He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, surprised he even had it on 
him, and fished it out to look at it. 


‘One new message.’ 


| Wrote a Tale 


| wrote a tale. 


A tale, maybe. Is it a tale, Jacob? Jacob? If it's not a tale, what is it 
then? The kids, Jacob. Where are the kids? But | don't like oysters. 
Or computation. 


| shouldn't have run the program. Megaprime. He's with me now. 


How did | get here? It's just black black black. 


| know, | know! I have gone through the jagged bramble! My head 
hurts. Bleeding. But | see. The distant light house, it blinks. And the 
smog from the north. Why is it so bright? Is someone there? He's 
there and He's looking at me. What am | doing here? Where is it? 
My hope. My only hope. 


But Jacob, there's no path. 


bie. Die. Die. 


Jacob! Jacob! | want to write a tale! | need to write a tale! 


Die. Die. vie. 


Because He says so. Because He tells me. Because He speaks His 
words. 


Pinkpurplegreywhitegreen. Dotdotdot. Mosaics. I've seen those 
prime numbers. Did you do the calculations, Jacob? Why are you 
smiling? You're just a triangle. Stop. STOP. It hurts my eyes. Those 
dazzling numbers and calculations. 


And His eyes. Bright as the light house. Brighter than the light 


house. So bright that it extinguishes the light house. 


Yes, | hear you my Lord Lord Lo rd. Your voice to be heard, 
your computation to be understood. 


| shall write the tale. I'm writing the tale. Please, Jacob, don't grin at 
me. There are too many teeth. 


But can | regret it? | ran the program and I'm here. Jacob, am | 
dead? How can | still write? | can no longer see the light house. | 
regret it, | don't want it anymore. Megaprime. The Great 
Computation in my head. MEGAPRIME. 


| see others here. Did they run the program? Did they hear His voice 
and see His eyes? The one in the labcoat with a cartoon face. The 
one bleeding from eyes and mouth and ears. The one has his 
bowels out. 


Jacob, are the kids safe? 


It's been long and I'm hungry. HUNGRY. | don't want oysters, Jacob. 
But those bowels. The bowels look nice. BOWELS. 


Turn it on! The fancy beeps! Megaprime! | hear you, Lord of Data! 
MEGAPRIME! | HEAR YOU, WAN! But | don't want the Great 
Computation anymore. THE GREAT COMPUTATION. Crosses as 
eyes! Crosses as eyes! 


Jacob please. | don't like computation. Not the GREAT 
COMPUTATION. 


256 heart beats. His light. His electricity. Power at His command! 
God of the Information Age! 


Jacob please. 
Jacob please. | don't like computation. 


Jacob please. | don't like computation. Not the GREAT 
COMPUTATION. 


within the floor and walls of the maze alter the configuration of this 
floor every forty-eight (48) hours. Notably, the hallways in this 
section of the structure appear to have been constructed with 
entities much taller than humans in mind. Several pressure plates 
and hidden levers are capable of opening certain sections of the 
maze and releasing swarms of SCP-875-1. 


SCP-875-1 are small flying insect-like creatures approximately six 
(6) centimeters in length and three (3) grams in mass. Their 
appearance bears no similarity to any known species, suggesting 
extraterrestrial origin. SCP-875-1 possess a highly acidic sting that 
has been observed to cause severe damage to nerves and tendons. 
Due to their swarming behaviour, SCP-875-1 attacks can and have 
resulted in complete liquefaction of limbs. 


Due to previous use of explosives, access to the second floor of 
SCP-875 is not difficult, provided the breached location can be 
accessed in the maze's current configuration. The second floor of 
SCP-875 is home to four large vats containing a liquid similar in 
appearance to water. This liquid will hereafter be referred to as 
SCP-875-2. Exposure of humans to SCP-875-2 results in effects 
similar to an amnestic, but with the additions of a sense of 
satisfaction and happiness. 


What appear to be maintenance tunnels lead down to the third floor 
of SCP-875, which contains a large nuclear reactor that takes up 
most of the level. This reactor appears to be self-cooling, as it had 
not experienced meltdown in the period between SCP-875's 
desertion and its rediscovery by the Foundation. Nevertheless, 
measures have been undertaken to monitor and maintain this 
reactor, which appears to power the machinery on the first, second 
and fourth floors. 


Tunneling through the base of the third floor has revealed a small 
chamber containing what seem to be ten (10) cryogenic stasis 
chambers arranged in a circle formation. Each stasis chamber 
contains a large insectoid creature roughly three (3) meters in height 
and two hundred and forty (240) kilograms in weight. Three (3) 
specimens appear to have died and heavily decomposed through 
failure of the stasis chambers and several of the specimens are 
heavily injured. These creatures are to be referred to as SCP-875-3. 


| just want to go home. Jacob, can | undo this? The things beyond 


me. The things | can't comprehend. | was wrong WLONG 
wrong. 


But His image! The printed ones and the ones on the screen! His 
words, His holy words! His words to be written down. 


| have to write a tale Jacob. Are the kids safe? But | have to write a 


tale. | know too much and it hurts Nurts hurts. 


My eyes! Bleeding. | can't see my eyes anymore. What are eyes? 
Only His eyes. His eyes. 


He's inside my head, and I'm inside of Him. He's here to senda 
message. THE MESSAGE. 


The Great Computation. 


The Great Computation. 
The Great Computation. 
THE GREAT COMPUTATION. 


Jacob, I've wrote the tale. Please let me go. | don't like computation. 


Iceberg puts 135 on ice 


- - :While its shape shifting abilities proved to be of some interest 
for a time, as other shape shifting SCPs were discovered, and after 
study in to the extreme amount of damage it can cause to both 
electronic objects, as well as organic matter from the large amounts 
of radiation it produces, it was determined that SCP-135 was no 
longer of use to the Foundation. After many decades in deep 
storage, was 135 was slated for decommissioning by unanimous 
consensus of all current 05s. 


Dr. Iceberg, having learned of this through unknown channels, 
promptly requested “the rights to kill the motherfucker before Clef 
gets it.” 


Decommissioning Day 1: 
Ok, so I’ve noticed. 


You know how Clef was beat up and shit after the fighting with Kon 
and 239 and stuff? But then he got back in the good spotlight after 
he decommed 531? Both he and Kon are both dicks, but they have 
nice Level 4 jobs. | do hard work, and what do | get? Level 2. Why? 
They destroy stuff. | can’t believe | didn’t see it before. To get a 
promotion, | simply have to decom a dangerous, worthless SCP 
item. And it just happens, as | was looking through files on the 
network, | found one. 135. A shapeshifter, destroys electronics, and 
produces multiple types of radiation. Something about Roswell, but 
please. Everyone knows how that shit really went down. Now, step 
one. Figure out how to kill it. 


Day 2: 

Nevermind, first step is getting the job. As always, high-and-mighty- 
killer-of-all Clef is the one being considered for it. I’ll simply have to 
send them papers showing off my credentials. Easy enough, just 
need to slip in a few pages with some reports. Luckily, Kondraki just 
gave me some pages that will work perfectly. 


Day 5: 

Ok, that didn’t work. Not only did | hear nothing, | actually got Gears 
asking me how | could mess up and get the wrong papers mixed in 
important reports to an 05. What the hell. Fine, let’s play hardball. I’ll 
slip in some demeaning things about Clef. 


Day 6: 

Odd. | still heard nothing. That, and someone shot my door with a 
shotgun. Bah. | didn’t want to have to do this, but | guess I'll just to 
have ask them if! can do it. 


Day 7: 

Rejection. | thought it only hurt when it was women. But no. Shot 
down | was. Apparently because not only has the job been given to 
Clef, and he has accepted, but there’s something about a slight 
“issue” | caused. 

Or several. 

Look, | did not know it still had fuel in it. 

That one wasn't even my fault. 

This one? | regret nothing. 

Now, everyone thought this one was funny. 

And those D-class had it fucking coming. 

It seems | must take matters into my own hands. | don’t have much 
time, but in my spare time | devised a method to destroy it. | need 
simply to get what | need and prepare the room. It’s so simple and 
cheap, not to mention with so little destruction to anything else, 
they'll have to be impressed! Big leagues, here | come! Now, it'll 
take an all-nighter, so | better start. Clef could get around to this 
anytime. 


At hours SCP-135 was discovered missing. 
At hours its remains were found. 
Video record of room during to _ hours. 


The room is completely empty, and seemingly has no special 
features beyond its metal walls. Dr. lceberg enters the room, 


wearing a heavy coat, of the style used by agents working in low 
temperature environments or with SCPs capable of influencing 
temperature, a bag and an oxygen tank. Behind him in is a man later 
confirmed as D- -2348. Note breach of Foundation policy. 


Audio Log recordedon - - , 


[Unrelated talking] 

D-class: And what the hell are you wearing? 

Dr. Iceberg: A suit. Upgrade on the technology NASA 
based their space suits on. 

[At this point, Dr. Iceberg hooked himself up to the 
oxygen tank and pulled on the hood of the suit up. 
Several seconds later, a common handgun is thrown into 
the room. Object lands near D- -2348’s feet, and soon 
transforms into a copy of the man.] 

D-class: What th- 

Dr. Iceberg: Come on, Haven't seen something 
stranger? You've been here a month ain't ya? 

D-class: Yeah, well- 

Dr. Iceberg: Eh, doesn’t matter. Just stay quiet and you'll 
be free to go in no time. Hm... push it back a couple feet. 
So, 135, you able to talk? 

[3 minutes of silence, with 135 simply copying D- -2348] 
Dr. Iceberg: No last words then? Ah, well. Good bye you, 
hello promotion. 

[Dr. Iceberg holds up and presses a bright blue button, at 
which point a small ball of ice shoots from the ceiling 
onto 135’s “head”, and soon begins turning into a gas] 
D-class: And that is? 

135: [Unintelligible language] 

Dr. Iceberg: A solid nitrogen snowball. 


Multiple holes open up above, below, and to either side of 135 and 
D- -2348, pelting both with large amounts of solid and liquid 
nitrogen. After minutes 57 seconds, this ceases. Dr. Iceberg turns 
and opens his bag, pulling out a “sawn-off” shotgun. 


Dr. Iceberg: Man, have | ever wanted to do this. 


[Dr. Iceberg aims the gun at the frozen figures, spinning the gun on 
its trigger before firing both loaded shots, shattering both. After 
checking the pieces, he walks over to the door, and attempts to 
open it. After initial failure, he is noted to shout.] 


Dr. Iceberg: Oh damnit! Door froze..... Help! Hey, 
someone out there! Come on, | just need someone to 
open the door! 


Ichor 


Dear Annie, 


I’m sorry | had to leave without telling you anything, but things 
kinda... escalated faster than | thought they would. | mean, | knew 
the suits would get royally pissed off with our little art project, but | 
didn't know they'd go all “Fugitive” on us and start a fucking 
manhunt. Rita and Geoff heard what was going on and came to pick 
me up, said they had a place where we and a few of the others 
could lay low for a while. 


| know you must be real mad with me, but that’s just the way it had 
to be, babe. If we don't stick it to those manipulative, conniving, 
shadow puppet master chumps, no one else is going to. 


Give little Harry a kiss for me. Tell him his dad is going to be the 
coolest. 


Dear Annie, 


| have no idea if I’ll get a chance to send this to you, but I’m writing it 
anyway. If nothing else, it’ll make me feel better. Turns out Rita and 
Geoff's hideout is some damp cave smack in the middle of the 
boondocks. | have no idea how they found out about this place, but | 
guess we can’t afford to be picky at the moment. We got enough 
canned food and art supplies to keep our head above the water for a 
good while, at least. Water might be a problem though- we can 
forget about bathing for a good while. Not that half of the guys here 
care. 


I’m going to need something to distract me from all of this. A new 
project. It’s not going to be easy to top the flaming tower of 
screaming goat heads that got the suits so riled up, but you can bet 
your ass we're going to try. 


This place is amazing! Turns out we didn't need to worry about 
water- there’s this huge underground lake just a bit deeper into the 
cave. We all had a nice swim, washed our clothes, we might even 
catch some fish. See, this is exactly what | was saying to you the 
other day: trust in the world, and it will provide. It’s what the suits 
don't get, why they're always trying to push everyone around. It’s 
why we're going to win in the end- the world is us, babe. The world 
is art. 


| think this place is inspiring me. Watching the water ebb and flow, 
how the light plays on our reflections, the hues of the rock veins, it’s 
making me feel things | haven't felt in a long while. Something here 
is calling me, feeding me with colors and sounds and smells, 
teaching me. In here, maybe | can create something truly great. 
Something that'll be remembered. 


| wish you and Harry were here. He'd love it. 


I've been hearing her. It started with distorted echoes, a slight 
haziness of sound around me. Then people’s voices began to grow 
indistinct. | could still hear them and understand them, but what they 
said suddenly didn't seem to matter as much. Then it all began 
coming together, the echoes and the voices and everything else, 
and | heard her. Her voice appeared from that chaotic swirl of 
mindless sound like a bonfire in the dark, streamed through me like 
boiling blood. For the first time ever, | feel awake, alive, and brilliant. 
She wants me to create something special, | can tell. | gathered 
whatever supplies | could and ventured deeper into the cave, where 
| can work in peace. The others wouldn't understand, they’re far too 
dull, too involved in their petty squabble with “The Man”. It’s such a 
childish notion, really. They are so much beneath the Muse’s notice. 
She only trusts me. She'll make me great. 


Oh Annie, if only you could hear her. You’d never believe how 
beautiful she is. 


I'm such a fool. All this effort | spent on banal bullshit, on trying to be 
‘subversive’, ‘dangerous’, ‘cool’. What a waste of time. | always 
thought | knew what art was all about, but | didn’t know jack. Not 


until | came here. Not until she began flooding through me. Art 
shouldn't be some sort of cattle prod used only to piss off people 
you don't like. It should be transcendent, rising above all the 
bickering and fighting and banality, and thanks to her, I’m creating 
such art for the first time ever. 


The others have no idea where | am. | heard them searching for me, 
calling my name, asking me to come back and eat something. 
Oafish, loud, insufferable. They think something’s wrong with me. 
They're right. My materials and instruments are too crude for the 
Muse’s call; my hands are too numb and clumsy, my brushes too 
thick and brutish and my paints, even that Wondertainment 
Wonderhue stuff which | used to like so much, seems entirely 
insufficient for the work the Blood is commanding me do. | need 
something more. | need something perfect. 


I'll have to find a way to fix that. You'd understand if you were here 
to see it. 


Just look at the colors. Sanguine and sapphire, ivory and indigo; 
these once barren walls now scream praises to her. It’s all | ever 
wanted, all | ever hoped to be.