With a failure of this magnitude, containment was impossible. Our 
cover was irrevocably blown, hundreds of dangerous SCPs were 
loose, and the world was furious. Almost overnight, fingers were 
pointed, blame was laid, and war erupted. Armies mobilized, 
missiles were launched, and civilization as we know it was 
destroyed. 


As we continued to expand, so did our enemies. We faced stiff 
competition for control of SCP artifacts; the Serpent's Hand, the 


Church, the Chaos Insurgency... 


The O5s decided it was time to put a stop to this. Under their orders, 
we trained a small group of Agents. Agents who had proven 
themselves time and time again, whose loyalty to the Foundation 
was absolute and unshakeable. We equipped them with the best 
armor and weapons we had, used whatever SCPs we could to 
improve them. We ran hundreds of simulations, set up dozens of 
failsafes, and finally, we were confident we were ready. 


We gave them SCP-668. 


It worked beautifully. The Agents were unstoppable. Within a month, 
the Hand and the Church had been crushed. And it didn't stop there; 
MC&D, the Chaos Insurgency, the ORIA all fell within six months. 
The GOC attacked us when they learned what we were doing, and 
we slaughtered them as well. Our database swelled, with thousands 
of SCPs liberated from the corpses of our foes. Everything was 
under control, and nothing could stop us. 


Nothing. Somehow, don't ask me, SCP-668's effect changed ever so 
slightly. And now, nobody can run from us and | mean nobody. The 
whole world stood still while the last Agent to carry the knife went 
mad with loneliness, stabbing his way through towns and cities. He 
even got here. He looked right at me and put this goddamn knife in 
my hand. 


And then | stabbed him. | wander now, looking for something, 
anything. A reason to keep on walking. But the helpless, terrified 
people died of starvation long ago. There is nothing left to stab. 


Well, that's not quite true. There's me. 


It wasn't an easy job, and probably not worth the trouble. 


The geniuses of the Foundation gathered and worked. It took 
months, but they managed to fundamentally alter SCP-079's 
programming. We took away its unwillingness to cooperate with us. 
And then we put it to work. SCP-079's brilliant computer mind could 
contain these abominations better than a team of experts ever 


could. Containment breaches went to near zero. 
It was perfect. 


So perfect, in fact, that the only way any of the Skips could escape 
is if a human deliberately released them. 


So it did the only logical thing: it called for the destruction of 
mankind. Faster than you could say "I told you sol", it fired every 
nuclear missile we had into the atmosphere. Entire continents were 
irradiated in the course of a single night. 


Hey guys, I've got a great idea! Let's strap a big gun to SCP 682 and 
use it to fight the Chaos Insurgency! WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO 
WRONG!? 


And amazingly, impossibly, it actually WORKED! The one thing that 
had never been tried in all this time had been to try to work WITH 
682 instead of trying to destroy it. The Chaos Insurgency fought 
back, triggering countless defenses and offenses that we had 
unknowingly been programing into 682 every time we tried to 
destroy it. It fought with us against our enemies for months, then 
years, until finally we were completely victorious. 


That's when 682 unleashed its adaptation against peace. 


Friendly to everyone that talked to him. Good behavior. The perfect 
spy. We recruited SCP-423 to seek out the worlds secrets and bring 
them to us. All he wanted was to be acknowledged as an Agent of 
the Foundation instead of a thing for study. 


So, as a test, we sent him out to infiltrate a world government and 
return to us with specific plans we knew of. Just a test run... 


We got the information, all right. We also got Fred's new friend, 
"Tom". An hour later there were a hundred more. By the end of the 
day every book, every data file, and even the graffiti in the men's 
room toilets were nothing more then a collection of random names. 


After a hundred years I'm the only one left who remembers what a 


book looks like, guarding the last library in a cavern of rock miles 
beneath the rock. They send me their children, and | pretend to 
smile as they babble on about Fred and Jane and Bob and all the 
other names they see on the walls above. | keep them away from 
the books (they don't try to hurt me any more - that is my 
punishment), and try to teach them how to repair the generators and 
build the locks and raise crops (and isn't that a perfect irony?) 
Without the words only the Foundation knew how to be anything 
more then feral - and every year they send me fewer and fewer. In 
another hundred, there will only be me among my degraded 
brotherhood of man who remembers the Word. 


Why the hell did we even hold on to SCP-523? Its one and only 
property was to make everything around it worse. The best possible 
thing we could do is send it far away. 


We gave it to an Agent and arranged for them to be picked up by the 
Chaos Insurgency. Every member was dead within a week. 


It was then acquired by the Office For The Reclamation of Islamic 
Artifacts. They died as well. We managed to engineer the object's 
passage to every rival organization of ours, and every time it worked 
beyond our wildest dreams. MC&D, the Church of the Broken God, 
all of them were brought to their knees. 


The item was making its rounds through the ranks of the Serpent's 
Hand and wreaking havoc when SCP-616 opened. Not when it was 
supposed to either, the thing opened two hours before a scheduled 
flight while it was still on the runway, and I'll be damned if | know 
why. The containment team was already there, and they were able 
to hold it off for a bit...then something came out. We still don't know 
what the hell it is—all we know is that we lost all contact with Site 
[REDACTED] right afterwards. Then it started to move. Nothing we 
sent could stop it, and thousands went mad as they beheld... 
whatever it was. The panic started to set in around then. Personnel 
deserted their posts, ran back to their families. Containment for most 
of our other high-risk items failed over the course of the next day as 
more and more of our guards left. The world suddenly became 
aware of our masquerade, and of items like 173, 076, 682, and 008. 
We were overwhelmed, and that's when 523 kicked in. 


| don't know what the hell it did or how it did it. All | Know is that we 
haven't been able to raise transmissions from Earth for weeks. The 
entire planet looks like it's covered with this giant cloud of dust and 
none of our gear can see through it. As far as we know, we're the 
last survivors of the human race, here on the Mare Imbrium. If it 
wasn't for 120, we'd be still on Earth with the rest. Our supplies have 
begun to run low and someone's going to have to return to Earth for 
more. Whether we like it or not, we have to find out what 
happened... 


...I've got to stop eating the cafeteria chili. God, that stuff gives me 
weird dreams. 


Anyhow, that gives me an idea. If we just do a bit more research on 
SCP-120, we could create our own teleportation system. Say 
goodbye to expensive transportation and all that. We could almost 
completely eliminate fossil fuels! Bring food to famine-stricken 
countries with great ease! And there's absolutely nothing that could 
go wrong with this one, of course. Right? 


Except, it did. 


lt turns out, we didn't really understand the inner workings of the 
SCP. Our best quantum physicists assured us they knew what they 
were doing, and soon we had a workable prototype. We had 
everything ready, a 1 pound weight to be teleported 5 miles south, 
nothing could possibly go wrong, Eh? We geared it up and then, 
poof, it was gone, with it, the entire US East Coast, down to the 
core. 


What? Oh, | have some really morbid ideas, don't |? 


Anyways, we were working with SCP-914 and realized, after putting 
a microwave, a small boiler, a blender, and some gears into it on 
‘Very Fine' for about 5 times, we got our own Star Trek style 
Replicator, and it worked alright. What if we used it to create 
everything we needed dearly, from super-dense wall materials to 
better suits for handling Keter objects? It'll just be a walk in the park 
and soon, no more shortages of this, lack of that, and so on! 


« SCP-986 | SCP-987 | SCP-988 » 


Obviously, the first thing we made was more replicators, and with 
hundreds working all around the world it was looking like utopia was 
very quickly coming up. The problem was, none of us realized that 
the thing wasn't breaking the laws of conservation of mass and 
energy. We never realized where it was coming from. 


The first cracks started appearing about seventeen years after 
Project Cornucopia went underway. Pockets taken here or there 
were starting to build up, especially as we were creating larger, 
denser objects. On May 17th, Hawaii fell into the ocean. Two weeks 
later, half of Asia was buried in lava. It turns out the planet wasn't 
particularly stable, given that we'd accidentally used up huge swaths 
of the lower crust, and now half the world was falling into the mantle 
and the other half had the mantle erupting out. The only plus side is 
that the Star Wars conventions held some epic "Anakin Vs Obi- 
Wan" re-enactments, before the west coast melted. 


Holy... | told Jeff there was something funny with that milk in the 
fridge. What a nightmare... 


Seriously though, someone got to thinking: world peace, the end of 
need, permanent containment. All of that is way outside of human 
control, and despite having "God" in a luxury suite, he wouldn't do 
anything for us. So, what if we didn't ask "God"? Someone set up 
SCP-738 and asked a simple question: "Can you make the world 
safe, so that all of mankind can be peaceful and happy?" There was 
a very, very long pause, and the answer was, "Are you willing to let 
one hundred million people die?" 


One hundred million, against seven-point-something billion? That's a 
pretty small percentage... 


It was really too bad that 738 had a very special way of killing those 
people. An unknown entity breached containment in hundreds of 
SCPs. Unknown anomalies popped up out of nowhere. What did 
they all have in common? They were memetic. Out of seven-point- 
something billion, less than one-thousand people were left 
unaffected. The appropriate terms for the affected were "Zombie," 
"Brainwashed," and "Retards." Very little, if any higher brain 
function, was left in those billions of people. But they were all quite 


safe, never hurting each other, never hurting themselves. 


It was years before anyone would come out of hiding. Half the O5s, 
for example, refused adamantly to leave their bunkers. But soon, 
supplies ran short. When they came out, everyone was just staring 
at them with blank, expressionless, dull eyes. And when most of the 
unaffected people gathered in Berlin, that's when the one hundred 
million people died. They didn't even use knives, just their bare 
hands. But they were happy. | guess... 


Virtual Reality. It's never been an actual reality, sadly. Imagine, 
everything could be perfect there! Why make life perfect when we 
can just convince everyone that it's perfect? We know how well 
actually trying works... 


SCP-826 could do that for us. Hundreds of Foundation authors 
collaborated to come up with perfection. No more space 
requirements, no more war, and constant euphoria. It was how life 
ought to be, really. It was a perfect idea. 


After a few months of work, we figured out how to take multiple 
people across, and Dr. Gligoric got promoted for figuring out how to 
make everyone arrive in sync. By then, nothing held the plan up. We 
issued number IDs determining when your turn to go across, and 
soon enough, as many as two hundred people went through per 
day, set on establishing a new life in the perfect fictional realm, then 
a thousand...then five... we kept improving the transport process. 
And it was wonderful. 


At first. Heck, the first eight iterations were. 

See, we knew when the plot ended, people that stayed in became a 
part of the universe in the next iterations, complete with a new 
memory. We even welcomed it as it made it harder for anyone that 
went in to abuse the setting Groundhog Day-style. 

What we didn't foresee due to the small testing scale was that the 
thing put the people it naturalized into roles they best fit within the 
continuity, even if it meant altering the setting . 

It wasn't obvious at first - thing is, our world doesn't do that, so most 
of those going across ended up doing something else over there. 
But by three iterations since the first researcher's number came up, 


the story included a bad skip outbreak. As about a tenth of the 
population has made the move by then, we responded by sending a 
few MTFs across to contain it. 

The next plot iteration included the RSN Society (Retrieve, Store, 
Neutralize.) , and unfortunately, they didn't take extrareality 
incursions any better than we'd have - the next time we sent a 
bunch of agents through to check if the world is still worth migrating 
into, they didn't return and neither did SCP-826. Wasn't the end of it, 
either - apparently they have figured out how to send their skips 
across to us as a foolproof means of containment. 

By this day, we have secured thirty five instances of SCP-231 of 
differing age and health. 


Fuck. This is what happens when you doze off at work. Work.. 
everything is work! This might be worth a try!... 


After a few successful tests, Site-35 was made into a training centre, 
and | got a promotion out of it. Controlled SCP-1011 exposure 
combined with martial arts training took a month to make an 
untrained MTF greenhorn into someone who could rip a Broken God 
Crusader into cogs in hand-to-hand combat. Sharpshooters didn't 
need scopes anymore. Researchers developed an intuitive feel for 
quantum mechanics ,and solving a differential equation became as 
natural as adding 2+2. 

Intel agents... let's say that they managed to track down Dr. 
Wondertainment. 

In less than a year we held the reins of the world, and by the looks 
of it, we were up to the task. 


Until the day that the statue awoke and called out to all its Children; 
"Bring all of the Unblessed unto me so they can gaze upon My 
countenance." 


It all started with a vacation request. When SCP-208 asked if he 
could visit the Libyan Desert for a few weeks, he was told his unique 
healing skills were needed at Site-17. He then asked for an assistant 
to train as a substitute. A week later Bes got into SCP-222, then 
trained his newly created clone. "Bes Jr." turned out to be every bit 
as helpful as the original. Within a few months there was a Bes 


stationed at every major Foundation site. The deathrate dropped 
and morale surged. Inevitably, this in turn spawned 'Project 
Nightingale’, an attempt to place a Bes in every major city on Earth. 
A small colony of Bes was founded on a small uninhabited island in 
Indonesia with a falsified culture and prehistory implying Egyptian 
origins. Video footage showed computer-generated females and 
adolescents added to the all-adult male population. The Bes were 
accepted by the world as a cousin to Homo sapiens, and they were 
eventually integrated into every country as healers. Although they 
were never great in number, they helped make the world a better 
place.