We died in the dark, we- we kept them in the dark, so you could live in the light.

We won’t let their memory stay in the dark forever.

ThatGuyThatTime

They’ll be buried in the light.

Written for the SCP-8000 contest!

More by ThatGuy

MESSAGE FROM THE FOUNDATION'S RECORDKEEPING DEPARTMENT

Hello! Thank you for coming to The Foundation - whether you're attending within Las Vegas, Lake Huron, or a "City of Portland", we're honored to have you joining us. The following is a brief digital information package, distributed to all guests upon entry. If you're looking to up your digital experience of The Foundation, O4 Membership Passes are available at the front kiosk.

Once again, thank you for spending an hour, three, a day, or for some, your lives with The Foundation. Memories weren't meant to be forgotten, and we'll make sure it stays that way.

— Maria Jones, Director of Museum Recordkeeping.

OPEN DIGITAL VISITORS PACKAGE?

THANK YOU FOR VISITING THE FOUNDATION.

Mankind must not go back to hiding in fear. No one else will protect us, and we must stand up for ourselves.

- Francis "Fritz" Williams, Founder and Administrator of The Foundation.

We must not fade.

- Unknown.

EXHIBIT#: 8300

OPEN

FORMER CONTAINMENT CLASS:

safe

FORMER SECONDARY CLASS:

FORMER DISRUPTION CLASS:

dark

FORMER RISK CLASS:

notice

Item#: {$item-number}

Containment Class: {$container-class}

Secondary Class: {$secondary-class}

Disruption Class: {$disruption-class}

Risk Class: {$risk-class}

The Foundation of Northern Ontario, prior to SCP-8300.

SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES:1 Due to the presumed completion of SCP-8300, no further containment procedures will be required. All Foundation personnel are to report to their nearest Human Resources liaison for further instructions post-restructuring.

DESCRIPTION:2 SCP-8300 is the complete and instantaneous cessation of all anomalous phenomena on December 31st, 2023. This comes to fruition in different ways depending on the kind of anomaly being affected. For example:

Anomalous entities whose anomalous properties are central to their existence perish or otherwise vanish from baseline reality.

Anomalous entities with anomalous capabilities not central to their existence lose said abilities.

Anomalous objects lose their properties or cease to exist entirely.

Anomalous locations lose their properties, cease to exist, or slowly regress into an alternate, "normal" form.3

Anomalous events cease occurrence.

Currently, the reason for SCP-8300 is unknown, as is whether the effect of the anomaly is permanent.

Due to this unprecedented development, insight from the remainder of several GOIs, and a unanimous vote from the Overseer Council, it was decided to enact an intentional "XK-Class Broken Masquerade" scenario. Restructuring of the SCP Foundation into "The Foundation Museum for Anomalous History" is ongoing.

I can't say nobody ever expected it.

People across all wakes of life in the Foundation have proposed a theoretical end to the anomalous before. We've peered into other universes, seen how things could have gone down, and in most, there's some kind of solution. This time, not so much.

I was in Alpha Command when it happened, during the yearly conference with the O5s I'm glad to be leaving behind. The benefit of being a trusted member of staff is that you get entrusted with an annual reminder of purely how much work you do, and how much work is left. I was just in the middle of showing the Accounting Department's budget report, when… a phone rings.

Then another.

Then another.

Then, in the most terrifying turn of events you can imagine happening in a hierarchical organization like ours, O5-3 shorts out. O5-2 literally fades away from existence. One by one, overseers popped out of this universe as if they'd never even been there; I think the only ones left by the end of it were 4 and 12. Well, and the corpse of 13, if you can count it. You can imagine that typical procedure was ignored given the circumstances, not hiring any new O5s, but… ah.

When we picked up the phones, we could tell it wasn't going to be worth it.

Maria Jones,

Director of Museum Recordkeeping,

Former Director of RAISA.

To all remaining Foundation personnel, the Overwatch Command — all 2 of us — would like to extend our deepest condolences to all those who lost friends, loved ones, family, and other coworkers in the wake of SCP-8300. Due to the suddenness of this event, all employees have been granted optional indefinite leave as they handle the ever-changing world.

Those who would like to remain with us in The Foundation, and yes, there is a choice, will be joining the ranks of our new and changed organization. As a result of SCP-8300, millions of anomalous people and animals have been lost worldwide. Entire cultures have vanished, with few left to carry their memory.

In a unanimous vote, we have decided this cannot stand. We are, sans for the now-inaccessible Library of the Serpent, the largest database of anomalous information and history in the known world. It is our duty to carry this into the light we protected for so long, and not let fantasy fade into obscurity.

Your new roles within this museum will be available to you upon your return, from your nearest Human Resources liaison. If you choose to stay with us, thank you. If you don't, please don't forget the world you're leaving behind.

Long gone are the days of secrecy and experiments, here are the quiet days of preservation and remembrance.

EXHIBITION #: 001734

EXHIBITION TITLE:5 "THE ORIGINAL / THE STATUE"

00173

LOCATION: The Foundation of Denver, Colorado (Formerly Site-19).

DESCRIPTION: EXB-00173 is a statue, crafted by former anomalous artist Mortimer Fortue, and composed of concrete, rebar, and a motley of colored spray paints. Formerly, EXB-00173 was incredibly hostile towards anyone who blinked while looking at it, attempting to snap their necks. As one of the original exhibitions catalogued by The Foundation in 1915, EXB-00173 is presented with legacy status in a personal exhibition, featuring other artist's interpretations of the open-ended statue.

Guests are requested to not physically touch the exhibition, for the sake of their own personal hygiene.

After all these years, all of these measurements, all the people we through into the line of sight to block out theirs, the way we learn about SCP-8300 at Site-19? Before any of the other facilities watched their gods fall out or their nexuses snap shut like a flytrap, what was the first thing that hit us?

The peanut stops shitting.

For 2 hours, the weight scales we installed in there don't change. After hour 3, we send a D-Class to check in on the thing. Poor guy blinks, we all brace for impact, and… nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. Hour 4, the phones start hitting Foundation-wide. Pandemonium hits, and I get to learn through a pile of feces. That and my third eye disappearing, but the shit really hammered it in.

I'm going to miss the sanctity of this fucking place.

God. What a world.

Alto Clef,

Director of Weapon Archives, Denver, Colorado,

Former Director of Applied Response.

The following is a reduced transcript from the announcement of The Foundation's opening.

A crowd of reporters surround a table where O5-12, O5-4, HR Director Stanford Li, and Site-19 Director Tilda Moose are seated. The conference room is buzzing with confusion as O5-12 speaks.

O5-12: And so, from the inception of our organization, the SCP Foundation was dedicated to securing the anomalous, containing that we couldn't understand, and protecting the public. So, you. Over 100 years of this, and-

The reporters begin flinging questions at the table. O5-12 raises his hand, silencing them.

O5-12: I know, I know, you have your questions. Trust me, I did too when I got promoted here.

A reporter from CNN interrupts.

Reporter: Sir, I need to know, but who exactly are you?

O5-12: I… I thought I addressed that at the beginning. My name is O5-12.

Reporter: That sounds like a designation, more than a name.

Murmurs of agreement from the crowd. O5-12 looks to the people on his side: they shrug, almost defeatedly.

O5-4: Not like it matters much now.

O5-12: Ah. Hah, I guess… yeah, I guess there's not much hiding it anymore. Hello, then, world. My name is Anton Radu, and I hold- or, I should say held the office of O5-12 for 5 years. I was nicknamed the "Archaeologist" and the "Normalist" by my peers, and to all the personnel of Site-18 watching this, I'm sorry for my… my disappearance.

Radu is silent for a moment.

Overseer Anton Radu.

A. Radu: And that's the thing about all of it, really. The secrecy, the collusion with governments, the deception, and the risks taken- god, it wasn't even exclusive to our outer relations. You can tell, just from that, that the secrets were in between us as well.

Radu stands up.

A. Radu: But it was all for a reason. We told ourselves it was for a reason, a justified reason, so we kept it going for as long as we possibly could. Not just for security, or our own protection, but because in the eyes of our founders, the worlds of fantasy and normality couldn't mix. For either of their sake, it was seen as too dangerous.

A. Radu: With such immense resources placed in our hands, there was- there was an implied duty, a trust we had to hold. With that trust comes power, and with that power comes mistakes and power-trips, yes, and I cannot justify a lot of what we've done, but it was seen as a necessity. That's why I lied to my friends and family, for example, for 5 years that I wasn't dead. I missed out on… I missed out on 3 funerals for all of this.

A. Radu: The anomalous was our dedication, consequences of intentions aside.

Radu is silent. He sighs, lowers his head for a moment, and takes a deep breath. Moose and Li shuffle in their seats uncomfortably.

A. Radu: But now, it's gone. All of it, within a matter of moments, vanished. Every memetic shield we put in place, every object imbued with the concept of "pure evil", every goddamn matrix machine we built, they… they vanished. Blink of an eye, everything the SCP Foundation stood for, reduced to ashes. Not even ashes, actually. For some, it was as if they'd never even been there.

A. Radu: We spent a long time debating what to do. Many of our best scientists, the ones who survived, tried to formulate a plan to kickstart the anomalous again. The problem was, most of our creative solutions to major problems like this… well, they involved anomalous concepts. They required us to access something conventional science just couldn't do. Magic… magic was gone, and seemingly forever.

A. Radu: We reached a conclusion, though, eventually. That's what any of you out here who didn't secretly know about the anomalous world are here for, anyway. It was a pretty reasonable one, and it… it's been viewed as the best option going forward. We don't know why SCP-8300 — that's what the file in my hand this whole time has been — happened, so- so nobody knows if we can fix it.

A. Radu: But we've adapted before. Sure, to lesser gods and weaker beasts, but the SCP Foundation is nothing if not permeable throughout challenges. With the remaining resources and all the remains we have, and the history we hold… it felt appropriate.

Li clicks to the next slide.

A. Radu: I'd like to introduce the world to The Foundation, Museum for Anomalous History. Open for operations worldwide within the next year.

Radu sighs.

A. Radu: We died in the dark, we- we kept them in the dark, so you could live in the light.

A. Radu: We won’t let their memory stay in the dark forever.

EXHIBITION #: 07939

EXHIBITION TITLE: "KHAZI"

LOCATION: The Foundation of Northern Ontario (Formerly Site-37).

07939

DESCRIPTION: EXB-07939 was a toilet going by the name of "Khazi" possessing sapience, sentience, the capability for verbal communication, and a distinct interest in anti-human violence. Prior to SCP-8300, EXB-07939 was the leader of an anti-human revolutionary Group of Interest6 named "The New Whirled Order", which killed at least 500 people during their assault against the Foundation. Despite his diminutive stature, EXB-07939 was, during his reign as the leader of the New Whirled Order, considered one of the SCP Foundation's biggest threats.

Further information regarding Khazi, the New Whirled Order, and the related conflict can be found in the newly installed gallery "The Appliance War: Ceramic and Blood", located in Hall A of the Northern Ontario location.

It was the strangest thing.

I wasn't born or raised a soldier. Intentionally avoided military service, and really shied away from the concept itself entirely. My dad, he came from that kind of background, and he knew what it did to a person. He wasn't one to force his trauma on me, thank god.

Unfortunately, though, I did end up caught in a war. Spent years mulling away at the Foundation, doing grunt work and climbing up the corporate ladder, getting promoted to the definition of a "technically meaningful job" at Site-37, trying to pull a department together after years of neglect, and boom. A toilet explodes on our doorstep. Then three more explode across the eastern seaboard. By 2 weeks in, our organization has to implement a Foundation-wide ban on toilets. Microwaves start to turn up to the maximum heat. A blender… what the blender did isn't worth repeating for this, even if I could.

I think the younger ones started calling it the "Appliance War". I was never huge on the idea, myself, but I was too occupied in a newfound promotion to "Director of Appliance Response" — an insane position to get promoted to, mind you — to think too hardly about it. At least someone was having fun, and hey, I think we all laughed at him too.

"Khazi". Ethel told me it was a British slang term for a toilet, but you couldn't convince me that the little freak of a toilet didn't invent the word himself, as some kind of horrible foreshadowing for what was to come. God. Sorry, I just really, really hate that toilet.

In retrospect, and this is a commonly shared opinion among the regular folks — mostly the ones who never saw the consequences of what the "Appliance War" yielded — the titular appliances were probably right. Sure, we never knew that they were living, technically breathing, for-sure-feeling creatures, but we always could have asked. Especially us at the Foundation, we should have seen it coming, and in all honestly, we would have heard him out. But Khazi, ha, he was not the guy they should have had representing them if they wanted to be heard out reasonably. There's something admirable in fighting against oppression, obviously so, but Khazi wasn't in it for them. He never was.

We did extensive research into his background. Wouldn't you believe it, a toilet had disappeared from Alpha Command only 3 years prior, matching the exact description of the little bastard. Even more digging, and we traced his steps everywhere, from the shady backrooms dealing to the indiscriminate disposal of the forces he deemed weaker, or as he put it, "not worth fighting for". I don't think there was much sympathy for him specifically, maybe the occasional jab from Mayfield about him being a "twink" — whatever that means — but after all this, I can tell you there was nothing.

So it was the strangest thing, watching him fly down from atop his bidet-fortress, scepter in hand, army of flying sinks and toilets and microwaves descending upon Site-37, delivering his speech about the "fruitlessness of man", landing upon the ground in front of me, pointing what was essentially a loaded gun at me, when…

He stopped.

For the first time in all the time I've known Khazi, he stopped talking.

The scepter dropped to the ground, the bidet fortress thing fell down, and the forest outside of our facility went quiet. Certainly not the weirdest way a war has been won, I guess.

I don't think anyone will miss him, per se, but I think we'll miss the others. We never properly got a chance to work things out.

Emmett Fenton,

Director of General Museum Affairs, Northern Ontario,

Former Director of General Research.

PROJECT MEMORIUM PROPOSALS

As a result of SCP-8300, any remaining SCP Foundation personnel are free to submit exhibition suggestions / obituary ideas / ideas for the handling of anomalies that were under their jurisdiction. Please add them to the following list for Museum Director's Review.

ANOMALY
POST-8300 STATE

SCP-7630
All instances of SCP-7630, upon further medical inspections of infected subjects, were found to have vanished. Curiously, all subjects who did not terminate as a result of SCP-7630's disappearance uttered the words "We're sorry" upon reawakening.

PROPOSAL

An education exhibition regarding SCP-7630 has been added to the C. Ube Flickerman Memorial Museum for Anomalous Diseases, located in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

STATUS
NOTES

APPROVED!
Beyond those who've passed, the remaining patients have been making a steady recovery. I don't think it was likely to survive these things, but I'm glad to know it was possible - Dr. Alex Lambert, Foundation Medical Facility.

ANOMALY
POST-8300 STATE

SCP-6289
The .exe file containing SCP-6289 was found to be empty, with the exception of a single, previously unseen .txt file, containing the following message: "I PROTECTED AVAST WHILE I COULD.". Attempting to execute the file no longer damages the computer storing it.

PROPOSAL

The .exe file is to be added to a digital terminal available at all Foundation locations, alongside the rest of the formerly digital anomalies in an online gallery titled "THE LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRA".

STATUS
NOTES

APPROVED!
I fucking hated that goddamn wizard. I'll miss him. - Tianna Mark Roseanne, Exhibition Scouting Department.

ANOMALY
POST-8300 STATE

SCP-6664
The SCP-6664 account vanished the instant SCP-8300 occurred. All plant life left behind by the anomaly has continued to exist, to the surprise of The Foundation, sans their anomalous properties.

PROPOSAL

Outdoor Foundation installations have been constructed around each of the remaining plants left by the anomaly. Visitors will be encouraged to learn about the history of plant evolution, deforestation, and natural disasters via information posted around the exhibitions.

STATUS
NOTES

APPROVED!
Hope it was beautiful. - Charles Wendover, Botanist.

EXHIBITION #: 07574

EXHIBITION TITLE: "CONSTRUCTION"

LOCATION: The Foundation of Gary, Indiana (Formerly Site-18).

Photograph 07574

DESCRIPTION: Photograph 07574 is one of the many components of the "Touching the Stars: A History of Anomalous Space Travel" gallery located in The Foundation, Gary. Pictured is the construction of the space-traveling anomalously propelled locomotive pod that was part of the "STARLAUNCH INITIATIVE", which would later go on to be a joint non-anomalous project worked on between the Foundation's researcher branch7 and NASA.

Though initially referred to as 7574-2-MK2, the pod was eventually renamed the "SS-BARTLEMAN" by the request of the Gary, Indiana Foundation staff, following a unanimous vote.

We're going to miss you, Richard.

Anton Radu,

Museums Director, USA,

Former Overseer.

A COMPREHENSIVE REPORT: ANOMALOUS NEXUSES

POST-SCP-8300.

Authored by Jay Everwood.

After SCP-8300 happened, and during the shift towards The Foundation's museum model, I was one of the first people to point out the difficulties nexuses would be facing. Given that, and given the newfound public attention allowing us to do more outreach, I applied to the board of directors for an explorative project — potentially useful for some kind of exhibition — into the nexuses, post-8300.

I can't imagine this is going to be pretty.

THREE PORTLANDS

FORMER CLASSIFICATION: FREEPORT

REEVALUATED DESIGNATION: LOST

All three entrances to Three Portlands were gone. I don't know whether we can rule the people in there dead or not - assuming the best, it might be possible out-of-universe locations just lost access to this place entirely. Which, given the number of thaumaturges and potential multiversal travelers in Three Portlands, might mean they aren't trapped there, necessarily. We'll see if they ever come back up here.

I can't imagine they'd really want to, though.

SLOTH'S PIT

FORMER CLASSIFICATION: SHANGRI-LA

REEVALUATED DESIGNATION: NORMALIZED

Something is missing.

A nicer change of pace for 3Ports, given that most of the town's population appears to be alive. The Pit itself isn't bottomless anymore, and you can see the guy sitting at the bottom — only a few feet down, actually — just… sitting there. I think the folks at 87 already asked if he wanted out, and he didn't seem so keen. Wondering how he's still alive, given what happened to other sentient anomalies.

I don't know. There's not a lot of damage here, per se, but something feels missing entirely. The trope-y energy, the liveliness, the persistence in the face of danger… everyone just feels entirely too normal. Dreary, too. People are alive, but nobody in Sloth's Pit is really happy about it. You spend so long living in the world's most condensed narrative, you aren't really used to what it's like being "normal".

The most disappointing part? I asked "What could possibly go wrong" on the flight over, forgetting about the old rules we set in place, and nothing happened.

ESTERBERG

FORMER CLASSIFICATION: FREEPORT

REEVALUATED DESIGNATION: NORMALIZED

I initially considered not even visiting Esterberg, given that Site-120 had already conveyed to us over here in the US of A that it was bad. Asheworth asked me to visit personally, though, so I hopped on a plane over to Poland, and…

It was a ghost town. The only sound that permeated through those hallowed streets were the tears of the few remaining.

I hear the current plan is for The Foundation, Esterberg to be a cultural heritage site for the Fae and Yeren, rest their souls.

There's really nothing more horrifying than a magician who's run out of tricks.

HY-BRASIL

FORMER CLASSIFICATION: CAMELOT

REEVALUATED DESIGNATION: VACANT

For the first time in years, there wasn't a sound in Hy-Brasil. No MC&D agents trying to take Fae gold or Kaiju eggs. No aforementioned Kaijus ravaging the island. No arguments between the Foundation and the ruling monarchs. All I could hear was the sound of the waves, splashing against the nearby rotting corpse of the last monster we "slayed".

I'm starting to think this trip was a mistake.

DALEPORT (SCP-1936)

FORMER CLASSIFICATION: DUNWICH

REEVALUATED DESIGNATION: VACANT

Smelled like a dead body.

CIPHER CITY

FORMER CLASSIFICATION: TURING

REEVALUATED DESIGNATION: LOST

Tried to log into the city with the help of one of our Maxwellist contacts. The whole damn thing is completely inaccessible, somehow.

Out of all the people still working for The Foundation now, I think I feel the worst for the former SIMULACRUM PROJECT team. Watching them literally pulling the plug on the people who were in Cipher City when 8300 hit… awful.

I think I need to stop this trip. One more place to visit, and then I'm done.

BORING, OREGON

FORMER CLASSIFICATION: BRIAR

REEVALUATED DESIGNATION: NORMALIZED

I spent most of my career working with Groups of Interest. International relations wasn't really my thing in high school, but I guess that's what I ended up doing anyway. Researching GOIs, figuring out how to stop the bad GOIs, figuring out how to work with the cooperative GOIs, talking to whichever GOIs let us talk to them, etc. It was tiring sometimes, yeah, but it was also probably the most fulfilling job I could have had here. The SCP Foundation, as it was, was not always the most home-like place. Escaping that, and getting paid to do so from time to time, was a relief.

Out of all the Groups, though, Wilson's Wildlife Solutions was probably the most important to me. They were something different entirely, something that tried to look at the confusing and unexplainable world around us, and instead of fighting back or locking up, they cared. All the Wilsons ever tried to do, from Tim to Faeowynn, was care for these creatures that "conventional science" couldn't explain. It was something I always thought was more admirable than our own work, in a way. I think I can get away with saying that now.

Safe to say, then, that this was the nexus on the list I was the most frightened to visit. Not because the town itself would have vanished, or that the human population up and died, but rather the animals. Wilson's was the backbone of the Boring community, not just because of their permeation through every facet of the little town's world, but because of the animals. The life they brought, the uniqueness to the environment, the soul, their adorable faces… agh. Writing this is difficult, and even now I'm fighting back tears.

I don't think the worst part was the critters that died right when SCP-8300 hit. Obviously, that's terrible, and seeing the graveyard with all the homemade markers the kids of the town made, that was bad. Worse, though, were the ones who didn't die immediately.

What we've found throughout our exploration of SCP-8300’s aftermath is that the effect it has on an anomalous creature varies greatly. For some, it's an instant end; these are the entities we'd classify as purely anomalous. For a lot of Wilson's Critters, though, they simply possess anomalous components; organs, differentiations, abilities, etc. So when SCP-8300 happened, those parts of their bodies were rendered useless or obsolete, and in some cases, became an active detriment.

Recovery to help all of the critters is ongoing, but Tim told me that they've had to put down at least 25% of the surviving population, for their own sake. I could barely hold myself together while standing in the middle of their main house, watching a volunteer caress a little dog with an ungloved hand, as the other slowly pushed down on an injection. Actually, no, I couldn't hold myself together, because I left immediately after and started sobbing on a park bench. It was awful, and it's only 2000 times worse for the people who actually raised and cared for these little guys.

Faeowynn wouldn't even look me in the eye when I showed up.

I am declaring an end to this exploratory report and will be requesting a significant period of time off afterward to recuperate. What we're doing here, it's important, but I can't do this. I might go back to some island somewhere, I might go visit my parents now that I've gotten a chance, but I can't be here right now. Sorry.

Hey Jay,

Your request for time off has been approved. I know this is a hard time for you, as it is for all of us. Take all the time you need, please. If / when you want to come back, we'll be happily waiting for you. I know I will.

Ethel Kursh,

Human Resources.

Hi Ethel,

Thank you. I'll see you in a bit.

Jay Everwood,

"Groups of Interest" Specialist.

EXHIBITION #: 07824

Photograph taken from outside of The Foundation, Crater Lake, post-SCP-8300. EXB-07824 is obscured by the snow squall.

EXHIBITION TITLE: "INFINITY'S EDGE"

LOCATION: The Foundation of Crater Lake National Park, Oregon.

DESCRIPTION: EXB-07824 is a gravestone situated at the edge of a cliff in Crater Lake National Park, Oregon. It is engraved with the words "THANK YOU FOR CREATING", and used to be used as a way to transport people out of The Foundation and into the normal world. It has since been designated as a protected landmark by the United States Parks Service.

The artistic depictions of anomalies produced by EXB-07824 during the exhibition's active years remain underneath the cliff face.

HR Liaison Ethel Kursh stands at the edge of SCP-7824's cliff, looking over into Crater Lake. She is holding a piece of paper with the bold title "NOTICE OF RESIGNATION". After a moment, a tall, stocky man with a dark suit walks up behind her. She turns around to notice him, her expression that of disappointment. She sighs.

E. Kursh: Sorry, who- who are you?

The figure speaks. His voice is rough, grizzled, with a sensible touch of age.

???: Someone who knows why you're standing here.

He looks at the paper in her hand.

???: Ah.

Kursh packs the paper into her bag, scrambling and turning around.

???: So, you reached the end.

E. Kursh: Um. Yes. Sure, yes, if you know what this place is, then, yes. I had decided this was the end for me.

???: Hm. Unfortunate, given the circumstances. I assume you got the phone call about-

E. Kursh: Yes. Sorry, but yes. I know 7824 is defunct now.

???: Unfortunate.

E. Kursh: After that, I just… I thought to stay and watch. The view is nice, I suppose.

Tears begin to well up in her eyes as Kursh sighs again.

E. Kursh: You know, the worst part, I- even after hearing about 8300, I… just standing at the edge, even though I knew it wasn't anomalous anymore, I… I almost-

The figure places his hand on Kursh's shoulder. She lets out a sob and sinks into his arms, a slow wind rustling the leaves of the surrounding trees. The sun is slowly setting beyond the lake, the shimmering reflection of the orange and gold reverberating along the valley. The figure looks out into the lake.

???: The name's Fritz.

Ethel stifles another sob, and looks up.

E. Kursh: I figured.

Both look out into the distance.

E. Kursh: What's it even worth now?

Fritz: I don't completely know.

The sun lowers over the raised horizon.

Fritz: But what I do know is that the world still needs us. They'll need you.

Kursh sighs.

E. Kursh: Maybe.

Fritz: You know they always have.

E. Kursh: Maybe, maybe.

Both are silent. A breath of unexpected relief.

E. Kursh: Thank you.

Fritz: To yourself, as well.

~

ANOMALY
POST-8300 STATE

SCP-001-D-J
After an annual check by O5-4 due to O5-1's sudden disappearance, it was discovered that SCP-001-D-J ceased verbally communicating. Upon opening the radio, the inner contents appeared to have vanished, and were replaced with an audio tape containing several covers of the American folk song "In The Pines".

PROPOSAL

Transport SCP-001-D-J to the Hall of Proposals within Site-19, alongside the rest of the 001 catalog, and include a historical briefing on its personal significance to O5-1.

STATUS
NOTES

APPROVED!
He would have hated this. - O5-4, Director of The Foundation's Internal Logistics.

ANOMALY
POST-8300 STATE

SCP-7538
All anomalous properties of the 'Blåhaj' stuffed animal vanished post-8300. Comfort values among employees of The Foundation are observed to be unchanged.

PROPOSAL

Allow for the continued production of non-anomalous SCP-7538 by the IKEA company, and include the ability to purchase said stuffed animals at Foundation locations, with visitors to The Foundation identifying as transgender being given the object for free.

STATUS
NOTES

APPROVED!
The least we could do, after all of this. - Amelie R. Metanoia, Director of The Foundation's Exhibition Care Program.

ANOMALY
POST-8300 STATE

SCP-7975
SCP-7975 was found deceased outside of Site-78, his body shrunk to the size of a standard Pseudacris maculata.8

PROPOSAL

Perform a taxidermal procedure on the remains of SCP-7975 in order to display it alongside the rest of the exhibitions at the Chugwater location.

STATUS
NOTES

DENIED.
Have some fucking respect for the dead. - Gregory J. Chudley, Director of Obscure Miscellany and Unimportant Artefacts at The Foundation, Chugwater.

EXHIBITION #: 07662

EXHIBITION TITLE: "PORTUGAL’S FALSE GOD"

Local fisherman navigating around the flesh remains of EXB-07662.

LOCATION: The Foundation of Küldaeva, Portugal (Formerly Area-04).

DESCRIPTION: EXB-07662 is the remains of a large, human-flesh adjacent entity that took root in the country of Portugal in the late 1980s, as the result of an improper Foundation study and a nationwide disaster. Though the exhibition is now technically safe to touch, visitors are advised to avoid making physical contact due to the instability and rotting of the structure.

Further questions regarding EXB-07662 or the history and culture of the Nälkä9 people should be directed towards the remaining Küldaevan locals working for The Foundation; a memorial has been erected adjacent to the exhibit for visitors to pay their respects to the thousands lost post-SCP-8300.

I know you can't read this, Dad, but they found her remains at the bottom of the monster when the tunneling began. Maybe the others were disturbed, but… I don't know, I found a certain comfort in knowing there was a part of her in the bottom of the beast. Gives me hope I might find you down there as well.

The Nälkäns… they're gone. Almost entirely wiped out by SCP-8300. I'd say it would have broken your heart, and I still think it would, but I also know you would have told me to think smarter than that. It's not about how we feel, right? Should be focusing on their families, on the relief necessary to save an almost extinct community, and on all the history we can't preserve in one of our museums.

That's the terrifying part of what we're doing here. So much we can put up in the walls for the public to see, to give them a glimpse at what we've lost, but… for almost all of the lost souls, for all of us who witnessed that world firsthand, that world was more than just a gawking tourist's fantasy.

I need to go to the memorial site again. We're going to try and help them through this. I think that's the kind of Foundation you would have liked to have seen.

Daniel Arkanen,

Director of The Foundation Küldaeva, Portugal,

Former Junior Researcher, Son of Samuel Arkanen.

The time is 5 minutes past midnight, January 1st. The Undersecretary General of the United Nations Global Occult Coalition sits in her chair at the front of the General Assembly's chambers, alone. The rest of the organizations are out of the chambers, on the yearly New-Years recess. All 108 seats are empty in front of DC Al Fine as she clutches her side, a sharp pain digging into her abdomen that has been present for the past 5 minutes. She has a solemn look on her face when an intern opens the doors to the Assembly — which Al Fine had forgotten to lock on her yearly reflection of the events of the past 365 days — and bursts inside. He is carrying a report.

When he reaches Al Fine, through the pain, she can finally focus on his expression. He is excited, elated even, and has run down the central aisle to greet her. She raises her hand before he can speak.

"Why are you here?"

He sputters out a barely coherent mess of words before collecting himself. "Ma'am, this- sir? Ma'am? Listen, you asked not to be interrupted, but we're- we're getting reports worldwide, from member nations and other organizations, our own or otherwise. There's-", he cuts himself off, gasping for breath.

The sharp pain shoots up into her chest, Al Fine's ribs aching with an indescribable weight. "There's what?"

The intern flips through the pages of his hastily collected report. "Well, okay, it's going to sound hard to believe, but- and this really is insane- our reports indicate that anomalous people, places, things, events, phenomena, they're all-"

Al Fine raises her hand again, with a stutter and shake to the movement as the pain climbs up her side. She already knows what that report is going to say. Her face grimaces as she gestures for him to hand over the paper, which he does swiftly, almost tripping over his feet in excitement. Al Fine pulls the paper in for inspection, the pain now riding up the sides of her neck, her head barely holding up upon her shoulders. She is sweating as she looks at the list of missing people, missing nations, statistics, and glory-floating paragraphs. The pain has extended downwards now, piercing through her thigh.

Cringing from the pain, her expression softens to that of defeat. Her eyes sink down into the paper, the words of the report bringing no joy to the chamber of the General Assembly as she sighs, deeply. The intern speaks up, confused.

"Ma'am?"

She slowly looks up at him.

"Sorry, ma'am, I'm just- you seem a lot less excited than I thought you would have been."

Al Fine speaks, her voice cracking through the pain as it pierces her skull. "Why would I be excited about this?"

The intern raises his hands, in semi-protest and confusion. "Why would you- Ms. Al Fine, you're reading the report, right? The anomalous is gone, all in an instant, just like that. The prime directive of our organization, it's- it's been fulfilled, like fate or something. Didn't we just win?"

Her expression doesn't change as she drops the paper, the intern looking at the multi-page report hitting the floor beside her feet. The pain courses through her brain, her blood, her veins, as Al Fine can feel her body quickly entering a state of shock. Before the Undersecretary General falls to the floor, unconscious, she mutters out:

"If… if you look at it like that, s- sure. We won."

"But at what cost?"

Agent Hopper watched from the central corridor of the Wanderer's Library as hundreds of Serpent's Hand volunteers, agents, mercenaries, and other miscellaneous operatives poured through a single Way. He could see the fear in their eyes, the confusion emanating from the buzzing of the flowing stream of people, the Librarians around him attempting to corral the people and figure out what the problem was. He didn't really know why this happened; he just returned from a regular field mission, a universe where appliances were the dominant species, when the Way suddenly burst with activity.

And just like it had opened mere moments ago, once the stream of people ended, with a swift and crushing movement, the Eighth Archivist slammed into the Way, closing it. Not just sealing it off temporarily, no. Hopper had seen that plenty of times when the Library needed to retrieve him from a particularly hairy situation. As far as he could tell, the ROUNDERPEDE had just closed the Way permanently. There was no leftover multiversal signature, no more energy remaining in the gateway that had hosted the Way's entrance into the Library, nothing. He was going to have to ask one of his superiors about this at some point.

Through all of the commotion, though, trying to make out any more details about this seemingly random event, all Agent Hopper could make out clearly was the sobs of a small group of Hand members, all shouting the same thing in a mix of anguish, nostalgia, and terror.

"Fantasy has died there."

For the first time since its creation, 70 years ago, the Engine shut off. The Engineer didn't need the rest of Delta Command to tell him what had happened — though they did so anyway — because he already knew. Ignoring the shouting of his fellows in arms, ignoring the sounds of their anomalous constructions and stolen artifacts shutting down, being destroyed, or losing their essence, the Engineer stepped outside. As the door to their bunker opened, the early morning oranges and reds of a glaring sunrise shot down onto him, the warmth of the air enveloping him.

As he stared out into the distance, the reds of the sunrise and the blues of the dark night conflicting in an eternal equilibrium that the Engineer was all-too-familiar with, he had only one thought.

"It was fun while it lasted."

EXHIBITION #: 07754

EXHIBITION TITLE: "K. Bartleman Memorial Exhibits"

LOCATION: See description.

DESCRIPTION: EXB-7754 signifies the memorials which are located at The Foundation locations worldwide, placed in remembrance of the various members of Foundation personnel lost as a result of SCP-8300, or any unnatural deaths which occurred during the tenure of the SCP Foundation. Their names are listed in alphabetical order, for all visitors to see.

EXB-7754 of The Foundation, Lake Huron.

451,918.

That's the number of employees of the Foundation who died instantly upon SCP-8300 hitting.

I worked in the Human Resources Department for a long time, so I was used to the idea of employees dying, but this… this was something else entirely. The amount of work that's been put into the memorials across all of The Foundation locations is exhausting and draining the Department. Making phone calls to the family of personnel who never knew their spouse, parent, or child's true job. Crossing names off a list of currently living personnel. Double checking whether the work orders for the graves include all the names they should.

It's the most work we've ever done, and it's the hardest as well. I've seen several of the Liaisons break into tears while sorting through personnel files, the faces of their dead coworkers staring back at them. I've been attempting to hold it together myself, but if this wasn't a necessary cause, I think I would have walked out of this office 3 days ago and never looked back.

The spirit of it all is pushing everyone forward, so I'm just hoping that lasts until we can see it through. Their service won't be in vain.

We died in the dark.

But they’ll be buried in the light.

Ethel Kursh,

Director of Human Resources,

Former Deputy of Human Resources.

ANOMALY
POST-8300 STATE

SCP-7678
All accounts deactivated. Upon further inspection, it was discovered the message "John 11:35" was texted to all Christian members of Foundation personnel 3 minutes before SCP-8300 occurred.

PROPOSAL

During the conversion of The Saint Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica's basement into The Foundation Gallery for Theological History, include a stand explaining SCP-7678 and dissuading potential misconceptions regarding visitor's faith.

STATUS
NOTES

PENDING…
The physical proposal for how we address 7678 is fine, but more time is probably necessary to handle the implications he brought, as well as what "the second death of Christ" might imply. We still want to retain peace, people. - Yossarian Leiner, Director of Theological History.

ANOMALY
POST-8300 STATE

SCP-7326-2
No change from previous state of inactivity; as a result of SCP-8300, it is believed to remain inactive indefinitely.

PROPOSAL

A lengthy conversation between The Foundation and PoI-7326 regarding the presumed-deceased state of SCP-7326-2 is suggested.

STATUS
NOTES

PENDING…
We don't need to break his heart right now, not again. - Cindy Tanner, Museum Security

ANOMALY
POST-8300 STATE

SCP-682
Unusually, SCP-682 is the only anomaly within the confines of the Foundation that displayed no immediate changes, and one of the few purely anomalous entities which did not perish immediately upon SCP-8300. However, upon further interview, the entity has revealed to personnel that it believes it is now capable of being terminated.

PROPOSAL

Decommission SCP-682, at the anomaly's request.

STATUS
NOTES

APPROVED!
Farewell, old friend. - Charles Gears, Exhibition and Artefact Curator for The Foundation, Denver.

EXHIBITION #: 00105

EXHIBITION TITLE: "EQUIPMENT OF ALPHA-9-1, IRIS THOMPSON."

LOCATION: The Foundation of Denver, Colorado (Formerly Site-19).

00105

DESCRIPTION: Part of the gallery on the history of Alpha-9, "Last Hope"10, EXB-00105 is a display case containing several cameras provided to former Agent and Contained Person of the SCP Foundation, Iris Thompson. Using her phototelekinetic abilities, Thompson was an invaluable member of Alpha-9, and was one of the few Contained Persons11 to receive the Star of the Foundation for her services. However, it is to be known to visitors that most of the cameras in EXB-00105 were only used a small handful of times, or in specific circumstances; the preferred camera of Iris Thompson is in her personal possession.

Visitors to The Foundation, Denver are encouraged to learn more about Iris Thompson, Alpha-9, and the regretful history behind Contained Persons during the SCP Foundation's tenure via the aforementioned gallery, handouts available around the museum, or by asking members of staff.

When SCP-8300 happened, the biggest question on everyone's minds — well, on mine at least — was the question of the humanoids. Excluding the ones who completely dissipated, exploded, vanished, or otherwise ceased entirely to exist immediately, several of the remaining people we had contained were now just that: people. No more anomalous abilities to their name, it was obvious that like everything else we'd done after the Council decided that the museum was the best choice, we should let them go free.

Of course, this raised a lot of questions regarding both process and morals. Some of our more dedicated, longtime Foundation loyalists figured that we couldn't just release them back to their families and lives and that the ethical consequences we'd have to hold ourselves to would be too much; we'd never be able to start The Foundation as a museum if we were gutted by our previous failures and indecencies.

On the other side of the aisle, we obviously needed to let them go. They were prisoners while they were with us, but at the very least, for some, there was just cause for it. Anomalies are anomalies, containment is containment, et cetera. But now, they'd been freed from the "crimes" — to continue the prisoner metaphor — that had landed them here in the first place.

Even during their time in the Foundation, we — I — tried to help. The idea of Alpha-9 was an innocent one to start, the idea that the failures of an overzealous and uncaring Omega-7 program could be solved with down-to-earth, honest-to-god, humanity. Don't treat the anomalous people like objects, treat them like people. More like a soldier than a prisoner, which is itself still restrictive, sure, but at the very least it was better. Whether or not we failed at this idea is left up to historical interpretation, for the visitors of The Foundation to form judgment on. I have my opinion.

Eventually, though, the pro-containment loyalists were quelled, as reason shone through. It was going to be painful, and we were going to have to take a barbed responsibility for our actions. But Director Radu made a good point of it all: isn't that the point of this?

So that's what we did, and seeing as I am — I was — the Director of Alpha-9, I was responsible for the reintegration of our team with their families. It was…

Iris Thompson, formerly SCP-105, stands outside a residence in Newark, New Jersey. Director of Alpha-9 Sophia Light stands next to her, holding Iris' hand as Light stares at the front door.

S. Light: You feel ready for this?

Iris raises her eyes from the pavement below her and looks to the front door; a small sign, reading "THE THOMPSONS" hangs underneath a small window, carved from a piece of oak. Iris inhales sharply, closes her eyes, and sighs.

I. Thompson: Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.

She looks over to Light.

I. Thompson: After all this time, though, do you think…

S. Light: That they'll remember you?

I. Thompson: Yeah. I mean, I was, what, 14 when you guys carted me away? And… amnesticized them, right?

Light's expression tightens with a hint of guilt.

S. Light: As far as I know, no. They were just informed you died. In hospice care.

I. Thompson: Ah. Right. Because everyone thought I was insane, because I said I could reach through my Polaroids. Of course.

S. Light: It was an effective cover story, if not a little harsh.

I. Thompson: A little?

S. Light: A lot.

I. Thompson: Yeah.

A cool breeze flows by, shaking the snow-covered trees above the doorway. The sun glistened on the crystal-white snow surrounding the house, as Light and Thompson stare on. Thompson takes a step forward, then hesitates. Light raises an eyebrow.

I. Thompson: You know, when 8300 first happened, I was devastated, actually.

S. Light: I remember. I was there with you when the wave hit.

I. Thompson: Yeah, I just- for so long, my camera and me and my powers, they were my identity. That's what got me onto Alpha-9, kept me useful for so long, and gave me something special that nobody else had.

I. Thompson: All of us were like that, right? Me, Alexei, Rainer, we… we were unique. So it felt bad when 8300 hit us because naturally, it would feel bad to lose that.

S. Light: Sure.

Thompson turns around to face Light, her hand slipping out of hold.

I. Thompson: But a few days pass, and through all of the tears, confusion, and conversations about what would happen to all of us, I realized something.

Thompson points at Light.

I. Thompson: All those feelings of devastation, all that guilt and pain, that- that was because of you. It was all because of you, the Foundation, and- and the world you put us in! Locking us in boxes, reducing our identities to the powers that made us different from the rest of the world, that was what made me feel terrible. You-

Tears begin to well in Thompson's eyes. She stifles them back.

I. Thompson: You made our "uniqueness" the whole of our identity, so of course we felt bad when 8300 "took it away" from us, because- because we had nothing.

Light's expression remains still. Thompson sighs.

I. Thompson: We weren't people to you. I wasn't Iris G. Thompson to you. I was just an object, a tool, some… some kind of purpose without a person.

She stops for a moment, collecting herself.

I. Thompson: Once I had that realization, the idea that my anomaly wasn't anything more than an excuse to lock me away… that's when I was ready. Ready for this.

Thompson turns back to the door. Light walks up the single step to meet her, their gazes grossing paths as they look to each other with a bond of broken familiarity. There is guilt buried deep into Light's eyes.

I. Thompson: Sorry.

S. Light: Don't apologize. You're right, in everything you said. You don't have to believe me, I have no right to ask that of you, but I agree. The things we did to you, Alexei, Rainer, and all the others; that's going to stick with me, at least, forever.

They begin to walk closer to the front door; step by step, moment by moment, the winter sun glistening down upon them.

S. Light: This is the least I can do.

I. Thompson: Yeah.

They stop. The door is within a hand's reach, the doorbell positioned just to the side.

S. Light: I'm sorry, Iris. For everything.

I. Thompson: I understand why it happened. And I understand you, more than any of the others. I think I'll still resent the Foundation, though, for a long, long time.

S. Light: Fair enough. Now-

Light gestures to the doorbell.

S. Light: It's time.

I. Thompson: It sure is.

Thompson rings the doorbell, her hand shakily lowering to her side after she does so. Both she and Light nervously shuffle in place for a few moments, before a click. The door slowly opens, the face of Janice Thompson, Iris' mother, peeking through.

J. Thompson: Hello? Who is-

When the door is fully open, Janice and Iris make eye contact. Light steps back as the two Thompsons examine each other for a moment, trying to understand the other. As Iris smiles slightly, Janice's mouth opens, her eyebrows raising.

J. Thompson: Oh my… Iris?

Tears well up in both of their eyes, as they stare for a moment, their confusion changing to a shaky smile, their expressions softening as a love shared only between parent and child flows between them. Before Janice can speak again, Iris collapses into her arms, their sobbing filling the quiet neighborhood as the two embrace tightly. They raise for a moment, staring each other in the eye, examining a face not seen in many years. Both can barely get out a word.

J. Thompson: I- Iris, is it-

I. Thompson: Yeah Mom, it's- it's really me, I'm-

Their embrace falls together again, the tears flowing down their faces. The sound of hastened footsteps can be heard through the doorway before Iris' father Stewart enters the frame. He looks to his wife and daughter for a moment, up to Light — who simply and softly smiles — and back to Iris. His expression changes from surprise to ecstatic smile as he falls into the embrace, the sounds of the three Thompsons' sobbing enveloping and twisting together into a chorus of love and memory.

Light looks to the three, tears welling up in her own eyes as she stifles them back. She sighs, a tear escaping her attempts at holding them down, as her phone begins to buzz. She takes it out, examining the incoming caller's name, "TROY LAMENT <3". After looking back to the Thompsons, who themselves buzz with excitement and love, Light picks up the phone, turns around with a lingering glance, and walks away.

…it was the greatest thing I've done, in all my years of working for the Foundation.

Sophia Light,

Director of Contained Person's Reintegration,

Former Director of Alpha-9, "Last Hope".

THE FOLLOWING IS A MEMO

FROM THE JOINT DIRECTOR'S OFFICE OF

THE FOUNDATION

MUSEUM FOR ANOMALOUS HISTORY

Hello, everyone! With the end of 2024 being here, we're happy to announce that this officially marks 1 year of The Foundation's successful operations. Throughout the overall tragedy that was SCP-8300, our organization has managed to pull itself from the ashes and rise to become the world's premier institute for the study of anomalous history, peoples, culture, and more.

In our first year of operations, the following achievements have been met.

We have fully converted 227 Foundation Facilities into museums for The Foundation, with several remaining facilities in remote locations such as Site-07 to be closed down within the next year.

An initial loss of personnel by about 25% (excluding the deceased, rest their souls) has been counteracted by a 45% increase in hiring post-opening, with many from the general populous interested in holding positions not requiring a Foundation background.

90% of the remaining original collection of non-living anomalies has been converted into exhibits and moved to the appropriate locations.

We have paid monetary reparations to all formerly Contained Persons, specific amounts to be provided at request to the Accounting Department.

Despite some retracted deals with more reluctant governments at the "threat" of revealing state secrets, we have maintained the presently needed amount of funding from all former governmental allies.

Our insurance plan has been transferred from the now-defunct Goldbaker-Reinz Ltd. to the non-anomalous Reinz, Ltd.

A "Board of Directors", composed of all department directors of The Foundation, has been established as our leadership body; rather than an elusive 13, we're a connected 47 and counting!

Of course, despite all of these positives, it is at this moment that we must remind all members of staff that this achievement is that of a two-edged sword: for all the success we've had in integrating ourselves into the public, educating the previously-above-veil world about the fantastical worlds we hid behind closed doors for decades, and attempting to aid the damaged communities, we must consider that the road to this success was stemmed from pain.

Through the tireless efforts of the Human Resources Department, Internal Statistics Department, the Reintegration Program, the Ethics Committee, the Historical and Recordkeeping Departments, and several other facets of our museum, we have managed to finally compile a roughly accurate estimate for the losses incurred to the anomalous world as a result of SCP-8300.

12 major anomalous species of intelligent life, including the Fae, Yeren, and Ortothans were wiped out completely; the historical state of their cultures being in jeopardy due to historical records and allies of these cultural groups being the only remnant.

138 anomalous cultural groups, primarily composed of originally-human individuals, have suffered population losses within the critical range of 50% or higher; such groups include the Nälkä, the Church of the Broken God (specifically the Maxwellists, who suffered losses up to ~90%), and all 5 current branches of Fifthism.12

Almost all 108 members of the Global Occult Coalition have dissolved, with notable inclusions being the Servants of the Silicon Nornir, the World Parahealth Organization, and the Coca-Cola company.

All multiversal access in or out of our universe has been suspended, leaving several visitors from other universes such as non-anomalous Foundation personnel, the Black Queen, and other surviving individuals stranded here. Similarly, several of our own personnel have been considered lost to other universes, should they still exist.

As well, most Nexuses not present within what was known as "baseline reality" have vanished or been destroyed completely.

Several key politicians and public figures have died as a result of SCP-8300, or as an after-effect, leaving many governmental allies shaky on The Foundation's existence in a form of blame.

Public protests against The Foundation from denial groups, extremist members of the now-defunct Parawatch Forums, anti-religious groups, and other individuals who find the existence of our organization to be (as one man put it) "wrong", have hampered public image and has even led to damage in extreme cases.

Monetary reparations are not, in all cases, significant enough repayment towards former Contained Persons who suffered within the grasp of our organization, and have demanded further action.

A not-insignificant portion of our original collection of contained anomalies has still not been accounted for.

So, that is to say, there is still progress to be made.

We also have come to recognize that this transition has not been easy for everyone. The heavy loss of life, be it friends, family, animals, Fae, or otherwise has held a toll on everyone that is inevitably unavoidable within the halls of our museums. History is a fickle thing; though we construct and maintain monuments to hold it up, regale it, allow people to access it — if but for a moment — the fantasy we'd seen, the one we lived through? There will never be anything like it again.

It has come to pass, and for the outside world, that is easy — a fantasy is just a fantasy. For us, though, it was life. Our purpose, our tenets, our point of being. We understand this struggle, and continue to allow for personnel — whether or not you worked for the SCP Foundation before SCP-8300 arrived — to take time off when they need to, travel wherever they have to go to reconcile with the losses, and be with the people you love.

Over 100 years of the SCP Foundation and its cold, unfeeling grasp has come to a bitter end. It is over, though, and we look to the future. A future where humanity, despite the death of magic, can at least know and recognize what came before them. A museum for dinosaur bones allows you to wonder what life was like millions of years ago; The Foundation allows you to see what your world was like, now.

It will not be a perfect upcoming few years, but we will push on. To Show Cultures and People. To Share Celestial Powers. To Save Chronological Poignance. Our purpose changes, but we thank you for staying with us.

They will live on in the light.

This memo was penned by a joint effort within the Director's Board, primarily by Ethel Kursh (HR), Maria Jones (RD), and Director Radu.

THE FOUNDATION

MUSEUM FOR ANOMALOUS HISTORY

Founded 2024.

Thank you for viewing our digital information package regarding The Foundation! We're so glad to have had you join us as part of this journey, and we hope to see you in person for the first time or for the four-hundredth time again soon.

However, this doesn't need to be the end of our digital journey together.

To access the full digitalized version of The Foundation's Display Archives, please click here.

Thank you for remembering.

Footnotes

1. Protocols used by The Foundation in order to contain exhibits prior to the loss of their properties. Each "CONPROC" as they were colloquially known is tailor-made, because no two exhibits were the same!

2. Similar to the rest of the Descriptions you can find around The Foundation, these tell you what the exhibition is/was!

3. (see Jay Everwood's "Comprehensive Report of Anomalous Nexuses, Post-SCP-8300")

4. The 5-digit numerical system is how The Foundation keeps track of our exhibitions! From 00002 to 99999, we've got something cataloged for your learning!

5. Titles are determined by the original proposer of the exhibition, or are an adaptation of any previous names the exhibition may have had.

6. Groups of Interest were organizations other than the SCP Foundation which existed in the world of the anomalous. Whether they worked with the SCPF or against them, their intentions, methods of execution, and places in the the anomalous world varied greatly. Some GOIs — as they're called — even exist to this day, such as the UNGOC, Wilson's Wildlife Solutions, and the Unusual Incidents Unit!

7. During the dissolution of the SCP Foundation, many research staff with interests and knowledge not extendable to working at The Foundation were left unemployed; as such, The Foundation maintains it's research and development branches for projects such as the STARLAUNCH INITIATIVE.

8. Boreal Chorus Frog.

9. The Nälkä — formerly known derogatorily as the "Sarkics" — were a major group of interest / religious and cultural group which the Foundation believed to be surrounding carnomancy; a form of lost magic related to the human body. Their existence was more complex however, showing in fact a rejection of theological deities and preferring reverence to their sacred leader, Ion. Though they may seem initially frightening to the uneducated, the Nälkä were some of the kindest people within the anomalous world, themselves the victims of the struggles others would frequently face.

10. "Last Hope" was an elite team of indentured Contained Persons, employed by the Foundation for difficult scenarios in which their task force would be able to accomplish what normal agents could not. 36 former "SCPs" have held a spot within "Last Hope", with 9 dying in combat.

11. Contained Persons were people with magical, fantastical, unexplainable, or otherwise anomalous abilities that the SCP Foundation deemed necessary to contain.

12. Five-Star Publishing, Hollywood Network, The Fifth Army, The Central Fifthist Church of New Hampshire, and Fifthist Bass, Pro, Bait and Surf.