We don't know how the device works, but we've figured out how to | 
terms, is "merge" two or more selected "dimensions" (or alternate ul 
space, with a preference shown based on the dimension the device 
from its front "spout" and begins tracing out a three-dimensional she 
space is then "merged" with the accompanying space from another 


It should go without saying that uses for this technology are potentic 
desert on an Earth that has been racked by natural calamity and rur 
certain events in the past hadn't happened, you'd be standing in a lt 
where that alternate universe is, mathematically. You could use the 
"merge" it with that grassland. It's like carefully cutting a square out 
equal-sized square from another piece of paper, then sealing it all b 
fertile grassland in the middle of a barren desert. 


Addendum 847-B: Shattering Event Log 


Notable shattering events are listed below. Due to the shattering and 
harvesting behaviors of SCP-847, it has significantly altered 
appearance since entering Foundation custody. See photos in log 
for different stages of completion. 


Date: 8/27/1983 

Description of event: SCP-847 shatters chest after researchers 
leave containment. 

Researcher's notes: Researcher was heard to verbally note 
"unrealistic proportions" in the containment chamber during initial 
placement. Researchers are advised to avoid any verbal 
commentary regarding SCP-847 while in the containment chamber. 
Replacement harvested 9/12/1983. 


Date: 5/14/1984 

Description of event: SCP-847 shatters nose after Experiment 
847-E with D-8334. 

Researcher's notes: As part of regular testing protocol, subjects 
are not informed of SCP-847's shattering behavior after the subject 
leaves the containment chamber. See partial debriefing interview 
below: 


Dr. :ls there anything about the appearance of 
SCP-847 that you particularly noticed? 


D-8334: You mean other than being a living, breathing 
mannequin? Well, uh, her nose looks funny. You know, 
how those nostrils just flare out like that? They're just 
pits, not covered nicely. 


Dr. : Did you say anything regarding SCP-847's nose 
to it? 


D-8334: Nothing. She's not someone you can talk to. 
Doesn't talk back, but doesn't listen, either. 


Replacement harvested 10/20/1984. At the conclusion of this 
harvest, female D-class testing with SCP-847 was prohibited on the 
order of the Ethics Committee. 


(Additionally, the device's settings can change selected time and pl 
empty space in your backyard 3 meters in the air and "merge" it witt 
from 3,000 years in the past, and have it drop harmlessly onto your 


Of course, that's an extreme example. Practically, merging grasslan 
with the different settings and the right supplementary resources (st 
CETres Donation), it could be a potentially world-changing device. 


Safety concerns would obviously be paramount, as we could certair 
microbe or foreign strain of virus or bacteria never experienced in o1 
personnel and cause a pandemic. Given the small amounts of spac 
this can be mitigated and overall prevented by careful quarantine pr 
dimensions being drawn from. Keep in mind Priscilla Locke herself « 
got a medical checkup and is perfectly healthy here in ours. 


There is the potential moral dilemma— after all, how would you feel 
snatching up water and resources from our dimension to help their ¢ 
out there with 'Anabasises' of their own, they're not willfully targetin¢ 
from them. As such, we will take care only to target universes which 
develop as fully as ours has, or where human life has gone extinct f 


Priscilla Locke has full working knowledge of how to best analyze th 
whose Earth has more than enough extra resources to spare and ni 
the proper example, even if we are the only ones who can. 


Let's use this to show the world (and show ourselves) that compass 
will always be people who care about you, and are capable of loving 
you are. No matter what you do or say, you are our family, and you 
with us. 


Rhiannon Locke is a thirty year old member of the Mission | 
Operations and the General Assets Administration of the M. 
she has belonged for six years. She graduated cum laude ii 
University of California (USA), thanks to a grant offered by « 
Programme for Excellent Alumni. 


Maintenance and Operation: ONGOING RESEARCH. The free 
Agent and Benefactor Priscilla Locke is currently the only person 

with an approximate understanding of the item's operation. Notes 
and reports will be taken, when available, and relayed regularly to 
Mission Branch for safekeeping. While no maintenance concerns 


have been noted, both the free Agent Locke and the Security 
Executive member Frank Westinghouse have been charged with 
test operations in controlled environments. 


Security Restrictions: NO PERSON OR GROUP ASIDE FROM 
THE EXECUTIVE MEMBERS CHARGED WITH ITS HANDLING 
CAN RECEIVE ANY INFORMATION ON THE FIRST LOCKE 
DONATION. 1987 GOC-MCF Regulations clearly establish that any 
trans-reality effects fall well beyond our allowed areas of operation; 
therefore, this item must remain a matter completely internal to 
those MCF members included in current Safety Concerns 
limitations. 


Safety Concerns: Restricted to previously selected members (at 
this time, Priscilla Locke — free Agent —, Rhiannon Locke — 
Mission Branch Committee for African Operations, Assets 
Administration —, Frank Westinghouse — ecSec). Document 
information restricted to Mission Branch, Cornucopia personnel. 


Assigned To: ONGOING RESEARCH. Programme-Anabasis on 
hold. Compound Programme Cornucopia may absorb Programme 
Anabasis. 


First Ones In 


The Eight Banner system of the Qing Empire's army had been 
maintained for hundreds of years, with each banner consisting of 
men of certain races — Manchu, Han Chinese, Mongol, and so on, 
until the modern era came and the blending of ethnicities made such 
a system imbalanced. Now the Banners were utterly 
indistinguishable, particularly after the Reynesian Reforms of 1890, 
which mandated that each banner was to be its own self-sustaining 
unit, with its own complement of artillery, cavalry, and infantry. Each 
Banner was not to roam further than a day's march from the other, 
so that if one came under attack, any number of others could rush to 
its aid against a larger foe. The idea had come from Napoleon, Cpl. 
Steve Chin had heard. An awful lot of westernization had occurred 
during the mid to late-1800s in China. He highly doubted China 
would have survived today if it hadn't. 


Today, the average Banner was a heavily armed legion of mobile 
artillery, tanks, and enough armored vehicles and helicopters to 
carry all a Banner's infantry at a moment's notice. Meant to swarm 
an enemy, with a mass of helicopters firing rockets and dropping 
hundreds of heavily armed men, while tanks blew past at 50 km an 
hour. Each Banner had been drilled extensively just on loading and 
unloading as quickly as possible, what was called the "Green Lotus", 
for the way in which the camouflaged military hardware unpacked 
from its transport, blossoming like a flower. It was designed based 
upon Sun Tzu's advice to attempt to break an enemy before firing a 
shot, by the mere sight of its discipline and élan alone. 


"Not Sun Tzu," Sgt. Sheng said beside him, packed tightly to see 
Chin scribbling in his diary, "Napoleon said it." 


"The fuck he did," Pvt. Qianlong called out from across the trench, 
"Respectfully, sir. It was Sun Tzu." 


"It was Napoleon," Sheng snarled, "Elan' is a French word." 


"Alan who?" 
“Elan'! It means... something." 


Chin grinned, "I'm pretty sure every great military mind has said 
something like it at one point or another." 


"Only one that matters is Sun Tzu," Qianlong insisted. 


"Because that's the only military guy you've ever heard of, bai chi" 
Sheng called out. 


"Ey, who you callin’ bai chi, bai chr?" Qianlong shouted. A faint 
popping sound was heard in the silence immediately after his words. 


Sheng peered up from his trench, "Aaaawww... so much for an 
ambush." 


Chin peered up from the trench, not able to see whatever Sheng 
was looking at, "We're spotted?" 


Sheng shrugged, "Wait for command to decide." 


A moment later, Sheng's radio came alive, a voice shouting too fast 
for him to pick up much beyond names, numbers, and coordinates. 
Sheng caught it all without fail. He grinned cheekily, the tips of his 
mustache pointing upward. 


"As one. Total silence. Fingers off the trigger." 


The infantry group rose from their trench. All along the line, other 
companies rose in similar motion, ready for the sort of steady 
advance they'd all been drilled in. They were expecting civilians, so 
firing at will was out of the question. 


"Hey Sheng," Another soldier, Liu Kim called out, "You know in 
America, a sergeant doesn't command a company? Man who 


commands a company is called a 'Captain’. 


Sheng snorted, "Captain? Captain is a naval rank. Why would a 
captain command land soldiers?" 


"It's —-. " 


"No no no no, don't interrupt me! You speak about the Americans 
and only further reinforce how backward and barbaric their military 
is. Are they so stupid as to have naval commanders in charge of 
their infantry? Are their academies so anemic?" 


"Sgt. Sheng use much pretty words,” Qianlong grunted out, 
prompting a laugh from the men around. 


"Because | am a Sergeant! We here in China prefer the more 
civilized type leading you pack of choub/ into combat. Hopefully we 
can make passable gentlemen out of you." 


Civilians started to appear through the foliage, rushing towards the 
company. Sheng lifted his rifle, prompting the other soldiers to raise 
them up high as well, so as not to scare the civilians off. Some 
started to scream, but pressed on regardless, moving through the 
company's ranks, shuffling and shoving, momentarily disrupting the 
line. 


"Hey," Sheng called out down his right, "Hey! Close the line! Set 
your blocks down and start pushing!" 


Once the civilians had brushed past, the company unslung their 
backpacks, and pulled out their 'blocks'. A solid gray cube, it was 
spongy to the touch, with layers of densely packed material 
underneath it. Freed from its packaging, it began to slowly rise, 
roughly to chest height, and as wide as a man. It was in effect a 
makeshift wall, able to be crushed into a portable size for transport. 
Although the bullets lodged in the layers had to be dug out before it 
could be re-fit into its packaging. 


Once they were on the ground and rising, the soldiers could start 
pushing it along with their knees as they lowered themselves to a 
crouch. It offered all the protection of proper cover, while allowing for 
a solid firing line reminiscent of old Napoleonic line infantry. That 
didn't mean the blocks weren't obstinate when packed onto the 
muddy ground. 


"This blows," Cpl. Chin grunted, having to reach around the block to 


keep it from falling over the more he pushed. He could hear other 
blocks falling over around him, plopping wetly or managing to hit 
mostly dry dirt and just thud heavily. 


The first shot to hit nearly took him in the hand, just as he let go of 
the block. More bullets started spraying wildly all along the front of 
the line. He could hear voices shouting, screaming in some 
language, probably Vietnamese, while soldiers in the company 
braced themselves against the blocks. Those who had pushed theirs 
over had to drop face-down in the mud for cover. 


"What's it sound like? AKs?" Sheng shouted to someone else. The 
reply was caught in the middle of a loud blast. Sheng nodded 
regardless, and started to nod slowly, in rhythm. 


"Now, return fire!" He called out calmly, and rose up onto his knees, 
taking careful aim and shooting in deliberate bursts. There was little 
to see through the foliage, but the line of infantry firing en masse 
would have devastating impact in a largely flat, unimpeded jungle 
environment. 


"Down, and keep pushing," Sheng dropped again, pushing his block 
forward quickly, too fast to allow it to keel over. Return fire came, 
less heavy than before, and focused more down along the left of the 
line. A solid white mist was falling up ahead, and as they pressed on 
into it, Chin could begin to see Dai Viet soldiers, riddled with bullets, 
staring intently at them as they came within view. 


"Stop!" Sheng called out. Most of the soldiers downed were still 
alive. That meant they were still dangerous. Possums, they would've 
been called in America. Sheng casually drew his sidearm, and 
peered up from his block, taking casual potshots at the prone figures 
to confirm them as dead. Others along the line did the same. After 
that, they dropped back into cover, waiting to see if a grenade or 
other explosive had been rigged to go off. 


"We got our first snag," Sheng called out. Cheers arose. A 'snag' 
meant some part of the line hadn't been as lucky as them, and was 
now stuck in a genuine firefight with experienced militants. It also 
meant the company could rest for an indeterminate period of time. 


Steve Chin pried open his diary, skimming through the entries he'd 
been putting over the past few weeks. The sluggish advance across 
wide swaths of land was pure 19th century-style warfare. The 
Emperor was impatient, and unwilling to commit to a systematic 
offensive that would see Qing Banners occupying thousands of 
towns and villages, and spending years more training locals to 
properly fight the Marxist insurgents. He wanted his army to sweep 
the ground once, claim victory in the name of Heaven, and set his 
name in the history books for centuries to come for his military 
genius in so quickly and thoroughly uprooting the Marxist 
insurgency. 


"Marxist" was what all of them were called — in reality, the 
insurgents who claimed to be Marxist were less than a third of all 
non-Qing fighting forces engaged in Dai Viet. The Emperor simply 
chose to drive his boot into a pile of shit surrounded by people who'd 
been fighting over that pile for the past three years. 


"Cpl. Steve," Liu Kim swatted at his helmet lightly, "We're moving 
again." 


School had resumed, and without any other plans, children were 
pouring back into the school that was known to Foundation 
personnel solely as Site-141. 


"What you think? Politics or laziness?" Sharpe asked as they 
pressed through the open doorway, both women well over the heads 
of the children crowding around them. 


"Can't it be both?" Priss suggested. There just wasn't enough money 
or manpower to handle shutting down a big public school right at the 
start of the school year. There was no space in neighboring schools, 
and most of the parents whose children didn't ride the bus couldn't 
afford to extend their commute by a half hour or more to reach the 
more distant schools. At some point, the pressures of maintaining 
every day life outweighed vague assertions and assurances from 
the Foundation, no matter how much money was offered. 


"| like kids," Sharpe reached out to pat one on the head. The boy 
whirled on her, shouting 'Fuckin' bitch, don't touch me!' and running. 


"| want the security footage of that," Priss joked. 
"That was really unfortunate wording, wasn't it? Fuck." 


At the very least, the school could afford to spare several 
classrooms and a conference room for Foundation personnel to 
continue operating. The tons of dirt were shipped to nearby 
Site-189. Everything worthwhile was happening down in the cellar. 


A guard was stationed outside the storage closet, with two orange- 
coated D-Class. Priss clenched her jaw firm, and saw the black one 
lower his head towards her, "Ma'am." 


"Boo, what..." 


"Ma'am, | was picked an' now I'm workin’ wit' you's," Boo squirmed 
uncomfortably, "Miss Marlowe, she ain't had no mo' use for me, so 
I'm doin’ this..."