"Yes, the mind... The mind is much more complicated then that. A 
simple syringe isn't the perfect solution. Okay, most of the amnestics 
in our possession can muddle the ability to form new memories and 
block out some of the more recent ones, true, so sometimes they're 
useful, but ninety percent of SCP-civilian contact is over a long-term 
time period. That's a fact. They don't just bump into them and then 
go about their merry way. We can deal with that type easily. But 
some objects become ingrained. Lives are changed by them, 
communities form around them, beliefs are created. How would a 
simple chemical choose which of these memories in a long chain of 
them to block? It's much too intricate and convoluted. So what we 
do is we sit down with them. Talk to them. And then we brainwash 
them... 


"Gulag style... Okay? We don't have the wonder drug. It's a myth to 
make scientists sleep better at night. So they can write it up in their 
reports, a shorthand term for a very long and arduous process. So 


they can order the torture and desecration of civilians without 
knowing that's exactly what they're doing. Just another part that's 
hidden, secret." 


"What exactly is a Class A Amnestic, then?" 


"Class B and C are good for recent memories. Some times it can go 
without a hassle. But Class A... Class A does absolutely nothing. It's 
a mild sedative, Muhammad. That's all. A mild sedative that the 
scientists give them, that calms the people down. Its looks like 
they're forgetting, or emptied out, but they're just stoned for a couple 
seconds. But it makes the scientists feel better and they think that 
the civilians will get to continue their normal everyday lives soon. 
That it's all over for them. So they send them to us, thinking its just 
the tying up of a few loose ends, some paperwork to get written 
down, some orders to be looked over, finalized, and approved, not 
the beginning of the real process. But that's what it is. The start. Not 
the end, because its not just a one day thing, in and out. Sometimes 
they stay with us for months, years... The researchers and level four 
personnel think they're sending them to the exit, to be checked over, 
but really, we take them somewhere else... for a very long time." 


Muhammad Qalet was very quiet for the rest of the way down the 
hallway. They stopped by a thick metal door. "Well here's my 
office... | have some business to do now." He cast his eyes down, 
and then looked up. "I hope | haven't unnerved you too much... But 
you wanted to know. And | think you need to understand... It's just, 
we don't have the technology yet. When you analyze the problem, 
everything is so primitive in reality. Nothing's as advanced as we 
think it is. Consider a rocket ship. Sounds so futuristic, doesn't it? 
But it's just a metal tube with a silly ancient explosion that's been 
around for hundreds of years coming out of the bottom. Nothing 
special. Just like our methods. Not impressive at all. Not some 
highly ingenious pill or liquid... just a well aimed strike with a 
hammer to the forehead. " 


With that he threw the hatch open and entered. His office was a 
small, dank, modern-day dungeon. An emaciated man was chained 
to the wall. "Well hello there, Mr. Kynosiky! Have you come to the 
conclusion | arrived at yesterday? That you're insane? And imagined 
the whole thing?" 


The starving bag of bones whispered, "It's all very fuzzy." 


"Well, that's a start! Come stand up. Get up, get up! We have some 
exercises to do." 


Doctor Qalet stared in horror and fought back the powerful urge to 
cry out in dismay. He fled the scene quickly, attempting to push it 
out of his consciousness. He succeeded, because sometimes you 
don't need strange scary men in black to wipe out memories with fire 
and heat and whips and mind games... Sometimes all that is 
necessary is a convenient lie or an overwhelming guilt complex that 
can't be solved. 


Sometimes forgetting is very easy. 


Doctor Glut produced a well-used handkerchief and wiped at her 
face. It was well-used, because frequently in his line of work he had 
to clean off spittle running down people's chins. A lot of his 
treatments tended to create drooling. 


He poked with the thin needle, which had a current of electricity 
running from the boxy machine down the wires attached. 


"Cindy, you moved into the city when you were 22 years old. When 
you arrived you found a job as a cashier at a small grocery store." 


The women mumbled her agreeance groggily. "That's right, isn't it. 
Now it says here you want to eventually make your way to 
California." He poked her again. She twitched slightly. "Well guess 
what, that's exactly what your goal is. You're saving up money to 
become an actress! You'll probably have enough soon too." He 
picked up another pin and poked two at once. There was a crackling 
sound and a little bit of blood exploded on his face. "Dammit, turn 
down the voltage, Jim." The man fiddled with a few dials and 
buttons, then picked up a large syringe with an extremely thick 
needle. "Inject her in the left cortex." Jim didn't have to pierce bone, 
skin, drill a tiny hole, or go through her nose or back of the neck into 
the spine, because the top of Cindy's head had been sawed off and 
removed. Doctor Glut lifted up the electric pin again and poked at 
her slightly burnt frontal lobe. 


"The only thing is... You can never visit your family again, Cindy. 
You got in a very big fight with them, okay?" 


Doctor Glut walked down the sidewalk, enjoying the fresh breeze, 
staring down at his boots and the cracks they moved over. He only 
barely noticed the bicyclist soeeding his way, and threw himself to 
the side. The bicyclist, apparently distracted by something, skidded, 
and tipped over, moving a couple knee scratching, skin grinding feet 
before coming to a stop. "Are you all right?" Doctor Glut asked, but 
the man avoided his extended hand, and got up slowly, not looking 
in Glut's eyes, like he was in a daze. He got on his bike silently and 
sped away. 


To Ryan Glut he looked strangely familiar. 


Doctor Glut entered the room to check up on Jason, to see how the 
process was working. The man's eyes spun madly in their sockets, 
he clawed at phantoms in the air, and screamed about incoherent 
colors. "Well then, the mixture of LSD and other hallucinogens seem 
to be working fabulously," said the brainwasher to his colleague. "It 
all fits together... Crazy guy living alone, believes in conspiracies, 
grows a little marijuana in his basement, wears tie die shirts... And 
then, one day, he overdoses on drugs and runs through town 
screaming about a gigantic plane covered with feathers in the sky. 
What else are people going to think?" 


"Can we purge his system then?" 


"No... other people may not believe him but that's not good enough. 
By the time we're done with him he wouldn't believe himself." 


"Sir?" 


"Because he can't, he wouldn't be able to. We'll have destroyed his 
mind. You know, when we're finished. When we're done, even 
without the acid in his system, he'll do nothing but gibble and garble. 
It's truly going to be one bad trip..." 


"Increase the dosage." 
"Are you sure?" 


"Yes... positive. Drop it in liquid form directly into his eyes. And for 
god sakes make sure the restraints are tight. Jessica still has claw 
marks on her cheeks. And when you're finished...." 


He peeked halfway out of the door. "Strip him down and put him in 
the woods near his hometown." 


"Would you like anything?" the girl at the register said as she 
scanned the last object, a carton of eggs, and began blowing a 
bright pink bubble of gum. "No, that will be all, thank you." He looked 
up from his wallet and handed her his card. The desert town was 
partially structured around the military base, so Foundation credit 
got him a discount here. "Wait... You remind me of someone. Have 
we met before?" he asked, smiling, casual. Her response was odd: 
she averted her gaze and looked away. "No," she said, almost 
whimpering. "Are you sure...? | mean I'm just struck by the most 
powerful sense of deja vu..." He trailed off. She still didn't change 
her odd behavior. "Okay," He picked up the two brown paper bags. 
"Well, | just thought... You know, maybe you have a sister or 
something?" he said awkwardly, and then left without waiting for her 
to answer the question. 


The rest of the day he was very troubled. 


"Why did this happen to me?" 


"| don't know. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. 
Sometime the world gets a little weird for no reason. People 
occasionally... just fall through the cracks of reality, of society, and 
strange things happen for no reason... It can't be helped." 


He allowed himself a moment of weakness and patted the man on 
the arm. "Can... you hold my hand..." the man said with tears in his 
eyes, "While you guys do whatever you're going to do. Or just talk to 
me. And have a conversation." 


Doctor Glut blinked. "I'm scared," the man said. 
"No... | can't... We can't talk." 
"Why?" 


"You'll bite your tongue off," he said and then leaned forward and 
put the block of wood between the man's teeth. 


All the faces were a blur, all causing the same sense of deja vu. 
They all danced with memories just behind his recollection. And he 
swore they all had the same shadow of recognition behind their 
vacant dead eyes. Speaking of which...when had people become so 
zombie-like lately? Had he missed something? Now it seemed 
everyone around him was staring off into space, walking and jerking 
like automatons, or speaking in emotionless monotones. Going 
about the motions. Not living life... Or was he just being critical? 
Was there something wrong with the economy, something that 
caused a lot of stress or worry or something? He worked in the 
government sector... So... He truly realized just how isolated he 
was from popular culture. There could be some phenomenon that 
just recently starting affecting these people, but he wouldn't know. It 
would never affect him. He looked around on the small downtown 
street and saw only blank expressionless masks. That still caused 
something to go off in his brain. 


A man walked in front of Ryan on accident. They struggled foolishly, 
he would go one way, and so would Glut. Back and forth, both trying 
to get by, Doctor Glut with a silly grin on his face. When they finally 
worked it out, (Glut had to lightly put his hands on the man's 
shoulders) Glut's smile at the absurdity of it faded... The man had 
almost been in tears. 


Regaski's teacher had called him in; the boy was misbehaving in 
class, acting up, getting in fights, and not doing his homework. The 
teacher, an intelligent, slim-looking black man, seemed 
disconnected through the whole interview, and finally ushered him 
out of his office without anything really being solved. 


the other, jabbing just inches from my face, wings 
beating wildly against the windows as the glass 
weakened and cracked. | nearly crashed into a dozen 
trees trying to find the path leading to the road, but | 
found it. To think | cleared that path because | was too 
lazy to walk to the road. It saved my life. At some point | 
heard a sickening noise and my stomach churned, but | 
managed to duck my head below the steering wheel. | 
was showered with glass and was stabbed a few times 
on my back and arms, by both shards and stingers, but | 
put the pedal to the floor and | managed to outpace the 
wasps. Bloody poetic. Now | can be a fiction writer 
instead of a God-damned world-renowned scientist [Text 
is scribbled manically; illegible.] 


Page 95 
20/ /19 


| don’t want to believe it, but | can’t sleep at night and | 
know why | feel this way. How could | not know? It 
should have been obvious earlier on, and | considered 
the possibility, but | didn’t want to write it down and admit 
it might be happening. If it truly is happening, and | go to 
hospital, | could die on the table, and someone else 
might take the credit for discovering them. | think it is 
happening, though, I’m taking loads of painkillers each 
day now and drinking myself silly. [Text scribbled and 
illegible.] It is happening, you dim-witted sod. Lord, the 
pain, the pain, remember me as a weeping child but 
know that humans are not meant to endure this pain. 


Page 97 
22/ /19 


| discovered them, they are MINE, | will DIE for science 
but not in OBSCURITY. Name them after ME, YOU did 
not bear them like children you pathetic, spineless 
[DATA EXPUNGED]. 


He noticed a lot of people made mistakes around him. Little slips in 
grammar or syntax... Almost as if they were nervous. Some even 
subconsciously slipped into old accents or languages. 


He was almost sure he had spent a lot of time with this one sexy 
looking number in a jogging suit, running down the trail. He stopped 
her and she looked ready to bolt, her entire body stiff and erect. He 
asked if they went to high school or grew up in the same town or 
maybe even if she was a maintenance worker at the base or 
something. She chatted pleasantly but in a detached and halting 
manner with him as long as he wanted... But he got nothing... And 
when she left he had noticed a few drops of blood on the ground. 
She had been clenching his hands together so tightly she had 
punctured the skin with her long painted nails. 


25 years earlier 


A much younger Doctor Glut, with longer pure black hair and a 
slightly oily face, with a splash of remaining acne held his hand 
gently to the pretty girl's chin, feeling her smooth pale skin and 
forcing her to look at him. She had green eyes and straight 
strawberry blond hair, and was like a skittish little animal. His eyes 
moved over her childish body somewhat lecherously. There was 
something horribly perverse about the scene. 


Her eyes were solemn. 


"Just repeat after me and everything will be fine." 


A contraption was drilled on his head, a miniature portable MRI, that 
swirled and beeped around his skull. Doctor Glut glanced at the 
screen showing the brain illuminated with different colors. 


"Now, Chris, pick up the phone.” Speaking through a microphone. 


Chris slowly picked up the phone and said in a drugged voice, 
"Hello?" 


An insanely happy tone came out of the other end and said, "Mr. 
Black, you've been hired. You'll need to pack up your bags and 
move immediately. We have a great future ahead of you." 


"Okay." 


A part of the brain turned bright red. Glut pushed the button, and the 
machine began to spin faster and then zapped it. 


Extract from the The Handbook of Black Ops Mental 
Conditioning 1992 Second Edition, Written in Part by Doctor 
Glut, Doctor Synclaire, and Doctor Smithchrist 


Much like in psychology, when a patient can develop strong 
displaced feeling for his counselor, a civilian can achieve a strong 
bond as well, in a much shorter time, due to the fact that we control 
their food, water, and interaction. As an infant is dependent on its 
mother, the patient is dependent on us. The shattering of the ego 
and the complete mastery over all their necessities sometimes 
means that the new personality can form around the brainwasher. 
Often in this view, the conditioned will hold the manager of the 
procedure in awe, and subconsciously elevate them to a godlike 
level. Now this can take the form of extreme sexual attraction, 
grudging respect that turns into worship, and even a puppy like 
cringing and urge to please, which is of course initially faked but 
becomes real over time. Of course, such sentiments can also go in 
the opposite direction.... 


"Thanks for the paper, Jase."