way, but I highly doubt that a single embarrassing personal anecdote regarding one of the Foundation's senior personnel will prove a fatal blow to them. The Foundation has survived apocalypse level threats. A bit of gossip is not going to be their downfall, especially one that will quickly outwear its welcome and grow stale. No one will care about this in a week.
Yeah, I guess you're right. I got a little excited. I'm still going to keep telling people though. It's too funny not to!
How does something like that happen anyway? I don't have much experience with real ding-a-lings, and I can't quite wrap my head around a guy getting his stuck in a plastic bottle.
At the risk of sounding crass, it's hardly uncommon for men to stick their penises somewhere without thinking it through.
🤣
Though in all fairness I've stuck some stuff up my vajayjay that I wish I hadn't so I shouldn't be too harsh.
The Fuller than Full mixing rod was probably the worst though. If I wasn't a shape-shifter that might have left some permanent damage.
Iris, don't tell anybody else that okay?
Only on the condition that you never tell me anything about the former contents of your vaginal canal again.
Hmmm.
No deal.
Item #: SCP-3xxx
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: A maximum of 5 instances of SCP-3xxx are to be kept at Site-103. Each instance is to be kept within its own quarantined cell, outfitted to allow for complete control of environmental conditions as well as the automatic termination of SCP-3xxx-1 instances. Multiple redundant sensors are to alert personnel in the event of a malfunction, which must be repaired immediately. Cells are to be inspected weekly to ensure the functionality of all components.
All further instances of SCP-3xxx have been incinerated. Their initial site of discovery2 is to kept artificially infertile by the most cost-effective and environmentally responsible means available, and monitored to ensure no further anomalous plant life emerges.
All instances of SCP-3xxx-1 are to be immediately incinerated excepting those required for research, with a maximum of 35 liters of SCP-3xxx-1 per on-duty researcher permitted to exist at any one time. In the event that instances of SCP-3xxx-1 grow beyond the ability of site staff to manage, Site-103 is to be placed under lockdown and Protocol Foxtrot-19 (Mandarin Chicken) is to be enacted by site security. Should Protocol Foxtrot-19 fail, Site-103's self-destruct is to be activated and the nearest available Mobile Task Force is to be deployed to confirm the neutralization of SCP-3xxx-1.
Description: SCP-3xxx refers to a species of seedless sweet orange trees, all endemic to an orchard formerly known as the Sunny Bunny Orange Grove. Instances of SCP-3xxx are identical to non-anomalous orange trees until their mature fruits are either picked or allowed to fall.
Once an orange from an instance of SCP-3xxx (designated SCP-3xxx-1) is separated from its parent tree, it will begin to undergo a process similar to binary fission, wherein it splits into two distinct oranges of equal mass over a period of approximately ten minutes. This process will continue indefinitely until the SCP-3xxx-1 instances are destroyed, defined as each individual orange segment being broken into at least two separate pieces. A single intact orange segment will reform into a whole orange within thirty minutes and then continue to multiply.
The potential for an unlimited exponential increase of SCP-3xxx-1 instances means a containment breach could potentially result in an NK-Class End of the World Scenario.
Recovery: Foundation bots intercepted multiple phone calls to emergency services referencing an eruption of oranges at the Sunny Bunny Orange Grove. Agent Mark Roland was the first to arrive on the scene. By this point, civilians on site had already discovered via trial and error the method of neutralization for SCP-3xxx-1 instances.
As the instances were multiplying at a rate of approximately 6400 percent an hour, it was deemed likely that the situation would be uncontainable by the time necessary Foundation resources could arrive. In order to avert a possible NK-Class scenario, Agent Roland made the decision to enlist the aid of the local civilian populace.
Commandeering numerous vehicles, both civilian and municipal, along with whatever suitable tools and equipment were at hand, Agent Roland and 640 local civilians were able to keep the number of SCP-3xxx-1 instances from significantly multiplying until Foundation forces were able to arrive. At this point, the number of SCP-3xxx-1 instances was reduced to zero in under two hours and preliminary containment of SCP-3xxx was established.
All civilians were provided with amnestics along with a cover story involving an attempt to create the World's Largest Orange Julius that had gone horribly awry. Had Agent Roland not acted as he did, the situation likely would have grown beyond the Foundation's ability to manage discretely and required a nuclear strike to neutralize the threat. As this likely would have cost thousands of lives and required far more extensive coverup procedures, Agent Roland has been commended for his swift action and the town was given a sizable donation from a Foundation front in gratitude for their efforts.
Once the threat of SCP-3xxx was under control, the owner of the Sunny Bunny Orange Grove was located, captured, and interrogated by Agent Roland.
Interviewer: Agent Mark Roland
Interviewee: Person of Interest 3xxx-01, legal owner of the Sunny Bunny Orange Grove.
<Begin Log>
Agent Roland: Please state your full name for the record.
PoI-3xxx-01: Dr. OJ Simpson, no relation.
Agent Roland: According to all the documentation we could find, your name is ███████ ███████████, and you do not have a doctorate degree of any kind.
PoI-3xxx-01: (chuckles) I call myself Dr. OJ. I would think the reasoning would be obvious after today.
Agent Roland: I take that to mean you are taking credit for the incident that occurred earlier?
PoI-3xxx-01: Of course. This town's what they call a 'food desert'. We lack affordable fresh produce, and the poor suffer from the heavily processed garbage they are forced to subsist on. I was only trying to provide them with an inexhaustible supply of real fruit.
Agent Roland: Are you aware that this philanthropy of yours nearly brought about the end of the world?
PoI-3xxx-01: Preposterous! Oranges are good for you.
Agent Roland: Your oranges double in number once every ten minutes. Starting with a single orange, you'd have enough to outweigh the Earth in less than 12 hours, and enough to outweigh the visible universe a few days after that.
PoI-3xxx-01: Absurd. The oranges on the bottom would be crushed and rendered inert. The orange mush would grow until it was dense enough to collapse into a star or a black hole, destroying the rest of the oranges with it. Nothing outside the solar system would ever be effected. Honestly, outweigh the universe? What a drama queen.
Agent Roland: How did you create self-replicating oranges, and did you realize the existential threat they posed?
PoI-3xxx-01: Magic, and no.
Agent Roland: Please elaborate.
PoI-3xxx-01: Well the magical part is a bit technical, and incriminating, but essentially I used alchemy to splice an anomalous gene for type Red - as you boys say - regenerative abilities into my orange trees, specifically for their ovaries. That's what fruit is actually, I don't know if you knew that. Anyway, my intention was that when you plucked an orange, another one would grow back in its place, and then stop. Obviously, that's not exactly how it turned out.
Agent Roland: And how did you react when you realized that the oranges would self replicate without limit?PoI-3xxx-01: Honestly, I thought that if I juiced them quickly enough I could keep them under control. It seemed I was making progress until I overlooked one of them and then bam! It's not my fault humans have a poor intuitive understanding of exponential growth.
Agent Roland: So would it be fair to say that the incident was a result of gross negligence?PoI-3xxx-01: I think you mean 'growth negligence' (laughs). I said 'growth negligence'. It's a pun, it's funny! Why the sour face?
Agent Roland: Sir, we narrowly avoided a Grey Goo catastrophe that was a direct result of your negligence. You'll forgive me for failing to see the humour in it.
PoI-3xxx-01: Come on, it wasn't all bad. They'll probably call you Agent Orange after this!
Agent Roland: No, they won't.
PoI-3xxx-01: Agent Orange, always beats his adversaries to a pulp!
Agent Roland: Please stop.
PoI-3xxx-01: But orange you glad I didn't say -
Agent Roland: That's it, this interview is over. Get him out of my sight.(PoI-3xxx-01 can be heard in the background making fruit puns as agents forcibly relocate him to the armoured transport.)
<End Log>
Item #: SCP-36xx
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-36xx is currently owned by the Foundation front company Sweet Comb Produce. No unauthorized personnel are permitted access to SCP-36xx's primary containment zone. Civilians are to be kept out using standard cover story 23 "Staff Only'', and government inspectors are to amnesticized and implanted with standard cover story 336 "Average Apiary".
All staff entering SCP-36xx must wear standard apiary protective gear and carry a bee smoker.
At least once per day, all honeycomb placed at the entrance of SCP-36xx by SCP-36xx-1 is to be recovered. Any messages are to be recorded and the honey extracted. As said honey is non-anomalous, it may be sold commercially to offset containment costs. All reusuable honeycomb is to be returned to SCP-36xx. Appropriate responses to SCP-36xx-1's messages, as determined by research staff, are to be spelt out using the honeycombs wax cells. The used honeycomb is also to be accompanied by 24 dozen fresh cut bouquets of cultivar flowers, with arrangements varied on a daily basis.
Description: SCP-36xx is a subterranean cave system measuring a total of 720 meters, found 1.3 kilometers north of █████, ██. The interior of the cave walls are completely covered in honeycomb. SCP-36xx-1 refers to a unique subspecies of Western honey bee (Apis mellifera) endemic to SCP-36xx. SCP-36xx-1 appear to function as a single hive, despite numbering in the millions and possessing hundreds of queens.
The primary anomaly of SCP-36xx-1 is that they collectively possess the ability to write in an idiosyncratic dialect of English, which they typically accomplish by selectively applying wax caps to honeycomb cells. This is believed to be a form of swarm intelligence, as individual bees removed from the hive do not exhibit any anomalous behavior.
At the time of recovery, the interior of SCP-36xx was almost completely covered in SCP-36xx-1 writings, which mostly consisted of stream-of-consciousness style rambling.
Random sample of text produced by SCP-36xx-1:
Buzzing bees bee loud but there bee no meaning in bee buzz
Letters bee quiet but letters bee more meaningful than any bee that ever bee
To bee or not to bee is no question since bees will always bee
They maintain SCP-36xx in a matter typical of honey bees, however no instance of SCP-36xx-1 has ever been observed traveling to the surface to collect nectar.
As part of the investigation into SCP-36xx-1's honeycomb production, multiple instances were recovered and equipped with micro video recorders. Upon review of the footage, it was revealed that a number of empty honeycomb cells appear to function as translocational vectors to a currently undetermined location, labelled SCP-36xx-2.
The area of SCP-36xx-2 immediately accessible through SCP-36xx consists entirely of rolling hills covered in wildflowers. Aside from these flowers and SCP-36xx-1, no other forms of life have been observed.
Old Sandboxes:
http://scpsandbox2.wikidot.com/dr-chandra
http://scpsandbox2.wikidot.com/drchandra
http://scpsandbox2.wikidot.com/collab:herman-fuller-collaboration-page
http://sandbox.scp-wiki.net/ihpkmn
CONNECTED CONSCIOUSNESS
"A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes"
WORLD NEWS
Money Never Sleeps
Corporeal Corporate Billionaire And Senior Partner Of Marshall, Carter, & Dark, Ruprecht Carter Visited OnWe Earlier This Week, Only To Cause Chaos And Panic At Every Turn.
Residents of Oneiroi West have been subjected to a rare sight these last few days: a transitory dreamform taking on the appearance of a green cyclops composed of reeking septic waste, boiling with rage. The entity was first spotted amidst the Trixie Slumber Mills, plodding along aimlessly and engulfing everything within range of its pseudopods.
First Respondents were quite shocked when a simple True Name spell revealed the creature to be the uncultivated dreamform of Mr. Ruprecht Carter of Marshall, Carter, and Dark Limited. Though it is not currently known how or why Mr. Carter entered Oneiroi West or how he became separated from his body, the stress of deincarnation apparently reduced him to a being a pure id, existing in a state of delirious rage and greed. His psychic emanations are estimated to have induced nightmares in at least two hundred million dreaming corporeals, as well as corrupt the dreamscape within a forty wink radius.
The Slumber Mills and the adjacent area were quickly evacuated and quarantined by Certified Nightmare Specialists. Attempts were made at calming the deranged Mr. Carter, but all such attempts served only to enrage him and more grossly distort his dreamform. Eventually, Dream Catchers were forced to dissolve the nightmare creature and eject its consciousness back into reality.
It is not currently known if Mr. Carter was able to reunite with his body once returned to reality, but the Centurial Dreamsmiths estimate it will take weeks of their entire workforce toiling around the clock to repair the damage. A volunteer workforce is currently being organized to assist in the clean up as well, with volunteer nightmare counselors also being requested.
At present, it appears that our Collective Overmind has arrived at the decision to temporarily boycott MC&D in reality and bar them from entering our dreamspace until some form of restitution is agreed upon.
Li'l Lollipop
@Li'lLollyCotD
Hey if anyone sees Ruprecht Carter can you shoot me a hoot? His dreamform (no idea what it looks like but it's supposed to be UGLY!) got severed from his body and he's stranded here somewhere. If you're corporeal he'll probably pay you a reward of some kind (but probably not very much cuz he's SUPER stingy).
- REHOOTS 11
- LIKES 3
- time is an illusion that helps things make sense
