Following the failure of other options and given the priority accorded 
to termination of SCP-682, Doctors and have proposed 
that SCP-682 be deliberately exposed to SCP-689, presumably 
followed by turning off the lights or a similar measure. SCP-689 staff 
caution that in the event of a deliberate observation failure, all 
personnel who have seen SCP-689 other than the intended target 
must be either terminated in advance or placed in the containment 
chamber with the intended subject to ensure that the object does not 
escape containment. Given the apparently random nature of the 
selection process, it is also likely that multiple trials would be 
required before the target came under attack. Staff recommends 
that if such an option is activated, all Class D personnel be 
terminated in advance of the attempt to improve chances of 
success. 


« SCP-688 | SCP-689 | SCP-690 » 


Agent Zhao laughed, a light trilling. "That's so sweet, dear, but this is 
our first action in more than eighteen months. If Hennessy hadn't 
been at your party, it probably wouldn't have been us at all." She 
stopped in the doorway of a wide hall. "Wait, can you see that?" 


"What?" The room ahead was a blank grey. 


"Oh. Well, here goes." Zhao fired the resonator, swore to herself, 
and fired again. 


Emma had braced for the noise, but this time the tone was no more 
than a loud hum. She had no trouble hearing Zhao's voice over the 
repeated notes blasting into the hall. 


"Earplugs working? They should be bringing everything down to - 
dammit, slippery little - to around sixty decibels, without reducing - 
aha, gotcha!" 


Two more of the pale, faceless children were revealed in the room 
ahead. The security officers leapt forward, grabbing the entities and 
pulling out flex cuffs. Agent Zhao nodded to them, and led Emma 
down two further corridors, finally arriving in a bright dormitory. 


The common room was the typical MTF layout - couches, monitors, 
a basic kitchenette - although the speaker set-up in the corner 
looked rather elaborate. Emma could see through half-open doors to 
a room full of bunks, and another with racks of equipment. Her first 
impression was interrupted by a grinning face that popped out from 
behind one of the computer screens. 


"Hey, we have a visitor! I'm Mike, Mike Carter." 


He was young, younger than Emma - early twenties, maybe? "Hi, 
I'm Emma Stark." 


"Nice to meet you, Emma. Welcome to the lair of the Savage 
Beasts!" 


"Mike. You know the Commander doesn't like that nickname." Zhao 
slumped on a couch, loosening her boots, and motioned Emma to 
an armchair. 


"Well it's the only one we have." 


"Other than ‘Old Farts'," said Zhao. "Mike's the only recruit we've 
had in twenty-five years. God knows why he joined." 


"Because we get the best tunes around here, that's why." Mike 
laughed, and fixed Emma with an enthusiastic stare. "Hey, what 
music are you into? Rush? Grateful Dead?" 


"Uh, I've heard of them," Emma ventured. 


"Newer, of course. Radiohead? Tupac? | have some Tupac verses | 
bet you've never heard!" 


"Mike, stop trying to get everyone to listen -" 


Agent Zhao was cut off by Hennessy, who stumbled into the room, 
out of breath. He smiled at his squad-mates, and again when he 
saw Emma. 


Thank you very much for rescuing me, Emma signed to him. 
Hennessy's smile grew broader. You're very welcome. 
Agent Zhao shot Emma a look. "You know ASL?" 

"My younger brother had otitis, so | had to learn." 


"You don't want to join us, do you?" Turning back to Hennessy, 
Zhao asked How many did you catch? 


Hennessy held up two fingers, then reached into his pocket, 
producing a CD and handing it to Mike with a flourish. / found this at 
the party. Could be relevant. 


"You found it where?" Mike looked confused. "You have to go slower 
for me, H!" 


"See," said Zhao, ignoring Mike's mock scowl, "you'd be more use to 
us than him! And we need someone new to join before we all die 
off." She looked at Hennessy and signed Sorry. 


Have to go some time, he signed back cheerfully, before walking 
into the equipment room. 


"But what about the other agent," said Emma. "Agent Dee? She's 
not that old." 


Emma watched Mike and Zhao exchange meaningful glances. 
Agent Zhao began carefully. "Agent Dee isn't really Sandra's name. 
Well, neither is Sandra. It's more of a nickname, | guess. Um." 


Mike jumped in. "You see, Dee's not her name - it's her personnel 
class." 


Emma was shocked. "You have a D-Class? On an MTF?" 


"| told you we were short-handed," said Zhao. "And we've known 
Sandy for years - she's been with us since she was Mike's age. We 
trust her." 


"Not to mention she still holds the record for most 092 instances 
tested without fatality," added Mike. 


Emma's mind was whirring with questions, but just as she was about 
to ask another, Mike interrupted. "Speak of the devil!” 


Agent Dee slouched through the doorway, followed closely by 
Commander Richards. He gave a taut smile to his motley MTF. 


"Good work, Agents. Site security has confirmed recovery of all of 
the 932 instances. I'll be submitting my incident report tomorrow, so 
no need to send me your sections before then. Don't forget to 
submit any evidence from the scene for filing." Richards tilted his 
hawkish face towards Emma. "And it looks like we can let you get 
back to your evening, ma'am. I'm sure Roger Anderson is keen to 
know that you're safe." 


"Actually, Commander, do you mind if | ask a question? It's just | 
never knew that we had a - | mean, I've never had the chance to 
meet a team specialising in musical anomalies." 


Commander Richards waited impassively. Emma stood up, looking 
around to the gathered agents. 


"So for my first research project, | have been assigned to SCP-012. 
And there are some things about it that don't make any sense." 


"You're asking the wrong people. Twelve looks like music, yes, but 
it's a cogni - a visual hazard, not an auditory one." 


"But it could be auditory, if someone performed it." 


"They tried that, and it was a cacophanous mess, so they gave up. 
In fact, probably the only person alive who has heard it can't hear 
anything any more." 


Richards nodded to Hennessy, who was leaning in the doorway to 
the equipment room. He smiled ironically and signed, / sometimes 
wish | had gone deaf before | had to supervise that test! 


Emma could feel her frustration building. "But that was an unfinished 
section. It might sound very different when it is finished. And it is 
very close. In fact | think - | think it might want to be finished." 


Agent Zhao had started to ask her a question when Mike interrupted 
with a yell. "Holy crap, guys - look at this!" His startled face was lit by 
the computer screen. "That CD you found at the party, H? That has 
some serious memetics on it." 


"Agent Carter, you know that you're not permitted to review 
anomalous materials here without authorisation." 


"Sorry sir, but this was just too weird to wait." Agents Zhao and 
Hennessy crowded behind him as Mike pointed to the screen. "You 
see this? I've split out a single line from the track, which seems 
normal enough." 


Mike clicked the mouse, and the room filled with the sound of a 
stringed instrument being plucked in a ponderous, chromatic 
melody. 


"Sounds old," said Agent Dee. "A zither?" 


"No," said Zhao, "you can hear the plectrum. And it sounds like 
fewer strings. Maybe a lyre." 


"Whatever, that's not the point." Mike sounded impatient. "The point 
is that there are literally like a hundred of these melodies, all 
wrapped together, playing at once. And when | ran it through to 
check for cog-hazards, the scanner went off the charts!" 


Zhao stood reading the screen over Mike's shoulder. "The 
overlapping patterns of the signals are associated with relaxation, 
suggestibility and somnolence." 


"So now we know why the party went to sleep," Dee shot back. 


"But that's not all," said Mike. "After about ten minutes of that, the 
patterns change completely. Polytonal, atonal, what sounds like 
someone hitting the side of the instrument, scratching it - it goes 
haywire." 


"And the resulting sound texture is designed to be processed by the 
thalamus as a signal to the amygdala." Zhao looked up in shock. 
"It's designed to make the listener afraid." 


No, signed Hennessy, all the listeners were asleep. This is designed 
to give them nightmares. Emma, what did you say your dream was 
about? 


Emma noticed that everyone in the room was staring at her. All the 
fear of her dream, that silent, bloody performance, came flooding 
back. 


"Jesus Christ" said Agent Dee, "SCP-932 feeds on fear. Someone 
let those things out deliberately." 


"That's speculation,” said Commander Richards coolly. "To what 
end?" 


| think someone wanted to kill a researcher, signed Hennessy, and 
they were prepared to murder everyone at that party to do it. 


Emma started to shiver, and then jumped as an alarm blared above 
her head. 


"Sir, containment breach!" 


"| see it, agent - looks like they want us again. Getting the details 
through now." 


Emma watched intently as the Commander's eyes widened. 


"Multiple anomalies. SCPs 126, 1493, 1860, 2337, all loose. 
Goddammit, and the noise has caused 339 to breach. Right - Carter, 
Hennessy - go to level seven and bring extra hearing protection for 
the guards. Zhao, Dee, get the Silencer and head to K-sector. I'll be 
down there shortly. And be careful." 


For the second time that night, the MTF stirred into action. Emma 
saw Mike swing his arms in a huge clap as he leapt from his chair, 
beaming madly. 


"Let's do this, baby! We're getting the band back together!" 


Two minutes later, in the empty dormitory, Emma thought, Or maybe 
the orchestra is just tuning up. 


An Impenitent Thief 


« A Convincing Lyre | Hub | Our Mutual Guide » 


"Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee 
Lousy..." 


| hate that song so fuckin’ much | could almost die. In fact, | just 
almost did. 


| freeze, one foot in the air, sweating inside the heavy sound- 
dampening suit. | slowly lower my padded boot to a clear spot on the 
floor, trying to avoid the metal shards and wiring. Breaking the rules 
- that would have been a fuckin’ stupid way to die. 


Rules are the first thing you learn when you arrive here, after they 
process you. Not guard rules (although they beat those into you 
pretty quick): skip rules. Everyone talks about 173 - but not trying to 
scare the newbies, trying to teach them. Follow the rules and maybe 
you'll walk out alive. 


| look down the hallway to the tangle of copper wires, slowly swaying 
like long grass in an afternoon breeze. This little fucker has rules. 
You can move, if you're quiet. You can make noise, if you stop 
moving. But if you make noise and then move? You're dead. 


Still, 14 decibels is so quiet - softer than a whisper. Even with the 
suits, even with the Silencer dampening all sound from the other end 
of the hall, a chunk of metal underfoot might have been too loud. 
And those chunks are what it did to the drone. | need to tread 
carefully. 


Zhao looks at me, trying to work out what's wrong. | give her one 
slow blink for 'okay' - we have a system for when we need to be 
silent, even without our hands free. The foam baffles we're carrying 
are bulky, unwieldy, but they're the only way to recontain the skip so 


we can move it to a soundproof cell. Zhao nods back at me, slowly, 
and we resume our careful, ponderous walk towards the skip. 


She's always been a mother hen, Zhao. After they put me in 
Eta-11's custody for SCP-092 testing, she was the first to treat me 
like a real person. The first one to ask my name, not just my 
number. Doesn't talk about kids of her own. But she was fussing 
over that terrified girl we found earlier tonight, before the breach 
alarm went off. The girl who was asking about 012. Another skip 
with rules, except the rules won't keep you safe. If you see it, you're 
dead. 


Walking so slowly stretches things out endlessly. There's too much 
time to think. | have to keep watching the skip to remind myself to 
focus. Funny though, when you look at it for long enough, it almost 
seems peaceful, like a horse's mane, or long hair shimmering 
underwater. It's been forever since | had long hair. 


"| was not brought up that way..." 


| really can't get that song out of my head. Sandra Dee, what an 
awful name. | never told Zhao my real name - | never told anyone 
here. That name belongs to someone else - a kid that lived outside 
these walls. A kid who liked to steal, did some stupid shit, and paid 
for it. 


| regret what happened, after. But | don't regret the stealing. | still do 
it, sometimes. Just to keep in practice, for the feeling of getting away 
with it. A little extra food, or some cigarettes, when | was in the cells. 
| don't take anything from the team, though. They aren't like the rest, 
so they don't deserve it. Although they'd probably blame me anyway 
if something went missing - they're always watching me like they 
know I'll try something. Always talking about me, like they were to 
that girl tonight. | saw how she looked at me, when | came into the 
den. 


| did take something tonight, not from the team but from site 
security. A mini flashlight - when | saw it earlier tonight, during the 
bug-hunt, | wanted it. The big bunch of keys it's attached to might be 
interesting too, but it was the flashlight that grabbed me. | can feel it 
pressed in the pocket of my uniform, under the padded suit. | 


definitely don't regret taking it. 


There were thieves in the bible, | remember suddenly. Two of them, 
crucified with Jesus. One of them asked Jesus for forgiveness, the 
little ass-kisser. The other one didn't say anything. Did he have any 
regrets? | wonder what he thought about, nailed up on a cross for 
everyone to look at and gossip about. Up on Mount Golgotha. 
Funny, that's the name of 012 as well. 


| need to focus again. We're moving so deliberately, one eye on the 
noise meters flashing on the inside of our visors, so aware of the 
danger. I'd almost forgotten what it was like, knowing you could die 
any time. 


"| know what you wanna do..." 


The worst thing is, the name is a joke at my expense. After a while 
in testing, they started calling me "D". | guess I'd lived long enough 
to be more than a number, but less than a person. And when the 
others finally asked my name, | wouldn't tell them, so "Dee" stuck. 
What do you call something that you pick up off the street, and 
adopt, and give ita new name and a place to sleep? Right: a stray. 


The skip is only a few feet away now. Zhao nods again, and we 
lower the baffles to the ground, and start to join them together, 
making a soundproof box. Perfect teamwork. 


They say I'm part of the team, a full MTF member, but | know that's 
not true. They still know where | came from. Every time they do 
something for me, every meal or rec break or talk with me, feels like 
charity, feels patronising. And one day, when the last of them get too 
old and Eta-11 gets shut down, they'll get amnestics and retirement 
with their families. What will | get? 


The tendrils are still waving, scratching against the floor and moving 
the skip around. It looks sharper, up close. More metallic, more 
alien. From here the wires aren't floating, they're reaching. 
Searching. Hunting. But they're pushing it across the floor, right 
towards the box, exactly where it needs to go. 


And then the Silencer malfunctions, and all hell breaks loose.