DrLeibowitz

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Author Page

Tales

SCPs

The Black Queen

Are We Cool Yet?

Well This Certainly is a Thing

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Tales

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The Blind Doctor

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…There must be a method to the madness… a doctor thought as he looked over his work, …There must be something I'm missing…

The doctor made another incision in his patient. A transverse cut along the right orbit, dislodging the oculus and removing it with the edge of his scalpel. He had been working on his cure for measles for what felt like forever, but he felt no closer than when he began. He looked at the severed organ in his hand. There must be something.

Sirens blasted in the distance, getting louder. The doctor knew what that meant. The Foundation had found him. Damn them, can't they see he needs to be in the world if he is to progress the world?

He placed the eye gently into a jar of formaldehyde with its brother. He packed the jar in his briefcase, along with his tools. He made his way to the roof, disposing of his patient along the way. There had to be something in the eyes. Something he was missing. But these were questions for another time.

He quickly descended the fire escape, listening for the sound of boots on the ground. He heard them. Mobile Task Force whatever-the-hell, he was sure. He picked up the pace.

He stumbled on the third ladder, but made it to the ground without incident. The two ends of this alley way would be covered, but he could see a way out that few others could.

When the MTF came down the path, he'd already be gon-*smack*

"This is Epsilon-6 Susan. We have the skip. Repeat. We have the skip."


Concrete.

That's all these bastards know how to build things from is…

… concrete.

A bright light switches on above the doctor. A voice from the other side of a mirror asks,

"How are you today, SCP-████?"

"I'd be a lot better if I was on the other side of this concrete."

"SCP-████, we have been more than reasonable. You are the one who insists on escaping."

"From a fucking black box in Who-Knows-Where? No shit I try to escape!"

The doctor punches the glass, "I have to save my daughter, you sick fucks!"

"SCP-████, you do not have a daughter on record. Why do you insist on going on with this delusion?"

"I know who my fucking family is damn it!"

"She's sick! I need to help her!"

"SCP-████, please try focusing on the issue at hand."

"SHE'S DYING YOU SONS OF BITCHES!"

"SCP-████, Could you please tell us about your eyes?"

"SHE'S FUCKING SICK! SHE DOESN'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS SHIT!"

"SCP-████, Could you please tell us the material your eyes are made from?"

The doctor falls on his knees, his eyes streaming with tears as he punches the cold concrete floor. Weakly, the man croaks out, "She doesn't… have… time…"

From behind the mirror, the observing researcher sighs. They turn to their aide, "Turn off the lights, we'll try again in the morning. God, this one is annoying."

The lights go out from the doctor's cell.


It was a long time ago, near Sussex, a doctor lived on a farm with his wife. He didn't grow crops anymore, but he kept the livestock alive since he inherited the stead. His daughter was turning two years old today, and he was on top of the world. He was going to bake her the best cake the house had ever seen. But he needed to go into town for the flour.

He kissed his wife good-bye as he left. …God, he wished he could remember her face…


The doctor was awakened with bright lights.

"SCP-████, are you willing to talk?"

The doctor burried his face in his knees and wept.

"SCP-████, we can send for a psychiatrist if you desire?"

"No… it's fine… whatever… What the fuck do you bastards want?!"

"SCP-████, Could you please tell us about your eyes?"

"I've told you bastards a million times. I cut them out to SAVE… MY DAUGHTER!"

"SCP-████, please remain calm or you will have to be restrained."

"Fucking restrain me you bastards! I DARE YOU!"

As the doctor punches the mirror, the room fills with a thick clear gas, causing the doctor to pass out.


At the market, the miller told the doctor there was a blight affecting his crop.

Flour would be more expensive that day.

The doctor told him it was his little girls birthday, no expense was too great. He left the market with one pound of flour.

The doctor grinned to himself and breathed the open country air.


Cold steel. Leather straps. Those bastards even secured his neck after the last time.

"SCP-████, are you willing to talk?"

"Please… I just want to save my daughter…"

"SCP-████, you have no daughter on record. If you continue with these delusions, we will be forced to put you into behavioral counseling, but we would prefer not to do that until you've answered our questions regarding your anomalous anatomy."

"Just… fine… ask your damn questions…"

"SCP-████, could you repeat yourself?"

"I SAID ASK YOUR DAMN QUESTIONS!"

"… SCP-████, Could you please tell us about your eyes?"

"… I already answered that one…"

"SCP-████, you do not appear to be missing your eyes."

"No shit, I put in replacements… Prosthetics, you'd call them…"

"And yet you retain your sense of sight?"

"What kind of damn prosthetic doesn't do the job of the thing it was meant to replace?"

"Is that a yes?"

"Of COURSE it's a yes! I built these eyes myself, hewn them from solid black onyx I'll have you know, and they're better than my old damn eyes ever were!"

"SCP-████, if you made the eyes yourself, could you tell us how they work?"

"I just fucking did! That's my problem with you BASTARDS! Even when I answer your DAMN questions, you never want seem to UNDERSTAND what I GOD DAMN SAY!"

The doctor struggled against his restraints and screamed wildly. He yanked and struggled against the leather straps, trying with all his might to break through and escape.

"SCP-████, please calm down."

"YOU FUCKING TELLING ME TO CALM DOWN!? WHY DON'T YOU TIE YOURSELF TO A DAMN TABLE AND HAVE ME YELL YOU TO CALM DOWN!?"

"SCP-████, if you do not calm down, you will have to be sedated for your own protection."

"FINE! KNOCK ME OUT, YOU BASTARDS! LET MY DAUGHTER DIE! LET EVERYONE DIE FOR ALL I FUCKING CARE!"

The doctor began crying as he wrenched at his bonds. Once again, a clear dense gas filled the chamber. And sweet release met the doctors mind.


When the doctor made it back to his house, his wife wasn't waiting for him. He could feel something was wrong. It hung in the air like cobwebs. He opened the door and rushed to his daughter's bed, over which his wife was leaning.

"Honey, you're home!" She embraced her husband, "Susie has come down with a fever. She's begun to rash and… and…" she buried her head in his bosom, "I think it's the measles." The word hit the doctor's face like a plague. He turned his head. Measles had decimated the last town they fled. He couldn't save a single one of those people. There just was no way. No remedy. No cure. And now… his daughter had it.

"Has she begun to go blind, my love? We mustn't think it is our scourge until it makes itself known." To his profound anguish, she nodded. So it was measles. His scourge. His nemesis. His eyes contorted in fury. In torment. In sorrow.

"I will… I must find a cure."

The doctor rushed to his daughter's side and squeezed her hand.

"Susie, can you hear me?"

"Is that you papa?"

"Yes, Susie, it's me." The doctor began to tear as he brought his little angels hand to his face.

"I'm scared, papa… I can't see anything."

"Shhh, baby. Everything will be alright." He stroked her hand softly and kissed it.

"Daddy will cure you."

"Daddy will cure you…"


The only thing worse than waking up on steel, restrained by your hands and feet, is waking up on velvet afterwords. The doctor knew what this was. A psychiatrists office. He tugged his hands up, to confirm that they were still restrained. His neck was too. All he could do was stare up at the blank and featureless ceiling.

"SCP-████, can you hear me?"

The doctor starts to weep, not yet fully conscious, "…Is that… you… papa…?" He wheezes.

"No, SCP-████, my name is Doctor Chang."

The doctor squeezes his eyes, shaking himself from the dream.

"… I wasn't talking to you… I was… remembering something… something my daughter said to me…"

"SCP-████, tell me about your daughter."

"… First of all… and most importantly… She is a person…"

"She is not… a metaphor… she is not a fucking DELUSION or HALLUCINATION or any other FUCKING THING you ASSHOLES think it is…"

"Could you please not tell me what I think before I've said it, SCP-████?"

"I do have a fucking name, you know?"

"SCP-████, we would prefer to keep things impersonal, for scientific reasons."

"… scientific my ass…"

"SCP-████, we don't have any record of you having a daughter."

"Do you think I haven't heard that before?"

"SCP-████, why do you insist that you have a daughter?"

"Don't you think it is more likely that your RECORDS are WRONG?!"

"SCP-████, we have very good records."

"Like hell you do…"

"SCP-████, I think if we talk more about this delusi-"

"SHE ISN'T A DELUSION! SHE'S MY DAUGHTER!"

"SCP-████, why do you insist on carryi-"

"SHE'S SICK! SHE NEEDS MY HELP! I HAVE TO CURE HER!"

"SCP-████, she is a figment of your-"

"SUSIE! PLEASE! LET ME SAVE HER!"

The doctor had a needle inserted in his neck. Bringing him back to that blissful abyss.


As his daughter lay in a fever, the doctor worked in his office, pouring over books on anatomy. Scanning them for any clue as to how this miasma could've entered his poor daughter. It must have something to do the eyes. The disease causes blindness. So the miasma must go through the eyes. He coughed into his handkerchief. Eyes are one of the most complex organs in the body. Even those damn Christians use it to try to hold on to their God. If only I had an eye to study… the doctor thought as he brought his scalpel to his face, …if only I had an eye.


An electric shock woke the doctor.

"SCP-████, are you ready to talk?"

"Fuck you."

Another shock.

"SCP-████, are you ready to talk?"

"…"

"SCP-████, please respond to the question."

"…"

Another shock. The doctor begins to weep.

"Why won't you BASTARDS at least let me DIE?!"

"SCP-████, you have shown unusually high resistance to most methods of execution, including loss of flesh or brain matter as well as many forms of pathogen. It is one of your anomalies we are studying, but lab tests are proving to be difficult."

"JUST LET ME DIE!"

"Even if you weren't so valuable, we couldn't do that."

The doctor, his eyes locked as high as he can looks, bellows, "Oh GOD… what kind of HELL have you prepared for me!?"

"SCP-████, are you ready to answer our questions?"

"… yes…"

"Excellent. Could you please tell us about your eyes?"

"… I removed my eyes a long time ago… trying to find a cure for the measles… to cure my daughter you say doesn't exist… I replaced them with eyes made of onyx… fashioned using the old glyphs the masons once used to animate the living stone… They gave me sight, but I couldn't see what was in front of my face…"

"Elaborate, ████."

"… she died… my daughter was taken from me… by the disease…"

"… it was almost 300 years ago… her mother left me when she passed… I became absorbed in my work… I have to find a cure…"

"… I have to save her… or it's all for nothing…"

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MTF Whiskey-Tango

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Early morning. Northeastern Illinois. Driving across Highway 55, a pair of hardened individuals traveled towards The Windy City.

They are on a mission for a god, a reality bender that could summon damn near anything from thin air. But they aren't worried. Bravo and Mike have been together for just about their entire careers at this point, and they weren't about to let some little god, or the splinter faction of the Sonderkommando for the Paranormal who were currently housing it, break them up.

Bravo was the brains of the operation, having been transferred into the team from being a researcher at the Foundation. He was cool, calm, and articulate. Although he had a bit of a smoking problem.

Mike was the muscle. He was a D-Class that, while testing an SCP, was involved in an accident. The consequence of which has left him mentally lacking, but able to call upon strength and power no human could possess.

Together they comprise the two people in the Mobile Task Force Whiskey-Tango.

When they are about 20 kilometers outside of Chicago, Bravo pulled his car off the highway and onto a dirt road.

Mike looks over at Bravo, "Uh, what're we doin' stoppin' here, boss?"

Bravo stops the car, lights a cigarette and looks into the distance. "I got a funny feeling about this place, Mike." He puffs his cigarette. "Let's check this out." And he starts walking towards the burning barn house.

"You got it, boss." Mike says, as he follows him lethargically.

The smell in the building is a mixture of ash and burning manure. Not pleasant, but better than some odors the two of them had experienced. The subtle hint of kerosene in the flames made Bravo smile.

"Come on, Mike, let's get a closer look." He walks into the building, with his compatriot in tow.

Towards the center of the building is a large metal hatchway, blocked by a trapdoor.

"Lift it, Mike."

Mike grabs the burning hot handle of the trapdoor and shoves it open. Steam erupts from his hands and the scent of burning flesh is added to the ambient odors, but he doesn't seem to notice. Bravo puffs his cigarette. Under the cover of the trapdoor, emblazoned in black and red, is the symbol of the SKP.

"Kind of a bastardization of the Foundation's logo, wouldn't you say, Mike?"

"Yeah, no respec' at all, boss."

They both climb into the hatch and Mike closes the door behind them.

After getting to the bottom, they hear voices yelling in German to the west and follow them. Blocking their pack is a large bulkhead, like what they have in a submarine.

From the other side of the door, Bravo can hear two voices in the room.

"Mike, why don't you…" He puffs his cigarette, "…break this door down for me?"

As soon as Bravo gave the order, the hulking mass of flesh that is Whiskey-Tango Mike, slams his shoulder into the steel door. The door is broken off of its hinges and frame and is sent hurtling into the adjacent room. It slams into one of the two people standing there and continues on its path until it and the man are both embedded in the wall. Two of the members of Whiskey-Tango walk in.

"Salutations, my good sir. I hear you are in possession of an anomalous entity that we need to take off of your hands."

The man stares at Bravo in disbelief, after seeing his comrade flattened into a wall by a steel door across a whole meter of space.

"Was seid- Who are you?" The man croaks out.

"We are just a couple of individuals coming to pick up what rightfully belongs to the Foundation. So you just step aside…" He takes a puff of his cigarette, "… or else Mike here will just have to step you aside for us, capiche?"

The man looks from the hulking mass of flesh beside Bravo and then to his comrade stuck in the wall. The man nods, puts his hands up and steps back against the wall.

"Thank you, Sir."

Bravo and Mike move deeper into the facility. Through steel box corridors walled with corrugated metal, smelling softly of rust, smoke, and blood.

They travel the labyrinthine base with ease, making their way closer to the center of the complex. Bravo continues to puff his cigarette periodically, savoring its flavor.

Finally they get to a bulkhead, larger than the others they'd seen. This one has a red lamp above it and a sign that reads Achtung! Kein Zutritt!

Bravo and Mike look up at the sign.

"Uh, what's it say, boss?

"Well, Mike, if my German is correct it says, 'Welcome, Whiskey-Tango! Your skip is right this way!'"

"Well that's, uh, very nice of them to point out."

Bravo puffs his cigarette and chuckles, "That it is, Mike. That it is."

Mike grabs the wheel of the door and shoves it open, breaking it through the wall as he does so, not bothering to turn the wheel. The sound of steel being twisted and torn echos through the hallways. A screech like nails against a chalkboard. The smell of iron dust fills the air as Bravo puffs his cigarette again.

"Let's go."

They go through the door and enter a large holding cell. Scranton Reality Anchors lined the walls, a good half dozen of them, and tied to a steel chair with half inch cable in the middle of the room was a woman. She looks no older than thirty. Bravo walks up to her and lifts her head,

"Well, hello there, skip."

The woman looks at him with a dead-eyed and broken expression,

"What do you want? Who are you?"

"We're your heroes. We're here to rescue you." Bravo said with a smile, taking another puff of his cigarette.

"You came to rescue me?" The woman laughs, "I have crushed entire countries beneath my foot and you think you have more power to free me than I've had? They'll kill you both before you even get to the surface."

From behind them, an alarm starts blaring. Over the loudspeaker, a voice is shouting in German.

"I think we've got a pretty good chance." Bravo says as he cuts the bonds that hold the woman with a knife he produces from a jacket pocket, "Mike, you hold them off while I get this pretty little skip to safety, alright."

"Uh, yeah, I can do that, boss."

The woman tries to get up, but collapses. Bravo helps her onto her feet and holds her with her arm across his shoulder. Mike runs to fight the enemy.

Bravo takes another puff of his cigarette.

As the two of them hobble through the base, the sound of wrenching metal, gunfire, and screams fill the air. The stench of blood becomes more fresh and pronounced. And by the time they make it to the place where Bravo had met the first guard, the air is thick with the smell of human corpses.

The woman looks over at Bravo, a little relieved and a little afraid, "How is your friend not being killed in there?"

"Well, little lady, you have only met two members of Whiskey-Tango and old Mikey has his friend with him. Whiskey-Tango Foxtrot."

The two of them make it out from the bowels of the facility and Bravo helps the woman into the team's powder blue 1964 Impala. Bravo stands outside the car and takes another puff of his cigarette.

About three meters out from the hood of the car, the ground opens up and Mike punchs through the solid earth. He walks up to his partner.

"Have any trouble in there, Mike?"

"No, me and Foxtrot handled it."

"Good."

Bravo drops his cigarette and stamps it out.


Seven Years Earlier

Researcher Borowski was feeling hungover. He had been clean for over ten years, but this last week had drained all the self control he had left. Somebody had brought in a Ouija board. Which would've been fine if it had been made by Hasbro, but, unfortunately, this one was made by Wondertainment. And it fucking worked. This shit was so out of his depth, he was getting the bends just thinking about it.

"We've determined that the object answers any question given with exactly 50% accuracy. The remaining 50% is likely made up bullshit the fucking board uses to fuck with people… Scratch that." Borowski pressed the stop button on his Dictaphone, took a deep breath, and continued, "The remaining 50% is likely a mode of deception used by the object to convince the subjects to do things that would be hazardous to their health. The Foundation has yet to experiment on the nature of the accompanying ritual, tentatively designated Sierra Charlie Papa dash X-ray One Zero Five dash Alfa, but the test is scheduled to commence with approval from the Site Director." He hit stop.

He got approval yesterday, the D-Class would be waiting in the test chamber, and he still needs to just suck up and believe that Satan actually fucking exists. Today was not shaping up to be one of his better days.

When he got to the briefing room, the D-Class was already there, his hands cuffed in front of him.

"You would be…" he looked at the second page of his clipboard, "D-2034, correct?" The D-Class looked at him with disdain, "My name is Julio Martinez. Why do you bureaucrats need to shove us into numbers?"

"I take it you want to go back to death row then, eh 'Julio'?" He was silent and looked at the ground. "That's what I thought. So, do you know the nature of this test?"

"Only what you bureaucrats tell me. I go into that room and I sit in some chair. What is this even about?"

"Good, you were briefed properly. Please proceed to the door."

"But wha-"

Before Julio had a chance to finish his sentence, Dr. Borowski had already gone into the observation room and shut the door.

Julio sat there for a moment, worried about what all of this was about. He had been arrested for accidentally killing his neighbor with his car. Of course, they'd had a fight the day before because that pendejo called him a- He let out a long breath. So, the cops assumed it was all planned ahead of time. Puto cops. This all was probably just some sort of excessively cruel way to punish him for the family he was born into. He sighed, knowing that he had no chance of appealing his case to anyone, got up, and walked into the room.

"D-2034, please sit in the seat provided."

"What the hell is this a-"

"D-2034, please refrain from speaking during the experiment."

In the observation room, Dr. Borowski had a small instruction booklet that had come with the object. How to Make Your Friends Possessed! was proudly written over the top of it. A bunch of the text was written in a presumed anomalous language the foundation hadn't yet fully deciphered, but the instructions had a pronunciation key so…

Julio heard some weird words coming from the observation room, and he wondered what kind of weird cult he'd gotten mixed up with. It was then that he noticed the Ouija board, because the puck or whatever it was called began to move without him even touching it. He got up to see what it was spelling.

Hello…
J… U… L… I… O…

Julio didn't like this shit one bit. He didn't have long to do so, however, since as soon as the last letter was spelled he was knocked back into his seat. Pale blue gas filled the room, emanating from the planchette, funneling their way into the D-Class' mouth and nostrils. He went limp in his chair.

Dr. Borowski blinked. That wasn't expected. He pressed the intercom button,
"D-2034, are you alright?"

No response.

He rushed into the room and shook Julio's shoulder.

"Julio! Julio, wake up!" He couldn't lose a D-Class. He knew that they were barely even actually people, by the Foundation's standards, but not on his third week and after all the shit with the Satan board. He wouldn't be able to handle- Julio's eye snapped open, his irises red and his sclera bloodshot. He smiled and opened his mouth. A bone-chilling hollow voice came from it,

"Hello, Master."

Dr. Borowski blinked again, "Master? What do you mean?"

"You gave me this fantastic body to play in and, in return, you have the ability to tell me how I am to use it."

The doctor felt like he was going to be sick. Now he was in control of a fucking demon?! He swallowed his nausea,

"Get out of him."

"You want me to give the little human back control?"

"Yes!"

"Alright then, but I'm not sure if you'll like what he's left with."

The D-Class closed his eyes. When they opened, they were their normal brown color. Dr. Borowski sighed with relief.

"Julio, are you alright? You gave me a scare."

The man in the chair looked up at him with a vacant expression, "Who's Hoo Leo?"

His voice sounded croaked and broken, almost like someone with a cracked jaw. The doctor's eyes widened. He hadn't killed him, but he might have done something much worse. He fell to his knees and looked into Julio's eyes.

"I'm- I'm going to fix this. Okay? I'm- I'm going to go to the Site Director. A-and he's going to sort this all out." He got up and ran out of the room, closing the door behind him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and began walking to the Director's office as quickly as he could.

By Order of O5 Council
Date: ██ September 20██


The formation of a new Mobile Task Force is hereby authorized to handle Tier 1 Sensitive Recovery and Search and Destroy type missions. This task force will be designated MTF Whiskey-Tango ("The Frères Azur") and will be comprised of the following members:

Dr. Borowski, Mieszko (Designation "Bravo")

D-2034, Martinez, Julio (Designation "Mike")

SCP-████ (Designation "Foxtrot")

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A Day in the Life of a Corporate Asshole

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The self-proclaimed most powerful man in the world heard his alarm beep on the bedside table. He hit the snooze button. Five minutes later, as you'd expect, it beeped again. He groaned and shoved himself out of bed, hitting the stop button on the clock as he did.

This man did what every other corporate stooge does in the morning. He took a shower, got dressed, got some coffee. This man had a meeting today. And it was that which was making him feel like he had the whole Earth in his hand. He was going to join a new research firm.

Scalable Chemistry Productions was a relatively new firm, which was good because they wouldn't know his reputation yet. They were also a pretty powerful one, from what he could tell. They were talking about Helium II like it grew on fucking trees! He ran out the door and started driving to his interview.

"Alright, Izzy. Don't get too ahead of yourself." He often talked to himself in the car, especially when he was nervous, "They haven't said yes yet. I mean, they haven't said no yet either which probably means they don't know about-" He stopped himself mid-breath. He didn't even want to think about what happened at his last research position. It involved a lot of blood, a lot of tentacles, and a lot of cocaine. He'd rather keep all of that behind him.

He pulled into a parking space in front of the building and entered the reception area. He smiled at the receptionist and began,

"Hi, My name is Dr. Israel Leibowitz. I'm here to intervie-"

"Down the hall, first door on your left." She cut him off with a flat tone and handed him a file.

He furrowed his brow.

Usually, the custom is that the interviewee brings all the documents. Perhaps this was just some kind of paperwork. He made a note to look at it when he sat down.

"Thank you."

Dr. Leibowitz entered the rear of the building and entered the door on his left. Inside there was a table which looked reminiscent of one of those cliche interrogation rooms from crime shows. Complete with giant mirror. He walked up to it and pretended to check his teeth, moving his head to block some of the internal light. It was actually a one way window. Not something you see everyday in a chemistry department, but something you'd likely see in a front company for the FBI or something. These guys might know more about him than he thought.

He decided it would be more trouble to worry about it now. After all, they'd have no concrete proof. He made sure of that. He sat in the chair facing the "mirror" and pulled out the folder the receptionist had given him. He looked it over and noticed it was labeled not with scientific symbols, but alchemic ones. Gold. Copper. Lead. Salt. They are either wack-jobs, he thought, Or they know more about me than I'd feared.

A few minutes later, a man in a lab coat walked in. Izzy stood up and put out his hand, "You must be Special Agent Johnson, correct?" He looked at his face. He scowled a little and looked at Izzy's hand nervously for a second. Izzy laughed, "I'm kidding." The man smiled sheepishly and grabbed his hand, the nervous expression never fully leaving his face,

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Leibowitz." He sat down and positioned himself with his own file folder, one labeled PoI-2X79.

PoI. Person of Interest. It is the feds. Just play it cool, Izzy. You can get through this.

"Dr. Leibowitz, you don't mind if we ask you a few questions, do you?"

"Not at all, Mr… I never caught your name?"

"You didn't. Dr. Leibowitz, can you tell me if you've experienced anything you would describe as unusual?"

"Such as?"

"Something like the sudden appearance of a sea creature with no apparent origin."

What? How could they know about that? I made my own amnisiacs, damn it. Did I miss someone? No, there were only about a dozen people in there before I killed and got rid of the damn thing. Cameras? No, my old job was too cheap for those… "No, that's ridiculous." He chuckled a little, trying to stay calm.

"Right… You see Dr. Leibowitz, we have reports of you creating a…" He flips through the manila folder, " '…blood summoning circle by cutting your hands and summoning a god damn kraken into the center of the room.' Now, Dr. Leibowitz, are these reports factual?"

I wasn't trying to summon a damn squid! Do you really think a guy hopped up on powder is going to intentionally create a tentacle monster in the middle of a room? I just had to clean it up… Who did I miss? He cleared his throat, "If I might ask, Mr… uh whatever-the-fuck-your-name-is, where did you get such an outlandish and extremely specific report?"

"We noticed people in your area were suffering from a strange case of memory loss all around the same time. So, we used mnestics to help them remember. I have to say, Dr. Leibowitz, your amnestics aren't as good as you'd like to think they are. Not even Class A."

Izzy's jaw dropped. Did the cops have… The FBI?… The CIA?… No, he knew all of their technology… Who the fuck is this guy? "Um… Sir, what you're describing sounds impossible. Could you describe what organization you are representing?"

The man smiled, "One who is interested in hiring someone who can summon a kraken and cover his tracks while blasted out of his mind on cocaine."

Dr. Leibowitz looked at him, dumbfounded. He stared vacantly for about 30 seconds, waiting for himself to wake up. "What? This is a job interview?"

"That's what we told you on the phone, wasn't it? What did you think it-"

"I accept!" Izzy cut him off and grabbed his hand, shaking it repeatedly. Not only was he not going to prison today, he was getting a new job!

"But what did you-"

"Nope, that's not important, just let me know what you need from me. And yes, I did one hundred percent summon that kraken, while high I'll admit, but imagine what I can do when I'm sober! When can I start?"

The man blinked and shook his head to clear it, "Uh, well, if you really did all of that stuff, we can start you off as an Intern in the thaumatergical chemistry department. You'll have to attend an orientation on Monday, and we need to do a background check."

Izzy smiled widely as he sat back down, "I can assure you, there will be no problems with any of that."


Three Weeks Later

Dr. Leibowitz walked into the Site. This was his first day actually working at the Foundation. Before this it was just orientation, briefings, security clearance, blah blah blah. If someone mentioned another thing about Level 2 clearance this or O5 that one more time, he felt like he was going to be sick. But thankfully, today he actually got to work!

The guard in the Site stopped him at the entrance to the lab,
"Sir, you need Level 2 clearance to proceed past this point."

Hurk. He felt himself dry heave a single time and fished his keycard out of his pocket, he flashed it to the guard.

"Thank you, Doctor. Can't be too careful these days."

He opened the door and Izzy walked in. I wonder what we'll get to summon today. Godzilla? Mothra? Another kaiju? Killer ooze? He grinned as he walked up to the lead technician,

"So, Doc, what're we working on today?"

"Oh, hey, new guy. We're just making amnestics today. Research ran low, so we got to keep 'em topped up. Grab a hotplate from the pile and get to a station."

"…oh… Okay then."


Several Months Later

"Sierra Charlie Papa dash X-Ray Zero Two Five is a mass of approximately 3.5g of white powder. When analyzed, it was found to be made out of powdered ivory decomposed using an unknown process. This powder is completely non-anomalous when interacted with normally, however if a subject inhales a quantity through their nasal cavity, they will instantaneously be transported into a pocket dimension, where they will remain as long as there are individuals who were in the room when they inhaled the portion of the object. Once the last person in the room inhales a portion of the object, all those affected become transported back to their original position. All those except the last person to leave will be deceased upon reappearing."

BZZT

"Come on guys, it's an Eight-Ball!"

The room erupted into groans. They were playing a game of A Hop, Skip, and a Jump, where someone has to describe a mundane object as if it were an SCP. One of the Junior Researchers came up with it, and it's been spreading like wildfire across the Site.

One of the Researchers, a man named Dr. Quan, slapped Dr. Leibowitz on the back,

"Izzy, do you ever think of anything that doesn't have to do with coke?"

Izzy laughed, "Only occasionally, Wei. But hey, it's my party and without cocaine, I wouldn't be here to enjoy it. Besides, I've been clean for over eight months now."

Dr. Quan looked at him, skeptically and knowingly. Izzy rolled his eyes, "Clean as in sober, you old fart!" He slapped him on the back of the head and the two of them walked towards the minibar.

"By the way, Izzy, I just got a memo to send down from the S. D. to you." The two of them stumbled drunkenly to the couch, the sounds of the party surrounding them.

"From the Site Director? What for?" He grabbed a beer from the fridge next to the couch and opened it.

"He said you've been showing excellent professionalism and are ready to handle your first SCP." He chuckles softly under his breath as he opens a beer for himself.

"What, you think I can't handle it?" Izzy smiles at his friend.

"I didn't say anything," He cracks up, "But does the guy who has had six beers in the last two hours think he's professional?"

Dr. Leibowitz chuckled and smiled, "Yes. Yes I do."

The two of them swigged their beers.

"Do you have any idea what kind of skip it is?" Izzy asked.

"Not really, all I got is it's designation, but even that would probably be 'square bracket' REDACTED 'close square bracket' before I could tell you." He was hysterically laughing now, and doubling over in his seat.

"Come on, Wei, you gotta tell me at least that. How many of these did you have anyway?" Izzy chuckles as Wei slips further and further into the giggles. Izzy swigs his beer and shakes his head.

The next Monday, two days after the party, Dr. Leibowitz got his assignment. An anomalous entity had manifested in the nearby hospital, and the Site Director wanted him to check it out. The entity didn't seem hostile, the Director pointed out, but he wanted him to sort out exactly what's what with it.

He pulled into the parking lot and started making his way to the door.

Room 22B. Here it was. Hm… I should get more info before barging in. He walked over to the nearby counter, behind which a couple of nurses were working at computers.

He cleared his throat, "Nurse?"

"Yes?"

"I am part of the team that quarantined Room 22B, but I wasn't given much information as to what's inside it. Would you mind helping me out?"

"Some people were coming out of there screaming, but I don't know why. It's just a young woman in there. Miss Sheela, I thi-"

"Thank you, Ma'am."

He went back over to the door and thought for a second…

… He went back to the nurse, "Was there any similarity to the people that went to see the ent- er, person in that room?"

The nurse put her pencil on her chin and hummed, thinking, "One of them was her husband, one of them was the janitor, and one of them was one of the people on the team you came from."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

Back to the door…

He put his hand on the doorknob, turned it, and went inside.

Lying in the bed was what could arguably be described as a woman. Her skin was tight to her bones. Her arms and legs, hands and feet were all bent at weird angles. Her head was perpendicular to her spine and facing behind her. She was desiccated, mangled, and looked like a rotting corpse.

Izzy closed the door and shrugged. He'd expected worse. He started to approach the creature when, from inside his mind, he heard a voice, "Come not near to me!"

He winced and said to the… thing, "Who are you?"

The voice pierced his mind, "Stand by thyself! For I am holier than thou!"

He rolled his eyes and came closer, "Give it a rest, preacher woman."

"I am the Law. I am Justice. I am the Way, the Truth, and the-" He touched her foot softly, trying to be careful, when her whole body disintegrated into dust. Shit. This was going to be a tough one to explain to management.

Incident Report: Researcher Leibowitz was sent to investigate a potential anomalous entity at ████ ████████ Hospital. Over the course of the investigation, Researcher Leibowitz neutralized the suspected object. Further investigations into the other individuals associated with the anomaly indicate that the state of decay the individual put the entity in was directly proportional to the criminal activity in their lives. Investigations into Researcher Leibowitz regarding this matter are ongoing.

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It Was All So Simple

It was beginning to rain on the battlefield, the stench of blood and wet grass permiated the air. Dr. North runs into the forrest, darting through the trees.

The only thing he was able to grab was a small sickle, but he didn't know what good it would be against these… things. Some of them were his colleges. Some were SCPs. Others… he didn't know what those were.

He panted with his back pressed against a tree. He didn't think he was a bad person. What did he do to deserve this? He collapsed onto his knees and began to weep, trying to figure out how he had gotten to this point.

He was at Site-11 this morning, running through logistics as usual. And then… And then… What had happened? The next thing he remembered he was here, dropped in the middle of this death match. He knew he had to kill everyone in here if he was to escape. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. But he wasn't a killer. He began to weep harder, his breaths convulsing as he did. He didn't want to be a killer.

He heard footsteps. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He panicked. What was he going to do? He was going to die here. Alone. He looked around. The trees! Of course! His eyes still wet with tears, he climbed the tree as fast as he could, trying to get high enough that no one would notice him. This would be his plan. He would wait here for everyone below to kill each- He broke down again. He didn't want people to die. Why did they have to die? What kind of cruel joke was this? What kind of G-

Below him, the ground started crackling. The footsteps he had heard caught up with him. He looked behind the tree. Crouching there, looking much too happy for his situation, was Dr. Leibowitz. Dr. North didn't know much about him, but he knew from that look in his eyes that this wasn't the first death match he'd been involved in.

From the other side of the tree, he saw a much stranger sight. He couldn't quite make it out, or if he could he didn't want to believe it. It looked like a bowl of spagetti wearing sunglasses and an roughly spherical house. He decided in that moment he must've been put here by some bored sadistic reality bender and not any god worshiped by men.

Dr. Leibowitz rushed and leaped at the bowl, trying to stab into it with a knife he had concealed in his sleeve, but the building rushed him back. Dr. North heard a loud crack as his collegue's spine shattered against the concrete and drywall of his assailant. He was dead.

Dr. North had to hold his breath to keep himself from screaming. He shuttered as he let the tears flow out of him bit by bit. This was real. He could die here. This sick twisted game could be his tomb.

The two creatures who had killed the person that could have been his friend tranported themselves out of view. He was alone again with his thoughts and the fresh scent of blood.

Rapid crackling noises came from beneath him. Dr. North's eyes snapped open, tears streaming his face. He looked off his perch, expecting to see another abomination of nature or a friend from the Foundation. He was only half right. It was an SCP. One of the most feared in the whole Foundation. SCP-173.

Dr. North began sweating profusely. How would he escape? How would he survive?

He blinked. It was at the foot of the tree. At least it couldn't climb.

He blinked. OH SHIT IT CAN CLIMB

It was there. Right in front of his face. The Sculpture. The most feared thing in some of the Foundation.

Not knowing what else to do, he swung his sickle at it's neck and to his shock, surprise, and relief, it cut cleanly though. Dr. North's mouth hung open as he saw the head of one of the most famous anomalies in the Foundation fall to the ground.

He blinked.

The Sculpture didn't move.

It was that simple the whole time.

Based on the following chat logs:

#SCPHungerGames


<Jazstar> > DrLeibowitz attacks Swaghetti, but Rounderhouse protects him, killing DrLeibowitz.
<Jazstar> > North kills SCP-173 with a sickle.

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Containment Breach at Site-09

Report to the Site Director by Dr. Israel Leibowitz
Re: The Containment Breach on 15 September 2018


I am a little confused by this whole affair, if I am going to be quite honest with you. Site-09 is not known for having containment breaches. And this isn't because we have such good security that nothing can possibly escape and it isn't because we have only Safe class objects or anything. We don't have any containment breaches, Site Director, because, as you very well know, we do not have any objects that require special containment procedures. Despite this obvious fact, earlier this year, on 15 September 2018, three members of my staff have reported that their was a containment breach of an entity that I have no recollection of and our records have no mention of. With this in mind, in a show of loyalty to my subordinates, I am submitting the following report.

I will begin from my perspective, to give you a personal account of the situation, and then I will go into what each of my staff members claim they saw as it becomes relevant.

15 September 2018 was a Saturday and, as such, we were operating at minimum staff at the Site. Dr. Quan and I were manufacturing Class-I amnestics in Synthesis Lab 2, to reach the weekly quota, when the two of us caught a whiff of a concerning smell. Fudge. Since I am aware that you transferred to this site from a containment site, and don't have a lot of experience with amnestics, I will explain: During the production of amnestic compounds with Y-909 compound, a few aromatic alcohols and aldahydes are formed, specifically Vanillin, Acetoin, and 4-Anisaldehyde, which, when mixed together in the air, smell strongly of fudge. So, in summery, Dr. Quan and I believed we had an amnestic leak on our hands.

We first checked our distillation equipment for leaks, but found none, so in order to cover more ground, I volunteered to check the amnestic storage tanks while Dr. Quan checked the ventilation. As I was heading to the tanks, one of the few people still around at the site, whom I will refer to as Dr. A to preserve his identity, claims that they saw a reptilian humanoid entity enter the site from the south and break into the Site-09 break room. They claim that the entity was about 1.7m tall and appeared to be carrying a small satchel with an iron bound book resting in it. When Dr. A was discovered by the entity, they claimed the entity rendered them unconscious with blunt force trauma to the head utilizing said book. When Dr. A was recovered after the incident, they seemed to have no bruising or markings of any kind on their body, but they were found unconscious near the break room.

When I got to the storage tanks, I carefully checked the seals and back flow traps to make sure there were no leaks or holes in any of them. When I determined they were all secure, I made my way back to the Synthesis Lab, where I found Dr. Quan had passed out. When I examined him, he appeared to have been rendered unconscious from blood flow restriction to his brain via blocking off his carotid artery. I didn't have much time to examine him, however, since I was rendered unconscious shortly there after and don't recall awaking until after the rest of the ordeal.

Another one of my staff members' testimony, Dr. B, seems to contradict entirely with my account. Dr. B claims that I exited Synthesis Lab 2 after Dr. Quan was already unconscious. They go on to claim that, as they followed me from the shadows, I rendezvoused with the reptilian humanoid and seemed to know them very well. They overheard us talking about an apparent entity being contained in Site-09. It was a humanoid that could manipulate memories that was being studied for use in new amnestics, so they claim. Apparently, the reptilian humanoid and I were in cahoots and planing on helping this entity breach containment. Which is rather ridiculous, I am head of amnestics research, you'd think that if this thing existed, I'd be the one who'd want first crack at it.

After they overheard this, Dr. B claims they were spotted, after they made an involuntary noise, by the humanoid reptile. Analysis after the event shows much the same thing it did with Dr. A, unconscious with no sign of trauma on the body.

Dr. C was apparently just coming into work, when they saw a humanoid reptile, a young woman, about the age of 16, and I exit Site-09 from the north entrance. They claim that they called out to us, and the girl and I hurried away from them, while the reptilian humanoid approached them. Seeing the humanoid reptile brandishing his iron book, Dr. C retreated and attempted to hide in one of the bushes that surrounds the Site. The reptilian human gave up the chase fairly quickly and Dr. C conjectured it was due to the creature not having a lot of time left to do whatever it was he was doing.

The reptilian humanoid regrouped with the girl and I about 150m from the north entrance to the Site, when Dr. C claims that the young woman put her hands on my temples and I fell unconscious. After I was knocked out, Dr. C said that the girl disappeared completely, leaving no trace. The reptilian humanoid then lifted me onto his shoulders and carried me back into the facility.

Dr. C claims that he waited about 20 minutes before re-entering the Site and, upon investigating, found myself unconscious in Synthesis Lab 2, Dr. A unconscious in the break-room, and Dr. B unconscious in hallway 2C.

Upon the resuscitation of all the present staff, no one, besides Dr. C, claimed to have any memory of what happened. Because of this, I ordered a mnestic treatment for everyone present, leading to the testimonies outlined above. Because I appeared to have an account incongruous with the other members of staff, I increased my dosage of mnestics to the threshold of safety limits, but did not recall anything further.

After an extensive investigation of the amnestic pipelines in Site-09, the official conclusion of my team is that an amount of Class-G amnestics leaked from one of the pipes leading to the storage tanks and mixed with some of the Experimental Compound 07 that was being desiccated in Synthesis Lab 1 at the time. We are unsure how this resulted in a mass hysteria event, but further investigations into the reactive nature of these two substances for use in a memory implanting substance is ongoing.

- Dr. Israel Leibowitz, Head of Thaumaturgical Chemistry, Site-09

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How to Befriend a Dragon

rating: 0+x

Izzy Leibowitz was relaxing at one of his favorite spots. He didn't know where it was exactly, just some place in some universe with one of the best views he'd seen. And right next to a Way too, which made it convenient. A few years ago, he brought a lawn chair with him from the Library and today he was sitting in that chair, smoking softly on a cigarette, and reading a unauthored book by Ray Bradbury. Life was good today, and he couldn't ask for much more.

As he was sitting there, flipping through the pages, he heard a sound from behind him. A sound like a large amount of air being displaced downward, like the wing flap of a very large bird. He looked around, but didn't notice anything immediately. He got up and turned around. On the top of one of the trees, he noticed a golden glint, moonlight on hard scales. He dropped his cigarette and slowly made his way over to the trees.

"Where are you going to go now, Aislyn? You've left your whole life, your whole existence!"

He heard a raspy female voice coming from the top of the tree, "Everyone who's ever cared about you, gone! And for what? Did you think it would help you sleep at night?"

Izzy grabbed the trunk of the tree and begun climbing. He often wore his soft soled moccasins in the Library. It kept unwanted conversation at bay, but they also made for good stealth shoes, when he needed them.

"Why did the Foundation have to do this to me… Why couldn't they just tell me!?"

"Tell you what?"

Ais screamed and jumped back, onto another tree. Her eyes glowed fiercely, trying to push anger through her anguish, attempting to be ready for a fight. Izzy stood up and smiled at her with a soft expression,

"Evening, Ma'am. I couldn't help but overhear you. I was just over there reading, you see and… well there's nothing that touches my heart quite like a person in trouble. So, what's going on and how can I help?"

Ais looked at this tiny man, barely five foot ten inches tall. Why wasn't he running from her? She knew she could kill him in an instant, but that's what she was running from. She landed in front of him,

"What makes you think you could help me?" Ais asked in the most calm voice she could manage.

"I mean, it sounds like you've got a problem with someone trying to chase you. It sounds like you need a place to be safe. Somewhere with people who care about you."

Ais looked at him, suspiciously, "So what if I do? Are you saying you can protect me more than I can protect myself?"

Izzy smiled and pulled another cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it with his trench lighter, "I wouldn't pretend to know what you are capable of, but I do know a place that can keep you safe from damn near anyone. And there's a Way not to far from here to get in."

The two of them stared at each other. Blue eyes stared into red. Izzy puffed on his cigarette while Ais blew smoke from her nostrils.

Ais looked around, pensively.

"Might as well… My names Aislyn, you can call me Ais."

"I'm called The Little Wanderer, you can call me L.W. Ash is a fitting name for a dragon, but you should come up with a nom de plume pretty soon."

The two of them walked back to Izzy's lawn chair and Izzy hopped into the Way beside it. Thirty seconds later, he heard a loud thud as Ais collapsed face first onto the wooden floor of the Library.

"That first step is always a doozy." Izzy laughed as he held out a hand to help Ais to her feet.

Ais gripped her stomach and dry heaved a few times, as Izzy rubbed her back, "You alright, ya big lizard?"

"Yeah… Just… hurk… Give me a second…"

After the dragon recovered from her bumpy entrance, Izzy began walking with her through the Library.

Ais was slightly amazed how this person wasn't getting lost in this labyrinthine structure of shelves and books, but she was glad to have him as a guide. After thirty seconds of almost complete silence, they came to a rest spot in the Library, an alcove with food and drink and shelter. The brass sign over the area read APPLECIDER VINEGAR in bold serif text.

Ais sat on one of the beds in the deepest recess,

"So, why haven't you asked me who I'm running from?"

Izzy extinguished his cigarette and placed it in the ashtray next to the bed, monogrammed L.W.

"Because it's none of my business. You're running and you're obviously scared, so you obviously need a place to stay. Here is a place to stay."

"But what if I was a criminal… Or a D-Class… Or an undercover Foundation agent?"

"Look, lady, I only know what one of those are, and if you're a criminal, I'm Jack Black, because as far as I'm aware, there weren't any dragons in that timeline normally. So, you'd probably be running from literally everyone. Cigarette?"

"No thanks, I don't smoke."

Izzy looks at her and starts to smirk.

"Okay, I don't smoke cigarettes." Ais smiles and they both start to laugh.

Izzy shrugs and lights another cigarette, puffing it slowly,

"Suits me fine. Tomorrow, we'll talk more about getting you permanent housing and discuss your plans, but I've also got to go to a job interview the day after, so we'll have to work around that."

"Sounds good, L.W."

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SCPs

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I Sing The Particle Electric

rating: 0+x
scp-izzy-01.jpg

SCP-3819 in containment.

Item #: SCP-3819

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-3819 is to be kept in a 20nm2 CMOS transistor submerged in a bath of liquid Helium to maintain operating temperatures of between 4 K and 15 K1. An aural ambiance is to be maintained consisting of assorted lullabies and postgraduate level lectures on theoretical physics.

Description: SCP-3819 is an electron which has developed rudimentary sapience and empathetic telepathy through unknown means. It claims to be the only electron or positron in existence, claiming that all other excitations in the electron field are itself at an earlier stage in its existence, from its perspective.

When SCP-3819 communicates with an individual, the object possesses the subject, with their consent, and causes the subject to speak in the first person as the object. The object exhibits a mentality common in children around the ages of 8-10, although it has detailed knowledge of quantum electrodynamics.

Investigations into how the Foundation could use the object to progress in areas of QED or telepathic communication is ongoing. Following Incidents 3819-β and 3819-γ, interviews with SCP-3819 are to be halted indefinitely, pending O5 approval.

While the auditory atmosphere does not seem to directly effect the containment of the object, attempts to remove the ambiance have been unsuccessful, and efforts have proven to incur more costs than benefits.

Discovery Log: SCP-3819 was discovered in 1940 in a piece of chalk used by Dr. John A. Wheeler. After the object possessed Dr. Wheeler while on a telephone call with Dr. Richard P. Feynman, SCP-3819 went on to describe itself to Dr. Feynman. This was designated Incident 3819-α. Class A amnestics were administered to Dr. Wheeler, to make him forget the anomalous nature of their discussion. Dr. Feynman required no amnestics because, after being interviewed by the Foundation, it was determined that he assumed the object talking to him over the telephone to be Dr. Wheeler and assumed the “One-Electron Universe” the object discussed with him to be a mostly non-credible physics idea, thought up by Dr. Wheeler.

Upon relocation to the Foundation, SCP-3819 possessed Dr. Jonas W. R███████ and gave directions to how it could be isolated and contained individually, which lead to the above procedures.

Addendum 3819-1: At 1500 hrs, on 27 February 1945, Dr. P████'s father passed away, due to natural causes.

Incident 3819-β: At 2100 hrs, on 27 February 1945, Dr. P████ locked himself in his office at Site-██ and barricaded the door shut. When it was broken down, Dr. P████'s body was found, having suffered self-inflicted cranial injuries with the revolver he had kept in his desk drawer. On his desk was the following note.

Addendum 3819-2: At 0600 hrs, on 28 February 1945, Dr. C██████ regained consciousness. Upon hearing the news regarding Dr. P████, she began to weep. When she returned to stability, she requested an interview with SCP-3819.

Incident 3819-γ: At 1200 hrs, on 28 February 1945, Dr. C██████'s body was found in her office by a custodian of Site-██. She suffered from self-induced asphyxiation, utilizing a neck tie which the deceased is believed to have purchased for Dr. P████ to commemorate their engagement. On her desk was a note, on which was written:

I'm sorry Sally. There's nothing we can do for you now. - Mommy

Sara C██████, age 6, has been given Class C amnestics and has been reassigned to Dr. C██████ next of kin.


This image is borrowed from: WikiMedia Commons

Original Source:
Creator:


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Unfortunately The Best Doggo

rating: 0+x
scp-80rk-j.jpg

Member of SCP-80RK-J eviscerating a hostile entity.

Item #: SCP-80RK-J

Object Class: Apollyon, but could be considered Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: Members of SCP-80RK-J are to be held in a life sized replica of the Taj Mahal constructed of pure moonbeams inlaid with gold. The containment site is to be equipped with at least 3.2 million boutique artisanal chew toys. Alternatively, members of SCP-80RK-J could be housed in a standard animal containment unit. It is to have 30 meals a day consisting solely of the souls of their enemies. Enemies of SCP-80RK-J include, but are not limited to: Fascists, People with a negative score on the aura evaluation test, members of the species Homo erectus, and cats. A minimum standard of 3 meals a day of animal grade kibble could also be acceptable.

Personnel subject to being in the same site as members of SCP-80RK-J are to be reclassified as Z-Class until all members of SCP-80RK-J have been transferred. Reclassification to E-Class could be authorized until such time as a definition for Z-Class personnel is established. A massive pool party is to be thrown with the pool to be entirely filled with $100 notes and staffed by approximately all of the hookers. Although, a minimum of zero hookers could be allowed. Personnel attending any such pool party, should it exist, are to be given Class X amnestics and any personnel leaving with any of the $100 notes from the pool are to be terminated or could have standard embezzlement disciplinary action filed against them.

Any attempts to bring members of SCP-80RK-J into contact with a member of the overseer council is to result in orbital ejection or death.

Members of SCP-80RK-J are to have their genitalia ceremoniously eviscerated, as per standard animal spay and neutering procedure, as soon as they are identified by Foundation personnel. Members of SCP-80RK-J are not under any circumstances allowed to breed. Personnel encouraging members of SCP-80RK-J to breed are to be drawn and quartered at the soonest available time, or terminated in any other way if a horse is not available.

Description: SCP-80RK-J is a breed of the species Canis familiaris. It is distinguished by it's regal flowing mane that can measure as much as 30km in length in brown, beige, or combat coloration and it's cognitohazardous effect on all members of lifekind, however members outside the species Homo sapiens could be said to be immune. Any description of any kind described while in the effect of SCP-80RK-J become absolutely disproportionate to something that could be considered remotely near accurate to any physical universe that does or could be theorized to exist. This effect could have been shown not to manifest in hypothetical statements following the initial descriptions. The range of this effect has been shown to be upwards of several million light years, although it could be as little as 10km.

Attempts to remove the affected descriptions only serves to anger the thaumatergical entities that control the universe and cause them to hate all of reality even more than they already do and bring our inevitable end even closer than it already is or could result in even more outlandish descriptions than were previously produced.

Unsurprisingly, this effect can have absolutely disastrous consequences, resulting in a Double-ΩK-Class End-of-Consensus-Reality scenario if left unchecked, but more often could result in minor headaches for Foundation staff.


This image is borrowed from: Flickr (CC BY-SA 2.0)

Original Source: Here
Creator: Romain Brami


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I Put My Lettuce In The CRISPR and Now Its Sapient

rating: 0+x

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX and SCP-XXXX-1 are to be kept in a standard hydroponic containment cell. The cell is to be partitioned to allow for private interviews with each of the objects, but have the ability to open to allow free communication when not conducting interviews.

SCP-XXXX-2 is to be kept in a separate soundproof hydroponics containment cell. SCP-XXXX-2 is to have psychological evaluations on a biweekly basis, designed to investigate the extent of the object's knowledge. The attending psychologist is not allowed to bring pencil, paper, or any form of information storing devices with them to the evaluations. All meetings are to be recorded directly to encrypted drives set to Level-5 clearance only. After meeting with SCP-XXXX-2, the attending psychologist is to be treated with Class-C amnestics to remove all knowledge of their time spent with SCP-XXXX-2. Attending psychologists are to be rotated after every meeting.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a head of Lactuca sativa, more commonly known as Iceberg Lettuce, which has gained sapience and a method of spoken communication through currently unknown, although suspected genetic2, means. Analysis of SCP-XXXX's genome has revealed substantial differences between its genetic code and that of a typical individual of L. sativa, collectively designated SCP-XXXX-A.

Interviews with SCP-XXXX have revealed that it believes itself to be a human researcher working at the Foundation under the name Doctor John Cabbage, although no such person was ever employed by the Foundation.

Experiments with implanting different parts of the SCP-XXXX-A ANA3 in additional subjects in the plant kingdom have resulted in additional sapient vegetables, designated SCP-XXXX-1 and SCP-XXXX-2. Due to the creation of SCP-XXXX-2, in spite of not being able to isolate the sapience granting string of genetic code, further experiments using this method have been abandoned.

SCP-XXXX, SCP-XXXX-1 and SCP-XXXX-2 have very little in common, apart from the following:

  • All of the objects have sapience.
  • All of the objects believe that they are human.
  • All of the objects believe that they have worked at the Foundation, despite no records existing to corroborate this.
  • All of the objects have names relating to the vegetable in a direct, or at least commonly misunderstood4, manner.

Further investigations into a between SCP-XXXX and GoIs which have access to genetic modification technology is ongoing.

Discovery Log: SCP-XXXX was discovered in the lower most drawer of the refrigerator inside the Site-09 break room, when the object exclaimed he was being assaulted by a Junior Researcher as they were attempting to construct a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich.


AUDIO LOG XXXX-A


DATE: 02242017

NOTE: Initial interview with SCP-XXXX. Dr. Chong presiding.


[BEGIN LOG]

Dr. Chong: Good morning, SCP-XXXX.

SCP-XXXX: Good morning, Doctor… uh, Chong is it? I am Doctor Cabbage, and you may refer to me as such.

Dr. Chong: Very well, Doctor… Cabbage. Would you mind answering a few questions regarding your current state?

SCP-XXXX: Oh, is it that bad? I thought I might be coming down with a cold. I was hoping that taking the day off would clear it up, but I suppose not.

Dr. Chong: I was referring to your current state of (pause) being a head of lettuce, Dr. Cabbage.

SCP-XXXX: What? A head of lettuce?

Dr. Chong: Yes.

SCP-XXXX: What are you talking about, Sir? I have never for a moment in my life ceased being a human being.

(silence for aprox. 15 seconds)

Dr. Chong: Dr. Cabbage, you describe yourself as a doctor, but would you mind telling me what you are a doctor of?

SCP-XXXX: On my diploma it says Biological Sciences, but I was hired at the Foundation for my work on thaumatergical biology.

Dr. Chong: Like DNA augmentation?

SCP-XXXX: Through thaumatergic means? Don't be silly, boy, that'd be impossible! The DNA structure is much too fine for the thaumatergic meathods we have today.

Dr. Chong: But you did work with DNA? Through non-thaumatergic means?

SCP-XXXX: I don't know where all this talk about DNA came from, I'm just a biologist, not a geneticist. I study the phenotypical traits of thaumatergic creatures, fairies, unicorns, and the like. Classic stuff.

Dr. Chong: Alright, well… Thank you for your time, Dr. Cabbage.


[END LOG]


By order of Site Directorship
Re: SCP-XXXX-1 Experiment


The experiment to extract a quantity of SCP-XXXX-A and implant it into another host, designated SCP-XXXX-1, is APPROVED. This experiment will be carried out at the earliest possible convenience at the discretion of the XXXX Lead Researcher.

By order of XXXX Lead Researcher
Re: SCP-XXXX-1 Experiment


The experiment to extract and implant an ammount of SCP-XXXX-A into an individual of the species Musa acuminata5 is to be begun on 03 March 2016 at 0800 by Researcher Markson, Researcher Carlos, and Junior Researcher Vala.


AUDIO LOG XXXX-B


DATE:03042017

NOTE: Initial interview with SCP-XXXX-1. Dr. Markson presiding.


[BEGIN LOG]

Dr. Markson: Good afternoon, SCP-XXXX-1.

SCP-XXXX-1: What, so I'm an SCP now?

Dr. Markson: I beg your pardon?

SCP-XXXX-1: Last time I checked, the number you slapped me with was D-0579.

Dr. Markson: (clears her throat) What was your name prior to joining the SCP Foundation?

SCP-XXXX-1: Sig. Sigmund Peele.

Dr. Markson: So, D-057-

SCP-XXXX-1: Oh, that's just like you doctor types to ask me my name just to go on and not fucking use it.

Dr. Markson: (pauses) Mr. Peele, would you describe where you were yesterday morning?

SCP-XXXX-1: I don't know, probably in my fucking cell.

Dr. Markson: You don't remember?

SCP-XXXX-1: No, I don't remember. Do you think you'd remember every time you stared at a grey concrete wall?

Dr. Markson: I see. Thank you, Mr. Peele.


[END LOG]


Request to XXXX Lead Researcher from Dr. Sabrina Markson
Re: SCP-XXXX-2 Experiment


Due to the results of Experiment XXXX-1, I hereby request another opportunity to experiment with SCP-XXXX-A in order to see if the entity can be genetically engineered to be more useful in pinpointing the genetic and/or thaumatergical elements responsible for sapience and spontaneous auditory generation.

Responce to request by Dr. Sabrina Markson from XXXX Lead Researcher
Re: SCP-XXXX-2 Experiment


I'll give the go ahead, but be careful Bri, we don't really know the forces we're messing with here.

By order of XXXX Lead Researcher
Re: SCP-XXXX-2 Experiment


The experiment to extract and implant an ammount of SCP-XXXX-A into a modified individual of the species Zea mays6 is to be begun on 15 April 2016 at 0800 by Researcher Markson, Researcher Carlos, and Junior Researcher Vala.


AUDIO LOG XXXX-C


DATE: 04162016

NOTE: Initial interview with SCP-XXXX-2. Dr. Carlos presiding.


[BEGIN LOG]

Dr. Carlos: Good morning, SCP-XXXX-2.

SCP-XXXX-2: Oh god. Am I dead? I figured if there was a god, he'd do this kind of cruel joke to me…

Dr. Carlos: SCP-XXXX-2, please elaborate. What is particularly cruel?

SCP-XXXX-2: The last thing I remember, I was lying in bed, which means I'm probably dead. I'd bet those bastards at the ███ did it too, they've been planning their little █████████ ████ █████ for years now, and I guess they finally built up the nerve to strike.

Dr. Carlos: I'm sorry, but, if you don't mind me asking, why would the ███ target you specifically?

SCP-XXXX-2: Because I'm O5-█, Joseph Cobb, you simpleton. (pause) I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I'm just in shock is all.

Dr. Carlos: Oh shit.


[END LOG]

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Wondertainment Ouija

rating: 0+x

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures:

Description: SCP-XXXX is a miniature plastic touch-tone telephone which has the capacity to communicate

Discovery Log: SCP-XXXX was found wrapped on the front porch of the personal residence of Dr. Jeremiah Cimmerian, after an Ethics Committee vote to classify toys by Dr. Wondertainment as "Unsafe for Children". Attached to the package was the following note:

Do people constantly ask you questions that no mortal being could know the answer to?
Are you in need of some magical device of questionable morality to help you through the day-to-day?
Introducing, Dr. Wondertainment's new Authentic Ouija board set!
Communicate with real demons and other horrors from the astral abyss!
Have all of your darkest secrets answered!
Be part of an Ethics Department with dubious authenticity!
Be a part of a world bigger than yourself with Dr. Wondertainment's new Authentic Ouija board set!

Dr. Wondertainment

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Alt-Copyleft (Collab with LukeLukens)

rating: 0+x

Item #: SCP-CC-J

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures:

Description: SCP-CC-J is a militant insurgence group composed of sapient Creative Commons symbols. The Foundation has determined this group to be from the year [[Currentyear+50]]

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DrLeibowitz' Proposal

rating: 0+x

Item #: SCP-001

Object Class: Thaumiel7

Special Containment Procedures: Containment of SCP-001 is considered unadvisable. Research into SCP-001 and how it can be better understood is considered maximum priority.

Description: SCP-001 is the force, process, or entity which gives sapience to the animal species Homo sapiens. SCP-001 was found to be anomalous following experiments involving CAC-078 and Class-F amnestics, in which subjects ceased all neurological functions until recussitated. When the subjects fully recovered, they began to act more in accordance with other members of the tribe Hominini, such as Pan troglodytes9, and lost all detectible signs of sapience.

Believed to be a result of the chemical concoction, testing began on other sapient entities. All other sapient entities tested recovered their sapience upon resussatation. It is unknown what makes members of Homo sapiens different from other sapient entites, although testing into this is ongoing.

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Чеховское Ружьё

rating: 0+x

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Preumbrous

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be kept on the wall above the Site-09 hearth until needed.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a Roth Steyr M1907 pistol manufactured by Steyr Mannlicher Fegyver- és Gépgyár in the year 1900 CE The side of the barrel is inscribed the characters "Чеховское ружьё"10, which appear to have been carved into it with the bayonet of a Mosin-Nagant rifle. It is identical in every way to a non-anomalous Roth Steyr M1907 with the notable exception that it cannot be fired.

When one attempts to fire the object as one normally would, by placing a round in the magazine, loading it into the camber, and pressing down the trigger, the object behaves as it would if the object had been completely unloaded.

As a consequence of its inscription, anomalous property, and discovery, it is believed that SCP-XXXX will be fired at some point in the future, although by whom and at what is currently unknown.

Discovery Log: SCP-XXXX was discovered in the Cave of Machphelah in the year 2005 during a
Foundation excavation of the Inner Cave. Radioactive dating of the object found it to be at least from the 5th century BCE.

Addendum XXXX-A: On [REDACTED] SCP-XXXX was found on the desk of O5-█, after they had inflicted [REDACTED]. Next to the corpses, on the desk of O5-█, SCP-XXXX was placed with some precision next to the following note:

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The Red-Winged God

rating: 0+x

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is not to be known by any personnel. The containment locker housing SCP-XXXX is to remained closed at all times. Any personnel who hear or start rumors regarding any aspect of SCP-XXXX are to be quarantined in a soundproof holding cell. If such individuals begin exhibiting anomalous properties, they are to be terminated immediately.

Description: SCP-XXXX is considered a Class-7 Cognitohazard. No personnel are to look at the hidden portions of this document without Level-4/XXXX clearence under penalty of termination. Original document preserved for investigation into more effective containment procedures.



The Black Queen

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Timeline η-5

rating: 0+x

black Queen Yasna creating the Page.

black queen nietzsche logging her findings

blk q is here for the lols


Baseline

The Entity, or Process, We are not quite sure yet, seems to be able to manifest inside of one of the Queens. This is, obviously, very concerning and care should be made that none of us become infected. are we talking about that thing that makes you really stupid out of nowhere and you do shit you don't remember doing and all that? what the fuck are you talking about? ive seen lots of our sisters and some of them aren't the sharpest bulb in the shed neetch. The One that forgot to choose a Handle is right. And might be considered a prime Example. okay, that got a chuckle out of me, yasna.

Prerequisites

the prereqs for this bastard or whatever, and the reason it probably isn't one of the ones like blk there, is that it seems to pop up in those l.s.es that are the most strategic and ruthless towards the foundation, causing them to become easily taken over in their sleep. what so the foundation fucking controls people in their sleep? thats fucking dumb. At least the One with no Handle can say the Word "Foundation." And no, We do not know how the Process manifests, We just know that Someone from one Timeline will start acting like They are from a completely different Timeline and also seem to be much less mentally endowed than when They had previously conversed with Us. … that was a lot of words blue. like a lot of words. it doesn't matter, why the fuck are you even here?

Utility

There does not seem to be any Utility in an Effect that makes one of our Queens weaker. I mean, let's not be hasty yasna, we could abduct one of the foundation loyal queens and replace them with a stupid one. that'd be pretty useful. You do make a good Point Nietzsche. I like that Idea. nooooo dont do that. that would be super mean. i dont like being mean .c how do u emoticon 'c whatever.

Vulnerability

I mean, we could kill them, but that seems a little harsh. the teleporting them to another timeline thing seems like our best bet. Agreed. nooo thats so meeeean


Instance: Timeline X-7:

This Timeline was inhabited by a Queen who was about a Week from bringing down the Foundation. She got as far as having two Seats on the Foundation's overseer Council when the Affliction struck Her. She was saying She was going to sleep, but when I heard back from Her, She was about as articulate as a Toddler. she had two seats! damn, girl, where'd she get that kind of sway. That is, more or less, What I had asked Her before She retired. yknow maybe if u actually gave the foundation a chance they wouldnt be so bad. we're just going to ignore this clown, right yasna?


Instance: Timeline X-13:

this timeline had a killer bitch who absolutely was butchering the foundation. she had a black ops section of the serpent's tooth called the serpent's poison or something, I don't really remember. the point was, she was just about to slaughter the o5 council after absolutely wrecking the rest of the foundation's shit, when she decided to vegetate in front of the tv for no apparent reason and watch reruns of teletubies. TELETUBBIES! Teletubies? I am pretty sure its a show about a demon sun that enslaves humanity in these plush fursuits and augments them with cybernetics, forcing them to sing and dance for children until they die. it's considered suitable for children in some timelines. That's horrific! thats not what teletubies is about its a nice show with lala and po yeah, so I was hoping this was just supposed to be giving her ideas on what she was going to do to o5 after she captured them, but she just giggled like an idiot and let them take her whole force out without her lifting a finger.


Instance: Timeline η-5:

what the fuck? that's not a valid timeline designation. I know, but in the extended, i.e. painful, Conversation with an Instance of the Entity or processed Queen, This was the Timeline She claimed to be from. what the fuck thats my timeline?

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Are We Cool Yet?

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rating: 0+x

Title: The artist's title for the piece as mentioned above, italicized.
Material Requirements: A bulleted list of materials the artist used to create the piece or which s/he expects to need, ranging from the ordinary to the exotic and hard to find to that which is anomalous in and of itself.
Abstract: A brief description of the piece what it is, what it's supposed to do, how it does it (if the artist knows), how it should be displayed, etc.
Intent: In this section, the artist, speaking in first person, describes their reasons for creating this piece; what motivated them to come up with the idea, what they hope to achieve by producing it, how they went about making it, who the intended audience is, what kind of reaction they hope to get from the audience, and so on.

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Well This Certainly is a Thing

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Heading North