Languidly, she raises her head and looks into the camera, 
transfixing him from a different time and place with her dark blue 
eyes, and unbidden thoughts come rushing to him that this must be 
the first time someone's looked right at him in months. Who is she? 
His mind reaches back, into neighborhoods obscured by a haze of 
years, landscapes that only partly exist in the real world as he knows 
it now. He can't possibly know her, there's no way he would have 
forgotten. He doesn't know her, but she's the ghost of something he 
does, something calling to him from places he knows he can't go to 
anymore. Does she know him? 


She joins the ethereal piano player, and if she has eyes that have 
seen an old woman's troubles, she's got a voice that puts those 
troubles to shame. She keeps her eyes on him as she sings, and he 
hears someone from out of time, beyond the world of old broken- 
down hoods and beyond the burdens of worldly girls who dance with 
the night. He can't understand the words of her song, but it doesn't 
matter. Her voice rises from her slightly parted lips like smoke, 
spiraling up in its own time, hanging in the air to dissipate slowly and 
stinging his eyes. She sings, and he forgets. She sings, and he 
remembers. She entwines her song with the quiet piano, her voice 
clear in another tongue as she stays with the high notes. She never 
takes her eyes off the camera, and he knows that she knows him. 


Her song ends, and he marvels at the woman who doesn't exist, the 
woman from nowhere who just took hold of him and stopped him 
dead in the tracks of his life. He plays the file again, trying 
desperately to kindle some sort of definite recollection, some way to 
make sense out of what he just experienced. Each time he sees it, 
it's different somehow. He hears the same song and she moves the 
same way, but he's spellbound anew for the first time, each time. By 
the time morning comes, he knows that he'll never be able to 
understand a woman who sings with a voice beyond time, but he 
doesn't care. No one is meant for eternity, he thinks. But he figures 
he's okay if he found just a little piece of it. 


He's no stranger to the sunrise closing out a night vigil. The dawn 
has never brought hope, not for a long time, anyway. This one's no 
different. He knows, always knew, that today is it for him. He's done 
jobs like this one before, and he knows who walks away and who 
doesn't. A week from now, his meager possessions will be 
scattered, a parole officer will make a check mark before closing a 
file, and a new boarder with the same face will attempt to sleep in 
the place where he couldn't. Not a soul existing will mark his time 
here, his monument a John Doe tag in the morgue if he's lucky. But 
one soul, beyond existence, he's certain has witnessed. Through the 
regret, through the failures and the days gone by, the wounds that 
bleed in places where no one can see, he's got something to hold 
on to, and today, it'll do. 


Before he raises the shades, Milton closes his eyes and meets the 


gaze of a beautiful woman in a blue dress who has eyes heavy with 
a life outside of comprehension and sings like someone beyond the 
angels. 


"Some other time, kid." 


He walks out into the sunlight, and in thirty seconds, he's gone from 
view. 


Instance Date Summary Selected 
Transcript 
SCP-1229-37 | 12/16/2013 Transmission | Researcher's 
depicts Ms. Neal Note: Original 
singing asong| song by Ms. 
while standing} Neal is in 
on a stage, French, and has 
accompanied by been translated 
piano. Original) into English by 
transmission research staff. 
appears to be 5 "<No matter 
minutes and 38 what's waiting/ 
seconds in When the future 
length; however, is in ruins/ And 
an additional 10 the water's all 


seconds of gone/ Through 
footage are the rain on the 
present at the | window/ No one 
end in an sees no one/ 


alternate version Before night 
recovered from moves us on/ 
the file- But I'll remember 
sharing service you/ Yes I'll 

on 12/22/2013) remember you>" 
To date, this is 

the only 

observed 

instance to 

manifest in 

multiple 

versions. 


Audio Logs: Last Man Standing 


[[Accessing Site 23 Logs.]] 
[[ / DATABASE CORRUPTED / ]] 
[[Identifying and playing most recent playable Audio Logs.]] 


[[Log: XC/CC/????-ERROR: DATE LOG CORRUPTED]] 
[[Original Login: Kensington, Jacob; Level 2 Clearance]] 
[[Access Point: [/ DATA RESTRICTED /] ]] 

[[Audio Log Transcript: Begin]] 


[Long Pause] 


Imagine you work for a secret foundation, one whose sole purpose 
for existence is to secure, contain, and protect any and all unusual 
objects or creatures - supernatural, extraterrestrial, or otherwise. 


They have hundreds of those objects: some are harmless and safe, 
while others can mutate your body into a machine and dissolve your 
mind into a soul-less husk of your former self. Still others can cause 
wide-spread paranoia, fear, anger, and hallucinations. There are 
even a few that can cause the Earth itself to shatter into millions of 
shards of rock, and turn all humans into the undead. This secret 
foundation holds them all in containment to protect the billions of 
souls resting on the Earth. 


And imagine you are tasked with studying, analyzing, and defending 
those objects, all without getting you, your colleagues, or civilians 
killed. 


No pressure, right? 
[Nervous chuckling] 


Well, that's what | did, day in and day out, putting myself in danger 
for humanity. It may seem dangerous, and it was, but it was fun, 
paid well, and | worked with some of the most bad-ass people you 


could ever meet...emphasis on the past tense, sadly. 


Now imagine something different. Imagine if the specimens were all 
unleashed. 


Every. 
Single. 
One. 


In one day, billions would die from the chaos that would ensue. 
Countless other millions would be transformed into grotesque 
creatures, the likes of which the world has not seen for centuries. 
The hundreds of thousands who "survived" would find themselves in 
a world completely distorted and undistinguished from the bright, 
green and blue world they had just experienced a day ago. 


Now you are starting to realize something, aren't you? This isn't 
hypothetical. After all, you're living the nightmare. 


And it's all because of us. Because of our failures. 


[Long pause] 


You know how it is now. A few survivor sites, mainly at secured 
military sites or small farmsteads around the world. Some have even 
managed to take over old Foundation sites. They're safer now, what 
with all of the objects either out causing chaos or destroyed. I’ve 
been sitting here, at Site 23, alone. Hell, no harm in revealing where 
| am. It’s not like anyone who wants me dead will know where Site 
23 actually is. 


I'm rambling, now, aren't |? | wouldn't be surprised. | think | may, 
may, be starting to go a little crazy. These logs are the only things 
keeping me sane. Sane. Sanity. Funny word, that. | know I’m losing 
my grip on my own sanity and coherence, after half a decade of self- 
imposed exile. Or quarantine. Whichever makes more sense. 


Anyways, if you’re reading this, | am probably dead. It only took 
me...five years to die? Yeah. Five years. Five long, lonely years. | 
might as well try to give you a history of what happened to the world 


five years ago. If | can remember... 
[Pause] 


That’s the thing, though. | don’t remember what happened. | spent 
every waking moment trying to figure out how every single artifact or 
contained creature escaped to destroy the world. No reason makes 
sense. Was it an inside job? A containment breach? War? 
Catastrophic failure of safety systems and the nuclear failsafes? It 
must be some combination of the reasons, but...| can’t speak for 
any of the other sites. Site 19...Site 21...Site 7... 


[Pause with soft sighs] 
You know how it feels to watch the world die? 


Of course you wouldn't. No one would. And you would be lucky. You 
wouldn’t have to see people ripped apart by lizard-like monstrosities. 
You wouldn’t have to see entire cities turn into machines, with the 
people turning into freak robots with no sense of humanity. That’s 
what happened to London...and New York City...and...god knows 
how many other cities. 


| watched as Washington D.C. was blown off the map by a nuclear 
missile. 


| watched as the entire Midwestern United States turn into 
[Unintelligible] and turn grey and orange from the ashes and fire. 


That’s all | was able to do. Watch. Wait. Until that one day | found- 


[[ERROR: DATA CORRUPTED. CONTINUING FROM NEXT 
AVAILABLE POSITION}] 


-list of my colleagues who didn’t make it. | made a list as | tried to 
track them all down. Oh god...There’s so many... 


[Sobs] 


Most of the administrators are gone...Doctor...Doctor 
[Unintelligible] Clef...Doctor Agatha Rights...Doctor Jack Bright... 
Doctor Snorlison. Doctor Simon Glass... 


[[ERROR: DATA CORRUPTED. CONTINUING FROM NEXT 
AVAILABLE POSITION}] 


...Doctor Heiden...Doctor Aura...Doctor Mackenzie...Agent 
Strelnikov...Mr. Avery Cates...Doctor Winters...Doctor Light...Agent 
Zaeyde... 


[[ERROR: DATA CORRUPTED. CONTINUING FROM NEXT 
AVAILABLE POSITION]] 
...and Agent Harper. That’s the last one...probably... 


[Brief Pause] 


| think | may be last one alive. The last one who remembers what we 
did, what we tried to do for the World. 


| don't think this will be kept safe for nearly long enough, but | might 
as well try. To anyone who finds this, know that | have done my 
duty. | have tried to make things right from here. | will return one day 
to make things right. | will return, with or without my colleagues. 


| have no illusions ahead of me. | will most likely die before | ever 
make it back, but at least I'll be with the people | worked with if | do. 
People who | know and feel safer with. 


So...this is it. 


This has been Dr. Jacob Kensington, Robotics Expert and Staff 
Researcher at Site 23, last known Foundation researcher still alive. 


Good bye. 
[[End Log]] 


Last Mission of Zeus-4 


Recovery Log Transcript 

Date: / / 

Recovery Team: Mobile Task Force Zeus-4 "Dire Thunder" 
Subject: Site-22 

Team Lead: Alpha 

Team Members: Omega, Gamma, Delta 

Abstract: After Site-22 suffered several containment breaches, MTF 
Zeus-4 were sent in to find and retrieve critical data and, if possible, 
extract any remaining personnel before the onsite nuke was 
detonated. However, the mission was a failure, and the team was 
prevented from even entering the site. Included below is their final 
transmission before disbanding. 


Deployment Manager aka SiteCommand: Members of 
MTF Zeus-4 check in. 


Alpha: Alpha checking in, over. 
Gamma: Gamma checking in, over. 


Omega: Gamma, please be advised that we should be 
doing this in numerical order, over. 


Gamma: Command, please advise Omega that it really 
doesn't matter in what order we check in, over. 


SiteCommand: Jeremy, it really doesn't matter what 
order you guys sound off in. 


Omega: Command, please advise as to the identity of 
this "Jeremy" individual. | am Agent- 


Omega can be heard mimicking the sound of static. 


Omega: -of MTF Zeus-4, decorated hero of- 


operate on machines as though they were composed of living flesh. 
Testing confirms that any medical supplies used by SCP-890 will 
have this effect. Subject appears to be capable of operating on any 
machine requiring some kind of energy to operate, whether powered 
by clockwork, steam, electricity, or [REDACTED]. 


During an operation, objects appear to be transmuted to living 
tissue, including skin, bone, musculature, and other organ systems, 
as well as blood and nervous tissue. Similarly, tissue may be 
removed and discarded, but will not revert to its original mechanical 
form. DNA testing on discarded tissue samples reveals [DATA 
EXPUNGED]. Tissue transmutation appears to be related to position 
within the object, such as the outermost material becoming like skin, 
regardless of the type of material. Observation by Foundation 
medical personnel indicates that the organs present in the object do 
not correspond to known organs in living animals. 


The results of SCP-890's surgeries seem to yield fairly mixed 
results. In approximately 20% of all cases the object may "die" on 
the table, rendering it inoperable. If such an outcome occurs, no 
amount of repairs, even by technicians specifically trained to 
maintain and repair the item, will ever return it to working condition; 
it can, however, be disassembled and used for parts. In some 
cases, complications may arise from an operation, causing either 
unexpected or undesirable operation in the object; these can usually 
be corrected by SCP-890 with one or more additional procedures. 


In all cases, objects must heal for a period of time before becoming 
fully operable again. How long this takes appears to be dependent 
on how many moving parts a device has, with solid state electronics 
recovering more quickly than complicated mechanical objects. 
Recovery time is significantly shorter than expected for similarly 
complex procedures performed on humans, typically taking only a 
few hours; however, more complicated devices may require a few 
days to fully recover. 


SCP-890 displays an unusual ability to locate objects which it claims 
are in need of its services. Before performing surgery, SCP-890 will 
interview the object. Video logs show a typical, although one-sided, 
surgery consult where SCP-890 asks the object several routine 
questions about the object's health and the nature of its problems. 


Alpha: Thank you, Omega, we can see that your comms 
are working. Team should continue to check in, over. 


Silence for five seconds. 
Command: Luke, this is you. 


Delta: Oh, okay! Sorry guys. My name is Luke, this is my 
first time at the table, and- 


Omega: Delta, please simply check your comm system 
and refrain from giving out classified information such as 
your name, over. 


Delta: What? 


Alpha: Just say you're checking in, and follow it with the 
word ‘over’ so we know we got the end of your 
transmission. 


Delta: This is Luke checking in. 
Another awkward pause. 
Alpha: Over. 

Delta: Right! Over. 


Alpha: Okay, let's get a move on. Permission to 
proceed, Command, over. 


Command: Permission granted, Alpha. Here's the 
situation: following numerous containment breaches from 
Euclid- and Keter-class SCPs, Site-22 has been 
compromised. The on-site nuke is set to go off in t-minus 
thirty minutes, vaporizing everything within a three 
kilometer radius. Before that happens, O5-7 has 
authorized one final mission to go inside to retrieve Dr. 
Redacted and escort her safely to- 


Omega: Please clarify, Command. I'm unfamiliar with 
any personnel at any site under the name 'Dr. Redacted’, 


over. 


Command: That's what it says in the file, Omega. I'm 
just reading you the briefing. 


Omega: I'm just not sure that's the doctor's actual name, 
Command. Over. 


Alpha: Objection noted, Omega. Please allow Command 
to continue the brief, over. 


Gamma: Afraid I'm gonna have to side with Omega on 
this one, Cap, dirty as it feels. Hearing someone referred 
to as 'Dr. Redacted’ just doesn't sound right. 


Delta: You forgot to say ‘over’, Clair. 
Sound of Gamma sighing heavily through her nose. 
Gamma: Over. 


Delta: Actually, now that | think of it, how are we 
supposed to recover this doctor if we're not allowed to 
know her name? Are we supposed to just grab the first 
living person we run into? Is she the only female doctor 
working at this site? 


Alpha: Newbie brings up a good point, Command. We'll 
need a way to identify the target if we stand any chance 
of a successful extraction. 


Command: Fine. Just let me find something you can 
work with and declassify it. 


Radio silence. Thirteen seconds later, the sound of 
rustling papers can be heard. Alpha clears his throat.