Forward: During a standard checkup interview with SCP-1867 the 
subject, at the request of Dr. Bernstein, was asked to elaborate on 
the nature of one of the items found in his collection- an ornate 
brass baton. The baton, while showing no overt anomalous 
properties, caught Dr. Bernstein's attention due to amount of dried 
blood still covering it. SCP-1867 complied enthusiastically. 


Begin Log 
Dr. Bernstein:: Good afternoon, SCP-1867. 
SCP-1867: Please, good Doctor, call me Theodore. 


Dr. Bernstein: Very well. Theodore, | would like to ask you a few 
question about this [shows picture of the baton]. 


SCP-1867: Oh, Yuri Dreshnik's command baton! Haven't seen it in 
years. Interesting story behind that one. 


Dr. Bernstein: Would you care to elaborate? 


SCP-1867: Certainly. | do enjoy telling a good story, and this one is 
so very full of excitement! 


Dr. Bernstein: Please, continue. 


SCP-1867: Well, it was the year 1855, and the Russian war! was 
raging across the Black Sea. The Czar was trying to take control of 
the Bosphorus straits from the Ottomans, using some daft argument 
some priests had in the Holy Land as an excuse. Our brave lads, 


along with the Froggies, were giving the Russians a right thrashing, 
despite a few minor setbacks like that unfortunate business with the 
Earl of Cardigan's light brigade. Brave man, terrible tactical sense. | 
remember having a heated discussion with him about Scipio 
Africanus’ vertical spear formation- 


Dr. Bernstein: Focus on the baton, please. 


SCP-1867: Oh, right. It was, | believe, late July. | was visiting an 
acquaintance of mine in London, and we were just discussing the 
preparations necessary for an expedition he was planning to the 
East Indies when a knock was heard on the door, and the 
manservant proclaimed it was a messenger from Lord Palmerston 
himself, who wished to speak to me at once. | made my way to 
Downing Street 10 post haste. The Prime Minister was waiting for 
me at his office. "Theodore," he said to me, "The Empire once again 
requires your services. The war in the Black Sea is turning in our 
favor, but we need to stick one final nail in Alexander's coffin if we 
want the Russians out of the straits permanently." He pulled out a 
map and pointed at a spot "Sevastopol. We've been besieging the 
thrice damned place for almost a year now. If we manage to take it 
from the Russians, it's only a matter of time until they surrender and 
accept our conditions." 


Dr. Bernstein: Does this have anything to do with the baton? 


SCP-1867: I'm getting to it, | assure you. As | was saying, the Prime 
Minister confided in me that he was planning a joint attack with the 
French on Sevastopol in late August or early September, but there 
was a problem; The Russians were rumored to have recruited a 
thaumaturge of great skill, Yuri Dreshnik, and he dared not order the 
attack as long as Yuri was there to muck things up with his magic. 
He wanted me to get rid of him. 


Dr. Bernstein: Why did the Prime Minister need you to get rid of this 
wizard? 


SCP-1867: Thaumaturge, Doctor, they are not the same as wizards. 
He needed me because | had experience: | led the great Warlock 
Hunt of Austria in 1833,2 and had numerous encounters with various 
shamans and witch doctors throughout my travels. | was quite the 


authority figure in the field, if | may say so myself. 
Dr. Bernstein: Carry on. 


SCP-1867: The Prime Minister needed Dreshnik gone before the 
attack, and he knew | was the right man for the job. As a patriot, | 
could not refuse, and | was scheduled to board HMS Gallant leaving 
for Istanbul on the following day. The journey was uneventful, save 
for a minor pirate raid near the shores of Libya which was easily 
repelled. | arrived at Istanbul safely, then boarded another smaller 
vessel for the remainder of the trip. | arrived at General Mac- 
Mahon's command ship on the last day of August. Patrice de Mac- 
Mahon was a solid gentleman if there ever was one, even if he was 
French. Always good for a laugh and a quick shot of brandy. | first 
met him in Algeria when he commanded the Foreign Legion in the 
1840's. The man could smoke a hookah like no other, and that's a 
promise. | remember sitting with him and the sheikh of- 


Dr. Bernstein: [sighs] Focus please, SCP-1867. 


SCP-1867: Theodore. Right, the thaumaturge. Mac-Mahon told me 
he received credible information that Dreshnik was hiding in the 
Malakoff itself, this massive stone tower overlooking the port, 
preparing some sort of foul ritual, as thaumaturges are bound to do. 
| was to assemble a team from the very finest the allied armies had 
to offer, and make a raid on the tower at night, disposing of Dreshnik 
before he could raise some nastiness to hamper the war effort. 


Dr. Bernstein: And how did the raid go? 


SCP-1867: Oh, quite splendidly! Well, mostly so. There was the 
small matter of our boat sinking halfway to the port. And our sniper 
tripping on some slick stones and breaking his ankle. And half the 
team getting discovered and riddled with bullets. But other than that, 
everything went perfectly. We finally cornered Dreshnik in his ritual 
chamber after a long chase, as the man was was surprisingly fast 
for a portly middle aged gentleman in long robes, but he would not 
go down without a fight. He pulled out some strange apparatus he 
was hiding in his sleeve and pointed it at Sargent Monroe. Poor man 
never stood a chance. 


during all subjects' experiences of SCP-901. Although SCP-901-2's 
ethnicity, facial features and clothing vary to fit the characteristics of 
the organisation occupying SCP-901, subjects have consistently 
described SCP-901-2 as a man of 1.6 to 1.95 meters in height, of 
average build and with a ‘calm’ or ‘level’ voice. Due to the 
psychological effects of SCP-901 more in-depth subject 
observations on SCP-901-2 are considered unreliable. SCP-901-2 
will interrogate the subject on a particular act or acts by the subject 
against the laws of SCP-901's occupying authority. This does not 
appear to correspond to any actions the subject has performed, and 
indeed may be physically impossible for the subject in question. 


The personnel occupying SCP-901 will then attempt to extract a 
confession from the subject. The nature of this process is highly 
variable between subjects, but may be physical or psychological and 
will match the nature of the organisation occupying SCP-901 to 
some extent. Due to the invariable effects of these procedures on 
the subject, details have been difficult to acquire and are considered 
to be of dubious quality, but indicated examples include; 


* physical assault 

* use of specialised devices designed to cause physical stress 
* sensory deprivation 

* sexual assault 

¢ threats against associates of the subject 

¢ use of [DATA EXPUNGED] 


The subject will then emerge from SCP-901 after a period of time 
consistent with observation. 


In all cases subjects who survive the effects of SCP-901 will suffer 
severe post-traumatic stress disorder. Subjects will also experience 
hallucinations and paranoid delusions, especially related to being 
under constant threat or observation by the organisation 
encountered within SCP-901. Subjects often develop a condition 
similar to Stockholm Syndrome, manifesting in a reluctance to 
criticise the organisation in question and justification of its actions. 
The psychological effects of SCP-901 appear to be poorly treated by 
time or medical therapy, and in some cases may increase to sucha 
point that [DATA EXPUNGED] 


Dr. Bernstein: What did the device do to Sargent Monroe? 


SCP-1867: Turned his skin inside out. The screams were quite 
terrible, not to mention the smell. He managed to do the same to 
Corporeal Turner before | shot the device out of his hands. Along 
with a few fingers. He wasn't done, though. Screaming like an 
Indonesian Howler Sloth,3 he sprayed the blood from his severed 
fingers on the corpses of my fallen comrades. The two inside-out 
bodies jerked and came to life, attacking what little reminded of my 
crew. They ripped Durand and Roux apart with superhuman 
strength before | took them down with my trusty machete. Now it 
was just me and Dreshnik, and he was all out of tricks. His Grand 
Ritual was left unfinished as | brained him with his own command 
baton. The battle took place a week later, and we gave those 
Russian bastards a beating they wouldn't soon forget. That's how 
the baton came to my possession. 


Dr. Bernstein: So the baton is just an ordinary command baton? No 
thaumaturgic power to it? 


SCP-1867: Of course not, | burned down his ritual chamber along 
with all his tools before making my escape and swimming back to 
safety. You'd have to be quite daft to keep a thaumaturge's 
belongings. They always curse the things. | lost a cousin to a curse 
like that- he was turned into an eel. Could you imagine that, being 
an eel? Dreadful. 


Dr. Bernstein: | would think so. 
End Log 


Footnotes 

1. Known today as the Crimean War. 

2. No information about this event exists in Foundation archives. 
3. The Indonesian Howler Sloth is believed to be one of the 
previously unknown species of mammal found in Blackwood's 
possessions. 


Lord Blackwood, Astro-Naut 


April 3rd, 1856: 


My succour has arrived! For over a year now | have been in London, 
exercising my duties in the House of Lords to aid Mr. Palmerston's 
government in bringing about the conclusion of the war in the 
Crimea. Those who have read these pages are well aware, | am 
certain, that | do not relish government office; the endless meetings 
and floor sessions and meandering speeches by whips and cross- 
benchers and the Lords Spiritual could drive a man to madness, and 
represent nothing less than utter tedium to a man as afflicted by 
wanderlust as I. Still, with privilege comes responsibility, and when 
country and party call it is my duty to don my robe, cast my vote, 
and maintain the proud heritage of the house of Blackwood as 
defenders of the church and the state. 


With the Russians acquiescing to the treaty that has been signed in 
Paris this past Sunday, the war has ended and so has the necessity 
of my sitting in Parliament. No sooner had | returned to my London 
estate after the final meeting when Deeds informed me a caller had 
visited in my absence. Dr. Hightower, the astronomer, has 
requested that | meet him two nights from now at Greenwich for a 
demonstration and the discussion of a most interesting proposition. | 
have not heard from Dr. Hightower since our trip to Mars in 1849; if 
the news he has in mind to share with me is as elucidating as it was 
in the days leading to that adventure, then this shall be a welcome 
change from the quiet desperation in which | have suffered this past 
year. 


April 6th, 1856: 


lt has been many years, dear reader, since | was a man young 
enough to stay awake all night and feel no worse for it the following 
day. Of course, the nature of the occupation requires that an 
astronomer keep odd hours; and so it was half before midnight last 
night when | met Dr. Hightower at the Royal Greenwich 


Observatory. Dr. Hightower was most excited to see me; for a man 
who is typically most dour and sedate, concerning himself with the 
abstractions of physical science, he was uncharacteristically 
exuberant. He spoke to me of great discoveries and unique 
opportunities as he ushered me upstairs to the observing chamber, 
where the facility's great telescope laid bare the heavens to man's 
prying eye. For several years, Dr. Hightower informed me, he had 
been busily engaged in making refinements to the telescope that 
allowed it to compensate for the interfering effects of our 
atmosphere, allowing him to observe the heavenly bodies in levels 
of detail never before imagined. The doctor seated me before the 
great device and bade me to look into the eye-piece of the 
telescope, which he had delicately adjusted to expose his great 
discovery. 


| beheld, amidst the blackness of space, a massive rock, one of the 
many asteroids that Mr. Piazzi and his associates had discovered 
between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter in recent years. But unlike 
the copper-plate dagguerotypes that had been published in the 
Times, this was no barren rock adrift in the void. Save for a few tiny 
blotches, the entirety of the oblong body was coated in a sea of 
verdant greenery, the unmistakable colour of the virgin jungle. | 
fancied | could even see the leaves of the canopy that enveloped 
the miniature world, and at its pole | espied what resembled a palm 
tree, truly gargantuan in size, towering above the foliage of the 
world. This was a most interesting discovery indeed; while the 
famous canals of Mars had proven to be mere illusions when | 
visited them (and its atmosphere, | found, most unpleasant to 
breathe), here was proof, plain to see, that God in His wisdom had 
not set living things on our celestial sphere alone, but that the 
Galaxy itself had been seeded with the germ of life. 


Dr. Hightower had first discovered the asteroid, which he had named 
Victoria in honour of our dear Queen, five years ago during the 
mania following Mr. Le Verrier's discovery of the planet Neptune 
several years before. He had kept his discovery secret, he told me, 
for he had a plan to announce its existence in a manner as 
grandiose as no astronomer has ever done. For four years, at his 
estate in Wales, Dr. Hightower has employed a team of men 
constructing a rocket similar to the one proposed by Mr. De 


Bergerac two centuries ago, larger and sturdier than the one that 
carried us to Mars on our previous voyage. Last week, the final 
preparations had been made, and the rocket now stood, fueled and 
ready, to escape the bonds of gravity and carry to Victoria a 
scientific expedition that will rival Mr. Darwin's. The astro-nauts will 
for several months have time to catalogue and sample the flora and 
fauna of Victoria and, for the first time since the discovery of 
Australia, return bearing knowledge of a new world, and cement the 
names of those explorers in the annals of history. 


For months Dr. Hightower has been assembling a crew to conduct 
this expedition. He has pilots, cooks, archivists, writers, 
dagguerotypists, painters, men-at-arms, and labourers, he told me, 
but he wants for one thing; a naturalist to manage the exploration 
and scientific observation of this foreign planet, and of all the men of 
learning he has known, he could think of no better individual than | 
to play this part. How could | refuse? Today | have been busy taking 
stock of what | shall need. We set off for Victoria on the twenty-first, 
when our world shall draw the closest to Victoria that it shall be in 
the next thirty years, and if luck and Providence provide, we shall 
return by Guy Fawkes Night. It is rare that | have ventured so far 
from our land of hope and glory, but England shall have to endure in 
my absence for a time. 


April 23rd, 1856: 


No matter how many times | am among the stars, | shall never grow 
accustomed to the sensation of weightlessness. One must learn 
anew how to perform the simplest tasks in this environment, as if 
returning to infancy; how to move about, how to eat and drink, how 
to sleep, even how to engage the water-closet, for absent the caress 
of gravity the slightest unintended twitch can send one hurtling every 
which way, and the slightest loose drop of moisture, applied to our 
rocket's apparati, could spell disaster.