SCP-672 feeds when an animal touches a polyp, either by chance 
or having been lured during an expansion event. The polyps with 
access to prey use a radula to tear off small pieces of food— test 
subjects report feeling like they have scraped their hand against 
sharp stone even when lightly touching SCP-672. Observation of 
injuries caused by SCP-672 feeding have shown the polyps to 
coordinate their motion to keep the damage consistent with a 
scraping injury. Polyps pass food around the colony via laterally 
placed holes in their shell, allowing the whole reef to stay fed. This 
feeding behavior is relatively harmless and subjects have 
successfully maintained prolonged contact with SCP-672 without 
severe damage. 


SCP-672 only poses a real threat during an expansion event, during 
which the colony attempts to draw in as much prey as possible 
leading up to its reproduction. SCP-672 will begin emitting a 
pheromone that has been demonstrated to create a desire in 
vertebrates to move towards its source. Victims attempt to make as 
much skin contact as possible once they reach SCP-672, allowing it 
to feed upon them with maximum efficiency. Reptiles are most 
affected by the pheromone, some documented as being attracted 
from up to six (6) kilometers away while the maximum range of 
effect for birds and mammals is closer to two (2) kilometers. Upon 
cessation of pheromone production SCP-672 emits a cloud of 
spores, most of which settle on and around SCP-672 with large 
amounts collecting on prey caught upon the colony. Any surviving 
victims return to normal behavior once the pheromone disperses 
and will generally flee the area. Spores caught on these animals 
remain dormant until death and will grow to become a new colony 
on the corpse. 


« SCP-671 | SCP-672 | SCP-673 » 


"Dude, check it," Chad said, stumbling to his feet, "what if we went 
and like, got a mask or, or some shit like that, and gave it to the Shy 
Guy? You know, like... like a peace offering. Maybe he would come 
out of his shell." 


Kyle slapped his leg. "Bro! That's totally what we're gonna do! We're 
gonna chill with the Shy Guy!" His face contorted suddenly, as the 
Mousetrap setup of plastic pieces in his mind suddenly ground to a 
halt in the face of a most unfortunate reality. "Where are we gonna 
get a mask though? We can't, like... leave the site." 


They sat together again for some time, considering their options. 
Finally, in unison, they both hobbled to their feet and went 
scampering down the hall. 


Concurrently Elsewhere... 


Mary Sachs stood painfully in front of the man who pretended to be 
her teacher, the man who had educated her for twelve years in the 
bombed out ruins that served as the school for the nearest hundred 
miles, and watched as he told her that college was simply an 
impossibility. 


"Miss Sachs, surely a bright young thing like yourself considers 
herself suitable of attending Aktus University, but unfortunately | 
don't think that you are qualified. The university only accepts a 
handful of students this year, and never more than that cap while 
The Foundation occupies there." he said, simply, as if it were the 
most logical thing in the world. "Frankly, I'm not even sure that a 
person of your womanly type is suited for a college. After all, Dr. 
Bright has decreed that girls belong in the home, serving and 
pleasuring their husbands." 


She could feel every eye in the room staring painfully at her and she 
gulped, miserably. "But sir, that's horrifically sexist and retrograde. 
You've been encouraging us to think progressively here, and then 
you just say something so horrible how could you-" 


He cut her off, tutting. "You must think for yourself if you want to 


become a Foundation D-Class or Researcher, you understand. But 
you are not capable of doing those things. Even then that is difficult. 
| think it's vulgar myself but | can't help it if Bright is awful and vulgar. 
Rules are rules, I'm sorry." 


She sat down sadly. 


Chad and Kyle arrived at another containment cell a while later, 
where they met Researcher Todd Bloch. Researcher Todd heard 
their appeal, and after thoughtful consideration, met them with a 


reply. 
"Bro, this is totally what we're gonna do!" 


The three of them then checked themselves into the room labeled 
SCP-035, where they snatched the contents therein with some 
special graspers and took off back down the hall. On the way there, 
the mask could be heard muttering to itself about "fucking 
douchebags" and "what the fuck guys srsly omg" and also "jesus 
christ didn't even spare me a second to pack what knobs". 


Finally they reached 096's containment cell again, and after making 
sure they were clear that this is the one you can‘ look at, and not 
the one you have to look at, they opened the door slightly and 
kicked the mask in. It muttered to itself ("those lunatics | swear on 
me mum"), before they slammed it shut. They grabbed yet another 
pack of beer, and then waited. 


Ten minutes passed, and then twenty. After nearly half an hour, they 
heard a knock on the containment cell door. Quietly and carefully, 
they moved over towards the door, and with a single outstretched 
hand, Researcher Chad slid the door open. On the other side was 
096, facially equipped with 035. 


"What up, bros!" 096 said, flashing out some dope gestures. "Sorry 
for all of that shit from pretty much the entire time I've been chillin 
here, you know. Got some real deep set issues | haven't really dealt 
with yet, but it's all good now that | got this dope ass mask yo!" 


"Doooooo000o00pel" the other three said in unison. 


"Fuckin twats I'll break yer necks," spat 035. 


"So what do you guys want to do now?" said 096, donning some 
sick shades. 


The four of them paused to consider, and then Researcher Todd 
snapped. "I got it! Why don't we go prank the senior staff?" 


"Brooo00000000000!" the other three said in unison. 


"Christ on a cracker," said 035. 


Mary Sachs stood, about twenty pounds heavier and a child in arm. 
Her new husband, formerly a boyfriend deemed too intellectual for 
the university, had insisted on plastering the walls in Clef posters. 


"Glad they're back to being rockstars now! That was a terrible time 
for us when they were our presidents, eh?" He looked back at her, 
shirt down, the baby grabbing her nipples and squalling. 


"| suppose." she said simply. "But | don't really think of them as 
musicians either. | mean, they don't play, they just make the guitars 
float." 


He looked dangerously down his nose at her. 


"That's a sure sign of a cognitohazard, Mary. Sure of it. | read it in 
the paper. Only people infected by a particular cognitohazard say 
that about instruments." He intoned, very slowly and low. 


"Ben, I've never seen a cognitohazard before, ever." The baby 
began to cry. 


But he was looking at her with a glint of fear in his eyes now, and 
ran across their small shack to the cell phone, a direct hotline to any 
Mobile Taskforce of your request. Mary no longer paid attention to 
Ben, now screaming down the phone to somebody to hurry down 
from Site 19 with some amnestics, and tried to comfort her baby. It 
evidently couldn't hear her or couldn't care. It only screamed louder 
and louder. 


It drowned out his frantic dialogue with the operator until he came 
over and smacked her until she shut it up. She just stared blankly, 
unable to move. It continued to scream. 


Doctor Bright sat quietly in his office, muttering over some paper 
work. He bent his head down to adjust a pile, but his long horsy 
snout only proved to knock the papers off of the desk. 


"Horse body my ass," he muttered, trotting around and shitting 
against the wall, "see how they like to clean up all this mess." 


It was about that time when a pack of rabble rousers appeared just 
outside the doorway. Bright's keen sense of horse smell alerted him 
to their presence, as did his keen sense of horse hearing when they 
knocked on the door. 


"Come in," he neighed. 


In burst Researcher Kyle, himself donned with a pair of dope 
shades. "Yo Dr. Bright, you had a rough day?" 


Bright raised a horse eyebrow. "A rough day? | mean, not 
particularly. | didn't die today, and | got some meetings take care of, 
so | guess overall it's been fin—" 


Then in came 096. "Then why the long face!" 
"FUCKIN HORSE," shouted 035. 


The four of them burst out laughing, and continued their antics down 
the hall. Bright, flabbergasted, took a moment to compose himself 
and then called down the hall after them. "You whippersnappers 
wait until | get a real simian body. Then we'll see who has the long— 
| mean, who has shit on their faces! Because it will be you!" 


He stamped back into his office, kicking a hole in the wall and 
knocking off a valuable monkey statue. After a moment of quiet 
contemplation, he was suddenly struck with a thought. 


"Wait," he said, peering back outside. But they were already gone. 


Mary Sachs couldn't sleep at night anymore. The taskforce had 
doped her up on so many different kinds of amnestics that it 
destroyed half her brain chemistry, it had seemed. She turned to 
Ben, still asleep himself, and nudged him awake. Some nights, she 
wished her brother Kyle would pulls some strings and fix her life. 
Tonight her brain couldn't manage that. 


"Ben?" 
He grunted and rolled over. 
"What is it, it's goddamn midnight, Mary!" 


She stared into his hard, piggy little eyes. The thick brow was still 
furrowed from sleep and his mouth was pursed. 


"Ben, do you still love me? | mean, it's been a while since we first 
married and now with my headache and insomnia | can't tend the 
crops anymore. Does it bother you, at all? | mean, are we still 
happy." 


He stared into her dulled chocolate eyes. Her face was soft and 
open, her mouth just exposing her incisors. 


They stared at each other for a long time. faces meeting. 


"Go to sleep, Mary." 


Next up was Dr. Crow, whose office was situated in a large 
warehouse wing of the site. They snuck in through the back, careful 
not to bump into any of the dangerous and probably volatile and 
unpredictable robots. They had it planned out, exactly how it was 
going to be. The punchline was set up, the mood was right. They 
came up to Dr. Crow's office door, and Researcher Todd slowly 
turned the handle, to find— 


Kain Pathos Crow watching a recording of them pranking Bright on a 
monitor. The canine doctor turned around as they entered, himself 
nearly doubled over in doggy delight. "Guys, christ, that was gold." 
He wiped a tear from his eye with a trembling paw before bursting 
into hysterical laughter again. "Look, | want in on this. You guys look 


like a bunch of cool bros, and | can be your #1 dog, dawg. What do 
you say?" 


The four amigos gave each other a look, and nodded in unison (as 
was their way). 


Researcher Kyle raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a pair of sick 
shades, bro?" 


096 nodded. "Gotta have those sick shades, bro." 
035 spat on the ground. "Fuck me mate a fuckin dog too." 


Kain nodded slyly. "| can do you one better." He did a quick spin, 
and when he turned back around he was decked to the 9s with dope 
fucking shades, a sick beach tank, and some killer flops. 


Thoroughly impressed, his now comrades invited him to join them, 
and they struck out for further shenanigans. 


Mary Sachs buried her husband five weeks after the baby died, 
beneath a dead elm at the back of the zucchini farm. There was a 
brief funeral, his parents were there, as well as the landlord and their 
schoolteacher, seemingly unchanged."So, | was right it seems about 
your career! You two have made a lot for yourself. He's left you 
most, | suppose?" 


"Fuck off," she muttered. 


It was quick funeral, and that was good, for no sooner after the 
tidying up had finished that Mary noticed one of the disembodied 
spotlights passing over the eastern gardens, and soon to the 
farmhouse on the hill. Anxious of the consequences, Mary made 
haste up there with the pistol she carried, anxiously hoping the cell 
phone would still get service or otherwise be undamaged. 


To her initial sweep of the room, everything seemed to be in order 
and she breathed a sigh of relief. But the cat that sometimes 
wandered around the grounds had followed her from the elm, and it 
began to hiss venomously at something underneath the bureau. 
Mary ducked down and peered under there with an excess of 


caution. 


Her instincts proved to be correct, for this is where the anomaly 
manifested. From a previously undetected hole in the siding there 
came a strangled coo, some sort of baby-shriek drowning in liquid. 
Mary groaned, stood up, and shoved the bureau aside. The hole 
was a rough semicircle in the wainscotting, about six inches in 
radius. She winced, then shoved her hand inside the new crevice to 
touch something slimy and moving. It was quickly yanked out. and 
dropped on the floor 


A fetus, barely a foot long, crying out with a born child's voice for its 
mother, a mother who never existed. Around it, the amniotic fluid 
dripping from it seemed to warp the space around the floorboards. 


Horrified, she began to wallop the thing with a broom, smacking it 
over and over and over until its increasingly horrified cries began to 
stop. It took a while to kill the abortion in the hole in the floor, but 
eventually she was able to turn it to a red stain on the wood. The cat 
rushed in and began to eat it. She stood over the grisly scene, 
panting, hand dripping with amniotic fluid. There would be no need 
to call the Foundation, it seemed. 


For the first time in three weeks, the cat ate its fill that day. 


Agent Lament sat on the firing range, slowly cleaning out his favorite 
long range bowel excavating device, when he noticed a ruckus on 
the horizon. At first, his keen eyes thought he saw three 
rambunctious researchers and an escaped 096 wearing 035, but 
then he realized he was actually seeing three rambunctious 
researchers, and escaped 096 wearing 035 and that fucking dog. 


"God help us," Lament said, shouldering his rifle. 


Not only was it the aforementioned sextupleset of anomalies, 
researchers and canine, but behind them was a flock of drunken and 
disorderly co-eds, and beyond that, a large semi-trailer with the 
words "Spring Break 2015" painted on the side in bright colors. 
Lament reached for his radio, but it was too late. Seconds later, he 
was swarmed by the mass of intoxicated youth and swallowed up by 


its insatiable lust for the twerk. 


As he suffocated under the gyrating mass, his final thought was that 
he should have snipped that fucking dog when he had the chance, 
and also that he only hoped they had gotten Clef this good, too. 


Mary Sachs wanted to die, had wanted to die for the past one 
hundred years. Fire had claimed the zucchini farm, but the fluid on 
her hand had forced her skin to heal. Every so often, she could see 
the Site 19 building zipping around the salt desert, an endless slow 
motion party proceeding forever. It had been so long since there 
was Clean water, so long since tasty food, so long since she had felt 
some human contact. 


She sat down heavily on a rock. The flats stretched away to a 
volcano in the distance, one that seemed on the verge of eruption 
for a long time. Her shawl fluttered in the chill wind. 


From its burrow, a thing that was something like a toad and 
something like a leather boot crawled towards her threadbare shoes. 
In the wake of it's spindly feet, there were tiny ridges and valleys in 
the dust, quickly inhabited by swarming mites of various size. It 
rotated its eyes pitifully in their malformed sockets and began, 
slowly, to mount her shoes. It let out a pitiful ribbit.