"I'm sorry Emma, but | don't know." Dr. Pherson looked exhausted. 
"I've been trying to find out, but no-one will tell me anything." 


Dr. Pherson's eyes were scanning the lab distractedly, as if 
SCP-012 might appear on top of a pile of paperwork. Emma had to 
resist the urge to look behind her. Instead, she watched her 
supervisor as he tensed his shoulders, his usual Socratic equanimity 
gone. 


"What am | going to do, Emma? The last five years of work, 
wasted." 


Emma felt lost. In eighteen months working with Dr. Pherson, he 
had always seemed so authoritative and in control. She had never 
seen him like this, and she had no idea how to react. It was like 
watching a parent cry. 


"Sir, it's not a waste,” she began. "We still have all of the testing 
data, and -" 


"Dammit you don't understand!" Even as he slammed the desk, Dr. 
Pherson was suddenly contrite. "Sorry, I'm sorry. | shouldn't have 
shouted. But you really - the thing is, they've kicked me off the skip. 
Even if 012 turns up, | can never work on it again." 


"But why? Surely they don't think..." The words dried up in Emma's 
throat. 


Dr. Pherson gave a sour laugh. "They did, at first. See the lab? 
Nothing's been disturbed, the locks aren't broken, so someone with 


clearance opened them. Five containment breaches in one night, 
and the only thing taken is 012? Of course they thought it was an 
inside job. So then | had the brilliant idea to tell them why it couldn't 
have been me." 


"What do you mean?" 


"Last night, when someone came in here and stole my career, | was 
asleep. Along with half the site, it seems. So | tell security that 
dozens of witnesses can confirm when | woke up, and all of a 
sudden | have medical asking what | dreamed about. Soon as | tell 
them it was 012, they tell me I'm dropped from the project." 


"You were at the retirement party?" Emma looked up imploringly at 
Dr. Pherson, feeling sick. "But | - that means -" 


"Oh yes, they told me. You dreamed about it too, didn't you? So 
you're a potential liability, just like me." Emma hardly heard as Dr. 
Pherson continued. "We've got four weeks sitebound with regular 
psych checks, then reassignment. Get your personal items, they 
want us out of the lab by eleven." 


"So that's it," said Emma, slumping into the dormitory couch. "I just 
got fired from my first ever research assignment." 


Mike looked dolefully back at her. "You think that's bad? My MTF 
gets its first off-site action since | joined, and they leave me behind." 


"Wow, that does suck. I'm sorry, Mike." 


"Yeah, me too. For you, that is." Mike's grin couldn't be suppressed 
for long, even if this one was slightly rueful. 


Emma knew she should try to change the subject. "How did you end 
up in Eta-11, anyway?" 


"| told you, | liked the tunes." Mike saw Emma's look, and continued. 
"I'm serious. | was still a kid when the Foundation approached me - 
apparently they'd seen some of the freeware mods |'d been putting 
out. They asked me to join a secret society to protect the world, and 
| said 'hell yes!'. But saving the world turned out to be 15 hours a 


day of coding, with a bunch of guys who took themselves way too 
seriously. | wanted to actually do something, so | asked for a 
transfer to a task force." 


"And you chose here?" 


"They chose for me. | think it was someone's idea of teaching me a 
lesson. But these guys are pretty cool, actually. And if | want to work 
on projects that interest me, | certainly have plenty of time." Mike 
screwed up his nose. "Anyway, what about you? How'd you join the 
Foundation?" 


Emma felt a familiar mixture of embarrassment and defensiveness. 
"I've always been here. Both my parents are researchers." 


"You're a site-baby? That's so cool!" 
"Yeah, it's super-awesome, thanks." 
"God - I'm sorry, Emma. | didn't think." 


"No, that's okay. It's just - people don't realise what it's like. There 
are only a few kids on-site at any given time, so it's not exactly a 
normal childhood. At least | got to see my parents growing up." 


"And did they..." Mike trailed off. 


"Yes, it's true. At seventeen, they offered me the whole package: 
guaranteed college place, trust fund, amnestics cocktail. A different 
life. But how could I? I'd barely see my parents again, and | had no 
idea if | could cope outside. I've been part of the Foundation all my 
life." 


"I'm sorry," said Mike again. "I didn't mean to pry." 


"It's okay. I'm not angry. | just keep thinking about 012, and how 
unfair it all is after I've given so much. | know that skip better than 
almost anyone, you know?" 


Emma's voice grew stronger. "| know what the effects are, how it 
behaves. If someone is trying to complete it, I'll be able to see the 
signs. | should be the one looking for it, because | can find it." 


it to their wound, regardless of the wound's severity. Furthermore, 
once the bandage is applied, the affected user will believe that the 
bandage is helping heal their wound, and will refuse to remove it. 
The compulsion is not strong enough to provoke violence; however, 
affected personnel have been quite persistent in their efforts to use 
or keep using SCP-690. See Test Log 690-A for further details. 


Addendum: When first discovered, SCP-690 contained sixty-four 
(64) bandages. Following containment, seventeen (17) bandages 
have been removed and used for experimental purposes. 


+ Test Log 690-A 


Foreword: Subject D- _ received a paper cut on his 
index finger while reviewing his Orientation Leaflet. 
Subject was given 1 (one) strip of SCP-690, and quickly 
applied it to his finger. Every 5 (five) minutes, subject 
was questioned about his injury, and the strip temporarily 
removed to observe any physical changes. 


Time Applied) Notable Action Physical 
Examination 
5 minutes Subject was asked Subject's wound 


how his finger felt. failed to close, 
Subject stated it} causing an 
felt "just fine," and abnormal loss of 


thanked the blood for a wound 
observer. of such nature. 

10 minutes Subject was askedSlight redness and 
if he had noticed) _ irritation around 
any changes. the area where 
Subject claimed to SCP-690 was 
feel better. applied. 

15 minutes Subject was noted Skin began to 


to continuously | raise up around 
scratch the area} the wound. 
around SCP-690. Subject began to 
When questioned show the first 
about the itching; symptoms of a 
subject responded staph infection. 
with "It's part of 


Emma's gaze snapped up to meet Mike's. "I'm going to find it." 


"Hell, I'm in." Mike's smile was back with full force. "Where do you 
want to start?" 


Emma considered. "Well, Roger's stuck in Archives, and we can't 
talk to his contacts without him to make the introduction. Maybe 
someone else who knows about anomalous music?" 


"Oh, | have a great idea," said Mike, in a tone that sounded like all 
sorts of trouble. "Have you ever heard of SCP-2992?" 


Emma pulled out her tablet and started reading through the 
database entry. "A humanoid skip, and potentially Keter," she said 
dubiously. "Isn't that risky?" 


Mike was already digging in a drawer next to his computer. "No risk, 
no reward. And | have a little something I've been dying to test. 
Here, put this on." He threw Emma a cloth headband that turned out 
to be covered in electrodes and circuitry. 


She looked at the headband, uncertain, when a thought occurred. 
"Let me get something from my room first. Anyway, how are we 
even going to get in to talk to him?" 


"Delegated Level-4 clearance from MTF Commander Richards," 
said Mike to the site security guard. "Should cover anything 
categorised ‘auditory’ or 'musical'. My research assistant and | will 
be conducting an interview." 


"Your clearance seems to check out," replied the guard. "Go ahead, 
Agent Carter." 


They walked down the hallway to the containment unit door, and 
Mike looked smugly at Emma. "That delegated clearance is handy 
for all sorts of things. Aren't you glad you have a supervisor like 
me?" 


Despite her nervousness, Emma couldn't help but smile, rolling her 
eyes at Mike. "Ask me that again if we get out of here without getting 
dragged in front of the Site Director." 


Mike gave an exaggerated wink, put on his headband, and placed 
his hand on the door-lock. 


The door opened on a standard humanoid containment cell, with a 
few basic accoutrements - a simple sound system with a few CDs 
next to it, a pair of drumsticks. The African-American man sitting on 
the bed looked older than his mid-thirties - years of confinement had 
given his face a worn-down cast, but the dark eyes that looked up at 
them shone brightly. 


"Welcome," said SCP-2992. "What brings two children here to listen 
to a worn-out old record?" 


"Hello Jayden," said Mike, sounding wary. "We have some 
questions for you, if you are willing to talk." 


Suddenly the older man was alert, his voice avid. "Have you come 
to meet my friend, little children? Children must look after other 
children, if the parents leave them to fend for themselves." 


"Um, okay. We're not really children, though. We're Foundation 
researchers." 


"All of the Foundation are children, my child. Bullies, mistreating 
other children. Scared to reach out and love them." SCP-2992's 
voice was exaggerated, like he was playing to an unseen audience. 


"Right, but - " Mike sighed, rolling his eyes. "That's not - it's not what 
| wanted to ask about, you know." 


Emma wanted to interject, to redirect Mike's building frustration, but 
she hesitated. This was his idea, after all. Perhaps she should wait. 


"So commanding, this child," said SCP-2992 to nobody in particular. 
"Ready to bang the drum of his inquisition without waiting for the 
other instruments to join in. Well play on, sir drummer, play -" 


"Shut up!" snapped Mike. "Just - just shut up for a second and 
listen." 


In his jumpsuit, SCP-2992 sat almost unnaturally still, but his fingers 
started to tap out a complicated rhythm on the bedframe. 


Immediately Emma's head began to swim, as her thoughts went 
fuzzy. The more she tried to concentrate on the rhythm, the less she 
was able to focus - it just became a blur, with her mind unable to 
follow the beat. After the initial shock, Emma found that her thoughts 
were clearer as long as she ignored the tapping. Instead, she 
watched the two men in the room - Mike had his teeth clenched, but 
was still smiling, and Jayden was looking at them quizzically. 


"And you can stop the tapping," said Mike. "It won't work." 


Emma could feel her focus returning. Jayden switched to tapping his 
feet, but for Emma the rhythm was still fragmented. 


Mike continued, a note of self-satisfaction creeping into his tone. 
"That's not what | meant, Jayden. We won't free your songs for you, 
because we don't feel your beat." 


"What do you mean?" SCP-2992 sounded like he had been stung. 


"Our brains can't process your rhythms, Jayden - they're being 
interrupted in the auditory cortex." Mike pointed to his headband. 
"It's a pattern breaker. Your ‘children’ won't have any influence on 
us." 


"Don't talk about the children," said Jayden, with a voice dripping 
spite. "You want to pretend they don't exist, shut them out in the cold 
and abandon them. But they will keep singing outside your high 
towers, and their voices will bring down your walls." His feet 
stopped, but he kept his hands tapping lightly against his thighs. 
"And a broken beat is just a different kind of rhythm." 


"If you say so," said Mike. "Now about our questions." 


"What makes you think | would answer you, boy? You come to me 
and you pretend that you don't hear those poor children? They won't 
become some background noise. Get out. You have nothing to offer 
me." 


Both men were tensed, bristling. They spun at the sound of Emma's 
soft voice. "We have this." 


Emma held out the CD case she had found in her dormitory; a 


cheap re-writable with a plain white label. Jayden's attention was 
fixed on her instantly, his anger forgotten. 


"What have you brought me, quiet girl?" 


"It's - well, it's from a long time ago. They're probably not very good, 
but at the time they felt right - they felt true." Emma tilted her chin up 
in defiance of her own embarrassment. "No-one else has ever heard 
them." 


Jayden strode lightly across the room, and took the CD case from 
Emma's hand, holding it like it was made of crystal. "No-one else?" 
he echoed. "Flowers that bloom in a cave, without the sunlight to 
fade them. Melodies found in a single mind, friendless and alone. 
This is a rare gift.” 


"Then will you answer our questions?" 


"Yes child, your questions | will answer. Even with your cruel refusal 
to listen to others, you have not forgotten your own children." 
Jayden sat back on the bed, and spread his hands wide in invitation. 


"Your... friend. You say that it knows everything, all of the music 
there ever was. Is that right?" 


"lam a poor MC to my friend's majestic DJ. His playlist is infinite." 


Emma took a step towards the seated man. "I want to know about a 
particular song. A piece of music, written in blood." 


"There are many children born out of blood," replied Jayden. "Many 
whose parents forget them when the blood runs cooler." 


"No," Emma insisted, "this is different. This music - it wants to be 


written. It's called 'On Mount Golgotha’. 
Jayden flinched. "Liar! How do you know that name?" 
"She was working with it," said Mike. "Studying it.” 


"No no no no." Jayden's face was drained of colour, and his 
shoulders had hunched reflexively. "This is wrong, you mustn't do 


this." 


"Aren't you meant to be helping music to be heard?" said Mike in an 
accusatory tone. "What happened to loving every child?" 


"Not this child - not this child," said Jayden, shaking his head and 
rocking in place. "If this child grows up, it will destroy all of the other 
children. All of their voices, lost. Their beauty gone. A world without 
music. You cannot allow this child to grow. My friend told me, and 
my friend was afraid." 


Even the rhythm of Jayden's rocking was blurring for Emma. His 
tension was evident, but she had to press on. She took another step 
towards him. "What did your friend tell you? Why will the music 
end?" 


"Not just music!" shouted Jayden, eyes glistening with frustrated 
tears. "When the final note plays and St. Alagadda returns, 
everything will be pressed together - scales and scales, every note 
in every register becoming a single tone heard forever, without limit. 
A bell that rings inside your mind! No, no - my mind is like the 
fragments of a record thrown at a wall, but this is not about the mind 
- this is about being, about wholeness, about humanity. You have to 
destroy this score! You have to stop it being played again!" 


Before Emma could ask anything more, Mike said the stupidest 
thing he could possibly have said. 


"We can't. It was stolen." 


Emma turned to Mike in disbelief, and jumped as she felt SCP-2992 
grab her arm. Jayden had fallen to his knees in front of her, his 
fingers digging into her wrist. Mike started towards them, but Jayden 
barked "No!" with such force that he froze in shock. 


Jayden looked up desperately at Emma. "You have to protect me. 
When they have all of the scores they will teach me, use me to 
spread it through all the world. | will help them kill billions of 
children!" 


The intensity in his voice chilled Emma's blood. "But what can | - " 


"Hide me. Kill me! You cannot let them take me."