rating: 0 + x Instance of SCP-XXXX-1-A, manifesting on-site at Field Office 352-Zayin. Item #: SCP-XXXX Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be kept within a secure item locker when not in use. Requests for testing may be submitted to the Research Director at SCP-XXXX's site of containment (Field Office 352-Zayin as of 01/10/2015). Following any testing or transport, SCP-XXXX is to be rinsed in water and wiped clean to prevent manifestation of anomalies. Description: SCP-XXXX is a rectangular concrete box measuring approximately 17.75 cm x 10 cm x 10 cm. The object has no external openings, but contains a hollow aperture housing several materials. Following penetrative imaging and substance analysis, the space within SCP-XXXX was determined be filled primarily with charred organic material identified as cremated mammal remains, surrounding a small assembly composed of a circuit board connected to a dried flower (Eichhornia crassipes) by means of short wires curled around the stem. Analysis also revealed a short text passage inscribed on the interior surface of the object, the contents of which may be found in Document XXXX-A01. The anomaly associated with SCP-XXXX manifests when the object is fully covered with soil on all six sides. Under these conditions, three instances of SCP-XXXX-1 will manifest within 1000 square meters of the spot at which the object is buried inside of 24 hours. Instances of SCP-XXXX-1 are incorporeal images resembling specific domesticated canines. They have no measurable mass or volume, and the space occupied by their bodies measures on average 5 degrees Celsius warmer than the surrounding air. Instances behave in a manner consistent with non-anomalous canines, though they are apparently unable to detect humans. Left alone, instances will play with one another, chase non-human animals, and periodically rest. All manifestation of SCP-XXXX-1 ceases once SCP-XXXX is no longer in contact with soil on all sides. The instances of SCP-XXXX-1 have been designated as follows: SCP-XXXX-1-A: Male boxer, apparent joint pain and occasional seizures, highly active, estimated 13 years of age SCP-XXXX-1-B: Female bull mastiff, slight limp in rear left leg, moderately active, estimated 8 years of age SCP-XXXX-1-C: Male bull mastiff, missing right ear, lethargic, estimated 4 years of age SCP-XXXX was recovered from an empty lot in St. Johns, Florida on 09/04/2014, following numerous reports of "ghost dogs" in the area. No further associated incidents have been reported following recovery. +Show addendum: Test Log XXXX-Alpha -Hide addendum Test Date: 09/10/2015 Purpose: Control Procedure: Object placed on a tarp; not exposed to soil Result: No anomalies noted within 36 hour monitoring period. Test Date: 09/13/2015 Purpose: Reproduction of original anomaly Procedure: Object buried .5 m underground in vicinity of Field Office Result: All instances of SCP-XXXX-1 manifested within 24 hours. All three instances appeared to show slight reduction of sensory awareness relative to original manifestation. Test Date: 09/14/2015 Purpose: Reproduction of original anomaly Procedure: Object buried .5 m underground at original site of recovery Result: All instances of SCP-XXXX-1 manifested within 24 hours. Instances demonstrated none of the irregularities seen in previous test. Notes: Anomaly seems most effective at original location. Possibly due to soil conditions - further research ideal. Test Date: 09/16/2015 Purpose: Test potency of anomaly manifestation using different soil Procedure: Object surrounded in 1 cubic m of soil sourced from Brantley, Georgia Result: All instances of SCP-XXXX-1 manifested within 27 hours. SCP-XXXX-1-B and -C appeared to have senses significantly impaired relative to original manifestation. SCP-XXXX-1-A appeared to be totally devoid of sight, hearing, and smell. Note: This suggests the earlier hypothesis was correct. Glad getting that soil wasn't a waste of time. Test Date: 09/18/2015 Purpose: Test limits of anomaly manifestation Procedure: Object surrounded in 1 cubic m of beach sand, dried and sifted Result: All instances of SCP-XXXX-1 manifested within 36 hours. All instances were devoid of fur, with SCP-XXXX-1-C missing several patches of skin and SCP-XXXX-1-A completely devoid of skin. SCP-XXXX-1-A de-manifested and re-manifested in irregularly-timed bursts over 36 hour monitoring period. Space occupied by all instances measured significantly warmer (~15 deg. C) than recorded in original manifestation. All instances appeared confused and physically uncomfortable. SCP-XXXX-1-B observed to gravitate to areas of deep shade, to no apparent effect. Test Date: 09/21/2015 Purpose: Test limits of anomaly manifestation Procedure: Object suspended using cable in a 1 cubic m tank of water with approx. 50 g of soil mixed in Result: SCP-XXXX-1-B and SCP-XXXX-1-C manifested within 48 hours. Both instances observed to produce significantly more saliva relative to original manifestation, as well as exhibited behavior associated with hydrocephalus. SCP-XXXX-1-C de-manifested and re-manifested repeatedly over 36 hour monitoring period, but occasionally exhibited physical irregularities upon re-manifestation (e.g. excessive hair, elongated bones). SCP-XXXX-1-A not observed to manifest. Test Date: 09/25/2015 Purpose: Reproduction of original anomaly Procedure: Object buried .5 m underground at original site of recovery Result: All instances of SCP-XXXX-1 manifested within 24 hours. Instances showed none of the physical irregularities observed in previous experiments, though all instances showed initial disorientation and confusion for several hours following manifestation. In particular, SCP-XXXX-1-A, though apparently conscious and responsive to external stimuli, did not move for 1.5 hours following manifestation. Within 4 hours of manifestation, all instances returned to original observed behavioral patterns. +Show addendum: Document XXXX-A01 -Hide addendum Commodore, Breakfast, and Lawrence Summers aren't the same anymore. This is for you. I don't even have to ask; you were always cool. - G.C. (with help from friends)

rating: 0 + x Item #: SCP-2987-J Object Class: Euclid Special Containment Procedures: SCP-2987-J is to be kept disassembled in a small high-priority item locker. The object is only to be assembled for tests approved by the Site-19 director. Description: SCP-2987-J is a set of metallic body parts composed entirely of steel. These components are held in the shape of a human body via unknown means, but can be separated from one another with little effort by human hands. SCP-2987-J possesses artificial intelligence comparable to that of a well-educated adult capable of speaking English. The object attempts to redirect all conversation to the nature of its easily disassembled and stored body. SCP-2987-J insists on using alphabetical designations for its various redundant appendages, even when requested to use alternate nomenclature. Following the object's recovery, an interview was authorized to determine the nature of SCP-2987-J's unique features, as well as any possible secondary functions. +Show addendum: Interview log 2987-J-Alpha -hide addendum Date: May 9, 2015

Interviewer: Sarah Richards

Subject: Advertised features of SCP-2987-J

Location: Interview room 029, Site-19 Sarah Richards: You have made numerous references to your "easily removable parts". SCP-2987-J: Naturally. My best feature! Almost all of my parts pop off with minimal effort for convenient storage. Sarah Richards: Can we take off your lower jaw? SCP-2987-J: Well, without that, I can't modulate speech properly, but sure! Sarah Richards: How about the right shoulder blade? SCP-2987-J: I'll lose my wi-fi signal without my B-shoulder, but knock yourself out. Sarah Richards: What if we take out your left ocular globe? SCP-2987-J: Oh, no. Don't remove that! It's my A-eye. [SCP-2987-J refused to clarify the secondary functions of any of its other components, and the interview was terminated at the 6-minute mark.]

rating: 0 + x Attention, noble patron!

The Manna Charitable Foundation appreciates your literary exuberance, but regrets to inform you that this story functions as an intermediate part in a series. In order to fully appreciate this tale, the Foundation requests that you first read A Disturbance. Thank you for your time. In His indescribable magnificence, Xiolt-La stood in the field of the gods. He had been standing there for an eternity. He inhaled, and three generations of humans, some infinite number of planes below, lived out their lives. He exhaled, and galaxies spun. The Flame within His chest flickered, rising and falling with the faith of those who dared not speak His name. It was a day like any other, for it was the only day that ever was in the field. Xiolt-La sighed, and opened His eyes. In the light of the six suns, twelve moons, and seventy-nine planets in the sky above, He saw all that ever was and ever would be. A glimmer in the rays of the celestial bodies attracted his attention. Leaning in, Xiolt-La saw an infinitesimally small hole in the space above His ankle, with an even smaller silhouette standing behind it. The glimmer lasted a fraction of a shred of an instant. Xiolt-La cracked His knuckles, rewound, slowed, and contracted. Approaching the hole, now slightly taller than Him, Xiolt-La glanced at the figure within it. It was a human, darkly dressed, impossibly simple, and bearing a wide smile. "Greeting, my King, Void-seeded and Light-born. I approach with a proposal," the human spoke, its smile barely moving. "Speak and be heard," Xiolt-La intoned, His voice the unwavering roar of eternity itself, "For times are few and far between when those of your plane have seen fit to approach those of the field." "My request is a simple one, oh Lord of the Gods," the human proceeded, unflinching in face of the raw energy released by the god's words. Its smile widened. "I would like to play a game." There was a flash of the blinding light of creation as Xiolt-La's body dissipated. A deep, throaty chuckle tore its way across the landscape. The human shielded its eyes. "Do not play at subservience, one-of-Earth. The intentions of your kind are as plain to me as the hair upon the heads of each of your ancestors. One does not play a game with a god without attempting to bend the outcome in one's favor. What are the stakes?" The human straightened up. "Should I win, Your Eternal Majesty, I request a single favor. A small gift, one that will be used in line, I might add, with Your position as Savior of Life." The human paused. "Should you win…" "Should I win, do you truly believe you have anything of value to give to me?" Xiolt-La bellowed, "You, whose powers were strained to their fullest merely to speak with me? You, whose lifespan will not exceed a century of your own time, my kin willing? You, who are flammable?" The Sealed King paused for a moment, suddenly uncertain. The Flame within Him wavered briefly, sending streaks of cold through His consciousness. "Perhaps… perhaps there is something you could give me." "Your Majesty?" "Should I win the game, you will devote the remainder of your life to spreading faith in my presence to your fellow humans. And I will choose the game." "Fair enough." The human's smile did not shrink at the colossal price. It extended its hand. "What game are we playing?" The light that was Xiolt-La coalesced, binding and congealing into a humanoid form. His faceted, crystal bones shined in the sunlight. His feathered wings stretched out, enveloping the hole in reality. A tattered, bloodied wedding dress draped across His rib-cage, barely obscuring the infernal flame that glimmered and flickered within. Above His cervine head, a wreath of laurels rotated lazily in the sunlight. Xiolt-La reached out and grasped the human's hand in His own. "We're going to play a game of chess." "Chess?" the human inquired, a tinge of uncertainty tainting his voice. In that fraction of a tone, Xiolt-La read the human's true, unvoiceable thought: A bit cliché, isn't it? "Chess," the Sealed King replied firmly, "house rules." Adam Johnson sighed into his police radio. "Okay," he said, massaging his forehead, "run this one by me again." "Abandoned parking garage downtown, Johnson," the radio crackled back. "We're getting some reports of people gathering in the area. A, uh, lot of people, apparently. Someone should go check it out." "And remind me why that someone has to be me?" Johnson replied, exasperated. "I'm on my lunch break, you know." "So's everyone else," the radio crackled back "and all of us outrank you." Johnson sighed again and put his car in drive. It was going to be one of those days again. Johnson pulled into the abandoned lot surrounding the garage. It was a large, unattractive, concrete spiral some long-bankrupt developer had put in back in the late eighties. Nobody in town had any idea why. The whole area was too swampy for any sane architect to erect a structure there, and a third of the garage had already sunk below the ground. Nobody in town had any idea exactly when it had been built, either. Those who had paid particular attention to the lot said that it seemed to have sprung up overnight. Nobody in town really paid any attention to the parking garage, on the whole. Adam Johnson was not from town, but did not know when or why the building had been constructed, either. However, he did know that the interior of the garage was three time larger than its exterior showed,the the interior of the garage had inverted gravity in five places, and that blasting a hole in the interior wall of the garage showed a starry night sky, rather than the muddy plain outside the building. It was his job to know these things, and to make sure that nobody from town figured these things out. Today, the latter half of his job was going to be harder than usual. Johnson looked out of his car's windshield at the parking garage, blinked, rubbed his eyes, blinked again, and squinted. Outside, several dozen people had formed a ring around the building, and were staring blankly at the sky. Above the building, two large spheres hung in the air, covered in alien runes glowing an unearthly shade of blue. The garage, Johnson noted, was covered in these same runes. Johnson squinted harder. The people surrounding the garage bore the runes on their skin, as well. The entire scene was motionless, its silence broken only by the startled heaving of Johnson's breath. Suddenly, the parking garage exploded into motion, as the tremendous spheres collided against each other in the sky, and the people began swarming into the building. Johnson grabbed for his police radio, pulled the back off of it, and removed the small microphone from within. "This is Agent Echo Delta Charlie calling in from Sub-Site-AO-197," Johnson spoke into the microphone, "We are experiencing an unprecedented level of anomalous activity. Please-" A large chunk of the parking garage broke of and hurtled towards the car, missing it by a few feet. Johnson tightened his grip on the microphone. "Please advise!" "Agent, this is Substitute Communications Director Zhong at Site-19," the radio crackled in response, "I'm not really cleared to dispatch anybody to your area, so hold on while I file the necessary requests. In the meantime, please continue to report what you're seeing for research purposes." Adam Johnson punched his steering wheel in frustration. It was definitely going to be one of those days again. Xiolt-La stared at the tall, spiraling board before Him, calculating His next move. "Pawn to E-3-9," he muttered. A piece resembling a human child slid four layers down the spiral, emerging at he top of the structure. "You are locked in," the god spoke to the human. "Your king is surrounded on six sides, and blocked by my own on the other," He continued, gesturing to the sphere suspended in the air above His opponent. "I have won." The human's smile did not waver. "You forget Yourself, Majesty," it replied. "In Your efforts to contain my offensive movements, you have ignored the most vital piece of my plan." The human tapped the side of the board. Xiolt-La focused His attention on the piece resting there, an adult male figure that the human had left neglected since the beginning of the game. "I castle," spoke the human, and the sphere and the figure exchanged places, the orb crashing against the side of the spiral. Flecks of gray rock scattered across Xiolt-La's chest. The Sealed King had not anticipated this move. The human, He realized, was unusually proficient at this game, a game it should not have had prior experience with. For the first time, Xiolt-La doubted His supposition of certain victory. He directed His eyes skyward, and searched for the outcome of the game in the celestial light. For a moment, He saw Himself victorious, sentencing His foe to a lifetime of missionary work. The lighted shifted, and the scene blurred and twisted, now depicting the human negotiating a deal with the god. Xiolt-La cursed Himself. In accepting the human's offer of a game, He had introduced an element of chance into the affairs of the gods, the pillars upholding fate. In a game of gods, the conclusion was no longer locked by inevitability. He could not see the end of the game. He could not even see His opponent's next move. He was as blind to the game's destiny as His opponent. He could lose. Xiolt-La chastised Himself. He had been foolish, but He had not lost His abilities. He was still playing against a human, with a mind infinitely less complex than His own. He was still playing a game of His own design, against an opponent who had never seen such a game before. He would not allow Himself to face the humiliation of defeat. He could lose, but he would not. "Impressive," Xiolt-La replied at last, "but you, too, have overlooked forces acting behind the primary lines of conflict. Rook to L-37-4." A piece dropped upward, knocking one of the human's figures out of the game. Xiolt-La felt His flame burn brighter as His confidence returned. "Play on." Adam Johnson sprinted around the parking garage, avoiding pieces of debris emerging at high speed from the building at every angle. He had been forced to abandoned the car some twenty minutes ago, when a large chunk of concrete had embedded itself in the windshield. "Zhong?" he yelled into the microphone in his hand, "Things are getting bad. Well, worse. Any update on the MTF dispatch?" The radio spat out a burst of apologetic static. "Well, we do have one lined up to deploy. Should be heading out in…" The radio went dead momentarily. "Yes?" Johnson yelled, ducking as one of the gigantic spheres hurtled towards him, missing his head by inches. "…Twenty minutes." "Twenty minutes?!" Johnson exclaimed. "People could be dead by then! Hell, I could be dead by then! What in God's name is the problem?" "Mission briefings, agent," the radio responded. "It's taking a while to distribute info on your situation. Anomalous parking garages aren't exactly a priority topic, you know?" Zhong chuckled uncertainly. Mission briefings. Chrissakes. Sometimes, Johnson felt, the SCP Foundation let its standardized capture procedure get in the way of securing, containing and protecting. SCP getting in the way of SCP. What in God's name was the problem, indeed. "Knight to E-3-3," Xiolt-La declared, several pieces on the board scattering violently. He held up one of the cards in His skeletal hand. "Three cups." "Pawn to K-99-42!" the human yelled, finding it increasingly difficult to make its voice heard as the board shuddered and cracked with growing fervor. It exposed its hand, revealing a High Priestess, a Valet of Coins, and an Ace of Batons. "Go fish!" "Very well," the god boomed, withdrawing another card from the center of the board. "Are you certain we're still playing chess?" the human shouted. Had He possessed lips, Xiolt-La would have smiled. "Absolutely," he boomed. Adam Johnson strafed left, catching a young woman as she was flung from the roof of the building. "Observations of human subject, adolescent female, are as follows," he spoke into his microphone, "Unconscious, apparently unable to wake. Luminescent characters covering all exposed skin." "Language?" Substitute Communications Director and Researcher Wei Zhong inquired with an audible rustling of papers. "Looks… Mayan. Ish. Maybe? I don't know!" Johnson barked in frustration. "I'll just mark down 'unknown' in the language section," Zhong responded. "You do that," Johnson growled. Twelve minutes to deployment, six minutes to arrival. "The cards have run out," the human yelled. "Who gets the last pair?" "We shall determine the information in question as it is traditionally done," Xiolt-La boomed, resting His elbow atop the board, His fingers outstretched. The human stared at the hand blankly. Suddenly, it was struck with understanding, and turned to look the god in the eye. "You can't be serious," it spoke, its smile one of disbelief. The Sealed King chuckled. "Do not tell me what I cannot do, human," He replied. "Take your position." The human placed its elbow on the board and grasped the god's bony hand in its own. "Unbelievable," it muttered. Xiolt-La laughed again. "Begin!" he declared, and the human's arm was met with the force of a tidal wave crashing relentlessly against an unforgiving cliff-side. It gritted its teeth and pushed back against the god's arm. Johnson was knocked off of his feet as a wave of kinetic force blasted across the parking lot. What the hell was going on now? "We've got high-power emanations of energy now. Physical." Another wave of energy pushed him over as he attempted to rise to his feet. "Looks like it's coming in waves," he added. Five minutes to deployment, six minutes to arrival. "Queen to A-1-1," Xiolt-La thundered. This was it. In a few moves, the human's king would be completely surrounded. This time, there would be no castling or mind games. Though the sky's light still fluctuated above Him, Xiolt-La saw His victory plainly. It was all over. "It is all over, Your Majesty," the human spoke. Xiolt-La saw the celestial glow of fate becoming uniform. The Sealed King was exultant. Then, Xiolt-La saw the human's smile widen. He felt the flame in His chest flicker. "Bishop to C-29-sub-37," the human said. Xiolt-La looked at His king. The human's pieces surrounded it to the North, South, East, and West. "Check." Xiolt-La looked at His king. It was trapped from above and below. "And." Xiolt-La looked at His king. It could not escape into the future, nor could it sink into the past. "Mate." All was silent. Adam Johnson looked around him in amazement. Everything was still. Chunks of concrete hung in the air like twigs suspended in amber. Humans hovered around the building, suddenly caught as they plummeted towards the ground. Four minutes to arrival. Xiolt-La was stunned by His defeat. He had not been bested, He told Himself. He could not have been bested. He had been inattentive, and He had allowed Himself to lose. He was not entirely sure if that was true. Still, Xiolt-La could not allow Himself to wallow in His defeat. It was unbecoming for a god of His stature to lose, but it was even more unbecoming for a god of His stature to show self-pity. "Clear the board," Xiolt-La spoke. Zero minutes to arrival. Three large, unmarked, black vehicles pulled into the lot surrounding the parking garage. Their back doors swung open, and Mobile Task Force Eta-8 leaped out. The agents wore impact-proof, fireproof armored vests. They carried high-powered, automatic firearms in case of hostile entities. They brought cages, nets, and chains. They brought test tubes and chemical indicators. They brought salt. They were prepared for anything. They found nothing. Adam Johnson stood facing the garage, stupefied. It had been complete chaos, and suddenly, it was all gone. The shards of concrete were gone from the air, returned to their rightful places in the building's walls. The spheres had vanished from overhead. The unconscious citizens were gone. There were no runes to be found anywhere. Turning, he saw the entirety of MTF Eta-8 staring at him. A few agents appeared confused. A few briefly scanned the environment for hidden threats. The majority were irritated, and making no attempt to hide it. Adam Johnson fell to the ground with hysterical laughter. A few moments later, gasping for air, he addressed the task force. "OK guys, stop me if you've heard this one. Half a second ago, right before you pulled in…" "Now, I believe, I have a request to make," the human said, smiling with victory. "Ask," Xiolt-La responded, His skeletal grin at odds with His morose tone. "I need one metric ton of a substance with these properties," the human produced a text-covered card and handed it to the god, "delivered to this location." The human produced another card, its text equally dense. "If you investigate the language there, Lord of Gods, I have been assured that you will find it airtight. No loopholes; no more games." Xiolt-La glanced at the cards. The human was correct. The words of its request had been selected with the utmost care, forming bonds that a god could not break. "Yes. It shall be done." "Thank you kindly for Your time, One above All." The human bowed, stepping back through its tear in realities. "Oh, and…" Xiolt-La looked up as His opponent departed. The hole began to draw shut. The human raised its hand in a wave. "Have a nice day."

rating: 0 + x Benjamin Charles stared out of the dirty window of the bus, lost in thought. His recent dispatch had been a sudden one, with little background information. It was Tuesday morning when he had been called into the boardroom and informed of his upcoming assignment. It was now Thursday afternoon, and Benjamin felt no more sure of his goal. "This assignment is of a personal nature," the President had said, "But do not think of it as a selfish one." "Rather," the Vice President continued seamlessly, "this expedition will be instrumental in the successful assistance of hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of disadvantaged individuals worldwide." Benjamin felt his eyes begin to grow heavy as he recalled the rest of the meeting. He was being sent on a journey of self-discovery, they had told him, an expedition to harness his inner talents. Benjamin was not at all sure what these talents were, and he had told the Board as much. The Secretary's lips had curled into a wry smile. "Listen for God's Message," she had said, furiously scribbling notes, as always. Not particularly helpful advice, Benjamin mused. Nevertheless, he had packed his bags that night, and booked a Greyhound ticket to his assigned location the next morning. Such an odd name for a town, he had thought. Not one that any reasonable person would have chosen. But it was not his place to dispute the Board's assignments, for they understood the will of God and the needs of the poor far better than he. And so, Benjamin had swallowed his doubts and boarded the bus for that little town where the Message would be revealed, the bizarrely named town of - Benjamin's eyes snapped open as he saw a signpost flash by the window. He hadn't exactly seen it, but he was almost positive that it said - No, that was impossible. The bus would have stopped. It had to. It was printed on his ticket stub, for goodness' sake. No. He had seen the sign well enough to know what it said. There was no way he'd ever forget that name. Somehow, the bus had managed to miss his stop. Reluctantly, Benjamin stood up and made his way to the front of the bus. "Stop the bus, please, sir," he said to the driver. The driver looked at him incredulously. "You missed my stop," Benjamin clarified. "You sure?" asked the driver, raising her eyebrows even higher. "Yes, I'm sure. I bought the darned ticket," Benjamin snapped. Then, remembering himself, he quickly added, "Ma'am." It certainly wouldn't do to begin his demanding journey with poor manners. The driver stopped the bus and opened the doors, never dropping her look of bewilderment. As soon as Benjamin had removed his small bag of luggage from the bus's undercarriage, it sped off into the distance, as if glad to be rid of him. Benjamin sighed and began slogging his way back along the road, lugging his bag behind him. Seven minutes and a half-mile later, Benjamin arrived at the signpost he had seen out the bus window. Yes, this was certainly it, he though as he reread the sign. Unless there were two towns in Wisconsin with that eccentric name. Benjamin began to trudge toward the town, leaving the dilapidated sign behind him. "Welcome to Sloth's Pit", it read in large, bold letters. Below, in red paint, someone had written, "You're Never Leaving Here." As he trekked along the dusty, cracked road, Benjamin Charles recalled the final remarks of the Executive Board of the Manna Charitable Foundation. "Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin," the President had begun with a knowing smile. "God works in mysterious ways," the Vice President had interjected. "In Sloth's Pit, his ways are sometimes incomprehensible," the Secretary had finished.

rating: 0 + x This is part one of a three-part story.

Part one, "The Most Wonderful Time", is below.

Part two, "A Previous Predicament", will explore the origin of Jensen's behavior, and explain why the Foundation hasn't canned him.

Part three, "Christmas Chaos", will be a direct continuation of part one. "All personnel in life-threatening situations, please disregard the following message," the loudspeaker boomed. A short, ominous chuckle emanated from the intercom, identifying the voice as belonging to Dr. Bright's newest body. After a short pause, the message continued: "All personnel not in life-threatening conditions, proceed to the mess hall immediately unless you wish to be in one." — Site Director Richards sighed, pushing her rolling chair back from her desk. It had been a long day, and if the antics of the previous holiday parties were any indication, it was only going to get longer. A few of the senior staff members had gotten the day off, calling in a number of dubious favors and, she was certain, making more than a few death threats. Nobody had been allowed in the site cafeteria all day, which meant that the interior surfaces were almost certainly covered in all manner of garish decorations. Under normal circumstances, Richards would have spent the morning orchestrating the disciplinary procedures for such an action, but the Site-19 Christmas Party was a tradition. An extraordinarily frustrating tradition that required a week of cleanup, but a tradition nonetheless. Besides, she had bigger problems to worry about. As she stood up to organize her papers, one such problem caught her eye, in the form of a manila folder labeled "A. Jensen". Jensen. Now, there was an interesting case. As the Site Director continued to tidy up her office, she couldn't help but recall the odd circumstances surrounding the Site's newest agent. — It had started innocuously enough, when he had brought in the modified radio. In fact, Jensen had been commended for the find, as it was a bona fide anomaly. In the rush to process the object, nobody had questioned where he'd found the object, or how he had noticed its odd properties. Strong intuition could be a boon in the Foundation's area of research, especially for an agent. A few weeks later, site management saw the first red flag when Agent Jensen brought in a disconnected emergency exit sign. Researchers had examined the object for hours, finding nothing in the least bit strange. When questioned about the sign, Jensen became skittish, refusing to explicitly state where it had been recovered from, or why he'd secured it. Site management had let Jensen off with a light reprimand, assuming the whole incident had been a practical joke. Over the next several months, however, the problem began to become worrisome. Jensen had brought in traffic lights, warning beacons, even disco balls. In one case, he'd submitted his own car's dashboard for research, calling attention to the turning signals. Richards had been forced to face the facts: no matter how efficient an agent Jensen might be, he had a problem with blinking lights. Jensen had been taking perfectly ordinary objects from their rightful locations, and his allotted supply of amnestics was beginning to run disconcertingly low. Still, Jensen was too valuable to lose. Foundation coordinators had switched the agent to a less active task force, and hoped that it would be the end of the problem. Two days later, Jensen had put a bullet through an assistant researcher's strobe light, citing a "massive containment breach" in his incident report. It was time to face facts. Something had to be done. In the space of a week, Jensen was reclassified as on-site personnel. The management was given specific orders to keep him away from all warning signs, and luminescent devices were turned off when he was around. It took a while to become accustomed to the changes, but after a while, everyone forgot about Jensen and his strange compulsions. Except for Site Director Richards. The fact remained that, no matter how hard she tried to keep Jensen away from blinking lights, there was a certain time of year, a certain day especially, where it was simply unavoidable. For weeks, Richards had agonized over the issue, before finally settling upon a solution. Jensen had been sent on a wild goose chase. The standard Foundation keyword skimmers had come in, a suitably ambiguous report had been selected, and Jensen had been sent out to find the object. His mission, he'd been told, was of the utmost importance. He was to contain the object as quickly as possible, and report immediately back to the site, no matter how many other anomalies he uncovered while on the job. Of course, odds were a thousand to one that there was no object. Jensen would be searching for days, until Richards called him back in, citing a management error. All problems would be avoided, and everybody else could have their fun. It was deviously simple. — Richards finished organizing her office, and made her way to the door. Perhaps, she thought, she could rest for a while before heading to the Christmas party. Surely the seniors wouldn't notice a single missing face? No, she realized, they would want to make sure that she was there. They'd want to make sure that she was watching as they defiled the normally orderly cafeteria. Sometimes, she thought, the senior staff enjoyed the pain and irritation they inflicted upon others as much as they enjoyed their other celebrations. Richards sighed once more and walked out into the hall, slamming her office door behind her. — Richard's deserted office was peaceful. For once, there were no concerned employees at the door, no urgent requests for research, funding, or reclassification. For once, everything was quiet. Suddenly, the silence was interrupted by a low-pitched buzzing, as Richard's phone, left neglected on the desk, sprung to life. Though there was not a soul present to observe the screen, it bore the following message: To: S. Richards

Subject: Re: URGENT MISSION

Object secured.

Returning to site immediately.

-J

rating: 0 + x Sample of SCP-XXXX surface, displaying numerous instances of SCP-XXXX-1. Picture taken on 02/24/███7.

Item #: SCP-XXXX SCP-XXXX Object Class: Safe Euclid Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be kept in a standard containment cell within Site-08. The object is to be suspended from a crossbeam such that it does not touch the ground. The crossbeam is to have an attached apparatus for the measurement of the mass of SCP-XXXX, with current readings viewable remotely. In case of a significant change in the mass of SCP-XXXX (defined as a change of 0.20 kg or greater), the object's surface is to be checked for the appearance of any new instance(s) of SCP-XXXX-1. Description: SCP-XXXX is a large cocoon-like structure measuring approximately 3.50 meters in height, and 0.75 in diameter at its widest point. SCP-XXXX consists outwardly of a composite of paper, wood pulp, and adhesive similar to papier mâché. Samples extracted from the interior of SCP-XXXX have contained a variety of substances, including sap, milk, blood, chitin, fecal matter, hair, and █ unidentified substances assumed to be similarly organic in nature. The outer surface of SCP-XXXX is composed almost entirely of paper-based documents, designated as SCP-XXXX-1. Instances of SCP-XXXX-1 vary widely in content, language, apparent origin, physical composition, and age. All recorded instances of SCP-XXXX-1 refer, directly or indirectly, to a series of phenomena collectively identified as "Ragnarok", and/or an entity responsible for initiating these phenomena. Instances of SCP-XXXX-1 are notable for referring to dates up to ██ years subsequent to their date of publication with significant accuracy, often resulting in anachronistic references to future technologies, locations, and people not yet present at the apparent date of publication. To date, ███ instances of SCP-XXXX-1 have been recorded and transcribed. An abbreviated list of transcribed instances of SCP-XXXX-1 can be found in Addendum XXXX-A, and a full list of such instances can be found in Index XXXX-01. Periodically, SCP-XXXX will demonstrate an increase in mass. Following such an event, a minimum of █ new instances of SCP-XXXX-1 will manifest on the surface of SCP-XXXX. In addition, samples taken from the interior of SCP-XXXX following such an event may yield up to █ previously unrecorded substances. Recovery Log

SCP-XXXX was discovered in the home of ███████ █████ on 11/27/███1. Responding to an anonymous tip regarding the recent disappearances of ██ local livestock and pets, police entered the home of ████ to find SCP-XXXX suspended from the ceiling. The home displayed signs of severe neglect, with many rooms containing large conglomerations of paper documents, adhesive, and various animal remains. Following the filing of police reports regarding the object's discovery, the Foundation was alerted to the object's presence via automated information surveillance protocols. Class B amnesiacs were administered to all individuals involved in the object's discovery, and reports of the incident were modified to remove all references to anomalous objects. ███████ █████ has not been located following the discovery of SCP-XXXX, though a significant amount of blood located directly beneath the object's original location has been found to belong to him. One instance of SCP-XXXX-1 (designated SCP-XXXX-1-37) was later found to bear handwriting similar to that of █████, and is believed to be his last documented writing prior to his disappearance. A transcript of this writing can be found in Addendum-XXXX-A. Addendum XXXX-A + SCP-XXXX-1-01 - Hide this Entry Description: Newspaper clipping, apparently taken from The Eastlake Herald

Date: 11/07/1973 Community Corner by Denise Mitchell

MONDAY Bake sale at the Presbyterian Church, courtesy of the Church Sisterhood. All sales will benefit the Children's Hospital. With a cake wheel, a clown, and goodies galore, it's fun for the whole family! TUESDAY Biannual gathering at the town hall to discuss the town's future. Mayor Richford would like to take the opportunity to remind everyone that, even though the end of man is coming, and He will smite us all with His beautiful wings, and the skyscrapers will fall, and the eyes of humanity, driven blind by the seductive glow of cell phones and computers, will roll in the dust, and all of eternity's worthless deeds will be unwritten as the day of Ragnarok descends in Its eternal majesty upon us all, it's still important that the local library receive enough funding to stay open. Refreshments will be provided. WEDNESDAY The Eastlake Newfoundland Association will hold its annual water training evaluation down by the beach. It's sure to be fun in the sun! Local dog lovers welcome. + SCP-XXXX-1-28 - Hide this Entry Description: Printout of an email sent by Foundation employee Dr. D██████, recipient unknown

Date: 11/09/███3 Christ, I can hardly think these days. Every morning, it's another round of tests, another round of records. It's tedious. Wearing on me, you know?

I'm happy, just like you said. I couldn't believe it at first; I used to be so scared. You told me your stories about what was coming, and I nearly cried. I didn't want to believe you, but how could I not? Not after the things you showed me. I saw them every time I closed my eyes. I still do, but they don't scare me anymore. I was weaker back then.

I guess I'm rambling again. What I'm trying to say is, you were right all along. I'm glad it's coming. We deserve it. Me most of all.

The pain, the filth, the stench of death - it won't last. Nothing will last. Nothing but Him, of course. And His glorious Ragnarok.

After all these years, it's the closest I've come to religion. Note: Dr. D██████ has denied writing such an email, and Foundation documentation reveal Dr. D██████ to have been subjected to quarantine at the time of the email's apparent composition. + SCP-XXXX-1-34 - Hide this Entry Description: Scrap of a page taken from a children's book, heavily torn

Date: Unknown The little creature lived in the root of the big tree, and one day, he grew hungry.

And he ate and ate, and soon he made himself a cocoon to live in.

And he stayed in his cocoon a long time.

And then, when spring came, he emerged from his cocoon as a beautiful [unintelligible]

And the seas ran red with blood of man. + SCP-XXXX-1-37 - Hide this Entry Description: Short composition written by ███████ █████, SCP-XXXX's apparent creator, prior to his disappearance

Date: 11/09/███1 To whom it may concern:

He is coming. The time is at hand for Him to emerge and show His glory to this filthy world. Everything's gone wrong now - we broke it. He will fix it. He will set it right. N[unintelligible] is close at hand now, and I can hear His glorious screams with every breath I take.

He lives lived lives in everyone, you know. You can feel a bit of Him in you right now. The part that tells you, no, it's all gone wrong everything has to stop.

And it's not just us the men the scourge, no, no. Everything has a bit of Him in it. I know this because He told me. His voice came unto me and said, you must gather the necessary parts and tie them together with the bits of Me left in your worthless history.

When He emerges, when Ragnarok comes, all of everything will go out. And in that darkness, that bloody void when man realizes the only thing he knows how to do is hate He will shine upon us the bloody light we are owed.

the beast the cry the rage the justice the dragon He will show us no love and we should have no love from him

the eternal scream the final fall will wipe the slate clean and it will echo throughout all of eternity so He says so He tells me and i know it to be true

theres only one thing left now

its me He said the final piece is me

in with the rest of it them those who will build His flesh and sinew

and you wont be ready no youll try He said He told me all about you

youll try and hold it keep it clean and seperate in your boxes tiny squares

but theres nothing you can do

He will give me no love and He will give me no peace and He will give me no joy

He will bring pain and fire and fear on it all and especially me

and you say why wont you stop it why do you make the shell why do you cloak Him in his own reflections and bury in his pieces

and you shake at me and yell why and then you go and put him in your boxes safe and warm until The Day everything will end in fire and blood

and the

bestworsthighest part

is we

deserve

it

all Incident Log XXXX-09 On 11/09/███0, SCP-XXXX began to demonstrate movement, consisting of slight pulsations of its outer surface. Following attempted testing of its internal composition, the object spontaneously began to shake vigorously. SCP-XXXX ceased shaking approximately 12 minutes later, but has continued to manifest pulsations. Incident Log XXXX-10 On 11/09/███1, SCP-XXXX began to demonstrate periods of vigorous shaking, manifesting roughly once every 48 hours and lasting between 12 and 36 hours. Object status upgraded to Euclid.