Everyone was staring at each other with stupid looks on their faces. 
One man half-pointed at her and then put his hand to his chin and 
looked to one of the researchers he was standing next to. 


“Is she... wait, where did....” the Doctor stammered to the 
researcher. 


“?m... not sure.” 


He looked down at the once ‘royal scepter’, still lying on the table 
amongst the assorted vending machine foods and said quietly to 
himself “I think... I’m going to leave now”. There was a worried look 
on his face. He looked down at his soaked underpants, which were 
covered by his lab coat, which was thrown over his shoulder like 
some sort of toga. “The... are... | don’t even...” He slowly started 
walking for the door. Everyone else followed suit, or at least tried to 
before being stopped by the director. 


“NO ONE IS LEAVING UNTIL SOMEONE TELLS ME WHAT THE 
HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE.” 


Addendum SCP-_ B3: 
Note Decree from Personnel Director 


Amnestics were rightly introduced into the ventilation of 
Site-18 after Incident 1. 


Mayreder and Agent Breen were recovered unharmed 
from a termination cell commonly used for dangerous D- 
Class personnel at the end of their cycles. Guards who 
placed them there claimed it was an order from “the 
divine”. They have been forgiven. 


I’m not entirely sure how this was allowed to happen, or 
how the situation escalated, as the entire Site’s video 
feeds were cut by those monitoring them “out of 
humility”. Those responsible for this have also been 


forgiven. 


| took it upon myself to destroy the SCP responsible for 
turning Site-18 into a madhouse. It is gone now. 
Destroyed. Decommissioned. Dead. Et cetera. 


The Rain 


Rain was pouring down on me from up above, pattering on the 
skylight of the break room as if mother nature herself had just gotten 
a broken heart. | could barely stand the sound. it reminded me of 
worse times, when the sound of the rain on glass was nothing more 
than the distance between me and a liquor store. Those were hard 
times. 


The sound started getting under my skin, so | went for a walk. Most 
evenings it's so dark you can't tell if it's day or night, and the only 
comfort you might get is the buzzing of fluorescent lamps and the 
yellowish glows they cast across the floor. Beyond that, around here 
the only friends you ever get are the sound of your heart beating fast 
and that feeling of a chill on the back of your neck when you think 
you're alone. 


The sound of my footsteps on the tile floor echoes like gunshots 
down the twisting corridor. | got a few stares from the tired Janes 
and grumpy Joes around every corner, but | didn't care. Nobody was 
gonna stop me from what | had to do. That rain! | could still hear it 
on the windows, and | felt my stomach sink like a cannonball in 
water. Somehow (and don't ask me how) | made it back to my office 
and sat down. My desk was littered with requests and reports, 
glaring up at me with their cold facts and their unending pain. | was 
tired. The rain still shook deep in my head and split my skull like a 
bolt of fire. 


| drew my sidearm and laid the sleek, black weapon on the desk, a 
tool of death coiled and ready to strike like a venomous snake. I'd 
thought about the possibility of ending things before. | heard once 
that firing a gun is a binary choice: Either you pull the trigger or you 
don't. Sometimes that decision is slow. Sometimes it's a decision 
you make in an instant. 


If nothing else, the the grave would silence this godforsaken rain. 


Dr. Brown pulled the hat off of the corpse. "You gotta be fucking 
kidding me." 


Agent Stevens shook his head. "This is ridiculous. How does a 
containment breach like this even happen?" 


Brown put the hat into a box and sealed it. "He checked it out earlier 
for research. He got approval from three level 3's. He followed 
protocol, up until he put the damn thing on." 


"Well, shit." He pointed at the box and glared at the doctor. "| want to 
make sure that thing stays locked up from now on. When | find out 
how the hell this happened, I'm gonna have one hell of a report. I'll 
be lucky if | still have a job." His eyes drifted over the dead 
researcher on the floor. "Then again, that might not be such a bad 
thing." 


The Real Adventures in Capitalism 


“The Real Adventures in Capitalism” is a memetic 
condition consisting of soontaneously-occurring false 
memories of an animated television show of the same 
name. These memories are fragmentary, but portray a 
consistent picture of the show, even in subjects who 
have had no contact with other affected individuals. This 
allows for accurate reconstruction of the contents. 


According to provided accounts, “The Real Adventures in 
Capitalism” consists of two 13 episode seasons, first 
airing in late 2013 and ending in the spring of 2018. 
Reports of severe delays and hiatuses are common. The 
art style and character design can vary significantly 
between episodes. The credits for each episode list only 
the voice cast, with all characters listed as being 
portrayed by themselves. 


The primary parties, entities, factions, events, or persons 
referenced in “The Real Adventures in Capitalism” are 
believed to be fictional. 


Episode 101: The Boss Lady 


Everyone remembers the opening scene: Isabel slouched in her 
office chair, Emma standing proper and awkward, an army of corgis 
(all named Jeremy) delivering tubs of ice cream. Meandering 
discussion of the dire financial situation facing the Wonderful 
Workshops Toy Company, the Executive Board’s corporate 
mismanagement, competitors, Isabel’s loss of creative spark, and 
clever wordplay. The reveal that Emma is not nearly as humorless 
as first impressions would imply, and in her own way nudges Isabel 
out of her moping episode. 


All's well that begins well. 


Episode 102: Ticker Tape Tango 


Rubberhose animation, all black and white. A big band musical 
number, the tune and words escaping the mind and leaving the 
weathered impression of bombast. First appearance of the 
Executive Board with their ticker tape mouths and hissing voices 
and joyless enforcers of corporate propriety. Chases and pranks and 
pratfalls, slapstick and silliness. The memory is weaker here. 


Episode 103: Isabel Becomes President 


Emma is the vice president, no surprise twist there. Jeremy is 
appointed to be secretary of state. Chaos descends upon 
Washington as Congress desperately tries to restrain Isabel’s manic 
decrees and fun-oriented domestic policy. They fail, and watch on in 
misery and horror. The nation’s nuclear arsenal is replaced with 
jellybeans, cats and dogs live together in harmony, debt is turned 
into donuts, and political parties that do not involve dancing are 
banned. World War 3 seems inevitable after publicly informing 
Vladimir Putin that he “needs to go take a poop and come back 
when he’s less grumpy.” 


The state of affairs only lasts for a few hours, as it is revealed that 
Isabel’s election was the result of a catastrophic mistake in vote- 
counting. She has already grown bored of politics by this time, and 
resigns gracefully. 


Credits roll overtop images of nondescript men in sunglasses and 
black suits speaking to government officials and members of the 
press seen earlier in the episode. 


At no point in the series is Isabel’s exact age or nationality stated. It 
isn’t known if the election was legitimate in the first place. 


Episode 104: Buffalo Buffalo Buffalo Buffalo 


“| know it’s a grammatically correct sentence!” Isabel exclaims, 
waving her detached arm around. “You didn’t need to point it out!” 


Episode 105: The Beach Episode 


Emma is sitting on a beach chair beneath an umbrella, reading a 
book. In the background, Isabel is playing with Jeremy, building a 
sandcastle, and jumping about in the surf. After five to six minutes, 
Isabel stops moving and shouts “Emma!” while pointing to a large 
white-grey form emerging from the water and making low, whale-like 
noises. A wave of pink foam washes onto the sand. Emma places a 
bookmark in her book, and rises from her chair. 


Episode 106: Cryogenic Chaos 


Frosty blue tubes of cracked and shattered glass. Dinosaurs 
wandering the halls, eating office plants and terrorizing the workers. 
Bigfeet wearing suits of squid and flatworm and flower. Red-robed 
cultists, faces too blunt and broad for cro magnon man and flesh 
carved up in squirming scars and scabs. Isabel dressed up ina 
tacky safari getup with a net. Emma provides handy dinosaur facts 
in crayon-colored interludes. Jeremy survives getting eaten. While 
the most dangerous escapees are recaptured, several re-appear 
later in the season for background gags. 


The dinosaurs featured are feathered, where appropriate. 
Episode 107: Heist of the Century 


Isabel in bunny slippers and a planet-pattered evening gown, 
illuminated by a refrigerator light, staring at ransacked cabinets and 
a spray-painted decal on the wall: A black rabbit with a hammer. 


Episode 108: Jeremy, Jeremy and Jeremy 


In order to save Isabel from a board meeting, three Jeremies band 
together to stage a rescue attempt. Being cute dogs in possession 
of minimal brainpower and no thumbs, they spend the rest of the 
episode doing things more appropriate to their station in life. Cuts to 
an exasperated Isabel, mere moments from rescue but for the 
Jeremies’ lackluster efforts, are interspersed throughout. 


Episode 109: Therein We Find the Shark 


Two rows of men and women in spotless labcoats wail on sharks 
trussed up by their tails. Isabel and Emma are led down the center 


causeway by a man twelve feet tall if he was an inch, his knuckles 
raw and bloody. The nametag at his breast pocket reads “M. K. 
Harker”. 


“You see, the real shark was inside us the entire time,” he says, 
pointing to his chest. Isabel nods in agreement. 


Above their heads, the mangled corpse of a dream-whale shark 
hangs as a trophy. 


Episode 110: The Green Hart 

Three men at the corner table: 

Edwin, dark and dour, whose heart held only the clink of coins. 
Theodore, young and bright-burning, the venture-scholar-soldier. 


Reginald, who kept his head in the clouds and his hands at the 
workbench. 


The first would stay in London, sink deep into the inky shadows of its 
back-alleys until he was inseparable from that unimpeachable 
gloom. 


The second would set out around the world, butler in tow, and delve 
into all the secret places hidden from the sight of the natural 
sciences. 


The third took his toys to the World’s Fair, Chicago. It could have 
gone better, but it came to be that he received a job offer from the 
Anderson Factory. They were looking for a new draftsman to design 
their toys. 


Episode 111: The Terrible Tale of Mr Redd 


He is pale like curdled cream, save his hair. That is red. His hands 
are likewise red. He prefers the straight razor, but will use whatever 
is on hand. A screwdriver. A protractor. A newton’s cradle. 


The security cameras see it all: he moves, the lens does not. He 
jumps from screen to screen and the camera never shifts to focus 


iteration to avoid confusion. 


At 157 iterations, an unidentified man 
appeared in the place of D-970-296. The man 
was immediately restrained according to 
security procedures; analysis of the notes on 
his card indicated that he was in fact 
D-970-296, and that in his original iteration a 
different D-class had been allocated to the 
experiment. D-970-296-1 (as he will now be 
known) showed signs of bruising, allegedly 
from multiple enthusiastic restraints during this 
experiment. Dr Jung provided a cardboard 
sign to hang around his neck, reading "| AM 
AUTHORISED TO BE HERE, PLEASE READ 
THE NOTES"; D-970-296-1 showed gratitude. 


Datum C first diverged from its original value 
after 234 iterations; Datum D did not diverge 
within the span of the experiment (371 
iterations). 


This experiment establishes that as the number of 
iterations increases, the point of divergence from our 
own iteration lies further in the past. It also shows the 
wisdom in planning any experiment involving 
SCP-970-01 some time in advance, to ensure that all 
nearby iterations are working from the same basis. In 
addition to this, the incident noted by Research Assistant 
Boston shows that neighbouring iterations remain 
consistent throughout the period of interaction. - Dr Jung 


Experiment-04 


A robotic probe was programmed to recognise 
and open the doors of SCP-970-01, and fitted 
with a camera. Recharging facilities were 
made available in the corridor, to be 
automatically accessed when the probe was 
under 5% charge. The camera was fitted with 
a [REDACTED}]-locking chip, resonating with a 


on all the red, or the Misters and Misses lying still in the halls. He 
cannot take out his fester-anger out on his father, his father is long 
dead. 


He never stops talking. Narrating a cavalcade of all the faults 
wrought against him by his dear departed father. His companion 
nods serenely, but does not interrupt. Mr. Redd does not appreciate 
interruptions. 


He kills the Misters, he kills the Misses, he kills the workers and the 
guards and tears the wiring out of the drones and he won’t stop 
talking. 


He kicks down the door of the boardroom with a boot stained with 
blood and shit. He kills the dusty gray beancounters, and stomps 
their sagging gray heads into red paste on the white tile floor. 


Mr. Redd’s companion smiles. He has too many teeth for his mouth. 
They fall out and plink on the floor, crowded in a jaw twisted by the 
strain. 


In the doorway, Isabel. She is wearing a striped sweater. She tries 
to say something, it sticks in her throat. She is crying. 


Redd lunges. Emma is in-between them. Too fast. She shouldn’t be 
that fast. Deflection, redirection, palm to the chest. Redd slides back 
but does not fall. 


Emma says nothing, nor needs to. Isabel runs, scrambling over 
herself. 


The fight is a thing of beauty and muscle-clenched terror. There was 
budget that went into this. Redd is everywhere, swinging around like 
a maniac. Emma is rooted, defensive, solid. Redd rambles. Emma 
doesn't. 


“Who are you?” he asks, blood dribbling down his chin, shiv buried 
in her shoulder 


“Nobody important.” 


She breaks his arm, shatters his jaw. Redd falls, Emma runs. The 


ground shakes, and Mr. Hungry, for that is his name, places a hand 
upon Redd’s shoulder. 


“Thank you, my boy. Your services are no longer required.” 
Red looks up, and sees that Mr. Hungry is made of teeth. 
Episode 112: The Big Crunch 


White text upon black: “In the outer darkness, there is weeping and 
the gnashing of teeth.” 


Sound only: The grinding of molars, the tear of meat, the slither of a 
tongue on blood-slicked gums. Swallow. 


Faint whisper: “It is very hungry.” 
No credits. 
Episode 113: The Factory 


And from the crumbling Workshops, that cocoon of childish joy, rises 
the bleak and terrible countenance of a dark and horrible Factory. 


Episode 201: Road Trip 


A bright purple convertible, all spoilers and chrome, speeds down 
the deserted highWay beneath the burning light of alien suns. Emma 
is driving. She’s got her hair pulled back beneath a red bandanna, 
sunglasses, a band t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, jeans. She’s 
never, ever worn jeans before, not in this show. Things have 
changed. They’re on the run now. 


Isabel sits in the passenger seat, Jeremy curled up in her lap, a 
thousand-yard stare down at her dirtied sneakers. She looks like 
she’s been punched in the stomach, had the life stolen out of her 
breath. She says nothing. 


Emma cycles through radio stations. Solar flare rap. Shattered 
Deus’ new bronzecore single. The Sarkic Tabernacle Choir. The 
smooth hip-hop of Old Crab. Goat-drinker loneliness-songs. Yeren 
throat-chanting. Eventually, she just turns it off.