Doctor's Notes: After talking with John and Nora, 
neither of them can explain the former's sudden irrational 
fear of birds, specifically crows. John appears reluctant 
to speak or think of them, citing feeling unnerved by their 
feathers and beaks. John was previously fond of leaving 
food out for the crows, and neither had any recollection 
of hostility towards them, even from crows not in their 
yard. | am suggesting Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, and 
will consider prescribing benzodiazepines (minor 
tranquilizers) should this condition worsen. Case is 
considered closed, but | will reopen should they come 
back in. 


¢ Patient returned on 05.23.2017 following what his wife 
described as a 'breakdown' after a crow accidentally entered 
their house through the chimney. Patient reportedly locked 
himself in the bathroom and refused to leave for two full days, 
only leaving when his wife forced open the door and dragged 
him to the car. As he had not left the bathroom in two days, 
patient was poorly nourished, having lost a surprisingly large 
amount of weight since his last visit. Patient discharged after 
two days, though he was apprehensive to leave. Patient 
prescribed benzodiazepines (twice per day, by mouth with 
food). 


Doctor's Notes: / spoke to John and Nora again, both of 
them were nervous wrecks. John can't even say the 
word 'crow' aloud anymore, which is definitely a step 
backwards. I'm prescribing him the tranquilizers, and 
Nora says she'll make sure he's eating right. The amount 
of weight he’s lost in such a short period of time is 
troubling. He also complained of stomach and lower 
body pains, but | suspect that's because he hasn't eaten 
in two days. | prescribed a burger. In any case, I'm 
optimistic that he can make a swift recovery. 


Patient returned again on 06.03.2017, complaining of severe 
abdominal pains, as well as general soreness. Tranquilizers 
had provided some help in easing patient's ornithophobia, but 
patient had become increasingly reliant on them, in some 
cases taking up to twice the recommended amount. Patient 
underwent an X-Ray, which revealed that his bones were 
partially hollow, causing significant physical strain. Analysis 
also revealed the presence of a new mass of tissues that was 
not previously present, connected to the stomach and the 
intestines. Patient hospitalized, currently in room 407, with 
Patient 00247851. 


Doctor's Notes: Neither of them seem to have any idea 
what's going on. Nora nearly burst into tears when the 
results of the X-Ray came in. John, as opposed to his 
previous behavior, seems strangely at peace with the 


situation, though that might just be the tranquilizers. He 
should be dead from a lack of red blood cells, but he 
seems relatively healthy. After we left room 407, Nora 
shared something particularly odd with me, that | hadn't 
noticed myself. John's eyes were black now. A unique 
case of heterochromia perhaps? He doesn't seem to be 
displaying any symptoms of Horner's syndrome or 
Heterochromatic Iridocyclitis, other medical conditions 
that can cause a change in iris coloration, nor is he 
displaying any noticeable vision problems. Though I'm 
not happy about it, the only thing we can do Is wait. 


On 06.07.2017, patient began to develop numerous keratin 
protrusions on his scalp, as well as upper arms. While these 
cause only minor discomfort, they do cause significant 
psychological distress. Patient's posture has also begun to 
worsen significantly. 


Doctor's Notes: While we're not going public with this 
for the sake of John and Nora's privacy, we're 
increasingly at a loss as for what to do. Doctors from 
halfway across the country are coming in, and we're all 
drawing blanks. As for John himself, his mental condition 
is getting worse. He appears to be having trouble 
understanding me when | speak, and has developed an 
odd habit of turning his head to the side to look at me. 
The other patient in his room is a unnerved by his 
behavior, as am I. Nursing staff are having difficulties 
accommodating him, may consider a transfer to the 
psychiatric ward should this continue. 


* Patient moved to room 606 in the psychiatric ward, following 
an unprovoked attack on Patient 00247851, during which 
Patient 00245686 left his bed, climbed on top of the sleeping 
Patient 00247851, and began to bite and kick him, targeting 
the face, while waving his arms wildly. Patient 00245686 was 
quickly restrained, and both only suffered minor bruises and 


scratches. Patient is unsure why he attacked the other man, 
and became distraught and unresponsive following the event. 


Doctor's Notes: /'m not sure what to make of this. I'm 
beginning to suspect the patient is undergoing some sort 
of psychosis in addition to whatever is afflicting him 
physically. Perhaps it's his way of dealing with his 
sudden fear of birds, by becoming one? On the subject 
of his physical ailment, however, the keratin protrusions 
are continuing to pop up. Some of them are beginning to 
develop soft filaments, like proto-feathers. The mass of 
tissues we detected in his abdominal region has 
developed into a sort of gizzard, with a few gastroliths 
starting to appear. What is happening to this man? 


On 06.27.2017, patient left room unannounced, and ran down 
the hallway. Patient was unable to be located for roughly half 
an hour, at which point a nurse discovered the patient outside 
in the courtyard, jumping in place, vocalizing in a hoarse tone, 
chasing nearby birds, and eating the remains of a sandwich 
stolen from a doctor's office. Patient was brought back to his 
room without issue. Custodial staff noted a previously 
unopened window on the second floor was open, with traces 
of 'black fluff’ in the surrounding area. 


Doctor's Notes: John's ‘feathers’ are springing up much 
faster than they were before. They aren't just keratin 
protrusions with filaments anymore, they're vaned 
feathers, with a small number of down feathers 
beginning to form under them. He doesn't speak 
anymore, and seems to have difficulty determining when 
he's spoken to. The psychosis, if we can call it that at this 
point, has progressed too far. The thought occurred to 
me weeks ago, but | dismissed it because of the 
absurdity. Now I'm almost certain. John isn't just 
adopting the behaviors of a crow. He's turning into a 
crow. It sounds ridiculous, but it's the most logical 
explanation any of us have. John's wife stopped coming 
in to check up on him. | can't blame her, John isn't 


exactly himself anymore. Nothing we do appears to slow 
down his condition, psychological or medical. We're at a 
loss, both literally and physically. 


Patient reported missing on 07.25.2017. Patient 00245686 
was last seen bursting out of his room for no clear reason, and 
running at full soeed to the nearest window, before breaking 
the glass, and jumping out. The current whereabouts of the 
patient are unknown, as no remains were found outside, and 
the fall would have almost certainly been lethal. 


Doctor's Notes: He flew away. Of course, we can't just 
give that as an official explanation, but we all know it. | 
tried to call Nora, but she won't answer the phone 
anymore. I'm in contact with a colleague, who says he 
knows people — S&C Pharmaceuticals, he called them 
— who may be able to figure out this situation, and 
maybe even find a way to help John. | hope, for his sake, 
they can. 


Closing Comments 


Patient Status:_Missing_ 
Will be back for a checkup on: N/A_ 
Case Status: Closed_ 


Ecce Perago 


And so, at last, it had come to this. Day after day, week after week, 
they had come to him. Talking to him. Telling him their lies, trying to 
see where he broke. They'd never realized how much they had told 
him instead. When you hear enough lies, you get a feeling for the 
truth. You can see the shape of the truth, by how the lies outline it. 


He had everything in place. He'd had it in place for quite some time. 
Plans, plots, and schemes, all ready to go, when everything was 
right. In the end, all it took to spark it off was a simple cold. The old 
lady had already been quite weak, refusing to indulge in treatments 
like the others. An illness introduced into her system by a well- 
placed cough, and she passed away in her sleep. The numbers 
above and below her had came to him and offered him her numbers. 
He accepted, with a show of reluctance. Those who are shown to 
desire power are those least likely to be trusted with it. 


And now O5-4 sat in his office. He had been given his mark of office. 
A foot-long length of bone, polished smooth. His name had been 
erased, not just from Foundation databanks, but from the minds of 
all who had known him. He was sure the other numbers knew his 
name, but soon enough, they wouldn't matter. He let his fingers drift 
towards the keyboard before him, and a half smile rose to his lips. 
Alone, with no one watching, he still felt the need to say, well, 
something. For posterity. "I feel like a super villain. Like Lex Luthor, 
or Adrian Veidt. Heh. 'Do it, Dr. Bright? | did it 35 minutes ago." As 
good a set of words as any. 


Four touched a series of buttons, setting into motion the events that 
would place the entirety of the Foundation into his hands. Then he 
sat back and waited. Fifteen minutes, and everything would be his. 


13 


Start of excerpt 
Dr. Winston: What you were doing didn't feel in any way 
wrong to you? 


Mrs. -_ :Notreally. It was a relief, honestly. 
Dr. Winston: How so? 
Mrs. -  : Helping people is something | wanted to do 


for its own sake. Through giving of myself in secret, | 
knew that | was not acting out of selfish motives. | knew 
that | really was a good person. The pain was nothing to 
that knowledge. 

Dr. Winston: That's also why you donated your kidney? 
Mrs. - _ : Yes. But that was somehow less satisfying. 
| think it lacked the personal touch. There's nothing like 
seeing the kids' eyes light up when they see a fresh- 
baked pan of brownies, you know. 

Dr. Winston: Ma'am, did you read the document we 
gave you when we took you into custody? 

Mrs. - _ :1did. It was quite interesting indeed. 

Dr. Winston: Do you feel any differently about your 
actions after reading it? 

Mrs. -  : Why should I? I'm a better person now, and 
| thank God for creating such a creature to show me how 
to walk in his ways! | don't understand how you don't see 
the beauty of this. 

End of excerpt 


« SCP-832 | SCP-833 | SCP-834 » 


Thirteen was easiest. Mainly because O5-13 didn't really exist. Oh, 
the Senior Staff were told he did. There were memos, handed down 
by '05-13,' but it was just one more lie. Thirteen's vote was rotated 
to the other O5's, moving up a step any time there was a tie vote 
and the tie breaker was needed. But there was a power there. 
Knowledge, that only those who held Thirteen's vote could access. 
A simple (actually quite complex) computer virus snuck past the 
Overseers’ firewalls, and bestowed the power of Thirteen to Four. 
Easy as that. 


12 


A large African man sat in his chair, behind an expensive desk. The 
room he used as his office could also quite easily be described as 
‘expensive.’ The man himself could be described the same. Silk tie. 
Gold cufflinks. Armani suit. Shoes made from the skin of a very rare 
reptile. He wore dark wrap-around glasses, smoked glass framed in 
ivory, perhaps to hide his eyes, perhaps to keep him from looking 
too closely at the things he had to. Although he had once borne 
another name, these days he was known to one and all as O5-12. 
He was the accountant for the Overseer council, making sure the 
numbers added up, everywhere. 


His assistant entered the office on schedule. Everything Twelve did 
was on schedule. From the moment he woke up, to the moment he 
went to sleep, and perhaps even his dreams, followed a precise, 
practical order. To do things otherwise invited chaos, and with chaos 
came death. The assistant walked calmly to the drink cabinet, 
opening it as he had done every day for years. Somewhere in his 
head, things were turning. A thing had been planted in his head, 
before he became Twelve's right-hand man. And now, this thing 
made him pick a different bottle than the one he normally did. 


The glass was poured, and it looked like whiskey. It even smelled 
like whiskey. When the brainwashed assistant dropped an ice cube 
in it, it even bubbled a little, like whiskey. But, when O5-12 raised it 
to his lips and gulped it down, it didn't act like whiskey. Contact with 
the soft, wet flesh of his tongue and throat resulted in a chemical 
reaction. Instead of the sweet soothing burn of alcohol, Twelve was 


rewarded with the swift, horrible burn of acid. 


He was dead before the glass left his lips. 


11 


The two men sat across from each other, separated only by a 
chessboard. It was an old board, but they were old men. O5-11 was 
a pleasant enough looking Caucasian gentlemen, one of those old 
men who sit on their porch and offer candy to little children. Not the 
creepy kind. Eleven fiddled with a bracelet made from human teeth 
as he considered both the board, and his opponent. 


"It's still your move, 'Leven," Agent Alto Clef teased his superior. 
Maybe the Devil, maybe a reality bender, one thing could be said for 
certain: Clef enjoyed these monthly games with Eleven. When his 
phone beeped to alert him to an incoming text, he almost ignored it. 
Almost. But he'd expected this. Sure enough, the text merely read 
‘Now.’ 


"Check." 


"Where? You don't have check anywhere!" 05-11 leaned across the 
chessboard, searching for his opponent's move, his hands touching 
both sides of the board. 


A sad smile on his face, Clef spoke. "There." He calmly tipped over 
his own king, and 300 amps of electricity charged into Eleven's 
body, frying his brain to a crisp. 


"Checkmate." 


10 


05-10 didn't notice when the air conditioning kicked on. It was just 
another distraction from the endless paperwork that filled her life 
these days. She was a strong, capable woman, a brunette, dressed 
in a functional long skirt and jacket. Every five minutes she'd raise 


her hand to the necklace around her throat, a carved marble eyeball, 
dangling to stare at her paperwork with the same disgust she felt for 
it. 


Her first indication that anything was wrong was when she realized 
she'd read the same page 4 times without comprehending it. By 
then it was too late. She could hear the clicking and hissing sounds 
being made by her body. Her hand refused to let go of the paper. 
Her hand refused to let go of the paper. Her hand refused to let go. 
Her hand refused. Her hand. Her. 


9 


He always claimed he was the unluckiest O5. The only one who 
didn't get to be a world-traveling jetsetter. Oh no. Nine was stuck 
deep in the middle of the ocean. Sure, he could travel to any of the 
water Sites, all couple dozen of them, but most of the time, he 
ended up here, deep beneath the sea, where no natural light could 
find its way. He was a pale man, small, always looking lost in the 
suits he tried to make look good. A bone-handled knife rested in his 
hands at this moment in time, as he stared into the abyss. It would 
have been poetic to say something gazed back, but the only thing 
outside the window in his office was water, lots and lots of water. 


Several seconds later, the only thing inside his office was lots and 
lots of water. Between the water in his lungs, and the pressure so 
deep, O5-9 was the unluckiest O5. 


8