The bullet bore through Morisato's head in the span of a millisecond. 
Blood spattered across the concrete behind her. The implant in her 
head recorded that her pulse had stopped, and sent a signal back 
through time. 


The laser beacon was malfunctioning underground, but their map 
prediction put the signal's source dead ahead of them, so Morisato 
signaled to her team and opened the door at the end of the hall. A 
step into the doorway, she heard the sound of C-sharp. Instantly, 
she gave her team a hand signal, waited until she heard the faint 
thump of bodies finding cover, then crouched and dived behind the 
doorframe. What's the most likely threat? Somebody inside, of 
course. She drew her sidearm and watched. There was a flash of 


movement in a far, darkened corner. 


Morisato took down the enemy with one shot, and touched her ear. 


It wouldn't keep her alive forever, of course. One day, its plus-or- 
minus three seconds wouldn't be long enough, and the signal would 
send itself backward for the last time. That was where she couldn't 
rely on poorly-understood technology, she just had to be good. But it 
had kept her alive damn well so far. She never meant to keep track, 
but somehow the shadow in her mind became a Wound Man of 
sorts- here a bullet wound, there a slit throat, there an electric field, 
amorphous stains where she couldn't have known what exactly 
would have killed her. 


Most of the scenes that stayed in her mind from the field missions, 
she tried to keep back. But the Wound Woman, the shadow she had 
never seen in real life, never quite left. It was a ghost in her 
privileged timeline. 


How was she supposed to explain to her supervisor why she no 
longer took time off unless forced? 


“How's therapy going?” asked her supervisor, strolling by while she 
was gearing up. 


“Good,” said Morisato. It was helping with the nightmares, anyway. 
“Good to hear. Did you hear about your project?” 

“What?” 

“The implant. It's been cancelled.” 

Morisato put down the ammo sling she was holding. “Am I-” 


“You're still cleared for fieldwork, thank god. No change there. But 
they're cancelling the implant program going forward. Still don't 
understand the tech, so they say it's too risky and they're shutting it 


down." 


Morisato thought about that. It would just be her and Oberoi, and the 
others, the dozen or so who'd had the anomalous technology 
shuttled into their brains on a whim. They'd be hearing C-sharp for 
the rest of their lives. 


“When | said you were cleared for fieldwork,” her supervisor 
continued, “Well, they are offering you a chance to turn your gun in. 
Get a desk job. What do you think?” He paused. “You're our biggest 
asset, Morisato. We need you here.” 


“I'll finish the mission,” she said. 


“Good.” Her supervisor sighed with relief. 


It was a roaring success. The local branch of the Coalition was 
either in custody, or had fled, and the Foundation had been able to 
seize their assets. In the final move, Morisato led the charge to 
recover every single one of their anomalies from that location, and 
hadn't even heard C-sharp once. 


Back in her room again, Morisato lit a stick of incense in her room 
and turned off the lights. For a while, she just sat, breathing in and 
out, taking in the weight of darkness. Then she turned the lights 
back on, and opened her laptop and started a blank email. She 
addressed it to Human Resouces, and then, slowly, struggled to find 
the words. 


| am informed that | have the opportunity to transfer into a non- 
fieldwork position, and would like to accept. | have a history of 
contributions to the Foundation and the following skills... 


Her shadow settled in behind her, like an old friend, to read over her 
shoulder. 


Can Haz Memes 


"I'm telling you, lolcats are not a memetic threat. Stop trying to get 
them classified." 


Professor Anders Bjornsen looked with exasperation at the woman 
seated across the desk from him. Dr. Blaire Roth was undeniably 
one of the best psychiatrists and cognitive-behavioral therapists in 
the Psych Department, but definitely had certain... fixations. Like 
most of the staff dedicated to treating the mental trauma of 
Foundation employees, she rarely had direct contact with SCP 
Items, or even Anomalous Objects. The fact that the few she'd 
independently tried to get access to (all through official channels, of 
course) were all related to cats had been noted and dismissed as a 
harmless quirk. 


Maybe it was time to upgrade that from "harmless" to "worrisome". 


"But they've been around practically forever! There are literally 
captioned pictures of cats in costumes from the 1870s! How can you 
not think that a memetic effect that strong isn't a threat?!" 


Dr. Roth very visibly restrained herself from pounding her fist on the 
desk and instead started gesturing with strong, sharp motions. 


"Even if they appear harmless right now, the Foundation, of ALL 
people, knows how easy it would be to piggyback something 
dangerous onto it! Make a Grumpy Cat that literally makes you 
grumpy. Make a Business Cat macro that makes you a workaholic. 
Make a Sniper Cat gif that literally kills you! There are at least a 
dozen things that | personally have counseled people for that could 
be turned into a K-class threat if transmitted via lolcats. At least—" 


Bjornsen raised his palm to interrupt Dr. Roth's mini-rant. "Yes, I've 
seen your prospectus. | think you're missing something, though." 


"What, pray tell." 


"The Foundation starts and curates easily 30% of all 4chan and 
tumblr memes." 


"What." 


"Skeleton war was us. We didn't start rage comics, but we're the 
ones who standardized rage faces into their current, non-anomalous 
forms. Even Grumpy Cat's owners now work for one of our fronts." 


Dr. Roth's face was frozen, a look of disbelief permanently stuck. 
Bjornsen saw this and sighed. 


"You're not the first person to see the infectious potential of popular 
memes. The Cognitohazard and Memetics Department regularly 
consults with some of us here in Psych for ideas on how to shorten 
meme lifespans. There's a reason that most popular memes die out 
in a few weeks. Now yes, admittedly lolcats are remarkably resilient, 
but it's under control." 


Dr. Roth suddenly pushed back from the desk, the chair spinning 
slightly as she stood. She angrily said, "Then all this was just 
making me look stupid?" 


Bjornsen sighed again. "No. It was looking obsessive, but not stupid. 
Frankly, I'd thought that you would've moved on from this particular 
fixation by now, so this is partially my fault. Sit down." 


Dr. Roth slowly sat down and scooted the chair back to the desk. 
"So what now, since my warning is apparently too little, too late?" 


This earned a quick, sharp look of reproof, and she collected herself 
a little. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. But still, what now?" 


Bjornsen open a drawer and pulled out a folder, which he slid over 
to her. "This is an overview synopsis of current research into 
controlling lolcat memes, cleared for someone of your clearance 
level. | want you to read this and tell me whether you want to be 
read into the liaison team for the Cog/Mem department. This would 
not be a promotion, if you are, but maybe you can point that fierce 
dedication in a useful direction." 


Dr. Roth slowly reached out and flipped open the folder. A dozen 


pages awaited her perusal. A slight smile curved her lips as she 
picked up the first one and began to read. 


Can't Catch a Break 


The man looked around the back of the van at his assembled team. 
Three agents, a driver, and himself. He quietly checked his 
equipment once more. They were going after something that 
definitely didn't belong in this world. Some days it was good to be a 
team leader. It was even better to have a wonderful, glorious team. 


"This is Team Alpha. We've got a Cart in sight and we are in pursuit. 
Do you copy? Over." 


"Team Alpha, this is your SAC, we copy. What do you have a cart 
of? Over." 


Agent Aaron Jay, team leader of Team Alpha of the FBI's Unusual 
Incident Unit sighed. Sometimes, it seemed like he was the only 
competent person in the agency. Or at least his branch of the 
agency. 


"A Cart, a confirmed artifact, Sally! At least try to remember the... 
you know what, fuck it. Sally we've got something funny here, we 
can see it, and we're going after it now. I'll report in when we finish. 
Over." 


"Roger Team Alpha. And don't call me Sally, this shit is recorded. | 
mean, over." 


Jay tossed the radio into the back of the van, where it clattered at 
the feet of the rest of his team. His wonderful, glorious, bumbling, 
absolutely incompetent team. 


Some...no, most days, | hate this job, he thought. 


Looking over at the driver, he said, "Charlie, keep the artifact in 
sight. And keep your eyes on the damn road this time, please. We 
don't need another wrecked vehicle and / don't need more 
paperwork." 


"Right, sure thing boss." 
Some days I'd kill for just one "yes sir," he thought. 
He turned to address the rest of the team. 


"Everyone, after a month of searching we have finally found a Ca — 
artifact. For now, this is observation only. As soon as we can get 
that thing alone and in our custody, we are to do so. Agent Callahan, 
you are to — Agent Calla — KEVIN." 


"...huh?" 


"Kevin, just...stay with the group and don't shoot anything until | say 
so, okay?" 


"Don't shoot until you say so. Got it." 


Other teams...well, not UIU teams, but other teams...have snipers 
with nicknames like "Sharpshooter," "Ace," "Singleshot," and | get 
stuck with Kevin "Spray and Pray" Callahan. What did | do to 
deserve this? 


He looked over to the team's resident explosive "expert" DiMaggio, 
who was slightly overequipped with standard issue flashbangs, a 
few tear gas grenades, a couple smoke grenades and... 


Shit, are those frags? Not again...third time he's smuggled them 
from the weapons locker this week... 


"Agent Di — you know what? Forget it. Don. Don't blow shit up when 
we're within ten feet of it okay? Gina is still in the hospital after the 
last one. Let's get this over with. Charlie, just...gun it. Ram the damn 
thing. We'll knock it out, drag it in the back, take it back to HQ and 
maybe, just maybe, for ONCE get a little bit of respect. And maybe 
I'll finally get transferred OUT of this shithole and back into a halfway 
decent job!" 


"...S000...ram it?" 


"Just do it Charlie." 


"Yes sir. Let's see how fast this thing can go!" 
You've got to be fucking kidding me. Now he "yes sirs?" 
"Everybody hold on! We're about to hit!" 


The three men in the back of the van held tight to the seats, ready 
for the bone-jarring crash that was sure to follow. Charlie was 
driving. The results could be no less than catastrophic. 


"Annddd....NOW!" 


The rest of the team looked around expectantly before turning to 
stare at Charlie. 


"What the...we just went right through that fuckin’ thing! It's behind 
us! And it looks pissed!" 


"Shit, Kevin, open the back doors, Don grab the rifles and pass me 
one. No, don't throw it, that thing's loaded!" 


Kevin opened the doors, revealing the artifact in full. It appeared to 
be a large dog until it opened its mouth. Teeth the size of knives 
burst from slavering jaws as a hungry growl rolled from the depths of 
its chest. 


"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, WHAT IS THAT THING?! SHOOT IT SHOOT 
IT SHOOT IT!" 


Most of the team took one look at the thing and let loose, firing every 
round they had into the artifact. Most missing wildly. The woman 
who had screamed was the worst of all, hitting the van more 
frequently than the open air. 


Jay looked curiously over at the one member of the team he had 
thought wouldn't fuck it up. 


Can't | have one person that can do this job? Just one? 
"It's a dog! Problem Agent Rona?" 


"| don't do dogs!" 


"Karen, we knew from the start that intel said it looked like a wolf!" 
"I'm fine with wolves! | don't do dogs!" 


Jay blinked twice and rubbed his eyes. "...| think I'm getting a 
headache." 


The Cart took a leap forward and easily bit through the van's 
bumper, leaving a jagged hole behind. 


"Whoa, shit, shoot it! That is an order from your superior Agent 
Rona! SHOOT THE DAMN DOG!" 


Three of the four agents in the back opened fire on the artifact, while 
Kevin stared mutely at it. 


"Kevin, what the hell! Shoot the damn thing!" 
"But...you said..." 


"SHOOT IT! Don, do something, blow it up, | don't care! Charlie, get 
us out of here!" 


"Sir, this old thing can only go so fast!" 
"Then make it go faster! That thing is gaining!" 


The Cart got closer still, panting heavily but gaining with each step. 
It lunged again, snapping at the members of the team. 


"Shit! Keep shooting!" 


Don started pulling pins and throwing grenades randomly, hoping to 
hit something, anything that would slow the Cart down. The street 
quickly became pocked with craters from his seemingly endless 
supply of explosives. 


"Uh...oops. Flashbang! Look away!" he yelled a moment too late. 


Jay, partially blinded by the intense light, turned towards the front of 
the vehicle to try and recover. 


"Shit Charlie, watch the bridge!" Their driver had apparently fared 


confusion and distress. The unknown male escaped Agent Fishe 
and civilian personnel. 


MTF Alpha-4 (“Pony Express”) was called to recover SCP-806, 
SCP-806-1-a, and approximately 50 hours of various types of film. 


The film contained 5.8 seconds of SCP-806-a laughing and saying “I 
love you”, repeating in various states of quality and colouration. 


Footnotes 

1. Note that fictional characters depicted are not restored; only the 
actor of that character will be recreated. 

2. The target appears random, favouring whichever figure has the 
most on-screen time. 

3. Cartoon films have no effect within SCP-806. 

4. Two tests wherein the process was intentionally interrupted at the 
19 th hour led to ‘unfinished’ physical bodies collapsing onto the 
floor; the more-formed instance succumbed to brain death, where 
the less complete instance simply died. 


« SCP-805 | SCP-806 | SCP-807 » 


little better than the rest of them, having seen some of the flash in 
the van's rearview mirror. 


"Bridge? Shit, BRIDGE!" 


The van broke through the guard rail and plummeted thirty feet into 
the water below, the group in the back saved only by death grips on 
the nearest solid objects. 


The last thing Jay saw through the open doors was a metallic net 
cover the Cart and men in full gear swarm it, quickly subduing it. 


Ten minutes later, Jay, along with the rest of his team, washed up 
on the opposite bank of the river. 


From across the river, a different van could be seen pulling away. 
The words Safely Capturing lost Pets could be faintly seen stenciled 
on the van's side. 


"Everybody okay? Report in!" Jay spluttered. 

"We lost the dog, so I'm good." 

"Lost the van, but I'm good." 

"Lost the grenades, but I'm good." 

"Saved the gun, but | think | broke my leg." 

"Oh good. We're all alive. Anyone have a working radio?" 


Charlie reached into a waterproof pouch around his waist, pulled out 
a slightly smashed radio, and handed it to Jay. 


"SAC come in, this is J- Team Alpha reporting on the status of the 
op. Do you copy? Over." 


"Team Alpha, this is SAC. We copy. What is your status? Over." 


"We need an extract. We lost the van and most of the equipment. 
But we almost had it. We were literally right on top of it. Over." 


"Sure you were. We'll have an extraction team to your location 


ASAP. Over. SAC out." 
Aaron Jay sighed again, looking at his bruised and battered team. 


Well, at least | got a "yes sir,"he thought ruefully. 


Candy