Sorry to say, red, but... there's not much left 
here... |... it's been hard. I've... 184. I've tried 
to kill myself 184 times. It didn't work. ...None 
of them worked. I'm... | don't even know how 
much there is of me anymore. At least one 
foot, because | can move. Probably a few leg 
muscles too, but I'm wobbly. Insides are... 
insides are shit. Still a heart, maybe a lung. 
This place... really won't let me stop... Tired... 


|... did die, red. Come on red, don't look at me 
like, | don't want your pity and | don't want 
shock, or anger, or fear, or, or... | can't... 
When... 224, | miscounted... 


One, two, three, four... [Dr. Scranton counts 
from one to 220-245 several times over for the 


next 13 hours.] 


| died. | died, a lot. | tried to suffocate, | tried to 
snap my neck, | tried to bite myself apart. 
And... and... This place. It's not real. | left, | 
saw myself, on the ground and | couldn't— | 
couldn't— | couldn't go anywhere. | couldn't 
leave. There's no way to /eave, | just floated 
back down, and each, damn, time, there was 
less and less of me. I-l- oh, god, how much 
more can | take away and still live? 


So why are... why are you back now? What do 
you want to tell me? 


Five years, nine months, twelve days. 
Heh... 


This place is getting smaller. Red, did you 
somehow do this? |... there's an end here for 
sure now. It's gone from... god knows how 
long to... There's like a veil further out and 
when | touched it hurt like hell. Red, what's 
going on? 


It's... it's not dark. That border or whatever is 
getting brighter and, | mean, it's still fucking 
dark but... oh god, | can actually see 
something now. I...I... oh, god, what the fuck 
is this? I... oh, god, | didn't know | was this 
bad. Oh, god, oh god, oh god, there's so much 
gone— 


Five years, ten months, ten days. 


Red, you're solid. Like, no, you're really 
fucking solid. You're... you're real. And... 
and... I'm real too when... only when | touch 
you. But... Red, it... it really hurts when | do. 
|... | think that if | touch you | might fall apart... 


You — really fucking hurt, Red, Jesus Christ, 
you hurt, what the fuck is going on? 


About three kilometer in radius, and closing. Is 
this... is this something like Kejel's Fourth 
Law? But... but... what the hell is taking it? 
Hey! HEY! I'm in here still stop! You're causing 
a collapse! HEY! HEY! 


Two kilometers. Oh god, what's gonna happen 
when it closes? DAMMIT, RED YOU HURT! 


Not collapsing. Waves. They're... waves... 
What? 


Robert, you are a goddamn genius. Not walls, 
windows. Open windows. 


Five years, ten months, twenty-eight days. 


Anna, Anna can you hear me? These waves... 
this place... Okay, imagine, two realities as 
two pieces of paper stuck together. This place 
is the space squished between. There should 
be only two realities, parallel, but this place is 
a tiny, but infinite third... third... in-between, 
like what would happen if you fell into a hole 
crossing a bridge from Point A to Point B! 
Remember Class-C Wormholes? Those 
theories about a wormhole that was full of 
goddamn holes. | think... | think this is where 
one of those holes leads. It doesn't lead to a 
different universe, it leads to nothing. A dead 
end. This place is a dead end. Class-C 
"Broken Entry". 


These waves. Wherever they're coming from, 
they're from some parallel reality interacting 
with this place, displacing this in-between 
place every so slightly. And they're all... 
pushing on me and red, because since we still 


have some level of reality, they're pushing, 
or... or sucking us towards them, gradually 
creating a new wormhole towards... towards... 
home. 


What's going to happen to me when | go 
back? When the window closes? 


Think, dammit, Robert, think. You've got to 
think! Think harder! THINK HARDER! 


Red, I'm gonna, ah, I'm gonna have to, Jesus- 
gah, I'm gonna have to move away from you, 
you, | don't know, you're sick or something, 
you're really messed up right now. Call me 
when you're feeling better. 


...| can't... | can't think... right... Blood. Blood. 
There's... way... too much... ha... 


Drip, drip, drip, where does it allllllll.... 
gooooo000000000... [Retching noises.] 


| haven't... [Retching noises.] tasted barf in 
forever. Not even when | threw up after my... 
my... you're a man, Robert. 


Oh, god. Oh god not again, not again, not 
again— [Retching.] 


[Voice breaks.] How...? How...? How can | be 
throwing up this much, red, tell me... | don't... 
[Retching.] | don't even have a stomach to 
hold it in anymore... And the bleeding never... 
stops... [Dr. Scranton breaks down into crying 
for the next two hours.] 


Be- [Retching.] better... now. Thinking.. 
straight... 


Red, I... | don't know if I'm ready to go back 
anywhere yet... 


Five years, eleven months, three days. 


No, red, I'm not being selfish, it wasn't you, it 
was these goddamn waves coming in. | can't 
be near them. Red, look, look at me. See this? 
Red, look at me. LOOK. | can't be near them, 
they'll kill me. | passed the three years quite a 
while back, remember? 


Because, even... even after all this time... | 
don't want to die, red. I'm still scared. [Voice 
breaks.] Red, | am scared, okay? You wouldn't 
understand, you're not... you're not human, 
red. 


Oh I'm sorry for offending you, red. No, red, 
come on, | didn't mean it like that. Red, look at 
me. You're my friend, do you get that? You 
are, my best friend. But... let's face it, you've 
got a much better chance of getting out of here 
a—.... Just leave me alone, please, red? Just 
for a bit... I'm sorry, okay? | really am... 


Can you... hear the waves coming in, red? 
That little hum and shake as it hits your ears? | 
can. And it's getting louder every time, and it 
hurts so bad. [Begins to sob quietly.] \t hurts so 
bad.4 


No... No, no, no, no, no... NO. NO. NO. Why? 
Why?! Just let me go, let me go... LET ME GO 
DAMMIT, oh god... [Sobbing.] 


[Sobbing groan.] Another five years. Five more 
years. lf this keeps up, I'm getting re-stabilized 
for another FIVE FUCKING GODDAMN 
YEARS, RED WHAT DO | DO?! 


[Over the next five days, the control panel 
does begin to pick up a low frequency hum 
that comes in pulses. The volume increases 
steadily, and as it does, Dr. Scranton can be 
heard screaming, crying, and speaking 
incoherently in the background. ] 


[Voice is noticeably shaky.] Red. 


[At this point the background humming noise is 
picked up at a rate of 20 pulses/min.] 


Five years, eleven months, nine days. 


Help. [Loud splattering noise heard as 
something strikes what is assumed to be the 
control panel.] 


[Complete silence for five days. Pulses 
increase in volume, as well as frequency to 30 
per minute.] 


[Loud splattering noise.] 


Red. [Dr. Scranton’s voice is extremely 
slurred, almost incomprehensible.] 


Red. 
Red, give me your leg, | need support. 
Red, give me your lever, arm. HAND! 


Red, | need to see better, give me your light, 
no sorry, no, no light needed, got it, sorry, 
something else. 


Anna. 


| want pretty eyes. Anna, Anna, give me your 
eye, | only have one. 


Anna, Anna, give me your lips, | want to kiss 
you again. 


Anna, Anna, give me your tongue, I'm — I'm 
huhnunnnnnn-gry. [Clicks tongue multiple 
times. Breaks down into a mix of quiet laughter 
and sobbing.] 


Anna... Anna, spare a toe? Wobbly. 


ANNA, GIVE ME YOUR BRAIN, | ONLY 
HAVE HALF. 


[Humming measured at 46 pulses a minute.] 
[Sobbing.] 


[Whispering.] \'m sorry, Anna, | didn't mean it, 
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry I'm so scary, 
I'm so sorry... [Sobbing.] 


Anna... [Voice breaks.] Anna, can | hold your 
hand, | lost my ring... [Sobbing.] 


[Whispering.] \t's okay, baby, it's okay... I'll find 
another way out... There's still enough of me 
left to... [Shaky laughter as voice breaks.] 
Another five years... five more years to figure 
something... something out... [Laughter 
breaks down into crying that gradually goes 
silent over the next hour.] 


[Quiet sobbing.] Not yet, red... please... | 
know you want to go... I'm not ready yet... I'm 
not... I'm not... [Splattering noise heard.] 


| love you, red. | love you, Anna. 


Five years, eleven months, twenty days. 


[Hum is now up to 60 pulses/min.] 


[Quiet sob.] A... nna... [Dr. Scranton's speech 
pattern is almost regular.] [Loud metallic bang 
heard followed by splattering noise as 
something strikes the control panel once 
again.] 

Five years, eleven months, twenty-one days. 


On December 23, 2005, the LSS Control Panel 
spontaneously appeared back within the Site-120 testing 
facility, Reality Lab A. 


Doctor, initial Hume Field readings of the 
Anchor are stable. Output readings are 2.3, 
with a 0.001% fluctuation. 


Good, Skinner, let's hope that holds. 
Hold on. What the hell? 
What's wrong? 


Something has appeared inside the testing 
zone. 


What? 


Ma'am, a large object has materialized within 
the Anchor field. What's the call? Kill the 
power? Call in the team? 


Skinner, what the hell are you- Oh my god. 
What the— where the hell did that thing come 
from?! 


| don't know ma'am, it just — it just appeared 
out of nowhere. It... it looks like it's covered 
in... what the hell is that— [Gags.] Oh god, it 
smells awful, | can smell it from here, Jesus 
Christ— 


[Gags.] \t smells like... death, it's like... vomit 
and — and blood, and... and... 


Ma'am? 
Oh my god. 
Ma'am? 


Do not abort, Skinner, | repeat, do not abort, 
keep that field up, and do not abort! 


Ma'am, what's going on? Ma'am? Ma'am! 


Reduce Hume Field to 1.7, I'm entering the 
containment zone, do not disengage the field, 
or we risk destabilizing the object! 


Uh, yes ma'am! [Mechanical whirring heard.] 
Uh, reporting, yes, this is Dr. Matthew Skinner, 
requesting... 


[Splashing footsteps heard.] 


Oh, god, what the hell, what — what is all this? 
This... this is... this is the... Oh, god. Robert? 
Robert?! Robert, is this you? Oh, god, please, 
please, no, don't let it be you, don't let it be 
you, Robert?! | thought, | thought — How can 
this thing be—? [Splashing footsteps heard 
again.] 


[Electronic beeping.] 


Ma'am? Ma'am? What are you doing, you 
shouldn't touch — 


This is the Lang Scranton Stabilizer interface. 
Welcome back, Dr. Lang, what would you like 
to— 


Access Audio Log, play back starting from 
January 2, 2000! [Squishing noise heard.] Oh 
god, oh god, what the hell happened to this 
thing, it's like someone exploded on it, it's like 
— [Gag.] That's... oh god is that... is that... oh 
god, oh god, please, please, no, please, don't 
be — [Gasp, then sob.] It's grey, his grey, oh, 
god, where's the other...? 


Accessing audio files. Please verbally state 
your password to continue, Dr. Lang. 


[Voice begins to break. }~... [Gags.] 
Password... Password is "Anna bo banna"! Oh 
my god... He's... it's everywhere, what the 
hell?... 


Request acknowledged. Processing... I'm 
sorry, there are no audio logs for January 2, 
2000. Dr. Scranton accessed log on January 
13, 2000 via voice-recognition at time— 


[Metallic slam.] PLAY BACK NOW DAMMIT, 
PLAY IT BACK! [Sobbing.] Oh god, Robert, 
Robert, sweetie, what — what happened to—? 


Confirmed, Dr. Lang, retrieving audio files... 


Ma'am you really shouldn't be touching that 
barehanded, it could be hazardous, you should 
wait for the cleaning team to— 


There's so much blood here, there's so much, 
honey. Are you okay?! Where did you go?! Oh 


objects or take readings for the duration of the sighting. 


Upon review of archived episodes of “[REDACTED],” the show 
appears never to have referenced or depicted anything resembling 
the figures which have appeared to all test subjects. After 
experimentation, test subjects, even those who expressed 
eagerness and/or amusement at the prospect of wearing SCP-362, 
express unease when prompted to discuss the show. 


Though these figures reveal themselves only to the test subject, do 
not generate significant fluctuations in sensory equipment, and fail to 
manipulate physical objects, it is recommended that security 
protocol regarding SCP-362 include vault containment with access 
granted only to relevant researchers and personnel. 


In light of incident SCP-362-02, and in order to avoid cross- 
contamination of SCPs and prevent security breaches, no items, 
information, or personnel of Level 2 clearance or higher may ever be 
present in SCP-362’s chamber prior to, during, or immediately after 
experimentation. Furthermore, under no circumstances may 
SCP-362 be worn by any person for longer than 9 days. 


Addendum: Immediately prior to said incident, test subject had 
worn SCP-362 for 31 days. As per research protocol, test subject 
had not been informed of the effects of doffing SCP-362. Upon 
removal, Site- experienced a containment breach which lasted 
minutes when primary and secondary power systems 
simultaneously failed. All debriefed personnel at Site- reported 
experiencing feelings of dread during the breach, many of whom 
were trapped in rooms without power or means of egress when 
failsafe systems activated. Some personnel reported the sensation 
that other persons inhabited the room with them during the breach 
despite being alone immediately beforehand. Many personnel felt as 
though they were being watched. 


Immediately after the breach, upon restoration of secondary power 
(primary power took an additional minutes to come back online), 
Site- personnel discovered files scattered, books open, and notes 
in disarray. IT division reported that several computers and other 
devices had accessed [DATA EXPUNGED]. 


god, oh god, oh god... [Sound of splattering 
and squeaking, as if wiping away fluid.] Oh, 
god, there's so much blood... [Squishing 
noise.] What...? ...Oh my... [Choking gasp, 
then silence for twenty seconds.] 


Ma'am! Ma'am! Dr. Lang, please, please, step 
away from the— 


His hand. His ring... It just fell to the... 


Ma'am, what—? Oh. Oh, shit. Oh, Jesus 
Christ. Dr. Lang, step away, please, come 
back! We'll get you out here for now, 
everything will be all right! 


Files retrieved, Dr. Lang. Playing now. 


Dr. Lang, please, come with me, we'll get help, 
you hear me? Dr. Lang? Dr. Lang, can you 
hear me?! Dr. Lang?! 


Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, 
September 19, 1961. 


Favorite color, blue. 


Favorite song, "Living on a Prayer." 
Wife... Anna... 


Anna... 


[Thudding sound heard, as if falling on wet 
pavement.] 


Dr. Lang? Dr. Lang! Report, this is Dr. 
Matthew Skinner, reporting from Site-120 
Reality Lab A, | need medical attention here 
immediately! 


Footnotes 
1. A previously hypothetical type of wormhole that does not transport 


matter to the expected location, or has a spacetime flaw that may 
randomly and dangerously eject matter mid-travel. 

2. For more information on Humes and reality physics, refer to 
documentsJEK-WT01 andJEK-EBO02. 

3. The LSS was the prototype whose design would go on to become 
the basis for the current "Reality Anchor" project. 

4. No audible hum is picked up by the control panel at the time. It is 
believed that the frequency was too low to be detected. 


SCP-3002: Attempts to Assassinate Thought 


On Mon, Jul 28, 2014 at 12:50pm, Kaye Thomas 
(thomask@foundation.scp) wrote: 


R. 


As per O5-1's instructions, | have sent you a copy of 3002's file. Let 
me know if you need anything else. 


Dr. Kaye Thomas 

Information and Memetics Division 
Site-82 

thomask@foundation.scp 


Document prepared by: Doctor Darryl Loyd 
Date: 2014-07-20 


Item #: SCP-3002 
Object Class: Safe