Object #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: Due to SCP-XXXX’s remote location, Site-XXXX must be built in order to monitor SCP-XXXX-A and -B’s actions. The surrounding neighborhood enclosing SCP-XXXX is to be vacated immediately and deemed as uninhabitable. All civilians who trespass into Site-XXXX are to be administered Class-B amnestics after debriefing.
If in any case SCP-XXXX-A or -B expire, any personnel present within the boundaries of SCP-XXXX are to immediately evacuate the premises until subject’s confirmed disappearance from SCP-XXXX’s physical plane. Surveillance cameras are mounted on the rear of SCP-XXXX’s commercial building facing the dumpster to confirm reappearances of subjects at midnight, EST.
Outside of testing and interviewing, SCP-XXXX-A must be monitored and avoided at all times to prevent further incidents regarding SCP-XXXX-(letter) instances from occurring (see SCP-XXXX Incident Log 1). All specific requests for interviews made by SCP-XXXX-A are to be immediately denied.
Description: SCP-XXXX is a shut-down Sunoco gas station located in London, Ohio. The location boasts standard two gas pumps and a main commercial building but no other distinct characteristics.
Within SCP-XXXX’s boundaries, a regenerative anomaly can be observed. The objects located inside the commercial building, which include consumables and household items, return to their initial positions at midnight, EST without signs of abrasion or handling. The standard gas pumps continue to dispense gasoline despite distinct lack of refilling.
However, objects attempted to be brought outside of SCP-XXXX’s preset boundaries enter a extradimensional space currently inaccessible by Foundation personnel. Objects in question do not reappear until midnight, where they regenerate in their original position and packaging. Foreign objects exposed to SCP-XXXX’s area of effect do not experience the same anomalous properties when attempting extraction.
SCP-XXXX-A is a pale-skinned male of indistinct European origin who claims to be Richard Cunningham, PhD. Its approximate age is believed to be between thirty and forty due to its graying hair and developing wrinkles. Since acquisition, subject is constantly inebriated despite not consuming any alcoholic products throughout the day. When breathalyzed on multiple occasions, subject’s breath contains a steady 0.04% blood alcohol concentration.
Similarly to the objects of SCP-XXXX, SCP-XXXX-A regenerates to its original state of being and position. In contrast to the objects in question, the subject does not return to this state until exceeding SCP-XXXX’s physical boundaries. When reappearing at midnight, subject appears healed of all its physical afflictions, including broken bones, lacerations of skin and heart failure. Personnel ascertained that SCP-XXXX-A’s originating position is inside the dumpster behind the main commercial building.
If SCP-XXXX-A expires and is pronounced clinically deceased, the subject is anomalously pulled towards the nearest boundary of SCP-XXXX at tremendous speeds and brought into the extradimensional space, followed by similar reappearance. The force achieved by SCP-XXXX-A in this state averagely exceeds 40 Gs instantaneously, its maximum reaching a staggering 46.2 Gs. The subject’s body will go through any means to achieve this extradimensional travel, unaware of any obstacles between it and the nearest passageway. Its extreme velocity punctures or eliminates such obstructions if no other entryway is accessible by SCP-XXXX-A.
SCP-XXXX-A has displayed extremely high suicidal tendencies since acquisition of SCP-XXXX. SCP-XXXX-A has lacerated both arms and neck in attempt to end its own life. Despite this, after expiration, subject undergoes the same process stated above, rendering its attempts as automatic failures.
Addenda XXXX.1: Interview Logs
Interview XXXX-A1
Interviewed: SCP-XXXX-A
Interviewer: Agent Morgan
Foreword: Agent Morgan requested to be a regular interviewer of SCP-XXXX-A after relocation to Site-XXXX. Request was considered by Doctor Newt and accepted under the conditions that Agent Morgan would not attempt to goad SCP-XXXX-A into physical action.
<Begin Log>
Morgan: How's it goin, ole chap? Everything nice and dandy over here for you?
SCP-XXXX-A: looks surprised Who are you?
Morgan: I'm nobody special. Just another face for the Foundation. Question time?
SCP-XXXX-A: What questions? Why are you speaking to me?
Morgan: Well, researchers in there thought it would be a good idea to get to know you better. Y'know how coworkers and colleagues know a little bit about your life in order to strengthen your bond?
SCP-XXXX-A: Of course, but I still don't understand —
Morgan: Great. Now, please, sir, I'd like you to answer these questions truthfully. Do you promise to tell the truth and nothing but the truth?
SCP-XXXX-A: Yeah. The truth is that you're annoying and I want you to leave now. looks over to Site-XXXX Hey! You left a live one out here, guys!
Morgan: Sir, I'm here for your benefit.
SCP-XXXX-A: It'd be beneficial to me that you leave, "sir."
Morgan: smirks Not before you answer these questions.
Interview XXXX-A2
Interviewed: SCP-XXXX-A
Interviewer: Agent Morgan<Begin Log>
Morgan: What's up, doc?
SCP-XXXX-A: Oh not you again. Anybody but you.
Morgan: Sorry, chief, but currently, I'm the only one on board to interview you.
SCP-XXXX-A: At this time, I don't want to be interviewed. Can't I speak to your manager and get you in trouble for something? Maybe like harassment?
Morgan: I don't like your tone, SCP-XXXX-A.
SCP-XXXX-A: looks disgruntled What'd you call me?
Morgan: That's your official designation. We at the Foundation have your documents and this places documents absolutely covered with those numbers.
SCP-XXXX-A: Can't you just use my real name? I have a real name, y'know.
Morgan: Not anymore.
SCP-XXXX-A: The fuck do you mean "not anymore"? Just because I'm stuck in this gas station for the rest of my days doesn't make me less human than you.
Morgan: Sir, you're a skip, not a human. You possess anomalous qualities and —
SCP-XXXX-A: Then why don't you and your Foundation buddies remove them, eh? I'd love to be apart of society again. I've been stuck in the same body for the last twenty years, not aging one bit, coming back every single time I try to kill myself.
Morgan: Why do you want to kill yourself, SCP-XXXX-A?
SCP-XXXX-A: Please don't call me that. Call me Rich. My name is Rich. You hear that, suit? My name is Rich. Get that through your thick skull before I bash it in for you.
Morgan: What drives you into suicide?
SCP-XXXX-A: scoffs Like I'm ever gonna tell someone like you what I really feel.
Morgan: I'm asking you nicely, sir.
SCP-XXXX-A: And I'm gonna ask you nicely to fuck off. This interview is over. Shut it off.
<End Log>
Interview XXXX-A3
Interviewed: SCP-XXXX-A
Interviewer: Agent MorganForeword: Request by SCP-XXXX-A to receive leatherbound notebook and pen was accepted. Agent Morgan was given these items to hand off to subject in question.
<Begin Log>
SCP-XXXX-A sees Morgan walk into SCP-XXXX.
SCP-XXXX-A: Hello, ugly. I'm surprised you managed to crawl out of bed this morning, gave one look at yourself in the mirror and thought you deserved to be free and living.
Morgan: I think it's a privilege to work with you. Truly, your quips and responses are to die for.
SCP-XXXX-A: And I already die enough here in this hellhole. Shit, I could probably drop dead from hearing you talk. gestures to the notebook and pen Gimme those.
Morgan: You trynna tell me what to do, SCP-XXXX-A?
SCP-XXXX-A: That's not my name.
Morgan: Was that the breeze? Or did I hear that Beard Boy wants a new name?
SCP-XXXX-A: Oh no, please don't call me that either. Just give me my stuff, Morgan. I've been dying to write on something other than those pamphlets. They disappear every night. I can't remember any of my scriptures.
Morgan: Scriptures?
SCP-XXXX-A: Yes, you daft moron, my scriptures. I write them down with blood from my veins and paper unwilling to remain in place for more than a day.
Morgan: Ain't that a bit dangerous?
SCP-XXXX-A: A lot dangerous. But y'know, I'm immortal. I die and come back. I have no other choice than to take matters into my own hands and see out my beliefs. Now please, can I have my notebook and pen now? I've been waiting too long for them.
Morgan: You'll have to take them from my cold dead hands.
SCP-XXXX-A sighs loudly.
SCP-XXXX-A: Aren't your colleagues supposed to act professionally? Aren't you supposed to act professionally?
Agent Morgan is silent for several seconds.
SCP-XXXX-A: Fine, fuck it. Don't answer my question. Can I just please have my stuff, though? I really need it.
Agent Morgan throws subject's requests on the ground.
Morgan: Skip.
SCP-XXXX-A: Human.
<End Log>
Note from Site Director: Agent Morgan has excessively caused trouble with SCP-XXXX-A since his arrival. Each interview with subject grows increasingly petulant and unwarranted. I believe we'll have to extract Agent Morgan from Site-XXXX if actions continue. - Dr. Newt.
Interview XXXX-A4
Interviewed: SCP-XXXX
Interviewer: Dr. Newt
Foreword: Subject refused to speak with anyone else except the Site Director when attempts to conduct an interview with Agent Morgan went awry.<Begin Log>
Dr. Newt: You requested my presence, SCP-XXXX-A?
SCP-XXXX-A: I keep tryin to tell y'all: that isn't my name. I want to be recognized and listened to around here but none of y'all seem like you have the right credentials to even remove me from this joint, let alone treat me with respect and dignity. I got y'all callin me these numbers and letters, and that doesn't help me any when you're trynna ask me questions.
Dr. Newt: Well, sir, I apologize for my colleagues and their actions. They know their duties. What do you want to be called, then?
SCP-XXXX-A: My real name. Dr. Richard Cunningham, PhD.
Dr. Newt seems surprised.
Dr. Newt: Doctor? In what study?
SCP-XXXX-A: Theology.
Dr. Newt coughs.
Dr. Newt: Okay, Dr. Cunningham, then I'll inform my colleagues of your status.
SCP-XXXX-A: Thank you, doctor.
Dr. Newt: Are you willing to answer Agent Morgan's questions?
SCP-XXXX-A shook its head.
SCP-XXXX-A: If it's from him, then that's a no for me, chief. He's been fuckin with me every time he's come in here to interview me. Actin like he's better than me. Treatin me like I'd done something wrong to 'im. Pardon my French but that man's a sonuvabitch. Way worse than my bitch of a wife. Way worse.
Dr. Newt: Your wife? Can you tell us more about her?
SCP-XXXX-A looks skeptically at Dr. Newt. Its expression is weary. Its hands begin to fidget.
SCP-XXXX-A: You ain't gon tell no one about this, are ya? Not even that fuckin Morgan guy?
Dr. Newt: I don't plan on doing anything like that, sir. I simply want to hear your thoughts and answers to my questions. Could you do that for me?
SCP-XXXX-A extended his hand.
SCP-XXXX-A: Shake on it.
Dr. Newt waits a second. His hand wraps around subject's hand and quickly breaks contact after a few moments.
Dr. Newt: There. Now, you gonna tell me about your spouse?
SCP-XXXX-A: Yeah, of course. Well, it all started this one cold night when the whore wanted to kick me outta the house. I was out drinkin, y'know. I walked back home through all the snow and shit after hanging with the boys, freezing my ass off. The bar was close enough to where I didn't need to … y'know, drive there. I'm not just — um, y'know, gonna waste some money for gas and booze. That's just bad, foolish economics.
SCP-XXXX-A: Either way, the moment I manage to get up to my house, there goes all my stuff — out of the window and into the snow. She was poking her head out, yelling at me that I wasn't gonna be able to come into the house. "Oh, you're drinking too much, you need to stop or you're gonna stay out there for life, Dick," blahblahblah, you get the point. Dame nearly blew my head off.
Dr. Newt: Did she let you into the house after that?
SCP-XXXX-A: Nah, she just let me rot out in the snow with nothing. I tried talking to her but she kept yelling and yelling, telling me there was nothing I could do. She had already threw out just about everything of mine, all except my wallet and car keys. She was like, "I'm keepin these so you can't go anywhere."
Dr. Newt: What'd you do after that?
SCP-XXXX-A: I tried everything I could to get up into the house. But Charlotte wanted to stay ignorant to my banging. Tried the neighbor's door to see if they could help, but nope, they didn't answer either. So there I was, right? Chillin in the cold December night. Not a cent in my pocket. I didn't have shit. Couldn't use a payphone to call for a motel. Didn't have any way to drive up to my friend's place in order to sleep for the night.
SCP-XXXX-A: But I didn't want to die out there in the snow, y'know? So I grabbed my shit, got it all into this knapsack she threw out with everything else and went off. It was around eleven something, cops were patrolling the streets, so I had to stay out of sight. Managed to find this comfy spot underneath a green awning thing somewhere in an alleyway. I put down some stuff over some glass that nearly cut me the first time I tried lying down, and sort of slept there for the night.
Dr. Newt: When was the first time you had contact with SCP-XXXX?
SCP-XXXX-A: I was out of a job and a place to stay for the couple weeks I was out freezing in the snow. I couldn't shave and my beard kept growing out, the dang thing, but it kept me warm. I thought about going to the police and telling them about my wife, but I didn't want to have to rely on some pigs to do my own work. Y'all work for them? That Morgan guy seems like he's always trynna act like em. Got the stuck-up attitude and everything.
Dr. Newt: SCP-XXXX, Dr. Cunningham.
SCP-XXXX-A: Right, right. And this one night, I think these groups of fuckin kids wanted to mess with the guys on the street, y'know? I'd seen them around, picking on Ruth and Charlie. I didn't think they'd mess with me, though. SCP-XXXX-A laughs. Boy, but sure enough, they did! It was late and I was tired, and a little drunk, not too much, I just shared a few sips with Ruth and went on my way, and those hooligans decided they'd wanna give me some trouble. I coulda gave them the whole one-two if I tried, but they got me, and had me down on the ground, and kicks and punches were landing right on my face and shit, and next thing I know, they're hoisting me up on their shoulders, bringing me through the backstreets.
SCP-XXXX-A: I could see the alleyways through the sides of my eyes, flashing here and there with flickering lightbulbs. I was thinking what a wonderful thing it'd be if they just straight up killed me right then, because I wouldn't have to deal with my fucking wife or the fucking cold or these stupid-ass kids, or you guys, for that matter, but then they kinda, y'know, brought me to this place. I remember the lights were shut off. There were signs over the pumps that said they were out of order. The kids kept walking and giggling to themselves, what maniacs, and eventually, they came around the building and found this huge dumpster that smelled like it hadn't been cleaned in years.
SCP-XXXX-A: The ringleader, he was this big burly kid, looked like a brick of sorts, told them to shove me in there and then they did. I didn't feel strong enough to get up and leave when they did. I felt like I was going to die, my lungs were filled with sharp pains. And they didn't care. They let me suffer. I wish they just ended it when they could. SCP-XXXX-A begins to cry. Why? Why did it have to be fucking me? I didn't want any of this, I want to be let go! Subject looks up at Dr. Newt. Let me go!
Dr. Newt: I'm afraid that I do not have the power to do so, sir.
SCP-XXXX-A wipes away its tears in an aggressive fashion.
SCP-XXXX-A: Then leave me to wallow.
<End Log>
Closing Statement: Subject appears withdrawn from Foundation personnel from further on. Suspension of interviews with Agent Morgan and SCP-XXXX-A was immediately enacted.
Interview XXXX-A5:
Interviewed: SCP-XXXX-A
Interviewer: Agent Morgan
Foreword: SCP-XXXX-A unusually requested an interview with Agent Morgan for an unknown reason. Dr. Newt considered and accepted the request. Agent Morgan's interview suspension was temporarily removed.
<Begin Log>
Morgan: You called for me?
SCP-XXXX-A: Indeed I did, Morgan. I thought it was a long time since our last talk. I had thought you got fired, or even died. SCP-XXXX-A dryly laughs. That's such a funny concept to me. Death. The act of atrophy. There have been so many different things I've had to consider over the years, y'know, and lately, the Keeper has brought me closer to knowledge I would've never imagined possible.
Morgan: The what now?
SCP-XXXX-A: That's unimportant right now. Please, take a seat over by the gas pumps. I'll grab us a cold brew of beer and we'll be on our way.
Agent Morgan follows SCP-XXXX-A's instructions. He seats himself at gas pump #4. SCP-XXXX-A returns with two Coronas. It hands one over to Agent Morgan. He takes it hesitantly.
Morgan: What's this all about?
SCP-XXXX-A: Whaddaya mean? It's been a long time since I've had a brew with one of my buds. Y'know, those old times were the best. You always had those stories you kept cracking up about no matter the situation, y'know? There were people you'd always get to meet up with and enjoy their presence. It's been like that with the Keeper. He's kept me sound in these days of woe.
Morgan: Who is that? The Keeper?
SCP-XXXX-A: My friend. He'll be your friend, too.
Morgan: What do you —
SCP-XXXX-A takes hold of Agent Morgan's service pistol. Subject pushes Agent Morgan down onto his back, clambers onto his chest and begins to continuously strike Agent Morgan's face until he becomes unresponsive and unconscious.
SCP-XXXX-A: You'll see him soon, Morgan.
<End Log>
Closing Statement: For further information on altercation, see Incident Log XXXX.2.
Addenda XXXX.2: Incident Logs
Incident XXXX-A1: On 3/27/16, Agent Morgan was terminated by SCP-XXXX-A. After a peaceful conversation between to the two, SCP-3867-A had distracted Morgan long enough to grab his pistol from his belt and strike the front of his skull until death. Preachings of a god above and its scriptures were elicited from SCP-XXXX-A as it crooned above Agent Morgan's body. It spoke extensively of sacrifice during these muses.
Once armored personnel entered SCP-XXXX, SCP-XXXX-A produced Morgan's pistol and brandished it at personnel. SCP-XXXX-A told them that it will finally transcend containment and Morgan would take its place, and that it "will finally be free and dead, once and for all."
With its firearm still pointed at personnel, SCP-XXXX-A struggled to carry Morgan to edge of SCP-XXXX. It whispered a few words of presumed prayer and, with Morgan's body hoisted on his back, passed through the boundary with maniacal laughter.
At 12:01:34 on 3/28/16, loud sounds were heard behind SCP-XXXX's commercial building. Two guards were sent into SCP-XXXX to investigate. They disappeared behind the commercial building and returned with two conscious persons: SCP-XXXX-A and Morgan, both of whom were seemingly devoid of all physical injury.
After events of incident, Agent Morgan is hereby classified as SCP-XXXX-B. Dr. Newt sends a condolence letter to the Morgan family speaking fondly of SCP-XXXX-B and its service before it unfortunately passed in combat.
Incident XXXX-A2: On 1/22/17, SCP-XXXX-A and -B attempted to assimilate Dr. Newt into SCP-XXXX. Subjects were unsuccessful in their attempt and reprimanded for their actions. When apprehended, SCP-XXXX-B was found carrying an audio recorder. Below is a compiled list of the recorder's available logs. Logs are believed to document SCP-XXXX-B's initial assimilation and further interaction it had with SCP-XXXX-A leading up to incident.
I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD, THIS SMUG BASTARD LITERALLY BEAT MY FACE IN WITH MY OWN FUCKING PISTOL. HOW DARE HE DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT? WELL, AT LEAST HE DIED AGAIN, BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN HE COULD FUCKING DO THAT TO ME.
Okay … Okay … Take a few breaths, Peter, and you'll be fine… So I just got killed yesterday. And if your ass is gonna be incredulous and say, "Oh, but if you got killed, then how are you writing this right now?" you can kindly fuck off since I needn't your idyllic statements here.
My name is Peter Morgan, and I am an agent for the SCP Foundation. Or I believe I am. Ever since I got my face slammed in by that bearded fuckface, I've apparently been turned into a skip, which I guess is a fun experience if you want to spend your entire life in a cube that refuses escape from all sides. SCP-XXXX-B, I am known as now. Fuckers keep on calling me that instead of Agent Morgan. I would find that extremely disrespectful, but I guess I must deal with it. At least they gave me this recorder so I tell about the shit this motherfucker does without them having to keep an eye on us the entire time.
Earlier in the day yesterday, I was told by Researcher Garrett that Beard Boy had asked for me. As for an elaboration regarding exactly why Beard Boy wished for me to enter XXXX, Garrett said that he could provide none. He gave me a wary look as he escorted me to the entrance leading into XXXX.
I did everything right. I followed his instructions and sort of trusted him when he came in and asked if I wanted a drink. He made me sit near one of them gas pumps.
Then he kind of took me of guard. I should have been paying attention but I wasn't. He managed to get my pistol strap undone without me knowing and before I knew it, there it went, straight into my face.
I felt every bone break, every nerve reacting, every motherfucking agonizing sensation burning through my face. It hurt like fucking hell, and I've caught myself on fire and luckily survived, so I think I know what I'm talking about. It stung for the remainder of my time there, and I'd thought my final thoughts then. They went something like this:
Voice raises significantly. "Oh, this motherfucker is really killing me. Hm, and I don't mean the way in that he's cracking me up so bad I feel as though some creature is ripping out my stomach with its sharp claws. Oh, huh-huh-huh-huh, no, motherfuckers, he's literally fucking beating me in the face with my own gun! I wonder how fuck the afterlife'll attest to my death that was caused by a sudden beating made by an insane madman that hates my entire existence." Voice returns to normal volume. Strain is apparent in tone. I did think about how my family would be proud of me and how I died a brave soldier when they received the falsified letter delivered by the Foundation, but those're lies, and I don't feel like pulling an ole Beard Boy.
But after I got my face beat the hell in, I just found myself chilling in a fucking dumpster. Felt like I just fell from the space above it and could not switch trajectory before I started falling. So I fell in and there was fucking trash all over me and there was something wet on my ass, so I dove out of that thing faster than I dove out of my wife when she told me she was on her period. Those were some bad times. Getting my red wings was not worth dealing with that shit, nosirree.
After I scraped my knee on the concrete and seethed, I opened my eyes. That was when I heard a loud pop. That pop accompanied the appearance of Beard Boy. It looked like he had been teleported in the same way I was, appearing a foot above the dumpster and falling immediately. He fell in and grumbled loudly. He heard him say, "Oh, please, not again," but I didn't hear anything after that.That was when security personnel entered XXXX. They took me and Beard Boy to the front near the gas pumps.
Dr. Newt was contacted and sent into XXXX after some arguments happened between me and some inane guards. Apparently, I was being too hostile and was threatened that if I didn't tone myself down, I would have to be removed from the premises, or terminated completely for incompetence. Unfortunately, I believe that they figured out since I just got my face beat in by a bearded bastard that hated me from the beginning and lived to tell the tale of this insanely unbelievable event, I might not be able to be terminated.
And yes, I understand I'm being repetitive with the face-beating. But can you survive some shit like that and not bring it up constantly after you get something to record it on? No. You can't.
Anyways, Dr. Newt came in and evaluated my status to the Foundation. Just told me that I'm a skip and am no longer apart of the research community of the skip I am apart of. He just walked back into Site-XXXX with a worn expression and a discarded declaration that I "better not start any trouble between myself and the roaming skip inside too much," although I don't believe he understands that the threats mean nothing anymore.
There's nothing they can do to me that would regard me as something less, like demoting me to D-class. I think that the reason that they stopped me from furthering the research with XXXX is because I put this upon myself by becoming an animosity for Beard Boy, so now they're punishing me for it. But I don't think that it matters right now, or any other time past this. Like Beard Boy, I am now an immortal skip bound to this fucking gas station until the end of days. Whelp.
So that's about it. At least for now. Further audio logs to come.
I just realized that I'll have to tolerate him for as long as possible before the Foundation is able to fucking get me out of here… Fucking hell.
I'm kind of getting used to this stupid regeneration thing. Beard Boy has killed me at least five times now. It's seriously over some stupid shit every single time. Keeps telling me that he doesn't like the way I look or how my hair is long at several different points that it shouldn't be or that I'm eating most of the chocolate. S'not my fault if I want to eat some good food, Beard Boy. Those Kit-Kats are the best thing in here besides that one pistol he always manages to get before me.
Either way, back onto the topic at hand, Peter Morgan officially kind of understands how some shit in this skip works. Like, there's an instant that passes between the moment I die and the moment I reform and feel that shitty garbage underneath my ass. One moment, I'm in excruciating pain. And then in the next, I'm fucking wading through some trash that never seems to end unless I can find my way out of the dumpster. Sometimes, even that is hard, since it's just a stark difference between realities. It's unnerving sometimes.
Also, s'like I can partially see something in that instant. It's something I can't really make out since there's no why one can comprehend something in such a short period of time. I'll see if I can see it. Might be the person operating this idiotic business here. Or it just might be a figment of my imagination. The latter is way more likely than the former, but as an optimist, I guess that I can believe something other than just one malignant thought. Perhaps I might be able to convince him or her to let me out of here and see my family. I miss them.
He's getting way more annoying. He's been able to kill me even more times than I can count. Whenever I get out the dumpster, he's waiting like I originally did. And then he just fires the gun, and I'm back in the fucking dumpster. It takes not even a minute for all that to occur, and each day passes as it happens. I'm missing all these important days because an insubordinate fuck wants to fuck with me and my life.
And every time, he's always laughing this stupid laugh. I hear it eternally now, both in the physical realm as well as in my own mind. It's never-ending, that sound. And it's obnoxious. Just its tone is pretentious. Each time I get into the dumpster and out of it, it gradually develops, and immediately after I round the corner and zig-zag toward him to at least try to pry my gun from his hands, he does it more and more. I hate it. Just … I hate it. If I didn't have him killing me all the time, I think that I would have to kill myself just to avoid hearing him.
Squishing sounds.
At least he refuses to come back here. He hates it back here, in the dumpster. The smell is rancid, sure, and it's unfathomable how uncomfortable it is in here, but it gets me away from him long enough to have a one-sided conversation with the Foundation using this voice-recorder. The dumpster is a haven. Chuckles. Never would imagine I would ever say that, but here I am, sitting in one to keep myself away from an insane killing again. Ah…. I hate my fuckin life.
He discarded the gun. Thank God. Said it was boring and just huddled himself inside the commercial building after I came out the dumpster. He's been in there for a minute. I would go into it with him and see what the hell he's doing, but I'm not going to risk anything. He doesn't have the pistol on him anymore, yeah, but that doesn't mean he can't kill me with some other shit.
Aaand I was right. He replaced my pistol with a fucking garden hose. That's even better. Well, at least I can dodge that faster than I can a bullet. As a matter of fact, I'm the Flash with that shit, man. Ooh.
Most of the food here is stale, I just noticed. Apparently it regenerates as stale, so I would have to presume that this anomaly had manifested when this place was long abandoned or something. That might be the case. Might not be. Who knows? Probably some smarter scientists.
He fucking ate all the Skittles. If you tell me that he didn't deserve to die by eating all of those amazing goodies, then you, too, deserve to die. It's like the only good food here besides those bomb-ass Kit-Kat bars. I bet he now hates brooms now, too, that bastard.
For today, I just have a simple question for whoever the hell decided my imprisonment: Who thought that falling into a dumpster and not allowing them outside connections was a good idea for one's immortality?
I would rather sell my soul for evil like that one lich from the TV show my kid watches — Adventure Time, I think it's called — to do evil and malignant things instead of rotting here in this shitty-ass Sunoco with an insane dude that tends to kill me. Why can't I do that? I don't know. Maybe because shit like that don't exist. There actually might be a skip that could turn someone into a lich, but I don't know.
I asked personnel if there was a lich skip that existed. They wouldn't answer me directly. They said there might be an actual anomaly where a false deity may have taken a soul from a faithful party that forewent the same process as a normal lich, but they said they weren't sure. If there's anything I learned from the Foundation, it's that anything's possible.
Beard Boy and I played poker. I kind of cheated a little bit to make the game go faster so I didn't slog through the entire thing, but I guess that he knew that I did since he beat me over the head with the garden hose out of the blue. I tried avoiding that stupid hose, but I couldn't by the time he lunged forward. He's gotten proficient with that flailing fucker, so I might need to actually get my own weapon to protect myself.
I finally thought about using the broom again. Fucked him up a bit. I might have to request for a few books regarding kung-fu fuckery to continue learning how to use something like a staff. I mean, I used it as such. And he was kind of confused when I sneak-attacked him. Request is pending.
Requests were denied. Dr. Newt said (and I'm paraphrasing here), "Oh, bro, you don't deserve something like that, because you'd actually want to attack personnel that attempt to interview you, and we don't want shit like that to happen. And if you're gonna say that you must defend yourself against Beard Boy, your life barely matters if you just respawn." Motherfuckers at the Foundation are really pissy when you're a skip, I realized.
Foreword: Recording device is accidentally activated in SCP-XXXX-B's pocket.
M*A*S*H IS THE BEST THING EVER, YOU MOTHERFUCKER. YOU DO NOT EVER SAY THAT IT'S BAD! Loud clank. IT'S ABSOLUTELY GREAT AND AN ACCURATE DEPICTION OF THE ANTICS THAT ACCOMPANY THOSE TIMES! Another loud clank. AND HOW DARE YOU YOU PLACE BONANZA OVER THAT MASTERPIECE? LITTLE JOE IS THE ONLY GOOD THING ABOUT THAT TV SHOW, YOU OLD FUCK. EVERYTHING ELSE IS ABSOLUTE TRASH. Clanking resumes for twenty-seven seconds, then ceases suddenly. SCP-XXXX-B breathes heavily. Fucking… Fucking… Fucking… You're a idiot. Bonanza sucks ass.
Proceeding minutes involve grumbling and mutterings before device shuts off.
I just realized that the part of the thing with M*A*S*H and Bonanza, or at least the ending of it, was… recorded.
Um… If you'd like me to apologize for my overreaction, I will not provide one. Beard Boy's disagreement about one of the most amazing TV shows known to man was dealt with accordingly. I've always said that those who think Bonanza is superior to M*A*S*H in the comedic department should deserve to burn in hell. Given the freedom of being able to kill him, I decided the least I could do was stay true to my word.
And uh… the Febreeze can that was next to me was the only thing that I could use as a weapon. Beard Boy keeps burning my fucking brooms, and his garden hose was way back near the rear of XXXX where I hid it, so I just picked it — the Febreeze can, the one I used to spray Beard Boy and myself when we universally smelled like utter garbage — I picked it up and slammed him over the head with it. If I had something else to use, I would've used it, given the can's inferiority to other items.
Don't judge or even blame me. I had a reason this time. He deserved it.
So I just figured out that Beard Boy has actually documented a few things during his stay here on that journal I gave him. I thieved it when he was sleeping earlier today. Had it sitting right next to him, and in high school, I was called the Sneaker. Original name, I know. The only people that called me that were my friends, who might've said it sarcastically from time to time. Anyways, that's besides the point. I took it without waking him.
Got it right here. Let's see… hm… There's… Holy fucking shit, there's a lot of entries here. Over a hundred, maybe nearly two hundred.
Silence.
Uh… I've seen some misspellings of some words and a quite consistent stutter in the typing here, so I would conclude that as an aftereffect of his shaking. Shakes a lot, that man.
The contents of these entries talk about a myriad of things. The most common words I've seen as I've sifted through most of this bullshit is escape, containment, almighty god divine, and some other talk about some guy named… The Keeper. I have no idea what the fuck the Keeper is. Nor do I think I want to know. Then, right after he talks about the Keeper, he apparently goes into a spastic instance, something that seems very similar to "My Mom's Heroin Addiction Syndrome". Just starts making no sense, starts scribbling down things with his pen, and nonsensical bullshit leaks from these instances. I've noted at least ten times of this happening.
This Keeper must be some dude. Might not want to mess with him at all, huh? Although I'm sure I might have to at one point. Maybe there'll be an XXXX-C because of him. Or her. May be a her. Remember, Foundation personnel: I don't discriminate.
I'm going to record these logs in here. Might be useful information to the Foundation. Might get me back in.
Okay, okay, okay. Yesterday. Let's talk about that. Beard Boy's sleeping right now, so this is the only time I'll be able to talk about this. I could kill him and then talk, but that would be suspicious, and drawing attention to the shit I do is highly unadvised now.
So, yesterday, he was looking for his jounral. He was livid about being unable to find it initially. Kept yelling and raving about it as he ushered around, attempting to locate it. I haven't completed audio-logging the entirety of his memos, and yesterday, he was stressing me out with all his shit. I need to constantly distract him now so he doesn't continue his journey to locate it far more often. Yesterday was the beginning of those distractions.
I was looking around the building to find out some shit to use, and it's at least twenty minutes in when I get the idea to blow up the gas station. Hear me out. I looked behind the counter and what did I see? Cigarettes. And along with those shits, I saw a lighter. And combined with the gasoline outside, whaddaya get? Yeah, yeah, a big boom.
So I got all the shit together. Got the cigarettes and the lighter, and lit one as I came out of the building. Beard Boy was at the right of the building, looking through all the little cracks underneath it with a mini flashlight he found inside. He was on his stomach and shit, had his eyes forward, so he couldn't see me. So I did the do. I walked to the gas pump, unhinged the nozzle and poured out some gasoline. Then I called over Beard Boy. Beard Boy was doing his shit but eventually got up to see what I was hollering about. Immediately as he came close, he paused for a moment and looked down at the gasoline. Then he saw the lit cigarette fall from my hand into the shit and — BOOM!
We're back in the dumpster and he's telling me about how much he hates me. He didn't start looking for the journal after that, though. Thankfully, I've bought myself some time. I'm nearly halfway through. If I work all day tonight, and then sleep in the daytime, and work again the next night, I may just get it completed.
So far, it's some juicy shit with Beard Boy's notes. The Keeper's been brought up a whole lot more, but only in passing. He hasn't documented their confrontations, sadly. Apparently he's had several conversations with the guy, and speaks of him as a god or some shit. I'm not that far into the crap, but I'm getting there. I'll update y'all further when I gather more information.
He caught me, the smug fucker. I was literally ninety percent through, man. He literally started attacking me with his hose and gashed my forehead before I could back away and keep my distance. I rounded about the corner and fished for my broom handle. He followed, so I went around the other way. We stood apart. Then we talked. He told me that I had his shit and that he wanted it back. I refused the accusation that I had it. He told me otherwise. I told him to prove it. He revealed that he heard me last night talking into my recorder, and when he heard his own words being spoken, he knew I had his shit.
I thought he was asleep. I thought I was safe.
We got further into the argument.
And that's when Dr. "I-Fucking-Hate-Peter-Morgan-With-All-I-Have-Due-To-His-Fuckery" Newt came into XXXX. He settled us down, but Beard Boy attacked him and knocked him down right before he attempted to attack me. I got him in the groin, the bastard. I nearly smacked him the fuck up with my broom handle, but Dr. Newt caught the handle in one hand. It clearly caused him a bit of discomfort, which I enjoyed for a mere moment. He asked what I was doing. And like a member of the Foundation, I exclaimed that I was disciplining him for falsely accusing me of thievery.
Dr. Newt would have none of that, evidently. Just told me that I'm no longer apart of the Foundation. That I cannot pull such stupid actions out of my ass and think they're not going to be switched around on me.
I told him that I'm a person…
He said I was everything but. Told me I'm nothing else to him than a simple skip. He requested the journal, and now, I was so fucking angry that I just pulled it out of my pocket and practically shoved it into his hands before surpassing the boundaries and landing in the dumpster.
I was so close. So fucking close. You're not getting these fucking logs, y'hear me, Quinton Newt? This is my hard work, and if you'll want it, you'll have to pry it from my dead hands. Laughs. Motherfuckers. I was going to give you some shit important shit. But y'all fucked up.
So y'all're gonna get at least some shit out of me. I need to vent.
Y'know those instances right between my death and my regeneration? Yeah, those've decided to extend a few milliseconds for the past couple of weeks. Of course, it's barely enough to notice anything at all, but I've seen a figure. A strange figure. One that, from what I've read from Beard Boy's logs, looks like the Keeper.
I'mma give you the lowdown. Keeper is apparently an amalgamation of things that Beard Boy wants. In his logs, he says he wants escape, so the Keeper manifests himself to him as a winding, spiraling highway at reaches up to the heavens, speaking to Beard Boy from a disembodied voice that was telling him how to achieve this. From what I can gather, it's basically some wish-fulfillment deity that pushes those who succumb to its domain's basic isolation into what it wants to them to do. It's controlling them and making them do things as punishment for even daring to enter its domain.
But the only way to experience the Keeper is to be isolated for however long it wants you to be, and then it draws you into its doohickey where it malforms your thoughts and makes you see shit. It increases in increments, and Beard Boy is only allowed to communicate with the Keeper for a minute at a time whenever the Keeper wants to talk to him. Most of the times, this doesn't happen, but he hopes that he's given another chance, I believe. This probably explains why so many suicides were made: to speed us the process in which he might contact something who might be able to breach containment.
It's some freaky shit. And I think I'm starting to experience the Keeper's freaky shit.
My wife and family has been the thing I've missed over the past few months. I've wanted to see them so bad. But they haven't been able to know about me still being alive when I've been presumed dead. Natalie, my wife, is the epitome of that thought, and when I enter that void beyond the boundaries, y'know, I see her for a split-second. I can see her billowing hair. I can hear her saying something indiscernible. And I can see her eyes. They're blue. But they were glowing a brighter blue than their regular color. But again, it's for a mere second I can see her. I swear it's her, though. There's no way that it's not…
This Keeper dude may be the thing that might get me out of here. I'm pissed about how I was dragged into here by Beard Boy and presumably was used as a failed sacrifice (I read the things, I know what the fuck happened, Foundation), so if I do manage to actually get out of here using the Keeper, I might actually relieve Beard Boy from this place, as well as me. And we might be given freedom. And I'll be able to see my family and her.
The Keeper. SCP-XXXX-B repeats this for another three-hundred sixty-five (365) times.
I see more of her day after day. This shit is fucking with my mind… I hate seeing her for a mere moment, then two, then three, but never being able to reach out and grab her and hold her and kiss her and tell her I love her like she knows I do. If only she knew I was thinking about her now. She'd be vividly imagining me in my grave dancing and shit if she heard that I was actually immortal. Dancing. Scoff. That's something I rarely do nowadays. Maybe I could learn how to tango. Or something. Morgan, out.
B: Hey… XXXX-A —
A: Just call me Rich for short, Morgan. I've heard those numbers so many times, I don’t want you using them again.
B: All right, Rich. I've got you in here for a reason. I want to talk to you about the Keeper. But before I do that, I want to go into regular protocol for conversations recorded using Foundation property. For further reference, I would like you to know that I have already pressed the record button on the recording device, and that all of the information that is to be said during this interview —
A: Interview? I thought you were disbanded by those fuckers outside.
B: — this conversation is to be used for Foundation use after this audio log is relinquished. Is this all right with you?
A: Yeah, I guess.
B: Good. Okay, so tell me, the Keeper.
A: Oh, so you've finally seen him, too.
B: You could say that. And apparently due to my knowledge of his presence, the times he's been revealing himself to me has been gradually evolving into higher numbers, going all the way up to an approximate ten seconds. You know anything about this?
A: Nah. Not at all. He didn't even reveal his form to me until at least four years in this bitch. And he didn't even talk to me for another two years. I don't know why he's taking a liking to you because you fucking know of him, but he does him. He wants what he wants, and we want what we want. If he wants to make a compromise, he will, and then he'll contact us. He did with me.
B: Can you explain what happened exactly? Why you tried to sacrifice me?
A: … Fine. Your ass was always annoying the fuck out of me with all of the shit you did, so the Keeper had finally started to talking to me again after the initial conversation we had long ago. He told me that he knew that I wanted you dead… And when he offered my escape from this fucking hellhole if I killed you and pulled you into that stupid foggy void past this Sunoco, I jumped to the bat and took three strikes fast as fuck. Fucked with me. Didn't fulfill my request at all.
B: He controlled you. Made you do something for him and then refused to give you something in return for your service.
Silence for a few seconds.
A: Fuck off. He didn't control me. He merely tricked me.
B: But he tricked you by controlling you.
A: How dare you accuse me of being controlled?
B: You literally said that you were basically being controlled. "Fucked with me. Didn't fulfill my request." He didn't fulfill anything because there was nothing to fulfill. He tricked you by controlling you and fucking with your mind. He didn't owe you anything, A. You failed what you set out to do, and he couldn't've rewarded you for a failure.
A loud slap.
A: Listen to me, you fucking douche. I wasn't controlled. I had figgered out how to do everything the right way. It's you why it failed.
B: Scoff. You're the reason why it failed. The Keeper wasn't content with your sacrifice. He must've wanted more.
A: Then let's give him more!
B: What? No! The Foundation is doing it's best not to be sacrificed because of a stupid, mentally-incompetent guy wishing to be freed.
A: You want out, right?
B: Not to the degree of giving up life of renowned researchers just for freedom. That's fucking inane.
A: What was that word?
B: Inane? It means stupid. Dumb.
A: Bah! I'm not stupid!
B: You act like it!
A: Oh, you motherfucker, you're asking for it!
Sounds of scuffling is heard. Recording device is deactivated after several minutes.
The Foundation doesn't want us out. He thinks that they'll provide him with D-Class in return for an offer of compliance. For an extreme comparison, I would say that they, the Foundation, would rather let 682 out of containment and let 'im wage devastation amid the entire world before they would ever give him enough D-Class to remove himself from this hell. And it's even worse when the Keeper might decide that he doesn't like any of the individuals that would hypothetically be sacrificed by Beard Boy. The Keeper would literally keep all of those sacrificed in here, unable to be let out. The Keeper is keeping he and I here for a reason, perhaps. Reasons that are currently unknown to me, but they do exist nonetheless.
It's tempting to just draw all the researchers out and have Beard Boy kill all of them and sacrifice them for our freedom, but I don't want to do that. It's too stark. And they're my old colleagues. All of them would be so embarrassed if I sold them out for my own selfish wants… I won't do any of it. He'll have to kill me again and again if he wishes to do so, but he'll never get me in on his plan.
Rich keeps killing me. I think it might be because of he and I's disagreement.
Beard Boy tried killing someone today during an interview. It was Ray. I stopped him, thankfully, by taking my pistol — it keeps regenerating at the front of the skip, right in between the gas pumps, where I presumably dropped it months ago — and shooting him in the head. Ray thanked me for helping him out.
I think ole Ray left Site-XXXX.
I'm beginning to think that the Foundation is fanning their researchers out of Site-XXXX. I've seen less and less of all of my known colleagues — like Keller, Bond, Phyllis, and others, y'know — and Dr. Newt seems to be the only person still content on entering XXXX for the interviews with both me and Rich. He's grown exasperated because of us, I think. There's no light in his eyes like the one I say when I first began working with him on XXXX. So excited, he was, and me, too. Bah… He seems tired of us, and perhaps of the Foundation, too. I don't know. I don't care much, either. I just want out.
She's even more beautiful than I've ever seen her before. The Keeper has made her more desirable… Oh my god, I need to stop.
A is telling me that they're all gone. That they're giving up on us. I know they're not. Dr. Newt's still talking to me and taking all my records for the documents, and he's promising me that I'm not going to be stuck with him. At least Dr. Newt is treating me more like a person now.
I asked Dr. Newt if all of the researchers were relocated. He said no.
I realized that Dr. Newt was lying. Nearly all of them are gone. Only Phoenix and he are left.
I hear her when I'm not dead or sleeping. She's moving me to do things I don't want. Natalie's voice is telling me that she misses me, telling me that I need to find her again. And I tell her that I see her when I die and sleep, but she wants more. Always wants more, for she wants me to see her again, to make love to her.
Keeper, please listen to me. I need out. I don't like it here… Nononono, I don't… She's with me. She's waiting for me right outside the gas station… I see her. Her hair. And every time I go to her, to hug her, I am dropped back into that fucking dumpster again. It's wet and disgusting, but she might be worth it. I'm losing my mind without her. And A's no help at all, either. He's just been killing himself whenever he hears me talking to him, cutting himself, hanging himself, sometimes shooting himself, too, and it's unrealistic just speaking to myself all the time. He's the only one I can always talk to, since Newt's usually out. I'm going in-fucking-sane.
I hate how I can't die. I can be killed, but I cannot die. I fucking want to die. Let me die. I can't keep living through this fucking shit without losing my mind… I want out. I need a way out. I don't even fucking care if I see her again. Even she wants me to die, but I can't, I FUCKING CAN'T. KEEPER, LET ME DIE. I CAN'T FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE.
It's surreal. The pain. I live for the pain. I lengthen it all out until I am dropped into the dumpster again. I wish to finally stop falling into that fucking disgusting thing, and actually falling into the afterlife like I should've. I don't want to be immortal anymore. It's fucked.
She's right in front of me. She's talking to me. Honey, say something. C'mon, I know they can hear you. They should be able to hear your voice, that delicate voice… What was that? They can't? Bah! Nonsense. They must be able to, with their advanced technology being so inclined. You've been able to transcend a skip, so they must be able to be able to hear you. See, Foundation? She's right here. She's always been right here, haven't you, honey? Pause. What? The kids are here, too? Ronnie! Barbara! Come to Daddy. Wait… No. NO! DON'T GO! Sobs. Please…
Rich hugged me today. No lethality in it all. Nothing hostile. Just a simple hug and a pat on the back. I cried on his shoulder. He let it happen. He needs someone's shoulder to cry on, too, he told me. He and I only have each other now, besides Newt, and it's … relaxing to talk to someone besides Natalie. I'm glad he's with me. A tether to the physical world which I wish to escape from completely.
Keeper, Keeper, listen to my prayers. I pray that you hear all of which I preach, for its innate manner is considering your existence. A wants out. And before, I didn't understand what he meant. I thought he wanted to see the outside world one more time, to make sure that his existence on this Earth wasn't an illusion generated by someone omnipotent… But I think something else, now that I've been subject to the immense insanity that this mad place holds. He just wants release from all that binds him here… I'm like him in that regard, as my faltering sanity has made immensely clear…
Keeper, oh divine Keeper… You are the only one that can let us out of this nightmare. We request departure… And as much as it's beyond my moral boundaries, I've found it more and more tempting to sacrifice at least one person for our exit. A's been on my case about this all, claiming that he wishes to sacrifice Newt if he must, and until now, I've believed myself to keep him under check, for prevent this from occurring in fear that my occupation at the Foundation would be eternally revoked if I even managed to get out of this hell-hole. But … I don't want that anymore. I want death and release… And A's plans are even more appealing now that I've finally succumb to the madness he must've developed long ago. I think I want to do it. I'll sleep on it. Thank you, oh divine one. Bless you.
According to A, he's finally gotten word from the Keeper. I have too, but it was just jargon I couldn't understand… Anyways, he says that there is a ritual that must be done if we're to escape from this fucking nightmare. Claims that I'll have to kill him, decapitate his head and then have Dr. Newt come into the gas station… I'll him there, and then do the same thing A did all those months ago. It's probably been over a year since that initial death… Fucking hell, I'm going to be so relieved…
A minute long pause.
I'm going to do it. I don't plan on handing these logs to the Foundation anymore, for they could keep killing us and letting us regen and then do it again, so I'm going to keep them. Perhaps they'll come with me into the afterlife, so I can look at them and think, "Wow, I've really come a long way…" Beard Boy wants to do it immediately. I think otherwise. We need to plan further instead of recklessly making our endeavors so hostile and obvious.
This is the final log. This is it. I'm standing right inside the building right now. A is over there, and he's getting together all that shit we need for the ritual. It seems intense, but I'm sure we'll get through. If it backfires like it did before, then we'll keep trying. And keep trying until we get it right. The Keeper wants us with him, and we just want the fuck out. We'll do whatever the fuck we can just to get the hell out of here.
Alright… I want to say goodbye. The Foundation will probably try to neutralize us if we fail, so this must be it. I love you, Nat. I wish I could've told you that before I was stuck here, but I was a fool then, and perhaps a fool now. And for Ronnie, Barbara? I wish for y'all to live in luxury with your mom. I love all of you and —
Oh, we're doing this? Newt's coming? Okay. Bye. Love y'all. Fuck the Foundation. And guys? Y'all're are bitches.
Both SCP-XXXX-A and -B are safely contained at this time.






Per 


