Cleaning my suit afterwards was a pain: they look kinda like space 
suits, but they don't put elimination tubes in them, and my bowels 
did what bowels will do when you get the shit scared out of you 


(Note to self: consider wearing Depends the next time | go into the 
field). Seventy Six didn't say a word to me afterwards. No one did. 
But everyone's thinking it: what the hell am | doing in this group? I'm 
not a soldier. | can't shoot, | can't fight, all | can do is write stupid 
papers trying to psychoanalyze that which can't be analyzed by 
mere psychology. 


So what the hell am | doing here? 


Date: November 19, 


Killed three cats today in the lab. The process seems to be getting 
easier, which kinda scares me: the screaming and mewling doesn't 
bother me as much as it used to. Maybe | should try burning them 
alive, next time. Trying to make myself feel something. Revulsion. 
Fear. Anger. Self-Loathing. Anything's better than just... emptiness. 


We did a mission in a quiet little town today. Mining town outside 

. By the time we got there, though, about half the town was 
infected: they all had these things growing out of their eye sockets 
that made them look like they were weeping blood. We tried 
shooting them, but they just regenerated the damaged parts. We 
tried using fire, but it just seemed to make the stuff grow faster, 
made the infected people explode with the force of a hand grenade, 
scattering spores all over the place: that's how we lost Y_ . Trieda 
few other things: [DATA EXPUNGED] We eventually switched 
tactics afterL rolled a VX grenade into an infected house: she'd 
confused it for an incendiary, as it turned out, but it worked. The 
nerve gas seemed to react to the infection somehow, kill it cleanly, 
but it also killed the host as well, made them violently reject the 
infected body parts: heart, eyes, lungs, liver. 


Able ordered a resupply and regroup. We traded our incendiaries for 
nerve gas bombs, kind of like roach foggers. The procedure was to 
cover the buildings with plastic isolation sheets to seal them up, toss 
in a half-dozen bombs, wait about an hour for the stuff to really 
permeate, then move in and mop up the leftovers as needed. At 
least half the casualties were clearly uninfected: civilians who'd 
holed up in their rooms and apartments waiting to be rescued. 


taser. Although he is physically very strong, he 
possesses no additional toughness or endurance. The 
converse is true with Knight. Although highly resistant to 
damage and physical pain, he is no stronger than his 
control test. Berserker has been fitted with a standard 
Foundation shock collar to ensure compliance. 


The mental faculties of all subjects have plummeted. 
Although Warlock’s memory has near perfect recall, his 
ability to apply his knowledge is nearly non-existent. 
Even the slightest leap in logic or creative thinking is 
beyond his ability. Cleric’s long term memory has been 
severely limited, and must be briefed on all aspects of a 
problem before he can formulate a solution. Both Cleric 
and Warlock require wheelchairs and assistance in 
feeding themselves. 


Knight's epidermis has become extremely hard but has 
lost any elasticity. In order to provide the necessarily 
range of moment for testing, lacerations along his joints 
are to be done five hours beforehand with a diamond 
bladed jigsaw. The cuts heal within the prerequisite time 
and Knight apparently feels no pain from the procedure. 
Recommend increasing Knight’s agility as well to ensure 
ease of testing. 


Berserker requires continual skin grafting, as his muscle 
growth has outstripped the elasticity of his skin. 


Test Log SCP-896-A3947: 


Testing Notes: Bard was terminated today. Foundation 
researcher has elected to play Bard’s avatar to allow 
testing to continue. 

Character Statistics [REDACTED] 

Notes: Bard breached containment when the guard 
assigned to his containment cell released the lock. The 
guard had been providing Bard with food over the past 
week and had been regularly exposed to Bard’s body 
language and demeanor. When asked why he released 
Bard, the guard stated “I see the poor guy every day, | 


The elementary school was the worst. There was this one teacher 
who'd barricaded the doors against the infected, had kept her 
kindergarten class blissfully ignorant and safe, playing games and 
listening to music while the monsters roamed around outside. | saw 
her through the second-story window as | started setting up the 
covers: she met my eyes, and the look on her face told me she 
knew what was gonna happen next. | saw her tell her class 
something, | couldn't tell what, then she walked away from the 
window. 


| was the first one through that door. There were a dozen five-year 
olds laying on their little beds, blissfully sleeping: the nerve gas had 
killed them cleanly and instantly while they napped. The teacher was 
seated at her desk, sitting upright with her head bowed as if she 
were just taking a rest. She had a mug in her hand, said something 
like "World's Greatest Teacher," had a crayon-style drawing of a little 
girl hugging an older lady in a blue dress. There were tears in her 
eyes. Could have been condensation from the nerve gas. 


There was an infected on the roof: the gas must not have permeated 
high enough to completely kill him. He was hacking up his lungs and 
twitching a bit, but he wasn't dead, could still walk, and he lunged 
towards me as | moved towards him. | think he might have been a 
janitor, he was wearing a blue jumpsuit, and his left wrist had a 
compound fracture with the bone sticking out. | shot him in the head. 
Then | kicked the hell out of him with my steel-toed boot. His eye fell 
out after the fifth kick, so | stomped on it. It popped like a grape. 


We were all really quiet coming back, except Able. Seventy Six was 
his usual cheerful self (sarcasm sarcasm). The rest of us... well, 
we're just soldiers, not monsters. Wiping out the town had to be 
done, and an airstrike would have had too much risk of letting the 
gas fly downwind, hit and kill another ten thousand poor souls. 
Explosives could have set off a giant chain reaction, spread spores 
all across half the continent. We did what needed to be done, but 
we're not required to feel good about it. 


B came into the lab a few minutes ago just as I'd started 
cremating the remains. She looked tired. Asked me if | couldn't 
sleep either. | realized it was almost 2am. She offered to stay up 
with me in my room. As soon as | wash the blood off my hands, | 


might take her up on that. 


Date: November 24, 


Happy Thanksgiving! Back when | lived in the Real World, the most 
annoying thing about Turkey Day was hearing my dad demand that 
we all say at least one thing we were thankful for this year. Well. I've 
got a few things to be thankful for. I'm thankful that I'm not dead. I'm 
thankful that the world didn't end. I'm thankful that Able didn't decide 
to kill us all and use our skins to make drum heads. I'm thankful that 
no one decided to expose the Slime from Hell to any dead bodies. 
And mostly, I'm thankful for B , the most wonderful girl in the 
world, who can not only [DATA EXPUNGED)], but can also cook a 
damn fine turkey. 


Bit of a small Thanksgiving, though. Able and Squad One had to 
deploy at the last minute and were out in the field chasing some 
giant rust monster that apparently was rampaging around this sugar 
factory, so it was mostly just me, B , Iris, and whoever else 
wanted to drop by for a real Thanksgiving dinner instead of the 
mass-produced stuff the cafeteria prepared. | Went around the 
facility asking if anyone else wanted to drop by and get some turkey. 
Gathered up a few folks along the way, then headed over to Dr. 
Franks’ office to see if my old boss wanted some food too. 


He was chatting with a rather nice looking guy: possibly Indian or 
Arabic, was going over the newest field reports from our Mobile 
Task forces. The guy was just listening and nodding the whole time, 
stroking the tattoo on his forehead. | asked him if he wanted to come 
too. "That's fine," he said, smiling. "We'll be busy for a while. If you 
would like, however, please bring me a turkey leg later." 


"That's a good idea," Dr. Franks said. "And save me a plate. I'll drop 
by to pick it up once we're finished." 


Figured the guy was busy, so after dinner, | made two plates with all 
the fixings, headed over to Dr. Franks' office. As | got closer, though, 
| started noticing something funny: the cornbread stuffing was 

starting to smell bad. By the time | got outside the door, it had rotted 
through so badly that the mold was starting to spread to the meat as 


well. | dropped the plates and yelled in surprise, and almost hit the 
"Containment Breach" alarm, before the door opened and the 
stranger walked out. 


"Oh, hell," he sighed. "Not again." 


So that's how | first met Cain. Decent guy, even if he isn't much of a 
gardener. Turns out he was just in town for the day to help Dr. 
Franks back up some files. "It's best if I'm not around here when 
Able comes back," he said, before he headed back into the 
helicopter a few hours later. Then he gave me a funny look. "When 
the time comes," he said, "Don't hesitate. Do what you must. I'll be 
fine." I'm really not sure what that's supposed to mean. 


Note to self: Whatever brand cranberry sauce is, it's apparently 
not made of cranberries: the stuff didn't break down one bit around 
Cain. Remind me to choose a different brand next year. 


Date: November 19, 


No, the date is not a typo. Yes, it is four days before my last entry. 
Damn temporal SCPs. 


I'm spending the next four days in confinement with the rest of my 
team to make sure that we don't accidentally pollute the timeline. I'm 
arguing with the security staff that it would be okay to let us out 
because, you know, time being an infinite loop and all, if | was going 
to meet with my past self, | would have done it anyway, and the fact 
that | didn't means that I'm not gonna. They tell me that the fact that 
| don't remember ever meeting my future self means that I'm gonna 
stay in confinement, so there's no point arguing about it. Is it too 
much to ask for just to get a moment's walk out in the sunlight? The 
damn padded walls are starting to move in on me. 


| don't like this one bit. 


The mission was a success, relatively speaking, | guess. We went 
into the facility with isolation suits on, to retrieve the artifact. Joint 

mission with MTF a ." They took the lead, given that 
they've had more experience underground than we have. We were 


just there to lay down the pressure once they met up with the 
artifact. 


We lost Squad three two minutes later: the members of that squad 
just suddenly up and died of old age within three minutes of coming 
into contact with the artifact's holder. Squad two managed to get out 
a distress signal before dying. Able closed in on the target shortly 
afterwards: weirdest thing, watching other people growing old and 
dying around him while he just kept aging away, hair growing longer, 
fingernails growing longer, but his body just not aging at all... 


<DATA EXPUNGEDs> had him pinned down under an |-beam, but 
couldn't reach the artifact because his arm was cut off, and he 
needed the other one to pin down the monster. | was the closest. 
Popped open my emergency dose of double-oh six and downed it in 
one go before running in. 


My hand instantly withered the moment | touched the item. | 
screamed a bit as the insulation suit rotted around me, but managed 
to yank it away from Abel and the Morphophage and toss it into the 
Box. B slammed the lid shut and hit the locks, and the entire 
thing <DATA EXPUNGED> 


So yeah, that's how we wound up here four days before we left. | 
managed to convince them to let me keep my journal, since it's not 
really gonna have too many temporal effects once | leave. Also 
convinced them to issue my past self an emergency ration of 
double-oh six before he goes. I'm sure he'll be confused about why 
he needs it. | sure was. 


Iris seems... | dunno. She's not doing well recently. I'm thinking the 
stress of the job might be getting to her. Being one of the youngest 
members of the team can't be easy. 


Date: : 
B came into the room today and told me that she's been given 


TDY away from Omega-7. "Something bad happenedto __," she 
said. "I've been asked to talk to her." 


. That would be SCP- . [DATA EXPUNGED] 


Anyway, B was a before she transferred to Omega-7, so | 
guess they figured she was a good person to talk to . She 
didn't think so. "I've never been raped before, A___," she pointed 
out. "How am | supposed to talk to someone who has?" 


"Just... listen. Don't let her blame herself. Let her know no one 
blames her. And don't let her depersonalize. She might be suffering 
from some post-traumatic stress. | can find a pamphlet for you on 
that." 


"How the hell do you know all this stuff?" 


"| was a psych before | was a soldier, remember? This used to be 
my job." 


"Oh yeah," she said, smiling. "| forget that sometimes." 


"| do too," | said. 


Date: ; 


Retrieval Mission. Dr. Dantensen let Iris out for some reason. 
They've got the good doctor in solitary. How could he be so stupid... 


Date: ; 


Retrieval Mission a success. I'm listing it as, "Recovered under pain 
of death from SCP-173." That'll sound good on the report. 


We caught up to Iris at the airport, waiting for a flight home. She 
burst into tears the moment she saw B and | approaching. 
"Can't you guys just leave me alone?" 


<DATA EXPUNGEDs> put the gun to my head and handed her the 
polaroid of the internal workings. "You can stop me from killing 
myself," | said. "All you have to do is reach into the photo and pull 
out the firing pin." 


"You wouldn't dare," she whispered. 


"| managed to bring a loaded handgun through airport security, | can 
and will. And if you can still do what you can do, you won't let me 
die, because you're too good of a person to let that happen." 


| pulled the trigger, and there was a click. She was standing there 
with the polaroid in one hand and the firing pin in the other. Then 
she fell down and started crying. 


llet B take care of the rest. My job was do 


DATE: ; 
They're all dead. 
V .N .L J__ .Allof them, they're dead. 
Hang on, getting a call from command. 
Transcript of Communications between Field Command Mobile Task 
Force Omega 7 and Foundation Transport Learjet 223 
Agent AA: "Field." 


Command: "Command here. Let me patch you in to 
Able." 


Agent AA: "My god..." 


SCP-076: "I still have a jaw to chew you out with. What is 
the status on the infestation?" 


Agent AA: "The... the colony is in flight over . It's 
going after ... oh god, if it gets ahold of that much 
silicon, then..." 


SCP-076: "I am handing over command to you." 


Agent AA: "... what?" 


SCP-076: "You're in charge. | have already let Squire 
know. You'll <DATA EXPUNGED>." 


Agent AA: "I don't... | don't understand. There have to be 
better agents..." 


SCP-076: "Better warriors. But warriors won't stop this 
now. | need a general. | knew you were my general when 
you bested me in a game of war. You must best this 
enemy now. Mind, not muscle, will win. Think!" 


Agent AA: "Think... wait. | have an idea. It's a marshal, 
but it doesn't have any other troops. | just need to lead it 
into a bomb..." 


<TRANSMISSION ENDS> 


Official Citation