Stuff I'm actively working on.

Macro scale body does business with MC&D

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Despite Foundation efforts in securing most gateways leading to SCP-XXXX, at least one other gateway cannot be immediately sealed due to occupation by Marshall, Carter and Dark, Ltd., and at least two others have been secured by third-parties.

Marshall, Carter and Dark, Ltd. operatives are currently working in tandem with the Foundation to limit public exposure to SCP-XXXX by reporting any new gateways that manifest as well as providing 30% of all mined or bartered resources to the Foundation.. In exchange, the Foundation is responsible for ensuring their business ventures and mining expeditions within SCP-XXXX are provided with armed reinforcements and negotiating with native lifeforms on behalf of Marshall, Carter and Dark, Ltd.

Although most lifeforms within SCP-XXXX cannot exit to our reality due to our atmosphere being unsuitable for Macro-Scale Pseudo-Cellular Lifeforms, the only Foundation-approved gateway is to be contained in an air-tight unit in order to prevent the risk of horizontal genetic transfer with baseline organisms. In the event that an organism with the capability of surviving our reality exits the gateway without Foundation permission, the Foundation is to flush the system with one of two gases:

If the organism is an aerobe, then argon is to be used.
If the organism is an anaerobe, then oxygen is to be used.

If the only Marshall, Carter and Dark, Ltd. gateway's quarantine chamber is damaged, the Foundation is encouraged to provide whatever support necessary to fix the chamber.

Description: SCP-XXXX is the interior of an arachnoid entity, genetically identical to Goliath birdeater tarantulas, existing in a reality whose dimensions are theorized to be a factor of 125 thousand times larger than baseline. SCP-XXXX can be accessed from baseline reality through gateways that manifest at irregular intervals. Such manifestations tend to occur in closed systems containing unusually high or low concentrations of oxygen relative to the surrounding area, estimated to be exceeding the fifth or sixth percentiles. Attempts to artificially produce gateways to SCP-XXXX have proven to be possible.

Attempts to access the the world outside of SCP-XXXX are strictly forbidden until further notice. See Document XXXX-1.

+ Document XXXX-1

Addendum: [Optional additional paragraphs]

Stuff generated by this abomination.

Stuff that needs to be fixed.

Content Warning: Due to the nature of the highly controversial topic matter depicted in this tale, all readers are hereby warned that this tale discusses miscarriages and forced impregnation. It is only through the grace of the audience that this has not been deleted immediately and as ch00bakka rightfully pointed out, this notice is needed. Reader discretion strongly advised.

"Holy shit."

The janitor stopped in his tracks. Row after row of pregnant animals, all in cages, were arranged in the room, ranging from insects to elephants. Odd. Was the Foundation doing another weird breeding experiment?

"I know this place is weird, but since when did we start using elephants?" The janitor muttered under his breath as he shook his head and focused on his job - cleaning.

It wasn't like he wasn't used to cleaning up organs and gore. Hell, that was probably the only part of his day that was enjoyable. Onto-whatevers breaching containment always forced him into hiding.

He'd take cleaning viscera over those experiences any day.

Frowning, he disposed of placenta after placenta.

"Cliffs?" A man strode forward, eyes glued to his tablet. "Glad to see you're still kicking."

"Sir, what is all this?"

"Something I hate oh-so-much. Nothing you need to worry about."

Cliffs understood: Shut. Up.

"Yes sir." Giving one last look at the animals, he turned his attention back to cleaning. He knew better than to question Dr. Rowan - the man he remembered as cheerful was now somber, smile lines doing little to soften his face. Rowan would tell him when he was ready.

He was sure of it.

"Fuck you! Why me?! Why did you make me do this?!" The woman struggled against her guards, flailing about desperately.

Closing his eyes, Rowan tried to steady his breathing, hand clenched ever so slightly around his knee. Perhaps telling her about the plan ahead of schedule was a bad idea.

"You were randomly selected out of a hat filled with names printed on strips of paper. I do not understand how you would believe we would intentionally pick you."

"Bull-fucking-shit," she snarled. "Bad enough that you use me as a guinea pig, I can't even raise a child in peace?"

"You chose to be fertilized-"

"-I chose to have a child! I was not told I would lose it to this… thing!"

"Can you describe what you see?"

The woman blinked, before chuckling. "So that's it, isn't it? You guys can't see that thing without my help. Well, fuck you, Rowan."

"How are we sure that this thing can even leave?" A man at the conference table slammed his cup in frustration, jolting Dr. Rowan out of his thoughts. "Has it ever chosen to target someone that isn't directly next to its latest victim?"

"The point is not whether it can or can't leave." The Site Director gently lifted the now-cracked cup, sliding a coaster underneath it. After lowering it down, she continued. "It is that we assume it can leave - and thus take measures to prevent such a possibility."

"It's a concept! Have we not already established that concepts cannot think?"

The eyes of the Site Director narrowed ever so slightly. "Dr. Rowan."

Rowan blinked before standing at attention. "We have no conclusive evidence that this entity truly embodies the conthept of miscarriages."

Brilliant, he thought. Bit my own damn tongue. "Ahem, sorry. But yes, while we do know that this thing can cause miscarriages, we have no way of verifying that it is the reason that miscarriages exist in the first place."

"No correlations at all?" Thankfully, the man from before had been too agitated to notice his accident. Or care. "You're saying that after all these weeks, all these months, all these fetuses, we have no data on the number of miscarriages in the world?"

"Dr. A'lyth, that is enough from you," interjected the Site Director. "You of all people should know that whatever census we take will be heavily flawed. Yes, we have data that proves that human miscarriages in the outside world now are next to nothing - but so what? We have no way of telling how wild animals are doing. Calling the entity a concept is an inherent flaw in your thinking, since you refuse to acknowledge other sides of this debate."

Without letting him speak, she pressed on. "Furthermore, while I sympathize with your reasons for revising containment procedures to remove the need for human subjects, we cannot allow this. You know just as well as anyone else in this room that until we develop a method to detect the entity without the need of a subject, there must always be one human host."

Seeing A'lyth's shoulders sag, she sighed. It pained her to see her colleague, once prideful, look so utterly devastated. Admitting defeat must have been an alien feeling to him.

"Meeting dismissed."

"D-9754, are you comfortable?"

"Eat a dick, Rowan. I want to see my family."

"They are not currently available." Yet another lie. The poor agent had been dying to see his daughter again - to no avail.

"Rowan, you know as well as I do that if you really wanted me to feel comfortable, you'd let me see someone I recognize."

Sighing, Rowan turned to his assistant and shook his head. Another pointless day.

As he walked out of the room to allow the assistant to wash the D-Class, all he could wonder was whether the Site Director was right in isolating her.

"Are you comfortable?"

"…" For the first time in the past few weeks that she had been here, her face wasn't angry. Just resigned.

"D-"

"-Call me by my real name. Please."

"Rebecca, has the entity escaped?"

"No. Does it matter?"

"Yes." D-9754 gave the briefest nod of acknowledgement before staring at her restraints.

"…Hey Rowan. You said you wanted to know what that thing looks like, right?"

"Yes, Rebecca." Surprised at her willingness to comply, Rowan pulled out a pencil from his pocket and began scrawling on his notepad.

"Picture the largest fucking centipede you can imagine. Whatever you're thinking is too small. Think bigger, like a hair is the size of my arm. Only, longer you stare, the more it looks like my arm is just a cell to the thing. And there are a hell more than one hundred legs on that bitch." When he finished jotting it down, he glanced at her, but she said no more.

"Thank you for cooperating, Rebecca." As he prepared to leave, D-9754 turned towards him.

"Hey, Rowan. Is it possible for me to see…"

"If you are referring to Dr. A'lyth, I'm sorry. Our superiors specifically told us that you two are not to meet one another - for your psychological health, and his health as well. As for Agent A'lyth… the psychiatrist has deemed him unfit for duty, and he is currently under suicide watch. However, if you continue to cooperate, I can try to convince the Site Director otherwise."

All Rebecca did was sigh. "Should have fucking known."

Due to the nature of Dr. A'lyth's relationship with D-9754, he will not be informed of her use in containment of SCP-5297, nor will he be involved in containment of SCP-5297, unless otherwise stated. This is to prevent a conflict of interest between his loyalty to the Foundation and his love for his family. A proposal to temporarily reassign Dr. A'lyth has been submitted and is pending approval.

Dr. A'lyth has learned of D-9754's involvement in the containment of SCP-5297 through as-of-yet unknown means. He has requested to be work on containment of SCP-5297. After much deliberation, it was decided that this request shall be granted. Proposal to reassign him will be put on hold.

Various Foundations sites all around the world are to have sections dedicated to containing hosts of SCP-5297. At least one host must be an animal whose species has an average gestational period of at least 40 weeks.

SCP-5297 shows a preference for humans. To prevent the risk of SCP-5297 choosing to target individuals outside of designated containment sites, each containment site must contain at least one human being parasitised by SCP-5297.

Increasing the amount of animals with long gestational periods slows the overall rate of consumption for all hosts. Unfortunately, due to an inability to secure enough animals of this caliber without alerting the rest of the world, containment procedures are to remain as is.

A proposal was made by Dr. A'lyth to suspend human testing with SCP-5297. Proposal denied.

The aforementioned proposal was revised and submitted once more. Proposal denied.

Proposal revised and submitted. Denied.

Dr. A'lyth is to be reassigned to another site. Any and all proposals suggesting the suspension of human testing with SCP-5297 are to be rejected unless otherwise stated.

Proposal to grant Dr. A'lyth permission to visit D-9754 submitted by Dr. Rowan. Reasoning provided is to improve the mood of both parties. Proposal approved. Dr. A'lyth reminded during briefing that D-9754, formerly a death row inmate named Rebecca A'lyth, is to remain in testing and will not be removed until SCP-5297 has stopped parasitising her.

"Can we really classify this thing as a concept?" As he said this, the doctor handed a cigarette to his colleague, who didn't take it.

"You heard the director's reply." The first doctor rolled his eyes at this reply while he lit his cigarette and took a puff.

"That's just the official answer, idiot. What do you think personally?"

The second doctor sighed. "We know it manifests as a gigantic bug. We know that it parasitizes by entering its legs into a pregnant female. We also know it causes miscarria-"

"-Yes, we know all that. We also know mice are terrible test subjects. I don't care what we know! I want to know what you think!" To emphasize his point, the first doctor jabbed his cigarette in the direction of his colleague.

"I can't say for sure."

"Even after all our research?"

"Go find a Serpent's Hand member or something, Yang. I'm not qualified to talk about concepts."

"Rowan!" screamed D-9754. As her attendants held her down and tried to soothe her, Rowan ran in. From a glance at the floor, he could see clots of tissue.

"It's coming!" Sobbing, she bit her lip until it bled, groaning as the cramps hit her once more. "Get the next - ugh!"

"You heard her," he roared. "Find the next possible host!" Saluting, the guards ran out. Behind him, he could hear the assistants comforting D-9754. Taking a deep breath, he took a sip of ginger ale, hands shaking slightly.

"Even now… I can't stand it."

Soon after, the guards dragged in a disoriented D-Class. They released D-9754, who collapsed into the arms of the attendants, and restrained the newcomer. As the entity exited D-9754 and entered the new host, all Rowan could hear was the crying of a would-be mother.

"Make sure the fetus and the new host is removed before the janitor comes to clean up."

"I'm done with this shit." His voice caused the Site Director to look up from her notes.

"Pardon?"

"Ma'am, I wish to resign."

"Dr. A'lyth -"

"-Director Kore. You knew fully well what was going to happen to my granddaughter, and you still went with it."

"Dr. A'lyth, we are people of science. We cannot show preferences or biases simply because they belong to a Foundation member's family."

"I know that, director. However, I am first and foremost a father. And as a father, I wish to take my son and my granddaughter with me back home, Jordan and Rebecca. Preferably with Class F amnestics." The once-proud man, whose eyes would shine with fierce determination, looked exhausted, stress finally causing him to look his age.

"…It has been an honor to work alongside you, doctor."

"I wish I could say the same."

"How is Dr. A'lyth doing?" asked Rowan. The Site Director gave a bitter smile, staring at a picture of her with her former colleagues.

"He's Professor Nunez, now. Agent A'lyth and Rebecca A'lyth are living with him. He and his family took Class F amnestics."

"He's happy, then?"

"Never been better." He nodded in acknowledgement and was walking out of the room when the Site Director called for him.

"Rowan, are you okay?" Rowan turned his head around and saw the Site Director looking at him.

"Yeah, ma'am, why?"

"You're awfully calm for a person who has been interacting so closely with this entity."

He forced a smile. "I'm sure it's nothing compared to the other stuff the Foundation deals with."

The Site Director shook her head. "Rowan, no normal person deals with such traumatic incidents so easily. This is the third time you've directly witnessed a miscarriage. By all means, I'd at least expect you to be drinking liquor."

"We're in the Foundation, shouldn't this be normal?" he chuckled.

"Rowan, the Foundation deals with anomalous entities. That does not, however, mean that we are inherently anomalous. We still have human emotions, coping devices, and defense mechanisms. And as far as I can tell, you're not processing these events properly."

Seeing Rowan tilt his head slightly, her eye twitched. "Take a break, damnit. Working like this isn't good for your mental health." Without hearing his protests, she scrawled out a note.

"You're on paid leave, got it?" Rowan nodded mutely in response, staring at the note, before speaking once more.

"Ma'am, if I may ask?"

"Go ahead."

"Is it really necessary to do all this? I mean - are we actually doing this for the benefit of the world?" The Site Director frowned.

"Of course, Rowan. What led you to think otherwise?"

"We're forcibly impregnating D-Class and making them have miscarriages. At the very least, most of our other experiments weren't outright cruel. But this…"

"Cruelty is subjective, and is not part of your directive. Leave it to the Ethics Committee to determine what is and isn't cruel."

"So…that's it? We just let these people and animals suffer? I thought the Foundation was supposed to protect, not play God."

"Just a moment ago, you said this should be normal," she replied, eyes narrowing.

"I don't know anymore!" he exploded. "You said it yourself, I've directly witnessed three human miscarriages, engineered several more, and watched a blue whale fall into depression. I know there are many other sites with designated containment chambers, but so what? We're interfering with a fundamental aspect of population growth. I don't even know what we're doing anymore."

"Rowan, enough," she snapped. "This is exactly what I was talking about. You've dissociated from reality and the truth is killing you. Go see the site psychiatrist. He practically specializes in this entity by now."

As Rowan left, she turned back to her computer, blinking, before typing out a simple letter. After checking over it for any errors, she grunted before clicking "Send."

I am sure that by now, you have heard rumors that we use in vitro fertilization to create hosts for this anomaly.

Those are not rumors.

I despise what I do. We all do. We need to swap out researchers every two weeks for mental health checks. We use so many animals that if there is an afterlife, we would certainly be sent to hell.

But we will go on. We have potentially contained the concept of miscarriages. If we can secure the lives and happiness of families all around the world in exchange for the suffering of the comparatively few, then the few must suffer on.

~ Site Director Kore

Stuff I'll work on later.

Stuff that I got to the mainsite.

"Fuck."

The man rubbed his hands together, breathing on them in a vain effort to warm them up. Being holed up for so long made the brisk air refreshing. The action also caused him to let out a cough.

Having a cold was the most mundane aspect of this task, he mused.

Did he hate his assignment? No, not really. Sure, it was a bit bland, but he didn't mind it. The "scip," as he heard the higher-ups called it, wasn't too nasty, just some run-down temple with some minor anomalous activity. All he needed to do was get something for them.

He'd take that over being experimented on.

"D-59416, are you in position? Over."

"Roger that. Over." Lowering the transceiver, the D-Class sighed. It was a bit unfortunate that the good doctor had to break his illusion of peace.

As he stepped forward, he took the chance to admire the surroundings. "Fresh air, lush trees… would be like home if it wasn't for all these damn tourists."

Walking up the worn stairs, he ended up in front of the dilapidated gates and picked up the transceiver once more. "Alright sir, what now? Over."

"Go through the left corridor of the temple. Walk to the guard stationed in front of the 'Closed for Renovations' sign. Tell him Dr. Yang sent you. Over."

Forcing his way through the throngs of tourists, D-59416 grimaced as he fumbled with the transceiver. He'd been warned about the unscrupulous pickpockets who preyed upon the unsuspecting, and truth be told, he was getting attached to the walkie-talkie. Grinning slightly once he managed to clip it back on his belt, he proceeded to carry out his orders.

As he neared the guard, he noticed although the walls were noticeably more polished, there weren't nearly as much people. Then again, he mused, the Buddhist sculptures along the side corridors weren't nearly as impressive as the one in the Main Hall.

"Dr. Yang sent me." The guard stared at him for a few seconds before nodding jerkily.

As D-59416 walked past him, he could swear he saw the guard clench his jaw.

"Do you know what you're here for?" asked the on-site Researcher, once he met up with her. "You're here for extraction of some brown mold." Seeing him scrunch up his nose, she sighed. "Relax, if you don't want to touch it, just use a scalpel. The real challenge is what happens afterwards."

Turning to the guards behind her, she announced, "Initiate Extraction Procedure - 6K5. Evacuate and administer amnestics to all tourists. All guards are to expect moderate resistance. Although the entities are relatively fragile, we need to keep them off him until he leaves the forest." Saluting, the guards mobilized immediately. As they began escorting people off the premises and taking down the on-site lab, the D-Class walked up to her.

"What entities? I wasn't made aware of this."

"The temple's caretakers. Just say you're paying respects to the statue and they should leave you alone. Do your best to hide your extraction attempt. Once extracted, exit the premises immediately. Do not respond to the entities if they question you. Once you exit the temple doors, run out and don't look back, no matter what you hear. An extraction team will be waiting for you once you break past the forest."

D-59416 blinked. "Hold on, I thought this was just a temple with some minor anomalous activity."

"Minor is subjective. Now get to it. Oh, and do try to speak Mandarin. After our last… incident, they don't take kindly to English speakers any longer."

Once the report came that all the tourists had been evacuated, the Researcher turned to him. "In you go, D."

Shaking his head slightly, the D-Class gave another light cough before walking into the designated room.

It was huge.

Golden ornaments decorated the room, which was probably larger than the mess hall he once caught a glimpse of. Statues twice the size of a man lined up the walls, as if keeping a watchful eye on anyone who entered. Women dressed in traditional Chinese garb seemed to float elegantly through the room, tending to the plants or polishing the statues.

In the middle of it all was a marble statue of a monkey, face contorted into a scream. A golden staff was coming out of the statue's chest, gleaning brightly under the shine of all the candles.

The statue was also being set on fire by the attendants.

"What are you here for?" Turning to the side, he nearly jumped backwards once he realized how close one of the attendants had been to him. He hadn't sensed her at all.

"I'm here to… pay my respects," he worded carefully. She gave a look of disapproval but nodded.

"Sisters!" she declared. "Turn off the naphtha. A follower of the Bodhisattva has come to pay his respect to the Damned One." As the flow of oil had stopped, D-59416 noticed that the statue was practically unharmed, although mildly discolored.

"Please hurry, pilgrim," she cautioned. "We must resume the ritual as soon as possible." Nodding, the D-Class walked towards statue. Ignoring the glares of the attendants around him, he knelt at the base of the statue and prostrated himself.

As he kowtowed, he noticed a very faint brown fuzz on the statue. Remembering the Researcher's words, he slipped out the scalpel and scraped off some of the mold. Placing it into a ziploc bag, he hurriedly stood up and prepared to walk.

"Please consider worshiping a more refined deity," stated an attendant, bowing as he shuffled past her. "The Damned One is not-"

Upon hearing the woman cut herself off, D-59416 broke into a cold sweat. Looking up from the ground, he saw that all the women in the room had stopped their actions and were staring at his left pants pocket. Looking down, he noticed the slightest piece of plastic jutting out.

The mission was compromised.

"Give us the hair," they hissed, advancing towards him. "Give it to us!" Snapping out of his stupor, the D-Class broke into a sprint.

Damnit, shouldn't have skipped breakfast.

"I need help!" he hollered, bursting past the room where he had met with the Researcher. He could see that the makeshift site had been stripped bare and the guards were in position. Gunfire blossomed behind him, causing him to wince as the noise was almost loud enough to perforate his eardrums.

Screams erupted behind him as the guards and the attendants clashed. Although the attendants were cut down by waves of gunfire, there seemed to be an endless swarm of them emerging from the rooms, all screaming and demanding for the mold to be returned.

He payed them no mind. All he cared about was getting the hell out of there.

"Over here!" Recognizing the voice to be the guard at the entrance, D-59416 ran to him, who was holding back the deluge of attendants at the main entrance. "I've been ordered to escort you. Do you still have your transceiver? I lost mine during the first wave of hostiles." Nodding, the D-Class fumbled with his belt for a bit before handing it over. Motioning for D-59416 to follow him, the guard activated the transceiver while running into the forest.

"Dr. Yang, this is Agent Ocasio. The sample and D-Class have been secured. Requesting immediate evacuation. Current position is approximately five meters ahead of the main entrance. Over." Static persisted for several seconds, causing D-59416 to dread that their rescue team wouldn't arrive, until the Dr. Yang finally replied.

"Loud and clear, Agent Ocasio. Satellites say we are about 800 meters to your ten. Good luck. Over." Grinning, the now named Agent Ocasio slipped the transceiver onto his belt in one smooth motion, glancing back at D-59416 to check if he was still following, and continuing his path.

D-59416 was by no means an athletic person, but the fear of being murdered was enough of an incentive to keep him moving. Or at least, that was what he would have thought several months ago.

Exhaustive missions after another were taking their toll on him. He wasn't as young as he once was, and without the Foundation drugs - "amnestics," the researchers called them - he was unable to feel the sweet release of amnesia. With every step, the burning sensation in his muscles slowed him down a little more, the howls of the attendants growing behind him.

He'd probably be forced back into experimentation after this. Perhaps it was best to just let them take him over…

"Oi, keep up," barked the agent, snapping him out of his doors. The order snapped D-59416 back to reality, forcing him to run faster. "Don't disappoint me now."

"The benefits of indoctrination," muttered D-59416. Grunting, the D-Class ignored the pain in his muscles and pumped his legs faster, eventually making up for lost ground.

Every so often, Agent Ocasio would fire back into the woods, eliciting a wail from that general direction.

The D-Class decided not to question how he knew.

Once the two had reached the clearing, a helicopter awaited them, with Dr. Yang and several armed guards inside.

"Glad to see D-Class aren't just cannon fodder," snarked Dr. Yang, helping D-59416 up onto the chopper. "Really though, you've done better than the previous extraction attempt."

"What happened then?" As the rush of adrenaline began to ebb away, D-59416 could see his hands were shaking.

"Same as this one, really, though we weren't as prepared for the overwhelming flood of those entities. We failed since we didn't know how to handle them. Now, though, we know that they only target the one with the mold - namely, you - and tend to ignore other hostiles, even our gunners. Once they can no longer find you within the forest, they'll assume you're dead and return to the temple. Within a few days, we can allow civilians to pray there once again."

"Now then," continued Dr. Yang. "The sample, if you will." Pulling out the plastic bag that nearly resulted in his death, D-59416 handed it over to the doctor, who inspected it carefully. The D-Class noticed that the patch of mold he had scraped off had more than tripled in size already, and if he squinted hard enough, he could swear he saw the mold enlarging in size. The size increase didn't go unnoticed by Dr. Yang.

"Hmm, growth seems to be as anomalous as you'd expect it to be. Right then, let's hurry to the base. I don't want this thing expanding too big without a proper container."

"So how did you feel on the mission?" D-59416, who was waiting to see the psychiatrist, was being accompanied by Agent Ocasio.

"Too much," he muttered, staring at his scrubs. "I'm not cut out for this crap."

"I dunno, you were better than the last person they sent anyways. She couldn't keep up and was mauled by those freaks. The sample she had was burned on the spot." He shook his head. "Did you ever think to yourself why the Foundation was so insistent on retrieving a piece of mold?"

"No." The D-Class's response made Agent Ocasio chuckle. "Really though, I've given up trying to deal with the Foundation's decisions. You saw me run quicker when you ordered me around, right? I've been fucking indoctrinated man. All I can do is follow orders around. I don't even have my own identity anymore, so what's the fucking point of resisting?" His response caused Agent Ocasio to give him a strange look.

"Good answer… I suppose. Me personally, I've found it's easier to just follow orders and not question things any longer. Especially after that incident with the Sandy scip."

"What's that?"

"Sandy? Oh, just some scip that's terrified of light. Poor bastard has to deal with a lightshow once a week by some sick thing that bypasses containment. It's pretty benign, so I wouldn't be surprised you don't know about it."

"What incident are you talking about?"

"With every incident comes some heavy object shattering Sandy's stuff, which is a dick move in general. However, one particular lightshow resulted in something hitting its face. Must have hurt like a bitch, because the scip cried all day until lights out. Although the researchers claim they're trying to find a source for the light, I know for a damn fact they won't give two shits about Sandy until a human gets hurt."

"That sounds… reasonable."

"If so, then you're as dumb as the rest of them." Snorting lightly, Agent Ocasio stood up. "I'll put in a good word for you, see if I can make you a janitor. Perhaps you can work your way up. it'd be a shame to lose our experience together to amnestics."

Before he could say anything, the psychiatrist called for him. Giving one last glance at the agent, the D-Class stepped in for his evaluation.

"Not like they work on me anyways…"

"The thing is still growing? Didn't we irradiate a piece of the sample and rid it of all nutrients?"

"Evidently. Get me a larger case."

"Piece six growth rate is identical with the others. Odds of the mold being photosynthetic are unlikely."

"Jesus christ, this piece is nearly four kilos. Corrosive agents aren't making a dent in it either. What's up with piece one?"

"Destroyed. Looks like the only way to contain this crap is to burn it. Guess the attendants weren't wrong to use naphtha on this shit."

"Hold on, sir, there's something going on with piece two. I think it's growing limbs."

"Is that a fucking monkey?"

Alarms blared, waking up D-59416. Noticing that the Site was on lockdown, he sighed before plopping back down. "Another week, another breach."

As he watched through the glass panel, he noticed several small figures enter his line of sight. All but one were on fire. The unharmed one could clearly be seen as a brown monkey. Although the ones on fire degraded fairly quickly, it gave a toothy grin as it smashed through the helmets of the guards as though they were clay. Seeing D-59416, it grinned once more before smashing a hole through the door locking him inside and pulling the door out cleanly. Ripping a piece of its hair out, it spat on the wad of hair and hurled it towards D-59416's direction, splattering against the wall behind him. With that, the entity smiled one last time before going off around the corner. Based on the sounds he heard, the D-Class assumed the thing got incinerated by any nearby guards.

Blinking, he turned around and looked at the hair, clumped together and ever so slightly enlarging. "Fuck's sake," he muttered. "It's just like the mold."

Sighing, he grabbed the hair - or mold, he didn't know what it was at this point - and flung it into the fires outside, letting the stuff burn up.

"Hey, you coming?" asked one of his roommates, poking his head out of the broken door. "Looks like the eggheads haven't ordered more guards here yet. Let's get out of this mess."

"Fuck off."Knowing that the Foundation guards would be here soon enough, he muttered something about stupid roommates and laid back while the others in his cell got up.

As his roommates walked out of their breached cell, he decided to turn over and go sleep. No matter how the words of Agent Ocasio stuck in his head, nor how his hand itched, he'd put it off til tomorrow.

"Fuck this, I don't want to know anymore."

Item #: SCP-4958

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Current containment efforts focus on the implementation of an international counseling program designated "Specialized Counselors and Psychiatrists." Agents that discover instances of SCP-4958 are encouraged to converse with the individuals referred to in SCP-4958's notes. Said individuals should seek counseling or be reunited with their loved ones.

Description: SCP-4958 refers to Lycoris radiata (more commonly known as red spider lilies) that bloom near individuals who have had a major conflict with their loved ones. SCP-4958 is distinguished from normal Lycoris radiata in that it blooms only on inorganic matter, such as tiled floors. Each instance of SCP-4958 contains a folded piece of paper.

The paper contains a short handwritten letter directed towards the individual, which is written in their native language. The handwriting matches that of a person whom the individual had a major dispute with. Should an instance be uprooted, but the conflict has not been resolved, another instance will bloom within a month with a different message.

Excerpt of Log of Known SCP-4958 Occurrences

Below are some of the earliest notes retrieved by the Foundation. The rest have been truncated for brevity.

Subject: 6 year old female
Background: Subject was found in a public park after leaving a foster home due to bullying. Handwriting matched subject's former caretaker.
Note: Juliana, I'm sorry for not hearing you out. Please come back, we miss you.

Subject: 16 year old female
Background: Subject's parents divorced. Lives with father but chooses to minimize interaction with either parent. Handwriting matched subject's mother.
Note: My little Lilian, I hope Jeremy is taking good care of you. I know he won't forgive me for running off, but know that momma loves you, okay?

Subject: 18 year old male
Background: Subject was subject to abuse from parents and siblings. After the death of parents, subject refused to leave home or interact with his siblings. Handwriting matched subject's eldest brother.
Note: Daniel, look. I won't try to mince words. We were assholes. I get it. Yell at me if you want, hit me, whatever. I don't care. Just don't shut me out, man. Speak to me.

Subject: 87 year old female
Background: Subject was estranged from children following a dispute over her children's support of the LGBTQ community. Subject was found having been deceased for over two weeks, with the SCP-4958 instance looking noticeably withered. Handwriting matches subject's son.
Note: Mom, we won't try to convince your mind over Trevor's choice. Please come over for Thanksgiving, it's been years since he last saw you.

Subject: 64 year old male
Background: Subject was prone to drunken fits of rage, eventually culminating in his wife leaving. Subject was aware of SCP-4958, having collected an estimated twenty eight notes before the Foundation noticed. Despite having written to his wife various times, he never received a response. Both parties were administered amnestics.
Note: I want to say I still love you, but I'm afraid you'll lash out again. Even I have limits on my patience, Herb.

Subject: 20 year old male
Background: Subject diagnosed as suffering from social anxiety after dropping our of college due to financial issues. Handwriting matched subject's father.
Note: Hey champ. I know mom and I weren't exactly too happy when we heard that you dropped out. But, well… if you ever need a warm place to stay, just come on over. Pops will fix you a hot meal.

Subject: 25 year old male
Background: Subject was D-9588, who was kept in an isolated containment cell due to testing with an unrelated SCP. Diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder. Handwriting matched subject's deceased sister.
Note: We'll get through this together, Ellis.

Subject: 25 year old male
Background: Subject was D-9588. Subject had declined an interview regarding the contents of the previous SCP-4958 instance, although he admitted feeling nostalgic after reading the former message. Handwriting matched subject's deceased sister.
Note: We forgive you. Come visit us one day.

Subject: 25 year old male
Background: Subject was D-9588. Subject had declined an interview once more. Subject was initially distressed at reading the second instance of SCP-4958 but afterwards admitted he felt relieved. After reading the third instance, subject's mood greatly improved; however, subject was later found to have suicide by disregarding orders when testing resumed. Handwriting matched subject's deceased sister.
Note: Times may be tough, Ellis, but don't forget: you are loved. Even if the flower means abandonment and death, we won't leave you behind.

Addendum 4958-1: Four months after the implementation of "Specialized Counselors and Psychiatrists," all Foundation personnel involved reported an instance of SCP-4958 growing on their desks. Currently, investigations are ongoing to determine if this constitutes a breach of secrecy. All instances had the same note, typed in Gothic font.

Let me have my fun.

When a Good Rock Goes to War

Rocky Entertainment, Children of the Hypocritical Highlanders, Fortnite Rocks, Coliseum of the Gods, Stonehenge vs. Easter Island¹

Conspectus

In the year of our Defilement 42343, certain gods desired entertainment, but found themselves in a conundrum. They desired something exhilarating, something akin to the gladiator duels of Rome, but they wanted the spectacle to be far grander. On the other hand, these gods disliked the bloodiness of such duels, believing it to be too barbaric of a sport.² And so, they founded the Coliseum of the Gods: a colossal arena housing five tribes of monoliths. The creators, whom we deem the Hypocritical Highlanders, stuck to a laissez-faire approach to their monoliths.

The fickle gods lost interest all the same³, forcing the monoliths to take the reins of society into their own hands.

Currently, the Coliseum is located deep within the ice fields of Antarctica. The Jailors have set up a base near the arena, masking it as an international research station. Entry seems to be invitation-only, which poses a question as to how the Jailors obtained such permission to enter such a privileged area.⁴

Knowledge

Traits:

The arena is made exclusively out of marble, carved out of a single stone. The Hypocritical Highlanders desired perfection, and what was more ideal of a sculpting material than marble? There was no need to painfully carve out edge after edge; no, these gods willed the stone to its desired shape.⁵
Five tribes of monoliths participate within: Envy, Letch, Indulgence, Indolence, and Arrogance. Brother Nevryn has vocally voiced his distaste for such nomenclature standards, complaining of how the pattern of sins should imply seven tribes, rather than five.⁶ Four of the tribes move via sliding across the ground, and these brilliant creations begin degrading upon feeling the shiver of steel upon their skin.⁷
- Envy: Made of granite. Smooth on one face, with Nordic runes inscribed. Breeding like vermin, their likeness is akin to the edge of a cliff. Oh, how unholy are their voices, whose screams are the echoes of millenia-old glaciers scraping against the desolate landscape!
- Letch: Erected from sandstone. Described by Brother Nevryn as sculptures split cleanly in half.⁸ Multiplying and invading any and all crevices like insects, they seem just as frail as the bugs. Colloquially known as cannon fodder, have been recorded squeaking in a primitive form of communication.
- Indulgence: Carved from obsidian. Perfectly carved to resemble Mayan imagery. Less populous, but can expel projectiles or even detonate as part of its arsenal. No recorded sounds. Unfortunately, Brother Nevryn was not keen on giving a more in-depth description.⁹
- Indolence: Composed of basalt. Resembles a large tombstone, with bones embedded into it. Moves the fastest, and appears to lack the weakness against iron that the other tribes possess. Have been described to groan and wail.¹⁰
- Arrogance: Made of an as-of-yet unidentified material, and are proven to be sapient, communicating via Morse Code. Perfectly smooth on all sides, can float, have an opening described as their eye which emits light, and have etchings resembling Nazca lines on them.¹¹¹² Have been shown to communicate via Morse Code.
Spectators: Various gods of a bygone era. These Hypocritical Highlanders worked together to build the coliseum, but have gradually lost interest in the spectacle; that is, until the Jailors arrived. They dislike outsiders, and refuse entry to those they deem lesser, although entry can be persuaded by gifts of precious metals. Brother Nevryn, however, insists on using the term "bribery" to explain how he acquired his entry ticket.

Nature:

The Envy tribe follows an autocracy, governed by a matriarch. The matriarch is apparently determined by the smartest of the tribe: challengers may duel with the matriarch to assume control of the tribe, and the winner is determined by who can trick the other into falling down and shattering themselves.¹³
The Letch tribe has no discernible leader; rather, they stick together to keep a watch out for enemies. These are beloved for their affectionate personalities, if not for their naivety. According to documents retrieved by the Jailors, they can be tamed and domesticated if given treats of quartz crystals and sandstone.¹⁴
The Indulgence tribe groups themselves into packs of two to four individuals. There appears to be designated roles during fights: two members engage in melee, one provides ranged support, and one participates only when self-detonation is necessary.
The Indolence tribe is a tribe in name only: each member adopts a solitary lifestyle upon birth.¹⁵¹⁶ All members appear to be highly aggressive, using the momentum of their movements in order to attack. However, their recklessness and solitary lifestyle means they tend to thin their numbers via fighting for mates or annoying spectators by leaving the boundaries. The irony of the sin of sloth moving incredibly fast is not lost on us.
The last tribe is the Arrogance tribe. As the least populous tribe, their governing style is true democracy. Questioning has not revealed much on whether they are individualistic or a collective entity.¹⁷

The spectators are a prideful bunch who do not wish to converse with beings they deem as lesser. They come in various shapes and sizes, with bodies that obey neither radial nor bilateral symmetry. In any case, they tend to brag among themselves about how much wealth or power they have accumulated, and will eagerly accept bribes from others in exchange for favors. They do not interfere with the arena, seeing as the tribes do not appear to have noticed the waning interest over the years, nor the sudden surge in interest once the Jailors began entering the arena. Brother Nevryn has described overhearing them discuss Jailor weaponry as "the plates that shoot out chunks of iron.

All tribes except the Arrogance tribe show unquestioning loyalty to the spectators, and have been observed to create ideograms of religious worship.

History & Associated Parties: The Hypocritical Highlanders were not the first to propose such an idea, but they were the first to succeed. Before them were the Obnoxious Ones, the Ignorant Isolationists, the Arrogant Architects, and more recently the Scornful Sculptors.¹⁸ All of these groups were prideful in their own right, but the Hypocritical Highlanders took arrogance to another level: they refused to stop building even when it became apparent the idea was ridiculous.

The Jailors have been welcomed into the coliseum with relative warmness. Although annoying as we have yet to obtain such a privilege, it is thanks to their relative laxness in dealing with this anomaly that Brother Nevryn could easily secure the documents.¹⁹

The Merchants are also attempting to establish connections with the spectators, although business appears to be slow due to the greedy nature of the Highlanders.

The Bookburners recently discovered the arena after investigating the base set up by the Jailors. Mercifully, the spectators show extreme animosity towards them for attempting to interfere in the games.

The Robber Barons appear to have a mutualistic relationship with the coliseum spectators. In exchange for curious and magical wares provided by the Robber Barons, the Hypocritical Highlanders will provide materials that resemble the substances that the Arrogance tribe is composed of. Documents recovered from the Bookburners suggest that the Robber Barons have recently sold anomalous products with a make similar to the Arrogance tribe. They seem particularly annoyed at being unable to damage such incredibly durable items.²⁰

As far as we can ascertain, the coliseum's purpose has not deviated much from its original incarnation. The Hypocritical Highlanders may have stopped interacting with the games, yes, but fundamentally the basis of a battle royale still exists.²¹ A few notable beings have visited the arena, though, including, but not limited to, Barnabus Stinson the Third, Thiomecy-Who-Gathered-Boron, and I-That-Wish-To-Be-Named. Most of these beings share the characteristic of being incredibly wealthy, although recently it appears the prices for bribing tickets has gone down, as Brother Nevryn was able to enter and still afford concessions.

Approach:
Each tribe has developed their own unique traditions and cultures:

When approaching the Envy tribe, keep in mind that they value strength and cunning. They will act hostile if they see you. They will hound you persistently until you prove your strength by preventing them from crushing you within 30 seconds.²² They do not appear to disqualify the usage of tools or other objects, so use that to your advantage. Do not challenge the matriarch unless you feel like leading an entire tribe of monoliths.
The Letch tribe are a timid group, and offerings of sandstone and quartz will suffice in building trust. Avoid any sudden movements, as they are frightened easily. Be mindful to avoid offerings with impurities in them, as those induce allergy-like symptoms in the receiver and ferment distrust.
When approaching the Indulgence tribe, avoid eye contact if possible until they touch you gently. Avoid meeting them in large groups, as they view this as a sign of hostility.
As of now, no known method has been found to placate the Indolence tribe. Avoid if possible.²³
The Arrogance tribe have adopted the standard policies of courtesy from the Jailors. However, they have also been compliant when asked to steal documents from the Jailors. Due to this lack of loyalty, stay vigilant around them.²⁴
Do understand that the Hypocritical Highlanders' obnoxious attitude stems from millennia of xenophobia. While it is understandable to be infuriated by their bigotry, please avoid interacting with them unless you intend on giving them an offering. The Jailors have unfortunately spoiled them with trinkets and the like, causing them to believe that any and all interactions must involve giving them something or else you are disrespecting this. Furthermore, we cannot help you should you anger one of these spectators. Brother Nevryn was lucky in that an incredible head wound managed to incapacitate the entity chasing after him, but otherwise death follows the fool that would prod these mighty beings.

Other Detail: Considering the general area is more or less overrun with various groups of interest, it would be advisable not to visit the arena for some time, unless you can be sure that a spectator is willing to vouch for you. We assume no connection to the idiots that find themselves tortured by the Bookburners for information, or enslaved by the Robber Barons, all for the sake of watching a spectacle that can be replicated in one's own garden. Yes, we honor everyone as brothers and sisters, but we also expect a certain degree of common sense.²⁵

Observations & Stories

Alright, so here we fucking go. So, you ever read those books where people are put in an area and forced to kill one another? Hunger Games or Battle Royale, doesn't matter. The point is, it's not like that. This shit is boring. Unless you're lucky enough to watch an Indolence ram into the dumbass standing in front of it, you're better off watching the spectators smite the Bookburners for trying to force their way in. ~ Nevryn Faelligan²⁶

Doubt

Truth be told, no one can truly ascertain the intentions of the Hypocritical Highlanders when they made this arena. As Brother Nevryn so vehemently proposes, this spectacle is anything but interesting, and attention has appeared to wane for most of its history.

Additionally, the veracity of the claims that the spectators of now are the original Highlanders is debateable, in due part because all the spectators refuse to create anything aside from trading materials.²⁷

Furthermore, the very existence of the Arrogance tribe is perplexing, namely in part because they seem all too convenient of a species. While sapient, they possess a disturbing loyalty to the spectators which somehow they can detect and communicate with, but the other tribes cannot. Records from the Jailors state that this loyalty has yet to be diminished, and accounts from Brother Nevryn suggest that these entities may be working to undermine Jailor influence. Brother Nevryn has also stated that these entities have an absurdly huge advantage over the other tribes, yet they are pacifistic to the last member. It is unknown whether this was a design oversight form the Highlanders.²⁸

Finally, there seems to be a relatively anachronistic turn of events in the coliseum. The spectators act excitedly once a Jailor researcher enters the arena to conduct studies, as though the researcher was the first human they met with, yet their interactions with the Merchants and the Robber Barons suggest that they have interacted with humans for at least a millennium. Furthermore, records show they possess weapons of mass destruction due to these trading encounters, yet appeared not to understand how basic firearms worked. Perhaps the Highlanders are wiser than Brother Nevryn gives them credit for, and that they have their own ulterior motives for a naive facade.²⁹

SCP Sandbox III

Sandbox III: Revenge of the Sandbox

Current

Idea Prompts

Under Revision

Shelved

Completed