Edwin left the room fumbling a rosary tucked around the explosive 
collar on his neck- the collar that marked all of them except for the 
single Foundation member, who had exited through the only door to 
the outside. He wondered when things had gone so wrong, as he 
always did, and would mutter meaningless prayers on his bed with 
the door shut, where no one could hear an old man's regret. 


Aries- Clara, a girl giving herself rams' horns to pretend she didn't 
care who she had to butt heads with- left the main room last, 

shoving her brushes into her pocket. The dried blood on her arms 
and legs cracked, but that didn't matter. She'd be painting her face 


in the bathroom she shared with the other women in minutes. Then, 
as long as she didn't wash it off and let it rub away of its own nature, 
it would do its job. She'd be clear to work on her letters to the friends 
she had met in the pursuit of true art- some of whom, she had 
heard, now worked with the Foundation in an entirely different 
capacity. The envelopes were blank as always, and she planned on 
getting another letter placed in one before she had to leave. Every 
letter she finished counted, even if they would stay in a pile ina 
corner of her room. If she lived long enough, maybe she'd get a 
chance to deliver them. 


There was never a letter to her father or mother. 


This left Isaac Grenich in his long cape, bird skull earrings, and faux 
microchip-tailed hair scrunchie to stretch out on the couch. He 
stared at the ceiling and hummed a little tune, happy to be doing a 
job he loved for an Insurgency he adored. This was going to be a 
fun mission, despite all the pessimists lolling about in their rooms 
and expecting death. 


It was going to be great. 
< MTF Sigma-66 Post-Mission Psychological Evaluation | Two 


Transcribed Conversations In Very Different Tones 
> 


The Smell of Her Hair 


As the bullet inched closer to his head, he took a moment to 
consider some things. 


The first was just how lovely his first real girlfriend had been. She 
had been one of those artistic tyoes who had never really managed 
to make the vision in her mind match the final product. She had a 
tendency to call up fantastically beautiful scenes and work them with 
the paints, always disappointed when the reality didn’t match her 
fantasy. He had helped her, of course, guided her hand silently, 
given her a soft, gentle kiss when she cried at the beauty of the 
thing she had created. 


He reflected for a moment on their child, who had been stillborn. 
She blamed herself for it, but he knew the truth of the matter—that 
some things need to be balanced, that a beautiful birth of art had 
taken a beautiful birth of child—and while he never said it, she could 
tell. His temperament, his eyes when he looked at her, the painful 
distance between them that seemed to get further and further until it 
became physical instead of emotion, and she had left him forever. 


He remembered the first time he met her, their high school year, 
when he’d first discovered some things about himself, about how he 
looked at the world, and how much he wanted her. She’d been so 
shallow. So weak in mind and body. It had been easy to take her, 
mold her, help her to grow as she should have. She appreciated it, 
of course. He made sure she did. Though it made her leaving all the 
more painful. 


He recalled the scent of her hair. That was his favorite memory. 


As his forehead was pierced, his thoughts broke, pain shattering his 
thought process as he felt the skin break, the bone buckle and 
shatter, slivers flying inward and out. He felt the heat of the bullet as 
its force bore it into the fleshy matter of his brain, eyes widening as 
he reached for his memories. No, he thought. 


But by then, it didn’t matter. 


Termination Report 


Date: / / 
Subject: KTE-3410-Clockwork-Green 


3410 terminated by small arms fire at close range, body 
removed and incinerated as per standard procedures. 
Guess the fucker can't stop bullets fast enough if you're 
in his face, but | can't do anything about the bullet now. 


- M.E. 


A Question Which, When Asked, Answers Itself 


Right, Stan, here's those notes you asked for. Keep in 
mind, double secret probation means the investigation is 
still ongoing, so some of the stuff isn't released yet. Best 
| could do. Good luck. 


~Lyle 


The following is a transcript of the voiceover from a video pulled 
from YouTube due to copyright violation by the Foundation in March 
of 20XX. 


Male voice: Oh one eight. Four three three. Six one 
eight. 


Short pause, soft beep, brief static which continues 
through the remainder of the interruption 


Second male voice: Peoples of the world! Look at me! 
Look at this thing | did! There was once a man who 
spoke and in speaking he did say words and much 
wisdom was passed on by those who were patient 
enough to wait until the end to get the treat that they 
deserved, like so many rats in cages pressing buttons to 
get their treats which came from a man who spoke and 
in speaking he did say that it's total bullcrap that my 
education cost anything at all. Good night, dead society. 


<Extended pause, rattling inhalation or sigh> 
Female voice: And Then A Skeleton Jumped Out! 
The broadcast consisted of man hung by the neck in a doorway 


softly twisting as the camera moved closer, at which point it became 
clear that he was mouthing along with the voice over. At 


approximately one minute and forty seconds, synchronized with the 
line "good night, dead society", a skeleton jumped out. [FURTHER 
INFORMATION IS ON DOUBLE SECRET PROBATION] 


Overwatch Report of agent Manheim Steamroller: 


After one of our intelligence persons operating in [DATA 
IS ON DOUBLE SECRET PROBATION] discovered that 
the numbers had a special significance which was 
completely meaningless we asked Agents Prince and 
Gaga to have the video pulled from YouTube. 


We raided the building at approximately six in the 
morning. It was a bit before that, I'm not sure. | think that 
is what approximately means. It should be in the full 
report compiled after the incident. I'm sorry, it's not 
nerves, it's just that | need to say as many words as 
possible to make this sound natural before a skeleton 
jumps out. It was a small operation, not like the big 
SWAT style MTF things you hear about in the cafeteria 
or anything, just me, Trans-Siberian Orchestra, 
Canadian Brass and John [Tesh] posing as local 
detectives. We were expecting maybe a token resistance 
from the squatting skeleton before it jumped out, nothing 
fancy. 


First thing we did was break the door down, flashing 
badges and yelling. We figured they'd come quietly. 
Didn't happen. Almost immediately a skeleton jumps out. 
After that, things went more or less as we'd expected. 
Wound up bringing in four subjects, three guys anda 
skeleton, all mid twenties. They're profiled in the mission 
docs, I'm sure. Just squatter artist types, locals. Probably 
recruited through [DATA IS ON DOUBLE SECRET 
PROBATION] but basically they said that they were 
trying to create a viral internet video but they didn't feel 
like developing any of their ideas to completion so they 
were basically going to half ass something and then 
have a skeleton jump out, because at that point you don't 
need to ask any more questions. 


Anyway, I'll cut to the chase. The reason this operation 
became such a big deal is because of the box we found 
under the mattress upstairs, | think it's big enough to hold 
a skeleton. 


[FURTHER MATERIAL REDACTED FOR BREVITY, 
WHICH IS SUDDENLY SOMETHING WE'RE 
CONCERNED ABOUT.] 


Transcript from the notes of Dr. Syou regarding 
incident 1[THIS IS A REMINDER THAT AT ANY TIME 
DATA MAY BE UNDER DOUBLE SECRET 
PROBATION] 


Crate appears unmarked on sides, bottom. Large banner 
style logo on lid reading "And Then A Skeleton Jumped 
Out" may prove significant, particularly in light of recent 
events. Crate contains one skeleton, which jumped out 
when the crate was opened. 


Below the skeleton is a layer of packing material. I've 
submitted a sample for forensic analysis and incinerated 
the rest in order to avoid possible contamination. The 
packing material is wrapped around several modified 
jack in the box style toys which look to have been 
originally of Russian manufacture, except that we all 
know that the Russians have better taste than this. Weld 
seams visible where the boxes have been tampered 
with, | am going to turn the crank and see what jumps 
out. 


Addendum 1 And then[REDACTED FOR SPOOKY 
PURPOSES|ut the skeleton of Dr. Syou remains at 
large. 


Thanks Lyle. These Foundation types don't seem to 
appreciate our work much, either. But we're totally going 
to show them. 


A few of the others say hi. Remember Lily from the thing 
in Alaska? Her skeleton jumped out. 


~Stan 


Stop going in circles 


Psych dept notes: 
This notebook is for researcher notes only and may not 
be used for formal diagnosis. 


Female, humanoid, late-teenage SCP which randomly 
causes small scale reality shifts based on what it is 
thinking about - for example, the SCP has reported 
changing tea to coffee and causing random desired 
items to appear. This ability appears to be uncontrolled. 


Possible depression. 
The SCP prefers to be addressed as Marissa. 


"| was just thinking about whether the kettle he was using was safe - 
we'd been having some trouble with fuses or some shit and then, 
well, boom. It exploded. That was it. He died. Right in front of me." 


"If it's not a prison, why can't | fucking leave?" 


"Really, I'm not stuck here until I'm happy, I'm stuck here until you 
people have as much data as possible - which means I'm stuck here 
basically forever, because you don't have as much data as possible 
until either the magical shit stops or | die. | don't particularly want to 
be burned at the stake for being a witch or whatever either though. 
Fucking catch-22." 


"Where the hell could | go anyway? Escaping would be fucking 
pointless." 


Interviews have revealed that Marissa accidentally 
caused the death of her father due to a reality shift, 
which has had an extremely negative effect on her 
mental health. 


« SCP-945 | SCP-946 | SCP-947 » 


Marissa resents imprisonment but recognises that she 
doesn't have a place to go. 


Reality shifts seem to becoming stronger and more 
frequent as mental state worsens - hypothesis that they 
are linked. 


"| haven't had a friend my own age in thirteen fucking years, doc, 
and you think you know about feeling lonely? Fuck off." 


"Oh, so, if | don't get my mind under control it'll Keep getting worse? 
So it's my fault. Fantastic. | thought you were here to make me feel 
better..?" 


"Well, shit, | don't want to accidentally hurt anyone. | guess I've got 
to be responsible about this bullshit, even though it's not my fault.” 


"Have you ever sat in a corner, wishing you could go home, only to 
realise you are at home, but it hasn't felt like home for as long as 
you can remember?" 


Marissa claims desire for isolation and no desire to hurt 
anyone. Direct contradiction of previously professed 
extended loneliness. 


Reality shifts continue to increase in frequency (avg 0.75 
to 1/day) but seem to have reached plateau of strength - 
only affecting things Marissa can directly see and 
occasionally herself. View full SCP report for further 
details. 


"Of course | don't want more goddamn DVDs, exciting shit 
happening to other people stopped being fun quite a while ago." 


"Since my dreams have all died, you're here to tell me to stop the 
funeral and explain why | shouldn't be sad." 


"Just go away, I'll only drag you down with me," 


"| don't want to be stuffed full of fifty thousand different pills, aren't | 
taking enough already? They're not even fucking helping,” 


"You can't help me. Please stop trying." 


Marissa's mental state appears to deteriorating badly as 
the depression worsens. 


Despite her previously professing no desire for self- 
harm/suicide, fear risk may be increased - especially if 
reality shift manifests while she is thinking of self-harm 
etc. 


Antidepressants having little effect, consider sedatives if 
self-harm becomes a problem/if interviews continue to 
show deterioration of mental state. 


The Foundation researcher stepped forward, sliding her notebook 
into her pocket, and listened to the secure door behind her slide 
closed. There was an electronic whirring, a beep, and the secure 
door in front of her slid open. It nearly closed on her as she stepped 
into the containment area, which was - apart from a poster on the 
wall and some clothes strewn about the place - almost entirely 
blank, generic emptiness despite the customisation allowances 
made for non-violent sentient skips. 


The researcher crossed the room, pulling a chair out from the grey 
table, and sitting down beside the bed where a teenage girl was 
sitting, looking through a pile of DVDs. 


"Hi, Marissa,” she said, clicking a pen nervously. 


"What the fuck do you want, Sharon? It hasn't been a week." 
Marissa replied, dropping the DVDs, picking up a remote, and lying 
back on the bed to look at the wall-mounted television. 


"Our session was pushed forward because it seems you've been 
getting progressively angrier recently. How are you feeling?" Sharon 
said, undiscouraged by Marissa's apparent apathy. 


Marissa sighed and continued flicking through channels. "You 
thought | was angry so you decided to come down here and piss me 
off? How exactly do you keep your job? And of course I've been 


getting angrier." 


Sharon ignored the insult, knowing that it was purely defensive. 
"What do you mean by 'of course’, Marissa?" 


Marissa turned away from the screen, looking directly at Sharon. "| 
don't want to be here. Therefore, every day I'm here, | get a little 
more annoyed." Marissa turned back to the television. "It's not 
fucking rocket science, Sharon." 


Sharon sighed inwardly and, knowing it was pointless, asked the 
standard question for what felt like the thousandth time - "Is there 
any way | can make this any better for you?" 


Marissa ignored the question completely, knowing it was just a stock 
phrase, there only for completeness. "| didn't ask for any of this." she 
said, under her breath. 


"Any of what, Marissa?" Sharon asked, leaning forward slightly. 


Marissa dropped the television remote. "Anything. This room, this 
place. | don't like anything about it. | didn't ask for these fucking 
abilities. You don't know what it's like, constantly watching your 
thoughts, trying to make sure nothing changes in your hand because 
you'd rather have a coffee or that the floor doesn't start to 
disintegrate under your feet because you were thinking about the 
beach." 


She paused for a second, then turned to face Sharon, leaning in 
enough to cause the researcher to lean back. "This is bullshit and | 
hate it and you and everyone and everything. Why are you even 
talking to me? | don't know anything you need to know and | don't 
have anything you want and I'm not your friend, I'm a locked-up 
freak." 


Sharon remained composed. "I'm talking to you because | want to 
help you. | th-" 


Marissa cut across her. "Help me what? Leave? Because leaving 
would be marginally better than being here. This shit doesn't work 
well enough for me to be a threat to anyone on purpose, | just want 


to be left alone." Marissa let herself fall back onto the bed and 
began flicking through TV channels again. 


Sharon fumbled for a response before rallying with, "If we can figure 
out how this is happening to you, we can figure out how to help 
more people than just you - we can maybe help lots of people with 
similar conditions."