Rule 1: Everyone who is writing for Cavalcade is put into 
a rotation. After one person completes their tale, the next 
person is picked in order from this pool. For one week 
after being picked, that author has absolute control over 
the next tale in the Cavalcade. They can do whatever 
they want in their tale, provided it doesn't violate the 
other rules below. Ideally, at least one Cavalcade story 
will get written every week! 

Rule 2: Every tale must introduce at least one character 
who has not appeared in any previous tale in the 
Cavalcade. 

Rule 3: Every character in Cavalcade has to be named. 
Rule 4: No tale can include a character who has 
appeared in the previous two tales. 

Rule 5: Every tale must include at least one character 
who has been used before in Cavalcade. 

Rule 6: All stories must be at least 1000 words long. 
Rule 7: At least one out of every three consecutive tales 
must include or reference a non-Foundation Group Of 
Interest (GOI). 

Rule 8: At least one out of every three consecutive tales 
needs to include or reference an SCP. 

Rule 9: Every Cavalcade tale must link to the Cavalcade 
Hub, the previous tale written, and the next tale. 


That's it! Outside of these rules, anything goes. 


| Want To Join The 
Cavalcade! 


Great! Go read the longer version of the rules on our 
sandbox page, and follow the instructions there. 


certainly an odd one - not that we haven't seen our share 
of odd ones, ha ha. Personally, | think the containment 
procedures are a little lax... 


Researcher: Please try to focus on the exercise. Now, in 
the first picture... 


SCP-600: Do you think his ability is memetic? Wasn't Dr. 
's team looking into that? 


Researcher: If you are unable to focus on the matter at 
hand, | will be forced to discontinue this exercise. 


SCP-600: Oh, sorry. It's just such a fascinating case. Do 
you want to get a beer after work? | have some theories 
I'd like to bounce off of you. | have a suspicion that 
[REDACTED] is tied up in this somehow... 


Researcher: This exercise is over. 


« SCP-599 | SCP-600 | SCP-601 » 


Nucleation 


The pair conversed through the entire car ride, much to the chagrin 
of the man tied up in the back of the van. Not because he cared 
much one way or another about the topic of conversation, which was 
him, but because he had hoped to catch a nap while he was tied up. 
Had they been quiet, the rain would be fairly soothing. 


"He couldn't have figured out who we are on his own. Flanagan 
crunched the numbers. He should only be able to... understand 
groups at least six or seven times as big as us. Otherwise he would 
have seen us coming." The owner of the level voice, a heavily 
tattooed woman that looked to be in her mid-fifties, adjusted the 
rear-view mirror to better focus on Gabriel's face. "That, or he's 
completely incompetent." 


"And you're sure that this isn't part of some big plan of his?" A much 
younger, substantially louder voice emanated from the driver's seat. 
"To, to get caught by us, for whatever reason, and use us to do 
whatever it is he's up to?" Seemingly becoming aware of xyr own 
voice, the wide-eyed individual quieted down. "| mean, it's not like 
we'd really have a choice if that was his plan, it's just..." Xe 
coughed, with the sound of clanking metal and a brief puff of black 
smoke issuing from xyr throat. 


Gabriel's boredom was briefly tinged with amusement. 


"Then don't worry about it. You don't trust Flanagan's analysis? 
That's fine." The woman who called herself DeadeyeAlligator! 
withdrew a phone from her bag and began tapping. "I'll just let them 
know that you've spent twelve years studying economic and cultural 
trends and developed a coherent theory of meta-aware str-" 


Mind-Thriller2, as xe preferred to be addressed, interrupted. "Yes, 
yes, | get that they're some sort of ridiculous prodigy, we established 
that." Xyr voice began to rise again, less of its own accord and more 


to be heard over the sirens. "It's just that... | don't know. I'm iffy on 
this." 


"You signed on to be the getaway driver for a kidnapping without 

being sure about the mission?" DA was forced to brace herself as 
the van took a precisely timed turn down an alley at MT's behest. 

"Not that | can fault your work..." 


"Of course | did. If | didn't, you'd still do it, except you might get 
caught." 


Having given the assertion a thorough evaluation, Gabriel decided to 
weigh in with a statement he hoped was not overly controversial: 
"You're about to drive into a wall." This appeared to be true — in this 
weather, and at these speeds, hitting the brakes would be of little 
use. "Thought you should know." 


As this was stated, DA was already unrolling a sleeve, revealing a 
tattoo of a knotted snake on a starry background. "Don't worry.” With 
perhaps two seconds left before impact, DA placed a finger on the 
knot, and the van drove through the wall unimpeded into an inky 
black abyss. The only light came from DA's arm, which glowed a dull 
yellow. 


Gabriel looked out the window. "Oh." 


As their eyes adjusted to the sudden change in lighting, it became 
clear that the darkness was merely nighttime; a desert landscape 
was visible around them. MT glanced back and smiled after slowing 
the van to a stop. "Yeah. Magic. Cops don't really expect it. Uh, DA, 
mind getting us back to the hideout?" 


"Sure thing." Also addressing the prisoner, "It's a bit convoluted, but 
you'll get used to it." Placing a finger on a different tattoo (one of a 
turtle with too many legs), the surroundings changed to a dingy 
garage; or, rather, what could have been one, had it contained any 
opening large enough to move a van through. 


"Okay." Gabriel neither resisted nor complied as MT threw his light 
frame over xyr shoulder and headed through the room's singular 
door into a cellar furnished with comfortable-looking furniture, a tiny 


kitchen, and three gun safes. After being deposited on a couch with 
a denim cover, he made no effort to move or sit up. 


"Not feeling talkative?" DA and MT removed their coats, bulletproof 
vests, and shoes as DA re-tightened the cord tying Gabriel's hands 
behind his back. MT continued, "Or do you just not care?" 


"The latter. And | read faster than you talk, so just give me a copy of 
your manifesto before telling me to help you smash the system or 
whatever. And yes, | care enough about not being tortured or 
neglected to help you further your goals." Pause. "And I'm thirsty." 


"That's..." DA and MT shared a look as the former trailed off. 
"Alright. I'll go get you a copy." She headed into a different room as 
MT went to the sink and filled up a glass of water. After it was filled, 
MT sat down on the table across from Gabriel and extended the 
glass of water to his lips. "... should | even ask how you knew all 
that?" 


Gabriel calmly took several sips of water before pulling away from 
the glass's brim. "Having intimate knowledge of every significant 
formal and informal system and organization in the world makes 
people easy to predict. Even if they're working mostly outside of it. 
What should | call you two?" 


"We go by, er, the name of our blogs." MT cleared xyr throat, 
breaking eye contact briefly. "I'm Mind-Thriller, and she's 
DeadeyeAlligator. It's quicker to just say MT and DA." 


"And you know all about me, | assume." Gabriel nodded in 
understanding, then yawned. "You're ex-Serpent's Hand, right? 
That's probably important." 


Xe sighed. "DA is. She tried to get me into it, but it... wasn't for me." 
Xyr frown didn't lift as DA reentered the room with a tablet computer, 
which she placed on Gabriel's lap. "We're going to untie you now, 
and | assume you know better than to try anything." DA reached 
behind Gabriel's back and carried out this 


"You could snap me in half if you wanted." This was apparently 
intended as an answer, as he said nothing further while he read. He 


did pick up the glass of water and down it as he read. Several 
minutes passed in silence, Gabriel occasionally swiping to the left on 
the tablet's screen while DA sent some texts and MT kept xyr focus 
on Gabriel. After reaching the end, he spoke. "| can see why you're 
not affiliated with any larger group. There really aren't many that 
would be to your liking. And most of this would be flatly impossible 
without my assistance." 


"But it's possible with your assistance." DA sat up and turned her 
attention to Gabriel as she spoke. 


"Yes. I've already got most of the plan done. | need to talk to Graff 
first, though." He handed the tablet back to DA. "The mathematician 
going by ‘Flanagan’ that you mentioned earlier." 


"You figured out Flanagan's identity?" MT tilted xyr head at this. 
"How on earth..." 


Gabriel, in an unprecedented display of emotion, sighed a bit. "I 
cover my tracks well. To figure out that I'm anything but a reclusive 
self-made billionaire, you would need a genius with a supercomputer 
and an advanced understanding of memetics, economics, and 
sociology. The SCP Foundation is the only group that has geniuses, 
supercomputers, and an established study of memetics. The Chaos 
Insurgency does too, actually, but they would have caught a traitor 
much faster." 


"Oh." MT hmmed at this. "They didn't mention that." 


"The Foundation keeps very extensive records of their memeticists, 
so | know all of them. Only Dr. Vanessa Graff has the background 
and affiliations that would suggest any interest in this." Gabriel 
pointed at the tablet. "I need her here so | can get more information 
on your resources and talk specifics. You also need to meet her in 
person, if you haven't." 


"We'll..." DA trailed off, disconcerted. "We'll check with them on 
that." She pulled her phone back out and sent another text. 


"Okay." Gabriel stretched a bit, yawning again. "Where's the 
bathroom?" 


MT pointed at the door that DA entered through. "Down the hall, on 
the left. And you can sleep in the guest room across the hall." 


Gabriel nodded, then stood up and walked out of the room without a 
word. 


MT turned to DA. A bit too loudly, "So how much of that do you 
believe?" 


DA shrugged. "Well, judging by Flanagan's reaction, he at least ID'd 
them correctly." She showed her recently received texts to MT, a 
screen full of expletives and invective. "So | guess that much is true. 
It doesn't really matter what we believe about the rest. Personally? 
He's probably right about us needing him." 


"So..." MT sighed. "We're meeting Flanagan... er... Graff? In 
person?" 


"Yyyyup.” A buzzing indicated that DA had received another text, 
which she checked: "Oh. Restaurant in Seattle, in... an hour. Think 
you can handle that?" 


MT grinned, showing a mouth full of chrome teeth. "Shouldn't be too 
hard." The pair began preparing for their next excursion, grabbing 
their coats, vests, and firearms. "Have SearchNabokov? drop by to 
keep an eye on Gabriel. | don't want him unsupervised." 


"Got it." DA sent yet another text, then turned towards the bathroom 
to yell: "We're heading out to meet Graff! Someone is gonna drop by 
to keep an eye on you! Don't fuck anything up!" The pair exited to 
the garage. The sound of doors opening and closing were heard, 
followed by the starting of the van's engine, which abruptly cut off 
into silence. 


Shortly afterwards, the toilet was flushed. Gabriel walked over 
towards the guest bedroom, then lied down in its doorway and 
promptly fell asleep. It had been a long day, and it was finally quiet. 


« CAV-001 | CAVALCADE | CAV-003 » 


Footnotes 
1. "Scientifically proven cooler than you. Send me questions on 


math & philosophy. Not reptile ghost in acid box." 
2. "I'll take the revolution to another dimension. Pay close attention." 
3. "funny mems and corny joaks 24/7/420" 


An Inspection 


Arthur Rodrick gazed up at the massive building before him from 
underneath his umbrella. Giant glowing letters that read 
"Prometheus Labs, Inc." Arthur thought it a little odd to pick such an 
unprofessional font, but had to admit it fit the Greek styles present in 
the organization's name and their facilities' architecture. Once under 
the colonnade, Arthur collapsed his umbrella and pushed at the 
double doors. 


He couldn't quite put his finger on the reason, but something about 
the building put him off. He hadn't experienced the feeling until he 
had entered, but the moment he passed through the doorway he 
couldn't help but feel something was different, somehow. 


The rounded lobby led off into several different subsections of the 
facility, Keypads and card scanners the only acting guards. Sitting in 
the center of the room was a receptionist, nose deep in a book. A 
researcher sat on the edge of the receptionist's desk, a clipboard in 
one hand and a very bored look on her face. 


Arthur's footsteps echoed more times than he thought they really 
had any right to. The two women looked to him with bored 
indifference. "Hello. My name is Arthur Rodrick, I'm from the 
Occupational Safety and Health Administration." 


This was not entirely a lie. Arthur was legally employed by OSHA, 
though he arguably paid businesses less visits than most of his 
coworkers. This was due to the fact that Arthur paid visits to very 
specific types of organizations. Those designated as a possible 
cause for worry for the Foundation. The researcher was probably 
aware of all this, but for the sake of classification he kept to the 
OSHA name. 


"Oh, finally!" the researcher exclaimed. She launched herself off the 
desk and nearly jabbed Arthur in the chest when she offered her 
hand. "Alissa Grey. Welcome to our main facility. Come on, there's 


plenty to show you." 


She led him off through one of the various doors, sliding her ID card 
to open any doors along the way. Arthur half-listened to her prattle 
on amicably about their various destinations, his attention drawn to 
the ancient Greek artwork on the walls. The portraits watched him 
with equal interest. He experimented with a wave and a goddess 
gave him a short nod in return. 


The staff lounge was a small but cozy room, half of it devoted to 
armchairs and couches facing a large TV. Arthur gave the rooms a 
quick inspection and found everything satisfactory save for a large 
black object against one wall. It had hundreds of round buttons on it, 
small plaques next to each naming various junk foods. At the bottom 
was a small reservoir, as if to catch whatever the thing produced. 


"Can you... explain to me what I'm looking at?" 


Alissa looked up from her bag of chips. "Vending machine. Go 
ahead, it's free." 


Arthur hit the button for a package of cookies and waited. After a 
moment a soft thud signaled the machine had properly vended. He 
checked the expiration date. 


"This expired fifteen years ago." 


"Huh? Oh, right, right. This isn't a normal vending machine. You see, 
this machine does not contain time. We've removed all the time from 
it, via secret hush hush science. And so now the internal 
mechanisms basically operate outside of traditional spacetime." 


Ignoring the impossibility of it, Arthur tried focusing on a possible 
reason. "You've... removed time... from a vending machine." 


"Right! It has no internal concept of past or future, it only exists in 
the now. So by interacting with the outer interface we're able to 
access an infinite supply of foodstuffs that were loaded into the 
machine in our past or future. We actually use the same technology 
for our video surveillance system. It's very handy." 


Arthur ripped open the packaging and took a cautious nibble, then a