The Security Clearance Levels page, for all that 
it's often used as a general guide for new readers, has a 
somewhat minority opinion on the matter - 'Class D', as it 
refers to the designation, are "designated staff used to 
handle the Keter-level objects" (tell that to the dozens if 
not hundreds of Safe and Euclid skips that are 
represented as having D-Class handling the basic 
containment procedures - the idea of Keter being a ‘level’ 
also seems to be deprecated). They are "recruited from 
prison inmates", suggesting voluntary participation, and 


are indeed executed at the end of the month. There are 
some very odd elements here that haven't made it 
through into more recent works, including New Age: they 
may never be spoken to directly, only via intercom, and 
are, bafflingly, subject to daily polygraphs, the content of 
which is unspecified. If any D-Class fail their polygraph - 
"termination of entire Class D personnel is advised, as 
well as any SCP personnel that have had basic 
interaction with them" (!). 


| leave it to the reader whether these protocols are 
followed in the United States - in the UK, where New Age 
takes place, it seems necessary to assume that D-Class 
are in the main recruited from the population of serious 
offenders within the UK prison system rather than, say, 
imported from other facilities overseas; with more limited 
resources, many procedures followed elsewhere are 
simply impractical. The reader is also free to interpret the 
ending of New Age as either pro or contra the notion that 
D-Class are executed. 


The desire to tell a story exploring how D-Class are 
recruited, where they go and how the transfers are 
covered up fused in my mind with Roget's 'First Seed’, 
where the Chaos Insurgency are uncovering something 
big and nasty using slave labour. Our protagonist - who | 
initially imagined would be liberated from D-Class status 
by a Chaos Insurgency raid on the facility where he was 
working - would be disgusted by the treatment of the 
workers and sabotage the project. My original plan to set 
the excavation in Cameroon ran into a spot of bother 
when | realised that due to Keagan's by this point well- 
established ethnicity the whole treatment would 
necessarily have an unwanted racial/slavery 
undercurrent | didn't want to get into. The notion that the 
object in 'First Seed’ might be yggdrasil naturally 
suggested another candidate - to wit, SCP-722. 


It should be noted that New Age depicts a specific 
faction of the Chaos Insurgency, and one subverted by a 


Termination Test Record: 

Direct exposure of SCP-811 to SCP-682 disallowed due to 
unreasonably high risk of specimen loss. Instead, mucus from 
SCP-811's palmoplantar surfaces is collected over a course of 
months, and then sprayed on SCP-682 with high-pressure hoses. 
SCP-682's body mass is reduced by 27% before the mucus reaches 
a complete bone covering of the remaining body mass, and is 
unable to decay it further. 


Item: SCP-1237 


Tissue Test Record: 
N/A 


Termination Test Record: 

A deliberate containment breach was induced which an 
SCP-1237-1-L specimen was permitted to observe from a safe 
distance. Thirteen security personnel were killed before containment 
was re-established. Subject was dosed with to encourage 
REM sleep and onset of SCP-1237 and instructed to dream that 
SCP-682 was a small housecat with no special abilities, and that the 
security team had been able to destroy it easily. 

7 seconds after onset of SCP-1237 event, subject began to seize 
violently. Subject was declared dead after 32 seconds. Autopsy 
discovered the subject's body covered with scratch and bite marks 
and infected with bubonic plague, toxoplasmosis, and subacute 
regional lymphadenitis ("Cat scratch fever"). The bodies of the 
deceased security personnel displayed similar characteristics. A 
small housecat was found in SCP-682's containment chamber 
cleaning blood off of its coat; said cat regenerated into SCP-682 
within 3 hours. 


Item: SCP-1361 


Tissue Test Record: 

Sample consumed without incident. DNA markers from SCP-682 
present in SCP-1361 sample afterward. Sample showed increased 
resistance to incineration. 


reality-warper at that; nor do | absolutely establish that 
even the command structure | depicts within the 
Insurgency represents the Cl as a whole rather than just 
a specific branch. Nevertheless, my aim with New Age 
was to create a Chaos Insurgency that makes sense 
within a world which superficially appears the same as 
our own. In ‘Briefing on SLATE THUNDER (Chaos 
Insurgency Orientation)’ Hornby offers the explanation 
that the Cl is actually the remnant of the losing faction in 
a civil war in the Foundation; the name 'Chaos 
Insurgency’ was coined by the winning faction but 
adopted as a badge of pride. | go slightly further in New 
Age by having the Cl remain utterly convinced of their 
legitimacy as the 'real' Foundation, still framing the 
conflict in terms of governments who recognise them 
versus those who work with the 'reactionaries'. The 
countries which | depict the Cl as considering friendly are 
simply countries which had never been mentioned as 
having a Foundation facility on the main site at the time 
of writing - | produced a map of the Foundation world 
based on this conceit, and my notion that Sectors are the 
areas into which the Foundation divides the world for 
operational purposes, which | posted on 
AlternateHistory.com. 


It should be noted that the version of the Foundation Civil 
War | allow Renton to narrate to Keagan is virtually 
identical to Hornby's original, with a minor detail drawn 
out: in ‘Briefing on SLATE THUNDER (Chaos Insurgency 
Orientation)’ it appears the vote was never completed. In 
the original work it is implied that it was the Cl O5s who 
pre-empted a losing result by launching the coup; in 
‘New Age’ | have Cl agents instead believing that the 
Council itself stopped the count when the vote of no 
confidence appeared likely to succeed. It should be 
noted that in his rendition of the story Renton assumes 
that the vote required a simple majority rather than a 
supermajority with the result that the 53% result 
constituted a victory for the motion - myself | would lean 
towards the idea that the vote indeed required a 


supermajority as per 'SLATE THUNDER ' but that the 
decision to stop the count by the 'reactionaries' was what 
sparked the Foundation Civil War. 


Amnesiacs/amnesics/amnestics are another topic that 
gets a lot of varying interpretations - varying from the 
Foundation having the means to erase targetted 
memories at an almost arbitrary remove from the event, 
to amnesiacs simply being placebos administered to 
alleviate the anxieties of field agents as to what really 
happens to witnesses after they are taken into 
Foundation custody - name's 'A Man At The Top Of His 
Profession’ exemplifies this latter view. If one subscribes 
to the notion that D-Class are executed at the end of the 
month - and that this is primarily for security reasons 
rather than, say, to prevent cross-contamination, then 
standard-use amnesiacs simply cannot be capable of 
erasing more than a month's worth of memories. The 
explanation Edward gives of amnesiacs in New Age is 
fairly low-end and could stand to be revised higher; 
however | think it works as a good baseline that also 
suggests amnesiacs are chemical science not available 
to the general public, rather than, say, the byproduct of a 
skip (I have seen authors assume amnesiacs are 
anomalous and find it unlikely the Foundation would then 
inject people with them to cover up other anomalous 
encounters). | hope that my take on AMATTOHP works 
as a possible alternate explanation of this Tale whilst 
staying true to the underlying principle that the 
Foundation lies to the people who work for it. | will also 
point out that for adherents to AMATTOHP's 
interpretation of amnesiacs, neither New Age nor 
Acquisitions actually depicts amnesiacs working the way 
the Foundation says they do - the only overt 
administration of a Class-A amnesiac is on Edward 
Gradley, whom it is strongly suggested has had 
memories suppressed by MC&D; and even then, | went 
to the trouble of making it unclear whether he was 
experiencing "(the u)sual side-effects" or "(unu)sual side- 
effects" after the drug triggers a seizure rather than 


erasing memories. 


Right up to the very final revision of New Age | kept ina 
point of terminology at which | seem to be at odds with 
most SCP writers - my identification of the ‘Administrator’ 
as simply the director of any given facility, a subordinate 
of the O5 Council. It appears more established writers 
have already squared the circle on this issue ina 
different way - by making the Administrator a shadowy 
precursor to the O5 Council, possibly even the creator of 
the Foundation. After some discussion it appears this 
interpretation is in the majority, and so to avoid confusion 
on the part of readers | have since updated my 
references to the Administrator across my Tales and 
skips with ‘the Director’, 'the chain of command’, and 
‘sector management’. 


A final point - in New Age | have a primary antagonist 
who professes Zen Buddhism. | am not a Buddhist and 
my knowledge of Buddhism is limited to internet research 
and study of comparative religion done during my 
personal sojourns. With any luck anyone vaguely 
acquainted with the subject will realise that Sir Malcolm 
grossly misinterprets every koan he uses and is depicted 
as deeply at odds with fundamental Buddhist principles - 
and that this is more or less the point of the character. 
Nevertheless, the disclaimer is probably warranted - the 
character of Sir Malcolm is not an attack on any religion, 
including the UK Conservative Party. 


Further documentation of phenomena relating to 
events referenced in this file: 


SRegan's Personnel File 


New Age - Book I: "Cells" 


FoldUnfold 

Table of Contents 
Prelude 
Chapter One: "Cells" 
Chapter Two: "You Have The Body" 
Chapter Three: "Transfers" 
Chapter Four: "Lighter" 
Chapter Five: "Learners" 


Prelude 


This is how it ends: 


The two men return on the 4th of April and enter the small auto shop 
where he is working. The long-handled wrench is in his hand; the 
wheel nuts on a 2004 Suzuki Swift have rusted solid and he is 
levering them off, one at a time. 


They wear expensive suits but are ill at ease in them, adjusting their 
collars and cuffs. One of them is smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. He 
doesn't look at them, because he has still not completely decided 
they are real. If he has to look at them again, they will become real 
for him and he will have to make a decision. 


"| didn't get your call, Mister O'Neill," says the one he has come to 
think of as Slick. He remembers Slick has straight, smoothed-back 
dark hair like an otter and scrubby whiskers. "Our offer only has a 
limited time period. | thought we'd swing by and get everything 
straightened out." 


There's a clink from the back of the shop as someone begins 
casually rearranging the spare parts. This, presumably, is the 
nervous smoker he thinks of as Flash—as in, the waste metal left on 
a rough cast when you take it out of the mould. Last time he saw 
Flash, he looked like a shaved ape with four days' stubble and had 


tattoos around his fingers. 


"I'm not interested in what you're selling. Get out of my shop." His 
voice is hoarse. 


"| can't see this is a particularly tough choice," continues Slick, 
ignoring him. "Like it or not, we're going to be working this area. If 
you're one of our clients, we'll see to it that you get ahead at the 
expense of those who aren't. If you don't, we'll help someone else. 
We're just providing a service. I've tried to be as clear as | absolutely 
can be." 


"| reckon | get you." 


"Well then, let's do business—” Slick sounds a lot more cheerful. At 
the back of the shop, the clinking stops. Flash probably wishes he'd 
memorised where everything was when he'd started, in case Slick 
tells him to put everything back as he found it. 


"No." He still doesn't look at them. | earned this, he thought. Me. 


"Really? | don't think you get us at all." The note of optimism in 
Slick's voice dies. He puts on the world-weary tone of the suffering 
wayfarer. "It's idiots like you who stop what we do being such a joy." 


"Speak for yourself," rumbles Flash, closer now. "I love this bit, me." 
There's a cricking of bone and cartilage, pure theatrics. 


Please, he thinks, just one moment longer. Let me stay here one 
moment longer, before the world ends. But Slick is approaching, 
clipping across the concrete floor. 


"You know, Mr O'Neill, | find it rude when people don't look at me. It 
makes me tetchy." 


Something rustles nearby, Slick's jacket, and he can't put it off any 
longer. Someone, maybe Slick, puts their hand on his shoulder. 
Ignition; the fuel mixture in his brain burns white, and he swings the 
wrench. 


There's nothing gruesome or bloody about it—it hits Slick just below 
his ear and his expression flickers to one of confusion and 


disappointment as he drops. He didn't have a knife after all. Flash is 
a pace or two away and came with a cricket bat—at least get it right, 
he thinks briefly as he steps towards him, you play hardball with a 
baseball bat. Flash doesn't even have the bat up before the wrench 
hits his jaw. There is, on reflection, a slight pop which he will later 
learn was Flash's jaw breaking into three separate pieces. Flash 
falls to his hands and knees—he hits him again, across the back of 
his neck, and he goes prone. 


He throws the wrench into the corner of the shop and looks at the 
scene. Two men are lying on the floor of his auto-repair shop, face 
down. He goes over to the door, turns around the sign so it reads 
‘We are Open' on the inside, and then draws up a chair. He sits fora 
few minutes before he picks up the phone. 


Chapter One: "Cells" 
"Mister O'Neill?" 


Keagan jolted out of a floating half-sleep—sitting at the chipped 
plastic table in the public conference room was the most comfortable 
he had been in days—and looked up. The solicitor standing over 
him wore semicircular glasses with a worn suit. He was probably no 
more than thirty, but with a thin, pinched face that made him look 
older. 


"I'm Luke Vikkers, Legal Aid. From Stone Gooding. I'm sorry, | only 
have fifteen minutes." He extended his hand to Keagan, who 
gripped it warily. 


"Okay," he said. 


Vikkers opened a slim black leather case, peeling at the edges, and 
withdrew a few sheets of carbon-copied paper, squinting at the 
faded type. 


"To be honest, Mister O'Neill, this will be the first case of this type | 
have handled." 


"They didn't have anyone who knew what they were doing, then." 


Keagan balled up his fists and rubbed his eyes. 


The solicitor paused, an offended tone crossing his features. Then: 
"You're being charged with two counts of murder. | don't seem to 
have your initial statement, but according to the police notes you've 
never made any attempt to deny that the killings took place." 


"| turned myself in," Keagan said. "| thought it would be 
manslaughter. | told them it was self-defence." 


"Self-defence is a defence in law to the charge of either murder or 
manslaughter. English law doesn't—currently—have degrees of 
murder like the US system. Manslaughter in this case would mean 
you didn't intend to kill the m—obviously you said something to the 
police to make them think you did." 


Keagan kept silent. On the next table along, the quiet chatter of 
prisoners with their legal representation was disrupted by a grown 
man bursting into tears. His elderly solicitor patted his charge's 
shoulder in a faint attempt at bonhomie.