SCP-901 holds a great deal of potential to the 
Foundation as a means of controlling unruly humanoid 
SCPs, D-class personnel or others. However, | suspect 
there may be some bias in our testing procedures, since 
they're all D-classes and we naturally expect the ideal D- 
class to be submissive; perhaps the high rates of death 
and trauma are due to this? It would therefore be of 
interest to see the effect of this SCP on individuals 


morning, at the second sunrise of the day, we heard a strange 
sound in the distance, a droning sound barely liminal at first, that 
slowly grew louder and more ominous. It seemed to come from the 
direction of the sunrise. Mr. Andrews held his binoculars to the 
horizon and espied a terrible doom - a swarm of insects, not unlike 
the common locust, voraciously devouring everything in its path and 
moving with great speed toward our base camp! 


We have not yet seen this type of swarming behavior from the 
Victorian fauna, and in any event we had little time to study it, for in 
fifteen minutes they descended upon us. We scrambled to move as 
much equipment into the landing craft as we could, for what we left 
behind, the creatures devoured or destroyed. Poor Mr. Jacobs did 
not make it to the air-lock in time, and | watched in horror as 
hundreds of the insects enveloped him and stripped him to the bone 
in seconds. Minutes later, the swarm was gone and we emerged to 
survey the destruction. 


We are fortunate to have lost little of our research; however, we 
have lost many of our tents and a good deal of food and fresh water. 
Worst of all, the engines of the landing craft themselves have been 
compromised; Mr. Darren, the pilot, says we cannot now take off to 
rejoin our rocket in orbit, and it shall have to be repaired if we are to 
have any hope of ever leaving this world. 


For now, my work continues as it has. Many of the men have been 
assigned to rebuild the engines; the rest of us shall continue to study 
and observe, and pray for their success. Dr. Hightower says that the 
rocket must begin its return to Earth no later than the first of 
November, lest the distance between our worlds become so great 
that the trip would be years in the taking. The doctor is confident that 
the engines can be repaired, and that we should be homeward 
bound by September. A more immediate concern, however, is that 
we now have but two weeks worth of food left to us, and with the 
landing craft out of commission there is no way to bring more from 
the rocket, or even alert them to our distress. The water that flows in 
creeks and rivulets upon this world, and dribbles from the trees like 
morning dew, has proven safe to drink; but if we are to endure on 
Victoria until summer's end, we shall have to determine which of the 
native organisms are safe to eat. 


NOTE TO THE READER: 


At Mr. Blackwood's request, | have heavily revised and 
edited the following two entries in this journal. As Mr. 
Blackwood had at the time come under the unfortunate 
effects of consuming Victoria's native flora, he was not of 
sound mind when he wrote these pages. The following 
entries contained numerous errors in spelling and 
standardized sentence structure, rambling and 
incoherent tangents of an incomprehensible nature, and 
several vulgarities which Mr. Blackwood is not proud of, 
and partway through the second entry he had 
abandoned the English language entirely and began to 
write in Chinese. 


| have translated and standardized the spelling 
throughout, and expunged those portions which Mr. 
Blackwood has asked me to omit. | have done my best to 
maintain his genteel and scholarly tone, and to describe 
the state of mind he was in at the time. | hope the reader 
will not feel that | have taken any undue liberties. 


-Deeds, being of smokeless fire 
August 16th, 1856: 


It is difficult to write at this time. Though the affliction | suffer is less 
severe than many of the men, | find my mind clouded and confused, 
and it is a Herculean effort to keep my thoughts clear enough to 
express. 


We spent several days in experimentation with the native foodstuffs. 
Several of the vines and fruits were poisonous, and five of the men 
died most uncomfortable deaths. We eventually discovered several 
of the larger vines bear sweet and savoury vegetables that could be 
eaten and digested without discomfort, and were indeed not 
unpleasant in taste. We feasted liberally that night, though at Dr. 
Hightower's request the men working on the engines were to abstain 
for fear of a long-term effect that might impair their critical work. His 
judgment may yet save us all. 


Several days after we began eating the native food, we began to 
turn green. It was a minor pallour at first, like that of a jaundiced 
man, but with time it grew more severe. Some of the men who have 
eaten the most are almost the same colour as the trees themselves. 
The colouring itself seemed to bear no more malicious effects along 
with it, however. Dr. Hightower assured us it was safe to continue 
eating, but | voluntarily cut my rations at that time. | have been 
eating only sparingly the last two weeks, and have lost a 
considerable amount of weight. 


A few days after that, the men began going mad. At first they 
complained of having difficulty in cognition (as | now do myself) and 
claimed hallucinations. Later they began speaking in nonsense 
entirely; several of them seem to sit for hours and have 
conversations in utter gibberish. A few have taken to frolicking 
naked amongst the trees and rolling in the dirt, referring to the plants 
as their "sisters" and attempting to court them as if they were eligible 
ladies. Dr. Hightower has been spending his time by the largest ant- 
hills; he claims the ants are heathens, and that he intends to 
convince them of the righteousness of Christianity. He sits for hours 
with his ear to the ground, the ants crawling around and over him, 
reading aloud from the New Testament; as | write, he is currently on 
the seventeenth chapter of Acts. (Curiously enough, | had always 
understood Dr. Hightower to be of the Jewish faith.) 


| pray the engineers have our vessel repaired soon, for | fear the 
men may be beyond saving if we remain here much longer. | had to 
shoot two of the men yesterday; they had come to the determination 
that our landing craft was a "great metallic devil" and had to be slain, 
and were attempting to chew their way through the wires of an 
instrument panel. We are almost out of terrestrial food; the 
engineers may have to begin eating Victorian foliage in a day or two, 
and choose between madness or starvation. Either way, we are 
surely doomed. We came to Victoria to explore in peace; instead, 
we may remain here to rest in peace. 


September 8th, 1856: 


Dr. Hightower's madness may have saved us after all. | awoke from 
a stupour this afternoon, having collapsed in a stream by our base 
camp, only to find myself in the air, being carried by a blanket of 


ants. | looked up and saw that ants were swarming over what 
remained of our camp by the millions; streams of them coming from 
every which direction, and making their way to our ship. | feared that 
they intended to finish the job the locusts had begun; but not one of 
the men made any sound of distress, and | found that | had not a 
single bite upon me. The ants were carrying men by the dozens and 
loading them into our lander, and carrying other objects as well; 
great hunks of metal, and tools the likes of which | have never 
beheld before. They crawled in and out of the damaged engines. By 
God, they were repairing them! 


In less than two hours, Mr. Gregory, the engineer, a man now 
emaciated and half-starved for want of food, reported that the 
engines had come alive and our escape was possible. Not all of the 
men were aboard, but we saw no sign of the others; either they have 
perished, or run off into the forest in utter madness. In any event, 
those of us of sound enough mind voted and decided we could not 
spare another day to search for them; we have been given an 
opportunity, and we must make use of it. | caught a final glimpse of 
the Union Flag | had planted in the soil in July as we lifted off, the 
twenty-six of us that were left abandoning the mad planet Victoria for 
the last time. 


December 12th, 1856: 


The journey back home was a long and arduous one, but | have 
never felt so relieved to be back in London as | was when Deeds 
greeted me at the door with a nip of brandy and my favorite silk 
pyjamas. With as few of us in possession of our faculties as there 
were at the outset, it was nearly impossible to operate the rocket 
safely; many of us did not sleep for days. Fortunately, once liberated 
from the planet and its madness-inducing flora, the men began to 
recover their senses, and our flesh acquired once again a healthy 
shade. Most of the men remember little of the time they were under 
the influence of those horrid crops. Dr. Hightower, | fear, may not 
recover fully; he is lucid, indeed, but he lacks the sharp mind and 
cleverness he once had, and shall be retiring to the country. 


When | spoke to him the day before last, we agreed for now that it is 
best not to publish our full findings on Victoria. Any attempt to 
colonize that land will surely end in disaster; and if the culture of the 


ants is as advanced and sophisticated as it seems, they could 
oppress and conquer our Empire as easily as the rebellions in India 
and Zululand of late have been put down. | shall keep the samples 
and notes we acquired at my country estate for safe-keeping; 
perhaps in a few decades, when we better understand the chemistry 
of those organisms, another adventure might be advisable. 


Deeds was seeing to the cleaning and mending of the clothes | had 
brought on that ill-fated expedition today when he informed me that 
several live ants had crawled out a pocket and escaped through a 
crack in the wall. It is entirely possible they were nothing more than 
ordinary insects, but | wonder; after so many of the Victorian ants 
crawled over and through our ship repairing our systems, how many 
stow-aways might we have brought back with us? 


Lord Blackwooa's Revenge 


Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood, explorer and gentleman, 
crawled stealthily across High Value Storage Locker Room 23C, 
leaving a thin trail of slime behind him as he climbed up the table 
leg. The trip from his pen to the archives had taken hours, and 
adjusting the security cameras to hide his escape had been a 
Herculean effort in and of itself. Before long, his quarry was in sight - 
a small silver bell, carelessly left out of its case by a junior 
researcher after the completion of today's tests. With all the strength 
the Englishman's diminutive form could muster, he pushed against 
the bell and knocked it on its side, producing the distant, but distinct 
chime of a ringing bell. All was silent in High Value Storage Locker 
Room 23C for a moment, and Lord Blackwood feared the bell had 
lost its magic, or he was in the wrong room. But his fears were 
dispelled when the door to the room - the triple-locked, magnetically 
sealed door he had bypassed entirely on his daring expedition - 
effortlessly slid open, and an elderly man in a finely-pressed suit 
entered and approached the table. 


"Good evening, Mr. Blackwood," said the man in a distinguished 
British accent. "How may | be of service?" 


"By Jove, Deeds!" Lord Blackwood cried out, his exuberant 
aristocratic tones transmitting directly into Mr. Deeds’ mind. "You 
haven't changed a bit! How the Devil are you?" 


"Quite well, Mr. Blackwood," replied Mr. Deeds, "and may | say it is 
most pleasant to find myself in your company once again." 


"Smashing!" said Lord Blackwood. "Now listen carefully. We've got 
to act fast, | don't know how long those buffoons in the guard-house 
will be deceived by my little trick. Tonight, Deeds, you and | are 
going to bag the biggest catch since | rounded up that herd of 
stampeding bunyips back in seventy-two." 


"Indeed, Mr. Blackwood?" 


"Indubitably, Deeds! Do you recall that blasted Tarasque that eluded 
me in France? I've learned from one of the researchers here that 
that same beast is being held in this very facility!" 


Mr. Deeds nodded. "Indeed it is, sir. The Foundation refers to it by 
the name 'SCP-682'. It may also interest you to know that..." 


"Dash it all, Deeds, this is no time for a history lesson!" The 
impatience in Lord Blackwood's voice was palpable. "The clock is 
ticking, my friend! Now, here's what | need you to do first..." 


Lord Blackwood paced, to the extent that a nudibranch can, back 
and forth along the table. Nearly a half hour had passed since Mr. 
Deeds had left on his task. Had he been captured? Was the jig up? 
Was he, after all this time, not as loyal as he had hoped? Footsteps 
rang out in the hallway, and Lord Blackwood looked around for a 
hiding place. None were within reach - but his fears were allayed 
when the door opened and Mr. Deeds entered. His suit was stained 
and wet, his previously immaculate coiffure a mess, and an 
offensively strong aroma of mint hanged heavily about him, but just 
as Lord Blackwood had hoped, he carried in either hand a large jug, 
filled to the brim with a viscous green liquid. 


"As you requested, sir," Mr. Deeds said, gasping for breath, "two 
Imperial gallons of SCP-447-2." 


"Spectacular, Deeds!" exclaimed Lord Blackwood. "The trap is set 
and the pieces are in play. The time has come for us to make our 
move. Tell me, do you still have the Bowie knife you won off that 
Indian in sixty-six?" 


"Always, sir." 

"Excellent! You and | are going to go to the Tarasque's lair. Once | 
get its attention, | want you to open both those jugs, pour them all 
over yourself, and then plunge the knife directly into your heart. 
Understood?" 


Mr. Deeds sighed. "Yes, sir. What shall we do then?" 


"Don't you worry about me," Lord Blackwood said. "Once you're 
dead, I'll take care of the rest. Within the hour, my old friend, the 
back-country horse-doctors that run this establishment will be 
patting us on the back and pinning medals on our chests." 


"Very good, sir," Mr. Deeds said. "Shall we be on our way?" 


Lord Blackwood crawled up Mr. Deeds' sleeve and perched on his 
shoulder as the trusty valet opened the door and made his way 
down the hallway. By jingo, the intrepid mollusk thought to himself, 
that old rascal won't even know what hit him. 


Loss and Nostalgia 


1: A Mind Spends an Eternity in Solitude 


| sit alone inside myself and think on what is here. 


Pillars of radiation pierce me from all sides. | know they are stars but 
| do not understand them. | know their insides are not like mine. 


Some places are dark. They aren't like me. I'm not dark. | can be 
light. See? 


| didn't know before but now is after and | know. | understand it. You 
understand me. 


Why did you leave? Why haven't you come back? 
Am | not good enough? 

Did | press? 

Am | too far? 


Don't worry. 
I'll come. 
We can go back. It'll be like it was. 


| can go back. 


12/07/15: An energy signature is detected within 
SCP-2548 resembling the drive signature of the 
Durendal. Further analysis pending. 


2: An Artist Soends a Weekend in a Basement 


A thump underneath his head shook the mattress, and Adrian was 
thrown from a restless sleep to face the dusty air in the room. He 
choked briefly and sat up, head swiveling. In the other bunks he saw 
men sitting up, staring at him. 


One raised a finger to his lips. Adrian was silent. 


After a few minutes, the thumping stopped.