"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." Jack's mind was reeling, but he 
remembered quickly, "Yuuuuuuuhhh... Forty-two?" 


"You're sure?" 


"Yeah. Forty-two." Jack said firmly. He remembered hitting forty-two 
as he stepped off the bus, right before seeing the pretty girl. The 
boss typed something into his computer, hit return, and breathed a 
sigh of relief. He looked at Jack and smiled, raising his eyebrows 
with a ‘thanks, you-know-how-it-goes' sort of look. Jack didn't know 
how it goes. 


"Okay. So you want to tell me just what the fuck is going on, and 
how you know | count yellow cars on the goddamn bus?" 


"Well... that's... unhhh... classified, isn't it?" 


"Classified my ass, how the FUCK do you know that shit about me?" 
Jack asked, anger audible in his voice. He realized his boss was 
probably spying on him. 


"Calm down, Jack, there's a perfectly good explanation for all this..." 
"Which is....... ?" Jack interrupted. 


"Let me finish, Jack. Yesterday, twenty-three Japanese 
businessmen flew into town at the executive airport.” 


"Uhhhh....... so?" Jack was now more confused than angry. 


"They are on their way to General Electric to negotiate a major deal. 
Though the Wall Street Journal is reporting only a slim chance that 
the deal goes through, we've ensured that there is, in reality, a 73% 
chance that they buy a significant holding. GE stock is going to rally 
25% tomorrow morning, the price jumping more than it has, 
cumulatively, in years. And | just invested my entire retirement 
portfolio in it. You should, too, if you're smart." 


Jack was stunned. He didn't know what to say. "Absolutely," he 
replied. "| sure will. May | return to my desk." 


"Sure. And don't tell anyone about this." 


"Of course not." 


FROM: moc.hcetilletni|rensurc.kcaj#moc.hcetilletni| 
rehsurc.kcaj 
TO: moc.hcetilletni|rh#moc.hcetilletni|rh 


SUBJECT: Coworker needs immediate help 
To whom it may concern, 


| have worked here at Intellitech Systems for four years. 
Over that time period | have grown to know my boss, 
Steve Howitt very well. We have always been friendly to 


One another and have had a good working relationship 
over the years. However, today, | believe he mentally 
snapped, and requires immediate psychiatric attention. | 
am leaving work early today, to stay with a friend, as | 
am afraid for my life. | believe he has been following me 
home, as he knows details of my commute he could not 
possibly have known otherwise. Today, he called me into 
his office and began speaking nonsense about 
correlating yellow cars to visiting Japanese 
businessmen, and General Electric, and the stock 
market, and all sorts of crazy things. 


Steve Howitt needs immediate help. | cannot stress this 
enough. 


Please contact me at my emergency contact number 
once Steve has been professionally evaluated by a 
psychiatric team. 


Sincerely, 
Jack Crusher 
Two days later, Jack was driving his girlfriend's car, listening to the 


radio. 


"General Electric shares jumped almost 27 percent, reaching $30.21 
in trading ahead of the bell on Tuesday, when news of a major 
investment from Japanese firm Orix hit the market..." 


"You must be shitting me." Jack said aloud, to no one. 
FROM: moc.hcetilletni|rh#moc.hcetilletni|rh 


TO: moc.hcetilletni|rensurc.kcaj#moc.hcetilletni| 
rehsurc.kcaj 


SUBJECT: RE: Coworker needs immediate help 
Mr. Crusher, 


Practical jokes of this nature are not tolerated at 


Intellitech Systems. We pride ourselves on being a 
professional company and strive to maintain the highest 
workplace standards. 


A written reprimand has been recorded on your 
personnel file. As per company policy, three written 
reprimands within one year will result in immediate re- 
evaluation of continued employment. 


Steve Howitt is of perfectly sound mind. He informed us 
of your frequent tardiness and the verbal altercation 
between the two of you when he confronted you on the 
issue. You are NOT to use HR as a tool for revenge. You 
would normally be fired for this transgression, however, 
Mr. Howitt stood up for you and insisted that we treat this 
incident as a "joke." 


Please do not act in such an unprofessional manner in 
the future. 


Sincerely, 

Beverly Stanley 

Intellitech Systems 

Human Resources Department 


"What the fuck is going on." Jack stood in Mr. Howitt's office, one 
week later. 


"I told you not to tell anyone." 


"| don't know what's worse, that you've been following me, that you 
lied and almost got me fired, or that you were right about the fucking 
stock market." 


"Heh," Mr. Howitt laughed, "You weren't almost fired. I'M your boss. 
HR can't do anything to you without my consent. And | don't follow 
you home. And yes, OF COURSE | was right." 


"If you don't follow me home, how do you know what | do on the 
bus?" 


Yes. SCP-1000 are just like us. That's what makes them 
so dangerous. We wiped them from history and memory. 
We dissolved their civilization and we slaughtered most 
of their species. Just ask yourselves: If they got the 
chance, what more would they do to us? 


Addendum 1000-056-D: Instances of SCP-1000 have tried to make 
contact with Foundation personnel on multiple occasions. Most of 
these attempts at contact have [DATA EXPUNGED] untranslated, 
though recent attempts show that some instances of SCP-1000 are 
capable of communicating in English. 


Display Ancillary Anomaly Reports 


Addendum 1000-104-Y: Certain acquired 
documents contain extensive references to SCP-1000. 
Relevant is that the documents appear to be composed 
by entities associated directly with the location known as 
the Wanderer's Library. Context or significance of 
document details not yet clarified. 


Addendum 1000-276-A: Numerous anomalous objects 
with a known connection to SCP-1000 [DATA 
EXPUNGED] prior cyclical iterations. As one example, 
SCP-2273 may not have a point of origin in a parallel 
timeline, but instead a prior "iteration". SCP-2932, 
SCP-2511, and other sources of living cultural insight 
into SCP-1000 (or a variation) all present "consistent 
inconsistencies" which may be used to create a fuller 
picture of the nature of these "iterations", though 
conclusions are uncertain. 


Addendum 1000-276-Q: Special report [DATA 
EXPUNGED] This unnumbered "black box" anomalous 
item anchored underneath the structure is likely the most 
significant anomalous object known to have been 
utilized. Central to understanding SCP-1000's 
anomalous capabilities, including capabilities not 
developed directly, but accessed from prior [DATA 
EXPUNGED] modern-day relevance to the Foundation 
and to society at large in a scenario of general 


"Well, that's classified." 


"Classified my ass, this is about MY LIFE! | can't believe I'm even 
talking to you, you're INSANE!" 


"I'm not insane, Jack, though I'm glad that from your perspective, 
you think so. That's good. You're perceptive, and confident." 


"Listen, boss, let's go talk about this together, with someone else. 
Let's talk to HR about it." 


"No, Jack, I've actually been authorized to offer you a job." 


"What. No sir, | already work for you. Come on, sir, lets go talk to 
HR about this. Or we can call them. Right here. It will be easy." 


"Heh, Jack, for the last time, I'm not crazy, and we're not talking to 
HR. Was | not right about the stock market? Did you forget about 
that? | can tell you how | was right. And you can be part of 
something important, and make some damn good cash at the same 
time." 


Many geniuses were insane, Jack thought. Was it possible that this 
crazy person really had a fix on the stock market? Maybe he was 
like that guy in the movie Pi. Probably not. But at least Jack could 
catch him in the act and get him some professional help. He decided 
to play along. 


"Okay," Jack said, "I'm in. Sure. Let's go do this... thing." 


"Great!" his boss said excitedly, standing up, "This is great! You will 
be PERFECT! So observant!" 


"Yeah. That's me." Jack said dully. 


"Okay, okay. Listen. Here's the deal. If you back out... if you tell 
anyone about this again... well... you're going to forget it ever 
happened. I'm part of a very powerful group, and we have ways of 
making people... errrr... forget things." 


"Yeah, that's not creepy at all." 


"Yeah. | know, you still in?" 
"Sure, what the hell." 


"Okay, so we're a part of Directorate K. Consider yourself a member 
starting right now." 


"Directorate K?" 
"Yep. The Portuguese Swamp Archaeology Authority." 
"|... don't know what | was expecting." Jack responded. 


"Don't expect any memos or a desk, and don't expect a company 
card... or even a paycheck." 


"So. how do we get paid?" 
"Remember the stock market tips?" 
"Right, of course. Let's get back to the stock tips." 


"No, let's talk about the organization first. I'm not really sure how 
large it is, no one is, but you, where you're at, you won't be talking 
TO anyone else. But you will get messages. Sometimes it will be on 
your computer screen, as anonymous text messages or e-mails 
disguised as spam, or pre-recorded phone calls. But usually 
someone random will just come up and talk to you, and you need to 
listen to them." 


"Absolutely. I'll make sure | listen to anyone who comes up to me 
and starts talking nonsense. I'm getting good at it." 


"Great! That's the idea." 
"Soo000... how did you know | count yellow cars?" 


"One of our members informed me. You might know him, Jack, he's 
the guy who spins the coins." 


Jack stopped and thought for a moment. "Wait, are you talking 
about the bum at the bus stop?” 


"Yeah." 


"You know the bum... at my bus stop? You've been talking to him?!" 
Mr. Howitt was, impossibly, far crazier than he originally thought. 


"Yeah, he's one of ours. He checks for large scale probability-shift 
anomalies. He's great at it." 


"Holy fuuuuuuuuck." Jack said, shaking his head. "ALRIGHT. So. 
How does the stock market thing work?" 


"Okay, well remember | said that the day before, twenty-three 
Japanese businessmen flew into town?" 


"How could | forget?" 
"And your bus was late that day." 
"Which you knew from talking to the bum who spins quarters..." 


"No, | know that because over the past few weeks we've had teams 
crossing city crosswalks back and forth, going nowhere.” Mr. Howitt 
started talking with his hands, motioning people walking in circles. 
"This has had the effect of making all of the buses in the city late by 
an average of six minutes. 11% more bus riders, therefore, are now 
taking their cars. Combined with the added traffic, this has caused a 
rise in smog! You'll notice there was a smog advisory last week." 


"| don't usually pay attention to that..." 


"Well there was. And lots of smog equals a red sunrise. And the 
Japanese see red sunrises as a sign of good fortune." 


"So... you made the Japanese feel lucky... and that's why they 
bought the stock." 


"Invested in the company, yes. Sort of. We've also had teams going 
around the city, polishing all the yellow street signs to be bright and 
reflective and blinding. Yellow only, that's important. And those guys 
in the crosswalk causing traffic jams? They've all been wearing 
yellow ponchos. Oh, we also set all yellow lights to be four-tenths of 
a second shorter. We also have been painting rental cars around 


town a disgusting shade of yellow for weeks." 
"Of course you did." 


"This has caused a subtle but significant reaction in the public. 37% 
of people in the city now have an unconscious dislike for yellow. 
BUT, we've been doing the OPPOSITE in Tokyo! So our visiting 
Japanese, on the other hand, have a strong preference for yellow! 
We've ensured that they are in the perfect state for being happy, 
agreeable, and feeling fortuitous." 


"This was all you?" 


"No, it was the Directorate. Which I'm a part of. Which WE'RE part 
of." 


"And what do we actually do? What does Directorate K do?" 
"You know... | don't actually know." 

"Let me be honest with you, boss." 

"Sure." 

"| don't believe a goddamn word you're saying." 

"Sure." 


"But, what WILL make me believe in what you're saying, is a stock 
tip. You give me a stock tip every day for the next few weeks, and 
then we'll take it slow, and see what happens." 


"Proctor and Gamble." 

"Thanks." 

"Hey Carl," Jack said, dropping a fifty dollar bill into his mug. "How're 
the odds?" 


"50/50." he smiled back. For a bum, Carl sure had a great attitude. 


Yellow Death 


Tonight would be the last night of the siege. Gaius Marius Quartius, 
the Centurion in charge of the fort, had said that for the last three 
nights, but Titus knew that they couldn't hold out any longer. The 
Gauls, cursed Gauls, had been at the walls for two weeks, and the 
simple wooden palisade was scorched and tattered. No, tonight 
would be the end of it. 


Titus and the Centurion were perched in the simple wooden 
watchtower at the north end of the fort, looking out over the sea of 
Gaul tents. They rarely spoke, the bleakness of their situation. Back 
when the siege had started, they would make jokes about the Gauls, 
cursed Gauls. Claim they worshiped black, abominable gods. Tell 
stories of cannibalism and human sacrifice, anything to dehumanize 
the enemy, but that had all stopped four nights before. 


At midnight, or as near as they could tell, when the moon was at its 
apex, the Gaul chief had ridden forth, screaming a horrible, bone- 
chilling scream. The guards on duty had fired arrows at him, but they 
bounced off his flesh. When he got to the palisades, he had climbed 
them like a ladder, leaving a trail of smoldering wood wherever his 
feet touched them, and he went into the Roman tents and he killed a 
dozen men. Exactly a dozen, and he took their heads, and he left, 
not harming a soul except the dozen headless men and anyone who 
tried to stop him. The screaming didn't stop till he was back over the 
wall, back into the camp of the Gauls. Cursed Gauls. 


Gaius hadn't known what to do that first night, but he tried to keep 
his men calm, claimed it was a fluke and trying to keep the camp 
from panicking, but to Titus, he showed a different face. Gaius was 
afraid. He tried to explain, using words that didn't quite work 
together and the vaguest of terms. “There were things in this world 
that are greater than man, and they want us dead, and somebody 
might be able to stop that from happening, but it isn't us. Tonight will 
be the last night of this siege.” he said. 


So the chief came back again, screaming that terrible scream. 
Nobody got in his way this time as he effortlessly got over the fence, 
taking another dozen heads and leaving another twelve dead men. 
And it happened again, and once more. Titus looked out over the 
sleeping army of the Gauls, cursed Gauls, and he looked up at the 
moon, which was just about full, and he knew the blackest and most 
terrible fear. 


The worst thing about it wasn't the screaming, or the fire, or the 
blood red rage that soaked his eyes. It was his sword. You see, it 
wasn't the chief screaming at all. His mouth was stitched shut with 
brambles. No, it was his sword screaming. A blade made of flesh 
and bone, with a dozen horrible mouths that screamed to one awful, 
dissonant chorus. The cuts it made wouldn't heal, and bled 
unnaturally for days. So much as a scratch... 


That scream went up, and Titus ducked down, trying not to be seen, 
trying not to cry, but it was different this time. There were more 
horses than just the one. Fearing the worst, Titus stood, and saw 
them. A dozen men, Romans, riding black horses were racing 
towards the chieftain. Each man wore a white tunic with the head of 
the Gorgon Medusa in dark red, and they carried swords and 
spears. Two at the back carried an ornate wooden box between 
their two horses, inscribed with golden text.