"Bullshit, Your name's Goat." She turned to Sap. 
"As in, his e-goat's bigger than anyone else's." 
Sap didn't get it. 


"Like, his ego. Look, | didn't choose the name. 
They call me Scarface. At least I've accepted it.” 


"So what are we actually doing?" Sap asked. 


"Lesson one of PHYSICS: always read the damn 
briefing.” Goat said. “Basically, there's a thing 
out there that'll make you forget to how to speak 
or read or write. You lose the ability to 
communicate. The doctors are saying it's nota 
disease though. We're going in to cut off the 
infection and take care of the citizens." 


"Huh. What do you mean by ‘taking care’ of 
citizens?" Sap unsteadily asked. 


"| think you know what he means. We don't have 
a cure for this thing. We gotta get rid of it.” 
Scarface filled in. 


There were a couple seconds of uneasy silence. 


"| don't wanna kill innocent people." Sap quietly 
said. 


After another pause, Goat spoke. 


"Not our choice" 


"Either we kill these people, or we let this thing 
kill every person on the planet." Scarface added. 


"But this disease or whatever, it doesn't kill 
people! Why don't we just hold them and wait for 
a cure?" Sap loudly asked, holding back anger. 


"Look | don't know, greenhorn. | don't call the 
shots and neither do you. No matter what you 
say, we're still here and we're still required to 
follower orders. Get used to it." Scarface 
resigned herself with the last few words. 


She sighed. More quietly, she spoke again. 
"| don't wanna kill innocent people either." 


And with that, a truck full of Coalition soldiers 
drove off into an uncertain fate. 


Publicly acknowledge existence of Global Occult Coalition rival ac 


Words and calls filled the air as people rushed 
around the camera-laden site of the Global 
Occult Coalition's film set. At the center of the 
commotion, a well-dressed man adjusted his tie 
and waited, patiently. An array of cameras 
surrounded him, staring him down. An antsy 
makeup artist toyed with his hair, her nimble 
fingers brushing through smooth, greying locks. 
She threw a worried look at him. 


"You got this?" 


His mouth transformed into a steadfast smile as 
he looked at her. 


"More than ever." 


A tired, frantic director rushed around the set. He 
called for a final announcement, quieting the 
room. 


"Listen everyone. We're right about to film, so | 
want to make one final announcement. Ina 
matter of moments, we'll be going live in what 
will be one of the most important transmissions 
in history. Anyone trips up, and the whole world 
gets to see it. Not trying to scare anyone, but this 
is going live out to the whole world. And more 
than anything, this is a warning. The world needs 
to know of this global threat. So let's get rolling 
and save the world!" 


Sporadic clapping broke out among the gathered 
crowd as they took positions. A call broke out in 
a matter of moments, silencing the set. 


"Pictures up!" 


The well-dressed man shooed away the makeup 
artist as everyone cleared away from him. A 
while wall inscribed with the Global Occult 
Coalition logo stood behind him, dark cameras 
making an arc in front of him. He adjusted his 
hair and looked at the central camera with a 
steely gaze. 


"Rolling." 


Across the world, screens lit up with the same 
steely gaze. A wizened yet sturdy face graced 
with a shock of silver hair filled televisions across 
the glove. The authority-filled face appeared in 
televisions in the corner of bars, in sets at homes 
and in massive screens attached to crowded 
skyscrapers. 


"Hello world." 


"What you are seeing is not a fake 
transmissions, nor is it some form of trick. What 
you are witnessing is an emergency broadcast, 
made in cooperation with governments across 
the world. First and foremost, a primary 
statement is required for all citizens of Earth:" 


"The paranormal exists." 


"We live among anomalous dangers. With the 
support of the United Nations and the Council of 
108, we, the Global Occult Coalition, have been 
combating paranormal, parascientific and 
paratemporal threats for decades, protecting the 
human population from the unknown. Our main 
mission has been peace and survival for the 
human race, and thus we stand above any 
single nation's agenda. Our interest lies only in 
the protection of humanity." 


"There are other organizations likes us, though 
not all of us share the same goals. More 
information on these organizations and the 
paranormal threats of the world will be explained 
in future broadcasts. Currently, our main focus is 
a threat that, if left unchecked, has the ability to 
eliminate modern society." 


"An information-based entity with the power to 
eliminate communication on a base level is 
currently present on a global basis. Any person, 
once infected, will lose the ability to speak, write 
and understand speech and writing. This 
countermeme, if left unchecked, can cause a 
worldwide loss-of-communication scenario, 
destroying society on a primal level." 


Though his face remained unchanged, the 
confident voice began to slur as he continued. 


"It has come to a point where it has been 


deemed impossible to continue with our current 
path of secrecy. Thus, we must warn all of-" 


A slight pause. The steely gaze wavered as 
confusion rose in his eyes. 


"Thus, we mist warning all of-" 


The confusion grew. A struggle was apparent in 
his rising voice. 


"We are to wan all oven pemp that the ers is-" 


Confusion gave out to panic. The feed cut out as 
screens across the world turned to black. 


In the studio, panic gave away to terror. The 
man, once confident and proud, began to fall to 
his knees, gibberish spewing from his mouth. 
Someone grabbed a phone off the wall and 
urgently spoke in to the other end. In moments, 
combat-ready operatives filled the room, 
dragging the struggling man through double 
doors. 


The director got off his chair and looked at the 
assistant director. They said nothing, but the fear 
and devastation in their eyes gave everything 
away. 


"Good lord, what have we done?" 


Request for global martial law & worldwide protective curf 
“Now, everyone.” 


The attention of many dignitaries and officials 
returned to the dark-suited D.C. al Fine. Her 
sharp, precise voice was amplified to echo in the 
vast hall the meeting was in. 


“It should already be clear that the Global Occult 
Coalition is the organization best suited for 
tackling this global problem. We lack time to 
argue this fact. No other organization has the 
same history or experience in dealing with the 
paranormal. It is possible to eliminate the 
countermeme completely, but we cannot do this 
without everyone’s cooperation. I'm sure you can 
all understand that it’s hard to run an operation 
which requires multiple wings to be in agreement 
in order to get anything done. Similarly, the 
reaction time we have to a dangerous event is 
minimized when a majority of our time is spent 
appeasing and negotiating with opposing sides.” 


The speech was cut short by a tan, silver-haired 
man. 


“Al Fine, please get to the point. What does the 
Global Occult Coalition need?” 


An irked D.C. al Fine cut a searing glance at him 
before turning back to her papers. 


“We would hope that you can understand that in 
order to ensure the survival of mankind, the 
Global Occult Coalition will require global martial 
law.” 


And with that, chaos broke out. Throughout the 
hall, men and women stood up to object. Others 
rapidly turned to their assistants or to each other. 
D.C. al Fine stood back from the podium for a 
moment as the room decided how to react. She 
waited for a moment, purposefully oblivious to 
the barrage of questions and accusations before 
returning to the microphone. 


“| cannot answer every question at once!” It was 
too formal to be a yell, yet the statement carried 
the ferocity of one. 


“There are 198 national leaders in this hall, as 
well as 108 more in the Council. We cannot 
eliminate the countermeme if we have to 
appease over three hundred different 
organizations. It is impossible. The Global Occult 
Coalition requires your unquestioning loyalty and 
trust to accomplish this.” 


While the chamber had died down for the most 
part, rogue voices still ran rampant throughout it. 


“We already have plans to establish a safer 
world. First, a worldwide protective curfew will be 
established for all civilians so we can account for 
our people. Second, we will establish safe zones 
for individuals who are confirmed to be free of 
memetic infection. The list goes on, but the idea 
remains: we will only establish measures to 
destroy the countermeme. Nothing else.” 


D.C. al Fine allowed a pause for the audience, 
letting them recuperate and decide their path of 
action. Minutes later, she spoke again. 


“We will now vote on this measure. | hope we 
can all agree to do what’s best for the world.” 


Everyone turned from the speaker to their 
tablets, each screen lit by three digital buttons. 
The red urged “Against.” The grey advised 
“Abstain.” The green advocated “In Favor.” D.C. 
al Fine stepped off the podium and approached 
a group of assistants off to the side. 


“Damn, am | talking to the established world 
powers or a zoo? So much for international 
cooperation.” Al Fine’s irritation was clear in her 
voice. The group nodded along to her. 


One of the members spoke up, asking, “Do you 
think the vote will work?” 


“It has to," she said. "The world is behind us on 
this. If we fail, so does the world." 


Another asked, “What do we do if it doesn’t?” 


“Then we'll have to carry on. It’s still possible for 
us to save the world without their help, it'll just be 
a hell of a lot harder.” She looked at her watch 
and sighed. “Alright. Let’s see what happens.” 


The screen behind the podium displayed the 
votes: 


IN FAVOR: 117 

ABSTAIN: 5 

AGAINST: 186 

D.C. al Fine walked back to the podium. 


“I see. | hope you all understand the gravity of 
your choices. The Global Occult Coalition will 
continue to act on the world’s behalf.” 


She turned to walk off, but threw one last 
statement to the crowd. 


“And if we never hear from each other again, | 
wish you all the best of luck. It’s a mad world out 
there.” 


-Establish and/ 
or refresh KTE termination triage sequences for all Threat Level 2 


“Like hell you’re gonna override my orders.” 


The butt of an iron cane aggressively tapped the 
floor as Dr. Wythers yelled at the man cowering 
behind a clipboard in front of her. 


“You know damn well that you have neither the 


authority nor the willpower to deny my 
command. Now get the hell out of here.” Though 
she held a cane, in this moment Dr. Wythers 
stood fully erect. She wasn’t taller than the other 
person, but he still backed away as she spoke. 


He cleared his throat and said, “I just, | just can’t 
in good faith authorize these thaumatic 

weapons. It’s not safe. Most of the things on this 
list are untested. Some are even prototypes. It’s 
just a bad decision no matter how you look at it.” 


She stepped towards him, repelling him back 
into the steel door behind him. The room was 
sterile and white, with a variety of strangely- 
shaped objects covered in symbols held on 
counters on the walls. A couple of men and 
women in coats also covered in symbols 
discreetly tinkered with some of the objects. 
Though they didn’t turn around, they were 
listening to Dr. Wythers’ tangent too. Her voice 
rose as she continued to speak. 


“Really. Because the way | look at it, the whole 
damn world’s going to shit right now, and you're 
worried that these weapons are untested? There 
are threat entities out there that will kill hundreds 
of people, and bullets sure as hell don’t work on 
them. You bring them these thaumatic weapons 
or you let innocent people die. So go through 
that door and ship those fucking weapons!” 


“No.” 
“No?” 
He held his head high and repeated, “No.” 


Dr. Wythers held his stare for a second before 
pushing past him. 


Setting: 1:1 
Output: One CD-R, containing a recording of The 
Monkees' /'m a Believer (1967). 


Input: One CD-R, containing a recording of the 

High School (located in , )Classof — student 
orchestra performing Pachelbel's Canon in D. 

Setting: Fine 

Output: One CD-R, containing a professional orchestral 
rendition of Pachelbel's Canon in D. The performers 
were later identified as the Vienna Radio Symphony 
Orchestra. 


Note: Dr. Hertz was noted to appear giddy and excited 
upon discovery of this result. 


Input: One copy of Aeolian Memories, a self-published 
album of 21 songs composed, written, performed on 
guitar, and sung by Dr. Hertz in his spare time while 
moonlighting as a musical artist. 

Setting: Very fine 

Output: One CD-R. Upon further inspection, the music 
had been replaced with five tracks of complete silence, 
followed by the first chapters of the audiobooks Learn to 
Sing 101 by Karen Surmani, Teach Yourself to Play 
Guitar by David Brewster, and Songwriting for Dummies 
by Dave Austin, et al. 


Note: At this point, Dr. Hertz was restrained and firmly 
escorted out of Research Cell 109-B for attempting to 
damage SCP-914 and yelling about "the [EXPLETIVE] 
what thinks it's being [EXPLETIVE] funny!" He has been 
temporarily suspended from the SCP-914 research 
program for unprofessional behavior. 


Name: Dr. Rook, Technician 

Date: 03-10-2018 

Total items: One (1) manuscript of a Javascript program 
(self-learning chatbot), one (1) manuscript of a Javascript 
program (Convolutional Neural Network model), one (1) 


“Then fuck it. You're fired. Get out the way I'll do 
this myself.” As she spoke, she yanked the 
clipboard out of the other doctor’s hands and 
pushed the door back. 


“Wait, stop! You’re not doing this!” The other 
doctor yelled as he chased after her. 


“Oh yes | am! Now go take a hike, you don't 
work here anymore.” She dismisses him with a 
wave of her hands. She stopped, caught with a 
thought. Dr. Wythers swiveled around on her 
cane to face the other doctor. 


“And one last thing. We're fighting a war right 
now. If everything was fine and dandy, yeah, 
there’s no chance in hell I’d authorize these. But 
if everything was fine and dandy, would we be 
refreshing these termination sequences? If 
everything was fine, why are we choosing to kill 
the lesser evils now?” 


The other doctor didn’t answer the question. 


“Because right now, we're fighting an evil that 
could let them escape, could let them cause 
destruction out among the normal people. If we 
were winning the fight, we wouldn’t have to stop 
them now. But we’re not winning the fight. We’re 
not.” 


Dr. Wythers let out a sigh, holding her cane still. 
She looked tired, resting on the iron cane. 


“Listen, kid, you’re not fired. But if | hear so 
much as a word that you're disobeying me 
again, you will be. We need all hands on deck 
right now. So go find some way to be useful." 


The other doctor reached out to take his 
clipboard back. Dr. Wythers snapped it away 


from him and turned her back to him, continuing 
her march down the hall. 


“I’m authorizing these weapons myself.” 
And she did. 
-Execute termination triage sequences. 


Emily Davis had a way with weapons. Well, to be 
more accurate, Emily Davis had a way with lead. 
Bullets went whichever way she wanted them to. 
They tended to work very well with her, and not 
so well against her. 


She first learned of this affinity for bullets when 
she went shooting out at the islands in her 
teenage years. She never missed her targets, 
and her affinity soon became local legend. There 
weren't many people on the islands, so word 
about her traveled fast and she became a 
celebrity. Shooting wasn’t just a hobby, it 
became who she was. It was a gift.