“Of course, this isn’t the end of it. In a few minutes, the 
injection | gave you will take full effect.” 


“And that’s gonna do what, exactly?” 


“Sorry for being so cliché; | really wanted to be more 
original than this. You will be turned to stone. Unable to 
move, talk, or scream.” 


He picked up Rawley’s gun, fired at the corpse of 
Goddard, and again at Thornton. He placed one of the 
two bullets remaining in his pocket, and tossed the pistol 
to Rawley. 


“Kill me, or face a fate worse than death. Your choice.” 


He walked away slowly, not even turning back when he 
heard the gunshot. 


1. Edward Reiben took aim at his head 


Sellars’ small rubber dinghy bobbed slowly in the waves. 
It was night; the sky was cloudless, the full moon 
illuminating an ill-defined strip of sea water. Blaine’s boat 
was up ahead; it remained relatively still, and looked the 
same as it did when Sellars had disembarked. There 
were no grips on the side of the boat; Sellars went 
around twice attempting to find the best place to board. 


When he finally acted, he first chucked his jerry can of 
petrol aboard, before hauling himself on as well. A few 
drops of water pitter-pattered onto the boat, and Sellars 
threw his lifejacket to the ground. 


So, he had done it. Nine dead men, and he was the only 
one left. The footage of it all was on a DVD in his back 
pocket. 


Sellars stepped into the darkened cockpit, and realized 
he was going to die. The lights were out; the boat’s 
generator could function independently of engine, and 
could power the lights for several weeks before running 
out. Blaine died at night; the only reason they’d be off 
would be if someone turned them off. 


“Shit. Well, come on, Eddie. Let’s get this over with.” 


Reiben stepped forward, a flare gun in his hand. He was 
distracted, tired, had nobody but darkness for company 
for the last few days, suffering from some kind of 
infection, beginning to wonder if Armstrong ever did any 
of this shit, half-drowned, starving, and partly considering 
blowing his own skull open with the flare gun. 


The only thing he was totally sure about was that this 
was never happening to anybody else again. 


“Don’t move,” he said meekly. 


“And it started so well. And it started so well. You may as 
well just put a fucking flare in me, Eddie. | failed. Credit 
where credit’s due; you’re a bleedin’ good swimmer.” 


“Sorry. Anyone else left?” 
“Nope. Just us two. And it'll be one soon.” 
“Any last requests?” 


“Yeah, actually. Let me send one more text.” 


“And if you’re setting off a phone bomb or some other 
bullshit?” 


“You really think I'd do that, Eddie?” 

NESE: 

“There. Sen-BANG!” 

“Was that really supposed to scare me?” 
“Anyway, sent it.” 

“What'd it say?” 

Sellars threw his phone off the side of the boat. 


“Now, you're gonna want the exposition rant explaining 
everything, like why and how | did everything?” 


“Let me guess, you did it for some vague bullshit about 
art?” 


“...alright, you got me. So, want to hear the rest of-“ 


Edward Reiben fired. 


The Lingering Lark of Leviathan Square 


An item we number in our special way: 
SCP-123-Omicron-A 


Its class is a: Keter, not safe in the least. 
An eater, dear reader, a beaterous beast! 

A feast it can make, any time of the day, 

of all of existence - scenario XK! 

So read if you dare, of how to prepare 

for the Lingering Lark of Leviathan Square... 


The special containment procedures are these: 
To keep the thing locked up as long as we please. 
Experimentation must have the approval 

Of Dr. Bamdoovle (or else, your removal). 

Locked up in its cell it must always exist. 

It stays in this room, not a thing goes amiss, 

for even the tiniest routine mishap 

will trigger Procedure McSweeney-Go-Snap, 
which seals the seals, all exits retracted 

to purge all the site with release of [REDACTED]. 
McSweeney-Go-Snap will kill innocent lives 

when [REDACTED] arrives with his knivity-knives, 
but that's what we need to keep Earth far away 
from a day classed XK 

by this SCP-A. 


The Lingering Lark of Leviathan Square 

is described: as a bird of a species so rare, 

you sooner would find a bouquet of blue roses. 

It's five meters high from the head to the toeses, 
and when the full moon rises high in the sky, 

it lets out a cry - 

if you hear it, you'll die, 

for it tears off the flesh from all living things’ bones. 


It's the freakiest shriek of the moanest of groans! 


But that's not the worst part, not even remotely. 

As sure as a billy goat's prone to act goatly, 
exposure too long over time to this bird 

will mangle the mind and entangle your words 

to a rhyme scheme of nonsense, not one single use! 
This happened to O5-1 , Dr. 


But the Lingering Lark of Leviathan Square 
cannot be destroyed, which is downright unfair! 
Its hunger for bloodshed and razor-sharp beak 
can play an XK any day of the week. 
First seen in London, it flew to Peru, 
Stussgart and Flussgart and Kalamazoo! 
lay dead in a matter of hours, 
and corpses piled up in our lakes, farms, and towers. 
Some VIPs died when it leapity-lunged, 
including the Cat in the [DATA EXPUNGED] 


Addendum 1-J: so now you can say 

why this SCP-123-Omicron-A 

should be locked in a cell in a block far away 
from a world that's eager to see one more day. 
(This page, only B-class or higher can view. 

| hope, for your sake, 

that B-class means you.) 


Dial S For SCP 


Project Crossover » Dial S For SCP 


"...This is an actual item?" 
"Yes sir." 


"... An actual item to be kept and contained on Site. Not one of 
those random weird objects we have, like the ducks?" 


"Sir, it took us two MTF teams and some of the heavy artillery just to 
contain it again after initial discovery of its effects." 


"Vines, it's a rotary phone dial!" 
"A Keter one, yes sir." 


Senior Researcher Rob Reed sighed. "This is your first day isn't it, 
Vines?" 


"Sir, its effects would pretty much make this Keter!" 


Reed and Vines stared at the harmless looking dial through the 
bulletproof glass. It looked so mundane, a plain old rotary phone 
dial, separate from the rest of the phone. It sat on the table in the 
observation room, doing nothing. 


"Alright, let's do this thing. Send in the D-Class!" 


A light by the observation room door flashed and a D-Class entered. 
The D-Class looked around and then towards the dial. 


"D-6175161, please approach the table and pick up the item." 


D-6175161 picked the dial up and inspected it. "What's this one do? 
Call the dead or something?" 


The two researchers jotted down some notes. 
"Please enter the following numbers into the dial. 0, 7, 2, 7." 


The D-Class did as instructed, the dial making a pleasant 
"sssshhhclick!" noise as the dial wound back. After entering the last 
digit, a blinding light filled the observation room. As the light began 
to diminish, a new shape took the place of D-6175161. It was still 
humanoid, however its arms ended in what looked like MP5K 
machine guns and a smooth black sheen covered its entire body. 
There were hardly any curves, giving the being an almost machine- 
like appearance, as well as a third larger cannon-like protrusion in its 
head. 


The researchers stared at the creature inside the observation room. 
Vines buzzed the intercom. 


"D-6175161? D-6175161, please respond." 


The being in the observation room raised its head, "| am Orgun!" 
came a voice from the cannon's bore. It echoed and sounded 
nothing like the D-Class who picked up the dial. 


Reed and Vines both drew a blank. 


"D-6175161, can you tell us anything about what you're 
experiencing right now?" 


The creature tilted its head quizzically. "I'm afraid, | don't understand 
your question." 


"D-6175161, you have Machine guns for hands. Does this not 
disturb you?" 


"Why on earth would it? It's how | was made!" 
"| beg your pardon?" 
"As far back as | can remember, | was made like this." 


"D-6175161, you recall you are taking part in an experiment for The 
Foundation?" 


SCP-614: IP Address 57.32. 


Item #: SCP-614 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-614 itself cannot be 
contained until knowledge is gained about the whereabouts of the 
server hosting SCP-614. Until then, knowledge of SCP-614 must be 
prevented from entering the public. Distributing the IP address of 
SCP-614 to unauthorized personnel is prohibited. Agents are to 
periodically take measures to make sure that access to SCP-614 is 
blocked at all internet service providers. 


Description: SCP-614 is a website located at the IP address 
57.32. . . The IPv4 block 57.0.0.0/8 is owned by SITA and used 
for telecommunications in the air transport industry. It is not yet 
known if this has any significance. SITA records do not show that 
the IP address has been allocated or used for any purpose, and 
SITA claims to have no knowledge of any servers operating at the 
address. 


The homepage of SCP-614 is a plainly formatted search page. 
There is a single search box on the page, under which are three 
drop-down lists, a "Search" button, and an "I'm Feeling Lucky" 
button. The drop-down lists allow the user to specify a date, ranging 
from July 2nd, 2001, to August 25, 21 . The first date has been 
identified as the release date of the first "BitTorrent" client, while the 
significance of the last date is as of yet unknown. When a date is 
entered and the "Search" button is pressed, the website will load a 
list of search results, known as "torrents", from various peer-to-peer 
file-sharing websites at the time of the given date. The "I'm Feeling 
Lucky" button will return a single random result from a random date. 
Experiments have shown that searches with the date set at a past 
date are perfectly accurate as to the results, while searches from a 
future date are around 95% accurate at returning the actual results 
that will appear on the given date (see Experiment Log 614-1a). 


"Yes sir!" 

"And yet, you've just told me you remember being made like that?" 
Vines leaned in, "Sir, perhaps it's part of the effect?" 

"Perhaps. D-6175161, your... artillery. Is it functional?" 

"Yes sir. Would you care for a demonstration?" 

"Vines, those walls are bulletproof, right?" 

"| believe so, sir." 

"Very well, D-6175161, you may proceed." 


Without hesitation, the creature turned to face the opposing wall and 
fired a brief burst into it. The security cameras zoomed in on the 
bullets embedded in the wall. Or what should have been bullets. The 
monitors the two researchers were looking through revealed what 
looked to be human teeth. 


"That's... interesting..." 

"Sir, isn't that similar to what 126 can do?" 

"What?" 

"Well, it's a machine gun which is also part organic. 
"Can't say it doesn't..." 


"You have got to be fucking kidding..." 


Vines and Reed had a thick pad of documents in front of them. In 
the observation room, a new one, without teeth stuck in the back 
wall and reinforced to study the more dangerous side of Euclid-class 
items, was the rotary dial. 


"So, this dial somehow turns people into super hero-versions of 


SCPs?" 


"Yes sir, it's like something out of those comics which keep showing 
up..." 


"What, those 'Foundation Force’ ones?" 
"That's them." 


"| saw some of those, the art in some of the later issues were 
weird..." 


"Can we concentrate please, sir?" 

Alright, send the D-Class in!" 

A D-Class entered the observation room. She picked up the dial. 
"So, what am | doing?" 

"Please dial the following number, D-4144445. 0 7 2 7." 
Sssssshhhhhhhhhclick! 


After the light had returned to normal, in place of the D-Class was a 
scrawny man in tattered winter clothing. There were icicles hanging 
everywhere off the man and he appeared to be shivering. 


"D-4144445, please state your name and any ability you may have." 


"| a-a-am, C-c-c-creep-ping Cold!" The man replied between moist 
sounding sniffs, he then proceeded to extend his frostbitten fingers 
out towards the observation window. Ripples in the air caused the 

window to vibrate slightly. With nothing apparently happening, the 

man called Creeping Cold put his hand down. 


"| repeat, please STATE any ability you may possess!" 
"Hrrmm... | can inflict Frostbite upon my enemies." 


Vines consulted the pad, "Seems more than likely either, 532 or 
649." He studied the being in the room. 


"Let's go with 532." 


"Great stuff, thank you, D-4144445. Please return to normal, dial 
7270." 


Vines' hand was still shaking. 


"Okay, no more random dialling. | don't need to see another... thing 
which looks like You-Know-What calling itself ‘Grandma's Footstep'!" 


"| agree, we're lucky we've not dialled anything Keter yet." 
"Shall we try the number followed by the item number?" 
"Vines, what on earth did this thing conjure up when we found it?" 


"Not sure. | heard off of one of the surviving MTFs it looked like a 
man shaped version of one of the 111s we have. Said it was 
confused and screaming about 'The Doctor's Wonder-Dome' or 
something." 


"Let's stick to humanoids for now..." 

"Is that wise, sir?” 

"One of the cooperative ones." 

"Alright, D-7164343, pick up the dial and enter the following 
numbers. 07270105." 

Sssssshhhhclick! 


In the D-Class' place was a young woman with long blonde hair, a 
skin tight blue costume and an elaborately designed Polaroid 
camera. She didn't seem shocked by her situation. 


"Name, D-7164343." 
"Photomancer!" 


"D-7164343, would your current civilian identity be Iris Thompson?" 


"I'm not at liberty to say, sir." 
"Why not?" 


"Firstly, that would defeat the entire purpose of the mask I'm 
wearing, sir. And secondly, that information is restricted. If you want 
any more info regarding me or anyone else in Project: Pandora, you 
may wish to contact the Security Commission for Powers 
Foundation." 


"...What?" 


"We have a whole universe out there, where another Foundation 
acts as a god damned security force using SCiPs a costumed 
heroes, and not one of them knows about this dial?!" 


"They weren't all from their world's Foundation! According to the 
paper-kid, Wondertainment's got his own team of home-made 
heroes. Then there's that speaker-faced guy who said he was from 
the Church..." 


"Vines, this is insane." 


"Isn't that all we deal with, sir? | mean, we've had an 
anthropomorphic rabbit astronaut, a sentient hole in the universe 
and an un-dead, rotting dinosaur from hell. And that was just today!" 


"Not what | mean, Vines." 


"And quite frankly, sir. | could have done without a tank-man-thing 
telling me how to do my job better! | don't care how many 
qualifications it had." 


"No, Vines. | mean why is it classed as Keter?" 


Vines stared blankly for a moment and pointed at the results. "It 
says so right there, sir! If this thing's used it could potentially destroy 
the Earth!" 


"And if it's not used?" 


"| thought as much..." 


"I'll just mark it as 'Safe'." 


The Foundation never changes 


War. War never changes. 


When the Foundation first started out, they believed their goal to 
save humanity from the terrors of the world would last forever, that 
they'd be able to find and contain that which we could not 
understand, protecting us from the monsters living in our closets. 
The Foundation however overlooked a terror that existed everyday 
in front of everyone. A terror that would eventually bring the Earth to 
a barren wasteland, a terror that would create monsters of its own, a 
terror that would cause wars for years to come. 


The Foundation overlooked humanity.