| am so delighted to hear that you are coming to visit us. 
I'm not sure whether this letter will reach you before you 
leave, but | just had to tell you. You will find us all in 
marvellous shape - Guru has done wonders for our 
health with his advice and our new diets. Honestly, you 
will hardly recognise me when you see me! 


Even Eleanor is glowing, and would you believe she is 
already showing. Mother and Father were most gracious 
in accepting our new arrival, once they spoke with Guru. 
He tells us that the arrival of a new baby boy (he is 
certain it will be a boy) is a cause for celebration, as the 
cycle of reincarnation continues. Just think, Emily, 
another member of our family - our own flesh and blood. 


When you arrive, do come straight up to the house. No 
need to wait for the servants to meet you, as the ones 


who are still with us will be busy preparing for your 
arrival. It is an arrival eagerly awaited by all here. It will 
be awfully jolly to have you join our growing clan. 


Yours avidly, 


Violet 


FROM: HMTELOFF-3346A BEN IND 
TO: PATRIARCH LOCKE, OUR LADY OF 
REFORMATION, HACKNEY, LONDON 


17 JUNE 1910 


SITUATION AS EXPECTED FAMILY IRRECOVERABLE 
STOP TRAGIC HOUSEFIRE REMAINS CONFIRMED 
INERT INCLUDING CHILD STOP 


GURU WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN INVESTIGATION 
PROCEEDING STOP INDIA PRESENCE 
CONCERNING MAY REQUIRE MISSIONARIES SEND 
WORD STOP 


M-F EMILY CAVANAGH 


Emily Cavanagh retired from public life in 1961 and is presumed 
deceased. The collected belongings recovered with the 
correspondence above have been retained for analysis in 
connection with the activities of the Church of the Broken God in 
various British Commonwealth countries. 


Letters to a Prophet 


Document 16265-15719-A 


Foreword: The following column was recovered after being 
published in a number of national newspapers (for a full list, see 
Document 1626-1678-B) and raising suspicion in the Foundation 
monitoring service due to its subject matter. When questioned, none 
of the editors of said newspapers could explain how this column 
came to be published. 


Friends, readers, true believers, and other assorted assholes, 
Welcome. 


Welcome to what, you may ask. Well, I'll tell you. You, dear readers, 
are about to experience the event of a lifetime. Everything you've 
been through so far, every lie you were taught by your school, or 
your parents, or your priest, you can just forget all that garbage right 
now. Tonight, you see, you'll read the words... of a prophet. 


FOR | AM SATURN DEER, PROPHET, MASTER OF 
WORDS, TEACHER OF MAN, AND CARING LOVER, 
AND | WILL ROCK YOUR WORLD, SON. 


But first, a few letters from my loyal readers. See, | am nothing if not 
magnanimous in my wisdom, and lo, | am willing to answer even the 
most moronic of questions for your sake. You can't say | never do 
anything for you, now can you? Let us begin: 


Dear Saturn, 


| have heard of your mighty prophetic powers, and so | write to you, 
seeking your advice. | have been afflicted with a terrible illness, 
which deformed my once beautiful body into a grotesque 


monstrosity, a vile parody of what it once was. Especially my nether 
regions, which are now tainted beyond recognition, and cannot be 
looked upon without risking one's sanity. This happened after | 
besmirched the name of the High Shaman of Trlybon, which might 
not have been the wisest decision in retrospect. 


| beg of you, deliver me from my woes! A cure, dear prophet, is all | 
ask of you. That, and that you keep this missive private, else my 
shame will be endless. 


Yours truly, 


Balgorath, Knight of the Holy Order of the Most Venerable Ferret, 
London 


Well, Balgorath, the solution for your problem is rather simple, 
believe it or not. You see, what you're dealing with here is a simple, 
if effective, Curse of the Bloated Snake. It might seem very 
frightening (especially under a UV light), but do not be alarmed. All 
you need to do is to...remove your Seventh Seal while listening to 
the music of the Spheres, just as they perfectly align themselves 
under the Sign of Aphrodite. But Saturn, you may ask, how will | 
know the right time? Well, have no fear, for | just so happen to 
possess a recorded version of exactly the type you require, and 
shall be more than happy to deliver it to you. 


For only fourteen easy payments of 19.95$, plus taxes, plus 
shipment. 


Dear Mr. Deer, 


A friend of mine went to one of your seminars, and she was really 
impressed with that you said. | don't usually do this, but I've been 
feeling really lost these last couple of months, and | figured some 
advice from someone like you might be the thing | needed to get 
myself back on track. I'm an artist, you see, what some people call 
an anartist, but | don't think I'm very good. I've been hanging out 
with this group lately, and there's this guy there, Tony. He's amazing 
at everything: he looks like an underwear modal, has charisma 
practically pouring out of him, he's smart, successful, and his art... 
man, his art just comes to life. Literally. Not to mention the women. 


Seeing him, I've been feeling really inadequate. | mean, the best | 
ever did was that flaming tower of goat skulls, and hardly anyone 
even noticed that. What should | do? 


Nathan, 
BackdoorSoHo, New York 


Nathan, my lad, you're looking at this from entirely the wrong 
perspective. You should be glad you're a pathetic, worthless loser 
whose failure as an artist is only rivaled by his utter incompetence 
with women. You see, people like Tony and me, successful, 
competent people, we have so much responsibility on our shoulders; 
we have an image to maintain, a reputation, friends to keep happy. 
People expect us to do great things. You? People know you'll never 
amount to anything. Being a waste of space and oxygen like you is 
the ultimate form of freedom, my friend! | mean, you could kill 
yourself right now, just stick a gun in your mouth and blow your 
fucking brains out, and no one would even care! How liberating! 


Truly, you are fortunate. 
Seriously though, no one would care. Not even a little bit. 
Seriously, Saturn? 


Don't you ever learn? Look, Saturn, every time you try this whole 
prophet spiel, you end up dead. This is the fifth time in the last two 
hundred years alone. How about you just retire to Fiji or something, 
so we can skip over the whole ‘killing you for your crimes against 
humanity” thing? It’s all more trouble than it’s worth, for both you and 
us. Or you could duke it out with the guys who like burning things. 
Again. 


Think about it, 
MA 


Bitch, please. I'm not afraid of you, your tinderbox of a husband, or 
you merry band of multicultural prudes. You say you stopped me 

before? Well, fact is, I'm still here now, aren't |, spreading the good 
word to all willing, those smart enough to think outside of the boxes 


SCP-893-X, on average, age and grow 20 times faster than a 
human being, and are usually all but completely consumed in 
cancerous tissue and deformed by the end of their extremely short 
life cycles. 893-X exhibit limited intelligence although many 
instances identify by SCP-893's name. 


Addendum 893-_ : 2805/1967 
Research: Intelligence assessment. 


Dr. : Hello. How are you? 


SCP-893-245 appears to stare at the interviewer 
vacantly. 


Dr. : How are you? 
SCP-893-245: Tonee. 
Dr. : Repeat that please? 


SCP-893-245 begins to produce guttural noises similar 
to laughter. 


Dr. motions to security personnel: Non sapient, 
recover the [DATA EXPUNGED]. 


SCP-893-245: Pae- 

[REDACTED] 

Dr. : Bring in 893-352 as scheduled. 
Snippets from 893-003 agreement: 

Dr. : Describe the incident. 


SCP-893: Mmmuhnh... | didn’t know what it was at first, 
you know?! Them little blobby shits always scare the 
living fuck outta me, what was | supposed to do? | 
stomped both of them on my carpet, and when | saw the 
faces and eyes on my shoes | pissed on myself... every 


you put around their heads. Threaten me? Do you lift? | seriously 
doubt you even lift. 


Horns, 


Me heard you have horns. Me need horns for charms and hat. You 
give me horns, give me stars, me don't bash you on head with rock. 
Me could bash you on head with rock if you into that sort of thing, 
me not judge, but me prefers to use diplomacy. Me gentleman. Got 
monocle, got hat, need horns, said before. Me need someone to 
distinguish me from other big guy, phony with swords. Me far better 
looking anyway, got classic movie charms. Similar names, people 
get confused. 


Give your horns, me and you no problem. If not, rocks. 
Gable 


Wrong Saturn Deer there, buddy. You're looking for the four-legged 
furry bloke that hangs around that gas giant over there. Easy 
mistake to make, | understand. 


God, where do | find those guys? 
Prophet, 


! come to you with a proposal. You do not know me, but | believe we 
share common goals. You have been trapped in this cycle for a 
long, long time, and it has left you a jaded shadow of what you used 
to be. Where you once led legions of followers down uncertain 
paths, now you scam and insult the tiny handful of fools still willing to 
listen to you. Soon, they too will be gone. | can help. | know of 
your... unique talents, and | can put them to good use. | am very 
good at that, trust me. With my resources and your skills, we could 
become something...more. 


We shall talk, 
D 


Um. Er. Let me get back to you on that, eh? It's not like | don't 
appreciate the offer, it's just that I'm kinda doing this open letter 


column thing right now, and | don't think this is the place to discuss 
this. | wish | could stop, but we both know that's not the way things 
work. Also, say hi to your sister for me. She'll know why. "Don't know 
him" my ass. 


Alright, folks, that's all the time we have today. | Know | promised to 
dispense some of my ultimate wisdom, but unfortunately those 
mouth breathers with the letters took all the space | had. But, tune in 
next time, and | shall show you such marvels and wonders, even my 
sexual prowess shall almost pale in comparison. Or, you could order 
the DVDs, a thirteen-disk Collector's Edition, for only 49.99$. 
Whatever rocks your boat. 


Till next time, | was Saturn Deer, and | bid ye adieu. 


Letters to a Prophet #2: Scry Harder 


Warning: The following document contains an Et-Class Textual 
Anomaly (Threat Level-Minor) 


Document 16265-15719-B 


After Foundation efforts to track and contain the creator of 
Document 16265-15719-A proved unsuccessful, resources were 
shifted to the monitoring of newspapers distributed nationally in 
order to enable effective containment of any future columns from the 
same origin. Four weeks after the publication of Document 
16265-15719-A, a new column appeared (henceforth 16265-15719- 
B), and was successfully contained prior to wide-scale distribution. 
However, a number of copies of the document appeared on various 
internet news outlets the following day. Following the publication of 
this column, Mobile Task Force Omega-27 ("Bad Deer Hunting") has 
been tasked with the location and containment of its author. 


Hello once again, dearest readers. It is |, Saturn Deer. 

Now, let's get right to it this time, no mucking about, eh? First, we'll- 
Wait a minute. 

What do you mean you have no idea who | am? 

Oh god dammit! 


Let me guess, you didn't read my introductory column, did you? 
Fucking figures. | go to all that trouble, have a big flashy intro bit with 
huge bold letters and everything, and you assholes just go 'herpy 
derp, | wonder who won the big game last night?’ and go read the 
sports instead. Yeah, I'm talking to you, guy with marinara sauce on 
his t-shirt. Yeah, you too, blondy. Well, I'll be damned if I'm going to 
waste space and energy doing that shit again, just for you morons to 


lose interest and run into traffic or whatever you people do. No, | 
have a better idea... 


Look at the nice kitty. Now squint at the cute kitty, just a bit. Now, 
pet the lovely kitty. That's a good reader. 


If you're reading this on a computer, that means click it, stupid. 
All caught up? Yes? Good. Bloody ingrates. On to the letters: 
Greetings. 


This one was instructed by Production to contact Saturn Deer. 
Proved simple, given attracting factors. Publicity a non-issue. This 
one will issue an inquiry: 


Mode! 4950, domestic metal light source, new series, high hopes by 
Production, Sales, Management. Contains additional features 
beyond mundane model; activated by thought, stores thought, 
enables thought on additional spectrum, improves virility. Issues; 
thought-activation faulty, producing unpredictable side effects- 
cerebral tumors in adult males, extra limbic growth in adult females, 
unstable reality altercations in children. Effects constant, device 
unstable, requires optimization. Problem Resolution unable to find a 
solution, this one issued Advisory Command. Assistance requested 
from Saturn Deer, proven useful in the past, adequate compensation 
promised. 


Factory Drone #654397, Problem Resolution Hive 


Factory Drone #654397? Are you by any chance related to Factory 
Drone #578805? He's in Sales, | think. | tell you, that guy could party 
like no one I've ever met, and that's saying something coming from 
me. Man, there was that one night we went to the club dressed as a 
salt-and-pepper set, and he just railed every single- 


Er, probably irrelevant. As to your problem, | think you're 
approaching it from the wrong direction. You see, all you need to do 
is adjust your parameters; what does "unpredictable" mean anyway? 
If it causes tumors 100% of the time, that's damn predictable as far 
as I'm concerned. Sure, the customer might not be all that happy 


about that huge growth in his head, or his now Code-Greenifed kid, 
but that's not your problem anymore, now is it? After all, who the hell 
is he going to tell, what with that tumor pressing all over his 
language center and his kid turning the house into bees? It's a 
problem that solves itself. 


You're welcome. Oh, and you better not try and pay me with those 
CDs again. | appreciated the thought, but those things wrecked hell 
on my productivity. 


Deer, you sly old dog! 


| can't fucking believe it! You're alive! You were telling the truth all 
along. Man, this is just hilarious. Oh, you must not remember who | 
am. It's me, the executioner! You know, from Argentina? Me and my 
mates caught you preaching your bullshit in one of our control 
sectors? C'mon, you gotta remember that! | was the big guy in the 
cameo gear and the nipple pincers. Pretty sure | removed your toe 
nails at some point. We all thought you were just full of crap about 
that whole reincarnation thing, but looks like you were legit all along. 
Guess that we should have saved all those bits we took off you, 
could have been useful. Oh well, no use crying over spilled bone 
marrow, | suppose. 


So, how the fuck are you doing, mate? | know we didn't exactly meet 
under idle circumstances, but | felt we made a connection back 
there, in between all that torture, that is. | thought what you said 
about the whole prophet business sounded real profound, and no 
mistake. Give me a Call sometime, eh? We'll go out for drinks, talk 
some business, maybe | can kill you again, for old time's sake? 
Ahaha, | crack myself up! Just like we did with your ribs! 


Oh, would you mind keeping this quiet? Not sure my superiors 
would appreciate me talking to an ex-corpse and all. You know how 
they get. Just to be safe, | ain't signing this one. Knowing you, you'll 
pick this shit up no matter where | am anyway. You just love seeing 
your own name, don't you? 


Oh, perish the thought! Me, snitching on my great friend Operative 
Pedro Gonzales? Never! To even suggest that | would on turn you, 
Operative Pedro Gonzales, Chaos Insurgency, Liquidation