"Just weird shit. | was sitting in a chair looking at a table with some 
ice on it. Some part of me knew that | was in the basement of Site 
19, even though nothing around me looked like it. It was hot in the 
room, so hot, but the ice didn't melt. | know there was something 
goddamn strange about the ice not melting. It wasn't dream physics, 
even the dream version of me knew something unnatural was going 
on. | just kept staring at the ice, for minutes at a time. Suddenly, | 
had the oddest feeling.” 


"Like there was something very important happening behind you, 
right?" Eastman looked at him with a sort of desperate tone to his 
voice. "Like something was about to happen behind you that you 
had to see?" 


"Wait, you had it too?" 


"Similar," Eastman said. "Except it wasn't ice. It was one of those 
Newton's cradles, the little toy with the balls that just tap-tap-tap 
back and forth. | never saw anyone touch the thing, but it just kept 
going. Suddenly, | saw a man in a suit, someone | didn't recognize, 
standing right behind the thing. He put these two wooden blocks on 
either side of it, just to where the balls would touch them before 
rolling back down. He stood there and stared right into my eyes 
while | watched the cradle. It felt like hours before | realized what he 
wanted me to notice." 


"It didn't slow down," Lee said. "It never slowed down. It just kept 
going on its own. Forever." 


"What did you see behind you?" Eastman asked. "What was 
happening in the room behind you?" 


"Hollis was there." Lee was now staring directly into space, barely 
focusing. "Hollis was arguing with someone.” 


"Holzman. It was Holzman." Eastman's trance was identical to Lee's. 


"| Know it was Holzman and Hollis, and they were fighting over the 
reverser." 


"The numberless SCP." A dinging sound snapped Eastman out of 
his reverie. "C'mon, Lee. We're here." He shook his companion to 
wake him. 


Lee shook his head to clear it. "Right, right." They walked out of the 
elevator. 


There was a single, small room. Maps and notes covered the walls. 
Lee looked at some of the notes. Research failed to create an 
environment...entropy increased. ..it 


SCP...not only decreases but reverses 
All events will tend towards order. 


an endless unstoppable fuel source for the ultimate engine of 


destruction. And if not that, then what? Men living forever 
"This is what we know," Eastman said. 

"Where are we exactly?" Lee asked. 

"A little ways down. Why?" 

"Down, as in...towards the basement?" 


"Nobody's been lost this high up yet. It shouldn't be a threat." 
Eastman shrugged. "Why do you ask?" 


"Because | think | get how people disappear without a trace," Lee 
said, turning his back. 


"How?" 


Lee snapped around, his service pistol in his hand, and shot 
Eastman once directly in the head. Lee's accuracy with guns had 
never been so great before, but now, he knew he could do anything. 
The Reverser would tell him what to do. It was so smart. 


"They walked downstairs," Lee said to no one in particular. 
Eastman's body lay on the floor. He was not bleeding. Lee walked 
over and stood over the body. 


"The radiation will keep you from actually dying, but the bullet will 
keep you immobile. You'll keep dying, but you'll never actually die. 
Thank you for your help." 


Lee turned and walked back to the elevator, punching a different 
series of buttons to go further down. As the doors closed, he heard 
Eastman moan. 


"Don't worry, buddy," Lee said. "I'll leave the door open for you." 


Conversation 3: Decommissioning 


A number of people who no longer used their names spoke to one 
another. 


"How many so far?" 


"Four. One D-class, two agents, one junior researcher. The 
phenomenon must be contained." 


"You argued previously that—" 


"| know what | said. We need more intelligence about the 
phenomenon before we can act, yet nobody entering its effect radius 
returns to report about it. Nevertheless, we must act as soon as 
possible." 


"There is one alternative. The damaged researcher seems to retain 
some memories." 


"His memory has been wiped." 


"The RAISA operative carrying out his rehabilitation has reported 
that his memories continue to surface. We can exploit this." 


"| suggest the Council order Dr. Skinner to carry out reconnaissance 
for us. | have drafted a message: 'New intelligence required. Focus 
on following keywords: omicron class, apollyon, reverser, holzman, 
hollis, numberless, 555. Presence of any words indicate operation 
failure and will require additional amnestic treatment.” 


"What are those words?" 


"All of the research we've recovered to date. Maybe something will 
turn up." 


"Why is he to be mind-wiped if he's our only lead?" 


"First, amnestic treatments hardly qualify as 'mind-wiping’. Second, 
amnestics seem to reset his memories, make him more cooperative. 
We may elect not to go forward with the amnestic treatments, 
depending on what he knows. But | think the threat of amnestics will 
speed the process somewhat. If it fails, we can try something 
different. But time is of the essence." 


"Is it wise to reveal this much and hope for the best?" 


"None of our other efforts have been effective. | see no choice. The 
matter is on the table; seven votes are required." 


Ten for, three against. The message was sent. 


Some time later: 


"Site 19 is almost abandoned now. Much of the building is unsafe, 
and most of the personnel are dead. Have we learned enough to 
act?" 


"Certain files were recovered, thanks to the information we 
gathered. The SD cards we spread around the Site allowed us to 
gather even more intelligence, especially from people who believed 
they were speaking in confidence." 


"The recording from the last death was...unusually disturbing." 


"Agreed. But the question remains: have we determined the nature 
of the phenomenon?" 


"Approximately. We do not know how or why it is in Site 19, or even 
in this universe. But a plan was devised for this scenario." 


"Who composed it?" 


"That information is unavailable. Nevertheless, it is all we have to 
work with. | propose the plan be executed." 


"What is the plan?" 


"It is an Omicron class event. Nobody has authorization to know the 


details." 


The rest of the individuals looked uncomfortable. "Do you have any 
alternative?" the speaker said. Silence throughout the room. "The 
motion is on the floor. All in favor? All opposed? The motion carries." 


"What must be done?" 


"| have composed the necessary orders. Brace yourselves. 
Executing...now." 


A gas flooded the room from numerous vents. The people inside 
reacted with surprise initially, then relaxed, accepting what was 
happening. They were fully aware that the gas was a nonlethal 
anesthetic combined with an amnestic; this part of the scenario was 
familiar to them. Contingent Omicron, it was called. For when there 
were things even the O5 Council didn't need to know. 


"See you on...the oth...er s...the other side,” a voice was heard to 
say. 


The top floor of Site 19 was deserted as Jaime MacGilligan woke 
from a nightmare. It was hardly an unusual occurrence, of late. It 
was the same nightmare. It was always the same. The basement. 
The rubber balls, bouncing across the room without stopping or 
slowing. The conversation behind her. The bodies. 


So many bodies. Many of them friends of hers. Every night, while 
Holzman and Hollis argued about decommissioning SCP- 
Numberless, someone new entered the room in front of them. 
Neither of the men saw their new companion, or heard the gunshot 
directly to the head moments later. The next night, another will walk 
in, see the previous night's sacrifice, and chuckle while they shoot 
themselves in the head. Jaime knew (in the way one knows things in 
dreams, things that are impossible to Know) that the two men were 
talking long ago. This conversation happened in another universe, 
infinitely far away and right here. An eternity ago, four years ago. An 
event that never happened, that keeps happening. That will always 
happen. 


SCP-822 specimen detonates when brought within 3 meters of 
Subject. Subject survives initial detonation but succumbs to 
neurotoxin. 


Date: // 

Subject: D-9989 (Deceased) 

Procedure: Specimen of SCP-822 moved towards dead body of 
Subject 

Results: 

SCP-822 does not detonate, even when placed directly on body of 
Subject. 


Date: / / 

Subject: D-10021 

Procedure: Specimen of SCP-822 placed against wall of isolation 
chamber designed to completely absorb all sound, vibration, and 
temperature fluctuation. Subject instructed to move towards 
SCP-822 while separated by wall of isolation chamber. 

Results: 

SCP-822 detonates when Subject approaches within 3 meters of 
specimen. Minimal damage to isolation chamber, no harm to 
Subject. 


"Apparently SCP-822 is capable of detecting living creatures within 
its trigger radius, despite not being able to "see" the target, detect its 
sounds, or feel any shifts in temperature. More experimentation 
needs to be done to determine how it does this." - Dr. 


« SCP-821 | SCP-822 | SCP-823 » 


The clown made it happen. Jaime knew this, in the way one knows 
things in dreams. Things that are impossible to know. A clown in a 
television set opened a door and let the breeze from the death of a 
world drift in to Site 19. It has never happened. It will always 
happen. 


There is a message on her Grayberry. One of her last ties to a 
Foundation that barely exists, in a world that won't exist for much 
longer. The message says: 


Check your laptop. New orders. O5 


The Foundation-issued computer was state-of-the-art, but the 
battery had barely another hour of power on it. She had been 
running up, up, away from the basement and...whatever sort of 
death was there. She never had the heart to leave the Site, though. 
She was a Researcher, even if a low-level one, and that was that. If 
the Foundation went down, she would go down with the ship. 


A message was waiting for her, in a sense. Her computer had been 
remotely wiped clean and replaced with a single program. A 
background covered in the Greek letter omicron, with a message in 
front: 


If you are reading this, Overwatch Command has 
detected no other life signs within Site 19, indicating a 
crisis situation of unparalleled magnitude. However, a 
solution has been devised, and it has been determined 
that you are both capable of executing the solution and 
that nobody else is capable of assisting. Details from O5 
are included below: 


That message was followed by an SCP file, fairly complete except 
for the item number, which was listed as "Numberless." Jaime had 
no idea there was an SCP that didn't have a number, until she read 
the note below the file: 


Intelligence suggests that this object belonged to an 
analog of the SCP Foundation, a much smaller 
organization, in an alternate universe. Due to the poorly- 
understood nature of the object (originally believed to be 


nothing more than a device capable of stopping and 
reversing entropy within a particular range), an attempt 
to decommission SCP-Numberless failed, leading to an 
XkK-class end-of-the-world scenario. By means currently 
unknown, this scenario was averted; a side effect of this 
was the creation of a new universe, which we presently 
inhabit. SCP-Numberless survived the transition, but 
remained locked in a heretofore unknown chamber at the 
very bottom of Site 19. This containment chamber was 
evidently capable of suppressing SCP-Numberless's 
effect; while locked, the artifact remained harmless. 


Current intelligence suggests that during the most recent 
Tempest Night containment breach, an unknown entity 
(suspected to be SCP-993, though the means by which 
this could have been accomplished are unknown) 
managed (through similarly unknown means) to unlock 
and open the containment chamber for SCP- 
Numberless. The opening of this chamber led to the 
reactivation of the device, which now displayed a 
predatory ability to lure personnel within a particular 
(consistently growing) effect radius into its chamber for 
unknown purposes via telepathic means. 


We have attempted to send support personnel from 
other sites to provide assistance, but the device has 
been preventing outside entry to Site 19 through 
unknown means for some time. We are sorry, but there 
is no one else but you. 


Telepathic countermeasures can be found at the 
following location. Please 


This was followed by a series of instructions that were as shockingly 
simple as they were horrifying. Jaime knew there was nobody else, 
and no alternative. A map appended to the message showed the 
projected increases in the effect radius; the last bit of Site 19, the 
area she was in, would be lost within three hours. The surrounding 
countryside would be lost within two days. The effect would be 
planetwide within three months, and there was nobody left but 
Jaime. Jaime knew this in the way one knows things in real life, 


things that are impossible to forget. She looked at her orders once 
again: 


You must close the containment chamber. To ensure 
success, you must remain inside the chamber when it 
closes. The Foundation will honor your sacrifice and its 
meaning for the continued existence of the human race, 
but there is no chance of survival. We are sorry. 


The "telepathic countermeasure" was a headset with earbuds and 
slightly blue-tinted glasses. A small band running over the top of the 
head was the only indication that the brain had anything to do with 
the entire affair. If she didn't believe that O5 wouldn't bother sending 
her to her death for no reason, she wouldn't believe the stupid- 
looking thing was even real. But orders were orders. 


The elevator the laptop directed her to opened as she approached. 
A new message popped up as she entered. 


The laptop will now direct the elevator. We apologize for 
the music. 


A screeching noise came from the little laptop. The lights in the 
elevator turned red, and a voice popped up from the speakers. 
"Omicron-level priority order acknowledged. Please relax before 
your impending engagement on..." The computerized voice was 
replaced with a different automated one: "FLOOR... 
UNAVAILABLE." 


A sound came out like an old radio scanning, followed by the words 
"Morning, today's forecast calls for...blue skies!" and a piano riff. 


"Sun is shining in the sky 
There ain't a cloud in sight..." 


Jaime hadn't seen the sun in weeks. She cried to the Electric Light 
Orchestra the whole ride down. 


The door opened just as the song ended. Jaime walked out holding 


the laptop, glancing at it for any last instructions. 


There is nothing left to tell you. Good luck. You may 
leave the laptop behind. 


She put the laptop back in the elevator and walked away. She 
noticed that the elevator door did not close. Checking to make sure 
her headset was on properly, she walked down the hall. She could 
already see a single chair sitting empty in front of her, facing down 
another hallway. 


She reached the chair and turned to see what it was facing. In her 
dreams, it was toy balls bouncing back and forth. The file she read 
said many people dreamed of ice that never melted or perpetual 
motion machines. People dreamed of impossible things, things that 
can't happen in real life. She looked down the hallway. 


There was a room, and a table. The table was bare, the room was 
empty. Sometimes dreams are just dreams. 


Jaime turned to look down the other way. There was a door, a huge 
steel door. Similar to Keter containment chambers. This one was 
cracked open, slightly. She walked towards the door and laid her 
hand on it, wondering if opening the door further would do more 
harm than good.