If our ship were to land, and Protocol 
2002-Thanos be enacted, we would 
anchor not just the protected sites, 
but all of reality. The feedback from 
our temporal engines will ripple 
across spacetime, and then there will 
be but us. We will have secured the 
future, but in doing so, obliterate all 
others. Existence will be anchored to 
a single point. Even with our great 
strides in technological development 
and improved understanding of the 
nature of the universe, | can not 
begin to fathom the devastation that 
would ensue. | can not allow that to 
happen. 


My future is doomed, but yours does 
not have to be. | have enclosed as 
much data as | can about our drive; 
it's up to you to do the rest. Do not 
allow your Foundation to make the 
same mistakes as mine. 


We weren't a religious family in my 
time; | do not know if you had faith in 
yours. But pray, Mitzy; pray that one 
end is enough for a new beginning. 


Interdepartmental investigations proved conclusively that 
Anachronistic Communications Document C9-4295 did 
not reach the intended recipient, resulting in a terminated 
temporal loop. Incidents surrounding SCP-2002 pose no 
causal threat to Iteration Alpha-001'.3 Document 
reclassified as Artifact 2002/D-42. Investigation deemed 
closed, pending potential discovery from Armed Site-47. 


By order of O5-10, Temporal Engineering will continue 


SCP-957: Baiting 


Item #: SCP-957 
Object Class: Keter 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-957 is to be monitored via 
remote video surveillance set up within the location where it 
currently resides. Personnel are allowed to approach and interview 
the entity when given clearance by four (4) Level-3 or higher 
employees. 


One (1) D-Class subject is to inhabit the closest residence to 
SCP-957’s location as possible in order to minimize civilian 
exposure to the entity. SCP-957’s house is to be monitored for signs 
of SCP-957-1 exhibiting unusual behavior, namely feigning 
helplessness due to blindness. If this is observed, a D-Class subject 
is to be sent to escort SCP-957-1 back into its house. 


Description: SCP-957 is a humanoid entity currently residing within 
a house in , Kentucky. This organism measures approximately 
2m in height and 75kg in weight and appears to be devoid of internal 
organs, as observed via a large opening on its ventral torso. 
Furthermore, it does not appear to require sleep or nourishment. 
Interaction with personnel has shown that the entity is capable of 
speech and is fluent in English, but prefers to talk in a currently 
unknown language. It is not openly hostile towards Foundation 
personnel, yet often refuses to cooperate with interviews and 
testing. Attempts to restrain SCP-957 for these purposes have 
proven ineffective due to the entity's disproportionate level of 
strength. 


SCP-957 will always reside in a house inhabited by a single human, 
hereby designated SCP-957-1. When the instance of SCP-957-1 
that SCP-957 is living with dies, the entity will demanifest from the 
location and reappear in the nearest location that fits the above 
mentioned requirements. Upon doing this, it will seek out the 


research on Project Scranton, and no further actions are 
needed at this time. 


Note: As we say in the department, "Action Begets 
Change." If you are one to believe in fortune, count 
yourself lucky that “Mitzy” acted irrespective of the 
attempted communication. Let this serve as a reminder 
of the necessity of interdepartmental oversight divisions. 


-Agent M. Daniels, Causative Analytics Department 


Footnotes 

1. See Document TC-C.4295/Alpha/ACR.67823 
2. Achildhood nickname of former researcher 
3. Foundation Operational Reality 


The Escape From Site-132 


The following tale is based on SCP-2150. Reading the article is 
not required, but if you wish to do so, the link is here 


"Hey, did you hear about what happened to the guy at the far end of 
our block?" 


"No." 


It's about 3 weeks into my focus group. A few more months and I'll 
be out of here a free man. My experience at the site is decent so far. 
Some of people | have to deal with are a pain, but hey, free money. 


The surrounding cafeteria would be dead, if it isn't for my roommate, 
Doug. Everyone around us is either whispering or idly picking their 
food. Guards are sprinkled around the perimeter. | try to chow on my 
slop and meatloaf as loudly as possible to drown out yet another 
conspiracy theory. It's mostly an uneventful day, until Doug says 
something. 


"Mark, you never listen to me." 
"Jon." 


"See, this is what I'm talking about. And for the longest time, your 
name has been Mark, not Jon." 


"You sure about that?" 

"| may get things wrong, but people's names is not one of them." 
"Whatever." | mumble between bites. 

"Anyways," | say, "what did they have you do yesterday?" 


"Not much. They're interviewing some of the participants for a 
specific study." 


"Yeah, that's a bit odd. You'd figure they would clump us into these 
studies when we got here. | don't understand why we have to jump 
through so many hoops." 


"Maybe because we're —" 
"Don't." 


"Right. From what the researcher told me, they're testing the effects 
of a new drug and the lucky winners get transferred to another site." 


"Did they say where?" 
"Somewhere in Idaho. And what about you?" 


"Same stuff as before. Scrolling through a website to see how it 
affects me." 


"You never told me what you look at." 

"There's a reason why. A lot of that shit's gruesome." 

"And they're having you look at this for ..." 

"Apparently to see if my psyche changes. So far I'm okay." 
"| hope so, Mark." 

"Jon." 

"No, I'm certain it's—" 


A nasally voice projects itself through the loudspeaker in the 
cafeteria. 


"Attention participants D-93731 through D-93750. Please report to 
room DR 502. You will be screened to determine if you are eligible 
for a study located in another facility. Please report now." 


"Shit. That's the same thing you went through yesterday." 


"Yeah. They just ask you some questions. No big deal." 


"Sounds pretty light. Well, see ya." 
"Bye, Mark." 


What is up with Doug calling me Mark today? Is he trying to pull a 
joke on me? 


It's a horrifying sight to behold. As | sit in the chopper that carries me 
away, Site-132 is engulfed in chaos and flames. There's no 
dangerous monster or temporal rift causing the devastation. It's 
people, pitted against one another. We would laugh too, if it isn't for 
the Security Guards and pilot accompanying us. 


"Where are we going now?" | yell over the roaring blades. 


"We're going to a provisional site located not too far from here." 
answered one of the guards. 


Hours ago, Doug and | planned the ultimate escape: 


"Excuse me, Mr. Mark ." | said to the unsuspecting 
researcher. 


He looked at both of us with befuddlement, before musing: 
"Ah, hello. What's up, Mark?" 


"Nothing much. Listen, Mark and | are in a bit of a bind here. You 
see, we lost the keys to that big metal door over there and we kinda 
need to get through so we can work on the very, very important 
project. You know the one." 


It felt strange calling Doug "Mark", but whatever it takes, right? 


"Yeah, of course. You can use my key, Mark. But a question. How 
come both of you are in that D-Class garb?" 


Doug and | were stunned momentarily before Doug chimed in and 
said: 


"Laundry. Don't ask." 


The researcher peered at us, then the attire, then back at us. All of 
us stood in silence while the researcher's smile slowly inched on his 
face. 


"| can remember when | had to wear gray. Laundry sure is a bore." 


We knew this would happen because we experimented with the 
meme on an unsuspecting D-Class before. It was a normal day at 
the cafeteria. | approached a cute young blonde and told her my 
name, The anomalous one, that is. And within seconds her eyes lit 
up. And after that encounter, a few things happened: 


1) A girl was convinced she had a man's name 
2) She suddenly had the same memories as | had 
3) And | had the same memories as her 


As you can imagine, Doug and | were ecstatic. This "meme", as the 
higher ups like to call it, is potent. We can use the memories of an 
unspectacular victim, replace some of them with our own, and wipe 
away the rest. | could go into further detail as to how we do this, but 
that'll take forever. 


After we became personnel, | worked on moving myself up to their 
highest chain, the Site Director. | forged a document under the Site 
Director's name, but replaced it with my own. From there, the 
Director would be convinced that | am actually the Site Director and | 
can use my newfound power to resign Doug and I. 


When we used the meme to plan our escape, however, something 
unexpected happened: 


"Okay, so we can agree on the fact that this Mark, being I, is indeed 
the Site Director." | said to the actual Site Director. 


"Yeah, no." scowled the Director. "You're not taking the position that 
easily, Mark. You and | both know you're using our name so you can 
escape this site." 


"No, you're wrong. Remember that we both share the memory that | 
am the Site Director, and that you are not. | have D— err, Mark over 
here who can attest to that." 


"And | have the rest of the Site who can attest to me being in 
charge." 


The Director pressed a button located under his desk. Two guards 
stepped into the office shortly after. 


"Gentlemen, | want you to expose this man. Expose the fraud that is 
Mark . Let everyone know how much of scoundrel he is and 
that | will always be the one in charge, not him." 


If | attempt the same thing at this provisional site, it will be no use; I'll 
be moved again. This makes me believe that there is a title beyond 
Site Director. There has to be a higher chain of command that | can 
use. One, so | can learn more about the suspicions Doug and | have 
about what this organization is about. And two, so | can finally be 
free. 


One thing is bothering me, though. 
"Where is Doug?" | say quietly. 


The pilot turns his head to face me. 


"D-93731, please report to the screening room." 


"Well, that's me." | whisper to myself. | walk into the bright, industrial 
white room. Seated at one of the ends is a bright, cheery woman in 
a white labcoat. 


"Please, take a seat." 

| sit on the chair. 

"Hi. You must be D-93731. Pleased to meet you." 
"Same to you." 


The woman pulls out a clipboard and glances at it before returning 
to me. 


"Now, according to the records | have here ..." 


She glares back at the clipboard, for just a moment too long. Almost 
as if she just discovered the answer to life. She smiles. 


"Ah. Your name must be Mark —" 
Are you kidding me? 
"Jon. Jonathan Bicks." 


"Not according to the file | have here. It's funny too, because | have 
the same name." 


"Not at all. Your name tag clearly says 'Maria Gomez'." 
The woman glances at her name tag in confusion. 
"Oh, that. That must be a mistake. My name is—" 


A group of burly guards burst into the room. The researcher and | 
are immediately separated from one another. What the hell is going 
on? And why did she call me the same name my roommate called 
me? 


Moments later, | was thrown into another room. It was made like a 
doctor's office. It had a bench, and a bunch of cabinets with what | 
assume are drugs. In the room is another woman in a lab-coat and 
one of the guards. 


"What's the issue?" asked the doctor. 


"Amnestic treatment. Several personnel were exposed to a 
dangerous meme, including one of our researchers and several of 
the guards." replies the guard. 


"Which anomaly?" 


The guard whispers into the doctor's ear. Her eyes grow wide with 
terror. 


"Everyone present will have to undergo amnestic treatment." 


"Understood." 


The guard walks out of the room. "Hey, what the hell is going on?" | 
exclaim. 


The doctor doesn't reply. She reaches for the cabinet to grab 
several items. 


"I'm talking to you. Answer me!" 
She pulls out a vial, a needle, and puts on ear plugs. 
"You're gonna fucking ignore me?" 


"You have been infected with a lethal anomaly. | cannot hear you, 
for risk of infection via word of mouth." 


The doctor prepares the needle. And shit, do | hate needles. 


"You'll be subject to amnestic treatment and shock therapy. The 
whole process shouldn't take more than a couple days to take effect. 
You have nothing to worry about. Please, stick out your arm." 


As the lady swabs my arm, my mind begins to race. All of this 
happened so fast. One moment, I'm talking to a researcher. The 
next, I'm getting pricked by a needle. Maybe Doug was on to 
something after all. Maybe this whole Mark thing is part of a 
conspiracy for them to— 


| feel the cold metal dive into my flesh. A moment later, my body 
goes numb. And a moment after that, | black out. 


My hand is shaking as | struggle to finish typing the rest of my 
resignation letter. So much has happened these past weeks and 
months. And so much has been seen that | was likely never meant 
to see. 


| remember the journey | took. How | started as a lowly D-Class, and 
now how I've become the highest chain of command in this 
organization. Would they find out? | hope not. 


After my escape from Site-132, | used my name at the provisional 
site to convince some personnel to spill info on what this 


organization is: 
"Hey Mark, how's it going?" | said. 
"Pretty good, Mark. What's up?" replied the unsuspecting personnel. 


"| need a huge favor from you. Even though we're both the same 
person, for some reason, that retina scanner doesn't recognize me. 
It only recognizes you. | need to access that room so | can have 
access to the files in there. Can you help me out?" 


"Wait, why? Come on Mark, you don't even have the clearance to 
access that room." 


"Of course | do. | have Level 4 Clearance, remember?" 


"Not according to the card | have here." the man said as he patted 
his pants pocket. "I have provisional Level 5 clearance." 


After learning about a higher clearance level, | had to figure out how 
to get it. | immediately emailed Doug, my pal who helped me escape 
from Site-132. He told me the details of members with Level 5 

Clearance, the O5 Council, and how | could join. But he warned me. 


Mark. | know in these weeks we've both been adamant 
about finding the truth. But if you wish to partake in this, | 
need to remind you that this position is no joke. If you do 
join, you will likely never be the same man again. | 
believe that you'll find terrors worse than the old myth | 
told you back at Site-132. Way worse. And even if it's not 
too bad, these people, way way at the top, will know you 
infiltrated them. It's the ultimate risk, Mark, but | trust it's 
a risk worth taking. Best of luck, 


Doug. 
| wish | listened to him. 
| wake up back in my room. The room is a simple space fitted with 


two beds on either side, an enclosed toilet, a sink, and a table. | see 
my roommate, a slightly overweight and balding man staring at me 


intently. 
"Morning. See you've had a good rest." 


| can still feel the pain on my arm from the needle. And unlike last 
time, my mind is drawing blanks. 


"I'm surprised they let you back in this cell with me. Mind telling me 
what happened?" 


A cell? Here he goes again. | have a hard time trying to form an 
answer. 


"It seems like | was taken away. | did the thing you did. And then 
suddenly I'm detained and a doctor injects my arm. And now I'm 
here." 


"Hmm. | figured something like that happened. | saw them let the 
other guys go early." 


"And the doctor who injected me said | was infected with something. 
It's supposed to be lethal." 


"Do you remember any other details?" 


"Yeah. | do remember one thing. And it was bugging me the whole 
time." 


Doug leans in.