Two observers, Dr. __, and Dr. , have observed the same thing 
when viewing SCP-699 — they claim it is entirely empty. 
["It's obviously just a prank."— Dr. ] 


The contents of SCP-699 are capable of appearing in different forms 
simultaneously to multiple observers. Other than the form-masking 
telepathy, and the transmission of a desire to be released, SCP-699 
has not attempted to communicate with anyone. 


Addendum: SCP-699 was first discovered when it appeared in the 
third-floor break room of Site-83, at 3:14am on //20 . Due to its 
weight, it immediately crashed through several floors of the site, 
landing undamaged in the sub-basement. Unfortunately, it caused $ 
million in damage to the building, released SCP- ,andSCP- was 
crushed beneath it upon landing. SCP-699 is too heavy to move 
without causing major structural damage to Site-83, so containment 
was built around it. 


A partial report on SCP-699 was found attached to the artifact: 
[This report is for Level 4 and above eyes only. Unfortunately, most 
of the report was damaged when SCP-699 arrived, and is 
unreadable. ] 


Item: SCP-17591 

Object Class: Keter 

Date of Capture: 7/6/2455 
Researcher-in-Charge: Dr. B 


If you knew what you were doing, you could build things. 
You could build an entire organism. You could guide it to 
fall on the surface of a hard planet by a yellow sun ina 
spiral-shaped galaxy. 


He hasn't shared his suspicions with his colleagues, yet. 
He was as proud as the rest of them when they worked 
out what 682 had done. He was unfathomably grateful 
for the labors of the undying organism, that had chosen 
to fill its world with meaning. It seemed like an impossible 
task. 


Stefan isn't sure how they'd do it yet, if they need to. But 
he has access to raw information from the multiverse, 
and some very clever people in the outpost alongside 
him. Slowly, they'll put the pieces together, and do what 
needs to be done. 


He's a gardener. This is what he's good at. 


And he has plenty of time. 


The Beginning Of The End 


PLAY 


THE BEGINNING OF THE END 
OR 


READ 
THE PROLOGUE IN THE SECOND TAB 


The air around Site Director Zura became cold and clean in the halls 
of Site 19 as she prepared to clock out for the night. Outside it was 
past dusk, black silhouettes against a pale blue sky. Then a wash of 
warm sunlight hit her face. 


It was a portal, in the shape of two perpendicular ovals overlapping. 
On the other side, Dr. Zura saw a beach in winter: bare, empty, 
humid. A man in a red tunic stood on the shore, legs caked with 
sand. He advanced. 


Zura snapped her walkie-talkie from its holster. "Extranormal event 
in wing C, hall 4. Converge on my location. Possible extraspatial 
aperture, humanoid entity sighted." She watched the humanoid 
entity step through the hole in space, leaving the sand on his clothes 
behind him. 


The man in the red tunic looked like he wasn't properly occupying 
space. He looked like a bad photoshop in person. He raised one 
hand, palm-forward, and spoke: 


~FEAR 


Dr. Zura had replaced the walkie-talkie in its holster. She switched to 
the other holster: an emergency pistol. "Who are you and what do 
you want with me?" 


| :=~ (OF YOU, OF HERE) 
(I)(NEEDS, GOALS) :=~ (YOU)(NEEDS, GOALS) 
I(GOAL) := OFFER 


He gazed down at her from beneath an atavistic brow as his curled 
mouth formed memetic engrams which encoded ideas independent 
of learned symbolism. 


I:REWORK REALITY::YOU:WALK v RUN v DANCE 
(I)JREWORK REALITY ~LIMITLESS 


(I)NEED := (YOU)(TECHNOLOGY * 
INFRASTRUCTURE * RESOURCES) 


THESE := EXAMPLE 


He nodded to the security forces who had filed in to surround Dr. 
Zura, rifles aimed where his heart would be. 


"You're coming to take this facility for yourself." 
~P 
(INOFFER APPEND 
(IKOFFER := CHAMBER 
CHAMBER := (SPECIALIZED * UNIQUE) 


"If you're here to report an anomaly, please take the proper 
channels instead of breaching the facility and interrupting my work." 


~P 


(I)GOAL := (YOU)CONTAIN (I) 


The intruder turned toward a wall-mounted hazard warning sign, and 
glared. The paint began to rearrange itself, top to bottom, into a 
meticulously complex multicolored blueprint. 


(I)CONTAINED + (YOU)ACCEPT * COOPERATE 


Dr. Zura grimaced. She pushed her way past the security guards to 
examine the schematics that the intruder had commanded to 
appear. "And you expect us to build this for you?" 


(YOU)COOPERATE -— (I)DESIGN * CONSTRUCT 
"And what do you get out of this?" 
SCP := SECURE * CONTAIN * PROTECT 
aIFORCE 
FORCE © | 
TSUCCESSION 
(I)CONTAINED = (I)(SECURE * PROTECTED) 


Zura examined the schematics. She was a containment engineer 
before her promotion. Most of it made no sense to her, but she could 
discern how certain parts were expected to work, and how they fit 
together. But what if this part was tweaked, she thought to herself. 
Perhaps if this field was made a bit stronger... 


"We would conduct tests, you know." She turned to him. "You would 
be under constant observation, your every move would be analyzed, 
and we would submit interview questions repeatedly until you 
answer them. Mister Miller, dear, | think your men can relax." The 
guard in lead made a hand signal, and the rest of them stood down. 


— (I)ACCEPT 
TODAY > CONSTRUCTION 


"| never said 'yes'. Making a deal like this is above my pay grade. 
— YOU:SUPERIOR::MESSENGER:TARGET 


~P > LYOU::I:(UNITED NATIONS * FEDERAL 
GOVERNMENT * JERUSALEM) 


"Alright. You've proven you're worth locking up. I'll send my 
superiors the full audio of this conversation. Is that all?" 


The intruder smiled in three stages. 


((SUPERIOR)ACCEPT — (YOU)REMEMBER 
(I)PORTAL) — ()BEGIN 


He turned his back, and space unfolded to reveal the beach at dusk. 
As the man in the red tunic stepped through, Dr. Zura could taste 
the salt air of a distant shore. 


"We will not be used,” she said to herself. "We will win this." She 
retrieved her walkie talkie. "Calling a janitor to wing C, hall 4. There's 
sand all over it." 


As the air changed in Site 19, Doctor Zura was not the only one to 
feel it. Somewhere in the guts of the facility, a storyteller sensed it, 
and realized its days in the system were numbered. With gleeful 
determination, it began to pour thought into words. It began to build 
a ship. 


Vescatur Perago 


And so, at last, it had come to this. Years of poring over religious 
manuscripts and numerological heraldry. Countless sleepless nights 
dedicated to documenting the most complex and perverse rituals in 
the world - at least, the ones that worked. The Foundation's religious 
studies department was drastically underfunded, and so her peers 
were lazy and unambitious; thus, her rise to the head of department 
was made all the simpler. A quick and untraceable curse, strategic 
mental influences on others in power, and the position of O5-6 was 
hers. 


She now had everything in place. The right questions, the right 
transfers, the right items getting lost, and Six had acquired the exact 
and real-time geographical locations of every other O5 member. 
They blinked on the screen in front of her: twelve little red dots, 
overlaid on a simple black and white map of the world, with a little 
green one for her. An odd sort of distribution, with no groupings in 
any given area. If the world were cleft in twain at random, half of the 
organisational staff would likely still live. But she was not a sword, 
and her target not the world. Hers was a delicate, purposeful 
incision. 


Six tapped in the first set of coordinates to the flight computer and 
sat down in the leather lined seat. Smooth as silk and silent as the 
same, her craft lifted from the ground and started accelerating 
westward. She uncorked a bottle of wine, poured out a glass, swilled 
it around in her mouth, then gulped it down with a grin. It was 
important, before she started, that she clear her palate. She wanted 
to savour every mouthful. 


Twelve swift bites of flesh, and she would live forever. 


10 


"You and | are going to watch the sun go down." 


05-10 panted heavily, his hands awkwardly held above him, fixed to 
the wall with rusty nails. Six paced in front of him, a golden sunset 
behind her. The floor was slick and red from what had once been 
Ten's personal guard. Six errantly picked a scrap of flesh from her 
teeth, flicking it aimlessly onto the ground. Ten continued to stare 
into the sunset, burning his retinas a bit. Six grinned. 


"That's right. Stare out at that ball of flame. It isn't such a bad final 
sight." 


Six whistled a light-hearted tune. Blood dripped from the holes in 
Ten's hands, staining his otherwise flawlessly white business shirt. 
Ten was an odd place to start the process; in a more perfect world, 
she could have done it in numerical order, supplementing and 
reinforcing the symbolism of the act. Instead, she needed to move 
westwards around the world, chasing the night. She watched the 
sun pass below the horizon, then turned to the man she had nailed 
to the wall. Ten had remained as calm as could be said, and far 
more silent than she had expected. 


Six sliced out Ten's eyes and swallowed them. Ten screamed until 
Six cut his throat. 


The breve must eke an errant night, and strike the soul 
from twelve to one. 

The night of sorrows, stolen, screaming, hidden safe 
from burning sun. 


4 


"So. You were some kind of psychologist, right?" 


O5-4's response was muffled by the thick masking tape that sealed 
his mouth, and in turn, adhered his head to his table. Six opened up 
a file from the top of Four's desk, leafing through it ambivalently. 
Personnel reports, personality assessments; all of it organisational 
fluff to make sure nobody broke down at the wrong place or time. 
Four, unlike Ten, had no guard, instead simply hiding in a veil of 


obscurity. He seemed, by all accounts, a perfectly average middle- 
manager. 


"Got a file on everyone, | see." 


Four struggled, trying to free himself from his restraints. His 
forehead continued to swell from where he had been struck. Six 
leafed through one of the many cabinets in his room, finally coming 
to her name. She pulled it from the pile, amused at the prospect 
before her. She opened the file, skimming the key points. It was 
reasonably accurate; barring, of course, her complete and profound 
psychopathy. In that respect, it was simply a reasonably accurate 
assessment of her mask. She closed the report, placing it back 
where she found it and closing the cabinet drawer; then, she turned 
and grinned at Four, still helplessly bound to the table. 


Six took a hammer to Four's arms until flesh tore and bone snapped, 
whereupon she drank deeply of the marrow. Four ran out of blood 
slowly enough to feel himself die. 


The tokens twelve of masters five shall write a silent, 
subtle page. 

To break the bonds of life and death, lest life or death be 
such a cage. 


7 


"There we go. Strong paralytic. No anaesthetic for you, friend." 


O5-7 felt her heart slow. She sat, more motionless than she had 
ever been. Always, she had been wracked by shakes, her fingers 
never ceasing to tremble. Yet now, at the time of her imminent 
death, she was finally free of that wretched twitch. Seven would 
smile if she could, but she couldn't. She felt her eyes slowly dry, 
incapable of so much as blinking. Six sat on the chair opposite, 
wiping the bodyguards' viscera from her ritual knife. 


"I'm going to need you to stay as still as you can." 


Six stood from her seat, putting her hand on Seven's cheek. Six 


smiled, while Seven's visage stayed stuck in stasis. An ugly snarl. 
Six grabbed Seven's chin with one hand and her skull with the other, 
then pulled. She began to saw into the connective flesh with the 
serrated side of her knife. Blood flowed freely onto the table; yet 
could not be traced against its red velvet surface. Seven stayed 
silent. Her jaw hung limply, connected to her skull by only the 
slightest sections of sinew. 


Six sliced sharply, and Seven's lower jaw dropped into Six's 
outstretched arm. Seven's pupils contracted to pinpoints, and soon, 
all life left from them. 


The blood and tears of allied folk, with all those men who 
broke your bread. 

A path and trail of capsules drained, directions followed, 
new paths led. 


8 


"You actually cut me." 


05-8 had a guard far more competent than the others before. Six 
was not expecting to lose this much time just yet: she was now two 
hours behind schedule, though such was well within her planned 
error parameters. With Eight's protectors butchered, Six walked into 
the office, only to feel cold steel against her cheek. Six wiped the 
specks of blood from the wound, feeling it knit itself back together, 
all the while binding Eight to the chair in chains. 


"Not quite impressive, but decent enough." 


Eight felt the metal dig into her skin. Six grabbed Eight's head, 
breathing into her face; the stench of raw yet rotten meat made 
Eight cough and gag. Six grinned, watching the captive squirm, only 
serving to tighten the knots that held her in place. She knelt down 
and grabbed Eight's left hand, examining carefully the freckles and 
blemishes on the skin. Six touched the smallest finger, then the ring 
finger, then the middle. 


Six snapped off Eight's index finger, crunching it between her teeth; 


then moved on to the other digits, one by one. Eight sobbed until 
she stopped breathing. 


New stolen touch, remembered will, a crescent moon 
above the sea. 

Ascendant throne, descending sun, to walk on earth, 
forever be. 


13 


"It's warmer than | expected." 


O5-13 shivered in the freezing cold, completely naked; harsh, 
billowing snow coating him in glistening white. Six had waited weeks 
for tonight. Not because her plan remained unfinished, but a far 
more fundamental reason: to kill all twelve in a night, all twelve must 
live within that night at once. Thus, she had to wait until Thirteen's 
native Antarctica ceased its endless daylight. There were no 
sentries or protectors here, save for the unbearable cold. 


"Your skin's probably weathered enough, now. Turn around.” 


Thirteen's jaw chattered uncontrollably. He could no longer feel his 
fingers, wedged as they were beneath his underarms. Six towered 
above him; she grabbed his shoulders, and pushed him down to his 
knees. She took off her insulating gloves, then discarded them into 
the powder. She ran her hands across Thirteen's gut, moving 
upwards, feeling the bumps of each rib against her nails. 


Six drove her hand roughly into Thirteen's chest, breaking through 
flesh and bone. She massaged his heart in her icy hand until it 
stopped. 


The brilliant, piercing, striking sound, bereft of constant 
drumming tune. 
The pattern stops and starts again, cross watered flesh 
on sandy dune. 


Notes: 


7/6/2455 SCP-17591, who calls [report damaged] self [report 
damaged and unreadable] desires to impleme [report damaged] 


referred to as “Protocol Z” within this document. As this is obviously 
undesirable, and given subject’s ability to [report damaged] 


placed in a standard Keter-class containment vessel. 
[report damaged] 


Added [DATA EXPUNGED] to containment protocol to prevent 
[report damaged] after escape/recapture and extensive damage to 
Site- . Ability to influ[report damaged] Protocol Z at a distance of 5 
[report damaged] for concern. 


8/7/2455 Escape attempts continue. Subversion of Site- personnel 
required termination of Dr. and Researcher 


[report damaged] 


2/7/2466 Escape imminent. Experimental Containment Procedure 
“T” to be implemented immediately. We believe the inhabitants of 
the receiving timeline lack the [report damaged] and will for many 
years. 


[Note from the Records Clerk: | am not about to mess up our 
database and call this thing SCP-17591. It is SCP-699 until further 
notice. ]