Yahweh was startled momentarily — a foible of His human body's 
fight-or-flight response, to be sure — when Conquest appeared in 
the wheat field out of nowhere. She was not wearing her illuminated 
clothing, but rather an ordinary t-shirt and jeans, contrasting with her 
shining flesh and burning crown. 


She was without her Steed, the sleeping foam entity which once 
awakened could blanket a fourth of the world in its collective. 
Instead she was accompanied by a translucent floating creature, all 
eyes and tentacles, swimming in its own personal cloud. An 
atmospheric jellyfish. 


"Your Steed..." Yahweh began. 


"| found one | liked more," Conquest said. She patted the cloud- 
jelly's side. "It's white, isn't it? It does eat people, sometimes, but 
right now I'm not sure if | care." She hesitated. "| can speak so well. | 
can't remember the last time... well, | can now, actually. So is this 
part of my power?" 


She was angry, Yahweh could tell. 


"My child," He began, "it is time to forgive the Foundation for their 


transgressions—" 
"Don't talk to me about the Foundation." 


Yahweh was torn between becoming angry over her disrespect in 
interrupting him, and tolerant of her reaction to her liberation. She 
had been held by the Foundation for quite a long time... perhaps He 
could afford to be indulgent... 


"I'm not angry with the Foundation," Conquest said. "I'm angry with 
you." 


The venom in her tone made His brow furrow in aggravation. 


"They didn't know what they were doing. Thought they were saving 
the world. But you... You could have told the Foundation what | was. 
You could have just taken me away from them. You could have 
done something." She paused to take a breath. "Even just a word to 
05-14... But you did nothing. Do you — of course you do. You know 
exactly what they did to me. You know every last detail. And. You. 
Did. Nothing." 


Yahweh frowned. "How do you know about O5-14?" 
She just looked at Him. "That's it? That's what you have to say?" 


Yahweh sighed. He had no time for an argument. Not right now, not 
after the ordeal in the Valley. "Answer my question." 


"You have no idea how much power you gave me, do you?" 


Now He was angry. "Regardless," He said, "You are Mine, and you 
will obey." 


"| don't think so." 
He stared at her, flabbergasted at her gall. 


"I'm not going to be your Rider," she said. "I don't belong to anyone. 
Never again. You gave me a whole lot of power and... I'm gonna 
use it." 


SCP-606: "The Teacher" 


Item #: SCP-606 
Object Class: Euclid (Keter classification under review) 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-606 is currently housed of 
its own will in an unfurnished 20mx25mx8m cell at Site, the 
entrance to which is sealed by two 25cm steel blast doors on either 
side of an airlock. No personnel are to enter SCP-606's containment 
cell except under controlled testing circumstances or with 
authorisation from a staff member of level 4 clearance or higher. 
Standard positive-action defenses (explosive, chemical, biological, 
and memetic) are to be in place at all times, according to standard 
operating procedure. 


Due to SCP-606's non-corporeal nature, no reliable security 
measures in case of a containment breach have been developed at 
this time. In the event of such a breach, all personnel should refer to 
Plan ETA-SIX. 


Through use of a mobile remotely operated device, SCP-606 is to 
be provided with an ordinary USB flash storage device containing no 
less than 2MB of data every 12 hours. The data contained on the 
device is to be left to the discretion of SCP-606's supervisor, but text 
from classic literature or encyclopaedias, movie clips or audio files of 
historical speeches are ideal. In an emergency situation this may be 
substituted with 'data' in any form, such as print, compact discs or 
video tapes. A careful record of all data provided to SCP-606 must 
be kept. SCP-606 should not be given repeated information except 
in an emergency situation. No material pertaining to the Foundation 
or other anomalous objects should be provided to SCP-606 under 
any circumstances. 


Description: SCP-606 appears as a spherical mass of light of 
variable size and intensity. Most commonly, it is approximately 85cm 
in diameter and emits 220 candelas of luminosity, but has been 


"How..." 


Then He read her mind. He didn't actually intend to, no; He did it 
without thinking, to find the answer to His question. He was about to 
wipe her from existence. Not a harsh punishment, all things 
considered, if she was not going to be cooperative. 


Or He had been about to wipe her from existence. Until He read her 
mind, and saw everything that was in there. Everything that she had 
ever felt, thought, experienced. 


And Yahweh did nothing. 


Conquest looked up at the stars. "I think... | think I'm gonna go 
explore the universe,” she said. "| don't know when I'll come back. 
Maybe in a few million years. Maybe never. It doesn't really matter." 


Conquest rose into the sky with her cloud-jelly companion. No flash, 
no pomp, no fanfare; she just simply flew away, ascending towards 
the clouds, and through them, and past them. 


Yahweh watched her go. He did not try to stop her. He watched her 
until she was a pinprick in the sky, and kept watching until she 
vanished completely, leaving Earth far behind. 


« Awakenings | Canon Hub | The Red Horse (The Ironic 
Metaphor) » 


The Red Horse (The Ironic Metaphor) 


And there went out another horse that was red: and 
power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace 
from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and 
there was given unto him a great sword. 


Klaxons blared through Site 12. Throughout the building, screens 
flickered and filled with static. Televisions, cell phones, computers, 
and Game Boys, all powering on and filling with nothing. 
Researchers rushed through the halls to their stations, checking 
systems and trying to organize. Meanwhile, Dr Seidelman, Head 
Researcher, toiled in his office. His computer's monitor quietly 
buzzed with static; his phone sat to his side, angrily screaming for 
attention. Every line was full. 


"Then reset it again, Dale," Seidelman barked into the phone. "Just 
keep trying, I'll get Yung to try again on his end. Just do it, I've got 
another call." Seidelman switched to line 2. Every sector head was 
calling him at once. For good reason, too. 


"Seidelm- No, | don't know what happened. Fourteen nineteen's 
never done this before." Seidelman scribbled a note to himself. "... 
Right. Alright. Yes, all media are affected. Not just television. Thank 
you. Try to reset the jammers. I've g- | just got off the phone with 
Dale, he's resetting his end. Call him. | have another call, good bye." 
He took a breath as he switched to line four. 


"Seidelman." He waited for the response. "Seidelman's office. 
Hello?" 


One by one, the lines went quiet. Soon the office was silent, save for 
the low buzz of the static of the computer monitor. 


Slowly, Seidelman looked up from the phone to the monitor. Static 
had been replaced with bright and colourful scene, a simple cartoon 


image with blues and greys. He recognized it as the main labs, 
where they recorded each broadcast of SCP-1419. Grey cartoon 
figures, each of whom Seidelman recognized as his coworkers, 
slumped across computers and desks; flashes of bright red blood 
splattered across the scene. 


“Hello everybody! I’m Bobble the Clown, and welcome to today’s 
show!” A small explosion of colourful confetti and streamers burst 
into the middle of the scene. As it all settled, a tall, brightly-coloured 
figure stood facing the camera, arms spread. A clown, with yellow 
hair and a big pink nose, drenched in blood from the waist down. 


Seidelman sat frozen in his seat. He could feel his heart pounding in 
his head. It was like the clown was staring straight into his soul. 


“Today is a very special episode. The last! That’s right, this will be 
the last episode of the Bobble the Clown Show! Isn't that sad?” 
Bobble frowned. "But that's okay! Now, we can learn anywhere, any 
time. I'm going to have a brand new show. Fun for the whole family, 
all thanks to our friends at the Foundation. Thanks to my scientist 
friends showing me this wonderful new signal, | can be everywhere!" 


"Theatrical, as always," came a second voice; that of an old man, 
coming from everywhere yet nowhere. "Doctor, leave." A pause. 
"Please." 


Dr. Seidelman fled his office. 


"... and... of course. You're here, now." The clown sighed, rubbing 
his eyes. "Come on out, if you want to talk. | know /'m not going 
anywhere." 


343 appeared, sitting in Seidelman's chair. Alone. Bobble leered 
through the television, a grin creeping across his face. 


"Hrm? What's this? Where's your... project? That girl that the 
Foundation... adopted for you?" 


"She left," the old man replied wearily. "She's gone." 


"... Ana?" 


"She's not coming back. We've lost the First." 


"Oh, so that's it! So you're down, because your favourite girl had a 
tantrum and ran away." Bobble smiled broadly. "So that fell through. 
Big deal! What's the plan now, boss?" 


343 sat silent. 


"... well then. | expected you to be more on-the-ball than this. One 
little girl runs away from home and the big bearded bastard falls 
apart! Come on!! You already know the answer." Bobble sighed, 
rolling his eyes. 


"What, then, clown?" 


"What was that one thing you said, all those years ago...? Oh wait, | 
got it." He hunched over, miming waving a cane. "Ooohhhhh there 
must always be four! The four Riders will... some shit | don't 
remember." 


343 snorted. "Just spit it out already." 


"If you need four assistants, go and find one. If you need one more 
to fulfill your... prophesy, then go and make one. It's so simple. 
Don't you watch television? People today don't even remember 
Conquest. They lump it under WAR!" He cackled, leaning in. 


343 waited. 


"Pestilence. The fifth Rider everybody seems to rave about. Oh, 
they always remember War and Death, and maybe sometimes 
Famine, but never Conquest. No no, it's always PeStileNnCe. suisse ious 


343's eyes narrowed, and the clown grinned wider. 


"Yesss, yes, you're getting it now. And you know exactly who I'm 
talking about, don't you? Frankly, | don't think she's anything special, 
but | suppose she works thematically. What do you think? She won't 
replace your precious little princess, but you'll take what you can 
get, mm?" 


343 leaned back. "Nothing has gone according to plan." He sighed. 
"Perhaps... perhaps we shall allow this idea." He tapped his fingers 
to his forehead. "An aggravating young woman. But certainly not 
more aggravating than you. Yes, this is what we will do. She will be 
the First Horseman, as you are the Second." 


"Fabulous. Off you go, then." Bobble waved to 343. "I wouldn't want 
to keep you, boss. So much work to do." 


343 looked angry for a moment, then just sighed. "You do not 
command me, clown." 


"I'm only trying to help. | suppose / had better get started, either 
way." Bobble straightened, turned and walked off to the right, the 
camera panning with him. Soon the camera panned out, revealing a 
massive cathedral, lit only by candles and torches. It was as if 
Bobble walked off one set and onto another. The clown remained of 
the same bright and cheerful art style as before, with a cheerful jaunt 
in his step as he made his way to an altar. 


3483 took in the scene. "A bit... blasphemous, isn't it? Even for you." 


"Me? Oh, of course. I'm damned anyway, and I've always wanted to 
be a messiah." He looked back to 343, cackling quietly, rubbing his 

hands together. "Suffer the little children and all that, bring them all 

to me." 


343 rolled his eyes. "If you must make a mockery of my words, you 
could do to pick something more appropriate. Why not 'I come not to 
bring peace, but a sword'?" He paused. "| came to give you a great 
sword, as it was written. Today, though, man has laid down the 
sword and picked up..." 


"Guns! Yes, yes. Rat-a-tat-fucking-tat. Guns are all the rage in this 
modern world. A shame really. But with progress comes 
opportunity!" Bobble paused. "| can pass on the /itera/ sword, if it's 
all the same to you. After all, what better sword is there today, than 
a television's antenna?" 


« The White Horse (The Conqueror with the Golden Crown) | 


Canon Hub | Interlude: A Memo Regarding a Theft » 


Interlude: An Internal Memo Regarding a Theft 


Below are provided the documents you requested. 
Log of breach at Site 62 on / / 


/ | ,0134 HOURS: Unknown entity 
manifests outside Site 62's main 
entrance. Security personnel panic 
and flee. 


/ | ,0140 HOURS: Unknown entity 
opens Site 62's main entrance doors. 
Video feeds overcome with static for 
a period of 36 seconds. Video 
blackout follows possible route of 
entity through Site. 


/ / , 0203 HOURS: Unknown entity 
reported by personnel. Entity headed 
towards inanimate SCP storage 
vaults. Security teams tasked to 
contain entity. 


/ | ,0220 HOURS: Security team 
incapacitated by entity. Entity exits 
Site unopposed. Video interference 
ceases. Security later universally 
reports an overwhelming feeling of 
terror preventing them from acting 
against the entity. 


/ | ,0310 HOURS: Inventory check 
for Site 62 reveals the absence of 
SCP-573. 


/ | ,0316 HOURS: Warning sent 


out to all sites to be on guard for 
entity. 


Unknown entity determined to be SCP-303 
through forensics and SCP database inquiry. 
Zero encounters with SCP-303 had been 
logged since // (167 days before 
containment breach at Site 62). 


/ | , 1817 HOURS: Personnel at 
Site report feelings of unease and 
panic. As Site is situated in the 
Rocky Mountains, it was put on 
lockdown while nearby Sites were 
contacted. 


/ | , 1822 HOURS: All Site 's 
video feeds disrupted. Power fails, 
emergency distress signal activated. 


/ / , 1859 HOURS: Distress signal 
deactivates automatically. Site 
unresponsive to outside contact. 


/ / , 2011 HOURS: MTF Alpha-16 
arrives at Site . All personnel found 
dead of evisceration, or remain 
missing. 


/ / , 2113 HOURS: MTF fails to 
verify location of anomaly housed at 
Site .SCP-899 declared missing. 


« The Red Horse (The Ironic Metaphor) | Canon Hub | The Black 
Horse (The Crawling Sea) » 


The Black Horse (The Crawling Sea) 


And | beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on 
him had a pair of balances in his hand. And | heard a 
voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of 
wheat for a day's wage, and three measures of barley for 
a day's wage; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine. 


“You know,” said Johanna, looking over Sophia's shoulder. They 
were in Containment's Command Central, monitoring a dozen feeds 
of 027's cell. Containment was currently being redoubled by agents 
and guards, with more watching nearby objects. 027 itself was 
currently curled up and motionless, and had been since last night. 
“This isn't how | expected you to react.” 


“How do you mean?” 


“Well, this, fine. If the Big Lady told me to watch out, | get it, I'd 
watch out. But way back when | taught you, it was all ‘calculated 
risks and rewards.' And a multiple-site break-out scenario isn't 
unprecedented. But now, you're acting more paranoid than Elliot.” 


Sophia made a noncommittal noise, peering at a camera feed. 


“Is this recent? | mean, | hadn't seen you for years, you come back 
and act like this- was it one of your assignments? Maybe that agent 
from 14 you had something with, what's his name, Lament?” 


“No. No,” said Sophia, looking up. “I mean- no, not that. |... hada 
visitor last night.” She paused. “990.” 


“Shit, why didn't you say anything?” 


“Because he told me to be suspicious of people here, and he's not 
known for giving bad advice.” 


“You trust me, though?”