science and or math/bathroom-humor-level "joke" SCP + Item # + 
Object Class + Special Containment Procedures + novel design + 
Level 4 Authorization collapsible (access granted) + anomalous + 
fuck you up + SCP = science." You push us to your margins and so 
by your logic, we have you surrounded. 


F. Yearly reports of patent issues will be made to the O5-Council or 
their representatives for data and that of the Administration inside 
forty (40) days following the completion of each financial year, to 
incorporate as a base recognizable proof of each patent and patent 
applied for, the conveyance of patent income including the offer 
heading off to the designer, and the costs of getting and overseeing 
licenses. The O5-Council or their representatives may endorse 
suitable arrangements for such reveals. 


view source 


Foundation Rhymes - A Collection of Children's Rhymes 
With an SCP Personnel Twist 


Someone's Computer 

Someone's computer sat on a desk 
Someone's computer fell during a test 

All of Rosen's tools and all of Rosen's brain 
Couldn't put the computer together again 


Computer's owner asked Rosen for more 
Computer's owner was punched to the floor 
All the Site's agents and all the Site's men 
Couldn't get the owner a computer again 


Smartie Rosen 

Smartie Smartie Tech Head Rosen 
How | wonder why you've chosen 

To take care of the Foundation's tech 
| would think you'd know it's heck 
Smartie Smartie Tech Head Rosen 
How | wonder why you've chosen. 


Konny and Clef 

Konny and Clef almost met death 
When fixing their big mistake 

Konny was apt but then he snapped 
And Clef's neck was next to break 


Tickity Tickity Bright 
Badum Badum Thump 
Bright's soul did another jump 
The body died 

Bright's soul flew out 

Badum Badum Thump 


Ring Around Lycaon 
Red around the rupture 


A botfly he did capture 
Swelling, swelling 
Lycaon's full of maggots! 


While working with some cerussite 
The little tiny parasites 

Crawling, crawling 

They all popped out! 


Baa Baa Strelnikov 

Agent Agent Strelnikov have you any heads 
Yes you yes you from three Chechens 

One from hijack, one from war 

One from son of bitch who steal from store 
Agent Agent Strelnikov have you any heads 
Yes you yes you from three Chechens 


Pretty Doctor Rights 

Pretty Pretty Doctor Rights 
How | wonder of your nights 

Of that lucky man of yours 

How do you get him on all fours 
Pretty Pretty Doctor Rights 
How | wonder of your nights 


Note: Junior Psychologist Chibi is no longer allowed to use 
Foundation supplies to distribute any literature concerning the 
actions and activites of any Foundation personnel. If you're going to 
write these kind of things, keep it in your computer. You are lucky 
that Rosen felt enough pity to save you from multiple stab wounds. - 
O5- 


Founding 


August 12th, 1993 
The door buzzer buzzed. 


“Ah, that must be them now,” Dr. Crow stood up and walked to the 
door. He always did that: never said "come in", never had anyone 
else go do it, he always got up and opened the door himself. He 
wasn't a man to let blindness get him down. 


“I’m sorry we're late, Dr. Crow,” a woman's voice came from the 
doorway. The group around the coffee table turned their heads. 


“Oh no, it’s no trouble at all.” Crow turned from the new arrivals to 
those already gathered around his coffee table, revealing three 
guests: a woman in her mid-thirties, with long brown hair in a braid, 
a rather nondescript middle-aged man in a business suit, anda 
balding man with a beard and a pink button-down shirt. “Attention, 
all! These are the three final members of our group: Doctor Sophia 
Light, Doctor Everett Mann, and Doctor Simon Glass. They are all 
good friends of mine, and have worked with me many times in the 
past. Connor, | am sure you have met them before.” 


The doctor, now out of the hospital, nodded slightly. 


Crow smiled broadly and walked back to his chair at the unofficial 
head of the table. He was a man with a friendly smile, frizzy blond 
hair reminiscent of Einstein, and the quiet, powerful aura of a mafia 
don. He was, as usual, dressed in a ratty t-shirt and jeans, with his 
wrap-around sunglasses over his sightless eyes and Kain lying at 
his feet. Dr. Connor Gerry stood several feet behind Crow’s chair 
like a clothing store mannequin, hands folded behind his back and 
no trace of emotion on his face. Francis had not known him to be an 
expressive man before, but now he was simply unsettling. 


Dr. Crow clapped his hands together. 


“Now then, | think it’s about time to start. Benjamin, if you will, 
please.” 


“Mm-hmm. Okay, so. Nemo, Fats and | have gone into the facility 
three times now, and here’s what we have so far.” Ben opened 
several thick manilla folders one after another, spilling dozens of 
photographs and sketches across the table. “Turns out the place 
isn’t infinite, but it is big. Really big. The part we ran through last 
week was just one of the side towers, right here...” he pointed to a 
sketch of a large cylinder surrounded by eight smaller ones. “Each 
of the branch towers goes down twenty levels, and is connected the 
center one every other level. Center one goes down at least forty- 
five levels. The entire place looks like it’s wired and ready to use. It’s 
like if whoever built it just got up and left and took their shit with 
them.” 


“If anyone built it,” Nemo interrupted. 


“Yes, yes, ifanyone built it. It’s not a normal building, if you hadn't 
figured that out yet. The exits lead to locations hundreds of miles 
apart: One door went to the arctic, another opened into a cave, and 
the buildings on the surface look to be somewhere in Nevada.” 


“Classic,” Jack said. 


“Ayup. Watch out for those pesky aliens and their rogue anal 
probings.” 


There were a few chuckles, solely from Nemo and Fats. Ben paid 
the response or lack thereof no mind and continued to speak. 


“Exploring the place fully will take another week or two, but that’s a 
pretty generous estimate. We weren't able to find the main power 
station, so it’s all in standby mode.” 


“And the statue?” Dr. Crow said. 


“Right back where we locked it up: Tower 1, Level 7, Chamber 3.” 
He pointed to the appropriate spot: The sketches already had 
designations thought up and filled in. 


“Good, good...” Crow scratched Kain behind his ears. “Now then, 


what do you have planned on for your next expedition?” 


Francis scanned the photos. Dark, empty hallways and dark empty 
rooms. Despite the fact that the nightmares had dulled in the last 
few days, the pictures filled him with apprehension: the statue was 
still there, in that dark. Still watching. Still waiting. 


No, I’m watching you. 


The mantra came to his mind automatically now, yanking him back 
from that precipice. He was the watcher, the statue was the 
watched. That was the way it was, and how it should be. The statue 
was just that. A statue that needed storage. What it was capable of 
was secondary. Merely a statue that needed to be put in the proper 
place. 


Dammit stop drifting off... 


“| say we just destroy the thing and be done with it,” John said. He 
was one of Connor’s assistants, a small, shifty-looking man who 
seemed to be Bright’s long lost little brother, if his surliness was any 
indication. 


“And what if you can’t?” Sophia said. “What if that only makes it 
angry?” 


“If it doesn’t work the first time, then you hit it harder the second 
time.” 


Really, John? You goddamn idiot... 


“Not harder. Hit smarter.” Strelnikov this time, another one of 
Connor's assistants. His accent was quite thick. “To fight directly is 
stupid. We must get around. Perhaps we find a weakness, eh? Then 
we strike.” 


Smart, but off-base. Re-railing this train... 


“And then we throw it away.” Francis said. “John, | don’t know what 
it is that you actually do or why you're here, but | can tell for sure 
that you're not a scientist. Sure, we could destroy it, but that gains 
us nothing. If we can keep it locked up, which apparently we can, 


then we can watch it. And eventually understand it, which can help 
us when we deal with things like it in the future.” 


John sat back in his chair, glaring at Francis. The others seemed to 
be in agreement: nodded heads and “mm-hmms’” throughout the 
thirteen. It hadn’t been much of an argument to begin with. 


“That said,” Francis continued. “We need support. While it may be 
locked up now, we’ve essentially set it up in an empty room, shut the 
door, and check in on it occasionally. That won't work as a long term 
containment plan, even if all of us were to be put on the project 
today, which I’m guessing we will.” 


Adam smiled, and it was the sort to prelude a polite correction. 


“Both true and false. I’ve found that a small group of people in the 
right place can handle almost anything: It’s why | work with all of you 
in the way | do. While | appreciate your concern for maintaining 
security of the statue, who would we go to? Would you trust the 
government to spare us the red tape and help us accomplish 
anything, rather than taking it all for themselves and bungling the 
entire thing? Would you trust the public not to go into a panic when 
they realize that there is a blatant violation of what they thought they 
knew without an explanation? Any support we’ll have will be what 
we can muster ourselves. There’s more brainpower concentrated in 
this one room than anywhere else on Earth. I’m sure we can make 
the solutions reveal themselves. 


"A good house needs a solid foundation, and that foundation is 
sitting right here at this table. I’m not going to hand off the 
responsibility of protecting against whatever or whoever is out there 
to a faceless bureaucracy: this is a job for people | trust. We have 
our foundation, now we just build the house.” 


SCP-852: Lunar Anomaly 


Item #: SCP-852 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-852 is presently housed in 
an underground hangar at Site- . Artifact is not permitted to leave 
containment without O5 approval. Testing of components requires 
level four oversight and one unit of Task Force Sigma-6 to be on 
hand. 


Description: SCP-852 is a steel and brass vehicle, strongly 
reminiscent of a bathyscaphe, with the name Wings of Daedalus in 
gold-plated brass affixed to the lower hull. The vehicle has a length 
of 21.3 meters, a beam of 4.1 meters, and a draft of 7.3 meters in 
total. The upper hull of the artifact has twelve 'masts' affixed to it 
with a length of 9.6 meters, set in two regular hexagonal patterns on 
the top and bottom of the upper hull, respectively. Each mast has a 
device on the end that projects a "bubble" which warps space 
around it in a way that does not match current spacetime theories. 
Presently, the devices are vacuum welded to the masts, making 
them difficult to remove for study. 


The lower hull of the vehicle is a sphere 3.8 meters in diameter, and 
appears to be designed for life support. The lower hull has a fused 
quartz window for viewing, a control board with a robust chair, an 
airlock on the starboard side, and storage areas along the aft with a 
variety of tools and provisions. Power and oxygen were provided by 
reserves in the upper section, with quicklime used to absorb carbon 
dioxide in the ventilation system. The control board and storage 
areas have also been affected by vacuum welding, but they were 
repairable. 


SCP-852-2 is a mummified Caucasian male wearing a pressure suit 
of primitive manufacture, resembling a diving helmet and suit but 
with a supplementary air tank and ventilation to remove excess 


Four Stories Told in Order to Mislead a Sentient Severed 
Hand That Just Wanted to Ask a Goddamn Personal 
Question for Once 


Vladivostok's morning air rushed by the two of them as the train 
rumbled beneath. The feeling made him hold her even closer. The 
kiss was passionate until he heard a familiar click around his left 
hand. He broke away and looked down at the handcuffs binding him 
to the top of the train. 


"Katarina." Cimmerian sputtered. "Why?" 


Katarina's face was stone still with tears running down her cheeks. 
"They'd never let us be free Jeremiah. You know this. If not your 
Foundation then the GRU would find us. This is the only way." 


"Katarina!" Cimmerian looked to the front of the train. "This train is 
going to explode in less than a minute!" 


"lam sorry my love." And with that Katarina leapt from the train and 
disappeared into the forest below. 


Cimmerian fumbled for his lock-picks and began to work on the 
handcuffs. He'd just managed to open the lock when... 


... three newly minted gods blasted Cimmerian with full force. 
Suddenly, a cave two miles below the surface of Indiana filled with 
light as the energy struck the barrier surrounding him. 


"Only two bullets." Cimmerian muttered to himself, surveying his 
surroundings. He took off in a dead sprint towards the cave wall, 
hopping over the dead agents on the ground. 


The laughter in his head made it impossible for him to focus on 
anything other than killing the three gods on the other side of the 
cave. Cimmerian leapt over the last body and put his left foot 


forward before hitting the wall to kick off it. He soun backwards in 
place and lined up the shot. 


The first bullet left the barrel with the roar of an ancient beast. The 
runes along the sides of the bullet glowed purple; almost brighter 
than the energy pouring out of the gods' hands. The first god's head 
kicked backwards and the bullet continued through to the other two. 
All three stood frozen as the energy flickered and died. 


Cimmerian landed on the ground and looked up at the deities. "I'll 
save one for the big guy then." 


The dead gods didn't answer, but a low hum filled the cave. 
Cimmerian's eyes went wide as he dived behind the pile of bodies. 
The dead gods exploded in a spray of... 


... bullets. The convoy was taking heavy fire while Cimmerian hung 
out of the passenger side of the van. The terrified driver drove them 
north on I-65. 


Cimmerian squeezed off 3 shots with his pistol; two pinged off the 
front grill and one hit the front right tire of a pursuing SUV. The tire 
popped and the rim dug into the pavement at 90 miles an hour. The 
whole vehicle lurched and flipped over at full soeed. Cimmerian 
ducked back into the cab. 


The driver was dumbstruck. "Aren't you a researcher?" 


"lam." Cimmerian reached into the glove box and loaded a new 
magazine into his pistol. "But | have experience with this." 


Cimmerian grabbed the top of the van and pulled himself back out. 
There was one more black SUV following them, but it was a bit 
further back. The van's hardened exterior deflected incoming 
automatic weapons fire and Cimmerian fired back. The man hanging 
out of the SUV's passenger side went limp. The body hit the 
pavement and got dragged beneath the SUV. 


The driver watched this happen in the rear view mirror as Cimmerian 
pulled himself back into the van. "Where did you learn to do that?!" 


"Introduction to English Literature," Cimmerian said. The grin turned 
to horror as an eighteen-wheeler slammed into the driver's side door 
at full soeed. The whole world went into a spin and then... 


... the timer for the chicken went off. Cimmerian looked up at the 
banner above the park entrance. The Summer Charity Potluck was 
just getting started. Cimmerian and Dr. Gerald had decided to cook 
something special for the event, and they were almost finished. 


The pots and pans arrayed on the tailgate of Gerald's pickup truck 
were all steaming with their own aromas. Cimmerian reset the egg 


timer for 15 more minutes and went around to the side of the truck. 
Gerald was inside listening to the radio. 


Cimmerian leaned on the door. "Chicken's almost done."