“Haha. Ouch. What a burn, doctor Glass. | can see it steaming. Get 
out of here. I'll look at your personnel offer and send you a list of my 
recommendations.” 


‘Glass’ got up, stared at Bright savagely for several more moments, 
then took his folder off the table and headed towards the exit. 


‘Why do | hate myself so much,’ Bright thought bitterly. ‘Damn it, | 
shouldn't have sacrificed the shrink.’ 


It covered him as he was walking from the conference room to his 
office. He pressed his shoulder against the wall, trying to keep on 
his feet although his head was spinning and the surroundings 
blurred and coiled into a spiral. He was in many places at once, his 
skin was touching thousands of surfaces at the same time, it burnt, it 
froze, it pressed, it got wet. His vision was full of millions of various 
pictures: bright, dull, dark, colourful, green, grey, all colours of the 


rainbow, and his hearing was drowning in a cacophony of interlacing 
sounds. He was watching, running, thinking, recollecting, hitting a 
ball with a bat, crying, laughing, watching porn, reading reports, 
feeding fish, hurting, sleeping, playing the ukulele. Millions of 
contradicting feelings, memories, thoughts, and each of them was 
shouting ‘Me! Me! I’m the real one! | am you!’ And it was him. He 
was inside himself, alone with himself, running from himself to 
himself, locked inside his head, knowing nobody and nothing 
anymore, apart from himself. Creating and devouring himself every 
minute. Surrounded by ghosts, lonely and empty, lost in his own 
depths and forgetting himself. 


He slid down the wall, gripping his head with his hands. 


| Am the Very Model 


| am the very model of an explorer and gentleman 

I've hunted cryptids airborne, terrestrial, and aquarian 

| know the laws of science are quite rigid and inflexible 

Except, of course, for thaumaturgy, which makes me quite vexable 


I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters scientifical 
Of physics and of chemistry, both simple and atomical 
I've mastered all the studies of phlogiston and aetherius 
| claim this in no jest, for you will find | am quite serious 


I'm very good at rhetoric and disputations logical 

I'm learned in our politics and matters sociological 

In short, with cryptids airborne, terrestrial, and aquarian 
| am the very model of an explorer and gentleman 


| know of secret histories both eldritch and mythical 

I've trod the paths of ancient cities Martian and Atlantical 
I've faced the ghosts of fallen lords Arthurian and Indian 
And fallen off Mt. Everest to turn back and begin again 


| can tell authentic poltergeists from frauds and forgeries 

| know the differences between bewitchments and sorceries 

| hum while sleeping melodies and symphonies quite magical 
And dream of terrors bordering upon ecclesiastical 


| can write a peace treaty in lost tongues of an elder race 
And tell you every detail of the planets found in outer space 
In short, with cryptids airborne, terrestrial, and aquarian 

| am the very model of an explorer and gentleman 


| can tell at sight a wyvern from a wyrm or para-drake 

And discern thirty-six types of real vampires from spoofs and fakes 
I've studied bones and fossils angelic and dinosaurical 

And resurrected horrors divine, mundane, and demonical 


SCP-873 was purchased clandestinely from the archives 
of University in Volgograd in / /1992. Most 
paperwork in regards to the provenance of the object 
were lost in the transition between the USSR and the 
Russian Federation. The only documentation the 
Foundation has recovered to date is a three page 
typewritten letter from 194 from [REDACTED] to 
[REDACTED] detailing the post-war return of the object 
to the University. According to [REDACTED] was 
acquired by a 1927 expedition by the Soviet Academy Of 
Sciences from Evenk natives in Siberia. No details about 
the nature, purpose, or participants of the expedition 
were given. 


Addendum 2: 
+ Incident I-873-5 
Document# I-873-5 
Personnel involved: [REDACTED] 
Date: 09/12/20 
Location: SCP-873 observation room, Site 


Description: Since 6/27/19 SCP-873’ has 
been in a locked container producing no visual 
information. Beginning 13:15 on 09/12/19 the 
following imagery was recorded. 


13:15 - Light abruptly appears entering from 
the top of box SCP-873’ is inside as the lid is 
forcefully opened. 

13:16 - SCP-873? quickly rises into the hands 
of an unidentified man in dress appropriate to 
the early 19th Century Russian Empire. The 
man is apparently shouting something at 
SCP-873'’ as he places it on a desk in front of 
him. Visible on the desk is an open strongbox 
and, through an open door a female corpse 


I've learned of progress made mechanical and scientifically 
Although only up 'til the turn of the twentieth century 

But noone can deny the grace of our queen most Victorial 
Whose reign around the world is both glorious and eternial 


There's some who say my form has been reduced to that of 
sluggery 

(Were | not a Christian, I'd accuse them all of buggery) 

But still, with cryptids airborne, terrestrial, and aquarian 

| am the very model of an explorer and gentleman! 


Memo from Dr. Samesh: The above lyrics were found handwritten in 
a document filed among the personal effects of SCP-1867 in his 
country estate, dated 4/18/1880. The document was filed along with 
a letter to SCP-1867 signed by composer W.S. Gilbert, dated 
10/17/1882, thanking him for his "lyrical tribute" and inviting him to 
attend the upcoming premiere of the comic opera lolanthe. 


The text of the final verse, which appears to refer to SCP-1867's 
current physical status, has been written in different handwriting 
than the remainder of the text, in the margin at the bottom of the 
page, underneath a verse which has been scribbled over to the point 
of illegibility. Graphological analysis has confirmed that the 
handwriting of this later addition matches that of SCP-662-1 ("Mr. 
Deeds"). In Interview 662-207, Mr. Deeds refused to confirm or deny 
whether he had altered the original document, citing his previous 
employers’ privacy. 


| Don't Want To Bee Alone 


[Excerpts on life during the war from the view of a civilian] 
1/22/19 

It's already been a year since The Foundation was revealed to us. 
Times are tough, and the war has no signs of stopping. My cousin, 
Daryl, has been getting sicker by the day, and | have to devote all of 
my free time to taking care of him. And the President's televised 
reassurance isn't helping at all, hack. Going to try get more rations 
soon, but times are tough, and there aren't enough to go around. 


1/30/19 

There have been more people signing up for the military as of late, 
which means more food to go around. It's become easier to take 
care of Daryl, but his condition isn't really showing any improvement. 
| heard about 10 miles from here is a town with an old medical 
university. Maybe if i'm lucky, there could be some kind of medical 
professional there. Going with Daryl in about a week or two. 


2/6/19 

We arrived at the university town, and found a nice B&B to stay in 
temporarily. Also found someone who could help us. Robert, a junior 
at the university in town before the war started. He said he had a 
hard time diagnosing Daryl's condition, and might need another 
opinion on it. Hopefully we at least get Daryl's condition diagnosed 
soon. 


2/14/19 

Robert contacted his friend named Justine a week ago, but we 
never heard back. Daryl's condition is getting much worse, and I'm 
really worried about him. Rations are starting to become sparse, but 
we manage. The owners of the B&B are allowing us to still stay, 
despite me being low on cash. It's important to remember that not 
everyone's an asshole. 


2/16/19 
It's clear to us that Daryl is in alot of pain, and Robert suggests 


assisted suicide. He is leaving the decision up to me. | hoped that i'd 
never have to make a decision like this. 


2/17/19 
| decided to put him out of his misery. He was always like a brother 
to me. Fuck this stupid war, it's pointless. 


2/28/19 

| don't have much money, but we tried to give him a modest funeral. 
Robert apologized and gave his condolences. I'm not mad at him, 
he did his best, and right now, that's all he could do. I'll be heading 
home soon. 


3/21/19 

All we have left is water, stale bread, and shitty soup. We'll throw 
whatever we can find in a big pot and boil it in water. The President 
keeps assuring us that the war will be short, but it's obvious BS. | 
hope | at least get to see the war end before | die of old age. 


10/31/19 

It's already Halloween, time went by alot faster than | expected. 
Some more SCPs got leaked recently, and people wasted no time 
putting together costumes. Some of them are even pretty damn 
terrifying too. But since we don't have any treats, there's bound to be 
alot of tricks this year. Too bad cleaning supplies are a rarity, my 
house is going to look terrible. 


12/23/19 

This is my first second Christmas alone. It's cold as shit outside, and 
my heating's busted. At least | have a ton of bed sheets | can use as 
blankets. Even though this year has been horrible, there's still some 
of that Christmas magic. All | can do now is hope for the future. 


9/17/20 
No one is making progress in the war, it's just an elaborate draw. 


11/12/20 

Because of rations getting even lower, people are getting desperate. 
I've seen people pick up frogs, snakes, and even their own pets to 
throw in a stew. Their own fucking pets! At least send us some food 
for gods sake. 


12/3/20 

My neighbors went missing the other day, and nobody acted like it 
was strange. I'm worried about them, but | stopped asking questions 
about them, | don't want to go missing too. 


12/5/20 

| was asked to clean up the soup kitchen today. Found my 
neighbors bones in yesterday's stew pot. I'm getting the fuck out of 
here. 


12/9/20 

I've been locked in my own home. My keys are missing, and all the 
doors and windows are locked and boarded up. | think they know | 
know. I'm fucked. 


12/11/20 
There was a fight or something yesterday. Heard alot of yelling and 
a gunshot. This town has truly gone to shit. 


12/20/20 

Been here 10 11 days. Food is being put in my home when | sleep. 
They don't want me boney when i'm thrown in the pot. Hope help 
comes soon. 


1/1/21 
It's very quiet, too damn quiet. 


1/2/21 

Heard the boards being broken today. Thought | was done for. Then 
the weirdest thing happened. These, things, pulled me out of the 
house. They were tall, humanoid bees. | thought | was having a 
strange dream or hallucination, but it was real! Thank god i'm OK. 


1/5/21 

I've been feeling great lately, and | bet it's because of all the 
wonderful bees people that saved me. | live like a king compared to 
last year, It's amazing! 


1/8/21 
| felt kind of terrible yesterday, but still overall had a great day. They 
told me that | was fine, and | believe them. | mean, after them pulling 


me out of that shit hole, Why wouldn't I? 


[Unintelligible]/21 
| feel like fucking shit today 
(Unintelligible] 


10/12/21 

Found this old notebook from before my transfiguration. | didn't 
know it was so painful for him, but oh well. He was sacrificed for our 
noble cause. 


10/29/21 
There's been reports of unidentified armed soldiers in the area. | 
hope to god they're with us. 


[Addendum] 

Excerpt was found in a small town in [DATA EXPUNGED]. Town 
was subjected to assault, and arson. It is unknown at this time who 
perpetrated the attack. 


| Forget Myself in This Wondrous Night 


Mr. Smith, Smith, the last piece grounding himself to the world, 
trudged through the smoldering hallways. Smith had little idea of 
where he was going, only knowing that he had to find the door 
leading out. There were signs, though most were of little use, having 
turned to ash or been damaged to the point of uselessness. Broken 
lights had made navigating around obstacles difficult. The only 
reason Smith continued walking was for whatever door he could find 
leading out of the site. He would welcome it. 


"105 BPM. I'm doing well, Smith. Just keep walking forward, Smith. 

This was where | went towards one test. It was near some cafeteria. 
Cafeteria means close to the exit, Smith. Please, Smith. Whichever 
exit | find will work, Smith." 


Mr. Smith stepped over a body, muttering the directions Smith was 
taking into Smith's tape recorder. Anything to keep Smith aware. 


"Doors at the end of the hall. Left or right. Didn't hear any gunshots 
come from here, Smith. Right door seems less damaged... I'll take 
the right one, Smith..." 


Smith opened the door and continued, navigating blindly down more 
hallways. After a continuous fifty minutes of walking and talking to 
himself, repeating his name, Smith found a door at the end of a hall. 
The scent of food lingered. Smith had finally found the way out. 


As Smith approached the door, he took his pulse again. 120. Smith 
took a deep breath to relax a bit, and tried opening the door. It was 
locked. He continued to jiggle the doorknob. Nothing. 


"Hello? Is anyone there!? Please, my name is Smith, and | need to 
get out of here! Please, it's Smith!" Smith could hear someone's idle 
conversation beyond the doors, but nothing to indicate anything 
about him. "Please, | need help! My name is Smith, my pulse is 120, 
and | need help! I'm locked in here!" Smith banged his fist on the 


door, on the verge of tears. "Please, open the door for Smith!" He 
could hear the conversation stop as he heard footsteps 
approaching. Smith's heart raced, as he muttered a prayer to the 
recorder. 


The door opened as a lady! looked out into the hallway. Her 
confused look belied her serious posture, and glazed over him as 
she peered out into the hallway and back at Smith. 


"Are... are you okay? You don't look all that well, Mister... uh..." 
"Smith! It's Mr. Smith!" 


"Um..." The woman blinked. Confusion permeated her face, 
gradually shifting into half-emotions. The two looked at each other. 
Smith kept repeating his name, wanting to stay visible. After a 
minute, which turned into hours for Smith, terror swept over her 
face. Smith panicked. 


"Maggie, we have a big problem. Probably a Code La—" 


Smith charged past her, lightly brushing her aside as he bolted for 
the door across the cafe. No one followed Smith. The only sound 
being made were his footsteps. By the time he got to the door and 
swung it open, he took one last look back at the room. 


Everyone had gone back to talking with each other. 


The night sky was calm, with the lovely moon and shining stars 
guiding Smith's way down the desert stretch of road. Smith had no 
idea where he was going, or if it was the right direction. All he knew 
was that he had to go somewhere, anywhere. It meant progress, 
and it meant a silver lining. 


"It's alright, Smith. I'm gonna do just fine. Pulse dropped back down 
to 100, and | think I'm heading north. North is always good. | got it, 
Smith. I'll walk the whole road if | have to. It's... it's fine, Smith. 
Besides, | always loved watching the night sky, didn't |, Smith? 
Something to look up at during construction." 


As Smith walked down the road, a band of coyotes took notice and 


followed him. They had seemed curious, observing and staring 
intently at him. Smith continued talking to himself, afraid and 
nervous, but as long as he kept walking steadily, all the coyotes did 
was travel besides him and observe. 


"| don't know why they aren't attacking me. Shit, | didn't know 
animals could see me. Just get a hold of myself. Just keep walking, 
and I'll be out of here. It's okay, Smith. They'll help me find what | 
need." 


Smith and the band shared the rest of the tense walk into town.