Then | hear an explosion from inside of the cafeteria. Then another 
series of explosions. Then | heard hinges being knocked loose, and 
feel a gust of warm, stench-filled air in my face. The iron door flew 
off its hinges and crashed into the adjacent wall, followed by an 
avalanche of the red-brown sludge. The pills are still working so I’m 
just backpedalling away, incredulous. 


The smell started getting stronger. The pills didn’t work for my nose 
apparently, so | started to retch as | was running down the hall away 
from the incoming landslide. | ran, vomiting and damn near tripped 
over it as | turned the corner into the garden area. | was a long ways 
from the entrance to the facility, and everything else was boarded off 
in one way or another courtesy of the Foundation, so | found an old 
dead tree and started climbing. While | was watching the ooze turn 
the enclosed garden into a makeshift pool, | recorded another log. 


Agent Breen reporting. Fenschermeister Sanitorium, 
02:34:00 


Aside from an increase in matter released from the wall 
in the refectory, there have been no changes to the 
situation. | am currently located in document defined 
sector-3, in a tree, witnessing the sludge filling the area 
outside. The amount of sludge is significant. We can 
assume the majority of the facility is now flooded. 
Reporting out, beginning another follow-up. 


It's at my toes by that point, and | don’t have any more tree left to 
climb. | guessed that at that point | would just have to document 
whether or not the substance was any more volatile than what it 
smelled like. | removed my gloves and submerged my exposed 
hand in the goop. | came to no harm, save for mild irritation. With my 
left hand | recorded another log. 


Agent Breen reporting. Fenschermeister Sanitorium, 
02:37:01 


The substance does not seem to be harmful. 


The facility had a raised, cathedral roof, and the garden had no 
enclosure save for the walls, so | deduced there would be air 
pockets still in the facility so that | could continue to navigate. | 
braced myself (the pills would only do so much, | was still unsettled 
by the fact that | would need to swim through this) and dove feet first 
into the goop. 


| was swimming blind, my eyes were irritated. | paddled toward the 
door and began feeling around the walls so that | could get oriented. 
| was at the entrance to the garden then, inside. | swam up near the 
ceiling for air and could just make out the sign directing toward the 
refectory. As much as | did not want to, the Site Director would have 
my head if | didn’t at least snap a photograph of the place where all 
of this started happening, so | started dog-paddling toward the 
refectory. 


| was swimming upstream, and the stuff was a bit thicker than water, 
so | was getting pretty tired. My stomach was empty at that point, so 
most of what | was doing was dry heaving, whining, and bitching. | 
grabbed onto a rafter so that | could regain my energy, and then | 
saw it. 


There were worms, flopping about in the goop. They looked like 
flatworms about the width of a garden snake, and the length | do not 
know. There were a couple, or maybe it was just one? | can’t be too 
sure. Either way | could feel adrenaline pumping through my body 
after spotting the thing, and made the decision to keep swimming 
toward the refectory before | lost my nerve. | made it there 
eventually, and save for feeling the worms brushing against me 
while | was swimming, it was fine. 


| dove down into the sludge again so that | could get into the 
refectory and edged my way in underneath the threshold. The 
current was immense so | had to pull myself along the walls with my 
hands. After some searching and some... failed gasps, | found an 
air pocket in the ceiling. Luckily one of the rafters - while coated with 


the substance - was still exposed. | removed my camera and tape 
recorder from my jacket. Fortunately the ones they supplied me with 
couldn't break if you threw acid with them or hit them with a 
hammer. | didn’t want to open my mouth again, because | could 
taste the stuff, but... 


Agent Breen reporting. Fenschermeister Sanitorium, 
03:12:03 


Based on the strength of the current, we can assume the 
wall is still exuding material. There are some large 
organisms that appear similar to flatworms floating 
around in the current. Will begin extraction following 
some final documentation. 


| snapped a few photos of the substance from the rafters, then 
secured the documentation equipment in my jacket. | waded back 
into the goop, and made my way toward the entrance. The rest was 
downstream from there, so | held my breath as | floated out. 


Internal Report: / / RE: Agent Breen 
CC: O- ,O- , Dr. , Dr. , Researcher. 


Cleaning crews have been dispatched to Area __. The event went 
off as predicted with an of error of 5 minutes. The wall in 
Fenschermeister erupted for 23 minutes this year, breaking last 
years record of 16 minutes. No differences could be found, as 
expected, and the phenomenon maintains its Safe classification, as 
expected. The area should be suitable for one ‘training course’ 
parallel to routine containment for next year. 


Agent Breen successfully completed the assignment. Attached is a 
video of the entire incident as per your request. 


We are awaiting your selections for next year. 


-Dr. 


Input: One(1) brand violin and bow 

Setting: Coarse 

Output: Several small balls of wood, plastic, metal, and 
hair sorted by color. 


Input: One(1) brand violin and bow 
Setting: 1:1 
Output: One(1) brand viola and bow. 


Input: One(1) brand violin and bow 


Setting: Fine 
Output: One (1) brand violin, tuned to absolute 
perfection and one (1) seemingly normal brand bow. 


Further analysis shows that the violin cannot come out of 
tune, even when tampered with. 


Input: One(1) brand violin 

Setting: Very Fine 

Output: One (1) violin and one (1) bow with blue glowing 
patterns on their surfaces. The violin is perpetually in 
tune, even when tampered with, and the bow does not 
need the use of rosin. When played by anyone, no 
matter the skill level, it will invariably produce a tone 
usually acquired by years of practice, and can play any 
song perfectly. Music produced by the instrument has a 
calming effect. Item is awaiting SCP classification. 


Note: It even made “On Mount Golgotha” sound nice. 
+ Show Test Logs, Part 4 


Name: Dr. Curtis 

Date: 2/7/17 

Total items: One pound of brand bacon, fully 
cooked, and one photograph of SCP-682 


Input: As listed above. 

Setting: Very Fine 

Output: One miniature replica of SCP-682, 
approximately five inches tall at the shoulder, made 
entirely out of cooked brand bacon and photo paper. 


Old Roots 


The warm ocean wind blew gently on the cargo ship. Waves gently 
lapped against the hull, with the ripples of lamplight reflecting off of 
them. The captain stared out over the rust encrusted deck that 
sailors paced across below. Laughter floated up, freed with the end 
of the war. 


The old vagrant awoke to the sounds of gunshots and yelling. An 
explosion shook the ancient complex as the man scrambled out of 
the box he used as his primary shelter. Looking into the hallway, he 
saw several men in uniform rushing down the corridor away from 
him. The drifter quickly slipped out of the room he occupied and 
headed in the opposite direction. As he reached an intersection he 
climbed through some holes in the wall the police had missed. His 
resolution was to follow them through the crumbling infrastructure. 
The homeless man's palms were already sweating with excitement 
as he relished watching the upcoming firefight. 


A storm was brewing. Waves that once gently lapped now slammed 
against the iron hull. The captain and the first mate discussed the 
danger, and the safety of the merchandise. One of the younger 
sailors was called up from below decks and ordered to secure the 
cargo. 


The homeless man continued following the group of... they were 
police, right? Not that their occupation mattered. He was just here to 
watch the fight. What was life without some danger to spice things 
up? It had been long since he bothered with a gun but he still vividly 
remembered the feel. Even if one can no longer partake in an 
action, it is a pleasure to relish a memory. His long fingers twitched 
once as though feeling for a trigger. But no, guns were not his style 
these days. Not like they ever really were. Instead, the man kept 


going. 


The sailor carefully climbed down the stairs leading to the main hold. 
A particularly malefic wave caused the ship to lurch, slamming the 


sailor against the wall and flickering the lights. For a moment, the 
sailor thought he saw another person further down the stairs, but 
when the lights stabilized there was no sign of anyone else. The 
sailor dismissed it as a vision, and kept going. 


As the squad rounded a corner, the vagrant was distracted by 
something that smelled strangely familiar. The scent of dust and 
blood which filled the air couldn't block the powerful new smell that 
permeated throughout the hallways. His attention was completely 
diverted by the aroma. Although his old nose wasn't quite as good 
anymore, the drifter scrambled against the wall, trying to follow the 
smell, all thoughts of the police forgotten. 


That the cargo hold stored legal cargo was a given. However, it also 
had about a dozen of Nazi war criminals, paying for a safe trip to 
South America with the stolen property of the dead. The brutality 
and cruelty of the passenger's actions did not bother the sailor as he 
walked down another flight of stairs. All that mattered was the 
resulting payoff. 


As the vagrant ran, he could pick out the smell better. It seemed... 
salty. Was it sweat? No. It was more... sentimental. The drifter 
scratched his head. He was missing a piece of the puzzle. A 
memory was just out of reach, infuriatingly close yet too far at the 
same time. So much had been forgotten over the years. The old 
man had spent so much time drifting that he had forgotten the date, 
his past life, even his own name. Everything was too confusing for 
him. The old man stopped after crawling through another wall. The 
smell was coming straight at him now, carried on a warm breeze. 
Carefully, the drifter walked through one last hole in the wall, out of 
the smoke of the collapsing building and into the dusty sunlight. 


The sailor began to use more caution as he walked down the last 
few steps into the hold. The raging storm was abusing the ship's 
structure, and he would hate to break his neck before the Nazis paid 
the crew off. Reaching the bottom, he saw some seawater sloshing 
around. More of it dripped from above. 


The old man slowly paced around the hold, not noticing the 
footprints in the dust he left behind. The sense of déja vu was 
overwhelming. He touched the walls and desperately tried to pull 


some sense of recognition. Nothing came to mind, but... wait. The 
walls! They were rusty and torn, but that shouldn't stop the effect! 
The vagrant spun around and saw the clear, dry footprints which 
held the key. The entire place should have been collapsing apart 
already, the ancient rust and corrosive acid working together to bring 
the whole thing down. But he remembered! The salty breeze was 
from the ocean! This was a ship! His ship! 


The sailor began calling out names to see if the passengers were 
awake. No one responded, though the storm should have already 
woken them. Perturbed, the young sailor was going to walk deeper 
into the hold, when a drop of water landed on him. It was warm, and 
sticky. The ocean should have been freezing cold, but the water was 
warm. Looking up, the sailor realized the ship no longer belonged to 
them. 


The sunlight dimmed as a cloud passed over the hold. The ship 
groaned and rocked back and forth. A series of bodies rose out of 
the bottom of the hold while the walls blurred and turned hazy. The 
old man circled around the bodies and examined them. Some faces 
were familiar, some were not. Some he had brought here personally 
through the network before he became lost, and some entered the 
ship themselves later on. Some were long dead and some 
screamed their life to the sun. Casually tossing some of the 
unfamiliar ones back through the entrance, the old man 
remembered. His name was Lawrence, and this ship had been his 
refuge after he wandered for years. It had welcomed him as a 
stowaway and showed him its secrets. All of the sailors were given 
as to him presents. And Lawrence had given in return, sharing what 
had been bestowed on him. 


The old man raised his arms, and sat in the center of the circle of 
writhing bodies. The ship heaved in of his actions. He was the 
captain now, and this was his ship. 


The light flickered as a cloud passed over the ship. The hold shut 
itself off. 


Slowly, the churning water began heaving the ship up and down. 


The ship tilted as its hull groaned a welcome. Debris and empty 


crates slid across the floor. 


The ship rested for a moment above the waves and sank into the 
water. 


It sank, faster and faster, until it seemed it was falling. 
And the old man awoke. 
He awoke and saw the rust and corrosion. 


He awoke and saw the shifting corridors, and the great throne room 
he had fallen into once before. 


He awoke and saw the king who had called him there and who had 
given the man the first taste of power. 


He saw the king, and what was not the king, the absence of him, the 
rotting, acidic essence of death. 


The king stretched out an arm. The ship and the old man answered 
to the call. 


Everything was falling again, and the world shattered, separating 
ship and owner. 


May/29/20 Incident 106-375 
Multiple containment breaches at Site 19. 


2:53: SCP-106 breaches containment. Recall Protocol 


- - is enacted. 
10:00: Recall Protocol - - is deemed ineffective. 
SCP-106 remains uncontained. No casualties at this 


time. 
11:13: SCP-106 is recontained. 
May/29/20 Incident 455-162 


3:05 SCP-455 suddenly was observed to tilt suddenly. 
Observers stated that multiple figures could be seen in 


the hold. No attempt at contact was made. 


3:20 SCP-455 returns to its original position. No 
expeditions authorized. 


Post incident listing 


...4 members of MTF Zeta 9 (Molerats) listed as KIA in 
expeditions 2 and 3 into SCP-455 discovered in Site-19, 
bearing severe bodily injuries. 3 members were still alive 
at time of retrieval. 2 have since expired, and 1 is in 
intensive care. Debriefing is unavailable at this point. It is 
unknown how MTF personnel were transported to 
Site-19 from SCP-455. 


Lawrence woke up. He was back in the abandoned buildi- no, 
Foundation Site-19. He remembered now. He remembered 
everything. Although his master's power had only been able to 
reconnect the ship and him for short time, it was enough. 


Corporal Lawrence was ready to go to war again. 


Older Roads 


Before time, a group of construction workers found a space in the 
infinite nether and decided that one day, a teenage human should 
need to drive through that point on his way to a new home, and that 
he should take some extra time to get there, and that certain trees 
should provide shade and that some of them shouldn't, and that on 
his way he should be a little hungry. 


So they laid the groundwork. 


In order to do this they would need dinosaurs and giant flaming balls 
of gas. 


Construction went very according to plan, with the mammals eating 
the dinosaur's eggs and a politician being shot in the head in his 
convertible.