"Umm...it's one of those slug monster things. Oh, | remember. 1964, 
"The Creeping Terror," the young researcher replied. 


"Good work. | think I'll take a look at it today." Wensley set down his 
mug, and walked over to the door of the hallway leading to 
SCP-2006's containment cell. 


"Watch the screens, Cam. Keter's a Keter." 


Dr. Wensley stood in front of the containment door, and went 
through another round of safeguards, even stricter than the last. The 
doors whooshed open again, and he began to walk down the 
hallway. 


"2006 Is always interesting to deal with. And at the very least, it's 
good for a smile when you're out of the chamber," Wensley thought 
to himself. 


As he came before the last door that separated the containment 
chamber with the rest of the facility, he faced a small black box 
mounted on the wall of the last doors. Dr. Wensley, in a firm and 
even tone, spoke into the box, "Dr. Albert Wensley. Level 3 
Departmental Director and Senior Researcher. The rats were in the 
souffle again." 


"Full body scan and voice credentials accepted. Prepare for Keter 
entity chamber breach," a mechanical voice responded. 


The doors slid open silently. The chamber seemed empty, but 
Wensley knew better. As he strolled in, and culled to his mind notes 
from his acting class, a slimy, hideous, dripping wet, and utterly 
ridiculous-looking slug monster rapidly slid into view. 


"Your time has come, pathetic ape-child. The Creeping Terror has 
arrived, and the horror of a race beyond your comprehension is 
ready to lay waste to your people. Doom is here, and it is the face of 


|," the slug monster roared, face-tentacles flopping around. 


"Oh no! Please, spare me! I'm just a puny mortal who wished to talk 
to SCP-2006! Please, no!" Wensley cried out in mock fear, as he fell 
to the ground, quivering. 


The slug monster roared in laughter, and flopped its tentacles 
around. "Oh, doc, it's me! I'm not really The Creeping Terror. Did 
you like that one, doc? | thought it was pretty good." 


"Oh, SCP-2006....boy, you really had me going for a bit. That was 
terrifying. | agree, it was quite good. Really scary." 


"Thanks, doc! I've been really working on it... You know, doc, | was 
thinking about something." 


"Oh? What's that?" 
"BOO \" 


Wensley jumped, and made a show of stumbling. As he came back 
to his feet, SCP-2006 was laughing again. 


"Ha ha....but seriously. | was thinking about something for real." 
"O-okay. What were you thinking about?" 


"How to scare people the best. I'm always looking for more material, 
ya know." 


"Oh, you're already the best at scaring people, SCP-2006. | don't 
think that I've ever seen scarier." 


"Really?" The slug monster looked like an expectant young child, 
yearning for approval from an older sibling. 


"Really." 


"Thanks, doc! You know, though, | think that really makes a 
statement about fear and its repercussions on the status of humanity 
though, and what it truly means to be afraid." 


"Of cour-" Wensley did a double take. He had never heard 
sophisticated language from SCP-2006 before. 


"W-what?" He asked, slightly shocked. 


"Fear. What does it mean? If an individual is afraid of something, 
what does that mean? Do they think that it can harm it? What of a 
phobia? Is there something inherently harmful there? No. Then what 
is fear?" 


The previously friendly slug monster's voice had suddenly become 
slow and measured, with a deliberate pace. The bubbly, genial 
SCP-2006's previously excited tone now dripped with a slight 
mocking sound, and rolled over Dr. Wensley's ears in an 
uncomfortable manner. 


"H-ha...good one, SCP-2006. That's a really scary thought!" 
Wensley replied, still somewhat taken aback. 


"Yes...is it not? Human mortals and their fear. But do you know 
what is truly terrifying, doctor?" 


"What?" 


"The knowledge and realization of concepts that violate a sense of 
safety. Humans build their little thoughts and bubbles where they 
believe that they are safe. Even you in your Foundation believe that 
you are safe because of your knowledge and your Special 
Containment Procedures. Everything is based on safety and peace 
of mind." The slug monster was still as it stared off into the 
containment chamber. Its words were spoken with a gravity and 
tone that contradicted everything Wensley knew about the anomaly. 


"What are you saying?" 


"What | am stating is that your mindset is predicated on the belief 
that you have successfully contained these 'SCP Objects.’ Now, 
consider this: You have many objects that are contained on the 
strength of your deception. What if this deception that your 
organization so prides itself on were not being upheld? What if the 
Foundation itself is the one being deceived?" 


A cold pit of fear formed in Wensley's stomach. He gulped slightly, 
as he contemplated the implications. He suddenly felt very, very 
alone, locked in the chamber with SCP-2006. 


The slug monster, originally seeming so harmless, slowly swiveled 
its head around to look at Wensley, and smiled. 


"Are you scared, doctor?" 
Wensley began to back away. 
"| see that you're going. Have a good day, doctor." 


As Wensley opened the doors behind him, he never took his gaze 
off of SCP-2006 and its smile. 


"Oh, and doctor? Boo." 


Wensley fell backwards in genuine fear, as the doors opened. He 
quickly crawled out of the room, and the doors slammed behind him. 


As he rose to his feet, he heard SCP-2006 begin to laugh. 


The Medium 


lam a wire. They're finding new ways to kill me. Even now, | can 
hear 00201, screaming, relentless, and under it and above it and 
around it and through it there's 598, pressing, like a vice, trying to 
squeeze it out, the waves break around them. | twitch and | turn, 
screaming passively, and | feel a pair of hands clutch firmly at my 
back- when | look through yellow-washed eyes there's no one there, 
just another way to use me- 


| wasn't new to the Foundation, for three years I'd been catching 
their monsters and outreasoning their demons. I'd risked life and 
limb and sanity for them, and when they asked me to observe the 
introduction of SCP-598 to SCP- -00201, how was | to refuse 
them? It was after | noticed that what | believed to be the 
observation chamber was coated in the humming yellow | knew so 
well, and heard the door lock behind me, that | thought to question 
them. 


Two agents watched through the plate glass window. 

“Twelve, I'd rather you not kill her.” 

“You've already been informed of the risks, Barculo,” The Other Man 
in the room shifted and sunk his hands into his pockets. “We 
strongly believe SCP- -00201's hostile intent will be directed at 
SCP-598 as opposed to Agent Hays, especially with 598 making the 
initial confrontation.” 

“Only got the memo today. You're planning to use her mind as a 
battleground. She's a good agent.” Eliot Barculo clenched his fists. 
“Barculo, I'm sorry that she's the most convenient choice we had. 
The fact that she's interacted with 598 before, that counts for 
something- And her mental ability-” 

“The synesthesia, you mean.” 

“Yes. Precisely. All of these make her the most logical choice.” 
“What happened to all the Class-D's?” 


“No synesthesates around for the time being, and we can't keep 
putting resources into containing it-” he gestured to the steel box, 
which gave another shudder as the equipment surrounding it 
sparked to dangerous highs. "And we're not merely planning on it, 
we're about to. Do you have any further questions, Agent Barculo?” 
The man swore several times and dug his feet at the ground, then 
looked up. “Can | watch?” 

“Figured you'd want to.” Twelve gestured to a pair of seats. The pair 
sat down and reached for their headphones. 


| was surprised that nothing happened the second | stepped in. Only 
the sturdy reflective plate glass, and the large steel box, a dark 
chair, and of course the quiet yellow hum of the walls greeted me. 
“Hello, friend,” | greeted the walls as | dropped into the chair (the 
door clicking brightly behind me). 

The pensive yellow hum only throbbed and buzzed worriedly instead 
of responding immediately. Mm, steel yourself, Miriam, yes? It asks. 
“| thought | was just observing,” | frown. 

Not as | understand it. Of course the intelligent shade of ochre has a 
higher security clearance then I. It's, ah, you're designed to act as 
the medium, | believe. 

This wasn't what | was told. 

I'm sorry, Miriam, brace yourself. I'll work this out. | could feel it do 
the same. The steel door flew open. 


Instantly | heard the screaming, and at the same time Yellow flung 
like a tiger- lesser sensations went crawling up the walls. Pure light 
and sound exploded into being in my skull. | sat immobile, staring 
unblinking at the yellow wall- its normally calm hum now a bee- 
swarm buzz. An inhuman, pitch-black scream ran through me, and 
there was a distant awareness of 598 grappling it with sheer will. 
Flipping it onto its back. Glimpses of a suited man and Eliot Barculo 
through the plate glass, who wore bulky headsets to protect from 
-00201 and looked through painted glass as protection from 598. 


Golden ribbons swarmed around a black cloud, shrieking and 
battering, and | sat still and let the gods wage war and tried not to 
remember things torn free in my head- 


-elicit trips at ten years to the shooting range with a tall uncle, 


laughing in delight as | lay down a messy pattern of shots, more 
interested in the concentric lime-green ripples they made then 
ultimate destinations. Back when synesthesia was a vase-shaped 
word rather than a neurological condition, back when we'd play with 
pots, pans, dyes, dulcimers, paints, anything else that would make 
noises and colors- 


-police force days, decked in sparrow-song blues, rounding the 
corner, pistol raised, as the thing that had been the house ate 
Officer Strandberg, fire hose sloshing it down, and a man | would 
come to know well tapped me on the back, saying, | think | have a 
new job for you- 


-the inside of Agent Brennan's car, in the pale night at the end of my 
first mission under Eliot Barculo, with the brakes blown out and a 
bullet only just out of my calf, pulsing black. Raindrops streaming 
dye the air green, as the pain throws rings around my legs and | wait 
for the darkness to overtake me, | feel Brennan's dusky hand in my 
hair, and his fingers turn the radio on to the New World Symphony- 


Not exactly helping! Yellow calls. | snap back. The screaming is still 
there and spurting liquid ink tendrils, | catch a smiling thought that 
looks a lot like a “Hah”. There is blow after blow that seem to be 
nothing more material or pure then an aural push towards failure, 
and the pulsing walls seem to glow a little less brightly with every 
throb. My mind, with its mixed signals and need for interpretation, 
shows me a handful of black diamonds fluttering to earth like 
feathers. 

My friend is unprepared, but deals with adversity well. He- always 
written as a male in my mind- tries for a relentless and slow 
domination of psychic force, calmly reaching out again and again. 
They're too closely matched: a creature of air, a creature of light, 
transcending mediums, trying to sing each other to death. 


This was new to me, and yet, | excelled. In me there are thousands 
of eons of guarding the caves, of reflecting throughout the 
Resplendent Hall with my brethren, of singing the songs of our 
species. Only in our distant memories was the knowledge of 
interaction with a species not our own. 

And yet, | find | use violence where | wish it. Certainly | owe my 


Foundation favors. 

| change tactics, becoming a monolith. | know my enemy already, he 
is an echo of the mouth of the infernal cavities of Long Before. Born 
of endless night, strong, but seeing no further then the preoccupied 
predator must. 

Light travels faster than sound. | remember this. | notice the black 
ribbons in her mind and with a thought crush them. 

In the chair, Miriam shakes. | would apologize, honestly, but there is 
no time. 


Hays twitched, dancing unwillingly to behemoths filling her sight and 
ears. A whirlwind and a nothing of chaos changing shape. They 
didn't exist. The screaming. The dark. 

Yellow decided a change of tactics was necessary, and 
concentrated very hard for a moment. The normal thoughtful hum 
erupted into a sudden, high, very organic howl. Hays remembered 
something about shortwave radios. It had an electric affect, and she 
jolted, but 00201 took most of the blow. The darkness howled and 
dissipated a little. 

Miriam- Yellow started, but he was cut off by the scream again. He 
came at it from all angles like an ectoplasmic starfish, like a 
guardian angel. The small human's shoulders shook. Hands and 
claws, touching and bracing- 


-tempestuous- 


-Miriam, the thought you were having earlier, Yellow says urgently. 
How did it end? 

| can't move, | can't think. “...Why?” They continue to attack as my 
mind tries to work. My hand jumps up of its own accord and sinks 
into my leg, drawing blood. 

Look, it ends with you and Agent Brennan listening to that symphony 
and falling asleep in the car, right? 

Among other things, yes. 

| have an idea. Finish the memory, imagine the song. | have a plan 
but I'll need your assistance- The screaming stops for a minute, my 
vision clears, and | turn around to see chips of bright yellow paint 
spraying off the walls, before the black cloud senses me- 

| truly heard it, unsheltered, for the first time, as Yellow didn't react 


quickly enough. | opened my mouth to scream, driven to be 
alongside it, lusting to echo it, when- 

A yellow hum filled my mind. The world goes xanthic. Everything 
else blinks out temporarily. Mariam, that's how it gets you, 598 tells 
me sternly. My idea, the symphony, trust me. Then it was gone, the 
awful screaming returned, but distracted as Yellow danced around it. 
My ears were wet. | had nearly died, and 598 had stopped it. 

The song. What song? Time passed in inches. 

...00201 like battering assaults pushing vision to a standstill- 

...pain in my leg, red rings, that night in the car- 

...the two concepts like a hurricane through my central nervous 
system, a true epileptic seizure, muscles contracting like the man 
whose spine I'd shot out- 

...hands in my hair- 

...the scream- 

...violins- 

My mother had always said | was musical. Piano, cello, violin, 
clarinet, piccolo, nothing came as easily to me as that one godly gift. 
As soon as | recalled the first note, the rest followed, like an old 
friend: small vermilion zephyrs. 

Cellos crescendoing into anxious violins, sprouting gold all over. 
The dam rose, shrugging its mighty shoulders one last time, heaved, 
and the golden wave burst- 

When it came crashing down, it was a thousand times what it had 
been in the car. Caterwauling and dazzling, vivid beyond thought, 
piercing to the heart and the everything of what | knew- it was a 
stinging all-encompassing force, that left burns on my tongue, a 
sonorous beam; more than that, a tidal wave of energy, merely 
passing through the dimension of sensation on its way to a higher 
goal. 


And now the tide was going out. 


It had worked, | knew it had worked, the scream was extinguished; 
the black cloud not a trace but in my mind. As | slumped in the seat, 
arms sliding uncomfortably down the sides, something new had 
shifted into being. 

| could see the warm bitter rings echoing off of bleeding legs; as the 
locks clicked open, | could hear the argent pins sliding upward and 
downward, floral tastes echoing off them, | could see the tawny-