Don't panic just yet. | can still see it. | can barely see any of it, but | 
can still see it, and that means it can't move. Maybe if | try winking, | 
can get out of this. They'll see that it can't kill me, and then let me 
out. Come on, come on, this has to work, it has to. One eye, then 
the other. One eye, then the other. One eye, then the other. One 
eye, then the other. One eye, then th... 


Oh... 


Oh no. I... this can't be happening. | didn't do anything wrong. They 
just stuck me in here with a monster without any rhyme or reason. 


| don't want to die, but... but... there's a... a... 


There's a pipe sticking out of my chest, right through my heart. 


Don't Call Us, We'll Find You 


Electronically recorded journal of Dr. Gerard L. Johnston. Recovered 
after a recommendation for employment was made by his superior, 
Dr. Devon Corbin. Dr. Johnston's continued employment is being 
reviewed at this time. Dr. Johnston is currently employed at Site 33, 
Psychological Care Facility 22, and believes it to be a government- 
run psychiatric hospital for high-clearance personnel involved in 
incidents related to national security. 


Site 33 - Psychological Care Facility 22 
// 


[| Note: Patient 207 is Agent Corinne , exposed to SCP-212 on 
05/12/2002 resulting in a complete restructuring of the 
musculoskeletal composition of her face and torso. Agent Corinne 
suffers from identity issues as a result of this and has been 
remanded to the care of PCF-22 until she is capable of returning to 
duty.] 


Same old, same old, journal. It's been a tense year, ever since 
patient 612 got here. I'm supposed to take over for Dr. Smith on that 
patient in a few weeks, apparently Smith's requested a sabbatical. 
Still don't know why they won't give us a name to identify them by, | 
know these are important people, but an alias wouldn't hurt anyone, 
would it? Anyway, | only had to deal with Patient 207, but that was 
enough, let me tell you. She's still a wreck after undergoing that 
reconstructive facial surgery - apparently a lot of the tissue wasn't 
recoverable, and so they had to perform a face transplant in addition 
to pinning about half the bones in her skull together. Honestly, 
whoever did it deserves a medal, she looks amazingly healthy - no 
swelling around the face or scarring that I'd expect, but the end 
result was that she can't handle looking totally different, and she got 
put here. 


| walked into her room today, and she was curled up in the fetal 


position in the corner, crying again. She seemed to have gone 
through another episode of depersonalization, which is 
understandable. 207 has rejected her new appearance as that of 
another person, and has adopted her identification number, 207, as 
her new name. Often, she will pair this number with another name 
that she doesn't seem to be fond of, "Skip." In her periods of lucidity, 
she's demonstrated remarkable intelligence and a keen, if dark, 
sense of humor. "Corinne" is what she prefers to be identified as in 
these moments, and she absolutely clams up if | ask her about 
"Skip", or "Skip 207". The number 207 doesn't elicit the same 
response from her, which is odd. Skip must mean something more 
to her, but what is unknown and probably unimportant. 


| really think she can be helped, but it's going to be a long-term 
process of teaching her to accept her new face and pair it with her 
sense of identity, which has given her a lot of trouble. You've got to 
feel bad for her, a nasty incident necessitating that kind of 
reconstructive surgery is rough enough, the long-term effects are 
just salt in the wound. 


iS 


[ Note: Patient 337 is a D-class unit (D-42773) exposed to SCP- _, 
eating a single brown candy. He has been remanded to PCF-22 in 
order to study the length of effect of SCP- and to determine if it 
‘wears off'.] 


Had to go see 337 today, which is honestly refreshing. Sometimes 
he hears voices running commentary on his life, sometimes they 
argue, but that's basically the only variation you hit in his symptoms. 
| feel bad for the guy, sure - he can barely communicate, suffers 
from hallucinations of all sorts of messed up stuff, and when he's not 
doing that, he just sits on his bed and stares into space for hours on 
end. But, on the plus side, he's basically a textbook case of 
schizophrenia. | thought he was faking at first, the symptoms 337 
exhibits are literally straight out of the DSM-IV. 


Unfortunately, he isn't responding to treatment. | mean, at all- all the 
antipsychotics in the book haven't done a damn thing. | switched 
him to electroconvulsive therapy - still, nothing. We've just had to 
keep him restrained until we can figure something out, but so far all 


that's worked are sedatives. | don't think I've had a case that any 
colleague not working here would believe since I've started. 


// 
[ Note: Patient 612 is Dr. , a linguist assigned to studying 
the symbols produced by SCP-035. Dr. ‘s mental state 


degraded continuously over the three and a half weeks she worked 
on the project, until she was caught fashioning a stylus out of 
D-13448's ulna shortly after his termination. At that point, Dr. 

was sent to PCF-22, was she has resided for several months. ] 


| know the government's up to some crazy stuff, but this has 
officially gone beyond the pale. Today was my first day on 612, and | 
was ready for just about anything. I've seen some nasty stuff in my 
life, some seriously disturbed people, and so have my colleagues... 
which is what initially concerned me about the rumors. Something is 
wrong here, and | don't know what, and | don't know if | want to 
know. 


| walked into 612's room - unpadded, and she was unrestrained, 
which really shocked me at first. With all the rumors flying, | was 
expecting some kind of feral maniac trying to rip her own face off. 
Instead, she had a stack of paper, a pen, and a bed. She was 
completely still, had the sheets on the bed pulled up over her face, 
and she wouldn't acknowledge me. Gave me time to evaluate the 
situation, | figured, and | started going through the papers. She's a 
doctor of linguistics, so | wasn't too surprised when | didn't 
understand the writing, but it was pretty clearly Latin and Greek... 
but some of it | didn't recognize, wedges in patterns. Sections of it 
were circled with notes written in the margins, same language as 
whatever was circled. | looked it up a few hours ago, that wedge- 
writing was cuneiform, Sumerian writing. She has had no education 
whatsoever in Sumerian culture or languages. | tried to take the 
papers out of the room, and the guards stopped me, saying that it 
was their job to handle that. When | protested, they flashed a badge 
in my face and said something about a foundation, then they gave 
that meaningful look that basically translates to 'I'm better armed 
than you are, back off.’ | left 612's room after that, went immediately 
to Dr. Corbin, who's in charge around here (I thought), and got about 
six words in before he cut me off and told me to let the guards 


handle it and just worry about 612. 


| didn't press it at the time, even though | probably should have. 
612's cell was the same as | left it, stack of papers on the desk, 
blankets pulled up over her head, no response from 612. | admit my 
temper wasn't what it ought to have been, | should've probably left 
well enough alone, but something about 612 just set me off. | walked 
over and ripped the blankets off of 612, and got quite another 
surprise. 612 was using the blankets to keep people from seeing as 
she drew a new Set of symbols on her bed in her own blood. I've 
seen self-mutilation and writing in bodily fluids before, that wasn't 
the surprising part. What got me was that these were certainly not 
cuneiform, nor anything from the Greek or Latin alphabets. Also 
notable was the pattern of self-mutilation that no one had seen fit to 
mention on any of the reports- these cuts were made with a pattern 
in mind, and for God's sake, | don't know what. When the guards 
noticed, they came into the cell, sedated 612, and dragged me out 
of there. | left work from there and came home, took a nap to clear 
my mind, and wrote this down... | don't know if | can go back to work 
tomorrow. Something is really, really wrong here and | don't know 
what. Dr. Corbin knows, but he won't tell me. The guards even 
know, and they won't tell me. Something's got to give, and soon, or 
I'm out of here. 


// 


[ Note: Patient 552, or Guard Matthew , Was assigned to 
SCP-231 as an observer for Procedure 110-Montauk, during which 
he prevented two D-class personnel assigned to the procedure from 
murdering SCP-231-7 in the midst of the proscribed of 
Procedure 110-Montauk. SCP-231-7 requested to be euthanized 
shortly after Guard intervened, a request which was summarily 
denied by Guard . AClass 3 commendation has been placed 
on Guard 's personnel file and as per his request, he was 
transferred to Site - . Shortly after his transfer, he was offered and 
refused a Class B Amnestic and memory implantation, after which 
he suffered a psychological breakdown, necessitating his current 
status in PCF-22.] 


| can't work in this environment anymore, this has become ludicrous. 
| was talking to 552 today - the one with the depressive and guilt 


issues, fairly standard case and he seemed to be responding well to 
therapy. He has problems I'm not going to be able to help him with 
unless he opens up more... this negative self-image he carries 
around is like a greenhouse for depression, it's just going to keep 
feeding on itself and growing. The fact that a guard detail is required 
to accompany anyone interviewing 552 Is just hindering his 
treatment further - it's going to be hard enough to get him to tell me 
why he hates himself, much less two armed guards standing less 
than three meters away. 


To be honest, | really think the guards know more than | do about 
this place, and | don't like it. | swear | caught one of them making a 
threatening gesture at 552 today when | thought for sure the poor 
bastard was going to crack and tell me what was wrong. Of course, 
he clammed up immediately, at which point | terminated the 
interview and went straight to Corbin. At which point | got the same 
damn runaround I'm always going to get around here, where of 
course the guards are here for my own safety, and no, don't be 
ridiculous, the guards would never interfere with a patient's 
treatment, and blah blah you're imagining things take a day off. I'm 
going in tomorrow and giving Corbin a piece of my mind about this 
whole business, he and | both know something odd is going on, and 
he needs to level with me about it. 


[ Note: Dr. Johnston is to be evaluated for potential direct 
employment by the Foundation as a Class 1 on-site staff 
psychiatrist. He knows enough at this point he could be considered 
a security risk, and he could still be useful to us. | can't keep 
brushing him off like | have been without making it blatantly clear 
that I'm hiding things from him. -Dr. Corbin] 


03@01:23 


03@21:24 


04@00:00 


04@08:10 


specimens of SCP-837. 

Pile of scrapings is a mound 
approximately 11 cm in height. 
Metal scrapings have been 
moved to the interior of the pile of 
paint scrapings. 

Pile of scrapings continues to 
increase in size as specimens 
continue to transport metal and 
paint fragments to it. Activity in 
the interior of the pile of paint 
scrapings is unobservable, but 
thermal imaging indicates the 
presence of a heat source within 
(presumably friction or body 
metabolism of SCP-837). 

Due to reproduction, chamber 
observed to contain 
approximately 12,000 live 
specimens of SCP-831 (excluding 
any that may be obscured from 
view in the interior of the pile). 
Personnel D-334 enters the 
observation chamber at the 
direction of Dr. Garcia and 
intentionally scatters the pile of 
paint and metal scrapings. Pile is 
observed to contain at least 1,000 
specimens of SCP-831 and 
eleven metal objects, some of 
which are similar to the original 
scraping implement and some of 
which resemble picks and chisels. 
One of these instruments is 
retrieved. Analysis shows that the 
instrument, a sharp metal cone 
approximately 1 cm in length, 

1 mm maximum diameter, is 
composed of the same metal as 
the metal floor scrapings. 


Don't Forget 


This letter is to anyone who remembers that one should 
always take care of their fellow man. 


I'm stuck in this little room surrounded by a big layer of 
concrete. | usually can't open the door because it locks 
from the other side. Sometimes people leave the door 
opened and | leave, but when | try to get someone to 
help me, nobody will pay any attention to me. | can try 
hitting them, knocking their stuff over, screaming at 
them, but they'll just keep going about their business like 
| don't even exist. Sometimes | try to run away, but when 
| get outside my head starts hurting, and then | get really 
tired. When | go to sleep, | wake up back in that 
intolerable room, locked in and forgotten. Again. 


Sometimes people come into my room. We talk, and 
they're usually very surprised to see me. They always 
promise to get me help. They take lots of notes and 
photos so they don't forget me, but they always do. 
Lately, it's been a bunch of scientists in lab coats. You 
would think that a scientist would have a better memory 
then those other guys who came before them, but they 
forget about me like all the rest. 


If you find this letter, and you come into my room, please 
don't leave me in there. Take me with you so we can 
make people see me. Make them see | exist. 


Please. 


Why doesn't anyone remember me? 


Don't Forget The Dead 


Haley Lee sat in her office, writing up a report on the latest death 
that had occurred in Site-27. There wasn't a lot to write. On 
February 7th, 2018, Eric Bernard, a fellow researcher on Site-27, 
was found dead in the middle of a corridor. That was it. That was all 
the information they had managed to gather in the last three days. 
Haley sighed, looked down at the report, checking it for errors, then 
turned and opened up the file marked "Recent Casualties." 


There were too many. 


Over 80 people had been found dead on Site-27 during the last 
month. At least 20 of those people had died this week, and there still 
wasn't a single piece of information on what killed them, or how. 


None of the bodies had any sort of injury on them, and by all 
accounts they were in perfect health. Even the cameras were unable 
to provide any evidence. Perfectly healthy people just...died, in the 
middle of the day. 


Haley slid Bernard's report into the file, paused, then pulled out the 
file and laid it on her desk. She opened the file, and began to read 
through the reports. There was no point, they all said the same 
thing. To her though, it was a matter of respect, a way of saying that 
they were still looking, still trying. 


She did this every day, sometimes twice a day. She remembered 
them all so well. Her fellow researchers, various site managers, hell, 
even a few D-Class she had seen maybe once. The memories were 
vivid, always at the forefront of her mind. But everyone else seemed 
to forget after a few days. 


She smiled sadly as she read through the reports, memories of each 


person bursting into full bloom. 


Casualty Report 

Name: Brandon Sullivan 

Site Occupation: Researcher 
Date of Death: 1-16-2018 

Time of Death: 4:48 PM 11:27 AM 
Cause of Death: Unknown 


Casualty Report 

Name: Andre Johnson 

Site Occupation: Assistant 

Date of Death: 1-17-2018 

Time of Death: 2:27 PM 1:11 PM 
Cause of Death: Unknown 


Casualty Report 

Name: Shannon Bruce 

Site Occupation: Assistant 

Date of Death: 1-17-2018 

Time of Death: 7:28 PM 4:01 PM 
Cause of Death: Unknown 


Casualty Report 

Name: Beverly Bass