Walker signing in, | am recording this around the corner from our 
campsite, out of earshot of Chaplain. We currently seem to be 
followed by a humanoid entity that seems to have some sort of 
visual cloaking mechanism. This entity disappears around a 
bookshelf whenever we look at it, but otherwise seems to remain 
about 100 feet away at all times. It seems to have disappeared for 
the moment facilitating the recording of this log. The night was 
uneventful except for Chaplain claiming that it was watching us, but 
a little exploration showed nothing. | have reason to believe that 
Chaplain has been compromised by the Serpent's Hand, as a 
comparison between mental scans that | made while he was 
sleeping and when we arrived show tampering. He has been making 
multiple statements that could be construed as treasonous and 
seems to want us to end our mission prematurely, citing what 
happens to people who ask too many questions. | will continue our 
expedition till noon today and then we will turn back and begin 
making our way toward the Atrium where | will figure out a way to 
detain Chaplain and return us to the Foundation. Another reason for 
this is the rapid increase in disturbing sights, including one | had an 
adverse reaction to yesterday. Chaplain seems to grow more and 
more irrational the farther we go in. 


This is Walker, signing out. 


Audio log 10/25/ = - Agent Walters, Call sign "Walker" - 
Location: The Library 


Personal Log 4, Day 4, Mission 453-07-01, Code name "Waypoint". 
This is Walker, signing in. 


Chaplain seems to be putting on appearances of having a good 
mood to cope with his fear. | am currently recording this around the 
corner of a shelf, as the entity seems to have temporarily 
disappeared. Our progress had been good up to this point, and | 
have decided to turn back now, before something happens that 
compromises the mission. Chaplain has just said something, | will 
continue this log in a moment. 


Chaplain? Status? 


Where am |? Who the fuck are you? (This is confirmed to be Agent 
Chaplain's current voice) 


Chaplain! Turn around! 
RUN GOD DAMMIT CHAPLAIN! 
SHIT! 


(At this point the recording continues for several hours, with various 
noises identified as tearing, gurgling, and an unidentified voice 
speaking in an unknown language going on in the background.) 


Excerpt from Team Surveyor Records. Mission 453-07-1. CO 
Comments. 


I'd just like to get it on the record why Chaplain and Walker were 
chosen for this mission. 


There are multiple agents that we have that are much more qualified 
to go into The Library and get intel on it. However, none of these 
agents were deemed expendable at the time of assignment and due 
to Chaplain's rookie status and Walker's has-been status, they were 
natural choices for an expedition in there. Our records indicate that 
they did much better than we had hoped and our retrieval team 
managed to recover almost all of their documents and their logs. Of 
course, all they could find of their bodies was a green film that 
covered the retrieval area and several severed limbs. Their bodies 
are being kept in indefinite stasis until we can guarantee that they 
are completely back in them. Hopefully this will be soon but for now | 
will be expunging this whole thing and making it Level 3 Access 
Only, on a need-to-know basis. We will be conducting tests on their 
bodies in stasis momentarily, and it seems there is some evidence 
that Chaplain may have made it back. | will be investigating it 
personally when | return. 


This log was created by Commander Arnold Baker. Commander 
Arnold Baker was KIA during the containment breach of SCP- 
This breach is attributed to Serpent's Hand operatives. 


Deep within a Foundation site, a button was pressed, a tube 
opened, a body fell out and collapsed to the ground. The air chilled 
and mist began to flow everywhere. 


"Jesus. It worked... Who the fuck are you?" 


Agent Chaplain looked up through the clearing mist at the man 
standing above him. 


"Welcome to the Resistance, Agent Chaplain." 


A Lovely Day in the Garden 


It's a beautiful summer's day. 


| walk through my greenhouse, taking in the scent of flowers, 
admiring my wonderful plants; tall, slowly aging shrubberies, pretty 
little rosebushes; one or two exotic looking ones that must have 
been imported from outside the country somewhere, but that | got 
here for an amazing deal. And of course, my beloved hybrids. My 
friends thought | was absolutely mad to try it; grafting cuttings from 
so vastly different types. But with love and care, here they are. 


| take a few minutes to tend to my lovelies; some food here, a little 
water there, a bit of pruning; Leaves tend to grow so fast, and | can't 
stand my plants looking so- dishevelled. | get water in my boots 
when one of them overflows a little; | give it a playful little smack, 
and it droops a bit. Maybe | hit it too hard. | notice that the restraints 
on one of the shrubs (Plants need to stand tall and proud, don't you 
think?) seem to be cutting into the bark; | loosen them, and sap 
trickles down, and | can almost hear it let out a sigh of relief. There 
are clear marks left in the wood, but now that the ties are looser, 
they should heal and fill back out. | move on. 


| let out a gasp as | see that one of my beautiful rosebushes has 
started to wilt. It was one of the ones | took a cutting from to make a 
hybrid, and the stump of the branch looks like it's starting to mould. 
Not wanting it to spread to any others, | decide to take it out and 
give it a proper sending-off. As | bury it in the back field, | can almost 
hear it whimpering at me. So many of my lovely plants seem to end 
up out here, despite my care and attention. | have a good supplier, 
so my greenhouse is never lacking in beauties, but it still breaks my 
heart every time | come out here to the field. 


When | go back to the greenhouse, | make a beeline for the back 
room where | keep my hybrids; they're very susceptible to infection, 
so | need to make sure that that rosebush didn't indirectly harm any 
of her fellows. | come to the door and breathe a sigh of relief; they all 


honestly know how much longer the enclosure will hold 
[End portion of stricken text] I’m surprised the enclosure 
has held up this long, especially with the wind blowing 
like this. | don’t know what to do. | can’t risk losing them, 
but if | leave to get help in town, they could break free 
while I’m gone and they'll be gone forever and [Text 
scribbled and illegible. ] 


Page 91 
11/ /19 


Fuck. Bloody fuck, [Erratic scribbling across several 
pages, at times so forceful the pages are torn.] Well 
damn it all, | have some written data and some 
photographs, sketches and things, but it’s all rubbish 
compared to the real thing, isn’t it? | suppose I’m lucky | 
survived, but the devil can take me for all | care, because 
I've lost my evidence and now no one will believe me, 
they'll say I’m mad, tampered with a photo of an ordinary 
wasp. | feel ill just writing this, and not only because I’ve 
lost the discovery of a lifetime, | seem to have contracted 
some wretched disease there, either from the water or 
from contamination from the bloody corpse, or from 
mosquitoes, or parasites, or who knows what the devil 
[Text scribbled and illegible.] Vomiting, stomach pains 
and chest pains the likes of which you cannot imagine, | 
suppose whatever I’ve come down with has only 
exacerbated my acid reflux. 


It would have been better if | could have killed them all, 
so no one else could find them, but can you believe my 
pistol wasn’t enough? Thud, bloody thud, | heard the 
bullets flatten as they struck, completely useless. | woke 
up in the middle of the night and my side was aching and 
the enclosure was just a pile of wood and wire and the 
air was alive with humming. | grabbed this journal and 
jumped into my truck, but | don’t know how | managed to 
escape. | just remember shooting as | ran, and even 
inside the truck they punctured the glass. | saw stingers, 
huge and thick at one end, fine and sharp as needles at 


seem to be doing well. 


It's almost an art form, what | do. | love to experiment with different 
combinations, and | can't help but have a little fun while | do it; the 
one closest to the door is half blueberry bush, half strawberry, split 
right down the middle; of course, it didn't survive the process. After it 
died, | let it dry outside in the sun, then wrapped it in plastic wrap to 
protect it from the moisture in the greenhouse, and now | mostly 
keep it there as decoration. The one next to it is the result of taking 
all the branches off an old spider-plant, and grafting the branches 
from a young apple tree in their place; it looks lovely, but it can 
barely support itself, even with the ties. There are a few others, but 
my prize is what | like to call "The Chimera"; multiple graftings from 
several different sources; rosebushes, berry bushes, shrubs, all on 
the trunk of a small pine, which | stripped of all its branches. 
Miraculously, it's managed to survive for two weeks. Of course, due 
to its nature, | wouldn't give it much longer. 


But | can't bring myself to feel bad; | can make plenty more hybrids. 
I'm in a spending mood, so | make a mental note to remind myself to 
call my supplier for few additions to my garden. 


And of course, it truly is a beautiful day. 


A Man At the Top of His Profession 


1985 


Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly ungrateful, Doctor Glut 
wondered why his younger, redheaded wife had married him, and 
theorized that it might be because of some kind of father complex, 
troubled past, or undiscovered psychological issues. Today, 
however, he was simply trying to enjoy her loving stare, and 
attempted to push all confidence issues (that's what he thought was 
probably the real problem, a lack of self-esteem that made it hard to 
believe that anyone as gorgeous and intelligent as she would want 
to be with a slob like him) and just enjoy the dinner. The kindness 
emanating from Antoinette was directly counterbalanced by the 
sullen heat baking off his glaring son, a tiny Asian adopted boy 
glaring through a lock of black hair, which was why he was not all 
together saddened when his buzzer began beeping. 


"I'm sorry Antoinette, it's a wonderful meal, but | have to go. 
Business at the base." 


"Okay, but try to be back as early as possible," she said coyly and 
winked, and the boy made a rude gagging sound. He was furious at 
his son, who for the last couple years he become resentful for 
almost completely unexplainable reasons, but still a small smile 
played across his lips; yes, at least for tonight, he thought he could 
stop worrying about what he had done to deserve her. 


"So what do we have here?" 


"Some kind of creature resembling, according to the eyewitness 
reports, a ‘lizard hog with gigantic horns' was rampaging through the 
building, breaking through each room, really knocking down the 
walls themselves with its head." 


"| see," said Doctor Glut, not really listening. The event itself wasn't 


his line of work. 


They both walked quickly and surely through the motel, which was 
divided into smaller sections by hanging plastic sheets. Doctor Glut 
was a man in his fifties, with greasy black hair streaked with gray, 
and a lab coat that hung over his potbelly. As they moved towards 
the person he was supposed to deal with, Doctor Glut pulled on an 
extremely thick black leather glove that went up to his right elbow. 


He shoved aside the curtain and stepped into a tiny area framed by 
similar tarps. A light on a stand glared brightly at the man tied to a 
chair. Doctor Glut crouched and looked him in the eyes. 


"What did you see?" 


"Some kind of monster. Look, it bit a guys legs off," he whispered 
empathetically, looking fearful and asking for sympathy from the 
Doctor through his eyes. Doctor Glut shook his head slightly, little 
more than a twitch, and then briskly moved to one of the tarps, 
holding it aside. 


"What's behind this one?" 


One of the soldiers, dressed in black and wearing a gas mask, 
replied, "Well, when the site received structure damage, several 
walls separating rooms were knocked down. That hole leads into a 
bathroom." 


Doctor Glut grabbed the man, cut the ropes, and pulled him out of 
the chair, dragging him away. 


"Sir, this is your work area. You're not supposed to leave it. We're 
really short on space." 


Doctor Glut disregarded him and turned sideways, working his way 
into the bathroom. Forcing the man to kneel, he plunged his face 
into the toilet with his leather-clad right arm. The man struggled, but 
Doctor Glut continued to force his head down as he gurgled, and 
choked, and struggled, flailing madly, drinking in the dirty water and 
screaming whenever his mouth left the surface for a few seconds. 
Doctor Glut pushed his hardest, holding him steadily under for a 


good amount of time, and then wrenched him out, the man's wet 
hair flinging around his terrified face. 


"No, you saw nothing." 


The sensory deprivation chamber was completely dark. It seemed to 
be a very large area, narrow but with a high ceiling like a chapel or 
tower, because when the door opened, a long thin crack of bright 
golden light appeared in front of the man. There was the sound of a 
scraping chair, and then the room became completely illuminated. 


"Hello, Jason," said Doctor Glut, staring intently at the man in front 
of him. 


The man, amazingly, smiled and piped up, almost perkily, "So you 
guys are like the men in black or something? And now you're just 
going to delete my memories! | Knew you guys and all that stuff was 
real. That's why | was watching the sky when it flashed on by." 


His stubbly face was actually grinning with awe, his fringe beliefs 
validated. "Even though | won't recall any of this, it's still cool that | 
experienced it. So how are you going to do it? Like a flash of light or 
an injection or something?" 


"I'm afraid not, Jason." 


Jason Strobixzek began to scream. 


There was the sound of bone hitting meat, thrashing, and someone 
yelling out and falling to the ground. The door opened and Doctor 
Glut walked out, massaging his hand, and adjusting the large ring 
with a sharp gaudy gemstone speckled with blood and pieces of a 
man's lips on it. 


"What is William Gun's cover story that the guys created?" 


"He slipped and fell into a lake," said a specialist standing near by 
and watching the beating, "And almost drowned. All he is to 
remember is thrashing and bobbling up and down. Nothing about 
the tentacles...or the... mud creatures." 


"Ah, well, | think you're going to have to modify it a little bit so he 
was thrown into the lake, Benjamin. Like a group of kids... beat him 
up or something...", he said, trailing off and crackling his knuckles 
nastily. 


One of the guards said, "Administering a Class A Amnestic, Doc?" 


"Yeah, that's right." he said ruefully. 


"So what, it's all a lie?" asked Doctor Qalet, as they walked down the 
hallway to their prospective jobs. 


"Look, no one knows everything. You probably have a secret about 
the Foundation's inner workings that | don't have, and | know stuff 
that would make your toes curl. It's just, no one can possess too 
much information. For their own safety. So we create these half- 
truths, to make things sound gentler, more humane. So people have 
pieces of the troubling stuff we do, but never the whole picture. They 
don't have to get their hands too dirty or feel too guilty. We divide 
the... the sin... amongst ourselves." 


"| take it the injections are one of these ‘half-truths.