"Is there an occasion | don't know about?" 


"Shit, dude. Who knows how many years ago today? Think back, 
man. This is Der Tag." 


David took a sip of the broth and thought back. "Holy shit, this 
seriously is amazing. Um. February 11th. Lemme th —" David 
stopped. "Ohhhhh. The day all...all this happened. Bender's Day." 


"You're the only one who doesn't think that's a cartoon reference, 
dude," Tim said, taking another bite of the stew. "Get some of that 
meat, dude. | think it'll make you smarter. She came off as pretty 
smart, except for the bullshit Clef fetish." 


"Eh. All the kids have that nowadays. Anyway, as much shit as | 
gotta see out there," David said, "| dunno if | wanna be smarter." He 
shrugged, looked back at the bowl, and took a bite. 


« | HUB | » 


No One Else Will Protect Us 


My name is The Administrator. | don't know who | was before all 
this... happened? Or changed? Or whichever adjective you want to 
use, it all means the same thing. History itself has been changed, if 
that's possible. We tried to go back, edit this whole mess out of 
history, but it didn't work. Maybe that's how it spread back there, 
there's no way to be sure. Hell, how could we be sure? 


It all started with... him. | don't know what we would call it, although 
at one point it was a human being. We brought him into Site-19 and 
classified him with all that pomp. A Keter, if | recall correctly. There 
was a lot of concern about the research team heading it up, that 
they weren't ready for the project... | was one of them. But, we were 
pacified and reassured. They were being supervised, everything 
was going to be peachy and lovely. 


Two weeks after he came into the site, things... changed. It started 
small at first, like they all do. A small chink in the armor, and then 
you pick and pick and pick so you end up with a gaping hole. All it 
takes is one touch to shatter our world, after that. In the end it was 
the butterfly kid who broke things. Snapped the spine of reality 
neatly over his knee. 


It was a big bang, then a big shush. You'd look out a window, and 
not a soul was out there. They were out cold, then, and didn't 
remember a thing about what was out there. Wiped the chalkboard 
of our world clean, with all of its gambits and strategies. | don't know 
why | can still see the lines, when nobody else can. Maybe | deserve 
it? 


| can't leave the office anymore. My body... well, it's not what it used 
to be. I'm a shriveled infantile husk, with deep pits that occasionally 
bubble up some goo. My ears are twisted and broke off, but | still 
have my limbs. Crossed over my black, flaking chest, they hold my 
shoulders together, while my legs have curled into a spiral. I'm held 
aloft by my coat, with smooth metal and soft green. Sometimes, it 


Dr. : Hello, SCP-670-1. Please, have a 
seat. 


SCP-670-1: (Looks down at seat) Um, do you 
have any other chairs? 


Dr. : I'm afraid not. 

SCP-670-1: Can | stand? 

Dr. : No. 

(SCP-670-1 sits down.) 

SCP-670-1: So, um, what's this about? 


Dr. : |lunderstand you made a dagger 
earlier today. What did you intend to do with it? 


(SCP-670-1 seems confused at this point.) 


SCP-670-1: | don't see what...Oh! Oh my 
goodness, no! I'm not a violent man, sir! 


Dr. : |see. However, if you didn't intend to 
escape, what was it for? 


SCP-670-1: Rodents, sir. 

Dr. : I'm sorry? 

SCP-670-1: Well, I've been hearing squeaking 
the last few nights and | thought | should try 
and get rid of the rats. They spread disease, 


you know. 


Dr. : Alright...well, while you're here, 
SCP-670-1, I'd like to ask you a few questions. 


lets me crawl, but most days | just wait. The staff run this place now. 


When they leave Site-19, some rules of reality return to its vacant 
halls. The lockers droop and sag, while the tiles slowly crack and 
disintegrate. Occasionally, Dr. Gears walks through the hallway that 
faces me with his servant, Iceberg, and the halls suddenly leap back 
to virility and strength. Their discussion always passes through to 
another hall, though, and when their voices drift, so does the 
condition of the site. 


Everywhere, corridors corrode and ceilings collapse. But, as these 
pantheons of reality pass through, they will be swept back into place 
as had been remembered, by them. Not always the same, but as 
long as the vague shape of their memory was preserved, it satisfied 
most tastes. The non-senior staffers, too, were chained to this ruse. 
As they were remembered, they popped back into existence, 
busying around the staffers and going to half-recalled research 
projects. 


When they left, few remained to populate the halls. Decrepit and 
crammed with rot, some sections might lay in utter decay for 
decades while decadence and disarray destroyed the already 
disrupted universe. So it went, so it would always be. 


Outside, Clef and Kondraki endlessly drove some anomalous car, 
the road collecting itself in their path, the pavement happy to be 
seen and given a reason to exist, before sighing and settling back 
into ashes. It was content, its purpose fulfilled, before it remembered 
it was not supposed to think and slumped once more into 
nothingness. 


Going further, out in the city. Another wondrous city day. God, how 
long has it been? How long has the world been broken? I've 
probably lived more lifetimes than anyone could ever deserve, even 
for someone who helped the Foundation. But we all help the 
Foundation. Those lovable scamps. 


They took the fear out of people. The shadows have mixed with the 
light, and created a shifting mix of grey. A universal twilight without 
beginning or end. It's so much better than before, we can have both 
without having to think about it. 


We still see them, sometimes. When they walk down a street, we 
the pavement rise to greet them, and the people try to adore them. 
They love constant praise and attention to keep their worldview 
intact, and boy do we give it to them in spades! 


The lights dim when they leave the towns. Street signs, once saying 
something like REDACTEDville, now blank out and fade away. 
People cease their fawning, and return to their daily routines. Maybe 
their office was now a demolished pile of rubble from the six-eight- 
two breach back in '76, and their local factory had been bombed in 
case it was The Factory, but the local business still went on as 
usual. 


Some things were a little different. Without the staff in town, the sky 
grew a little darker, and the streets cracked a little deeper. Maybe 
Site-19 didn't always look like the grey building it had once been. 
Sometimes it might be a castle, or a tower, or a broken down rubble 
that may have once been a building. But that was daily business for 
them. 


Mothers sent their children to roofless schools, where they learned 
in rain, snow, or shine, and often all three at once. The bubble of 
reality around Konny and Clef finally shrunk away for good, and all 
was right, all was just. 


Sometimes... they change me too. | remember things the way they 
did. | can't remember how they used to be, and | know they can't 
remember either. It's all a big flaky crust slowly collapsing, as more 
memories homogenize and are dismembered, then becoming fact. 
But, we keep it up. So that others may live in an insane, abnormal 
world. 


We secure. We contain. We protect. 


« | HUB | » 


Free Reality Check!: Press Button 


It was a generally gloomy day, such as was normally the case when 
Dr. Jack Bright had a mild hangover and was also a chimpanzee for 
one reason or another. Outside his window the rain pattered lightly 
as his clumsy fingers reached for the coffee pot aside of his bed and 
flipped it on. He scratched his head. He took a piss. He waddled 
back into his room just in time for his first morning Joe. 


lt was about that time, he would recall later, that he noticed the 
delivery truck. Which was strange, mostly because it was Tuesday, 
and deliveries arrived every other Wednesday. Having thoughtfully 
determined that this would be a scheduled-in-advance hangover, Dr. 
Bright had little else to do for the time being, and so rode the 
elevator out to the front gate to see what he could see about the box 
which had been left outside. Five security men were already looking 
over it, poking it with sticks, scratching their heads and looking 
around for someone smarter than them to handle the problem. Dr. 
Bright considered making a wise remark about evolution, but 
thought better of it. Mostly due to the throbbing pain in his dome. 


"| just don't know what to make of it, Dr. Bright!" one of the security 
guards said, shrugging like those damn rookies always do. Bright 
grunted in such a way that told the others to back off, and took a 
clumsy sip of his coffee as the rain stopped falling. 


Before him was a pine plywood box with a button on it. It looked 
pristine and perfect and clean, and notably not very wet at all. On 
the box was a sign. 


Free Candy!: Press Button 
Maybe it was the sun starting to beat on his forehead. Maybe he just 


wasn't banging on all cylinders this morning. Maybe it was the brain 
of the chimp clouding his judgment. Whatever the reason, Dr. Bright 


scratched the stubbly beard slowly growing on his apeish chin and 
proclaimed aloud: "I like candy." 


There was a Snapping sound. Then nothing. 


"You really think this will work?" Agent Harold Simpson of RCT-At 
asked as he helped hoist the heavy box into the back of the truck. "I 
mean...I've read about String 093 and these guys are... Well they're 
us, in a manner of speaking. I've worked with Dr. Bright extensively, 
and the thought of him just pushing a button like that..." 


Agent Burt Tomlin shook his head and pulled the door to the truck 
closed tight. "No, you're right. The Jack Bright we all know—and 
some of us even like—would never do something so stupid; but this 
is not the Jack Bright you know." 


"How do you mean?" Harold punched a few numbers in the keypad 
by the door and listened to the capacitors beneath the floor begin to 
whine. 


"The Jack Bright you know isn't a god," Tomlin chuckled. "Never 
underestimate the stupidity of gods." 


The capacitors discharged, and the garage door opened onto a 
barren waste where a single speck of green shined cleanly in the 
distance. 


"And if it works, then this is resolved?" Harold asked, doing his best 
to fill his mind with happy thoughts and praise. 


"Nah," Tomlin said as the engine turned over. "It's just one anchor 
after all. Just enough to make a splash. Still... it ought to be funny 
as hell." 


The Silver Creek Parcels van shakily lurched forward over the ash- 
covered ground. The unreal desert wrapped around them, silently 
welcoming its first taste of normalcy in many, many years. 


Item #: SCP-3882 


Object Class: Safe Keter 


Special Containment Procedures: The Object is 
suspended by a beryllium bronze chain in the center of a 
55 x 55 x 55 m steel container with access at floor level, 
and via catwalk at 25 m up the northern wall. A 
holographic projection at 25 m radius around SCP-3882 
designates the active radius. Only D-Class personnel 
may attempt to deactivate the device with permission of 
Dr. Kondraki and at least one more Level 5 Senior 
Staffer. Other experiments may only be performed with 
direct supervision from Dr. Kondraki. 


Description: SCP-3882 is a small plywood box 
containing machinery of unknown origin, all of which is 
constructed of a Beryllium Bronze alloy. Although 
samples may be taken of this material, it always instantly 
regenerates no matter what. The device seems to be 
powered by six standard 12v car batteries which have 
resisted all attempts to remove them. SCP-3882 causes 
a defect in all reality in a 25 m radius. All man made 
structures, most plants and animals, and most humans 
undergo rapid decay and disintegration within the active 
radius until reaching a level consistent with 43-62 years 
of disrepair and neglect. Trace amounts of [REDACTED] 
radiation are also present in the effected area, consistent 
with some time in [DATA EXPUNGED]. 


SCP-3882 was recovered on the front steps of Site-19 by 
Dr. Bright with a sign attached to it advertising "Free 
Candy: Press Button." Due to his insatiable sweet tooth, 
Dr. Bright pressed the indicated button and activated 
SCP-3882 causing [DATA EXPUNGED] fifteen attempts, 
the device was deactivated and Dr. Bright has made a 
full recovery. 


Due to the effect, researchers entering the active radius 
suffer extreme emaciation and rapid unconsciousness, 
and D-Class personnel so far show only a 1% survival 
rate, although after deactivation, about 20% of those 
killed by SCP-3882 are recovered in time for monthly 


termination. 


Note: There wasn't even any candy in it... 
what kind of a monster would do this?! 
-Dr. Bright 


« | HUB | » 


Overview of MTF Psi-7 "Home Improvement" 


Mobile Task Force Psi-7 specializes in the undercover investigation, 
containment, and/or demolition of anomalous buildings or buildings 
affected by anomalies, particularly residential homes in populated 
areas. Primarily working with initial containment or demolition, some 
members are also involved in assisting with observation of longer- 
term containment efforts for persistent building-based anomalies. 
MTF Psi-7 is involved in the ongoing containment of SCP-1452 and 
SCP-1684. 


Psi-7 was formed in 1998, after Foundation administrators 
recognized a need to base a task force specifically around knocking 
down houses. This was due to an outbreak of SCP-1452 affecting 
the homes of several administrators, including Dr. Gillespie. It has 
been assured that the creation of this task force along with the 
anomalous infection of an administrator's home was completely 
coincidental. 


Since then, Psi-7 has had a distinguished career with explosive 
demolition. Although their methods have been deemed somewhat 
unorthodox, the use of explosive charges to level anomalous 
homesteads has proven to be 100% effective, and is believed to 
contribute to the unbelievably high morale found among Psi-7 
agents. 


Included in this report is an interview with Agent Ekblad, one of 
Psi-7's numerous incendiary experts. 


Dr. Gillespie: So, in your own words, what about 
working with Psi-7 makes it a worthwhile experience? Is 
it the ability to serve humanity, or the pride in being able 
to creep in unnoticed and remove anomal- 


Agent Ekblad: Probably the four or five times a week we 
get to blow the hell out of something. That's pretty fuckin’ 
fun right there. 


Dr. Gillespie: Beg your pardon? 


Agent Ekblad: Other task forces, they're all like ‘ugh my 
best friend got taken out by a mutant fish squirrel last 
week' or 'uhhh man there's a giant bird thing killing my 
friends.’ But when people ask me about my job, all's | 
gotta do is go into some stationary, anomalous house, 
rig it up to blow sky high, and then / fuckin' get to push a 
button that blows it sky high. | get to use my expert 
training in blowing shit up to actually blow shit up! 


Dr. Gillespie: ... I'm not sure what to- 
Agent Ekblad: *Makes jazz hand motions* KABOOM! 


« | HUB | » 


The Czar Cometh 


A sizable group of people milled about a large, featureless room. If 
one looked very closely in the corners, they could find blood stains 
and minor remnants of charred bone, but without a great deal of 
perception, the place looked as if it had just been built. The various 
folks within the room knew otherwise, of course; they had seen 
some pretty heavy shit go down in that room, and were currently 
preparing themselves for yet another round. Even though each day 
brought new surprises, everything usually went according to 
schedule.