She made me look all over one cell. Inside, there was a 
guy who could start fires with his hands; arrested over 15 
times for petty arson. The main room was hexagonal and 
domed with a camera sealed off by glass at the very top. 
Mats— Brenda said they were fireproof— littered the 
floor, along with a chair, TV, and DVD player. We went 
up a level— inside the cell, a ladder went up to a small 
bedroom, separated by a screen door. 


“Really?” | asked. 
“Go with it,” she said. 


There was a bed, mirror, and chest of drawers. There 
were no windows or direct screens— we were looking in 
through computer screens, which she said were hidden 
in the ceiling panels. There was a tiny bathroom on the 
first floor, separated by a screen. 


Brenda turned to me, beaming. “Get it?” 
“Not really.” 


“Okay. Let me elaborate.” She turned off the screen and 
looked at me. “He can close the bedroom door on us if 
he wants. We won't go in unless he breaks the cameras. 
We have permission to delay experimentation for up to 
24 hours if he doesn’t come out.” 


“You're kidding me.” 


She sighed. “We had to fight Ethics on it all the way— 
but, honestly, he’ll never force us. We had a psychologist 
go through his history, medical, psychological, and 


criminal records, found a recurring desire to be 
recognized as an adult. So we gave him responsibility. If 
he burns any of the stuff, we won't replace it for at least a 
month. An architect designed it— no windows in the 
bedroom, no obvious cameras, it’s recessed, gives him a 
sense of privacy. He asked for the TV, but we’ve denied 
most of his requests so far. We haven’t had any 
problems. 


“The compound's easily mass-produced. He’s only Safe, 
but we have very similar plans for Euclids and even 
Keters in the process of approval. See— okay, you’re 
still confused. It’s not hard to design prison cells. The 
problem is, once you do, you have to turn every hallway 
outside the cells into prisons. Every laboratory or facility 
they touch has to be a prison. All of that really drives up 
the bottom line. And everyone they contact has to be a 
guard. Sooner or later, they stop caring, or try to kill 
themselves. 


“With this, containment becomes a cinch— have a guy 
with a gun somewhere, but most of these guys will never 
try anything. The biggest problem with prison cells is that 
if you're dealing with our guys, there’s always the risk 
that they’ll do something you don’t know about and then 
break out. You see what |’m getting at now?” 


“Sort of.” 


“Lots of our subjects say they haven't felt this safe in 
their whole lives. We’ve designed the best prison cell in 
the world— the inmates don’t want to leave.” 


10 


There’s a worm at the heart of the tower, there’s a 
swamp under the city, there’s something in all of this. | 
didn’t know what it was yet. 


What it went like was this: someone on the council took a 
liking to me. | didn’t know that, at first, either, but | felt 


like Pip in London, knowing that some mysterious force 
was pushing me upward, but not the hand behind it. 
Level 4— Brenda hated me— Director of Research 
Analysis— and favorable reports coming in from different 
angles. Little raises, favors, privileges, things they don’t 
do for Level Twos— things that showed that someone 
out there was watching. 


| gave a presentation about some house to Seven and 
her train. She asked intelligent questions. The whole 
thing was a test, of course, but to what end? And Five 
came around once. Appointing new O5s was apparently 
rare to the point of legendary— there was just something 
long-lived about them— but even they need staff. 


But that gave them a lot of time to think, meaning | had 
plenty of time to worry about my mysterious benefactor. 
Five, adjusting his black-and-yellow blackbird tie like it 
was the most important thing on his mind, didn’t say 
much. 


“We could use more like you, at all levels.” He smiled. 
“You've been good with promotions up until now. Why so 
reluctant?” 


“For starters--” It seemed safe to talk, it wasn’t like they 
were going to throw me under a bus just for this— “I still 
have no idea what you guys do.” 


Five just smiled. He didn’t say anything. 


“| mean, I’ve met you and Seven and sort of Three. It 
seems like you’re grooming me or setting me up for 
something— hell— destiny, or whatever, and | have no 
idea what.” 


“Yes.” 
“What?” 


“Well, you're not entirely incorrect. As you know, we 


have a very large charge in the scheme of things— 
running operations, managing what a site or two alone 
can’t, making sure the Foundation is moving in the right 
places and the right directions. We need the right people 
for our designs.” He smiled placidly once more and 
curled his salt-and-pepper mustache idly. 


“Which you still haven't explained.” 


“Of course not. You’d need to be one of us to 
understand.” 


| was a little annoyed. “Are we done here?” 


“Absolutely. We'll keep in touch.” 


It seemed like he actually wanted me to think about it, 
which was both refreshingly polite and terrifying. You 
hear stories— people who some upper-level attaches to 
and pulls up the ranks just to play with, kids dealing with 
things they aren’t prepared for at all, the suicides and 
renegades and demotion-without-honors. Everyone 
thinks they can handle everything. Well, | was curious, 
but not that curious. Whatever could do that to a person 
— | didn’t want to know that. | didn’t want to know who 
could. 


“You should be scared,” said Brenda, over the phone. 
“How scared?” 


“| heard they found out some staff member that was a 
traitor— feeding information to the Chaos Insurgency— 
and they didn’t tell anyone or do the normal thing. They 
just sent an email to the directors, and then one of them 
walked into the cafeteria and shot him.” 


“What do | do?” 


“Honestly... if you ignore them, they’ll probably keep 


hounding you. Maybe you should do it, but... you have to 
promise me you'll be so careful.” 


“Right. If you hear about my body being found in a ditch 
or | drop off the face of the earth in a few days, tell my 
parents | loved them.” 


Somehow, Brenda didn’t think that was very funny. 
11 


Six months later, a paper showed up on my desk. It said, 
“Will you come?” There was a little sketch of a flock of 
five blackbirds with it, which just seemed obvious. 


When the black helicopter landed and | finally went, they 
were waiting for me. | was taken to some obscure bunker 
in... BC, of all places, and they were waiting for me ata 
table. Thirteen. 


“We're glad you're here,” said Five. He looked at the 
officer next to him, a fat dark woman in green. “Seems 
like your work actually paid off, Seven.” 


Oh, Seven. Of course. | should have guessed. 


“It took time, though. You’ve got spirit.” She smiled. 
“Ready to join the dark side?” 


| didn’t say anything. 
“Speak up, kid,” an old woman said. 


“| guess so,” | started. “But you guys freak me the hell 
out.” There was appreciative laughter all around. 


“Have you figured it out yet?” Seven asked. “You spent 
so much time digging. Well, there’s no secret riddle at 
the heart of everything, that you'll find out about. Just a 
couple of our private charges with no bearing on the rest 
of the world, and then... there’s only us. What do you 
think?” 


The briefcase, the first time | saw it, was on a table ina 
locked room. It was natty crocodile skin and shiny, like it 
wasn't opened that often, and had some metal fixtures | 
couldn’t make out. We were looking through a window. 


“If you read that there, that would explain everything,” 
Seven told me. “But that would be too easy, so you don’t 
get to. That’s that. Over here’s your quarters for the next 
few weeks.” 


| had the notion, as we passed by it, that the window we 
looked through was plate glass, and that the room the 
briefcase was in looked exactly like a containment cell. 


Then again, so did every room here. 


So, this little building was the big Secret Edifice? This 
was the point of everything? Everything | was looking for 
had been right here? | wondered who founded the 
Foundation and what they had been thinking. | even 
asked Seven about 001. 


“You're not very quick, are you? Well, stay with us in our 
little fortress for a while longer, you'll work it out in the 
end.” 


12 


But the Foundation— | knew this by now— wasn’t a 
fortress, it was a fly trap. It was huge and exotic and 
invisible and rotten to the core. All those other mysteries 
were just petals— distractions. Once you’re at the center 
of it, it’s plain as daylight. 


Think about it— they don’t seem to get older. They don’t 
get hurt. They can walk through a fire or a warzone, no 
problemo, which also makes them the luckiest bastards 
on the planet— and isn’t that the most dangerous thing 


you've ever heard? God, I’d love to meet the genius who 
came up with this containment unit. SCP-001 locked 
away and never getting out. Brenda wouldn't stand a 
chance. 


Seven lied to me through her teeth all evening— here’s 
maybe the most powerful woman in the world, and she’s 
wearing a mint green pantsuit, and she’s lying at me 
through her teeth. 

She said that this was the most necessary position in the 
world, that she’d understand my reluctance now but 
expected me to shape into it— mistaking my silence for 
confusion— that I’d work out what they were designing 
the Foundation towards. She said it wasn’t complete. 


But the woman was a liar. Maybe if you saw it as a 
riddle, it made more sense— 


Why does the Foundation contain? 

As a distraction. 

What is the purpose of the Foundation? 
To contain the O5 council. 

And that was the best flytrap ever made. 


But it was unfair. The Foundation literally held countries 
for ransom. We had a workforce that rivaled the largest 
companies in existence. A democratic government might 
be able to do a better job than us. It was unfair that we 
were putting every citizen in the world at risk without 
even telling them what the danger was. And as for them, 
the high court with the magic army— well, | had a plan. | 
was going to run so far into the light with their secrets 
that they’d have to chase me there to get them back. | 
knew enough to outrun the coverup crews and hide from 
the snipers, and if they came for me themselves— 
maybe they’d just fry like vampires in the sun. 


| didn’t do it that night, but two weeks later, | didn’t go to 
sleep. Seven had taught me security codes, and the first 
one | tried opened the door to that room. 


The other trick they have for making sure that people 
don't do what I’m doing, is security— when someone 
reaches four or three, the paycheck skyrockets, and the 
security disappears— suddenly it’s all, don’t go, you’re 
doing us a service, we need you, we owe it to you. 


In this context, though, the only thing it meant was that 
the door on my way out wasn’t locked. 


13 


The briefcase is heavy and cold in my hand, shaking as | 
run for it. I’m tired already, but it’s all | have, and my feet 
are pulling on in some direction as by invisible, perpetual 
volition. 


The first shapes of skyscrapers are beginning to glow on 
the horizon. | can see them clearly. Yes, | can see them 
clearly. 


SCP-959: The Bogeyman 


Item #: SCP-959 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-959 is to be sequestered 
inan6mx8mroom at Site- with adequate furnishings and 
reading material for comfort within SCP guidelines. Only personnel 
who have passed psychological screening may interact with 
SCP-959. All personnel entering the room must obtain a copy of the 
photograph in the file tray next to the door as a reminder that what 
they are observing is, in fact, the phenomenon SCP-959 exhibits. 
This photo is to be placed back into the tray upon exiting. 


Any overtly aberrant behavior exhibited by personnel beyond mild 
revulsion must be recorded and said personnel transferred to other 
duties after further screening sees them fit to do so. SCP-959 is not 
to be given any food outside of diet prescribed by Physician due 
to recent diagnosis (see Addendum 959-a). Subject is not allowed 
outside of his room without an armed guard present at all times for 
protection and only during exercise regimen (see Addendum 959-a). 


SCP-959 is allowed standard personal grooming equipment and 
access to a razor and mustache wax to maintain his appearance so 
long as no signs of tendencies towards self-mutilation are shown. 


Under no circumstances is SCP-959 allowed to interact with other 
sentient SCPs unless for the purposes of testing and only by the 
express written approval of Dr. . Under no circumstances are 
any personnel who were previously assigned to SCP-231-7 to be 
assigned to SCP-959 due to [DATA EXPUNGED] more information 
see video attachment to Incident Report - . 


Description: Subject's ability initially activated on ,20 , at 
Airport during the boarding of flight to , (see 
Incident Report - ). The manifestation in question only occurs 


Tales of the Ethics Committee: The Foundation Eats 
Babies 


Elliott: We are recording. | have not been provided an SCP 
numeric classification as of yet, so we will be referring to the 
subject matter in question as the Sowing Circle, which is the 
English translation of the local account. This is thus the formal 
ethics committee for the Sowing Circle, on its proposed use 
and ramifications. | am head of committee Danielle Elliott. 
Going clockwise around the table, could you introduce 
yourselves for the recording, please. 


Tennyson: Former researcher Luke Tennyson. 
Borges: Former researcher Julio Borges. 
Sinclair: Former researcher Skye Sinclair. 


Strauss: Active agent Chuck Strauss, and it’s a pleasure to 
be here. 


Elliott: You have read the dossier on the Sowing Circle? 
Strauss: Yes, Ma’am, | did. 


Elliott: Then you will understand my hesitation at this being a 
pleasure for you. 


Strauss: Ma’am, with all due respect. | was previously 
assigned to task forces responsible for abducting newborns 
from maternity wards in Eastern Europe. 


Elliott: | see. Which is why you’re on this committee? 


Strauss: | have a bit of a personal stake in anything that 
means | don’t have to hold a clipboard and look a young 
mother in the eye and lie about why her kid died, because the 


Stag needed feeding again. 


Elliott: | thank you for your services, Agent Strauss. While | 
ask you keep personal feelings out of this, your experience 
with current procedure might do well to contrast with the 
alternatives we are forced to propose here today. 


Strauss: Stay objective, stay professional. Wouldn’t be here if 
| couldn't. 


Borges: | thought we had moles in major hospitals for that? 


Strauss: When it comes to babies? Too risky to ask. There’s 
the trust we have in their loyalty, and then there’s trusting 
them to be complicit in stealing kids. We can’t put that on 
them. 


Sinclair: Instead of spreading the psychological distress on a 
lot of individuals, we put all of it on the shoulders of a very 
few? 


Strauss: Welcome to SCP ethics. We’re a bit beyond trolley 
problems here. 


Borges: Needs must. 


Tennyson: I’m sorry, | thought this meeting was just going to 
be a formality. That we’d shut this down as soon as it was 
proposed, lock this thing away in a concrete bunker and never 
speak of it again. We’re seriously considering using this? 


Borges: | thought it was open-and-shut that we'd be utilizing 
it. | thought we’d be discussing best-use. 


Sinclair: There are enough Keter-class threats that need to 
be fed babies. The innocent, the blood of the pure hearted, 
the terminology is different, but the meaning is the same; 
human infants. Nobody here is saying this isn’t... personally, 
no matter what comes out of today, I’m going to be having 
nightmares over this. But if we decide this is more humane 
than random abductions...