Day -???: SCP-953 attacks "YiffCon _," killing attendees. 
There is one surviving witness. ("And Then | Saw The Light.") 
D-Day: "Tempest Night" - A major attack on Site 17 
results in multiple containment breaches. 

Day +0: The mop-up after Tempest Night begins. (Antivirus) 
Day +1: SCP-953 joins in an uneasy alliance with the 
Proponents of Paranormal Rights. ("And Then | Saw The 
Light.") 

Day +1: Second Language, in which SCP-911 visits SCP-343. 
Day +3: SCP-542 and SCP-347 go to dinner. (RUN AWAY 
FOREVURRR) 

Day +4: Agents Kramer and Harken pay a courtesy call to a 
higher-up at Marshall, Carter, and Dark. (A Working Lunch) 
Day +6: Agents Kramer and Harken take out a facility run by 
the Church of the Broken God. (Like Clockwork) 

Day +8: A visit is paid to a small house in the countryside. 
("The Light At the End of the Tunnel.") 

Day +9: A place between worlds. ("Tunneling Between 
Worlds.") 

Day +10: Agent Grims meets the Bagman (F.U.B.A.R) 

Day +11: An angel encounters the Church. (Rapture) 

Day +12: Agents Harken and Kramer get new orders. 
(Reflections) 

Day +17: A researcher encounters the SCP-682/SCP-229 
hybrid. (Getting Under His Skin) 

Day +18: Mr. Dark arrives on the scene, tired of his 
underlings’ setbacks. (Discovered Attack). 


¢ Day +20: An exchange of emails, a doctor visit and a diary 
entry. (A Breath of Fresh Air: Inhale) 

¢ Day +21: A shootout in a shopping mall raises more questions 
than it answers. (The World From a Different Angle) 

¢ Day +23: The remains of a known Marshall, Carter and Dark 
employee wash up on a beach in Florida. (A Little Chat) 

¢ Day +24: MC&D acquire a new SCP. 

¢ Day +26: A strange man is hired by Sir Samuel Valley. 

¢ Day +28: AgentD M checks in to command. (A Breath 
of Fresh Air: Holding It) 

¢ Day +31: The GOC prepares for an attack on the Wanderer's 
Library. Mister Dark meets with SCP-953. The Foundation 
goes on the offensive. (Angle of Attack) 

¢ Day +35: SCP-682 escapes the confines of Site 17. (Basking 
in the Light) 

¢ Day +38: Following a series of devastating attacks, two 
groups make an alliance against a common enemy. (Attacking 
The Darkness) 

* Day + :"Tempest Night 2" - Reinforced elements of the PPR 
carry out coordinated attacks on multiple Foundation Sites, as 
well as those of other occult organizations. 


INDEX OF STORIES 


Vector of Transmission (SCP-353) 


Storyline Coordinators: Clef 

Having escaped her captivity, the disease-controlling girl Vector and 
her small cadre of fanatically loyal reluctant followers pursue their 
her own ends. 


¢ Point In Line: Vector and the PPR have a talk. 


Predator (SCP-953, The Proponents of 


Dr. Long: Preferably one who doesn't watch romantic 
comedies. 


(D-45951 is escorted out of the testing chamber.) 


Dr. Rensburg: Well, at least we got some results. | 
wonder what specifically triggered it to reject his hand? 


Dr. Long: Heh, maybe he really was honest enough for 
it. Creepy little fucker. Hey, that reminds me — how did 
you know the details about what he did? 


Dr. Rensburg: Seriously, man? | was bluffing! 


(At this point, SCP-645 opened its mouth to a width of 
approximately 70 cm, and propulsed an elongated frog- 
like tongue four meters across the room at Drs. 
Rensburg and Long. The tongue coiled around Dr. 
Rensburg’s right wrist and severed his hand, then 
retracted, colliding with Dr. Long and breaking his left 
shoulder in the process. The tongue had fully returned to 
the mouth, and the mouth had returned to its normal 
size, within 0.7 seconds. Both doctors survived as a 
result of prompt medical attention; however, Dr. 
Rensburg's hand was too badly damaged to be 
reattached.) 


NOTE: After a thorough review of not only Incident 645-N41, but of 
all footage of personnel in proximity to SCP-645, | have come to the 
conclusion that SCP-645 is most likely sapient. This was not the first 
time that personnel in proximity to SCP-645 have lied or otherwise 
been less than honest; however, in light of D-45951's admittedly 
impressive performance in avoiding any untruths, and of 645's 
unprecedented rejection of his hand, | feel that 645's attack on Dr. 
Rensburg, immediately after he admitted to having deceived 
D-45951, was a conscious act, motivated by resentment and 
antipathy. Incident 645-N41 also revealed that the scope of 645's 
anomalous properties is far greater than we had suspected; in 
particular, it can no longer be considered to pass the ‘locked box' 
test. | therefore request that its object class be upgraded to Euclid. 
— Site Director R. Kocharian. 


Paranormal Rights) 


Storyline Coordinators: Clef 
An uneasy alliance between a group of paranormal conservationists 
and a creature out of myth yields strange fruit. 


¢ "And Then | Saw The Light." (by Clef). A deal is made. The 
dice are cast. 

"The Light At the End of the Tunnel." (by Clef) Alliances and 
Betrayals. 

"Tunneling Between Worlds." (by Clef) Things get 
complicated. 

Angle of Attack (By Clef, Gears, and Eric_H). Things escalate. 


Monitor Lizard Gone Viral (SCP-229; 
SCP-682) 


Storyline Coordinators: GrandEnder 

At Site 17, researchers are forced to deal with the consequences of 
the attack, including a rapidly evolving cyberorganism made up of 
SCP-682 cross-contaminated with SCP-229 


¢ Antivirus (by GrandEnder). Turing complete. 

¢ Getting Under His Skin (by Drewbear). When the sound gets 
to be too much. 

¢ Basking in the Light (by GrandEnder). The Dragon rises. 


Pain Train (SCP-737; Marshall, Carter, and 
Dark) 


Storyline Coordinators: Tanhony 

A disgruntled former MC&D Employee tries to breed and market 
SCP-737 and gets into trouble both with the Foundation and his 
erstwhile associates. 


¢ A Little Chat (by Tanhony) Mr. Jacobs digs a little too deep. 


¢ Fun (by Tanhony) Sir Samuel Valley has some fun, then gets 
down to business. 


And In The Wings, Shadows (Multiple 
subjects and items) 


Storyline Coordinators Dr. Gears 

Following the actions and movements of those who are using the 
disaster for their own ends. The exploits of Agents Kramer and 
Harken, The Bagman, and others. 


¢ A Working Lunch (by Clef). Kramer and Harken solicit for a 
good cause. 

¢ Like Clockwork (By Gears, with edits by Clef). A surgical 

action by Agent Kramer. 

Reflections (By Gears, with edits by Clef). Agents Kramer and 

Harken get issued new orders. 

« F.U.B.A.R (By Gears, with edits by Clef). A simple recon 

mission becomes anything but. 

Discovered Attack (By Gears, Eric_H, and Clef). Mr. Dark 

makes his opening moves. 

¢ Point In Line (by Gears and Clef). MC&D call in some 
specialists and make some acquisitions. 

« Angle of Attack (By Clef, Gears, and Eric_H). Things escalate. 

Attacking The Darkness (By Clef and Gears). Things escalate 

further. 

Settling Tabs (By Gears and Clef). Agent Harken follows up a 

lead. 

Lost Time (By Gears). A loney mission on a lonely roof. 


A Breath of Fresh Air (SCP-200) 


Storyline Coordinator: Drewbear 
Following the escape of the newly emerged SCP-200, it establishes 
itself within a small town, with unusual results. 


* Imago (by Drewbear). Waking from a long sleep, an adult 


catches some breakfast. 

* Inhale (by Drewbear). A small town gets comfortable with a 
new resident. 

¢ Holding It (by Drewbear). A few new faces come to visit and 
look for a lost acquaintance, while the townsfolk make 
preparations for a rite of passage. 

* Exhale (by Drewbear) (pending). The shit hits the fan, and 
nobody gets quite what they want. 


Other Incidents 


Other incidents falling outside the main storylines. 


* RUN AWAY FOREVURRR (by Rights) Think Homeward 
Bound. But with SCPs instead of talking animals. 

* "Sometimes You Get the Bear. . ." (by Clef) Postmortem of a 
failed op. 

¢ The World From a Different Angle (by Clef) Six perspectives 
on one incident. 

¢ Rapture (by azzleflux) An angel encounters the Church. 


Game Day Phase 2:"... And Then I Saw The Light" 


"What am | even doing here?" Sol muttered, watching the man in the 
wolf suit walk by. "| don't have anything in common with these 
people." 


"These people happen to be our most faithful customers, man," 
James said. "It's a big hit among furry audiences." 


"| Know,” Sol sighed. "I've seen the fanart. It's not like anyone gives 
a crap about the writing, anyway, they just want to see the guy who 
draws the sexy animal girls." 


"Not true! The comic gets twice the number of hits that my art does. 
People come back for your writing, man. We're a team, remember?" 


"Whatever, dude. All | Know is I'm down the cost of a plane ticket 
and hotel room, and no one's buying shit." 


James rolled his eyes and grinned. "Hey, don't worry, man, we'll at 
least break even before the con's over. Tell ya what: let's go 
clubbing after this. Grab a couple of beers and forget about this 
whole thing. You'll be happy again in no time, man." 


"Is it going to be a normal club or one where everyone wears 
fursuits?” Sol griped. 


"It's going to be a furpile. We'll all yiff and scritch each other, then 
lick each other's fursuits and die of poisoning like in that one 
episode of CSI." 


"Really?" 
"No at 


"Damn, you got my hopes up." 


"Sorry to disappoint you." He glanced down at his watch. "I've got an 
artist meetup to go to. Hold the fort, try to sell a few books, kay?" 


"See ya." Sol gave his friend a lazy wave and leaned back to watch 
the freaks. Most of them were clustered at the other end of the 
artist's alley, where the more risqué artists were hawking their 
wares. He sighed and cursed the day that James had ever 
convinced him that, "We should totally do a comic together, man." 
On the whole, he would much rather be sleeping in. 


He was startled to realize that someone was standing at his booth, 
flipping through Volume 1. Her brow was furrowed, and her lips were 
pursed together as she scrutinized the pages. "You are the writer?" 
she asked. 


"Yeah, that's me. SolKid." 
"A strange name." 


"It's my internet handle. My friends call me Sol. My parents call me 
Solomon." 


"Mmm." The girl frowned and held the book up to the light, shaking 
her head. "And so, this is what we've been reduced to," she said. 
"Masturbatory fantasy fodder." 


"It's what the people want. You gonna buy that or not?" Sol asked. 


"No," the girl said, putting the book back down in its wire stand. "| 
think | shall give you something better." She smiled, revealing long, 
sharp canine teeth: a feral, animal grin. "I think | shall give you 
something better to write about." 


It was only then that Sol realized that the girl was naked. 


She had vaguely Asian features: almond eyes and long straight 
black hair stretching to her knees. Her eyes were yellow, and their 
pupils were thin slits. Her fingers were tipped with sharp, hooked 
claws. Nine red, foxlike tails flared behind her. 


There was a brief hush. Everyone turned to gawk at her. A few 
camera flashes here and there. She stood silently, her head tilted 


back, eyes closed, hands clenched tightly at her sides. 


Then an overweight man in a red vest ran up, yelling, "HEY HEY 
HEY, NONE OF THAT, THIS IS A FAMILY CONVENTION!" 


Her hand flashed out as he reached to grab her, plunged into his 
abdomen with an unpleasant squelching sound before he even 
touched her, stepped aside and kicked at his shin, sending him 
sprawling to the ground screaming and grabbing at his spilling 
entrails. She opened her mouth unpleasantly wide and swallowed 
the gory thing clutched in her hand in a single gulp. 


Then the screaming started. 


Once, when he was a kid, Sol had taken a trip to the Holocaust 
museum with his high school class. They had seen an image of the 
inside of one of the gas chambers, where the prisoners had been 
executed. There were deep gouges in the walls where the desperate 
people had clawed at them to try and get out, places where they had 
trampled each other to death trying to crawl over each other to climb 
higher, in a blind panic. It had been terrifying enough to imagine that 
happening to emaciated, shaved-head prisoners in a Nazi death 
camp. 


It was even worse when happening to a bunch of brightly dressed 
fans at a convention. 


And then the madness began. He saw a skinny girl wearing cat's 
ears and a bodysuit screaming and pounding at a wall when an 
unlocked door was a few feet to her left. He saw a big, tough-looking 
guy wearing a black t-shirt go berserk and beat a teenage boy to 
death with a steel chair. A chubby girl walked up to him with empty 
eye sockets, her crushed eyes weeping blood and fluid. "Maggots in 
my eyes, get them out, maggots in my eyes, get them out," she 
wailed. 


And while this happened, the girl with the yellow eyes stalked 
through the crowd like a shark through a school of fish: never 
stopping, always killing. Here she tore a man's liver out and ate it 
whole. There, she tore a girl's throat with her teeth. Then she was 
no longer eating, just killing in a berserk frenzy, screaming mad, 


animal cries as she curbstomped a slightly overweight guy with bad 
acne to death against the concession stand counter. 


It was the most beautiful thing Sol had ever seen. 


And then it was still. The doors of the hall swung back and forth on 
broken hinges where the panicked crowd had smashed them down 
in their mad, panicked exodus. A few unfortunates, trampled under 
the crowd, lay groaning in pain on the hard concrete floor. She stood 
in the center of the circle of gore, skin stained scarlet, and she 
looked up at the hard, stark light of the fluorescent tubes, and said, 
in a voice made low and harsh with anger and frustration: "It doesn't 
help. Nothing helps." 


She turned to Sol, and there was murder in her eyes. "Go write 
about this," she said. 


And then she left. 


"And that was when | understood the truth," the man said. "Just as 
humanity has tried to sterilize our cities of wildlife and our lives of 
germs, we've tried to sterilize our minds from the supernatural. The 
hard light of science has tried to drive the things of myth out of our 
lives and into the corners of the world. And just like any cornered 
creature, they are fighting back." 


"While this continues, there can be no peace. The only solution is 
peaceful coexistence with the supernatural, as in the old days before 
the rise of the worldwide global scientific conspiracy, but as long as 
organizations like this Foundation exist, there can be no peace. For 
the sake of peace, they must be destroyed.” 


"The Serpent's Hand tries, but they are bound by the shackles of 
their own morals: they are useful to us, in a way, but they have not 
the will to do what needs to be done. The C.I. is content to lord over 
their Third World backwaters: like Mengele, they are interested only 
in their own grotesque experimentation. The Church is interested 
only in rescuing their "Broken God" from this Foundation. Only we of 
the Freemind Nation are willing to put our lives on the line for the 
sake of peace." 


"Will you help us?" 


The man stared intently at the girl sitting across the table. She had 
vaguely Asian features: almond eyes and long straight black hair 
stretching to her knees. Her eyes were yellow, and their pupils were 
thin slits. Her fingers were tipped with sharp, hooked claws, which 
she tapped against the hardwood table, where a plate with a liver 
from a freshly slaughtered, grass-fed, organically raised cow lay on 
a clean white plate. Nine red, foxlike tails flared behind her in a 
peacock's fan of swaying reddish fur. 


She reached out one hand and, without a word, swallowed the gory 
chunk of meat in front of her in one gulp. 


The man smiled. "Let me tell you about our plan, then..." 


Game Day, Phase 3: Protect