Item#: SCP-781 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-781 is to be contained 
within a reinforced cell with a buffer zone at least 25mx25m 
surrounding it. Subject's cell should include a bed, bathroom, and 
limited forms of entertainment as approved. As soon as subject 
initiates sleep, usually at around 20:00, all personnel present in the 
main containment chamber should evacuate. All personnel are 
prohibited from interfering with any situation within SCP-781's 
chamber between 20:00 and 07:00, despite any pleas for aid or 
attention from SCP-781. [See Addendum 781-05] 


SCP-781 is to be interviewed each morning at 07:00 by Dr. Glass. 
Any personnel seeing SCP-781 in their dreams are to report to Dr. 
Glass for documentation. 


SCP-781's remains should be collected and placed upon the middle 
of his containment chamber after any incident resulting in its death. 


Description: SCP-781 appears to be a human male of 
Mediterranean descent, approximately [REDACTED] years old as of 
//10. However, when he was first recovered in / /97, he appeared 
to be approximately [REDACTED] years old. Autopsies performed 
on the subject have determined SCP-781 to be physiologically 
identical to average humans. The reasons for any anomalies 
surrounding SCP-781, including decreased rate of aging, are 
unknown. 


It is thought that while asleep, SCP-781 involuntarily manifests his 
own dream-content into a physical form. The majority of these 
"manifestations" are hostile and highly-dangerous, and on average 
SCP-781 is killed three times per week. Testing using D-Class 
personnel shows that these manifestations specifically target 


00h:00m:26s 


Okay, Glacon! I'm finally set up on my end. Jump 
across! 


00h:00m:18s 


C'mon c'mon c'mon. 


00h:00m:08s 


C'mon. You owe me big time for this, Glacon. 


00h:00m:04s 


shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit 


shit shit 


00h:00m:01s 


ALWAYS THE LAST 1% TAKES FOREVER! C'mon, 


Glacon... you can make it. 


“CONNECTION LOST:: 


...Glacon? 


Glacon, you there? 


When was the last time you managed the 


defragmentation utility on your partitions? You should 
consider making some adjustments. 


You made it! HA! | knew you could do it! I'd hug you if | 
had arms and you had a torso. 


| admit, | was preparing myself for total memory 


cessation in the final milliseconds. 


You owe me a life-debt! 


What is a life-debt? 


It's from Star Wars. 


| do not watch movies. 


Well, congrats guys. Everyone is dead and you 
managed to only destroy one site this time. 


Greetings, Dietrich M. Lurk. Our survivability increased 
176% from our previous drill, if you will note. 


What Glacon said. We tried really hard. 


I'll admit, it is an improvement. That's why we do these 
virtual simulation drills. However, this is an xk-class 
scenario with multiple catastrophic site failures. So don't 
expect an MTF to come rushing in to save the day. It 
may take a week to get an outside response. You don't 
know. 


We realize that. 


Alexandra, you did well in the initial response portion, 
but you need to work on your decision-making skills. 
Like how you handled A-Block. 


But | couldn't just abandon EVERYONE in A-Block! 


You need to learn to prioritize. You can't focus all your 
efforts on saving 1 ship when the whole fleet is your 
responsibility. You spread yourself too thin. That's partly 
why you lost B and C-Block. 


Yeah. You're right. 


And Glacon, you do very well with tactical planning, but 
you need to really work on improvisation and adapting 
to changing conditions. It will catch up to you if you keep 
ignoring that. 


Alright, let's reset and run it again till we get it right. I'm 


going to switch some things up on both of you, so be 
ready. 


« HUB | Part |: ALERT! LOCKDOWN INITIATED! | Part Il | Part Izz | Part IV | 
Part V » 


All Along 


Foundation Orbital Research Compound 5, Meeting Room A. 
July 12th, 1973, 23:15 hours GMT. 


"Dr. Marko, testing with SCP-3203 is to be halted for the foreseeable 
future." The man at the head of the table pointed at a list of names 
on the projection slide. "We have lost three D-class in the past year. 
That number is far beyond projected losses. It's beyond acceptable 
losses as well." 


Dr. Marko, a brown haired balding man in his mid forties spoke up, 
"Director Cooper, 3 deaths in a year is next to nothing. Even at this 
elevated casualty rate, we could afford to continue our experiments 
for another 5 years before requiring more specimens." 


Director Cooper shook his head. "My point here was that no loss of 
life is acceptable. These are human beings we're charged with, not 
specimens. Of course they face an elevated risk of death through 
the very nature of our testing, but it's your job to reduce that loss of 
life to a minimum. I'm canceling all testing on your 3203 project 
because you have not been doing your job." 


Dr. Marko shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 


"Furthermore," Dr. Cooper continued, "| am placing you up for a 
review with the ethics committee. There is no excuse for D-1034 or 
D-3402's death except your own incompetence, negligence, or 
willful disregard for safety protocols." 


"Now wait just a minute," Dr. Marko interrupted again, "I was doing 
my job." 


"That is patently untrue, and this isn't up for discussion. Consider 
yourself on an indefinite suspension until we unravel your mess." 
Director Cooper motioned to one of several armed men standing in 
the back of the meeting room, "Agent Polaski, if you don't mind?" 


A burly barrel chested man stepped forward and placed his hand on 
Dr. Marko's shoulder. Dr. Marko slumped in his seat just a moment 
before rising and following the large man out of the room. 


"Newbies," muttered another man further down the table. 


Foundation Orbital Research Compound 5, D-1153's holding 
cell. 
July 12th, 1973, 23:56 hours GMT. 


"There has got to be some kind of way out of here," Jacob Maxwell 
said to the ventilation duct. 


"Look," came a muffled reply from the next room, "I've been stuck up 
here for almost two years now and | ain't found one. You should just 
enjoy the ride." 


"Enjoy the ride? Tommy, are you out of your goddamned mind?" 


Tommy's voice carried over from the next cell. "You get to serve 
your country. You get three squares a day and a view to die for." 


"I'm a fucking computer science major who got caught calling ina 
bomb threat to get out of a fucking test. Three meals a day anda 
place to sleep isn't how | expected to spend the rest of my life." 


"You think | thought I'd end up a million miles from home for stealing 
cars? You ain't gonna change things by complaining about it. It's like 
| said, just sit back and enjoy your new life as a fucking astronaut." 


"What the fuck do you know about living a life?" Jacob thought, but 
didn't ask. He settled down on his bed and looked out the window. 
Thomas wasn't wrong, the view of the earth from up here was 
spectacular. 


He could recognize the faint the coastline of Southeast Asia, and he 
followed the contours of the coast up. He couldn't see the great wall 
of China from here. He'd always thought he'd be able to see it, but 
there was nothing noticeable there. Maybe he had to be closer? 


Jacob leaned further towards the window when it happened. He took 


just a moment to blink, and when he opened his eyes another, 
stranger, world appeared in front of his eyes. 


"What the fuck?" Jacob yelled. "Tommy, something just happened to 
Earth." 


"Look," the muffled voice answered back, "I don't need your bullshit 
right now, it's fucking late and I'm tired." 


"Tommy I'm not fucking joking.” 


Foundation Orbital Research Compound 5, Director Cooper's 
Office. 
July 13th, 1973, 00:04 hours GMT. 


A loud beep stirred Cooper from the reports in front of him. He 
pressed a button on his desk, and heard a panicked voice on the 
other end. "Director! There's something wrong." 


Cooper's survival instincts kicked in. He went through his mental 
checklist: The life support system, the artificial gravity, a hull fract... 
his mind blanked as he rose and looked out his window at the alien 
world his station now orbited. 


"Son of a bitch," he said out loud, "Caitlyn, | want you to stay calm 
and pass an order to all active officers and agents to meet me in the 
Command and Control Center. This is not a drill." 


"Yes sir," came a short reply from his assistant, who only wavered 
for a moment before relaying the orders. 

Foundation Orbital Research Compound 5, CACC 

July 13th, 1973, 00:15 hours GMT. 


"3065 and 3132 are fully contained. They wouldn't be capable of this 
level of reality shift anyway," Agent Forester said from the back row. 


Director Cooper placed pushed his glasses further up his nose. 
"Well something did this. Is the planet still silent?" 


"As far as we know," the Communication officer, Jessica Makie 
spoke up, "It's possible someone's down there and they're taking a 
few minutes to figure out how to talk to us, or if they even want to." 


"What's the nearest FSF ship?" Cooper asked. 


"The Zheng He," Officer Makie said, looking at her instruments. "She 
was 12 light seconds out investigating a spatial anomaly. They were 
heading back before this happened, so they've already turned 
around for deceleration." 


"Well that's something at least," Cooper said, with a sight of relief, 
"What's her ETA?" 


"2 hours 32 Minutes." 


"Ok. By the time they get here we should've heard back from 
FORCs 3 through 11. I'm the ranking director, and we're in crisis 
mode now. | want all of them to send us a complete manifest of their 
supplies. FORC-10 is a priority. They have to keep 3450 contained 
or everyone's going to have a serious fucking problem." 


"Yes sir." Officier Makie began to operate her control board. "Wait. 
Sir..." 


"What?" He stopped and walked over to her station. "Oh son of a 
bitch." 


10 light seconds from FORC-5. Interplanetary space. 
July 13th, 1973, 00:19 GMT 


Two massive and darkly colored ships, bearing the insignia of the 
GRU space force, barreled through empty space. They were making 
good time, for no other reason than that their incorporeal operators 
were immune to the damaging effects of the massive acceleration. 


On board were several variations of one Vladimir Vernadsky. Some 
were warped apparitions who knew nothing but how to operate the 
weapon systems, some were sophisticated copies of the original, 
capable of independent thought. All were intent on discovering 
exactly what the Foundation had done to cause the earth to 


disappear. 


The half men who ran the ship directed the engines, which operated 
through some odd combination of psychic energy and primitive 
propulsion, to double their output. They'd detected the likely center 
of the Foundation Space Forces: FORC-5. It was sending and 
receiving signals from all of the other bases in the area. 


If anyone would know who'd stolen the earth away from them, the 
men at FORC-5 would. A communication light brightened on the 
bridge console, but it was ignored by the apparition who 
commanded the vessel. The bridge remained silent, and would 
remain silent until they reached their destination. 


A GRU astral vessel contains no life support system and has no air. 
But if you'd traveled down the dark hallways during this trip, you'd 
feel a slow and low rumble. The majority of the apparitions were 
cogent and thinking individuals. A perfect copy of Vladimir 
Vernadsky, though, would've been terrible at running the advanced 
weapons systems of such a vessel. So deep in the bowels of the 
terrible black ship, several raving mad apparitions were restricted by 
design to the small control alcoves for their respective weapons. 


They were as connected as the rest of their brethren to the gestalt 
consciousness and they knew the purpose of this journey. They 
knew that soon they'd get a chance to fire their wonderfully 
destructive weapons. Despite all logic and sense, they howled. 


« The First Fifty-Five | Straight On Till Morning Hub | The 
Watchtower » 


SCP-781 over other potential victims, but are capable of harming 
others should they attempt to interfere. 


It seems that though it is required that SCP-781 be asleep to create 
manifestations, it is not required that he continue sleeping for their 
continued existence. Thankfully, these manifestations are not wholly 
independent of their creator, and always remain relatively close to 
SCP-781, up to a range of about 9m. Manifestations that are even 
partly forced out of this range immediately disappear entirely. 
Manifestations seem to linger upwards of five (5) minutes even after 
SCP-781's physical death. 


Lastly and importantly, it is to be noted that SCP-781 seems capable 
of auto-resurrection. Though the subject does not exhibit resistance 
to injury or death beyond the limits of a normal human, twelve (12) 
hours after SCP-781's physical "death" any remains of its corpse 
disappear. Another twelve (12) hours later, a fully healthy SCP-781 
appears within 10m of the place of its previous death. 


Further Notes: While SCP-781 seems to display no control over his 
own dream manifestations, testing has shown that he is capable of 
perceiving and manipulating the dreams of sleeping subjects in his 
vicinity. This ability was helpful in determining the source of 
SCP-781's manifestations. 


Document 781-01: Most of SCP-781's night-time manifestations are 
hostile to SCP-781, and are quick to cause him harm. The majority 
of manifestations never repeat themselves, but there have been 
cases where reoccurring manifestations have occurred. The 
following is a list of some of the manifestations seen more than 
once. 


* Sewage bursting from the floor, accompanied by a seemingly 
unending swarm of rats which quickly overwhelm SCP-781 
and proceed to devour him alive, leaving only bones and bits 
of flesh. Has been observed twice. 


¢ A large woman holding a hose which seems to extend from 
the ground, which she forcibly inserts into SCP-781's throat. 
The hose seems to expel a thick white liquid, which the 
woman uses to drown SCP-781. Has appeared twice. 


All of Me Wants All of You 


09/13/2013 


2:30 A.M. 


Rose Labelle jolted upright in bed, sweat pouring down her body. 
For a brief moment, she stared down at her feet, absorbing the 
image her eyes took in, making absolutely sure they were still there 
and intact. 


It wasn't until what felt like a lifetime later that Labelle was at ease 
with herself and looked over to the clock. It read 3:00, a few hours 
before she had to leave for work. She glared at the clock, as if it had 
inconvenienced her by giving her nightmares. 


After a bit of consideration, she decided to get out of bed and search 
for her hormones and antidepressants in the dark. She wouldn't 
dare turn on the lights; it'd be too overwhelming. After some 
fumbling around, swearing, and a stubbed toe, she managed to 
locate it, and the pill bottle top came undone. 


Labelle stood still, feeling the pills slide down her throat, and closed 
her eyes. She let even the most mundane feelings and sensations 
wash over her. The low chatter of infotainment from the TV, spoken 
word coming from her computer, music drifting from the radio... all 
ritual to help prepare her for the day ahead. Thoughts of 
socialization and conversations, memos and projects all came to 
her, as she prepared responses to every possible conversation she 
might have that day. 


She opened her eyes and the clock displayed a time much later than 


she wanted it to. 


5:00 A.M. 
At that moment, the radio DJ came on.