So this guy in the pool, Lewis Robinson (SCP-2557-1 in the report), 
was a pastor at this church in South Alabama. He made a mistake 
one day and accidentally drowned a kid in the pool. Whatever else 
happened, we know this for certain, that night the pool brought the 
kid back to life. 


They called it a miracle. He woke up in the morgue and that was 
supposed to be it. The pastor though, they found him in the pool the 
next morning. Just standing there and staring. Someone Something 


in that church decided to take the term "born again” literally. It uses 
the pastor to kill and resurrect anyone else who gets into the pool. 
And just like the report says, it doesn't work on dead bodies (that 
would just be too convenient right?). 


For a while the Foundation provided it with new D-Class to keep it 
busy and to test the effect. But eventually we ran out of things to 
test, and we still hadn't figured out how to neutralize it. So we tried a 
new test, we gave it no one. We waited. 


Turns out the thing was fine with that too. Every day at 12:45 PM 
Lewis Robinson gets control of his body back. Just enough control 
to cry out for help before something pulls him under. He drowns. He 
comes back every night, and just stands there staring again. This 
has happened once a day for the last 3 and a half years. 


Great right? A simple solution, we don't have to expose any more 
people to the anomaly, and it contains itself. This is perfect for us, 
right? 


| had to observe several of these incidents among the other shit 
stashed at Site-88. So when | got the email yesterday congratulating 
me on being made a permanent liaison to Site-88, | wanted to put 
my fist through the computer screen. Fuck you. No thank you. 


In fact, let me be clear here: | don't want to work for you anymore. 
I'm done with you, I'm done with the Committee, and I'm done with 
the Foundation. 


Go fuck yourself. 
| quit. 
Dr. Melissa White, Ethics Committee Liaison. 


Dr. Jacobs' psychological evaluation determined no 
apparent issues which would contribute to the creation of 
these letters, and he has been returned to service. 


However, the complete absence of Dr. Melissa White 
from our personnel database triggered an investigation 
of previously unknown secondary effects relating to 


objects currently under containment at Site-88 (where 
Dr. Jacobs serves as permanent liaison). 


It has been determined through extensive follow up 
testing that a secondary effect related to SCP-2557 
occurs in the absence of provided victims and results in 
minor reality shifts. 


This secondary effect was neutralized by the provision of 
a single D-Class personnel for repeated use during 2557 
events. Except to prevent this D-Class from escaping the 
containment chamber, no further interaction with 2557 is 
necessary. 


Continued monitoring of reality levels at Site-88 is 
considered mandatory. Any serious deviation from 
baseline levels (less than .8 humes) is to be reported 
immediately to the Site Director. 


Given the significant period of time 2557 was without 
victims, and the the current total of cataloged reality 
shifts being far below the number of expected incidents, 
this investigation is ongoing. 


« Rammer Jammer Yellow Hammer Hub | Sex, Success, and 
Targeted Advertising » 


proved to be a battlefield level ambush for Epsilon. Fire has only a 
minimal effect on SCP-968. While it doesn't actually destroy it, 
enough heat causes it to recoil and release whatever it has held fast 
to. Members of Epsilon-9 were at first reluctant at using their flame 
accelerators on team members that had been ensnared by 
SCP-968. 


« SCP-967 | SCP-968 | SCP-969 » 


The One Who Devours Souls 


The One Who Devours Souls arrives in the bleak, gray hours of the 
morning, when all good men lie afearing their beds. He (for it is a he, 
though the strange raiments it wears, and the viscous fluids in its 
hair make its sex vague) steps from his carriage, a cursed device 
made for kings in distant lands and bought by the persecution of 
righteous men, and walks, measured and even as old age, to the 
threshold, where he strikes the door but thrice. He calls my name, 
and chills run down my spine, as though death itself were upon me. 
Death would, in fact, be a blessing, compared to the torment this 
creature intends for me. 


| shake my head, but he strikes three times again, and says my 
name. | quail in my chair, staring bleakly at the place she once sat 
beside me, before the doom befell me. Three times again, and paid 
for all. Thrice three, and | am compelled to rise, to unbolt the door, 
and let the creature in. 


He takes my hand in his, his grip like a leech's. My hand falls back 
to my side, my strength gone. | fall back to my seat, and he takes 
the other. The place where she once sat. Does he know? He must. 
He knows all that is in my house, from attic to basement, room to 
room. There is little that could have escaped his notice. His lists. 


He speaks and his voice is like unto the droning of insects, and | can 
feel a burning madness in my mind. How could his voice have 
beguiled others so? And yet it had, for what other explanation could 
there be? How else could my situation, once so full of fortune, have 
turned to Jobian loss and regret? The words, it was his words! 
Nothing left his mouth that was not carefully selected, the words 
placed one after the other like the stones of a wall, seeming so 
innocuous until you noticed the traps he had lain, and then it was too 
late. 


He lifts the container at his side, and places it reverently on the 
table, like an idol placed just so before a sacrifice is laid screaming 


on the altar. The latches are opened with an ominous click, and from 
the darkness thus revealed, he pulls out several documents, their 
words arcane and their meanings as treacherous as a pit of vipers. 


"Read," he commands. | try, Knowing how much is at stake, knowing 
that one missed word will ruin me, even beyond the state | find 
myself in, but my mind can make no sense of the twisted sentences. 
| read, and re-read, and can no more tell you what | see than | can 
recall the vows | once made to her. Finally, | give up. My eyes 
hollow, | stare up at him, searching for some trace of humanity in 
that dead visage, some remnant of charity or pity. He returns my 
gaze, and | look away, unable to meet those cold, reptilian eyes. 


"Sign here," he says, gesturing to a line. | find a pen in my hand, 
though | cannot recall having picked it up. Numbly, as though | were 
only watching it happen, as though | were not an active participant, | 
sign my name in an unsteady script. More lines are singled out for 
my name, my one true name, and so | give him power over me. 


"Thank you, Mister Johnson," he says, picking up the briefcase. 
"Your ex-wife will be expecting the first alimony check no later than 
thirty days. Good day." 


The Only Way To Travel 


"So...you want coffee or anything? | think | have some left on the 
nightstand." 


"No, thank you." 
"Okay." 


"Mr. Brown, while | appreciate the pleasantries, | am here on 
investigation, namely the events surrounding Captain Anderson’s 
death and you coming into command of the Foundation's lone 
combat zeppelin.” 


“Well...um...” 


“Please, Mr. Brown, wait until | have begun recording. Mmm-hmm. 
Case File 20121 108-6, regarding the destruction of Station HALO-3, 
overseen by Anjali Mhasalkar. Please state your name and 
identification number for the record.” 


“Uh...Lawrence Brown, 30221-1/994.” 


“Now then, Mr. Brown. Please explain the events leading up to the 
incident.” 


“Okay...uh, | was transferred to HALO-3 on September 1st of this 
year, as part of Project Skylight under Doctor Mandelson. We were 
training SCP-994 specimens for reconnaissance missions.” 


“Did you at any time come into contact with any other objects or 
entities within the station?” 


“No, never. We were all given the standard briefing during transferal, 
all the emergency codes in case of breaches and evacuation 
protocols, but that was it. Just usual stuff.” 


“Go on.” 


“Uh...Not much happened for two months. We weren't having any 
major problems with Project Skylight: no major problems with the 
implants, and 994s are pretty trainable if you start them small. We 
were working on getting them to fly courses more than five 
kilometers out from the station when the incident happened.” 


“Please describe what happened that morning.” 


“Well, the Bonham had docked at around four, | woke up at six, 
usual routine, went down to the 994 hangar at eight-thirty. We was 
doing some adjustments to the GPS implants. They kept messing up 
during flight, had no idea why. Dr. Mandelson and Logan and Ari 
were there with me.” 


“Had you had any contact with the SCPU Bonhan,, its crew, or its 
cargo before the incident?” 


“No, | just knew that they were docked at the station and were going 
to head out the next day.” 


“Station security records transmitted before destruction indicate that 
there was a containment breach of the high-security experimentation 
chamber at ten-seventeen, releasing E-7804 into the surrounding 
modules. Please describe what you experienced.” 


“There was an explosion, | think. Just this big thud, but from where | 
was you could barely hear it. Then the sirens started going off and 
the flock just scatters out of the hangar. We locked down the hangar 
and the lab, and we were waiting in there for...maybe twenty 
minutes. Nothing over the speakers but the general lockdown 
announcement. We had no idea what was going on.” 


“Did anything unusual occur to you during lockdown?” 


“No, nothing. Lockdown ended after about twenty minutes or so, so 
Dr. Mandelson contacted control to see what was going on. No one 
answered. Mandelson sent out a distress signal and we all made our 
way to one of the escape shuttles, just like protocol.” 


“Continue.” 


“So we had no idea what was going on, it wasn’t anything that we’d 


been briefed on, so we presumed that it was something the Bonham 
had brought it to us.” 


“You are correct.” 


“The shuttle was right next to the hangar, so we get over to it quick, 
but it wouldn’t launch. Dr. Mandelson said someone must have 
messed it up from command, and then he said that we should 
investigate, see if we could find security or command or someone 
who knew what was going on. 


“| was at the back of the group, they were at the front, so | was able 
to see the whole thing when we got jumped by the creature and... 
and..." 


“Would you like me to pause the recording?” 
“Yeah...yeah. Just give me a bit.” 

“Very well.” 

“Can you describe the creature?” 


“Well... it was humanoid. Didn’t change too much of the host. It was 
more of an outer covering, like someone had taken clay and molded 
it around the person. Grey with red circuit-board-looking designs.” 


“And then what did you do?” 
“| hit it with a fire extinguisher and ran away while it was down.” 
“What did you plan on doing?” 


“If command was quiet and the shuttles weren’t launching, then the 
only real way to get off was the Bonham, | thought, so | went that 
way. | could hear some fighting from some of the other levels: 
stayed as far away from that as | could. Took the maintenance 
shafts.” 


“Did you consider that a threat?” 


“At that point, | figured | was either going to die, or | wasn’t. Fifty-fifty 
chance, so it didn’t matter what | tried. | wasn’t thinking too clearly at 
that point. Just running off of adrenaline and fear.” 


“Did you encounter any more of the creatures?” 


“Three of them, but they didn’t notice me. They don’t see or hear 
normally | don’t think. Move slowly and quietly enough and they 
can’t tell that you’re there.” 


“What happened when you reached the docking bay?” 


“The Bonham was still there, but none of the crew. Not a soul in the 
bay. | thought that they were all on the ship, but if that was the case, 
why hadn’t they taken off? So | walked towards the ship, hands in 
the air, and as | approach the ramp lowers and a whole strike team 
just runs out and stands there. It’s like I’m not even there. They just 
stand there in two neat rows, and | guess Captain Anderson walks 
out, except...he’s got like this war paint on and everything. Tore up 
his uniform, looks like he jumped off the deep end from orbit, big grin 
on his face. He actually notices me. Walks down the ramp, and he’s 
got his arms out like this, all smug and everything. Like he’s the 
villain in some pirate movie. Even had an eye patch.” 


“What did he say to you?” 


“He didn't really say anything, before he walked over and 
headbutted me. Then he said ‘how’s it going, motherfucker’?” 


“And this lead to your injuries, | presume?” 


“Yeah, he just beat the tar out of me for a bit, said something, not 
sure what, and then had one of the strike team guys carry me back 
into the ship. It must have been some powerful conditioning to 
override the standard set: Those guys were zombies.” 


“Continue.” 


“| was half-conscious at this point, so | really don’t have that good of 
an idea what was going on, but | know | was able to see out the 
window enough to see that the station was covered in the clay-like 
stuff, big gobs of it. Like it had been maybe an hour, hour and a half 


since the breach? I'll be damned if that’s not Keter.” 
“And you would be right.” 


“| think Anderson says something about missing the fun and work to 
do, and after that, nothing until | woke up here in medical.” 


“No memories at all?” 


“Bits and pieces, but they’re all blurred...except for the bit at the 
end, when the recovery team got there, | remember waving 
something around and shouting 'l am the captain, and this is my 
crew, and this is the SCPU Fuck You'.” 


“You would be correct.” 
“And that’s it.” 


“Very well. Mr. Brown, have you been informed of what went on 
during your blackout? 


“Not really — bits and pieces.” 


“You killed thirteen Chaos Insurgency agents with a shotgun and 
rammed the Bonham into the station’s anti-gravity ring, triggering its 
self-destruct sequence. All told, this incident resulted in the complete 
destruction of one of our HALO facilities, the death of one hundred 
and eighty-six personnel, the destruction of twenty-two anomalous 
objects, the loss of experimental technology valued in the range of 
ten billion dollars, damaged relations with three of our major extra- 
universal suppliers, and one of the largest cover-up efforts of the last 
decade. However, you also prevented an attempt to disperse 
E-7804 into the Pacific Ocean, which would have required a global 
restructuring event to contain.” 


“Oh...wow..." 
“Consider this a commendation for inadvertent heroism.” 
“| have a question, though.” 


“Go on.” 


“Why exactly do we have a combat zeppelin?” 


“That’s classified, Mr. Brown.” 


The Orb is the Key 


Excerpts from the personal diary of Nikola Tesla, March 18th, 1901, 
regarding SCP-627, obtained from his apartment on January 7th, 
1943 by SCP Agent [EXPUNGED] 


Warden bought me the land. The deal is in its final stages and 
construction will begin sometime in the winter. The proposed 
laboratory has ample room, and a direct access to the rail line. 

The man thinks I'm going to boom the local economy and that a city 
will spring up because of my work. He doesn't know why I'm really 
here and what I'm set to accomplish. 


Free energy. Producing enough electricity that we will no longer 
need wires. Isolated nations could be brought to the modern age 
through the work of one simple machine.