It was only a matter of time before Tall, Fat, and Troublesome 
stomped over to Spanko's humble abode, which had by then 
succumbed to structural failures due to the overabundance of fire. 
From a hole in the wall, Soanko could see large, speedy corn crakes 
made of metal as they whizzed around the scaly giant, shooting 
thundersticks from their bellies. Many times had the sky laid a steel 
egg upon T-F-and-T, and the resulting mushroom was pleasant to 
behold, if a bit hot on the feathers. 


A truly enthralling display it was, but there was nary a show- 
enhancing gummy worm to be found. 


Many years had passed since then. Spanko had searched long and 
hard for a single gummy worm, and all the local convenience stores 
had inconveniently been transmuted into radioactive ash. The Good 


SCP-966: Sleep Killer 


Item #: SCP-966 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: MTF lota-1 "Dream Hunters" 
and MTF lota-2 "Air Chasers" are to regularly be on the lookout for 
news about sudden, violent human deaths related to sleep 
deprivation, in order to find and neutralize remaining wild instances 
of SCP-966. 


The four specimens of SCP-966 (three males, designated 
SCP-966-1, SCP-966-3, and SCP-966-4, and one female, 
designated SCP-966-2) acquired by the Foundation must be 
contained in a 10 x 10 m room made of steel, lined with lead, 
located on Site- . Two security cameras with infrared filters and 
infrared-sensitive film are to be installed inside the room. Each 
specimen of SCP-966 is to be fed with 20 kg of meat every month. 


In the event of SCP-966-2 giving birth, the newborn specimen is to 
be studied and disposed of before it reaches maturity. 


Description: SCP-966 are predatory creatures that resemble 
hairless, digitigrade humans, possessing an elongated face with a 
mouth lined with needle-like teeth. On each hand, they have five 
claws that can be up to 20 cm long. Although sharp, these are easily 
broken, making them unfit for combat. SCP-966's height ranges 
from 1.4 to 1.6 meters, and they can reach up to 30 kg in weight. 
Physically, SCP-966 are weak, possessing hollow bones and low 
muscular density. They do not seem to rest through sleep; instead, 
they will suddenly cease all movement at seemingly random 
intervals of time, resuming normal activity three to five minutes later. 


SCP-966 are visible only at wavelengths ranging from 700 nm to 
about 900 nm. This applies to all of SCP-966's tissues. If their skin, 
muscles or organs have suffered from second to third-degree burns, 


Doctor's stomach twitched in frustration. Picking the flesh off the 
recently departed was unsanitary, tasteless, and a product of 
necessity, whereas everyone knew that gummy worms were a 
product of Dionysus on his Throne of Golden Corn Syrup. 


If Spanko had been among Bog's lesser poultry, he would have 
aged considerably into various grey sticks by then, but he refused 
go down without at least 5,000,000 additional gummy worms. 


Perhaps they had gone extinct in the Devourer Fiasco. With that 
thought, as he stood in an empty Foundation office building full of 
dust and bones, Spanko let out a mournful Cack to the full moon in 
the grey sky. 


A phone rang. 


Spanko hopped to the desk. Unhinging the talk machine from the 
other-stuff machine, he planted his ear to the speaker. 


"Can you hear me?" spouted a gravelly throat on the other end. 
"This is 05-12. The Ganymede Protocol has been given the all 
clear. SCP-2317-K has been neutralized. Repeat, the Devourer has 
been neutralized. | am ordering any remaining Foundation personnel 


"Oh, Fivetwelve!" said Spanko. "What am the haps?" 
".,.2337, is that you?" 
"It me. Cack!" 


"Good God, the world's gone to hell and you're the one that 
survived. Where's that damn cyanide pill..." 


"Cyanerd? Pah! Gives coughing, much. You have stranglefruits? 
Have not had stranglefruits since Tall Fat and Troublesome did the 
Tornado Tango, says I." 


"Gummy worms. Oh for—" the voice hesitated. "Yes, actually, 
there's a whole treasure trove of stranglefruits west of here. Would 
you like directions?" 


Dr. Spanko gasped, and belted out a mighty "AND HOW!" 
"Okay, okay, inside voice, Dr. Spanko." 
"It am located in Sidevoice?" 


"Never mind. Anyway, listen to me very carefully. There's a place 
called 'SCP-2000' in Yellowstone National Park. It's full of machines 
that build you magical slaves who can get you all the gummy worms 
you want after you press a few buttons." 


"Thanksqueeze you, twelvefive! TALLY-HO!" 


And so the Good Doctor was off like a shot, flying toward a direction 
he believed was West, as 05-12 relayed more specific, more 
important instructions to the empty air. 


The Good Captain Pt. 2: The Lycon Crevice 


« Pt. 1: The Colourful Doctor 


The entity crawled out of the cavern’s opening, pulling its bloated 
body forward. It had extracted itself soon enough, finally being free 
as the crevice behind it vanished and moved on. The creature knew 
its purpose as anything knows its purpose: it had been given the 
opportunity to form. It could both find its form useful for existence 
and prosper; or, it could find itself inappropriate and incompatible, 
and die. This was a standard affair, really, for a world in which life 
grows and proliferates in the forgotten corners of the universe like a 
rot on bread when given the opportunity. And so the organism set 
out to, aS organisms usually do, create a humble little niche in which 
it could live. 


The creature raised itself upon its legs, walking on and finding itself 
on the edge of a mountainous forest, upon a widespread, stone 
surface. A watcher might have found it vaguely muscoid in 
appearance, with its wings a clever derivative of the typical insectoid 
structure. Four primary wings attached to the centre of its back, 
surrounded by smaller, broader protrusions which would allow it to 
adjust its direction — from the veins extended small, flat growths, 
serving as feathers do, particularly exaggerated around its lower, 
peripheral appendages. It is through this apparatus that the 
organism lifted itself from the ground into a meandering, hovering 
flight, before landing on a rocky outcrop, settling itself comfortably 
into a collection of ridges in the approximate shape of a human 
hand. 


There it sat, scouting the environment. To the east was the start of a 
forest, to the southwest a long grassland — the north being largely 
obscured by a close waterfall feeding into a river running south. As it 
lay there, this creature decided its next action, and the instinct which 
prompted it was developed. It set off, flying towards the forest in 
search of prey; whatever variety it may find. 


Aimlessly it glided, stopping occasionally on the ground or a tree- 
branch when it became too exerted. After some time, it came to land 
above a pack of grey wolves in the busy process of eating. Its eyes 
lingered on the alpha male, who was gorging himself on the carcass 
of a deer as the six lesser wolves loitered around the edge of their 
small territory. The watching fly stared, before raising itself from its 
elevated position and gliding into position over the lead — then, still 
unnoticed except perhaps mildly by the hungry, waiting beasts, it 
folded its wings and dropped on to his back. 


Within seconds, the little patch of land was a-flurry with action: those 
yet to eat, with their senses sharpened by hunger, drew the fly into 
their full attention and brought themselves into a defensive posture; 
the alpha female, closest to the predated male, snarled and whipped 
around from her chosen chunk of carcass, her sight drawn to this 
alien black thing which presented as clear a threat to her as any 
carnivore can comprehend of; the male on which the creature had 
landed, briefly startled — but only, and | must stress this, briefly, for 
any apex predator so easily sent into shock does not enjoy the 
luxuries of being alive for long — bit round with his teeth flared at this 
unseen attacker. 


The creature itself, strangely for the source of so much excitement, 
was largely calm. It wrapped four of its legs, strong and thick limbs 
at the anterior and rear of its body, around the abdomen of the beast 
below it, with its less pronounced and fragile midlegs trailing 
uselessly to his sides. A seventh appendage, attached to the base 
between its head and thorax, rather similar to a butterfly tongue, 
reached out and curled itself around the wolf’s neck. He, as he 
flailed about in his panic, felt a slight irritation as the fly’s mouthpart 
dug into his back. The insect’s gnawing was a futile attempt, it 
seemed, as the its crudely formed, soft teeth were only poorly 
derived from the traditional proboscis, proving — while apt for the 
process of feeding — useless for any form of offensive weapon. As it 
burrowed into the furry, flustering carnivore, it failed to do anything 
but nibble slightly at the tissue around his spine. Ultimately, 
however, that didn’t matter. 


There was some struggle from the circling inferiors after this, but for 
all their efforts, the fly kept its hold on the alpha’s back. Deeper into 


the forest this victim escaped, his malicious rider kicking at him as a 
man might kick at a particularly stubborn horse. After a while of this, 
the wolf tripped. His left foot had, in the prompted madness, kicked 
out randomly against an upturned root. Lying pitifully and feeling 
vulnerable despite his progressing calm as he became used to the 
organism which had taken up residence on his back, he attempted 
to stand again before his neck twitched the right — ever-so-slightly, 
yet noticeably. He stood, hesitated, then launched forward, curving 
to the right uncontrollably. 


After a while the wolf came to a standing stop. Indeed, he would 
have doubtlessly began to make peace with his unseen parasite had 
the wounds along his body not been so very sharp; instead, he 
stood pathetically trying to quell his tortured moaning. 


Suddenly, as the frenzied hormones in his system tired, a piercing 
cold crept into the alpha’s body. A whelp rose in his throat as he 
collapsed. For several minutes he lay on the forest bed, convulsing 
as his suffering grew worse until, ultimately, the last remnants of 
movement faded and finally stopped. For a short time, the clearing 
that the wolf had carelessly blundered into was quiet, before the 
creature lifted itself from his back, skittered to his belly and sunk in 
its mouth. Successfully tearing open the soft skin, it proceeded to — 
for the first time — gorge itself. The cold meat would likely have 
caused it to shiver if it weren’t so numb to temperature extremes, 
one of the many flaws of its development: as was the slow rate of 
eating, that deviant proboscis of its proving unsuited to chewing the 
remains it was being used to consume. 


It is entirely possible that these aforementioned flaws would have 
eventually resulted in the organism’s death and the prevention of its 
species as a result — that is, depending on whatever dietary 
requirements it had, and how regularly it needed to eat. While it was 
not affected by its own property directly, second-hand exposure 
could cause what had affected so many others to repeat, that this 
example would fail to speciate in whatever strange and illogical way 
a single member of a sexually reproducing organism managed to. In 
the past others would simply appear nearby once the original 
individual had established itself, along with evidence of their having 
existed for longer. 


Fortunately all this was not a concern, since the remaining wolves 
tracked down the creature a short while later and killed it. 


That may have been rather abrupt. It really doesn’t matter, since 
what happened then isn’t as interesting as what happened next: it 
was, after all, a simple matter of the somewhat stealthy alpha female 
wolf pouncing on the fly and biting down on its torso hard enough to 
leave it dead before fleeing from the area. 


With its abdomen now damaged so, the creature began the slow, 
gradual process of decay — its wings and midlegs, as a result of their 
fragility, were lost entirely, the rest of it decomposing in a rather 
strange manner. As the bacteria swarmed on its surface, its 
chitinous exoskeleton softened into a fibrous, flesh-coloured layer; 
its interior, as a whole, was changed into a simple, white, fuzzy fluff 
altering its body into this permanent, semi-inorganic structure. It lay 
there for a while, inedible, unappealing, small and undisturbed, for 
god knows how long. 


The merchant was returning from the traditional trading journey into 
Edinburgh, with enough wealth to support him for the coming days — 
provided his habits didn’t get the best of him again. He was making 
the journey on foot, given the expense of using carriages for such a 
common trip as well as the surprising deficit of local bandits. 
Besides, his home was only a short meander through the woods, 
and rumours of roaming predators failed to frighten a sceptic such 
as him — he was far too confident in success of the success of the 
recent mass wolfhunts. 


As he was walking that path he’d so often walked, a sight caught his 
eye. Veiled in the brush and the foliage was... something. 
Something small. The man, curious, decided to delay his walking a 
little to investigate. As he approached this thing, it became clear 
what it was: humanoid, a rounded head, cloth... it was a doll. A little 
rough yes and he found it difficult to explain why it was laying there- 
but then... ah, it occurred to him! Perhaps it was lost through the 
window of a passing coach, presumably one carrying a young girl of 
upper class. Seemed reasonable enough. The doll laying on the 
floor below him reminded the man of something: his youngest 
daughter, who he’d always had a certain... special affection for, had 


been asking recently for such a thing. Being a kind father, he had, of 
course, considered those for sale in town — all too expensive, or 
otherwise forgotten as the man distracted himself with other, more 
personal pursuits. For weeks she’d been asking, and he’d never 
managed to get anything for her. But now, now the opportunity — a 
perfect opportunity — presented itself. Decisively, he lowered his 
hand and picked up the toy, placing it in his coat pocket for the rest 
of the journey. 


As he strolled back, he couldn’t help but be proud of himself, 
perhaps irrationally, for finding it. Truly, he thought to himself, she'll 
certainly enjoy it. What a wonderful father you are. 


Pt. 3: The Cyclical Child » 


The Maker and the Beast 


It was a horrid place, where no laws stood and gods gathered like 
insects attracted to a great fire. The Great Abyss, it was called: a 
crack in reality beyond the eyes of mortals. 


Great beasts were bred there, where they fought and bled and 
consumed one another; great gods were drawn there, licking this 
wound of the universe like parasites. But an even greater beast had 
been there, the God Eater, a titan among them, who had lurked 
there for aeons. A godly beast of enormous size, she had consumed 
countless, and all that were in her path would find no escape. 


The Maker of Machines had also been there, weaving a web of laws 
and order above the cosmic abyss where minor gods would get 
tangled and trapped. He was a different creature, desiring not the 
flesh and blood of other gods, but perfection and order. His 
existence was tolerated by the God Eater, as he was of no flesh, 
and therefore not delicious to her. She also found it pleasing that 
with the webs he weaved to trap the prey, her food came easier.