735 crept a little further in. He jumped and smashed his head on a 
rod as a particularly violent screech hit his eardrums. The sound 
echoed through the vast confines of the ship. 735 swore to himself 
that he would never visit the generation ship again if they survived. 
At that moment, he heard voices, although he couldn't tell what they 
were saying. 735 carefully followed the sound, doing his best to 
avoid alerting them. He wound his way through the corridors, 
dodging sharp falling objects, dangling wires, and all manner of 
other hazards. The ship was nothing like he'd imagined it. It wasn't a 
space worthy utopia. It was a nightmarish prison. 


Delta-735 suddenly found himself peering into a wide, bright, circular 
chamber. Large spotlights illuminated the white, plastic floor. Two 
enormous slugs, similar to the ones in the hives, lay in the middle, 
throbbing. Every so often, they would squeal, and their cloacas 
would distend, ejaculating clear liquid as well as a small, fat hominid. 
The tiny offspring were hideous. Their soft, smooth-looking skin was 
a pale beige, and their digits were fat, round things. Two enormous, 
bulbous eyeballs blinked and swirled as the creatures howled. At 
that moment, 735 heard a voice as he fought to keep from vomiting. 
He couldn't hear it very well, but he could tell where it was coming 
from. 


Delta-735 looked up. Near the top of the chamber was an 
observation room. A tall, rounded bipedal creature in a white 
garment was standing within, blocked off by frosted glass. At the 
same time, he could hear agonized shrieks coming from behind the 
thing, the voice of which belonged to Lambda-713. Delta-735 
shuddered, and aimed his tranquilizer rifle. At that moment, he 
heard something behind them. Then a large, flat object smashed 
into his skull, and blackness overtook him. 


Delta-735 woke with a start. He was strapped down to some sort of 
table, oriented upright. 


A large, beige creature in a light-green full-body garment and mask 
stood in front of him, speaking into a recorder in some 
incomprehensible language. Delta-735's eyes widened as he 
frantically fought to extricate himself from his restraints. The creature 
noticed him move, said something else, and then waddled away 
from him. Across the room was Lambda-713, tied to a similar board, 
whose eyes widened upon seeing Delta-735. Several electrodes 
were taped to his skull. 


"735! Are you okay?" 
"Except for being tied up by a fat hominid, I'm great!" 735 snapped. 


"Can you get out of these restraints? They're too tight!" 713 called 
back. 


"I'm trying!" 


735 made a show of fighting his restraints, but Deltas weren't 
engineered for athleticism. 


The fat thing waddled back into view, dragging a trolley of sharp- 
looking surgical instruments. 713 and 735's eyes widened in 
disbelief. This creature was going to perform surgery on them? 
Without any sort of robotic assistance? 


The fat creature said more things into its primitive recorder, took a 
serrated scalpel from the trolley, and moved towards him. If he could 
cry, Delta-735 knew he would have. Even while Delta-735 plead to 
every scientist he could think of, the creature made a long, straight 
seam down his chest, from neck to groin. Oddly, he couldn't feel 
anything. Then it peeled back the seam. Fat, muscle, nanomesh, 
and bone came with the seam, exposing 735's organs. His two 
hearts pulsed in time with the electronic devices that regulated them, 
drumming out a grotesque tempo. Delta-735 wanted to close his 
eyes but he couldn't keep them off the spectacle happening to him. 
His lungs throbbed as they exchanged oxygen and captured carbon 
dioxide for photosynthesis. His stomach was very nearly empty, 


probably because he had not eaten anything since before they left, 
but the chloroplast sacks busily performed photosynthesis in the 
artificial light. Delta-735 almost giggled. All this for some girl? 


The hominid continued prodding around inside his chest cavity. It 
fiddled with his hearts, almost shutting them down at one point, 
poked at his lungs, investigated his rounded stomach, and generally 
poked and prodded. Its clothing was spattered with blood. All the 
while, it mumbled into its little recorder. Once it was satisfied that it 
had prodded him enough, it took a spray canister, rolled the edges 
of the seam back together and sprayed. The cut in Delta-735's chest 
sealed up. Then it took its scalpel and moved it to 735's arm. It 
busily sawed away at his arm, exposing his nerves, tendons, and 
blood vessels. Mercifully, 735 couldn't feel it. He supposed he had 
been given some sort of anesthetic. Then the scalpel sliced him in a 
particularly sensitive nerve, one that the anesthetic failed to 
desensitize. 


The pain forced 735's adrenaline response to kick in. His arm ripped 
itself from the restraints, ignoring the blood spattering from his arm, 
and socked the hominid in its masked face, sending it reeling. As the 
hominid tried to regain its balance, 735 was already freeing himself. 
Fear gave him wings, as he bounded across the operating theater 
and pounced onto the hominid. 735 smashed the creature into the 
ground, beating at it with his fists, kicking it, throwing everything he 
could grab from the trolley at its head. The hominid fought at first, 
then weakened as a bright red fluid that was probably analogous to 
blood gushed from its head. Eventually, it simply stopped moving. 
But Delta-735 wasn't done. He ferociously beat at it and beat at it 
and beat at it and beat at it, smashing until the creature's head was 
a pulpy red and grey mess. Delta-735 sat there, panting in rage and 
fear. Had he killed it? Was it dead? Had he killed something? Oh 
god he had killed it! 735 got to his feet, finally remebering his 
opened arm. He stood up, taking the scalpel from the hominid, and 
stumbled towards 713. He sliced the restraints holding 713. 


"What do we do now?" 713 asked. 


"We get rid of this." 


body of a child out of the back seat of a minivan. 
Testing log 694.6: 


Description: The ropes binding SCP-694-1 are cut 
at time index = 07:30 

Result: SCP-694-1 continues to hold his arms 
behind his back, hops into the garage, and rubs his 
wrists against the hacksaw blade until time index = 
14:50, cutting himself severely. Cameras planted in 
SCP-694-1's car indicate that by time index = 
23:10, he has lost consciousness (presumably due 
to blood loss); however, his car and pistol continue 
the pursuit autonomously as in test 694.2. 


Footnotes 

1. Although SCP-694-3 and SCP-694-4 refer to each other as "Jake" 
and "Elwood", these are believed to be pseudonyms, as "Jake" and 
"Elwood" are the names of the protagonists of the 1980 filmThe 
Blues Brothers 

2. This has not been observed to be the case 

3. This has not been observed to be the case 

4. Video surveillance indicates that SCP-694-3 had, in fact, turned 
the steering wheel right; however, the vehicle went left 

5. except for SCP-694-1's, which is not within the loop 


« SCP-693 | SCP-694 | SCP-695 » 


Omicron-746 was watching the sands for a project of his from the 
gatehouse. Thus he was able to see Lambda-713 steering a buggy 
towards the settlement, with Delta-735 lolling against his shoulder. 
713 stopped at the gatehouse for 746 to come out. "Dude, where 
have you- Curie! What happened to Delta-735?" 


"He was attacked by a sand sweeper. His arm's in pretty bad shape. 
Help me get him to his hive. What's wrong?" Lambda-713 snapped. 


"The generation ship blew up! That's what's wrong! Our fucking 
heritage is gone!" Omicron-746 replied, as they picked Delta-735 up. 
"They found some weird shit in the wreckage. There were some... 
slug remnants in there! Like, the ones in the hives, but these ones 
were spawning something else! Nothing even remotely human!" 


"Huh. Do we know what they were spawning?" Lambda-713 asked 
innocently. 


"No. We found some weird, pink skin, but that's about it." 
"Guess we'll never know." 


"Yeah. Say, | heard you guys went out looking for Homo sapiens. 
Did you find anything?" 


"No. Not a thing." 


Rat's Nest Hub 


In the fen, something like a woman balances on something 
resembling a tree. The sky above it is wispy with feathers of birds 
migrating to nowhere, and down by the water their heads become 

temporarily dislodged. 


The horizon is shaded in static purple, and | can see it all. 
Everything is real and original. Everything has gone to hell, and this 
rock seems to be my faraday cage. | can't be sure of what | am 
anymore. 


Am | the only one still capable of being afraid? | could be the only 
one waiting for the singularity. Everything else is indifferent. The rats 
have been multiplying for ages, but it shouldn't be long now. 


The year is 3053, and I've seen it all. 


Let's begin at the end. 


Ancient History 
The Information Age 


ee at Site-18 
July 28th, 1976 


Senescence, Consumption, Persecution 
August 14th, 2051 - September 9th, 2077 


Anno Domino 
December 1st, 2081 


Himinbjor 
February 2nd, 2087 


The Last Era 


The Serpent Gambit 
December 21st, 2090 


Another Lost Legacy 
September 13th, 2112 


Old Kansas Sector 


armnouse 
aL 
Waiking sticks 


rammie Knows 


inopec Dar 


pisode augnh Is Okay 
Episode 13 | Was a Teenage Reality 


bender 
Episode 14 Bobble the President 


The Age of Rot 


7] 
e 
2 
O 
U 
U 


How Tightly The Coils Squeeze 
eptember 18th, 2160 


A Eulogic Elegy For The Dreams 
October 10th, 2167 


The Rat's Nest 


Nonpareil 
Kali Yuga, 30XXXXX 


1 
T-Minus X 


Contributor's Guide 


The Rat's Nest canon covers the effects of the 
destruction of LTE 0913 Ex Machina, a keystone of our 
reality. The results are the creation and increasing 
occurrence of SCP objects, and a very gradual reality 
failure as anomalies multiply out of control. 


There are a few different aspects about this universe that 
are different from typical Foundation canon. This is more 
or less the "Dreadlords" canon that is often joked about: 


1. The GOC are responsible for anomalies as a result 
of their killing of God. They are aware of this and 
desperately want to fix things. 

2. The Administrator and individuals in the 
Foundation's top level leadership are anomalies 
themselves and not on the side of normalcy as we 
know it. They gather anomalous objects and are 
loathe to destroy them. The vast majority of 
Foundation assets are unaware of this and truly 
believe they are working for a greater good. 

3. The Chaos Insurgency is a splinter group that 
formed around WWII after founding members were 
made aware of the Foundation's true nature. Due 
to the Foundation's influence they are demonized 
and hunted. The Insurgency must sometimes do 
terrible things in order to survive in a world 
sympathetic to the Foundation. 


Ancient History: This part of the timeline should 
primarily explore the destruction of LTE 0913 Ex 
Machina, the nature of it, reasons for its destruction, and 
the ancient origins of the GOC in respect to the Rat's 
Nest canon. 


The Information Age: The last dominant age of 
humanity. 


The Last Era: The in-between age where humans are 
struggling to exist. Some pockets of civilization are still 
relatively habitable, while others are quite chaotic. 


The Age of Rot: A time where mundane humans, flora, 
and fauna are extremely rare. Extranormal creatures and 
objects are the norm. 


The Rat's Nest: Complete chaos, an abortion of the 
universe. A reality that is different than our own, or 
otherwise unrecognizable. This is not necessarily "the 
end of the world", rather, the end of the world as we 
know it. 


Additional Note: There is no canon in the Rat's Nest, it 
is not a series in itself. There is no definitive end or 
beginning to the story, it's simply a platform to write on, 
much like the wiki at large is. There are no special 
considerations or permissions needed to submit articles 
to the canon. 


Changes at Site-18 


July 28th, 1976 - Disinformation Site-18 


“Good evening Mr. Mayreder.” Sanders spoke in tired tones as she 
walked into the fat, balding man’s office. “How are you? How was 
your day?” 


“Oh, fine, just as any other. The day was good too,” mumbled 
Mayreder as he craned over, manipulating some dominoes on the 
edge of his desk. 


Sanders edged her way past stacks of papers littering the floor in 
the dusty office. “What are you doing?” 


“Just contemplating the containment procedures for the new object 
we've been assigned. Did you know SCP-1463 has over one 
hundred pages in its containment procedures file? Two hundred! 8 
point font!” Mayreder settled back in his straining chair after placing 
the last domino on the metallic, tarnished table. 


“That’s... very interesting,” said Sanders, adjusting the bun on her 
ponytail. 


“Oh, yes, right, how was your day?” asked Mayreder. The question 
was offhanded at best. Mayreder reached under his desk and pulled 
out a large, spiral bound sheet of papers. 


Sanders let out a deep sigh. “Fine, | just performed observational 
duties. Very uneventful, not very colorful.” 


“Outstanding. Why don’t you have a seat? Do you have any other 
place to be? No you don’t.” Mayreder grunted as he began flipping 
through the pages. 


“No | do-... Your book is upside-down.” 


“Ah, | see why they have you on observation duty!” interjected 
Mayreder while he continued to flip through the pages as they were. 
Sanders offered a funeral stare in his direction. 


She eyed the domino pattern on the table. It was a nautiluses’ spiral, 
beginning at the edge of the otherwise spotless desk and 
terminating at the center. She knew where the end point was, 
because Mayreder had always placed a red domino at the center. 
She hated that she remembered this. 


“Sir, may | ask you why you do this every so often.” Her tone was 
snippy, barely professional. Mayreder gave her a puzzled stare from 
out over his book. Sanders had to remember to count to ten. “...the 
dominos,” she clarified. 


Mayreder raised his eyebrows and placed his gaze back at the un- 
righted containment procedures manual. “I get bored. | enjoy setting 
them up - how neat they look. Very pretty.” 


“I’ve never seen you knock them down before,” offered Sanders 
after a good one minute of silence. It was uncomfortable; the 
atmosphere in this wing was poor due to the fact that most of the 
power had been routed to the newly housed SCP’s air filtration 
system. She didn’t really care about Mayreder’s dominoes, but she 
would be sitting here for a half hour wasting time in this stuffy office 
regardless. 


Mayreder began again, tilting his nose slightly; “I wipe them up when 
I’m finished admiring them, and then place them back in their box.” 


Sanders let out a snort. Mayreder looked back at her with a serious 
mug. His reaction caused her to crack up. 


“What’s so funny?” 


Sanders wiped her nose and righted herself on her chair. “Nothing, 
nothing | was just thinking of something silly.” 


Mayreder paused for a few moments before speaking, began to say 
something, then stopped. “You can leave now. | need to memorize 
these finer points.” 


Sanders nodded, a small grin detectable on her face, and left the 
room wordlessly. 


Mayreder put his book down lightly and studied the nautilus pattern 
on his desk. 


Sanders forgot about Mayreder and thought about the refit of the 
facility as she rounded the corner in the hallway. Site-18 was 
originally used as a Disinformation facility, or the Foundation’s docu- 
serve as many people liked to call it. Sanders worked under 
Mayreder as a proofreader, Mayreder simply handled the projects 
and packaged the media given to him. The documents were then 
sent to the Site Director for approval, and, if they were improper, 
they were sent back down again.