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Author: Dr Zeno

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Link: SCP-100-IT

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Item #: SCP-100-IT

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: At the current state of knowledge, physical containment of SCP-100-IT is deemed to be unachievable. Despite the characteristics of the anomaly actually helping to conceal its activities from civilian personnel, they also make it capable of evading any attempt at interference or capture by the Foundation. Development of a strategy for definitive containment is still ongoing, therefore operations must necessarily be limited to monitoring and cover-up procedures.

SIR-I ("Aureæ Notitiæ") is charged with the surveillance of locus-100 in the event of SCP-100-IT's activity. To facilitate operations, the area was divided into six sectors; the undercover field agents will coordinate with a command post assigned for each sector. Any sighting of SCP-100-IT is to be reported, and other operatives in the proximity are to converge in place to carry out a containment attempt. The conclusion of operations is dependent on certainty that SCP-100-IT has fulfilled its standard purpose, otherwise any deployment has to proceed until the end of the current activity event.

Given the potential media relevance of SCP-100-IT-related events, preventing any leak or civilian investigation on the matter is of foremost priority. Any evidence of the crimes must be concealed (with the use of amnestics as a last resort) by the surveillance agents themselves or by the members of SIR-II infiltrated into the local police; the latter are tasked with informing the relatives and/or close ones of the victims, providing them with a plausible and definitive cover-up of the events.

Photography of SCP-100-IT-C (on the left), behind a tourist, 1982.

Description: SCP-100-IT is the collective designation of a group of four humanoid entities (SCP-100-IT-A, B, C and D) whose presence has been documented exclusively within the limits of locus-100, which is a provisional denomination assigned to Old Town Venice (approximately 7.9 km2, excluding the waters) during the eleven canonical days of the Carnival1.

The humanoids do not exhibit any evident anomalous trait, and can be seen wandering (alone or in groups) around the city's streets, though it has never been possible to locate their source of provenance; moreover, there were many instances of consecutive sightings in areas very distant from each other, suggesting abnormal displacement abilities. Each entity plays a role derived from the Carnival tradition: their disguises — which include masks, gloves, and headdresses — manage to show no bare skin, with the prevalence of black colour as a shared feature.

SCP-100-IT-A is a tall and slender male, who plays the role of a domino2, easily recognizable by a walking stick with a golden knob, depicting the winged lion of Saint Mark. SCP-100-IT-A shows a proud and formal demeanor, frequently and exaggeratedly bowing to the people he comes across.

SCP-100-IT-B is an individual (presumably male) who plays the role of a gnaga3 and wears, along with the mask, a curly wig and a large black robe decorated with dark red floral patterns. SCP-100-IT-B shows a mischievous and irreverent attitude, enjoying startling passers-by from behind with extremely realistic meowing.

SCP-100-IT-C is dressed like a Venetian noblewoman and wears a white mask decorated with golden swirls, a long black dress, and a wide-brimmed hat, adorned with feathers and precious gems of various shapes and colors. SCP-100-IT-C is the only entity to avoid interactions, merely observing people from a distance in a contemplative attitude.

SCP-100-IT-D is a male of short stature, dressed as a typical Venetian jester (mattaccino), as suggested by the mask with the hooked nose, the tights (colored black and white) and the cap with bells. SCP-100-IT-D is cheerful and extroverted, resorting to dance and acrobatics to draw attention to himself, and often attempting to involve others in its performances.

In the first stage, which appears to last for an unpredictable number of days, the entities will simply restrict themselves to the aforementioned behaviors; eventually, however, a distinctive event is bound to take place, each year repeated following a consistent pattern: SCP-100-IT will approach an individual, then proceed to encircle, restrain, and forcibly drag them out of sight; the choice is assumed to be random. Following this event, all traces of both SCP-100-IT (which will not manifest until the following Carnival) and the victim will be lost — what happens to the latter after the kidnapping is still to be determined, as bodies nor other significant clues have ever been found — please refer to the attached addenda for further information.

What apparently makes containment unworkable is the fact that SCP-100-IT seem to possess mild mind-altering and probability-bending abilities. As confirmed by later interrogations, no witness appear to take notice of the kidnapping in progress, while those who are already aware of the anomalous nature of SCP-100-IT do; furthermore, the circumstances of the encounters seem to vary in the right measure to make every attempt to approach the entities fail, such as manifesting themselves at a distance that allows them to disappear before being reached, or the recurring presence of obstacles (vehicles, people etc.) to block the path, or the view of the agents. This suggests SCP-100-IT is aware of being targeted and can influence the probabilistic field of the surrounding environment to avoid capture.

▶ Addendum 100-IT 01: History of the anomaly

◀◀◀ Addendum 100-IT 01: History of the anomaly

Collecting information on SCP-100-IT activities prior to the 19th century was indeed difficult because of the strict connection the anomaly seems to have with the carnival period; the ancient Venetian Carnival had a canonical duration of six weeks, during which many took advantage of the festivity to perform illegal acts in complete anonymity. The long period of activity and the high number of unsolved crimes would therefore prevented patterns to emerge clearly.

With the fall of the Republic of Venice in 1797 by the Napoleonic troops (followed by the cession to Austria with the treaty of Campoformio), public holidays were prohibited by law, fearing that they could encourage popular uprisings; the kidnappings thus began to be evident, also because, in the lack of an official holiday, the active period dropped from six to only two weeks, overlapping with the standard Catholic Carnival. Below is a short excerpt, translated from German, of a letter sent to the Austrian Emperor Francis I of Habsburg in 1804:

[…] Only at first glance Venice would seem to be definitively subjugated to the imperial eagle. The Venetians, deprived of their centuries-old traditions, react with hostility towards our administrators. An emblematic example are the mysterious disappearances that occur every year during the Carnival. The rumors speak of individuals who, violating our laws, roam the streets in disguise and it cannot be excluded that these facts may be linked to the activities of clandestine independentist groups. We therefore advise to continue with the course of action adopted so far by hiding all traces of these events, to avoid that they may be an inspiration for acts of a revolutionary nature. […]

Following the annexation of Lombardy-Venetia to the new Kingdom of Italy in 1861, the men of RIDIA, suspicious of how the disappearances occurred, were the first to realize their anomalous nature, so they were the first eyewitnesses of any kidnappings; the personnel of Site Serenissima was appointed to study the anomaly (which was assigned the denomination Nero-194[INVALID CREDENTIALS] N.B. Consult Site Plutone's Deputy Director Bellini to access RIDIA's archives.) and dealt with the cover-ups and several unsuccessful capture attempts until the dissolution of the institute in 1946.

The six sectors of locus-100, as established since 1980.

When the Foundation replaced RIDIA in the containment of the now designated SCP-100-IT, it had to deal with the fact that the methods implemented by its predecessors had not always been effective; rumors not suppressed by the institute had led to the birth of a local myth, the "Spetro Imascarà", a ghost linked to the Carnival period. SIR-I then began a thorough process of retroactive cover-up, ultimately relegating the "ghost" to a baseless urban legend.

When at the end of the 1970s the city of Venice chose to restore the Carnival, it was the Foundation, through infiltrated agents, that pushed for the realization of the project, to make the anomaly more easily concealable. SIR-I has attended all editions of the Carnival since 1979, although any attempt at containment has invariably ended in failure.

▶ Addendum 100-IT 02: Incident 100/DO-19

◀◀◀ Addendum 100-IT 02: Incident 100/DO-19

Coordinates of Agt. Battaglia, 02/03/2019, 17:43.

Premises: The following events took place at the end of the monitoring operations of SCP-100-IT in 2019; the starting time and place are March 2nd (8th day of the Carnival) h 17:43, in front of the Church of San Nicolò dei Mendicoli (sector 100/DO).

The log consists of the real-time transmitted recordings of the body cam hidden on the jacket of Agent Marco Battaglia (posing as a masked tourist), in radio contact with the command post of the sector through Agent Eugenia Manchi.

<start of the log>

Agt. Manchi: To all agents from the eastern DO sector, converge on the SP sector from the Accademia Bridge; humanoid D has been spotted near Palazzo Cavalli.

Agt. Battaglia: Eugenia, this is Agent Battaglia. It's dead calm over here; if they need reinforcements, I can be there. ETA ten minutes.

Agt. Manchi: It's better not, I already had to deploy two agents from your area elsewhere; we need you there to maintain coverage.

Agt. Battaglia: Today our friends seem particularly restless.

Agt. Manchi: Aren't they? I noticed too, they keep appearing and disappearing at alarming frequency. They keep up like this, we are going to ask for support; some units from SIR-II would be much helpful.

Agt. Battaglia: They've already lost sight of humanoid D, haven't they?

Agt. Manchi: Yeah, but how can you…

Agt. Battaglia: Because the bastard is right in front of me.

SCP-100-IT-D can be seen on the opposite bank of the canal in front of the church, performing for a group of cheering tourists.

Agt. Manchi: Update, 100-IT-D has reappeared at Rio de le Terese, agents nearby converge on site.

Agt. Battaglia takes off his mask, puts it inside his jacket, and heads towards the bridge between the two banks, but is slowed down by a group of passers-by, who block the view for a few seconds; when it is restored there is no trace left of SCP-100-IT-D and the tourists have already dispersed.

Agt. Battaglia: Of course; hold your horses, Eugenia, he has fooled us again.

A male voice is heard screaming and crying for help; the agent turns abruptly. At the end of the street the four entities can be seen for a moment dragging a man away, just before turning around the corner.

Agt. Manchi: Event X happening now! All sectors, converge into San Nicolò! Agent Battaglia needs backup!

The agent rushes in pursuit of the entities; around the corner, he scans his surroundings for a few seconds, until his attention is called by a new cry for help. Inside the canal, humanoids A and D lead a wooden rowboat towards the lagoon; on the same boat humanoids B and C keep the screaming man restrained. A gondolier, oblivious to the situation, smiles and waves in their direction.

Agt. Manchi: Marco, our guys are coming, but the closest ones are eight minutes away; it seems that all the roads in your direction are clogged. It will also take a while to get a suitable vehicle; it's the first time 100-IT has ever left the mainland.

Agt. Battaglia: [He hesitates briefly in front of a gondola moored by the banks of the canal, then proceeds to untie the hawser] Oh hell, when in Venice do as the Venetians…

Agt. Manchi: We have at least four reality-benders capable of incapacitating a grown man. Are you sure this is a good idea?

Agt. Battaglia: I'm armed and you have my coordinates, don't you? Wherever I go, you all can easily get back on me. Right now, the priority is not to lose sight of 100-IT.

Agt. Manchi: Can't argue with that. Maintain a safe distance and, until you see the reinforcements, do not engage, got it?

Agt. Battaglia: Got it. [Begins to row in the direction of SCP-100-IT]

Agt. Manchi: Good luck, agent.

SCP-100-IT leaves the canal and enters the lagoon, followed by Agent Battaglia; humanoid B seems to address humanoid A, when their boat speeds up. After a few minutes, the distance between the agent and the entities has increased considerably; the man's screams become more and more feeble.

Agt. Battaglia: Damn, I'm losing them! Tell me someone is coming along with a speedboat; a helicopter ain't a bad idea, too.

Agt. Manchi: We got your coordinates, a team is heading to the docks in the SC sector, now.

Agt. Battaglia: You'd better tell them to hurry up, we are well past sunset, visibility is getting worse — and now, this damn fog, too; I'm going to completely lose visual contact in a few minutes.

Agt. Manchi: Do you think this is 100-IT's doing?

Agt. Battaglia: Fog is common here this period of the year, we have also had it the last few days. Can't quite rule it out, though.

The fog grows thicker and slowly SCP-100-IT is no longer visible.

Agt. Manchi: Proceed nonetheless, we cannot leave anything to chance; maybe they are still somewhere nearby.

Agt. Battaglia: I will, but it's better to keep our hopes low. They manage to get out of sight and then it's like they never existed, you know that. Maybe this time they just wanted to do some wee bit of cat and mouse playing — [Stops] Oh …

In the middle of the fog some lights can be seen, followed by the outlines of a building. More closely, the building turns out to be a two-story brick house placed at the center of a small island, with the lights coming from its windows; moored by a wooden pier is the boat used by SCP-100-IT.

Agt. Battaglia: Now there's a house in the middle of nowhere?

Agt. Manchi: Nothing unusual, such small islands are of little interest to the administration, so they are often bought by private citizens.

The agent reaches the dock, gets off the gondola and secures the hawser.

Agt. Manchi: Your support will arrive in a few minutes; orders are to standby and wait. Even if 100-IT are there, you can't face them on your own.

Agt. Battaglia: That guy might not have a few minutes… [Proceeds towards the house]

Agt. Manchi: Marco…

Agt. Battaglia: Eugenia, I've been part of these operations since I joined the squad; every single year, I had to witness those lousy shits drag innocent civilians away just to wriggle out right under our noses. I'm not going to miss this one out, and if it's for the Captain, don't worry. It's my call, and you can put all the blame on me.

Agt. Manchi: If things go wrong, the captain could be the least of your problems.

The agent cautiously approaches a window and peeks inside for a few moments.

Agt. Battaglia: [Whispering] Okay, looks like a ordinary private party; judging by this furnishing, the hosts must have a lot of money to burn… Silk curtains, silverware on display… I'm looking for an access, you have my position.

Agt. Manchi: Marco, you know I can't let you, please… [Agent Battaglia puts on the mask again and turns off the earpiece, cutting off radio contact; the bodycam continues to transmit images]

After a brief inspection, the agent forces the lock of a window with his pocketknife, and then enters an empty hallway; at the end of the hallway, he finds an antechamber, followed by an arch leading to the hall where the celebrations are taking place. A man is intent on playing on a pipe organ and none of those present, about thirty masked men and women, seem to notice the newcomer, who mingles with the crowd. As the agent walks through the room, the microphone of the bodycam records fragments of conversation, all in Venetian. After ending his inspection, the agent withdraws pretending to look out of a window, then reactivates the earpiece.

Agt. Manchi: [In an agitated tone] Are you out of your mind?

Agt. Battaglia: [Whispering] No, Eugenia, let me speak. This house… there's something odd. There is no trace of electronic devices, the furniture is something you would find in a museum, the only light source is candles, and I have yet to hear a single person speaking Italian. Everything is just too weird, they're not just eccentric rich people. Reinforcements should be here by now, right?

Agt. Manchi: Marco, now listen to me… the reinforcements arrived at your coordinates four minutes ago. The tracker has never stopped working, your bodycam has always been active, but… there is no house, no island; there is no fog too, just water.

Agt. Battaglia: How on earth is this possible…

Agt. Manchi: Get out of there immediately, maybe if you go back to the boat, and retrace your steps…

The music suddenly stops, and the guests turn in unison towards one of the entrances to the hall, as if they are waiting for someone. A man dressed as a domino, with a red cloak, paces towards the center of the room, immediately followed by SCP-100-IT; humanoid B pushes a cart, on which the kidnapped man is lying naked, gagged, and restrained with ropes, his eyes wide open with fear.

Agt. Manchi: Marco, get the hell out of there! Now!

Agent Battaglia attempts to make his way to the only unblocked exit, which is located behind SCP-100-IT, so the bodycam keeps recording the scene. At a gesture of the domino, the guests take off their masks; all their faces appear pockmarked, covered by buboes and dark necrotic areas. The closest humanoids throw themselves on the cart and dig their fingers into the man's flesh, causing lacerations on his body and face; the gag is removed, and the man screams in agony before passing out from shock, while the entities bring shreds of skin and muscle to their mouths. Two of them grab one arm and pull until it disarticulates, then sink their teeth into it; pieces of meat are passed from hand to hand, so that all can feed.

Agt. Battaglia: [EXPLICIT]!

The agent runs towards the exit, but two humanoids block his way; he pulls his handgun out of the jacket, but, before he can shoot, he is tackled from behind, disarmed and dragged to the ground. Multiple instances can be seen converging on the agent lying on his back, who can do nothing but scream and kick, before being surrounded and restrained. SCP-100-IT-C, unmasked, leans over Agent Battaglia; her complexion is pale, her eyes green and hyperemic, the nose is missing, while the left cheek is consumed by the necrosis, showing the teeth and the inside of her mouth. SCP-100-IT-C places a hand on the agent's chest, hesitating near the bodycam; then, with unexpected force, she suddenly tightens her grip and sticks her nails inside his chest, tearing the clothes and the flesh underneath. Agent Battaglia screams in pain and, as blood begins to flow from his wounds, the humanoids throw themselves on his body. In the struggle, the bodycam is damaged and video contact is interrupted.

<end of the log>

Conclusions: Upon arrival of the support agents, no trace of the island shown in the records was found, although the coordinates undoubtedly corresponded to the last detected position of Agent Battaglia; the most likely hypothesis, according to the experts of Site Deus, is a spatial dislocation, with two versions of the same place coexisting on two distinct plains of reality.

The victim was identified as G██████ S█████████ (36 years old, married, resident of T██████, visiting Venice for the Carnival) and the SIR has implemented standard cover-up procedures; Agent Battaglia was reported as MIA.

Note from Captain Sara Giovanni (SIR-I): We do not know for sure why, in an unprecedented turn of events, Agent Battaglia was able to follow SCP-100-IT to the place of the incident; the entities have never encountered any problems in covering their tracks, so I must assume that what happened was the result of a conscious planning. These monsters have given us a warning, letting us know what exactly happens to their victims and that we are not safe either. Or perhaps, for the first time in years, they have decided to change the rules, just for their sick fun. Neither of these prospects is the most comforting.

Note from Dr. Niceto Livi (BCC4 Coordinator): I am giving my consultation as requested by Captain Giovanni. I inspected the images that have been sent to me and, although we would need a microbiological examination to confirm, I believe I can draw conclusions just with my clinical eye. The infection that seems to afflict these humanoids is something we haven't had in Europe for a long time (except for 052-IT's containment breach in '91). I recommend prophylactic antibiotic therapy and vaccination against Yersinia pestis for agents assigned to SCP-100-IT. One can never be too cautious.

▶ Addendum 100-IT 03: Exploration of locus-100/1

◀◀◀ Addendum 100-IT 03: Exploration of locus-100/1

Coordinates of locus-100/1.

The day after the incident, further investigations led to the discovery, at the location of interest, of a mass at a depth of about 4 meters, recognizable as a small, submerged island. Rubble on the surface suggests the island hosted a building, and under that the instruments have detected a hollow environment not occupied by water, whose access was located in an underwater cave.

The location was assigned the denomination of locus-100/1 and a joint operation of SSM-II ("Legio Atlantidis") and SSM-VII ("Subterranea Materia") was prepared. Below there's a brief account of the events of the mission.

Coordination of Operations: Cpt. Elia Contadi from SSM-VIII, Cpt. Basilio Aramini from SSM-II.

Agents on Mission: Giorgio Corradi, Eleonora Mazza and Giovanni Scilla from SSM-VIII/γ.

Support Agents: Nino Flaviani, Aurelia Mancini and Matteo Rivoletti from SSM-II/α.

Special Equipment: No. 6 Vincenzi respirators.

Mission Objective: Exploration of locus-100/1.

SSM-II/α assisted SSM-VIII/γ in the first stage of the operation. The six agents with diving gear reached the entrance to the cave and, after a couple of minutes spent advancing underwater, emerged into a dry space, where they came up in a narrow tunnel carved into the rock, towards the interior of the underground system. SSM-VIII/γ removes the diving gear and replaces it with the speleological one (transported inside watertight bags); SSM-II/α is ordered to hold the position, with the role of support team, to ensure rapid evacuation in the eventuality of an incident.

Artistic reproduction of the most common symbols of locus-100/1.

After about seven minutes, SSM-VIII/γ reached the end of the tunnel: on the right they found an ascending staircase carved in stone (which once had to lead inside the building), on the left there is another tunnel; after a few steps up the staircase, their path is blocked by a landslide caused by the collapse of the building foundations. The path through the second tunnel is short, but difficult, due to the presence of a pavement made up of small blocks of irregular shape; along the walls, there are several carved symbols, more and more frequent as the squad proceed towards the center of the island. A closer inspection reveals the blocks to be vertebral bones.

At the end of the tunnel, the agents emerge into a large cave with a domed ceiling, with several openings to smaller secondary chambers; the cave has the same symbols as before carved on all the walls and contains a large number of human bones. Many of these bones are part of the architecture of the cave, with skulls and kneecaps embedded in the rock like mosaics tiles; some are arranged to form more complex structures, like arches and small altars, many others lie scattered on the floor. In the center of the cave, there is a well about six meters in diameter, filled almost to the brim with human skeletons.

Forensics allowed to identify, also through 3D facial reconstruction techniques, part of the (almost 400) human remains found in locus-100/1: the features correspond to those of known SCP-100-IT victims (including Agent Battaglia) and all skeletons show signs of multiple traumatic injuries, suggesting violent death; the agent's remains were handed over to his family for obsequies. Radiocarbon dating established that, though, all deaths invariably occurred around the 17th century.

These data don't match with the dates of the kidnappings, distributed over several centuries, also considering that the most recent crimes were logically supposed to produce better preserved remains. The previously hypothesized dislocation would therefore extend not only to the spatial domain, but also to the temporal one; the murders would take place in a version of the island placed in a time and place outside our reality, but still related to it to some extent, returning the corpses to locus-100/1.

▶ Addendum 100-IT 04: Document 100-IT

◀◀◀ Addendum 100-IT 04: Document 100-IT

In one of the secondary chambers of locus-100/1 a pile of clothes and other everyday objects from different time periods was found, probably removed from the bodies of the victims after the kidnappings; among them there was a leather bag containing a single document, which includes important information regarding the origin of SCP-100-IT. The author is an anonymous member of the Most Serene College of Anomalies and Oddities of the Municipality (SCEMC), as well as one of the likely first victims of the anomaly.

For an easier consultation, the following text has been translated and adapted from 17th century Venetian to Italian by Dr. Domenico Iriarte, researcher in charge of SCEMC-related documentation at Site Plutone.

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It is with a trembling hand and my chest burdened with feelings of horrid anticipation that I engrave my testimony in this ink. Soon I'll be dead, but a man's virtue is also revealed by the extent to which he chooses to adhere to the purpose for which God has placed him on this Earth. I am a chronicler and as such I will die, in the service of truth. If these pages will help, one day, to put an end to the unsanctioned horrors that stain with blood the streets of the Most Serene, then it is my sacred duty to dedicate my last moments to them.

I was no older than twenty when, with quill and an inkwell as my companions, I started traveling along with the College's maùcarioli5. Like a renewed Marco Polo, my duty was to take note of all the prodigies encountered in our wanderings, which we took for ourselves to increase the prestige of the Republic, for the archives of Poveglia were soon to be enriched with my writings. There was nothing I failed to report, from the ancient artifacts unearthed on the Aegean coasts, legacy of the millenary Hellenic wisdom, to the much more exotic oddities that awaited us beyond the Bosphorus, products of dark magic whose secrets the Mohammedans guard with uttermost jealously.

It was the summer of Annus Domini 1625 when our galley laid her anchor at the docks of Constantinople, as she has done so many times. The sultan does not disdain, in fact, to trade with those whom he considers infidels, at least during peaceful times, so as long as we presented ourselves in the guise of common merchants, we were guaranteed a safe passage within his domains. The bazaar of the Ottoman capital is a neverending source of bargains for the hunters of oddities. Far from the usual perches, in dark alleys brimming with the smell of incense, it is possible to buy much more valuable goods than spices and fabrics, and it was in one of these crannies that we came in possession of a particular map. Had I known the ways it showed would lead us to ruin, I would have consigned it to the flames of Hell without a second thought.

The map featured on the back a text in Greek, signed by a clergyman who had lived in Kòrama6 centuries ago, way before the sultans usurped the seat of the Basileus. The holy man wrote about a hidden settlement in the mountains of Cappadocia, not very far from the city of Nyssa, inhabited by pagan followers of a demon as old as creation itself, who had bound them to himself through the gift of otherworldly talents. These sorcerers, it was written, possessed the secret to a much longer existence than normal, unscathed by disease, and were capable of conjuring, through bloody rituals, red and deformed servants who obeyed them like puppets.

It wasn't without some arguing lest we decided it was some subject worth investigating, and even if we were the most unsure those peoples still lived, we longed to get our hands on some valuable artifact produced by those astonishing arcane crafters. For the expedition, the head of our company Sir Morosini picked five of us, including myself, naturally in charge of reporting in detail what we would encounter. Since we needed a native guide and we much preferred the company of a Christian over a Turk's, we paid an Armenian man to accompany, for his people had always been on good terms with the Republic

We entrusted Sir Lorenzo Falier to lead the expedition, for his courtesy and elegance masked a cunning and scheming disposition. It was well known to us that he aspired to the position of councilman, thus harbouring resentment towards more deserving candidates, Morosini included, which is why the latter took every opportunity to keep him at a distance. Then there were Marino and Sebastiano, may their souls rest in peace, two of the most valid maùcarioli the College has ever counted among its ranks, both tied to me by a years old bond of friendship. Our quintet was completed by Fosco Bernardi, finest merchant but a very wretched man, who many thought capable of selling even his own soul if this had brought him but a meager gain. In hindsight, this choice of words elicits in me a bitter laugh.

We reached our destination after two weeks and a day spent climbing through harsh rocky cliffs. What we found filled our hearts with amazement, but of the kind mixed with disgust and disappointment. The settlement was real, as were its inhabitants, but our hope of stumbling upon an oasis of eastern magic had been proved wrong. It was barely a hamlet, made of houses carved in stone not unlike others in the province, with straw and raw wool in place of the marbles and fine silks we expected. A horrible stench reminiscent of rotten meat blighted the air, compared to which the smell of the marshes of the lagoon seemed like a spring breeze. The natives were a bunch of old, half-naked men and women, accompanied by a small flock of emaciated sheep. The sores over their wrinkly olive skin hinted for past courses of epidemics, which apparently had not been able to put an end to those miserable existences. Judging from what's in front of our very eyes, the long life they were said to have been gifted seemed more like a curse than a blessing.

We were greeted by an unsettling old man of an indecipherable age, who introduced himself as a priest. The man spoke a strange language, but when he realized we weren't understanding him, he continued in what we recognized as a Greek dialect, mixed with several unknown words. Most of us were familiar with Greek, either by study or by necessity, so, not short of difficulty, we managed to communicate. When we introduced ourselves as nothing more than simple travelers, the old man didn't question our story and, strangely enough, he didn't seem quite eager to know more about those who were — no doubt — the first outsiders he had seen since so long only the Heavens know how much. A tour of the village confirmed there was no trace of any prodigy, and the only sign of religious activity was a small sacrificial altar, covered with burned sheep bones. In the end we decided to leave the next day.

The priest invited us to spend the night in his home, to share dinner and hear him recount the stories of his people. Truth be told, we felt a certain discomfort in the presence of that man, who, although seemingly thoughtful, had such a grim stare and such grotesque features to deprive him of any semblance of humanity. Driven by necessity and curiosity, however, we gladly accepted.

The meal was rather meager, but the old man's stories were at least entertaining. They spoke of an ancient prophet, a sorcerer king born into slavery who, in a long-lost past, had freed their people from the tyranny of a demonic race. They spoke of wars fought against armored giants, whose minds were empty and whose hearts did not beat. They spoke of a city, their homeland, of which nothing was left but dust. This was their past, but their present had them scattered around the four corners of the Earth, forced to celebrate their rites in secret, fearing the giants could return and exterminate them. The prophet, however, had been clear and, from the rooms where he conferred with their god with an unpronounceable name, he had come out with a promise, which I will try to translate. "As long as blood flows inside veins like wine, as long as flocks of men fatten on the pastures of Earth, as long as the heath of the flesh is able to break the cold chains of reason, then His people will suffer no hunger." Only now that the echoes of these words have reached more civilized shores, I understand the meaning of this impious prophecy.

The old man went on to describe the precepts of that barbaric faith. He told us their god encouraged his followers to indulge in all of earthly pleasures and that even the lowest drives deserve to be satisfied. Only those without remorse were deemed worthy to take part in their rites, as they would make good use of the godly gifts, exploiting them to satiate their appetites and subdue the weak and the undeserving. We were all horrified by those satanic teachings, except for Bernardi, who seemed extremely interested.

That night, after I was finally able to sleep, my nightmares were filled with horrible visions. Dreadful chimeras with flesh of a fiery bright red, hellish landscapes in which the rhythm of the drums accompanied scenes of perdition and violence beyond words, skulls with still attached shreds of skin that sank their teeth into the bodies of helpless souls. And, in the midst of the pandemonium, the old priest, an evil grin distorting his face, reciting ancient guttural litanies.

I felt very relieved when, the next morning, we left that God-forsaken village behind. I was surprised to notice that Bernardi, the only one who did not seem at all troubled by that place, was also the most anxious to leave, so much that he was already up when the rest of us had just awakened. These facts, now that I know what I know, take on a whole other meaning, but in those moments I didn't even notice that his bag was heavier than when we had first arrived.

Even if that experience had troubled me, the village was certainly not one of the most bizarre things I have ever seen, so I was quick to forget about it. After that, I spent another two years at the service of the College, before deciding I was done with adventures. As a patrician and a man of letters, warmly recommended by the leaders of the Popilian Academy, it was not difficult to find a quiet and well-paid job in the offices of the Doge's Palace. However, I happened to reunite often with Sebastiano and Marino, when they returned from their travels, and then we would spend whole nights informing each other of every possible news. They entertained me with stories about the astonishing artifacts they still recovered from port to port, while I kept them up to date on the nonetheless fascinating intrigues of the city who only the naive would seriously call the Most Serene.

There was one topic in particular to be on everyone's lips and that topic was none other than Fosco Bernardi. The merchant had left the College not long after our expedition in Cappadocia, announcing he preferred to engage in other types of trades, dealing with more conventional goods, which turned out to be much more profitable for him. He had begun investing in a long line of activities, from textiles to glassworks, from the construction industry to the shipbuilding one, and since then his rise had been steady and unchallenged. Like King Midas, everything he put his hands on turned into gold, in the form of ducats piling up in his pockets. It was a mystery how he always managed to find the best deal, whether by the whims of chance, or by an innate wit that had remained dormant for years.

His prestige grew along with his incomes, and it was almost comical to see patricians and notables, who in the past wouldn't have given him a second look, begging for crumbs from his table. As far as servility goes, however, no one could beat Lorenzo Falier. The merchant and the nobleman seemed to have developed a very close bond and they were often seen together, discussing who knows what obscure matters. Luck had also assisted Falier, but under more unpleasant circumstances. Half of the College's Council had perished when the newly appointed Morosini had contracted a terrible disease, infecting all the others. The disease, different from any known affliction, manifested itself as a series of gangrenes, which pulsated as if they had a life of their own and in a short time ended up covering the patient's whole body. For lack of better candidates, Falier had therefore fulfilled his dream of becoming a councilman.

Bernardi had also decided to give himself a manor worthy of his rank, which he built on the Centenaria7, an island not too far from the Giudecca, which he filled with all kinds of luxuries. He also allowed his elder sister to live with him, a woman still renown for her fair looks despite being already at her third widowhood. There were weird rumors surrounding the deaths of her husbands, none of them provable, but they were enough to discourage even the most assiduous suitors, who shied away from those eyes as green as emeralds and just as cold. Along with the sister, came the nephew, the son of her first husband, a young man who was as foolish as he was wicked. Everybody knew of that one time when, disguised as a woman, he had tried to sneak into a convent, with the ill purpose of taking advantage of the novice nuns.

Despite posing as a gentleman, Bernardi had remained a small-minded individual and a slave to his own instincts and no velvet or silver could ever be able to hide his vulgarity. The man saw himself as a king and, proving once again his wretchedness, he had hired a drunk fool to play the role of his jester, who followed him like a dog and annoyed everyone with his antics. There was no vice to which the merchant did not indulge, and his enormous wealth did not preclude any. He spent his nights between taverns, brothels, and gambling halls, accompanied by peers as sordid as himself, to the point one would have wondered how he could maintain the clarity to keep managing his many activities.

And then 1630 came, one of the saddest years in the history of the Republic. When we greeted the ambassadors of Duke Gonzaga, whom we supported in his claim to the throne of Mantua, along with the news on the progress of the war, they brought with them something much more unpleasant. The plague claimed its first victims in the summer, but by November the dead were already numbered in the thousands. The commissioners appointed by the Doge worked hard to reduce the contagions, the Old Lazaret was soon filled with the diseased and even many among the healthy were placed in isolation out of caution. Tons of dead bodies, sometimes even thrown out of the windows, continued to pile up in the streets or floated miserably inside the canals. Given the circumstances, no one was surprised when the Carnival was canceled and the only masks around were the long-beaked ones worn by the doctors.

However, some disquieting rumors began to spread, rumors of masked individuals who wandered the streets at night, always described in the act of dragging the bodies away. To avoid panic, our government led people to think they were appointed corpse carriers, but a commission, that counted myself among its members, was secretly set up, since individuals who went around stealing corpses were not only a sign of sinister matters, but also a risk to public health. To help in the investigation, a group of a few trusted agents was formed, and I proposed Marino and Sebastiano, whose skill and discretions I deemed unquestionable, since even the expeditions on behalf of the College had been suspended.

It was Sebastiano to surprise a mattaccino carrying the lifeless body of a girl into an alley, with what purposes I dare not to imagine. Unmasking him, we found him to be Bernardi's jester. Even after an hour of torture, the simpleton kept giggling like a madman; he said Shrove Tuesday was upon us and one should have filled his stomach before Lent, but there was plenty of meat for those who were willing to look in the mud of the pigsties.

We went to the Centenaria to question Bernardi. Chants and shouts suggested the epidemic had not stopped the merchant from indulging in his revelries, but when we broke in, the sight before us exceeded the worst of expectations. A lavish buffet had been set up, but it was not on capons or mutton chops the guests were throwing themselves like ravenous beasts, staining their chins and clothes with red juices.

Arms, shins, and innards had been laid on fine porcelain plates, along with other unmentionable body parts, while half a human chest was gloomily roasting impaled on a spit. The guests consisted in the court of parasites, pimps, and harlots with whom Bernardi had surrounded himself, disguised as it was expected in that time of the year. Sitting next to the host, who was wrapped in a red cloak, there were the treacherous Falier, his face buried in a pile of intestines, and his cold sister, intent on devouring a head that she held on her lap with almost motherly tenderness. On the floor, the wicked nephew, wearing a floral dress, was savagely biting what seemed to be a single female breast. One detail made it all, if possible, even more dreadful. Both the meats and the guests were covered with buboes.

The hangings took place in secret, also because members of the patriciate were involved. The manor was burned down and demolished, and it was said a fire had broken out by mistake, killing all the occupants. Bernardi, helped by who knows what demonic force, spent almost two hours writhing, purple in the face, before expiring, even though his neck had already been broken by the noose. His throat was still capable of vomiting blasphemies and profanities, invoking the forces of hell to annihilate his tormentors. Yaldabat, Ion, Clavigar, Ikunan, Aditum, all names I knew, as I had already heard them in the past, from the old priest's lips. Fosco Bernardi left his mortal existence with a curse and once again I was reached by the echoes of familiar words. As long as flocks of men would have fattened on the pastures of Earth, then His people would have suffered no hunger.

In November 1631 the plague had been completely eradicated, but I was not in the mood to join in the celebrations. The horrors I have witnessed have taken away a piece of my soul, which I feel contaminated and destined to Hell for the mere fact of having been a helpless witness to such wickedness. I barely consoled myself knowing Bernardi and his plethora of inhuman, perverse, thrice-damned cannibals no longer tainted Venice with their presence. But, alas, there are sorceries capable of leaving such profound wounds on this world they manifest their effects even when, seemingly, there is no trace of them left.

Carnival 1631, Marino was returning from a tavern. Since that infamous night, he had been trying to drive away the memories by drowning them in wine and the man of lively wit I once knew had given way to a faltering ghost. He never got home, the last to see him reported he had left, drunk, with a masked woman dressed in black. Carnival 1632, it was the middle of the night when Sebastiano knocked on my door like a madman. The most fearless man I have ever known confessed to me that, after the events of the Centenaria, the mere sight of a mask filled him with terror. He said that he was losing his mind, that he could see shadows with hidden faces stalking him and staring at him from windows, that he had collapsed in tears from hearing a meow outside of his door. That was the last time I saw him.

Some mysteries deserve oblivion, but we, greedy for knowledge, did not know it when, seven years ago, we had set out on the trail of the village. The priest had seen Bernardi as the perfect emissary to poison the world once again with the seeds of an ancient evil, and, during my night haunted by nightmares, he had shared with him unspeakable secrets. The merchant's soul had been ceded to the Devil, bartered for gold and riches, transforming him into a beast hungry for the flesh of his fellow men. And, in exchange for a thin slice of luck or power, other consciences had also been misled.

I spend my days knowing that I don't have much left to live and soon I will be reunited with my friends. I am now sure the curse cast by Bernardi on the gallows was more than an empty threat and the satanic pact that was made in those mountains did not end with his death. I accept my fate, I will soon deliver these pages to the College, in the hope that one day the curse will be broken, but I must hurry. Silent shadows with white still faces follow my steps even when I think I am alone and, when all is quiet, I can hear music and chants and cries carried by the waters of the lagoon. May the Lord have mercy on my soul, it's almost Carnival.

In the light of this revelations, the Esoteric and Thaumaturgical Research and Development Section has been commissioned to carry out in-depth studies on the anomalies related to the Sarkic Cults, trusting this will lead to achieve definitive containment procedure in the reasonable future. Pending further developments, SCP-100-IT is still to be considered uncontained.

Footnotes

1. The sectors of locus-100 were made to correspond to the six Venetian districts: 100/CN (Cannareggio), 100/CS (Castello), 100/DO (Dorsoduro), 100/SC (Santa Croce), 100/SM (San Marco), 100/SP (San Polo).

2. A disguise featuring a tricorn and cape, associated with the traditional pointed chin mask (baùta).

3. A character, traditionally impersonated by men, wearing women's clothes and a cat mask.

4. Biological Containment Complex of Site Asclepio.

5. The SCEMC agents in charge of the trade of the anomalies.

6. The ancient name of Göreme, a Turkish city in the province of Cappadocia and UNESCO World Heritage Site for the presence of the "fairies chimneys", rock formations whose caves, dig by the first inhabitants, were also used by hermits and early Christian communities.

7. The only other source to cite this name is a list of minor islands of the Venetian lagoon, compiled by the English lawyer Thomas Ryves in 1640; many of them have now disappeared due to natural rearrangements of the lagoon waters.