"| don't want to approach you without permission." He pointed 
toward the side. "The hook in your neck is the contact you've made." 


One turned to the other. "Don't invite him out. He needs it. He's a 
warlock." 


The suspicious Gears raised his voice. "| need a brand new skin! 
Incarcernated debts!" | repeated the strange words to myself, under 
my breath. They tasted bitter. He withdrew his left hand from his 
coat. It was soaked in blood. He began to splatter it on the walls and 
floor on the other side of the door. One guard pressed an button with 
his palm that caused an alarm to sound. 


As the door to the Insurgency cells began to close, the warlock 
shouted over the klaxons. "Goliath, are you receiving? Desecrated, 
you've arrived!" For a moment, he made eye contact with me. 


"I'm really sorry about that." C-44 examined my clothing. "At least 
you didn't get any of it on you." 


"That's good," | said. 
"| think | should take you back to your room now." 
"That's also good," | told him. 


"I'm afraid you'll have to get an extra examination, though. They'll 


want to check for exposure to any 'spells' or 'cognitohazards'. 
"Very well." 


The examination found no effects from the incident, mental or 
metaphysical. The purpose of the Cl agent's disturbance was not 
discovered. | personally am still not sure whether he was somehow 
alerted to my presence by informant or divination, or perhaps he 
merely chose to make an attempt to contact the general population 
and hope for the best. 


That insurgent was not attempting to use a cognitohazard, | 
determined, nor magic. He was running through trigger phrases. He 
wanted to activate sleeper agents. 


How did he know what their trigger phrases would be? Perhaps 
elements of the Cl coordinate across universes. | must ask him later, 
when we are together. 


| have been brought here on the pretense that | am a Foundation 
researcher, and | was. | am thought to be a man of science. | still 
believe that | am. As Whitman said, | am multitudes. 


Every machine breaks, eventually. Sometimes, to do so, they 
require a little help. 


Paris Massacre 


Black Queen 
Queen Yankee-Niner 
Hello, I'm Alison 


Overseer Five 


Baseline: A massacre perpetrated by the 
Foundation in the town of Paris, Texas in 
the year 2010, to stop the spread of a 
virulent memetic agent. Death toll varies, 
with an average of 23. For the record, this 
was never our original plan Let her finish. 


Prerequisites 


Existence of the Foundation. Presence of Norton Thames, Jack 
Bright, Alexander Fredricks, and Diana Lao on the O5 council. 
Democratic president in office. Existence of the All News Channel. 


Consequences 


Due to how recently the event happened, we're still not entirely sure. 
So far, every universe where the massacre has occurred has also 
seen a Foundation coup in the next year, replacing 75% of the O5 
council. However, this has occurred in at least seven other 
universes where no massacre took place, so we can't be sure how 


related the events are. Around half the time, radical anartist Lucille 
Parsen is killed. Well, that's one good thing to come of this 
clusterfuck. Besides the continued survival of the United States of 
America, and possibly the world? Keep saying it enough times and 
maybe it'll become true. 


Instance: Timeline A-0008 


Death toll of 30. Event was disguised as a terrorist act by a lone 
gunman. Led to a significant tightening of gun laws within the United 
States, but no other unique consequences. 


Instance: Timeline A-1112 


Death toll of 12, disguised as a fire. Lucille Parsen survived, though 
with significant injuries, and soon after created the piece “A Comedy 
of Errors”. It ignited the art world, and helped lead to a resurgence of 
radical anart and anti-Foundation sentiment. In 2014, a modified 
version of “Cabin in the Woods’ containing a memetic agent was 
screened at a Foundation movie night, leading to the deaths of 134 
personnel and the release of at least seven objects. Ignited. Very 
clever. 


Instance: Timeline B-3471 


Initial death toll of 5. The memetic agent used in this version differed 
from most. Rather than attempting to attack other citizens, the 
infected began gathering mechanical parts and constructing a 
machine in the center of town. Due to the low amount of infected 
persons, the Foundation was two weeks late in becoming aware of 
the situation. By the time they initiated action, the machine was 
complete and activated. Biomechanical conversion of the town's 
population began two hours after activation. After four hours, all 
sentient life had been at least partially converted. All attempts on the 
Foundation's part to halt the process failed, and within two weeks 
the entire planet was gone. As of our last update on the situation, 
the infection has begun to build itself up off-planet. | don't 
understand why we're not doing something about this. It's not the 
first planet lost like this, and it won't be the last. There's nothing we 


can do. I've seen stuff like this stopped before. Hey, if you want to 
try, be my guest. 


Instance: Timeline C-0974. 


Death toll of 24. The existence of the anomalous was common 
knowledge in the timeline, and control of the United States was split 
between the Foundation and Coalition. The attack itself was initiated 
by the Insurgency. Execution of infected individuals was carried out 
publicly by the Foundation. 


Instance: Timeline C-9898 


Sorry, it's my first time doing this, I'm not sure how much detail you 
want. Death toll of around 70, carried out by the Foundation's own 
memetic kill agent. | wasn't able to get close to gather much info, 
sorry. They had a large bit of it sealed off. The Foundation released 
the initial memetic agent on accident, and the “clean-up” one 
piggybacked off of it. It's kind of weird to explain, I've got notes on it 
somewhere else. That'll do fine. 


Instance: Timeline D-0089. 


Death toll of 24,781, the entire population of the city, after the 
Foundation carpet-bombed the entire town. And hold the fuck up for 
a moment, why are we still letting the one responsible access our 
archives? I'm curious too. The rules are clear- any Queen without 
harmful intent can access it. If killing twenty-five thousand people for 
convenience's sake isn't harmful intent, | don't know what the hell is. 
Harmful to us. Convenience? You think | wanted to do it? You think 
giving the order was easy? You don't know anything about what was 
going on in that town. If you did, you wouldn't be so quick to judge. 
Don't bullshit us. You had the entire Foundation, our entire network, 
any possible resource at your goddamn fingertips and you still 
thought lighting that town up like Vietnam would be the best idea. 
Would you like to see the pictures? The videos? There wasn't time. 
This was the only option that could guarantee success. Whatever. 
I'm done. This is disgusting. Can we focus? 


Instance: Timeline G-1145 


Death toll zero. A strike team was sent in by the Foundation, and 
promptly destroyed by the town's population. Since then, the entire 
timeline has gone dark. 


Pawn To E4 


The guard shivered. Even through layers of nylon, fleece, wool, and 
polyester, the chill seeped into the bones. The wind roared around 
him, whipping up snow, branches, and dirt, pelting him with sleet. 
When he shifted position, he heard the snap of his frozen clothes 
cracking. Tiny icicles hung from his weapon. He tried to lift his arm 
to check his watch, but couldn't muster up the energy. 


How long had he been standing on this balcony? It felt like hours. 
Days, maybe. But if it had been hours, where was his replacement? 
Had they decided to leave him here? Was that his fate, to freeze to 
death on this balcony at the bottom of the world? 


There was a loud SNAP and pain shot down from his head. The 
world around him began to smear in his vision. Then it went black. 


The two women stared down at his body. “Fuck!” yelled the Sister. 
“What the hell just happened? Where are we?” 


“Be quiet for a moment,” said the Queen. She knelt down and began 
digging through the snow. Soon, she knocked against a metal panel. 
Underneath was a tunnel leading down, and a ladder. She motioned 
towards the first woman. “Get in before you freeze to death.” 


The Sister nodded and climbed down. The second followed her. 
After several minutes of climbing, they dropped into a concrete 
hallway. Three rows of fluorescent lights ran across the ceiling. On 
one wall were three posters touting workplace safety standards. 
Across from it was a large map. 


“Seriously, where are we? Please tell me you just didn't kill that 
guy,” said the Sister. She was tall, with a thin face and long nose. 
Her black hair was wrapped into a tight ponytail. Three silver rings 
jutted out of her bottom lip, and the edges of a red tattoo crept from 
her shirt and across the back of her neck. She wore a leather jacket 
covered in patches, jeans, and a Black Flag T-shirt. 


“Sister, if you're as eager to see what | have to offer as you said, 
you'll have to become more accustomed to violence,” said the 
Queen. She was almost identical to the first. Her hair was cut 
shorter, only shoulder-length, and instead of street clothes she wore 
hiking gear and a large rucksack. The bulge of a shoulder holster 
was visible under it. A scar ran from the corner of her right eye, to 
the nape of her neck. “As for where we are... Antarctica.” 


The Sister sucked in a breath. “Jesus. Antarctica. And... and we're 
still on Earth? My Earth, | mean?” 


“No,” said the second. She began walking. “We're approximately 
300 universes away from your home Earth. Follow me, please.” 


The Sister jogged to catch up. “So... what's here that you want to 
show me? And who would build something like this in Antarctica?” 
She thought for a second. “Actually, I'm still not sure what this 
building even is.” 


“Be patient,” said the second. “Stop asking so many questions. 
Learn to observe, it'll prove more useful.” She tapped a button on 
her watch and spoke into it, “Hill, this is the Queen. Are you ready?” 


There was static, followed by a voice. “Yes, ma'am How long will it 
be?” 


“Five minutes,” said the Queen, and said nothing else. They 
continued walking. Several times the hallway branched off, but the 
pair continued going straight. Eventually, they came to a metal door. 


“We're here,” said the Queen into her watch. The doors slid open. 


They stepped into a large, circular room. The walls were lined with 
computer monitors, all black. The center was raised, surrounded by 
guardrails, with a large screen, blank in the center. A man stood in 
front of it. 


“Hello ma'am,” said a voice to the side. A man in a white labcoat 
stood with his hands clasped in front of him. “It's so good to see you 
again.” 


“It's good to see you too, Wayne,” said the Queen. “Is your daughter 


feeling better?” 


Wayne nodded. “Yes ma'am. Things were close for a while, but 
she's through the worst of it.” 


The Queen nodded. “Very good. Tell Linda | said hello.” She 
stepped onto the raised area. The Sister followed. 


“Hello ma'am,” said the man at the screen, turning. “Your travels 
went well?” His eyes darted to the Sister. 


“They did.” She pulled a plastic disk case from her jacket. “This 
should be all that we need.” 


He nodded “And this is your... ah... associate?” 
“It is.” 


“Everything should be ready then.” Turning back to the screen, he 
pressed a button to the side. A slot opened, and he pushed the disk 
in. “Ma'am, are you sure you can do this fast enough? I'd say you 
have about 15 minutes between us uplinking the data, and them 
going on lock-down.” 


She stared at him. 
He looked away. “I'm sorry. | didn't mean to imply anything.” 


“| know exactly what will happen once we upload this,” she said. 
“How long have we been planning this?” 


His face flushed red. “I wasn't trying to insinuate anything, ma'am. 
Just... you know...” 


“Enough. It doesn't matter anymore. Send it through.” 


He nodded. With a few quick button presses, the screen lit up. A red 
hammer and sickle flashed across the center, then a cascading 
series of Cyrillic command lines. 


“Okay,” said the Sister. “I think | have even less of an idea of what's 
going on now.” 


must wear Hazmat suits while entering the cell, for SCP-597 is often 
covered in vermin, including mice, opossums, squirrels, and bats. 


597 is to be hosed down weekly, with special care given to the areas 
around the nipples, to prevent the buildup of saliva and drool. Those 
suckling need washing daily, as does the floor underneath them, for 
the removal of the puddles of urine, feces (for the first few days, but 
when solids completely leave the body this is no longer necessary, 
although occasionally a thin watery substance is excreted), and 
vomit, which is produced when they drink too eagerly, quickly, or out 
of rhythm. The cleaning products are to be plain and unscented (use 
of aromatics or herbal oils will be noted) and no scrubbing is to be 
done by hand. 


Description: SCP-597 is a blob of flesh approximately 5.8m (19ft) 
high, and 10.67m (35ft) wide, although this measurement changes 
slightly when it moves, or the substances expand and ripple. All over 
its body, mostly located on its rolls, are hundreds and hundreds of 
teats, of various colors and sizes. Whenever a mammal is released 
into its cell, it will be drawn to the corresponding teat for its species 
and then proceed to suckle as long as they are unimpeded. The milk 
released will be identical in every way to the makeup of the subject's 
mother's, although able to sustain the subject's nutritional needs 
indefinitely. While the fluid is the same as normal milk chemically, for 
some reason, whether it be an effect of the SCP or an unknown 
quality of the substances it excretes, any full-grown mammal that 
would normally require more can survive to the end of their normal 
lifespan give or take a few years, simply by suckling at the nipple, 
although their teeth will fall out, their muscle will atrophy due to lack 
of use (the subjects will curl up as close as possible on the side, lay 
under the SCP [there have been reports of suffocation], or immerse 
themselves and dive into the flesh itself) and stomach problems are 
presented because of the all-liquid diet. 


Milk taken in a bottle does not have the same results, although 
those already affected by SCP-597 will fall under a quasi-hypnotic 
hold when presented with a container, will do anything to possess it, 
and find drinking it very gratifying. 


Those in charge of bottling the liquid have the urge to use a rubber 
teat for feeding babies as a cover, even when a normal lid will 


“What did | say about questions?” said the Queen. She stared at the 
screen, arms crossed, eyes flitting through the code. “It's a universal 
transporter. One significantly more powerful than the one I've been 
using. With it, we should be able to greatly expand our operation.” 


“Um, alright. So, what are we gonna do with it now?” 


“Watch. You'll see.” The Queen stepped forward and tapped a 
series of numbers into the keyboard. The lines on the screen 
paused. Then they disappeared. A red outline of a box replaced 
them, with a number above it: “O%”. Several seconds later, it blinked 
up to “1%”. 


“It shouldn't take more than-” Wayne said. A gunshot echoed 
through the room. The Queen spun around. Four men stood in the 
back of the room, dressed in black riot gear, assault rifles raised. 
One of them yelled something in what sounded like Russian. 


The Queen and Wayne lifted their hands. The Sister followed suit. 
“When | tell you,” said the Queen, “run behind the screen.” Then she 
responded in Russian.