When he got there, he found Johnny in the yard, playing with his 
imagination, running and gunning. Tim smiled, jumping out from 
behind a tree and shouting loudly, intending to scare as he pulled 
out his new toy. "I'll fix you, Soace Man!" Johnny jumped, turning 
and then frowning, angry at having been sneaked up on. 


"That's not funny, Ti—" 


His voice died away as Tim pulled the trigger. He stopped for a 
moment, then slumped to the ground, falling in a heap. Tim smiled a 
little, laughing and running to him. "Johnny! Johnny! Isn't it neat?!" 
he asked, laughing and smiling. 


But Johnny didn't respond. 
Simon Hayden opened the box, smiling and grinning as he took out 
the toy, eyes wide and expectant. He turned, showing to his little 


brother who's face practically glowed with envy. "Hey! No fair! 
Where'd you get that?!" he said. 


"Isn't it cool!" he said, smiling. "It's free! You just have to go to this 


website and give them your address and they send you free stuff!" 


His little brother got a greedy glint in his eye. "What is it?! What is 
it!?!" 


Simon smiled, ruffling his hair playfully—and because it annoyed 
him—and grinned. "Just go to www.thefactory.net..." 


Pila 


Dr. Ronald Stimson sighed softly to himself, going deeper and 
deeper into the facility. The heavy briefcase chained to his arm 
made him wince with every step, the additional weight throwing him 
off balance enough to put a crick in his back, sending jolts of pain 
through him again and again. He didn't know why he'd been 
selected for this duty, only that he had been. An unfortunate case of 
circumstance, he supposed. 


After all, he was one of the last ones left alive. 


He never knew Site-19 ran so deep or so far underground. The 
elevator had stopped after his ears had popped, and the stairs 
seemed to keep going forever. Hours seemed to pass before they 
finally stopped, and he stared at a heavy iron door. His destination. 


He opened it, wincing slightly as a blast of stale air hit his nose. He 
walked in, turning on the ventilation and closing the door behind him, 
hearing it lock with an echoing click of finality. He set the briefcase 
on the table and sighed heavily, detaching it from his wrist at last 
and opening it, pulling out a a file folder and setting it on the table. 


He sat down in front of it, knowing the procedure, and closed his 
eyes, breathing deep. It was a terrible risk. The worst one left. But it 
was all they had, now. 


He opened the file and turned the first page. 
SCP-3245: The Living Storm 
Object Class: Euclid 
Description: SCP-3245 is a cloud fro— 
He closed it again, then reopened it. 


SCP-3246: Hell 


SCP-719: Light-Bringer 


Item #: SCP-719 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-719 is to be kept ina 
secure, lead-lined storage unit at Site-15 when not in use. SCP-719 
is to be tested for residual radioactivity on a bi-monthly basis. If 
residual radiation levels exceed 10 Sv/h when SCP-719 is in an 
unpowered state, SCP-719-1 is to be removed from SCP-719 and 
installed into another compatible unit of similar manufacture.! Once 
operation of the new unit is confirmed, the new unit will be 
designated SCP-719 and the old unit disposed of according to site 
protocols for radioactive waste. 


Any experimentation or testing of SCP-719 must take place in a 
radiation-shielded examination room. Foundation personnel are not 
to have direct contact with SCP-719 while it is powered on, and any 
power must be provided by circuits with a remotely monitored 
emergency shutoff. All tests shall be recorded and video archived in 
the Site-15 secure data center. Under no circumstances shall 
SCP-719 be permitted to remain powered on for longer than 75 
minutes. All test signals are to be transmitted to SCP-719 viaa 
standard digital converter box switched to channel 3. 


Update to Containment Procedures / /20 : From this 
point forward, stop testing this thing on D-class subjects. 
We've wasted a dozen so far, and the only anomalous 
effect on them has been radiation poisoning. —Dr. A 
Assistant Director Site-15 


Description: SCP-719 is a General Electric “Porta-Color’ television 
(Model #WAHE5223RW) manufactured in 1975. The fixed internal 
electronics have not been altered from the original design, but all 
vacuum tubes have been replaced by 8 devices of unknown 
manufacture, collectively designated as SCP-719-1. Each device 


Object Class: Euclid 


Description: SCP-3246 is a dimension parallel to our 
own, accessible only by— 


He closed it, sighing more deeply, shaking his head. "This is 
wrong... Why did they think this would work?" 


SCP-3247: The Atomic Ghost 
Object Class: Keter 


Description: SCP-3247 was first noted in 2046, when it 
leveled the city of Hiroshi— 


He slammed it shut, holding his head in his hands. "No, god damn 
it!" he screamed. "I don't care! | don't care if they won, this isn't right! 
We can't just do this!" 


He shoved the file away from himself, getting up and pacing the 
room. They were dead, of course. All those people now. Every last 
one mentioned in the report. Just like his friends. His family. Dead. 
And he'd as good as killed them. 


He paced the room, wondering how quickly the population on the 
surface was dropping. How much longer they would last. He closed 
his eyes, the stress of just breathing making him ache. He walked to 
the papers, reaching down and picking them up, sitting back down at 
the table. 


SCP-4474: The Apocalypse 
Object Class: Keter 
Description: SCP-4474 was first observed in 1864, when 


an event believed to be the Biblical rapture— 


He hated himself. 


SCP-6449: The Duke of Nevermore 
Object Class: Euclid 


Description: SCP-6449 first contacted the Foundation 
after becoming aware of his omniscience and realizing 
the he was a danger to the unive— 


He wanted to die. 


SCP-8140: Doctor Wondertainment 
Object Class: Safe 


Description: SCP-8140 was captured by the Foundation 
in 2018 after his production run of Mister Ender caused 


He was sure he deserved it by now. Positive of it. Completely 
positive. 


He stared at the ceiling. He was sure, sometime in the past, he'd 
heard screaming somehow. Screaming from the top of the world. 
Claws scratching at the door at one point. Felt himself choke for an 
instant. But he was almost done. He closed his eyes, blinking so he 
could see again, and closed the file, opening it slowly. 


SCP-9996: Yourself 
Object Class: Keter 


Description: Look what you did, Ronald. They're gone 
now. All of them. 


He stared at the short page. He had to be hallucinating. Wasn't 
there one of these that would make you go crazy if you just knew 
about it? Had he been infected? 


SCP-9997: It's still you, Ronald. 
Object Class: Keter 


Description: You ended the world, Ronald. This was a 
stupid plan when they came up with it, and you knew it. 


He closed it again, gagging slightly. Then opened it. 
SCP-9998: Ronald Stimson 
Object Class: Keter 


Description: You wanted this. You wanted this almost as 
much as | did. Things would have been fine, you know? 
Perfectly fine. But they were too proud. And you were too 
willing. And now, look at what you did. Your wife. Your 
family. Everyone and everything you ever loved. Thank 
you, Ronald. Thank you. Now, there's just one loose end. 


He closed it, then opened it again, hands shaking. 
SCP-9999: A Gun 
Object Class: Thaumiel 


Description: It's right next to you, Ronald. Loaded. 
Waiting. Go ahead. You know what to do. 


Stimson turned, looking down at the revolver. He reached for it, 
picking it up and cocking the trigger, his face ashen. Almost 
automatically, he put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger, ending 
the last human life on the planet with a sudden thrash, sending the 
papers flying away from him, landing on the floor near his foot, the 
first page open again... 


SCP-001: A Sheaf of Papers 
Object Class: Keter 


Description... 


Rota 


It hurts... They don’t know that it hurts, but it does. So badly. 


Every time | try to speak, it just gets worse. They come at me, prod 
me, examine me... They pull things open, cut into my flesh... And 
when | try to run, they just make it worse. Even when | look at them, 
it just gets worse... 


| can’t breathe. The air here is so... wrong. | miss my home, but they 
won't let me go... Why won't they just let me go? 


The others sent some of them looking for me... Not many, but some. 
| can feel them. At first, it was just the watching one and a few of the 
others. The unknowable one. Then... they sent them. 


And not just one of them. They sent... so many. The rooms. The 
worlds. Chunks of the universe even. Whole races, uprooted, thrown 
through the void. For me. All for me. Even the dragon came, and 
that... that was scary. | never thought they’d send her. She’s close. 
She can smell me. She keeps trying to reach me, but these new 
ones keep her locked up too... 


I’m not that important. It was just the one, wasn’t it? Just one of 
them. So sweet. Succulent. How was | supposed to know what 
would happen to her? | was just following my nature. And her skin 
was So soft... 


They want me gone. Destroyed. All of them. Even the ones that 
used to love me... 


These new ones... they suffocate me. Blind me. Hurt me. | burn 
them and cut them and tear at them, and they WON’T LET ME GO! 
THEY JUST KEEP HURTING ME! 


| just want to RUN! To be FREE! To FEED. 


| just want their skins. 


Virr 


Everett, my good man. Please... Sit down. No, | insist. 


It's time we had a chat, the two of us. No, | think this is the perfect 
time. It's not like we're going to get another. Not with the way things 
are now. We've got a possible plan, but | don't think Stimson will be 
successful. He's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, you know. Not 
at all... Not at all... 


You see, my boy, | understand you. | understand you quite perfectly. 
All the rest think you're varying levels of sinner and saint, that you 
somehow understand something special about us, that you might 
make the next, logical successor for one of us... They're all quite 
right, to some level. You certainly are passionate. | could see you 
doing anything to uphold the mission of the Foundation. Anything at 
all. 


You should have done it already, Everett. You should have found all 
thirteen of us, pulled out a gun, and shot us in the head. Don't 
pretend that you hadn't already considered it. | know that you've got 
plans for us, for each of us, that would be at least moderately 
successful. You'd probably have eliminated the bulk of them. 
Probably. Not me, though. Not that it matters now, anyway. 


But now, it's too late. Far, far too late. We let things go on too long. 
Let them snowball. | don't doubt that you'll struggle to the very end. 
You strike me as the sort to, honestly. Admirable. One of the few 
admirable things about you, really. 


Do you know when | realized | wasn't playing God, Everett? I'll tell 
you. It was when they wouldn't let me bring my son back. Do you 
know how long it took me to get to this point? This point in my life? | 
don't age, Mann. | may never die, if all things go well. | wanted a 
family, though... Silly of me, wasn't it? Wanting a family. | had one. 
They took them from me, though. One at a time. T.J. Elliot. Jack... 
Poor Jack. 


When did you first figure it out, Everett? What we were really doing? 


Heh. | suppose that makes sense. The Insurgency always was our 
biggest hole. Could never find a way to explain it away... Agatha 
tried a few times, but... Ahh, well. Makes sense, | suppose... And 
when did you find out that we were— 


Really? Hmm... Well, it's too late for that to matter now. They've 
done it, whoever they are. Whatever we called forth through that 
blasted chink in the universe's armor. You want to know the best 
part, Doctor? | don't regret any of it. 


None of it, Everett. Not that ridiculous lizard or its brood, not those 
little crabs that slice and cut like they're nothing, not the madmen or 
the demons or the cakes—the god damned cakes! We were trying 
to feed the world, Mann! We didn't realize what we were doing! We 
never realized what we were doing! NEVER! 


We just... we didn't realize... We wanted to make the world better, 
and then... Things fell apart. Things always fall apart... 


Yes, | Know. I'm completely mad. We all were. We'd have to be, for 
what we did. But we were mad with a purpose. Creation... Blissful, 
glorious creation. We were God in the garden, Everett. And we 
wanted you to join us so badly. You had so many fantastic ideas... 
Why, the Thaumiel initiative you proposed was sheer brilliance... 


But it's too late, Everett. Far too late. And now... Well, | know you 
keep the gun in your top, left hand drawer. If you don't mind? On 
your way out? 


Thank you, my boy. And try to enjoy the last few moments you have. 
Rage, my boy! Rage against the dying of the lig— 


Visium 


Doctor Matthews sat back in his chair, sighing some and rubbing his 
eyes. Why the hell had they dragged him out of bed so early? He 
stifled a yawn and smiled as his field partner, an agent named 
Stimson, sat down next to him, leaning back in his own chair with a 
similar expression on his face. 


"We shouldn't have been out drinking so late..." Stimson whispered. 


Matthews laughed a little, looking at the slowly filling auditorium. "1 
know," he replied. "We should have just gone to bed and woken up 
ready to work," he said. "It's only our day off, after all..." 


Stimson shook his head some. "God... Did you see those two 
research assistants from Site-11?" he asked. Matthews leaned 
forward a bit, nodding. "You get their numbers?" he asked. Stimson 
laughed. "Got more than that... You should have stuck around..." 


Matthews grit his teeth for a moment in frustration. "Damnit, 
Stimson... Why the hell do you tell me these things?" he asked. 


Stimson snickered as a finger struck a microphone, calling for 
attention. Matthews sat back in his chair, looking toward the stage 
as aman in an impeccable suit stepped out, looking at them all and 
nodding. "Hello," he said, his voice an odd mix of intonations. "| want 
to welcome you all this morning and apologize for getting you up so 
early..." 


Stimson rolled his shoulder a little bit as Matthews leaned over, 
whispering in his ear. "Who is this guy?" he asked. 


Stimson shrugged as the man on stage continued. "/ wanted fo talk 
with you all for amoment... about our mission. It's important, you 
know... very, very important..." 


Matthews frowned. Why the hell was this guy speaking like that? he 


thought, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment. He shook his 
head, trying again to clear the haze of sleep and drink. 


Stimson leaned close again. "Isn't he an O05?" he asked. 


Matthews shook his head, squinting his eyes tightly, trying to 
concentrate on the words again. "... all of them must be collected. 
The plan must proceed as scheduled..." 


Stimson nodded. "Yeah, he's an O5... I'm sure of it." 


The other shook his head again. "No, he isn't..." Matthews said. "I've 
seen the O5's..." He sniffed at the air a little, wondering why he 
suddenly smelled popcorn. 


"... and as soon as we've got them all collected, contained... Our 
work will have finally begun. We cannot let them stop us, slow us 
down..." 


Matthews head ached for a sharp moment, blood running from a 
nostril as his temples throbbed. He brought his palms to his eyes, 
shocked to feel his heart beating through them. And then... a 
sudden pain just behind his right ear, and he slumped backwards. 


"We will serve. Contain. Protect," the man intoned. "And then... We 
can begin."