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Content note: This article contains references to gore, vomit, alcohol, cannibalism and implied abuse. If you notice anything tag-worthy that's not in here, please mention it in a comment.

SCP-8995-A, doing what it does best.

Item #: SCP-8995

Object Class: Thaumiel

Special Containment Procedures: Foundation personnel are to make every effort to die in conveniently accessible locations. This is not a central tenet, but is considered common courtesy to SCP-8995-A, as well as those who may suffer distress upon interaction with SCP-8995-A.

SCP-8995-A is to carry out its obligations to its fullest ability.It's cold.

Description: SCP-8995 refers to the Ratlinghope Agreement, a contract drawn up between the Foundation and SCP-8995-A, regarding personnel who pass away whilst on duty. It has been of great assistance to personnel morale and general site hygiene.

The Ratlinghope Agreement incorporates the following tenets:

Foundation personnel automatically forfeit their rights to their bodies upon their deaths; every decedent is officially relinquished to the care of SCP-8995-A.

SCP-8995-A is to record the cause of death and log each detail in the DEEPWELL archive of Site 196, which in turn is maintained by the Department of Abnormalities.1

Foundation personnel automatically forfeit the rights to their existence upon their deaths:2 all sapient beings for whom the relevant decedent holds some significance to will immediately have all knowledge of the decedent expunged upon their death.

SCP-8995-A is to dispose of the bodies however it sees fit. Foundation personnel are not permitted to inquire further.

The Ratlinghope Agreement has vastly reduced counselling costs, as well as life insurance payoffs. Reported incidents of grief amongst personnel are down 65%, and as such the Foundation has saved approximately £2m on psychiatric staff per annum. General staff efficiency is within acceptable parameters.

Addendum 3: Memorandum from SCP-8995-A for all site personnel.

Once I went to Heaven with an old man. He was warm, with a twinkle in his eyes brighter than the light of the Lord ever shone. He never stopped talking, guiding me through the clouds, the stars, the sucking vacuum of eternity that squeezes the soul out of you. We drifted through the void and he never ceased silently whispering the little joys of a life well-lived into my ear. All I could do was listen. Close my eyes, listen, smile, feel his spark light mine.

And then we arrived, and it was cold. Heaven was an old castle, grand, intimidating, crumbling. The king lay in his bed, feverish, thigh gushing, and as we knelt before him he could only breathe his judgement. And the old man was no more. Cast out. He was so kind, wasn't he?

Personnel are to disregard SCP-8995-A's instructions.

Addendum 4: Sample interview following enactment of SCP-8995.

Interviewer: Dr. Valerie Whitaker

Interviewee: Agent Avery Parks, MTF Zeta-20

BEGIN LOG

Whitaker: Hello, Agent Parks. How are you today?

Parks: Fine, ma'am.

Whitaker: Glad to hear. Any mental health difficulties? Depression, loneliness, bad dreams, trouble sleeping?

Parks: No ma'am. Well. A little. No more than you'd expect in a field agent. I'm fully functioning, at any rate.

Whitaker: Always good to hear. And physically?

Parks pauses, tugs at hir fingertips.

Parks: Actually, yes. It's my left arm. It… seizes up sometimes, I guess. That's probably not the proper term for it, but I don't know how to describe it.

Whitaker: You were in an incursion recently, right? A reality bender up in Stoke?

Parks: That's right, ma'am. No, of course that's right, sorry. It… it, uh, did something to it. Details are a bit fuzzy. Happens, sometimes, with a Gre - uh, reality bender.

Whitaker: Well, you're the expert on that, agent. Was the mission a success?

Parks: It was. Target decommissioned with maximum prejudice.

Whitaker: [raises eyebrow] Do you often take that much pleasure out of killing people?

Parks blinks.

Parks: I - uh, no ma'am - I mean, it's not pleasure. It's job satisfaction. He - it needed to be put down, I did the putting down. A vet doesn't get off on k - putting down a rabid wolf.

Whitaker: I suppose not. And it went off without a hitch?

Parks: Yes.

Whitaker: Talk me through it.

Parks: Uh, it's a bit -

Whitaker: A bit fuzzy, I suppose. But it went off without a hitch, alright.

Parks: Yes.

Whitaker: What happened to your arm?

Parks: I -

Whitaker: Fuzzy again, yes, I know. Alright, let's try a different tack. [she flips the binder in front of her and reads] You're a member of Zeta-20, the, er, "Flag Snaggers?"

Parks: That's right, ma'am. It, uh, it's a play -

Whitaker: Yes, I'm sure it's very droll. Who's on your team?

Silence.

Whitaker: Am I to infer that you are the sum total of Mobile Task Force Zeta-20?

Silence.

Whitaker: And I suppose you, as the sum total of Em Tee Eff Zeta-20, decommissioned a reality bender with maximum prejudice, alone, in a mission that went off "without a hitch?"

Silence.

Whitaker: You should get that arm looked at. Thank you for your time, Agent Parks, you're free to go.

Parks stands up quickly. Ze closes hir eyes and staggers slightly; one hand goes to the table for support, one to hir temples.

Whitaker: Are you alright, agent?

Ze squeezes hir eyes tight, and reopens them.

Parks: Yes ma'am. Sorry. Just tired.I miss you.

END LOG

Addendum 8: Memorandum from SCP-8995-A for Level 3 site personnel.

The king donned his three-pronged crown, took up his white cane and walked up behind me. A silken blindfold wrapped around me eyes, and with heaving breaths he took me by the hand and led me to his great hall. I could smell it corridors away, sweet rot drifting through the castle and melting into my brain like honey into tea. Hands on my shoulders, he guided me to an exquisite chair at the head of the table, and with a smile in his voice whispered deliciously into my ear of the pleasures before me.

I gorged.

Meat. So much meat. Sweet meat, soft and fermented such that it melted into my greedy hands as I grabbed feverishly at the feast I couldn't see. Bones snapped, sinew tore, muscle and liver and kidney and fat, greasy, hot, sticky, wet, dribbling down my chin as the gristle crunched and the maggots squirmed. And I didn't stop, couldn't stop, only paused when the feast screamed, tied to claw its way to freedom, so I drowned it with liquor, blood as a mixer.

And all the while, the king leaned over me, his barren lips and shark tongue dancing on my neck, a celebrant before the altar, tenderly tearing the skin from my neck and hungrily kissing the blood as it struggled free. I hope I tasted as good.

Personnel are to disregard SCP-8995-A's requests.

Addendum 11:

Since the introduction of SCP-8995, Foundation have reported greatly reduced stress levels during evaluations. Furthermore, casualty rates as a result of containment breaches have dropped dramatically to █% worldwide. It is believed that the improvements to staff morale are responsible, and SCP-8995-A has been thanked for its cooperation. Increased prescriptions of sleeping pills and █████-█ █████████ are presumed unrelated.

Addendum 29: Sample interview following enactment of SCP-8995.

Interviewer: Dr. Valerie Whitaker

Interviewee: Dr. James Hilbre

BEGIN LOG

Whitaker: Hello, Dr. Hilbre. How are you today?

Hilbre: Nothing to report, I think.

Whitaker: Glad to hear. Any mental health difficulties? Depression, loneliness, bad dreams, trouble sleeping?

Hilbre: No. What is this about? They wouldn't tell me.

Whitaker: And physically?

Hilbre: I had my medical last week, love. Are you gonna be straight with me or am I gonna have to ask Director Walker?

Whitaker: Something the matter, doctor?

Hilbre: I don't like cryptic bullshit.

Whitaker: That's unfortunate.

She consults the documents in front of her.

Whitaker: I have your disciplinary report here.

Hilbre: What?

Whitaker: Would you like me to repeat myself?

Hilbre: My record's spotless. Stop playing games, what are you trying to pull here?

Whitaker: I promise you, doctor, I don't play games.

Hilbre: I - look here -

Hilbre clutches the sides of the table, looks down. He takes in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly.

Hilbre: Okay. Just - stop. Dr. Whitaker, tell me what's going on. Please.

She holds his gaze coolly, before busying herself tidying the documents before her.

Whitaker: What can you tell me about your time working with SCP-████, doctor?

Hilbre: Nothing. We don't have an ████.

Whitaker: And your work with Alpha-Nine?

Hilbre: I'd never go near that shitshow.

Whitaker: Good. Let me rephrase, then. Tell me about Roxanne.

Silence.

Hilbre: Oh. Huh. Obviously.

Whitaker: Obviously?

Hilbre: Well, it seems obvious now you say it.

Whitaker: It?

Hilbre: Yeah. You know.

He gestures vaguely.

Hilbre: So.

He nods toward the documents.

Hilbre: Am I in trouble?

Whitaker eyes him, shuffling the papers together.

Whitaker: Why would you be? Nothing happened, did it? There's nothing to be done.

Hilbre: No. Of course not. Alright. Was there anything else?

Whitaker: Hmm. No, I don't think so.

Hilbre: Good. Thanks.

Hilbre stands, and goes to leave.

Whitaker: Doctor?

Hilbre: Yes, what is it?

Whitaker: Just to sate my own curiosity, what are you working with at the moment?

Hilbre: Hm? Oh, ████. I'm Head Researcher, first time.

Whitaker: That's wonderful to hear. ████, that's the girl they brought in from Wycombe, right? The one who breathes nitrogen?

Hilbre: It's twenty, love, bit disrespectful to call it a girl.

Whitaker: Mm. I suppose you're right. Well, I won't keep you from your duties any longer. Thanks so much for your time.

END LOG

Addendum 32: Memorandum from SCP-8995-A for the O5 council.

There's something behind me. It's always behind me. I can't ever see it, but to me it's a snake. It sunk its teeth into me so long ago, and didn't even have the good grace to poison me. If I stop I can feel it wrapped around me, my body, and it squeezes. I wish it would let me go, but if it did I might forget it's there.

Do you feel the bite, or do the drugs numb it for you? I pity you either way.Why do you never speak. Speak.

Oh, God, it hurts.

Personnel are to disregard SCP-8995-A's appeals.

Addendum 38: Sample interview following enactment of SCP-8995.

Interviewer: Dr. Valerie Whitaker

Interviewee: Lily McIver

BEGIN LOG

Whitaker: Hello, Lily. How are you today?

McIver : How do you think?

Whitaker sighs.

Whitaker: I know. I'm sorry, genuinely, I am. You don't deserve this.

McIver : No, but I'm still getting it.

Whitaker: Mm.

Silence.

McIver : How's Avery?

Whitaker: Been better, I think.

McIver : Does ze miss me?

Whitaker hesitates.

McIver : No, I know, I just… I thought….

Whitaker: It doesn't work like that, you know that.

McIver : Ze's okay, though? Still carrying on as normal?

Whitaker: Of course. You know Avery.

Brief pause.

McIver : Did ze ever not carry on as normal?

Silence.

McIver : Yeah. I think that's enough.

Whitaker: For what it's worth, I really am sorry.Not sorry enough.

END LOG

Addendum ███: Memorandum from SCP-8995-A for the Administrator.

I see nothing but the waste land. Is it even there? My head swims. I can't take the stench of vomit scalding me, so I strip naked and stagger up the guard tower, the cold cobbles and the howling winds biting into my skin as I lean on the wall. Eventually my legs give out completely and I crawl like a slug up the wall, dragging myself onward and onward to nothing. But I persevere.This is about the point I stopped reading, friend. To be honest, I don't give a fuck about this whole tirade I know you're inevitably about to go on, but I'll politely smile and nod my head as you do so. Then I'll blow your fucking brains out like you deserve.

Finally, finally, bruised, constricted, raw, I drag myself into the light and roll onto my back, gasping as though I were drowning. I suppose I am. But I rip the blindfold off, and I was never wearing any blindfold, and as fuzzy as the world is I can see the light, and I can see it is wrong. The sky is poisoned, choked as me, suffocated in a thick yellow coal-borne smog that kills the old and kills the young and kills everything in between. But it won't kill me, unless it will.

And as the stone that won't forgive me digs into my back I think, why did I expect the sky to be blue? Because it was, so long ago, when I was something else. But, and the snake relinquishes its grip on me to whisper into my ear, was it really? And I cannot answer it. I'm suffocating, the heat waves rush over me and I am slick with filth but there is nothing left to tear off before my hands are left bloodsoaked.

Where do I go from here? I can see everything from the tower, and everyone can see me, every repulsive part of me. What happens now? Nothing, I suspect. This castle has existed long before I arrived. Most likely it will exist after I throw myself from the tower and splatter all over the Earth many many miles beneath. Should I just leave it standing? Is there anything else I can do?You can always say what you mean. If you have something to say, come out and say it.

Of course there is.But you won't.

cold cold cold there's a chill running through my whole body but there's nothing i can do i have to stand there exposed to the world as they stare and mock but there's no way out i have to stand there naked and cold and freezing i just have to take it from you

there's an ocean beneath, far beneath, and it churns shattered diamond, cuts cuts cuts but i'm too dry. bone dry, but the bones, wet, stirring in the storm but they won't settle in the eye of my beholder, clawing it out, but i can still see, eyes dry and cracking and chokingOf course. This must all be so hard on you.

and i'm choking, my stomach's churning, but it's all gone down, it's not coming up. how much longer can i eat the bread from the hollowed chest of the king? because i see it now. i see something at least. the king is dying, the castle is dying. but which came first?

which one am i?As if you don't know.

Disregard.3

Footnotes

1. Editor's note - Extensive study has demonstrated that SCP-8995 bears no oblique relationship with older, more famous items or entities contained by the Foundation. This isn't that sort of article. - S.C.

2. Subject to potential appeal.

3. Coward.