The humanoid entities have demonstrated an unprecedented ability 
to alter both the physical and temporal characteristics of the Earth. 
By physically manipulating the barrier between the Earth and the 
phenomenon they are able to cause an event currently designated 
#45393BE-048-01. During a #45393BE-048-01 event the extent of 
the phenomenon narrows sharply before disappearing for a brief 
instant. In this instant all matter on Earth, as far as can be 
established, is returned to the position it held at 0530 on 1903/03/01. 
Although 19 years have passed chronologically since the 
phenomenon initially appeared, the population of Earth has 
experienced 32 subjective years over the course of eight 
#45393BE-048-01 events. 


Detail of current containment: 


The phenomenon is currently uncontained and, at our current level 
of technology, uncontainable. Heroic efforts are being made by the 
surviving Great Powers to prevent at all costs another 
#45393BE-048-01 event—present theories of science indicate 
individuals conceived after the last such event (Some 160 million 
individuals) are infinitesimally unlikely to survive the next event. We 
have furthermore seen the recovery of individuals in infancy or in 
utero in 1903 who were thought permanently broken by repeated 
regression—another #45393BE-048-01 event is highly likely to 
render these individuals’ sanity unrecoverable. 


The current disposition of the phenomenon is asymmetrical, such 
that a significant portion of the eastern hemisphere, the Southern 
Cone and the western half of the North American continent is left in 
total darkness, whilst the remainder enjoys a constant, dim light 
equivalent to about 900 footcandles. The effect has been the 
displacement of approximately one billion people and the deaths of 
some hundred million. Only the authorised use of items 
#02837RU-006, #07843NY-038 and #78394MI-124 has prevented 
further casualties due to overpopulation and famine. As much as 
30% of all terrestrial species are believed to have passed into 
extinction since the last iteration of 1903/03/01. Particular matter 
from #45393BE-048 incident on the Earth has been observed to 
emit Curie waves and has proved a danger when it impacts in 
populated areas or in dense forest, causing uncontrollable fires. 


Sectors 5 through 11 and 15 have been permanently compromised 
by the #45393BE-048 phenomenon, necessitating the evacuation of 
Sites 15, 17, and 19 through 36. As a consequence the Foundation 
has lost control of items including #09712NJ-008, #56439AR-017 
and #87631MN-060. The eastern seaboard of the United States, as 
far north as the 49th parallel, has been designated Zone-001 and is 
subject to indefinite quarantine. All British and American naval 
assets have been requisitioned for this task, and the remaining 
armed forces of the United States and the Dominion of Canada have 
been deployed in a fortified defensive line at the northern border of 
Zone-001. 


Containment procedures update 1917/06/19: Defensive line 
‘Yankee’ has been overwhelmed. Forces fell back to defensive line 
‘Esquimaux' at the 51st parallel. All of North America subsequently 
designated part of Zone-001. Sectors 22 and 23 are considered lost. 
Anomalous elements are currently being held at the southern border 
of Zone-001 at the Panama canal works, which have been 
converted into a fortified position. 


Containment procedures update 1919/06/19: The islands of 
Ireland and Great Britain have been overrun by #09712NJ-008 
elements. Firebombing with Curie devices was approved on 
1919/09/10 and sterilisation appears to be successful as of 
1919/12/25. The islands have been designated Zone-002. His 


Majesty Edward VII has been successfully evacuated to the Cape 
Colony. Proposals for the sterilisation of Zone-001 are under 
consideration. 


Report: On 1920/04/30 expeditionary forces retrieved 
#67463CN-144 from the area formerly known as Tibet. Item has 
been turned over to the authority of the United States of Austria. On 
1920/08/06 a complement of space-vessels powered by particular 
matter from #45393BE-048 has been launched using 
#67463CN-144 with the intent of seizing control of the immediate 
area of the phenomenon and eliminate the threat caused by two 
#45393BE-048 entities who had been observed to approach the 
barrier over the course of the past week. Communication with the 
fleet ceased when it reached 62 miles above the surface of the 
Earth and all assets were presumed lost; it was later realised that 
the fleet had become subject to time dilation similar to that which 
governs #45393BE-048 entities, preventing useful radiotelegraphic 
communication. Elements of the fleet re-entered Earth's atmosphere 
in 1934/03/20 to report a partial success; further assets have since 
been committed to prevent another #45393BE-048-01 event. The 
United States of Austria and the German empire report that a further 
10,000 Curie weapons have been manufactured and further 
programmes have been implemented to construct elements harmful 
to #45393BE-048 entities, including the use of #87364CA-047. 


Addendum: 7Jhe Foundation has been enervated, but endures. Its 
heart has been torn out, but it continues to beat—from the Cape, 
from the Rock of Gibraltar, from Rhode Island and the island of 
Cuba. From Berlin and Vienna, in places once closed to us, anew 
Foundation emerges; a Foundation not arrogant in its isolation but 
subject to the Great Powers in servitude to the human race. We can 
no longer shoulder the burden alone—all men must share the 
knowledge that the earth beneath their feet was never firm and that 
the universe never obeyed laws comprehensible to man. To the end 
of time, we will cling on—we will defend whatever is left to us with a 
burning fire in our eyes and hearts. All our struggle, all our efforts, 
have led up to this; to contain and tame that which offends 
rationality. To feed the poor, to heal the sick, to hurl the vessels of 
our allies to the heavens to fight the gods who have so wounded the 
earth. Thus we speak: Survive. Conquer. Punish. 


—H Keter 


D-00104 reported that "the key won't catch", and the key 
was observed to turn several times without tightening the 
mainspring. No activity of any kind was observed from 
SCP-914 during this time. 


Missing gear was replaced with a identical copy, 
comprised of the same metal (brass) as the original. 
Steel block re-inserted into the "intake" booth, and 
SCP-914 was activated on the "1:1" setting. SCP-914 
observed to operate normally, with a slight pause of 3.5 
seconds after winding the key. After "refining", Output 
observed to be a solid steel sphere with the same 
volume as the original steel block. Original gear returned 
to SCP-914. 


Notes: Well, thank god we can at least repair the damn 
thing if we damage it... assuming we can find what's 
broken in it. Hell, maybe it's already broken, | don't 
know... this damn thing hurts my head... 

Dr. 


Name: Dr. Gears 

Date: //20 

Total items: 4x clockwork pocket watch, belonging to 
Dr. Gears 


Input: 1x gold-plated pocket watch 

Setting: Fine 

Output: Small clockwork bird. When the tail is pressed, it 
produces a robin's call. 


Input: 1x gold-plated pocket watch 

Setting: Fine 

Output: Toy clockwork train engine. 

Input: 1 gold-plated pocket watch 

Setting: Fine 

Output: Miniature grandfather clock, fully functional. 


Input: 1 gold-plated pocket watch 


2525 North Waterworks St. 


Task Force Designation: MTF Lambda-5 (A-5) 
Type: Combat/Containment 

Distribution: Specialized Response 

Moniker: "White Rabbits" 


Specialization: Operation in and containment of 
unstable, surreal, and controlled reality and containment 
of potentially dangerous persons or artifacts capable of 
heavily manipulating external space. 


Marcus St. George quietly rubbed his armor. He shifted, trying to 
prevent the metal lining from digging into his skin, but his car seat 
made it difficult. He couldn’t feel it killing him, but he knew that it was 
and felt that much. He wondered if it was affecting his teammates 
who'd worn it longer. He thought it was giving him a headache, but 
that’s not what Telekill did. 


"Ever used this before?" Agent Henderson asked from the seat 
across from him. "It makes telekinetics really weird to deal with, but 
at least it’s easy." 


"| thought it wasn’t affected by any psionics," replied Marcus. 


Henderson shook his head quizzically. "Basically, but there’s still 
some that gets though. You know, imperfections." He moved a hand 
around his chest plate. "Plus there’s enough space around that you 
can’t account for without compromising weight or maneuverability.” 
He made a little dancing motion. "| mean, the armor dampens that, 
and nearly any RB won’t be good enough to do anything about it, 
but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t a weird feeling.” 


The van they were in passed over a pothole and jumped awkwardly. 
Marcus had to readjust again. "Um, no, | haven’t-" 


"ETA, Pat?" Henderson called up to the front seat, focus shifted. 
"Coming up now." Agent Carter called back. 

"Fantastic." Henderson clapped. 

"What?" Agent Wilder pulled out an earbud. 


"We’re almost there!" Agent King shouted from the passenger’s 
seat. 


Agent St. George felt under-equipped for the mission. 


After a while the van came to stop outside of 2525 N. Waterworks, 
and the whole team turned to look at Agent Henderson. He took a 
moment to look down his subordinates and friends, and gave the 
call. “Quick in and out. Prep projectors, keep arms up, and watch 
your sides.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and took a crouched step 
towards the back doors. “Hoo-rah?” 


“Hoo! Hoo!” Came his team. 
“Hoo-rah,” he said, opening the doors to a wide grassland. “Oh no.” 


Before anyone knew what was happening, the floor of the van 
buckled away. Grass and bush had manifested into a few of their 
feet. The entire front had been lodged into a hill, and blood painted 
dirt red. 


Henderson, Wilder, and St. George were the only ones out before 
the whole vehicle was gone, but none of them saw it vanish. 


“What the fuck was that?!” Screamed Wilder, pulling a strand of 
woolly blue curls out of his ankle. 


Henderson steadied himself. “I- he teleported us!” 


In a flash, his left side was trapped in a big leaf maple. He 
screamed, and Marcus found himself back in the back of the van. A 


man sat across from him, and stared intently. 


Marcus was startled and disturbed, but tried desperately to calm 
down. His pistol was on his side. This was happening too fast. 


“You know, I’ve never seen your face before.” 


Marcus St. George felt beads of sweat on his temple. The man was 
unarmed, but that didn’t matter. He could do what he just did. How 
did he do it? How fast? He tried to stammer out a few words to the 
man, but couldn't find any. He was going to die. 


He made a move for his sidearm, but found it wasn’t there. He was 
definitely going to die. A hand reached around his mouth, and pulled 
him back into the van wall. His head cracked against the hard steel, 
but didn’t bounce. He was stuck. A second figure stepped from the 
front seat into view, an exact copy of the first. The first pressed a 
palm to his cheek and pulled it to face him. 


“I’m truly, truly glad that | could make your acquaintance.” 


In the dead of night, a pair of men carry a dead body by its arms and 
leg to an alley off the corner of 5th and Madison. 


Either man is the same height as the other, and anyone watching 
could have caught a shared mannerism or two. They sway with the 
corpse, balancing each other in a hypnotic, almost religious rhythm. 
They have each taken time from their lives to take part in this, and 
they will enjoy it how they do. This has become their life. 


The street is cold and dead, with the exception of the streetlights 
and their faux warmth. Under a different light its low-scale, urban 
lower-middle-class, retail-residential architecture could evoke any 
number of emotions, but time hadn't favored this one. 


The men approach the alley entrance. They can see 6th street at the 
other side, past the walls of concrete holding the buildings on either 
side at bay. 


Both of the men understand the presence of this alley. They stop, 
holding the body parallel to the store and apartment fronts at their 


backs, and prepare to pitch it. They square stances, hunch, and put 
all the force they can behind themselves. 


The men twist, and the body rocks. They put their arms into the 
exercise and release in three heavy swings. Their entire bodies 
buckle as they toss it as high as they can, and it’s gone. 


A breeze rushes to fill empty space, and the men readjust 
themselves to quietly appreciate their handiwork. They admire the 
empty alley. 


In another universe, a horrible mess has been made. 


Not Fade Away 


The old water tower on the outskirts of this shit-heel town has been 
derelict for ages. It's amazing they haven't torn the damn thing down 
yet. 


| reach up for the next rung, which groans in response to the 
unexpected weight, before snapping off entirely. | manage to catch 
myself at the last second, but my Go-Pro isn't so lucky. It makes a 
soft plop in the snow below. 

"There goes my perfect fucking selfie." 


lt was a close call though. | take a second to catch my breath, 
before | steel my nerves and continue my ascent. 


Can't turn back now. Stick to the plan. 
You're going to be remembered for this. 


| clamber onto the platform, and I'm greeted with an oversized grin- 
the rival school's idiotic mascot. Its face is weathered and peeling. 

Good thing he's about to get a brand-new paint job. Now all | need 
to do is decide exactly how many dicks | should add. Time to get to 
work. 


Just one more over here... 
Oh! Let's have one splooging all over it... 
...pink? The fuck did | think | was going to do with pink paint? 


...give 'em some missing teeth; he'll look just like these inbred jack- 
offs! 


... little bit more and...done! 


| stand back and admire my creation in all its glory. In just a few 


hours, people will wake up to their beloved avatar being assaulted 
by a group of floating penises; as if it were the star of a haunted 
bukakke. Now all | need to do is snap some pics for the guys to 
prove that yes, | am that Fucking Badass. | whip out my cell and get 
to work-lamenting the fact that | can't post these online (if only so | 
can #dickasso). 


It's as good a time as any for a smoke. | spark one, and look out 
over the woods that surround the town. Last night's snowfall 
blanketed the landscape, leaving a pristine coat of white that went 
on for miles. | could see the lake off in the distance. From my 
vantage point, | could clearly see over the privacy fence that 
encircles it. As the early-morning fog began to dissipate, | could 
even see the water's surface and...what the fuck is that? can you see them 


out there? 


| cup my hands around my eyes — as if make-believe binoculars 
could somehow improve my vision — and lean out over the railing. 
There's definitely something bobbing about the surface. It...fuck. It 
looks like there's someone out there? 


That can't be right. itis They closed the lake off ages ago. To keep it hidden. 
Something about an undertow? Lies. Fuck. Well it's not my problem 


if some random nobody gets themselves killed. They're closer to you than you'd 
think. 


As much as | want to turn away, | Can't. Because you want to know the truth. I'm 
frozen to the spot, precariously hanging over the railing. There's 
something about them. Something familiar? Don't you remember? The 
redhead... 


Katie Lawson