Of further note, Agent has come under the delusion that he is 
aman named "Galthor" from the kingdom of "Zolgorn". Agent 

has insisted on the return of SCP-826-1 to his homeland, and to be 

released from whatever "foul sorcery" he has been placed under. All 
attempts at treatment have proven futile. Dr. Edison requests that all 
further testing with SCP-826 is to be done by D-Class subjects. 


Addendum 2: At precisely : : on // (exactly 72 hours from 
Agent 's last trip into SCP-826), Agent and SCP-826-1 
simultaneously disappeared. No trace has been found of the two, 
and Agent 's existence has been stripped from all Foundation 
records, including backup copies. The story used in the test in all 
aspects identical, barring a mention that the man's name was 
"Galthor". Once again, Dr. Edison suggests that further testing of 
SCP-826 is to be done by D-Class subjects. 


Subject: D-826-01 
Book: "The Sword That Shoots Laser Beams When You Swing It", 
a 3-page short story written by Dr. Edison. Same copy that resulted 


their new sculpt, the piéce de résistance of their new exhibition. 
Memories and histories rewritten, until nothing remains of where 
they started but a name. And | don't know what my name is. 


Daylight Come 


"Hey Mista Tallyman, tally me banana. Daylight come, and me wan' 
go home. Day, me say day, me say day, me say day, me say day, 
me say day-ay-o. Daylight come, and me wan' go home." 


The little girl shivered and drew her blankets closer to her. Singing 
sometimes helped, but today it just made her feel even more lonely 
than usual. 


She missed the sun. In fact, she kind of missed everything. Mom, 
dad, her brother... 


"I never shoulda let him dare me to go up the stairs," she murmured 
to herself. 


Maybe she could try again to find the exit today... 


The little girl shook her head. It was a silly thought, especially today. 
Her last flashlight had finally run out of batteries a little while ago. 
She was out of food and everything, and it didn't seem like she 
would find any more anytime soon. It's not like she ever got 
anywhere when she tried, anyways. There was always just more 
and more stairs, stairs up, stairs down, stairs where the door used to 
be... 


"Yeah, um, it's just a dirty, concrete wall. There's like nothing on it. 
No, wait. It's a little bit sticky right here." 


The girl's head snapped up, even though she knew she wouldn't see 
anything. Someone was coming in! Oh yes, yes! A grin as wide as 
the platform she sat on stretched across her face. 


"Hey! Please, please help me! I'm scared, come get me! Hurry!" 


She screamed and pleaded at the top of her lungs, quickly 
degrading down into incoherent sobbing. With every growing 


moment, she felt the darkness getting heavier and heavier. In 
between cries, the girl heard slow but steady footsteps echoing 
through the stairwell. 


After hours and hours of this, a piercing scream halted her sobbing. 
He found her. 


The even rhythm of the footsteps became a frantic cascade of 
thumping and yelling. The child started crying and begging once 
again as she heard the form get gradually closer. A bouncing light, 
illuminating random patches of stairs preceded the fleeing woman. 
She was trying to look over her shoulder when she finally made it 
down to the crying girl. 


The girl reached out with a single bladed finger and cleanly sliced 
the woman's head off. The featureless creature caught it in his 
hands and stared at it while the child picked up the flood lamp, and 
examined the prey. Nice and plump. She nodded towards him, and 
he smashed the equipment. 


"Thank you so much, mister. | don't know how I'd survive without 
you." 


The face appeared to nod, then slunk back into the darkness. The 
little girl's eye was still adjusting to the light, but she was so hungry 
that she started using one of her right hands to haphazardly slice the 
body into sections though her vision was obscured. First, the arms. 
Then, the legs. Then the rest. As she prepared her food for the next 
few weeks, the child continued singing the song she had learned 
from that one little human that came down here oh so long ago. 


"Six foot, seven foot, eight foot bunch." 


Dead End 


Arkady knew this was the end. He was tired of running and he could 
recognize a metaphorical dead end when he smacked his 
metaphorical head into it. Minutes from now, they'd catch up with 
him. At first they'd be polite and ask him to open the door. He'd 
refuse and they'd make demands. Eventually they'd break down the 
door and then... then this all would end. 


He sat down in the one black leather armchair this ancient office 
provided. He felt it settle into the once lush but now threadbare red 
carpet as he leaned back. This room had heard its share of dark 
secrets, unmentionable pacts, and hollow promises of loyalty. It was 
only fitting that they should all be stripped away soon, a final 
cleansing of a filthy history. 


With trembling fingers he produced a battered cigarette from his 
back pocket and lit it. His thoughts went back to the spring of '81, 
when he was just one more destitute student at the Moscow Institute 
of Physics and Technology. Like many in his generation, he'd been 
brought up to believe in the evils of Western decadence, and in the 
superiority of his Soviet motherland. When they approached him, he 
was awed by the fact that they'd even noticed him at all. 


"And you say the Americans have these ... strange things locked 
up?" he asked. 


"They are trying to. But Americans, they are not ... efficient. We 
are," his mysterious date answered. 


"And you need my help? What can | do?" 
"You have a gift, Arkady," she said. 


He barked a laugh, "Hah! | wonder what that is then. Definitely not 
the gift to complete my research project." 


"Oh, you have one, Arkady Potyomkin, we know. Besides, we have 
just the thing to inspire you to finish that thesis of yours." 


She leaned in closer, breathing against his ear. 


"How would you like to work with a fully operational black hole 
generator?” she whispered, sending shivers down his spine. 


When he'd shaken the icicles from his brain, he responded. 
"Impossible. The laws of physics do not allow for it." 


When she smiled in response, Arkady couldn't figure out if she was 
being friendly or condescending. 


"| do not think we consulted with them when we accidentally created 
it, Arkady. Regardless, it needs work. We need it to be portable, we 
need it to be controllable. We need your research and your brilliant 
mind." 


Arkady closed his eyes. A beautiful woman was making promises 
involving things that could not be and it all felt like something straight 
of a Yulian Semyonov novel. 


"And how did you end up watching me? I'm nobody." 


"Come come, you must understand that we have made it our 
mission to know everything about exceptional talents such as 
yourself.” 


It occurred to him that if she indeed represented who she said she 
represented, they would know the color of his underwear and what 
flavor ice cream he preferred. He'd only heard them referenced in 
whispered conversations on campus. That in itself made it all the 
more impressive they were now here, trying to get him to work for 
them. 


"And if | agree to work for you, | will never see my family again?" 


"No. You will be dead to your mother and father. We will make sure 
of that." 


Arkady smiled. His father, a man so deeply buried in the bottle he 
might as well live in it, and his mother, a woman bereft of personality 
or backbone. No, he would not miss them. There was his brother, 
Alexei, but he had left as soon as he'd been able to, choosing the 
navy over a life of beatings and verbal abuse. He had not seen or 
heard from Alexei in seven years. 


"| think | accept your proposition. What do | do now?" 
She smiled and batted her emerald green eyes at him. 
"You do nothing. We will contact you again when we need you." 


Then she turned abruptly and walked away, leaving Arkady sitting 
alone on the bench in Khlebnekovskiy park. His sandwiches had not 
been touched, and the excitement of getting to develop technology 
that defied nature for GRU Division "P" had left him without hunger. 
He tossed them to the pigeons and got up to walk back to campus. 


As he took the final drag of his cigarette, Arkady realized that he'd 
never learned the name of his recruiter, even though he'd spent 
years in service of the Division. Shuffling outside the door pulled him 
from his pensive mood. 


"Arkady Potyemkin, this is Agent Fiorecci. | have been tasked with 
your retrieval and | Know you're in there. We can do this two ways. 
Either you come out with your hands behind your head, or I'm going 
to count to ten and then I'll come in," sounded a female voice. 


So, no politeness. Heh, Americans. He allowed himself a little smirk. 
Anyway, it was fitting. Brought into this game by a woman, and 
taken out by one; the symmetry brought a smile to his face. 


al | 0." 


Arkady reached into his coat pocket and produced a small cylindrical 
device, the culmination of his research for GRU Division "P". An old 
prototype he'd kept without authorization of course, the real thing 
was never developed further after the '86 incident. The last he'd 
heard, they'd filled the cellars at the Lubyanka with cement. 


"9." 


In a way, it was a total anticlimax. A simple metal tube, no longer 
than a bottle of Coca Cola. He screwed off its top and put his finger 
down on the small black button underneath. It felt unreal to finally do 
it. 


"8." 


He closed his eyes and thought of the way he and Alexei used to 
fight. 
He felt the hum building. 


by ie 


His father's belt as it whipped through the air, eerily whistling before 
hitting his young skin. 


"6." 
His mother's rare moments of loving attention. 
"5" 


His last kiss and the look in Anna's eyes when he walked out on her, 
for good. 
His ears were starting to hurt. 


"4." 


The things he'd seen...things that should not have existed, but did. 
Abominations. Too much flesh, too little life. Too much blood. Too 
much. 


"32" 


Sixty men dead when it malfunctioned. Limbs being stretched, and 
stretched, and stretched into infinite directions, heads folding in on 
themselves. 

He could feel a small trickle of blood running down the side of his 
head. 


1s 
He closed his eyes and sighed. There would be peace. 


| a 


They had a hard time explaining. Yes, a part of Bucharest's historic 
center had been destroyed. Yes, lives had been lost. Obviously, it 
was a terrorist act. Blame flew, and claims were made. After all, 
what was a nice big silent implosion if not a good excuse to send in 
rambling, deranged letters proclaiming yourself the next big thing in 
terrorism? 


At Site-193, Saint-Petersburg, Northwestern Federal District, 
Russia, Site Director Valentin Gavrilenkov faced a videoscreen 
showing a small, balding man. He looked worried, and rightfully so. 


"Tell me again how this is the outcome of a simple detainment 
mission for a lowly ex-GRU Division "P" operative, Dusan." 


Dusan Bogoescu, regional coordinator of the Foundation Covert 
Intelligence Division for Romania, cleared his throat. 


"Well, sir...the American MTF that flew in was apparently not briefed 
on Potyomkin's history. Also, we did not know he'd liberated a 
prototype of one of their failed projects." 


"| would guess not, no. And whose job was it to brief our American 
colleagues? Remind me, DuSan." 


The answer came hesitantly. 
"That would be me, sir." 


"Right you are. Well, | have it on good authority you may expect a 
trip abroad soon, Dusan. The O5 council would like a word with 
you." 


Valentin pressed the disconnect button on his phone and folded his 
hands behind his head. They still weren't working together, even 
when they were on the same team. 


Dear Cavalier 


Mobile Task Force Pi-1 (aka City Slickers) Incident Recording 
(START) 


22:30 - 900 seconds prior to engagement 


OP-Sigma-5: MTF we have tactical confirmation, mission is a go. 
The target is 50 feet to the northeast, within a large residence 
disguised as a charity. Initial recon suggests the target is located in 
the basement or another interior structure. There should be eight to 
thirteen occupants, all of which are to be considered hostile, and 
based on transaction records up to four could be armed. A memetic 
or psychic effect is involved, so you should turn on your sub-optical 
filters. Your objective is to get in and destroy any evidence of the 
suspect SCP, capture it and bring it back to extraction point — . This 
should be a clean breach-and-clear mission, with traditional combat 
rules, minimize civilian casualties, but deaths are acceptable. 
Command has authorized the use of kill-agent 'Nyx' in case of 
contingency level 3 and above. Good luck. 


Dear Cavalier 


| have long been aware of your SCP foundation, and 
your protocol when it comes to entities such as myself. | 
can only feel pity for the great creatures and gentle 
giants which you chain beneath the ground, above the 
sky and under the sea. All of them lost to the minds of 
the world so that mankind does not have to deal with the 
fact that there are things which transcend mortality. 
Despite your reprehensible goal, | chose to not take from 
you what you take from others, because at the time you 
seemed benign to me, unable to inflict the same horrors 
which you refer to as ‘containment’ to those | hold dear. 


22:44 - 20 seconds prior to engagement 


OP-Sigma-5: Callsign, prepare to breach. 
MTF-Pi-1-1: Alpha. 

MTF-Pi-1-2: Beta. 

MTF-Pi-1-3: Gamma. 

MTF-Pi-1-4: Delta. 

MTF-Pi-1-5: Epsilon. 

MTF-Pi-1-6: Zeta, preparing to breach. 
[sound of door being breached] 


Now | know. They may be just faceless numbers and 
nameless people to you, but to me they are all | hold 
dear, | love them with a love greater than any other's. 
You call them a cult, you think of them as dark, wretched 
things which should be put down so that you may rise 
above them like a ship set sail on a sea of shattered 
hearts. No, they were only the trodden of society, the 
ignored, those who had been stepped on so many times 
by people just like you that they could never get up 
again, not without the help that you would never give. 


22:45 - Engagement 

MTF-Pi-1-1: No contact, sweep and clear. 
[110 seconds pass] 

MTF-Pi-1-3: Front entrance clear. 


MTF-Pi-1-4: I'm outside of a staircase to the basement, there's lights 
on. 


MTF-Pi-1-1: Delta hold position outside basement staircase, 
Gamma join up with Delta. MTF members finish your sweeps, if you 
find no contacts rendezvous with Delta at the basement staircase. 


from previous test, alterations and all. 

Equipment: One (1) canteen filled with water, one (1) watch, one 
(1) video camera attached to Subject's headset, one (1) Police issue 
X26 Taser (loaded). 

Results: Subject is asked to retrieve Agent . Subject does not 
return after five minutes. Agent C enters SCP-826 and retrieves 
the story without incident. Story now has additional details on a 


"man in strange garb" trying to stop Agent with a "magic 
weapon hereby unknown to man", which matches a description of 
X26 Police Tazer. Story then describes Agent injuring 


D-826-01 with SCP-826-01 before "locking him in the foulest of 
dungeons in Castle Hyleth". Recovered footage confirms incident. 


Subject: D-826-02, D-826-03, D-826-04, D-826-05, D-826-06, and 
D-826-07, all of whom have military training. 

Book: "The Sword That Shoots Laser Beams When You Swing It", 
a 3-page short story written by Dr. Edison. Same copy that resulted 
from previous test. 

Equipment: Six (6) canteens filled with water, six (6) watches, six 
(6) video cameras attached to Subjects' headsets, six (6) Police 
issue X26 Tasers (loaded).