Per 
this my sandbox. will edit one day to look cool. here be bad scps in english because my english is bad.
D-1711; le tale
So uh, my name is D-1711. One-seven-eleven. Seventeen-eleven. One-seven-one-one. One-thousand-hundred-eleven.
That’s how people call me.
Oh, my real name? Don’t have one, sorry. And no, I wouldn’t tell you. I’m not supposed to say my name alright? Please don’t make this hard, I just want to live.
So, uh. Oh right, my experiences and all that.
You see, I’m one of those guys that don’t really care about stuff too much. Get dropped in somewhere, follow the orders, get out in, and with, a heartbeat. I’ve been kinda lucky on that. Managed to slip through monthly “releases”, along a few other guys. I just think they know and they don’t care either.
But, here’s the odd part, I’m not all that lucky. Most of the time I actually kinda fuck it up.
I remember this one time when I drank some of that Monster can. Oh, that was very fun. Fun in the sense of getting your body ripped and turned weird, you know. I still don’t know how I made it out like this. Probably the labcoat guys did something funny that I can’t recall. Well, I actually do recall something, just not something you’d think is useful. Man, my throat still aches from that day, and I can’t make this itch go away.
That wasn’t the worst time though. Let me tell you about this one Ikea they threw me in. The store attendees looked funny, like really funny. He was pretty helpful, although a bit violent, in helping me leave. He kinda threw me against this chair and I just woke up in my room with this sore forehead that I’ll never forget.
The point is, the whole saving the world from anomalies thing that the labcoat guys tell you doesn’t really matter. It’s actually pretty chill when you’re not being thrown inside funny places with odd stuff, or told to do something stupidly dangerous.
You know – It’s actually weird. All this time they’ve just been doing that, and almost every time I felt like I shouldn’t really be here, and everything just blurs. And those monthly “releases”… I just wake up with a headache and then I’m told who they got rid of… Maybe it’s best to not think about it. But… Those blurs…
Sometimes I can see a thing or two while it’s like that. It’s like everything’s stopped, and it just looks… Odd.
One or two times I could hear something, actually.
It was someone laughing at me.
I did wake up, and then I stoodeth up.
Unlit, t room was.
Of metal, was't madeth. Of copp'r and bronze.
And th're t stoodeth, Thy Key, of void and white lust'r.
En'rgy didst it emanate, as at each moment of the present day.
Then t room shift'd, and quaint music cameth from the ope walls.
I kneweth t influenc'd me, but t wast a time to enjoy.
The walls did hide behind them a mess of cogs and tubes, strang'r than ev'rything i hadst seen.
Some tubes tooketh crystal clear wat'r, haply of diamond madeth.
Some others, strange insects, grasshoppers p'rhaps.
For instead of wings, legs they had, and bound to oth'rs of their kind w're.
Then I did step unto the pillar in which Thy Key didst lay.
Tooketh, I did, and th're wast nay m're regrettable action I hadst done.
For the music did stop coming, and the illusion of bliss was't dispell'd.
All yond cameth from those tubes w're ashes, and the water hadst lost shine t's.
The true horr'r of t all cameth to me.
Then a horrid skeleton hand, of metal madeth too, tooketh the screen away.
I hadst been looking through a small screen, in steam p'wer'd.
And then I did see those weapons standing, the Seven Keys, of which Thy I held, Seven Sw'rds, and Seven Souls, sph're shapeth.
F'reshadowing th' future, p'rhaps?
But away did it go, and in my bed didst I lay.
Yet Thy Key didst it remain, in my neck laceth
I awoke, assaulted by a nightmare. I was sleeping, with my head on the table in the living room of my own house. My face was covered with blood from yesterday and saliva from just now. A macabre mixture, one that I could thankfully not see. The blood was from Andrew. He was my neighbor, but had yesterday forced the door open. Had to kill him… There was nothing I could do.
I looked around. My companions were also in my small living-kitchen, under deathly silence. In happier days, the hustle of friendship would have filled the house, but that time had passed. I fear, to never return.
Not even the smallest hint of conversation could be heard. The terror just ahead of speaking and hearing one's mouth babble senselessly was too much for us. Or even worse, bring to us the sight of another vacant being, consumed by the Apocalypse.
We were seven. Seven doctors from the Foundation. The last seven of a bunch that used to be thirty. Marvin, Joaquín, Alejandro, Santiago, Valentine… And I never got the names of the rest. Too much running, too much panic, too much martyrdom and smoke clouding my head to just ask something as simple. And now, it was too late to ask.
Sitting in the middle of Puerto Madryn, in the middle of fucking nowhere, impossibly far away from Site-57, and safety. It felt like living in a boat without oars, and with waves taking you ever further away from home.
And the water were Fifthists.
They had sweeped everything. We got to know someone important in Google just… Became Fifthist. And soon the company followed suit. First, small memes. Then, greater manifestos and collections and books, and the Fifthist virus took over the Internet, too fast for the Foundation to stop it. In a few hours the whole damn Internet was filled with their writing and media and no one could do anything. The O5 Council stuttered at the last resort of closing off the Internet, and opted for less forceful tactics. And as a result, we had failed. We could not prevent the dam from breaking
Working for your life's passion is sure hard sometimes. Work, work, work, design, work, test, redesign, work, work work workworkworkwrksdmiafasdfj
Get up at 5 AM. Check the schematics. Check the materials. Go buy materials. Get the hammer. Get the circuitry going. Slamming a reality anchor somewhere in there to keep shit from going bonkers. Request energy input for today. Request rejected. Ask again. Argue. Stop from choking the fucker. Work until 12 PM. Sleep. Get up at 5 AM.
Oh, but today's been great. Today I woke up happy, in fact. Like I knew I was finishing! My very own goddamn Spontaneus Generator for Spontaneus Generating of matter. Damn, I would have put on a labcoat if I had one. Well, not actually matter, it's actually taking it from somewhere. I've made it take it from some random universe and organize it into a blueprint I give it. See, it's fascinating how that kinda transportation works. The very small tiny quarks just pop out of their universe and… Pop! Now they're here. And then it's like I'm an orchestrator commanding my very own orchestra! But not just with some predefined instruments - I can make my own in the go! Even put out some that I imagined myself! And then those instruments will sing my very own melody that I made for that exact moment, and my views come to being, dream to reality, like descending from heaven itself!
Oh it was beautiful - If you had seen it! You could feel the electrons running through the wires, to my machine. Every single one running from atom to atom to atom to atom until they went in, sucked by my masterful design! They dance to my orchestra, further powering the beautiful sound. If you had just seen those beautiful wires! At first I threw them randomly, for they were only means to an end, but then I started seeing it - so beautiful shapes tangling around themselves, from order to chaos and dancers to my song! And they were so many… I heard thirteen gigawatts danced to my song, like beautiful swans!
And the board - you should have been there. Fifteen buttons I made, and seventeen smaller ones. Six levers and three smaller ones. Feeling like a demiurge, I mastered the very strings of my own creation, able to create truth from fantasy, from thought to being, orchestrating life if need be.
I remember that exactly - I put the schematics in the thing were schematics went (Haven't named it, It's like a circular board, in which you plugged one of these… I don't know the name. Like a metal rod with everything but the tip covered in some plastic, and you plugged in the tip and then the information inside came out… Damn, why do I feel this sounds overtly sexual? That metal rod must be pretty premature, although it serves perfectly for my creation) and then the very thought made itself vision in the circular screen for me to give it the last touch…!
Like, imagine that! The emmiters, every one a smaller portal, bringing in their load like trucks to perform my grand design, masterful as no other. Then, the load would enter the field of my influenced, exerted through magnetism and gravity, and come to play my song.
It was like a party, yes! People from different countries and dimensions and universes coming and dancing and playing my instruments, and then the anchors - which mind you, I made myself - would be guards in case pesky conflict came in. Two different parties, one of playing instruments and the instruments dancing, and the other of very sound having it's own party for my delight.
That moment - in which I pulled the last lever, when this very thought came to be, oh yes, when the party began…! When it all came together…!
But let's go back for a minute. So, I come in my own office, repurposed for my grand machine. There are notes on the ground but I won't read them. Surely the higher-ups would take away my tools and toys because it was "too dangerous." I checked the machine one last time, making sure every nut and bolt stood in its place, ready to serve my orders. Click! The power starts coming in, I can hear the humming. The anchors were particularly hungry for the delicious electronic excitement electricity was. And when the moment came - I stuttered. Damned be that moment. My fingers refused to move. For there was one thing missing.
What melody would I play? What schematic would become true?
And then I smiled, my muscles twisting for my teeth to be displayed. One thing, one that I wanted. One that would marvel everyone! I would finally be recognized as who I was - a true demiurge!
I looked one last time around my office - so glorious were the aluminum walls, the wires coming down the main facility. I knew the door outside would persuade anyone from interrupting my work, for my very own writing was engraved into it. Yes, I remember the words that I wrote! "Don't come in, working for the SCP Foundry!"
But oh, it didn't stop them. As the machine powered up, and the humming of the transporters and the anchors sang my overture, the damned impostors came in! Took down my precious door, and threw me to the ground. But it was too late, and they knew. One of the coated impostors came in, hands pulling hair, and stood in awe at my creation, for even they could recognize the beauty…! Looking aside, the lights were dimming - a sign that my creation was about to arrive. The whole thing screamed, for no substance could hold such beauty without singing, and it shone white, in heat and divinity. The ground itself felt it, for it gave in around us, trembling. I got scared, you see. Maybe the machine was dropping into a cursed ravine, never again to be seen, but thankfully the earth respected my creation and allowed it to stay, not one thing too heavy for her. And I could see it! I could see matter coming to my fulfill my grand design, my great orchestra starting its song…! No one could stop it. No one could. And it shone stronger, so much it outshone the sun for a few minutes. And finally, my grand design made itself seen, coming to reality from my own imagination…!
I want to know how some random homeless guy made it inside Site-15's perimeter. Furthermore, how come he could build some cursed machine to produce matter and have it work. - Guy
Oh, I took care of that. Gave him the A's and thrown him on some asylum. The poor dude was schizophrenic. The guys can't figure out how the machine works, though. - Luca
The dog that came out is actually pretty normal. I'm adopting him, he's beautiful. His hair is a bit too long and… Damn, I don't get the word… Shaggy? Yeah. The dude actually created a shaggy dog. Would congrat him. - Luca
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: A group of thirty specimens of SCP-XXXX are kept in a standard horticultural containment unit at Site-42.
MTF-Theta-4 (“Gardeners”) are to monitor for reports of anomalous allergic reactions in populations or individuals that exhibit Behaviour Pattern XXXX-Λ. All specimens located outside of containment are to be sampled for genetic and chemical analysis, then incinerated.
Personnel who exhibit Behaviour Pattern XXXX-Λ, or have a history of substance abuse, are not to be involved in containment or testing of SCP-XXXX.
Description: SCP-XXXX is an anomalous subspecies of cannabis sativa1.
All known specimens of SCP-XXXX are hermaphrodites, and reproduction with other varieties of cannabis will produce solely SCP-XXXX offspring. In addition, specimens of SCP-XXXX have been found to appear visually similar to strains of recreational cannabis while remaining genetically identical, presumably to aid in the spread of SCP-XXXX and the triggering of its primary anomalous effect. SCP-XXXX shows dented leaf edges instead of the typical serrate pattern in cannabis, and seven leaflets for each leaf instead of five in certain cases.
SCP-XXXX’s primary anomalous property is the provocation of allergic reactions in individuals who exhibit Behaviour Pattern XXXX-Λ2. When SCP-XXXX or related products are ingested, inhaled, or otherwise come into direct contact with XXXX-Λ, several cannabinoids and other compounds begin an anomalous process of nuclear fusion and chemical bonding, creating as products water, tetrahydrocannabinol, and an anomalous chemical with the structure C4H2¦¦O3. 97.62% of XXXX-Λ subjects exposed to SCP-XXXX-1 have exhibited allergic reactions from trace amounts. Symptoms of the allergy can vary from minor reactions such as rashes, coughing, and swelling to severe, life threatening conditions such as anaphylactic shock. Severity of symptoms has been correlated with the degree of Behaviour Pattern XXXX-Λ exhibited.
Addendum XXXX-1: Behaviour Pattern XXXX-Λ
Testing with SCP-XXXX has resulted in the following characteristics being outlined for Behaviour Pattern XXXX-Λ.
- The regular enjoyment of interactive entertainment
- Extensive knowledge of the history of a specific form of interactive entertainment
- The following of news related to interactive entertainment
- Posting opinions online related to interactive entertainment
XXXX-Λ does not include tabletop games, role-playing games, simulation, interactive motion pictures, or otherwise similar media, being reduced to the common description of videogames. This type of behaviour is classified as XXXX-Θ
Addendum XXXX-2: Incident XXXX-Θ
On 08/11/2018, Dr. Gerald Smith volunteered for testing of SCP-XXXX exposition to individuals exhibiting Behaviour XXXX-Θ. Dr. Smith, an avid player of tabletop role-playing and tabletop games, had not played video games in over 25 years. Dr. Smith experienced a vivid hallucination as a result of inhalation of SCP-XXXX smoke. This lasted for 5 minutes and 32 seconds, before terminating in anaphylactic shock. After recovering, Dr. Smith was interrogated by Researcher Echo.
Interviewed: Dr. Gerald Smith
Interviewer: Researcher Guy Echo
Foreword: Debriefing on Incident XXXX-1
<Begin Log>
Researcher Echo: “What do you recall of your experience taking SCP-XXXX”
Dr. Smith “It was…unpleasant. I’m not used to how smoking cannabis normally feels, but I guess its not quite like that.”
Researcher Echo: “Please elaborate.”Dr. Smith “When I began, it was somewhat like when you stand up too fast, and you get light headed. And then I felt like I was being watched for about a minute before the voices started.”
Researcher Echo: “This was when the hallucination began?”
Dr. Smith: “Yes. I think. Its hard to recall. But it was something of a mess, hundreds of voices speaking at once, overlapping each other. One especially clear, haunting.”
Researcher Guy Echo: “Do you remember what-”Note: Dr. Smith interrupts Researcher Echo
Dr. Smith: “It just stated something like ‘Unknown Variance. Beginning Analysis’ , like a robot and then I felt it *look* at me, as if it was staring at my soul. And as it did that the voices returned, growing as a chorus, gibbering something about the curse of games and ascendance and darkness and the need to punish to be free- a few names were called out, I think. It’s all a blur.
Researcher Echo: “Is there anything specific that you remember. Specific names, phenomena, that sort of thingDr. Smith: “I remember feeling really nervous, almost oppressed. I think I asked who or what it was, but I don’t know if that was aloud or in my head.”
Researcher Echo: “Logs state that at one minute and twenty second, you called out, quote, ‘Who The Fuck Are You’. Did this garner any response?”
Dr. Smith: “More than I thought it would, but nothing that jumps out. It was all noise, and voices, and I kept getting more and more disconnected as it went on. I kind of remember a few names that were called out: Mr. Meme, Mr. Hax, Ms. Mad About Video Games. And one specific phrase, that was clearer than the rest, like it was meant to be heard over the others: Twenty-Four, Mr. D.A R E. and then the I heard the word “checkmark” reverberate around me like I was inside a bell.”
Researcher Echo: “ Anything else?”
Dr. Smith: “Nothing important. I just remember getting higher and higher. Eventually, the clearer voice, the one like a computer, it returned, but by then I was high as a kite and starting to suffer anaphylaxis. The last thing I remember was one phrase, repeating until I lost consciousness.”
Researcher Echo: “And this was?”Dr. Smith: “Who the fuck is a Doctor Wondertainment?”
<End Log>
Closing Statement: Investigation into victims of SCP-XXXX has found that, of the 17 individuals who have suffered anaphylactic shock outside of foundation tests, 3 had prior allergies to Cannabis, 13 had connections to the Group of Interest “Gamers Against Weed”, and 1 without any other factors.
