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SCP-XXXX: One Evening As The Sun Went Down And The Jungle Fire Was Burning
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Neutralized
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX has been dismantled and all of the interior components are to be placed into Low-Priority Storage. All individuals involved are to be interrogated for knowledge on the PoI "dado", and placed into Class E containment suites and given access to regular medical and psychiatric care. Secondary mission protocols are for agents located in the southeastern United States, throughout Germany, or stationed at Lunar Area-32 to attempt to detain PoI "dado" for Foundation questioning. Residents of the Washington DC metro area are to be informed that advertisements for SCP-XXXX were for an upcoming sketch comedy series that has since been cancelled.
Any researchers studying GoI-233 ("Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting") are to be given access to SCP-XXXX merchandise for study.
Description: SCP-XXXX is the collective designation for an abandoned circus fairgrounds located on an abandoned lot in Bethesda, Maryland. When discovered, the site contained:
- One cheap, small polythene circus tent roughly fifteen ft in diameter, covering a collection of twenty-five leather armchairs circling a large hula hoop.
- An antique metal birdcage of Dutch manufacture containing an extremely unhealthy cockatoo.
- Horse saddles
- One cymbal monkey
- A quantity of unknown green fluid.
- A large concession stand selling exclusively popcorn, all of which had begun growing mold
- A small concession stand designed to sell ice cream, containing one raw hot dog.
- A battered silk top hat
- Guinea pig cages
- A house trailer currently occupied by seven individuals in various states of illness and malnourishment, living in an unsanitary environment.
- Sixty stands selling merchandise for a "herbie fucker really very good circus of the unsettle by dado." This included numerous T-shirts, mugs, bumper stickers, posters, novelty hats, novelty shoes, novelty cooking knives, and branded pharmaceutical pill bottles, all of which were empty. The designs, logo, and font on these products are identical to those used by Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting, with obvious modifications in order to crudely differentiate them.
A handful of these objects have anomalous properties. The cockatoo, designated SCP-XXXX-1, has the ability to mimic the voice and movements of the Warner Brothers cartoon character Michigan J. Frog1. The cymbal monkey, designated SCP-XXXX-2, vocalizes the word “dado” and cycles through various pronunciations of it. The green fluid, designated SCP-XXXX-3, induces constant flatulence, massive intestinal ulcers, and the appearance of urine byproducts in feces upon consumption. An empty glass bottle containing traces of SCP-XXXX-3 was found nearby, labeled "peepoo vegan clown milk by dado."
The primary anomaly within SCP-XXXX were a set of 18 pharmaceutical pill canisters, all empty, but at one point each containing 26 rainbow-colored pills. Testimony from the individuals found at the site indicate that these pills were used to increase human strength and flexibility, allowing the individuals to perform superhuman feats. Several individuals noted that these pills did have a side effect of causing severe mood swings, and ultimately depression.
Addendum-1: The following video aired on public access television throughout the Washington DC metro area. It received little attention due to it's length and crude production values, but was estimated to have been seen by upwards of 200 individuals before it was intercepted and removed from the airwaves.
An embedded copy of this video is below.
Addendum-2: Interview with performer at SCP-XXXX.
Interviewed: Matt Lexiel, a 26 year old juggler and blockhead who was employed by the Person of Interest 'dado' over a period of three months. Lexiel was suffering from infections of the gastrointestinal and respiratory tracts, as well as skin irritation, acne vulgaris, inflammation and rashes covering 60% of his body.
Interviewer: Dr. Sandra Bloch-Hammier, Current Project Leader on Person of Interest 'dado.' Interview was conducted bedside in the Site's medical wing.
<Begin Log>:
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: So, how did dado reach out to you initially?
Lexiel: (coughs for 30 seconds) Well, he placed a small ad in the local newsletter. DC doesn't have a terribly large circus community, you see those in New York and Los Angeles, so it wasn't hard to find work. (Lexiel coughs again)
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: What specifically drew you to this employment situation? Your employer isn't typically known for his conventional advertising?
Lexiel: No, no he really wasn't. (Lexiel laughs weakly) I was poor, sharing an apartment with five other people. He promised a salary comparable to a run with Barnum and Bailey, said he'd provide props. I don't know, I was just a broke dumbass.2
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: Can you describe the day to day life working for dado?
Lexiel: Awful. Pure hell.
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: …can you elaborate?
Lexiel: From moment one, he wouldn't let us leave. He showed us our green room, and we realized instantly that we had been had. I think it was, uh, Judy who said that we'd better do one show. Just to do it and run. (Lexiel falls quiet for 30 seconds) It was brilliant. Once he gave us the supplement, the cheapness of his setup just fell away. You felt like a god. Like a goddamn angel, you could soar, you could leap, you could do real magic. You know the trick that blockheads do where they drive the nails into the nose and eyelids?
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: Sure.
Lexiel: It's a big illusion. People assume the naval cavity and eye sockets go upwards instead of straight back, so to them it looks like you're piercing your skull, but it's just sitting there. But with those pills? I could actually do it. I was able to hammer through the nose, eyes, tongue, with no pain. No pain at all.
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: There were complications?
Lexiel: (Scratches a scab on his left arm in silence) The wounds didn't stick. It was more like the pills moved the injury from your body to your brain. That was how you couldn't leave. The moment we all tried to walk away we just felt so awful, so crushingly terrible. It was like your entire vision was filled up by the flaws you presented to the world. So, we just stayed. And that was a mistake.
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: Briefly describe your living conditions.
Lexiel: There were only two beds. He never bought us enough food, saying it would "hurt dado bottom line." He fed the parrot nothing. He fed us little. I remember Jeremy, the wolf boy, hadn't eaten anything beyond Chef Boyardee in like a week and was crawling on his knees after the show to dado, begging for food. He didn't listen, he was trying to groom this ratty guinea pig. It was like Jeremy wasn't there. Worse was the smell, The green room had no plumbing, and eventually dado forbade us to shit and piss on the lawn, saying it was driving away the customers.
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: There were customers? What kinds of customers?
Lexiel: Rare kinds. Mostly homeless people or poor families from apartment complexes. Maybe, one a day on average. So, his thing was a load of horseshit.
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: He was directly abusive?
Lexiel: (Attempting to laugh, but beginning to heavily cough instead.) You're assuming he did this to us because he was cruel. No, dado wasn't cruel. He was just cold. He didn't care about us. He barely even thought about us. He spent most of his free time pacing the grounds, ranting in this bizarre dialect about Jeff Bezos, and how Jeff Bezos was an evil cheater, and going to space. Sometimes he talked to the guinea pig and acted like it was talking back to him. The only thing he really paid attention to were the merchandise carts, with which he attempted to do a hard sell to every customer.
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: So, would you say, officially, that dado's primary consideration was selling the merchandise?
Lexiel: For all his weirdness, he was no different than any other businessman. All he wanted was his cheap money and his workforce be damned.
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: What did you mean by weirdness? What did you see?
Lexiel:(silence)
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: Mr. Lexiel?
Lexiel: I saw his eyes once.
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: What?
Lexiel:He removed his ringmaster hat one time when he thought no one was looking.
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: Can you describe for me what he looked like?
(There is extended silence from Lexiel.)
Lexiel: I tried to run away, I really did. I shut my eyes and tried to forget and tried to bolt for the street but the pills kicked in and I couldn't do it. It made it so much worse and I felt so bad and I felll to my knees. I let him walk me back to the trailer. Why did I let him walk me back!?
Dr. Bloch-Hammler: What does dado's face look like?
(Lexiel rotates in his cot with difficulty so that he is directly facing Dr. Bloch-Hammler)
Lexiel: It was lowercase.
Addendum-3: SCP-XXXX was abruptly abandoned three months after it's@@
A member of SCP-2444-1 within a homeless camp.
Item #: SCP-2444
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: Due to it's location in a place of great scientific and monetary value to the Costa Rican Government, the Foundation has enacted Protocol CASTRO, which severely limits the number of tourists and expeditions into Corcovado National Park under the guise of protecting endangered species from human impacts. Protocol CASTRO also forbids direct contact with SCP-2444, but permits indirect observation from a distance. The inhabitants of SCP-2444 are extremely toxic due to highly potent neurotoxic alkaloid poisons in the skin, so direct contact would be not recommended regardless of Protocol CASTRO.
A public narrative should be introduced that P. vittatus is endangered in the Osu Peninsula due to habitat degradation.
Description: SCP-2444 is a miniature representation of San Francisco and surrounding cities, circa 2018, constructed entirely out of leaves, twigs, fungi, wood, and stone. It is located by a stagnant pool, identical to the shape of the San Francisco Bay, within the remote lowland forest interior of Corcovado National Park on the Osa Peninsula in southwestern Costa Rica. It is home to a population of 884,363 sapient amphibians, designated SCP-2444-1.
Despite the appearance to San Francisco in 2018, SCP-2444 has remained physically identical since at least 1906, when it is first referenced. Historically, it was home to a significant population of Golfodulcean poison frog (Phyllobates vittatus), which behaved in a manner similar to human citizens of San Francisco, although a 1:1 comparison between citizen and frog could not be made. in From 1990-2009, SCP-2444, gained a significant population of invasive golden poison frogs (Phyllobates terribilis) while the original Golfodulcean poison frog population decreased by 18,000 frogs. The alkaline skin poison of golden poison frogs is considerably more toxic than the Golfodulcean poison frogs, and they have quickly ascended the social scale within SCP-2444. Since then, there has been social strife between the two groups, as the golden poison frogs have been increasingly performing racial violence against the native residents. Homelessness within SCP-2444 has increased to 88.2%.
In 2014, a Golfodulcean poison frog was assaulted and killed by a number of golden poison frogs acting as police officers, sparking widespread protests from both invasive and native frogs across SCP-2444. The two groups have been observed making extremely small picket signs and violently croaking and squeaking at each other. Foundation researchers observed the police instances of SCP-2444-1 siccing trained bullet ants on neighborhoods of Golfodulcean poison frogs. SCP-2444's society remains extremely volatile today.
Hey there Stonefish. I hope you enjoy the following tale set within your Glittering Horizon series. Once the art exchange is over, and if this tale passes your inspection as the series runner, feel free to reach out to me and I'll be more than happy to post it on the main site. Thank you for the opportunity to read your experimental series.
P.S. For the full effect I'd recommend inserting this into a sandbox. :)
Please enjoy:
Out Of Frame
Van Turner looked at his watch. Before him, 13 monitors were blank, each serving to reflect his visage back. Within each, he saw himself frown. He wondered if there was a place in which at least one of those reflections smiled.
One by one, the monitors flickered to life. On each, a Roman Numeral appeared. I through XIII. The Director adjusted his tie and took a sip of water before clearing his throat.
"You may begin when ready, Director." A woman's voice sounded from Monitor III.
"Thank you," Van Turner replied. "I appreciate each of you taking this time to hear me out, and realize you are quite busy. By now you should have received my updated proposal…"
The anomalous items storage warehouses at larger facilities, like Site-19 or Site-77, were massive. Huge rooms reminiscent of the final scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark filled floor to ceiling with the most mundane anomalies the rank and file field agents managed to stumble upon across centuries of investigations.
It was now up to the Department of Photography to go through and update the photos for all of them.
Or, at least that was supposed to be the task at hand. The gunman who chased Photographer Joseph Goldman through a particularly poorly lit, winding, and notably abandoned section of that cavernous space seemed to have other plans.
Turning a corner, the portly man threw down a series of boxes behind him, panting as he continued his sprint. The sound of a carnival filled the space as the lid of one of the boxes fell off and spilled its contents.
"Where the hell is an exit?" Joseph said to himself, peering over his shoulder as the gunman stepped over the boxes and gingerly brushed some confetti from his lapel. "Security! SECURITY!!!"
"I've heard some far-fetched suggestions in my time," Monitor IX spoke, "but few of them recommended slashing almost 75% of the personnel from an entire Foundation Department. Director Van Turner, you are aware of how institutional the Department of Photography is to an organization wholly dependent on accurate documentation, yes?"
"The notion did not escape me," Van Turner chuckled. "But times change, friends. There are fewer horses in the world today than there were in 1901. As the world evolved then to accommodate the automobile, so to must we evolve to the changing realities of our database. By and far the vast majority of entries in our database do not contain photos of the anomalies contained therein. I'd argue over half of those that do would not be hindered by the removal of those images."
"To what end, Director?" Monitor II asked.
Van Turner smiled.
"Security, of course. Need I remind you of Incident 423-26? Or perhaps 4560-12? Time and time again use of photography in our documentation has served as a vector of a containment breach. To be blunt, lives are lost. With my proposed restructuring of the Department of Photography, we'd seek to bring that number down to zero…"
"You've got to be kidding me…"
Joseph stared at the dead-end before him. Three tall shelving units, all covered with boxes and cases surrounded him, cutting his less than direct route to a less hostile part of the facility short. He looked over his shoulder once more. The gunman was rounding the corner, raising a silenced pistol as he took aim at a sitting duck.
Joseph turned and raised his camera's viewfinder to his eye.
"With whatever respect is due, Director, your proposal would seem to be of dubious benefit at best, and self-sabotage at worst," Monitor X sighed. "In our line of work, accurate photographic documentation is crucial. Handicapping the individuals tasked with that burden would serve our larger mission poorly. To the Foundation, a picture is often worth well more than 1000 words."
"I'm sorry that you see it that way," Van Turner replied.
"I think we have debated this enough," Monitor III chimed in. "It's time we put it to a vote…"
The remains of Joseph Goldman bled out on the concrete floor, several bullets having passed through his torso and embedded in the boxes behind him. His camera's lens had shattered in the fall, a mosaic of shattered glass spreading out from the point of impact. The gunman quietly removed the camera's SD card and replaced it with one of his own before gently putting the camera back where it had landed.
With a satisfied nod, the gunman reached into a pack on his back and placed a small standard issue Foundation anomalous item storage box on the ground near Joseph's body, carefully ensuring it was tipped over in an inconspicuous manner such that the contents were allowed to spill out and appear scattered. The contents in question was a set of thirteen quartz carvings of knights on horseback.
The gunman then stepped back and took out a small flashlight, ensuring it was angled just so that the light would bounce off one of the carvings, and onto Joseph's hand. There was a soft click and a low buzz, and then the sound of sand running through a sieve. The remains of Joseph Goldman had been turned into solid quartz. Even the pool of blood that had slowly deepened around the portly corpse metamorphosed into so much sand.
With yet another satisfied nod, the gunman took out a phone and typed in a message.
Mission accomplished.
One by one the Monitor I to XIII turned off. Once more, Van Turner was left in the company of the image of himself thirteen times over, each one wearing his same disappointed smile.
"Five against eight," he sighed. "More than the last time. We'll whittle them down. Just have to keep trying."
The Director felt a little buzz in his pocket and silently pulled out his phone.
Mission accomplished.
Van Turner's smile turned to a smirk.
"Just have to keep trying."
