Also met with some strange men at the gallery. 
Seemed to me they were especially interested 
in my father. One of them, Australian 
accented, said he was named Powell and he 
was interested in commissioning a piece for a 
few of father's men. Some diorama sculpture 
to fill one of their corporate lobbies. Powell and 
another man, Tanhauser, they gave me a 
card. "ARE WE COOL YET?" and then a 
phone number and email address.” Seems 
sketchy, but they tell me they’re a legitimate 
art collective. And you know what? | believe 
them. 


Found scribbled on notecard by desk. It is 
presumed these were notes taken during a 
phone call 


-Powell’s Project notes - pass on to father. 


flesh concept 
figures in domestic setting 
3d dining room/diorama 


life size, venal themes 

appropriate for hospital or research center 
Slightly Macabre 

Russian influence, themes of cancer and 
growth. 

tendrils? 

See example at art show. DHC/ART Fondation 
pour l'art contemporain. 7:00. gang will be 


there. 


Taken from Escoffier’s journal: 
Mar 12 


The show | was invited to was one of those 
snobby art events. Lots of young pretentious 
men in tight jeans and a smug grin, girlfriends 
hanging off their arms. No class. Downing 
shots from the bar like the world was ending. 
In times like these | wish | were in Marlinspike 
Hall, sipping a Loch Lomond and consuming 
my alcohol like a fucking adult. The DHC/ART 
was packed with these poseurs! All of them 
supposed “an-artists.” They do stuff with light 
and “magic” to create ostentatious displays. 
Apparently some of these inscrutable, 
incomprehensible pieces even damage people 
as part of their artistic purpose. At which point, 
for me, the meaning of the art is lost. It’s a 
fucking joke at that point. 


| found the pieces Powell created himself as 
nightmarish as the crowd that cooed over 
them. Disgusting and vile, and he apparently 
uses real flesh too! He claims he used 
“anomalous means” to twist and rupture the 
human form, but it’s so fake. You can’t see a 
Ritual of Adytum and forget it, much less 
believe a fake. 


(Foundation agents embeaded at the gallery event 
observed Michael Powell, noted member of Are We Cool 
Yet? whose work was being presented, sitting at the 
gallery bar with Escoffier for three hours. Although the 
record of the conversation was recorded, it was 
destroyed for security reasons related to the 
surveillance.) 


Group text messaging conversation 
recovered from Escoffier’s phone. 
Conversation was between Escoffier and 
three AWCY anartists (Michael Powell, 
Werner Tanhauser, Lauren Palicki). 


Powell: so dude we herd (sic) you were a 
flesh creatin guy. 


Powell: thats awesome 


Escoffier: It's something | grew up around, but 
| haven’t really involved myself with serious lon 
worship since | was six. 


Palicki: but ur dad he's a member of a nalka 
cult yea? 


Powell: i've been using that flesh stuff as a 
inspriation (sic) since i started. i wanna learn 
so much from him. you still in contact? 


Escoffier: | mean, | call him every once ina 
while. He calls me, wants to know how my 
artwork is going, but we’re not close or 
anything. A man who controls the world 
through secret societies is not bound to be the 
best father. 


Tanhauser: its just like inherently amusing for 
me that an immortal member of basically the 
illuminati still calls and nags his kids 


Escoffier: | mean, Dad’s old, but he’s not 
really immortal. Not even active as a Karcist 
anymore. 


Tanhauser: still funny 


Powell: listen pierre, just pass his 
receptionist’s phone number on to us, we'll 
take care of it for you. 


D-  :ls that happening to every person | think about? 
Oh my god! You have to stop this now! Please, stop! Oh 
my god! Oh my god! 

(Subject continues pleading until end of log) 

<End Log> 

Note: Subject's wife and daughter were admitted to 
General Hospital later that day presenting with severe 
acid burns on their hands and heavy blood loss. 

was pronounced dead later that night. 


Directive 311-02: Due to the proven capabilities of SCP-311 and 
the serious possibility of misuse, it has been decided to isolate it in a 
Level-4 classified location pending review. It is also true that the 
artifacts might prove useful in extreme situations where handling 
dangerous SCPs proves necessary. In such an event the use of 
SCP-311 as supplementary containment equipment will be 
evaluated on a case-by-case basis. 

-Dr. 


« SCP-310 | SCP-311 | SCP-312 » 


Tanhauser: take care of what, what are we 
offering? 


Powell: a deal, bro. 
Escoffier: I’m not sure | follow. 


Escoffier: If | give you the number of my 
father and have you schedule an appointment 
so you Can nag him about some wacky 
revolting sculpture and waste his time doing 
business transactions and ruling secret 
societies, you'll do what? 


Powell: free commission for u. you guys are 
secretive and anomalous, just the way i like it. 


Powell: you see, im not willing to join in some 
rural village dicking around with tumors in the 
village of bumfuck russia and people like your 
dad aren't exactly welcoming to non 
blackbloods. but your ideas of will and 
sacrifice, is there no greater theme in art? 
think of the great painters and sculptors 
throughout history, how many of them have 
essentially achieved godhood already? all 
idolized above the masses. 


Palicki: we're a splinter collective, just a few 
anartists playing with nalka beliefs and 
capable enough to find out the hidden truth. 


Tanhauser: Like the renaissance painters 
used christianity, yeah. 


Escoffier: Why me? I’m not that active in the 
cult anymore. | haven't gone to an orgy in 
many years, and am basically living a normal 
life. | don’t murder, | don’t spread disease, 
nothing. I’m finished. There at least a dozen 
other Karcists scattered across the world in 


positions of power who are more accepting of 
street artists anyway. 


Powell: at the bar that night, you were talking 
about tintin. about you being so angry at your 
father because you drifted away and he 
refused to accept it. you being inspired to draw 
and write and not wanting to control the world. 
cliche, yes? but, for you it’s true. 


Powell: we have a deal. there is a way you 
can embrace your loves and fix your broken 
world, but that can connect you with your 
father, your religion. let you embrace lon once 
again. i may not be a karcist, not even a zend, 
but i know a thing or two. 


Powell: how’d you like to summon a dead 
klavigar? 


(The next message was sent roughly fifteen 
minutes later.) 


Escoffier: What did you have in mind? 


Taken from Escoffier's journal. Date 
unknown. 


| am a wretch. 


My parents, my gods have abandoned me. 
Fuck you lon. | didn't deserve this, this guilt 
that hangs over me. My obsessions, my loves, 
they prevent me from following in Your path, 
the path of my father. | have disgraced him. 


| was led astray by those who wished to only 
gain access to you. To usurp my father for 
their own, selfish, ends. They don't belong 
among the followers of yours. They are not 
pious. | was selfish and like a child and even 


though | hated them so much | gave in. | tried 
to do right, to use my own beliefs to reconnect 
with you, with my father. To reconcile the two 
loves of my life. It's no use. They scream on 
the page, half aborted, my angels. My beautiful 
ligne claire angels. 


Forgive me daddy. And Yaldabaoth help us all. 


Footnotes 

1. Hergé's final, unfinished Tintin story was titledTintin and Alph-Art, 
and concerned the world of modern art. 

2. The final, completed Tintin story was titledTintin and the Picaros, 
published in 1976. 

3. A popular catchphrase of the character Captain Haddock, used 
amongst other colorful euphemisms as a humorous alternative to 
profanity. 

4. Hergé drew his characters in a signatureligne clairestyle, 
characterized by clean lines and simplified, exaggerated facial 
features. 

5. Bianca Castafiore is a recurring character in the Tintin comics, a 
buffoonish Italian opera singer who annoys Captain Haddock and 
manages to appear in incongruous, exotic locations. 

6. Both uses of the word “racism” in this instance are interesting as 
Hergé was criticized for using racial stereotypes in his works, 
especially in the earlier albums. 

7. No such card was found amongst Escoffier’s belongings. 


« SCP-2713 | SCP-2714 | SCP-2715 » 


SCP-2715: Guilty Sister 


Item #: SCP-2715 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-2715 is to be kept ina 
low-security humanoid containment cell in Site 47. All vents leading 
to and from the subject's containment area are to be connected to 
an outdoor air supply. SCP-2715's meal schedule is not to be 
deviated from without the permission and approval of at least one 
level-three researcher assigned to the subject's containment unit. 
Site 47’s onsite therapist is to be made available if needed. 


Description: SCP-2715 is an eighteen-year-old Brazilian-American 
female originating from , Oregon. Subject displays a near- 
complete immunity to all types of biotoxic substances. 
Approximately two (2) hours after ingestion of a biotoxin, SCP-2715 
will begin sneezing uncontrollably, releasing the ingested biotoxin 
into the surrounding area in the form of airborne particles. Breathing 
the ejected particles will result in strong negative reactions in line 
with those for the substance ingested, but notably more severe. 
Methods of inducing this reaction are limited to oral intake; any other 
means of introduction (e.g. injection) will be processed normally by 
the subject's body and cause effects consistent with normal human 
intake of the substance. 


SCP-2715 came to the Foundation’s attention after , the son 
of the president of , contracted an illness and died during the 
Fifteenth Les Ames Libres Gala in France. Two days after the event, 
SCP-2715 sought out undercover Foundation personnel and 
admitted to having anomalous abilities that she had used to carry 
out ’s assassination. Further questioning revealed that she 
had been operating in service of the Chaos Insurgency for several 
years, and wished to leave after Insurgency agents threatened her 
family with [DATA EXPUNGED] when she refused to comply with 


their demands. 


SCP-2715 was taken into custody shortly thereafter and has since 
been cooperative in her containment. 


Addendum 2715-3/16/ : As of 3/16/ , SCP-2715's mother and 
sister have not been located. This information is not to be made 
available to SCP-2715 in order to maintain her emotional well-being. 
False information regarding SCP-2715's capture has also been 
disseminated to Insurgency operatives to discourage retaliation 
against extended relations. 


Addendum 2715-4/3/ : Since initial containment, SCP-2715 has 
consistently shown symptoms of post-traumatic stress. This is 
presumed to be a result of the subject's time with the Chaos 
Insurgency, though this has not been confirmed. Semi-regular 
appointments with Site 47's therapist are recommended. 


+ Journal Excerpts 4/6/ - 7/23/ 


Dr. said that writing things down might help 
with the nightmares. It'll be like a letter, since | 
know he'll be reading it. | don't mind. The last 
time | had privacy, | was wearing Hello Kitty 
shirts and playing that stupid DS. 


It's weird, but I've been feeling a lot better 
since they stuffed me into this cell. | don't have 
to worry about Aaron or Sellie. Assholes. Sellie 
was the worst. She hated my guts from the 
moment | walked in there, even when | was 
normal. | think she thought of me as inferior or 
something. Inferior to her and the guys that 
had always been weird, not modified like me. 


Well, she can suck a dick. I'm safe and she's 
the one who's being chewed out for letting me 
get captured. 


Bored to hell half the time. Been trying out 
meditation. I'm pretty bad at it. All | can think 


about is Mike's dumb face. Kind of defeats the 
point of meditation if you keep thinking about 
the person who threatened to condemn your 
family to a fate worse than death. 


The more time | spend here, the more | think, 
and the more | think, the more | blame myself. 
It wasn't about money, it was about being 
dissatisfied. | was bored with real life. | wanted 
something else. 


Well, | got what | wanted, didn't |? 


| remember when | got out of surgery. | was 
walking around all weird, and my mouth was 
dry from the cotton they'd stuffed it with so | 
wouldn't bite my tongue. But | was so excited. 
I'd become a superhero, a tiny, twelve-year-old 
superhero. It was like being high. I've never 
been high, but | think that's what it'd be like. 
And it persisted even after the anesthetic wore 
off, so | Knew it was genuine. It was the best 
feeling I'd ever had, and | never want to 
experience anything like it again. 


The first man | killed was a political leader from 
Africa, about half a year after the surgery. 
They didn't give me any details, but | heard 
rumors he was getting fed up with Insurgency 
policy. So | downed my pills, lured him into his 
bathroom, and killed him. They put a new 
dictator in his place, one that agreed to do 
everything they wanted. Same shit, different 
day. 


They told me | was doing good. My mom 
always said that the most addictive drug is 
heroin, but it's not. The most addictive drug is 
superiority. 


They wanted me to kill some politician's son at 


the gala. | don't know why. __, | think his name 
was. He was sixteen. He died in his bed, with 
my head resting on his chest. | felt him go 
cold, got up, put on my bathrobe, and ran out 
into the ballroom screaming bloody murder. I'd 
practiced that. His mother looked like she'd 
been shot. 


| felt nothing, and that scared me. What do you 
tell yourself after that? "Oh, so sorry you killed 
that guy who'd done absolutely nothing to 
deserve it, now what about those tens of other 
corpses who were probably good people at 
heart?" I'd locked those feelings away in favor 
of complete and utter apathy. 


Aaron found me in the courtyard when | was 
supposed to be at base. | had done a pretty 
good job of holding back my tears up until that 
point, but when | saw him, everything just 
started pouring out. He helped me get up and 
back to base. | thought he'd be understanding. 


| got called to Mike's office the day after. He 
always put on a neutral face when he was 
about to do something really awful. He was 
staring at me, and | was staring at the sins 
reflected in those dark sunglasses. He asked 
me if | loved my sister. | told him that of course 
| did. He just looked at me. We both 
understood the threat. 


| don't know what | was thinking when | left. | 
was only taking a walk around base. 


| kept walking. 


| kept walking straight out the front doors and 
the alarms sounded and Aaron started running 
at me. | started running too. | kept running 
even when Aaron had stopped, miles away. 


| stopped at a building. I'd seen that building 
before, and was told to steer clear of it. 
Nobody'd ever told me why. But | started to 
understand when | saw the phrase "Sally's 
Computer Products" plastered onto the 
window. | mean, | may not be the brightest 
knife in the shed, but nobody can miss a cue 
that big. | walked in, told the guy at the desk 
not to shoot me, and | guess things went from 
there. 


The researchers tell me Mom and Kelsey are 
alright. | hope it's true. 


« SCP-2714 | SCP-2715 | SCP-2716 » 


SCP-2716: ASTRONAUT SMITH'S SPACE-TACULAR 
TREASURE HUNT! 


Item #: SCP-2716 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-2716-1 is to be held in an 
airtight Class-IIl Containment Vault at Site-98. Testing requires the 
approval of the Site Director.