"Hello, Matthew! | believe we've solved your little problem here. I'm 
sure you know Dr. Steven Penderbrook. He's a brilliant man." 


"| don't feel very brilliant right now, Dr. Segerstrom," Dr. 
Penderbrook mumbled, nose deep in his papers. 


"And how, may | ask, did you accomplish that?" asked Inglewood 
with a remarkably tiny amount of resentment in his voice. 


"Why, we already established that SCP-378 knows at least as much 
about humans as we know about humans. So how do we 
differentiate the normal humans from a cosmic parasite?" 


"How?" 


"By finding the something no human knows, but SCP-378 does." Dr. 
Penderbrook handed Andrea a sheaf of papers. "We know SCP-378 
thinks very highly of itself and wouldn't pass up an opportunity to 

show off, especially when it thinks that passing as a human depends 


on it." She handed Dr. Inglewood ten pages of small, cramped 
handwriting. "Here's the question in pictoral form. You don't even 
have to know English to understand what you have to do. All you 
have to do is prove that every even number starting with 4 is the 
sum of two prime numbers." 


"That's it?" 


Dr. Penderbrook laughed bitterly. "That's it? Of course that's it! 
Except it's not it. That simple little statement is the Goldbach 
Conjecture. It's 260 years old and no one has proved it until now." 
Penderbrook waved the sheaf of papers in Inglewood's face. "Every 
mathematician in here's checked this out and it's perfect. There are 
lemmas in here no one's ever heard of." 


"Excuse me?" 


Dr. Penderbrook ran his fingers through his hair, somehow 
managing to make it look less unkempt. "Not only has this proof 
never been seen by a human, some of the mini-proofs that prove the 
proof have never been seen by a human. And yet all of us can tell 
it's sound," he said with the slow, careful air of someone being 
forced to explain something to an idiot. 


Andrea chimed in gleefully. "Something no human on earth knows, 
but a correct answer known to be correct when we see it. Something 
that doesn't necessarily require foreknowledge, so 378 couldn't 
plumb its host's brain and know it doesn't know it." 


"Well, our doctors are the best of the best. Maybe they felt the 
pressure and came up with it." 


Dr. Penderbrook took on a frighteningly murderous expression for a 
man who seemed so mild. Andrea simply replied, "Well, the doctors 
are biologists and a medical doctor, the latter of which | assure you 
has a terminal terror of proofs. And that doesn't matter anyway," she 
continued as she delivered her coup de grace, "for | highly doubt 
that a clerical worker with a Bachelor's in Communications could 
pound out this masterpiece in five hours." 


Inglewood sank into his chair. "So it's over then?" 


Andrea smiled. "It's over. Now, if you'll excuse me, | need to talk to a 
psychiatrist. Know any good ones around here?" 


Andrea was told it was a marvelous re-establishment of 
containment. They were planning to encase the body of Britney 
Howard in tungsten, but they had barely reached the sealing room 
when SCP-378 became wise to the plan. Five agents were severely 
wounded, but Agent Tom Brennan received a Foundation Star and a 
bionic leg for managing to encase the rampaging corpse in its metal 
chamber. Andrea was offered the chance to watch the mayhem, but 
declined, remembering the innocent-looking light brown eyes. 


"| have to hand it to you, honey. Your plan was way better than 
mine," said Nigel. 


"You know, you never did tell me what your plan was." 
"Hell, | don't even remember it, that's how bad it was." 


"You need to stop getting wrapped up in these situations. | can't 
always be there to save your sorry ass," teased Andrea. 


"You know that was the plan all along, right? Trapped you into 
marrying me and now you're obligated to save me from 
bodysnatching hell worms." 


Andrea kissed Nigel on the cheek. "Well, at least you've made one 
decent plan in your life." 


Little Ones 


The room's dark. Oh, I'm sure there's some light on in here, some 
brief glint of afternoon sun through the cellar window or some long- 
gone child's twinkling discarded toy. But for me, the room's dark. It's 
warm and dark, and there are cobwebs stuck to my shawl. No one 
else has been down here in a while. | siton a wooden rocking chair 
that doesn't rock anymore. 


My fingers move frantically. They carry needle and thread like a 
pianist playing his symphony. My fingers dance and spin as the yarn 
and cloth are woven together, forming cute shapes. Pulling stuffing 
from my belly, | fill the figures. | put love in every stitch. | sew runes 
and rhymes into the cotton fluff inside. | place buttons where the 
eyes should go. | put on bows and ribbons, little wool sweaters and 
felt shoes. The little ones awaken. 


Some of them can move on their own. Some of them can't move 
until | attach their flexible limbs. Some of them will never move 
perfectly, and that's okay. Each of them is what they're meant to be. 
None of them can talk, at least none yet, and that's okay too. | 
haven't figured the talking out yet. Maybe I'll learn a new stitch for 
that in the coming months. It must be in high demand out there. 


The little ones need love and closeness. There's all levels of 
intimacy and protection with the little ones. Some are right next to 
your dreams. Some are right under your skin. Some are right around 
the corner. Some are just right. Well, they're all right, if you look at it 
in that way. But | don't look at it in any way. 


Eventually the little ones leave. They always do, and that's fine with 
me. Sometimes they crawl or skitter out. Sometimes they walk, 
sometimes they stroll or run or tumble or flutter. | give each one a 
tag, a note or message, to help they who finds the little ones take 
care of them. They're not my little ones once they've left the 
needles. They're the little ones. 


| just keep on making the little ones, even after all the old little ones 
have left. It's life knit large, so to speak. The room's dark and warm 
and the little ones dance about. They explore the storage cellar, the 
children's museum upstairs, and the world out there. But | don't 
leave. | stay behind and knit. The Blind Babushka stays behind and 
knits. 


Little SCP-507 Lost 


|...1 don't understand... 

Why...why is it that they're everywhere? 

Every place, everywhere, every fucking world... They're 
always there. 

Why? 


"Hi Mum! I'm back home from school!" Jimmy said as he walked 
through the front door. 

"Hi Darling! Just so you know your friends Sullivan and Jameson are 
already here." replied his Mum. 

‘Great!’ thought Jimmy, that means he could play 'Foundation’, the 
game they always played together. Jimmy walked into the living 
room and greeted Sullivan and Jameson. 


"Doctor Bright." he said to Sullivan in a serious tone. 

"Doctor James." he said to Jameson in the same serious tone. 
"Doctor Gears." They both replied in an equally serious tone. 
Jimmy smiled. They always played Foundation well. 

"| take it you're here to see SCP-846?" Jimmy asked them. 

"That's right we are. There are a few more tests we would like to 
run." replied Sullivan. 

"In that case I'm going to have to see your security clearance." 
Sullivan and Jameson took out their identifications. Square pieces of 
paper with the names 'Dr. Bright’ and 'Dr. James' respectively as 
well as The Foundation's secret symbol (Jameson's Dad had them 
laminated). 

"Very good gentlemen. Now if you'll follow me." 


Jimmy took them into his room and from underneath his bed he took 
out an old shoe-box. On the box Jimmy has written in big letters with 
a red felt-tip pen 'SCP-846' as well as the super-secret symbol. 

The symbol had one thick circle, three arrows pointing inwards and 
another circle-like shape around the edges. Jimmy never told the 
other two that the symbol always gave him the creeps when he 


SCP-896: Online Role Playing Game 


Item #: SCP-896 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: Physical containment of 
SCP-896 is impossible due to widespread public knowledge. 
However, the anomalous properties of SCP-896 have been largely 
neutralized through Foundation efforts and the cooperation of 

, the publishing and hosting company of SCP-896. 


The server cluster hosting SCP-896’s original code is to be housed 
at Site-15. Five standard desktop computers are to be directly 
connected to the server with SCP-896-1 installed on each one. 
SCP-896 may never be connected to the internet or any of Site-15’s 
networks, but may be regularly patched as needed by use of 
physical media. 


Any personnel wishing to use SCP-896 must obtain permission from 
two Level 4 administrators. Foundation personnel may not use 
SCP-896 until further notice. No personnel level 4 or above may use 
SCP-896 due to potential loss of valuable Foundation data. Any 
class-D personnel used in testing of SCP-896 must be routinely 
monitored for the effects of SCP-896 and containment procedures 
must be tailored individually to ensure no security breaches occur. 


Description: SCP-896 is known to the public as , a popular 
online role playing game. The version of SCP-896 that the public 
uses has no anomalous effects. However, the original code 


developed by exhibits effects that warrant Ss 
classification as an SCP. 


SCP-896 functions as any normal online role playing game. Please 
consult normal non-Foundation articles if not familiar with the 
mechanics and terminology of an online role playing game. 


looked at it. 

"Is the containment door closed?" He asked Sullivan. 

"I'll secure it now Doctor Gears." Sullivan replied as he went to shut 
the bedroom door. 


Once it was shut, Jimmy opened the shoebox and took out what 
was inside. It was a small robot that called itself 'Robo-Dude'. There 
was also a controller for it with an 'On/Off' switch, a 'Speak' button 
and a small microphone. Jimmy flipped the switch to 'On’. 
"GREETINGS ROBO-PAL. HOW MAY ROBO-DUDE ASSIST YOU 
TODAY ?" the voice of Robo-Dude was a dull, grating sound. 
Jimmy turned to Sullivan and started to say "Dr. Bright, what tests 
did you want to ru-" He paused, noticing a stranger standing in the 
doorway. 

"Who... who are you?" Jimmy asked the stranger in a shaky voice. 
"That's... not important right now, what do you call that... thing?” 
The stranger had an odd accent. 

"We call it SCP-846, but who are you?" 

The stranger opened his mouth to reply, but all of a sudden he 
disappeared. 


Sometimes...they're children... 

Most times...they're adults... 

But always... ALWAYS... 

They look at me as if I'm...diseased... 


It was raining as Robert drove home from work. He never liked the 
rain. He never really liked his job either, just some boring desk-job 
for an insurance firm. Working in a cramped cubicle for hours on 
end, constantly typing on a computer. It was monotonous work but 
at least it paid the bills. 

Robert pulled into his driveway and quickly made his way inside. He 
trudged upstairs, taking off his jacket as he did so and headed 
straight for his bedroom. His house was tiny, a living/dining room, a 
small kitchen (not enough room for a washing machine of course), a 
hallway, a bathroom and one bedroom. He took his lab coat out of 
his wardrobe and smiled. This was how he could actually get 
through each working day. 

Donning the lab-coat he switched to his alter-ego Alto Clef. Doctor of 
The Foundation. 


On his way to the basement he engaged a conversation with a 
tattered lampshade. 

"Ah, Doctor Kondraki. Good to see you on your feet after that little 
fiasco the other week." 

Despite the lampshade being inanimate it responded with: 

"Yeah, I'm not quite sure how he managed to do that." 

Alto Clef went into his basement and approached the safe sitting on 
the table. 

The safe wasn't very big, and on it Alto Clef had carefully engraved 
‘SCP-101' onto it as well as the symbol that he had come up with. 

It consisted of a circular object surrounding three inward pointing 
arrows and a thick circle in the middle. The usual shiver went up Alto 
Clef's back when he saw the symbol. 


Unlocking the safe (the combination was 24-17-11) he took out a 
leathery bag and placed it on the table. 

He opened it and inside was a row of razor-sharp teeth and a 
spongey tongue. 

There was a sudden ‘thump' from above him and the sound of 
someone, or something, moving around the house. 

Alto Clef quickly grabbed his handgun from a nearby cabinet and 
checked to see if it was loaded. 


It was. 


He cautiously edged up the stairs out of the basement with his finger 
on the trigger when suddenly a dark shape was standing in the 
doorway. 

"| don't know who you are but... you better get out of my house right 
now!" Alto Clef demanded with as much assertion as he could 
muster. Although he couldn't stop his voice from shaking. 

"| just..." the other man began "...I just want to see what you have." 
"Who... Who are you?" Alto Clef blurted out. 

"No time for that, | have to see it." The other man quickly pushed 
past Alto Clef and began moving towards the safe of SCP-101. 
"Stop!" Alto Clef yelled out in desperation. "Or I'll shoot!" 

The man stopped suddenly and slowly turned to face Alto Clef. 

"|-" the man began but was cut off from the gunshot. 

The man looked down at the blood coming out his chest and 
vanished completely. 


He shot me... HE SHOT ME! 

I'm...going to die from one of these places... 
But as long as I... make sense of all this... 
Then | won't mind... 


Containment cell. 

Rush of air. 

Forest. 

Always happens like that. 
Now where am |? 

Where are they? 

| see... 

Ruins. 


"Sir, the sensors have picked up movement outside." 

"How large?" 

"Human sized. Showed up out of nowhere." 

Commandant Strelnikov narrowed his eyes. 

"Send out a platoon of Ascension Guard to retrieve whoever it is. 
Secure and Contain." 

"At once. Contain and Protect." 


Commandant Strelnikov left the Central Command and made his 
way through Bunker #19 towards his office. 

Once there, he began writing a report on the day's events. 

16 minutes later he received a message on his terminal to proceed 
to Interrogation Chamber F. 

'That must be the Ascension Guard back with whoever it was from 
Outside.' Strelnikov thought to himself. 

He got up, left his office and made his way towards Interrogation 
Room F. 


Outside, Commandant Strelnikov met Inquisitor Dodridge, the leader 
of the Ascension Guard that was sent out to retrieve the Outsider. 
"Secure and Contain." Dodridge saluted. 

"Contain and Protect." Strelnikov replied. "I trust the Outsider wasn't 
too difficult to apprehend?" 

"He was not your eminence; in fact he gave himself up willingly. He 
also lacks the brand of the Blessed and bears no tribal markings." 
"Noted." 


Commandant Strelnikov entered the Interrogation Chamber and 
looked across the table at the Outsider. 

He was dressed in clothing of Pre-Incident design. Strelnikov 
remembered they were called t-shirts, jeans and trainers. 
Remarkably they looked new and undamaged despite the Incident 
happening several decades ago. 

Strelnikov sat down on the chair opposite the Outsider. 


"Commandant Strelnikov presiding, interrogating an Outsider 
brought into Bunker #19 by a platoon of Ascension Guard led by 
Inquisitor Dodridge." 

Everything said in the Interrogation Chamber was recorded by a 
machine located in the adjacent room that was separated by a one- 
sided mirror. 

"At 1:04pm the Outsider triggered sensors located in sector 5b." 
Commandant Strelnikov went through the basic procedures an 
Interrogation. 

Now looking up at the Outsider, Strelnikov properly began the 
Interrogation. 

"Now, Outsider. What is your name?" 

The Outsider was looking at the one-way mirror.