| found it. The answer was obvious; really, it was right in front of me 
the entire time. All the materials | could ever ask for, the best tools, 
all in one neat package. Well, maybe not neat. You see, the reason | 
couldn't see it before was because there was something in the way, 
like an oily rag covering a Monet. 


The human body is a wonderful tool, you see. But the soul is 
useless. 


Luckily, removing it was easy. The Blood of the World guided me to 
them, took out their lights, left them alone to stumble in the dark for 
me to pick. They might have screamed, or begged, or cried. | 
wouldn't know, | wasn't paying much attention. All | know is that they 
weren't cool at the end. Oh no, not at all. 


After that, it was only a matter of digging in, ripping and clawing and 
tearing until | got to the core. All that was left were dyes and 


pigments for my mural, gushing out, and fresh as anyone could ask 
for. Hairs to weave in her image, blond and brown and black. Nails 
and teeth for the mosaic, so delicate, so fragile. She laughed with 
pleasure when she saw my work. This will be enough, she said, this 
will make Breath and Pulse and Spine crumble before her. | don't 
know what she meant. | don't care. As long as she’s happy, so am I. 


| always thought there was no such thing as perfection. | was wrong. 
One day I'll come back and show you and Harry the hidden truth she 
taught me- Perfection is only skin deep. 


If at First You Don't Succeed... 


My cousins down the Day-twah say we don't get made like we used 
to. The way | sees it, that just means each of us what's left gotta 
work that much harder to do his part. 


| do work hard. I've tried and tried every day of my life since | was 
bought, and that's as true for Mr. H as it was Ms. Randolph. But she 
didn't need much: go here, go there, go back over here. Easy to 
please, but | didn't let that mean | could be lazy. No sir, | worked as 
hard as | could. Even if it was just simple things | did for her, putting 
that much more effort into it made it worthwhile. 


Fact is, | would've been happy to spend my life with Ms. Randolph, 
until | met Mr. H. The day she sold me to him, | could tell right 
immediately, he had a fire inside. He had dreams and hopes, drive 
and magic. He downright made Ms. Randolph a candle in 
comparison, especially those last few years, when she didn't have 
as many places to go as often. Don't tell her | said that, though. She 
was a right good lady and I'm sure it weren't her fault. 


But hard as | worked for her, | knew I'd have to work ten times as 
hard for Mr. H. Every week, it seemed, he had somewhere new to 
go, asmile and a song in him. It didn't matter if sometimes he 
moved a little slow once he was done with a place. By the time he 
got back inside me, he was already thinking about where to go next, 
and raring to get there. 


And then there was Mikey. Let me tell you, | hadn't been expecting a 
two-for-one on owners, and | didn't rightly know what to make of the 
little guy at first. But before | knew it, he'd graduated from back seat 
to front and joined Mr. H on every other trip, it seemed like. Any time 
he'd poke my buttons, I'd be sure to play him a cheery tune, 
because anytime Mikey smiled, Mr. H, well, he'd smile twice as big, 
and that was all | wanted. Have to say, | got downright attached to 
him and soon | was raring to do my best to help him just as much as 
Mr. H. 


(For further information on SCP-875-3 biology, see Autopsy 
875-3-1.) 


Image Analysis 


Analysis of several images carved onto the walls of 
SCP-875's first floor. 


1: Two (2) figures (possibly SCP-875-3 specimens) 
facing each other. One figure appears to be impaling the 
other with a spear. 


2: One figure identical to those in the first image facing a 
human in Ancient Egyptian garb. Figure appears to be 
holding some manner of slab. Human figure is facing 
away from the first figure, perhaps suggesting an 
unwillingness to correspond. 


3: A large chalice with a drop of liquid falling into it. 
Figure from the first image is standing next to two (2) 
human figures, who appear to be bowing to it. 


4: Figure from the first image is watching two (2) human 
figures pulling a large square using ropes. 


5: Figure from the first image is standing next to what 
appears to be a deceased human figure. First figure 
appears to be consuming [DATA EXPUNGED]. 


6: Figure from the first image inside a small rectangle, 
perhaps representing SCP-875-3's stasis chambers. 


CLASSIFIED - O05 PERMISSIONS 
REQUIRED 
CONFIRM PERMISSIONS 


On //_ , the following transmission was intercepted, 
the source of which is currently unknown. 


The killers from war will return immediately. 


It's a funny old thing, when your best ain't enough. 


Took me a while to notice. | ain't too perceptive about people 
sometimes, and Mr. H, well, he's got a knack for hiding what he 
don't want anyone else to know. Those little black pavement cracks, 
they crept up on me slow-like, so by the time | couldn't ignore them 
no more, well, they was too many to do anything about. Fact was, 
maybe | didn't want to notice them, neither. Things with Mr. H and 
Mikey was hunky-dory for so long, can you blame me for focusing 
on the positive? 


Anyway, them black pavement cracks, they took a heavy toll on Mr. 
H. He kept his smile on, but it was glass instead of steel, like it might 
break if someone tapped his fender. | tried my hardest, really | did. 
Harder than my hardest, even. But it didn't seem to be making no 
difference. 


My cousins' words came back to me: we don't get made like we 
used to be. | started to wonder if maybe | was born rusty, or if 
maybe life with Ms. Randolph had made me soft. Thing is, | got so 
caught up in blaming myself, | lost sight of what was really important 
to me. And for that, | truly do give myself the blame. What happened 
next, | should've seen coming. 


Mikey was big. He didn't stick around the house much, and he didn't 
go on trips with me and Mr. H like he used to. | couldn't tell if he had 
his own thing going on or what it was. | ain't too perceptive about 
people sometimes. But late at night, | could hear them arguing. 
Sometimes in the morning, too. More and more they argued in that 
old house. 


House didn't say nothing about it. Maybe | don't speak her language. 
But | knew she had to be hurting like | was to hear them going at 
each other so much. | didn't know what started things going so bad 
so fast, but | knew I had to be the one to do something to put an end 
to it. 


Things came to a head after Mikey stomped out of one of them 
arguments. It was maybe the worst yet. | wanted so bad for that 
house to be full of happiness again. | had to try to do something to 
save those two before the black pavement cracks grew up so big 


they couldn't be filled in no more. But what could | do? If Mr. H 
wasn't around, | just sat in the driveway. | ain't never felt so helpless 
than | did right at that very moment. 


So | thought back. | tried to remember all the good times me and Mr. 
H had together. | tried to remember what he looked like when Mikey 
played my songs. | thought and | thought, and then it was like | could 
see him, could see every happy face he ever made. | saw myself, 
and | saw him, and | tried and tried to make that old dream become 
real. 


And maybe it worked. That old house seems full of laughter now, 
anyhow. Can't rightly say | seen Mikey around much, and Mr. H 
don't take me out on trips like he used to, but | figure they gotta be 
doing all right. Can't have that much joy in their lives and not be 
happy, right? So for both their sakes, I'll Keep trying as hard as | can 
to make them happy. That's all | really want. 


lf It Were The 80s 


Two young boys sit at a varnished wooden table, looking as if they 
are bored out of their minds. One of them speaks up, saying words 
to this effect. They both let out a long, drawn out sigh. This is clearly 
the height of suburban lethargy. 


Suddenly, a rustling is heard from the bushes outside, and both 
boys jump with a start. Swiveling their heads around to look out the 
window, they see a barely glimpsed figure in the distance. The boys, 
both staring intently at this unknown intruder, blink simultaneously. 
Without warning, the figure is standing directly in front of the 
window, and it's nature is now perfectly clear. It is a statue, crudely 
carved out of concrete and rebar, with a hideous expression of 
malice spray-painted upon its face. One of the boys cries out the 
name of the apparition, and both display looks of sheer terror on 
their faces. 


Both boys blink once again. Now the creature is in their kitchen, 
mere inches away from the two young lads. One could cut the 
tension in the room with a knife. The eyelids of the boys flutter down 
again. A crunching sound is heard. 


To the delight of the boys, the vile creature holds in it's outstretched 
hands two halves of a Nestlé Crunch bar, held out in offering to 
them. A cheer is raised as they take the chocolate halves, and 
express their love for the statue, giving it a great big, warm, fuzzy 
hug. In the background, a mother nods her approval of this scene. 
From above, a narration comes in: "Nestlé Crunch: For the Kid in 
You." 


Elsewhere, a YouTube video loads... 


A forest environment is seen, with lush green trees, a babbling 
brook, and two meatheads stumbling half-drunkedly along a nature 
path. A gruff, masculine voice provides the narration: "Jack Links 
Beef Jerky Presents: Messin' With 682." 


One of the men pauses, grabs his comrade by the shirt cuff, and 
points off into the distance, slightly off camera. The view swings 
around to show us just what he has spotted: A large, reptillian 
creature, hideous in complexion, tearing through the undergrowth. A 
big, shit-eating grin appears on the faces of both men. The second 
of the pair pulls out a bag of the aforementioned product, and slowly 
approaches the monster from beyond this mortal realm. 


Raising its head, the creature sees the man approaching it ever so 
slowly, a stick of jerky raised in his hand. Without noticing the other 
hand reaching into a back pocket, the horrid abomination slowly 
approaches the moronic man, sniffing curiously at the meat-based 
product being offered to it. Cautiously, teeth that could saw a man in 
half pry themselves apart and attempt to take a bite out of it. 


Without warning, the man swipes the jerky hand back while 
simultaneously swinging his other hand forwards, flinging a hail of 
pocket sand straight into the terrible monster's eyes. 


Roaring with unbridled rage, the reptillian horror pounces upon the 
man, letting the teeth do what the teeth do best. His partner, lacking 
any sort of survival instinct, rushes to help his friend, only to have 
his upper torso caught up in the carnage. As the familiar jingle plays, 
the narrator fades back in: "Jack Links Jerky: Feed your wild side." 


Elsewhere, an advertisement loads on a popular news site... 


The image of a car wreck fades onto the screen. Flames wreath the 
scene as cries of agony echo from within the mangled frame of what 
was once a vehicle. The camera does not flinch for a second away 
from this moment of horrible carnage. 


As the flames burn, yet another narrator comes in, this time a 
woman, with a slight British accent. "Every year, thousands of 
people are subject to accidents such as this. Hundreds more pay for 
them with their lives. Some, like Dr. Gerald, former owner of this 
vehicle, endure it almost every day." 


The scene fades into the woman sitting against a light pastel blue 
background; her hands folded on her lap, her face holding an air of 
sympathy and warmth. "But you can help prevent tragedies such as 


this. Just a simple call to 1-800-555-6661, and a donation of your 
chosen amount can help us improve the infrastructure of our 
nation's highways, the safety conditions of the cars you drive daily, 
and save the lives of countless children. Donations of over twenty 
dollars will also have a portion of their money go to a program 
geared towards taking Dr. Gerald off the road once and for all." 


Fading back to the burning car and agonized screams, the woman 
concludes her statement. "That's 1-800-555-6661, or visit us at 
www.deargodmakeitstop.org. And please, make sure that nobody 
has to suffer at the hands of Dr. Gerald ever again." Fade to black. 


Elsewhere, in a seedy coffeehouse... 


A man rolls up a poster on the wall. It shows a strikingly beautiful 
woman, her head tilted back with ardent glee. The image goes down 
just far enough to imply that she is completely topless, without 
showing anything too terribly risqué. Her hand is also in view, 
holding up a muffin, glazed over with white frosting, steam rising 
from the top, a small bite taken out of it. Below all of this, a tagline 
reads: "Try our new Orgasm Muffins! As seen on the SCP 
Foundation!" 


The man wonders why in all the nine bloody blue blazes Starbucks 
is using something as smutty as this to advertise its products. 


Elsewhere, in an advertising office... 


A proposal is raised to use the plight of a young girl pregnant with 
some cosmic horror from beyond the stars as a mascot for Trojan 
Condoms is raised. 


No more need be said on this matter. 


Elsewhere, on a semi-popular horror writing site, a post is made in 
the forums... 


"Alright, who the fuck said they were OK with all of this?" 


If You Are Reading This... 


Throughout the various facilities of the SCP Foundation, 
it is not uncommon for the facility Ethics Committee 
liaison to collect letters from the personnel. These letters 
are typically addressed to friends within the Foundation, 
or family members who have Family Disclosure Protocol 
clearance, and are delivered in the event of death... 


+ To Cole Aktus 


Cole, 


This letter may come as some surprise to you, as it’s 
been many years since we last spoke. If you’re reading 
this, | have died. The small sum of my estate will be 
donated to you shortly through an anonymous source. | 
hope it brings you some comfort. 


| have little else to say that | haven’t already said. | hope 
you know that, regardless of everything, | have loved you 
and Joshua desperately. You were all | had in the world. 
| wish | had been a better brother to you. 


Maybe mother was right. Maybe I'll see her again on that 
distant shore. 


Yours, 


Karlyle 


+ To Kate Conwell 
Kate, 


If you are reading this, that thing | promised would never 


happen... happened. 


They had us write these letters so as to offer some 
closure, so let's give it a shot. 


| know | wasn't always the happiest or most lively person 
to be around. Hell, there were so many times in my life | 
didn't want to be around me either, but that never 
seemed to scare you off and neither did the time | told 
you about what | really did for a living. Perhaps you were 
always just a glutton for punishment, cause let's be 
honest its not my rugged good looks that kept you 
around. Whatever the reason, | really was out of my 
league with you. | know you always thought it was the 
other way around, but for me you were a 12/10 and | was 
a -2. 


There were a lot of points in my life | thought | would die 
alone, Kate. Sometime after | met you, however, that 
thought shattered, and | knew you were the one | could 
spend my life with, and | can't express in words how 
happy | am you felt the same. 


| hope that in our time together | gave you even a part of 
the joy you gave me. 


God damn this is really cliche, isn't it? Oh well, I'm guess 
I'm not being graded on my originality here. 


Tell Zach and Carrie that I'm proud of them, and 
wherever the road takes them, | know they'll succeed. 


| love you, Kate. 
With all the atoms of my being, | love you. 


Jacob 


+ To Patrick Gerdinel 


Hey Patrick,