Slowly, Ralph took his eyes off of his plate and warily looked up at 
the thin woman. 


“No,” he replied. 


“Are you sure?” the waitress inquired, looking slightly concerned, “1 


brought out your order almost an hour ago, and you've barely 
touched it.” 


Looking down at his plate, most of his breakfast had already been 
eaten. Two strips of bacon, two eggs over-easy, and a short stack of 
pancakes, all gone. The only thing left on his plate was 2 slices of 
toast. 


Barely touched it, Ralph thought, that’s a good one. 


“You can just throw the rest out,” he responded, “There isn’t really 
enough here for me to take home.” 


“I'll go get a box for that,” the waitress said warmly, as if she hadn't 
heard him, “Just give me a moment.” 


As she walked away, another ding sounded. Out of the corner of his 
eye, Ralph saw a lanky waiter walk out of the kitchen. Slowly, he 
walked across the room, and gently placed down a plate on the 
table where another customer was seated. Ralph could hear a small 
exchange between them, and as the waiter walked away, the other 
man began eating his meal. 


It was a plate full of toast. 


Soon the waitress returned, holding a Styrofoam box, the check, and 
another plate. She set both down on the table. Sitting on the plate 
was a toasted slice of raisin bread, sprinkled with cinnamon. 


“Don't worry,” she assured him, “It’s on the house.” 

Without another word, Ralph placed both slices in the box, paid for 
his meal, and exited the restaurant. 

“Good morning, Mr. Brindis.” 


Conrad Brindis, the North American Regional Commissioner from 
the Coalition of International Toasters, looked up from his paperwork 
and smiled. 


“Good morning to you too, Seth. You can put those irons down on 


my desk.” 


Seth, Conrad’s personal assistant, put the pair of clothing irons 
down, and sat in the chair opposite his boss. “How are you doing 
today, Commissioner?” 


“I’m doing pretty well, you?” 
“Good. Had some sourdough for breakfast.” 


“Huh, Well I’m jealous.” Conrad reached for the irons’ extension 
cords. “I take it Lisa made it for you?” 


“Yeah, she keeps insisting on having me try all her recipes. Not that 
I’m complaining, she’s a great cook.” 


“Nice.” He stood up and plugged them into the wall. “Oh, did you 
hear about last night’s vote yet?” 


“The one on your bill? How'd it go?” 


Conrad walked back over to the table and picked up the irons. “It 
went very well, Seth. Got through both houses with unanimous 
support. Not that | was expecting anything less.” 


“Yeah, | can’t see why anyone would vote against it. What I’m 
wondering is how the heck it wasn’t already on the books when you 
introduced it. | mean, how do we not have a law against throwing 
away toast?" 


A simple appliance like myself 

Might not have caused alarm to anyone, 
Certainly not the Foundation. 

A huge organization with so much on their hands, 
Keeping abnormal things from harm, 

And normality from abnormality, 

Needed a reason to hold on to me. 


That reason, seemingly innocuous, 
Exceedingly obnoxious, 
Shows how this verse’s perspective is not 


Seen through my lens, my objective. 

| don’t have a point of view. 

It is but an artifact of one simple fact. 
In the words you have heard, 

This writer, and all others, 

Always refer to me in the first person. 


A mere side effect of my true properties. 


Ralph wanted to tear the radio out of his car and throw it out the 
window. 


Driving to work from the restaurant, there was a story on the local 
station about the new bill going through the parliament. The 
proposal would impose a fine on people who throw away toast. 


A fine? That’s the literal opposite of fine. 


It was times like this that he wondered if he was the only sane 
person on the planet. Everywhere he went he saw thin, wiry people 
obsessed with eating toast. No one saw anything wrong with it. No 
one considered the possibility that maybe some people had been 
tired of the stuff for years. 


His thoughts now wandered to the toast sitting in the passenger 
seat. Two pieces, he could hold both in one hand, but the thought of 
actually consuming them had become almost nauseating. Now with 
his luck, when he tried to throw them away, he’d be stuck paying 
money he didn’t have. 


As he pulled into the parking lot, Ralph thought about his job. He felt 
his mostly empty wallet in his pocket; most of the money in it had 
been spent on his breakfast. His pay barely covered rent and food, 
so he certainly couldn't afford a fine. He couldn’t get rid of the toast 
by giving it to his coworkers either; even though they all seemed to 
be in love with the stuff, they would never take it off his hands. 


Ralph wished that the toast would just disappear. He wished that he 
could make it vanish and just be done with it. He was tired of people 
expecting him to eat it every day, and never listening to him when he 


said no. As he parked his car, Ralph directed his frustration towards 
the box from the restaurant. 


Picking it up, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, if he thought hard 
enough, he could make it vanish. 


Yeah, | wish. 


Conrad and Seth were both laughing as they continued their 
conversation. 


“Oh man... He honestly thought that would work?” 


“Yeah.” Conrad held a piece of bread between the clothing irons. 
“But all he managed to toast was his bone marrow.” 


“Damn, | should not be laughing at this. That just sounds horrible.” 


“No, its fine, he was laughing about it too for the next week. Of 
course, he only lived that long, but still; he got a laugh out of it!” 


“Sir, that’s terrible.” Seth clutched his sides. “Gosh, this should not 
be this funny.” 


“Well, it wouldn’t have worked anyway.” Conrad separated the irons, 
dropping the fresh piece of toast on the desk. “In order to toast a 
slice of bread, you need direct heat. For example, | just used these 
irons to do it. Now, a big piece of Curium, on the other hand...” 


Before he could finish, a red light began shining on his desk. 
“Huh, haven’t seen one of those in a while.” 
“What is that, Boss?” 


“It’s just something that | need to call the chairman about. I’m going 
to need a few moments alone to do that. This stuff is above your 
security level.” 


“Yeah, as if | actually have a security level. That’s a good one.” 


“Hey, you'll get promoted eventually. But seriously, why don’t you 
get some lunch while | call him. This shouldn’t take too long.” 


“Alright Mr. Brindis. Just let me know if you need anything else.” 


On one particular day, 

A doctor took me away from my chamber, 

To the approved testing room 

For an experiment. 

At the other end of the facility 

Past every bend in the hall 

Every room, every researcher and test subject, 
There was an entrance. 


A small, but important group, 

Made their entrance. 

While the doctor prepared, they were preparing. 

He sat and stared, contemplating me, 

How | was but a toaster that could only be referred to 
In the first person. 

And while he sat, that group of my followers 

Began an attack. 


Those followers who saw 
What | could do, what | was, 
Would reveal my vision 

To the appeal of the masses. 


No matter how hard he tried, Ralph just couldn’t focus on his work. 


He had been sitting at his desk for over an hour now, just staring at 
his computer screen, unable to type his report. Occasionally, he 
would begin entering in a few words, but would immediately delete it 
moments later. 


This wasn’t a major problem; the report wasn’t needed until the next 
board meeting, and that was still a week away. But there was a 
larger issue eating away at him. 


file titled "ESO%HF-V6.31.01", hereby designated SCP-892-1. This 
save file is impossible to delete, copy, rename, export, modify, or 
overwrite in any shape or form. Although creating additional .xls files 
is possible, none have thus far shown similar anomalous properties. 
Contained within each cell of SCP-892-1 is a string of information 
written in plain-text English. Each cell, as well as the contained 
string, is believed to correspond to a currently living individual. This 
string can contain information as mundane as what that individual 
ate for breakfast, their occupation, or their shoe size, to information 
as personal as their first sexual encounter, a thought they had that 
morning, or their greatest phobia. These cells refresh daily, 
displaying a different string of information each time. Should a 
recorded individual die, the corresponding cell will, upon the next 
refresh, display their name, and time and cause of death. 


At the time of discovery, SCP-892-1 was found to contain 
approximately 84,500 by 84,500 cells, slightly over 7 billion. Despite 
the belief that each cell corresponds to a single person, this amount 
was greater than Earth's estimated population at the time. Additional 
rows and columns have appeared regularly since then, the rate of 
growth slightly greater than that of Earth's population. 


Cell A/1 suggests that SCP-892 itself is not the source of 
SCP-892-1's information, but rather is connected to a server, 
designated SCP-892-2. How SCP-892 connects to SCP-892-2 is 
currently unknown. Cell A/2 suggests that upon entering a 
password, the higher functions of SCP-892-1 may be accessed. 
Cells refresh daily at 12:00 a.m. Pacific time. 


Cells of Interest: 


The following is by no means an exhaustive list. 
For a complete list of cells examined so far, please 
consult attached document L892-A. 


A/1: Consistently displays: "Status/Secure| 
ServerData/32%|Ping/12ppmUpdated| 
DONOTSAVETOSERVERJ|O.S" 

A/2: Consistently displays: 
"passwordrequiredforfullaccess" 

G/231: [REDACTED BY O05 ORDER] 


Slowly, Ralph turned again towards the box from the restaurant, now 
sitting near the edge of the desk. Hesitating, he reached his hands 
towards it, and picked it up. He closed his eyes, and carefully 
opened it. 


Opening his eyes, he was greeted with the same sight he’d seen in 
his car: the box was completely empty. 


OK, Ralph thought, there has to be some logical explanation for this. 
It probably just fell out, right? He remembered walking out of the 
restaurant, how he held the box tightly, knowing that dropping it 
would attract someone to talk to him. With everyone obsessing over 
the stuff so much, someone would have noticed if he had dropped 
two pieces of toast in the street. It was doubtless that someone 
would have approached him about it. 


No, | definitely dropped it. That’s the only reasonable explanation. | 
dropped it and no one saw... 


Pushing the subject out of his mind, he went back to his computer. 
By the end of the day, he had completed two sentences. 


Seth had eaten well for lunch: two pieces of toast with jam, and 
some split pea soup. 


As he approached Conrad’s office, there was loud talking inside. 


“Look, Mr. Chairman, | just don’t think we need to deploy them right 
now. We’ve had these sensors malfunction before.” 


This was probably a conversation he wasn’t supposed to hear. 
Talking with chairman meant that it was something of confidence, of 
which he was not allowed to know. Therefore, Seth started to walk 
away. 


“We haven’t had an actual reality bender in decades. Why would 
one pop up now?” 


He stopped in his tracks. “Reality bender” wasn’t a phrase he had 
heard before. It sounded like an imagined idea, but Seth found his 
curiosity to be growing. Against his better judgment, he moved 


closer to the door. 
“OK, alright, | understand your concern.” 


“I'll send them out after the maintenance team finishes up, but only if 
we get another alarm. Otherwise there just isn’t enough cause right 
now.” 


“Even if there was one, we can afford to wait right now. With a 
signature that small, whoever it might be isn’t going to be vaporizing 
a building any time soon.” 

Seth wondered if he had heard that comment correctly. 


“To be blunt, sir, I’m hesitant to send them out because It’s going to 
cost a significant amount of money, and my constituents are going 
to ask questions about where that money went.” 


“Thank you. I'll call you right away if anything else happens. Bye.” 
There was a click as the phone was hung up, followed by a sigh. 
“| know that you’ve been standing out there. You can come in.” 
Timidly, Seth slowly opened the door and poked his head inside. 
“How did you know | was out there, Mr. Brindis?” 


Conrad smiled, looking vaguely amused. “I didn’t. | say that every 
time | get off a confidential call. | figure that if someone was actually 
eavesdropping outside my door, saying that would make them give 
themselves away.” 

Seth smiled sheepishly. 

“Come in and close the door. You’re not in trouble.” 


Seth quickly stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, and took 
a seat at his boss’s desk. 


“Alright Seth, tell me what you heard.” 


Most don’t stay around me long enough 
To feel the true extent of my abilities. 
The way that my effects reflect 

On neglected parts of the mind, 

Months must be spent. 

Few have been sent to this fate, 

And even fewer are lent 

The skills needed for it 

Not to kill them. 


Talking of me in the first person 

Is a trivial reaction, 

Much easier to comprehend 

Than my true action. 

| allow people to see 

A sight that starts dim, 

But gradually gains light. 

It’s a view so strange, 

Many who see it are left deranged. 


But my followers knew 

That this sight was meant to be seen. 
They had been nothing less 

Than rightfully depressed 

At the Foundation which stored me away. 
And they were about to reveal, 

To all of the world, 

The boys and girls, 

Elders and youth, 

A terrific sight. 


The sight of truth. 


Ralph knew it was a stupid idea. It was nonsensical, absurd, and 
paranoid of him to be doing this. But as soon as he got back to his 
apartment from work, he popped a slice of bread in his toaster. 


Ralph had plenty of reasons to keep a toaster. While he wasn’t fond 
of toast, he still very much liked pop tarts. 


As soon as the now darkened slice popped out, Ralph immediately 
grabbed it, dropped it on the counter, and cursed in pain from 
burning his hand. 


Yup, that’s a great idea you’ve come up with here. Burn yourself 
because you want to see if you can make toast disappear with your 
mind. Brilliant. 


Breathing deeply a few times to calm down, he gathered his 
thoughts, and focused his frustration on the morsel now sitting in 
front of him. After a moment, he closed his eyes. 


| hate toast. | hate how every moron | ever come across is just so in 
love with the stuff. | hate how it gets stale when you leave it out for 
an hour. | hate how there’s always that one part of the crust that’s 
burnt. | hate the way it tastes. | hate the way it smells. | absolutely 
despise the stuff. 


Ralph opened his eyes. Sitting on the counter was a now slightly 
cooled piece of toast, completely unaffected by his attempt. 


OK, maybe it needs to be directed at this particular slice. 
Ralph poked the piece gently, and then closed his eyes again. 
| hate that exact slice of toast for burning my hand. 


His eyes opened. The slice was still there. Ralph turned around and 
vented his frustration. 


“Damn it,” he yelled, “can’t this piece of shit just go away?” 


He stood there for a moment, and then with a sigh, he accepted the 
pointlessness of what he was doing. 


Ralph turned around and looked back at the counter. It was now 
empty. 


He blinked a few times, wondering if there was something wrong 
with his eyes. The toast was nowhere to be seen. He looked closer, 
but there was no trace. As he ran his hand over the surface, he felt 
only the smooth material of the counter. Not even a crumb 


remained. 


Ralph stayed up all night trying to repeat the effect. By sunrise, an 
entire loaf of bread and been toasted, and an entire loaf of bread 
had vanished.