Serpent's Hand: JJ is a member and spends time at the 
Wanderer's Library. Esther knows of the group, and has 
possibly also visited the Library, as well as polaricecraps. 
Aside from this, the Serpent's Hand do not affiliate with nor 
wholly approve of any GAW actions. 


Unusual Incidents Unit: See UIU File: 2016-004. Unusual 
Incidents Unit reported to pursue Mr. Gaffias into 
SCP-3008. Hypothesized location of some GAW members 
overlap in areas nearby facilities. It is unknown if GAW is 
aware of the Unusual Incidents Unit. 


Last revision: 29 July 2017 


Footnotes 

1. Both given by the Serpent's Hand. 

2. As given by the Global Occult Coalition. 
3. Real name unknown. 

4. Full name unknown. 


Games Reality Benders Play 


The old man stands over her hospital bed, staring down at the girl. 
She is wired to all sorts of machines, beeping and booping, all of 
them designed to keep her alive. All of them unneeded. He leans 
over the bed, a pleasant smile on his face. "You can get up now." 


The girl scrunches her eyes tightly together, not looking at him. "Go 
‘way! 'M in a coma!" 


The older gentleman tsks at her words. "Now, you may have the 
mundane believing that, but you and | both know better. Come on, 
lazy bones, get up now!" 


The girl opens one eyelid halfway, peering at the man. He looks so 
pleasant and charming, like her grandfather! But there's something 
about him, something the... what did he call them, mundanes? 
wouldn't see. A veiled... hatred? "I'm not supposed to leave the bed. 
The Doctors will get angry." Again. 


"No worries, my dear. I'll see to it they never even notice you're 
gone." He gestures absently with a hand, and the girl feels a tingle 
in her skin. Sitting up, she notices that there is now another girl in 
her bed, to whom all the instruments are attached. She eagerly hops 
out of bed, clapping her hands. 


"Yey! Thank you, poppy." 


"Hmm, yes. Now, we can't have you going out and about in that 
dreadful hospital gown, can we?" He ponders for a moment, trying 
to decide what would be most appropriate, but even as he thinks, 
the little girl bobs her head, and is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. 
"Well. Someone has more control then we were given to think. Tell 
me." Offering her his hand. "Do you know what you are?" 


"The doctors keep calling me a, uhm, reality bender? It means, | can 
do anything, right?" She takes his hand warily. 


"Hmm, you have grown ready for this. Come, let me show you.” And 
the two of them vanish. 


They sit together on a bench, watching the world go by. Itis a 
horrible world, where mankind has been reduced to a more primal 
state. They hug the light, and fear the darkness, for terrible things 
exist in the darkness. Sitting on the park bench, the old man and the 
little girl watch as creatures of nightmare stalk the shadows, waiting 
to find a lone human, and take them. 


"Where are we?" She asks, innocently. She knows nothing here can 
hurt her, knows it in her heart, and so it must be true. 


"A future." He responds flippantly. 


"Don't you mean, the future?" She corrects him, in that know it all 
tone little children have. 


"No child, | mean a future. This is not necessarily the future that 
occurs, it is simply the one | choose to show you. It could just as 
easily be this one." And with a wave of his hands, they are sitting in 
a utopia, the sun shining, the people laughing and smiling, no sick or 
injured, everything... perfect. 


The girl studies the people, then looks up at the old man. "So, 
Reality Benders can travel to the future?" 


He winces, shaking his head a little sadly. "Please! We prefer the 
term Shapers.” 


"But aren't we Reality Benders?" 

He coughs into his hand. "Well, you see, it's like the difference 
between using the word African over the word Negro. While both are 
correct terminology, one is more polite, and one wasn't given to us 
by people who aren't us." 


She frowns in concentration, then nods slowly. "| think | get it. But, 
why Shapers?" 


He laughs. "Well, we have to call ourselves something, don't we? 


And we do Shape things to our whim." 
"But, the future?" 


"Like a dog with a bone, you. Very well then. No, we Shapers cannot 
travel in time, as such. We can view other times, and affect them, to 
some degree, but we are bound from actually traveling to them." He 
puffs lightly on his pipe as he speaks. 


"So, you mean, we can make things happen here, but not actually 
touch things?" It's hard to keep up sometimes, but then she just 
imagines herself getting it, and she does. 


"That's it exactly!" It would sound like praise, to any one else. But 
she hears the edge in it. 


"Why?" 


"Ah, to understand that, you must understand the Game. And to 
understand the Game, you must play it." The old man stands up, 
offering her his hand. 


"Come, walk with me to the Great Hall." 


The girl stands as well, but refuses his hand. The longer she is with 
this man, the less she trusts him. He's nice, pleasant, fatherly, 
always smiling... but there is something behind his eyes. Something 
darker that she can feel with her mind, if not her senses. 
Sometimes, when she isn't looking at him, it almost feels like he is 
licking his lips. "Show me the way." 


"It is rather a difficult path, but... if you insist." 


The path is a long one, and filled with many a twist and turn. The girl 
pauses at one turn, staring into the halls of another Foundation. The 
walls and people are fuzzy, as if poorly tuned in. She turns to the 
older man, frowning. "What's wrong with this one?" 


He laughs, a jovial sound. "Ah, this reality is more unlikely than 
most. See?" One of the doors blows open, a young boy and an old 
man with a beard, both holding wands and dressed in robes, 


strolling through, destroying Foundation agents with simple flicks of 
their wands. "This one is near impossible to actually happen, so it 
comes in rougher." 


He starts to walk, sedately, in some realities with a cane, in others 
with a limp, but in most with a sort of slow amble. It all depends on 
how you look at him, really. But however he actually walks, the end 
result is him leaving this plane of existence, and passing into 
another one. The girl takes one last, long lingering look at the fuzzy 
reality, as a girl who looks remarkably like her runs to the wand- 
wielding males, then turns to follow him. Around him, the sound of 
dice clattering, of cards slapping the table, and of figures being 
moved from one spot to the next is almost constant. The Great Hall 
is many things, but quiet, it is not. 


He takes a moment to look around at table after table of Shapers, all 
involved in their own little games. Here, the fate of worlds is decided, 
based on some of the smallest of things. On the outskirts, the low- 
level Shapers influence the fall of a leaf, the flow of water down a 
window pane. Moving inwards you find the more experienced 
Shapers, using regular humans like chess pieces, to further their 
own goals. The final ring contains those Shapers who duel with 
entire nations. Some of these appear almost frozen in time, as long- 
term strategies are waited upon. 


And in the middle is his table, alone at the moment. Here, he plays 
all the games, great and small, but with only one stake. But it’s still 
the most important game there is. 


He turns as the girl finds her way here, his face automatically 
cheerful and welcoming. She'll never see it coming, when it 
happens. She'll play him, oh yes, and never know, until he wins. And 
he will win. He has plenty of trophies to attest to that. 


The trophies line the ceiling of the great hall, humanoid statues, 
once powerful Shapers, now nothing more than remnants of ideas, 
bound in time, their powers lost to the old man, used to make him 
even more powerful. His eyes stop at an empty space, and he 
whistles a sharp note, narrowing his eyes. "He's out again, is he? 
Ah, well, | will have him back." 


April 


May 


June 


July 


Comedy 


Western 


Disaster 


Gangster 


Survivor did not 
respond to further 
inquiry regarding the 
nature of Said entities. 
Rate of research 
accidents surrounding 
SCP-855 increased by 
50%. Multiple 
personnel reported 
disembodied laughter. 
Increased aggression 
noted in personnel 
inside SCP-855. 
Multiple fights break 
out. After researchers 
were evacuated, the 
doors leading into 
SCP-855 opened 
independently, at 
which point a single 
tumbieweed emerged. 
All personnel 
evacuated from 
SCP-855. Analysis of 
SCP-855 via camera 
drone shows 
dangerously high 
levels of radiation. 
Large, ratlike creature 
detected by camera 
drone. 

Footage camera 
drone used to monitor 
SCP-855 showed a 
large city similar to 
1950's Chicago. Every 
individual on the street 
appeared to be 
dressed in the manner 
of a stereotypical 


The girl doesn't notice his words, too intent on studying the people 
they are passing. Two Asian boys are embroiled in a rather 
determined game of Go. As she watches, she can see how the 
pieces are more than just pieces, the natural forces, and people they 
represent. Something in her tells her how they move, how they fit. 
She shyly steps up to the boy on the left, and points to a spot on the 
board. "You should put a piece there." 


"There? But that wins me nothing," he protests. 


"Just trust me. One man, right there." She nods at him. He waffles 
over the choice, then nods and does so. In a normal game of Go, 
nothing would be won. But in this game, half of the board changes 
over to his side with that one piece. 


"Nicely played," the old man acknowledges. 


"It was just obvious." The two pass another table, where a red- 
haired man in Arabic dress sits next to a man who seems to be 
surrounded by a halo of flames. Their opponent is... well, it 
changes. One minute it is a horrible monster with the head of a pig, 
the next, it is an old man with a ruby where his heart should be. 
Their game is one she has never seen before, what appears to be 
some form of large structure, with each player taking turns moving 
the various rooms of the structure, and moving pieces inside of it as 
well. The old man snorts. 


"Tamlin is playing with himself again. Sad." He leads her onwards, 
to the center table, and gestures her towards the far seat. "Here is 
where you and | shall play." 


"| don't like chess," the girl protests, even as she finds herself sitting. 
He takes his place across from her, behind the white pieces. 


"Chess is merely a metaphor. | approve of the symbolism because it 
is agame for gentlemen, a game with quite a large degree of 
finesse. Of course, the goal we play towards is something fairly 
different... " He smiles over the board at her. "A simple bet." 


"| don't want to play." She tries to stand, but finds she cannot. The 
old man's smile widens. The other players in the room are pointedly 


not looking at her. 


"You don't have a choice, my dear. You came here with me, you 
play my game. If you had come here on your own, perhaps you 
might have had a chance, but as it stands — Well, a simple bet, as | 
said." He touches his king briefly. For a moment, the piece looks like 
three different men, three brothers. "Your goal is to give one of 
these men, a happy ending.” 


The girl stares at him, shocked. "You want me to give them a 
handjob?" 


He bursts out laughing, a loud, booming, joyous sound. "Oh, my 
dear, you have spent too much time around those despicable and 
mundane researchers. No my dear, | mean set things up so that 
their story ends happily. " He waves off her attempt to comment. 
"No, not for the rest of their lives, merely that this chapter of their 
existence gets a happy ending. You pick up on things quickly, I'm 
sure you'll figure it out." 


"| don't want to play chess." She's pouting now, arms crossed over 
her chest. 


"It doesn't matter. If you fail to play, | win, by default, and make their 
lives miserable." He moves his first pawn forward. On the board, it is 
merely a pawn. But, in the real world, agents of the Foundation are 
redirected, and a rather callous man is placed in charge of the 
containment of an SCP with the mind of a child. 


"| don't play chess!" She declares emphatically, glaring at the board. 
A slow smile creeps over her features. "But | do play Yu-Gi-Oh." She 
stares at the board intently, her face furrowed in concentration. A 
slow change occurs on her half of the board, until it resembles one 
half chess, one half children's card game. She looks up at him, from 
the cards in her hand, and smiles. Quickly, she places a card on the 
table, the image showing a sand dune. "I play the hungry sands, in 
defense mode! And then | cast a past immortality on it" She drops a 
card on top of the first one, this one displaying an amulet with a ruby 
stone in the middle. Sometime, many years ago, a researcher- 
turned-SCP gets lost in the desert. The SCP is recovered, but only 
after a month has passed, and his mind is imprinted on the hive 


mind living there. 


The old man stares at her, and, for once, an emotion other than 
joviality appears on his face. He is shocked. More than that, for the 
first time in a long time, he is surprised. The Great Hall has grown 
silent, every eye upon the game in the middle. "What are you 
looking at?" he asks them, without looking around. The sounds pick 
up again, as the other Shapers return to their games. 


343 leans forward, the smile once again rising to his face as he 
gazes at the transformed board. "| don't know how you did that. But 
that's what is going to make this interesting." 


239 can't help but smile back. "Game on." 


Next: Unfinished Business And yes, it does all fit together. 


Gary and Stu Do Something Gnarly 


"Nobody tells you how boring the apocalypse actually is." 


" " 


"| mean, okay, look. The beginning, the part with the invasion and 
the explosions and shit? It's fucking bonkers. But like, after? Boring 
as fuck, am | right?" 


"You're way too casual about all of this." 
"What? No! Dude, the world as we know it has ended, it's terrible!" 


"Then why does it sound like you're trying to pitch me something 
three weeks after my wife disappeared in front of my eyes?" 


"Wha— Hold on now, dude. I'm not pitching you shit, okay? I'm 
trying to help you out here." 


"Gary, I'm still fucking grieving." 
"And | can't help my friend?!" 


"_..It's 2 AM, Gary. Why are you here and what the fuck is that in 
your hands?" 


"I'm here bec—oh this is a piece of one of the Bugs." 
"What?" 


"Look, Stu, I'm here because the world ended, OUR worlds have 
ended. We are the only survivors of our dysfunctional makeshift 
family, but does that mean we have to fucking waste away? Do you 
think Casandra would really want that? We survived, Stu, but that's 
not enough, don't you wanna live?" 


"There were only two things | lived for in this world. You guys, and 


the waves. Casandra's gone and the other is a fucking wasteland." 
"| mean technically it's a 'Wastesea' bu-" 

"Gary!" 

"Sorry, sorry! Look, | know all that, Stu. That's what THIS is for." 


"How is a chunk of one of the things that almost wiped out humanity 
going to help me?" 


"That's what I'm trying to get to, dude! For fuck's sake will you just 
come with me? It's easier if | just show you." 


Two months ago, two realities began to converge. One was failing, intent on 
claiming the other. The other was our home. 


The Nexus was their point of entry. Entities swarmed us like locusts upon 
fields, stripping us of our existence so they could take our place. Spreading 
a plague, tainting resources, using weapons we did not understand to 
remove our claim on this world, this reality. 


We did not let them.