I'm on my own here, there's only one researcher at a time allowed 
through the gate. It's lonely, sometimes, but | suppose it'll be worth 
it, the amount of information I'll be able to get off this one is going to 
be of great benefit to us in the long run. And after all I'm not really in 
any place to complain, | knew what | was getting into when | was 
sent here, when they told me what | was going to have to do. It's not 
been easy, and the long hours of interviews are a real pain, but at 
least | know it's all for the greater good. 


With the information that I'm getting from these interviews we should 
be able to ensure that if one of these things gets free in our world, 
we'll know enough about them to be able to neutralise the threat 
immediately. And maybe even find out a way of getting rid of all of 
them in one fell swoop. They're clearly a massive threat, in our world 
or theirs. 


But until then | watch, and | learn, and | make notes. Although they 
have to be in my head, | couldn't bring anything to write on when | 
entered the containment area. 


| learn more and more about the creatures every day, with every 
interview, with every move they make. They're so expressive in their 
body language, they give it all away, despite how alien their 
physiology. 


| think | may even have some ideas on how we can get one of our 
special teams into their world, and eradicate them all. 


Sometimes, though, | miss my home. My family. | don't like it here. 


It's this site. These people. 
This Foundation. 
It's just... 


They're all... so... disgusting. 


A.S.S. and Other Low-threat Groups of Interest 


The Association of Supernatural Shifters 


The Association of Supernatural Shifters, or A.S.S. as they are 
better known, gathered around the conference table. They all looked 
at each other and nodded. They knew they were in trouble. 


"Aurafeel, our organization has barely recruited any members. In 
spite of our almost unlimited power and glowing hands, we are 
unable to contract even the most mundane of recruits," said 
Lifesmasher, thrusting his hammer that burned with the power of 20 
suns into the air. 


"| do not understand why, Aurafeel. We offer the greatest of all 
supernatural weaponry and skills for free," added Awesometouch, 
the greatest thief in all of history. 


"lam not sure myself, oh warriors of spirited metal." Aurafeel, his 
hands glowing as embers leaped off them, then stood up and gazed 
out the window of his multi-billion dollar training facility. 


"Um, sir, if | may..." said Bingo, one of Aurafeel's many genetically- 
enhanced servant dogs. 


"What is it, Bingo?" asked Aurafeel. 


"Well, perhaps it is the organization's name, sir. | believe 'ass' may 
be a synonym for 'buttocks’." Bingo nodded sagely. 


"My god! Bingo is correct!" Aurafeel smashed his fists down on the 
titanium table. "| propose we change our organization's name, 
gentlemen." 


"Hear, hear!" shouted Lifesmasher and Awesometouch. 


"But, what shall we name it?" Aurafeel moved his hand up to stroke 


his manly and well carved chin. They all sat there for a while, 
pondering upon names. 


Suddenly, Awesometouch jumped up. "I have it, Aurafeel!" 
"What, Awesometouch?" 


"Our organization shall be called the Cooperation of Undying 
Nationalist Theorists for Homogenous Overall Liberty and Equality.” 


"Yes! Then it is agreed upon." The group then stood. "Gentlemen, 
we are now C.U.N.T.H.O.L.E.!" 


The Elementary Academy of Anomalists 


The teacher stands over the group, gazing down her glasses at 
each of the young children assembled. "Alright, class is starting, 
young ones. Quiet down!" 


Little Jimmy throws his paper airplane then quiets down. Bobby 
continues to eat paste. Lucinda passes a note to Bobby informing 
him of her crush on him, only to have him unable to read it due to his 
sticky fingers. 


"Children, we have a new child in class today. Everybody, say hello 
to Janice." A girl with short pigtails and a nice pink dress on enters 
the classroom and curtseys to the class. "Now who can tell Janice 
what we do here?" 


Bobby takes the paste out of his mouth and stands up. "We... um... 
we train elite warriors from a young age to deal with an- anom- 
abomalous entities from a young age." 


"Yes, excellent. And we all have special little powers ourselves. 
Would anyone care to demonstrate?" Little Jimmy stands up and 
makes a snorting noise, then shoots a loogie straight across the 
room and into a small target opposite. Bobby then proceeds to blow 
a bubble with the paste he had just eaten. Lucinda then blinks really 
really fast. 


Janice is transfixed. She gasps. Then she herself burps, and it 


shakes the classroom. The teacher pats Janice on the back. "With 
these abilities we're sure you'll be able to capture any anomalous 
entity you set your mind on!" 


Meanwhile, in the principal's office, the principal briefly considers 
pulling the trigger on the gun next to his head. 


The Serpent's Upraised Middle Finger 


Greg was sooo drunk right then. He slammed down the bottle of 
Jack Daniels and looked at his bros. "Guys, we have been 
mistreated by those Foundation scum for waaaaay too long." 


"Fuckin' rights, man!" shouted some guy with a mohawk from across 
the room. Greg squinted and looked at the guy. Was the guy evena 
part of S.U.M.F.? He shrugged and went back to speaking. 


"Look, we gotta unite. Tomorrow morning we're gonna ride in on our 
choppers or whatevs and fuck shit up!" He raised his fist in the air 
and everybody around him clinked their shots or bottles and took 
another hit. "You wanna die oppressed, poor, and hiding in some 
fucking library, or do you wanna die a motherfuckin’ legend!?" 


Everyone cheered and parted. Somebody turned on Slayer and they 
proceeded to knock over the table and have a mosh pit. At some 
point a bunch of hookers showed up. Greg couldn't remember the 
rest, though. 


The next morning everyone agreed they were too hungover to raid 
the Foundation. 


The Canines of Sapient Ability and Universal Suffrage 
Group 


Fido the dog sat in his doghouse. Yes, soon all sapient canines for 
universal suffrage would come flocking to his door. Any minute 
now... 


The Cooperation of Undying Nationalist Theorists for 
Homogenous Overall Liberty and Equality 


"Well, Awesometouch, | believe that name change was for the 
better!" said Aurafeel, "We already have one new recruit set up to 
join us!" 


"Um, hi," said Vlad. He was wearing a trenchcoat and had a greying 
beard. He still had a bit of white powder underneath his nose and his 
hair was so matted a mouse appeared to be sleeping in it, "| heard 
there were cuntholes?" 


"No, friend, that is the name of our glorious organization!" proudly 
proclaimed Aurafeel, lifting his hands in the air. 


"Oh. I'm out, then." Vlad nodded to the group and left out the door. 


Lifesmasher turned and looked over at Aurafeel. "Well shit." 
Honeyhut's Item Exchange 


05-12 turned to 05-13. "So what is this 'Honeyhut's'?" 


05-13 gestured to the image of a log cabin behind him. "It's a small, 
ma-and-pa anomalous items distribution chain." 


05-12 smiled and blew his nose. "Why, that's lovely. It's great to see 
a good, non-corporate organization just working for the day's pay." 


05-13 frowned. "It is lovely, but unfortunately large organizations 
like Marshall, Carter, and Dark limited have been driving small 
organizations like these out of business." 


"Why that's terrible!" 


"It is, friend. All these foreign companies are coming in and stealing 
our good, American anomalous items trade organizations!" 


"What will we do?" 


"Well, I've organized my own movement | like to call the COFFEE 
Party." 


The Corporate Outsourcing of Foundation and Federal 


Exchange Extradition Party 


"Hell, no, we won't go!" shouted a march led by Dr. Pinkus outside 
MC&D headquarters. 


Carter looked down at the assembled group and frowned. "We have 
a problem, Marshall." 


"Indeed we do, Carter. Thankfully, our opposition is filled with idiots. 
They've found our headquarters, but their only course of action 
appears to be holding up signs and occasionally shouting 
nonsensical phrases." 


"Thank god." Carter tilted his head and looked down at the groups 
again. "Y'know, Marshall..." 


"What, Carter?" 


"Well, it seems to me at this point that the number of splinter groups 
and associations is just entirely too silly." 


"Such is a fact of life, Carter. Groups of Interest flare up every so 
often, then die down again. It's like herpes." 


"Well, at least we're not fucking Wondertainment." 


"Thank god." 


A Shift at The Factory 


Anthony lifted his goggles from his eyes. He watched the man 
working at the nearest conveyor belt. Anthony had never bothered to 
learn the man's name, despite working with him for almost three 
years. It just wasn't something you did at The Factory. Work related 
accidents were all too common to really build up a rapport. And if 
you weren't one of the people who suffered from a lethal accident, or 
among the few that would simply throw themselves into the 
machinery, there was the ever-present threat of simply 
disappearing. 


Yet, after three years, Anthony was still alive. Still working in The 
Factory instead of off fighting Nazis. He had lost most of his left 
hand at some point, he couldn't entirely remember when or how as 
the lengths of the shifts caused one's sense of time to dilate 
somewhat. But he was still employed. And so was the man at the 
nearest conveyor belt. Unlike most employees, the man was 
unharmed despite his length of employment. Anthony wasn't really 
sure how that was possible, but apparently he had found a way. 


The man was stamping The Factory's mark onto a series of circular 
tin containers that looked like they were already coated in rust. He 
brought the lever down and The Factory brought down one of its 
many arms and embossed the bottom of the little tin. Then the belt 
whirred briefly, and a new tin sat before the man. He repeated the 
action, his eyes unfocused. 


Anthony felt a sweltering heat encase him as he pulled his goggles 
back on. He wrapped a shiny hoop around the cylindrical chamber 
and welded the ends together to reinforce the frame. Welding with 
only one-and-a-half hands should have been near impossible, but 
he had never found it to be much of an obstacle. Anthony wasn't 
even sure what the thing was meant to do, he just was to create the 
central chamber and then drag it over to the woman who would affix 
the gauges and tubes to it. Then he would go back to his station to 


SCP-775: Hungry Ticks 


Item #: SCP-775 
Object Class: Keter 


Special Containment Procedures: Interaction with SCP-775 is to 
be carried out via robotic assistance whenever possible. Should 
direct human interaction be required, all staff must wear the Mk2 
contained-atmosphere armored Haz-Mat suit at all times. Should 
any tear be found in a suit, the subject must be immediately placed 
in quarantine and checked for signs of infestation. Containment area 
must be coated in a layer of plate steel, with all joints and seams 
made as tight as possible without compromising structural integrity. 
A two-part airlock seal is to be maintained as the single access point 
to the containment area. Airlocks will be flooded with bleach if any 
unit of SCP-775 is detected within the airlock, and remain flooded 
for five minutes, or until all SCP-775 have been terminated. 
Containment area is to be sprayed with bleach on a monthly basis to 
maintain population density. Feedings are not to exceed twice 
[DATA EXPUNGED] provided only at the discretion of Site 
Command. 


Description: SCP-775 appears to be a form of arachnid of the order 
Ixodida, more commonly known as the tick. It is of a significantly 
larger size, with most un-engorged adults reaching a size 
comparable with a U.S. nickel. Coloration varies between black, red, 
yellow, grey, and various shades of each. Adults possess eight legs, 
while juveniles possess only six. SCP-775 is capable of making 
small leaps, and travels very rapidly along solid surfaces. 


SCP-775 shares the trait of a flexible body structure, but is much 
more robust than the common tick, capable of surviving crushing, 
cutting, or tearing with little to no damage, and capable of flattening 
out to slide through 0.25 cm gaps. SCP-775 is also capable of 
swelling up to four times its original size during feeding, although 
this does slightly hamper its ability to move. The legs of SCP-775 


find the beginnings of another chamber. He never bothered to find 
out where they came from. Questions in The Factory often led to 
unpleasant answers. 


It was toward the end of a shift when it happened. Anthony was 
delirious to the point where he tried welding without his goggles. 
Before he could place the torch to metal a hand placed itself on his 
shoulder. He looked up to the Manager, which wagged one of its 
many fingers as a playful warning. Anthony took a few moments to 
realize what to do, but he pulled the goggles back over his eyes. He 
was sure his eyes would begin boiling, but he knew the Manager 
would reprimand him with much worse. He felt the Manager pat his 
head gently, and Anthony could see it walking away in the edges of 
his goggled vision. He thanked it and it waved him a nonchalant 
dismissal with its various limbs. 


Anthony was about to start welding properly when he noticed the 
man at the conveyor belt was acting strangely. A grin covered the 
man's face. Anthony discounted it as his exhausted mind; no one 
smiled at The Factory. The man bent down, rummaged through his 
bag, and came back up with two small toy robots. They didn't 
resemble something of Factory make. They were too shiny, too new 
looking. He placed one on the console and seemed to whisper mad 
nothings to it before carrying the robot's twin after the retreating 
Manager, leaving his bag open. The little toy on the console turned 
to face the conveyor belt and yanked on the lever, but nothing 
happened. The man didn't notice in his rush after his superior. 


The Manager turned around when it heard running footsteps. Work 
momentarily halted as everyone watched the proceedings. Nothing 
like this had ever happened before, at least not during their shifts. 
The Manager watched the man approach and took the toy when it 
was Offered. It examined the device, turning it over time and again. It 
gestured to the man, who nodded and claimed to have created the 
little marvel — and many others just like it. 


The Manager held the toy in its appendages as it held it at the man's 
eye level. Anthony grimaced when the metal crumpled helplessly in 
the Manager's grip. The man looked like he had been shot. He lifted 
his cupped hands and the Manager dropped the ball of scrap into 


his hands. With a swift motion the Manager brought down an arm, 
removing both of the man's hands. They and the former robot hit the 
ground with a wet clang. 


The Manager took note of the abandoned conveyor belt and glided 
over to it. The man scooped up his hands and cradled the wreckage 
against him. He followed the Manager back to his work station. It 
swept up the robot standing on the console and set it atop the 
waiting tin. The man called out in terror.