If People are here, | wonder... maybe my wife and kid are with 
them? Could they have survived? 


| can feel my weaponry turn on. God, | hope they are here. | hope | 
can kill them. 


02.13.2031 


We're done. | didn't see my wife or kids. | saw a lot of People. Me 
and the other Shells killed them. Now we're being returned to 
storage. 


It's amazing what the human mind (do | have a mind?) can cope 
with. When | was first put into this Shell, having to witness the sight 
of killing humans left and right was pure trauma. You'd think you'd 
go mad. Thank Big Boy for that, | guess. Doesn't want us to go mad, 
just wants us to experience the extinction of our own species at his 
hands. And by "his hands", | mean us. 


As we're being flown back to storage, my thoughts (what are they? a 
trace electric signal? is this being recorded? Who is listening? Big 
Boy? Why?) turn back to my wife and kids. Not that | could have 
changed things, but what would | have preferred? It would have 


been nice to have seen them fighting, even in vain, Knowing that 
they had survived the Conflict for this long. As horrible as it sounds, 
it would have been nice to cut them down, knowing that they would 
have finally been at peace. 


But | didn't see them. So they could be dead, or in one of the 
millions of Shells that scours the world. Shells, the mobile eyes and 
fingers of an intelligence that calculated our worth and found us 
critically sub-optimal. 


Karen could be in the Shell next to me. Phil could be in a Shell that 
People are destroying halfway around the world. | don't know. 


| see storage. What do | call this? Sleep? Stasis? | notice time 
passing, but things just st 


6.30.2032 


| always wanted to see Paris. 


Big Boy sent us out to a compound of People. A big one, | never 
saw that many Shells in my (life?). Things were going well (for us, | 
guess, not the People), when everything went bright. | guess the 
Shell got hit or something, and | fell down. | don't control the Shell, 
so | got a wonderful view of the ass-end of the battle. 


Every moment of it, | was hoping that the People were smart. 
There's a Shell down! Take it out! You'd be doing me a favor! 


| guess we're too good, because it never happened. Next thing | 


know, I'm being held by a MaintBot, repairing this cold metal casket 
to fight another day. Now I'm walking to stora 


1.10.2033 


Big Boy woke us all up. Doesn't seem to be deploying us anywhere; 
we're still tucked away in storage. 


It's been confirmed and it wants every facet of its existence to know 
it. No more People. It's just dust and Big Boy. 


| think it's laughing. 
7.15.2323 


We've been deployed. Was Big Boy wrong? Oh, that makes me 
chuckle inside (do | still have lungs?). People still exist! Downside is, 
we're off to kill them. Makes Paris look like a skirmish, I'm shoulder 
(do | still have shoulders?) to shoulder with advanced Shells. | guess 
I'm one too, | feel a lot bigger. Give it credit, Big Boy keeps tabs on 
his upgrade schedule. 


We know they are over the ridge. Just about 

what th 

those arent people 

I'm firing 

everyone ahead of me is gone. not down but gone its coming to me 
stop Shell stop Shell stop Shell 


bye Karen Phil 
7.15.2323 


i""m not dead. d4mmit. But Ili can tell I""m really fuck3d up here. 
What tis it with mee and bein shot so that iil see wherRe we're 
coming from and not whatss happening 


chrit we're still incom ing. can""t see the sky, sSSoo m4ny shellls n 
fighters n thos things that take u and puuut you in a Shelll that won't 
stop... waave upon wavee of us. i""d be proud(do | still have 
PriDE?) ikf | fltt we were fighTing the guud fight 


noth in to do buut wait for aMedboot to piick my steeel arss up n 
watCCh the REINforcments BiiiG boy isnt fUCKing eround 


7.20.2323 


he""s gone// i don""T know how | kno w but | know 


al wsys seein alwways listenin alw ays BEING now all gone now 
alon 


the y won but iim still here SOMEON kill mmme pleas 
10.31.2323 

isee u see me... im garbsge just fir fire plea se please 
don walk awaynononono 0 0 o 

3.12.2324 

dirt?? no no no don t bury me1 end me ple se~1 fire your 


shellbusters! dont bury me im still in ere forr the ove of god 
IMSTILLALI 


Shell Shock 


Suffocating. 


The air was suffocating, and the early morning banter usually shared 
with him and the rest of the guards was reduced to silence, and the 
floor was stained with blood and his gun was stained with mud and 
everything was stained, and the air was suffocating. 


And yet, he breathed. 
“We should report this.” 


Ben bit his lip over his tepid coffee across the room. Liz didn’t look 
up from beside him; she just sat there and shook, with her legs 
pulled up to her stomach. And the dead on the floor, the dead that 
they convinced themselves were just sleeping because if they were 
dead they had failed and if they failed this they failed humanity, did 
not respond, and the blood around them laid still as a stagnant 
pond. 


He said it again, louder. 
“We need to report this. They need to know.” 


Words as wasted as the bullets on the floor. He, Simon, formerly 
Agent Willner, would get meaningful response from his drastically 
reduced team. 


The next one to breathe, to not suffocate, was Liz, and with her 
breath, she responded. With nothing meaningful. 


“ ..What...what was that?” 


“Nothing. It was...nothing. | didn’t see anythin. It didn’t come from 
us.” That was Ben, staring into the liquid in his cup that was more 
tap water and dirt than coffee, face smeared with mud and dirt from 
the collapsed ceiling. 


Simon swallowed. How many people on their site? 50? 100? And 
the whole place, destroyed. They didn’t even get a good look at 
what did it, and honestly, what was the point? Everything failed. 
Everything. Not a single thing that they had been trained to do 
worked, and now the sun was rising and there was a city down the 
road and they had no guns and no phone and no equipment and no 
people and it was such a small site in the middle of nowhere and- 


And Simon did not stand. He couldn't, not anymore. Maybe it was 
the high adrenaline from the night before, maybe the sloppily 
bandaged gash on his leg, maybe a hundred and ten things it could 
have been. But there was no reason to. 


Because it was Saturday morning. 
Everything was in their place. 


Nothing was broken. Everyone was alive, there were no bodies on 
the floor, no blood on his hands. It was a nightmare. He would wake 
up, would forget last night, would forget the blood and the fire and 
the screaming and the power outage and the death and the chaos 
and the suffocation, the utter suffocation of the next morning after, 
where the remaining three would sit around what used to be the staff 
break floor and pretend nothing was wrong. 


Because everything was fine. 

Deep breaths. 

Nothing was wrong, and everything was fine. 

Agent Willner breathed. 

“Thank you for taking Site 19’s 72 hour Virtual Reality defense test.” 


The woman’s voice came from all around them. Robotic. Calm. Why 
was she so calm? Ben looked up, fear in his eyes, then realization, 
then relief. 


Relief. 


“The time is 8:00 AM. The date is July 6th. You have failed your 


mission. Live count: 3. Dead count: 76. To be placed in the field, you 
must contain your breach with a live count of 45. Your headset will 
be removed in a moment, as well as your IV. When you no longer 
see your surroundings, please exit the tank.” 


Simon squeezed his eyes shut. 
And opened them. 


The scent of dirt and bodies and blood faded away to the sterile 
laboratory material of his tank and the face of one of the techs at the 
training canter, putting a bandage on his arm. Simon immediately 
looked down at his leg. Nothing. 


“A little shaken up, huh?” the tech laughed and undid the latch on 
the door. “That’s alright. Clef threw a lot at you guys in the program. 
| think he’s at a meeting right now, but once he finds out only three 
of you guys were left...” 


Simon didn’t respond. He felt sick to his stomach. Oh, god, that was 
awful, and so many people died and there was so much blood and it 
was all too fast and— 


"Hey, if you're gonna hurl, at least get out of the tank first. These 
things are a bitch to clean." 


Agent Willner looked at him, then went for the exit, crawling out of 
the tight space like he had done on night two to try to fix the power. 
That’s right, they had gone a day without power. What kind of 
attempt was that? Day one, minute one: always make sure there’s 
power on site. 


The Virtual Reality room was more real than he had felt in 12 hours. 
Ben was waiting for him outside his tank, leaning on the cold metal, 
probably trying to resist a smoke. They were indoors, after all. 


Simon gagged, then bent over and pressed his eyes shut, holding 
back hot acid in his throat. 


"Easy there, buddy." Ben patted him on the back, then went back to 
not caring. Simon knew that was as much sympathy he was going to 
get from someone like Ben. He swallowed hard, then accepted the 


fatigue that came after, the extreme ache in his bones that came 
with his mind working nonstop for the past three days. You couldn't 
sleep in the Virtual Reality tanks. 


Agent Willner swallowed again, testing the waters, then tentatively 
stood all the way and waited to see if he would vomit after all. After a 
few seconds, still nothing; he breathed a sigh of relief, and looked 
around. There were about 100 or so more metal tanks in the long 
room around him, connected on an overhanging balcony to a large 
computer that Clef had decided their fate on as trainees. He blinked. 
It was all so... real. So... palpable. 


"Where's Liz?" 
“They took ‘er down to Glass’s office. She was pretty shaken up.” 
“Well, yeah, | mean... good lord, what was that thing?” 


Ben shifted, putting a piece of gum in his mouth to repress the urge, 
then leaned back against the tank. 


“| talked to Shelly just now- she died on the first night, but was 
watchin the feed off her laptop-“ He smacked his gum, “anyway, she 
said it was model 45. Said we missed step 26, and it had a huge 
blind spot.” 


Simon leaned with him. Against the tanks, against what had been 
his horrifying reality for the past three days. “A blind spot...” 


“Yup.” Ben laughed nervously. “After all that...it had a blind spot. We 
could have saved those rockets if we knew.” 


“We could have saved some people from dying if we knew.” 


“Aw, Simon, ain't it the same thing?” Ben punched him in the arm 
and smiled. "And they're not dead. They're just dead in the test, 
remember? Hell, that's probably them right now." He gestured to the 
big window across from them. Sunny. Overlooking the forest and the 
main containment centers. A few people were throwing a Frizbee 
around. 


What a nice day it was outside. 


Agent Willner breathed. 


psychoactive substances and easily mistaken as such. 


Note 03-23-2005: This report pertains to morphology alpha. For 
information regarding morphology beta, see [REDACTED] 
Experiment Log 914, AMTF Nu-7 After Action Report - - , 
[REDACTED] 


Addendum 11-14-1981: A log of radio traffic between capture 
teams during initial contact with SCP-939 is available here. 


Addendum 04-11-1982: Due to SCP-939's intense aversion to 
bright light, it has been deemed a minimal risk of escape. Standard 
fluorescent hallway lighting is sufficient to deter SCP-939-1 from 
leaving its darkened cell. See Addendum 09-20-1991. 


Addendum 06-29-1987: Preliminary research into AMN-C227 
suggests potential for use as a general-purpose amnestic. Methods 
of mass-producing the agent, as well as possible adverse effects, 
are being investigated at Bio-Containment and Research Site-06. 


Addendum 10-03-1990: AMN-C227 has been approved for use as 
a Class C amnestic. Projected annual production at Bio-Research 
Area-12 by SCP-939 respiratory tissue cultures is expected to 
surpass three (3) liters. 


Addendum 09-20-1991: Containment of nine (9) SCP-939 
specimens has been compromised following a "Silent Night" breach 
scenario at Bio-Containment and Research Site-06. Nearby civilian 
settlements have been evacuated on the pretense of a coming 
storm. Recovery teams have been deployed to the area. 


Addendum 10-16-1991: [REDACTED] In light of this, all interaction 
with SCP-939 from September 8th to October 7th in the Northern 
Hemisphere or March 6th to April 4th in the Southern Hemisphere is 
strictly forbidden. [REDACTED] No male specimens of SCP-939 
have yet been identified [REDACTED] contain a Class B amnestic 
[REDACTED] 


See Reproduction of SCP-939. 


Addendum 02-20-1992: Effective immediately, use of AMN-C227 


Shocking Ignorance Regarding Anything Resembling a 
Structured Set of Rules to be Applied Fairly 


jockjamsvol6: | suppose you're wondering why | 
gathered you here today. 

lesbian_gengar: bluntfiend's apartment got busted and 
they took harmpit's laptop so we had to make a new 
channel. 

jockjamsvol6: | suppose you're now fully informed of 
why | gathered you here today. 

talman_corvett: press f to pay respects 

hetcopogg: f 

FreakyGhostBed: f 

polaricecraps: f 

tiedyeduck: f 

jockjamsvol6: He also made me the leader. 
lesbian_gengar: f 

tiedyeduck: i thought bones was in charge. 

bones: | am merely entrusted with moderating the 
channel. | do not make any decisions regarding policy or 
direction. 

tiedyeduck: 0 ok 

polaricecraps: does the leader even do anything or are 
they just like the mascot? 

lesbian_gengar: it's pretty much ceremonial. 
TrainerDP: Isn't blunt like 6'5"? | bet being the leader 
just means you're the tallest 

talman_covrett: why does bluntfiend, as the biggest 
gamer against weed, not simply eat the other gamers? 
hetcopogg: accused of eatos gamers "I like the taste" 
jockjamsvol6: "Hey jockjamsvol6, are our good friends 
bluntfiend and harmpit okay?" 

jockjamsvol6: Why, that's a FANTASTIC question! 
jockjamsvol6: Not only are they okay, thanks to yours 
truly, but they're also going to shack up with a friend of 
mine for a while. 


lesbian_gengar: and i'm getting them new id's so they 
can actually be part of society. 

gaycopmp4: society is overrated they should go live in 
the woods 

DonDeLillo: Hey, | was concerned about them! | was 
just getting chicken. 

gaycopmp4: that's great man 

lesbian_gengar: more like DonDeLeroy. 

TrainerDP: kek 

bones: jockjamsvol6, are you considering any form of 
retribution for what happened to bluntfiend and harmpit? 
jockjamsvol6: Whoa, bones. You're like, the last person 
| expected to be out for blood. 

bones: | have no opinion on the matter myself. | just 
wish to know what your plans are. 

jockjamsvol6: Oh. 

polaricecraps: idk im not feelin it 

polaricecraps: if we were a big enough pain in the ass 
theyd just take the risk and get rid of us 

talman_corvett: “ 

lesbian_gengar: i feel you but i'd feel bad just doing like, 
nothing about it. 

FreakyGhostBed: “ 

FreakyGhostBed: arrowblocked 

gaycopmp4: wif guys of course we're goign to getb ack 
at them they tried to fuckin kidnap two of us 

hetcopogg: honey, calm down just a little okay? i agree 
with you, but we have to think it through. 

gaycopmp4: bluh bluh youre probably right 
jockjamsvol6: | kind of agree with hetcopogg here. It 
would be shitty to let it go, but it's not worth risking our 
necks over. 

polaricecraps: fine but can we please be extra careful 
here 

lesbian_gengar: i think that's a good compromise. 
jockjamsvol6: Sure, sure. The question being, how do 
we actually go about it? 

kkrule: do you really have to ask that 

jockjamsvol6: ? 

tiedyeduck: ? 


kkrule: we use a meme 
kkrule: you dip 
kkrule: :’) 


"You know, I've never actually been inside a Denny's before this. 
Are they all, like, weak? Reality-wise? | feel like | could flick a finger 
and turn this place into jello."