Memorandum to Foundation personnel: Use of 
SCP-2584 is a privilege, not a right. Any future 
occurrences of 'Ouroboros ring toss' played with 
research specimens will result in severe penalties. - 
Director Fulton 


Stepping Out 


It came as a great shock to Doctor Martin the day the Blank Man 
appeared before him and offered to show him a world without the 
Foundation. 


It would, of course, come as a shock to anyone. To be sitting in 
one's office during the middle of a fairly busy day, only to look up 
from your work and see the outline of a man standing in front of you. 
To see such a strange thing is simply outside the human 
experience, and to feel shocked by it is only natural. For Doctor 
Martin, however, his background with the SCP Foundation meant he 
had spent many years in exposure to such things. The shock should 
not have come to him at all. 


Perhaps it was because he had never seen anything like the Blank 
Man before. After all, even with his extensive knowledge of the 
anomalous and macabre, Doctor Martin had only seen a small 
fraction of what the universe had to offer him. But even the multi- 
pronged vagabond from the twelfth-dimension had not fazed him the 
day it stole the heart of his secretary. So that could not be it. 


Perhaps it was because this was his first time working in a site 
where objects capable of inducing such hallucinations were stored. 
Having never seen this particular sort of thing before could have 
caught him off guard. But he knew full well that the nearest object 
capable of such mind-altering effects was far enough away to not 
impact him in the slightest. So it was probably not that. 


No, it was most likely because Doctor Martin simply did not expect it. 
In all his years with the Foundation, few normal people had dared 
enter his office while he busied himself with work. Fewer strange 
creatures at that. Doctor Martin was used to the solitude his working 
hours provided him. A sudden interruption, especially one of sucha 
strange magnitude as this, had simply caught him off guard. 


As Doctor Martin attempted to regain his senses, the Blank Man 


SCP-946: A Formal Discussion 


Item#: SCP-946 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-946 is to be kept in the 
center of a5 mx 5m x 5m windowless, soundproofed containment 
chamber. The only light source in the room is to be a single 
spotlight, situated directly above SCP-946. Cameras and audio 
recording devices monitor SCP-946 at all times to ensure all 
SCP-946 activity is recorded. A minimum of one skilled debater is to 
remain on call at all times. Anyone who observes a debate between 
SCP-946-1 and SCP-946-2 where classified Foundation information 
is revealed for which they do not have clearance is to be 
administered Class A Amnestics. 


Description: SCP-946 is a wooden table with two accompanying 
chairs. At unpredictable intervals, ranging from 2 to 4 times per 
week, two men will appear (designated SCP-946-1 and SCP-946-2), 
taking the two seats. SCP-946-1 and SCP-946-2 will then have a 
civil argument or debate about a random subject. The topic of these 
arguments has varied from existential concepts to trivial and 
mundane subjects. In some circumstances, these debates have 
focused on a hypothetical event, and the merits of its occurrence. In 
these cases, the outcome of the argument manifests itself in reality. 
At any time during the debate, an outside observer may join the 
debate, with a new chair appearing at the table and the dimensions 
of the table altering to fit all parties. Should any of the "guests" make 
an ad hominem argument or make an intentionally false or 
misleading statement, SCP-946-1 will criticize them. If they continue, 
SCP-946-1 will state that they are no longer welcome in the debate, 
at which point their chair will disappear. Any further attempts for this 
subject to communicate with SCP-946-1 or -2 will be ignored. 


Following Incident 946- (See Addendum 2), it has become clear 
that SCP-946-1 and SCP-946-2 appear to possess omniscience, or, 


reiterated Its - His? Was it right to call something that looked 
somewhat like a man and spoke somewhat like a man, but was 
clearly not a man a He? - offer: It was capable of tearing open the 
fabric of reality, in such a fashion that would not harm the larger 
structure of it, and forming a portal to another universe. Another 
universe where the Foundation had never existed. It was capable of 
doing so, and would do so just for Doctor Martin. Moreover, It was 
quite willing to do so, somewhat eager, even. 


Doctor Martin let his options run through his head. Logic dictated 
that he should call security and initiate a Site lockdown, in order to 
capture this thing and begin study of It. That was, of course, what 
any other sane, rational person would do when faced with a situation 
similar to this. His hand was already on the buzzer; all it would take 
was a simple muscle spasm to take this thing and lock It away for 
the rest of Its days. 


But in the back of his head, Doctor Martin knew he could not. There 
was something about the Blank Man he could not place his finger 
upon. Something about It that suggested any attempt to contain it 
would result in Its vanishing, never to be seen nor heard from again. 
This would, of course, be perfectly ideal, as it meant the Foundation 
would never have to waste resources trying to study and understand 
this thing. And yet, the offer It made to Doctor Martin was so 
compelling, so strange and alien and potentially horrifying, that he 
just could not refuse. 


And so, Doctor Martin raised his hand from the buzzer, looked 
straight into the Blank Man's nonexistent face, and stepped around 
his desk, nodding his head. 


The Blank Man nodded too, and turned Its form about to face the 
wall behind it. Doctor Martin had long grown used to bland, washed- 
out colors and slightly cracked doorframe he faced on a daily basis, 
and still expected them to be there now. Imagine his surprise when 
his eyes were met with a dazzling array of colors not of this Earth, or 
indeed, of any Earth anywhere. The alien colors danced and flashed 
and sang, moving in dazzling, complex patterns no eye could hope 
to comprehend. To any well-worn traveler of the interstellar planes, 
such a sight is perfectly normal, and not worth much contemplation. 
To aman fresh out of his universe, the space between realities was 


both awe-inspiring and awful. 


Before he could be completely lost in the dazzling array of color and 
spectacle, Doctor Martin felt a pressure on his wrist, and looked in 
what he assumed was the frontal direction. The outline of the Blank 
Man stood there, pulling him through the madness and into the 
darkness of a new world's night. 


Doctor Martin did not know what he had expected to find in this new 
universe. The thought of what would have happened had the 
Foundation never come into being had played across his mind once 
every few years, but he had never seriously considered it a 
possibility. The SCP Foundation existing seemed as natural a fact 
as the sun rising in the east, or grass growing green. As he tried to 
shake off the effects of interstellar travel, Doctor Martin attempted to 
reason out what state humankind would have gotten to without the 
Foundation's guidance these last forty years. 


He did not stray too far from the path he had expected to take. Of 
course, the initial appearance of the sculpture would not have 
brought about too much change. It would certainly have caused 
untold loss of life, but nothing that the world could not deal with. No, 
it was all the strange things that had come in its wake; all those 
cosmic horrors from beyond the veil of reality arriving in our simple 
little plane of existence. Those would be the things capable of 
destroying the world. Without the Foundation there, mankind would 
not have made it a year out of 173's first sighting. 


Images of a blasted heath of a land came to Doctor Martin's mind; 
charred skeletal remains peppering the landscape, rotting husks of 
buildings toppling to the ground one by one, an unnatural stillness in 
the air. A true post-apocalyptic world. 


What he saw, however, was something quite entirely different. 
Doctor Martin and the Blank Man stood on a grassy hill, overlooking 
a small settlement in what looked to be Norway, judging by the 
towering fjords to the east. Birdsong filled the air, wind swept 
playfully through the grass, and in the distance, Doctor Martin could 
hear small children at play. The sunlight and warmth on his face told 
him this was summertime. 


But this couldn't be Norway. Norway would have been torn apart 
decades ago, leaving nothing but a few small islands sticking about 
the raging sea of magma. If the Foundation hadn't intervened... 


Doctor Martin turned to the Blank Man and demanded to know what 
had happened to keep this place so orderly. Was the ritual simply 
nonexistent in this universe? Was there some other organization 
who intervened? Was this, perhaps, in the distant past, before the 
Foundation even existed? 


The Blank Man shook Its head region, and responded: No, this is 
the modern day. The exact same hour of the exact same day of the 
exact same year Doctor Martin had just stepped out of. It was just a 
Norwegian settlement in a universe where the Foundation just did 
not exist. No other differences. Just a lack of the Foundation. 


Then this must be a fluke, Doctor Martin realized. A small part of the 
world that managed to escape the widespread destruction, through 
what means he could not possibly fathom, but managed to escape it 
nonetheless. That must be it, right? 


The world shifted, and Doctor Martin found himself and the Blank 
Man standing in the middle of Times Square, with rush hour traffic 
roaring all around them. Then they appeared in the London 
Underground, a busy crowd of commuters hustling to catch the 4:37 
train. And again they shifted, this time showing up in Beijing. 


Time after time they shifted across the world, how many times 
Doctor Martin was not sure of. But even though they remained in 
one spot for no more than a second or two, it was enough to show 
Doctor Martin a planet that had evidently survived without the 
shadowy gaze of the Foundation hovering over it. Somehow, 
someway, every tiny little detail was still there. 


Not exactly, the Blank Man replied, standing as stock still as It had 
throughout the whole trip. Some things did change without the 
Foundation around. There were no young girls impregnated with 
horrors from beyond, no farmers massacred by a reptilian demon, 
no time when London was torn to pieces and rebuilt with a Glasgow 
smile running across the city. All those people who suffered and 
died at the hands of the monstrosities the Foundation contained 


simply went on living their lives untouched, as content or miserable 
as they would have been otherwise, until they either passed away or 
made it to the modern day. 


Doctor Martin could not understand this. The Blank Man had quite 
clearly stated the only difference between this universe and his 
native one was the lack of the SCP Foundation. That was the basis 
for this whole trip, was it not? Could it be that the Blank Man had lied 
in order to achieve some higher, more sinister purpose? 


The Blank Man let out the closest thing to a sigh It could muster, and 
looked directly into Doctor Martin's eyes. There had, perhaps, been 
some miscommunication, entirely on the Blank Man's part. It was 
true this universe lacked the existence of an SCP Foundation, there 
was no denying that fact. The lack of the Foundation, however, was 
more a catalyst for change than any sole, unique difference in these 
timelines. Without the Foundation... well, perhaps it was better to 
show Doctor Martin. 


The pair shifted once again, to the inside of a small diner in the 
desert. It was a scene of understated carnage. Most of the people 
sitting within the booths or on stools had expressions of mild shock 
on their faces, while the waitress behind the counter had a look of 
utter terror on her face. Her mouth half open in a scream, her eyes 
clamped tightly shut. A few small patches of blood stained the 
ground and counter. Each and every head in the diner was either 
tilted or twisted in an unnatural way. 


Doctor Martin, seeking a sight less stomach-upsetting than this, 
glanced at the calendar on the wall. Forty years in the past. He 
remembered this day. 


The Blank Man, having spent Its time staring into the face of a gruff- 
looking man, shifted Itself and Doctor Martin once again. Stumbling 
slightly on the uneven ground beneath his feet, Doctor Martin looked 
up and found himself standing in the middle of a barren desert, the 
rim of a canyon a few kilometers ahead. Before he could 
comprehend any more than this, a vaguely human shaped blur tore 
straight past him, kicking up a cloud of rock and sand as it went by. 


The Blank Man nodded once again. It could tell what Doctor Martin 


was thinking: He recognized this place, did he not? He could even 
remember the exact details of this day. A young man, starting fresh 
at an organization dedicated to containing hazardous materials, 
receiving word that something had slaughtered a diner full of people 
not six miles from where they were stationed. An indication that 
something had just rushed past their front door, its trail leading quite 
clearly back to the diner. A brief consideration by the higher-ups to 
just let it go, let someone else more capable of handling such a thing 
take care of matters. And then... 


Doctor Martin remembered. He had been selected to go out and 
investigate what this thing was. They had encountered it less than a 
hundred meters away from the cliff in the distance. It had killed two 
men and severely injured him before taking off once again. They 
had lost a few good men, but gained invaluable knowledge of how 
the sculpture worked, and how to catch it. Two tries later, and the 
object was given the designation SCP-173, and locked up tight. And 
as time went on, that hazardous materials containment team had 
grown massively in scope, phasing out the hundred and seventy-two 
other materials and objects they had collected in favor of far 
stranger things. Forty years of growth, study, and protection. Forty 
years of securing, containing, and protecting. Forty years of this, 
Doctor Martin had seen, and it had all started just up ahead, with his 
small team's encounter with the original. 


But for whatever reason, Doctor Martin and his team simply were 
not there. 


Shifting once again, the pair stood upon the edge of the cliff. The 
blurred figure continued to rush towards them. Though no specific 
details could be made out of it, Doctor Martin could tell it intended to 
turn as soon as possible, just avoiding the cliff and continuing to 
speed along the edge. The figure started to do so, and indeed 
looked as if it would make it. 


And then, there was a statue in place of the blur, skidding along the 
desert sand. Some small lizard from below or a bird up on high must 
have spotted it, however momentarily, freezing it into rock and paint. 
The statue tumbled over itself a few times before toppling over the 
rim and falling out of sight. 


Peering over the edge, Doctor Martin dimly saw a shattered figure, 
dashed out across the rocks below. The world shifted, and the pair 
stood at the bottom of the cliff, next to the broken, scattered stones 
of what was once SCP-173. The wind was already blowing sand 
over the rocks; in a few years time, nobody would even know this 
horrid, nightmarish creature had ever existed.