It is, generally speaking, entirely safe to enter the containment area, 
and specimens of SCP-760 seem to either enjoy or be indifferent to 
the presence of people. They have shown behaviors towards 
humans that are almost child-like in nature, and almost always 
benevolent. Instances of SCP-760 appear to be particularly 
interested in sleeping humans. In experiments performed 
investigating this, it was discovered that specimens of SCP-760 feed 
on human secretions and dead matter. When presented with a 
sleeping human, SCP-760 will proceed to carefully position itself 
over the subject, on to their chest if the subject is sleeping on their 
back, and begin vocalizing at approximately 20dB for a period of to 

minutes. This vocalization appears to promote slow-wave sleep in 

% of subjects, greatly reducing the chance of the subject 
awakening. The exact mechanism responsible for this effect is 
unknown, but is thought to involve [DATA EXPUNGED]. In the 
remaining %, the subject is largely unaffected by the vocalization 
and may regain some level of consciousness. Several subjects who 
have reported this experience have likened it to sleep paralysis, 
stating that they awoke to find themselves aware of an “inhuman” 
presence in the room but unable to move. 


After this period, SCP-760 will use its tongue to consume any easily 
accessible secretions present on the subject including ocular 
discharge, hair oils, dead skin cells, pimples, and [REDACTED]. 
This process has been observed to be largely harmless to the 
subject. However, experimental observation indicates that if the 
subject shifts during sleep or some external event occurs SCP-760 
may become startled and exert additional force on the subject, in 
several cases causing sore areas and slight bruising. 


Addendum 760-01: Research into weaponising SCP-760's 


other universe. They weren't helping Nerippa at all, were they?" 
"It seems impossible, First," Antigonus replied. 


Milephanes thought of Anesidora, of the sabotage of the other world 
he had committed. Of the fate he had condemned them to. 


"That is...unfortunate," Milephanes replied. "| had already—" 


Milephanes heard gunfire off in the distance. Wait, not very distant. 
Within the building. The distinct sound of plasma carbines. 


"What is that sound?" he asked over the longwave transmitter. 


"Incursion within the building, First," a voice replied. "Loyalists. We 
believe Anaxagoras is leading them in person." 


"Call for reinforcements and bring backup into the counterform 
chamber!" he shouted. This was not an opportunity he was going to 
miss. 


"First, increased energy discharges from the reactor," Antigonus 
said. "I think a porthole is opening." 


"WHY HAVE WE STOPPED," the Minotaur asked, channeling the 
goddess it held in its hands. 


"This is the spot," Olympia replied. "This is where the wormhole will 
open. Organic tissue would be damaged by the radiation of this 
endeavor, but we should be fine." 


Thunder. No, not quite thunder. A booming sound from above, deep 
at first, then growing high-pitched. Not above. Around them, all at 
once. Olympia looked around; the world distorted itself, like looking 
through glass in a rainstorm. The distortions intensified around her, 
then the world grew brighter and brighter. White light, white noise, 
then— 


Act Il, Scene III: Denouement>> 


Return to Parable of the Wayward Prince hub 


Wills And Ways 


Marshall, Carter and Dark Hub » Wills And Ways 


Earn whatever you have taken 
Take whatever you have earned 
Still and softer, lightly shaken 
Golden brown or lightly burned 


Nothing new has been mistaken 
Nothing old is turned anew 
On the morning we awaken 

Salutations et adieux 


Vumber Crunchin 
High Society 
e Auctioneer 


Imited Liability 
Respect 


eaten 
Vested Interests 
The Booming 
Mechatronics 
ndusir 


Shitloads Of 
Money -A 


actical Guide TO 


Em ounding Fathers 
XK Way Ou 
(8 Termination of 
mpioymen 
4 under 
—__Specutation 
|The Party Line 


Back Of A Truc 
Burning Off The 


ingerprints 
Five Finger 


Principe 
Just Business 


Third Death 


The decrepit fleshsack housing the consciousness of Amos Marshall 
groaned. He was not particularly comfortable. This was nothing new. 
He had not been particularly comfortable at all over the last hundred 
years. The fresh, young body sitting across from Amos glanced at 
the old man with mild repulsion. Amos reciprocated in kind. The boy 
was a battery, and in a few moments, he was going to run it dry. 


The wooden door creaked open; Ruprecht Carter's latest body 
wheeled in the latest iteration of the soul-sucker. That wasn't its 
formal name, of course, but Amos couldn't help but to think of it in 
such terms. Memories and ‘life energy' were as close to the soul as 
Amos could bring himself to believe in. Carter unhooked the 
hypodermic syringes from the machine, then flicked a few switches, 
starting an electrical hum. The donor spoke to Carter: 


"Are you sure this is safe?" 
"Absolutely. We've done this many times before, uh..." 
"Michael." 


"Michael! Right, Michael, sorry. Anyway, don't worry about it. We are 
professionals here. Now, remind me how much you were intending 
to give today." 


"Well, | figure | can lose a few litres of blood without it being a 
problem." 


"You... do realise that there's only about five litres of blood in the 
human body, right?" 


"Oh. Well, uh, whatever the standard is, then." 


Amos Marshall chuckled as much as his emaciated ribcage would 
allow: to the rest of the room, it simply seemed as though he was 


weakly coughing. Michael looked with disdain, flinching slightly as 
Carter pushed the needle into his outstretched arm. Amos lifted his 
own shaking arm into the air; Carter carefully slid the needle 
beneath the paper-thin skin. 


Michael and Marshall watched Ruprecht Carter return to the bank of 
switches. The machine's hum had turned into a soft whirr, the 
mechanical components were starting to kick in. Carter flicked 
another switch; an electrical arc snapped briefly between two 
components before dissipating. Carter frowned, then flicked the 
switch down and up again. This time, the connection took hold: a 
constant, flickering glow of discharge joined the two exposed 
electrodes. Michael frowned. 


"That doesn't look safe." 
"It's fine, don't worry." 


Carter didn't know why there had to be an open electrical arc for the 
process to function. Most of the modifications were empirical 
experiments from Darke's original design; when connected by 
copper cabling, it just didn't work. Carter grabbed the large lever on 
the right hand side of the machine, smiling at Michael. 


"All ready?" 
"Sure." 


Carter's grin widened as he pulled downwards. Michael felt a 
strange tugging beneath his skin; simply the blood going out, he 
assumed. Michael hadn't given blood before, and he'd been so 
nervous about coming here. Mister Carter had been so nice and 
helpful; he explained the procedure involved, the hope that it would 
give to an old man. In fact, Mister Carter had said, they were going 
to move the blood straight from his body to the donor! No need to 
store it anywhere. It goes straight out of your veins and straight to 
where it's needed most. Michael, being a generous soul, had been 
glad to help. 


The machine got louder. Michael was beginning to feel a bit light 
headed. He looked down at his hands; his vision seemed to be 


blurring slightly. Well, that's just blood loss, right? That would 
explain why his hands were beginning to have wrinkles on them, 
too. It's like when they suck the juice out of a grape to make a raisin, 
with the juice sucking things. Michael was almost certain that was 
how raisins were made. Obviously, they were sucking out some of 
his blood, so his skin was going to get a little loose, right? No 
problem at all. 


Michael felt his throat go a little dry. He unsuccessfully tried to well 
up some spit in his mouth. His vision was getting blurrier still; he 
could hardly make out the machine, if it weren't for the fact that it 
was now faintly glowing green. Michael felt his skin get baggier and 
baggier; it became harder and harder to breathe; his toes and 
fingers felt cold and numb; he could feel his heart violently forcing 
itself to beat. As Michael's vision faded to black, he was starting to 
have suspicions that maybe this wasn't a blood transfusion machine. 


Maybe this wasn't a blood transfusion machine at all. 


Amos Marshall rubbed his arm, still slightly sore from the needle. He 
had reclaimed a few years, at least: enough to stand and walk of his 
own accord. Amos stretched, feeling his joints crack and pop. He 
walked over to the bar; Ruprecht was sitting behind the counter, 
sipping a glass of scotch whiskey. Ruprecht grinned. 


"Pick your poison, old man." 
"Port wine, | think, now that I've got a liver worth a damn." 


Carter reached to the top shelf, pulling down a thick glass bottle. He 
pulled a corkscrew from the counter, twisted it into the top of the 
bottle, then popped it open. He slowly poured half a glass, then 
offered it to Marshall. Amos picked up the glass, carefully pouring 
the liquid into his mouth. He swilled it around his palate, trying to 
stimulate his taste buds, to no avail. He gulped down his mouthful, 
placing the glass back on the counter. 


"No, it's doing nothing for me." 


"A pity. That stuff's almost as old as we are." 


STIPULATION 279.1 

In the event of the death (or death-approximate states as 
defined in Stipulation 3.7) of one of Messrs. Amos 
Marshall, Ruprecht Carter, and Percival Darke, the 
company of MARSHALL, CARTER, AND DARKE LTD. 
shall be transferred to the two living parties of Messrs. 
Marshall, Carter, and Darke. 


STIPULATION 279.2 

In the event of the death (or death-approximate states as 
defined in Stipulation 3.7) of two or more of Messrs. 
Amos Marshall, Ruprecht Carter, and Percival Darke, the 
company of MARSHALL, CARTER, AND DARKE LTD. 
shall be transferred to the direct descendants of each of 
Messrs. Marshall, Carter, and Darke according to the 
specifications in Stipulations 279.3, 279.4, and 279.5. 
Any remaining party, if still alive, shall lose their share of 
the company of MARSHALL, CARTER, AND DARKE 
LTD. and its holdings. 


Amos walked into the room, the next donor already sitting in wait. 
The donor smiled. 


"Mister Marshall, | presume?" 
"That would be me, yes. And you are?" 
"Raimund Eder, sir." 


Raimund offered a hand; Amos shook it brusquely before taking a 
seat opposite. Carter wheeled in the machine, turning it on with a 
gradual hum. Amos raised his arm, Carter carefully punctured the 
skin in the same place as before. Raimund gritted his teeth as 
Ruprecht inserted the needle into the offered arm. 


Amos started staring at the wall. Just a few more and they'd be 
done. For a while, at least. Even with rejuvenation, the cells in his 
body were still ancient, and they wrinkled and greyed as such. Amos 
aged the equivalent of a year over the course of a week. Every few 


months, donors were rounded up - naive people down on their luck, 
vagrants; people who would not be missed - and he could feel 
young again. 


Carter flicked some switches, and the machine slowly buzzed into 
life. The humming turned into a clicking, the clicking turned to 
whirring, and the whirring spun up into higher tones which don't 
quite register as sounds, and are written off by most as a ringing of 
the ears. Carter flicked another switch, and the open electrical arc 
closed the circuit. Carter grinned, staring at the doomed man sitting 
in his seat. 


"Everybody ready?" 
Carter flicked the switch, and the transfer began. 


The machine began to smell faintly of burning electronics, but 
nobody noticed. 


STIPULATION 279.3 

The shares of Amos Marshall in the company of 
MARSHALL, CARTER, AND DARKE LTD. shall be given 
to the oldest male with highest primogeniture right from 
Amos Marshall not exceeding the age of 25 years old. 


STIPULATION 279.4 

The shares of Ruprecht Carter in the company of 
MARSHALL, CARTER, AND DARKE LTD. shall be given 
to the oldest male with highest primogeniture right from 
Ruprecht Carter not exceeding the age of 25 years old. 


STIPULATION 279.5 

The shares of Percival Darke in the company of 
MARSHALL, CARTER, AND DARKE LTD. shall be given 
to his descendant, Iris Dark, who shall be born on the 
12th of December in the year 1993 AD at Singleton 
Hospital, Swansea, Wales. 


STIPULATION 279.6 
Until such time as the transfer of ownership has taken 


place, the company of MARSHALL, CARTER, AND 
DARKE LTD. shall be held by a neutral third party as 
explained in Stipulations 282.1 to 282.27. 


Ruprecht Carter woke up feeling like someone had shot him in the 
head. 


This was because someone had shot him in the head. 


Ruprecht groaned, rolling over onto his back. He wiped the blood 
and scraps of bone from his forehead, gingerly poking the open 
wound. No burns, so it wasn't point blank. His skull seemed 
structurally sound, though slightly shattered around the impact area. 
A reasonably clean shot; point of entry right in the middle, with no 
exit wound. The bullet, then, was still lodged in his brain. He 
groaned a bit more. 


"Not again." 


Admittedly, the wound wasn't fatal: Carter hadn't been using the 
brain of this body to begin with. The problem was that there was a 
hole in it, and he could hardly make use of a clearly broken husk. 
People would stare. He wiped his eyes, and opened them. 


Amos Marshall was dead. 


The corpse was wrinkled and withered, its hollow gaze unfeeling. Its 
hands laid limply by the sides of the chair. The chair across from the 
corpse was empty. The machine had been destroyed - likely, it 
seemed, beyond repair. It looked like someone had used it as a 
drum set, but with baseball bats as implements. Carter pushed 
himself from the ground, stretching and cracking his back. He leant 
down over the former body of his former friend, dripping blood onto it 
from his head wound, placing two fingers on the side of its neck in 
an unnecessary confirmation. 


"Damn this." 


Carter's memory, after turning on the machine, was blank. The other 
man, the man whose name Carter hadn't bothered remembering, 


must have done something. Next time, they'd need to be more strict 
about the background checks, have them searched more 
completely, scrounge through their... 


Carter realised there wasn't going to be a next time. 
"Damn this. DAMN this." 


Carter cupped his hand over his skull, trying to stifle the blood long 
enough for it to clot. Slightly dizzy, he moved to the door, hearing 
noise outside. Carter twisted the golden doorknob, pushing open the 
door. The room was filled with almost human figures: at a glance, 
they were close enough approximations. They each had pale, near- 
white skin, they each wore a dark black suit, they each held a large 
black briefcase, and each of them chittered to the others in hushed, 
incomprehensible whispers. Their skulls oriented towards the open 
door, though it would not be accurate to say they looked towards it: 
where their faces should have been, there was only skin and flesh. 
The chittering faded into silence. 


Carter remembered Stipulation 279.2. 


He let his hands drop, blood and cerebrospinal fluid pouring from his 
forehead. The creatures returned to their chittering, no longer 
interested in him. 


Ruprecht Carter was no longer a shareholder in Marshall, Carter, 
and Darke Lid. 


"Damn it all to hell." 


« Hub | Skitter Marshall » 


invisibility is pending approval.