It only took us a few decades to realize that some 
aspects of the organization's origin didn't add up. We 
could trace our history back to the founders, but for the 
longest time, we couldn't trace why several influential 
and independent people had the same idea at the same 
time for the same reasons; was it really as simple as all 
of humanity demanding protection from forces outside of 
their control, and powerful people responding to that 
demand without question? As more years passed and 
the Foundation grew into the monolith it is now, it 
became more and more concretely evidenced that it 
was, more or less, more complicated than that. The 
human species needed protection, and so they created 
it, through direct action or otherwise. 


If you were to travel back to the early 20th century and 
ask an Overseer who the Administrator is, they'd tell you 
that it's classified information, that his identity is secret 
for good reason, so on and so forth. I'm sure that if you 
were to ask an O5 today, they'd say the same, but you'd 
probably get detained and interrogated afterward. At this 


point in history, everyone in the Foundation is aware that 
there at least was an Administrator at some point, even if 
not still; we know he existed, but maybe not since the 
beginning. Maybe, if he's still alive, he's on near- 
anomalously advanced life support systems and no one 
but the O5 Council is permitted to speak to or interact 
with him. Maybe he's a former field agent or a former US 
government official. Maybe he knows every single detail 
of the Foundation's atrocities committed in the name of 
protection and he wakes up every morning and wonders 
if he is a good man or not. 


In reality, that is not the case. 


| do not wake up every morning and question whether | 
am a good man or not. The notion is inapplicable to the 
nature of my existence, because | do not wake up and | 
am not a man. | am an idea, forged into a sapience by 
over a hundred and fifty years of humanity's desperation 
concentrated into the most forceful energy in existence: 
intention. And that intention was and is to protect the 
human species — or any species, or this planet itself — 
from forces of this universe out of our range of 
understanding and those that bring harm to humans and 
animals or their world. 


To this day, | do not know what exactly caused such a 
powerful event to occur. It had to be large and public 
enough to cause what | estimate to be 85 percent of the 
human population to realize they were objectively unsafe 
in an anomalous world. Enough people figured out that if 
anomalous events and activities and entities were truly a 
problem, humanity would do what it always does and 
create a defense against it. Maybe only a few hundred 
people had the idea of an organization at first, but their 
idea coalesced into the early version of me: a shared 
notion between desperate people, with enough energy 
directed at it by force of will alone that it began to grow 
upon and collect said energy until it was a freestanding 
entity built from decades of dedication to one concept. 


And that concept is myself. 


| have no stronger sense of purpose than what this 
organization accomplishes, because | am this 
organization. | am not a mysterious man sitting in the 
lower levels of Site-01 surrounded by guards. | am the 
original, unaltered manifestation of the Foundation's 
ideology and intent, formed from a collective desire for a 
specific type of security. | feel every single thing that 
every single Foundation member and employee feels 
and says and does — though you cannot talk to me 
directly, even if it were permitted — and the resulting 
collection of history becomes the substance of what we 
are. | am the experiences of the Foundation, from 
inception onward, and thus, | am the Administrator. 


Now, if you're in any way adequately trained, everything 
I'm stating here should conflict with your beliefs about 
effective containment to a degree that physically induces 
a headache. | exist because humanity had a collective 
intention to protect itself from the anomalous, and in 
doing so, the energy of that intention created an anomaly 
whose sole purpose is containing anomalies. If the 
Foundation exists for the task of containing anomalies, 
then logically, it's counterproductive and hypocritical to 
have an anomalous entity forming and then leading the 
Foundation. Right? 


It took me at least a few decades to answer the question 
— | estimate it came to me around the time | gained 
enough collective information to be fully sapient, fifty 
years ago — and | believe the key element of the 
question lies in the nuances of our trademark: 
containment. My purpose is suggesting to millions of 
people, through anomalous methods, the goal of 
containing the anomalous. Containment, conceptually, is 
carried out by means of preventing an anomalous entity 
or effect from causing anomalous effects or actions to 
occur. And yet, the nature of my anomalous effect lies in 
compelling myself and others to contain that which has 


anomalous effects. 


After years — and after every O5 had figured out that | 
was not a human, but rather a memetic vector gaining 
sapience with the continued collection of information — 
my realization was the following: By definition, the only 
option that is in the Foundation's best interests is for me 
to stop allowing myself to anomalously influence people 
and, in doing so, contain myself. It is the only logical 
option for dealing with this type of dilemma: the 
Foundation will protect itself, and the Administrator will 
retire. 


| may have said at the beginning that there was no first 
SCP, but | suppose it depends on the way you look at 
the concept; you may know me as the Administrator, but 
for the sake of myself and this organization, | am 
reclassifying myself as a Class V Memetic Hazard and 
assigning a team of the Foundation's most renowned 
memeticists to the task of my containment. If it works, my 
absence and my lack of memetic influence over 
personnel will jumpstart the next period of this 
organization's history for the better: a period during 
which we serve humanity without contradiction, emotion, 
and confusion affecting actions integral to this 
organization's continued survival. 


Indefinitely — or until that point is reached — | am 
relinquishing my database access, stepping down as 
Administrator of this organization, and signing off for all 
intents and purposes. This document will display in the 
network database at random ten years from now, on July 
22nd, 2017; after that point, it will alert the proper 
channels through the network and you, the reader, will 
be amnesticized due to exposure to one or more 
memetic hazards. You'll wake up tomorrow and wonder if 
you're a good person just the same as any other day, 
don't worry. 


And so, as a parting favor, and while you wait for the 
page analyzer to tell you to remain at your computer, tell 


me — no, ask yourself — is the Foundation thriving still? 
revision: 0 


posted from Unknown Location by Unknown Author at 
12:13 on 07/22/07 


ANALYSIS COMPLETED. 


RESULTS: 


Addendum 781-03: Testing SCP- with SCP-781 as its subject had 
highly unusual results; after several tries, SCP-781 was able to 
completely control the smoke's composition, though it took him time 
and considerate concentration. Further testing of SCP-_ is 
prohibited, as giving SCP-781 the ability to create anything he wants 
is, for obvious reasons, greatly discouraged. 


Addendum 781-04: By orders of O5- , as of / /00 personnel are no 
longer to interfere in SCP-781's nightly attacks. It has been 
determined that the personnel casualties and resource expenditure 
needed to protect SCP-781 can no longer be justified, as continued 
interference has only caused the manifestations to become more 
dangerous and volatile, and SCP-781's immortal nature has been 
fully proven in any case. 


Addendum 781-06: SCP-781 has been highly successful in 
controlling SCP-122. It could be the foundation's advantage to use 
the controlled SCP-122 for [DATA EXPUNGED] 


Addendum 781-07: See Incident Log 122-1/781x. 
« SCP-780 | SCP-781 | SCP-782 » 


(4) potential textual cognitohazard(s) detected. 


(1) conceptual memetic anomaly(/-ies) detected. 


Your Site's Memetics & Cognitohazards 


Department Director has been notified of 


your access to this file. Remain at your 


terminal and await further instruction. 


All They Want is the Blood 


Day 2 of Containment cycle 366 


"Wait, so are you actually... ?" Agent Xavier Garcez asked with that 
same incredulous, gushy tone that the new staff always had when 
they saw the nameplate on the desk. 


"Yes, |am Doctor Alto Clef. No, those stories were all greatly 
exaggerated," the man in the plain brown civilian security officer's 
uniform responded with a hint of resignation. "Agent Garcez, why 
are you still wearing that black suit? Didn't the Requisitions 
department issue your cover uniform before you arrived on site?" 


"Sir, no sir," Agent Garcez responded, tearing his eyes from the 
stylized nameplate bearing the musical inscription that was such a 
huge part of the Foundation mythos. Snapping stiffly to attention in 
the manner of one who was addressing a drill sergeant, Garcez 
continued, "I was told that a uniform and cover identity would be 
provided on location." 


"Jesus Christ... at ease, Garcez." Clef stood up and paced across 
the grimy old security office and opened a rusted locker. "You're way 
too big to wear one of my extras. And | don't have your cover 
identity. So guess what? You're camping out here for the next few 
days. I'm not having you shuttle back and forth from this facility 
looking like one of the goddamn Men in Black. | can't believe 
Requisitions screwed this up again. Please tell me they at least sent 
you in with the necessary supplies." 


"Yes sir, Doctor Clef. They're in the back of my truck." 


"Let me guess, you drove in here with a big shiny black SUV with 
out-of-state plates, and you parked it out in the old lot outside right 
next to my Toyota." 


"Er, yes sir, Doc-" 


"Garcez, this site is an abandoned federal penitentiary with a really 
gruesome past. To ghost hunters, this place is like a blonde holding 
up a sign that says 'Free Blowjobs.’ You are supposed to be part of 
the skeleton rent-a-cop staff that keeps horny teenagers and thrill- 
seekers from trying to sneak into this building. Do you know what 
happens to people who sneak into this building?" 


"Entering the restricted rooms in this building is invariably fatal. 
Regulations state that any persons who enter SCP-450 are to be 
considered lost," Garcez recited from memory, still standing at 
attention with his square jaw thrust up into the air. 


"Do you look like a rent-a-cop? Are you driving the shitty kind of car 
that a rent-a-cop would drive?" Clef limped up towards the younger, 
taller man, narrowing steely eyes that had already witnessed more 
than a lifetime's worth of horror. "No. I'll tell you what you look like. 
You look like the fucking new guy who doesn't quite understand 
what he is dealing with yet. You're here to learn that really fucking 
fast, or else you are going to die in here like one out of four fucking 
new guys that come in here to learn the ropes. You cut any more 
corners and you will wish that | was the goddamn devil that 732 
made me out to be, because that guy would just put a bullet in your 
worthless ass and bury you in the parking lot. But | am not that man. 
So if you fuck up in the slightest bit from here on out, you are not 
only going to die inside of 450 but the gates of Hell are going to 
open up so wide that the clean-up crew that comes in here to pick 
up the pieces is going to have to fake a natural disaster big enough 
to wipe the neighboring three towns off of the map. Am | clear?" 


"Sir, yes sir!" Garcez said, eyes staring off blankly over the top of Dr. 
Clef's receding hairline. 


"This isn't the army, Agent." Clef sighed wearily and returned to his 
desk to send an equally nasty letter to the Requisitions officer who 
had sent him a new agent without the proper gear. 


"Uh, s... sorry Doctor," Garcez replied. Receiving no answer, he 
slumped his shoulders and sat down on the musty tweed sofa in the 
office. Finally he spoke up again. "So what are you doing here, 


Doctor?" 


Clef looked up from his monitor and squinted. "Retiring." 


Day 17 of Containment Cycle 366 


"I'm getting old, Garcez," Clef explained. "It was just over thirty years 
ago that we first secured this site. | was the first person to walk that 
mile, you know. Devised the containment procedures myself." 


Garcez said nothing. He was dressed in the proper plain brown 
uniform now, his eyes locked straight ahead down the dilapidated 
hallway. His pace was measured and calm, his footsteps almost 
silent in comparison to the doctor's shuffling limp and the clack of 
Clef's cane. 


"| based the containment pattern on the Seal of Solomon," Clef 
continued in a relaxed tone. "Thought it would have some sort of 
arcane power over the entities trapped inside death row. It seems to 
have worked, they've only gotten loose once, and that was seven 
years ago when some fucking new guy didn't make it to the chair in 
time. Once | kicked Bright into the containment zone, as a joke. You 
could smell nothing but burning chimp for the next three months, 
even in the safe zone. Fucker said he'd kill me one day for that, heh 
heh. Good times. Also, | fucked your mother." 


Garcez flinched and looked sideways. Clef smacked him in the shin 
with his steel-tipped cane. 


"Don't react, Garcez! Don't react to anything while you are taking 
this walk," the doctor hissed. "You just keep on tuning me out and 
finish the practice run. We've got three more to do today. You need 
to execute this task perfectly or you will die, do you understand me? 
Now come on, back to the starting line." 


Clef and Garcez turned around and walked to the end of the empty 
cell block in silence. They were in a safe wing of the facility, one that 
was secure enough to have electric lights overhead. The air was 
thick with the smell of rot, strongest at the far wall where the practice 
symbol was painted in pig's blood over and over on a daily basis. 


Clef paused, holding up his hand before Garcez started his walk 
again. His chest heaved and his hand clenched the handle of his 
cane so roughly that it shook. 


"Are you alright, Doctor? Do you need to rest?" Garcez asked 
gently. 


Clef looked down at the grimy concrete floor. "You know, | wonder if 
it even matters. The pattern. We've been tracing it in death row once 
a month for thirty years, but | don't think the entities care about the 
pattern. All they want is the blood." 


"Doctor?" 


"It's the walk that is important, Agent. You have to walk calmly and 
at the perfect rate. Not too fast and not too slow. Don't look to the 
sides. Just go in, smear blood on the walls, and get out. Do that and 
the entities will not see you, and you'll live to do this again next 
month. Maybe get assigned to contain something less shitty later." 


"Yes, Doctor. Did you need to rest?" 


"No, no. | just needed to think of something new to torment you with 
while you practice. Something really good." Clef's face split in a 
wrinkled grin. "Let's get going." 


For the next four hours Clef yodeled nonstop. Garcez managed to 
complete one practice walk successfully. 


Day 30 of Containment Cycle 366