... and somewhere, a man sitting before a computer screen 
depicting a black-and-white map of the world blinked, and a green 
icon marked "SCP-2000 Facility" appeared in Yellowstone National 
Park. And it had always been so. 


... and somewhere, a man watched as a flickering video feed 
recorded the panicked last words of a woman running screaming 
down a flight of infinite stairs. And it had always been so. 


... and somewhere, three men in orange jumpsuits carefully stepped 
out of a chamber that stank of blood and shit, eyes locked upon the 
thing that stood in the corner, not daring to blink until two men in 
white uniforms and body armor slammed the door shut. And it had 
always been so. 


... and somewhere, a new set of stone statues were carefully 
catalogued and put away in their safe by a blind man, working 
entirely by touch. And it had always been so. 


... and somewhere, a white-coated researcher watched 
dispassionately as an emaciated woman in orange wept bitter tears 
as hunger and exhaustion finally took her life, mourning the child 
she had not known. And it had always been so. 


... and somewhere, a plate with a perfectly cooked chateaubriand 
roast was placed into an MRI scanner, its internal structure carefully 
catalogued, along with the mumbling of the man whom it had been 
taken from. And it had always been so. 


... and somewhere, the torn-up body parts of an unfortunate 
Japanese woman were placed into the crematorium, as a Buddhist 
priest chanted solemnly before a small altar upon which her 
photograph and several offerings for her unfortunate soul were 
placed. And it had always been so. 


... and somewhere, a tired worker closed up the crate on a set of 
tactical equipment, including a UV light projector. Scanning the 
serial number, he entered it into the system as "Combat Gear, 
Surplus." And it had always been so. 


... and somewhere, a man sitting at a computer keyboard carefully 
studied the words on the screen. Deleted some. Typed in others. Hit 
the "Save" button once he was done. 


And it had always been so. 


For none existed in the world who remembered otherwise... 


... except one. 


O5-10 opened her eyes. She picked up the phone on her desk and 
pressed a single button. 


"We need to talk,” she said. 


One found Ten standing silently before the great, black cone, 
embedded point down into the magma chambers under Yellowstone 
National Park's famous geysers. As always, the Thorn was silent, 
inscrutable, black as the void, devouring all light that fell upon it. "Is 
there a reason you asked me to meet you here?" he asked. 


"Yes," Ten said. "I'm going to ask you a simple question, and | want 
a simple answer." She turned to face the other member of the 
Overseer Council. "How long ago did the Daeva Civilization fall?" 


One opened his mouth. Then frowned. He swallowed hard, brow 
furrowed, jaw working. 


"I'm going to ask another question," Ten said. "Is SCP-343 God or 
not?" 


"Well, of course..." One's voice trailed off again. A look of panicked 
realization. 


"Final Question," Ten whispered. "What is SCP-001?" 
One remained silent. 


Ten nodded. This was the moment she had been prepared for but 
had never expected to come. "TK-Class Scenario," she said. 
"Broken Timeline." 


The four members of the Overseer Council who met in Ten's office a 
month later were the only ones who knew about The Thorn... or 
what Ten insisted should be called "The Bloom." 


"According to my investigations, there is a 95% chance that the TK 
event took place here, when nearly half of the Omega-Seven 
operatives were killed," she said, pointing to a hashmark drawn on 
her timeline of events. "The official version of events recorded is that 


SCP-076-2 was responsible for their deaths, but the sequence of 
events as provided by the survivors have never lined up properly. 
Neither has SCP-076-2 ever given any explanation as to his actions. 


"In addition," Ten continued, "there is the issue of an agent listed in 
official records only as A.A., with all official records of his full name 
lost or otherwise corrupted. Despite being later responsible both for 
his death and the death of his former lover, the sequence of events 
that led to his... transformation... are hazy at best, with multiple 
conflicting accounts present. 


"All of this evidence leads to one conclusion: at some point in the 
recent past, a massive CK-Class restructuring took place that 
resulted in the breaking and repair of the timeline. But like a broken 
vase, the repaired timeline is... flawed. Look closely enough, and 
the cracks are evident. Events that don't line up. Things that 
happened without a cause. Mysteries left unsolved, not because the 
answer isn't known, but because we don't even know to ask the 
question." 


One nodded. "And you say that this was the result of... this thing 
that you call The Bloom... activating?" 


"No," Ten said. "The Bloom, as far as we know it, does not repair 
timelines. It resets them. To continue the broken vase analogy, 
activating The Bloom would be like throwing away the broken vase 
and making a new one: mosily identical, but with some subtle 
differences. This... this should be impossible." 


"By us, yes," Two said. "But what about Able?" 
"What does Able have to do with this?" Ten wondered. 


"Well... it was an observation that crossed my desk the other day. 
Ever since the death of Omega-Seven, SCP-076-2 has not 
manifested its blades since. Not once," Two explained. "And then 
there was the thought | had that it was an interesting coincidence 
that its blades were so similar to the substance that makes up The 
Thorn. My working hypothesis had been that Able's blades were 
somehow drawn from the same source as The Thorn, or maybe The 
Thorn itself. But if what you say is true, and this "Bloom" was 


somehow altered into the Thorn about the same time that most of 
Mobile Task Force Omega-7 was killed in an incident that took place 
nearby..." 


"You think that Able was responsible for transforming The Bloom 
into The Thorn?" Ten wondered. 


"Not just Able," Two pointed out. "SCP-073 was also found at the 
site of the Omega-Seven massacre. Which has always been 
inexplicable since he was last reported six hundred miles away, at 
Site-17." Two shrugged. "Maybe we should be asking them." 


One contemplated this in silence. "No," he said at last. 
"But..." 


One interrupted Ten's objection with a raised hand. "The middle of a 
high-wire act is the last time to begin juggling swords,” he said. 
"With SCP-2000 rolling out in the next month or so, and RAISA 
opening Series Four, the Foundation has enough to deal with trying 
to fix this universe, much less worrying about what might have 
happened in prior ones. We put our house in order first, before 


worrying about our neighbors’. 


Ten glanced around the room. Two was nodding his head in 
agreement. Thirteen... was being Thirteen. "If you say so," she said 
at last. 


"Not just me. I'm going to ask you to take a binding and compulsory 
oath on this," One said. "You will not now, nor ever, take any action 
to investigate the link between SCP-073, SCP-076, and the Thorn... 
or, as you call it, The Bloom. Agreed?" 


Ten nodded reluctantly. "Agreed." 


"In that case," One said, "this meeting is adjourned. All transcripts 
from today's meeting are to be considered cognitohazardous 
artifacts and subject to Special Containment Procedures, Class Sub- 
Rosa. You will submit all of your materials, including visual aids and 
notes, to RAISA for containment by the end of the day. This meeting 
is adjourned.” 


... and elsewhere, a man sat on a hilltop, looking out towards the 
sunset. He contemplated what had been. What had come before. 
What would be in the future. 


The road to this place and this time had been a long and winding 
one. Like many roads, there had been points where the path had 
been rough and difficult. And perhaps it was true that the destination 
was not nearly as pleasant as he had been led to believe. But the 
journey... that had been memorable. 


He supposed that made it worth it. 


He picked up his walking stick and took a drink of water from his 
canteen. It was a long walk back home, and he was looking forward 
to a hot shower and a good meal once he made it back. 


Incident Zero 
« Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 » 


Immediate Actions 


There were explosions on site. It wasn't entirely unheard-of, but 
these didn't seem controlled. Also not unheard of, but it still made 
Iris nervous. 


The door to her cell opened, and an agent stood there. He was 
younger, with Mexican features, and she didn't recognize him. 


"105. Get up. We need to move you." She could tell he was new. 
Most of the Site 17 personnel were used to calling her real name, 
outside of official documentation. The shrinks thought it would be 
helpful in keeping her emotionally stable. You had to laugh. 


"Should | take anything?" she asked as she got up from her seat. 


"No time. We'll send someone for it later." He motioned for her to 
hurry. 


She walked to the door. She was long past the time where she 
resisted or tried to escape. Where would she go? She'd probably 
just end up somewhere worse. 


He led her into the hallway and didn't bother to resecure the door. 
She realized then that things were extremely wrong, rather than the 
baseline of very wrong she'd grown accustomed to. 


He hesitated a moment, then said "This way." She almost offered to 
guide him, but he probably wasn't prepared for a "skip" to show that 
kind of initiative. 


There were gunshots nearby. "Stay behind me." The agent pulled 
out his sidearm. 


There were dead bodies in the next hallway. Two were site security. 
A third wore an unfamiliar black uniform. 


As the agent walked through the next door, there was a gunshot, 


and the back of his head blossomed outward. 


Iris crouched in the frame of another door, pressed as hard as she 
could into the shallow alcove. 


She listened as someone walked up to the door. She held her 
breath and waited to see if they'd walk in or lean in far enough to 
see her. After a moment, she heard them turn and walk away. 


She stood still a moment longer and then quietly reached down and 
picked up the dead agent's sidearm. This broke any number of 
rules, but rule one was to avoid dying in a senseless firefight, and 
you had to prioritize in these situations. 


She took a different hallway. Hopefully, she'd run into someone who 
could help her. Hopefully, they wouldn't shoot her. That would be 
nice. 


There were containment rooms, but she avoided those. You never 
knew what was in there, and anyway, that was probably what the 
guys in black suits were after. Unless they were really interested in 
Doctor Jones's paperclip collection. 


In the next hallway, the containment chamber had been opened, 
and the door torn off its hinges. There were several black-clad 
bodies on the floor. Standing above them, tearing the flesh off a 
humerus, was an ogre. Eight feet tall, with bulbous nose, pointed 
head, and sharpened teeth, he smiled wickedly from around his 
meal. "Ah, ma chére, you join the party?" 


She tightened her grip on the sidearm and forced herself to remain 
calm. "Fernand." 


"Will you take a quick pique-nique with me?" he asked. "| am having 
my morning exercise." 


"N-no thank you," she said. She began to walk past him. Not fast. 
Not running. Predators chase things that run. 


"As you like. Perhaps we meet again later, eh? A little rendezvous, 
tres romantique!" He chortled around his clenched teeth. Iris 
suppressed a small shudder. Still, bad as Fernand was, he couldn't 


with which he plans to kill Gonzalo. 


There is a comedic interlude between a Palace Guard and Cornari, 
a buffoonish priest. At the end of the scene, Lodovico enters and 
bids Cornari to follow him. The priest is not seen on stage again. 


ACT V: 

The guests arrive at Gonzalo’s banquet. Gonzalo once again offers 
a toast, this time to the ambassadors of the foreign nations who are 
present. The meal is served; however, before it can begin, Antonio 
enters, bearing a signed confession he obtained from Petruccio off- 
stage, which includes the details of Sforza’s murder and proof of 
Antonio’s lineage. Gonzalo is deposed by the outraged courtiers; 
rather than murder him, however, Antonio instead decides to spare 
the usurper and let him accept exile to a monastery. He then orders 
Francisco to start making plans for his marriage to Alinda. The play 
ends with a dance staged by the courtiers. 


SCP-701 EVENTS 

The produced form of the play that occurs during SCP-701 events 
contains several deviations from the text as published. For a typical 
example of these deviations, see Incident Report 
SCP-701-19 -1. 


hold a candle to him. 


As she entered the next doorway, she saw the shape of a cow, but 
completely, utterly black. The area around it appeared slightly 
distorted, as though it were doing something with the light. It started 
moving towards Iris, who immediately turned tail. She'd take her 
chances with the men in black. At least she knew what the bullets 
did. 


She heard it picking up speed, and she turned a corner, slipped 
through a door and closed it. As she leaned against the door and 
caught her breath, she heard the staccato call of gunfire. 


She dropped to the floor, counted to three, cursed the cow-thing 
silently and then looked up. 


There were five of the black-clad men firing down the hallway, 
perhaps ten feet away, using an overturned desk as makeshift 
cover. She couldn't tell what they were shooting at from her position, 
but the bullets flying overhead suggested Site security wasn't quite 
out of the fight yet. However, there wasn't too much gunfire coming 
from that direction, compared to the amount of lead the black-suits 
were throwing down the hall. It seemed like the Foundation was 
outnumbered, at least in this hallway. 


She considered her options. She could wait and hope the 
Foundation would send reinforcements. But that seemed chancy. 
Whoever this was, they were organized, and probably had a good 
evacuation strategy planned. Once they realized she was there... 
She could try playing dead, but even a dead skip could be a useful 
skip, and they'd figure out she was pretending pretty quickly. She 
considered it unlikely whoever it was would treat her as well as the 
Foundation. Only one option, then. 


She took a knee, carefully took aim, and shot the closest man in the 
back of the head. Then the next one. And the one after him. It was 
easy. That was what she hated about it. How easy it was. There was 
a click, and the gun refused to fire. 


Without even thinking, she went back to her immediate actions. She 
slammed the magazine with the heel of her left hand, then slid the 


rack back, and a jammed bullet flew out. The other two were starting 
to realize there was a problem, so she shot the fourth. The fifth 
almost had her, but then gunfire from further back took him down. It 
was only as he fell to the ground she started to feel again, and the 
gorge rose in her throat. 


"It's me," she called. "SCP-105. They're dead." She dropped the 
gun, kicked it forward, and then knelt down with her hands on the 
back of her head until the agents got her and took her to safety. 


"You need to see this, ma'am." The man was nervous, but he was 
always nervous. Like a small dog, really. 


"What is it?" she asked. She was still a bit tired. It had been a long 
night the night before. It usually was. But the last time he'd told her 
she needed to do something, there was an active attempt on her life. 
She was good at picking up things like that. 


"Footage from the latest containment breach. I, ah, think you should 
pay special attention here." He jumped to a point on the tapes to 
show a young woman.