The Veil Protocol has not failed. Though the "parascientific" has 
become relatively widespread, the average person believes such 
innovations to be no more than particularly advanced science, the 
details of which are heavily censored. The Foundation is totally 
unknown to all but the upper leadership of the great powers, though 
it works with many governments through front companies and 
infiltrated agents. As such the Foundation's core mission has not 
changed, though the willingness of Russia and America to unleash 
the anomalous has added a considerable sense of urgency. They 
are to secure, contain, and protect; preserve their artifacts from the 
world and the world from their artifacts. 


Stripped of many of its more extravagant resources, yet still 
possessing a network of agents and scientists second to none, the 
Foundation seeks to play the various major and minor powers of the 
Cold War against each other through force and trickery, if need be 
— anything to keep the loosed SCP objects from driving the 
potentially apocalyptic escalation further. 


The East 


Stalin's paranoia made him fear all outsiders, and his megalomania 
persuaded him that the answer to his fears was a massive empire of 


satellite states surrounding Russia. Dominated by many stupendous 
hatreds for his various enemies, from 1945 to 1953, he nipped at the 
boundaries of the USSR's borders through all sorts of proxies. 


After Stalin came Khrushchev and a succession of elderly party 
strongmen. All of them see the parascientific as first a means of 
outgunning their western arch-nemesis and second as a means of 
restoring the deep wounds of the Civil War and World War Il, neither 
of which have ever really healed. 


The USSR is eternally playing catch-up with its wealthier and more 
heavily armed foe, but the West is never to realize just how fragile 
the Soviet facade really is. Perhaps the treasures abandoned by the 
Foundation, in the hands of communist industry, can level the 
playing field and turn propaganda into reality. Oversight of Soviet 
parascientific endeavors is provided in large part by the ruthless 
agents of the GRU Division "P". 


Other Communist states such as China and Vietnam see the SCPs 
as bargaining chips and trump cards for all sorts of projects. How 
would parascientific assistance have affected the Tet Offensive? 
Would the Kremlin and China have parted ways if anomalous 
resources could "persuade" the Soviet leaders to accept the 
Chinese perspective? 


The West 


One document, a report by the National Security Council published 
in 1949, guided the US-European alliance's cold war strategy for the 
next twenty years. NSC-68 stated very bluntly that the Soviets were 
trying to take over the world, would never stop trying to take over the 
world, and couldn't share the world with freedom of any kind. 
Parascience means, for the early Cold Warriors, the next H-Bomb — 
another means of staying one step ahead of the Red menace. 


First organized in 1950, America's parascientists and anomalous 
entities ("special talents") under their care are organized into the 
388th Independent Special Company, an army unit of 
indeterminate size split into various detachments and deployed 
across the globe in pursuit of various unknown missions. First on the 


list: track down and bring to light the mysterious Foundation and its 
horde of parascientific material. 


In Europe the colonial powers cling tightly to their foreign 
possessions. Perhaps the anomalous holds the key to maintaining 
the fraying empires of England, France, and Belgium. Desperate 
national leaders clinging to past glories may well unleash more than 
they had bargained for... 


The Non-Aligned 


Consisting of a number of countries but most prominently Egypt and 
India, the Non-Aligned Movement looks at the brewing Cold War 
and wants no part in it. Charismatic figures like Jawaharlal Nehru 
and Gamal Abdel Nasser rally their people around the idea of a 
Third Way free of dependance on the war-mongering superpowers. 


It's hard to modernize a country without turning to the US or the 
USSR for hand-outs, though — so when organizations with names 
like Superior Construction Planning and Sunni Cotton Production 
offer to pay the bills in return for vast tracts of land in the hinterlands, 
nobody is in a mood to ask very many questions. 


The Groups of Interest 


Some of our fellow travelers are more affected by the Cold War than 
others; the Library does not particularly care for the outcome of the 
Communist Experiment, while AWCY? finds a new renaissance in 
the counter-culture enclave of West Berlin. Moreover, aftershocks 
take time to spread — the Church of the Broken God in Canada may 
be totally unaffected by the destruction of a Church sect operating in 
Nigeria. It is up to you to discover how each makes its own way 
through the age. 


The Woodvale Incident 


September 23, 1949: United States President Harry S. 
Truman announces to the world that the Union of Soviet 
Socialist Republics has successfully detonated an atomic 
weapon, ending the United States’ distinction as sole 
possessor of nuclear weaponry. 


October 19, 1949: United States Secretary of Defense 
Louis A. Johnson, in his capacity as the American liaison 
to the Foundation, delivers an ultimatum from the 
Truman Administration. 


The Alps loomed through the filigreed windows, the panes of glass 
gently warped with age. The snow was piling up in the mountains in 
earnest now, promising a long, cold winter. The war had required 
the Foundation to establish a neutral gathering place for its top level 
meetings, and The Overseers had grown accustomed to meeting in 
Zurich. The Hotel Schweizerhof thus became a haunt in these years 
for the gentlemen of the "Samarkand Club", an informal group of 
thirteen international trade brokers that periodically required the 
entirety of the lodgings for a few days at a time. 


For the others, the dark, wood paneled room lit partially by the clear, 
cold light of the Swiss afternoon was no doubt familiar territory. But 
all O5-8 could think of when he looked at the exposed wooden 
beams of the ceiling was his predecessor's shockingly public 
demise. Between the circumstances of his recent accession to the 
ranks of the Overseers, and this business now, the newest member 
of the Council found himself wishing for the simpler days of the war, 
despite some of the more unpleasant aspects of its aftermath. He 
took his seat at the polished mahogany table as O5-1 impatiently 
cleared his throat. 


The thirteen men gathered in the room were a dour lot at the best of 
times. But even the black jests and gallows-humor that passed for 
camaraderie among them was nowhere in evidence now. What they 


had to come to discuss today, if the hints in the meeting request 
were what O5-8 thought, was something altogether new in his time 
at the Foundation. Anything new, he was beginning to find out, was 
rarely good. He brushed a tuft of rapidly-graying hair from his 
forehead, flicked open his lighter and started a fresh cigarette. 


At the head of the table, a lean man in a bespoke suit narrowed his 
eyes, the dark brown skin of his face furrowed with ritual scars. He 
calmly called for attention in a low, deep voice. O5-1 wasted no 
time. "O5-3, you are our North American subdirector. Please inform 
the Council." 


A rotund, gray-bearded man slowly stood up to address the room as 
he straightened his vest and gold watch chain. O5-3 adjusted his 
glasses and hesitated a moment, taking stock of his twelve 
colleagues around the table before speaking. O5-8 thought that he 
saw a single bead of sweat at the old man's temple. 


"Gentlemen, as you are aware, forty-eight hours ago, my office 
received a secure telegram from the Pentagon. The nature of this 
telegram was such that | could not divulge its contents, even through 
our normal channels. Thus, the emergency meeting. Here is what | 
have received." 


05-3 opened the envelope, removed a thin, yellow sheet of paper, 
and cleared his throat as he adjusted the letter to the proper 
distance from his eyes. He began to read the contents aloud. 


"Russians have acquired atomic armaments. Balance of power 
disrupted." 


From the opposite end of the table, O5-13 snorted derisively. 


"International community now faced with a hostile power equipped 
with weapons of unbridled potential for destruction. Russians must 
be checked for good of the world. The United States requires 

Foundation cooperation to ensure continued survival of mankind." 


The portly Overseer paused for a moment to adjust his glasses 
again and to clear his throat. O5-8 saw the typically unflappable man 
before him hesitate, and knew then that his suspicions were 


SCP-720: Astronomically-Inclined Crane 


Item #: SCP-720 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-720 is to be kept ina 
standard Safe chamber, located within Site 77's Safe SCP wing. 
SCP-720 is to have its three fuel tanks removed when not in testing, 
and is to be checked every three weeks for signs of wear; should 
SCP-720 require any maintenance work, all eight reservoirs are to 
be removed before maintenance is performed. 


Description: SCP-720 is a mechanical device superficially 
resembling a mobile, claw-mounted crane, fit with a plow mounted 
on the front, as well as a nozzle in the center of the claw. The nozzle 
is hooked up to one five-liter tank of industrial-grade adhesive and 
four five-liter tanks of red, blue, green, and yellow paint. When inert, 
it weighs approximately one metric tonne. SCP-720 is capable of 
moving at a speed of up to three kilometers per hour, and appears 
to be powered by small diesel engine, fueled by three twenty-liter 
fuel tanks. 


When introduced to fuel, and if enough workable material is nearby, 
SCP-720 will activate, and remain active until it exhausts its fuel, its 
workable material, or both. When active, SCP-720 will use all 
available tools to form spheres out of material in its environment, 
rolling and forming objects using both its plow and crane arm, and 
using its adhesive to bond material together. Once a varying amount 
of different sized spheres have been made, SCP-720 will arrange 
them in a straight line, eventually making what appears to be a 
model of a planetary system. Upon completion of the system, 
SCP-720 will proceed to paint each planetary object, beginning with 
a single-shade base overcoat and continuing through multiple 
layers, showing detailed surface and atmospheric features. In the 
event that other colors are needed, SCP-720 will combine paints in 
order to achieve the necessary color. Other objects, such as 


confirmed. 


"Foundation is to turn over following assets to the Department of 
Defense within two weeks.” 


Murmurs began around the room as the situation facing them all 
started to become apparent. O5-8 had watched the tensions 
continually mount in Berlin, and had idly wondered how long it would 
be before this day came. Faced with the moment now, however, he 
felt as though he had come to the edge of a cliff, his cynical 
speculation now replaced with a growing sense of dread. In his other 
capacities, his other life, he had observed in some men an ability to 
joke and philosophize while awaiting their fate, only to quail before 
the gallows, terrified by the enormity of what they had thought they 
could accept. O5-8 now felt an unwelcome kinship. 


05-3 began reading the list of anomalous objects that the 
Americans were demanding be turned over. The murmuring grew 
louder as the list lengthened, punctuated by shouts of disbelief as a 
Keter object was mentioned or the custody of an entire Site was 
demanded. By the end, 05-3 had enumerated 53 objects, 4 Sites, 
and 348 personnel. The room was now silent, save for 05-13, 
muttering to no one in particular. 


"YObanny v rot." 


Subdirector Lafourche adjusted his cufflinks once more. He never 
had gotten used to wearing a suit since being appointed United 
States Liaison, not really. No matter which tailor he went to, he 
always felt constricted when he dressed for work, from the shoes his 
wife was always telling him not to scuff up to the tie that perpetually 
needed straightening. He had too much responsibility now to ever 
go back to being Agent Lafourche. His duties were elsewhere now. 
But as he shot his cuffs and buttoned his coat, the possibility of once 
again putting on a field uniform every day made him smile, despite 
himself. 


His security attaché stood behind him, surveying the lonely rest stop 
and the highway, intently peering into the night. 


"Ain't nothin’ gonna come out of them corn fields, Stillwell. We've 
confirmed that everyone's cleared out?" 


The younger man faced his superior. "Well, | mean, yeah, but the 
civ-" 


"Our people, Stillwell. They're out and at the meeting points?" 
The younger man turned his view back out to the night. "Yes sir." 


Lafourche heaved a slow, measured sigh, put his hands in his 
pockets, and leaned against the car. 


"Ain't nothing for it.” 


Several minutes passed with no words between the two men, the 
sound of crickets and an occasional rustling of a passing critter in 
the fields around them the only sounds. Headlights appeared on the 
highway, and Stillwell stiffened as he reached for his radio handset. 


Lafourche stood up once more. "Prince Charming approaches." 


Stillwell intoned a series of code words into his handset confirming 
the meet as a black Chrysler rolled into the driveway, coming to a 
stop alongside the Foundation-issue shoebox Ford. Two men in 
black suits stepped out of the driver and passenger seats, one 
moving to open a rear door for a bespectacled, balding gentleman. 
The third man quickly pulled on a long, rumpled brown coat as he 
left the car in response to the deepening autumn chill. The 
assembled group made their way to Lafourche and Stillwell. 


Lafourche smiled as he extended a hand. "Evening, Secretary. 
Pentagon holdin’ up all right?" 


The American Defense Secretary looked blankly at Lafourche's 
outstretched hand, then looked over at Stillwell to Lafourche's left. 
"You've always been too familiar," Secretary Johnson said as 
Lafourche withdrew the hand. "Well? Your people called us out here 
to the middle of nowhere for your answer. I'd like it now." 


The smile faded slowly from Lafourche's face. "This is serious stuff, 
Secretary. Don't rush it. You've asked us for quite a lot." 


"You've taken a lot over the years from the United States Treasury," 
Johnson stated plainly, "one could say we just want what's ours." 


"Well now," Lafourche countered in his slowest drawl, "we count up 
the rubles right next to the dollars. Secretary." 


Silence fell among the five men. The gazes of the Secretary's two 
bodyguards never left Lafourche and Stillwell. For a moment, there 
was only the sound of the crickets and the mist of the mens' breath, 
faintly visible in the moonlight. 


"Route clear, proceed, over," crackled Stillwell's radio. 


The mist of Stillwell's breath pulsed a little quicker than the others. 
Maintaining eye contact with the bodyguard in front of him, he raised 
the handset. "Roger that. Proceeding, over." 


"You'll have our answer shortly, Secretary," said Lafourche. "But 
we'll have to give it to you about five miles from here. Let's go." 


Johnson stepped closer to Lafourche. "If you've got it in your mind to 
try something-" 


Lafourche raised his hands up in mock defense. "There's what, 
three more cars within five miles of here? And a fighter squadron 
mobilized to come strafe us to hell, if | don't miss my guess?" 


Johnson said nothing. 


"C'mon Secretary. We ain't stupid. But we got a lot to discuss, and 
it's too damn cold in this cornfield. Just follow our car, it ain't more 
than ten minutes out."