Our line at the edge of the clearing had been attacked. Even if he 
had not been wearing his greatcoat, | could see that he would have 
been a giant of a man. Despite nearly two weeks of combat, his hair 
and mustache were impeccably groomed. Likewise, although it was 
splattered with mud and other substances, his uniform looked 
recently washed and pressed. 


His movements, though, were quite twitchy, almost spastic. It was 
as though he was trying and not altogether succeeding in controlling 
himself. The effect was quite queer, like seeing a hyena ina 
general's uniform. 


However, all concerns about his physical demeanor were washed 
away when he turned to face me. 


| readied a shot from one of the ossification rifles, hoping to freeze 
him where he stood. At the sound of the gun cocking, his head 
whipped around, and our eyes met. 


| have seen many things in all of my days, and consider myself to be 
nigh-imperturbable at this point. However, when | saw those brass 
eyes of his, | began to tremble. 


It was nothing like the eyes of a man who does what he has been 
trained to do. No, his was the look of a man who sought warfare 
because it was what he was meant to do. Even the bloodlust of 
Ryzhov paled in comparison to what | saw in those narrow Magyar 
eyes. 


| could swear that | recognized him from somewhere, although | am 
sure that | have not. Something about those eyes, all full of exultant 
fire. 


August 9th 
All day today, | was so distracted from my work as | tried to recall 
where and when | knew those eyes from that | quite nearly 


neglected to record some invaluable data on the efficacy of Batch 
98. 


It was only when | saw muscles beneath Zinchenko's stomach as he 
tore away at what he thought was a suffocating snake that it finally 
occurred to me! | cried out as he began to pull at his intestines. Of 
course: Inkerman! 


Those eyes had met mine once before as | looked at the bodies 
stretching to the horizon on the final day of the battle. | suppose that 
he was birthed, after a fashion, in those terrible days. Our eyes met 
only for an instant, but even then | could see that they were filled 
with all things detestable in human nature- bloodlust, ignorance, 
hatred, rage, pride, thirst for glory and conquest. 


To call that thing "him" feels incorrect. Such a term is to be used for 
those with humanity, which may be drawn out, either through 
compassion or fear. That thing knows neither. It is an abomination, 
drawn to all that is wretched in the world, seeking only to perpetuate 
suffering and carnage. 


If only | had had the presence of mine then to take up one of the 
rifles scattered upon the ground and pop that head of its, filled with 
its evil thoughts, who knows how much finer a place the world might 
now be! Sadly, at the time, | was engrossed in my own despair, 
fearing that this would be the fate of man for all time. 


How | have changed since that November day! It, however, appears 
to as set in its ways as the day | first saw it. Only its appearance has 
changed to any significant degree; when | first met it, | recalled 
resembling a British soldier at the time. A short fellow of Hibernian 
extraction, at least as far as | could tell at the time. However, the 
missing right side of the body's head made it difficult to be fully sure. 
If nothing else, its sewing skills have improved markedly in the 
intervening years. 


August 10th 

Over the past few days the men have begun to look to me as 
something more than man. To some, | am a god of war and of 
horrors. To others, | am the devil incarnate, responsible for their 
torment, taking joy in their suffering. With regards to the latter, | am 


surprised at the depths of their misunderstanding. 


| take no more joy in their suffering than does the biologist in the 
suffering of a laboratory animal. Their pain is not for my own benefit 
nor even for theirs but for all mankind. Although they may never 
know it, their unknowing sacrifice will usher humankind into a new 
golden age of love and cooperation and fear. 


August 11th 

Tonight, | spoke with it at a distance under the cover of darkness. 
The smoke of the day's battle covered any stars in the sky, but | 
could still make out its movement in the dark. | could hear the 
sobbing and night terrors of the men on the other line, and | could 
not resist the temptation to speak to it. 


"How," | asked, "does it feel? Your inventions, so horrible, so 
perfect, are rendering your men unable to fight! Tell me, how many 
have deserted? How many have gone insane? How many simply 
refuse to fight any longer?" 


There was silence for several minutes. Then came a voice that 
sounded more like a beast than a man. 


"My men are strong enough. And soon they will be stronger. All 
there is to do is to steel their souls for war," it said, "Just how much 
longer will your toy guns hold out? My weapons are steel, yours are 
of paper mache and silk, old one!" 


| laughed. "You don't sound too well. Perhaps the battle has taken 
its toll on you! Perhaps your steel is weaker than you imagine! By all 
means, please, create more efficacious devices! More terror means 
more reluctance! Your work hurries along your death! | look forward 
to it!" 


There was no response. | suppose that | had shaken its resolve 
somewhat. 


August 12th 

This morning, the men informed me that Ryzhov took his own life 
last night. Unable to cope with what he had seen and with what he 
feared would become of him, he opened his own throat with a razor. 


| do not normally consider myself prone to sentiment, but as | 
processed the news, | had the unfamiliar sensation of tears welling 
up in my eyes. The men stared at me as | wept openly. Even 
Toropov came out of his stupor to look at my tears of joy. 


If aman like Ryzhov, a bellicose fool, full of hatred for his fellow 
man, can be driven to self-destruction by the mere thought of battle, 
then | am far closer to my goal than | had previously dared hope. 


Still, there is much to be done; Ryzhov only saw the folly of war after 
weeks of battle. It is my hope that the man and woman on the 
streets of Paris, of St. Petersberg, of Berlin, utterly untouched by 
conflict, may some day be driven to such extremes of fear by the 
mere mention of war. 


Then and only then, when those who control the engines of conflict 
realize its terrible cost, will the world know peace. 


Writing this, | look at the men in what remains of the encampment. 
With each breath of Zhidkov's, a swarm of flies briefly stirs, 
disturbed by the movement of his rotting flesh. Ivakin's flesh has 
begun to split as the tumors begin to erupt from within. Even those 
few who have escaped with body fully intact have had their nerves 
utterly shattered. Toropov stares at the sun all day. Saltykov insists 
that he is merely a gear in some infernal machine. 


But, alas! | can feel that the battle is coming to an end. With the end 
of the battle is the end of useful data. The thing will likely make its 
exit soon, and | must make myself scarce before then. 


But still, to think that | have done in a few weeks what it took the 
butchers of Europe three years to do! | have not felt such hope for 
mankind since the days of First Republic. 


Each night, it gives me much heart to hear as they cry out in their 
sleep, unable to escape the madness that surrounds them even in 
slumber. 


Although this represents only a first step, | have looked into the eyes 
of men as they were broken by the unremitting and 
incomprehensible carnage around them. The screams and moans of 


the men form a continuous chorus that sings the correctness of my 
path. 


| will lead these humans to peace, no matter the cost. 


Footnotes 


1. Writing includes elements of Russian orthographic reform not 
widely enacted until December, 1917 


Infection occurs following exposure to body fluids containing 
SCP-940 eggs and larvae. The lifecycle of SCP-940, from initial 
infection to maturity, is as follows: 


Treatment with intravenous anti-parasitic compound is 
possible, if administered prior to infection advancing to Stage 
3. 


Addendum: Stage Six and above adult SCP-940 samples, when 
not attempting to conceal their identities, are extremely agile and 
capable predators. Through the use of their powerful limbs and 
multiple sensory organs, they are highly adept at evading capture; 
field agents are to be highly cautious and equipped with MOPP-4 
gear at all times to prevent infection, and Foundation-issued nerve 
gas grenades for suppression purposes. 


Incident Log 940-01 


Incident 940-01 


On // _ ,Assistant Researcher S failed to returna 
live sample of SCP-940 larvae to cold storage, instead 
allowing the sample to remain unattended in the lab for 
approximately forty-five minutes while on lunch break. 
The resulting breach of containment resulted in seven 
SCP-940 infections amongst research and security 
personnel, and another five in D-Class personnel. The 
affected wing of Area-14 was isolated for 
decontamination, and infected Foundation personnel 
administered intravenous anti-parasitic compound. All 
received treatment within six hours of infection and made 
full recoveries. Infected D-Class personnel were isolated 
for observation so as to establish a progression of 
SCP-940 infection and determine for how long it remains 
treatable. 


Observations of subjects D-940-01, D-940-02, and 
D-940-03 form the basis of the infection's given 
progression above. 


Snail Tale 


It was time. His children were ready to come into the world. They 
would have to be born by C-section, however; he had no natural 
opening from which to birth them. He took his cellphone into the 
bathroom with him and pre-dialed 911, then set it aside without 
pressing the call button. Then, he got his straight razor, cleaned it, 
brought it up to the chain of lumps that trailed across his throat like 
the most precious necklace in the world, and carefully began to cut. 


The white one came out easily; she was small, but healthy, and was 
still growing even as he gently placed her and her shining spiral 
shell onto the clean towel. She was a beautiful baby, with ten fingers 
and ten toes. But the red one was stillborn, just a shrivelled twist of 
grey tissue; tears that had nothing to do with the pain of labour 
trailed down the father's cheeks. The orange one, too, was nothing 
but dust in their shell; he waited until he could get his Adam's apple 
to stop trembling before he kept cutting. Yellow, green, cyan, blue, 
violet... all of them had died before they even had the chance to be 
born. In his desperate haste to get the last, black shell out, his hand 
slipped, and blood started gushing out of his throat. His vision was 
blurring as the shell slipped into his hand, but he could still see 
clearly enough the plump, healthy baby boy within. The razor 
clattered onto the countertop as he scrambled for his phone with the 
hand not cradling his precious son. He sank slowly to the floor. He 
was So tired... but he had to press that button. He couldn't rest until 
he knew his babies would be taken care of. 


"911, what is your emergency?" the voice on the other end asked. 
"My children..." he rasped. "You need to save my children." 
"Sir, are you alright?" 


"No... ." His arm started getting too weak to hold the phone up. 
"Make sure they go to a loving home, will you... ?" His arm fell to the 
side, the phone with it. He could vaguely hear the dispatcher's 


increasingly concerned questions, but they seemed so far away. 
Maybe it would be okay to close his eyes for a bit. He was sure 
things would be taken care of. 


The last thing he heard was the angelic voice of his daughter as she 
crawled out of her shell and called out for him. 


"Daddy?" 


Snuggle, Cuddle, and Protect: The Mean Dragon 


The following document was recovered by Agent following a 
vacation in , Florida: 


Document X45-a 
"The Mean Dragon" 


There once was a dragon that made everyone mad, 
He changed his shape just to make people sad! 

He'd be mean to everyone! Yes, even you! 

Everyone called him six-eighty-two. 

One day the big doctor had had enough, 

"You're mean and you're smelly, 

I'll show you who's tough!" 

First he decided to use a big crystal 

"I'll freeze and then shatter him with my pistol!" 

The dragon's skin showed a quick aversion, 

So it stopped at 62% conversion! 

Then the big doctor thought, "Hmm.. what to do... 

| know I'll use good ol’ 162!" 

But the mean dragon was too clever for him, 

And he attached the big ball to his left fore-limb! 

He ran around the big halls and made a terrible mess, 
Then he went back to his home under much distress. 
The big doctor groaned and he moaned and he stomped, 
When he suddenly saw a little agent prompt, 

"Sir, | Know a way out of this pickle, 

We'll just show the dragon the monster that tickles!" 
So they sent 999 to deal with their foe, 

But 999 didn't want to go, 

So they told it the dragon was being too mean, 

And it went bravely onto the scene. 

It jumped on the dragon, who let out a roar, 

But he tickled and tickled and tickled some more, 


Then, suddenly, the dragon was giggling, 

But the monster just kept on jiggling and jiggling, 
Finally the dragon pulled the monster off, 

But he did not let out a roar or a scoff, 

He said, "Thank you, sir, you're a saviour hereafter, 
Cause you have shown me the great gift of laughter." 


Area hosting the document was firebombed. All recovered children 
who had been read the document were recruited into D-class. 


Addendum (05-29-2011): Due to frequent requests for an audio form 
of this report, Research Assistant Corbette and Agent Mao have 
created a spoken version. Please see Audio Log X45-a. 


So It Was 


Rose Labelle felt a strange chill down her spine that morning. 


It wasn't like any other feeling she had before. Something just 
seemed... off. About the world. It couldn't be mistaken for a 
hangover, for she had only one beer the night before, and she was a 
lot more tolerant than that. She couldn't be drowsy; her medication 
wouldn't cause that. It'd probably clear by the time she got to work 
anyway. Life went on as normal then, except for the sensation 
running through her body. Despite all efforts to continue as usual to 
distract herself from the feeling she had, she couldn't help it. It felt 
as if her body was breaking itself apart, bit by tiny bit. 


The ride over didn't help either. Rose's car radio was busted (when 
she had just bought the car not a month ago), traffic was minimal, if 
existent at all and left minimal background noise, and the roads 
seemed to be more jagged than usual. Thirty minutes later, when 
she arrived at the parking lot in the back of the facility, it was evident 
that no one had arrived for work either. She might have been early, 
so she checked her watch. It read 8:45 AM. The car said 6:15. 


But Site-19 was quiet too. Not a single researcher wandering the 
halls, hurrying to their post. Something was clearly amiss. Maybe a 
stray memetic effect from working with an SCP the week before? In 
that case, her boss would have to know. The corridors and hallways 
were fairly complex to navigate. It was part of the design, after all. In 
the case of a containment breach, minimizing a chance for a skip to 
break out was the main goal. Given the amount Rose walked these 
hallways by now though, locating her office (and her boss's areaa 
couple hundred meters away) wasn't tough. Still, on her way there, 
the site was calm and serene, with only the buzzing of the lights 
above giving any indication that time hadn't completely stood still. If 
there was one thing that worried Rose, it was calm and serenity in 
the site. As she walked to the office, she glanced up at various wall 
clocks she passed by. One read 9:00. Another. 12:50.