Profile: Jason Graham suffers from a set of emotional and affective 
disorders. There is also evidence of mild schizotypal issues, 
comorbid depression and anxiety. In addition to the hostile 
environment his psychology elicits, there are over 50,000 Xiupanian 
Oneiroi located in his subconscious - a collective of Qi Shao re- 
writes. Extreme caution is to be taken when merging with Graham. It 
should also be noted that Graham is aware of Oneiroi, and actively 
participates in his own subconscious. This behavior seems to be 
mostly self destructive. 


Addendum A: Exploration Log of Jason Graham: Sherry Wilson’s 
Transcript 


The entity that attacked us was airborne, having many sets of wings. 
Qi Shao might be described as a cross between a lamprey and a 
dragonfly. It is very large, and fast. | would estimate that it is roughly 
50 meters long. It also holds some Lucid capacity... It summoned 
many smaller entities much like itself during the incident. 


My palm phasers, and Urooj’s poison powder were ineffective 
against the entity. I’m not sure what Tomb was doing at the time, he 
appeared to have just frozen in place and shifted into a block of bare 
concrete. 


Urooj was taken away on the third year [247 waking days] of our 
exploration into Xiupanian territory by this entity. | do not clearly 
recall the entirety of those three years, but | can tell OP’s experience 
was strengthened. The area is fraught with Terrors, those which 
mostly appear as abstract fears and developmental traumas. | 
believe the training in [DATA EXPUNGED)] or at least a “necessary 
evil’. We were able to bear these on a daily basis with little 
psychological recoil. 


Once Shao discovered us, it descended upon us from the sky and 
impaled Urooj with its tongue. Urooj’s poisonous coating did not 
deter Qi Shao or cause it any duress. It seemed to completely 
ignore Tomb. | was able to escape by leaping over the side of a cliff 
and engaging my rocket boots. | was not able to immediately pursue 
Qi Shao after Urooj was taken, as | had to scale the cliffside 
underneath the island manually. My boots were underpowered as 
was expected due to our blunted Lucidity. 


We required my boots and many hours of mental preparation to 
ensure that they were capable of crossing over to other islands. | 
had to abandon Tomb. He was a boulder, unresponsive. He later 
managed to decouple from Jason Graham’s mind alone. 


| was not able to learn the location of Urooj until two days later, with 
the discovery of Shao’s temple. The temple was very large, as it had 
to be in order to accommodate the entity. | discovered Urooj being 
interrogated by Qi Shao. | overheard Shao questioning Urooj about 
Jason Graham. | listened for the day while the interrogation took 
place using my hearing augments, and it seemed that our mission 
was a failure, as Oneiroi West was not suspected to be in collusion 
with us at all. | considered that the entity may have been aware of 
the SCP Foundation and the containment of its host body. 


| camped in a small crack near the steps of the temple. | checked 
again the next morning and found that Urooj was still alive, although 
divided into many small parts, each being tortured in a unique way. 
Somehow Urooj was capable of withstanding this torture, up until he 
was eaten by the entity. 


| think it is possible that Qi Shao suspects Oneiroi West. | cannot 
say whether or not it is safe to simply terminate Qi Shao’s host or 
unleash Qi Shao on the Oneiroi at large. 


| would recommend Urooj be removed, as his Shadow has surely 
been compromised, and his subconscious contains a new Xiupanian 
state. This makes him useless as a member of OP. As of this day 
his body is still in a coma. 


Becoming a Xiupanian host has little effect on a person’s day to day, 
their psychology, or their dreams. Whether or not they are truly alive 


is only a philosophical question. Shaper Urooj is dead, but Urooj 
Demopoulos might wake up sooner or later, zombie or not, looking 
and acting just like he always did. In my mind it is not a factor to 
consider. Most people - ; 

, but if the personnel they would react. It 
doesn’t matter to me. There is no discernible difference between 
autopilot and “Oneiroi pilot”. 


Other than the origin state Qi Shao is living in, Xiupanians can’t 
speak to their hosts. There is no information transfer, no security 
issue. It can’t be recovered. [REDACTED] is definitely the best 
move. 


Addendum B: Urooj Demopoulos Status 


Subject is unresponsive to stimulus. As of this date the subject has 
been in a comatose state for six months. 


Attempts to enter the subject was successful. Sherry Wilson reports 
that Urooj’s mind is an empty copy of Xiupania, as expected. Urooj’s 
Shadow could not be located; Urooj is likely a “zombie”, so to speak. 
| am recommending we follow through to the end of the year... If the 
subject does not wake we can take him off of life support. If he does 
wake, we can reassign him to security detail, or retire him. | 
recommend some surveillance regardless of our decision. Of course 
it would be cheaper to utilize Budget 


Addendum C: Concrete Tomb status 


Subject recalls nothing about the attack by Qi Shao, but has allowed 
operative Sherry Wilson to enter its mind. According to Wilson, the 
scene of the attack, as seen through Kastner’s eyes, is replayed 
over and over on a drive-in theater screen, with Qi Shao replaced by 
a replica of Roddy Piper’s character from the 1988 movie “Hell 
comes to Frogtown”. An unresponsive rendering of Kastner overlaid 
with a concrete texture can be seen watching. Wilson recommends 
EMDR therapy in order to break the cycle. 


black white black white black white black white black 
white gray 


Yesterday, 


| watched three men die because one man sneezed ina 
room full of blood and shit and light. 


Today, 


three more men go in, cheap mops and each other's 
lives in their hands. 


Yesterday, 


| watched a man | admired gunned down for leaving a 
rose for a girl whose life was tattered by trauma she 
never deserved. 


Today, 


she doesn't remember, and three halls down | can hear 
her screaming. 


Yesterday, 


| watched a group of soldiers go down fighting against 
the corpses of comrades who'd died before them. 


Today, 
we test another sample, this time on children. 
Yesterday, 


| watched five men and women gunned down in an 
abandoned factory no one cares about. 


Today, 


it happens again and again. Every eleven seconds. 
Forever. 


Yesterday, 


| watched a man sit comfortably in a nice armchair, 
sipping scotch and laughing as he ordered a woman to 
simply stop breathing. 


Today, 
he gets the day off of work detail for good behavior. 
Yesterday, 


| watched hundreds of men and women in orange 
jumpsuits herded like animals into empty rooms that 
filled with gas and fire. 


Today, 


hundreds more are told they have a chance for a lighter 
sentence, and a chance to serve their country. 


Yesterday, 


| watched the world nearly die in a thousand thousand 
terrible ways. Sometimes we would have had time to 
scream. 


Today, 


I'm alive to write about it. You want happy endings? Fuck 
you. 


You're alive to read it. 
God help us all. 


Secure. Contain. Protect. 


Blind Date 


Serra almost walked past him, she was so distracted. 


When she was on duty, she could ignore the worries of day to day 
life. She could section her thoughts away, focus only on the mission, 
whether that was containing a new SCP, where she'd be staring 
down the scope at a ‘bender, or acting as back up on a diplomatic 
case, which usually involved staring down the scope at a GOC 
agent. When you're a sniper, most of your work involves staring 
down a scope, and hoping you don’t have to pull the trigger. Unless 
you’re one of those that does hope you can pull the trigger, but 
those types didn’t tend to last long in the Foundation. 


But when she was off duty, that was a different story. Her brain 
constantly replayed recent events, trying to figure them out inside 
her own head. As things currently stood, it was such a series of ups 
and downs. 


She wasn’t actually an orphan: Good! 


Her father was a mentally incompetent man child, and her mother 
was Officially MIA: Bad. 


She had a family that wanted to be involved in her life: Good! 


It was the Bright family, who had their hands in every aspect of 
Foundation culture and every other GOI from the looks of it: Bad. 


She had received a promotion, directly from O5-6, who was 
apparently her uncle: Good! 


The promotion was to a job that officially didn’t exist, as the 
Foundations’ hitman, well, hitwoman, with the unofficial title of Hand 
Sinister: Cool, but, you know, technically bad. 


The job came with a pair of pearl handled six shooters, that had 


been forged from the first reality bender the Foundation had ever 
dealt with, and made her all but immune to other skips reality 
bending abilities: Awesome, but also super creepy. 


An aunt she had never met had given her holsters for the guns via a 
video will from beyond the grave, and the holsters felt so right on her 
hips that she sometimes forgot to take them off to shower: Okay, at 
this point the scale of good to bad just reads TILT. 


And it was on these matters that she was thinking when she almost 
walked past the blind man with the tin cup. Her mind was always 
working, however, and it noticed the little details. An actual tin cup 
was weird, usually the beggars had plastic cups, or a discarded 
coffee cup. The beggars clothing looks a little too kempt to be 
homeless. Holy fuck what the hell breed is that dog, if it can actually 
be called a dog? 


So she stopped, rewound her recent memories, and turned to look 
at the dark skinned blind man. It didn’t surprise her to find that he 
was watching her. “We’ve met, haven’t we?” she said to him. 


“We have, Agent Argent,” David said, sunglasses turned towards 
her face, as if watching her. “It was a family event.” 


“No, | know you're one of the... other side of the family,” she said. 
Her hand fluttered in front of her face, waving that away. She 
flushed, embarrassed at making hand signs for a blind man. “No, | 
was referring to before that. It took me a while to place it, but | saw 
you once, in my room, back when | was just a cadet in training.” 


The blind man hurumphed to himself. “You saw me when | saw you. 
| suppose that’s to be expected, when dealing with our tribe.” He 
shook himself, and offered her his hand. “Care to help me up? I’d 
like to chat with you, if you don’t mind.” 


She reached out without even thinking. “Of course. I’d love to have a 
chat with my cousin who is also a leading member of a rival 
organization.” Even as she said it, she realized the words were true. 
If anyone could understand what she was going though, it was the 
blind man. “There’s, ah, a Starbucks around the corner. Would you 
like some coffee?” She eyed his beastly companion. “I’m not sure 


they allow pets.” 


“It's okay.” David reached into a pocket, pulling out a brightly colored 
vest. He held it out, as the animal shrugged into it. “She’s working.” 


The two walked in silence to the coffee shop, neither of them looking 
at the other. Once inside, they ordered, a vente pumpkin spice latte 
for David, and a large black coffee for Serra. They took a booth in 
the back, where they were unlikely to be overheard. David’s 
mountain of a service animal laid down in front of the booth, 
providing an effective barrier from anyone who might want to 
stumble close. 


They both sat there for a moment, hands wrapped around too hot to 
drink beverages, and looked at each other. Well. Serra Looked at 
David. David faced towards Serra. It was the equivalent. 


“So welcome to the family,” David said, speaking first. 
“Thanks,” was all she could respond. “It’s, well, it’s a real trip.” 


“| know Jack and my father have been talking to you, filling you in on 
all the peculiarities of their personal histories. | figured you might 
want to hear something from the other side.” He smiled, his hands 
clasped before him. “Or possibly I’m sounding you out for 
weaknesses, to be exploited by my associates when the time 
comes.” 


“ 


...” Serra’s hands crept towards her pistols, checked only when the 
mound of fur beside the table began to growl. She glanced at it, then 
at the smiling face of her cousin, and, somehow, found herself 
relaxing. “The thought had crossed my mind. But that’s not what this 
is about, is it? This is about family.” 


“Anything for the family.” His face contorts, as if he had smelled 
something horrible. “Some of the family takes that to the extremes. 
And, we all have our own view of what is in the best interests of 
family.“ His hand crept towards his sunglasses. With obvious 
restraint, he placed his hand back on his coffee, and took a sip. “So. 
“A lazy smile spread across his face. “I figure the best way to do 
this is just to let you ask questions. I’m sure you’re full of them.” 


“lam, actually.” Serra said as she smiled back. It was hard to dislike 
this friendly face across from her. True, it could all be an act. It 
wasn't. She’d know, if it was. “But, shouldn’t you already know what 
| want to ask?” 


His face contorted in a grimace, and that was before he sipped the 
coffee. “Ah, the typical stereotype of the precognitive. Always ready 
to answer your question before you ask them.” He crossed his arms 
over his chest and intoned in deep, oracular tones. “The answer to 
your next five questions are yes, no, bees, dong, and only when 
covered in ketchup.” His mask of seriousness slipped into a chuckle, 
and Serra could not help but giggle along with him. “It doesn’t really 
work like that.” 


“So, how does it work?” Serra asked, to break up the monotony of a 
too long monologue. 


“Well, it’s actually quite easy to see the specifics of an upcoming 
event, or even just a chat. The problem is finding the RIGHT 
specifics. The future is constantly branching. You’d drive yourself 
insane, trying to pin down exactly what words a person is going to 
use. Sometimes, it’s easy. When you say hello to someone, they will 
most likely say hello back. When you ask them their favorite color, 
that can get a bit more complicated, a simple distraction can do 
wonders to change that. And, if you ask them their theories on life, 
well, good luck!” He threw up his hands, then stopped them on the 
way back down to rub his temples. “It’s enough to drive most people 
mad. So, | just, you know, keep a general eye on the future. Task 
different parts of my brain with looking for different things. Like, I’ve 
always got my spider sense on, looking for anything dangerous that 
might happen to, or near me. Like, there’s a good chance the barista 
is about to burn herself on that coffee.” He paused, head cocked to 
one side, and was rewarded with an exclamation of pain from 
behind him. Serra winced in sympathy. “On the other hand, there is 
also a very minor chance that a rogue GOC agent is going to burst 
through the door and hose the place down with bullets.” He sipped 
his coffee again as Serra gaze turned towards the door. The 
minutes ticked by in silence, until David said, “Well, | guess that one 
isn’t happening.” 


*Okay, you say you deal in generalities, but Claire, unm, Aunt Claire 


| guess, her will was VERY specific.” Her hands rested on her guns, 
not out of threat, but for comfort. Guns were safe. She had learned 
that from a young age as a Foundling. Guns stopped the bad things, 
as long as you treated them right.