231, eh? Garland had heard the rumors surrounding it. 
Something about some terrible procedure. No matter, whatever 
it is, it's only a month-long project. He crumpled the note and 
tossed it into his empty wastebasket, slung his bag over his 
shoulder, and headed to his new assignment. 


Six Faces 


The personnel director sat alone in his office fiddling with his new 
gloves. He’d been sitting there running his fingers along the leather 
edges and admiring the tailor work for a time that he’d lost track off. 
It was a slow day at the site, an overcast and uneventful day. The 
mood was stoic and gray, and he could feel the relaxing pitter patter 
of rain on the windowpane every now and then. 


In other chambers 173 was busy being 173, staring vacantly at a 
wall with its big vacant eyes. 682 was currently purple and small, 
soaking in its tank of hate, no more horrifying than usual. 


The personnel director heard a dull clink on his window, and the 
sound of something splashing down in the mud. He stopped 
inspecting his new hands and got up to take a look. Through the 
foggy glass he could see what looked like a small black cube sitting 
in a puddle outside. The hell is this? Someone playing a game with 
me on their smoke break? He looked around but he couldn’t see 
anyone out there. The break area was on the other side of the 
facility, and there was nothing but miles of desert and a small black 
line that was the first perimeter near the horizon. 


As strange as this was he didn’t think at all to call someone about it, 
except for the janitor to check about the mess outside. He was about 
to grab the receiver when he heard another chichunk followed by the 
faint sound of splashing water outside the window. The fuck is this 
now? 


Through the now slightly cracked glass he found that there was a 
pink cube shaped object hovering slightly above the ground. 


“Alright, I’m going to the Site Director.” 


He briskly walked down the hall out of his office to the far room to 
speak with the woman in charge of things. He walked through the 


threshold of her sparse office and told her that some sort of silliness 
was going on outside. 


“No one is on grounds at the moment, but I'll send someone to go 
take a look if —“ 


She was cut off by a rapid succession of thudding drumming on the 
roof, the sound of metal, plastic, and hollow wood (if they would 
have had time to think) clattering in spurts over the space of a few 
seconds. The thing that captured their attention the most being a 
flaming cube falling through the roof, through the desk, and through 
the floor before they could blink at it. The Site Director looked at him 
through the now trickling rain between them with her mouth ajar. 


The Site Director shakes her head, picks up her phone and sits 
down, looking at the newly installed waterfall that was soaking all of 
her routine reports. “Low storage? Yes, there’s a hole in my roof. 
What? You sure? That’s eight levels down! That heavy! Bag it if you 
can, we’re going to turn the flashers on.” 


“Go ahead and signal an alert, Grey-2.” She told him cooly, whipping 
her papers through the air to dry them off. 


The personnel director squints and heads toward the door in a hurry, 
more pattering on the roof as he reached the doorway. “Hurry it up!” 
she told him, spurring him an inch quicker. 


The director spotted large and small objects outside of the window 
raining down from the sky, and the noise of these things hitting the 
roof was deafening. He could make out the shapes, cubes. Cubes of 
all different shapes and sizes and colors. The ground outside was 
littered with them. Every now and then he would hear a hard thud 
and look up to see a dent in the ceiling, or a new hole. He could 
have sworn he saw something fall through the ceiling and pass 
through him, but he didn’t have much time to take it in. 


He breezed through the atrium to the comm center; this area was 
connected to the rec room, a large dome with industrial glass 
ceilings. The chinking, whopping, and crashing sounds of the 
objects hitting the glass was overwhelming. 


Cubes of all shapes and sizes that had fallen through the roof 
littered the area, and it was quite a trick to avoid the potential fallers 
and the things already littering the ground. He near stumbled over a 
large black glowing cube that was quite hot, and nearly stepped on a 
smaller orange cube that was menacing with spikes, | mean, hell, he 
was almost compelled to step on it. 


Three agents were huddled around the archway leading into the 
comm room. One of them had a cube on the side of his face, which 
for some reason seemed strange to Mr. Director. He asks them 
what’s going on. 


“This thing on my face? It’s stuck; it won't come off no matter how 
much | pull!” He whined. 


“No dammit, Ron, why isn’t anyone sounding the alert.” 


“There’s a big cube in the comm room, smashed the equipment, fell 
through the ceiling. It looks like it's messing with the electronics in 
the area too, although that might be a different cube.” 


He headed in anyway. The three of them following behind a little. 
What he saw was cubes, fucking cubes everywhere. The area in the 
comm room was waist deep in cubes, a small avalanche tumbled 
out when he had opened the door. It was an absolute rainbow, a 
candy shop assortment of cubes, and if he had time to look over 
them all, he’d notice each of them was behaving a bit strange. 


Despite the sensory overload, he started to wade through to the 
electric box and looked for the failsafe switch. 


“You’re crazy, you don’t know what those things'll do to ya!” the 
cubefaced man named Ron exclaimed. 


This exclamation seemed to be perfectly timed, as the Personnel 
Director began laughing, crying, screaming, and wetting himself all 
at once. He had also lost all of his hair, and unbeknownst to him 
now had three different kinds of cancer. The agent leaned in and 
yanked him back, sending them both flying backwards on the 
ground. Luckily they land on a squishy cube that shielded falls no 
matter what the magnitude of force. It also cured cancer and was 


indestructible. 
“God damming big cube is making more cubes.” The man said. 


He looked over to him and noticed that this man’s hand was now 
cubes. 


“What the fuck is happening to me!” the man screamed, wiggling 
back to standing position and bracing himself against a wall. 


“Fucking cubes!” 


The director noticed a small family of fluffy brown cubes rolling 
around in the corner before it was attacked by a group of small, 
viscous, polka-dotted black and red cubes. 


“That’s it, I’m headed to Level 4 to sort this out.” He said, getting to 
his feet and running toward the elevator. 


Unbeknownst to him, level 4 was destroyed by a cube that removed 
anything from existence that had the number four in its name. It also 
played Symphony No. 9 whenever it destroyed something. It too, 
was indestructible. 


He had reached the door past the murder of flying crow-cubes that 
made him feel a bit sad, and began jamming the elevator door 
button labeled... there was no 4. Where had the 4 gone? It simply 
was not there. He punched other buttons, the button for level 5. He 
waited a while, batting away the cawing cubes with his gloved hand. 
In a few second the door dings, but there is no elevator. The doors 
opened to a vacant shaft. 


He was stumped. Those were his only two options and they were 
now gone... but the Site Director would know what to do, he would 
head back there as she probably already had something up her 
sleeve to sort this out. They had been through worse. 


EeeeeeeuuuuuUUUUUUnghKUnnCHUH something that sounded like 
a squishy machine howled from the halls to higher-ups office. 


"Fucking cubes!" he could hear her shouting, more angry than 
scared from down the hall. The horrible noise continued all the while 


he was running down the hallway dodging rhombus. 


He arrived at the Site Directors door and saw that a mass of 
interconnected black cubes was funneling up through the hole in the 
floor from before. Each of the segments had little mouths, they were 
howling that horrible noise. The Site Director was on the other side 
of the room in the corner, holding her computer monitor over her 
head, looking like she was planning on murdering the thing with it. 


"This is just what we need! More cubes!" 


"What should we do?" Mr. Director said tensely as the thing 
continued pulsing through the hole in awful procession. 


"I'm going to toss my computer at it and try to make it over to you!" 


She hurls her computer at the base of the hole, it connects 
impotently and falls to the floor with a thud, the screen cracking. It 
was indestructible or at least immune to plastic. Nevertheless she 
made her sprint over to the doorway, the alien mass did not seem 
agitated at all. 


"We're going to round up everyone on level one and evacuate." she 
said, wasting no time and continuing on to the rec room. 


"What the fuck is this?" he asked her, knowing she most likely was 
as confused as he was. 


"Could be anything, could be the result of cross testing somewhere, 
could be a new entity. No idea." They turned a corner. 


They found Ron, blocking the doorway to the rec area off. He was 
leaning into to a mass of cubes that seemed to be trying to make 
their way through. Ron was completely cubes, twelve interconnected 
orange cube segments making up the body, and a mass of cubes 
around the face mimicking facial features. He was horribly pixelated 
in three dimensions. 


"Ron?" the Personnel Director inquired in unsure tone. 


"It's already too late, | know!" he said in a perfectly synched voice. 


"What?" 


"The site is in a much larger cube, the earth even! Soon the 
universe!" 


"How do you know that?" 
"lam cubes like them." 


"What should we do?" she urged as Ron continued to push back the 
assault. 


"Nothing, look at your hand." 


She looked down and her hand was covered in cubes. 


Six Letters Addressed to the SCP Foundation (and One 
Letter Home) 


Found in SCP-21 18's cell. 
Dear Carly, 


| saw you in the newspaper. When they were removing 
all the nondangerous SCPs skips anomalies, the 
newspapers were there, they took pictures. There's a 
great one of you, you're in the middle of this big crowd of 
policemen and military and scientists, and you're looking 
right at the camera...you look like you're on fire. You look 
so brave, so strong. You made me feel so proud. 


| knew you couldn't be dead. | knew it. Everyone thought 
| was crazy, but | knew you weren't dead. 


I'm trying to get you back, now, but there's so much 
paperwork | have to get through. Lots of people are. 
Some people can't come back, they're keeping them 
there indefinitely...| Keep hearing stories about people 
who've gotten their kids back and they don't remember 
them. Either the kids, or the parents. | hope more than 
anything that you remember me. You must have gone 
through so much. I'm so sorry | couldn't protect you. 
What you must think of me. 


We celebrated your birthday every year, your dad and | 
did. We kept your room just like it was. You're 15 now, 
right? Practically a woman. We have a lot of good 
schools around here, | think you'll find one you like. Or 
we can homeschool you. Or if they have to keep 
studying you (god knows why), we'll move near one of 
those horrible facilities. As long as | can be with you 
again, | don't care. | only want you home. 


Reproduction Of SCP-939 


Document #939-00-62: Reproduction of SCP-939 


On September 25th, 1992, SCP-939-1 gave birth 
following a gestation period of roughly twelve (12) 
months. Litter SCP-939-A contained six specimens, 
numbered SCP-939-A1 to SCP-939-A6. SCP-939-A1, 
A4, and A5 were male, while A3 and A6 were female. 
SCP-939-A2 was stillborn and immediately cannibalized 
by SCP-939-1. SCP-939-1 made no attempts to interfere 
with confiscation of its offspring. 


Vivisection of SCP-939-A1, A3, A4, and A5 found them 
to be morphologically and genotypically indistinguishable 
from healthy human infants.! The remains of SCP-939- 
A1 and SCP-939-A3 are kept preserved in Biological 
Materials Storage Units 939-026C and 939-026D, 
respectively, within Bio-Research Area-12. Remains of 
SCP-939-A4 and SCP-939-A5 were incinerated. 


SCP-939-A6 will be transferred to [REDACTED] for 
observation as it matures. It will undergo monthly 
physical examination, supplemented with any additional 
measures deemed necessary. 


Document #939-A6-16: Transfer of Dr. 


[REDACTED] 


Note 03-16-1997: After overhearing numerous conversations 
between personnel, SCP-939-A6 has come to believe its name is 
"Keter." Given the marked positive effect on its mood, staff are 
advised to neither encourage nor discourage this assumption. Both 
its mental and physical development have remained consistent with 


| think a lot about how we fought when you were 
younger. I'm so sorry. | know now that you couldn't 
control it, you couldn't help sounding like him. | can't lose 
you, too. We'll figure something out. We'll find a way. 


Please write back soon. | will see you as soon as they let 
me. 


| love you. 


-Mom 


Found in the desk of SCP-682's primary researcher. 
dear lizerd 
hello. how are you? i am fine. my mom dos not know i 
am writing to you. i do not think she would like if i did but 
ican do it. 
i seed you on tv. you were very big. i bet you could eat a 
city. have you ever eat a city? i bet you could. i want to 
see you do that. 
iam writing you in class. miss drucy says to write a letter 
to your hero, so i am writing you one. i think you are my 
hero because i bet you can breathe fire. 


how old are you? iam seven. other kids think you are 
scary but i do not think so. 


love 


benny 


Found in the Foundation mailroom's "Do Not Deliver" pile. 
Dear Mr. Lennox, 


Please let me begin by saying how sorry | am for not 


communicating earlier. | felt it unwise, at our present 
points in our respective locations, to speak with you in 
any formal capacity. Now that Korea has...happened, 
however, | think the time has come for us to speak again. 


And what a shock it was to look in my morning paper and 
see you looking back at me! Some intrepid reporter is 
publishing pictures of every living...SCP? That's what 
they're calling them? Seems a little dramatic, but | 
suppose you can't change what's done. In any case, he's 
publishing photos of every alive SCP he can get his lens 
on, and there you were this morning, this big lump of a 
bear staring out next to the crossword! 


Is Abbie there with you? | remember when they took you, 
they found me in her records and searched for me as 
well, but my friends know how to hide from their watchful 
eye. I've been preoccupied and haven't been able to 
communicate as well as | would have liked, but official 
records apparently now state that she died. Of course, 
you and | both know better than to trust official records. 
Besides, how could they bury an empty box and call ita 
funeral? Someone will always know. 


In any case, | wanted to let you know that | intend to 
keep my promise to you and Abbie. | am locating 
paperwork to have you released at this very moment, 
and as soon as you're back in my care, | have a place for 
you to live, out of the public's eye. It's quiet. | think you'll 
like it. 


Did you read that, Foundation? Of course | know you're 
screening these letters. | can keep him safe. | can keep 
him secured. | can protect them both. Please let me. 


Yours, 


Jonathon 


Found in a wastepaper basket in Site-06-3. 


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