ATTACHED DOCUMENTS: Pages recovered from a journal in 
the forests of the Yukon Territory. 


JANUARY 7, 19 


I’ve just received word from my superiors regarding my 
new stationing. I’m to be stationed at the newly formed 
Fort Tingenek, all the way up in Yukon Territory, in 
Canada. Apparently, it’s meant to be a little military 
installation to provide defense for Site 804. It’s a bit of a 
journey from here in Virginia, but orders are orders. I’ve 
always found it fun operating in other countries, under 
the noses of the government. It’s terribly exciting, though 
sometimes | do fear we'll be found out. | suppose it 
doesn't really matter. This is where I’ve got to go, and 
the higher-ups know what they're doing. I’ve got my 
things packed, and I’m off. 


JANUARY 10, 19 


At last, I’m settled in at the fort. It’s not very large, and 
there’s only about fifty of us on base. We're a few miles 
out from the site, just far enough so that we feel totally 
isolated. I'll tell you one thing — it’s freezing up here. 
Human beings were not meant to make the jump from 
Virginian heat to Canadian frigidity in such a short time. 
We're out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded on all 
sides by towering, snow-laden trees, and the ice is so 
thick it could stop a bullet. Honestly, we’ve tried shooting 
at it. The Colonel told us we were acting like children. 
Maybe, but there’s not much to do in this goddamn 
freezer. Hopefully the temperature warms up a bit in the 
morning. 


JANUARY 11, 19 


I’ve met some of the locals now, from a nearby Inuit 
village. The translator indicated that they were not thrilled 
about our presence in the area, and that they 
disapproved strongly of our usage of weaponry. | 
assured them that they were perfectly safe, but nothing 
seemed to ease their minds. Perhaps they'll come 
around to us, in time. In other news, it has only gotten 
colder since | arrived. I’m afraid to spit for fear that the 
saliva will crystallize on my tongue. One of the men got 
severe frostbite last night, his entire leg consumed by the 
blackness. | worry about my safety in the cold. | was not 
prepared for such extreme temperatures, although | 
suppose | should have been. 


JANUARY 13, 19 


While training with live ammunition last night, we were 
interrupted by the panicked cries of the local villagers. 
When we went to find out what was wrong, they began 
babbling about “waking the spirit” and “eyes of indigo”. 
I’ve no idea what they’re talking about, and the Colonel 
says to ignore them. “The eskimos are a superstitious 
bunch,” he told us. “You need to chant and throw rose 
petals to take a piss in those villages.” So we're resolved 
to blocking out the obnoxious yelling of the Inuits. 
Hopefully, they'll stop bothering us if we don't 
acknowleage them. 


JANUARY 16, 19 


Our policy of ignoring the Inuits seems to have paid off, 
as we have not been contacted by them in a few days. 
We can only hope it persists and we can train in peace. 
Frankly, I’m not sure why this esoteric stretch of 
wilderness requires a military base. I’m sure there’s a 
good reason, but at the moment I’m seriously 
questioning the judgment of those who set Fort Tingenek 
up. | haven't been able to feel my extremities for days, 


and the ice and snow gets into our weapons and ruins 
them. This place is a frozen hellhole. 


On another note, Site 804 has gone quiet recently. 
Communications are shot, and we’re a bit concerned. A 
group of us went out to the Site, but no one answered 
us. For the time being, the Colonel told us not to worry 
about it. These secretive, esoteric bastards are probably 
involved in some foul business that they'd rather not 
discuss, as is typical. They'll respond as soon as they 
can, he said. Of course they will. 


JANUARY 17, 19 


Something is going on in these woods, and | wish | knew 
what. The Colonel sent a few of us out to meet with the 
villagers, since their disappearance ceased to be 
convenient and began to be suspicious. We were not 
prepared for the sight that we beheld in that village. All of 
the buildings had been burnt to the ground; some of 
them were still aflame even as we approached. In the 
streets lay innumerable amounts of dead, slaughtered 
there on the frigid soil. They looked as though they'd 
been torn apart by animals, yet upon further inspection, 
we realized that they had torn each other apart. Some of 
them clutched handfuls of their neighbors’ flesh, their 
mouths filled with human meat. It was a horrifying, grisly 
scene, and | can’t say I’ve ever heard of anything this 
brutal. 


We searched for survivors, but if anyone had lived, they 
were nowhere to be found. Judging by the state of the 
bodies, we determined that they had met their ends a 
few nights ago, shortly after we stopped answering their 
cries. What form of madness had overtaken this peaceful 
village? We had no answers. No one did. When we told 
the Colonel, he said nothing, but his eyes were fearful. 
We will not be firing live rounds tonight. 


JANUARY 18, 19 


At 0200 hours this morning, one of our men came 
crashing into the barracks from his post, white-faced and 
breathless. He spoke of a shadowy figure watching him 
from the bushes, and how he had gone to investigate. 
Shaking, he recalled the overwhelming odor of death and 
decay, and how it had frightened him away from the 
shape. As he had backed away, he caught a glimpse of 
what the figure was, and fled. He described some sort of 
“giant zombie”, tall and gaunt, with mottled skin and tight, 
ragged flesh. This prompted an uproar of laughter, 
leading the Colonel to interrogate him about where he 
was keeping his drugs. 


That was when we heard that terrible, spine-chilling 
screaming. Weapons readied, we stormed outside to find 
a soldier tearing into the stomach of another, ripping at 
his innards. His mouth was blood-soaked and we noticed 
that the eviscerated man, still shrieking and clinging to 
life, was missing much of his face. We aimed at the 
cannibalistic soldier and demanded that he stand down, 
and he turned to face us. Those eyes, those godforsaken 
eyes! Those hollow, deadened indigo eyes! He — it? — 
bellowed at us, and we opened fire. We cut him down 
and burned his body, and we buried the disemboweled 
man. The wind was howling as if it were roaring at us, or 
perhaps laughing. 


No one slept. Today, we were afraid to move, and no 
man’s hand left his weapon. What is happening? Why? 


JANUARY 19, 19 


Two more men died last night, victims of yet another 
flesh-eating, maddened soldier, again with those unholy 
eyes. There is no time to grieve, for there may be 
another death at any moment. | can’t sleep; | can’t bring 
myself to close my eyes. | keep seeing those indigo 
eyes, every time | blink. | was lying by the window and | 
looked outside, and | swear | saw something move by. 


Something tall and thin to the point of emaciation. I’m 
trying to convince myself that it was my imagination, but 
I’m not the only one who has seen it. 


There is something out there, and it is stalking us. It is 
driving us mad. | keep remembering the village and the 
violence and depravity we witnessed there. I’m afraid 
that our fate is the same. The villagers wanted us to stop 
firing, so as not to awaken something. We didn’t listen, 
and they paid the price. We're next. The Inuits were 
never alone in these woods. Something slumbered, 
biding its time, collecting its strength. Some malicious 
entity slept out there, in the cold, ice, and snow. 


We woke it up. 
JANUARY 20, 19 


It came for us. 


JANUARY 21, 19 


| don’t have much time. | heard noises in the bushes and 
I’m going to have to move soon. The fort is gone, razed 
to the ground, a smoldering ruin. The men ripped at each 
other like savage beasts, feasting on their own kind. | 
had to kill so many of my brothers in arms, lost to the 
madness. | feared | was losing my own grip on sanity. 
Even now | question the status of my mental health, for 
who can see so much horror and escape unscathed? 


As | ran, fleeing the burning fort before the tall thing 
could take my mind as well, | saw the Colonel firing into 
the darkness. | saw a shadow of a colossal, narrow 
being, and it grabbed him by the skull, dragging him into 
the blackness. As he disappeared, screaming pleas of 
help, the stench of rot and corruption permeating the icy 
air, the thing looked at me. | looked into its lifeless, 
soulless, godless indigo eyes, and | felt the hatred, the 
greed and hunger and bloodlust of this creature, 


intensified a thousand-fold over centuries of existence, 
feeding and dementing and lurking. | saw its true, primal 
desires, and the feeling of its unquenchable drive to 
devour brought me to my knees. Then it was gone, 
returned to the darkness as my fellow men murdered 
each other in the snow. | stood, my knees shaking, and | 
ran, not daring to look back. 


| write this now by the side of a huge tree, hidden by a 
bank of snow, miles from the fort. | dare not move for the 
Site. It is abundantly clear to me what transpired there. 
But | cannot rest. | must keep going. It is coming for me. 
It does not leave survivors. | know that now. 


JANUARY 22, 19 


This is a goodbye. The creature has found me. | am ina 
cave, dark and cold like the rest of this wretched forest, 
and there is nowhere to run. | hear it moving near the 
entrance, and | can smell its putrescent stench. | hope 
someday, however unlikely it may be, that someone will 
find this journal and learn from our mistakes. The forest 
must remain undisturbed. There is something that lives 
among these trees. It is not human. It feeds on the minds 
and flesh of men, turning them against each other and 
satisfying its never-ending starvation. It cannot be 
stopped or killed. Those who would come to this forest — 
turn back! This is a dead place, an unholy part of the 
world abandoned by God and left to the demons. You 
mus 


| see the eyes now. The indigo eyes, never blinking, 
never faltering. It is here. 


May God have mercy on my so 


Item Recovery Log: 

Journal was discovered in a small cave located 21.6 kilometers 
outside of Site 804. Upon investigation of the diary's contents, Site 
804 was immediately condemned. A request to post guards around 


SCP-883: Extradimensional Beehive 


Item #: SCP-883 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: Access to SCP-883 is limited to 
Level 2 and over personnel who have been confirmed not to 
possess allergies to bee stings. All personnel entering the SCP-883 
apiary must wear standard beekeeper gloves and hooded suit. All 
personnel entering SCP-883 itself must be equipped with a safety 
line attached to one of the metal rods on the northern wall of the 
apiary. No personnel may venture more than 2 kilometers into 
SCP-883 without authorization from two level-4 personnel. All 
personnel planning on venturing more than 2 kilometers into 
SCP-883 are also required to do so in groups of two or more. Do not 
remove bee or honey specimens from the apiary without prior 
authorization from Dr. 


Description: SCP-883 is a large fixed frame beehive contained ina 
wooden shed approximately three meters tall, one meter wide, and 
two meters deep on the outside. The inside of SCP-883 appears to 
be much larger than the shed's outer dimensions, with layers of 
honeycomb on the walls of the hive surrounding passages that 
extend for at least eight kilometers from the entrance. The interior of 
the hive is arranged in a maze-like fashion, although no dead ends 
have yet been encountered. The bees inside SCP-883 do not match 
any known species of genus Apis. Most disturbingly, bees found 
further into SCP-883 appear to be very different from normal 
honeybees. Bees found more than one and a half kilometers into 
SCP-883 possess one pair of wings more than normal honeybees. 
Bees found more than two kilometers in are highly aggressive and 
possess a toxic sting that has failed to respond to any treatment 
administered so far. Several specimens recovered from more than 
seven kilometers into SCP-883 do not appear to be insects at all, 
possessing [DATA EXPUNGED]. 


the perimeter of the area was denied due to the likely loss of life and 
waste of resources. Journal was not accompanied by a body, and 
no bodies were located in the ruins of the fort or village, though 
traces of blood were found. As of now, the area is deemed off-limits 
to all personnel. 


Individuality 


You want to know where it all went wrong? The reason the 
Foundation is in this state? | can tell you. I'm probably the last 
person who can tell. They got all the others... either dead, hidden, or 
changed. | think six was the lucky one. They killed him early on. 
Threw him into the pit and watched him fall. Probably still falling. 


It was our fault. We were in deep, and it was the easy way out. 
When the Insurgency split, they took most of our top brass. Men 
who had experience in the field. We weren't as big then, which 
meant replacing them wouldn't be an option. Nobody wanted to work 
for us. In the end, we ended up with about a dozen guys left from a 
group of hundreds. We needed effective administrators more than 
ever. We didn't have any choice, we can't be blamed for that. 


| think it was Four who suggested it, or maybe Two. We'd recently 
recovered an object from some Turks down in the Caucasus, a 
machine that could make men. It was dangerous, and it cost us too 
much to take it, so we'd locked it up. He declared we would use it. 
Make any amount of men we needed. Some of us objected, but we 
were overruled. These were desperate times. We were losing so 
many people, and we couldn't see more friends leave. So we took a 
risk. A bad risk as it turns out, but thats the way these things are. 


Anyways, the project got underway shortly after that decree. We had 
the last of our best working on it. It was a round the clock ordeal, 
waiting for the updates. Maybe we were a little haphazard. Some 
corners were cut here, ingredients were skimped there. Whatever 
the case was, our first batch was a disaster. They weren't human, 
they weren't even beasts. Just empty shells. We scrapped them and 
moved on. Time was short, and it seemed like we lost more people 
every day. 


The second batch was better. They didn't really interact very well, 
but they could walk and talk like a human could. They didn't really 
have spirit. You know? The light was on, but there wasn't anybody 


home. The guys who were in charge of this whole thing declared 
him a success, and they put him into full scale deployment. We 
protested again, but we didn't amount to much. 


The next batches all came out better than the one before. We 
thought we were learning how to control it, and the things it 
produced. We got some interesting ones by messing with the 
settings, and using the different components we had at our disposal. 
They really thought that was brilliant, being able to store and transfer 
people like that. | thought it was spectacular, but then again we all 
knew how he really turned out. 


They deployed them all across the field, at every site and field office. 
It looked like we'd found a godsend, and it made some of them think 
we had some kind of mandate from the almighty. They wouldn't just 
say it aloud like that, but you could still tell when they spoke. 
Referencing our "divine purpose" to "protect humanity". They just 
didn't want to think about how easily we could've failed. It gave them 
faith though, that we would make it back from the brink.